Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [124]
The door swung open; Liss at last.
“Liss. Run at once and find some woman used to tending wounds—the Mother’s craft must have much practice here—have her bring her soap and salves and needles, and a servant to carry water as well.”
“What? Why?” She trod closer in curiosity.
“Lord Illvin is badly cut.”
At this point, Liss saw the blood, and she gasped. “Yes, Royina. But—how could . . . ?”
“You saw the spear thrust.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grew very wide indeed, and she turned and ran.
Goram peeked quickly under the pad and clapped it tight again. Ista hung over his shoulder. The puncture was not so deep as she had feared; already the sluggish flow of blood was diminishing. “Good, Goram. Keep pressing.”
“Aye, lady.”
Ista waited, shifting from foot to foot, until voices sounded again from the gallery outside. Liss opened the door for a woman in an apron bearing a basket, and ushered her in; a male servant followed.
“Lord Illvin . . .” Ista began, and glanced at Goram, “fell out of bed and struck his shoulder.” On what? Ista’s invention failed her. She passed rapidly on. “Tend to him and bind him. Help Goram clean up. Speak of this to no one but me, Lord Arhys, or Lady Cattilara.”
Those of the rescue party from Porifors who hadn’t chased after the Jokonans might be escorting their new guests through the gates just about now, Ista guessed. She strode for the door. “Liss, attend me.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I STA HURRIED UNDER THE ARCHWAY INTO THE ENTRY COURT IN time to see the flushed and gasping Learned dy Cabon sag from his horse into the arms of one of Lord Arhys’s men. The soldier helped the divine totter a few steps to collapse in the narrow shade of the wall by the almond tree. He held a worried hand to dy Cabon’s face and spoke to a servant, who hurried away. Dy Cabon struggled out of his semiconcealing brown vest-cloak, letting it fall around him to the petal-strewn pavement.
Foix, looking almost equally hot and harried, jumped from his horse, threw down the reins, and strode to the divine’s side.
“Curse it, Foix,” dy Cabon wheezed, staring up at him, “I told you to stop playing with that thing.”
“Fine,” Foix snarled back. “Ride back and lie down by the side of the road for Jokonan dog meat, if you don’t like it. The pack could feast for a month.”
The servant arrived, and, at the soldier’s gesture, upended a bucket of water slowly over dy Cabon, soaking his dirty white robes. Dy Cabon did not recoil or protest, but just sat limply, raising his chin and opening his mouth.
Foix nodded in gratitude and took a tin cup of water that another servant proffered from a second bucket, gulped it down, then scooped up a second and third and repeated the performance. With a fretful grimace, he ladled up another cupful, squatted by dy Cabon’s side, and held it to the divine’s lips. Dy Cabon lifted a shaking hand to it, guzzling noisily.
The soldier gave Ista a respectful salute as she approached, and murmured to her, “Very close to the heatstroke, that one. It’s a bad sign when a man that big stops sweating. But don’t worry, Royina, we’ll get him right around.”
Foix’s head swiveled. “Royina!” he cried. “Five gods be thanked! I kiss your hands, I kiss your feet!” He pushed another cup of water into dy Cabon’s grip and lunged over to one knee before her skirts, grasping her hands and planting a hot kiss on the back of each. “Ah!” He pressed them to his sweaty forehead in a less formal but entirely sincere addition. He did not rise immediately, but swung one leg around and sat cross-legged and wheezing, allowing his broad shoulders, for just this moment of safety, to slump.
He grinned up at Liss, flanking Ista. “So, you made it here, too. Might have known.”
She grinned back. “Yes, you might.”
“Been chasing after your dust since Maradi.