Paladin of Souls - Lois McMaster Bujold [87]
The treasures proved not so little after all, as the temple was recipient of largesse from many of Lord Arhys’s more successful raids and forays. Lord Illvin’s name, too, came up often in the divine’s enthusiastic inventory. Indeed, yes, the crime that had laid him low was a terrible, terrible event. Alas, that the rural temple physicians here could do naught for him, though there was still hope that wiser men imported from one of the greater cities in Ibra or Chalion might yet work wonders, when the agents Lord Arhys had dispatched finally succeeded in getting one here. The divine had run through his most interesting, or lurid, tales of provenance and had progressed to a detailed account of the building plans for a new temple, pending peace and the march and marchess’s patronage, before Ferda returned.
His face was grave. He paused to kneel briefly in the niche of the Lady of Spring, his eyes closing and his lips moving, before coming to Ista’s side.
“Excuse me, Learned,” Ista ruthlessly overrode the divine’s monologue. “I must speak to my good officer-dedicat.”
They returned to the Lady’s niche. “What, then?” asked Ista quietly.
His voice was equally quiet. “The morning courier from Lord dy Caribastos has ridden in. No news of Foix or dy Cabon, or of Liss. I therefore ask your leave to take two of my men and search for them.” He glanced across in judicious admiration at Lady Cattilara, who had taken over the task of listening politely to the divine. “You are clearly in the best of hands, here. It will only take a few days to ride up to Maradi and back—Lord Arhys undertakes to lend us some good, fresh horses. I’d expect to return before you are ready to travel again.”
“I . . . mislike this. I do not care to dispense with your support, should some emergency arise.”
“If Lord Arhys’s troops cannot protect you, my handful could do no more,” said Ferda. He grimaced. “As we have proved, I fear. Royina, under ordinary circumstances I would defer to you without hesitation.” His voice grew lower still. “But then there is the matter of the bear.”
“Dy Cabon is better fit to deal with those complications than either of us.”
“If he lives,” said Ferda heavily.
“I am sure he does.” Ista decided she didn’t want to explain how she knew. Worse, she could not likewise vouch for Foix.
“I know my brother. He can be forceful and persuasive. And tricky, if the first does not serve. If . . . his will is not quite his own, and yet is informed by all his wits . . . I’m not sure dy Cabon could handle him. I can. I have ways.” His face was lightened, temporarily, by a brief fraternal grin.
“Mm,” said Ista. Persuasion, it seemed, ran in the family.
“And then there is Liss,” he said more vaguely.
What there was about Liss, he did not expand upon, and Ista mercifully forbore to prod him. “I do dearly wish she were back by my side, that is so.” She added after a moment, “And dy Cabon.” Perhaps especially dy Cabon. Whatever the god was about, the bewildered young divine figured in it as well.
“Then may I have your leave, Royina? Dedicat Pejar can serve all your needs in this minor court, I am sure. And he is eager enough to do so.”
Ista let the little flash of Cardegoss arrogance pass without comment. Were Porifors an ordinary rural court, Ferda would doubtless be correct. “Do you mean to go now?”
He ducked his head. “At once, please you. If there is any problem, the sooner I arrive, the better.” He added to her frowning silence, “And if there isn’t, then the sooner I may return.”
She sucked on her lower lip in