Kushiel's Chosen

dismount and kneel. In seconds, every one of the Unforgiven near me had followed suit. From this center of stillness, a hissed whisper spread, and stillness followed, battle abandoned. I sat atop my horse open-mouthed, while the entire Unforgiven garrison knelt, until no one was standing but Joscelin, and the Yeshuites.
    One of whom raised his sword over the neck of a kneeling Unforgiven soldier.
    "No!" I flung out my arm, pointing at the man. He glanced at me, then away, and made to swing the blade. I could see the muscles quiver in the bowed neck of the kneeling Unforgiven; and yet, he never raised his head. From the corner of my eye, I saw Joscelin moving, turning, a terrible despair in his face, switching his right-hand dagger to grasp its hilt. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would throw it at the Yeshuite if he had to; and I was afraid, very afraid, that he held the hilt of the other dagger in his left hand, and meant to bring it across his own throat. A fine idea, this side trip of mine. A film of red veiled my vision, and my blood beat in my ears, a sound like great bronze wings clapping about my head. Somehow, I spoke, and my voice seemed distant and strange, edged with blood and thunder. "Drop your swords!"
    He did; they did. All of the Yeshuites, weapons falling with a clatter. Joscelin halted, in the middle of executing the terminus, that final move that no Cassiline Brother in living history has performed. If it was that. In the wagon, the child continued screaming.
    None of the kneeling Unforgiven even looked up.
    "Fortun," I asked, bewildered, "what's happening here?"

TWENTY-EIGHT
    You are Kushiel's hand."
    That was how the Captain-whose name was Tarren d'Eltoine-explained it to me in the garrison keep as he poured me a generous measure of very good Namarrese red wine, of which I drank a long draught. "My lord Captain," I said, shuddering and setting down the glass, "forgive me, but I do not understand."
    Tarren d'Eltoine sat opposite me and fixed me with an intent gaze. "My lady Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève, you bear the mark of Kushiel's Dart. You are his chosen. And we who name ourselves the Unforgiven, scions of Camael, in our pride and arrogance, conspired to open our borders to the Skaldi, betraying the sacred trust of Elua and his Companions." He smiled grimly. "We have thrown away our honor, in bright-bladed Camael's eyes. For this, there is no forgiveness; only the hope of redemption. It is you who brought us that hope. Do you now understand?"
    I gazed into the hearth-fire, burning merrily against the evening chill that fell during spring in Camlach. "Isidore d'Aiglemort," I said presently.
    "Even so." Captain d'Eltoine nodded. "You gave him a chance to die a hero, and he took it. He did. Those of us who survived, we will not sway from the course you set, not until we die. What you have given us is a chance to endure Kushiel's punishment here on earth, and expiate our sins."
    I looked reluctantly at him. "My lord ... I am grateful for the lives you spared. But I didn't ask Isidore d'Aiglemort and the Allies of Camlach to fight for the sake of their souls. I asked because I was desperate, and I could think of no other way we stood to defeat the Skaldi."
    "That doesn't matter." He gazed at his wineglass and lowered it untasted. "Kushiel's hand need not know its master's mind; it does his bidding all the same. We are the Unforgiven. We have a debt we must honor unto death, should you command us. That is all you need know."
    "You could have notified me," I murmured. D'Eltoine blinked; my humor was lost on him. It was true, most Camaelines do think with their swords. Isidore d'Aiglemort was an exception, but then, he was fostered among the Shahrizai. "Never mind." My head was reeling. It is not every day that one learns an entire militia has sworn unbeknownst to obey you. "My lord," I said, gathering my thoughts. "Why did your men attack the Yeshuites?"
    "We sought to question them." He shrugged apologetically. "A party of that size, seeking to cross into Skaldia? There can be no good reason for it, my lady, save espionage. But when we sought to detain them for questioning, they drew steel. So my men say, and I have no reason to doubt them." He eyed me. "Though if you demand it, I will put them to questioning."
    "No." After what had passed in the City, it rang altogether too true. "They seek to cross Skaldia, and find refuge in lands further north, my lord. They mean us no