Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [177]
Foix was the first to notice her arrival; his head turned, and his mouth opened. No doubt she moved in a cloud of god light, just at present, being so recently touched. And I bear a burden that I am most gravely charged to deliver. Her eye swept the court, found Arhys and Illvin, but her attention was temporarily distracted by the horse they both studied. From a distance.
It was a tall, long-nosed chestnut stallion, held by three sweating grooms. A blindfold covered its eyes beneath its bridle, which was fitted with a deep curb bit. One groom held its upper lip tightly in a twitch. Its ears were back flat, and it squealed angrily, showing long yellow teeth, and kicked out. Illvin was standing well back from it, looking aggrieved.
Ista came up beside him and said, “Lord Illvin, do you know that stallion is possessed of an elemental?”
“So Foix has just informed me, Royina. It explains a lot about that horse.”
Ista peered through half-closed eyes at the writhing mauve shadow within the animal. “Grant you, it appears to be a small, unformed, stupid one.”
“That explains yet more. Bastard’s hell. I was going to lend the accursed beast to Arhys. His good dappled gray has gone lame, along with half the horses that remain to us—an outbreak of thrush, developing with unnatural speed, and I hope Arhys can soon deliver our thanks to whichever Jokonan sorcerer thought of that one.”
“Is this an especially good warhorse?”
“No, but no one will care if Arhys rides it to death. In fact, I think the grooms are hoping he will. Five gods know I’ve tried to, without success.”
“Hm,” said Ista. She walked forward; the two grooms holding the beast’s head squeaked protest. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached up and placed her god-splashed hand upon the stallion’s forehead. A tiny six-pointed mark burned upon her skin, snow-white to her outer vision, a fierce spark to her inner eye. “Remove its blindfold.”
The groom glanced somewhat desperately at Illvin, who nodded permission but drew his sword and held it with the flat out, watching tensely.
The horse’s eyes were dark brown, with purple centers. Most horses’ eyes had purple centers, Ista reminded herself, but they didn’t usually have quite so deep a glow. The eyes fixed on her, and rolled whitely. She stared back. The animal suddenly grew very still. Ista stood on tiptoe, grabbed one ear, and whispered toward it, “Behave for Lord Arhys. Or I will make you wish I’d merely ripped your guts out, strangled you with them, and fed you to the gods.”
“Dogs,” corrected the nervous groom holding the twitch.
“Them, too,” said Ista. “Take off the twitch and stand away.”
“Lady . . . ?”
“It’s all right.”
The groom backed away. The horse, shivering, flicked its ears up to strict attention and arched its neck to bring its face, submissively, flat to Ista’s torso. It gave a brief nudge, leaving a trail of red horsehairs across her black silk robe, and stood perfectly quietly.
“Do you do that sort of thing often?” Illvin inquired, strolling over. With extreme caution, he reached out to give the beast an experimental pat on the neck.
“No,” sighed Ista. “It has been a day for unique experiences.”
Illvin was simply dressed in light linen trousers and his spark-spotted shirt, in preparation for his role to come. Arhys looked so much as he had when Ista had seen him for the very first time that she caught her breath. Except that his mail and tabard were not blood-spattered. Yet. He smiled soberly at her as he came to her side.
“A word, Royina, before I go. Two words.”
“As many as you please.”
He lowered his voice. “First, I thank you for bearing me up to a better death. One less shameful, small, and stupid than my first.”
“Our men may yet surprise you on that score,” said Illvin gruffly. On the far side of the forecourt, a mere dozen soldiers were also preparing their mounts. Pejar was among them; his face was flushed with fever, Ista noted. He should have been lying on a pallet, not attempting