Color Mage (Book 1)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  Arias swallowed and opened his eyes, looking for a moment aware and bewildered.

  “Callo!” he said. “Why are you holding me down?” As soon as the words were out, his eyes closed again, and he slumped into Callo’s hold, unconscious. The color magic receded in a glorious ebbing tide back through his hands and into nonexistence.

  Callo let go. He and Kirian stared at Arias’ still form until they were sure he was no more threat.

  “At last!” said Callo.

  Kirian went to Arias’ side to check his pulse and breathing. She worked with a cool professional calm, eventually straightening the sick man’s pillow and pulling a silk sheet over him.

  “He’ll do, for now,” she said. “Now, Hon Ruthan needs me.”

  Ruthan sat hunched over, in obvious pain. Kirian examined the injured wrist.

  “What does it look like?” she asked Ruthan.

  “Broken,” Ruthan said. “I looked at it while you were busy with Lord Arias there. We’ll need a stiff splint for now, more when we return home.”

  “How does she know?” Callo asked, puzzled. The wrist looked normal to him. There were no bones poking out, and the wrist showed no swelling yet.

  “She knows, my lord,” Kirian said. “She can see it. Here, Ruthan, let me take care of it.”

  Callo left the young woman to the task of splinting and binding up the old Healer’s wrist. He stood over Lord Arias for a moment, noting his friend’s even breathing and the flicker of his eyelids as the mellweed took effect. Then he stepped outside, beckoning Rosh back into the room.

  “It’s safe,” he said. “Find out what he’ll need from the Healers. You’ll stay with him first, and get help to keep watch through the night. I’ll send Chiss, too.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rosh said, and re-entered the room.

  Callo sighed, closed his eyes as he leaned up against the wall, and finally relaxed his shoulders. They did not want to ease after the hours spent in tension. Callo looked down the hall toward his own chamber, wishing for rest. He yawned, then startled when a deep voice interrupted him. It was the steward Borin, finally showing up when all the hard work was done. Callo ordered accommodations for the Healers, and the man faded away down the hallway to a servants’ pantry. Callo heard the clink of pottery from the little room. He felt as if he would fall asleep where he stood.

  Chapter Three

  Kirian finished binding Ruthan’s wrist. She walked over to the bedside. Lord Arias looked peaceful now, no longer feverish and wild as he had been when she walked into the room. She wondered how he would feel if he knew he had broken Ruthan’s wrist. It was hard to say with nobles; most cared for no one but themselves and their riches. Inmay would have it that all righ were selfish fools.

  Perhaps that was why King Martan had to bind them to the Watch, unable to count on his righ mages to serve the land of their own free will. Kirian shrugged. Whatever the reason, this had been a brutal binding, and the man in the bed had almost died from it. She didn’t envy those who were bound, no matter how rich and privileged they were.

  She thought he looked rather handsome, even lying there with his mouth open.

  “Now young Kirian,” Ruthan said, “Those sweets aren’t for you.”

  Kirian grinned. “I know it,” she said.

  “Besides, you have to work for him,” Ruthan said more seriously. “He is a noble and a mage, and thinks no more of you than his father does of the beggars in the street in Sugetre.”

  “I was just looking at him,” she said. Just then the lord’s manservant came back into the room, and Kirian busied herself for the next few minutes giving instructions to the man. Then she and Ruthan took their leave and walked out into the drafty stone hall.

  The nobleman who had been in the room when they arrived leaned against the wall. When he looked up, Kirian took note of him for the first time since her arrival. He was tall, and broad of shoulder, with long fair hair drawn back in a warrior’s tail, and he had unusual eyes, like clear amber. He looked nothing at all like a member of the Alkirani clan. He saw her examining him and smiled at her. It was a nice smile, she thought; she couldn’t picture such on the lean dark face of an Alkiran.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. “Is it safe to leave him?”

  “We are staying here overnight, and will be returning to the village in the morning,” Ruthan said. “His man in there has all our instructions.”

  “Well, let me find Borin. He can show you to your room and order you something to eat.” He led them to a little room at the end of the corridor where a servant worked, collecting cups of wine on a lacquered tray. “Borin, please attend to them. Thank you for your assistance—however belated.” He spoke with a flash of irritation that the steward did not react to, undoubtedly being used to such treatment from the righ he served. Then Callo bowed to Ruthan and Kirian, an unexpected courtesy, and left them.

  In the small room that had been allotted them, Kirian asked about Callo.

  “What was he doing there, taking care of Lord Arias, instead of a member of the noble family?” she asked as she changed into the night robe she kept in her healer’s bag.

  “I expect Lord Mikati was too wrapped up in the Watch to care what was happening down here.”

  “What about the brother and sister? What about his lady mother?”

  “Brother and sister—well, I have no idea, young one. But as for the mother…” Ruthan chuckled. “She will not be seen outside her rooms until this Callo goes, no matter if divine Jashan himself comes to call.”

  “What does she have against Lord Callo?” Kirian mumbled through the sting of her tooth cleaner.

  Ruthan sat down on one of the beds. “This Callo, you see, is Lady Sira Joah’s bastard son.”

  Kirian’s mouth dropped open. “But she is the King’s sister!”

  “The King’s sister, Lord Mikati’s wife. She had an affair with some minor dignitary who visited here one year. Of course, Lord Mikati can’t stand the bastard son, but the boy is the son of the King’s sister after all, and he has rank in spite of the circumstances of his birth. And just to spite them all, Lord Arias and Lord Callo are great friends.”

  “Then I think the better of Lord Arias,” Kirian said. “How is your wrist?”

  Ruthan complained that it was sore and swelling, but then smiled and said, “You did a good job on it, sweet.”

  “My thanks,” Kirian said, and slid under the covers. When Ruthan was settled she blew out the single candle and darkness claimed the room. In only a few minutes, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  She opened her eyes to see faint gray light along the edges of the shutters and was surprised she had awakened so early. In the next bed, Ruthan snored in the light sleep of the elderly. Kirian rose and dressed as quietly as possible, dragged a comb through her hair, and eased out the door.

  The corridor was empty but for one early-rising manservant carrying a jug of water, who went silently along without a glance at Kirian. She reversed her steps from last night, ending up at Lord Arias’ door. The door opened to show the broad, weary face of Arias’ servant Rosh.

  “Good morning,” Kirian whispered. “I thought I would check on his lordship. How is he doing?”

  Rosh stepped to the side, allowing her to enter. “No change,” he said. “He sleeps as if he has not slept for days.”

  Kirian went to the bed and rested a hand on Arias’ forehead. It was cool, and the mage did not stir at her touch. His breathing was deep and even. She smiled.

  “He seems well,” she told Rosh. “Do not allow him to be disturbed until he wakes of his own accord. Then, if he complains of headache, or if the fever begins rising again, give him the dose Hon Ruthan provided you.”

  “Yes, Hon Healer.”

  “Have you been here all night by yourself?”

  Rosh shook his head. “No. Lord Callo sent his manservant to help, and the servants brought us food and drink. We are well.”

  Kirian nodded and left, pleased wi
th the progress of her patient. She found herself at loose ends and began walking through the corridor, looking at the tapestries which covered the old stone walls. Many of them had clearly been there for a very long time, as they showed the fading colors and occasional frayed strands of age; but they were all clean, and apparently cared for with some attention. She descended the corner stairs, her shoes scraping against the stone, and found her way through a maze of formal rooms to a corner room which was a sort of conservatory, with tall unshuttered windows along the eastern and southern walls. The room held low benches, a marvel of a tiny fountain, and pots of greenery. There she sat; looking at the gracious space around her while the morning sun grew stronger and began to take the chill from the room.

  The peace of the room sank into her, first pleasing her eyes, then radiating to her muscles. She relaxed.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  She started. A heavy young man stood at the door, staring at her with the hawk-like eyes of the Alkirani but oddly surrounded in folds of fat. The Collar gleamed on his thick neck. This must be Lord Forell, Lord Alkiran’s second son.

  Kirian flushed and stood. “I am Hon Kirian, sir, the healer from Seagard. I was up early and thought to enjoy the room.”

  The man smiled, showing brownish teeth. His tunic was gathered at his bulging belly by a sash which he caressed with one hand as he approached her. He walked slowly, but did not seem to want to stop. When he came close enough to make Kirian uncomfortable at his nearness, she stood and faced him. She smelled the fragrance he used; it was some exotic scent she had not experienced before.

  “Look at this hair!” he said, taking a short strand of it between thumb and forefinger. “What kind of statement were you intending to make, with this hair?”

  Kirian flushed. “Statement, my lord?”

  His hand dropped to caress the line of her neck, then dropped as she stepped back, startled. “You are like a gazelle,” he murmured.

  “My lord, stop.”

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I am Lord Forell Alkiran. You were tending my older brother last night, or so I hear. Perhaps now you can tend me. I have been feeling faint and easily tired. Come with me, gazelle, and tend my hurts.”

  “My lord!” she said coldly. “I will be happy to see you as a Healer. Hon Ruthan is with me. Only let me summon her . . .”

  “Not the old one?” Forell said, disappointed. “She does nothing but prescribe abstinence, and she is not sympathetic at all. Perhaps you can examine me alone, Hon Gazelle.” His hand reached for her breast, but Kirian stepped away.

  “It would not be right, my lord. I am learning from Hon Ruthan. Also, I must insist that you not touch me, my lord.”

  “What is the point,” Forell said to the ceiling, “Of sending to us such an oddity, a young woman skilled in the arts of the body, a woman with the face and hair of a boy, the limbs of a gazelle, the breast of a . . .”

  “My lord!”

  “And forbidding me to touch her?” Forell reached out again, grasping Kirian’s slender hand in his plump one. “There is little to entertain us here in SeagardCastle, my oddity. Perhaps you will let me entertain you. Otherwise, by Jashan it grows dull here!”

  “My lord,” Kirian said, withdrawing her hand, “I cannot accept your very, uh, interesting offer. Do you require Hon Ruthan’s services?”

  “Ah, curse the old one. There’s nothing I need so badly I will listen to her. Go, then—but don’t think you can always count on my forbearance.”

  Kirian bowed and made her escape, grateful that she had won out of that one without antagonizing one of her important noble clients. She strode back through the maze of rooms and up the stairs, passing many more people now, including a set of armed guardsmen who frowned at her as she left the family’s common areas and regained her own floor. Back in the room she shared with Hon Ruthan, she turned her back to the door and leaned against it.

  Ruthan sat fully clothed on the edge of the bed, closing her healer’s bag. She looked up at Kirian with her blank white eyes and grinned.

  “Now,” she wondered, “What member of the noble Alkiran clan is chasing you into your room so early in the morning?”

  “Lord Forell,” Kirian said. “Hon Ruthan, how will I ever be able to treat him or examine him alone?”

  “You will take me with you, when possible,” Ruthan said. “Best to never see him alone. He’s known for his eye for the village women too. But to be safe, I will have a word with Shala Si. She can make Lord Forell aware—without saying a straight word to him!—that if you are touched, she will take her vengeance. Also, it would not do for Lord Mikati to know that Forell had mistreated you.”

  “Why should Shala Si care? She certainly doesn’t like me.”

  Ruthan shrugged. “Everything to do with her master is of concern to her. Her lot is much better here than it would be anywhere else, Kirian. She will want to protect her place.”

  “Her place is not in danger. He was only bored, I presume.” Kirian wished, sharply and suddenly, that Inmay was here; then, just as quickly, she knew that Inmay would be of no use to her. He would probably fall in love with Shala Si anyway; the concubine had soft dark eyes and a rounded body and was bound to appeal to him. Attractive slaves were Inmay’s weakness.

  “Come, Hon Ruthan,” she said. “I have checked on Lord Arias and he’s doing well. Can we get out of here before I do something to get us both in trouble?”

  * * * * *

  Back in Seagard an hour later, Kirian went walking on the shore, spending an hour or so in the crystal morning air and returning to the house windblown and red-cheeked. Sitting before the hearth sorting herbs that had dried on the wooden rack, she mulled over what had happened the night before.

  “Why,” she asked Ruthan, “wasn’t that mage bound already? Surely he’s too old for a first binding?”

  “Arias has always been different, living in Sugetre and all. He is in line to inherit the throne, after some cousin or other, so he was not Collared. His majesty usually binds all mages when they take the cloak,” Ruthan agreed. “After all, if he does not Collar them or bind them to a task, they end up self-binding to their art, and the King doesn’t want that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because mages that are bound to their art care not for kings or lords. All they care about is magery. Mages are too powerful to leave running around with no loyalties but to themselves.”

  “It was cruel,” Kirian said. “I know it is the righ mages’ duty to protect us from Ha’las, but it was cruel. The man almost died, and now he is virtually a slave to the Watch.”

  Ruthan cackled. “I knew you cared more about him than you should. Why does it matter if a spoiled noble is finally forced to his duty? He has enough privileges, so let him do his duty! Don’t let his face charm you, young Kirian. He’s no better than the rest of them, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t even know the man, and he will never notice me.” In fact, as she continued sorting the herbs, she wondered more about the amber-eyed warrior than about Lord Arias. Lord Callo had smiled directly into her eyes that morning, which was more than any other of them had done, except Lord Forell who was bent on manipulating her into his bed. She had felt an answering smile and a friendly connection to the man. But Lord Callo was a righ too, in spite of his questionable parentage; she could admire him, but it would be unwise to try to make a friend of him.

  * * * * *

  A sennight later, Kirian left Ruthan’s house early to see a village woman in her ninth month of pregnancy. She reassured the woman that her time was not yet, was offered hot tea and berry cakes, and left the house with a smile on her face.

  Kirian walked down the rocky strand with the sea breeze in her hair, noticing that the air had grown colder in the last week or so. The villagers were salting extra catches in preparation for the winter, and Marka had butchered a pig. The children who played tag between the gray houses wore cloaks. Ruthan had warned Kirian that she would not like the
village so much after she had experienced a Seagard winter.

  As Kirian passed Marka’s house, a small boy ran up to her with an excited grin on his face.

  “Hon Kirian, come and see! There is a horse!”

  Kirian laughed. “Indeed, Cam! I know how you love horses. But whose horse could it be?”

  “A warrior came from the Castle to talk to Elder Hame. He left his horse tied to the line. Come with me, Hon Kirian!” Cam grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the Elder’s house.

  It was not just any carthorse that stood tied loosely to Hame’s clothesline. The mare was a beauty, with clean, delicate lines—a nobleman’s mount. The mare turned her head to look at them as they approached. Cam was charmed.

  “Can I pat her, Hon Kirian?”

  “I don’t know, Cam—this mare may not want to be bothered, and it is not your horse . . .”

  Before she could finish her thought, the mare bobbed her head at Cam as though inviting him nearer. The boy approached and gently rubbed her chestnut neck.

  “I wish this was my horse,” Cam said.

  Running footsteps sounded behind them. There was a rattle of flung gravel, and a few of the small stones struck the mare. She startled and pulled at her tether.

  Cam drew back. “Hey!”

  Kirian turned, but the offender had hidden around the corner of another house. “Who is that? Is that you, young Peak?”

  There came another rattle of stones, thrown from the other corner of the house. Kirian saw a grinning face—Peak, one of the older boys known for his sometimes mean pranks. This time a stone struck the mare’s nose. She neighed and reared, twisting, and one of her hooves struck Cam’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Cam yelled in pain.

  Booted footsteps sounded on Elder Hame’s wooden walkway. A deep voice, vaguely familiar, said: “What’s going on here?”

  Kirian fell to her knees next to Cam. He clutched his left shoulder, blood leaking from between his fingers. His hand shook.