Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [217]
One of their number stepped forward, a seasoned warrior in well-worn arms. "Identify yourselves!" he snapped curtly.
It wasn't until then that I realized how we must look, the both of us, wind-and snow-burned, swathed in Skaldi furs, venturing alone through the worst of Camlach's winter, with only a heavily laden Skaldi pony to accompany us.
"My lord!" I gasped, signing Joscelin urgently to silence. "I am sorry, we meant no harm! Do we trespass here?"
He settled back in the saddle, eased by my tone, my voice and accent clearly D'Angeline. "No, lass, you've the right to passage. But it's not safe this close to the border. Who are you and where are you bound?"
Not to be easily swayed, then. I swallowed hard, and lied through my teeth. "Suriah of Trefail, my lord. This is my cousin, Jareth." I trembled, not dissembling; to be undone now was unthinkable. "Our village was destroyed by Skaldi raiders some days past. We . . . my cousin took a blow to the head, I hid him in the empty granary, they never found us, my lord. We took these things from those who'll need them no longer, and fled for the City. Was that wrong?"
It was a gamble. I couldn't be sure of where we were, nor how well these scouts knew all the mountain villages. One thing was sure, though. Trefail had been destroyed by the Skaldi. I knew, because it was the village where Alcuin had been born.
"No, no, not wrong." The scout's face was unreadable in the shifting firelight, embers scattered across the snow by Joscelin's attempt to extinguish it. "You thought we were Skaldi?"
"You might have been." I shuddered and stole a glance at Joscelin. He was silent under the shadow of the wolf-mask on his brow. "We didn't know, my lord. My cousin got scared." Joscelin nodded without speaking, somehow managing to make it seem a dumb-show, for which I was grateful.
The leader chewed at his lower lip, ruminating. I saw his gaze wander over us, assessing our garb, our gear. I kept my head slightly averted, trusting to the flame-cast darkness to hide the tell-tale mark of Kushiel's Dart. For a moment, I thought we'd get away with it; but the scions of Camael are too martial to trust wholly to the element of chance in a chance encounter.
"There's nothing for you in the City of Elua," he said cannily. "Winter's been hard, and it's fever-stricken. You'll ride with us to Bois-le-Garde. The Marquis le Garde won't turn away Camaeline refugees, you'll be well taken care of." He turned to one of his men. "Brys, ride on and tell the castellan we're coming in. Be sure to give him the details."
He stressed the last words; there was no mistake. The le Garde rider began to turn his horse's head northward.
Joscelin moved like lightning; and what's more, he did it more like a Skaldi than a Cassiline, with brutal efficiency. One dagger-one dagger only-flashed from his sheath as he grabbed the leader of Bois-le-Garde's scouting party, setting his blade to the man's throat.
"Everyone," he said tersely. "Dismount. Now!"
They obeyed, eyes glaring fury. He set his teeth and held the dagger steady; their leader stood unmoving.
I didn't need orders. Working frantically, I stowed our gear, lashing the packs onto our Skaldi pony.
"Two horses." Joscelin held himself rigid; I could see the effort it cost him, to hold a dagger on a fellow D'Angeline. He was breathing hard. "Scatter the rest."
I did it, though over a dozen armed warriors stood frozen in hatred, unwilling to sacrifice their leader by interfering with me. The horses scattered reluctantly, trained to obey; I had to shout and wave my arms, slapping at their hindquarters with ferocity. They ran, then, in all directions, save the two whose reins I'd lashed to a tree. They tugged at their restraints, large eyes rolling to show the whites.
"Ph . . . Suriah, mount up." Joscelin cursed at his near-slip, jerking the dagger. The leader inhaled sharply.
"You