Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [156]
“They’re re-forming!” shouted Arhys. “Go!” The loud slap of his hand across the white horse’s rump was scarcely needed to speed them on their way; the animal was already pirouetting. They plunged downslope, away from the road.
The source of the terrifying gore was revealed, before Ista’s bouncing nose, as an ugly cut across Feather’s right shoulder, bleeding freely. The ground swept past dizzily. The horse hesitated, its body bunching; Illvin leaned far back in his saddle, his clutch on her leg tightening to a vise. Abruptly, they were sliding straight down the steep hillside in a spray of dirt and stones, the horse’s front legs braced; it seemed nearly to squat on its broad haunches behind. Illvin whooped again. Whipping bushes slapped and scratched Ista’s face. The least loss of balance, and they would all three be tumbling heads over tails together, bones shattering and guts smashed . . .
The endless slide terminated not in disaster, but in a wild splash across Porifors’s little river. Other horses were galloping up around them now. Illvin released his death grip on her thigh and gave her buttocks a distracted, reassuring pat.
Ista found her control of her body returning, and she spat out a mixture of bloody river water and dirt. What had happened to the sorcerer prince? His attention had been diverted altogether from her, evidently. For the moment. Along with control, unfortunately, came sensation. “I think I’m about to vomit,” she mumbled into the horse’s red-lathered shoulder.
For a blissful instant, they came to a halt. Illvin bent and wrapped his long arms around her, and heaved her upright and over, to sit across his lap. Weakly, she wrapped her arms around that bony sweat-slick torso, itself laboring for breath. His bed robe had been lost somewhere along the route, along with the pitchfork. His mouth was bloodied. His streaked dark hair was a wild tangle across his face. His live body was hot with exertion. But he bore no serious wounds, her testing hands reassured her.
His own shaking hand rose to her face, gently wiping at whatever ungodly mixture of horse blood, sweat, and dirt smeared it. “Dear Is’—Royina, are you hurt?”
“No, that’s all from your poor horse,” she assured him, guessing it was the blood that alarmed him. “I am a little shaken.”
“A little. Ah.” His brows arched, and his lips grew less thin, curling up once more.
“I think I am going to have bruises on my stomach from that ride.”
“Oh.” His hand, across her belly, gave it an awkward little rub. “Indeed, I am sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. What happened to your mouth?” She reached up with one finger to touch the lacerated edge.
“Spear butt.”
“Ouch.”
“Better than a spearpoint, trust me.” They started forward once more. He glanced over his shoulder. They were on a minor road, hardly more than a track, that ran along the opposite side of the river from the main one. Other gray-tabarded soldiers now rode all around them. “This is a bad time to linger out-of-doors. That Jokonan column we overtook is one of three closing in on the castle just at the moment, the scouts say. No siege engines sighted in their baggage trains yet, though. Can you hang on to me if we canter?”
“Certainly.” Ista sat up straighter and brushed hair out of her mouth, she wasn’t quite sure whose. She felt his legs tighten beneath her, and the white horse broke without transition into its long, rocking gait.
“Where did you find the troop?” she gasped, clinging harder to his slippery skin against the jouncing.
“You sent them to me, thank you very much. Are you a seeress, as well? I met them coming down the road even as I was galloping back to Porifors to raise them.”
Ah. Dy Cabon had carried out his orders, then. A little early, but Ista was not inclined to chide him for it. “Only prudence rewarded. For a change. Did you see Liss and Cattilara, and Foix? We tried to send them on.”
“Yes, they passed through us as we were making for the ridge to flank the Jokonan column. They should be safe within the walls by now.” He twisted to glance back