Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (36 page)

Oron smiled, as if he did not believe that. They crept out of the parlor and ran up the corner staircase to a room Callo was familiar with. He waved Oron away; the old man vanished around the corner. Then Callo closed his eyes and let his internal wall down, using the psychic magery to visit a deep torpor on the guard standing at the barred door. Once the man had slumped against the wall, he unlatched the door and went in, and released his psychic magery.

The bed hangings twitched aside and Lady Dria Mar’s pale face peered out from the opening.

“Do not cry out,” Callo said. “I have come to talk to you—that is all.”

“I cannot believe you have dared to come into these rooms,” said Dria Mar. She pulled a robe around her and slid out of the bed. She sat in a chair by the barred window, where the pearly dawn light cast her features into shadow. She held her head as high as she had in the hall at Northgard where she had confronted Callo. She wore a turban to restrain her curls, and even her nightrobe was sparked with tiny jewels at the collar. She looked plump as when he had last seen her and did not appear to be suffering from being confined to her rooms.

Callo bowed. “There is no love lost between us, Lady Dria. Still, I know how you feel about your son. Your allegiance to him is stronger than anything else. That is why I wanted to speak with you.”

“There are better ways to do that than to come sneaking into this chamber like a thief, or an assassin.”

“I apologize. This was the only way I could get in to see you.”

“Go on.” Her lips pursed. “I have little right to refuse you. His Majesty has forbidden me the right to command my own time. He holds me here because of what I did to you—but at least he has not dared to have his late brother’s wife slain.”

“He does not know I am here.”

Dria Mar’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you have eluded the net that was set for you. Why are you here, Royal Bastard?”

“Do you receive any news in this place, Lady Dria?” Callo said. “Your son is very ill, near to death, I believe, and the cause is King Martan who uses the
righ
bond to leech his life from him.”

She rose and approached him, stopping with her face a few inches from Callo’s chest. “He would not do such a thing. No, it is impossible even if he wished it.”

“Mage Oron has confirmed it.”

Her gaze dropped. After a moment of silence, Callo said: “I think you must finally admit I am not the one who seeks the throne of Righar. It is your royal brother-in-law who tries to arrange the succession to his liking.”

She stepped away from him. Her voice was light as she responded to him. “I will no longer deny it. I am no fool, Lord Callo.”

“I never thought you were that.”

“So then, why are you here? Surely you do not wish to make common cause with me.”

“I am going to try to save your son. I need your support, Lady Dria, for myself, but mostly for Hon Kirian.”

“Your whore, yes,” Dria said with a malicious smirk.

Callo restrained himself. He had no time for petty reactions now. “The Council heeds your word. I plan to break the bond between King Martan and your son, and I do not expect Sharpeyes to sit quietly and do as I say. When I succeed—” He paused as he saw her raise an eyebrow at his choice of words.

“When I succeed,” he repeated, “I have plans to get out of the city. But you know we will be pursued. I would like to escape with my life, and not be tossed into some cell until I can be beheaded at Lord Dionar’s bidding. However, I ask nothing of you on my own account but only on Kirian’s. She must be allowed to go free.”

“And you believe the Council will spare her if I speak for her?”

Callo nodded. He held her gaze. This woman was as cold and as clever as a snake, but he would use her loyalty to her son to help Kirian get out of this mess alive. There was no way he could depend on his psychic magery to sway an entire room of
righ
for more than a few moments. Lady Dria Mar had the connections to speak for him—and even more importantly, for Kirian.

“It is so,” she said. “Lord Dionar is a wayward ass, but he will listen or his rich lady wife will cut off his funds. The others—well, they know me, and they will do as I say.”

“I have made other promises. You won’t like this, but you have the power to see it done—the Sword of Jashan must have a voice in the Council. They have been the swords behind this attempt.”

She made a grimace of distaste. “Those scum, on the Council?”

“If you want your son to assume his rightful position, that is the price. That is what I promised Hon Hira Noh for their aid. It will also mean Lord Ander will not need to worry about battling them during his first year or so as King. He will be able to turn his whole attention to the Ha’lasi threat.”

She glared at him for a moment. He could almost see the calculations whirling in her head. Callo thought he could hear sounds on the other side of the door. He said: “Then what is your word, Lady Dria? I must move on this matter now, if Lord Ander is to survive.”

“What are you waiting for? You have what you want. Go, Royal Bastard. And when you have
succeeded
, get you and your ku’an pollution as far away from Righar as you can because I will do everything I can to have you permanently removed from the line of succession.”

“I would expect nothing else from you, Lady Dria,” Callo said. He bowed. “I will go then. Wish me well, if the words will pass your lips.”

She glared at him from her chair. He permitted himself a smile and bowed to her. He turned and prepared to leave the room, but the door flew open and slammed into the wall. An armed guardsman loomed in the open doorway, his face grim.

Dria Mar stood. “Seize him! He broke into my rooms. Seize him!”

Another guard ran into the room. Callo tried to use the ku’an magery—he wanted to visit King Martan on his own terms, not as a prisoner once again.

“Do not.” That was Oron, standing behind the second guardsman. His mage cloak swirled with red and orange, washing out the color in his face. “They will take us directly to the King. Will you not, men?”

“To Lord Dionar,” the first guard said.

“If you must call him, do that. But then you must take us directly to the King.”

The guards looked at each other. Callo knew they were wondering what the Lord Mage was doing involved in this, and whether they should take his orders.

“What are you waiting for?” Dria Mar snapped. “Do as he says. His Majesty has been searching for this man. Are you so stupid that you don’t know it?” She stood and glared at the men. “Send word to His Majesty, and have Lord Callo delivered to him at the place of the King’s direction. Go! I have had enough of all these men in this prison cell of a room.”

The guards stepped behind Callo. One of them nudged him forward. “Yes, Lady Dria. Are you injured in any way? Has Lord Callo hurt you?”

“No. Just go!” she said. “Now.”

Mage Oron cast her an unreadable look and followed Callo and his guardsmen out of the room.

* * * * *

“You are a dangerous heir,” Sharpeyes said from the dais where he sat flanked by armed guards. “Like a snake that bites its handler.”

“Thus it is, when you put a person into captivity and then expect him to follow you willingly,” Callo said.

The guards around Sharpeyes’ chair were supplemented by two others, stationed at the door and window; by Mage Yhallin, who stood just off the dais; and by the Lord Commander, Dionar, with his hand already on his sword hilt. Mage Oron stood to the side. His status was uncertain; Callo had seen King Martan’s gray eyes on the old mage, evaluating—but there were no guards watching him, and no outer sign his loyalty was questioned.

Behind Callo was an empty space where he wished he had someone else to support him; Chiss, or Balan, or even the unpredictable Hira Noh. The physical space was small, but it seemed almost insurmountable in his mind.

The door opened enough to allow a guardsman to relay a message to his counterpart on the inside. The man on the inside came to stiff attention and said: “You Majesty, may I approach?”

“You may give us your message from there, so everyone in the room may hear it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. The conspirators have been arrested and are now in the cells awaiting your instructions on their final disposition.”

“Give us their names,” the King said, his eyes on Callo.

“That would be Hon Balan ran Gesset, and the servant Chiss, as well as a woman who has been identified as part of the terrorist group Sword of Jashan. There are five others who were apprehended near the Castle gates, also members of the Sword of Jashan.” The man bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Callo felt the space at his back even emptier as he realized that instead of supporting him, his associates now needed his help. And he stood here like a rabbit under a hawk’s eye.

“I would have another prisoner for you, but a color mage of Oron’s stature is not to be contained in a cell,” Sharpeyes said. “What have you to say for yourself, Lord Mage?”

Oron tucked his hands in his sleeves. His shoulders relaxed, as if he were free of a weight. “You know I cannot act against you, Your Majesty.”

“I know no such thing. Your skill with the bond is unparalleled—you have taught me and helped me to place it. I can see the bond now, struggling to choke you. You hold it off—how you hold it off! You are strong, Lord Mage. But how have you dared to act against me?”

Yhallin drifted to stand beside Oron. The old man gave her an unreadable look and said nothing. There was a strange attenuated look about him, as if the struggle against the bond was draining him.

Sharpeyes smiled, but it did not reach his narrowed eyes. “I grow tired of you and your schemes. Can you hold this off, old man?” He raised a hand, and a bolt of mage lightning arced toward Oron. Oron raised both hands, palms out, as if to physically block the attack. His hands began to glow with magery. The King’s attack sparked out harmlessly against the shield Oron had raised to protect himself.

Then Oron screamed. The sound raised every hair on Callo’s neck and arms. Violent red light began to stream from Oron’s open mouth, a glowing tendril that emerged like a living thing and wound about the old man’s neck. Oron gagged on it, the scream choking off. The cable of light wrapped around his face and neck and squeezed. Oron seized the thing with both hands and tried to wrench it away, but it dug into his skin. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.

Grunts of reaction came from one of the guardsmen as he tried to contain his revulsion. Callo wanted to look away, to give Oron some dignity in his terrible death. Everyone else in the room stared, horrified. Oron’s face and neck were completely enveloped by the burning cable. The old man’s hands weakened and fell away. He crumpled to the floor and lay unmoving, except for the mage bond which still writhed about his face and neck.

“All the gods,” whispered Yhallin, who had stepped back away from Oron. Her eyes were dark in her white face. Lord Dionar’s jaw was clenched as he forced himself to watch.

The King gestured, and the magery faded from Oron’s head. What was left stared eyelessly at the ceiling. The King looked at his lord mage and did not turn away.

Callo pushed down his horror and decided he would show Sharpeyes no mercy.

“Oh, yes,” the King said. “There is one missing. What has happened to her, guard?”

“As you directed, Your Majesty,” Lord Dionar said beside him. The man’s voice was weak. “She is here.”

“Bring her in.”

Callo spun around and watched as Kirian was delivered into the hands of the guardsmen at the door. Her hands were bound, and her face was bruised all along the cheekbone. She saw what had been Mage Oron lying on the floor and wavered.

“Why is she here?” Callo took a step forward, his hand at his empty swordbelt.

The King’s mouth curved up in an unfriendly smile. “I remember well what she is to you,” he said. “All that night at Seagard Tower is engraved in my mind. Do you think I do not learn from my mistakes?”

“In fact, I think exactly that,” Callo said. “If you learned, you would have abandoned this vainglorious plan to take over two nations by making me your heir.”

The guards took Kirian to the front of the room, to the side of the dais. There, a guard stood with a hand on her arm. Callo’s gut wrenched as he saw the force of the man’s white-knuckled grip, but Kirian did not show any pain. Instead, she looked towards Mage Yhallin, who stood a few feet away. Yhallin avoided her assistant’s gaze.

“This woman has great power over you,” the King said. “Perhaps with her aid we can make you accept what is bound to be. I have been in touch with the ku’an’an, Si’lan, your—” he smirked—“your father. I believe the corruption of a boy king Ar’ok has met his end, and Si’lan holds the castle against forces loyal to Ar’ok’s mother and another ku’an.”

Callo’s eyes jerked up to the King’s face. “Loyal? I doubt that. More likely they are enslaved by the psychic magery into false loyalty. I am glad that vile creature is dead; Ha’las is better off without him. But why you think this should sway me to your cause I do not know.”

“It would be easy now.” Sharpeyes rose and took a step away from his chair. Beside him, Dionar stiffened into alertness as his hand went to his sword hilt. “Easy to accept what is rightfully yours, easy to accede to Si’lan’s plans, and in a year you could be lord of Ha’las—righting all the wrongs that exist there.”

“The place needs a good cleansing. I will be more than happy to assist Si’lan in such work. But not as your heir. You have an heir. He lies upstairs, ill near to death.”

“How near, do you think?” Sharpeyes closed his eyes. There was a pause, so slight Callo did not draw a full breath. Then the King opened his eyes and grinned into Callo’s face. “Very near; oh, very near.”

Across the room, Kirian made a noise of protest. Callo panicked. Would Sharpeyes pull Ander’s life force away before Callo could complete his task? There had been enough talking. He looked at Kirian, apologized silently, and let his psychic magery free from where he held it behind strict control.

He had prepared it and held it ready. The lesson was learned; he would make no attempt to spare anyone in the room the effects of his ku’an magery. It would take every skill he had to bring down this powerful man. He magnified it, strengthened it, and let down his wall, allowing the lethargy to sweep out into the King’s chamber.