"For the moment, at least," said Illvin.
"For the moment?"
He stared thoughtfully along the ridge to where the stronghold's walls rose from the rocks. "It's odd. I was born in Porifors—lived here almost all of my life—yet I've never owned it, nor expected to. It belongs today to my niece Liviana—a nine-year-old girl who lives half a province away. Yet it is my home, if anyplace is. I own half a dozen little estates in Caribastos, unentailed scatterings from my mother—but they are mere possessions, barely visited. Still, necessarily, Porifors must be defended."
"By you—necessarily?"
He shrugged. "It is the key fortress, along this border."
"I think this border may be about to shift."
He grinned briefly. "Indeed. Things are stirring, in our counsels. I'm stirring 'em. I don't need Arhys's gifts to tell that this is a boon of timing and chance not to be wasted."
"I trust so. I expect Marshal dy Palliar and Chancellor dy Cazaril to ride into the gates of Porifors within the week. If my brother's and dy Caribastos's and Foix's letters"—and mine—"do not fetch them, they are not the men I take them for."
"Will they see it, do you think? Here, now, is the moment to turn Joen's strategy about—to sweep down, all unexpected, into Jokona while it is so disrupted, and turn Visping's flank—and the campaign could be done before it was even expected to start."
"It does not take second sight to foresee that outcome," said Ista. "If it works, dy Palliar will doubtless be showered with the acclaim for his grand strategy."
Illvin smiled grimly. "Poor Joen, she even loses that credit. She should have been a general."
"Anything but the frustrated puppeteer she was constrained to be," Ista agreed. "What will become of Sordso? I think he is not quite mad, for all that he sniveled and kissed my skirt hem when I passed him in the forecourt yesterday. His soul is his own now, though it will be long before his nerves are anything but shattered."
"Yes, one scarcely knows if he would be of more use to us as a hostage, or set loose to be a very bad enemy leader."
"He spoke of a religious vocation, and conversion to the Quintarian faith, actually. I've no idea how long the fit will last."
Illvin snorted. "Perhaps his poetry will grow better hereafter."
"I shouldn't be surprised." The castle's battlements stood stark and pale in the bright light, concealing the damage being repaired within; Ista could hear a faint echo of hammering. "By the time Liviana's future husband succeeds to the command of Porifors, it will have become a quiet backwater, like Valenda. This place has earned its peace, I think." She glanced at Illvin, who was smiling down at her. "There are two thoughts in my mind just now."
"Only two?"
"Two thousand, but these are uppermost. One is that my roving court needs a royal seneschaclass="underline" a competent and experienced officer, preferably one who knows this area, to direct my travels and secure my person."
His brows twitched up, encouragingly.
"The other is that Marshal dy Palliar will need an experienced intelligencer, an officer who knows Jokona and the Jokonans better than any other, who speaks and writes both court and vile Roknari, possessing trunks full of maps and charts and ground plans, to advise his strategies in this region. I greatly fear that these are two mutually exclusive posts."
He touched one finger thoughtfully to his lips. "I might mention, it has occurred independently to several military minds here that any army presently wishing to march north would be very, very happy to possess a cure for sorcerers, to carry close at hand. Should any further enemy sorcerers be encountered on this campaign. Resources devoted to the protection of such a sorceress-saint would not be considered wasted. So the saint's seneschal and the marshal's intelligencer might not find themselves working so far apart as all that."
Ista's brows rose. "Hm? Perhaps ... If it is clearly understood that the saint serves not Chalion, not even the Temple, but the god, and must go as the god directs. Alongside the marshal's tents for a time, but not in them. Well, well, dy Cazaril will understand that part; and I think he could drill it into dy Palliar's head if anyone could."
He stared thoughtfully up the valley road. "A week, you think, till they arrive?"
"Ten days at most."
"Huh." His long fingers rattled the keys at his belt. "Meantime ... I actually walked over here to invite you to take rooms within Castle Porifors again, now we are in slightly better order. If you wish. The weather's due to change, judging by the wind; we may have a bit of welcome rain by tomorrow night."
"Not Umerue's old chamber, I trust."
"No, we've lodged Prince Sordso and his watchers there."
"Nor Cattilara's."
"Dy Caribastos and his retinue have taken over that whole gallery." He cleared his throat. "I was thinking of the ones you had before. Across from mine. Although ... I fear there is not enough space to also house all of your ladies."
Ista managed not to grin, or at least not too broadly. "Thank you, Lord Illvin; I should be pleased."
His dark eyes sparked. His hand-kissing technique was definitely improving with practice, she thought.
ISTA SENT HER RESTORED RAIMENT FROM VALENDA ON AHEAD, EVEN minus all the staid selections in widow's green that she left in her brother's tents, she would be spared living in borrowed clothing henceforth. A little later, dy Baocia escorted her from his camp. Foix attended, guardsman handily making a smooth transition to courtier.
Dy Baocia's transition was a little less smooth, but on the whole he seemed to be managing the leap to the new Ista reasonably well, she thought. He avoided discussing the disturbing part about eating demons, seldom mentioned the god, but he'd entered into the material practicalities of her new vocation with gratifying attention to detail.
"We must determine the size of your personal guard," he remarked as they passed under Porifors's gates. "Too many will be a drain on your purse, but too few could prove a false economy."
"Very true. My needs will, I expect, vary with my locale. Add it to your list to discuss with my seneschal; he'll be the best judge of what this region requires."
"Will your seneschal also serve as your master of horse, as he did for his late brother? Or shall I recommend you a man?"
"Ser dy Arbanos's duties will be too demanding. I have another man in mind, though I'm not sure yet if he will accept. I may return for your recommendation, if not."
"What, not dy Gura, here?" dy Baocia inquired. Foix gave a little agreeable bow. "Or his good brother?"
"Ferda is claimed for the coming campaign by his cousin, Marshal dy Palliar, and must be off to join him shortly. Even as an officer of my household, Foix will likely do considerable traveling back and forth on Temple business; but a horse-master's tasks are daily. I am not sure what title I shall offer Foix. Royal Sorcerer? Master of Demons?"
"I should be perfectly content to retain officer-dedicat, Royina," Foix put in hastily, sounding slightly alarmed, then narrowing his eyes in suspicion at her primly pursed lips.
"I shall find you the work first, and the title later, then," she said. "You'll need something to swagger with, when we visit other courts, to keep up the expected royal hauteur on my behalf."
A grin flitted over his mouth. "As you command, Royina."
They turned into the stone court and mounted to the gallery, Ista controlled a shiver, passing up the steps on which she'd once faced a god. From the open door of her double chamber, a familiar but unexpected voice floated.
"She doesn't want you," Lady dy Hueltar said severely. "She doesn't need you. I am here now, and I assure you, I am far better acquainted with all her requirements than you will ever be. So just you run along back to the stables, or wherever you came from. Out, out!"