Color Mage (Book 1)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  Kirian’s voice, behind him, warned: “Beware, there’s another!” Callo raised his left arm, hoping to get inside his opponent’s guard and block his arm at very close range. He knew he had failed when there was a blur of movement and he felt the agony of a fresh sword cut on his already wounded arm.

  The pain screamed up his arm and felled him. He realized he was on his knees on the dirt floor, with Chiss standing in front of him trying to defend him against the three guards that remained. Someone shouted from the entrance, and the gate guards they thought they had disposed of loomed in the hallway, ready to join the fight.

  “My lord!” gasped Chiss.

  Callo dropped his sword. He ignored the sick, swimming feeling in his head. He forced his shoulders to relax, and fought behind the barrier of his pain. He found the source of the ku’an magery, searched for the essence of the emotion he needed, and shoved it out into the hallway in desperation, hoping this would work. There was no time to finesse the effects of the magery. He said “Sorry” to Chiss and Kirian under his breath as he felt the energy leave him, and heard the sudden silence as the fighting stopped.

  “My lord, thank you—I knew you could do it,” Chiss said as he helped Callo to his feet. Callo did not look at him; he didn’t want to see the false trust in Chiss’ familiar eyes.

  “Lord Ku’an!” said one of the guards. “Why—I mean, are you all right? I do beg your pardon! Forgive us!” The man actually knelt in shocked repentance. He had dropped his sword; it lay with its tip in a pool of blood on the hard-packed dirt floor.

  “Just—give me the key,” Callo said, holding his right arm with his left, trying to fight the dizziness that wanted to bring him down. Blood leaked between his fingers. One of the guards opened Kirian’s door and she rushed out, prying at his fingers to see between them.

  “Let me see that,” she said.

  “No time,” he said, because the effort to keep all the guards in a trusting frame of mind was tiring him. Between the wound and the strain of the magery, he did not know how long he could keep this up.

  Kirian let go his arm and looked up at him. The contrast between the glowing trust in her eyes and the stunned look he had seen days before was too much for him; he looked away.

  “My lord, let us help,” said one of the guards. He motioned the other guards back, directed them to see to the fallen men, and accompanied Chiss, Callo, and Kirian to the gate entrance. “I am sorry we did not realize who you were. Let me call a physician. You are bleeding.”

  “No, no! I have access to a—a Healer. Go back and take care of your men.”

  “We have two dead. Can you send someone to help take them to the priests? We should not leave the prisoners,” the guard said, then added, “I regret the disturbance. We did not know, my lord.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. Go back. Go to your men.” The ceiling began to make large, slow circles around his head. He staggered a little. Chiss supported him with an arm under his left shoulder. “Go! You know you can trust me to say nothing.”

  “Of course, I trust you absolutely. I will do as you say.” The guard bowed and vanished.

  “In about two minutes he will remember I’m not so trustworthy,” Callo said raggedly. “Chiss, Kirian, the horses . . .”

  “I knew I could depend on you to get me out of there,” Kirian said.

  Callo ignored her words, knowing they were the product of artificial emotion. They were out the gate, up the arched walkway in full view now, since no one was suspicious—to the side of the stable, to the horses. The night sky swung wildly about him. Callo felt himself lose the magery. He felt the wall seal him in and the others out, dropping on him in massive finality. He cried out in pain, exhausted and sick, no longer sure where he was.

  “All the gods,” Chiss muttered next to him. “You did it, didn’t you? Are you still with us, my lord?”

  Callo could not reply.

  “What was that?” Kirian asked, sounding shocked.

  “A ku’an at work,” Chiss replied. “Here, help him up. Jashan aid him to keep the saddle until we are out of reach.”

  “I’ll—stay the saddle,” Callo gasped.

  “Good, Lord Callo; now let me wrap that arm.” Kirian had found something long and soft—a strip of cloth from somewhere about her person—and she wrapped it around the wound with precise, impersonal movements that comforted him in his misery not at all. Although how he should expect comfort from one whose mind he had subverted, even briefly, he did not know. All he could do now was stay in the saddle. He determined he would do that if it killed him, to try to make amends for the wrong he had done both of them.

  The night careened about him as he was helped to mount, and Miri moved uneasily under him. “Miri, now go gently, guard him well,” he heard Kirian say to the mare, and he remembered that he had, after all, saved the Healer from whatever foul execution they had been going to inflict on her, and perhaps she would remember that. Then he had to devote every ounce of attention to staying on Miri, as Chiss, on his own gelding, led Miri through the night. He held on through the twists and turns of the city streets, seeing occasional torches like bleary beacons in the late spring night. They stayed away from dockside, went through the merchants’ square, through a twisted alley crowded with leaning houses, through dank, wet spring streets with water pooled in gutters too clogged to drain. He gave up any effort to keep track of where they were. Once he heard Chiss say, “My lord, we are almost there,” but he felt too dizzy to respond. “Are you all right?” Kirian asked, and Chiss said, “We cannot help him until we are there.”

  Then the stink of the tannery pierced his haze, and he lifted his head. Miri plodded along under him like a child’s pony; they were keeping their pace easy for him. He looked around, saw the tannery looming ahead, and smelled the bitter stench that drifted east on the wind.

  “In the woods,” he told Chiss. “Someone is waiting.”

  “Your guide,” Chiss agreed. “You told me, my lord. Easy, we are almost there.”

  Callo subsided into confused pain. The tannery stench abated a little, freshened by the fickle spring breeze. His mind felt as if it were filled with wool, and pain enveloped his arm. He devoted himself to hanging on until they had left the scattered environs of the tannery and entered the eastern woods.

  The woods was a small patch of wilderness close to Las’ash, free of houses or the makeshift settlements of traveling bands that clustered near the city to the north. The tannery smell no doubt had something to do with the lack of habitation here. As the deeper darkness of surrounding foliage claimed them, Callo felt the difference in Miri’s gait as she began walking on the leafy detritus of a trail. The slim moon vanished behind spring’s new leaves, and he could see nothing. Miri stayed in line with the other horses, and Callo thanked all the gods that he had to do nothing.

  He thought he had lost awareness for a while; time seemed to have passed, and Miri stood still in the pitch blackness. A pinpoint of light appeared before them and grew larger. It moved then lit a brown, scarred face.

  “Better be who I’m expectin’,” said Ha’star’s voice.

  Callo tried to respond, but felt himself swaying in the saddle. Darkness claimed his consciousness at last.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kirian was a little afraid of the scarred Ha’lasi warrior at first. He stood by, frowning, as Lord Callo slumped, then swayed in Miri’s saddle. Chiss nudged his gelding to Miri’s side just in time to keep his lord from falling. Lord Callo kept his seat, but he had clearly reached the end of his endurance. They would be staying here, wherever the Ha’lasi warrior could find for them to camp.

  “Great angry gods,” Ha’star swore. “Night is the time to move. Are you sure he can’t?”

  “I’m sure,” Chiss said in a clipped voice that was quite unlike him. “They will be expecting us to head for the port. If we don’t rest a while, we may lose more than a few hours.”

  Chiss and Ha’star helped Callo down from the saddle
and onto a blanket, where the ku’an lord slumped with his hair falling forward to hide his face. Kirian could barely tell one man from another in the dark woods, but she wanted to see Callo’s arm. His old wound, plus the new cut he had received in the same arm, seemed to have drained him of strength; unless it was the ku’an magery that had done so. She asked Chiss.

  “I have no idea,” Chiss said. “I assume the psychic magery takes strength, just as color magery does. But Hon Kirian, he was already ill before tonight. There is something wrong with the wound in his sword arm.”

  “Then I must have a fire,” Kirian demanded. “I have to look at it.”

  Chiss glanced over his shoulder at Ha’star. “He will not want to build a fire. Too dangerous.”

  Ha’star did indeed swear when she asked about a fire. Then he sighed, and muttered something about nothing being easy where a ku’an was concerned. Soon after, he had a tiny flame burning in a hole cluttered with small sticks, and was stalking about the clearing collecting better fuel. “A very small fire,” he insisted, staring at Kirian with his hands full of branches. “Or we will all be in prison by daybreak.”

  Chiss assisted his lord to sit near the fire, and helped him to remove his cloak and loosen his tunic. Callo had said nothing since they had made camp. He shivered noticeably as Chiss bared the wounded arm. Kirian put her hand to Callo’s forehead and sucked in her breath as she felt the fever radiating from him. Then she turned to his wounded arm.

  The first wound site was swollen and burning hot to her touch. The new wound was still bleeding a little after she removed the makeshift bandage. She looked up and saw Callo’s exhausted eyes on her face.

  “What in the name of all the gods did you think you were doing, ignoring this wound?” she hissed. “Do you want to lose your arm?”

  Callo shook his head and dropped his gaze to the fire. Kirian felt ashamed of herself for berating a sick man, but she felt overwhelmed. These were not the best conditions under which to treat a man as ill as Lord Callo. From across the fire, Ha’star looked on, clearly displeased. Kirian hoped he would not lose patience and leave them to find their way on their own.

  Chiss said, “I think you will be needing this, Hon Kirian.” He passed a familiar bag to her. She breathed a prayer of thanks to the Unknown God and opened her Healer’s bag. She was not surprised to find the sart leaf and her knife gone, but the herb she needed was still there in its cloth pouch. She began to clean the infected wound. Callo turned his head away from her work and sat holding his arm rigidly still.

  Chiss handed a leather flask to his lord, who took it and sipped.

  “What’s that?” Kirian snapped.

  “Wine,” Chiss said.

  Kirian reached out and took it from Callo’s hands. “No wine. Lord Callo, you are feverish.”

  “I brought water also,” Chiss said.

  She told Chiss to grind some of the herb she gave him and soak it in water. The tea would help to chase the infection from Callo’s blood. Then she poured some of her own water over Callo’s arm. In a perfect world, she would be able to apply a topical treatment to the wound, then order rest and broth and plenty of tea with honey.

  Ha’star had gone off to rummage in his pack. When he returned, he handed her a little jar. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in inquiry, and he said, “Liquor from the south.” She opened the jar and smelled it, nodded, and gave Callo a considering look. Then without warning, she poured a good slug of it over Callo’s wounds.

  Callo jolted and sucked in air. Kirian could see the muscles tighten as the shock slammed through his system.

  “The pain will ease,” Kirian said. “Now drink this tea. Eat something. Then, go and rest for a while. Ha’star says we have to move on soon.”

  “If you want to get out of Ha’las alive,” Ha’star said.

  Callo nodded. He rose without help and went to the bedroll. Chiss brought him the tea. Kirian took a deep breath.

  “You’re no fool,” Ha’star said. “You’ll do. No hysterics about being alone with men out here in the night?”

  “I’m perfectly safe.”

  Ha’star nodded. “Yes, you are, thanks to him. Not your ordinary ku’an, that man.”

  She smiled. “I think you are right, Hon Ha’star.”

  They rested for a candlemark, then Ha’star doused the fire, and they mounted again. Callo did not respond to Ha’star’s call and had to be shaken out of sleep, but he was able to mountMiri on his own. They plodded along after Ha’star, keeping the horses quiet, until they were forced by the brightening dawn to find shelter in an empty herder’s shed. The sun was rising earlier every day; they would have plenty of time to rest in the barn until nightfall.

  Kirian sat with Callo near some missing boards that let in the daylight. She cleaned away the infection and poured more of Ha’star’s liquor over his wound. Callo took the treatment in grim silence. As she re-wrapped the wounds, he caught his breath and relaxed a little, leaning back against the gray wooden wall. She looked up after a moment to see his eyes on her face.

  “I am sorry about your friend.” His voice was low, tired.

  “Inmay?” She sighed. “I am too, of course, but it was to be expected. He has courted such an end for longer than you know.”

  “And about the little slave.”

  “Ah. Yes, she does not deserve to be Ar’ok’s plaything. Even as unpleasant as she is.”

  She pulled the bandage tight and he winced. After a moment, he said, “Yesterday I went in the ring and asked Jashan to bind my ku’an abilities. I did not wish to use them again.”

  “That resolve didn’t last long, did it?” She grinned and then looked up to catch an unguarded look on his face that surprised her. “I am sorry. You are not well enough to tease. In fact, I have not thanked you yet for freeing me from that prison. I am not sure where I would have been by now if you and Chiss had not come after me. You have my deepest thanks, Lord Callo.”

  He made an impatient gesture. “I thought you gave up my lording me.”

  “If you still wish it.” She watched him lean his head back against the wall and close his eyes. His hair, loosened from its tie, fell back in a wave of gold. She wanted to smooth it, but stayed her hand, instead waving at Chiss to bring a cup of the herbal tea. “But I’m glad Jashan did not grant your wish. Where would I be now, if you had not used your psychic magery to help free me?”

  “I did the same to you and Chiss as I did to the guards. Made you feel something false, something I forced you to feel. It is an invasion. I’ve spent most of my life trying to repress it, even before I knew why.”

  Kirian said carefully, “It is true that you should not use such power for only your own pleasure. But I am glad you chose to use it yesterday. If you had not, you and I, and Chiss would likely all be dead or imprisoned.”

  There was a brief silence. Then Callo’s lips curved upward. “Now we are pursued by the kings of two countries. Ar’ok has all of Ha’las hunting us, I am sure. Our escape will have enraged him. And it seems Sharpeyes has not forgotten me in Righar. All in the space of a season or two. What might we accomplish in another year!?”

  She laughed. Looking up, she saw Chiss standing there holding two cups. She took hers and sipped, tasting sweet red wine. Callo sipped his and gave a great sigh. “This tea tastes like grass, Kirian.”

  “Do not complain. It will likely save your life. It is the only remedy I know for an infection that has already gone into the blood. You will be drinking a lot of it for the next few days.”

  “My lord. Hon Kirian,” Chiss said, holding out a slab of bread and cheese. Callo said, “Chiss, you are a wonder.”

  “I raided the kitchen before we left,” Chiss said. “I have dried fruit as well.”

  Callo devoured his bread as if he had not eaten for days. Kirian smelled the sharp cheese and felt her mouth begin to water. Ha’star slipped in and accepted bread and cheese from Chiss. He sat near them and sipped from a wineskin.

&nb
sp; “I have not had a chance to speak with you, Ha’star,” Callo said. “My thanks for your aid. Without you . . .”

  “Ye’d be lost in the woods,” He shrugged. “Don’t like to see someone else crushed by the damned ku’an. Even if he be ku’an himself.”

  Kirian smiled at that. “So,” she said expectantly, “what is the plan?”

  “We return to Seagard,” Callo said.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then she said, “You just finished telling me how King Martan still searches for you in Righar.”

  “Not to mention, he sent six armed men to kill you in Las’ash city,” Chiss added.

  “I don’t intend to have the servants announce me at the main door to SugetrePalace. I do not plan to see King Martan at all. But I have something I need to do in Seagard.” He looked around at three faces which were carefully blank. “You need not accompany me, you know. Once we arrive, you may go your own ways.”

  “My lord,” Chiss said. “Have you accomplished what you wished in Ha’las?”

  “Priorities change,” Callo said. He looked at Kirian. “I came here to find out what my heritage was, but I have found the whole class of ku’an to be corrupt beyond my imagination. I don’t wish to be any part of them.”

  As she finished her food, exhaustion swept over Kirian. She was glad they had the whole day ahead to sleep before riding again at dusk. With a weary smile, she moved away from the others, found a corner where she could wrap herself in a blanket, and fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  Two more days found Kirian almost used to living roughly. Their travel was curtailed as the early summer days grew longer, and their night progress was slowed by the waning of the moon. Ha’star and Callo fretted and edged their riding time further into the daylight hours, but this was risky; they were always on guard for King’s men who might be seeking them. Kirian felt sure Ar’ok’s men were looking elsewhere, in the city and at the port, and rode with a sense of pleasure she had not felt in some time. She delighted in the gait of her little mare. She enjoyed the spring sun on her face, and even smiled when the weather grew fickle and windy, forcing her to draw her cloak tightly about her. Chiss and Ha’star treated her with uncommon courtesy—more, she thought, than that customarily due a Healer, and certainly more than a Ha’lasi woman riding alone with men was due. She began to think them her friends, even the scarred warrior who led them.