“My lord,” Chiss said. “How is Hon Kirian? You have been to see her?”
“She is well enough, considering what that fool King has done to her.” He turned and looked at Chiss where the man sat in a welter of fabric, and some things that looked like veils. “What is that stuff?”
“Hon Kirian’s clothing, my lord. I saved it from her room. I’m packing some of it.”
“Not her bag though? I am sure they took that?”
“They searched it, then threw it away. I know they took the sart leaf from the bag. But I saved what I could. Here it is.”
Callo opened the bag and looked through the few items remaining in it. Kirian’s Healer’s knife was gone, of course; anyone would want a fine knife. The precious sart leaf was gone. The bag still held a few vials and bags of herbs, jumbled from hasty handling. No doubt the searchers had no idea what these were, and had abandoned them with the bag. “I’m surprised they left anything at all behind.”
“They are fools,” Chiss said. “They took only what the King ordered them to take, and maybe the knife out of greed.”
“I imagine the King or the Lord Physician will send them back for the rest of the bag’s contents as soon as they know it was left behind. My thanks for rescuing it, Chiss.” He handed the bag back to Chiss. “What do you think they plan to do with her? Execute her, perhaps?”
“My lord, there is no way to know. I have tried to get some information out of some of the other servants here. I think she could be executed. She could be handed over to one of Som’ur’s priests. She could be branded and freed—but she is a political prisoner too, and I think they do not plan to free her under any circumstances.”
Callo felt his face flush again with temper. “They will not do any such thing while I am here to do something about it.”
Chiss looked up at him, his eyes gentle. “My lord, they will have you watched.”
“They may watch me until their eyes fall out. They have already tried to soothe me by showing me how well they are treating her. Jashan’s eyes! They are planning to kill her! Do they think I am so self-involved as to not protect my own?”
“They do not expect you to do anything, since they would do nothing in the same circumstances. What is your plan, then, my lord?”
Callo looked at the man’s lean face and grinned. The helpless anger receded. He said, “I do greatly value you, Chiss. I don’t know what I would do without you, my friend.”
Chiss folded another rectangle of fabric and added it to his pile. “What then?”
“It looks as if we are going to have to leave this place. I hope you have not grown too attached.”
“I left Ha’las once before. Remember? I am not at all attached to it. There is a feeling of desperation about the people here in the palace that I will be grateful to escape.”
“Comes from being around all these ku’an,” muttered Callo. “Damn Ar’ok infects all of them with his cruelty.”
“I think the King is very young to have such power. It is more likely that he is a product of others’ intentions, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I never saw a boy of that age so . . . warped. It is the psychic magery that corrupts him. I won’t be one of them, Chiss, I have resolved it.”
“I think it is the man who shapes how the power is used, rather than the power that shapes the man.”
“Hah! My experience indicates otherwise.” Callo paced a few more minutes as his anger wound down and his mind began to function better. “Chiss, we must pack. We must leave this place immediately.”
“My lord, I am willing to go wherever you say. But have you accomplished what you wished to, when we abandoned your life in Righar?”
“You know I have not. I have my suspicions about who my sire might be, but they won’t be confirmed. And as to finding out more about the ku’an, I am no longer interested in the brutal fools.”
Chiss began to gather the pile of veils together. His eyes still did not meet his lord’s. “If you leave, there will be no chance of ever finding out more.”
“I no longer care. Kirian is in prison, and if not for me, she wouldn’t even be in this cursed land. It is my fault. I find she is more important to me than what may or may not have happened thirty years ago.”
“My lord, there is no foreign ship in port—no way to buy passage.”
“How do you know this?”
“It seemed a good idea to know when Ghosian or some other foreign captain was in port.”
“Well done. So we must find a way out of this city and head overland, to the east. If those assassins got in, we can get out.” Callo stared out the window again, not feeling the warm breeze. His mind struggled with plans and contingencies. His thoughts suddenly felt muddled, as if he were ill. “We need to pack light. Just what we need to get us back. Also, some Ha’lasi coin.”
“Some food and water would be even more important than extra coin. My lord, we must have our horses.”
“And an idea of the lay of the land. How did you leave last time, Chiss? Have you any idea of the land between here and—say—Anha’lin? That is on the east coast, according to my maps.”
“I left on a ship from Las’ash. I grew up in the northern countryside until I was brought here to serve.”
“A farm boy,” Callo said, only half his attention on the man. “So, do you think you can help us live off the land until Anha’lin, if I can find the way?”
“Not unless the gods set out a table of meats for us every evening, Lord Callo.”
Callo laughed. “I think we need a guide.”
“My lord,” Chiss said in alarm. “Whom would you trust? Telling anyone our plan is likely to have us in prison next to Hon Kirian, and hanged the next morning in front of the boy King.”
Callo made a calming motion with his hands. “Don’t worry, Chiss, I know of a man who might help. I will track him down if you will pack—very light, all right? And for Kirian as well.” His eye caught the tunic he had just purchased, one of gold-threaded amber that looked like the sun in spring, and he sighed. “It is too bad about the new clothes, but one can always get more of those later, I suppose.”
“Indeed. My lord, do we go armed to the cells?”
“We will have to. I am glad you can carry your part of a fight.” Callo took a quick sip of the wine on the table to quell his growing headache. His face felt flushed, yet he shivered a little in the breeze from the open window. He ignored the deepening ache from his right arm as he turned to leave. Chiss stood before him, looking grim.
“What?”
“You cannot wield a sword, Lord Callo.”
“I will do my best. I have no choice.”
“You must consider that you will need to use your ku’an magery to get Hon Kirian out of the cells.”
“With Jashan’s aid, I will not. My arm will hold.”
Chiss gave him a level look. “I remember something you said when you and Lord Arias commanded a unit in the South. It comes to mind just now.”
Callo crossed his arms. “Well?”
“You told Hon Drale that if he were not honest with his men, he’d deserve the failure that would come to him.”
Callo sighed. “I remember.”
“Then take your own advice, my lord.”
“I have asked Jashan to bind that magery. It is cursed, Chiss. It brings only shame.”
“It will not bring shame if used with honor and care.” Chiss shrugged. “I will do as you say, as always, Lord Callo. But if you go in unprepared, we may not get out again.”
Callo did not want to think about using the magery again—even if the god Jashan, whom he had asked to bind him, permitted it. Each time he had used it, he had regretted it. But he supposed he would do anything to get Kirian safely out of Ha’las.
“I will consider it. Let me go, Chiss, or I’ll be unable to find my guide.”
Chiss bowed very slightly. His unusual courtesy puzzled Callo all the way to the Black Duck. He rode Miri to the t
avern, his head swimming a little from the pain of his wounded arm. The mare was skittish, and she pranced in the spring dusk. The poor mare had not had enough exercise, Callo thought. “My good Miri,” he said, and she flicked her ears back at him. “I have missed you, my beauty. Soon we will be on our way again.”
He tied Miri to a rail under the eye of a city guard and, for good measure, tucked a coin into the guard’s hand to make it worth his while to keep the mare safe. Then he walked down the alley and entered the Black Duck. As the door swung shut on the early dusk, blackness enveloped him, and he said, “Gri’nel, is it you? You know I cannot see you.”
“Ha, is it you?” came the raspy old voice. “Ku’an’s ass, I don’t believe it. You lived, did ya?”
“I did. Will you let me keep my sword?”
“Hell yes, and your belt knife too. Don’t want no ku’an pissed at me again, do I?” The inner door opened and Callo entered the tavern proper.
Fa’lar, leaning against the bar with his ropy arms crossed, came alert when he saw who had entered. “Welcome, my lord ku’an. You’ll be bringing no more trouble with you now?”
“The trouble was never yours,” Callo said. “I am looking for Ha’star.”
“Sit down and have some ale. He’ll be along.”
The veiled young woman brought the drink, and Callo sat sipping it until the door opened and Ha’star came into the tavern.
“Lord Callo,” he said. “What brings you here again? I’ve told you what I know.” He sat next to Callo and accepted a mug of ale.
“I need help,” Callo said. “I thought of you first, since you are no friend to the ku’an in the Castle.”
“No friend to any ku’an.”
Callo nodded. “That’s as may be. I thought to ask you, since you acted as a friend to me.”
“So what is it? You’ll not use your ku’an magic on me if I say nay?”
“You know I will not.” Callo eased his arm, which was throbbing now, and noticed Ha’star follow the subtle movement with the keen eye of a swordsman. It was just as well; Ha’star should know what he was getting himself into, and what the risks were, especially that he could not necessarily count on Callo’s aid in a fight. “I need a guide. A guide who knows his way to Anha’lin or some other place where myself and two others can secretly take ship back to Righar.”
“This isn’t court-approved, or you’d be leaving from Las’ash.” Ha’star shook his head and looked doubtful. “You being a noble and all, I doubt you know how to manage ‘til we get there. You need a woodsman.”
“That’s right.”
“Someone who can avoid troops sent to follow.”
“You understand, I see.” Callo took a great slug of ale and called for more. His arm burned. It etched a path of pain from his shoulder to his wrist. This was a bad time for it to grow worse. “You said you have no kin to take the brunt of the King’s anger. I will not lie, however—you will be putting yourself at great risk if they ever discover who aided us.” He wanted to mention reward, the coins Chiss was packing even as they spoke, but he felt, if Ha’star agreed to help them, it would not be because of money.
Ha’star grunted. “I hear the woman Healer is in prison.”
Callo nodded.
“Wasn’t her place to be healin’ folks, you know my lord ku’an.”
“In Righar . . .”
“Doesn’t matter about Righar. You’re here now. I suppose you know what they’ll do to her.”
Callo forced down the anger. The King had used Kirian for what he needed, and then disposed of her. He knew he hadn’t helped, joining Kirian in her disregard of the modesty laws. “I don’t mean to wait to find out. What do you say?”
Ha’star evaluated him with narrowed eyes. Callo stared back, wondering how much of his pain the other man could see. He was beginning to feel odd, too. He held on to his expressionless look as Ha’star thought.
“You’re one of the decent ones,” Ha’star said. “The only decent one by my lights. I’ll do it. I’m on leave now, so I’ve got time. This be my chance to strike at Jol’tan.”
“What did he do to you, this Jol’tan?” Callo asked.
Ha’star made a savage cutting motion with his hand. “None of a ku’an’s business, is it? Not friend or foe.”
“My apologies.” Callo stood, held out a hand. Ha’star took it, but did not smile. “Meet us in the woods to the east of town, just to the east of the tanneries?”
“When?”
“Gods know. What is it now, full night already? We will try to be there by dawn. If we are not there—we could be delayed, I do not know what we go into. Use your judgment.”
“Nothing else,” Ha’star said. “I will be there, horsed and packed.”
“My thanks. You will not regret it, Ha’star.” Callo put all the sincerity of his feelings into that phrase.
“Not for you to guess what I’ll regret,” Hastar said in a voice that held more than a little warning. “Nor to do anything about it either, my lord ku’an.”
“As you say.” Callo nodded to him, and to the keeper, and left. In the security hole, he exchanged a few words with Gri’nel, who informed him that unlike last time, there were no assassins waiting outside the tavern. Wishing the old man the luck of the gods, Callo left.
* * * * *
The horses waited near a vacant part of the stables, hidden in the shadows of new-leafed bushes and the tumbled gray stone of the old buildings. Chiss had tied the packs so that all they needed to carry was their weapons. The packs were small, Chiss had cautioned several times, as if he thought Callo did not realize that one could not bring valus fur and extra pillows on a flight for one’s life. Callo had chosen a time when most residents of the castle would be asleep—except, of course, for the King’s companions, who attended a late party, and the servants who were kept scurrying to attend to their wishes. But that was on the other side of the hulking building, and also in the kitchens. Here near the cells, all was quiet.
They crouched near the arched walkway that Callo had traveled with his guide earlier that day. It seemed a different world now. The moon was a slender crescent, lighting very little. The torches set by the gate for the guards burned snappishly in the unsettled breeze, so that the shadows wavered about under their feet. Callo remembered that there was no outside window in Kirian’s cell; he thought of her alone in the dark, and moved restlessly, anxious to get in.
Callo crept forward until he was hidden from the gate guards only by the lower half of the arched wall. Then he moved fast, sliding behind one of the men and smashing his sword hilt into his head. The guard crumpled.
Callo looked for the second guard. The man lay on the ground unconscious, with Chiss leaning over him, pulling a key from the man’s belt. Then Chiss dragged both men out of sight while Callo kept guard. In a few minutes he appeared again, breathing as if he had been fighting, but he only waved at Callo to continue on.
The gate opened smoothly and without sound. As they entered, clinging to the wall to avoid making an obvious silhouette, Callo checked for more guards. The lamps were lit in the center room, and he could hear the rumble of voices coming from it—and also the clink of pottery. It seemed Jashan was with them, and they had happened to arrive at the guards’ mealtime. Callo could see no one in the dirt-floored passageway at all.
They crouched low to avoid being seen through the tiny windows, and moved down the hall. When Callo thought they had arrived at the proper cell, he lifted his head and peered inside.
He could see Kirian by the light of a torch set at the end of the hall. She sat on the low bench in deep shadow. A tray with a bowl on it lay on the bench beside her, but she did not seem to be eating. She put her head in her hands, and her hair swung forward to cover her eyes.
“Kirian,” Callo whispered.
Kirian looked up, eyes wide, and saw Callo. She jumped up and almost knocked over the tray, but caught it as it tipped. She settled the tray safely on the bench, then hurried
to the door.
“Get ready,” Callo whispered, and set the big metal key they had taken from the gate guard into the lock, and tried to turn it.
It would not turn.
Jashan aid us, he thought, and tried again. The thing would not turn. He looked over his shoulder at the guards’ common room, wondering which one kept the key and how he could get it. Just then a burly man stuck his head out of the guardroom and glanced up and down the hall. His eyes caught on them where they crouched before Kirian’s door.
“Ware intruders!” he yelled in a voice like a lion’s roar. There was a clatter of overturned pottery and a slam as something wooden went over hard. Five men ran out of the guardroom, arming themselves as they went. There was nowhere for Callo and Chiss to go. Giving up on secrecy, they stood. Callo pushed the dizziness and the pain to the back of his mind and readied himself to fight.
“Ku’an!” yelled one of the prisoners. His shout echoed down the passageway, a dull underground reverberation that mixed with the metallic clash of swords as Chiss engaged with the first guardsman. Callo saw another man race forward to strike and raised his own sword, blocking the cut full on his weapon and shaking his wounded right arm to the bone.
Chiss disposed of the first attacker; the man lay on the floor, blood pumping out of a wound in his gut to soak into the dirt floor. Callo’s foot slipped in the blood and he almost went down; his attacker’s swing flew over his head, striking the door behind him. Callo hauled himself upright with his left arm in Kirian’s window and stabbed with his sword as if it were a knife, piercing his opponent’s leather shirt and his heart. The man gurgled horribly and went down, only to be replaced by a fresh and angry guard.
Callo wanted to look around for Chiss but dared not turn his eyes from this new man. He heard Kirian shriek and wondered if Chiss had been wounded. His attacker swung at his unprotected neck, and Callo ducked then lifted his arm to strike back.
The pain swept up his arm into his shoulder, into his neck. For just a moment, every bit of will Callo had would not move his arm. He felt someone grab him by his left arm and pull, hard, moving him away while his vision shaded from red to black and back to normal.
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