Free The Hallowed Hunt (Curse of Chalion) by Lois McMaster Bujold

mail. And size and dubious sobriety, for that matter.
    The woman unhooked the clasp at her throat and let the cloak fall away; she was dressed in robes of Mother’s green, and was not fat, but very pregnant. If some midwife-dedicat, she would shortly be in need of her own services, Ingrey thought bemusedly. The woman reached over her jutting belly to tap her left shoulder, and cleared her throat portentously. “See this, young man? Or are you too drunk to focus your eyes?”
    “See what?” said the burly retainer, unimpressed by a midwife, still less if she were some gravid poor woman.
    She followed his gaze to her frayed green-clad shoulder, and pursed her lips in annoyance. “Oh, dratsab. Hergi”—she twisted around to her maid, now rising to her feet—“they’ve fallen off again. I hope I haven’t lost them on the road—”
    “I have them right here, my lady,” wheezed the harried maid. “Here, I’ll pin them back. Again.”
    She came up from the floor with not one but two sets of Temple school braids clutched in her hands, and, tongue pinched between her teeth, began to affix them in their proper place of honor. The first loop was the dark green, straw-yellow, and metallic gold of a physician-divine of the Mother’s Order. The second was the white, cream, and metallic silver of a sorceress-divine of the Bastard’s Order. The first brought even Boleso’s retainer into an attitude of, if not greater respect, at least less careless contempt; but it was the second that drained his face of blood.
    Ingrey’s lips curled in the first smile he’d had all day. He tapped the man on the shoulder. “Best apologize to the learned lady, I think. And then get out of her way.”
    The retainer scowled. “Those can’t be yours!”
    The blood had drained from his brain, too, evidently. Those who are unwilling to admit error are fated to repeat it? Prudently, Ingrey backed a few paces down the passage; also because it gave him a better view of the proceedings.
    “I do not have time for you,” said the sorceress in aggravation. “If you insist on behaving as though you were in a sty, a pig you shall be, until you learn better manners.” She waved a hand in the retainer’s general direction, and Ingrey quelled an impulse to duck. He was entirely unsurprised when the man fell to all fours and his yelp turned into a grunt. The sorceress sniffed, gathered up her robes, and stepped daintily around him. Her head-shaking maid, toting a leather case, scooped up the cloak in passing. Ingrey bowed the women politely into the taproom and turned to follow after, ignoring an agonized snuffle from the floor. His other two men edged around the taproom and peered worriedly into the passageway.
    “Apologies, Learned,” said Ingrey smoothly, “but will your most salutary lesson last long? I only inquire because the man must be fit to ride tomorrow.”
    The blond woman turned to frown at him, her floating strands of hair seeming now to be trying to escape in all directions. “Is he yours?”
    “Not precisely. But though I am not responsible for his behavior, I am responsible for his arrival.”
    “Oh. Well. I will doubtless restore him before I leave. Else the delusion will wear off on its own in a few hours. Meanwhile, the encouragement of others and all that. But I am in the greatest haste. There was a grand cortege that arrived in Red Dike tonight, of Prince Boleso who they say was murdered. Have you witnessed it? I seek its commander.”
    Ingrey half bowed again. “You have found him. Ingrey kin Wolf-cliff at your service and your gods’, Learned.”
    She stared at him for a long, disturbing moment. “Indeed you are,” she finally said. “Well. That young woman, Ijada dy Castos. Do you know what has become of her?”
    “She is in my charge.”
    “ Is she.” The stare sharpened. “Where?”
    “She has chambers upstairs in this inn.”
    The maidservant huffed in relief; the sorceress cast her a look of cheery