The King’s eyes narrowed as Callo fought back the strength of his reaction, as if he could feel his nephew’s turmoil.
“Where would you go?” asked the king.
“I am not sure yet, Sire. I could go to Ha’las.”
“You should get back to Sugetre, away from the border,” Arias said from the window.
King Martan ignored Lord Arias. “You would seek him out?”
“Perhaps. I do not know.”
“Your chances of success are small.”
“No doubt. I may try anyway. The attempts you made, years ago, were defeated while they were on guard against pursuit. And they say the ku’an have means to cloud the intellect.”
“There are many rumors about the ku’an,” King Martan said. “Their power over emotion is profound. But I never yet heard they could cast illusions or dreams over the mind. This is what Lady Sira Joah claims, that this mage tricked her with illusion and manipulation.”
“Jashan!” cursed Arias, growing angry again.
King Martan was amused. “Calm down, Nephew. It has been thirty years, you know—far past time for rage. Callo, the truth is none of us know the limits of the power of the Ha’lasi mages. But then we had help. We had spies; we had mages. If she could find nothing, then you certainly won’t succeed now.”
“Nevertheless, Sire. I would like to clear this up.”
“You must deal with that yourself. I grow weary of all this. The story’s out; there is no more to say. Your leave is denied, Nephew. You will await those damned Leyish, if they haven’t foundered in the journey. You have official status and your own troop to escort them to Sugetre. I need them before there is another Tide, by Jashan!”
There was no arguing with that. King Martan turned away as Callo bowed, then left the solar preceded by the guards who had been outside the door. His white finery flashed in the sunlight behind him. Lord Arias had bowed too, but he rose as the king left and looked at his half-brother. His face was unusually grim.
“Yes, I can see you don’t like this a bit,” Callo said. “How do you think I feel? But you’ll have me out of your hair as soon as the Leyish ship arrives, Arias.”
Arias shrugged, but his eyes were angry. He said nothing, just stalked out of the room after the King.
Callo sighed. The brisk sea wind changed direction and blew briefly straight into the room, carrying with it the unmistakable smell of the pyre. He looked down as his valus fur and saw the dark smudges of ash across his sleeve. Shock froze him where he stood for a moment, but he could feel the emotion pushing at his control, trying to escape. The wall he had built, with Jashan’s help, to contain such a powerful feeling was trembling.
Chapter Five
Kirian scrambled up the slope between leafless bushes, her basket slung over one shoulder. She felt a tug on her cloak and reached back to pull it clear of the branch on which it had snagged. It was a good thing Ruthan had lent her this old, moss-stained cloak; it wouldn’t win any prizes for beauty, but it was a veteran of herb gathering expeditions, and another hole wouldn’t matter at all.
She rattled the rueberries in the basket, disappointed at the small pile. For some unknown reason—perhaps a trick of the late-arriving winter or the unusually large numbers of hungry migrating birds—the rueberries were scarce. The villagers and the Castle residents swore by Ruthan’s headache remedy, but it required several baskets of rueberries, crushed and infused with other ingredients, to make enough for a typical year. This year, most of the rueberry bushes were already stripped of their fruit. Kirian had been searching most of the morning, climbing up the overgrown slope near the cliff path, until her hands were raw from holding onto rough branches, and the skin of her face felt stiff with cold.
Kirian stood to look out over the bushes. The wintry sun glared out of a cloudless sky. She thought she saw an untouched group of red-tinged bushes a little farther up. Perhaps there were still a few berries on those bushes. She sighed, pulled the cloak tighter about her, and leaned into the climb.
A flash of light caught her eye.
Kirian stopped. The flash had come from an area just off her intended path, where she knew there was a tiny clearing. As she scanned the area, she saw it again—sunlight glancing off metal.
She walked forward. She pushed aside branches and stepped between a group of tall, brown weeds—and stopped, gasping in shock.
There was a sword at her throat.
For an endless moment, Kirian stopped breathing and stared into the narrowed eyes of the swordsman. Then Lord Callo dropped his sword-point and stepped back.
Kirian caught her breath. The shock made her feel a little weak. “Lord Callo, I didn’t know it was you.”
Lord Callo dragged his forearm across his forehead. He was sweating and breathing hard. He said, “I didn’t know anyone came up here.”
With no apology from him for scaring the breath out of her, Kirian felt a twinge of disappointment. She had thought he was different from other nobles, but perhaps not after all.
“I was picking rueberries, although there are not many. Ruthan uses it for her headache tea. I’m sorry I startled you, my lord.”
Callo moved his weight from one foot to the other, as if he was anxious to resume his practice. The sword was a splinter of deadly steel, balanced in one hand. She felt as if she had interrupted him at some religious rite. Puzzled, she backed off. “I will leave you, my lord. Good morning.”
He nodded. The sun shone on those golden eyes, giving him a disconcerting, glowing look. She backed away, watching him. He lifted his face to the sky, briefly closing his eyes, seeming almost unaware of her, then stepped into his form again. Self-protective and a little frightened of his strange mood, Kirian decided to forego further berry-picking today. As she walked along an animal trail toward the cliff path, she heard a whicker and saw Miri, tethered loosely to a scrawny tree-branch.
“Hello, Miri,” she whispered, not wanting Lord Callo to hear her. “How are you, pretty girl? And better yet, how is your master?” Lord Callo had the look of a man in trouble. She remembered the old lord’s funeral, two days before. Surely Lord Callo was not mourning?
Well, Kirian told herself, what was it to her if some nobleman felt distressed? It was no concern of hers. But as she negotiated the cliff path toward the village, the memory of Callo’s eyes stayed with her.
She had reached a steeper section of the path when she heard the jingle of harness and the thud of hooves approaching. With the caution this trail demanded, she stepped off the path to allow the horsemen to pass. They came into her sight, four of them, wrapped in fur cloaks, climbing two abreast. Instead of ignoring her on their way to the Castle, the lead horseman pulled his horse to a halt. His companions followed suit. The smells of horse and leather enveloped her.
“Would you be Hon Kirian, Healer to the castlefolk?” asked the man on the lead horse. He was a burly man with a thick black beard, and the tone of his voice showed he expected to be obeyed.
“I am,” Kirian said. “Who are you?” She eyed the four horses nervously as they stood a little too close to the drop.
“I am Hon Jiriman, Captain of the Guard for Lady Mia Lon at Fortress Mount. I have been sent to look for an associate of yours. Come with me, Healer!” Jiriman wheeled his horse about with negligent disregard for the edge of the cliff and beckoned her up the trail, toward the Castle on the ridge.
Kirian’s temper sparked at this rude summons. “I am returning to Hon Ruthan, the village Healer. I don’t see any reason why I should follow you. If Lord Alkiran wants me to talk to you then I…”
“Insolence!” said one of the other men. “I’ll take her up, Captain.” Kirian stepped further back as the man grabbed for her arm.
There was a rattle of displaced stones and a fifth horse made its appearance on the steep and crowded trail. Miri neighed and tossed her head as she was pulled to a stop. Lord Callo blocked the way, his face grim. His sword remained in its sheath.
“Who are yo
u men?” he asked. “What is your business with this Healer?”
Kirian saw Jiriman evaluating the quality of Lord Callo’s horse, his sword, and his accent. Jiriman’s tone was somewhat more respectful when he spoke, but still allowed no dissent.
“Sir, I am Hon Jiriman, Captain of the Guard for Lady Mia Lon at Fortress Mount. A friend of this Healer’s who was posted at Fortress is being sought for a crime. I must take this Healer up to the Castle to be questioned.”
Kirian didn’t like the feel she was getting from Lord Callo; the man seemed angry, unsettled. She remembered his demeanor as he practiced his sword forms in the clearing, and decided to end this confrontation.
“I will come,” she said.
“You need not,” Lord Callo said. “You, Jiriman, must speak to Lord Alkiran before seizing any of his people.” Miri fidgeted and tossed her head as if the hand on her reins was impatient.
“Who do you think you are?” retorted Jiriman, his face flushing.
“My name is Callo ran Alkiran.”
“Ah, I have heard of you. You are the Royal Bastard.” Jiriman showed his teeth. “Let us by, Bastard.”
Kirian was shocked at his tone. What was wrong with the man, who clearly knew Callo’s identity as the King’s nephew, yet mocked him in this way? The other horsemen had an ugly look about them too; what was wrong with all of them?
“By Jashan!” swore Callo, flushing in anger. His hand gripped his sword hilt. “You will have some respect for Lord Alkiran’s authority, if not mine!” Miri’s rear hooves were a few inches from the edge of the cliff. They displaced small stones as Callo urged her in toward the men. One of the guardsmen shoved forward, and Callo half-drew his sword.
“Stop!” Kirian demanded. She held up her hands as she stepped between the horses. “All of you, there is a wider part of the path a little way down. Take your quarrel there before someone ends up on the rocks!”
Lord Callo didn’t move, but Jiriman cast a quick look down the cliff at the sea churning away at the rocks. He paled a little, and pulled back. With a sidelong look at Callo, he said, “Let us take this advice. Show us the way, Healer.”
Kirian pushed her way between the knot of horses and walked a few minutes until the path curled to one side, into a small level area away from the steep edge. The horsemen followed her. She damped the strange irritation she felt under her skin—so strange, for her to feel so on edge, just like the men whose quarrel had blown up out of nothing. She took a deep breath of the cleansing sea air and felt better.
The little walk to the level area had cooled the men’s tensions. Lord Callo sheathed his sword. He looked tired; the coiling tension was gone from his shoulders.
Jiriman still looked rather red in the face. “I apologize to you, Healer, and to you, Lord Callo. I don’t know what—well, I will indeed speak with Lord Mikati before requesting your cooperation, Healer Kirian.”
“Lord Mikati is dead,” Callo said. “It is Lord Arias who is Lord Alkiran now.”
“Indeed!” Jiriman said. “Then Lord Arias. I saw him once at Fortress Mount. He will not remember me, but he will remember Lady Mia Lon.”
Now that it appeared that there would not be a battle on the cliff trail, Kirian was curious. “Captain, who are you searching for?”
“His name is Inmay, a Healer from the College. He is known to be a friend of yours, and it is thought he might have sought shelter here.”
“I will tell you freely that I have not seen him at all, not since we parted on the way to our postings. What . . .” she cleared her throat, suddenly afraid. “May I ask, what is he accused of?”
“He has stolen a valuable slave. And he is accused of attempted murder against a lord of the land.”
Callo was alert again, eyes narrowed. “Whom did he attempt to kill?”
“Lord Tilonar, Lady Mia Lon’s lord husband. He is the slave’s master. We will want to conduct a search—with Lord Alkiran’s permission.” Jiriman cast a placating glance at Lord Callo.
“I am sure Lord Alkiran will conduct the proper searches. I will take you up to him. Hon Kirian, you may return home with my own apology, and I’m sure that of these men as well.”
She looked up at him with a rueful smile. It had been a disturbing morning, what with swords at her throat and near-battles on the cliff path. Callo smiled back at her, the sun gleaming on his fair hair, once again human and terribly attractive. She was glad to see the demons had fled his mind, at least for now.
“I do apologize, Hon Kirian,” Jiriman said. “But I will be back in the village to see you later.”
She nodded and turned her back on all of them. The few rueberries, somehow previously undisturbed by all the fuss, now rattled in her basket. She wished she could ask the men to make it up to her by getting her a few more baskets of berries, but, of course, that was inappropriate, though the idea made her grin. She heard them resume climbing the path, saddles creaking. Inmay was somewhere in the open with his slave girl, running from Fortress Mount’s guards. She had no doubt he had committed the crime he was accused of; it was in his pattern, after all. She reached the end of the cliff path, came out onto blessedly level ground, and looked around at the village, brightened by the winter sun. She prayed to the Unknown God that Inmay didn’t come here.
Tired, cold, and disconcerted by the morning’s high emotion—Kirian still wondered, a little shocked at herself, why she had felt so angry on the bluff—she decided to return directly to Ruthan’s house. She could put the berries in the window, where they would stay chilled until she felt able to make another excursion.
No sooner had she closed the door of Ruthan’s house behind her than she knew something was amiss. Ruthan sat in the battered old chair facing the door as if she were awaiting Kirian. The doors to both of the outer rooms were closed. Ruthan did not greet her. Kirian set the basket of berries on the kitchen table and returned to Ruthan’s side.
“Well, child,” Ruthan said. “You have visitors.” The old woman’s voice creaked, and her hands were clenched on the woolen shawl she wore.
“Who?”
“I fear it is that young Healer and the slave the guardsmen were searching for, not an hour ago. They knocked on the door immediately after the guards were gone up the cliff path.”
“You mean they searched here already? Without telling Lord Arias?”
“We didn’t encourage them, but yes. Lord Mikati would have clapped them into the cells for such presumption. I expect this new lord will be no different—he has a temper too, after all.”
Kirian turned and stared at the two closed rooms where Ruthan saw those who needed her aid. “They are in there? Are they hurt?”
“No, just cautious. We didn’t know who was at the door. I told the young man to leave, but he would wait for you.”
As she spoke, a door cracked open and a pale face peered out. It was crowned by a thatch of fair hair streaked with premature gray.
“Inmay, I can’t believe you would come here!” Kirian said. “Do you know I was stopped by armed guards on the cliff path? Take your friend and leave here. I want nothing to do with this.”
Inmay came out of the room, followed by a woman clad in plain gray trousers and tunic. The woman looked straight at Kirian and Kirian caught her breath. She had never before seen anyone so beautiful. The woman had large, soft brown eyes fringed with thick lashes in a face that would have suited one of the gods. Her skin was honey-colored and smooth. Even through the stiff folds of her tunic, her graceful curves were apparent.
Inmay took the woman’s hand and smiled at Kirian with pride. “This is Eyelinn. She and I are escaping together.”
Kirian put her hand to her head. It had begun aching. Inmay’s pride in his companion was so totally inappropriate that at first she did not know how to respond. Ruthan broke the silence.
“Then you had best escape faster, young one. I’ll not call you a Healer anymore, since you’ve caused harm to another.”
“I have hurt no
one. Lord Tilonar was simply ill. Their talk of poison is nonsense. Is it not, Eyelinn?”
Eyelinn’s glance flicked downward, hiding her eyes. “Yes. They made it all up.” Her voice was as smooth as her skin. Kirian could almost understand, even in those few words, how Inmay could have got trapped in it, like a fly drawn to sugar. She cast a quick glance at Ruthan who sat staring at the slave with her all-seeing blind eyes and a frown on her wrinkled face.
“I fear that what you do not know has hurt you a great deal, young man,” Ruthan said. “You will undoubtedly get what you both deserve. Well, Kirian? These are your friends . . .”
“Friends? I think we are no longer friends.”
Inmay said, “Now, Kirian . . .”
“You were once a friend of mine,” she said. “We all stumbled all over ourselves to help you when you got into trouble in Sugetre—and yes, you got off easily compared to Hass, didn’t you? Hass died for it! You have learned nothing. I don’t know whether this woman manipulated you or you seduced her. Either way, I will offer you no aid. One of you is a murderer. You are putting me and Ruthan in danger just by being here. What do you suppose Lord Alkiran will do if he discovers you? Or Hon Jiriman, if he thinks I lied about not knowing where you are?”
“Help us anyway, Kirian. Do it for me. For us. I love Eyelinn so much.” Inmay came closer as if he wished to take Kirian’s hand, but she stepped back.
“I have had my fill of helping you,” Kirian said.
“We will manage without her,” Eyelinn said to Inmay in her low, sweet voice. “We will stay the night and go our way. Perhaps this woman can show us the way to Two Merkhan—a way that will keep us away from any search parties. Jiriman knows me well, Inmay. He has followed me back at home, watching me. If he finds me, I will not see Fortress Mount again; even to stand trial before Lady Mia Lon.”
Color Mage (Book 1) Page 9