Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [190]
"Thank you, Bertran." I fought back a swell of grief. "That's kind.”
He nodded. "I'm awfully sorry, Imri. Truly.”
All the faces of the people around him were somber and grave. D'Angeline faces. I was home, and I felt like a stranger. I took more comfort in the presence of Urist and his men. Home. Clunderry had become a home. I wished I was there, watching Dorelei smile at the breakfast table while Kinadius teased his sister. The Cruithne were silent, and I daresay they felt the same way.
But we were here to seek vengeance.
The thought strengthened me.
I thanked Bertran again for his courtesy. The ascent to the fortress was steep, and he'd brought a litter chair with bearers to convey me. I felt like a fool sitting in it, and the Bastard, freed from the confines of the hold, eyed me skeptically; but I knew I couldn't ride and I wasn't sure I could make the climb on foot. When the bearers stepped forward to grasp the poles, Urist shook his head. "We will do it," he said in heavily accented D'Angeline. "He is the lord of Clunderry and we are his men.”
Bertran looked startled. "As you wish.”
We stayed in the fortress that night. For a mercy, Bertran had the good sense not to plague me with too much hospitality. He met with Urist, Kinadius, and me and told us in a straightforward manner that there had been no sightings of pale-eyed bears or tattooed magicians reported throughout Azzalle.
"You're sure he's here?" he asked.
Deep in my bones, I was. I was sure that the bear Hyacinthe had seen was Berlik. He was forsworn; his people were forsworn because of him. I'd seen the sorrow in his eyes. He would flee Alba. He would take himself as far, far away from his people as he could, carrying his curse and his darkness with him, trying to protect them.
"I'm sure he crossed the Straits," I said. "He left a trail. We'll find it.”
Bertran shrugged. "I hope you do.”
Before he retired for the night, he provided us with maps of Azzalle with markings that indicated where questions had been asked, where they hadn't. We pored over them, plotting a course of action.
Urist and I were the last two awake. Although I was tired and sore, I was reluctant to take to my bed. In a strange way, it felt like it would sever my last waking bond to Alba, and Dorelei. And so we sat, the two of us, drinking wine in front of the hearth, our feet propped on a low table.
"You've not cut them," Urist said unexpectedly.
I blinked. "Cut what?”
"The ollamh's bindings." He nodded at my wrists. "You're on D'Angeline soil.”
I'd forgotten. "Do you think I should?" My head was swimming a little from the wine. "I'm not sure it matters here. Do they still work? I don't even know what I feel anymore, Urist." I shook my head, trying to clear it. "Anyway, what if the priests are wrong? If Berlik has the charm, and he's here, I don't want to take any chances.”
"Here." Urist sat upright and fished in a pouch at his belt, proffering an object.
I stared at it, the blood pounding in my veins.
The charm, a grimy little mannekin, lay in his hardened palm. It was a vile object, wrought of Alban dirt and clay and the essence of my desire, seed spilled carelessly on taisghaidh land. The cause of untold suffering.
"You had it all along," I said slowly.
"Oh, aye." Urist nodded. "'Twas there in the stone circle, where you left it, near the dead bear-witch." His black eyes held mine without wavering. "What was I to do, lad? I've never withheld a truth from Drustan. But I made the lass a promise, and I never had children of my own. I'm a warrior. I made her a warrior's promise. This seemed the surest way to be certain you were sent away from Alba.”
"Damn you, Urist!" I knuckled my eyes. "How do we destroy it?”
"I asked the ollamh" he said steadily. "Like this." His hand clenched.
The mannekin crumbled. As simply as that, it was destroyed. Urist held his hand over his wine cup, releasing a stream of grainy dirt that sank into the dark liquid and vanished. He handed me the cup. "Cast it on the fire.”
"That's