Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [219]
"I am sorry," she said. "He is your friend, this man?”
"Friend!" I laughed bitterly. "Elua, no!”
The tanner's wife frowned. "But he is Pict, like them.”
"He killed my wife," I said shortly.
Her mouth hung open in shock. She turned to her husband. Another exchange, low and murmured. The tanner, the bearskin robe draped over one shoulder, looked troubled. "I do not think it is the same man," his wife said at length, a stubborn reluctance settling into her voice.
I leaned my head against the trunk of the tree. With careful hands, I undid the buttons on my shirt. Kinadius knelt beside me, grave as an acolyte, and undid the knots on my bandages, helped me unwind them and lay bare the gouges that angled across my torso, raking furrows of pink flesh and a patchwork of lingering scabs.
"His work," I said. "The bear-man's." The tanner's wife pressed the back of her hand to her lips. I held her shocked gaze. "Please, my lady. Will you help us find him?”
She nodded. "All right, yes.”
While Kinadius rewound my bandages, the tanner's wife told us that Berlik had arrived at the tannery some days ago—three weeks, she thought, or mayhap a little more—in the company of a group of Yeshuite pilgrims. There had been a good many of them in recent years, seeking passage to the distant north; beyond Skaldia, where it was rumored they were building a kingdom. There had been ten or twelve of them, she thought. Two families, and Berlik. They had an ox-drawn wagon and two horses. They had stopped at the tannery to purchase leather and twine to repair a broken harness. Berlik had offered to trade his bearskin robe in exchange for this and other supplies. It was a good bargain.
"He seemed …sad and kind," the tanner's wife said, wondering. "So big, but gentle. There was a child with them—" She glanced at my face and fell silent.
"Did they say where they were bound?" I asked.
She shook her head. "They went east, along the Voorwijk. They didn't say where. But if they follow the pilgrims' route, they go to Maarten's Crossing to ask Adelmar of the Frisii for passage across Skaldia.”
"Adelmar?" I asked.
Urist cleared his throat. Although he had difficulty with her accent, he recognized the name. "He's the one petitioned the Cruarch for trade rights," he said in his clumsy D'Angeline. "Holds the western border, I believe.”
"Yes." The tanner's wife nodded. "A good man, a man of peace. A friend to pilgrims.”
"I see." I felt slow and stupid. We were little more than three days' ride from the northern border of Terre d'Ange, and yet I knew less of my surroundings than Urist, who was a good deal farther from home. As always, I had a lot to learn. I rubbed my face. "Thank you, my lady. You've been a great help.”
"I wish you well." The tanner's wife wrung her hands, restless. Strong hands, work-worn and thick-knuckled, yellowish from a lifetime of handling oak-tanned hides. I wondered at her fluent D'Angeline, at the pride in the tanner's voice when he spoke of her. There was a story there I'd never know. She gazed at me with deep concern. "But I think…I think this man, the bear-man you hunt… if he has truly done such a thing, I think he is sorry for it. There is great sorrow in him.”
"There always was," I murmured. "But he did it anyway.”
"That is a great pity," she said.
"Yes." I pushed myself to my feet, eyeing the bearskin robe her husband yet held. The sight of it no longer sickened me, but I detested its existence. "My lady, I wish to purchase that robe. I mistrust its magic, and you would be better off without it.”
Urist nodded approvingly.
At least it was familiar ground for everyone. We haggled. In the end, I made them a good bargain; more than fair. They deserved it, the tanner and his wife. We rode away from the tannery, following a course eastward along the bank of the Voorwijk River, with Berlik's bearskin robe stowed in our baggage, carried by an unnerved pack-horse.
I didn't blame the horse. The scent made me uneasy, too.
"What do you mean to do with it?" Urist asked as we rode.
"Destroy it," I said.
He