Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [286]
As we neared Tarkov, we began to see groups of soldiers on the road, returning home in jubilation. They looked splendid, clad in scarlet coats and fur hats. Many of them sang as they rode, hymns of praise to Yeshua. Songs of war. Always, someone carried a banner. Yeshua's cross waved above them, crimson on white. They had no knowledge of any tale of D'Angeline spies; or D'Angelines at all. One group hailed us with shouts, inviting us to share starka with them. Since there was no polite way to decline, we accepted.
"You see!" one of them shouted, clapping Maslin on the back. "Who are these beautiful strangers, eh? Perhaps it is true. Yeshua so favors us, he sends his angels to walk among us as mortal men!" He winked. "You tell Mighty Yeshua we gave you hospitality!”
Maslin looked startled.
"Just look grave and knowing," I advised him.
He did his best.
I could see why the Vralians thought as they did. Maslin was beautiful. That, I'd never denied. The Skaldi had called his father Kilberhaar; Silver Hair. In the sunlight, his pale blond hair almost glittered. Like me, Maslin had lost weight during our long travail. The bones of his face were stark and prominent, striking in an unearthly way. There was beauty there, but it was fearsome, too. I suppose I must have looked much the same.
We spent a day with the soldiers, then parted ways.
A day later, we reached Tarkov.
There were soldiers there, too; quite a few, coming and going through the southern gate, talking with the guards. It was hard to tell, but beyond the wooden stockade it seemed as though somewhat of significance was passing there. We drew rein at a distance and watched.
"Your mind's set on this?" Maslin asked with a frown.
"It is," I said. "But…”
We'd been travelling together for some time, long enough to know one another's thoughts. Maslin shaded his eyes, surveying the countryside surrounding Tarkov. In summer, it would be fertile farmland, but it was desolate now. To the north of the town, the pine forest that lay between Tarkov and Kargad rolled over the land like a dark carpet.
"I'll go wide and circle around." Maslin pointed. "That's our route, yes? I'll make camp a half day's ride to the north and wait for you in the forest.”
I nodded. "You'll take Berlik's skull?”
He grimaced. "If I must, yes.”
I put out one mittened hand. "If I'm not there by midday tomorrow, leave without me. Once you reach Kargad, you can take the Ulsk upriver to Vralgrad. I'll follow when I can. Whatever it is, I daresay I'll get it sorted out in time. But in case I don't…" I shrugged. "See his damned skull back to Clunderry, will you?”
Maslin clasped my hand. "Stubborn ass. Yes, of course.”
I grinned at him. "My thanks.”
I watched him depart from the road, leading our pack-horse. The leather bag containing Berlik's skull bounced and jostled. It was stupid. I'd worked so hard for that dubious, grisly prize to risk ceding it to another. But in the end, it didn't matter who brought it back to Clunderry. Once it was buried beneath Dorelei's feet, her spirit would rest easier. I believed that to be true. However much I'd come to understand Berlik, he had murdered her, horribly and violently. Her and our son.
But I had to go on living.
And the Rebbe had given me a charge. I wanted to go home. I wanted nothing more. I wanted to go home to the people who loved me. I wanted to feel Joscelin's strong presence keeping every danger at bay. I wanted to let myself be a child again for a few moments, to sit at Phèdre's feet, lean my head against her knee, and feel her stroke away my fears. I wanted to hear Hugues and Ti-Philippe bicker.
And I wanted to get on with the business of being a man, too.
Most of all, I wanted to fall into Sidonie's bed and never get out of it.
And I didn't ever want to tell her, yes, I killed two men whose only crime was being too stupid to listen, and I burned their bodies in the woods, and their bones and ashes lie there still, while those who loved them wonder what ever become of them. There was