Color Mage (Book 1)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  “We will not do so. Be seated, Lord Callo, until I can have a slave show you to the rooms we are having prepared. Later, we will present you to the King. This man, I take it, is your manservant? Yes? And this woman, you are not related to her—she must go into the women’s quarters.” Si’lan’s voice was calming. Kirian wondered whether he was exerting a calming psychic influence as well, and if Callo would notice it if he were.

  “I would prefer not to, Lord Si’lan,” Kirian said.

  Callo said, “She is my manservant’s cousin. She must stay near us.”

  “Indeed? We can provide a room near your own but she must accept a female companion to be assigned by the Queen if that is so. Our customs, you see—in fact our gods—require it.”

  There was no brooking the dictates of religion. Kirian sighed. “All right, then.”

  Chiss was looking at her. “Are you sure?”

  “I have no choice. It is better than the women’s quarters, wherever those might be. My thanks, Lord Ku’an’an.”

  “And you, Chiss, stay with your employer of course, as I know well,” Si’lan said, looking at the smaller man. Kirian thought the wording of this was odd and looked at Chiss, but there was no expression on the man’s face.

  “I will allow you to settle in before I begin asking questions,” Si’lan said. “I have many.”

  An hour later, looking around the small suite that was provided for her, Kirian wondered if she had been wise to accept the female companion. The woman Sara’si was heavily veiled and completely silent except when advising Kirian how to wear the Ha’lasi dress and veil that had been provided. Kirian’s attempts at friendly conversation fell unheeded into the chill air of the chamber. After donning the clothing, Kirian found her stride restricted by the narrow robe and her vision partially blocked by the veil, which she found annoyingly opaque.

  The suite itself was more than sufficient for her needs. It had a small window that looked over the city from a height of two stories. A narrow bed was pushed against one wall, blankets and one fur piled atop it. There was a little table and a wardrobe for her clothes. A curtained alcove to one side contained a small bed and table for Sara’si, who was expected to be with her at all times.

  When she opened the door of her suite, intending to go next door to confer with Callo and Chiss, she found a guard outside.

  “By the gods!” she said. “Am I a prisoner here?”

  The guard, a rotund man wearing an insignia of a golden eye, kept his eyes averted from her as he replied. “Healer Kirian, Lord Si’lan says your status allows you to remain outside the women’s quarters. But you must be guarded.”

  “Both inside the room and out?” Kirian said, looking back at the silent, veiled woman folding her cloak away behind her.

  “That is our custom. Lord Si’lan said I should explain if you asked. I beg pardon for speaking.”

  “You need not beg pardon. Are you not usually allowed to speak to me?”

  The guard cast a glance into the room at Kirian’s companion. He turned to place his back to her again.

  “Good gods,” Kirian said. “Guard, what is your name? Will you tell me where Lord Callo is? I need to speak with him.”

  What the guard’s response would have been she did not know, for just then a liveried messenger dashed around the corner and came to a stop in front of the open door, breathing hard.

  “Hon Kirian!” he said. “Her Majesty the Queen has been told you are a Healer in Righar.”

  “Yes.”

  “Her Majesty the Queen requires your attendance immediately! Please hurry, Healer!”

  Kirian grabbed her bag from the table and hurried after the messenger. Her companion followed, a dark shape reminding Kirian strongly of some brooding Fate. The messenger urged her to go faster, but her stride was restricted by the narrow skirt of the robe. It was several minutes before two uniformed armed guards opened an ornate door and another attendant announced her into the presence of the Queen.

  The Queen was wrapped in robes so that Kirian could not tell much about her, but from the bony hands, she guessed the woman was very spare of frame. The Queen’s fingers were loaded with rings that sparkled in the reflected light of the fire, and her reddish-gray hair was threaded with diamonds. The woman’s face was coated with powders beneath a veil that was not much more than a drift of netting, and her gold eyes glittered through the fabric into Kirian’s. She looked alert and perfectly healthy at first glance.

  Kirian bowed respectfully before the Queen. The Queen said: “A Healer, are you?”

  “Yes, your Majesty. Are you ill?”

  “A real Healer? Not a witch or a midwife?”

  “I attended the Healer’s College in Sugetre, Your Majesty. I was assisting the Healer at Seagard just before I came here.”

  “He may not accept a woman Healer,” the Queen said to one of her attendants, a robed figure also wearing a mostly symbolic veil.

  The attendant said: “He is in great discomfort, Your Majesty. He will try anything. If you send her, he will accept her.”

  The Queen looked hard at Kirian. Her eyes glittered. Kirian felt a tremor of fear run down her spine.

  “If you harm His Majesty, I will see that you die a most miserable death,” the Queen said. “But it is worth a try. Have you treated anyone with the breathing disease?”

  “There is more than one kind of breathing disease,” Kirian said. “I have treated two different kinds.”

  “The King has attacks,” said the Queen’s attendant. “He is fine for days, then he wheezes and cannot breathe. At the worst he cannot walk or lie down, and must sit hunched over until the attack eases.”

  “It is getting worse,” the Queen said. “Our Healers have done nothing to stop these attacks. They mutter together and try concoctions and fill the room with noxious smoke. Our priests ask the mercy of the gods. What can you do that is different?”

  “Your Majesty, I must consult with your Healers. I do not know if they have tried the leaves of the sart plant. This plant, when used in a tea, eases one form of the breathing disease.”

  “Take her in to him,” the Queen ordered. “Tell him it is by my wish. You, Righan Healer, if you harm him, you and yours will not see the end of your suffering, ku’an or no ku’an. Do you understand?”

  “I am a Healer, Your Majesty. I will not harm any person brought to me for my aid. I will be glad to see if I can help the King.”

  The attendant went to the door and called two guards from the hallway outside the Queen’s chamber. The guards, the attendant, and Kirian walked two doors down the hallway and were admitted into a guarded room that was, indeed, filled with “noxious smoke.” Kirian detected a fragrance of charred roses, and grimaced.

  The room was dense with servants and guards. King Ar’ok sat on a low chair, hunched forward, his head down. He was a slight man with the straw-gold hair that seemed to belong to the ku’an males in this land. Then he raised his amber eyes, and she realized he was not a man yet at all, but a boy in his mid-teens. His face was pale and unlined, and his eyes shadowed with the strain of the breathing attack. A male slave stood behind him, rubbing some ointment into the bare skin of his back.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, bowing. The attendant did the same.

  “Gods help me, can you not tell that I am ill?” the boy King gasped. “I have no time for my mother’s fancies now. Go away.”

  “Your Majesty,” the attendant said. “The Queen has sent you this woman, a Healer from Righar. She may be able to help you.”

  “A woman! And from Righar.” The boy King stopped speaking and drew a difficult breath. Kirian heard the rasping of his breath from where she stood, and she knew the burnt-rose smoke could not be helping.

  A tall man in green robes approached. She cast a quick look at his face and was relieved to see that he did not have ku’an’s eyes— finally, someone here in Las’ash city in a position of power that could not influence her mind without her permission.

/>   The man introduced himself as Yun’lar, lord of physicians in Las’ash. He said, “You are a real Healer? You have completed the training in your capital city?”

  “In Sugetre, yes.” She smiled at him, hoping that this fellow Healer could be an ally in this strange place. But Yun’lar sneered at her.

  “A woman cannot be permitted to examine a man’s body. Particularly that of our great King.”

  “It’s up to you, lord physician. I see you have been burning roses.”

  “It has had no effect,” the physician said.

  “Sir, my experience is that this irritates the lungs even more,” Kirian said. “Will he not do better with clean air?”

  Yun’lar frowned at her. “You do ill to think a slip of a girl knows more than a physician of many years standing. The outside air is cold. It will freeze the swollen passages in his lungs.”

  Kirian shuddered inside, but let that comment go. “I have twice eased the breathing disease in Seagard. If His Majesty has the same type of illness, the leaves of the sart plant, made into a tea with just a little mellweed for relaxation, will stop the attack. Have you tried this?”

  “I have never heard of the sart plant,” said Yun’lar.

  Kirian looked around for a table, saw none, and bent to lay her bag on the floor. The narrow robe made it hard for her to bend. She opened the bag and withdrew a little paper twist with writing on it. Inside were a few dried leaves, gray-green in color, with nubby surfaces. They were still whole, but very dry. Yun’lar peered at the leaves. He looked at the hunched figure on the chair and shook his head.

  “I do not recognize this herb,” the lord physician said.

  “It is up to you, Your Majesty,” Kirian said in a clear voice. “I believe I can help you.”

  “She must not examine you, Your Majesty!” said Yun’lar.

  “Gods, I don’t care right now. Let her come near. You, Healer, what do you need to do?”

  “I must listen to your breathing, Your Majesty.”

  Yun’lar hissed. Ar’ok, struggling for breath in a way almost painful to witness, gestured Kirian near. Two guards on either side of the King’s chair stiffened, hands on weapons.

  “Relax,” she said. “I’m sure you can defend your King against me without the weapons. Now, Your Majesty . . .”

  Kirian bent close. She placed her ear against the King’s back, where it stuck unpleasantly to the smelly lotion the slave had been applying. “Please breathe, Your Majesty,” she told the King.

  The King took a breath. The wheezing was very loud. He did not seem to be able to draw a complete breath. Sensitive to his quivering tension at having her so near, she stepped back immediately.

  “I must have hot water and a cup, for tea,” Kirian said to Yun’lar. “I will crush just one of these leaves and steep it in hot water. Then I will add a pinch of mellweed, and the King may drink it.”

  There was hot water on a side table. One of the slaves drew Kirian over to it while Ar’ok watched Kirian with narrow golden eyes. Kirian crushed one of the leaves, steeped it in hot water in a delicate cream-colored cup, and stirred in the mellweed. Bits of the leaves floated on the surface of the liquid, and the whole thing looked slightly oily. When she presented it to King Ar’ok, he looked at it with disfavor.

  Yun’lar made a face when he saw it. “Your Majesty, I cannot vouch for this plant. It may harm you.”

  “Am I to suffer this misery forever? You can provide no relief. Maybe she can. Though it looks most evil.” Ar’ok tipped the mug back and forth. Green grains drifted back and forth in the murky depths. The tea smelled faintly of grass.

  One of the guards said, “Your Majesty, we do not know of this woman. She is foreign, and accompanies a foreign ku’an. Do not drink the tea.” The man reached out to take the cup. Ar’ok withheld it. He lifted his ku’an’s eyes to her face.

  “Ku’an’an,” he said.

  Kirian lifted her head in surprise. Si’lan, the ku’an whom they had met when they first arrived, was there, standing in the back of the group. At the King’s call, he came forward.

  “Your Majesty?” he said.

  “If this concoction kills me, see that this one dies a painful death. And the new ku’an, too.”

  Si’lan bent his head in agreement. “Yes, Sire.”

  Ar’ok tipped the mug to his lips and drank down the whole thing. When he thrust the cup away from him, his eyes showed tears and there were green stains at the corners of his mouth. He bent over, making grunts of disgust.

  “Ah, that is foul. Perhaps she has tried to harm me.” Still wheezing, the King looked pale and miserable.

  Kirian said to Yun’lar, “My lord, please check his heart rate. The leaf will tend to speed it, but the mellweed should keep it under control.”

  Yun’lar approached the King and said, “With your permission, Sire.” When Ar’ok ignored him, he bent and held Ar’ok’s wrist, counting silently. “Fast, it is fast,” he said. “But not fatal.”

  “For this reason the leaf cannot be taken more than once in a day,” Kirian said. “It’s hard on the heart.”

  “And has no effect!” Yun’ar objected.

  “Wait, my lord physician,” Kirian said. “Wait, for half a candlemark at least.”

  For Kirian, the half a candlemark progressed in extreme discomfort. She bent and put away the unused sart leaves, watched Yun’lar take the King’s pulse again, and look worried. The Ku’an’an watched her. The King’s guards stayed very close to her, and had a tendency to let their hands rest on their weapons. Before the time had passed, she noticed Ar’ok was sitting straighter on his chair. A moment later, he snapped at a slave who was applying more lotion on his back. Kirian said, “I think you will find, Your Majesty, that you are feeling better.”

  Ar’ok’s golden eyes narrowed at her. “I am breathing better. Where did you learn of this plant?”

  “At Healer’s College, Your Majesty.”

  “Are there many women Healers in Righar?”

  “Yes, there are quite a few.”

  “And you examine men’s bodies?” Ar’ok’s eyes were no longer exhausted. His expression was lascivious. Kirian shuddered inside.

  “We are Healers. We examine the bodies of men or women when they come to us for healing, yes. As do your own physicians.”

  “She is a heathen, Your Majesty,” said Yun’lar. “She knows no better.”

  Ar’ok looked her up and down. “She did know something you did not know, though, lord of physicians.”

  Yun’lar bowed low and did not speak.

  “This unpleasant leaf is a wonder,” the King continued. “I breathe as usual. Yun’lar, learn about this leaf from the Healer.”

  “Your Majesty, if I may,” Kirian said. “Remember that the sart leaf cannot be taken more than one time in a day, because it speeds your heart. While it is working, you must have your slaves clear this room of smoke. A little fresh air will help your lungs. If you do not do this, you may find yourself suffering another attack by evening.”

  “Do what she says.” The King turned to the ku’an’an, and began discussing something else, apparently forgetting Kirian. She bowed and retreated from the room with the Queen’s attendant and the lord physician following close.

  “I will call upon you to learn about the sart leaf,” the physician said. He had a sour look on his face, but Kirian thought he was attempting to be polite. “It is more appropriate for the King’s own physicians to be administering it.”

  “Lord Yun’lar, I thank you for allowing me to treat the king,” she said. She could tell the lord physician was not her friend, but she had no wish to alienate him further than her gender, her profession, and her success at treating the King had already done.

  Kirian nodded and followed the attendant back to the Queen’s parlor. The attendant whispered admiring congratulations to her, to which Kirian responded politely, but Kirian was exhausted. The stresses of the morning had worn her out. The boy King’s narrow ku’a
n eyes bothered her; she had discerned no trace of benevolence in them, in spite of their youth. She remembered how many dried sart leaves there were in her bag, and wondered what would happen when she ran out.

  The Queen, still sitting spiderlike in her chair, gave Kirian stately thanks and told her to ask for whatever she needed to be comfortable in Las’ash city. Kirian thought about asking to be rid of Sara’Si, but simply bowed and thanked the Queen.

  Back at her room, the rotund guard was about to let her in when Chiss’ lean face appeared in Callo’s open door.

  “Come in here,” he said.

  The guard looked as if he were about to protest. Kirian’s veiled chaperone followed her into Callo’s room. Chiss frowned at the woman, but she ignored him.

  Callo was pacing up and down before an unshuttered window, looking out at the city. A bitter wind gusted into the room, making the fire snap and waver.

  “Gods! It’s cold in here,” Kirian said. Callo turned on one heel to look at her.

  “Who is that?”

  “My companion, Hon Sara’Si. She goes with me everywhere.”

  “Not here,” Callo said. “You may await the Healer in her chamber.”

  “Yes, please go,” Kirian said. “I will be fine here.”

  Sara’Si bowed and said, “My lord ku’an, I have been ordered to accompany Hon Kirian wherever she goes.”

  A muscle worked in Callo’s jaw. “I am ordering you to leave. You can await Hon Kirian in her room, or you can go to hell for all I care.”

  The veiled woman clearly felt it wasn’t wise to argue with an irritated ku’an. She bowed and retreated.

  “I will have to pay for that later,” Kirian said lightly.

  “What can she do to you?” Callo said dismissively. Kirian did not know the answer to that, but she feared she would find out if Callo kept disregarding the customs of this land.

  Chiss closed and shuttered the window, casting them into a shadowy gloom. He brought wine and nuts from a side table. Callo poured himself some of the wine and drank, and then gestured at the jar, which prompted Chiss to pour some wine for Kirian and then for himself. The wine tasted dry and strong.