“He is a ku’an, Zelan! A danger to my son.”
“My lady,” Kirian said. “When King Martan slew Lord Callo’s half-brother, he earned Lord Callo’s enmity. He is a danger to King Martan, but not to your son.”
“I do not see why he cannot be a danger to both. This is none of your concern. For all I know you have also been influenced to support him.” Dria paused for a moment, staring at her son as if debating something in her mind, then said: “He has too much power, and he intrigues against you, my son. He needs to go to King Martan. Your royal uncle will decide what is to become of him.”
Shock stiffened Ander’s shoulders. “He will not go.”
“He will go where I send him.”
Zelan dragged an arm across his forehead, leaving a paler streak in the dirt and sweat. “Dria, what are you thinking? They may be King’s men out there, trying to clear the succession. You want to send Callo into the jaws of the King? He will either slay the man, or set him up as King and disinherit your son.”
“King Martan is my brother-in-law, Zelan, I know well what he will do. Those must be insurgents out there, perhaps the Sword of Jashan, since Martan would not so dishonor our blood as to place a bastard on the throne.” Zelan opened his mouth as if to speak, and Dria raised her voice above his. “You are a border Collared Lord, no royal blood, Zelan—you have no say in this!”
Zelan waved a hand at her in mute resignation, and turned to leave the room. Dria Mar watched; her lips were pursed in a satisfied smile. Then she turned to observe Kirian. Ander wanted to tell Kirian to be quiet, keep low, and not attract his lady mother’s attention.
“If you please, Lady Dria,” Kirian said, “I will go with him, as we planned.”
Dria said, “You, Healer, should not be here at all. Why are you here, instead of at the posting you were lawfully given? You should be at Seagard Castle, I understand.”
Kirian said nothing. Ander knew what was coming next. Lady Dria Mar was used to ordering the lives of others.
“You should return to Seagard Castle. I will write to Lord Forell and to the Healer’s College and inform them of your whereabouts.”
“Lady mother, please allow Kirian to accompany Lord Callo. He will need her.”
“What will he need—a whore?” Ander saw Kirian flinch. “Lord Callo will have his manservant. That is all he needs. This woman will return to where she is supposed to be. Do not think of thwarting me,” Dria Mar continued to Kirian. “You know the penalty for leaving a posting without the College’s permission.”
Kirian bowed. “I do, Lady Dria.”
“I will be so generous as to allow you to accompany us to Sugetre, then the College can have the disposal of you. Do not attempt to go elsewhere.”
Ander said, “Mother! Why are you doing this?”
“You are too young to see this danger to your throne, my son. I see it all too well. Or perhaps this Callo has influenced you—the psychic mages can influence your emotions without you even being aware of it.”
Ander said, “He would not do that.”
“He just did.”
“To save my life!” Ander objected.
“If he did it once, he will do it again. Be still now. Yes, I know you are a man now, but a young one, and inexperienced. Put your trust in those who have your well being in mind.”
Chapter Seven
The journey across the dusty plains between Northgard and Sugetre was a misery. The summer heat made little mirages in the distance that vanished as they approached. The men were irritable. Riding in the carriage, Lady Dria Mar was demanding, and even Lord Ander was occasionally sulky.
Lord Zelan had been stone-faced as he bid his son and wife farewell. Kirian had turned back as they were riding away to see the gaunt old man staring after them, sunlight gleaming on his Collar, the symbol of his privilege and his bondage. Kirian was sure Zelan would not see his son again, now that Ander was an adult and being educated permanently in the capital. She wondered, knowing a little of Lady Dria Mar, if he would ever see his wife again either. The old lord was well aware that he would be the last Collared Lord of Northgard—that when Lord Ander inherited the Righan throne he would let the Collared Lordship of Northgard lapse. It must be a strange feeling, Kirian thought, for a man who had devoted his entire life to the Hunt, to know he was the last of his line.
Lady Dria Mar kept behind the dust-coated curtains of her carriage. Lord Ander rode, and sometimes kept her company. For the first couple of days the young man’s conversation was all of his lady mother’s unfair treatment of Lord Callo. Then he began to speak of what was chiefly occupying his mind, which was the young woman he would be betrothed to upon his return to the city. Lady Dria Mar had told him the young woman’s identity; she was a Leyish princess, a couple of years older than Ander. Ander was optimistic that she would prove to be as lovely in real life as the portrait he had been given of her. The miniature showed a dark-eyed beauty, with rose-colored lips curved in a shy smile. She wore double earrings, a gold chain and gems in her hair.
Kirian rode in a sort of space of her own, not welcomed by the righ and not trusted by the guards. She rode in the wagons for a day or two when her mount turned up lame; there, the servants regaled her with stories about the denizens of Sugetre Castle and told her frightening rumors about Yhallin Magegard. Lady Dria Mar’s serving woman brought Kirian dinner and made sure she was not troubled by the men. Her thoughts dwelled with Callo, who was kept isolated in a guarded wagon. She missed him terribly.
Behind the caravan, well-guarded by a unit commanded by Balan ran Gesset, trudged the few men who had been captured after the attack on Northgard. Not one of them would say who had sent them to abduct or kill Lords Ander and Callo, and none of the guards or Hunters stationed at Northgard recognized them. Balan had said someone at Sugetre would know who they were and where they hailed from.
Balan himself divided his time between supervising his men and guarding Lord Ander. Lady Dria Mar had transferred his oath to her son upon his fifteenth birthday.
Several days out, they passed the remnants of a carriage that lay canted to one side on a broken axle. Its gold-painted door hung open. There was no sign of the carriage horses or the occupant, but a body clad in homespun lay stiffening in the dirt. There were flies in shiny black clusters on his skin, and his eyes were gone. Kirian turned away, sickened.
“This looks like a man from Sword of Jashan,” Balan told her. “They become ever bolder, but their numbers are small. And the righ have servants with weapons to defend themselves against attack.”
“What do you think happened? Where are the people who were inside the carriage?”
“Righ travelers,” Balan said. “Their servants have found them safe transport long ago. This body has been here for days. It was most likely an attempt at robbery, Hon Kirian.”
Kirian kept her face averted as they proceeded past the scene of the attack. Once they were far enough ahead so that the righ would not be disturbed by the sight of death, they stopped. Balan ordered men back to take care of the body, and sent messengers to the nearest lord’s holding with a report of what had happened. Then they continued on their miserable journey.
When the heat-soaked clutter of Sugetre’s outer districts appeared in the haze, Kirian thanked the Unknown God for the deliverance from her boredom.
They rode through the outer districts in a candlemark, past workshops and stables and rundown taverns that catered to thirsty travelers. Kirian felt her hair sticking to her forehead, and wished for the cool of a tavern common room, but they rode on. The road took them through one of the merchant districts. She remembered some of these places well; on a rare holiday, she had come with Sindar and some of her other friends to spend a few coins on candy and notions. Now the merchants’ colorful flags hung limp in the humidity, and custom was light.
It was almost autumn, one year since she had arrived at Seagard Village full of eager hope. She was twenty-seven now, and Callo thirty. The only cl
othes she owned were those that had been given to her, and her reputation was lost. Kirian knew she would be lucky if the Healer’s College sent her back to Seagard to finish her time learning from Ruthan. It was much more likely they would strip her of her status, and she would be sent out into Sugetre without the authority of a Healer’s title, to earn what little she could on her own merits from those who had no access to a real Healer.
The Castle stood gray and bannered above the houses of the wealthy. Guards wearing the King’s raven badge manned every gate. The stink of overheated horses and people surrounded Kirian; she had forgotten what the city was like in summer. As they entered the gate and proceeded to the great doors where the righ would enter, Kirian could not help but feel as if this long, strange year had ended in defeat.
* * * * *
Kirian was sent to a small room and provided with water for washing, and bread and cheese with wine. The afternoon passed in forlorn solitude. Kirian lay down to sleep early, wondering the whole time how Callo was faring.
In the morning she awoke to thunder and a knock on the door. The servant who waited there brought fruit and bread on a wooden tray, and a message directing her to see a representative from the Healer’s College that morning.
Kirian was escorted to the meeting. Once the door closed behind the man who had brought her, she waited in the small room alone. She wondered who from the Healer’s College had been assigned to deal with her. The shutters were closed against the pouring rain, making the little antechamber even dimmer. Thunder rolled. She hoped this was the end of the hot weather that had plagued them on the journey.
In any case, the late-summer heat did not penetrate Sugetre Castle’s thick stone walls. Kirian pulled her wrap closer about her shoulders, shivering.
The inner door opened and Hon Char Irilan, head of the Healer’s College, came out. He wore a dark green tunic with a belt that strained around his huge belly.
She stood. “Good day, Hon Char,” she greeted, bowing a little.
He glowered at her. “It is not a good day at all, not when a charity student drags the College into the affairs of Kings. What possessed you to leave your posting, girl?”
“Sir, I sent the College a message, explaining what happened. I did not leave my posting of my free will.”
“It is all an overblown series of dramatics. You were never in danger; you ran off after a righ you had no business looking at. The Royal Bastard, at that. And now decisions that should be in the purview of the Healer’s College are subject to the manipulations of politics.”
“I am sorry for the inconvenience, Hon Char.” Although Kirian thought the Healer’s College was well used to considering politics when making its assignments, she thought it best to apologize.
“I should hope so.” He hitched his belt higher, and made his way to the door. “Against my better judgment, I have agreed to allow you a choice in your next posting. Stay put there, and wait. Yhallin Magegard wants to see you, woman. Make sure you choose wisely.” He grimaced at her and left, allowing the door to slam behind him.
Kirian sighed and sat down. So the Healer’s College was not happy with her. This was no surprise; she expected a severe penalty. Hon Char was doubtless angry because she might escape the punishment set for her.
“You may come in now,” said a woman’s voice.
Kirian looked around her as she entered the interior room. A lamp burned on the corner of a desk, but the room was still dim; the sound of the rain was louder in here, as though the exterior wall was being lashed by the storm.
A woman stood beside the desk. She wore a messenger’s practical brown breeches, and a tunic made of the same material. She said, “You are Hon Kirian, assigned Healer at Seagard Castle?”
“Yes, I am. I was told I had been summoned by Yhallin Magegard. Are you here to take me to him?”
The woman grimaced. “I am Yhallin. I do not care for the appellation, Magegard. It is accompanied by too much fear and superstition.”
“I’m sorry, Hon Yhallin.” Kirian was surprised. For some reason she had thought Yhallin was an old, white-bearded man. Instead, the mage-healer looked to be no more than ten years or so Kirian’s senior. Her fine-boned face gave her an ascetic look, and her hair was cut even shorter than Kirian’s, clinging like dust to the woman’s scalp.
“Hon Char said you wish to offer me some alternative to the punishment the Healer’s College prescribed for me.”
“I have—negotiated—with the Healer’s College. They do not like me there, but I do the King’s will in this. If you agree, you are to be forgiven the rest of your term at Seagard Castle and assigned to me. You will remain here at Sugetre for now, and you will accompany me when I go to Deephold, or elsewhere.”
Kirian said, “Mage Yhallin, you must know I wish to remain with Lord Callo. But I do not yet know what you do, or what your methods are. What if I choose not to assist you?”
Yhallin smiled. Her teeth were tiny. Kirian pushed away the thought that Yhallin resembled a rat. “Give me a few sennights before you begin to think me irrevocably evil. I will not ask you to do anything you would object to during that time. After that—if you choose to go, you may go. I do not keep unwilling help. It’s counterproductive.”
Kirian blinked. “I suppose . . . I can only say thank you, Hon Yhallin.”
The woman walked around the side of the desk and dropped into the carved chair behind it. She waved Kirian to the bench before the desk. “So, sit, then. I know a little about you, which I have heard from sources at Seagard castle and at the Healer’s College. I doubt most of it is true. No need to tell me your history now, but I must know this—do you fancy yourself in love with Lord Callo ran Alkiran?”
Kirian flushed. “Fancy myself?”
Yhallin shrugged. The dark eyes were keen on Kirian’s face. “The man is a ku’an. He has powers of psychic magery. You have been in close contact with him, whereupon you follow him across the sea without a kel to your name, dropping all your obligations as a Healer at the place you were assigned.”
“That had nothing to do with Lord Callo,” Kirian flashed. “I had reason to fear for my life from the Collared Lord there, so I escaped.”
“And the rest of it?”
“The rest—is true,” she admitted. “I have followed Lord Callo. Yes, I love him. If I stay with you, it will be so I can learn from you and help him assimilate the energies he has to deal with.”
“But you claim you are not under any sort of psychic influence from him.”
“That is correct.” Kirian kept her head high. She knew it sounded unlikely, but it was true. Every step of her way she had decided on her own, sometimes against Callo’s express wishes, but at all times without any ku’an influence.
“How do you know?”
“I . . .” Kirian began to say that she knew what it felt like to be under psychic influence. Then she stopped; surely this admission would only hurt her cause. She added: “I know. That is all.”
Yhallin looked at her. Kirian could not decipher the expression on her face.
“You and Lord Callo’s manservant attempted to escape with your lord from the caravan that brought you here.”
On the third night of the journey from Northgard, Chiss had brought Callo out from his guarded wagon on some pretext, and then they had mounted stolen horses and attempted to flee. They had not gotten far. Lady Dria Mar’s men had surrounded them. Callo had made no effort to use his magery to help their escape; Chiss and Kirian dared not resist the armed horsemen that surrounded them. Balan ran Gesset had looked oddly disappointed as he and his men escorted them back to the caravan.
Kirian realized as they were returned to the caravan what was wrong with Callo.
“You did not attempt it a second time.”
“Well, no. It would have been pointless. Have you seen Lord Callo yet, Hon Yhallin?”
The mage healer nodded. “They had him drugged with mellweed, which was all they had. It served their purpose, but we ha
ve other ways to make sure he cannot escape using his psychic magery.”
Kirian did not like the sound of that. “They drugged him with mellweed the entire way here. It’s a wonder he is not desperately ill.”
“Mellweed is not so dangerous as you seem to think. They were careful with the dosage; Hon Jesel knows King Martan wants his bastard nephew back safe and sound. What did you expect them to do, take no action while my lord burned the caravan down with his color magery, or subverted their minds with his ku’an influence?”
“No.” Kirian did not know what she expected. It had hurt, though, to see Callo drugged so that the fire in his eyes was gone, and so that he went with their captors unresisting.
“There is a drug called phodian. You have heard of it?”
“Yes, if you mean the poison named phodian.”
Yhallin smiled, and stood up behind the desk. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her messenger’s tunic and pulled out a tiny vial, which she held out to Kirian. Kirian removed the stopper from the vial and held it near her nose. The heavy, oily fragrance confirmed it was the same drug she had learned of in Healer’s College. The drug was treasured in the sultry pleasure houses of the southern nations; a drop or two on the neck of a concubine lent her a seductive fragrance, but should the woman’s companion forget and try to mark her throat, the results could be fatal.
Kirian returned the vial to Yhallin. She conscientiously put her hands in her lap, resolving to wash thoroughly as soon as she was free to do so. “Surely you do not plan to use this on Lord Callo?”
The vial disappeared into Yhallin’s pocket. “I have found a way to use it on my troubled color mages.”
“But only a drop can kill!”
“Ah, but I do not use even a drop.” The mage healer remained standing, her hair and eyes dark in the shuttered study as rain still lashed the exterior wall. “The phodian is diluted, obviously. In the right quantity it dulls the man’s ability to access his color magery, and makes him safe to be around. But I will not lie to you, Healer Kirian. It must be used with extreme caution. It builds up in the body, you see; using it for long will cause the same result as if he had taken the drop at once. It is only a stopgap, until he can be treated.”
Sword of Jashan (Book 2) Page 9
