Callo’s clothing was unrumpled, his hair still neatly tied back. There had been no physical fight.
“Lord Callo,” Kirian called, “Who are these men?”
“Who’s that?” one of Callo’s captors said.
“Hon Kirian, a Healer,” Callo said. “Are you going to answer her question?”
One of the men put his hand between Callo’s shoulder blades. It was not—quite—a push. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I think I’ll find out now.” Callo’s voice was pleasant, but Kirian heard the note of warning. “You do not handle me like this without a damned good reason.”
Islarian walked out of the training shed. “These are Lady Dria Mar’s men. Lord Callo, she is the Lady of Northgard, Lord Zelan’s wife. She has been in Sugetre this season. She must be arriving close behind, or in the manse already. What is wrong with you men, treating a righ lord like that?”
“She said move fast, or we would not get a chance to move at all,” said one of the men to Islarian. “He is known as a swordsman, and he is a color mage.”
“I do not have to be forced to see Lady Dria Mar,” Callo said. His jaw was tightening, his eyes narrowed. “If she is here, I will go to her.”
“We will escort you,” one of the men said.
Another man rode up, this one wearing a chain vest that exposed heavily muscled arms. “Back off, you men!” he ordered as he slid off his mount. “Do you recognize me, Lord Callo ran Alkiran? I knew you in Sugetre, in the guard. I am Balan ran Gesset. I was in your brother’s command.”
“Balan ran Gesset. I remember you.”
Balan motioned to the others to move back a step. Callo’s shoulders eased a little. “Lady Dria Mar wishes to see you in the hall with Lord Zelan, and at once. She is newly returned from Sugetre. We will escort you.”
“Kirian, please come,” Callo said. He walked away toward the manse, trailing armed guards. Kirian shrugged to herself and followed them up the yard and into the manse, then into the main hall where there seemed to be a crowd. As Kirian followed Lord Callo and the guardsmen into the hall, a warrior at the door stepped in front of her, barring her way.
“Let me in,” she said, her temper gone. “Surely you can see I am not dangerous.”
“Let her in.” Callo stopped and waited for her.
“Do as he says,” said a female voice.
Kirian stepped past the warrior and saw Lord Zelan and Lord Ander, flanking a stout, richly-dressed woman seated in a carved chair. Her black hair was pinned in an elaborate nest of curls held by gold clips. Her eyes passed over Kirian with no apparent curiosity and returned to Lord Callo.
Callo stood a few paces back from the woman. Lady Dria’s guards remained very close around him, their hands on their sword hilts. He gave a careless righ bow.
“I can’t believe you would dare to come here,” the stout woman said to Lord Callo. “Zelan, do you not know this man is a claimant to the throne, after our son?”
Callo’s head went up. “I claim nothing. I am here to protect Lord Ander against threats on his life by the King.”
“Dria, the boy was attacked—possibly by King’s men. We have only a dozen Hunters to defend us and the men His Majesty has sent, if they are loyal. Lord Callo has experience in war that none of us here have, and he is also a color mage. I accepted Lord Callo’s aid.”
Dria Mar looked disgusted. “Why would King Martan attack him? Are you sure it was not those rebels that are hiding just across the border? Ander, this man is your heir, after Lord Arias Alkiran, who is no longer Collared.”
Zelan stared at her, shocked.
“Yes, it is true—and the Royal Bastard here had something to do with that. I will tell you about it later. For now, is it safe, do you think, to become friends with a man who has ambition for the throne?”
Ander looked doubtful. “He is not accepted in Sugetre, mother. He is a bastard, you know. I don’t think he could ever be crowned.”
“That was before he became a color mage! King Martan has let it be known in Sugetre that Lord Callo is a color mage, true descendant of the Monteni line, though,” she said, making a face, “on the wrong side of the blanket. What do you have to say to that?”
Callo’s eyebrows went up. “He has announced that, has he? Lady Dria Mar, I told the King in person that I would never take the throne.”
“You are a righ, a Monteni, and a color mage. A little social disrespect can be overcome quite easily, with power and the King’s military support behind you.”
“Mother,” Ander interrupted, “They were indeed King’s men that attacked me—one wore the raven badge. Our own Hunters confirmed it. It is not just Lord Callo’s word. Why do you think King Martan wants someone else to succeed him, color mage or no? He has always been kind to me.”
Kirian, watching the young lord’s anxious eyes, was struck again by Ander’s boyishness. The heir to Righar was younger than his years. She thought that if this boy succeeded Martan at a young age, he would depend on others to guide his rule, and the others he chose to depend upon could alter the fate of Righar.
“Sharpeyes is never kind,” Callo said. “It is true, Lord Ander. The King does in fact wish for me to succeed him.”
Kirian interjected, “You refused the honor, Lord Callo.” Lady Dria Mar had been looking dangerous, and three men with drawn swords stood inside Callo’s guard, and she wanted there to be no misconception.
“I refused. Lady Dria Mar, I have never wished to take the throne.”
“So you say.” She stared at him, her little dark eyes taking in everything about him. “I am to believe you, I suppose.”
“As you will.”
Zelan said, “If he wanted to slay Ander, he has had chances already, my wife. I think he is here to do as he says, defend our son.”
Dria Mar rose, turning on him in a fury. “I care nothing for your opinion. I have lived my life in this little backwater hole for one reason only, and that is so Ander would be King. While I labor towards that end, you invite in his enemies and give them free run of the place. You are a fool, Zelan.”
The old man stepped back, his face set. He made no reply.
“How in the gods’ names did you become a color mage?” Dria Mar said to Callo.
“I think that’s irrelevant.” Callo stepped away from his guards and the men stiffened, becoming watchful. “I respect that you are trying to protect Lord Ander. I will give you my oath in any place and time, upon my blood and Jashan’s name, that I have no will to be King. Will that be sufficient?”
She regarded him. “I have no idea. I am still stunned to find you here, Royal Bastard. And I think your oath is worth little.”
Kirian saw Callo react to that. He flushed, and his chin went up. “You have no reason to doubt my honor.”
“Lord Callo is a worshipper of Jashan, my lady,” Balan ran Gesset said. “His oath upon Jashan can be trusted.”
“And you know this how?”
“I was in Lord Arias’ command in Sugetre. I knew Lord Callo there. Many times I have seen him do Jashan’s ritual.”
“I will think on it,” Dria Mar said. She glanced at the swordsmen surrounding Callo. “You three, you may back off. I am convinced, at least, that he will not murder me or Lord Ander this morning.”
“Ease off, Dria,” Zelan said. “He is here to lend us his aid and arms and color magery. There is no need to require my lord to take a blood oath.”
“Not even when a throne is in the balance?”
“No one has asked me anything!” Ander said, moving from his place as if released from a spell. “Lord Callo has given me a sword lesson. He could have slain me there! He slept in the guesthouse at Littleseed that first night, a cot away from me, unguarded. He made no attempt on my life there either, Mother. He is telling the truth.”
Kirian smiled. Ander, originally rather awed by Lord Callo, had thawed since Callo had taken a sword lesson with him, and since Callo had gone to Ander for instruction
about the color magery. Ander likes him, Kirian thought. Well, my love is a likeable man, when you get past that control.
Dria Mar sat and stared at Callo. “I refuse to apologize,” she said.
Callo bowed as if she had done so anyway. In his gold-threaded tunic, he could have been in Sugetre.
“Now.” Dria Mar turned her small penetrating eyes on Kirian. “Who are you? You are not dressed like a concubine.”
Callo drew in a sharp breath. Kirian put a hand on his arm. She had heard this before.
“You are trying hard to be offensive this morning, Dria,” said Zelan. “This is Hon Kirian, a Healer from Seagard Village.”
“The Alkiran Healer. Why are you here, and not at Seagard?”
“That is a very long story, my lady,” Kirian said. She bowed respectfully. “I am traveling with Lord Callo.”
“Lord Callo, you and your—Healer—may stay here unfettered for now,” Lady Dria Mar said. “I warn you, this is not finished. I allow myself to be persuaded by my husband and son, not to mention my own guardsman who says you have honor. I hope you appreciate it.”
“I appreciate your care for your son, Lady Dria,” Callo said. “And also that I can walk out of this hall a free man.”
* * * * *
It wasn’t until the next day that Kirian got back to Healer Jesel’s cottage. When she did, it was late afternoon and the child Werli was sitting in the dirt outside Jesel’s door, drawing pictures in the dust.
“Good afternoon, little one,” Kirian said.
“You’re all right!” Werli cried. She leaped to her feet and hugged Kirian around the knees. Kirian staggered a little under the assault.
“Easy, Werli! You’re pretty solid. Yes, I am fine.”
Jesel appeared at his door, his sleeves rolled up and his fingers covered with a mud-like substance. “I told her you were in no danger, but she did not believe me. She seems to have taken a liking to you.”
“I have taken a liking to her as well,” Kirian said to Werli. The little girl grinned up at her.
“Hon Kirian, will you come in?” Jesel asked. “I never gave you your things.”
“That’s why I came. I’m sorry I ran off.”
“No need to apologize. It was a crisis. Please excuse me a moment, I have been mixing a liniment for some of the men. It’s got tisany and oil of biscan, for sore muscles. I didn’t mean to mix it by hand, but the bowl slipped and it spilled on me.”
There was a gloppy, gray mess spilled from a tray onto the table. The stink of oil of biscan permeated the air. Kirian’s nose wrinkled. Jesel began to scoop the mixture back into the tray, using a wide spatula.
“You won’t be able to do any fine work for a few candlemarks,” Kirian commented.
Jesel smiled. “No, but my hands feel great.” Tisany tended to numb the nerves and warm the skin, and was widely used for strains and sprains. He continued working, cleaning the table with an old rag. “What happened yesterday? There have been all sorts of rumors flying around.”
“Lady Dria Mar was suspicious of Lord Callo’s motives in being here.”
Jesel laughed. “Really? I’m not surprised. He’s a hard man to figure out, your Lord Callo.”
“He’s here to help defend Lord Ander. You know there was an attempt on the young lord’s life.”
“Yes, but why this sudden altruism from Lord Callo? I never remember him being around here before, or befriending Ander in the capital.” Jesel took up a new rag and went to a bowl of water, cleaning his hands with some fumbling.
“He’s a good deal older than Ander.”
“And still is. Thirty or so, isn’t he? Why the change?”
Kirian was uneasy. She didn’t feel at liberty to discuss the details of Callo’s motivations with this man, whom she did not know well. “There have been some changes recently, Jesel. Changes that led my lord to rethink his options.”
“Suitably vague,” Jesel said. He smiled at her, and she remembered all the girls crowding around him when he was a senior student at the Healer’s College. “Look, my hands are finally clean, but you will have to pack up the things I’ve chosen for you yourself, since my dexterity won’t be back for a while.”
Kirian found a leather pouch on the table large enough to accommodate most of what Jesel had chosen. “This is beautiful,” she said. “It is almost as good as my Healer’s bag.”
“It was made by a craftsman at my father’s holding. No need for thanks—any Healer would give you what they could. I can’t imagine being without mellweed or even a dose of headache remedy.” He shuddered. “Now you will be ready for your return to your posting.”
Kirian raised startled eyes to Jesel’s face. “But I don’t intend . . .”
The other Healer raised his brows, not looking back at her. “I wondered. Is he so compelling, that he can make a Healer break her vow?”
Kirian did not take offense. Jesel’s words were too similar to her own recent thoughts. “I fled my posting to protect my life, Hon Jesel. As for my vow—I will not break it. I have healed those who needed it on every step of my journey. I even sought out the sick to offer my aid. I think I have kept my vow even beyond what the College intended, when they post Healers for the comfort of only a righ patron or two.”
“I suppose that shows me.” Jesel grinned at her.
“Well, I was not thinking of you.” Kirian flushed.
“It is all right. You are one of our rebels, it seems. I cannot fault you for it. The College means well, but its healing is often diverted to those who can afford it, it is true. Or those who can bring support to the King. But Hon Kirian, then why are you not out healing the peasants in the fields, instead of with Lord Callo? He does not look to me as if he is without resources.” Jesel’s eyes were gleaming, teasing her.
“I suppose you have me there. Like everyone else I have more than one motivation.” Kirian resumed packing her pile of supplies into the leather pouch. There was a rustling noise, and Werli came scurrying into the Healer’s room.
“Healer, a man is here,” she said.
“You would make an excellent sentry,” Jesel said. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He went to the door and reappeared a moment later, followed by a familiar figure. Jesel was talking as they entered. “Need another headache remedy, Hon Chiss?”
Chiss paused in the doorway as he saw Kirian. His face was always hard to read, but Kirian did not think he was pleased to see her there. “The same as last time, please, Hon Jesel.”
Jesel waved at Kirian. “Could you do the honors, Hon Kirian? My hands, you know. Look, the remedy is there, in dried form, but needs mixed with three parts of wine for each part of the remedy.”
Kirian found the remedy in a jar on the top shelf. As she opened the seal, the aroma of dry rueberry wafted out, and she remembered picking rueberries on the cliff path at Seagard on a clear winter day with the surf beating on the rocks far below. For just an instant, the memory was so strong she had to pause and close her eyes. That was the day she had been forced to leave Seagard Village.
“All right, Hon Kirian?” Chiss asked.
“Yes.” She measured out some of the remedy, found the wine, and diluted the powder with care, mixing it well. Jesel watched her, as any good Healer would. She held the cup out to Chiss, who shook his head.
“I need to take it with me,” he said. “Last time, Hon Jesel gave me a jar to carry.”
She looked at him. “All right, a jar. Have you brought back the old one? No? Please do next time, for Jesel’s sake. Here you are, Chiss. It must be used within the day, or it will weaken.”
Chiss took the remedy and bowed. He held out a coin to Jesel.
“There is no need,” Jesel said. “Lord Zelan handles my wages and supplies.”
“Please,” Chiss said.
Jesel grinned and took the coin. It glinted, flashing silver in the light—a whole kel. “If it makes you feel better, I have no objection to a little extra cash on the side. My father says an allowance
is not necessary for a grown man, and my wages don’t cover any luxuries. Thank you, Hon Chiss. If those headaches continue, see me.”
When Chiss was gone, Kirian finished packing her supplies in silence. Something seemed wrong about Chiss’ visit. She thanked Jesel and said her goodbyes to Werli, who still crouched on the ground outside the cottage. As she walked back up to the manse, something nagged at the edges of her thoughts, but she could not identify what was bothering her.
Lord Callo was not present at dinner. Lord Zelan was also absent, presumably on the Hunt.
“They are on patrol,” Ander told her over wine and dessert. “Looking for anyone who should not be in these parts, rebels or King’s men.”
She spent a pleasant evening with Lord Ander and his tutor Shan-il, playing a game of three-sided cards, until she heard the others return. It was dark by that time, and she waited a good while, sipping wine by the card-strewn table as Ander and Shan-il went off to their rooms, until enough time had passed for tired men to disarm, eat and drink, and clean up. Then she made her way to Lord Callo’s room and knocked.
Chiss answered, carrying a bundle of dirty clothes in his arms. He looked disapproving. He announced her, and Callo called her in as Chiss left the room. Callo stood as she entered, this gesture a righ habit which made her smile. His hair was unbound, lit by the firelight to a river of gold. His smile was warm as he held out his arms to her, and she walked into his embrace, feeling a weight of tension drop from her as he enfolded her.
“Ah, Kirian. I am glad to see you.”
“You saw me this morning, foolish one,” she said tenderly, reveling in the feel of his arms around her.
“Ah, but only at breakfast, in a group,” he said. “Not like this. I thought you would be asleep.”
“I waited for you.”
“I am glad you did.” He released her as he resumed his seat, but then drew her down onto his lap, where she curled against him.
“Do you know,” she said, “this is the first time we have ever nestled like this?”
“That is certainly a revolting word,” he said. “But it does feel good.” He reached over her, poured some wine into a glass, and handed it to her. She examined the thick green glass, darkened by the blood-red wine, throwing back reflections of the firelight.
Sword of Jashan (Book 2) Page 4
