Kushiel's Chosen

freshwater spring by which sailors knew it. Some leagues beyond it, the Caerdicci coast was a dim haze on the horizon.
    And there before it, at deep-sea anchor, rode a single galley. Her sails were lowered against the wind, but there, atop the center mast, flew a familiar pennant-the silver swan of House Courcel. Tears stung my eyes to look upon it, and my heart soared within my breast.
    We dropped sail some distance away, Kazan signaling the other ships to fan out in an encircling crescent, bringing the larger craft to bay. Six sailors on each vessel went to oars, using them cunningly to maintain position on the rocking waves. Two scrambled atop the forecastle of each, training arrows on the D'Angeline galley. No sign came from the galley, although I could see people aboard watching, and sunlight glinting off armor.
    When he was satisfied that his men were in position, Kazan stepped up to the prow and cupped his hands about his mouth, hailing the galley in Caerdicci.
    "No trade until my men are returned!" he shouted. "I will see them safe first, eh? You put them in a skiff, you, and send them out to us!"
    The figures aboard the galley moved, conferring, and then a single figure came forward to reply. His words carried faintly over the water, spoken in D'Angeline-accented Caerdicci. "Show us the Comtesse!"
    Glaukos took my arm, leading me the length of the ship to stand beside Kazan. Whatever they saw at that distance, it was enough to satisfy them, for presently a small skiff was lowered into the water and eight men clambered down a rope ladder into it. Kazan pointed toward the other ships. For long, agonizing moments we waited as the skiff was rowed out to meet the Illyrian vessels, three ships taking aboard two men. With each careful exchange, the flag-bearer signaled victory to Kazan. At last it was done, and the two rowers rested their oars, looking back at the galley for orders.
    "Now send the gold, you," Kazan called to the galley, "and I will send the girl!"
    Another conference aboard the galley, and the spokesman's reply. "We have given our surety, pirate! Send the Comtesse first and we will send the gold."
    It needed only one look at Kazan's face to know he would refuse. I put my hand on his arm, pleading. "My lord, please! I've given you my word, I've sworn my very soul on it. Her Grace's men will not break faith with it, I promise you!"
    "Be silent!" Blood darkened his face as he glared at me. "You do not know what you speak of, you! No one treats fairly with pirates, eh? No trade without the gold." Cupping his hands once more, he shouted it to the galley. "No trade without the gold!"
    Gulls wheeled overhead, giving their raucous calls during the long pause. I waited it out with my heart in my throat until the spokesman answered. "If you will not send her, then bring her and take the gold yourself! It is our best offer."
    Kazan nodded grimly; he had expected no less. "They are ready?" he asked his second officer, a man named Pekhlo.
    Pekhlo spoke to the flag-bearer, and a ripple of signals ran from ship to ship. "All are ready, Kazan.”
    "Then we will do this." Kazan raised his voice. "Go!"
    It happened quickly, so quickly it near bewildered me; I never doubted, after this, their deadly skill as pirates. I daresay dozens of merchanters have felt the same astonishment, being set on by Kazan Atrabiades. The oarsmen set the water churning to white foam, and the ship crossed the distance in a trice, swinging alongside the galley-on the far side, another ship followed suit, while the others drew in easy range of a bow. Grappling hooks soared through the air, thanking deep into the wood of the galley's rails; someone leapt to grab the dangling ladder, and in less space than it takes to tell it, a full dozen Illyrian pirates had swarmed onto the galley.
    Beneath the galley's shadow, I could see nothing, heard only scuffling, curses and a brief clash of arms, then muttering stillness. I gazed at Kazan, who looked grimly back at me.
    "Very well, pirate," came the voice of the D'Angeline spokesman, sounding distinctly annoyed. "Send up the Comtesse, and take your Elua-cursed gold! We've shown you no reason to break faith, and your men are outnumbered here."
    The rope ladder was dangling near at hand, the oarsmen holding the bobbing ship steady. Kazan drew his sword and pointed it at me. "Go," he said softly. "I will follow behind you."
    I stared uncomprehending at the point of his sword. "My lord?"
    "Go!" he