“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 they reached dy Baocia’s tents, and longer. The five hundred of horse, Ista found, had been trailed by what seemed a hundred more servants, grooms, and maids, in support of the dozen ladies from the courts of both Valenda and Taryoon who had accompanied Lady dy Hueltar on her self-appointed mission to bring Ista home. Dy Ferrej, more or less in charge of shifting them all, was justly punished, Ista decided. That he had moved them such a distance in a week, instead of a month, was a near miracle in itself, and her respect for him, never low, rose another notch.
Ista cut though a plethora of plans by requesting a wash, food, and bed, in that order; Divine Tovia, always more practical than most of Ista’s attendants, and with an eye to the blood on her gown, backed her up. The elderly physician managed to run off all but two maids, her own acolyte-assistant, and Lady dy Hueltar from the tent where she guided Ista for a bath and treatment. Ista had to admit, it was both comfortable and comforting to have those familiar hands about her, applying salve and bandages to her hurts. Tovia’s curved sewing needle, too, was very fine and sharp, and her hands were quick about the wincing task of mending flesh where it was required.
“What in the world are these bruises?” Divine Tovia inquired.
Ista craned to see the back of her own thigh where the physician was pointing. Five dark purple spots were spaced around it. Her lips curved up, and she twisted about to spread her own fingers between them.
“Five gods, Ista,” cried Lady dy Hueltar in horror, “who has dared to handle you so?”
“Those are from…yesterday. When Lord Illvin rescued me from the Jokonan column on the road. What excellent long fingers he does have! I wonder if he plays any musical instruments. I shall have to find out.”
“Is Lord Illvin that odd tall fellow who rode in with you?” asked Lady dy Hueltar suspiciously. “I must say, I did not like the very forward way he kissed your hand.”
“No? Well, he was pressed for time. I shall make him practice, later, until his technique improves.”
Lady dy Hueltar looked offended, but Divine Tovia, at least, snorted a little.
Ista was laid down in a tent under a guard of ladies, but rose again to peek out, despite her nightgown, at the sound of many horses thundering out of the camp. It was only late afternoon; on this long summer day Oby’s cavalry would be descending on Porifors with hours of light still left for their work. The timing, Ista thought, was excellent. Maximum confusion, disorder, and dismay would have spread through the Jokonan forces from the dire events of noon, and the chances that competent leadership had yet reemerged—especially from the habits of sullen mindless obedience extracted by Joen—were slight.
She let herself be coaxed back to bed by those who loved her. Though the Ista they thought they loved, she supposed, was an imaginary one, a woman who existed only in their own minds, part icon, part habit.
The reflection did not depress her unduly, now that she knew someone who loved the Ista who was real. She fell asleep thinking of him.
ISTA AWOKE FROM UGLY DREAMS NOT, SHE THOUGHT, ENTIRELY HER own, to the sound of female voices arguing.
“Lady Ista wants to sleep, after her ordeal,” said Lady dy Hueltar firmly. “I will not have her troubled further.”
“No,” said Liss in a puzzled tone, “the royina will want the report from Porifors. We started before dawn to bring it to her as swiftly as we could.”
Ista lumbered up from her sheets. “Liss!” she cried. “In here!” It appeared she had slept the short summer night through; it sufficed.
“Now see what you’ve done!” said Lady dy Hueltar in aggravation.
“What?” Liss’s bafflement was genuine; she had not Ista’s years of training in deciphering her now-senior lady-in-waiting’s oblique locutions. Ista translated it handily as I didn’t want to travel again today, and now I’ll have to, drat you, girl.
A leap from her cot, Ista discovered, wasn’t going to occur. She did manage to lever herself painfully to her feet before the tent flap was thrown back, admitting a level golden light and a grinning Liss. Ista embraced her; she embraced Ista back. The grin and Liss’s presence seemed almost all the report she needed. Porifors is relieved. There were no more devastating deaths last night. The rest might be learned in order, or no order, as it came.
“Sit,” said Ista, not releasing Liss’s hands. “Tell me everything.”
“Lady Ista needs to be dressed before receiving petitioners,” said Lady dy Hueltar sternly.
“Excellent notion,” said Ista. “Do go and find me some clothing to wear. Riding dress.”
“Oh, Ista, you won’t be riding anywhere today, after all you’ve been through! You need to rest.”
“Actually,” Liss put in, “March dy Oby has sent some officers to see the camp is broken down and shifted to Porifors as quick as may be. Ferda is waiting with some of your brother’s men to guard you on the way, Royina, as soon as you are ready. Unless you prefer to ride in a cart with the baggage train.”
“She will surely want to ride in the wagons with us,” said Lady dy Hueltar.
“Tempting,” Ista lied, “but no. I’ll ride my horse.”
Lady dy Hueltar sniffed balefully and withdrew.
Ista continued eagerly to Liss, “Oh, you will laugh at my new horse. It has come to me as the spoils of war, I think, though I may persuade Illvin to make it a court gift, which would amuse him. It’s Illvin’s vile red stallion.”
“The one that possessed the stray elemental?”
“Yes; it has conceived a sudden adoration for me, and abases itself in the most appalling unhorselike fashion. You will find it quite reformed, or if you don’t, let me know, and I’ll put the fear of its god in it again. But say on, dear Liss.”
“Well, the castle and town are secured, and the Jokonans driven off or taken—most of them fled north, but there may be some stragglers still lurking.”
“Or just plain lost,” said Ista dryly. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Liss snickered. “We have ca
ptured Prince Sordso and his whole retinue, which has pleased Lord Illvin and March dy Oby no end. They say the prince has gone mad. Is it true you ensorcelled him to hack up the dowager princess?”
“No,” said Ista. “All I did was remove the sorcery that was preventing him from doing so. I rather think it was a wild impulse on his part, soon regretted. Joen was dead before his sword struck her; the Bastard took her soul. I wonder if it would be a relief or a regret to Sordso to know that? I should probably tell him in any case. Go on. What of Lady Cattilara, and our stalwart divine?”
“Well, we all watched from the walls as the Jokonans marched you off. And then it got all quiet for a little, and then we could hear some terrible uproar at the those big green tents, but we could not make out what was happening. Lady Cattilara surprised us all. After you and Lord Illvin were made hostage, or so we all thought, she rose from her bed. She drove her ladies to defend the walls, since almost all of the men were too sick to stand by then—it seems they make a game of archery here, and the Jokonan sorcerers’ spells had not destroyed their sporting bows. Some of the ladies proved quite good shots. They had not the power to penetrate mail, but I saw Lady Catti herself put an arrow right through a rude Jokonan officer’s eye. Learned dy Cabon stood with her—she swore that Porifors would not fall while she was still its chatelaine. Me, I threw rocks—if you fling one from a high enough tower, it hits quite hard by the time it lands on its target, even if you don’t have a strong throwing arm.
“We could see the Jokonans were just probing, but we bit them till they bled nonetheless. I think we could not have held for long against a determined assault, but we discouraged them from attempting the walls at once—and then it was too late, for the march of Oby’s forces struck and swept them away. Lady Catti was quite splendid when she opened the gates to her father. I thought she would break down and weep when he embraced her, for he did, but instead she was very stern.”
“What of Goram?”
“He helped hold the walls with us. He was exhausted and feverish this morning, which is why Lord Illvin did not dispatch him to you, he told me to tell you. Since if you are riding to Porifors this morning, it made no sense to send Goram twice ten miles to meet you at almost the same time anyway.”
“Excellent thinking. Yes. I will ride at once.” She looked around; Lady dy Hueltar was bustling back into the tent leading a maid carrying an armload of clothing. “Ah, good.”
Ista’s satisfaction died as she saw the dress the maid was shaking out for her; a fine layered silk, suitable for a court function, in widow’s dark green. “This is not riding dress.”
“Of course not, dear Ista,” said Lady dy Hueltar. “It is for you to wear to breakfast with us all.”
“I shall take a cup of tea and a bite of bread, if such may be had in this camp, and ride at once.”
“Oh, no,” said Lady dy Hueltar, in a tone of earnest correction. “The meal is being prepared. We are all so looking forward to celebrating having you with us again, just as it should be.”
The feast would take two hours, Ista estimated, maybe three. “One mouth the less will not be missed. You all must eat anyway before you break camp; it will not be wasted.”
“Now, Lady Ista, do have sense.”
Ista’s voice dropped. “I ride. If you will not bring me the clothing I asked for, I will send Liss through the camp to beg me some. And if none is to be had, I’ll ride in my nightgown. Or naked, if I must.”
“I’d share my clothes with you, Royina,” Liss offered at once, clearly bemused by that last image.
“I know you would, Liss.” Ista patted her shoulder.
Lady dy Hueltar drew herself up in offense, or possibly defense. “Lady Ista, you mustn’t be so wild!” Her voice grew hushed. “You wouldn’t want people thinking you had been overtaken by your old troubles again, after all.”
Ista was tempted, for a dangerous moment, to test just how much sorcerous power the Bastard had endowed her with. But the target was too small and unworthy, pitiable in her way. A natural sycophant, Lady dy Hueltar had made her way in the world most comfortably for the past two decades as companion to the old Provincara, enjoying an imagined indispensability and the status lent her by her august patron. It was clear she wished that pleasant existence to continue; and it could, if only Ista would move into her mother’s place and take up her mother’s life. All just as before, indeed.
Ista turned to the maid. “You, girl—fetch me some riding clothes. White if they may be had, or whatever color, but in any case, not green.”
The girl’s mouth opened in panic; she glanced back and forth between Ista and Lady dy Hueltar, torn between conflicting authorities. Ista’s eyes narrowed.
“Why must you even go to Porifors?” asked Lady dy Hueltar. Her seamed face worked with distress, close to tears. “With your brother’s troop to escort us, we could surely start back to Valenda right from here!”
She must take deeper thought for Lady dy Hueltar, Ista decided, for in truth her years of service had earned her some consideration. But for the moment, Ista meant to ride. She unclenched her teeth and said mildly, “Funerals, dear Lady dy Hueltar. They will be burying the dead today at Porifors. It is my solemn duty to attend. I will wish you to bring me the proper attire when you follow on.”
“Oh, funerals,” said Lady dy Hueltar, in a tone of relieved enlightenment. “Funerals, oh, of course.” She had accompanied the old Provincara to a multitude of such ceremonies. It only seemed their primary entertainment in late years, Ista supposed dryly, though she’d be hard-pressed to name a commoner one. But Lady dy Hueltar understood funerals.
She won’t understand these. But it wouldn’t matter. For the moment, at least, her customary role seemed safely confirmed to her. The old lady brightened instantly.
She actually unbent so far as to go find Ista riding dress, while Liss went to saddle Demon and Ista gulped tea and bread. The costume’s pale tan color even looked good atop the chestnut stallion, Ista fancied, settling at last into the saddle. The ride would limber her stiff body, at least. She had a lingering headache, but she knew its cause; and its cure lay in Porifors. Ferda waved on his Baocian troop, and Liss fell in at her side. They pressed forward through the bright morning air.
A RELAY OF DY OBY’S MEN WERE HAULING OUT RUBBLE FROM THE gates of Porifors as Ista’s party rode in. Ista watched them work with glad approval. The rebuilding would be a longer project, but with so many hands, at least the clearing and cleaning would be swiftly accomplished.
The forecourt was already swept out. The limp flowers in the two or three pots left intact on the wall even seemed to be lifting their heads again; Ista was obscurely grateful, in all the noisy confusion, that someone had spared a bit of water for them, and she wondered whose hand it had been. The apricot and the almond trees, though half-denuded, had also stopped dropping leaves. She hoped they would recover.
We can do better than hope, she realized, and thought to them, Live. By the Bastard’s blessing, I command you. If this lent the trees any special vigor, it was not instantly apparent; she trusted the ultimate results would not prove peculiar.
Ista’s heart lifted to see Lord Illvin striding through the archway. He was cleaned up, hair rebraided, freshly dressed as an officer of Porifors; it even seemed possible that he might have snatched a few hours of sleep. The shorter, stouter Lord dy Baocia pattered by his side, puffing to keep pace. At dy Baocia’s other shoulder Learned dy Cabon trod, waving eagerly at her. To her relief, a tired-looking Goram trailed immediately after them.
Cautiously, Goram took her horse’s head, eyeing the beast’s new docility askance. Ista slipped from her saddle into Illvin’s upreaching arms, returning his secret embrace on her way to the ground.
“Greetings, Ista,” said Lord dy Baocia. “Are you, um, all right now?” He bore a slightly dazed expression, as might any commander touring the inside of Castle Porifors this morning. His smile upon her was not nearly so vague as Ista was used to; i
n fact, she suspected she had all his attention. It felt very odd.
“Thank you, brother, I am well; a little tired, but doubtless less fatigued than many here.” She glanced at dy Cabon. “How do the sick men fare?”
“We’ve had no more deaths since yesterday noon, five gods be thanked.” He signed himself in heartfelt gratitude. “A few are even back on their feet, though I judge the rest will be as long recovering as from less uncanny illnesses. Most have been moved down to town, into the care of the temple or their relatives.”
“That is good to hear.”
“Foix and Lord Illvin have told us of the great deeds and miracles you performed yesterday in the Jokonans’ tents, by the grace of the Bastard. Is it true you died?”
“I…am not sure.”
“I am,” muttered Illvin. His hand had somehow neglected to release hers; they both tightened.
“I did have a very odd vision, which I promise I will recount to you at some less hurried moment, Learned.” Well, parts of it, anyway.
“For all my terror, how I wish I, too, could have been there to bear witness, Royina! I should have counted myself blessed above all in my order.”
“Oh? Well, stay a moment, then. I have another task, which presses on me. Liss, please take my horse. Goram, come here.”
Looking puzzled and wary, Goram obeyed, trudging up to her and giving her a daunted bob of his head. “Royina.” His hands clenched each other nervously, and he shot a look of supplication at his master. Illvin’s eyes narrowed in concern, and his glance at Ista sharpened.
Ista stared one last time at the hollow gaps in Goram’s soul, placed her palms upon his forehead, and poured a sudden flood of white fire out of her spirit hands into those dark and empty reservoirs. The fire splashed wildly in its new confines, then slowly settled, as if seeking its proper level. She breathed relief as the unpleasant pressure in her head vanished.
Goram thumped down cross-legged on the cobbles, his mouth open. He buried his face in his hands. After a moment, his shoulders began to shake. “Oh,” he said in a faraway voice. He started to weep—in shock, Ista supposed, and in other, more complicated reactions. Her last night’s dreams had given her some intimations.
The Complete Chalion Page 95