Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [270]
Later.
Like the priests of Miroslas, I did without speech. I hadn't spoken aloud since I burned Berlik's body. Before, I had. I'd talked to my horse until it bolted and left me stranded on foot; all the better with which to approach killing Berlik with a humble heart, I supposed. Even then, I'd been wont to speak aloud. Betimes to utter an involuntary curse; at others, for the solace of hearing a human voice, even if it was my own.
Now I wore silence like a shroud, and there was comfort in it. Why, I couldn't have said. Berlik's death had made a silent, still place in my heart, where the only words spoken were I'm sorry. My last words to the man whose sacrifice I'd accepted. Berlik, to whom I'd administered Kushiel's justice. The words echoed in my heart. I couldn't bear to hear any others.
And then everything changed.
I was so accustomed to silence and solitude that when I first heard men's raised voices arguing in Rus, I didn't understand what it meant. There was no one there. I felt bewildered, like a man who couldn't read being asked to decipher a page of writing. I paused on the rocky incline up which I was trudging, which had the virtue of being windswept and almost clear of snow, and wondered if I'd gone mad.
It slowly dawned on me that the men were on the other side of the incline, which was why I couldn't see them yet. I was downwind, and their voices carried in the quiet wilderness. By the sound of it, they were growing closer, and swiftly enough that I guessed they were mounted.
I was in the open, and there wasn't anywhere to run; although I don't know that I would have if there had been. I wasn't scared. No one knew I was out here except the Rebbe of Miroslas, and he was the one who had told me where to search. It must be, I thought, that my horse made it back safely to the last warm stable he remembered. That Rebbe Avraham had been compelled by a Yeshuite sense of duty to send someone to search for me despite his dislike of my mission, reckoning I might be half frozen and dying in the wilderness.
A spark of gratitude warmed me; and in its wake, a sense of relief that abruptly weakened my knees. Elua, I'd been out here a long time! Surely the weeks had turned to months. I'd no false illusions of pride, not after what I'd endured. I'd gladly be rescued.
I managed to keep my feet and watched three men on horseback clear the crest of the incline some forty yards away. They paused, staring. I felt a grin split my wind-burned face and raised one hand in greeting.
All three of them drew their swords.
And one of them shouted in D'Angeline, his voice clear and carrying. "Imriel, run!”
I didn't.
I stood, gaping like an idiot, while the lead rider kicked his mount to a gallop and bore down on me. Atop the crest, the other two were circling each other, blades flickering and flashing. The oncoming rider leaned down from the saddle, sword in hand, his face grim and furious. I knew it, although I couldn't put a name to it. He was one of the guards from Tarkov.
At the last minute, I dropped my packs and ducked under his blow. "I'm not a spy!" I shouted at him. "I can explain! Wait!”
Or at least, that's what I tried to say. What emerged from my mouth was a dry, croaking sound. And it might have been in D'Angeline or Cruithne. I wasn't even sure. I swallowed frantically, backing away as he wheeled his horse, putting up my mittened hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Wait! " I got the word out in Rus.
He didn't wait.
I cursed with steady fluency in any number of tongues as he bore down on me for a second time, the dam of my long silence broken. I shook off my mittens and drew my sword. He gave me a fierce battle-grin as he brought his sword down in a stroke meant to split my skull from above.
I daresay he didn't expect me to parry it, at least not as strongly