[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
his eyes nearly shut, clutching his team's reins in clenched and shaking
hands. Ista narrowed her eyes against the light of the world and tried to
extend her inner vision to its fullest sensitivity, to directly perceive not
spirits hidden in matter, but spirits alone. Was this how the gods saw the
world? Cattilara's demon was not, to Ista's relief, expanded and dominant, but
curled in on itself within her again. Another male servant, one of Cattilara's
younger ladies, and Arhys's page cowered together in the wagon's back.
Two nearly extinguished forms lay side by side within. With the blockage of
Ista's corporeal vision by the canvas and wood, it became almost easier to see
what she was actually looking for. A wispy line of white fire, sluggishly
drifting from one body to another; at a level of perception even below that, a
net of violet light running three ways, the spell-channel.
She tightened her fingers, and Feather stopped and stood in a placid
obedience. She let the reins fall to his withers and stretched her hands,
letting her spirit follow along with her body. And then, for the first time,
flow beyond her body.
Bastard, help me. Curse You.
She did not, did not dare, try to break the
underlying lines of the demon's spell yet, but she set her ligatures and
summoned soul-fire. The white line from Illvin to Arhys blazed up like a
thatch catching alight in a distant dark.
Arhys's deep voice sounded from within, irritable as a man waking from sleep:
"What this? Illvin . . . ?"
is
Cattilara's screaming abuse abruptly stopped. Her head drew in, and she shrank
in her seat. Panting, she glowered at Ista.
Movement sounded within the wagon: a creak, boot steps on the floorboards.
Arhys poked his head out and stared around. "Bastard's hell! Where are we?" A
glance at the familiar landscape evidently answered the question to his
satisfaction, for he turned his frown on his weeping wife. "Cattilara, what
have you done?"
On the wagon's other side, the tensed Foix breathed relief and sent a small
salute of thanks in Ista's direction. The mauve flicker waiting in his palm
died away.
Cattilara turned in her seat and threw her arms around her husband's thighs in
wild supplication. Goram ducked out of her way. "My lord, my lord, no! Order
these people away! Tell Goram to drive on! We must escape! She is evil, she
wants to encompass your death!"
Automatically, he patted her hair. His rolling eye fell on Ista, watching
grimly. "Royina? What is this?"
"What is the last thing you remember, Lord Arhys?"
His brows drew in. "Cattilara sent me an urgent message to attend upon her at
the garrison's stable yard.
I walked in and found this wagon standing at the ready there, then nothing
after that." His frown deepened.
"Your wife took it into her head to carry you off and seek healing for you
elsewhere than Porifors. To what extent she was encouraged in this by her
demon, I know not, but it certainly assisted her in it. Illvin was brought
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along principally, I suppose, as your commissary."
Arhys winced. "Desert my post? Desert
Porifors? Now
?"
Cattilara flinched at the iron in his voice. Her collapse in tears before him
failed, for once, to have any softening effect. When he turned her face up to
his, Ista could see the tension in the tendons of his hands, standing out like
cords beneath his pale skin.
"Cattilara. Think. This desertion dishonors my trust and my sworn oaths. To
the provincar of Caribastos, to the Royina Iselle and Royse-Consort Bergon to
my own men. It is impossible."
"It is not impossible. Suppose you were sick of, oh, any other illness.
Someone else would have to take over then all the same. You are ill. Another
officer must take your post for now."
"The only one I would trust to take over at a moment's notice in this present
uncertainty is Illvin." He hesitated. "Would be Illvin," he corrected himself.
"No, no, no !" She fairly beat on him with her fists in a paroxysm of
frustration and rage.
Ista studied the pulsating lines of light.
Can I do this?
She wasn't sure.
Well, I am sure that I can try.
So.
She folded her fleshly hands quietly in her lap and reached again with her
spirit hands. Again leaving
the demon's underlying channels undisturbed, she tightened the ligature
between Illvin and Arhys nearly to closure.
Arhys fell to his knees; his lips parted in shock.
"If you want him upright and moving," said Ista to Cattilara, "you must keep
him so yourself, now. No more stealing."
"No!" screamed Cattilara as Arhys half collapsed across her. Goram grabbed at
him to keep his heavy body from toppling from the seat. Cattilara stared down
at Arhys's pale confused face in horrified denial.
The fire of her soul roiled up from her body and collected at her heart.
Yes
! Ista thought.
You can. Do it, girl
!
Then, with a wail and a white rush, Cattilara fainted away. The disorderly
fire burst from her heart, splashing irregularly in the spell-banks. Ista
extended a transparent hand again. The flow steadied, settled.
Not too swift, lest it drain its reservoirs altogether, nor too slow, lest it
fail its purpose. Just. . . there. Her inner eye rechecked the lines. A tiny
trickle of life still flowed from Illvin, just enough to maintain contact.
She dared not touch the demon's subtle net, not that she was at all sure she
could break it even if she tried. Arhys blinked, flexed his jaw, shakily stood
up, one hand braced on Goram's shoulder.
"Oh, thank you," muttered Foix into the blessed silence.
"I used to carry on not unlike that, from time to time, in my first grief,"
murmured Ista across to him, in uncomfortable reminiscence. "Why in five gods'
names did no one ever smother me and put themselves out of my misery? I may
never know."
A rasping voice from within the wagon said, "Bastard's demons, now what?"
A flash of relief crossed Arhys's features. "Illvin! Out here!"
A padding of bare feet; Illvin, wearing only his linen robe and looking much
like a man wakened too early after a night of too much revelry, stumbled out
and stood blinking into the bright morning, one lean hand grasping the canvas
frame for balance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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his eyes nearly shut, clutching his team's reins in clenched and shaking
hands. Ista narrowed her eyes against the light of the world and tried to
extend her inner vision to its fullest sensitivity, to directly perceive not
spirits hidden in matter, but spirits alone. Was this how the gods saw the
world? Cattilara's demon was not, to Ista's relief, expanded and dominant, but
curled in on itself within her again. Another male servant, one of Cattilara's
younger ladies, and Arhys's page cowered together in the wagon's back.
Two nearly extinguished forms lay side by side within. With the blockage of
Ista's corporeal vision by the canvas and wood, it became almost easier to see
what she was actually looking for. A wispy line of white fire, sluggishly
drifting from one body to another; at a level of perception even below that, a
net of violet light running three ways, the spell-channel.
She tightened her fingers, and Feather stopped and stood in a placid
obedience. She let the reins fall to his withers and stretched her hands,
letting her spirit follow along with her body. And then, for the first time,
flow beyond her body.
Bastard, help me. Curse You.
She did not, did not dare, try to break the
underlying lines of the demon's spell yet, but she set her ligatures and
summoned soul-fire. The white line from Illvin to Arhys blazed up like a
thatch catching alight in a distant dark.
Arhys's deep voice sounded from within, irritable as a man waking from sleep:
"What this? Illvin . . . ?"
is
Cattilara's screaming abuse abruptly stopped. Her head drew in, and she shrank
in her seat. Panting, she glowered at Ista.
Movement sounded within the wagon: a creak, boot steps on the floorboards.
Arhys poked his head out and stared around. "Bastard's hell! Where are we?" A
glance at the familiar landscape evidently answered the question to his
satisfaction, for he turned his frown on his weeping wife. "Cattilara, what
have you done?"
On the wagon's other side, the tensed Foix breathed relief and sent a small
salute of thanks in Ista's direction. The mauve flicker waiting in his palm
died away.
Cattilara turned in her seat and threw her arms around her husband's thighs in
wild supplication. Goram ducked out of her way. "My lord, my lord, no! Order
these people away! Tell Goram to drive on! We must escape! She is evil, she
wants to encompass your death!"
Automatically, he patted her hair. His rolling eye fell on Ista, watching
grimly. "Royina? What is this?"
"What is the last thing you remember, Lord Arhys?"
His brows drew in. "Cattilara sent me an urgent message to attend upon her at
the garrison's stable yard.
I walked in and found this wagon standing at the ready there, then nothing
after that." His frown deepened.
"Your wife took it into her head to carry you off and seek healing for you
elsewhere than Porifors. To what extent she was encouraged in this by her
demon, I know not, but it certainly assisted her in it. Illvin was brought
Page 158
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
along principally, I suppose, as your commissary."
Arhys winced. "Desert my post? Desert
Porifors? Now
?"
Cattilara flinched at the iron in his voice. Her collapse in tears before him
failed, for once, to have any softening effect. When he turned her face up to
his, Ista could see the tension in the tendons of his hands, standing out like
cords beneath his pale skin.
"Cattilara. Think. This desertion dishonors my trust and my sworn oaths. To
the provincar of Caribastos, to the Royina Iselle and Royse-Consort Bergon to
my own men. It is impossible."
"It is not impossible. Suppose you were sick of, oh, any other illness.
Someone else would have to take over then all the same. You are ill. Another
officer must take your post for now."
"The only one I would trust to take over at a moment's notice in this present
uncertainty is Illvin." He hesitated. "Would be Illvin," he corrected himself.
"No, no, no !" She fairly beat on him with her fists in a paroxysm of
frustration and rage.
Ista studied the pulsating lines of light.
Can I do this?
She wasn't sure.
Well, I am sure that I can try.
So.
She folded her fleshly hands quietly in her lap and reached again with her
spirit hands. Again leaving
the demon's underlying channels undisturbed, she tightened the ligature
between Illvin and Arhys nearly to closure.
Arhys fell to his knees; his lips parted in shock.
"If you want him upright and moving," said Ista to Cattilara, "you must keep
him so yourself, now. No more stealing."
"No!" screamed Cattilara as Arhys half collapsed across her. Goram grabbed at
him to keep his heavy body from toppling from the seat. Cattilara stared down
at Arhys's pale confused face in horrified denial.
The fire of her soul roiled up from her body and collected at her heart.
Yes
! Ista thought.
You can. Do it, girl
!
Then, with a wail and a white rush, Cattilara fainted away. The disorderly
fire burst from her heart, splashing irregularly in the spell-banks. Ista
extended a transparent hand again. The flow steadied, settled.
Not too swift, lest it drain its reservoirs altogether, nor too slow, lest it
fail its purpose. Just. . . there. Her inner eye rechecked the lines. A tiny
trickle of life still flowed from Illvin, just enough to maintain contact.
She dared not touch the demon's subtle net, not that she was at all sure she
could break it even if she tried. Arhys blinked, flexed his jaw, shakily stood
up, one hand braced on Goram's shoulder.
"Oh, thank you," muttered Foix into the blessed silence.
"I used to carry on not unlike that, from time to time, in my first grief,"
murmured Ista across to him, in uncomfortable reminiscence. "Why in five gods'
names did no one ever smother me and put themselves out of my misery? I may
never know."
A rasping voice from within the wagon said, "Bastard's demons, now what?"
A flash of relief crossed Arhys's features. "Illvin! Out here!"
A padding of bare feet; Illvin, wearing only his linen robe and looking much
like a man wakened too early after a night of too much revelry, stumbled out
and stood blinking into the bright morning, one lean hand grasping the canvas
frame for balance. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]