Kushiel's Dart - Jacqueline Carey [330]
"I wish you were," Ghislain de Somerville murmured, hands flexing on his knees. He smiled ruefully. "Did you know my father likes to wager? L'Agnacites have a weakness for it, I don't know why. But he always said the one man he'd never wager against was Anafiel Delaunay."
"My lord," I said, alarmed, "I am not him. Even if I had half his wisdom, I would fear to advise you in this."
"If you had half his wisdom, you might never have conceived this." He gazed at the flickering lamp-flame. "But you have, and I must wager on something. I'll speak with the Cruithne scout, and see what more we may learn. When I've a plan, I'll let you know."
I nodded and rose, according him a grave curtsy, one offered in the Night Court only to scions of the Royal House. I kept my composure leaving his tent; it was only outside, beneath the stars, that I staggered and had to catch myself, terrified by the enormity of the risk in what I had proposed.
Never had I judged a patron wrongly, not Childric d'Essoms, not Quincel de Morhban, not even Melisande Shahrizai, when all was said and done. But Isidore, Duc d'Aiglemort, was no patron of mine, and by his own deed, traitor to Terre d'Ange. If I was wrong, we would all pay. And the payment would be exacted in blood.
"Where were you?" Joscelin asked when I returned, his sharp tone betraying his concern. He glanced at my pale face. "What is it? Is aught amiss?"
"No," I said, through chattering teeth. He flung a cloak around me; his Mendacant's cloak, stained and travel-worn, the splendid colors dulled by rain and sea. I huddled into its warmth. "Not yet."
"You'll be the death of us all," Joscelin muttered, and wondered why I laughed in despair.
By the time we surrounded the valley in which d'Aiglemort's army was encamped, he knew.
It was much simpler, in truth, than the elaborate plan of retreat that Ghislain de Somerville had devised. Secure in their valley, the Allies of Camlach had posted only a few sentries; indeed, we would never have found them, had the Skaldi not pressed us to flee as far as we did.
Gauging the change of posting, Drustan's deadly Cruithne dispatched the sentries with ease. Archers and slingers found hiding places along the narrow egresses. The battle of Bryn Gorrydum, the flight from the Skaldi; all, it seemed, had been a rehearsal for this endeavor.
The rest of our army scaled the heights, encircling the valley. Ghislain placed his scant number of L'Agnacite warriors to the fore, to give us the semblance of a D'Angeline force. By dawn-less than a day and a half later-we were in place.
This time, I was there. It was my idea.
We had glimpsed the Camaeline forces by then; well over three thousand, by my count. They looked hungry, and weary, I thought. It was hard to tell, at a distance.
When the sun struck gold into the valley, Ghislain de Somerville gave the signal. We'd two trumpets among us, but they sounded like a dozen, ringing brazen from the mountains as our troops rose and stepped into view, lifting their standards.
The silver swan of House Courcel, the apple tree of de Somerville, the ships and the Navigator's Star of House Trevalion; and too, the people of Alba, the Cullach Gorrym and the Tarbh Cro, the Eidlach Or and the Fhalair Ban, the white horse of Eire. They flew proud, blazing in the sun. And our heralds, three of them, grinning under their chosen standard as it flew beneath the white flag of treaty: A ragged splash of red, crossed by Kushiel's Dart.
Phedre's Boys. Remy winked at me. That was an argument I'd lost.
It took the Allies of Camlach by surprise. Deep in the valley they turned, hands shading eyes, gazing up the steep mountains at the bright army surrounding them on all sides. One stood alone and fearless, and the sun glittered on his mail and his fair hair.
Kilberhaar, I thought.
Ghislain de Somerville stepped up to a precipice, cupping his hands about his mouth. "Isidore d'Aiglemort!" he shouted, his voice echoing from