Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [248]
It crossed my mind that I would gladly have obliged him in Alba, but I kept my mouth shut on that thought, too. "Can I reach Miroslas by river?”
"No." Ethan rubbed his eyes. "Over land.”
"The tanner's wife said you had horses." I felt at my purse. "Will you sell me one?”
He gave a short laugh. "We sold them to buy this house, and they have already been sold again. No one in Kargad has a horse to spare. If you want to buy a horse, go to Tarkov. There is a road leading east. It is only three days' walk. I would offer you our hospitality, but…" He glanced at Galia and his voice faded. "I am sorry.”
"Three days." I nodded and stood. "All right.”
"Will you kill him?" Ethan asked in a low tone.
I hoisted my pack and shouldered it. "Berlik never told you what he did, did he?" Ethan shook his head again. I gazed past the hearth, watching Galia with her head bent over her sewing, the boy Adam playing in his bunk. "No, I didn't think so. If he had, you wouldn't ask me that question.”
"Killing him won't change anything," he said.
"It will for me," I said.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Alone and on foot, I made my way to Tarkov.
For the first day, the road Ethan had mentioned—which wasn't more than a faint path, really—followed the Ulsk River. There, at least, I had the solace of seeing other people. But the second day, it veered eastward, into dense pine forest.
I went the whole of the second day without seeing another living soul, walking and walking. My boots, my old pair rescued from the shipwreck, chafed my feet. My scars ached with the strain of carrying my saddlebags. I shifted them from shoulder to shoulder and kept walking. The air was cold, cold enough to see one's breath. At least the effort of walking kept me warm.
I made camp that night alone under the pine canopy. Wrapped in a blanket, I sat beside the brisk little fire I'd built. I ate salt beef and drank sparingly from my waterskin. Beyond the campfire, I could see a pair of bright eyes reflecting light. Badger? Fox? Lynx? I fumbled for a branch to throw at them. The eyes vanished.
It occurred to me that I could die out here.
I pushed the thought away.
I found Hugues' flute in my bags. A foolish thing to bring, mayhap; an indulgence. I hadn't played it since the night Dorelei died. I wasn't sure if it would play true after its immersion in saltwater. But my pack had been one of the first items salvaged. When I set the flute to my lips and blew, it rang out clear and true.
I played mindlessly, melodies without a tune, my thoughts wandering. Berlik, the savior of a small boy. Justice. Mercy. Repentance. Men of Alba, men of Clunderry, slain in the pursuit. Was it worth the price? My fingers wandered over the holes. The last time I'd played alone in a wilderness, I'd been a goatherd. Soft and low, I played the song that all the children of the sanctuary knew, the song about the little brown goat.
Dorelei, laughing.
Dorelei dead.
"Yes," I said aloud, setting down the flute. "It's worth it.”
I rolled myself in my blanket and slept, waking in the morning stiff with cold. There was a layer of hoarfroast sparkling on the ground, and my fire had burned down to a few banked embers. I blew them to life, warmed my hands, ate a stale biscuit. And then I stashed my gear, shouldered my pack, and started walking again.
It wasn't until the morning of the fourth day that I reached Tarkov, limping and footsore, and beginning to worry about the lack of water I carried. It was a glorious thing to see the dense forest suddenly give way to open fields surrounding a town large and prosperous enough to warrant being surrounded by a wooden stockade.
I limped gratefully to the gate, thinking less about vengeance than a hot bath and a warm meal, hoping I might find both here. There was a guard at the gate; Vralian, not Habiru. He gave me a long, puzzled look, but when I offered him one of Tadeuz Vral's copper coins, he shrugged and admitted me.
"Food?" I asked, miming. After three days in the woods, I was uncertain of my Rus. "Bath?”
He laughed and pointed.
I found