Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [329]
Not until Ghislain de Somerville gauged from their reports that we were out of danger did we make camp for the night. I fairly fell out of the saddle, bone-weary and exhausted with terror. If I had not survived the flight through the Skaldic winter, I think I would have given up and died that night.
Even so, it was not given me to rest.
A last one of Drustan's scouts returned from the south, eyes starting and wild in the blue masque of his face, breathing like a marathon runner and pointing from whence he'd come. Drustan gave an incredulous frown, and I dragged myself near to listen.
"What is it?" Ghislain de Somerville asked, catching my arm.
"He says there's an army, my lord." I wasn't sure I'd heard it aright either. "A D'Angeline army, encamped in a valley, not a mile south of here."
EIGHTY-FOUR
"Isidore D'Aiglemort."
Ghislain de Somerville said his name like a curse. I didn't blame him. None of us did, who were D'Angeline. I heard Joscelin's breath hiss between his teeth at the name.
I explained briefly to Drustan, who nodded, understanding, his dark eyes deepset. He had been betrayed by his cousin Maelcon; he understood such things. "We'll make camp nonetheless," I said, confirming it with Ghislain. We'd get no further that night, and d'Aiglemort's forces were unaware of our presence.
One would think the very heavens would storm their disapproval on such a night, but in truth, the skies held clear. My exhaustion forgotten, I wrapped myself in my cloak and sought out the Cruithne scout who'd spotted the army of Duc Isidore d'Aiglemort, questioning him at some length.
When I was done, I went looking for Ghislain de Somerville and found him overseeing the care of the horses, who were worth their weight in gold to us.
"My lord," I said to him, "you said if the Caerdicci would rally sufficient forces, we could crush the Skaldi as if between hammer and anvil. How many would you need?"
"Ten thousand, perhaps, in sum. Maybe less, if we could coordinate with the defenders in Troyes-le-Mont." He looked sharply at me. "Why? The Caerdicci won't venture past their borders. We both know it is so."
I looked to the south, and shivered. "I have a thought."
I told him what it was.
Ghislain de Somerville gave me another long, hard look. "Come with me," he said. "We need to talk."
His fairly appointed commander's tent with the worktable had been left in Azzalle; this was a simple field-soldier's shelter, luxurious only in that most of our army had nothing but a bedroll. We had travelled light, but for the most necessary provisions. I sat on a folding camp-stool while he paced, lit by a solitary lamp.
"If you think it madness, my lord," I said finally, unable to bear it, "then say so."
"Of course it's madness," he said abruptly. "But so is what we did today, and will do again tomorrow, if we do not choose another course. And if it goes as it did today, we will die in slow degrees, until we grow too tired or too slow or too careless, and the Skaldi catch us. If they're not already scaling the fortress walls." Stopping his pacing, Ghislain de Somerville sat on his bedroll and covered his face with his hands. "Ah, Anael!" he sighed. "I was born to rule apple orchards, to tend the land and love its folk. Why do you send me such terrible choices?"
"Because, my lord," I said softly, "you were born to tend the land and love its folk, and not to put them to the sword. No other among us could devise a plan that would make this work."
"It might be done." He lowered his hands on his knees and looked gravely at me. "Even if it can ... if we fail, we stand to lose everything, and I do not know if I can bear to see our people slain by D'Angeline hands. Phedre no Delaunay, are you certain of him?"
"No," I whispered, feeling cold despite the warmth of the night and the glow of lamplight.