Color Mage (Book 1)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  She did what she could to ease Callo’s injured arm. It did, in fact, seem to be improving, but the change was slow, and she feared that the infection would return with serious consequences. He was no longer feverish, but he still grew tired easily, and spent much of their rest time sleeping. When they rode, he was alert for pursuit, and tended to be short about interruptions. The time they did spend together, awake and at ease, was the best Kirian had ever spent in her life.

  It took her two days to realize that this feeling was more than affection, more than lust. She had hoped for some time that he was not the typical thoughtless nobleman she despised. She had begun to respect him when he calmed little Cam back in SeagardVillage. She had admired Callo’s looks, as well—his broad shoulders, his lean swordsman’s body, his golden hair, and amazing eyes, which she had not known were ku’an’s eyes. She thought of his quirks with affection and his struggles with his ku’an abilities with exasperated respect and a touch of unease. But now, when he turned to make some laughing remark, with his eyes warm when they met hers, she knew she loved this man. In fact, she realized she had loved him for some time.

  How inconvenient! she thought, puzzling over the situation as she rode. This man was the bastard son of King Martan’s sister and some unnamed ku’an, still a righ in spite of his disgrace. He was a member of a class she had always despised, and now unwelcome in his own land. This man was so conflicted about his abilities that he had asked his god to take those abilities away.

  Callo was not a great prize in spite of his status and power. Yet, even all his troubles had not brought him low enough to be her equal. Not to mention that he couldn’t stand the thought of going to bed with her.

  Her mind occupied with this unexpected problem, she went in unaccustomed silence about her small duties as they camped for the last time before reaching Anha’lin. This camp site was just a clearing deep in a wood, with no shelter but the overhanging branches. Tomorrow, they would sleep in an inn, she hoped, and Ha’star would go out searching for an independent-minded captain who would take them to Righar. She thought of a real bed, and hot food from a tavern with longing. Then she remembered that she would have a separate room from the men, and felt a sense of loss that surprised her.

  Callo provided for Miri. He unpacked her tack and bags, watered her, and tethered her in a loose fashion so that she could move about to graze. Ha’star roamed about on horseback, checking the area to make sure they would be secure. Chiss was occupied with their meal, so Callo collected Chiss’ gelding and Kirian’s mare Lady to care for them as well. As he began to lead Lady away, he hesitated.

  “Is everything all right?”

  She turned, startled out of her confused thoughts. “Yes, of course. I just…” She could not continue.

  He nodded. “The town will be welcome. Yet I’ll miss this odd journey.”

  His eyes held warmth she had not seen for more than a sennight. Her heart began beating faster. He was still for a moment, looking at her as if he were about to say something, when Lady yanked at the bridle and pulled his attention from her. “Well then, you are anxious, my Lady?” he said to the mare. “Come then.” He led the horses away to care for them. Kirian looked after him with a longing in her heart so deep it hurt.

  Ha’star shouted from the woods. Metal clashed. Callo dropped the bridles, leaped onto Lady’s back, and raced in Ha’star’s direction, unsheathing his sword with a hiss of metal as he rode. Kirian stood with her mouth open; then she grabbed Chiss’ horse and pulled the resisting gelding to its master. “Here!” she said to Chiss. “Go with them.”

  “I cannot leave you alone.”

  “He needs you!”

  “He has Ha’star. He will be furious if I leave you alone here.” But Chiss went to Miri where she stood, ears pricked and neighing after her master, and began to resaddle her, fast, in case they needed to run. Kirian threw some supplies into a saddlebag and had just begun to mount the fidgety gelding when she heard someone approaching on horseback through the trees. It was Ha’star, leading his horse, with a bound man thrown over the saddle. Callo followed close behind.

  Ha’star pulled the captive off his horse, letting the man fall to the ground. There, the man knelt in his stained riding leathers, hands tied behind him with a strip of cloth. His dark hair fell in sweaty strands around his face. The captive spat at Ha’star, and Ha’star cuffed him. Callo dismounted, and Chiss ran up to take the horses.

  “What happened?” Kirian asked.

  “A search party. We surprised them. There are two dead back there.” Callo went to Ha’star and the captive.

  Kirian followed. “Did any of them get away?”

  “No, we got them all.” Blood began to show at Callo’s upper sleeve, as if he had torn open the old wound. He ignored it. “Who sent you?” Callo asked the captive.

  “Where is the rest of your unit?” added Ha’star.

  The captive spat at him again. Ha’star hit him, harder than before, and the Ha’lasi man sagged back into the dead leaves and mold on the ground, staring at his countryman. “Traitor,” he said, “I’ll tell you nothing.” Then he saw Callo, looked into his face and paled, dropping his eyes to stare at the ground.

  “He thinks,” said Ha’star, “That if he don’t look at you, you can’t use your ku’an influence.”

  Callo started and looked at Ha’star, shaking his head.

  “I know this man,” Ha’star said. “He is a King’s man. He served in Jol’tan’s unit in the south. Don’t you know, man, this ku’an can make you want to tell us everything?” The captive did not look up. “You are on the wrong side, idiot. This man is nothing like Jol’tan. You should be aiding us.”

  “What’s he paying you?” The captive growled at Ha’star. “What’s your price, for aiding a spy?”

  “No spy here,” Ha’star said, “just a man trying to escape Ar’ok’s grasp.”

  Kirian saw Callo frowning at the captive. “Ha’star,” he said. “I don’t know.”

  “What’s the use of being a damned ku’an then?” Ha’star said. “If you are too fussy to do it, we’ll have no choice but to slay him. For our own good.”

  “It will do no harm, surely?” Kirian said.

  Callo looked grim, but after a moment he nodded. “I suppose I must. He might have a troop with him. Jashan, I get sucked deeper and deeper into this—all right then.” Kirian observed Callo’s face as he fell silent. She did not know what she expected—perhaps sparks from the eyes, like a color mage in a temper? But Lord Callo’s face showed nothing other than a small frown as he stared at the captive.

  Instead of becoming at once amiable and trusting, like the guards in the prison, the captive bent over on the ground and wrapped his arms about himself like a protective shield. “No!” he shrieked. “I won’t look at you, spawn of evil.” His hand fumbled at his belt, but his knife was missing from its sheath.

  “He resists,” Chiss noted, looking surprised. “I didn’t know it was possible.”

  Callo swore and turned away. “Apparently it is.” He motioned at Ha’star.

  “Well, isn’t this a mess o’ worms,” Ha’star growled, hand on a long knife Kirian didn’t remember seeing before. Before anyone else could react, he slashed through the captive’s throat. Blood spurted and they jumped back, too late to avoid being sprayed. The man fell back, a horrible gash in his neck.

  “Unknown God, gather him in,” Kirian prayed in a whisper.

  Chiss said, “I assume we must move on right away. Where are their horses?”

  “Tied up ahead. Let’s get going,” Callo said. He brought Lady back over to Kirian.

  Ha’star said, “I never saw someone resist a ku’an’s influence, but I’ve heard tales of such.”

  Kirian took Lady’s rein and mounted. “Isn’t it odd that we would just happen to meet with such a one?” Kirian said.

  “The ku’an’an’s behind this,” Ha’star said. “I have heard stories—but not now. We shouldn’t be takin
’ our sweet time like this, Lord Callo.”

  Callo nodded. “We ride for Anha’lin now. No more resting.”

  Chiss handed them all some bread and cheese after they were mounted, and they ate as they rode. Ha’star rode at point, and they stayed close behind. Callo took the rearguard, holding his right arm close to his side as if it pained him again. Kirian remembered the stain on his sleeve and resolved to check his arm carefully at Anha’lin.

  The first they saw of Anha’lin was a clutter of low, gray sheds that turned out to be chicken coops, and then fields bright green with the first growth of spring. Cows grazed in sloped pastures as they rose to steeper mountains to the north. Farmhouses presided over their acres for a short while, the road winding from house to house so that they rode under the eyes of whomever chanced to be outside. Two barefoot boys raced out to the road and pestered them for a short while with questions; they replied as casually as possible, and Callo kept his eyes down. They waved at a veiled woman who sat on a low bench in front of a house, cleaning something in a low-sided tub. Kirian, reminded of the proprieties, pulled her cloak over the lower part of her face to form a makeshift veil. Chiss called a short halt, rummaged in his bags for a moment, and emerged with a russet veil edged with amber stones, fit for court. He presented it with a bow, and she accepted it with a compliment on his efficiency—and a sigh of relief.

  After a while, the houses drew closer together, and the street more crowded, and then they were in the town of Anha’lin itself, looking out over a blue and cream-frothed sea. The streets behind them sloped up, to the gentle hills and eventually the mountains. Before them, they eased downward, dropping into the sea. There were no big ships here that Kirian could see—nothing like the Fortune—but little fishing craft bobbed amongst mid-sized vessels that ranged from fishing boats to pleasure craft, and she was sure some of them were large enough to dare the sea back to Two Merkhan.

  If it had not been such a serious matter, she would have laughed at their attempts to appear inconspicuous. Ha’star slouched in an unmilitary manner in his saddle, his reins slack. Callo tried to keep his ku’an eyes down, but curiosity drew his gaze up again and again; and Miri was obviously a nobleman’s mount. As for herself—certainly, the jeweled veil was not something one wore everyday. Kirian knew they stood out like birds in a fishnet, and hoped they would arrive at the inn before too many people took note of them.

  The little inn had its own stable, and windows that stared at the sea. It looked bare of company as they drew up before it. “I wonder if it has three rooms to spare,” Callo said.

  “I thought we were trying to avoid notice?” Kirian said. “The innkeeper will certainly wonder at such largesse.”

  “What do you suggest, then?” Callo said. “It can’t be more than a few Ha’lasi coppers?”

  Ha’star snorted at that. “I’ll set it up. The Healer must, o’ course, have her own room, rather than sharing with the maid or some such.”

  “Gods, yes!” Kirian said, aghast at the notion.

  “And we three will share. If ya’ don’t mind, my lord.”

  “Of course I don’t mind! Do you think we had separate rooms in cozy inns on campaign in the South? But if the place has bugs, we find another inn.” Ha’star dismounted and vanished into the dim interior. A few minutes later, he emerged, trailed by a skinny young man in dusty leggings, who smelled of horses. The boy took all four of the horses and led them around to the stable yard. Callo stood looking after them until Chiss said, “My lord, we can check on Miri later. Let us go in.”

  “Yes, yes,” Callo said absently, and Kirian took his arm and led him inside.

  The inn had very little custom. There were only two drinkers in the dusty common room. The keeper led them upstairs to two rooms at the end of the hall, remaining attentive as Ha’star and Chiss lugged the bags in and dumped them on the floor. The room had two cots spread with straw-filled mattresses, and a scarred, wooden table next to the unshuttered window. The keeper promised to bring a third cot and a chair, and said his wife would have supper in a candlemark. Then he showed Kirian to the next room and watched as she bowed and closed the door gently behind her.

  When the keeper had gone, Kirian knocked on the other door. Chiss opened it and bowed to her as if they were in Court in Las’ash Castle. She grinned. “What now?” she said. “We’ve been riding since dusk last night. I’m exhausted. Can we do anything tonight, do you think?”

  “We must,” Callo said. He stood at the window, looking out at the sea. “The ku’an’an’s men could be near. They’ll miss their friends.”

  “Chiss and I will go,” Ha’star said. “After we eat. This place ain’t no Las’ash, but still it’s bound to be easier to get something illegal done after the decent folk have gone t’bed for the night.”

  Callo laughed. “Can’t I help?”

  “You and your ku’an eyes?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “I need some supplies, if there is time,” Kirian said. She went to Chiss and named a few herbs she thought she could use. “An herbalist will have them. Maybe a physician.”

  “Won’t that draw attention, Hon Kirian?” asked Chiss. “It will be only a few days until we are back in Righar.”

  She sighed, aware that Callo favored his sword arm as he looked again out the window at the sea. “Can you get me just one, then? You can get it even at a grocer’s. It is oil of biscan; cooks use a few drops in pastry. It will ease stiffness if worked up with some grease. I think it would be better to have it.”

  Chiss understood. He looked over at Callo, who seemed unaware of their conversation as he observed the activity on the dock. “I will obtain it, Hon Kirian. Thank you.”

  They left, promising Callo to look in on the horses on their way. Kirian said a rather shy farewell to Callo and returned to her lonely chamber.

  * * * * *

  When the door opened on the men’s chamber next morning, Callo was the only one there. He greeted her, courteous enough, then paced over to the window and stared out as if he would be able to see Chiss and Ha’star. His hair was tied back, and he wore a fresh tunic with gold thread in the sleeves, and looked very noble, if a bit distracted.

  “When did they leave?” she asked him.

  “Not more than a candlemark ago. Jashan send, they are fortunate—the King’s men are not far behind us. Chiss saw signs of newcomers at the Anha’lin lord’s fort when they were out last night.”

  “That is not good news.” She put down the small bowl she had carried in. “Come here, please, Callo. I have something that may help your arm.”

  He walked over and looked at the gray paste in the bowl. “What is that? It smells terrible.”

  “It may smell terrible, but it’s going to help the mobility in your sword arm.” She gestured to him to slide his arm from his sleeve, and scooped up a glob of paste on her forefinger.

  “Is this the stuff Chiss got for you? I suppose I’ll smell like a trussed pig after this.”

  “The odor goes away,” she said. “I think. This is oil of biscan, mixed with grease. I’ve used much more than bakers use, though. Come here.” He sat and extended his arm. She noted that the bruises were starting to fade, and the wound itself was closed except for the small section he had torn open in yesterday’s fight. There was no further sign of infection. “This is looking better. You seem to be feeling better, too.” She began smearing the stuff all over both sword cuts, avoiding the open part of the wound.

  He wrinkled his nose. “Wonderful. And I have to keep this on how long?”

  “All day would be best.” He laughed and shook his head, not turning his eyes from her hands as they worked on his arm. “Have you ever seen a wound that healed so tightly with scar tissue that it would not let a person move?”

  He nodded.

  “Your wound goes here, and here—into the elbow. If you hold it tightly, as you have been doing, it will heal that way. Notice you tore it when you tried to use the arm yesterday. T
his preparation will keep it soft, and if you move and flex it—gently, mind you—it should heal well.”

  She finished smoothing the grease. As she wiped her fingers on a towel, he pulled the tunic back over his arm then began moving. He stretched his arms before him, turned his wrists, and slowly pulled his arms back. She slid closer to the table to give him room.

  The sun came in the window, and his face eased. He began to move with more grace, a touch of an old rhythm of movement, as if he began one of his ritual forms. He moved slowly, extending an arm as if he held a sword, pivoting on his feet, centered and graceful. She saw his eyes grow distant. He lifted his face, seeming to have forgotten her. His right arm made a supple arc, moving without hesitation.

  “Lord Callo,” she said.

  He stopped as if startled, coming back to himself. He dropped his arms and laughed. She thought he seemed a little embarrassed.

  “It feels good to move again,” he said. She remembered he had probably been in the ring every day since childhood, keeping his skills honed.

  “We’ve been on the move for days,” she responded. But she knew what he meant. She stood and began collecting the bowl and his old bandages, ready to return to her room. When she looked up, he was there, inches away from her.

  “Your hair is growing,” he said. “It looks soft.” He tipped her chin up, looked into her eyes. She smiled into his eyes.

  “Gods, Kirian, you are beautiful.” His fingers stroked along her jawline.

  Greatly daring, she reached out, touching him back—his jawline, his hair, wanting to touch his mouth—but he caught his breath and started to look away.