Kushiel's Dart

thrashing Joscelin, wrestling the spear from his grasp and forcing him facedown in the snow.
    "What shall we do with him?" one of them called.
    Gunter thought about it a moment. "Tie his hands and let him run behind your horse, Wili!" he called. "We will tire the fight from this wolf-cub before we reach the steading."
    It was quickly done, and we set out, riding beneath the bright blue sky. I clung awkwardly behind Gunter, pathetically grateful for the fur cloak and his burly frame blocking the wind, and trying not to look back at Joscelin. They had bound his wrists before him, attaching a long thong like a lead, and one of the Skaldi held the end, forcing the Cassiline to run behind his horse. Joscelin floundered in the snow, sometimes losing his footing and being dragged, until the Skaldi halted and gave him time to gain his feet. His breath came raggedly and his face was bright red with cold, but his eyes glared fierce blue hatred of everything and everyone around him.
    Including me.
    Hate me, I thought, and live, Cassiline.
    It was nearing nightfall when we reaching the steading, our shadows stretching long and black before us across the deep snows. Gunter made up a song as we rode and sang it aloud in a powerful voice, about how he had outfoxed Kilberhaar and captured a D'Angeline warrior-prince and his consort; it was a good song, and I didn't bother to correct him. By that time, I was so cold, I could barely think.
    There were a handful of snug cottages in the steading and a great hall. The doors to the hall were flung open wide as we approached, and men and women alike poured out shouting congratulations. Gunter dismounted, beaming, firelight from the hall catching the bronze fillet that bound his hair. He lifted me down from his horse and shoved me toward a knot of Skaldi. "See my new bed-slave!" he roared. "Is she not fine?"
    Hands grasped at me, prodding and examining; too many faces, crowding close, ruddy and rough-hewn. I struggled free, searching for Joscelin.
    He had sunk to his knees behind the Skaldi's horse, exhaustion compelling the obedience that nothing else would. Whoever said the Cassiline Brotherhood was a humble order, lied. His chest heaved, and his hair had come completely loose from its tidy club, rimed with frost. He glared through it at me.
    "Joscelin," I murmured, cupping his cold face in my hands. He jerked his head away and spat at me. I felt Gunter's hands on my shoulders, drawing me away, tucking me under one massive arm.
    "Look at him!" he said jovially. "A proper wolf-cub, he is! Let him spend the night with the hounds, then, eh?"
    There was no shortage of willing hands to wrestle the Cassiline into submission. Laughing and shouting, a group of young men dragged him away; to the kennels, I could only surmise. I was spun around again by Gunter's grasp, propelled staggering into the warmth of the great hall.
    "Shame on you, Gunter Arnlaugson!" The exclamation came from a woman, against whom I fetched up like a bit of flotsam, stumbling away awkwardly. She was young, and pretty enough by Skaldic standards, with sun-colored hair and sharp blue eyes. At this moment, she had both hands planted firmly on her hips, and her eyes were narrowed. "The poor thing's half-frozen and terrified to death, and you're bragging about bed-rights! No wonder you've not found a woman to warm it before this."
    A round of laughter echoed from the rafters, and my fiercesome Skaldi lord looked down and shuffled his feet, before coming up with a retort. "Ah, Hedwig, you know I'd no need to go raiding over D'Angeline borders if you would have me, lass!" he said, grinning. "Now there's no telling what this little one can teach me, and you'll be sorry for the loss of it!"
    "Not tonight, you won't." Despite the laughter his retort won, her reply was no less acerbic. "A bowl of warm soup, and a turn by the fire, that's what you need, isn't it, child?" she said kindly.
    "She's a barbarian, Hedwig, she can't understand a word of it," someone said good-naturedly.
    "I understand," I said in Skaldic, struggling to make my voice heard. Still shivering under my fur cloak, I sank to my knees and grasped her work-roughened hand, kissing it. "Thank you, my lady."
    Embarrassed, Hedwig snatched her hand away. "Gods above, we'll have none of that here, child! We're not savages, we don't make slaves crawl on their knees!" Gunter had not said as much, I thought, rising, and filed the thought for future usage. Clapping her hands,