Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [202]
Along with Liss and dy Cabon, Ista reflected, and added her silent prayers to his. She felt the walls yet held, but in truth her only certainty was that Goram still lived; and she’d been mistaken before.
“With the news we bring,” Illvin continued, “I expect his troop will ride within the hour. I cringe to think what rumors have come to him by now of my brother’s fate. There is much to do.”
“Five gods speed you. Of your many burdens, I am one the less now. These people here will cosset me to distraction, if I know them.” She added sternly, “You spare some care for yourself, too. Don’t make me come after you again.”
A grin ghosted across his mouth. “Would you follow me to the Bastard’s hell, dear sorceress?”
“Without hesitation, now that I know the road.”
He leaned across his saddlebow and caught her hand, and raised it to his lips. She gripped his hand in turn and bore it to her own lips, and nipped his knuckle secretly, which made his eyes glint. With reluctance, they released each other.
“Foix,” Illvin called, “attend upon me. Your testimony is urgently required.”
Dy Baocia turned eagerly to Foix. “Do I have you to thank, young man, for the rescue of my sister?”
“No, Provincar,” said Foix, giving him a polite salute. “She rescued me.”
Dy Baocia and dy Ferrej stared at him rather blankly. Ista became conscious of the bizarre picture they must present: Foix, gray with exhaustion, wearing Jokonan gear; Illvin a hollow-eyed, reeking scarecrow in the most elegant of court mourning; herself in rumpled white festival dress splashed with brown blood, barefoot, bruised, and scratched, her escaping hair completing the impression of general dementia.
“Look after the royina,” Foix said to Ferda, “then come to Oby’s tent. We have strange and great tales to tell.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder and turned to follow Illvin.
Temporarily unmenaced by Ista’s erratic steed, Ferda came to Demon’s shoulder to help her down. Ista was dizzy with fatigue, but she stayed determinedly upright.
“See that this dreadful horse is well cared for. He bore Lord Arhys faithfully last night. Your brother rode in that great sortie as well, and endured capture and grievous use. He needs rest, if you can make him take it in this uproar. We have all of us been up since dawn yesterday, through flight and siege and . . . and worse. Lord Illvin lost a great deal of blood last night. Make sure he gets drink and food immediately, at the least.” She added, after a thoughtful pause, “And if he attempts to ride into battle in his present state, knock him down and sit on him. Although I trust he has more sense.”
As soon as her horse was led out of range by a soldier of Oby, dy Ferrej pounced on Ista, practically wresting her from Ferda. “Royina! We have been in terror for your safety!”
And not without cause, in truth. “Well, I am safe now.” Soothingly, she patted his hand gripping her arm.
Lady dy Hueltar tottered up, arm in arm with Divine Tovia. “Ista, Ista, lovie!”
Dy Baocia was looking intently after Illvin. “Now that you are all delivered to each other, I think I’d better attend on dy Oby as well.” He managed a distracted smile at Ista. “Yes, yes, good.”
“Did you bring troops of your own, brother?” Ista asked.
“Yes, five hundred of horse, all that I could muster in a hurry when these people descended upon me waving your alarming letter.”
“Then by all means, attend upon Oby. Your guard may well have a chance to earn the coin you pay them. Chalion owes the garrison of Castle Porifors . . . much, but certainly relief above all, and that as soon as may be.”
“Ah.” He collected Ferda and dy Ferrej and hurried off after the other men, half in curiosity, half, Ista suspected, in eagerness to escape his importunate entourage.
The problem of explaining her own adventures to them without sounding like a raving madwoman, she discovered, could be put off—possibly indefinitely—by asking after their own journey. A mere query of “How did you come here so timely?” induced an answer that ran on until