There he drew his sword. He raised it, saluting Jashan and closing his eyes in a wordless prayer before sheathing it again and settling onto one of the rocks. Then he braced himself and began to relax the internal barrier he had come to depend upon so much.
Using great care, he allowed the barrier to lower slightly. The twin mage powers rose up, almost eager for release as if they had will of their own. Callo tried to allow just a little of the energy out. He had done something like this once before, after he had defeated the Black Tide—but then Kirian had helped him, and the energies had overcome him anyway as he sought release in sex. Now the strain was worse, much worse. He dared not have anyone around him while he tried this experiment; he was afraid they would not live through it.
The ku’an magery could be kept back, he thought; after all, he had done so for most of his life. It was the new power, the color magery, that fought his authority. He tried to ease the endless pressure and felt the magery flow out of him into the sunlight. He struggled to release only a little, just enough to save his sanity.
White light rose behind his eyelids. A river of power flowed, exultant, through his veins and out to his fingertips. He threw back his head in sheer pleasure at the beauty of it as well as the indescribable relief. Just as he began to laugh with the joy of it, the energy shifted, changing from pleasure to fire, and burned an arc of pain through every nerve.
Callo screamed as he felt the world around him catch fire.
* * * * *
He awakened to find the sun setting and a cloud of biting insects investigating his face. Swearing, he dragged himself to his feet and wiped at his sweaty face and neck. His skin felt sunburned, and there was an acrid odor in the air. He looked around in the dusk and saw that he stood at the center of a blackened ring. The sparse foliage that had grown on the rocks here was burned to ash.
He moved his feet, checking for injuries. His movement stirred ash from beneath his boots. Rubbing his hands across his face, he almost cried out in pain. He held his fingers up in front of his face and saw that they were blistered, the fingertips cracked and reddened.
“Jashan’s eyes,” he whispered. “What happened?”
He took a deep breath and climbed down from the rocks, finding that the burned circle ended within a few yards. He found Miri where he had left her; she neighed at him in an indignant way. He drew a deep breath of relief at finding her well.
“I know you’re thirsty, my good one,” he whispered, putting his head against her neck. “I am sorry, Miri.” He mounted and guided her down the narrow track, his eyes alert for obstructions in the near-dark. The mare picked her way with a sure step, seeming confident of the route; he was glad because the reins abraded his injured hands. After a few minutes he found himself letting them go slack in his weariness, but the mare took no notice.
“Bless you, Miri,” he said. “You’ll get us both back.”
By the time they arrived at Northgard’s stables, it was very late. His hands felt as if they were on fire, and his head ached—not with the desperate pressure of the color magery, but with ordinary pain and exhaustion. He gave Miri to an astonished groom with orders to treat her to extra grain, and he trudged up to the manse. There he slipped in a side door, hoping not to bother anyone who still waked, and went up to his room.
Chiss waited inside, sitting half-asleep in a deep chair with a cup of wine beside him, awaiting his lord with water and bed clothes. He looked up when Callo entered, plainly irritated at Callo’s lateness, wanting to get to his own bed in the servants’ quarters. As he saw Callo’s reddened face and his ash-covered clothing, he froze; then he moved to help Callo to a chair. “My lord,” Chiss said, “What happened?”
Callo wanted to say, nothing—but Chiss was no fool. Also, the man had been his servant and mentor since he was a boy, and he owed him an explanation. So he said, “An experiment gone wrong, that’s all. I’m all right now.”
Chiss went off for a few minutes and returned with cloths soaked in cold water, which he wrapped around Callo’s scorched fingers. Callo leaned his head back, almost stunned with the relief.
“Hon Kirian?” asked Chiss.
“No. It will wait until morning.”
“I have wine. That should help the pain. My lord, you are tearing yourself up. This cannot continue.”
“I know it, Chiss.”
“This Yhallin Magegard that Kirian spoke of this morning,” Chiss said. “Perhaps he can help.”
“Yhallin runs an asylum, Chiss. I am not insane.”
“Please consider it, my lord. I think that otherwise this will kill you.”
Callo thought that was very likely. At any rate, he was too tired to consider it right now, with his skin feeling stretched and his fingers blistered and the wine taking the bare edge off his headache. “Chiss, I want to sleep right here. I’m not moving one more step.”
“Absolutely,” Chiss said.
* * * * *
Rumors made the rounds of Northgard. Chiss relayed them to Callo—the rumors that said he had battled another color mage to protect Northgard; the one that said he and the young lord had fought. Chiss said a woodsman had come forward and sworn to Lord Zelan that his cousin had seen Callo put his hands in the river to wash them and bring them out burned raw.
None of these rumors bothered Callo. He had been the subject of rumors and disgrace since his bastard birth. What bothered him was the set look on Kirian’s round face as she bathed his fingers with some cooling salve, and the way she turned away and would not speak to him after she wrapped his hands. Ander’s reaction troubled him, too; the young lord turned away from him after he saw Callo’s blistered fingers, but not before Callo saw his eyes bright with sympathetic tears.
Chiss withdrew into his usual reserved mood. Not one more word of reproof passed his lips. Callo was glad he could have peace in his own chamber at least, without facing accusing eyes all the time. As usual, Chiss knew exactly what he needed.
Kirian saw him when he needed a Healer, was professional when she tended his burned hands; but she did not come to his room on her own. He missed her terribly.
“Kirian, please tell me what is wrong,” he asked as she checked his hands for infection.
She turned a little away from him, but not before he saw the color rise up her cheeks. “Nothing,” she said.
“I know there is something wrong.” He flexed his fingers, feeling the salve she had applied cooling his burns. “I know I have not been easy to talk to this last sennight.”
“You have been grieving, and then you were injured. I have not wished to bother you.”
Callo felt a rush of shame. He had been wrapped up in his own anger and pain, so much so that he had not realized Kirian was not herself. Now he remembered all the little signs she had shown that something was not right.
“Sweet heart, please tell me what is bothering you. Have I hurt you somehow?”
She wrapped her supplies up in their cloth and replaced them in her Healer’s bag. Then she looked straight into his eyes, for the first time in days. He had forgotten how beautiful her brown eyes were.
“There is something I must tell you.” Her voice was level. “I have decided to go back to Seagard Castle to fulfill my term there.”
That hurt. He sucked in a deep breath. When he answered, he tried to keep his voice calm. “Of course. I understand. This is too hard for you, to be away from everything you know, and with no comforts or conveniences such as a woman needs.”
She jumped up, eyes blazing. “It has nothing to do with discomfort! Do you not remember I went all the way to Ha’las with you, and escaped the King’s court with nothing to my name but a cloak? Do you accuse me of being no more than a pampered righ maiden, afraid to step foot outdoors without two footmen and a maid?”
“No. I would not accuse you of that. I have experience of your strength. But, Kirian . . .” He felt as if the world shifted around him. “I don’t understand, then. What has changed?”
&nbs
p; “I did not want to tell you.” She sat down again. “But I suppose I must, or you will spin further out of control until you harm yourself or someone else.”
He caught his breath. “What have I done?”
Sitting across from him, she leaned forward and took his hands. Her fingers were warm. She spoke with her head bent, not looking at him. “Do you remember, that night before we heard the news about Lord Arias? We were here, in your room, together?”
“I remember it well.”
“Callo, you—” She stopped, almost as if she could not say it.
“What?”
“You used the ku’an magery on me.”
Horror rushed through him. “You mean to say you were not willing?”
“No, no!” She jerked upright, gripped his hands harder. “That is not so! I was willing, you did not force me. But when we were together, I felt your mind, felt what you felt. I suppose, what you wanted me to feel.” She stumbled a little over her words. “I have been under ku’an influence before, you remember. I know what it feels like.”
He let go her hands. He felt as if someone had struck him, so hard it took his breath. “It—it’s no excuse, but I did not intend to do that to you. I am so sorry, Kirian.” He had struggled hard all these years, worked on his discipline with Jashan’s aid so that he would never invade another’s privacy in that way, and then for it to be Kirian who was hurt—it was not bearable.
She walked to the window, where she stood with the sunlight shining on her spiky hair. “My dearest, I know you never wished such a thing. It is why I have been debating what I should do. I see you struggling with this magery more each day, and you show no signs of winning the battle. Remember the King, at Seagard—he said you would die from this. So, I have decided I must go. I cannot stay and watch you consumed by this power, and, meanwhile, afraid to be with you for fear you will do the same thing again, all unaware.”
He wanted to go to her, embrace her and apologize, but his better sense told him she would want nothing to do with him. From across the room he said, “I will miss you, Kirian. I will send Chiss with you, and ask for guards from Lord Zelan. I know you will not wish me to escort you, but you will have every comfort and care along the way. You may take Miri—she is a good mare for a long ride, and she will take care of you. I will send funds for your accommodations, and perhaps Lady Dria Mar can send a maidservant with you.”
She was smiling a little. “I do not need all that. I will miss you, Callo.”
“I will feel as if the bright sun has gone out of my life,” he said honestly. “I am so sorry, though I know it is inadequate to say so. Is there anything at all I can do, Kirian? To change your mind?”
She paused. “I—do not know.”
“There is.” There was a glimmer of hope. “Anything, Kirian. I do not wish to lose you, too.”
“You do not wish to do what must be done.”
“What must be done?”
“I believe you must go to Mage Yhallin.”
He looked down at his hands, unable to look her in the eye. Color magery wrapped his hands, evoked by his strong emotion. Jashan, free me from this. It is a curse, not a gift.
“Kirian. Mage Yhallin will likely deem me insane, and lock me away somewhere you will never see me again.”
“How do you know? Do you know the Mage Healer?”
He shook his head. “No. No, I know nothing of him other than what rumor says. But Kirian, I am not like Arias, not like other color mages. The psychic magery frightens people. If Mage Yhallin is sensible, it will frighten him, too.”
“I will not let you be locked away.” She came back from the window and sat on the chair he had vacated. “I will call on every righ I have ever met, and the lord of the Healer’s College, if you are treated poorly. But you need this. I cannot stay while you are a danger to me—you frighten me, too, Callo. I do not wish it to be this way.”
“Jashan’s eyes,” he swore. He saw her eyes trace the whorls of color he knew were escaping his control and limning his burnt hands.
There was no choice. He had lost everything else he had once been complacent about having. He could not live without her, and he could not bear to be with her as long as he was a danger to her.
“I will do it,” he said. “I will fulfill my vow to slay Arias’ murderer, and then I will go to Mage Yhallin.”
Kirian shook her head.
“What?”
“I am sorry, my love.” She stood again. Her eyes shone with tears, and her nose was red. She was beautiful, and he could not bear to lose her. He knew he would do whatever she asked. He took her hands and told her so.
“Then you will go to Mage Yhallin, tomorrow. You cannot wait.”
Callo shoved away the insistent energies within him. He stepped back from the rage against King Martan, slayer of his brother, and focused on his love. “If this is what needs done to keep you safe and by my side, I will do it.”
Kirian let out a sob. She came closer and put her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, rejoicing in the warmth of her he had not thought he’d feel ever again. Inside him, the violence receded, and the colors ebbed through his hands back into his body.
“I did not think you would do it,” Kirian confessed.
“Anything,” he said. “I owe you my life for what I have done to you.”
“It was not so bad as to require your life.” Kirian pulled back. The humor was back in her eyes. “You are too dramatic, my lord.”
“I nearly lost you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “It would be worse than losing my life.”
The smile left her face fast, leaving an oddly vulnerable look. “Is it like that for you, then?” she asked.
“It is now. I treasure you, Kirian, and I have harmed you. It was not my will, but I am responsible nonetheless. I will seek out this Magegard tomorrow.” He pulled her closer and was filled with gratitude when she came willingly into his arms.
Chapter Six
There would be no patrol this morning. Ander was sure of it when he awakened to sunlight streaming through his window and realized no one had come to get him out of bed at the usual time. He stretched, hands banging against the wall at the head of his bed, and felt his muscles welcome the motion. Sitting up, he saw a plain brown tunic and breeches lying across a chair; his manservant had been in to leave the clothing and a tray of bread, cold meat, hard-cooked eggs and tea.
He grinned to himself. He was fifteen today, a man at last. Even Zelan would join in tonight’s celebration. In a sennight Ander would travel back to Sugetre, where King Martan would formally recognize him as heir to Righar. His mother had hinted that a betrothal was also forthcoming, something strategically planned to help him when he eventually ruled Righar—perhaps the daughter of a Collared Lord, perhaps a King’s daughter from a neighboring nation. He only hoped she was about his own age, and reasonably attractive. His mother had told him he need only beget an heir or two on her, and afterward please himself; still, he hoped the girl would be someone he could be friends with as well.
Tonight there would be a reception, with representatives of the local towns and holdings invited to meet him as an adult. He knew them already, but now he was a man. He would be expected to be on his best behavior, and stay to converse with the adults. He already knew he would be shy and tongue-tied with the local leaders, no matter how hard Shan-il drilled him on social niceties; these men and women had known him since he was a babe, and he could not feel adult around them.
Callo had laughed when he told him that, and said that feeling would never completely go away.
If only Lord Callo would stay to be at the reception tonight, Ander knew he would feel much more at ease. But Callo said he had something of great importance to do, and it could not wait. Callo, Kirian and Chiss were leaving before noon. Ander forgave him; after all, Lord Callo had ridden out of his way and stayed with them for sennights to warn Ander about the danger he stood in from his uncle, King Martan—how could he
quibble at a minor omission now?
He finished his morning routine, gathered his drawing supplies, and ran down the stairs. The manse was very quiet today. He heard no voices as he passed the breakfast room. He went out the door into the brilliant morning sunlight and came face to face with Shan-il.
Shan-il’s face broke into a grin as soon as he saw Ander.
“What?” Ander asked.
“You should see your expression.” The tutor’s black hair shone in the morning light. “Don’t worry. I am not here for lessons today.”
“I thought I was done with lessons.”
“What, because you are fifteen? No, my lord, I will be following you to Sugetre in fact. You never get finished with lessons. At least, not for years yet.”
Ander looked out toward the training ring. He saw a glint of light there, as of low, slanting sunlight on a blade. He lifted his drawing paper, showing it to Shan-il. “I will see you later, Hon Shan-il.”
“Wait. Where are the guardsmen your lady mother assigned you?”
Ander shrugged. “I am only going to the ring. I think Lord Callo is there, training for a while before he leaves.”
Shan-il looked down toward the ring. A crease appeared between his brows. “Yes? I really think you should take your guards if you will be at the ring with Lord Callo.”
“I am only going to draw him. Besides, Shan-il, surely you don’t mistrust Lord Callo?”
“I don’t know him well, that is all. Go ahead, my lord. I will send your guardsman.”
“Well, if you must.” The edge of anticipation was wearing off the day. He did not want to have a guard lurking in the corner of his eye every time he turned around. Yet, he knew he would have guards around him the rest of his life. He sighed and took his leave of Shan-il.
Sword of Jashan (Book 2) Page 7