Sword of Jashan (Book 2)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  Hira Noh hissed. “I know your name, Royal Bastard.”

  “Then you know I am no friend to Sharpeyes.”

  “I know no such thing. He spreads the word you will be King after him.”

  “That’s not true,” Callo said.

  “Yhallin Magegard herself hunts Lord Callo and will kill him if she finds him,” Kirian said.

  “That much I know is true,” Hira said. “All morning we have been running circles around her men, city-bred types who are as lost in the wilderness as little lambs.”

  Black Beard ran out of the woods, out of breath. Callo whirled to face the man’s dagger. His sword was at the ready, but Black Beard stood inside his guard. “I got back here as fast as I could, Hira. The others follow.”

  “Good. Stand guard; do not let them escape.” Hira Noh sheathed her dagger. She stared into Callo’s eyes for a moment. Kirian caught the shiver that traveled up the rebel leader’s arms as she looked at her catch.

  “You are clearly not safe to have around. Nevertheless, I will at least listen to you. Gods know you would make a weapon worth a little bit of listening, is it not so, Royal Bastard? Rhin, take his sword; then bring them.” Hira turned and stalked off like an offended cat.

  Black Beard—Rhin, Kirian remembered—glared at Callo. Callo held out his sword and Rhin took it.

  “You men.” Rhin said to the rebels who had followed him back to the clearing. “Get the horses, and every one o’ those coins, mind you. You, follow her,” he said to Callo.

  Callo held his hands out from his sides a little, so Rhin could see them. It was good assurance that the black-bearded man would not startle at some quick movement and slay them all in a fit of mistaken fear. They left their horses behind to be led in by the rebels, and followed Hira Noh and Rhin into the stronghold of the Sword of Jashan.

  * * * * *

  The rebels occupied part of an abandoned farmhouse. One of the walls of the place had collapsed into a pile of disordered stone. Weeds grew tall in what used to be the living areas, straining towards the daylight visible through the gaps in the ceiling. Broken crockery littered the kitchen area. A battered metal pot, still worth money, stood on a bird-stained wood table.

  The rebels used several rooms of the place that seemed relatively intact. They had also added living space on to what had probably been an animal barn. Kirian saw an outdoor oven tended by a paunchy man holding a huge wooden spoon. Behind the old barn, she caught a glimpse of hard-packed earth that was probably some kind of weapons-training area.

  Kirian saw at least a score of men here. Some of them sat on the ground, mending armor or tending to weaponry. There were two women as well; they looked worn out, dressed in skirts stained from cleaning, their hair escaping from frayed ties. Kirian wondered what in the world kept them here.

  Kirian and Callo were led into one of the rooms attached to the farmhouse, and guarded while they stood awaiting Hira Noh. Kirian walked around the room, wondering how long it had been since a family lived here. Callo moved his fingers and flexed his wrists; his burns were clearly paining him.

  When Hira Noh arrived she sat in the only chair in the room, a tattered brocade affair with one broken arm that looked like the castoff from a nobleman’s house. Rhin accompanied her. He half-sat on the other arm of Hira Noh’s chair, one leg swinging.

  “Talk to me,” Hira Noh said. “Why are you here, Royal Bastard?”

  “We can help each other,” Callo said.

  “This is new. I have not before this had members of the righ come to me offering their aid in bringing them down.” Hira Noh’s hard stare traveled to Kirian. Kirian tried not to flinch under the measuring glare, but it was hard.

  “All right. I will talk to you. But, I don’t think I need her.” Hira Noh turned to her second. “Rhin, I understand Inish had some interest in this one?”

  Rhin snorted. “You know what Inish is. ’Course he wanted her.”

  “She stays with me.” Callo’s voice was controlled, but Kirian, standing next to him, could feel his muscles tighten. “I want your word that she is safe, or I will discuss nothing with you.”

  Hira Noh shrugged. “All right. It matters nothing to me, after all, though Inish will be disappointed.”

  “May we be seated?” Callo asked. He looked around. “Your entry hall is a little bare.”

  “We have an armory. That is all we need.” Hira Noh grinned. “Are you actually criticizing the amenities, here, in the stronghold of the Sword of Jashan? Do you think we need crystal, and valus fur? I had forgotten what the righ were like.”

  “You are righ. I know of you.”

  “She ain’t righ,” Rhin protested. “Never was, no matter who she was born to.”

  “You do not know me.” Hira Noh’s grin vanished. “And you do not know my people. I am from the world of the righ, and I’ve watched you as you walk through our camp. What do you think of us, Lord Callo ran Alkiran?”

  “Your men? I do not know them yet. So far,” his mouth tightened, “I am not impressed.”

  “Because some of my people are thieves, and Inish wants your woman.” She shrugged. “I need strong men who are willing to fight. It is true I do not turn people away because they are not paragons of virtue and nobility.”

  “Hey,” Rhin objected.

  She smiled and put a brown hand on his thigh. She continued to speak to Callo. “We are rough men and women. But you do not know us. Everyone here has been mistreated by Sharpeyes or some other member of the righ, and our cause is just. I know a little about you, Callo ran Alkiran, and it is my belief you would not be here if you did not think so too.”

  “You think I share in your desire to tear down the system that has kept this land safe from icetigers, and Black Tides, and invasion from without for hundreds of years?”

  “You have been listening to the priests too long. Valotnor the Great was a greedy border-lord, slave to his desires. The story of Jashan coming to him on that battlefield is a myth. Our Kings are Kings because they had the might to defeat pretenders, not because of any god-given magery or Collared Lords. And Jashan himself?” She shrugged again, but Kirian could see she was watching Callo closely. “Jashan is a myth.”

  Kirian half-expected Callo to respond in anger. She knew her lover credited the god with helping him to control his psychic magery through the trials of his childhood and adolescence, and worshipped him through the sword ritual to this day. She took his hand and squeezed it.

  “That is not so, and I know it well. Jashan lives with me every day of my life and lends me his sword arm in my struggle against what I have always fought.” His voice was quiet.

  Hira Noh’s eyes did not leave Callo’s face. “We will leave that issue be, then.”

  “That does not mean I do not see the corruption that lives within the system, of Collared Lords who wield their power without care. I have seen what evil the righ can do to their people. I myself have been a pawn to Sharpeyes’ manipulations since the day I was born. It is why I have sworn to stay away from the world’s power, so it does not corrupt me as well.”

  “You know nothing.” Hira Noh got to her feet. Kirian was surprised to note that the insurgents’ leader was shorter than she was; the woman gave such an impression of strength that she had not noticed before. Hira stalked up to Callo and stared up at him. “Inish, the man who lusts after your woman? He was evicted from his home unjustly, with no recourse and nowhere else to go. Another of my men had his left hand sliced off because he touched something my lord did not want touched. The women in the courtyard? The ones who put up with this lack of hearth and home, and living with men like Inish, and with dragging water from the creek because the well is dry? One fights along with us, sword to sword. The other was a beauty in her youth, seduced by a Collared Lord—a righ who exposed their child to the elements the day it was born because it was only half-righ. As should have been done to you, Lord Callo. As should have been done to you, were you not half-royal too.”

&nbs
p; “And half-ku’an, as well,” Callo said, springing his surprise.

  “Ah.” Hira Noh’s head snapped up. “Half ku’an.”

  “This is why Sharpeyes goes to such trouble to place me his heir. His plan was to have an heir both ku’an and color mage, who would help him rule this land and conquer Ha’las and, I suppose, any other land he set his sights on. It is why he has not simply slain me for the trouble I have caused him, why he seeks me out and offers me aid from Yhallin Magegard instead of beheading me where I stand. I have told him again and again I will not do it—I have seen the corruption that comes with the use of this power, and I will not allow myself to be one of them.”

  “So this is why you come seeking me in the night, far from court. You want to join us.”

  Callo shook his head. “Not that. It is my world, after all, though it needs cleansing. I doubt your ragtag bunch of wronged commoners will do any better. But I think we can help each other, Hira Noh.”

  Rhin no longer sat on the chair arm. He stood with his hand on his dagger hilt. Every line of his body was tense. “I think I should kill him now, Hira.”

  Hira Noh held her hand out, palm facing Rhin. “No.”

  “But he’s a ku’an. He’s a demon. That’s how he made us all abandon ya in the woods, run off leavin’ you to yer fate. He’ll make us all think we love him, and he’ll seduce you. Look, he’s already got you thinkin’ he’s someone special.”

  Hira Noh half-smiled, but there was a look in her eyes Kirian did not like. The rebel leader cocked her head to the side, as if considering. Then she said: “Go. Do it.”

  Rhin leaped forward like an icetiger. Kirian could hardly follow the speed and grace of his movement. She flinched away from Callo instinctively. She expected Callo would burn the man with his imperfectly-controlled color magery or somehow use his ku’an power to manipulate Rhin into dropping his attack.

  Instead, Callo took two fast steps backwards, turned on his heel, and was not there when Rhin’s leap carried him there. Rhin snarled and turned on Callo. His dagger struck for Callo’s throat. Callo threw up an arm and blocked Rhin’s strike. One leg swiped Rhin’s legs out from under him, spilling the bearded man onto the floor. Callo reached out fast and knocked the dagger from Rhin’s hand.

  “Gods damn it!” Rhin cursed and scrambled to his feet.

  “Stop,” Hira Noh said.

  “But he’s a . . .”

  “I said, stop.” The woman’s voice bit through Rhin’s objections. She turned to Callo. “You are a fighter too, I see.”

  “I am a swordsman, but I know a little of hand combat as well. I fought in the South in my half-brother’s unit.”

  “I cannot help but appreciate that you would rather use your fighting skills than your mage ones,” Hira Noh said. “I think we can talk, Royal Bastard.”

  Callo reached down and helped hoist Rhin to his feet. “And Kirian?”

  “Who has stood here silent through all this, waiting?” Hira Noh actually gave her a tiny smile. Kirian felt her muscles relax. “She shows great self-control, since she knows her fate depends in some measure on any agreement we reach. Who are you, silent woman, and what can you do?”

  “I am a Healer,” Kirian said.

  Hira Noh gave a short nod. “And that is that. You know full well, Healer, that we need you. Enter our stronghold with no fear. Rest. After you have recruited your strength, we have men who need to see you.”

  “I thought that might be so,” Kirian said. This camp, full of angry men and women who battled for existence, must need a Healer. She gave a little bow to Hira Noh. She could not help but respect the older woman, though Kirian knew she was as dangerous as a startled snake. And she could not help wondering what had brought this daughter of the righ to lead the Sword of Jashan.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ander met Lord Froman’s strike with an upraised sword. Froman’s sword slid to the side, scraping off Ander’s blade. Ander felt a surge of hope as he followed Froman’s blade with his own, guarding. Was it possible that he might actually win this match?

  Froman did something complicated with his wrist that turned the uncontrolled slide into a graceful recover. Stepping further into Ander’s space, Froman shouldered him back. Ander tried to maintain his balance, but he was overmatched. He wobbled and flung out one hand to keep his footing.

  “Jashan’s eyes!” he swore, flushing as Froman overpowered him through sheer bulk.

  Froman laughed. He had created plenty of space for himself, and now brought his sword around in a slice that ended with the dull tip of the wooden sword at Ander’s throat.

  Ander lowered his sword. “Your match,” he said. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. The world wavered in front of him for a moment; he blinked, and things came back into focus.

  “Yes, but that was much better,” Froman said, stepping back into a bow. “You improve steadily, Lord Ander. Frustrating, isn’t it, to get pushed back when you’re concentrating on your sword work? I was so mad when my swordmaster did that to me that I boycotted practice for a sennight.”

  “It did make me angry.” He was still angry, in spite of Froman’s sudden show of friendliness.

  “Lesson learned, though,” Froman said. “A real fight is not between blades alone.”

  “You outweigh me by two stone,” Ander said.

  “You have not reached your full growth yet, and I think you will never be a bulky man. You must be prepared to fight a heavier opponent.”

  “I will have magery to help me win any such fight.” But Ander let go of his anger. It was a favor Froman had done him, reminding him of what Islarian had tried to pound into him, lesson after lesson. “Thank you, anyway. It is not your fault, I suppose, that the King insists I spend these candlemarks learning things I will never need.”

  “He values physical ability greatly. He still trains in the ring with Dionar. I have heard he still wins practice matches against the King’s Bitch.” Froman smirked, but Ander heard respect in his tone of voice.

  The world seemed to go light again. Ander shook his head, trying to clear it, but that was a mistake. He braced both feet apart to steady himself as the ring spun around him.

  Froman frowned. “Are you all right?” He put a hand on Ander’s shoulder, bracing him. “You could not have been hurt, could you? I know I didn’t hit your head.” His tone was so level that Ander knew he was hiding scorn at the boy’s apparent weakness.

  “I’m fine.” He took a deep breath, and the world steadied. “I may be catching that chill that has been going around. Been feeling lightheaded on and off for a couple of days.”

  Froman stepped back. Ander thought he looked scornful. The young lord spent most of his time riding and practicing in the ring with his cadre of muscular friends. The group of young men had a physical, earthy humor that Ander did not find funny; and he definitely did not appreciate how Froman’s friends cuffed the servants when they were displeased.

  Froman was frowning. “You don’t look well. Let us go to the arms room so you can sit. Shall I call a Healer?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “But you are white as Shela’s ass. I don’t want you in the dirt.” Froman propped both their practice weapons against the rail.

  “I am better now. My men are here if I need them. You needn’t take care of me.”

  Froman pulled him toward the arms room. “My lord father would have my head if I left you here to fall over like a teenage girl. Come!”

  Ander flushed at the comparison. “That didn’t bother you when you rode off at Lake Heart and left me to be attacked by ruffians. I did not see you then!”

  “You know full well I was delayed. Blocked by those rabble from the slums. I was questioned about it at length, believe me.” Froman’s voice acquired a scornful note. “My lord father said I was fortunate he had accumulated enough influence to save my hide.”

  Ander’s guards were at his side. “My lord? Are you well?” asked one man.
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  “I’m fine,” Ander said.

  The man frowned, but stepped a length away to give him space.

  Two boys sat on a wooden bench in the arms room, tending someone’s armor.

  “Out!” Froman said. “Leave that stuff; you may return for it in a candlemark or so.”

  The boys scuttled off. They did not seem at all upset at being ordered to take an hour away from their task.

  Ander looked around. The room was empty of anyone else. Through the open double doors he saw Balan ran Gesset leaning against the wall of the opposite building, arms crossed. He suspected Balan stood like that on purpose, to show off the strength in his arms, so that his very presence appeared a warning to anyone who might threaten Ander.

  “Your watchdog,” Froman noted. “I deserve that, I suppose.”

  Ander sat on the bench the boys had vacated. With a sigh, Froman took a seat on a stool against the opposite wall.

  “I have been told I owe you an apology,” the young lord said. He seemed to grit his teeth, as if forced to speak. “You seem all right for a child, once you get past that stiffness of yours, so I’ll hope you don’t call your dog in to slay me for this. It was not the fault of the ruffians that I was nowhere near when you were attacked at Lake Heart. I left you.”

  Ander controlled the bolt of rage that flew through him. “Why? Were you ordered away?”

  Froman looked down at his feet. “It was a joke, Lord Ander—a trick. It was a bad one, I am sure. Also, I was in a snit. I have a temper, and sometimes it leads me to—well, that is done. I was a fool, and my lord father has berated me at length for it, and stopped my allowance as well so I must spend nights at home while my friends drink the taverns dry. But I have been thinking about this. Someone wants you out of the way, Lord Ander. Someone with power.”

  Ander sighed. “This is not news to me. There were two attempts made on me at Northgard, before I ever came here. So, why tell me this now, my lord? Why the sudden change of heart? I have been here sennights now, and you have not been friendly to me.”