Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (16 page)

“Ander was there,” Chiss said.

“I saw him,” Callo said.

“You bowed to him,” Oron said. “That was a sign to those who watch such things. I think you have no desire to be our next King, Lord Callo. Am I right?”

“Lord Ander will be the rightful King,” Callo said.

“Ah, but oddly timid and uninterested in the realities of wielding power. He is not a strong personality. I have watched those who are used to dealing with His Majesty meet the boy and come away looking puzzled, sometimes concerned. They are not sure, these
righ
and their representatives, that he can rule.”

“He is just a boy,” Chiss said.

“Yes, just fifteen. Surely His Majesty Sharpeyes will be around for many years, so Ander will have time to hone his skills for ruling this land. Is that quite right, Lord Callo?”

Callo felt a jolt of anger, and knew it had reached his eyes.

Oron smiled. “I thought so.”

Callo turned and began to pace, nerves jittering through him. The effects of the drug seemed to have vanished. He was hyper-alert now. “What do you mean?”

“I too loved Lord Arias Alkiran,” Oron said.

“You are the King’s man, bound to him with color magery so you may raise no hand against him. I have known you for many years, and I know you are loyal.”

“In fact, I am. If you strike at him near me, I will do what I can to thwart you. But I must confess to great anger over what was done to my young friend Arias.” Oron sighed. “I have not yet worked it all out. But I do know that Lord Ander must be our next King, as is his place by honor of his birth. You are a bastard half-
righ
, with neither the support nor the control of your magery to hold these arrogant Collared Lords.”

“I told His Majesty I would not follow him on the throne. There need be no further discussion.”

Oron smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I think I believe you. But it is clear that King Martan does not. Why else would he keep you, like an icetiger feebly chained with straw, and cultivate your skill? Like it or not, if Mage Yhallin can help you get control of the color magery, you will owe the King a debt.”

“If so, it is greatly outweighed by the debts he owes me.”

“Once you are bound, King Martan’s life will be safe. I remember that when I have doubts about whether I should override my King’s leniency and take matters into my own hands. But you cannot be bound in this . . . condition.” A dismissive wave referred to the color magery that even now fought past the dullness of the drug to ring Callo’s arms and hands.

Callo could not stop the shiver that ran through him at the thought of being bound to the King.

Oron noticed. “It must be done, you know. As you are, you’re a wild card, uncontrollable. If you had been known to have mage talent, it would have been done long ago.”

“I had forgotten. So, that is why the King has not summoned me. He waits for his discussion until I can be bound to his safety with his color magery, and can no longer pose a threat.”

“Work with Yhallin,” Oron said. “You must, to save your own life. She may be strange, but she is brilliant beyond anyone I have met. The treatment works—much of the time. Though it is true you present a special case.” Oron shrugged and turned his head at a banging on the door. “Apparently our escape has been foiled. Those will be King’s men, come to return you to your pleasant imprisonment. I will argue your case with the Council members, most of whom despise you. They will like to see you gone.”

“Gone, or dead?” Callo said.

“A fine distinction, to some of them. As to the King, he has been warned of your recalcitrance, but he is full of pride. You are the result of his grand strategy of thirty years ago, and he will not let go so easily.”

* * * * *

Kirian entered the small room she had been assigned near Mage Yhallin’s chambers. She tossed her cloak on the bed and sat, thinking back over her day.

Mage Yhallin had been an undemanding superior thus far. Kirian’s mornings were usually free. She had been using the time to work through the information Yhallin had amassed on the diagnosis and treatment of insane color mages. In the afternoons, Yhallin told her to make herself useful at the Healer’s College clinic.

Kirian had no idea there were so many color mages who had difficulty containing the energies they must deal with. Reading through the pages of sloping handwriting in Yhallin’s records, she learned of the adolescent color mage who, torn between the normal stresses of his development and the pressure of color magery, had committed suicide by drinking poison in his family’s Healer’s rooms. Another case was of a woman, who unlike most female
righ
was able to use the ability usually only manifest in males of her family. She had no one to help her learn to contain the magery, and had died consumed by it before the eyes of her family at the age of nineteen.

There were other cases, some only hearsay from before Yhallin’s time. Sometimes the details were sketchy. Usually the stories were suppressed by the
righ
family.

Kirian noticed there seemed to be more of these cases in recent years—at least, if the anecdotal evidence in Yhallin’s records could be trusted. She wondered if this had anything to do with the relentless inbreeding practiced by the
righ
class, in their quest to make sure their mage ability was ever assured and enhanced in future generations.

Then there were the mages who came to Yhallin for help. Yhallin had pages of notes on these boys and men, detailing everything from their family histories to the results of her attempts to heal them with traditional instruction, drugs, and assistance from Mage Oron.

A few of these chapters had a single note at the bottom: To Deephold. And then no further notes at all.

Kirian spent that morning looking for information on whatever was done at Deephold. She found nothing. Then Yhallin required her to learn how to figure dosages of mellweed and phodian to suppress uncontrolled magery without incapacitating the mage. Now it was midafternoon, and Kirian was tired. She nibbled on some fresh fruit and bread she had taken from the kitchens and decided to lie down for a moment, enjoying the feel of the breeze coming in through her open shutters. It was the first cool breeze Sugetre had felt for a while. Wrapped in stifling heat for most of the summer, the city welcomed this harbinger of the coming autumn with open windows.

After a candlemark or so, she went to visit Callo.

Callo sat in his only chair, staring out the barred window when Kirian arrived. His hair streamed in a fall of pale gold over the chair back. As Kirian entered, he looked over at her, amber eyes half-lidded from sleepiness or boredom.

“Here to give me more of Yhallin’s drugs?” he asked.

“Have you not had your dose today?”

“You know I have. It deadens the world to me, but since it is all that is keeping me alive and somewhat free, I would not miss a dose.” He stood and smiled at her, though his face still had that sleepy look. “Are you here to keep me company?”

“I am only here to see how you are doing. Mage Yhallin wants me to—”

“What?” he interrupted. “Do you jump at every crook of her finger now?”

Kirian looked at him for a moment until Callo lowered his eyes and quirked one eyebrow. “I am sorry, Kirian. That was uncalled for. Come sit with me, will you?”

Kirian sat on the end of the bed next to the chair. Callo looked tired yet restless from too much inactivity. His lunch sat untouched on the table. A book lay face down on the table top near his lunch tray. Looking around, Kirian realized the light was dim in here, adding to the atmosphere of gloom. Yhallin Magegard had written in her notes the day before that Callo had refused his lesson with Mage Oron, and that his fingers had required treatment for burns as once again the color magery escaped control.
Possible attempt to manipulate through psychic magery,
Yhallin had added in her elegant handwriting. But Kirian knew how Callo felt about the ethics of using the ku’an magery, and doubted that last line was true.

“I was permitted out again yesterday, but they no longer trust me since the phodian seems to be only partially effective against the magery. I am not suited to remaining within walls all the time, Kirian. I am almost tempted to ask for more of the stuff, so I can be permitted outdoors.”

Kirian shuddered. “Do not ask Mage Yhallin that, love. It is building up in your system, you know.”

“I have missed you.”

Kirian held out her hand. “Give me your hands. How are your fingers?”

“They hurt,” Callo said. “But damned if I’ll let that woman give me mellweed. I can manage it well enough.”

Kirian checked to make sure the burns were not infected. They were only minor burns capping each fingertip, but she knew they hurt. She said, “You may have wine. It may help, a little.”

He turned towards her. “Kirian, do you know why the delay until we depart for Deephold? It is hard to sit in here, imprisoned, and just wait.”

“The caravan leaves soon. We dare not go alone, you know— the Sword of Jashan has been active in that area. There was a call for Healers to ride out to the plains just yesterday—some travelers were robbed, and three of them wounded. They are saying it was the rebels. There has been no luck in finding their camp so far—Yhallin said the people are helping them hide. Have you seen the King yet? What has he said?”

Callo maintained the contact when she released his hands; his fingers felt warm in hers. She squeezed them, very gently, and released them.

“He has not required my presence. He does not trust me, and rightly so—he waits until after Deephold, when I will be stable enough for him to forcibly bind me to loyalty. I did sustain a visit from Dionar. Do you know Dionar, the Lord Commander? He warns me of consequences should I put a foot wrong. And of course I am not allowed to set a foot outside the door without Sharpeyes’ assigned dogs at my side. I am eager to leave for Deephold, to finish what I promised you, Kirian.”

He still looked weary, but his eyes sparked with color magery. She could feel his resolution. She smiled. “I am glad you are willing to do this thing.”

“It is the least I can do for you.” He leaned forward and touched her cheek with one finger, as gentle as a raindrop. “I would be with you again, dearest, but I cannot trust myself.”

She smiled. “It will happen. After Deephold. Yhallin has given me a few words about the place. Do you want to hear them?”

“Of course!”

“You know where it is—in the northern mountains. King Martan gifted her this place, since there was nowhere else for her to go—a half-
righ
, female color mage.”

“And to command her devotion,” Callo added.

“Indeed. From the writings and her few words I have been able to glean only a little about what Yhallin puts her color mages through. It is not encouraging.”

“What is it?”

“She writes that Deephold takes everything away from the mage, until there is nothing at all left. Then it is up to him to fight to regain what he has lost.”

“I knew it was not a feastday stroll in the park. I will do whatever is required. Kirian, love, I dare not ask more, until I know I will not hurt you. But stay a while. Spend a little time here with me.”

She looked at him, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light, the magery limning his hands. He was beautiful as ever, even in his distress. She began to reach out, to caress his face. Then the memory of their last lovemaking at Northgard Manor returned to her, and she dropped her hand and turned her face away from him.

His gaze dropped. “I am sorry.”

“You are doing all you can.” She stood and moved towards the door. “I am sorry, Callo. I must go.”

“I see you must.” He rose, his jaw now set. “I can do nothing else but apologize again, Kirian. I swear it will not happen again.” A wash of color spread from his hands, rising like a tide up the walls of the room.

“Calm down,” she said. “Callo, the magery—”

“I see.” He raised his hands, looking at the sheet of energy that wrapped them. “It is a curse, this magery. Even Jashan will not help me—at least, as long as I lie confined here. Tell Yhallin to get me to Deephold—the faster, the better.”
 

Chapter Ten

Two days later, Ander finally got out of the smothering closeness of the Castle and went to Lake Heart.

The Lake lay in a park in the city’s center. Its wide expanse served up nets of fish each day, thanks to diligent farming and restocking. Paddle boats were rented to anyone who could pay a few coppers. Vendors in stalls sat up on the low hill near the lake, selling water, wine and cakes to thirsty boaters. There was a trail weaving in and out of the well-tended trees, where horsemen could have a peaceful ride almost as if they were in the country. It was odd, riding beside Shan-il and Froman as they entered the trailhead, that to Ander’s left lay the glittering water, and to his right just beyond the screening trees and a narrow verge lay the clutter of Sugetre.

Chiss had told him that everyone in Sugetre came to Lake Heart at one time or another, or again and again, if they were fortunate enough to have the time and means. The poorer visitors came on foot with their children, and ate bread and cheese. The
righ
came on horseback or in carriages to enjoy the lake and be served picnics by their servants. Their servants came too, on their days off, and walked around the lake chattering and courting.

Ander brought no servants. He had bread and sausage in his saddlebag, and Shan-il carried wineskins on his saddle. The six guardsmen Balan had sent with them cleared the common people out of their way.

Froman, who had been forced to accompany Ander by an order from the King, was sulky and uncommunicative. He watched the women at the lake, and once they entered the green trail he rode a little ahead of the others, fulfilling the word of the order he had been given. Ander was happy not to have to speak with the man.

He had felt a little sick as he left the castle grounds, a weakness he attributed to the heat in the city. After a few minutes on the trail, he felt stronger. He dropped back to ride with Shan-il.