Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (34 page)

“I suppose I must be.” Callo bowed in Yhallin’s direction. “I was concerned. I see I need not have been. Though I wish you and the other healers had been more successful in his treatment.”

“You may ask Hon Kirian what we are using,” Yhallin said. “There is little enough we can do, since the illness itself remains a mystery. But we are doing what we can to strengthen him.” The sharp, suspicious look had left her eyes.

“Hon Kirian was kind enough to show me what you have been using,” Oron said. “Once again, I offer my appreciation for your care. Has anyone kept the King up to date on his heir’s condition?”

“Daily,” Yhallin said. “While he is away, he asked that we send a messenger to keep him informed. But His Majesty will be back in Sugetre any day now.”

“Indeed. Good day, Healer.” Oron nodded and walked from the room into the hallway.

“Wait!” Yhallin said. “Lord Mage, this man is wanted by the King.”

“I will make sure he causes no trouble,” Oron said, and turned his back on her. Callo saw Oron’s hands shaking, but the old man’s voice betrayed nothing out of the ordinary.

“Follow them,” Yhallin said to the guardsman. “I will send more men. King Martan will want him detained—comfortably detained!” she added as the man’s hand went to his weapon.

The guardsman followed them both out.

Callo walked beside Oron as the old man proceeded through the halls. Behind him, Yhallin called for Dionar to be summoned immediately. Oron walked fast, his mage cloak hushing around him as he headed away from the
righ
residential section.

Callo was impressed by the strength the old man displayed; he could tell Oron was distressed, but his shoulders were straight, and he nodded at people they encountered as if there was nothing more serious on his mind than what to eat for lunch. Callo supposed one would develop some ability at dissembling if one had to live and work for long in the mess of intrigue that was Sugetre Castle.

The guardsman Yhallin had called walked behind them. He was joined by two other men, both armed. None of them dared raise a hand against the Lord Mage of Righar and the Royal Bastard who was obviously under his protection; but Callo knew as soon as Lord Dionar made an appearance, that would change. Callo began to think of trying to get out of the castle before he lost his freedom once again.

Oron turned on the men. “Why are you following me?” he demanded. Because he was listening for it, Callo heard a minute shake in the old man’s voice. He doubted it would be discernible to anyone further away.

“Lord Mage, this man is wanted by His Majesty.”

“Well, he is here, and I have him in my custody. Send your word, if you must. Do you think me incapable of dealing with this man?” Red magery began to coalesce around Oron’s hands.

The men stepped back. “No, my lord.”

“Then, leave us! Post a guard, if you must protect yourselves. I have no objection.”

The guardsman nodded. “Thank you, my lord.” He whispered a few words to his companions, and one of them strode off, no doubt to summon reinforcements. Then they reached Oron’s rooms, and the heavy door closed behind them. Oron dropped into the carved chair that sat before his cold fireplace, and took a deep breath.

“What is it?” Callo asked. “You discovered something; I can see that. What is happening?”

Oron looked up at Callo, and his face looked very old. “Lord Callo,” he said. “There is no poison and no illness. King Martan is killing his heir using color magery.”
 

Chapter Nineteen

Callo heard shouts in the corridor.

“I must go,” he said. “If I do not leave now, I will never get out.”

“Go then.” Oron said. “Do not count on strength of arms to get you free. You must use your Ha’lasi magery, and I will dissemble when they come to confront me.”

Callo eased the door open and peered out. “Come to us, later,” he said. “I must know— you must come at your first opportunity.”

Oron smiled. “Your Healer will come with me. She knows I am to be trusted. Go! I hear them on the stairs.”

Callo slipped into the hallway. Two men stood in the hall, looking uncomfortable as they awaited reinforcements. The alarm had been raised, but he knew the guards would try to take him without hurting him; he was a
righ
, after all, and Dionar would have cautioned them that Callo was valuable to the King.

A clatter of running footsteps came from the corner stairs; there were men there, coming to capture him again. He would die rather than be imprisoned in that luxurious room again, drugged into uselessness. He reached for his psychic magery. The internal wall he had built to contain the magery fell, and Callo let the full force of his ku’an heritage out into Sharpeyes’ castle. He pushed terror out into the stone halls, so that the man facing him with belt knife drawn dropped his weapon and scuttled against the wall. Another guardsman gave a keening cry and wrapped his arms around his bowed head. The men who had been running up the stairs stopped, dropping to sit hunched over helplessly. One of them ran awkwardly down the stone steps and fell, clattering in his mail to the next landing. Cries of fear echoed from various rooms off the corridor, from
righ
and commoner alike, as terror seized Sugetre Castle.

It was easier than it had ever been. Callo let his ku’an magery strike into the minds of everyone within his reach as he slipped down the halls, ran down a servants’ staircase, and vanished past the incapacitated gate guards into the clutter of the city.

He was not far away when he was forced to drop the magery. Weaving a little on his feet, he pulled the ku’an magery back in and raised his wall again. His hands shook, and he sucked in air as if he had been running. His heart stuttered. He bent over, hands braced on his knees as he recovered. Only moments later he heard the horn sound at the castle, and the shouts of a nearby guard post, mobilizing. He stood up and walked fast, but did not run, through a street of colorful merchants’ awnings, across an alley dotted with manure, into a lane of sand-brick shops.

The air itself felt ominous. People moved faster than usual, clearing their wares from their stalls, finding errant children. A group of girls, who had been giggling in front of a jeweler’s shop when Callo entered the street, paled and rushed inside. A door slammed closed behind Callo. When the horn sounded, there was danger—usually a siege or some approaching natural disaster. People would vanish into their homes or the nearest shelter, and the streets would soon be empty.

Callo did not take a direct route back to Hon Sia’s house. The city was alerted, and people watched; wary and wide-eyed, they noted his passing. He went as far out of his way as he dared before the streets were almost vacant. Then he circled back and slipped into Hon Sia’s courtyard.

Hon Sia came out of the house with her maidservant when he arrived. She was wide-eyed and breathless. “What is all the alarm?” she asked. “It is because of you?”

“Yes,” Callo said. “Hon Sia, I took a circuitous route to get here, and no one followed me. Where is Hira Noh?”

It was not Hira Noh, but black-bearded Rhin who slammed into the courtyard, frightening Sia’s doe-eyed maidservant.

“You!” Rhin growled. “Couldn’t wait, could ya? Had to see the sick Heir? Dam’ fool
righ
. Now the city guard has been mobilized. They aim to keep in what’s already in. How are we goin’ to escape the King’s men when they return?”

Hira Noh strode into the courtyard. “Looks as if you were caught?” she said to Callo. She lay a hand on Rhin’s arm. “Stop, Rhin. This does no good. You will only make Lord Callo angry.”

Rhin sputtered. “Do I care if he’s pissed? I do not! Look, we’re stuck in here, and our people’s stuck out there. Pretty much tied by the heels, I say.”

“Not entirely.” Hira Noh kept her hand on Rhin’s arm, and spoke to Callo. “I understand why you had to go. Look, we have our group which was gathering intelligence here in the city, five men. We have Lotna and five of her unit, who came in today to bring—shall we say spoils?”

“Calm down,” Callo said to Rhin. “It was worth it, no matter. There is news of great import. Hon Hira Noh, Mage Oron returns to us when he can. We will have a conference of war this night, before the King returns.”

“We will, will we?” Rhin said. “And how will yon mage get through streets that are near to locked-down?”

Callo grinned. “He is a color mage, Rhin. Wait and see.”

Hon Sia, afraid in spite of her superficial rebellion against her absent husband to invite them into the house proper, sent her servants to set up a big table in the courtyard with food and wine. Blankets were laid out in the spare grassy area, and chairs in the cleared-out armory for Hira Noh and Callo.

They sat, sipping wine and conversing in nervous, quiet tones, as darkness fell. Over Hon Sia’s outer wall, a strange and ominous silence hung over the city streets that usually vibrated with sound at all hours of the day and night. There were no carriages creaking through the streets, and the house lamps were doused as if the city prepared for battle.

Lotna stayed near the gate, watching through gaps in the wide boards. It was near midnight when she turned to Hira Noh and said, “Someone is coming.”

Callo put down his wine mug and stood. His hand touched his sword hilt in its sheath. Hon Sia scurried back into the main house.

The Sword of Jashan took positions all around the courtyard.

The gate swung open on silent hinges, and five cloaked forms slipped inside.

Callo needed only a moment to recognize a smaller shape. He grinned, and took several long strides past the Sword of Jashan and put his arms around Kirian.

Kirian hugged back. “I bring Mage Oron and Chiss,” she said, pushing back her hood to reveal her spiky hair. “Also Balan ran Gesset, who is a friend, Hon Hira Noh. Also this one.”

A curly-haired shape emerged from under another cloak and glared at Callo. “Ya ran off an’ left me!” she said.

“I remember it was rather you who left us,” Callo said. He smiled down at Mot. He was surprised how glad he was to see the girl. “Did Chiss not take excellent care of you?”

“He put me in the kitchens with the second cook.” Mot shrugged. “I ate well, I’ll give ya that.”

Hira Noh stood close by, hands on her hips. “Who is this bratling?”

Mot bristled. “Who wants ta know?”

“Introductions later, if you please,” Mage Oron said wearily. “I see we are in for a delightful time of getting to know one another, after this is all settled. Chiss, would you not see that this child is cared for in Hon Sia’s kitchens?”

Chiss held out his hand. Mot narrowed her eyes at Hira Noh, then took Chiss’s hand and stalked off with him.

Hira Noh waved at her people, and they relaxed. Swords whispered back into sheaths, and two of the men who had stood farther back unnocked their arrows. Callo smiled at Kirian, and she squeezed his hand. Then a gust of chill autumn air swept between the gates, and Lotna and Rhin pushed the big door closed.

The other two cloaked forms let down their hoods. Balan stepped forward and gripped Callo’s forearm. “It is good to see you well, my lord,” he said.

“And you, Balan. You know what you do, joining us here tonight?”

“I do,” Balan said. “Gods forgive me.”

Callo nodded. “You are a good man. Ander will be glad of you.”

“Come and sit,” Hira Noh invited. “How is it out there?”

Kirian sat next to Callo’s chair. “It is very dark,” she said. “I do not think I have ever seen the city this dark before.”

“The city guard roams the streets,” Oron added. “Otherwise—” he shrugged. “All is dead as a burial ground.”

“How did you get past them?” Callo asked.

“He bent the light,” Kirian said, eyes wide.

“Color magery, of a level you will never attain,” Oron explained. “Light is mage energy, after all. But it takes decades of study to learn to do such a thing. Now let us sit, and I will tell you of what I learned in Lord Ander’s rooms this day.”

* * * * *

Chiss returned and they settled at the table in the courtyard, seven of them, their faces grim as they took in what Oron had to say. Kirian shivered in the chill darkness; Callo, seated next to her, helped pull her cloak closer about her while never taking his eyes from the old mage. The small gesture comforted her.

“I don’t understand,” Kirian said. “King Martan is killing Ander through magery? But Mage Yhallin checked for any sort of mage influence, and she found nothing.”

“She tried very hard to keep Mage Oron from going into that sickroom,” Callo said. “You must accept she is working for the King in this matter.”

“I had grown to trust her after she was so kind to you,” Kirian said. “She helped you, you know it. You would likely not be living today if she had not taken you to Deephold.”

“Even that kindness was done with the King’s goals in mind,” Oron said. “After all, he has set his mind on it you will be the next King of Righar.”

“I have never—Jashan witness me, never!—given the King any reason to think I would be his heir,” Callo said.

“I am sure he thought he could convince you.” Mage Oron sat back apparently relaxed, sipping wine that Chiss had poured for him. “He has always swayed others to his will before, with force, or coercion, or bribery, or sheer will. He believes he can shape the future as he will, without regard to the considerations of most men.”

“A disease of the
righ
,” Hira Noh said.

“So here we are,” Callo said, gathering his wits away from the fruitless discussion. “Seven of us, with perhaps another two to call on if we are extraordinarily fortunate, and we must somehow release Ander from the king’s influence or the boy will die.”

“But surely it only requires you and Mage Oron, my lord,” Chiss said. “I don’t know why you did not do it while you were inside Ander’s rooms. You broke Lord Arias’ Collar at Seagard; I remember it well. You needed only Arias’ help. Is this different in any way?”

Kirian turned to look up at Callo. The others at the table followed her gaze and awaited Callo’s reply.

Then Rhin snorted. “Can he walk on water? Dance on the clouds? Ya expect too much of a bastard
righ
half-mage with no training, don’t ya?”