Kushiel's Dart

through our darkened camp-no fires had been allowed, lest the Skaldi spot them-and sought out Isidore d'Aiglemort.
    He came awake in an instant when I knelt by his side, inborn Ca-maeline reflexes sending him reaching for his sword. Its point was at my throat before I could speak.
    "You," he said, eyes narrowing in the moonlight. "What is it?"
    "My lord." I spoke in a low voice that would not carry. "The fortress will be ready for your attack."
    Sheathing his sword, d'Aiglemort stared at me. "You'll be captured."
    "Not before I gain the wall." I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. "The Skaldi camp is full of D'Angeline women. I can get close enough. And I can give a warning Ysandre will understand."
    D'Aiglemort shook his head slowly. "Do you not understand? Selig will make you talk. You'll give us all up for dead."
    "No." A dreadful laugh caught in my throat. "No, my lord. I am the one person who will not."
    It was too dark for him to make out the scarlet mote in my left eye, but I saw him look anyway, and remember. Isidore d'Aiglemort pushed his shining hair back from his face. "Why are you telling me?" he asked in a hard voice.
    "Because you, my lord, are the one person who won't try to stop me," I said softly. "Help me get past our sentries. A hundred lives for every minute, you said. I can save a thousand, at least; mayhap three times that many. I gave you the choice of your death. The least you can do is honor mine."
    I thought he might refuse, but in the end, he gave a curt nod. I had chosen well, in Isidore d'Aiglemort. We walked together to the outskirts of our encampment, where one of his men was posted. D'Aiglemort called him aside for a word, and the soldier obeyed with alacrity. It is no discredit to him that he did not see as I slipped past in the shadows. He was not looking to be deceived.
    So I left the camp.
    When all was said and done, I have made harder journeys. It could not even compare to Joscelin's and my flight through the frigid depths of a Skaldic winter, and it was fraught with none of the unnatural terrors of crossing the Straits. But there are ways and ways for a thing to be difficult, and in some of them, this was the hardest journey of all.
    Once I left d'Aiglemort behind, I was alone.
    It took a great deal of care, climbing soundlessly down the foothills. I'd have taken a horse, if I dared, but Ghislain's L'Agnacite archers were posted with orders to shoot at anything that stirred on the approaches. I would not test their skill, even shooting blind. They can shoot a crow in a cornfield by the rustle of the grasses, and a horse makes a good deal of noise, and a sizeable target by moonlight.
    I made a small target and very little noise.
    know what-the clasp of my girdle, mayhap-caught on the rough timbers that formed the framework of the bulwark. I wriggled frantically, struggling not to panic, striving to remain silent. I was stuck fast. Kushiel, I thought, you did not send me to die here. I gave one last convulsive push, and something gave way, allowing me to spill out on the far side of the wall.
    Collecting myself, I knelt in the darkness and glanced around.
    I was behind enemy lines once more.
    Far ahead of me stood the embattled fortress, looming against the night sky. The outer windows were darkened, but I could see lights moving deep within, and torches on the battlements, where patrols went to-and-fro, keeping a watch on the quiet Skaldi camp.
    Between us lay the Skaldi.
    Taking a deep breath, I left the wall and began to make my way through the encampment.
    The outermost ranks were the easiest. Trusting to Selig and the sentries, they slept deeply, rolled in their cloaks, letting the embers of their watch-fires burn low. The Skaldi had no fear of being seen; all the world knew where they were.
    Picking my torturous way among them, I could see where the divisions lay, tribal and deeply ingrained. I had seen it at the Allthing; I knew. Here and there, among the slumbering camps, lay lines of division. Manni and Marsi, Gambrivü, Suevi and Vandalü... I picked my way among them, following the invisible faultlines, avoiding an outstretched hand here, an iron-thewed leg there.
    It is not to say that there were none awake and watching, and none who saw me. Some Skaldi were, and did, much as I sought to avoid it. But they saw-what? A lone D'Angeline woman, young and disheveled, shivering with fear. I kept my head bowed, and angled toward the direction from which they'd brought