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again. So, um ... lie still for a minute, there, till we think what to do
next."
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
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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 Cabon," she returned agreeably.
"Right," said Foix. "Don't do anything that looks too exciting, though. I'd
rather not attempt anything gaudier, and there are limits to mild
misdirection."
"Indeed," murmured Illvin.
They trod on for a few more steps.
"Well," said Foix, stopping before the lines, "have you a preference,
horse-master?"
"Anything already saddled and bridled."
One choice was made for them. At the end of the line, a tall, ugly chestnut
stallion suddenly lifted its head and nickered in excitement. It began
shifting its haunches from side to side, disturbing the horses tied
not-too-closely to it. Ears pricked, it practically danced as they neared, and
raised and lowered its head, snorting.
"Bastard's eyes, Royina, can you shut that stupid monster up?" Foix muttered.
"Men are starting to stare."
"Me?"
"It's you it wants."
"Set me down, then."
Illvin did so, letting her slide through his arms to her feet, gazing into her
face with a searching look that was, for an instant, as good as a kiss, and
holding her upright on his arm. She was very glad for the arm.
She approached the possessed animal, who lowered its head again and laid its
face flat to her bloody bodice in what might be submission, love, or dementia.
She looked it over in fascination. It still wore the bridle with the deep curb
bit. A dozen cuts scored its body, but they were already starting to heal with
unnatural speed. "Yes, yes," she murmured soothingly. "It's all right. Where
he went, you could not follow. You did what you could. It's all right now."
She tried to shake off her dreamy lassitude, saying to
Illvin, "I believe I had better ride this one. If you don't want it following
after us whinnying its heart out."
She stood on tiptoe and glanced along the serrated ridge of its backbone.
"Find a saddle, though," she added.
Foix filched a saddle from a pile farther down the line, and Illvin tightened
the girths while Foix picked out two more horses.
"What is he called?" she asked Illvin as he cupped his hands to give her a leg
up. It seemed a very long way to the ground, typical of his mounts. She
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