"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; in fact, she suspected she had all his attention. It felt very odd.