Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [198]
It was not a difficult suggestion to follow. Following any other instruction, now that would have been hard. Illvin was staring down into her face, looking like a man whose kisses had just brought his beloved back from the dead and was now too terrified to move least he shed unexpected miracles in all directions. Ista smiled up muzzily at his delicious confusion.
“The demons are all gone,” she reported in a vague, dreamy voice, in case they still harbored doubts. “It was what I was sent to do, and I did it. But the Bastard let me come back.” To where she was now, it occurred to her—sitting on the hard ground in the midst of an enemy camp surrounded by several hundred very live and agitated Jokonans. Vile sense of humor. Hers had been a timeless interlude, but for everyone else, she realized, bare minutes had passed since Joen’s sanguinary end. But however dismasted their high command, not all of the enemy officers were going to stay confused for long. It was hard to summon fear of anything, in her lingering bliss, but she managed a flash of mild prudence. “I think we should leave now. Right now.”
“Can you walk?” asked Illvin uncertainly.
“Can you?” she asked, curious. Crawling, now, she would believe crawling of him, in his present interestingly debilitated state. He should be in bed, she decided. Hers, by preference.
“No,” muttered Foix. “Got to drag her again. Or carry her. Can you go on pretending to be a corpse for a little longer, Royina?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him, and sank back gratefully into Illvin’s grip.
Illvin flatly refused to drag her, on the grounds that it would scrape her already-bleeding legs and feet further, but carrying her in his arms proved still beyond his strength. A short argument, in which Ista, as a corpse, declined to participate, resulted in Foix helping Illvin rise to his shaking legs with her butt-upward over his shoulder, her arms and legs dangling down in an appropriately lifeless manner. It reminded her of the ride on Feather. She tried not to smile in memory, on the grounds that it would be out of character for her part. Her white gown was even splashed with blood, a continuation, she suspected, of the same spray that had crossed Illvin’s face. She could guess its source, and shuddered.
They staggered away. “Turn left,” Foix directed. “Keep walking.” More Jokonan soldiers ran up to them; Foix pointed backward with his sword toward the command tents and cried, -Hurry! You are needed!- The soldiers sped away as their apparent-officer directed.
Illvin muttered through his teeth, “Foix, you may speak a glib camp Roknari, but I beg you will leave sentences of more than one syllable to me. That tabard can’t cover everything.”
“Gladly,” Foix returned under his breath. “Go right here. We’re almost to the horse lines.”
“Do you think they’re just going to let us walk up and steal horses?” asked Illvin. His wheeze sounded more curious than objecting. Ista peered upside down through slitted eyes to take in the guards loitering in the shade. Some of the men were standing and staring toward the uproar around the green tents.
“Yes.” Foix tapped his green tabard. “I’m a Jokonan officer.”
“You’re relying on more than that,” observed Ista, her tone almost as detached as Illvin’s.
“Yes, why are you so certain they will not stop and question us?” asked Illvin, a hint of nervousness entering his voice as a few heads turned to follow their progress.
“Did you stop and question Princess Umerue?”
“No, not at first. What has that to do with anything?”
Ista mumbled from Illvin’s hip, “I spoke imprecisely, before. There is one sorcerer left in this camp. He’s on our side, however. Seemed a good idea. The god did not object.”
Illvin tensed, turning to stare, presumably, at Foix.
“Two left,” said Foix. “Or a sorcerer and a sorceress. If that is your proper classification, Royina. I am not sure.”
“Neither am I. We’ll have to ask dy