Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (11 page)

“You are safe,” she said.

“Yes, thanks to Lord Callo. How goes the battle? Whose are those men?”

“I don’t know. Where is Lord Callo? He does not accompany you?”

“I don’t know where he is now.” Ander stood near the narrow open window and watched the two dozen Northgard men engage the enemy. Several men were down, but he could not tell whether they were attackers or defenders from this distance. As he watched, someone tried to cut back and ride into the woods, but was felled by a spear of energy. “Is my lord father down there?”

“He is. What happened, son?”

Ander left the window and came over to her. “Hon Islarian is dead, mother.”

“Is he? He will be honored.” Ander could tell Lady Dria Mar cared not a bit for Hon Islarian. He swallowed, feeling his emotions rise up ready to embarrass him now that the immediate danger was past. He turned aside, sniffing a little, and then Kirian appeared out of nowhere and offered a handkerchief.

“I am glad to see you well. You have seen Lord Callo, you said?”

“He was well when I left. Lady mother, where are the servants and tradesmen? Where is Hon Jesel?”

“Jesel prepares for the wounded,” Kirian told him. “I will make myself available as well.”

“I have no idea where the servants have gone,” said Lady Dria Mar. “I am still waiting to hear what happened, Lord Ander.” The bite in her voice straightened his shoulders. Her dark eyes glittered as she watched him. Any tendency toward tears fled as wariness filled him.

He stood before her and told the story. Kirian stayed nearby, intent on his words. When he got to the part about the intense fear that had felled him and his attackers, Lady Dria Mar stiffened and ordered their companions to the other side of the room.

“Lower your voice,” she ordered. “This is far better proof than I hoped for.”

He did not understand, but finished the story, frowning as he watched her. “What is it, lady Mother?” he asked. “I do not understand what happened, but it was a useful defense.”

“Defense!” she exclaimed. “Yes, since my lord was in such a mood today. No wonder all around him have been singing his praises. Even you, my son, have been influenced to like the man, even while he plots your death.”

“What are you saying? Lord Callo does not intend my death. He saved me today!”

“For a while, until it suits his convenience.”

“Lady Dria Mar,” Kirian spoke up. “Lord Callo is here to help protect your son against the plots of the King. Surely those are King’s men out there right now, who attempted to steal Lord Ander away and slay him. You owe Lord Callo gratitude, not suspicion!”

“I did not ask you to speak.” Lady Dria Mar went to the door and opened it to reveal one of her personal guard, who stood outside the door. “Balan. Pass the word to Lord Zelan’s men. As soon as Lord Callo returns from the battle, I want him confined to his chamber under double guard.”

The man looked confused, but said only: “Yes, my lady.”

Ander was in a whirl of confusion. “But I don’t understand! What are you thinking?”

“There were rumors in Sugetre. This one was secretly passed, not common knowledge. Some guardsman who was present at Seagard during a confrontation with King Martan is its source. It is said that Lord Callo’s father was a ku’an from Ha’las, and that Lord Callo has inherited that aptitude from him.”

“A ku’an! He is a color mage. I have seen it myself.”

“And a ku’an. Do you remember what you have been taught of the ku’an?”

“The ku’an are psychic mages from Ha’las. They can make a person feel false emotions. We have defended against them since—oh, for hundreds of years. The Collared Lords of Seagard are bound to a Watch against them.”

“Do you remember what a ku’an can do?”

“Yes. Of course I do.” Ander was uncertain now. He remembered the fierce terror that had sent him scrambling into the dust. He remembered his heart beating so fast he could barely breathe. Where had that terror come from?

“Lady Dria Mar.” That was Kirian, white in the face. “I ask you to speak to Lord Callo before you take any action.”

“Why? So he can force me to like him too?”

“He would not do that. My lady, he is an honorable man.”

“Do you think I don’t know how—honorable—he is? If I were you, Healer, I would not bed with a man who could force me to lust after him.”

Kirian turned even paler. Ander stepped back, shocked.

“He does no such thing,” Kirian said with dignity.

“My son,” Dria Mar said. “Think on this. Lord Callo has been claimed to the Monteni line in spite of his bastard origins. He is a
righ
and a color mage and now we know he has the psychic mage ability from his sire. By his own admission, His Majesty has offered him the throne.
Why
would such a man not seize that opportunity?”

Ander felt his certainty ebbing out from his heart like a receding tide. “He has so much power. I do not know why he would be willing to sit below me.”

“Lord Ander!” said Kirian, sharply. “It is not my place to speak to the
righ
about their affairs but I know this man. Let us return to reality. Yes, he has great power. He also has a conscience, and no desire to rule.”

Lady Dria stiffened. “You dare too much, Healer. What right do you have to speak so?”

The door opened and Lord Zelan appeared. His hair was flat with sweat and the weight of a helm. His face was spattered with mud.

“What is this I hear?” he said. “Lady Dria Mar, I have been told that orders have been given to imprison my lord Callo when he returns from the fight.”

“How goes the fight, sir?” Ander asked.

“They are defeated, all run off; only cleanup remains. I have sent fresh men to make sure they do not return, and set a new watch. But we have lost two good men today. Now I return from this mess to find my lady wife ready to imprison the man who has twice saved our son. What is this all about, then?”

“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 clothes 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.