Kushiel's Dart

lower passes, "the fighting is at a standstill. The numbers were too few. And here," he indicated the eastern edge of Eisande, that bordered on Caerdicca Unitas, "a force of the allied Caerdicci city-states holds, lest the Skaldi break through."
    "Cowards," Quintilius Rousse muttered, his voice full of loathing. "The best they would offer, no doubt. My lord, can you tell me where my fleet lies?"
    "They fly the swan?" the Master of the Straits asked; it surprised me, a little, that he did not know for a surety, although the faces on the water gave no names. Rousse affirmed it. "Here." The bone-white finger moved along the course of the Rhenus. "They hold the northern border with the Azzallese."
    "Good lads," Rousse said gruffly.
    "Then the Due de Morbhan let them go," I mused. "Where's de Morbhan, anyway? Did anyone see his banner?"
    Heads shook. I pored over the basin, frowning. "Where is Isidore d'Aiglemort?" I asked the Master of the Straits, forgetting to be afraid of him. "He commands an army still, yes?"
    "The silver-haired hawk of the north." The pointing finger hovered over an area along the upper border of Camlach and Namarre. "Here, today," the Master of the Straits said; his fingertip touched the surface of the water, and the map rippled and wavered. "Tomorrow, near. He has trapped himself in his folly."
    "Good," I said bitterly, thinking of Baudoin's Glory-Seekers, the hundreds of loyal Camaelines who'd died to pin him there. I touched the diamond around my throat. "Where is Melisande Shahrizai?"
    The Master of the Straits hesitated, then shook his head. The sun, setting in the west, filled his mutable eyes with bloodred fire. Gildas and Tilian waited some feet away, agitated; it was time to descend the steps and refill the bronze basin. "Great events, I see reflected," said the Master of the Straits. "Small, I cannot see, unless the face is known to me."
    "History hinges on small events," Quintilius Rousse said direly. Jos-celin shifted, the sun at his back throwing the cruciform shadow of his sword-hilt across the bronze waters.
    "There," Drustan mab Necthana breathed in Cruithne, ignoring us all. Leaning forward, he tapped the site of Troyes-le-Mont with one finger as had the Master of the Straits, marking the spot where Ysandre's face had last been seen. Circular ripples spread outward, obliterating the map. When the waters stilled, it did not reform, but merely reflected sky and setting sun. "There is where we will go!"
    He looked up at me, dark eyes gleaming in his blue masque. I glanced at Quintilius Rousse, the only one among us with military expertise, who looked to the Master of the Straits.
    The tall, robed figure turned away, pacing to the far verge of the temple. "The Cruarch of Alba spoke truly when he said I did not play you fair. I will set your fleet where you will, where the shore touches sea. No more can I do. I have no mastery over land, to traverse it at will. First and Second Sisters I rule from the Third, though I may not leave her soil. No more can I do."
    "My lord Admiral?" I held my gaze on Quintilius Rousse.
    Rousse cleared his throat. "To the mouth of the Rhenus, then, Elder Brother, and as far up her shores as your wind may drive us." He scratched his chin and looked at the rest of us. "We'll rendezvous with my fleet and Ghislain de Somerville's forces and secure the northern border. Mayhap combined we can think of a way to break the siege on Troyes-le-Mont."
    I translated this for Drustan, who nodded curtly. Young and lovesick he might be, but not such a fool as to throw away his people's lives in a desperate charge.
    "Tomorrow at dawn," the Master of the Straits spoke, turning round to face us, his face terrible and pale against the darkening skies. "The seas will carry you where you wish. Be ready."
    "We will be," I whispered, shivering.
    We were dismissed. Gildas and Tilian hurried past us to take up the bronze vessel, lifting it gently from the tripod and carrying it with exquisite care to the verge of the steps. I watched them disappear, piece by piece, as they descended one step at a time. I did not envy their job.
    Walking back toward the tower, I gazed up the length of it, oriel windows lit from within, blazing amber, cobalt, ruby and sea-green across the rocky terrain. The chamber at the very top of the tower was ringed all round with them.
    Hyacinthe.

EIGHTY
    We set sail at dawn.
    Needless to say, much of the evening was spent in planning. At our request, the