Kushiel's Dart

if the Camaelines had unbound Joscelin's hands knowing what would follow.
    It was worse than the Eglantine adepts taunting him in Night's Doorstep, and I stood it as long as I could before I threw away our one advantage.
    "Let him be!" I called to the leader in fluent Skaldic, raising my voice so it carried across the snow. "He does not understand."
    His yellow eyebrows rose, but he betrayed no other sign of surprise. Joscelin, on the other hand, had ceased his futile efforts and stood gaping at me as if I'd grown a third eye. The Skaldi leader waved negligently to his men and moved his horse over to stare down at me. His eyes were a light grey, and disconcertingly shrewd.
    "Kilberhaar's men didn't tell me you spoke our tongue," he mused.
    "They didn't know," I replied in it, doing my best to hold his gaze despite my shivering. Kilberhaar; Silverhair, I thought, and remembered Isidore d'Aiglemort's pale, shining hair. "There are many things they do not know."
    The Skaldi gave his roaring laugh, tossing back his head. "Those are true words, D'Angeline! You say your comrade does not understand. Do you?"
    I knelt in the snow, as gracefully as my cold-stiffened joints would allow, and kept my gaze on his face. "I understand I am your slave, my lord."
    "Good." A look of satisfaction spread across his face. "Harald," he shouted to one of his men, "give my slave a cloak! These D'Angelines are frail creatures, and I would not have her die of cold before she has a chance to warm my bed!"
    It got a laugh; I didn't care, for a young man whose mustache was barely started rode over grinning and tossed me a thick garment of wolfskin. I wrapped it around me and pinned it with frozen fingers.
    "Thin blood," observed my Skaldi lord, "though they say it runs hot." Reaching down with one brawny arm, he lifted me into the saddle behind him. "You ride with me, little one. I am Gunter Arnlaugson. Tell your companion to be wise."
    He wheeled his horse, bringing us broadside of the still-staring Cas-siline.
    "Joscelin, don't," I said through chattering teeth. "They won't kill us out of hand; they paid too dear. Skaldi value their slaves."
    "No." His blue eyes were fixed and wide, nostrils flared. "I failed you with Melisande Shahrizai, and I failed you with d'Aiglemort's men, but I swear it, Phedre, I won't fail you here! Don't ask me to betray my oath!" He lowered his voice. "The Skaldi's sword is in your reach. Get it to me, and I swear I will get us out of here."
    I didn't look; I could feel it, the leather-wrapped hilt protruding from Gunter's sword-belt near my left elbow. Joscelin was right, it was in my reach.
    And we were alone, in a frozen wasteland. Even armed, the Cassiline was still outnumbered eight to one, by mounted Skaldi warriors.
    "I have lived in servitude all my life," I said softly. "I'm not willing to die for your oath." I touched Gunter's shoulder. He looked back at me, and I shook my head. "He is too proud," I said in Skaldic. "He will not heed."
    The shrewd grey eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Bring him!" he called to his men. "And have a care he does not hurt himself on your spears," he added with another roar of laughter.
    It took all seven, and I had to watch it.
    I daresay Joscelin himself had never known, until that moment, what true battle-fury was. He fought like a beast at bay, bellowing with rage, and for a time I could see nothing but horses' bodies and thrashing limbs. He succeeded in wrenching a short spear loose from one of them and kept them all at a distance then, jabbing and threatening; if it had been a more familiar weapon ... I don't know. I cannot afford to guess.
    "He looks like a girl," Gunter commented, his expression lively with interest, "but he fights like a man. Like two men!"
    "He is trained to it from childhood," I said in his ear. "D'Angelines have betrayed him, the man you call Kilberhaar. Make him your friend, and he may fight for you against him."
    It was a risk. Gunter's gaze slewed around to me, considering. "Kilberhaar is our ally," he said. "He pays us gold to raid your villages."
    The shock of it went through me like a knife, but I kept it from showing on my features. "To have a traitor for an ally is to have an enemy-in-waiting," I said solemnly, silently blessing the number of hours I had spent translating Skaldic poetry. Gunter Arnlaugson made no reply, and I kept my mouth shut, leaving him to think on it. His men, half of them dismounted, finally succeeded in bringing down the