Kushiel's Mercy

they were hostile or sympathetic. Janpier’s pallor darkened ominously throughout the telling of our story. His wife covered her mouth with one hand and sat staring wide-eyed. Their eldest son clenched and unclenched his fists. When Sidonie had finished, there was a burst of Euskerri exchanged.
    “How long before Carthage’s men come?” Janpier Iturralde demanded.
    “I don’t know,” Sidonie said steadily. “A day, mayhap. Mayhap hours. We saw no sign of them, but they’ll be riding hard.”
    “How many?” he asked.
    “Astegal’s cavalry numbers three hundred horse. I don’t know how many he’ll send.”
    “Three hundred!” His brows rose. “That’s all?”
    “It’s a siege army,” I observed. “There are thousands of infantry troops and a massive naval force.”
    “Bah!” Janpier waved a dismissive hand. “But they’re not here, are they?” He turned to his sons—there were three of them all told—and issued a stream of orders in Euskerri.
    The lads nodded and departed in a hurry. The women of the household began bustling about without any orders given.
    “What passes?” I asked Paskal in a low tone.
    “They’re marshaling the village,” he replied.
    “Yes.” Janpier Iturralde overheard us. He pointed a finger at Sidonie. “Euskerria’s hand will not be forced. We are not children to be bought by a simple bribe. We will defend ourselves and slaughter these men of Carthage. Only then will we decide.”
    “Fairly said, etxekojaun ,” Sidonie agreed. “I’m sorry. It was not my wish to imperil Euskerria. But Carthage would have come for you sooner or later. And if Amílcar falls, it will not be three hundred horse. It will be ten thousand on foot. Can you stand against them?”
    He ignored the question. “Go with Laida and the girls. They will take you to a safe place.” He pointed to Paskal and me. “You and you will fight with us.”
    “My lord!” I protested. “It is imperative that her highness Sidonie and I continue on to Terre d’Ange. Will you not grant us passage?”
    “Oh no.” Janpier shook his head. There was a spark of righteous fury in his gaze. “You have led this army to our doorstep. Either you stand beside us to fight them, or we will give them what they want. You.”
    “I’ll fight beside you!” Paskal sounded eager.
    Sidonie and I exchanged a glance. “’Tis a fair request,” I murmured.
    “Imriel . . .” Her eyes glistened. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
    Janpier Iturralde overheard that, too. “What makes you think I could bear to lose a single Euskerri life?” he asked in a cold tone. “Do you imagine you love your kinsman more than I love my own sons? My own flesh and blood?”
    She closed her eyes briefly. “Of course not.”
    “Then he stands with us,” Janpier said.

Sixty
    There was a point north of the village where the pass narrowed so that the Amazigh would be forced to ride no more than three or four abreast, their line strung out and attenuated. It was there that we waited, hidden in the pine forests that flanked the pass on both sides.
    Unorganized, Lady Nicola had called the Euskerri. Elua knows, that was true. There was little in the way of a command structure or a battle plan. A few of the younger lads were posted on lookout, perched high on the pines. When the Amazigh arrived, they’d whistle sharply. We were to rush out with slings and javelins and slaughter Astegal’s men.
    That was the plan.
    The women and children of Roncal had been evacuated to a campsite high in the hills above us where they would be safe, Sidonie among them. We’d parted an hour before sundown. I could still feel her anguished farewell kiss lingering on my lips.
    We waited.
    The Amazigh didn’t come that night. The sentries in the treetops kept their vigil. Those of us on the ground dozed, spread throughout the forest. I reckoned there were less than three hundred men of fighting age in the village, but the Euskerri seemed unconcerned about numbers.
    “Prince Imriel?” Paskal’s voice reached out to me in the darkness, sounding young and uncertain. “What’s it like?”
    “Battle?” I tilted my head in his direction. “Much like escaping from Amílcar.”
    He rustled. “No. Love.”
    “Ah.” I remembered Leander Maignard asking me the same question outside a temple in Cythera. I leaned back against the trunk of the pine tree beneath which I was sitting, the rough bark snagging my hair. “It’s a force to make a man yearn