Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (23 page)

Mot spat. “So much for yer promises,” she said.

“I will not go back on my promise,” Kirian said. “I will deliver you safe to Sugetre Castle, when this is done. I will make sure you are treated well there, maybe taught housekeeping or some such. When we get back, Mot, which is not now.”

Mot slid down from Chiss’ horse, avoiding his grab. She turned back toward Deephold. “I’m goin’ back. The creepy mage can give me a job, I guess.” She pushed her way between the undergrowth they had ridden through, and the low branches closed to hide her trail.

Kirian felt helpless. “I promised, Callo. I cannot leave her wandering around in the wilderness alone.”

“I will go with her.” Chiss pulled his horse around to go after the girl. “Continue on, my lord. Hon Kirian, take care of him—and yourself. I will take care of the child as I have done for you all these years, Lord Callo.”

“And done with great care,” Callo said. He was silent a moment, watching Chiss. “I will miss you, Chiss. I do not think we have been apart before, not since you came to me when I was a child.”

“No. You tried to get rid of me before you embarked on the
Fortune,
but you failed.” Chiss actually smiled; Kirian could see the flash of white teeth in the near-dark. “I will miss you too, my lord. But I think you both need me to watch that stubborn child right now. I will see you again when she is safely delivered into the care of a respectable woman at Sugetre Castle.”

Kirian heard a scrambling sound in the brush. She caught her breath. “They are near.”

“I will go. That child is street-wise, but she has no idea of how to avoid capture in the woods.” Chiss put his heels to his horse’s flank and was gone.

“Jashan watch over you, Chiss,” Callo said. “Let us go, Kirian. To the rebels.”

* * * * *

Candlemarks later, the deepest part of the forest fallen behind them, Kirian stretched and hoped her legs would uncramp when they eventually stopped.

Sounds of pursuit had dropped behind them with the tangle of the forest. A glare of color magery from the direction of Deephold had let them know where Yhallin herself was, but she had undoubtedly sent separate parties after the escapees. The chase had been agonizing, since they were forced to ride slowly in the darkness. They followed deer trails and an occasional woodcutter’s path, but the going was slow. After a candlemark, Callo apparently felt safe enough to use his color magery, lighting a muted red glow that gave them some illumination without risking discovery. The mage light did not waver in the fitful wind as a candle would; it gave a dreamlike unreality to their surroundings.

“That shield Yhallin made was useful,” Kirian said. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Arias made such a thing once. It was in the South, when we were on duty there.” Callo cleared his throat, as if this mention of Arias had recalled other memories of his brother.. “It is possible I can learn to do that, now that I am not fighting the magery every waking minute.”

Eventually they stopped. They were in a small clearing surrounded by underbrush. Callo dismounted. “We rest here,” he said. “Just until sunup.”

“That isn’t far off,” Kirian said.

“I know. Just—let’s rest while we can, all right?” He yawned and allowed the mage light to die back into his hands. Kirian remembered his burned hands must be hurting after all that time clutching Miri’s reins. She should unwrap the bandages and look at them.

Was that a branch snapping?
Kirian raised a hand. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

A pale gray rose in the east, but it was still too dim for Kirian to make anything out. A few early birds called in the trees. Kirian drew a deep breath and smelled damp wood and the crisp air that was the first harbinger of autumn. She strained her ears, but heard nothing.

“Are you sure?” Callo murmured. “I hear noth—”

Hooves thudded beside them. Saddle leather creaked. Two horses shoved up against theirs. A hand reached for Kirian’s bridle but she gasped and pulled her horse’s head away. There were people on foot and in the trees. Kirian recognized the distinctive posture of men standing with bows drawn, ready to loose arrows into their midst.

Callo sat on Miri with both his hands held in the air in a manner Kirian hoped would pacify the strangers. One of the men had seized Callo’s sword, and began turning it in his hands, admiring the jewels on the hilt. Kirian’s mare’s reins were ripped from her hands. A rough grip squeezed Kirian’s thigh before tearing the saddlebags away and spilling their contents on the ground. She shivered.

“This ‘un’s got some pretty clothes,” yelled one of the strangers to his companions.

“And a pretty sword,” said the man with Callo’s weapon. “You someone special then, man?” The man had a full black beard and wore a thin band of red fabric stitched to his shoulder that might denote rank.

“Who are you?” Callo asked him.

Black Beard held up a hand. “None o’ yer business, lordling,” he said. “We should be askin’ you that. This ain’t yer land, or yer King’s land, ya know. It’s ours.”

“Sword of Jashan,” Kirian breathed.

“I am here to see you,” Callo said. “I need to see Hon Hira Noh.”

“Course ya do. They all says that, when we take their gold and they’re left naked in the woods. Can ya make it back to yer servants naked, do ya think? On foot?”

“Bad idea to let them go, naked or not,” rumbled another of the bandits.

“Ha!” A shout of triumph from the man going through the saddlebags. “Coin, men! Kels in his bags!”

A cheer went up from the men in the clearing. The gray dawn grew brighter, and Kirian saw someone standing by the spilled pack, pouring all of Callo’s coins from a cloth bag into another man’s hands. It looked a respectable amount.

The dawn light showed the men in rough homespun tunics and leggings. The soles of one man’s boots flapped; they were held on by strips of leather. The men had the unkempt look of people who lived mostly outdoors. But they had weapons, and the weapons looked perfectly functional to Kirian.

“Hey! I saw ya put those in yer belt!” A scuffle broke out among the men who had discovered Callo’s coin. Kirian heard the thud of fists. One of the men went down hard and sprawled on the ground among the dirt and dead leaves.

“Hold, over there!” Black Beard shouted.

One of the rebels had his dagger at the fallen man’s throat. The thief lay still, eyes peering up at the man who had knocked him down. He still held coins clutched in his hand. As Kirian watched, the man standing over him looked over at Black Beard.

“Hai, Rhin! Permission to deal with this scum?” he asked, oddly formally.

“Jashan’s ass, El, I warned ya last time!” Black Beard’s face was red. “We need no scum who’ll steal from their brethren. No more chances. Do the deed, Hoshe.”

El dropped the coins and tried to scuttle away. Hoshe grabbed his hair with one hand and pulled El’s head back until Kirian could see the tendons of his neck in relief. Then Hoshe made one swift strike. Blood sprayed across the clearing from the gash in El’s throat. Kirian winced and looked away from El’s dead face.

If this was how these rough men dealt with a transgressor in their own ranks, how would they deal with strangers intruding on their land? Callo’s amber eyes were fixed on Black Beard’s face; he was expressionless. Miri moved under him, trying to sidle away; she must be sensing her rider’s tension.

“Hon Hira Noh will want to see us,” Callo told Black Beard. “I have a plan to present to her that she will be glad to hear.”

Black Beard swore. “Get yer ass down so I can deal with ya!” he said. He pulled Callo down from the mare so fast that Callo barely kept his feet as he stumbled against Miri’s side. Callo tried to turn to face Black Beard, but another bandit whipped a leather cord about his bandaged wrists and had his hands tied behind him almost before Kirian knew what was happening. Callo stood tall with his hands restrained behind him, fuming.

Kirian saw spots of blood on the white bandages, and winced.

“Get the woman down too!” Black Beard ordered.

The man next to Kirian’s mare moved fast. He yanked Kirian off her horse so suddenly she fell back into his chest. Arms wrapped around her. The man laughed, one hand fondling her breasts as the other gripped her waist. “This ‘un’s mine,” he said.

“Hands
off
!” Kirian said, stepping back onto his foot as hard as she could.

He yelped but did not remove his hands. “Little bitch,” he said. “Nobleman’s whore, are ya?”

“Kirian?” Callo said, voice rising in agitation. “You, vermin, get your hands off her!” He began to move toward her, but Black Beard stopped him with Callo’s own dagger held to his throat.

“Ya,
vermin
are we now?” he jeered. “A minute ago we was yer friends, and ye was lookin’ for us. Not so much now, huh?”

Kirian tried to squirm away, but the man’s arms tightened around her. One of his beefy hands still scrabbled in her tunic. She tried to shove him off balance with her weight, but he barely moved.

“Quit fooling around, Inish,” the leader said, but he was laughing.

Inish paid no attention. He wasn’t laughing now; he was breathing hard, and his hands were rough and urgent as they pulled at her tunic. Kirian began to feel really frightened. “Get off!” she screamed at him.

Across the fire one of the attackers yelled. Light flared across them. Kirian looked up to see color magery swirling around Callo like a glimpse into the heart of a fire. His hands were free; he had burned away the leather cords. Black Beard fell back, astonished.

“Let her
go
,” Callo gritted at Inish, who dropped Kirian like a hot ember and backed away. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at Callo.

“Great Unknown God, he’s a mage,” said Black Beard.

“What in the name of the Unknown God is going on here?”

It was a woman’s voice, strident enough to cut through the noise but
righ
-accented. The rebels stood back a little from their captives. A woman of middle years, wearing the same rough homespun as the men but in much better repair, shoved her way through the underbrush and strode into the clearing. Her face was unremarkable except for the direct look in her sharp eyes.

“Found us some coin, and some hostages too, I think,” Black Beard said. “Even a mage!” He nodded at Callo, who still stood glaring at Inish with color magery swirling around his hands.

“Tell him to get away from her, or you will be short another man,” Callo gritted, looking at Inish. “Then I’ll greet you gladly, since I believe you are the one I am seeking.”

“Move away, Inish,” the woman ordered.

“He’s goin’ to toast me as soon’s I’m a length away from her,” Inish said. “Think I touched his whore or somethin’.”

The magery flared. Callo gritted his teeth.

Then the woman was behind Callo. She shoved Black Beard away and held a dagger to Callo’s throat. Her sleeve fell back from a muscled, scarred forearm. “Color mage or not, a dagger to the throat will defeat you,” she said. The dagger scraped against Callo’s skin. A thin line of blood began to leak down his neck. Callo dropped the magery, letting it fade away.

“Better to slice his neck right now, Hira,” Black Beard said. “If we let him go, he’ll bring back lots more like him. A dangerous hostage he’d make. Not worth it, I say.”

“Did I ask for your advice?” The woman snapped. But the dagger moved slightly on Callo’s skin, as if she were considering that.

Once again Kirian felt the overwhelming trust she had experienced when Callo used his ku’an magery on Yhallin Magegard. This time she knew what was happening; a clinical part of her brain analyzed the emotion, while at the same time she was suffused with confidence in her lover. She felt a little better, knowing that this false emotion did not wipe out all her intelligence once she was aware it was happening to her.

But the ku’an magery worked as well on Hira Noh’s rebels as it had on Yhallin. The rebel leader pulled her dagger away from Callo’s neck. She sheathed the weapon. Her face flushed.

“I beg your pardon,” Hira Noh said. “I’m not sure why I did that.” Her educated accent contrasted sharply with her weathered face and worn homespun tunic.

“I’ll tell you, in just a moment,” Callo said. His eyes were on their attackers as the men dropped their weapons, and the bowmen came out of the woods. He took his sword from Black Beard’s unresisting hands. “First, I want you to send these men away. Would you do that?”

“Of course. I will do whatever you ask. But why?”

“In a moment,” Callo said. His hand was on his sword, but Kirian did not think he would need it. The rebels showed no sign of putting up a fight. Even if they chose to resist, Kirian knew Callo could handle this situation, or any other, brilliantly, using only the weapons and magery he had.

Then she recognized the false trust Callo’s magery had given her. “Unknown God, give me a spark of wit,” she murmured to herself.

Hira Noh was sending her men away, as she might if she had met an old friend traveling in the woods instead of an unknown color mage and his armed companion. The men strolled off into the underbrush, heading back wherever they had come from, full of trust for Callo and without a thought for the incongruity of what Hira Noh was asking them. Black Beard frowned a little, as if confused, but whatever doubt he felt was not enough to overcome Callo’s ku’an influence. He ended up walking away as carelessly as the other men.

El’s body lay abandoned in the dirt, as did the bag of kels he had fought over. Kirian thought about the power of the psychic magery. She remembered the corrupt uses the mages of Ha’las had put their abilities to in their endless quest for power, wealth, and personal satisfaction.

It was a good thing Callo was an honorable man. She was glad he could be trusted with such a dangerous ability. He was surely the only psychic mage who could be so relied upon.

She fought past the trust that lay over her like a blanket and took her dagger in her hands, ready to defend herself when Callo released the rebel leader from his web of magery.

When it dropped, she felt it. Then, in spite of her love for the man who had imposed it on her, she could not help but feel a stab of anger and betrayal at the way her emotions had been forced.