Kushiel's Dart

the prisoners, praying it would suffice.
    Elua was merciful; it did.
    So many Skaldi! It was unreal to me, the numbers of them. And they looked so harmless, sleeping, fierce mustaches and braided beards like adornments on their sleep-softened faces, shields and weapons set aside like children's toys. Would that they were no more than they seemed in slumber.
    It grew more difficult the closer I got to Troyes-le-Mont. I held my line toward the prisoners' camp as long as I dared, but at last I must cut inward, heading for the fortress, toward where the burned skeleton of a siege tower reared up above the moon-glimmering water of the moat. Selig had patrols posted here, roaming along the perimeter, keeping an eye on the defenders.
    All my wiles I used to avoid their detection; even so, it scarce sufficed. I ducked back hard to evade an approaching patrol, huddling in the shadow of a firm-planted shield.
    The corner of my cloak caught the edge of a stack of spears, sending them clattering to earth.
    The nearest Skaldi, his arm thrown carelessly over a young D'Angeline woman, stirred and lifted his head. He blinked at me, bleary-eyed, then smiled slowly.
    "Where do you run to, little dove?" he asked in Skaldi, raising himself on one arm. "Come, I'll show you your new home!"
    One looks for aid where one can, in times of fear; my terrified gaze slid to the woman beside him. Her eyes were wide and clear. She had been awake. We stared at each other in the moonlight, D'Angelines alike, and I realized that she wore the rent and dirt-stained robes of a priestess of Naamah.
    Of course; we were in Namarre, Naamah's country.
    But I had not thought the Skaldi would raid her temples.
    "Where are you going, messire?" she asked in D'Angeline, catching his arm and drawing him back to her. "Would you leave me to the cold?"
    If he did not understand her words, he understood her intent, laughing and nuzzling her neck. Crouched in the shadows, I held her gaze as it watched me over the warrior's shoulder, bleak and resolute. I mouthed the words silently-thank you-and fled into the darkness, offering a blessing to Naamah, who had protected her Servant.
    So I gained the ruined siege tower.
    How often had I cursed Anafiel Delaunay for forcing me to endure the endless drill of our tumbling-master? I have repented of it since; I repented of it now, grasping the scorched timbers and hauling myself upward.
    Up, up into the night I climbed, facing the grey stone walls of Troyes-le-Mont, from which I was separated only by the width of the narrow moat. The tower had gotten close; if they'd bridged the moat, it was high enough to clear the battlements.
    But they hadn't, and the distance of their failure was the distance of my fate. I climbed as high as I dared, charcoal from the burned framework smudging my torn hands and rent clothing. Still, a kind of exhilaration overcame me, as it had on the rafters of Selig's Great Hall.
    On the sloping underside of the nearest tower was a muertriere , an opening from which the defenders could shoot at the attackers below. Surely, I thought, it must be manned in such times. I broke off bits of burned timber from the framework of the siege tower, tossing them at the narrow window.
    Lights moved within, torches bobbing. I saw the blur of a D'Angeline face, removed quickly and replaced with the point of a crossbow's quarrel, aimed in my direction.
    My blood beat in my ears.
    "Hold!" I cried aloud, letting my voice ring clear in the night. "In the name of Ysandre de la Courcel, hold!"
    The archer held; and shouts arose from the Skaldi patrol. Figures raced in the darkness below me, swarming the base of the tower. The crossbow withdrew, replaced by the same face, perplexed eyes meeting my own.
    I clung to the framework, leaning out as far as I dared, letting the faint torchlight from the battlements above illumine my face. "Tell the Queen," I shouted, "that Delaunay's other pupil has done her bidding!"
    That much, and no more, I got out, before hands grasped me from below, dragging at me. My fingers lost their grip, splinters wedged beneath my nails; then I was loose and falling, my head striking hard against a timber before I was caught ungently by Skaldi arms.
    They forced me down the burned tower, pushing me harshly, but not letting me fall when my trembling arms gave way or my feet slipped from the supports. I could hear the uproar arising in the camp, watchfires fanned to a blaze as I was brought to earth.
    One of