Kushiel's Dart

and fled for the City. Was that wrong?"
    It was a gamble. I couldn't be sure of where we were, nor how well these scouts knew all the mountain villages. One thing was sure, though. Trefail had been destroyed by the Skaldi. I knew, because it was the village where Alcuin had been born.
    "No, no, not wrong." The scout's face was unreadable in the shifting firelight, embers scattered across the snow by Joscelin's attempt to extinguish it. "You thought we were Skaldi?"
    "You might have been." I shuddered and stole a glance at Joscelin. He was silent under the shadow of the wolf-mask on his brow. "We didn't know, my lord. My cousin got scared." Joscelin nodded without speaking, somehow managing to make it seem a dumb-show, for which I was grateful.
    The leader chewed at his lower lip, ruminating. I saw his gaze wander over us, assessing our garb, our gear. I kept my head slightly averted, trusting to the flame-cast darkness to hide the tell-tale mark of Kushiel's Dart. For a moment, I thought we'd get away with it; but the scions of Camael are too martial to trust wholly to the element of chance in a chance encounter.
    "There's nothing for you in the City of Elua," he said cannily. "Winter's been hard, and it's fever-stricken. You'll ride with us to Bois-le-Garde. The Marquis le Garde won't turn away Camaeline refugees, you'll be well taken care of." He turned to one of his men. "Brys, ride on and tell the castellan we're coming in. Be sure to give him the details."
    He stressed the last words; there was no mistake. The le Garde rider began to turn his horse's head northward.
    Joscelin moved like lightning; and what's more, he did it more like a Skaldi than a Cassiline, with brutal efficiency. One dagger-one dagger only-flashed from his sheath as he grabbed the leader of Bois-le-Garde's scouting party, setting his blade to the man's throat.
    "Everyone," he said tersely. "Dismount. Now!"
    They obeyed, eyes glaring fury. He set his teeth and held the dagger steady; their leader stood unmoving.
    I didn't need orders. Working frantically, I stowed our gear, lashing the packs onto our Skaldi pony.
    "Two horses." Joscelin held himself rigid; I could see the effort it cost him, to hold a dagger on a fellow D'Angeline. He was breathing hard. "Scatter the rest."
    I did it, though over a dozen armed warriors stood frozen in hatred, unwilling to sacrifice their leader by interfering with me. The horses scattered reluctantly, trained to obey; I had to shout and wave my arms, slapping at their hindquarters with ferocity. They ran, then, in all directions, save the two whose reins I'd lashed to a tree. They tugged at their restraints, large eyes rolling to show the whites.
    "Ph . . . Suriah, mount up." Joscelin cursed at his near-slip, jerking the dagger. The leader inhaled sharply.
    "You won't get away," he said bitterly. "We'll come after you."
    "Our kin in Marsilikos will protect us!" I said defiantly. "You've no right to detain free D'Angelines!"
    "Quiet!" Joscelin hissed at me. "Suriah, get out of here!"
    He'd followed my lead; I followed his, freeing one of the Camaeline horses, swinging into the saddle and plunging headlong through the woods, trailing the pony on a lead-rope.
    To any who've not tried it, I do not recommend a blind flight through the wilds on horseback. We blundered, crashing through the undergrowth, both animals caught by the contagion of my fear. Joscelin caught up with us no more than half a mile out, a dark blurred figure on horseback, and we rode for our lives.
    It was a clear night, Blessed Elua be thanked, the stars standing distant and frosty overhead; if not for that, we would surely have been lost, but the Great Plow and the Navigator's Star stood clear in the black skies above us, guiding our way and shedding their faint silvery light over the snowy landscape. Fixing a map in my mind, I headed us grimly south, hoping to intersect one of the great roads of the realm: Eisheth's Way, that the Tiberians call the Via Paullus.
    Eisheth's Way leads south, to the coast; Marsilikos is her greatest city-founded long ago by Hellenes, even before Elua's time-and because it is a harbor city, a great many wanderers end there. I hoped the Marquis le Garde's men would take our bait, and follow our trail south.
    We reached Eisheth's Way come dawn, our Camaeline mounts stag gering with exhaustion, foam-flecked and winded. The pony trotted behind us, sides heaving, still game; half-dead with tiredness as I was, it put me