Kushiel's Dart

it was as if I stood outside myself, watching.
    They made conference long into the night, tallying the numbers, arranging our joined forces into the most effective array of legions. D'Aiglemort and his captain of infantry; Ghislain; Drustan and the Twins; and I, on hand to translate, with Joscelin as my ever-present protector. The Cruithne and the Dalriada had little notion of battle formation, but they grasped it quickly enough.
    Still, it was agreed that the Camaeline infantry would form the front line of our attack. Isidore d'Aiglemort's reputation was no fluke; he was an extremely skilled soldier, and every man who served under him was trained and disciplined. Once the Skaldi had begun to rally, we would loose the Alban army, cavalry and chariots sweeping around the outer flanks, followed by the hordes of foot soldiers.
    And when chaos ensued, the Camaeline infantry would part, and d'Aiglemort's cavalry would penetrate into the heart of the Skaldi forces, driving toward Waldemar Selig. He would be at the forefront of the attack on Troyes-le-Mont, I could well guess; Selig was not one to lead from behind. They would have to pierce deep to reach him.
    "How good is he?" Isidore d'Aiglemort asked abruptly, looking up from our hastily sketched battle plan to meet Joscelin's eyes. "Do you know, Cassiline?"
    Joscelin returned the gaze unblinking. "He disarmed me," he said flatly. "In the heat of battle. He is that good, my lord."
    I expected some comment from the Due d'Aiglemort, but he somehow took Joscelin's measure in the long stare that they exchanged, and only nodded, lamplight gleaming on his silver-pale hair. "Then I shall have to be better," he said quietly, touching the hilt of his sword.
    Joscelin hesitated, then spoke. "Don't wait to engage him. He'll move inside your guard if you do. He fights without thinking, the way you or I breathe. And don't be fooled by his size. He's faster than you think."
    "Thank you." D'Aiglemort nodded again, gravely.
    We spent the whole of the next day making ready to march, while scouting parties rode ahead, searching out our Skaldi pursuers, and reporting back on the state of the siege. We had word before we set out the following morning: The fortifications had fallen, and the Skaldi were at the gates of Troyes-le-Mont.
    It had been the right decision, to seek Isidore d'Aiglemort's aid. Even if our plan of harrying the Skaldi had worked, we'd not have had the time to divide their forces. I'd no head for warfare and strategy, there was no more I could do, save translate when needed, and stay out of the way when not. I had played my last card. What happened next was out of my hands.
    Why, then, did I feel this strange unease, this nagging feeling of something undone?
    All through the long march back toward Namarre, it persisted. I gazed at the people who surrounded me, seeking an answer in their faces. Now that our course was set and we were in motion, the strangeness in them had passed, giving way to grim resolution. Here and there, I saw the inward-looking gaze of those facing death; and here and there, too, I saw the hope and defiance. Drustan mab Necthana had it, riding with his head high, dark eyes shining. No matter what else, he was riding toward Ysan-dre, whom he loved. Grainne and Eamonn had it, too, sharing grins; I saw how alike they looked, then, in the face of battle.
    I looked at Ghislain de Somerville, and his expression was set and hard. He had planned as best he could, the Royal Commander's son. His father could have done no better. Isidore d'Aiglemort glittered in his armor, his gaze fixed on the distance like an archer's upon a faraway target, a faint smile upon his face as he rode toward his fate.
    And Joscelin, who rode at my side, quiet and worried. It gave me a pain in my heart to look at him.
    Blessed Elua, I prayed, what would you have me do? Nothing but silence answered. I prayed to Naamah, then, whose servant I was. Whatever it was, it was not in her service. All I could do, and more, I had done in Naamah's name.
    And I was Kushiel's chosen.
    I prayed to him.
    My blood surged like the tide, whispering in answer. All my life, I had honored Elua; since I was a child, I had served Naamah. But it was Kushiel who had marked me, and Kushiel who claimed me now. I felt his presence, enfolding me like a mighty hand. My lord Kushiel, I prayed, what must I do?
    You will know . . .
    How long had we been on the road? I could not count the number of weeks, months. It