Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [305]
"Why?" I asked.
She put the question to the harbor-master, who gave a brief reply and a shrug. "Orders," Phèdre reported. "He doesn't know why.”
"Could be a trick," Joscelin observed.
"What would be the point?" Phèdre spread her hands. "He's got a whole town at his back. There's no need to trick us.”
It was no trick. The harbor-master gave all of us a curt bow, then gestured to his men. They approached to assist us with our packs, making careful gestures to indicate that this was goodwill and not thievery.
"Huh." Urist leaned on his walking-stick. "Passing odd.”
"Mayhap Queen Ysandre pressured him," I suggested.
"To help you?" Urist's gaze slewed around at me. "Not likely, lad. My money's on Drustan. Don't know how he took the news you're bedding his daughter, but at least it's his niece you're avenging.”
I hefted the sack with Berlik's skull. "There is that.”
The harbor-master, whose name was Ortwin, was as good as his word. He and his men led us to an inn, one of the only ones still open during the winter months. We weren't exactly welcome—the innkeeper looked unhappy at our presence—but no one offered any threat. We kept to ourselves and passed an uneasy night there, and woke on the morrow to find that Ortwin had assembled a company to escort us to Maarten's Crossing, with guards and mounts and pack-horses.
I asked Phèdre to thank him for his kindness, since she'd be able to express it far more eloquently than I would. She did. The harbor-master made a long speech in reply. At one point he nodded toward Joscelin, sitting impassively atop his loaned mount, the hilt of his sword jutting over his shoulder. At another point, he touched his own scarred cheek. Phèdre listened gravely to his words. She leaned down in the saddle to clasp his hand, speaking a few quiet words in Skaldic.
"What was that all about?" Hugues asked when we departed.
"Forgiveness." She glanced at Joscelin. "He knew who we were.”
Joscelin raised his brows. "And forgave us?”
"He said he'd known peace and war, and peace was better," she murmured.
"Can't argue with that," Ti-Philippe offered.
Even so, it all seemed somewhat too good to be true. We rode warily, keeping a sharp eye on our escort. There were six of them and six of us, but the Skaldi might reckon the odds uneven, since our numbers included Phèdre, who was no warrior, and Urist, who was injured. They would be wrong, of course. Urist was uncomfortable riding astride, but an aching leg didn't render him less dangerous. And then there was Joscelin, who might well have taken on the entire company by himself.
But no.
There was no trouble. We crossed the narrow peninsula in good time. Ortwin's escort delivered us to the gates of Maarten's Crossing before the sun had set, and the guards posted outside the wooden stockade fence admitted us without a challenge.
Urist grunted. "That's a change.”
The area where we'd made our camp was deserted save for a few fur-traders, who shot us dour looks. I wondered if it meant that Talorcan and his Cruithne, and Kinadius and the last of Clunderry's men, had given up and gone home. But when we made our way to the inn where a few of us had lodged—Halla's place, with the sign of the rooster—we found it wasn't so.
There were only two of them; Kinadius and Brun, who was one of Urist's veterans. Kinadius was there alone when we arrived, chatting with one of the innkeeper's daughters while she stirred a pot over the fire, his back to the door. I watched her eyes widen as we entered, and she fell silent. He turned out of curiosity and simply stared, open-mouthed and blinking.
"Prince Imriel?" he said cautiously. "My lord Urist? Is that you, or have I gone mad?”
"Close your mouth, lad," Urist said. "You look daft.”
"Did you…" Kinadius blinked at me. Sudden tears brightened his eyes. "Is it done?”
I nodded and touched the bag. "It's done.”
He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer. "Thank you.”
After that came the usual chaos attendant on such reunions, with a hasty rush of news exchanged, everyone talking over one another,