Kushiel's Mercy (63 page)

“Astegal will never grant you sovereignty,” she said. “Never.”

Janpier offered another stoic shrug. “Then we will fight him here in the mountains. Nothing will have changed but the enemy’s face.”

She raised her gaze to the rafters. “I begin to understand why Aragonia has been so reluctant to deal with the Euskerri.”

He nodded. “We are a proud and stubborn folk. Those are our terms.”

“There are other passes through the mountains,” I observed.

“Yes.” Janpier glanced at me. “All of which we hold, Prince Imriel.”

Sidonie steepled her fingers and bowed her head. I saw her chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath and composed herself. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and even. “
Etxekojaun
, I understand. Please understand that I, too, love my country. Imriel and I hold the key to her freedom. Grant us this compromise. I will accompany you willingly. But I pray you let Imriel continue onward to Terre d’Ange.”

“Sidonie . . .” I murmured.

She shook her head at me. “Don’t argue.”

It didn’t matter. The point was moot. Janpier translated her words for the others. There was a long, heated argument. At the end of it, he turned back to us. “No,” he said simply. “I am sorry, highness. If the decision were mine, I might grant your request. But there is anger and fear.”

“Anger and fear,” she echoed.

“Anger because twelve men have died already,” Janpier said soberly. “Anger at the thought that your kinsman, who is a valuable warrior, would refuse to share our risk while others died. Fear because your country is in the grip of strong magic. We do not doubt this, highness. We know such things in the mountains. I myself am afraid. I fear that if we allow your kinsman to pass, matters will worsen.”

“My lord.” Sidonie closed her eyes briefly. “We hold the key to undoing the spell.”

“Or unleashing war among your people,” Janpier said. “Can you swear it will not take that to accomplish your ends? Can you swear that it will not end with the army of Terre d’Ange arrayed against us?”

I felt sick.

Of course we couldn’t swear to it. We knew far too little of what had passed in Terre d’Ange since I left; and of what little we knew, none of it boded well. We had no idea if Barquiel L’Envers had succeeded in finding the demon-stone, no idea what transpired save that madness yet reigned, and Ysandre had declared Alais, her own daughter, in rebellion against the Crown.

“No,” Sidonie said quietly. “I cannot.”

Janpier nodded. “Then we shall deal with what is known and nothing else. We have Aragonia’s offer. You have our terms. In an hour, we will convene in the square. You will give us your decision and your word beneath the oak.”

With that, we were dismissed.

In the small room we shared, I could feel the fury radiating from Sidonie like heat from an overstoked oven. Elua knows, I was angry, too, but I’d had more experience with life’s unfairness, and I hadn’t been raised to carry the weight of the realm on my shoulders.

“They’ve left us no choice, have they?” she said in a tight voice.

“Not much,” I said. “Assuming they’re not actually planning to restrain us, we could go southeast and try the coastal towns north of Amíl-car. We might be able to find a ship willing to carry us to Marsilikos in another month’s time.”

“In a month’s time, Astegal’s likely to have discovered what happened here. Do you imagine he won’t have his navy patrolling the coast?” Sidonie asked. “Like as not he already does after our last attempt. He’s not stupid.”

“What about the western coast?” I asked, thinking. “Does he have ships there?”

“Not as many.” She scowled. “But the goddamned Euskerri control the northernmost ports on the western coast and those to the south have agreed to Astegal’s terms.”

“Not happily,” I observed.

Sidonie glanced sidelong at me. “He’ll be looking for us. And you and I aren’t exactly the most inconspicuous people in Aragonia.”

“I know.” I frowned. “Sidonie, I’m not afraid of battle. I don’t like it, but I’ll do it. If that were the only term, I’d swallow my bile and accept it. Risking your life and the whole of Terre d’Ange for no good reason is another matter. And the only way I’m willing to accept their terms is if the Euskerri pledge to have a company standing at the ready to whisk you north and across the border at the first sign of defeat.”

She searched my face. “Do you think that’s our best option?”

“Truly?” I nodded. “I do.”

She sighed. “I want a courier. That’s my demand. A courier sent north immediately bearing a letter for Alais and my damned uncle in Turnone. I don’t care if the Euskerri are frightened. If we can do nothing else here, we can send the key home. After all, that’s what truly matters, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “And if the Euskerri don’t agree . . .”

“. . . we take our chances elsewhere,” Sidonie finished my thought. Her anger had drained away, leaving weariness in its wake. “Blessed Elua grant they see reason. I have a feeling that’s not the first time those words have been uttered.”

A short time later we returned to the village square, escorted by Janpier Iturralde and the committee of Euskerri we’d met with an hour ago. The square was thronged with people, even more crowded than it had been the other day. As we pushed our way through to mount the low dais beneath the oak tree, it gave me an uneasy memory of the night we’d gathered in Elua’s Square to witness a marvel promised by Carthaginian horologists.

Janpier raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Have you reached a decision?”

“Yes.” Sidonie faced him. “We will agree to your terms if you will agree to ours. There is one condition without which I will refuse. There is one condition without which Prince Imriel will refuse.”

He nodded impassively. “Speak.”

Sidonie presented our terms. Janpier Iturralde translated them for the crowd, and the now-familiar roar of argument arose, delegates on the dais shouting back and forth with the villagers they represented. I studied Janpier’s face. He met my gaze squarely, but his nostrils flared in a defensive manner.

“We’re not bluffing, my lord,” I said to him. “You have forced our hands, but we
will
walk away from this agreement.”

“There is—” he began.

“Anger and fear.” I cut him off. “Yes. Believe me, I am passing familiar with the emotions this day. Whatever it is you fear from Terre d’Ange, it will come more surely without the key than with it. It is a malevolent magic that binds our realm. Do not be a fool.”

Janpier pointed at Sidonie. “And her? Is her safety worth more than the safety of our wives and sisters and daughters?”

“It is to me,” I said calmly.

He bristled. “You would dare to claim—”

“Yes!” I raised my voice. The blood beat in my ears, clashing like bronze wings. “Yes, Iturralde. As surely as you place Euskerria’s concerns far, far above mine. And
your
wives and sisters and daughters will be far from the battlefield. I pledged my loyalty to Sidonie de la Courcel long ago. Even before I knew I loved her, I swore to lay my life down in her defense.” My hand hovered over my sword-hilt. “If you want me to fight and mayhap die at your side, that is the price. Her safety. I will not be forsworn.”

Janpier looked startled and impressed. “I will tell them.”

I relaxed a little. “Thank you.”

Whether or not that made the difference, I couldn’t say. All in all, we were asking little compared to the sacrifice the Euskerri asked of us. The price they would pay for their freedom was like to be high, yes. But in the end, it was their choice. Ours was forced upon us, and it made me ache inside to turn my back on Terre d’Ange when we were so very close.

And after another hour of clamorous discussion, they agreed to accept our terms.

There beneath the oak tree at the center of Roncal, we swore our oaths. Sidonie and I swore in the name of Blessed Elua and his Companions, I that I would fight at the side of the Euskerri, and she that she would bear witness to the signing of the agreement that granted Euskerria sovereign status in Aragonia’s eyes in the event of our victory. The Euskerri called the sun to bear witness and pledged to fight Carthage unto the death.

The matter was settled.

Once again, we were at war with Carthage.

Sixty-Three

O
nce the matter was settled, things moved quickly.

The Euskerri who had descended on Roncal dispersed like the wind, carrying word to every town and village perched in the mountains. There would be a great force amassing, Janpier Iturralde assured us. Six or seven thousand, he thought, although the Euskerri had never mustered in force before.

Sidonie and I wrote a letter to Alais on a piece of much-scraped parchment Janpier procured for us.

I watched her outline the important details in her neat, precise hand. The truth of what had befallen us, the accord to which we had agreed. The key to undoing the spell: the word,
emmenghanom
. Beholden. And then I watched her falter.

“What do you say, Imriel?” Sidonie asked me in bewilderment. “How do you say it?”

I’d written too many such letters.

“Tell her you love her,” I said gently. “Tell them all. I will, too.”

I liked the courier Janpier found for us: a bold-faced fellow named Nuno Agirre whose family originally hailed from the D’Angeline side of Euskerri territory. His grandfather had been an ardent scholar and all his descendants spoke fluent Caerdicci along with their native tongue. He swore without hesitation beneath the oak tree that he would do his utmost to see the letter delivered.

“It will be an honor,” he added. “Is there any sign by which they will know it is genuine?”

I glanced at Sidonie, who looked dismayed. I thought about how I’d sent my ring, the gold knotted ring, back to her from Skaldia. Alais wouldn’t know the significance of the ring, but there was another item that would suit. I eased the gold torc from around my neck.

“Here.” I handed it to Nuno Agirre. “Alais will know this. Her father the Cruarch gave it to me with his own hands on my wedding day. I wear it in honor of the wife and child I lost.”

Nuno stowed it in his packs along with the letter. “Very well, your highness. May the sun shine brightly on your venture!”

“Blessed Elua hold and keep you,” Sidonie said in reply.

With that, Nuno mounted and departed, lifting one hand in farewell. He was riding one of the swift, tireless Amazigh horses; Janpier hadn’t stinted. We watched his figure dwindle as he reached the far end of the valley and began to climb toward the longed-for and forbidden pass. Sidonie’s lips moved in a silent prayer. I uttered one myself in my thoughts.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” she asked me.

I took her hand. “Of course. He knows the territory, and he strikes me as a man with his wits about him. I reckon his odds are better than ours.”

We sent another courier in the opposite direction during those days of preparation. Paskal had been a great help to us in Roncal. With Janpier’s permission and all the enthusiasm of youth, he had managed to recruit a score of men to serve as Sidonie’s personal guard. A few of them were no older than he was, inflamed by the romanticism of the notion, but I was pleased to find that most appeared to be solid fellows, family men to whom the idea of beating a safe retreat to the mountains appealed more than dashing into battle. And two of them spoke Aragonian, which was a blessing.

Once that was done, Paskal approached us with his idea. “Send me ahead to scout,” he suggested. “General Liberio sent men to the cities nearest Amílcar, to Badalon and Coloma and Tibado, begging them to rise up against Carthage. If any of them got through, I can tell them the Euskerri are coming. Perhaps it will convince them.”

It was an excellent idea, albeit a dangerous one. And so Paskal was dispatched, brimming with enthusiasm. I watched him go, shaking my head and praying he’d find his way safely.

Two days later we departed Roncal.

Sidonie and I bade farewell to Bixenta, who had taken such good care of us. She embraced us both and uttered a blessing in the Eus-kerri tongue. And then we saddled our mounts and rode south with the others.

There was no fanfare, no great proclamation. The Euskerri had gotten all of that out of the way during their debate. The decision to go to war had been made, so to war they went.

There was also precious little in the way of a plan. Euskerri from all over the mountains were to make their way to the foothills above Amíl-car. Mayhap there
would
be six or seven thousand of them. Janpier was convinced of it. If it was true, we would have numbers to equal Astegal’s, as there were a good four thousand Aragonian soldiers in Amílcar itself, and thousands more dispersed across the country, subject to the terms of Roderico’s surrender.

But even so, we had no way of mounting a coordinated attack; and the Euskerri’s idea of warfare was to swarm their enemy from a position of strength. We wouldn’t have that on the plains surrounding Amílcar. What we would have was a ragtag army of thousands with no form of organized leadership. As more and more Euskerri trickled toward the south, it became increasingly obvious that we would be mismatched on open ground.

“If we simply fall on Astegal’s forces from behind, I’m afraid it will be a slaughter,” I said to Sidonie as we rode. “He might have gotten lax about drilling in New Carthage, but they’re disciplined enough to hold formation.”

“I know.” She frowned in thought. “I get the sense the Euskerri are simply hoping to lure them into the hills and ambush them. I’m not sure Astegal’s going to be so easily lured.”

“Any suggestions?” I asked. “You know him better than anyone, and it seems you’ve got as good a head for battle as anyone here.”

Sidonie gave me a wry look. “Do you imagine the Euskerri would actually listen to me?”

“No.” I smiled. “But they might listen to me.”

“I’ll think on it,” she said.

Our journey back to Amílcar took a day longer than our flight from it. Euskerri from east of Roncal had already reached our destination and made camp in a deep basin of a valley some half a league from the city. I was glad to see that at least there were sentries posted atop every hill. Still, it made me feel anxious and exposed, being so close to Carthage’s army and so unprepared to engage it.