Kushiel's Chosen

Camaelines. Some chose to stay; those men you see here before you. The rest returned to their duties in the regular army."
    I thought about that. "To whom did they report?"
    Tarren d'Eltoine shrugged. "The Lord Commander, I suppose, or mayhap the Captain of the Palace Guard. I concern myself with the men under my command, not those who've chosen dismissal."
    "Not the Palace Guard," Remy said certainly, and Ti-Philippe nodded vigorously. "Believe me, my lady, we've haunted the barracks long enough! If Captain Niceaux knew aught of their fate, he'd have told us for the pleasure of seeing our backsides.”
    I could not help but smile. "Well, then. Percy de Somerville claims no knowledge of them; but then, it is Barquiel L'Envers who told me as much, so I do not know if I can believe it. My lord Captain, messires soldiers, might they have reported to Ghislain de Somerville?"
    "Who knows?" Tarren d'Eltoine flicked dust from his sword-hilt. "I heard Lord Percy..." his lip curled, "... would fain see his son succeed him as Royal Commander. That's why he gave Ghislain command of the garrison in Troyes-le-Mont. Then again, Ghislain has his hands full holding the northern borders with Marc de Trevalion."
    "I'd as soon report to Ghislain as the old man," Fitz of L'Agnace said stolidly. "He's the one gave us leave to join the Unforgiven. The old man would've had us digging irrigation ditches in his appleyards if he thought we needed punishing."
    "Kerney and Geoff went back because they were ready to dig ditches instead of graves," Octave reminded him wearily; he had ridden far in the last twelve hours too, I could tell. He shook his head. "I don't know, my lady. We're L'Agnacites, we muster to the Comte ... excuse me, the Duc ... de Somerville's banner. If his lordship doesn't know, one of his subcommanders should."
    I gazed at him. "And if no one knows? Mayhap they went home, without reporting."
    "Mayhap." He said it reluctantly. "But they were owed pay in arrears. I don't think any of 'em would have foregone that. After all, the army's been ordered to stand down."
    Fortun consulted his map of Troyes-le-Mont. "What of Phanuel Buonard?" he asked.
    The L'Agnacites exchanged glances. "No," one of them said eventually. "I remember him. He's the one found poor Davet at the gate. He's Namarrese, he is. He didn't have the balls to become a Black Shield." Glancing at me, he coughed. "Begging my lady's pardon."
    "Certainly," I murmured, wracking my brains for further questions. None availed themselves to me. I glanced at Fortun, who shook his head. So be it. "Thank you, my lord Captain, messires soldiers. You have been most helpful."
    Tarren d'Eltoine gave the order for dismissal. As one, the L'Agnacites knelt, bowing their heads, then rose and departed at a fast jog toward the keep, even the most exhausted among them squaring his shoulders. "They serve well, these farmers' sons," d'Eltoine mused, watching after them. "I must say, it is notable."
    "Anael's scions love the land," I said softly, "as Camael's love the blade. So they say." I did not add that for this reason, no Camaeline had been named Royal Commander in six hundred years. Tarren d'Eltoine would have known what the kings and queens of Terre d'Ange had held true for centuries: Battle for the sake of honor may be a fine thing for bards to sing of, but it is no way to preserve one's homeland. I gazed toward the base of the mountains, picking out the Yeshuite party in the distance, wending its way toward the southern pass, sunlight glinting off the steel plates of their Unforgiven escort. "My lord Captain." I turned back to him. "I am grateful and more for your aid. You have given more than I could ever have required. But now, I fear, we must depart. There is a ship sailing from Marsilikos that will not wait for us."
    He bowed to me from the saddle, then dismounted and went down on one knee, bending his head briefly. "As you must, my lady. I wish you good hunting." Rising, he mounted smoothly, guiding his horse with his knees. "Remember," he said, raising his shield. Like his men's, it was dead black, save a single diagonal stripe of gold to mark his rank. "If you have need of the Unforgiven, we will answer to you. Commend us to your lord, Phèdre nó Delaunay de Montrève!"
    With that, the Captain of Southfort thundered after his men. We sat, Joscelin, my chevaliers and I, gazing after him.
    "Well," I said thoughtfully. "Shall we go to Marsilikos?"

TWENTY-NINE
    We pushed hard