Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [146]
She tightened her fingers, and Feather stopped and stood in a placid obedience. She let the reins fall to his withers and stretched her hands, letting her spirit follow along with her body. And then, for the first time, flow beyond her body. Bastard, help me. Curse You. She did not, did not dare, try to break the underlying lines of the demon’s spell yet, but she set her ligatures and summoned soul-fire. The white line from Illvin to Arhys blazed up like a thatch catching alight in a distant dark.
Arhys’s deep voice sounded from within, irritable as a man waking from sleep: “What is this? Illvin . . . ?”
Cattilara’s screaming abuse abruptly stopped. Her head drew in, and she shrank in her seat. Panting, she glowered at Ista.
Movement sounded within the wagon: a creak, bootsteps on the floorboards. Arhys poked his head out and stared around. “Bastard’s hell! Where are we?” A glance at the familiar landscape evidently answered the question to his satisfaction, for he turned his frown on his weeping wife. “Cattilara, what have you done?”
On the wagon’s other side, the tensed Foix breathed relief and sent a small salute of thanks in Ista’s direction. The mauve flicker waiting in his palm died away.
Cattilara turned in her seat and threw her arms around her husband’s thighs in wild supplication. Goram ducked out of her way. “My lord, my lord, no! Order these people away! Tell Goram to drive on! We must escape! She is evil, she wants to encompass your death!”
Automatically, he patted her hair. His rolling eye fell on Ista, watching grimly. “Royina? What is this?”
“What is the last thing you remember, Lord Arhys?”
His brows drew in. “Cattilara sent me an urgent message to attend upon her at the garrison’s stable yard. I walked in and found this wagon standing at the ready there, then—nothing after that.” His frown deepened.
“Your wife took it into her head to carry you off and seek healing for you elsewhere than Porifors. To what extent she was encouraged in this by her demon, I know not, but it certainly assisted her in it. Illvin was brought along principally, I suppose, as your commissary.”
Arhys winced. “Desert my post? Desert Porifors? Now?”
Cattilara flinched at the iron in his voice. Her collapse in tears before him failed, for once, to have any softening effect. When he turned her face up to his, Ista could see the tension in the tendons of his hands, standing out like cords beneath his pale skin.
“Cattilara. Think. This desertion dishonors my trust and my sworn oaths. To the provincar of Caribastos, to the Royina Iselle and Royse-Consort Bergon—to my own men. It is impossible.”
“It is not impossible. Suppose you were sick of, oh, any other illness. Someone else would have to take over then all the same. You are ill. Another officer must take your post for now.”
“The only one I would trust to take over at a moment’s notice in this present uncertainty is Illvin.” He hesitated. “Would be Illvin,” he corrected himself.
“No, no, no—!” She fairly beat on him with her fists in a paroxysm of frustration and rage.
Ista studied the pulsating lines of light. Can I do this? She wasn’t sure. Well, I am sure that I can try. So. She folded her fleshly hands quietly in her lap and reached again with her spirit hands. Again leaving the demon’s underlying channels undisturbed, she tightened the ligature between Illvin and Arhys nearly to closure.
Arhys fell to his knees; his lips parted in shock.
“If you want him upright and moving,” said Ista to Cattilara, “you must keep him so yourself, now. No more stealing.”
“No!” screamed Cattilara as Arhys half collapsed across her. Goram grabbed at him to keep his heavy body from toppling from the seat. Cattilara stared down at Arhys’s pale confused face in horrified denial. The fire of her soul roiled up from her body and collected at her heart.
Yes! Ista thought. You can. Do it, girl!
Then, with a wail and a white rush, Cattilara fainted away. The disorderly fire burst from her heart,