Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (29 page)

“Why would I do such a thing? He is my son.”

“Your son, whom you have labored long to groom to take this throne when it is time.”

“A time we hope will be in the distant future, Your Majesty,” interjected Lord Dionar.

Sharpeyes silenced him with an irritable wave. “What have you to say, Dria?”

Lady Dria Mar finally turned to look at Ander. “I repeat, he is my son. As you say, I have groomed him for the job he is destined to take. I have worked here in Sugetre to find supporters who will aid him when he rules. I would never plot to have him killed. I would do anything in my power to ensure he succeeds as he was born to do.”

Ander felt the familiar lightheadedness come over him again. He took a deep breath, cursing his weakness. After a moment, it receded. Why, indeed, would Dria Mar plot to hurt him in any way? Her life had been built on his hopes. Surely Sharpeyes—who knew all—was aware of this.

“I think it is your pet mage Healer,” Dria Mar added. “She who stands right over there, under no suspicion as far as I can see. Your pet halfbreed mage, Martan.”

Red magery traced the King’s hands as they lay on the armrests. Although he did not show any reaction in his face, the loss of control betrayed that King Martan was furious with Dria Mar over this form of address.

“You will address His Majesty properly,” Lord Dionar said.

“He is my brother in law. I was wife to his late brother Yarin. I may address him with the familiarity of family. Why would I do this thing you accuse me of? It is clearly the outsider, the interloper, that mage who has been so friendly with the Royal Bastard. She has tried to take my son’s life, to advance her lover’s cause.” Dria Mar turned on Mot, who did not flinch from the woman’s scrutiny. “For that matter, who believes this vermin tells the truth?”

“It is the truth,” Yhallin said.

“I don’t tell lies!” Mot said, hands on hips.

“You were ready enough to tell a lie when you were paid for it. A yellow-eyed
righ
, is it? And now you change your story. Perhaps the payment did not come through?” Dria Mar stood, eyes flashing, as if she were dressed for court with her black curls in their usual golden clips instead of loose around her ears. Not for the first time, Ander admired her through his growing dislike; she was defending her life with ferocity and grace.

He did not know whom to believe. He realized his breath was coming fast, and felt Balan’s hand on his arm, steadying him. From above, the cool gray eyes of the King looked down at him without expression.

Again Dria Mar pointed at Yhallin. “Why do you not question her?”

“Her loyalty is not in question,” Sharpeyes said. “We are here to talk to you, dear sister.”

“I did not do such a deed. I would never conspire to have my son killed.”

“Who said anythin’ about killed?” Mot spoke up. She shook back her unruly hair and glared at Dria Mar. “We was never gonna kill him.”

Ander’s head whipped toward the chit. “You weren’t?”

“Da said they was to kill his guards and the tutor, and take him away blindfolded so’s he couldn’t see where he was. Then they was to spread the word a yellow-eyed
righ
done it.”

“But why?” Ander burst out.

“Lady Dria Mar knows why, do you not, sister?” King Martan said. “What better way to ensure your son’s inheritance than to accuse Lord Callo of attempted assassination? Your accusation would have been supported by the purchased word of his attackers. You are indeed very clever. I begin to have hopes of young Ander, if he has inherited your slyness as well as his considerable talent for color magery.”

Lady Dria Mar did not respond.

“Have you anything more to say for yourself?”

Dria Mar’s head went up. “Yes, I do. What possesses you, Your Majesty, to consider a bastard half-ku’an for succession to the throne of Righar? Why do you encourage him, when Ander is blood of your blood, heir by birth, son of your own brother Yarin? It is not I who should be accused, it is you. If your Council knew what you planned . . .”

“The Council can go to hell,” King Martan said. Color magery now wrapped his hands in red, and there were sparks in his eyes. Several of those in the room took a step backward. Ander’s head was spinning with lightheadedness and shock.

“The Council can do nothing as long as they are bound to me,” the King continued. “Whine and complain as they must, there is nothing they can do to take physical action against me. There is not a color mage, or a
righ
of status on that Council who is not bound to me from the day he took his oath. My heir will be who I name, Dria, and make no mistake about it.”

Something flamed inside Ander’s head. He stepped forward into the storm of Sharpeyes’ anger. “I am your heir,” he said. “No one else.”

“Are you then,” Sharpeyes responded. “Worthy of it, then, are you? Worthy of Yarin’s name and the Monteni blood?”

“He is a Monteni. Look at him—you can see it.” Dria Mar’s voice finally quavered.

King Martan stared at her for a moment. Then he sighed, and some of the tension eased from the people in the room. “God of fools, Dria, that is not what I meant. No one questions that. He is—damn him—legitimate blood of the Monteni line.”

“Then name me your heir in front of your Council,” Ander said, beginning to grow angry.

“Is it not your argument that you do not need to be so named?” the King said. “Dria, you will go before Council this day and admit your part in this conspiracy to tarnish Lord Callo’s name.” He nodded at Lord Dionar. “Then you will be taken into custody, and disposed of according to your crime.”

Disposed of? Ander did not like the sound of that. He wanted to ask, but a surge of weakness gripped him so that he held onto Balan’s solid arm for support. When the weakness passed and he looked around, King Martan was staring at him speculatively.

“Sick, are you?” Martan said. “Too much stress, perhaps? A King must not grow fainthearted when great matters are at stake.”

The room swam around Ander’s head. Balan whispered in his ear. “Do you need to sit?”

Ander would not sit before King Martan, would not admit his illness. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. All around him were avid stares. He tried to pull himself together in front of these watchers. Then the world went dark and he fainted.
 

Chapter Seventeen

Mot and Chiss were not at Deephold, after all.

It took a foray into Yhallin’s hold to confirm that. Kirian waited, half-breathless from anxiety, as the Sword of Jashan forced its way into the place by overcoming Yhallin’s guardsmen and the elderly manservant who answered the front door.

It was all anticlimactic. The defenders took a look at the many armed men confronting them and folded into compliance. They presented no opposition as Rhin and a few others searched the hold while Hira Noh questioned the doorman.

“They were taken to Sugetre,” Hira Noh reported as she rejoined the rest of the group.

“They were not hurt?” Kirian asked. The thought of poor Mot, hauled off to Sugetre with Yhallin’s men, fed her already painful guilt at leaving the girl.

“The coot at the front door says she was mouthy and disrespectful,” Hira Noh said. “Does that answer your question?”

Kirian smiled. “She is fine, then.”

Callo said, “Jashan grant Chiss is also fine. I wish we could go to them this moment, but we stand no chance there. It will be better to arrive after we have completed our mission.”

“There appear to be only a few guardsmen here,” Hira Noh said. “We could take the place. Easily.”

“Who guards an asylum full of insane color mages?” Rhin said. “Just the thought of such a place is deterrent enough fer me.”

Kirian smiled. “There are only a few mages here, Hon Rhin, and none of them dangerous.”

“We must take it,” Hira Noh repeated. “This fine hold would make a defensible base.”

Callo shook his head. “It is but a distraction, Hon Hira Noh. You would have to leave a garrison here, to hold the place when Sharpeyes discovers what you have done. We need your people for the full attack.”

Hira Noh glared. “It is a ripe fruit, easily harvested. Why ignore it?”

“We don’t need it.” Kel had joined them, grinning. “Also, the lower levels are protected with some kind of mage shield. We cannot get through it at all—who knows what’s behind it? One of the guardsmen wants to join us, Hira. I don’t know if we can trust the man, but he will be able to give us intelligence.”

Hira Noh fumed. “I want this place, Kel. It would make a fine base for us.”

“Until Sharpeyes comes with troops and color mages and blasts the hell out of it and us. Or until whatever’s behind that burning shield down there comes out and kills us in our sleep. Let us move on, Hira. Look, your pet ku’an chomps at the bit.”

Callo was not chomping, but he shifted from foot to foot, eager to be on the way. Kirian grinned at him.

“Let us go, then,” Hira Noh said. “At your pleasure, ku’an.”

* * * * *

Kirian felt dirt in her hair and grit under her rear when she moved in the saddle. Summer had given way to crisp autumn weather on the plains, but the weather was still dry. The lead horses’ hooves stirred up dust from between the struggling grasses. Dust coated everything, and made Kirian cough.

After tolerating this for a couple of days, she chose a bright morning and joined Callo and Hira Noh where they rode in the column.

“I would like to ride up front,” she told Callo.

“Better not, love. It may be cleaner, but you will have no defense should the King’s men realize we are following them.” Miri danced a little under him, and Callo reached out to slide a hand down her neck. Kirian smiled to herself; Callo was stronger and happier than he had been since their sojourn at Northgard. Free of the strain of battling color magery every candlemark of the day, he smiled more often, and his amber eyes had regained the glint that had captured her attention back at Seagard Castle more than a year ago.

“Why
are
we following?” she asked. “Surely it is not safe to wait until they arrive at Meent, and have the Collared Lord’s help there.”

Hira Noh said, “Besides, if you want to parade into a Collared Lord’s castle, you’re on your own. I didn’t bargain for that.”

“Have no fear, we are not quite that stupid,” Callo said. He grinned at Hira Noh. Kirian was surprised to see the rebel leader flush. Callo continued. “We follow only until we reach the foothills, where the settlements thin out. I have no intention of riding all naive into the gates of Meent Castle.”

Another day of dust and thirst behind them, Kirian and Callo settled into the cloth-covered lean-to Lotna had helped them make. They huddled under a thin cover, away from the autumn chill that gave Kirian goose bumps. There was no fire, only a couple of shielded lamps set into the earth; Callo and Hira Noh did not want to risk discovery. Still, after the moon had risen and then begun its descent across the sky, Kirian awoke to the scrabble of feet in the grass. She grabbed Callo’s arm and felt him jerk awake.

“Be still,” she whispered. “I think someone is here.” Kirian held still, wondering how she could give warning without drawing the attention of a possibly armed enemy to herself. Then a shadow moved past their shelter, so close Kirian could have reached out to touch it. Callo heaved himself out of the shelter and threw himself across the intruder.

“Down, damn you,” growled Callo. “How many of you are there?”

The invader fell and lay in the dirt. He made a sound that was muffled by the weight of Callo’s body across him. It sounded like a curse, and no more.

There was a shout across the camp. A torch flared up, thrust into the night by Fentany, who wore a blanket over her tunic and breeches. The light illuminated Lotna’s skirted form striking down another interloper with what appeared to be a boot. All around the camp there were similar struggles going on.

One of the sentries ran in. “Ware intruders!” he shouted.

“Little late, ya fool,” Fentany yelled.

Callo was standing now, a knife in his hand that had not been there before. “Is this all you have?” he asked the man on the ground.

“All I want’s some damned food and water!” said the intruder.

The man was ragged and scrawny, and his left eye was leaking a pale fluid that made Kirian want to get her Healer’s bag. “This man is not a soldier,” she said.

“I can see that,” Callo said. “Hai, guards!”

One of the rebels ran to his side. The man was out of breath, as if he, too, had been fighting.

“Run and warn Rhin and Hira Noh. These are not King’s men, but scavengers of some kind.”

A guard approached, holding a torch. The flame lit Callo’s eyes to a surreal glow. The man on the ground shrank back.

“Ku’an!” he said.

Callo took a deep breath. “Ha’lasi scavengers, in fact.”

The rebel ran off into the disarray of the disturbed camp. A moment later, Kirian heard Hira Noh’s voice shouting commands. She turned back into the lean-to and grabbed her Healer’s bag from the back corner.

“Come here,” she said to the Ha’lasi man. “I am a Healer.”

He stared at her, then swallowed. “It hurts,” he said like a child.

“I can help,” she said, and began taking vials out of her bag. “Fentany,” she said. “Wait until all is calm, then get me water from Lotna’s tent.”

Fentany said to the scrawny man, “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

The man laughed. “Hurt her? A Healer? There are two people in my group with fever, and my daughter keeps trying to vomit although she has eaten nothing for days. I’ll not hurt her, woman. Just for the Unknown God’s sake, will you get me somethin’ to eat?”

“On its way,” Callo said. “Look, we have your companions under guard. Why by all the gods did you decide to attack an armed party in the night? You are nothing but a straggly band of starving refugees.”

“You kicked us out of the way earlier,” the man said. “Wouldn’ give us anything. We’re hungry, man, and we take what chances we has to. Besides, wasn’ supposed to be an
attack
. We’re not fools, you know.”