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; in 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.
"Lord Illvin, brother, may I introduce Captain Goram dy Hixar, late of Roya Orico's cavalry via the service of Lord Dondo dy Jironal. More recently of service, if an involuntary one, to Sordso of Jokona, as sword master and horseman. In a sense."
Goram looked up from his sobbing, his face stunned. Stunned, but not slack: its shape seemed to tighten along with the mending mind underneath.
"You have returned his memories and his wits? But Ista, this is wonderful!" cried Illvin. "Now he may find his family and his home at last!"
"Just what it is, remains to be seen," murmured Ista. "But his soul is now his own, and complete."
Goram's steel-gray eyes met hers, and for a moment, did not look away. They were filled with amazement, and a roil of other emotions; she rather thought one of them was anguish. She gave him a grave nod, acknowledging it all. He returned a shaken jerk of his head.
"Learned," she continued, "you begged a gift of witness, and you have it. Please help Captain dy Hixar back to his chamber. He needs to rest quietly, for until he has time to put them back in order, his mind and memories will be very unsettled. Some spiritual comfort... may not come amiss, when he is ready."
"Indeed, Royina," said dy Cabon, signing himself joyously. "It will be my honor." He helped Goram—dy Hixar—to his feet, and led him off through the archway. Illvin stared after, then turned his dark eyes thoughtfully on her.
Dy Baocia inquired in a small voice, "Ista, what just happened?"
"Princess Joen, through her demon, was in the habit of stealing useful bits of other people's souls for her sorcerers. From, among others, prisoners of war. Prince Sordso was her greatest construct, and full of such fragments. When Sordso's demon passed through me yesterday, the god gave it to me to recognize and retain the portion of Captain dy Hixar woven among the rest, and to return it to him here. It is part of the task the Bastard has laid on me, to hunt demons in the world, pluck them from their mounts, and relay them to His hell."
"This task ... is now done, yes?" he said hopefully. Or, possibly, worriedly. He glanced around the shambles of Porifors. "Yesterday, right?"
"No, I expect it is only beginning. In the past three years Joen released a very plague of elementals. They have escaped all over the Five Princedoms and the royacies, though their greatest concentration is likely still in Jokona. The woman who had this calling before me was killed in Rauma. It is not an easy, not an easy... duty to train for. If I read the god aright—He delights in obscurity and riddles—I think He wanted a successor who would be rather better guarded, through what promises to be a, ah, theologically difficult period."
Illvin's eyes glinted, listening to this. He murmured, "Much becomes clear."
"He told me He did not want to train another porter," Ista added, "and that He fancied a royina for a time. His exact words." She let her slight pause emphasize this last. "I am called. I come." And you may either help, brother, or get out of my way. "I expect to form a traveling court, small and adaptable; the god's duties are likely to continue physically wearing. My clerk—as soon as I appoint one—and yours must deal shortly with forwarding my dower income, as I doubt my tasks will take me back to Valenda."