They made their way around a boulder higher than their horses’ heads, dropped here by who knew what angry god. Beyond that mark were the rebels they had left behind. Callo’s eyes sought out Kirian and found her with the Ha’lasi refugees under a cloth lean-to. Then someone barreled out of a rock alcove and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around.
“Two dead,” Hira Noh said. “And some are not yet returned. What happened, Royal Bastard? What happened?”
A man took Miri’s rein from his hand and led the horses away.
For a moment Callo could not speak, thinking of the lives lost that night. Then he said, “I am sorry. Who was lost?”
“You don’t care,” Hira Noh said. “Why should you; you don’t know them. We are only fodder for the sword in this personal battle you have with the King.” Her eyes were red.
“That is not true.” Callo looked at her until she stepped back. “Sometimes plans fail, Hon Hira Noh. You have been doing this a long time. You know this.”
She stepped back and sighed. “I did not expect this plan to fail. I am grieving, and not thinking. Come in and get some bread and tea.”
He sat on a rock and looked around at the strange place with flat rocks deposited here and there as if some mighty torrent had flung them there. The autumn gold of their surroundings became vibrant as full daylight arrived, but they were shaded from view by trees that reached for the sky with flame colored leaves.
“We saw the King’s tent lit up from within by color magery,” Hira Noh said. “It was red and gold, like a beacon. Was the King awake, then?”
Callo nodded. Lotna brought him tea and he sipped it. He saw Hira Noh watching his hands, and realized they still shook from reaction. He could not tell Hira Noh how he had hesitated, and thereby lost. She would think this meant he held the rebels’ lives at no account.
It was not true. The thought that people had died to give him his chance at the King weighed on him. All the gods, he thought. Speed them safely on their way to you. He had made a mistake that night. If he were to slay the King, he must dispense with his scruples. He must become as brutal as the man he would kill.
“He awakened. We fought—he never broke a sweat, and I could not breach his magery.” He would need to figure out how to break the King’s defense on his next attempt.
“You came out safe, though. We can try again,” Hira Noh said. She reached out and clasped his arm in a strong grip. Callo expected her anger, but instead she gave his arm a squeeze he thought was meant to be reassuring.
He looked at her, all at once feeling exhausted and humble before this show of her spirit. “Thank you, and all your people,” he said. “I do not deserve you.” He thought, if she knew what had happened, she would likely agree.
After Kel came back, not enraged as Callo had expected but weeping from the loss of one of his men, they had the ceremony. The bodies had been left at the site where they had died; there was nothing else to do, and it was certain the King would have men on guard, watching for any of the rebels fool enough to try to take back the bodies of their men. If there was a chance, they would go back after the King’s men had departed and make sure the men were given a decent burial, at least, Rhin said.
Callo stood straight-backed during the brief ceremony. When the others had retreated from the offerings left on the flat stone under the flame-red tree, he remained, keeping a personal vigil until Kirian came to get him. People died in battle, he knew this well; but these deaths were on him alone.
“Come and get some dinner,” Kirian said as she drew him away from the place where the memorial had been held. “It was not your fault, you know.”
Callo did not respond to that. Hira Noh watched him as he approached the shelter where soup was being served from a big pot. Her gaze was level, but there was no sign of accusation in her sharp stare.
The group treated its wounds and gathered supplies. The Ha’lasi refugees, once fed up a little so they were not dropping with fatigue, proved helpful to those who had helped them, though they avoided Callo and his amber eyes with a caution born of experience and superstition.
Scouts came back and reported the King had resumed his journey to Collar the adolescent son of Lord Huy. Fast riders had been sent on ahead; the scouts thought they were meant to gather volunteers from the closest village, to continue the search for the Sword of Jashan. Callo and Hira Noh conferred and figured they had another day before the new men were on their trail, and six days before King Martan was back in Sugetre.
Kirian treated the wounded and the ill. When she lay down at night in the shelter with Callo, she huddled close against the chill, and he was comforted that she was there. He still felt stunned by the speed and power the King had shown when he was surprised in the tent. He knew that only his own hesitation, the pause while he struggled to overcome the years of training that had taught him to bury his ability deep as it would go, was to blame. Guilt clawed at him; he vowed to do something for their families, at least, for the ones left behind by the men who had died supporting Callo’s quest. And he vowed never to let his scruples about the ku’an magery weaken him again.
He did the sword form in a little leaf-strewn clearing on the morning of the second day, renewing his vow to Jashan and asking the god’s help for those who had died. The ritual did not ease him; he felt burdened. He did not feel he could look into Hira Noh’s eyes. Som’ur, brutal god of the ku’an, seemed very close. It was Som’ur who would be there when Callo used the psychic magery to strike down the King at last. It would not be Jashan.
Later, as they prepared to leave the meeting place, a scout brought in a bound man slung over his horse’s saddle.
“Found him wandering around down by the battle site,” the scout said. “He knows too much—ain’t just an innocent traveler.”
When they released him, the man slid red-faced and boneless to the ground under the horse’s hooves. Rhin yanked him out where they could see him, and drew his sword.
“Wait!” Callo stepped forward. “Stop, I know this man. He is a friend.”
The man looked up from the leaves where he was messily sick. His eyes met Callo’s. “My lord,” he wavered.
“Chiss!” Callo waved the rebels away. They frowned, but made way for him as he dropped to his knees at Chiss’ side. “Are you all right?”
“I was, before I was thrown on my belly over a bony horse’s rump for miles.” Chiss’ face began to regain some color. Callo assisted him to rise. “I was looking for you, my lord. I have news.”
“Yes, but come over here first.” Callo drew the manservant to a knotted tree root which protruded above ground and served as an excellent bench. “I am very glad to see you. Where is Kirian?”
“She helps pack supplies,” Kel said.
“Ask her, would you, to come check out my man?” The world seemed to right itself a little, now that Chiss was back with him. He put a hand on Chiss’ shoulder. “Chiss, why are you here? How did you find us?”
Chiss hung his head for a moment, still regaining his equilibrium. “I knew you would follow the King.”
“Is Mot all right?”
“Mot is fine. I placed her in the kitchen with the second cook, whom I have known for years. No one will think to look for her there. She is safe until the Healer returns for her.”
Kel offered a mug of cold water from the little waterfall that splashed over the rocks. Chiss drank it and took a deep sigh.
“My lord,” he said with a hint of his usual solemnity. “I ride with urgent news. You must come at once. Lord Ander is sick and very near to death.”
Callo’s head went up. “Ander? Sick? What is wrong, Chiss? Have they checked for any means of poison, do you think?”
“Lady Dria Mar is held in captivity for the attack on you, but she raised a stink among her adherents until the Council visited Ander en masse and brought the Lord Healer with them. They found no poison, but began checking every bit of food and drink that went into his room.”
“And found nothing,” Callo said.
Chiss looked up at him. “My lord, all I know is that if you wish to speak with Lord Ander again, you must ride to Sugetre with all speed. Or it may be too late.”
Chapter Eighteen
Callo finished his ritual form, eyes closed to feel the last of the god’s peace flowing into him. As he lowered the sword, sounds began to infiltrate the cocoon that surrounded him. He sighed as he let go of the ritual and began to return to the real world.
This ring, the nearby armory and the house itself belonged to a merchant’s wife in the capital who had known Hira Noh since she was a girl. The merchant commanded caravans that carried trade goods across Righar, and kept this ring and training area for the unit of personal guardsmen who protected his caravans. Hira Noh said the man knew nothing of the use his property was put to while he and his guardsmen were away.
Hira Noh had sent a message into the city, and not two candlemarks later she, Rhin and Callo had been escorted into rooms above the house’s armory. Kirian left for the Castle, healer’s bag in hand, as soon as a man could be found to escort her. Chiss took one look at the expression on Callo’s face and volunteered to accompany them as well.
The merchant’s wife giggled and hugged Hira Noh. The woman was middle-aged and plumply pretty, and she hung on Hira Noh’s words with wide eyes. “It’s so exciting,” she breathed.
“Dangerous, Sia,” Hira Noh said. She reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder. “Are you sure you will not come into trouble for this work?”
“Oh no, my husband listens to no ill about me,” Hon Sia said. She shook her curls. “He is besotted, though we have been wed for twenty years. But I am bored, Hira, bored to death, and when I received your message, I had no thought but to offer you my own house.”
Hira Noh nodded. “We will be circumspect. And we will be here only until Lord Callo has a chance to see the Heir.”
“Yes, Lord Callo,” Sia said. She smiled. “It is so exciting to see you. I have heard so much about you.” She reached out a hand and took hold of Callo’s upper arm, and squeezed. Hira Noh’s mouth twitched. Callo made polite response and withdrew his arm as soon as was able.
Hira Noh had split the Sword of Jashan into several groups who were to remain in daily contact with her and Rhin. One group had vanished into Sugetre’s alleys to gather information; Kel and Lotna headed up the other groups, which camped in out of the way places outside the city, and tried to avoid looking like an army.
Callo thought that still did not make them unobtrusive. He cautioned Kel that he must keep the men in order, just for another day, until they learned what would be needed next. Callo was sure messengers had been sent back to Sugetre about their failed attack on the King’s camp, and if they were discovered their lives would be forfeit.
“No thieving from the others out there, now,” Hira Noh told Kel.
He drew his shoulders up. “We wouldn’t!”
“Nor from the righ going in and out,” Hira Noh added.
Kel said, “They deserve it, Hira, and we could use the coin.”
“It matters not. We dare not be discovered here. We will find out what goes on with the young Heir, and then we will move on.”
Callo fidgeted as they awaited word. He did not like to think of Kirian in the castle with King’s men everywhere, and even Yhallin, who might accuse Kirian of betrayal if she saw her there. He hoped Chiss used every caution. He tried to quell his nerves by doing extra forms in the ring, and tried to ignore the merchant’s wife, whose big blue eyes watched him from the house windows as he performed the ritual.
Today there were people waiting for him. Usually people were silent when they watched Callo perform the ritual. The people who stood beside the ring this day had no such sensibility; they were almost arguing in a way that boded ill for the peace Callo had won in the ritual.
As Callo left the ring, Mage Oron waved almost helplessly at the other person who awaited him.
“You are done, at last,” said the heavyset lady who sat on a bench next to the ring.
“Lady Phoire,” Callo said, bowing. “It is very good to see you.”
“Well, you may not think so when we are through.” Phoire sighed as she heaved herself to her feet. “I am not sure Chiss thought it was a good idea to tell us where you were. I had to browbeat him into it. But I must say I am glad to see you, too. I always have an eye for a handsome young man, and color mages do seem to get more than their share of looks. All that fire inside, I suppose.”
“Thank you?” Callo grinned. He had always liked the lady. Back when he and Arias had been young men in the city guard, she had been one of the few people in society who did not shun him for his bastard birth. Though back then, her eye had been always on Arias, who had a way with women of all ages and ranks.
“Perhaps we should find a more comfortable place to talk?” Callo continued. Lady Phoire was dressed in a robe cinched tightly against an otherwise-indiscernible waist. She was red in the face in spite of the autumn chill. The jewelry dangling from her ears and roped around her neck looked heavy and could not have helped her level of comfort.
She waved a hand and sat back down. “No one can hear us in this place, unless they intrude upon us. I do not think even Hon Sia would dare that.”
“You have spoken to Chiss, you said. Is he well? And Kirian—is she safe, do you know?”
“They are both well. Kirian is even helping with the care of Lord Ander—we will get to that in a moment. No one has made a move against either of them.”
“Neither of them is the one the King wants,” Oron said.
Callo leaned back against the railing. “What brings you here, Lady Phoire?”
“Events,” she said. “I have come to wake you up a little.”
“Ah. I do not look forward to this, then.”
“I could not dissuade her,” Oron said. “This whole thing is greatly against my better judgment. But she talked to me, and I have come to believe the lady is right.”
“As she often is.” Callo nodded to Phoire.
She looked up at him. “If you would use your eyes and stop muddling around in your conscience, Lord Callo, you would recognize necessities as I do. Though I grant you, you have had reason to be a little confused. I have heard you have finally managed to assimilate the mage power you have inherited, and are no longer a danger to everyone around you. Is that correct?”
“It is. Though you must remember, my actual mage skills are rudimentary.”
She shrugged.”Irrelevant. What is important is that you will not destroy yourself or others, and that you have the bloodlines.”
He frowned. “I do not like the sound of this.”
“The truth is sometimes unpleasant to hear.”
“Go on, then. I will listen.” He settled himself against the railing.
“Lord Ander is very ill,” Lady Phoire said.
“He was carried out of the small audience chamber unconscious,” Mage Oron said. “That was just before King Martan left to Collar Lord Huy’s son. The Healers have examined him. At first they thought it poison, but a sennight has passed with everything he consumes under the strictest scrutiny, even being tasted I understand. He grows even worse; in fact he can no longer stand.”
“He was fine before he came to the Castle,” Callo said. “Are they absolutely sure it is not poison?”
Oron shook his head. “It cannot be poison. We have someone watching every step of food preparation. His food and drink are taken from the same dishes we use to serve the other righ—even the King. Then everything is tasted, just to be sure nothing has made its way into the dish on its way to Lord Ander. Hon Jesel has even taken away his tooth powder and replaced it with his very own. Even the head of the council has been in, at the council’s demand, to ascertain that no poison could make its way into Ander’s rooms.”
“So he is indeed ill.” Callo looked away from the two faces before him. “I am very sorry to hear that.”
&n
bsp; “He does not deserve it,” Oron said. “He is hard to get to know, but a good boy. He would have made a very different King, I think.”
Phoire waved a hand as if to dismiss this sentiment. “This is no time for commiserating over things we can do nothing about. I estimate we have another half-candlemark before someone comes up with an excuse to disturb our privacy here. Lord Callo, you must prepare yourself. Your time has come.”
Callo frowned. “What does that mean?”
“If Ander dies, you will be the heir to Righar.”
“You are dreaming. Lady Phoire, why do you think I have been fighting as I have? I will never be the heir. I can name you a dozen reasons I will never be the heir, not the least that I have no desire to fulfill the King’s plans”
“I can name you only one,” Phoire retorted, “But that one is enough.”
“Name it, then.”
“There is no one else.”
His lips twisted. “Every righ who has the freedom to choose wishes to be King.”
Phoire held up her hand in front of her face, which put it at about the level of his breastbone, and began to tick off reasons. “The next heir would have been Arias. He is dead. Lord Forell, Collared. The others—Litha Sira a female, and the little boy is mad. Do you know who the next heir to the kingdom is?”
“I clearly don’t!”
“Easy now, Lord Callo,” said Oron. “Lady Phoire is your friend.”
He glared at Oron. “Jashan, spare me such advice from my friends.”
“It is all right.” Phoire smiled at him. “A little temper in a handsome man is a good thing. Listen, Lord Callo. The next heir who has even a dribble of royal blood is the bastard son of Lord Forell by his southern concubine at Seagard Castle. According to the Healer there, the brat will have a jot of color magery, and the bloodline of course, which makes him eligible as heir, even if most distasteful to the righ.”
“Then so be it,” Callo said.
Oron snorted. “They should of course have exposed the child at birth. This modern weakness leads to all manner of complications. Apparently the concubine pleaded for the infant, and Forell—well, you know how Forell is with women.”
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