The Curse of Chalion

And his men were marched to safety.

And his feet alone went down another road...

What was it that Ista had said? The gods' most savage curses come to us as answers to our own prayers. Prayer is a dangerous business.

So, in choosing to share one's will with the gods, was it enough to choose once, like signing up to a military company with an oath? Or did one have to choose and choose and choose again, every day? Or was it both? Could he step off this road anytime, get on a horse, and ride to, say, Darthaca, to a new name, a new life? Just like Umegat's postulated hundred other Cazarils, who'd not even shown up for duty. Abandoning, of course, all who'd trusted him, Iselle and Ista and the Provincara, Palli and Betriz...

But not, alas, Dondo.

He squirmed a little on the mat, uncomfortably aware of the pressure in his belly, trying to convince himself it was just the Fox's banquet, and not his tumor creeping to hideous new growth. Racing to some grotesque completion, waiting only for the Lady's hand to falter. Maybe the gods had learned from Ista's mistake, from dy Lutez's failure of nerve, as well? Maybe they were making sure their mule couldn't desert in the middle like dy Lutez this time... ?

Except into death. That door was always ajar. What waited him on the other side? The Bastard's hell? Ghostly dissolution? Peace?

Bah.

On the other side of the Temple plaza, in the Daughter's house, what waited him was a nice soft bed. That his brain had reached this feverish spin was a good sign he ought to go get in it. This wasn't prayer anyway, it was just argument with the gods.

Prayer, he suspected as he hoisted himself up and turned for the door, was putting one foot in front of the other. Moving all the same.

At the last moment, with principles agreed upon, treaties written out in multiple copies in a fair court hand, signed by all parties and their witnesses, and sealed, practicalities nearly brought all to a halt. The Fox, not without reason in Cazaril's view, balked at sending his son into Chalion with so little guarantee of his personal safety. But the roya had neither the men nor the money in his war-weary royacy to raise a large force to guard Bergon, and Cazaril was fearful of the effect upon Chalion of taking arms across the border, even in so fair a cause. Their debate grew heated; the Fox, shamed by the reminder that he owed Bergon's very life to Cazaril, took to avoiding Cazaril's petitions in a way that reminded Cazaril forcibly of Orico.

Cazaril received Iselle's first ciphered letter, via the relay of couriers from the Daughter's Order that he had set up on their outbound route. It had been penned just four days after he had left Cardegoss, and was brief, simply confirming that Teidez's funeral rites had taken place without incident, and that Iselle would leave the capital that afternoon with his cortege for Valenda and the interment. She noted, with obvious relief, Our prayers were answered—the sacred animals showed the Son of Autumn has taken him up after all. I pray he will find ease in the god's good company. She added, My eldest brother lives, and has back sight in one eye. But he remains very swollen. He stays at home, abed. More chillingly, she reported: Our enemy has set two of his nieces as ladies-in-waiting in my household. I will not be able to write often. The Lady speed your embassy.

He looked in vain for a postscript from Betriz, nearly missing it till he turned the paper over. Minute numbers in her distinctive hand lay half-hidden beneath the cracked wax of the seal itself. He scraped at the residue with his thumbnail. The brief notation thus revealed led him to a page toward the back of the book, one of Ordol's most lyrical prayers: a passionate plea for the safety of a beloved one who traveled far from home. How many years—decades—had it been since someone far away had prayed just for him? Cazaril wasn't even sure if this had been meant for his eyes, or only for those of the gods, but he touched the tiny cipher secretly to the five sacred points, lingering a little on his lips, before leaving his chamber to seek Bergon.

He shared the other side of the letter with the royse, who studied it, and the code system, with fascination. Cazaril composed a brief note telling of the success of his mission, and Bergon, his tongue clamped between his teeth, laboriously ciphered out a letter in his own hand to go to his new betrothed along with it.