Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (26 page)

Balan glared at him. “Do it, my lord. It is not like you to be dizzy and fainting all over the place. If something is wrong, better you know early.”

“All right!” Ander glared back.

* * * * *

Ander’s outer chamber held an ornate couch and a long table. The door to the inner chamber was open, allowing a breeze to circulate from the windows in the other room. Ander sat down on the edge of his bed, waiting for Jesel.

When Ander heard voices in the hall outside his door, he knew Jesel had not come alone. He sighed. All he wanted was to lie down in peace, and be left alone. Perhaps he would sleep, or maybe, if he felt a little better, work on the half-finished portrait of his betrothed he was copying from a miniature she had sent him. It sat in the corner of the room, drawing his eye; he would like to avoid the fuss he knew was approaching, and paint instead.

Jesel entered, his jaw set and his face a little red. Ander knew why as soon as he saw who bustled into the room after the Healer: Lady Dria Mar, in full court dress; his tutor Shan-il; and a fat man in a belted green tunic who wore the insignia of the Healer’s College.

“Lord Ander,” Jesel said helplessly. “I am sorry, but they insisted.”

“You can at least introduce that man,” Ander said. As he spoke, the room swayed about him again. His stomach churned. He did not feel up to this hassle.

“This is Hon Char Irilan, head of the Healer’s College. Your lady mother demanded he accompany us, apparently not trusting to my diagnosis although I have been with your family for years.” Jesel’s voice betrayed his insult.

“Now, now,” Lady Dria Mar said. “You are young, and he is the rightful heir to the throne of Righar.”

“I was always the heir, and he was
always
young,” Ander said.

Dria Mar cast him a forbidding look. “Circumstances are different now.”

“Shan-il—Mother—would you please go away? I will talk to Jesel and the Lord Healer, if I must.”

“He is of legal age, Lady Dria Mar,” Shan-il said.

“So he is.” Dria lifted her chin. “I want a full report, Hon Char.”

“You will have it.” The heavy man’s voice was deep and unctuous. Ander disliked him as soon as he heard it.

With Lady Dria Mar and Shan-il gone, Hon Jesel summarized for the Lord Healer what he had learned from Ander.

“Hmmm,” said Char. “Dizziness. Weakness. With a sudden onset since you came here, my lord Ander?”

Ander nodded. He noticed Char cast a heavy-lidded look at the younger Healer. The man sounded serious. Hon Jesel himself, whom Ander had known for years as he grew up through the common illnesses and injuries of childhood, looked uncharacteristically grim. It was clear they thought something was really wrong.

Jesel asked a few questions under Char’s watchful eye. He examined Ander’s eyes, his mouth and throat, and the color of his skin after he pressed it hard. It seemed to Ander that Jesel was checking him more thoroughly than he otherwise might a teenage boy who had felt dizzy after a morning’s exercise in the heat, and no breakfast.

Finally Ander had enough. “What?” Ander asked them.

“May I speak to Hon Char first, my lord? In private?”

Ander looked from Jesel to Char. “No. This is my health we’re discussing, and I have had enough of all this secretiveness this morning. You may speak in front of me or I will ask for another Healer. What is going on?”

“May I beg your indulgence, my lord?” The heavy man looked really exhausted. Ander realized the man was not used to standing for so long.

“Yes, yes, sit,” Ander said. He waved to them both.

Jesel sat in the chair at the foot of Ander’s bed where his manservant sometimes worked on his clothing. Char, who was wheezing, slumped into the brocade chair near the window, and poured himself a mug of wine from the green-glass pitcher that stood there. Then the man looked into the mug, frowning, and set it aside. Ander did not see him sip from it again.

The Lord Healer turned to Jesel. “I take it you noticed the heartbeat?”

“Unusually fast, and a little weak,” Jesel said.

“And the yellowing of the white part of the eye?”

Jesel nodded.

“My lord,” Char said. “Has your stomach been upset lately?”

“A little, perhaps. Now and then.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Char said. He wiped his forehead with one thick forearm. “May I ask if there are any differences lately in the amount of urine you have been producing daily?”

Ander felt his face heat. “Uh, I haven’t noticed any change.”

“He is a Healer, my lord,” Jesel reminded him. “It will help us determine what is wrong.”

Ander fumed. “Some things are private. I suppose it is a mercy I am fifteen now, and my lady mother is not required to be in here with us, too! I am tired of waiting on you, Jesel. What is going on? Am I dying, or what?”

“We hope to delay that by a few decades,” Jesel said, smiling at the boy to reduce his tension. “It is serious, my lord, but it can be resolved. May I ask: who brings your food and drink? Do you eat formally, with the King or your lady mother?”

Ander paled. “
Poison
?”

“It seems likely,” Char said.

Ander swallowed. “Jashan’s eyes, I am beginning to feel like a target is drawn on my chest. What is this, the third attempt on me in just one season? This place is a hell of conspiracy. It was never like this before.”

“The succession was never in question before,” Jesel said.

Ander waved him to silence. “So, if someone is poisoning me, why am I not dead on the floor?”

“It could be a slow poison, administered to you in small doses. Rest you, my lord, we are not yet sure. It is a likely possibility, based on your symptoms.”

Ander sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. “I have usually eaten my meals here in my rooms. The King has not summoned me, and my lady mother and I have had a disagreement. So I eat here. Everything is brought from the kitchens, the same as far as I know as everyone else eats.”

“And who brings it?”

Ander shrugged. “Hurkness brings it.”

“Is that the man Lady Dria Mar hired for you?” Jesel asked.

“Him? No. That man was my mother’s creature, assigned by her to spy on me. I sent him away a sennight ago.”

A wisp of breeze carried the taste of autumn into the room. For just a moment Ander felt his distress ease. Perhaps with the end of this miserable heat, his illness would go too.

Jesel sighed. “My lord. You know well that you cannot just send your people away like that. How did you find your current manservant?”

“The King’s steward brought him. How should I know where he came from? He is a silent kind of man. I have barely spoken with him.”

Jesel and Char looked at each other. Then Char said: “Well. This is an oversight.”

“I will inform Hon Balan immediately.”

“You think someone in the kitchens has been poisoning my food? Why would they care?”

“They would care if they were working for someone who wished you dead. I think we know from all the attempts over the past season that someone does in fact wish you dead, my lord.” Jesel packed up his bag.

“I should have hired my own man,” Ander said.

Jesel shrugged. “Or required someone to do it for you. You may trust Hon Balan to do that, I think. Or you may ask Shan-il, or another member of the house you are forming.”

Char Irilan heaved his bulk from the chair and went to the door. Ander saw sweat stains under the big man’s arms as Char opened the door and called for a guard.

“The servant named Hurkness,” Char told the man. “I want him detained. Now.”

“Remember too, Lord Ander, that we are not sure,” Jesel said. “We must watch everything that comes into these rooms, and see if you begin to recover. I think you will.”
 

Chapter Fifteen

“Here we are.” Rhin swung open the wooden door to disclose a space no larger than a nobleman’s closet.

Callo had never lived in luxury; his position as a bastard
righ
had forbidden it. His quarters in Sugetre had been those of a guard commander, allowing him some privacy but no room for extras. Still, he had never seen a room as tiny as the one Rhin led him to after their candlemarks-long discussion with Hira Noh.

His head was swimming, just a little; Hira Noh had doled out the wine with a generous hand, no doubt hoping it would loosen Callo’s tongue. Callo had no concern for such a thing, since he planned to be honest with her. He had not enjoyed such a vintage since his time at Northgard Manor, helping to warn the boy’s stepfather against the King. Now Ander was in the eagle’s claws, rattling around Sugetre Castle with only a few loyal people to defend him against Sharpeyes’ machinations.

Callo peered inside the room. There was a narrow bed, covered with a thin gray blanket. A bolt driven into the opposite wall could hold swordbelt, weapon and cloak. A chipped jug sat on a ledge above the bed; Callo feared if he rolled over and struck the wall in his sleep, the jug would crash down on his head.

The room provided privacy, and freedom of a sort after the luxurious prisons he had occupied in Sugetre Castle and Deephold. He smiled.

“My thanks,” he said, “I did not expect a private room at all.”

“Mornin’ meal’s at full sun. Show up by the fire and claim a bowl,” Rhin said. “If ya wants some kind o’ fancy tea, yer welcome to make it yer own self.”

“That’s fine,” Callo said. “And my companion?”

“She’s with the other women. Safe as they is.” He grinned.

That did not reassure Callo. He resolved to make sure that Kirian was adequately housed and protected in this camp of rough men.

“Color mage,” Rhin addressed him, his gaze level. “Yer not tellin’ us lies, now. Ta get us where we can be taken by King’s men.”

“No lies,” Callo said. “But no guarantees either, Hon Rhin. If you go with me to Sugetre, you will be vulnerable.”

“Lot o’ fancy talk. King’s men are everywhere. We can be taken if we go out fer a piss in the mornin’. That’s our life,
righ
. What I want to know is, are ya’ goin’ ta betray us?”

“No. I meant what I said in there.”

“Some of ’em won’t like it. Workin’ fer a
righ
, ya know.”

“You work for a
righ
now.”

“She ain’t a
righ
at heart. Never was. She’s got her own reasons for fighting them. Don’t recommend ya ask, though. She don’t share it around.”

Callo nodded. He had heard rumors of the loss that had driven the young Hira Noh from her family’s manor to this band of outlaws in the woods. It was not something he would ask her about, just as he would not share the details of his own story. “You won’t be working for me. You are your own men. This is an alliance only—you help get me where I wish to go, uncaptured—and I make sure your voices are heard.”

“We never cared if our voices was heard. Just wanted ta bring down the lot of ye.”

“Well.” Callo shrugged. “That I cannot condone. Such a thing would make the whole nation easy prey for scavengers from Ha’las.”

“So ya says.” Rhin pulled at his beard with a brown hand. “Gotta say, I heard tell of refugees come ashore north o’ Two Merkhan. Did Hira tell ya?”

Callo shook his head.

“My aunt sent a message. Happened nigh a sennight ago now. Skinny bunch o’ folk, said ye could see their ribs. Begged for food, and was given some, then they went inland. Don’ know what they can do. Can’t camp out on someone’s land, an’ there ain’t no unclaimed land for them.”

Callo said, “Your aunt was fortunate this group was so peaceful. There have been Black Tides sent against Seagard, and a fishing village on the coast burnt to the ground.”

Rhin snorted. “That’s a tall tale, me lordling. Why would a bunch o’ starvin’ folk burn a whole village?”

“Easy to burn the village folk in their sleep, and take what they want,” Callo said. “It is autumn now. There’s grain and grapes, and the sheep and cows are fat from a summer’s grazing. With no villagers to object, the Ha’lasi invaders would eat well for a while—unless there is a local lord to defend them. And perhaps, rebuild.”

Rhin shook his head. “Can’t help but feel fer ’em. They’re starvin’. I’ve been there, when I was on the run, before I found this group.”

“I feel for them as well. But they can’t be allowed to tear us down in their search for a safe place and food.” Callo looked around. “Where are the women? I want to check on Kirian.”

Rhin led him across the camp. The place was makeshift but not disorganized. He assumed it was Hira Noh, or lieutenants she had chosen, who had laid out the arms training areas, and who directed the men who were busy maintaining the bows and arrows as Callo and Rhin passed. The cookfire seemed well provisioned, as well; a savory scent of meat and onions issued from the big pots on the spit, and a pile of loaves sat on a trestle table, undisturbed until mealtime. The cook scowled at them, warning them away.

They passed the gaping door to the old barn. Something made a yammering bleat inside. Apparently the rebels had at least one goat, for milk or meat.

They proceeded to the additions that had been built onto the old stable. Inside the first room were three bedrolls, rolled up out of the way to make room for a scarred bench and chairs. Kirian sat on one chair, her hair sticking up in spikes from the heat created by too many people in one room. A boy hardly old enough to be away from home sat on the other, showing a swollen wound on his upper arm to Kirian. Two others waited on the benches.

They all looked up when Callo stuck his head through the door.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said. “Is all well with you, then, Kirian?”

“Very well,” she said. She smiled at him, and his heart warmed. “I am just doing what I can for these sick people.”

“I will see you at mealtime, then.” He backed out of the room and grinned at Rhin. “She is very good at what she does, Hon Rhin. You will be glad of her before this is all done.”

That evening, Kirian ate stew and bread with Callo and then returned to her work. It was very late when Callo awakened to find a warm body crawling into his bed.

“Huh,” he said.

“It’s just me,” Kirian whispered.