Kushiel's Chosen

distance that they resembled child's toys, we saw them; ships of the Illyrian navy, mustering in the harbor, their square sails dyed scarlet with the black insignia of the Ban's bird of prey on them.
    Let them take us into custody, I thought; it matters naught, so long as we do not die at the hands of the Serenissimans. If this Ban of Illyria has half a wit to his name, he will hear me out and accept the promise of Ysandre's favor. I will plead clemency for Kazan and his men on behalf of Terre d'Ange; whatever they have done in the past, La Serenissima has no claim in this matter. Let the Serenissimans blockade the Caerdicci point as they will, there are other routes, though they may take longer. They cannot cover the whole of the Caerdicci coast. Surely, we may find a way to win through, and if I cannot reach Marsilikos, still I may intercept Ysandre in her progressus.
    So I told myself, and fed the guttering spark of hope that remained to me, while the sullen sky muttered with thunder and the walls of Epidauro grew nearer.
    The men grew heartened at the sight of the massing Illyrian naval force, offering cries of thanks and praise in voices that cracked with weariness. One of the ships caught a rare good gust of wind, coursing ahead with its triangular sail at a stiff angle; Nikanor's ship, I thought, and Someone cheered as they surged into the forefront. Behind us, the war-galleys faltered, commanders questioning the wisdom of pursuing their quarry into the arms of the sole undefeated seat of a vassal nation.
    And in the prow of the ship stood Kazan Atrabiades, his face ghost-white.
    My skin prickled all over with awful presentiment.
    I had managed to forget, until then, the full truth of the waking vision I had seen aboard this ship; attributed it to fear and shadows, cast by a half-dreaming mind tainted by remembered blood-guilt. What had happened to Kazan's brother was a dreadful thing, and reason enough for nightmares. They had ceased, since I'd drawn the story out of him. And as for what I had seen myself, I had been more than half delirious, plucked from the sea after an ordeal that would have driven many a warrior to madness.
    But I knew better.
    Blessed Elua, I prayed, salt-spray stinging my eyes to tears, spare him! Please, please, let us come safe to land. Naamah, have a care for your Servant, who has served you well and faithfully! If he is a patron, let it be said he has not stinted the offering; men died that he might save my life. My lord Kushiel, ah! You have set your hand upon me and cast me forth; if you would not see me perish now, then offer me your protection. And I prayed, too, to Asherat-of-the-Sea, to whom I owed a debt of honor; my lady, if you would see it kept, bear this ship upon your bosom, and do not let it fail!
    Though the clouds gathered overhead and spat rain upon us, though lightning flickered in the sky's dark underbelly, I felt my prayers heard, a waiting presence enfolded around me. Thus it may be, a voice spoke in my heart. But he is not ours.
    Rain beat down in sheets, and the sailors cursed, grappling with lines whipping slick and wind-torn. A flash of lightning brightened the skies, and I saw all three of the other ships leaping ahead of us now, gaining entrance to the harbor, sails stark white against the leaden grey. And in the dark eye-blinding aftermath, a hoarse cry.
    I did not see it until the lightning flashed again: Kazan, still standing, enwrapped in the coils of the kríavbhog. From ankles to chest its serpentine tail entwined him; its sinuous neck rose above his head, veined wings outspread and beating at the glowering air. Eyes glittered like rubies in its wedge-shaped head and the mouth opened in a hiss, triple-forked tongue flickering at his face. He fought hopelessly against it, sword-arm still free, making no dent in those preternatural scales.
    What the others saw that day, I do not know; it is not a thing of which they will speak. I know what I saw. It is enough.
    The northerly gusts of wind that had plagued us all day struck once more, slamming a rain-driven fist into the side of the ship. The sailors shouted with helpless rage and fought the pitching waves, fought the wind, fought the lines.
    And Kazan Atrabiades fought the kríavbhog.
    It was too much, too vast and strong, growing larger with each inch we struggled forward toward the harbor of Epidauro. I did not know, until I heard the rattle in my throat, that I was sobbing. Its head reared over him,