Kushiel's Chosen

waters, the sailors shouting and cheering when we passed the lamphouse off the isle of Kérkira, that marks the beginning of Illyria proper for all seafaring sojourners. And Elua help me, I cheered with them, as if I were Illyrian myself. We had become comrades-in-arms, Kazan and his men and I, and we had faced common enemies together; the Serenissimans, the kríavbhog, the storm, and even the terror of the thetalos.
    On the third day after we entered Illyrian waters, we reached Epidauro.
    I had seen it twice before; 'twas very nearly a familiar sight by now, the generous harbor encompassed by solid granite walls, fortified ward-towers looming at either side of the entrance. I do not know who first sighted the city, for this time, no one gave cry, and in time, we all saw it. In the harbor, one could make out a dozen or more ships; members of the Ban's armada with the red sails, fishing vessels and traders. No Serenissiman war-galleys. The day was fine and bright, a lively nip in the wind that drove warm-blooded types like Glaukos and myself to don our woolen outerwear, It ruffled the sea into wavelets, sunlight glinting from a thousand peaks.
    And it chuffed loudly in the flapping canvas when Tormos, unbidden, gave the order as second-in-command to loose the sail. He remembered-we all remembered-far too well what had happened the last time we sought to enter Epidauro.
    Sailors held their posts, ropes slack, rudder-bar loosely tended, and our vessel drifted harmlessly sideways while we all gazed at Kazan Atrabíades; he looked back at us, seeing the fear writ in our faces.
    "Why do you idle?" he asked in Illyrian. "Have I not set a fair course? We sail to Epidauro."
    With that, he turned his back on us, crossing the length of the deck to stand in the prow, setting his face toward home.
    Tormos gritted his teeth and gave the order. "As he says. To Epidauro!"
    Our sails snapped taut in the wind; the ship swung around, nosing back to true. Young Volos threw back his head with a defiant shout as we began to skim over the waves, and a gull circling overhead gave it back, raucous and wild. I made my way to Kazan's side. He stood with legs braced and arms folded, and if his face was calm and purposeful, still I saw how shudders crawled over his skin.
    "If it comes for me," he said out of the side of his mouth, "don't stop. Push me over the side and keep going, if the kríavbhog comes."
    The fortressed harbor walls were rushing nearer, looming in my sight. I could make out men aboard the ships, pointing and shouting, the black bird of prey on the red sails of the Ban's vessels and sunlight glinting from the steel helms of those who manned them.
    "It won't," I said, willing it to be true.
    Kazan's lips moved soundlessly for a moment, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the shore. "I pray you are right." He drew in a breath as if in pain. "Ah!"
    We had entered the waters of the harbor.
    The ship erupted in a mad ecstasy, the sailors roaring cheers, laughing and stomping their feet on the wooden deck, shouting out to the Ban's fleet that swiftly surrounded us. "Kazan Atrabiades! It is Kazan Atrabiades of Epidauro! Kazan! Ka-zan! Ka-zan!"
    An answering shout arose and spread like wildfire, passed from mouth to mouth and ringing across the harbor, while the Ban's guardsmen beat their shields. "Hëia, Ka-zan! Hëia, hëia, Kazan! Hëia, Ka-zan!"
    In the prow, Kazan Atrabiades grinned fit to split his face and raised his arms in acknowledgment.
    I watched it all, wide-eyed and gaping. I had forgotten, in ancient, civilized Kriti; forgotten that Illyria was a vassal nation of an oppressive ruler, forgotten that the dubious fame that had brought Kazan's name even to the ears of the Archon of Phaistos-whence mine own, I may add, evoked only the shade of an ancient tale-rendered him renowned in his homeland.
    The Illyrians welcomed him as a hero.
    An escort of the Ban's armada saw us into the harbor proper, while cheers rang even from the tops of the fortress towers. Our sailors clung precariously to the rigging, hanging out over the sides of the ship to shout to other sailors, trading news and asking after their erstwhile companions; it was Tormos who kept sufficient order to see us into port, scowling and bawling commands. Kazan merely grinned and waved, beatifically, resplendently alive and home. And I... I was well-nigh forgotten in the uproar.
    "Do not take it ill," Glaukos said, laying a comforting arm about my shoulders. "Ah, now,