Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [164]
Arhys grinned briefly. “I can scarcely guess what Sordso’s staff officers are like at present.”
“Cooperative,” said Ista blackly. “Of one mind.”
Illvin grimaced, and at Goram’s silent tap held out a forearm for the groom to buckle on his vambrace.
“Arhys,” Ista continued urgently. “Despite your strange state, you have no inner sight, correct?”
“Nothing like what you describe, no, Royina. If anything, my sight seems less than before. Not blurred or dimmed, but drained of color. Except that now I see better at night; almost the same as in the day.”
“So you did not see, did not perceive, the strike that Prince Sordso made upon you, when you clashed on the road?”
“No . . . what did you see?”
“That deep light that marks demon magic to my inner eye. A searing bolt of something. Or anyway, it was clear that Sordso thought it was going to be a searing bolt of something. But it passed through you harmlessly, as though you weren’t even there.”
They both looked to dy Cabon, who opened his plump hands in uncertainty. “In a sense, he isn’t there. Not as live souls are, nor even as demons are. The true sundered ghosts are divorced from all realities, the world of matter and the world of spirit both.”
“Is he, then, immune to sorcery?” began Ista. “And yet it is sorcery that sustains him now . . . Learned, I do not understand.”
“I will give it thought—”
A tangled mess of violet lines of light abruptly appeared throughout the room, flared, and vanished. Foix jumped. A moment later, so did everyone else, as vessels of tea or wine or wash water tipped or cracked or shattered. Illvin’s clay cup cleaved in his hand as he was lifting it to his lips, and he danced backward to avoid the splash down his gray-and-gold tabard.
“Joen’s sorcerers are now in place, it seems,” said Ista flatly.
Foix swung around in wide-eyed dismay; within him, his bear shadow was on its feet, snarling. “What was the purpose of that? A warning? If they can do that, why not burst our bellies or our skulls and have it over with?”
Dy Cabon raised a shaking hand. “Free demons cannot slay directly—”
“The Bastard’s own death demon does,” said Ista. “I have seen it do so.”
“That is a very special case. Free demons, those escaped into the realm of matter . . . well, they might try to slay directly, but—death opens a soul to the gods. Whether the soul chooses to advance through that door at that moment or not is a matter of will, but in that instant it opens both ways. And the demon is vulnerable to recapture.”
“And so they jump away when their mount is slain . . .” said Foix.
“Yes, but using magic to slay also creates a link between sorcerer and victim. The effort and the backwash are supposed to be very hard on the sorcerer, as well.” He paused thoughtfully. “Of course, if a sorcerer uses magic to stampede your horse over a cliff, or any other indirect method of accomplishing your death, the risk does not apply.”
A panting soldier in a gray-and-gold tabard burst through the door. “Lord Arhys! There is a Jokonan herald at the gate, demanding parley.”
Arhys drew in his breath between his teeth. “Warning indeed. Notice. Well, they have all my attention now. Illvin, Foix, Learned dy Cabon—Royina—will you attend upon me? I want your sight and your counsel. But stay back below the battlement, out of view, as much as you may.”
“Yes.” Ista paused to release her ligature from Cattilara’s neck and be certain the demon would remain quiescent. Foix watched silently, taking up station at Ista’s shoulder as if to guard her. Liss had not been named in Arhys’s roll, but she rose anyway, arms crossed and shoulders tucked as if trying to make herself small and unnoticed.
Illvin, striding for the door in Arhys’s wake, suddenly stopped and swore. “The cisterns!”
Arhys’s head swiveled; the two looked at each other. Illvin clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I’ll check, and meet you above the gate.”
“Hurry, Illvin.” Arhys motioned all within to follow him out; Illvin turned aside on the gallery