Sword of Jashan (Book 2)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  Chapter Nineteen

  Callo heard shouts in the corridor.

  “I must go,” he said. “If I do not leave now, I will never get out.”

  “Go then.” Oron said. “Do not count on strength of arms to get you free. You must use your Ha’lasi magery, and I will dissemble when they come to confront me.”

  Callo eased the door open and peered out. “Come to us, later,” he said. “I must know— you must come at your first opportunity.”

  Oron smiled. “Your Healer will come with me. She knows I am to be trusted. Go! I hear them on the stairs.”

  Callo slipped into the hallway. Two men stood in the hall, looking uncomfortable as they awaited reinforcements. The alarm had been raised, but he knew the guards would try to take him without hurting him; he was a righ, after all, and Dionar would have cautioned them that Callo was valuable to the King.

  A clatter of running footsteps came from the corner stairs; there were men there, coming to capture him again. He would die rather than be imprisoned in that luxurious room again, drugged into uselessness. He reached for his psychic magery. The internal wall he had built to contain the magery fell, and Callo let the full force of his ku’an heritage out into Sharpeyes’ castle. He pushed terror out into the stone halls, so that the man facing him with belt knife drawn dropped his weapon and scuttled against the wall. Another guardsman gave a keening cry and wrapped his arms around his bowed head. The men who had been running up the stairs stopped, dropping to sit hunched over helplessly. One of them ran awkwardly down the stone steps and fell, clattering in his mail to the next landing. Cries of fear echoed from various rooms off the corridor, from righ and commoner alike, as terror seized Sugetre Castle.

  It was easier than it had ever been. Callo let his ku’an magery strike into the minds of everyone within his reach as he slipped down the halls, ran down a servants’ staircase, and vanished past the incapacitated gate guards into the clutter of the city.

  He was not far away when he was forced to drop the magery. Weaving a little on his feet, he pulled the ku’an magery back in and raised his wall again. His hands shook, and he sucked in air as if he had been running. His heart stuttered. He bent over, hands braced on his knees as he recovered. Only moments later he heard the horn sound at the castle, and the shouts of a nearby guard post, mobilizing. He stood up and walked fast, but did not run, through a street of colorful merchants’ awnings, across an alley dotted with manure, into a lane of sand-brick shops.

  The air itself felt ominous. People moved faster than usual, clearing their wares from their stalls, finding errant children. A group of girls, who had been giggling in front of a jeweler’s shop when Callo entered the street, paled and rushed inside. A door slammed closed behind Callo. When the horn sounded, there was danger—usually a siege or some approaching natural disaster. People would vanish into their homes or the nearest shelter, and the streets would soon be empty.

  Callo did not take a direct route back to Hon Sia’s house. The city was alerted, and people watched; wary and wide-eyed, they noted his passing. He went as far out of his way as he dared before the streets were almost vacant. Then he circled back and slipped into Hon Sia’s courtyard.

  Hon Sia came out of the house with her maidservant when he arrived. She was wide-eyed and breathless. “What is all the alarm?” she asked. “It is because of you?”

  “Yes,” Callo said. “Hon Sia, I took a circuitous route to get here, and no one followed me. Where is Hira Noh?”

  It was not Hira Noh, but black-bearded Rhin who slammed into the courtyard, frightening Sia’s doe-eyed maidservant.

  “You!” Rhin growled. “Couldn’t wait, could ya? Had to see the sick Heir? Dam’ fool righ. Now the city guard has been mobilized. They aim to keep in what’s already in. How are we goin’ to escape the King’s men when they return?”

  Hira Noh strode into the courtyard. “Looks as if you were caught?” she said to Callo. She lay a hand on Rhin’s arm. “Stop, Rhin. This does no good. You will only make Lord Callo angry.”

  Rhin sputtered. “Do I care if he’s pissed? I do not! Look, we’re stuck in here, and our people’s stuck out there. Pretty much tied by the heels, I say.”

  “Not entirely.” Hira Noh kept her hand on Rhin’s arm, and spoke to Callo. “I understand why you had to go. Look, we have our group which was gathering intelligence here in the city, five men. We have Lotna and five of her unit, who came in today to bring—shall we say spoils?”

  “Calm down,” Callo said to Rhin. “It was worth it, no matter. There is news of great import. Hon Hira Noh, Mage Oron returns to us when he can. We will have a conference of war this night, before the King returns.”

  “We will, will we?” Rhin said. “And how will yon mage get through streets that are near to locked-down?”

  Callo grinned. “He is a color mage, Rhin. Wait and see.”

  Hon Sia, afraid in spite of her superficial rebellion against her absent husband to invite them into the house proper, sent her servants to set up a big table in the courtyard with food and wine. Blankets were laid out in the spare grassy area, and chairs in the cleared-out armory for Hira Noh and Callo.

  They sat, sipping wine and conversing in nervous, quiet tones, as darkness fell. Over Hon Sia’s outer wall, a strange and ominous silence hung over the city streets that usually vibrated with sound at all hours of the day and night. There were no carriages creaking through the streets, and the house lamps were doused as if the city prepared for battle.

  Lotna stayed near the gate, watching through gaps in the wide boards. It was near midnight when she turned to Hira Noh and said, “Someone is coming.”

  Callo put down his wine mug and stood. His hand touched his sword hilt in its sheath. Hon Sia scurried back into the main house.

  The Sword of Jashan took positions all around the courtyard.

  The gate swung open on silent hinges, and five cloaked forms slipped inside.

  Callo needed only a moment to recognize a smaller shape. He grinned, and took several long strides past the Sword of Jashan and put his arms around Kirian.

  Kirian hugged back. “I bring Mage Oron and Chiss,” she said, pushing back her hood to reveal her spiky hair. “Also Balan ran Gesset, who is a friend, Hon Hira Noh. Also this one.”

  A curly-haired shape emerged from under another cloak and glared at Callo. “Ya ran off an’ left me!” she said.

  “I remember it was rather you who left us,” Callo said. He smiled down at Mot. He was surprised how glad he was to see the girl. “Did Chiss not take excellent care of you?”

  “He put me in the kitchens with the second cook.” Mot shrugged. “I ate well, I’ll give ya that.”

  Hira Noh stood close by, hands on her hips. “Who is this bratling?”

  Mot bristled. “Who wants ta know?”

  “Introductions later, if you please,” Mage Oron said wearily. “I see we are in for a delightful time of getting to know one another, after this is all settled. Chiss, would you not see that this child is cared for in Hon Sia’s kitchens?”

  Chiss held out his hand. Mot narrowed her eyes at Hira Noh, then took Chiss’s hand and stalked off with him.

  Hira Noh waved at her people, and they relaxed. Swords whispered back into sheaths, and two of the men who had stood farther back unnocked their arrows. Callo smiled at Kirian, and she squeezed his hand. Then a gust of chill autumn air swept between the gates, and Lotna and Rhin pushed the big door closed.

  The other two cloaked forms let down their hoods. Balan stepped forward and gripped Callo’s forearm. “It is good to see you well, my lord,” he said.

  “And you, Balan. You know what you do, joining us here tonight?”

  “I do,” Balan said. “Gods forgive me.”

  Callo nodded. “You are a good man. Ander will be glad of you.”

  “Come and sit,” Hira Noh invited. “How is it out there?”

  Kirian sat next to Callo’s chair. “It is very dark,” she said. “
I do not think I have ever seen the city this dark before.”

  “The city guard roams the streets,” Oron added. “Otherwise—” he shrugged. “All is dead as a burial ground.”

  “How did you get past them?” Callo asked.

  “He bent the light,” Kirian said, eyes wide.

  “Color magery, of a level you will never attain,” Oron explained. “Light is mage energy, after all. But it takes decades of study to learn to do such a thing. Now let us sit, and I will tell you of what I learned in Lord Ander’s rooms this day.”

  * * * * *

  Chiss returned and they settled at the table in the courtyard, seven of them, their faces grim as they took in what Oron had to say. Kirian shivered in the chill darkness; Callo, seated next to her, helped pull her cloak closer about her while never taking his eyes from the old mage. The small gesture comforted her.

  “I don’t understand,” Kirian said. “King Martan is killing Ander through magery? But Mage Yhallin checked for any sort of mage influence, and she found nothing.”

  “She tried very hard to keep Mage Oron from going into that sickroom,” Callo said. “You must accept she is working for the King in this matter.”

  “I had grown to trust her after she was so kind to you,” Kirian said. “She helped you, you know it. You would likely not be living today if she had not taken you to Deephold.”

  “Even that kindness was done with the King’s goals in mind,” Oron said. “After all, he has set his mind on it you will be the next King of Righar.”

  “I have never—Jashan witness me, never!—given the King any reason to think I would be his heir,” Callo said.

  “I am sure he thought he could convince you.” Mage Oron sat back apparently relaxed, sipping wine that Chiss had poured for him. “He has always swayed others to his will before, with force, or coercion, or bribery, or sheer will. He believes he can shape the future as he will, without regard to the considerations of most men.”

  “A disease of the righ,” Hira Noh said.

  “So here we are,” Callo said, gathering his wits away from the fruitless discussion. “Seven of us, with perhaps another two to call on if we are extraordinarily fortunate, and we must somehow release Ander from the king’s influence or the boy will die.”

  “But surely it only requires you and Mage Oron, my lord,” Chiss said. “I don’t know why you did not do it while you were inside Ander’s rooms. You broke Lord Arias’ Collar at Seagard; I remember it well. You needed only Arias’ help. Is this different in any way?”

  Kirian turned to look up at Callo. The others at the table followed her gaze and awaited Callo’s reply.

  Then Rhin snorted. “Can he walk on water? Dance on the clouds? Ya expect too much of a bastard righ half-mage with no training, don’t ya?”

  Callo laughed. “They do indeed expect too much. I cannot do it, Chiss.”

  “And you failed on our last attempt,” Hira Noh said. “Three of my men died.”

  “You did indeed break the Collar at Seagard, though,” Chiss said. He sat against the wall, out of the way of the nobility.

  “I am an untrained mage, as Rhin has been wise enough to notice. Arias’ Collar required great strength to break, but no skill—it was brute force, that is all. The Collar is a convenient physical symbol for the intense binding it signifies. I could see it, touch it, and focus the energy upon it. I was in Ander’s room before, Chiss. There is nothing like that to focus on. What would I break?”

  Oron raised his hand. “For those of you who may not know, the King binds all male righ who have the mage talent when their gift becomes manifest. It is a simple thing, a thread if you will, that keeps order. The binding joins a righ to the King, making sure he can raise no hand against his liege. It is not the same as the specialized, strong binding that is the Collar.”

  “I see it doesn’t keep you from plotting against him,” Balan muttered.

  “As yet there is no plot,” Oron said with a quelling frown. “We discuss how to free Lord Ander, and that is all.”

  Rhin pointed at Callo. “How can he do what he has promised us, if he is bound? Answer that, color mage!”

  “I was never bound,” Callo said. “There was no sign of mage talent in me until just last year, and as a bastard I was not in line for any lordship.”

  Kirian said, “I wonder why the King didn’t bind you when he had you imprisoned.”

  Oron smiled. “Lord Callo could not be bound. He was far too unstable. Only since he conquered the color mage talent at Deephold has he been a suitable candidate for the righ bond.”

  “So the King has seized upon this bond, and draws Ander’s life force away through it?” Kirian asked. She heard her voice quiver. The thought of Ander, pale and still in that room, tended by people who cared nothing for him, distressed her.

  “That is it. I never dreamed such a thing could be done.” Oron drew the mage cloak about him and stared at the others with eyes that suddenly seemed pale and old. “I have seen this bond a hundred times. I have done the magery to help the King place the bond. Never did I think it could be used for such evil.”

  “It is beyond foolish to hope the Council would take our word about such a thing,” Balan said. “They were satisfied no one was trying to poison Lord Ander, and then they turned their faces away.”

  “Grateful they did not have to take any action,” Hira Noh said.

  Kirian stood up. “There is only one thing you can do, Callo.”

  He nodded. “I must fulfill my oath. There is no other way.”

  Hira Noh stood up too. “Hai!” she said. “About time. I am ready.”

  “Wait!” Balan’s face was creased in a heavy frown. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

  “How else can this be accomplished?” Callo asked. “I must confront the King again. If he refuses to release Ander—and I can tell you he will avow no knowledge of the boy’s illness—then there is only one solution to break this bond.”

  “But to strike at the King!” Balan stepped back.

  “I thought you understood what you did, by joining us here this night,” Callo said. To Kirian, his voice sounded very weary. “It is nothing less than treason we plot. If you cannot join us, I understand.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Rhin said. He stood and waved at two of the rebels who stood across the courtyard. “We’ll just make sure ya cannot run off and betray us.” The two men began walking toward Balan.

  “Enough!” Hira Noh stood. “Get back, you men! We will start no battles among ourselves. This is it, the chance we have been waiting for. We will not ruin it by petty squabbling.”

  “You are not bound,” Oron growled at Balan. “You may act.”

  “It is indeed the only way, Balan,” Callo added. “Otherwise, Lord Ander will die. If you are indeed a member of his House and have sworn him loyalty, there is no other course you may take.”

  Balan sat down heavily in one of the wooden chairs. His shoulders slumped. “I cannot believe it has come to this—I must choose between my King and my lord.”

  “Two things,” Hira Noh said. “They are of rather critical importance. First,” she pointed at Mage Oron. “How can he aid us? He is bound; he has never denied it. The man is not physically capable of striking a blow at the King. I am not even sure how he has done as much as he has. Perhaps the city guard waits outside, listening as we babble about our plans like children.”

  “Leave that to me,” Oron said.

  “I will not!” Hira stood. Her face was red. “I left to him—” she pointed at Callo—“how he would confront the King a sennight ago, and now I have lost three men and as far as I can tell the King is still quite alive.”

  “I fight it with my mage talent,” Oron said. “I have placed hundreds of these bonds over the years. I know how they work. They are like thread, and they have—some leeway.”

  Rhin snorted. “Leeway enough to allow you to cleave the King’s head from his stinkin’ shoulders?”

 
“I will not do that.” Oron did not smile. “I will not lie. It is hard for me to be here, even now. I struggle with the bond that wishes to cut off my air and smother me. But you may trust me, Hon Hira Noh. I may not slay the King, and I may not be of much more use to you in the plotting, but I will not betray you. If I feel I cannot help myself—then I will do what needs to be done.”

  “Then you better come up with a better plan than you had last time,” Hira Noh said to Callo. “I will not lose my people just to have you fail again.”

  “I will not fail,” Callo said. “I will do what is needed. Whatever it is.”

  Kirian reached out and took his hand. She did not know what had happened on the attempt against the King in his tent. Callo had shared nothing of why he was defeated there, but she knew him well.

  He looked down at her. His face was grim, his amber eyes almost brown as his mood darkened. “You must do it,” she said to him very softly.

  “I know it,” he said.

  There was a scrabble at the big wooden doors into the courtyard. Everyone froze as one of the sentries peered out. The sentry eased the big door open and gestured in Hira Noh’s direction. The man who came in stopped and stared, clearly not expecting such a crowd; then he said, “Chance’s gone if ya wanted it, Hira. The King’s already in, past the southern gate while all was dark, and is near the castle already.”

  “Jashan’s teeth, I suppose this could not be easy,” Callo said. He looked frustrated. Kirian held his hand between her own. Callo’s hand was rough with sword work, but his grip was gentle. She listened to the planning going on all around her, and wondered if her lover would live through the next day.

  It was very late when they retired to their various rooms. Kirian made sure Mot was comfortable; the girl was housed in the scullery, on a cot with a blanket next to the big clothes tub. The girl looked a little lonely, Kirian thought. She spent a few moments talking to her, and promised that after all this was done she would take her to visit her Mama in the city and see how she was doing.