“Perhaps the rules may be a little relaxed for you, since you are a Healer and since the King needs you.” Chiss shrugged.
“I have been a little more assertive than they like. And Sara’Si does not like my visits to the hospital. She says it is not fitting. But Lady Min’dou has said nothing to me about it.”
“They are treating us with caution,” Callo said. “It has been almost a season we have been here. Our lives have been at risk since we got here. I wonder if this makes much of a difference.”
“Not to you,” Kirian retorted. “You are a ku’an, able to do whatever you want. There are no barriers for you.”
“Nor, perhaps, for those who are of my household.” Callo shrugged. He knew they had several times violated the Ha’lasi religious law in what he considered to be minor ways, but as of yet there had been no repercussions. He said, “We have no doubt made another mistake. Let us be quick and minimize the damage. Why are you here, Kirian?”
She came close to him, looking up into his eyes. “My lord, the King has taken a concubine. It is someone I know.”
Callo frowned. “How could that be?”
“Her name is Eyelinn. She was a slave in Righar, in Fortress Mount. Do you remember the men who came to search that day, for my friend Inmay and the slave he escaped with?”
He did remember. He remembered how even Jashan’s rituals had not calmed his anger, how the power had writhed free of his control there on the path, almost sparking a fight which would have proven fatal to at least one of them. The ku’an’an had not taught him much since he had been in Ha’las, seeming reluctant in spite of his acceptance by the god Som’ur—but he had been quick to show him the way to contain the psychic magery to keep from unconsciously influencing others around him. Callo had been working daily to strengthen his internal walls, without much success he feared.
“I remember,” he said, his mind on his own problems. Then Kirian’s guilty glance broke through his memories. “Wait. This is the slave? Eyelinn, you called her. You know this woman?”
“She came to Las’ash city with Inmay, on the Fortune.”
“I remember you saw the man aboard. So this woman is Ar’ok’s concubine now. Is she unwilling?”
Kirian sighed. “No.” She paced away from him, frowning as she spoke. “As a matter of fact, when I was there to treat him, she seemed—eager. But the ku’an can do that, is it not so.”
He nodded. “Where is the man? Inmay?”
“I have not seen him.”
Callo moved away and sat down at the table. “You are not going to ask me to do something about this.”
She made a soft, unladylike snort. “I don’t know. On the one hand I don’t care if they go to hell. On the other . . . I hate to see her enslaved—no enthralled—against her will.”
He mulled it over, sipping from the cup of tea Chiss had left at the table. “I don’t see what I can do. Our position here is uncertain. I have no influence to waste on asking favors of that snake Ar’ok. And this Eyelinn—she has committed a crime, Kirian.”
“I know, I know. If she were back in Fortress Mount, she would be dead, for I am fairly sure she tried to kill her master there.”
Callo made a dismissive gesture. This woman Eyelinn sounded as if she deserved Ar’ok. “Leave it alone—that is my inclination. This is the end of the path she chose for herself. You will get yourself in trouble by taking responsibility for everything.”
Kirian flushed. “There speaks a nobleman.”
Anger flared. From long habit, Callo forced it down. As quickly as she had spoken, she waved a hand in a gesture of repudiation. “I am sorry,” she said. “You did not deserve that.”
He nodded at her, but his nerves were on edge now.
Kirian continued. “I am wondering, though, about Inmay. He never would have left her. He was more than in love with her—more like possessed by her. Will you watch for him, Callo? A slight man, my age, with light yellow hair—with a fair amount of gray in it.”
“I will not promise to rescue him from the consequences of his own stupidity,” Callo said.
“I understand.”
Callo nodded. “I will watch for him and let you know if I see him. I will be out in the city this week. You never know what I might see. Now Kirian, is there more? Or should we call the chaperone back?”
Kirian sighed and rolled her eyes “If you had a chaperone following your every step, you’d sympathize.”
“I sympathize already. I cannot imagine someone always at my back, watching everything I do.” Then he allowed his eyes to rest appreciatively on her face, her slender form. “And Kirian—I would like to be rid of her for other reasons, as well. I miss your company.”
She flushed. “I will go,” she said awkwardly.
He laughed. “Chiss. Call in Sara’Si, will you?”
She cast a fuming glance at him and pulled her veil back over her face. Sara’Si entered, a dark gloomy figure, and took up a position behind Kirian. Together, they left the room.
“My lord,” Chiss said.
“Hmmm?” Callo was still thinking about Kirian.
“How long do you think it will be until the local physicians will have their own supply of the sart leaf?”
“I have no idea. We don’t know if it even grows here.”
“I only ask because that may be the limit of the King’s tolerance for Hon Kirian’s unusual ways.”
Callo lifted an eyebrow and looked at Chiss. “Then we will have to be ready,” he said.
Later that day, called to wait upon the King’s pleasure as sometimes happened, Callo entered the room to find Si’lan just leaving. The ku’an’an nodded his head without smiling. Callo was familiar by now with these sessions where the boy king conducted business while keeping him waiting—sometimes asking a pertinent question, but usually seeming to delight in just keeping him kicking his heels. Callo had learned to stop showing his impatience with these tactics and Ar’ok had lost interest in his continued presence—until now.
He entered, was announced, and made his bow to Ar’ok. The boy king sat on a dais, in rich robes and a coronet. He narrowed his eyes at Callo and said: “I hear you had a match in the ring today with the great Ha’star.”
Callo nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. A most worthy fighter.”
“With dangerous opinions, I hear. It is not wise to follow up that acquaintance—other than a thrilling contest in the ring, of course.”
“As your Majesty says.” Callo wondered who had heard them in the arms room. The King gestured him away, and Callo went to stand with some other men near the wall, resigned to standing for hours while Ar’ok conducted business, drank wine, or otherwise entertained himself while demonstrating his power over the time of others. This King was young, but that alone was insufficient to explain his spiteful actions and the pleasure he seemed to take in his ku’an powers. Callo feared it was the psychic magery alone that warped him.
As he waited, he noticed a young woman, the only woman in the room, standing to the side of the throne. He was caught by her face, which was mostly visible through the very light fabric of her veil; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, dark of hair, smooth of skin, and by Ha’lasi standards, practically displayed for all the throne room to see. Her robe was cut low and belted to emphasize her breasts. She seemed to Callo to be heavily under the King’s ku’an influence; far from showing any shyness at her situation, she clung close to the throne, bending near to caress Ar’ok’s face, and allowing him to peer down her robe. The King reached out to fondle her breasts, and then cast a sly glance at his assembled court. Then Ar’ok pulled the woman onto his lap before them all, spreading his legs to settle her between them.
So this was the reason he and the others had been called to wait upon the King; to witness his manipulation of this woman. Perhaps this was the slave woman Kirian had told him about. Regardless, he was sure Ar’ok had her well under his psychic control—‘eager’, as Kirian had said. He felt the
foulness of the King creeping toward him. No doubt the boy would show off his influence over her for a while, then take her up to his chambers. It would be nothing but a rape. He looked around the room; there were no representatives of Som’ur’s priesthood present, and he knew the sycophants in the room would keep silent about what they saw here. Guilt filled him, just by association, at having the same abilities as the King. Too angry to be sensible, he stalked out of the room.
* * * * *
The door to the Black Duck was unadorned; only the banner hanging above with the figure of its name painted on it let Callo know this was the right place. Chiss stared at it with disfavor, then looked around at the men moving alone and in small groups through the dockside streets. Two other blank doors looked out on the same wet alley.
“This is a hole,” Chiss said. “You have no idea what awaits you in there.”
“I never said it was safe,” Callo said. In fact, the entire excursion to Dockside had been fraught with tension. He had noticed men watching him from the alley a block down, and had let his hand drift to his sword hilt; however, no attack materialized. Some children had peered out of a window two streets back, calling harmless taunts at the foreigner. Then, someone had whispered something to them, and they had vanished from the window, leaving the street cold, empty, and ominously quiet. The gloom of the early spring day added to the psychological chill until Callo was on edge. He realized his hand had drifted to his belt again, checking the presence of his sword and backup knife. Chiss had been trying to get him to return to Ar’ok’s Castle for the last several minutes.
“And how do you know this Ha’star won’t have laid a trap for you, Lord Callo?”
“He could have killed me in the ring. He had the skill.”
“And there would have been no doubt who did it. Much better to lay a trap, lure you in with promises of information . . .”
“All right, all right,” Callo snapped. “I’m going in, Chiss, whatever you say. Maybe if you don’t try to frighten me out of my wits, I’ll be more alert.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
“Don’t worry about it. Look, you stay out here.” At Chiss’ motion of protest, he raised his hand. “Keep watch for Ar’ok’s men. Let me know if you see any threat. I’ll be out in a candlemark at most—less, if Ha’star’s not here.”
Chiss nodded and took up a position in the shadows of the opposite wall. He looked out of place there, with his lean, refined face and thin hair; but he would be safe enough, and Callo was glad to have an ally on the outside.
The door to the Black Duck opened as he approached. He entered and it swung closed behind him. His heart leaped. The room was completely dark, so black he could not move in any direction.
“What ha’ we here?” rasped a voice. “One only, is it? Blind as a bat you are. All right my man, your weapon first and then in you go.”
Callo unbuckled his sword and handed it over. It was not unusual for a tavern keeper to insist his patrons be disarmed before entering. He was glad he had a weapon in reserve in this unknown place.
Callo saw a glow as a curtain or some other barrier parted before him. He moved toward it then into the yellow light of the tavern. As he left the darkness, the outer curtain swung closed. It was intended to make newcomers pause until the old man inside had judged them safe to enter. It worked well, he thought, limiting entry and allowing the guard to shout a warning if necessary.
He looked around at a tavern like dozens of others he had seen. Men sat at wooden tables or on benches around the fire, drinking ale or eating bread and savory stew. A veiled woman delivered mugs of ale to a group of seamen near the fire.
When Callo entered, everyone went still. He looked around for a seat at an empty table. An older man with wisps of gray hair adorning a shiny scalp approached. He had the arms of an old seaman, lean and ropy, and wore a tavern-keeper’s apron.
The keeper looked straight into Callo’s face and blanched. Callo could see the change even in the flickering yellow light.
“Ku’an!” the man whispered.
Chairs scraped against the floor as men rose. Callo turned his back to the empty section of the room and reached for his knife. His hand closed on empty air. His knife had been detached from his belt, so neatly that he had felt nothing. There was only one place it could have happened. He looked around for another weapon.
“No, no, my lord ku’an, be at peace,” the keeper said. “You men, sit down.”
“My knife,” Callo said evenly.
“Yes, yes. Gri’nel, come out!”
A gnarled man came out of the curtained entrance. His grin showed missing teeth.
“Missed something, ha’ we?”
Callo did not feel like smiling. The men at the fire had begun to sit down again, no longer on alert, but they were still watching. The tavern keeper looked at Callo’s face and said, “Gri’nel, get my lord ku’an’s knife. And his sword as well.”
“Isn’t that a choker? A ku’an, in here! Too dark t’see the cursed yellow eyes,” Gri’nel explained. “Or I wouldn’a taken it, Fal’ar.”
“I’m sure,” the keeper said. “Just get it, would you?”
Gri’nel reached back into the alcove and brought out Callo’s weapons. Callo took them and buckled both weapons back on, never looking away from the old man’s face.
“Little pissed off, ain’t ya’?” Gri’nel asked.
“I apologize, my lord,” Fal’ar said. “Sit, please. Gri’nel is employed to watch the entryway. He is supposed to warn us if he thinks someone is a risk. Sometimes he goes too far, you hear me, Gri’nel?”
The old man shrugged. “It were a nice knife, Fal’ar. Couldn’t keep my hands to my own self.”
Callo looked around the tavern. The men were still watching him, but there was no further attempt to rise, no intimation of threat. The tavern keeper seemed eager to placate him. He drew a deep breath and felt his shoulders relax.
“That’s right, my lord,” Fal’ar said. “Please be seated. Mostly we just have ale for the seamen, but I could find some wine for you.”
“Ale is fine.” Callo sat at an empty table, his back carefully to the wall. He said, “I am looking for one Ha’star.”
“He said he challenged a ku’an. Just like the wharf rat not to tell me you might show up here. Be at ease, my lord.” Fal’ar bowed.
Callo sat back and looked around the room. The other men turned and resumed their various conversations or activities. The veiled woman brought him a large cup of ale, but shook her head when he put coin on the table.
“Fal’ar says no payment is necessary, my lord ku’an.”
“Just the same, here it is,” Callo said. He left the coin on the table. The woman bent her head and retreated.
Several minutes later, he decided that Ha’star would not be at the Black Duck that evening. He rose, about to take his leave. Then he heard Gri’nel’s cackle from the security door, and the curtain blew aside to admit the warrior himself.
Two men by the fire who were much the worse for drink shouted, “Ha’star!” He waved at them and then his eyes widened as he saw Callo.
“My lord ku’an,” he said, pulling a chair out and sitting down across from Callo. “You are very quick.”
“I have questions, as I told you. I did not want to wait to have them answered.”
Ha’star lifted one eyebrow. “Well, my lord, I know ku’an want everything right away. I never swore to answer every question, though. Wouldn’t be safe. If you’re going to lose your temper over me refusing to answer now an’ then, tell me now, and we’ll go our ways.”
Callo sighed. “I apologize. It’s been an odd day. Have an ale. Of course, I will not lose my temper if you don’t answer every question. Really, I just want you to tell me what you know about the ku’an.”
The veiled woman brought ale to the table. Ha’star lifted his mug in a silent salute to her. She nodded, then turned and went away. Callo stared after her.
“I
thought women could not work in a place like this in Ha’las,” he said. “Is it safe?”
Ha’star snorted. “Safer than bein’ in the public places, where any yellow-eyed bastard could see her,” he said. “Begging your pardon. Fa’lar is her uncle. It is allowed. No one here would touch her.”
“All right.”
Ha’star sipped. “I’m a damn fool to be talking to you. I don’t know why but I’ve taken a liking to you. If you go and pull some ku’an foulness, I’ll know I was wrong.”
“I will do my best not to prove you wrong,” Callo said.
“The ku’an? Demons, all of them, saving your presence. They use their foul powers to get whatever they want. They can see a woman they like on the street, and a sennight later she’s living at the Castle being a whore to some bastard. If you get a chance to take her away, she won’t go—the ku’an ‘magicked’ her to think she really loves him.” Ha’star spat on the floor. “No man is safe around a ku’an. They say they can’t put thoughts in your head, just emotions, but emotions are strong, damn them. They can put false courage into a man’s head so he’ll charge an enemy of thousands, all full of the glory of the fight, and when he’s cut to pieces, no help for the family he left behind.”
“You sound as if you have seen these things yourself.”
“Some. There was a ku’an with the army in the south. He was a right demon, he was. Jol’tan, cousin to the King.”
“How many ku’an are there, then?”
Ha’star shrugged and drank his ale.
Callo said, “I have heard of only four here, at the palace, and this Jol’tan. That’s five. That is few to have a nation in their grip.”
“I hear the King has relatives, in the north. But I’ve not seen another. Just Jol’tan. And you. I’m not sure you count.”
Callo’s mouth twitched. “I hope not, from what you say. And these few ku’an can send a Black Tide against Righar?”
“Ah, so that’s it.” Ha’star’s eyes narrowed, making his scar draw tight. “You want to find out about the Black Tide. You are a spy for Righar.”
“No. I am sure I have been exiled from Righar.”
Color Mage (Book 1) Page 20