“You know I have. It deadens the world to me, but since it is all that is keeping me alive and somewhat free, I would not miss a dose.” He stood and smiled at her, though his face still had that sleepy look. “Are you here to keep me company?”
“I am only here to see how you are doing. Mage Yhallin wants me to—”
“What?” he interrupted. “Do you jump at every crook of her finger now?”
Kirian looked at him for a moment until Callo lowered his eyes and quirked one eyebrow. “I am sorry, Kirian. That was uncalled for. Come sit with me, will you?”
Kirian sat on the end of the bed next to the chair. Callo looked tired yet restless from too much inactivity. His lunch sat untouched on the table. A book lay face down on the table top near his lunch tray. Looking around, Kirian realized the light was dim in here, adding to the atmosphere of gloom. Yhallin Magegard had written in her notes the day before that Callo had refused his lesson with Mage Oron, and that his fingers had required treatment for burns as once again the color magery escaped control. Possible attempt to manipulate through psychic magery, Yhallin had added in her elegant handwriting. But Kirian knew how Callo felt about the ethics of using the ku’an magery, and doubted that last line was true.
“I was permitted out again yesterday, but they no longer trust me since the phodian seems to be only partially effective against the magery. I am not suited to remaining within walls all the time, Kirian. I am almost tempted to ask for more of the stuff, so I can be permitted outdoors.”
Kirian shuddered. “Do not ask Mage Yhallin that, love. It is building up in your system, you know.”
“I have missed you.”
Kirian held out her hand. “Give me your hands. How are your fingers?”
“They hurt,” Callo said. “But damned if I’ll let that woman give me mellweed. I can manage it well enough.”
Kirian checked to make sure the burns were not infected. They were only minor burns capping each fingertip, but she knew they hurt. She said, “You may have wine. It may help, a little.”
He turned towards her. “Kirian, do you know why the delay until we depart for Deephold? It is hard to sit in here, imprisoned, and just wait.”
“The caravan leaves soon. We dare not go alone, you know— the Sword of Jashan has been active in that area. There was a call for Healers to ride out to the plains just yesterday—some travelers were robbed, and three of them wounded. They are saying it was the rebels. There has been no luck in finding their camp so far—Yhallin said the people are helping them hide. Have you seen the King yet? What has he said?”
Callo maintained the contact when she released his hands; his fingers felt warm in hers. She squeezed them, very gently, and released them.
“He has not required my presence. He does not trust me, and rightly so—he waits until after Deephold, when I will be stable enough for him to forcibly bind me to loyalty. I did sustain a visit from Dionar. Do you know Dionar, the Lord Commander? He warns me of consequences should I put a foot wrong. And of course I am not allowed to set a foot outside the door without Sharpeyes’ assigned dogs at my side. I am eager to leave for Deephold, to finish what I promised you, Kirian.”
He still looked weary, but his eyes sparked with color magery. She could feel his resolution. She smiled. “I am glad you are willing to do this thing.”
“It is the least I can do for you.” He leaned forward and touched her cheek with one finger, as gentle as a raindrop. “I would be with you again, dearest, but I cannot trust myself.”
She smiled. “It will happen. After Deephold. Yhallin has given me a few words about the place. Do you want to hear them?”
“Of course!”
“You know where it is—in the northern mountains. King Martan gifted her this place, since there was nowhere else for her to go—a half-righ, female color mage.”
“And to command her devotion,” Callo added.
“Indeed. From the writings and her few words I have been able to glean only a little about what Yhallin puts her color mages through. It is not encouraging.”
“What is it?”
“She writes that Deephold takes everything away from the mage, until there is nothing at all left. Then it is up to him to fight to regain what he has lost.”
“I knew it was not a feastday stroll in the park. I will do whatever is required. Kirian, love, I dare not ask more, until I know I will not hurt you. But stay a while. Spend a little time here with me.”
She looked at him, his eyes almost glowing in the dim light, the magery limning his hands. He was beautiful as ever, even in his distress. She began to reach out, to caress his face. Then the memory of their last lovemaking at Northgard Manor returned to her, and she dropped her hand and turned her face away from him.
His gaze dropped. “I am sorry.”
“You are doing all you can.” She stood and moved towards the door. “I am sorry, Callo. I must go.”
“I see you must.” He rose, his jaw now set. “I can do nothing else but apologize again, Kirian. I swear it will not happen again.” A wash of color spread from his hands, rising like a tide up the walls of the room.
“Calm down,” she said. “Callo, the magery—”
“I see.” He raised his hands, looking at the sheet of energy that wrapped them. “It is a curse, this magery. Even Jashan will not help me—at least, as long as I lie confined here. Tell Yhallin to get me to Deephold—the faster, the better.”
Chapter Ten
Two days later, Ander finally got out of the smothering closeness of the Castle and went to Lake Heart.
The Lake lay in a park in the city’s center. Its wide expanse served up nets of fish each day, thanks to diligent farming and restocking. Paddle boats were rented to anyone who could pay a few coppers. Vendors in stalls sat up on the low hill near the lake, selling water, wine and cakes to thirsty boaters. There was a trail weaving in and out of the well-tended trees, where horsemen could have a peaceful ride almost as if they were in the country. It was odd, riding beside Shan-il and Froman as they entered the trailhead, that to Ander’s left lay the glittering water, and to his right just beyond the screening trees and a narrow verge lay the clutter of Sugetre.
Chiss had told him that everyone in Sugetre came to Lake Heart at one time or another, or again and again, if they were fortunate enough to have the time and means. The poorer visitors came on foot with their children, and ate bread and cheese. The righ came on horseback or in carriages to enjoy the lake and be served picnics by their servants. Their servants came too, on their days off, and walked around the lake chattering and courting.
Ander brought no servants. He had bread and sausage in his saddlebag, and Shan-il carried wineskins on his saddle. The six guardsmen Balan had sent with them cleared the common people out of their way.
Froman, who had been forced to accompany Ander by an order from the King, was sulky and uncommunicative. He watched the women at the lake, and once they entered the green trail he rode a little ahead of the others, fulfilling the word of the order he had been given. Ander was happy not to have to speak with the man.
He had felt a little sick as he left the castle grounds, a weakness he attributed to the heat in the city. After a few minutes on the trail, he felt stronger. He dropped back to ride with Shan-il.
“Race me, Shan-il,” he said.
“You cannot, my lord. Look, there are people all around.”
“They’re over by the lake. Come on! It has been sennights since I’ve had a good ride.”
Froman’s mood had apparently changed. He dropped back to ride beside them. “My brother and I galloped here once. We were given stable duty for a sennight.”
“They do not look kindly on wild riding here,” Shan-il said. “There are too many people around.”
Ander sulked. The day was bright, and it was cooler here by the lake than in the heart of the sweltering city. He missed the freedom he had enjoyed at Northgard, where no one minded if he took a few guards and rode off into the
woods to gallop or to set up his painting by an interesting view.
“We will ride back into those trees,” Froman said, pointing to a weedy path that did not seem to be part of the lake grounds proper. “Perhaps it will be a little safer to ride faster there.”
Ander raised his eyebrows at Shan-il. The tutor sighed. “My lords, if you incur the displeasure of the King, there will be no more rides here. What is wrong with sitting for a while by the lakeshore, or fishing perhaps?”
Ander looked at the people sitting on the wooden fishing pier with poles. They looked placid, as if they had not moved for candlemarks. The surface of the lake was undisturbed by any sign of fish. “That looks very boring,” he said, looking a little shyly at the older lord. “Do you not agree?”
“I went fishing once,” Froman said. “Lasted for all of about a quarter candlemark. Such a task is not for us, Lord Ander. Talk to your men. Let’s ride!”
A few moments later, two of the guardsmen rode ahead to make sure the path was clear. Ander loosened his rein and put his heels to his mount’s sides. Lord Froman, perhaps remembering that he was angry about being ordered here, took off ahead, setting a fast pace. A third guard rode as his escort, slapping at his horse to keep up with the fast-riding Froman. They headed for the neglected path off the lake, Shan-il riding behind with the other guardsmen.
The mare had a beautiful gait. Ander laughed as he felt the breeze in his hair. Branches of tall trees arched far above them, providing a little shade but no obstruction. The bright display of the lake fell behind and to their left as the trail angled farther away from Lake Heart.
Froman turned back to shout something over his shoulder. Ander could not make out the words, so he spurred the mare on a little faster. This was glorious, the first exercise other than the ring since the slow miserable ride across the plains to Sugetre. Ander saw that the trail ahead was rougher, so he pulled the mare slower, watching for tree roots or stones in the path. The mare snorted and shook her head as if she wanted to race on.
There were indeed tree roots wrinkling the surface of the trail. Shan-il pulled up behind him. Ander let his mare walk along the rougher section.
“Where are Lord Froman and the other guards?” Shan-il asked.
Ander looked ahead. The trail curved gently around a massive tree trunk. He could see no sign of life. Listening, he could not hear the sounds of horses or voices. To the left, Lake Heart and its people had disappeared behind a thickening verge of trees. To the right the trees thinned to show the clutter of a poorer area of the city, with rundown houses crammed tight together. A dog tied behind one of the houses yipped, sounding for a moment like a wolf.
All at once, it felt very empty on the sunlit trail.
Ander’s three rear guards moved up behind them.
“Let us go back, my lord,” said one.
“Yes,” Shan-il agreed. “There is something off about this.”
Ander turned his mare around, but kept looking back over his shoulder. “What about Lord Froman and the men he was with?”
“We will send back after them when you are safe again,” Shan-il said.
Something rustled in the undergrowth between the trail and the houses. Ander’s mare shied, and he quieted her.
Suddenly there were people on the trail between them and Lake Heart. Two men rose from the undergrowth and stood in the center of the trail. They held their hands out before them to show the King’s guards that they were unarmed. The men were beggars, perhaps, seizing the opportunity to cadge a few coppers from a rich party. Froman had told Ander this happened sometimes, since the park was surrounded by Sugetre’s clutter. It was one of the reasons people of means took guards with them to the lake.
One of the men was hooded so that his face was not visible. He bent low before the guard, who waved him off with a negligent hand. “Away!” the guard said.
“What does he want?” Ander asked.
“Money, most likely, Lord Ander.” The guard watched the beggar with a frown. “Please ignore him.”
“Just a copper, great ones,” one of the men rasped.
“He looks very poor,” Ander said, frowning.
Shan-il’s voice was sharp. His horse was close to Ander’s. “Don’t think it, my lord. Something is wrong here.”
“I’ll get rid of him, my lord,” said the guard.
One of the guards rode forward into the beggar. The man tripped out of the way of the horse and fell into the growth at the side of the trail. With a shout, others rose out of the undergrowth, and the guards were outnumbered by as many as a dozen.
“Back,” Shan-il whispered to Ander. “Let’s get away from this.”
Ander could see the guards attempting to clear the way with swords and the bulk of their horses. Then one of them was dragged off his mount, pulled down by four ragged men. One of the attackers fell back, bleeding, but the guard was down and disarmed. The other was mobbed by even more attackers.
Ander drew his sword. He turned his mare and bent low, urging her towards the fallen guardsmen and the rabble that mobbed them.
“No!” Shan-il said.
Before Ander’s mare could move, there were small hands on her bridle, pulling her head down hard. The mare stumbled onto her knees. These were children, several of them dragging Ander off the mare now. Their hands were all over him, pulling on his arm, someone else trying to take his sword. He pulled back for a strike but looked into the face of the closest attacker and could not do it. The boy looked no more than ten, dirt smudged across his face failing to hide his youth. Then the moment of decision was gone, and so was his sword.
Next to him Shan-il lay on the trail, black hair streaming over the dirt. He looked to be unconscious.
Ander did not think help was coming from Froman either. He wondered what had happened to the guards who had ridden ahead.
Ander’s hands shook. This was clearly a kidnapping, if not an assassination attempt. The guards behind him made no sound. Perhaps they were dead.
Then some of the older men were there, grabbing his hands. Ander clamped down on his fear. He let color magery flame from his hands, and his attackers leaped back, glaring.
“Do you want money?” Ander asked. “I do not want to hurt you. I’ll give you what I have.”
“We can just take it, lordling,” sneered the bearded man. “And we will—ya can’t stop us. But first . . .”
A man was behind him. Something wrapped itself around Ander’s face and pulled him backwards. The stink of body odor filled Ander’s nose and mouth. He choked, unable to breathe. He tried to grab at the cloth but could not get his hands around it. Someone grabbed his hands and yanked them behind his back.
Fear raced through him. This was it—if he did not act he would be abducted or dead. Forgetting any finesse, Ander let go of the energies he held in check and flared the heat of color magery across the weedy trail.
The grip on his hands slackened. He pulled his hands free. He dug at the cloth and pulled it away from his face, coughing. Black spots danced in front of his eyes but he could see red fire enveloping two struggling forms. The men lay writhing on the trail, screaming, red and black ropes of energy wrapping their bodies.
Ander whirled to see what the other attackers were doing. Two were coming at him with swords they had taken from the bodies of Ander’s dead guards. One got in an untutored swipe before Ander focused the heat of his magery into a shield that wrapped them, shoving them off the trail through the undergrowth as if someone had kicked them.
Looking back up the trail, Ander saw some of the men running away through the weeds back to the clutter of rundown houses.
“Get back here, you damned cowards!” screamed one of the beggars who remained on the trail.
A weight flung itself against the back of Ander’s knees. He found himself rolling in the dirt. A slight body flung itself on him—one of the children who had been in the ragged group. The child punched at Ander’s jaw and he felt his control of the magery waver
ing as his head snapped back against the dirt. He did not want to use the fire against this child.
Then someone was dragging the attacker off him, kicking and swearing. Ander rolled to his feet fast, trying to keep the mage shield on the two men in the woods. The two who had tried to strangle him were dead, arched in tortured positions.
Shan-il held the struggling child tight. The tutor looked pale. His face was slick with blood. He slapped the child. “Shut up, and keep quiet, or you’ll be with the gods with your kin here,” he snapped. “Can you hold her?” he asked Ander.
Ander nodded. It was indeed a girl, dressed in ratty trousers, dirt smeared on her face. He took hold of her arms. She stilled immediately, watchful for an opportunity. Ander released the mage shield on the two in the woods; they scrambled to their feet and ran off, stumbling on roots and low bushes.
The sound of hooves approached from the direction of Lake Heart. Someone was coming to aid them or their enemies, Ander did not know which. He took a deep breath and readied himself.
Four of the rag-clad attackers lay on the trail. Shan-il was going from man to fallen man, knife out. As Ander watched, the tutor held his hand above the mouth of one man, checking for breath; then he cut the man’s throat with an economical move. Blood sprayed onto Shan-il and all over the trail.
The girl Ander held wailed.
“Silence,” Ander said. His knees shook. There were two more of the children watching him, half-hidden behind larger tree trunks. He did not intend to call attention to them as long as they attempted no harm.
The sound of hooves was closer now. Three armed men rode up, horses sweating from the speed of their ride.
“What’s going on here?” demanded their leader.
“First, who are you?” Shan-il asked. His knife was still out. Under the eyes of the armed men, he bent and grabbed a sword from the hands of one of the dead men lying on the trail. Ander shifted his grip to hold the captured girl’s upper arms tighter. He took a deep breath and prepared to defend himself if necessary.
“City guard.” The leader pulled at the breast of his tunic, drawing attention to the raven emblazoned there. “Eran Ellini, commander. Are you all right?”
Sword of Jashan (Book 2) Page 13
