Sword of Jashan (Book 2)

by Anne Marie Lutz

  She could not stop the tears. She looked up at Jesel, who stood before her offering a glass of water.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I have never done this before.”

  “There is no shame,” he said. “I feel like doing the same thing. There is no one here but me. Go ahead—I will tell anyone who asks that you are needed here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The reception chamber was full of people. It was an interesting mix, Kirian thought; people caught up in the drama of what had happened here, either excited or appalled by the events that had led to King Ander’s succession to the throne of Righar.

  Armed men in full uniform stood at the doors, guarding the righ who met in another room down the hallway from the riffraff that clustered here. They looked as if they were strung on a bowstring, taut and watchful as they scanned the odd assortment of people that would not have been permitted into this room together when Sharpeyes was alive.

  Kirian knew, in general, who was in the other chamber—the King, a few Council members, a gray-faced Lord Commander, the new Mage Lord, and the representatives of all the Collared Lords. She had watched some of them progress down the hallway after the funeral. Valus fur and jewelry gleamed everywhere, but Kirian had noted no tears at Sharpeyes’ passing. They all avoided the ritual burning of the King’s body, and proceeded indoors to arrange the future affairs of Righar. They had been closeted in their deliberations for more than a candlemark now.

  Kirian thought they had a better arrangement here in the reception room as they waited for the righ to finish their meeting. For one thing, they had food: lovely food, made by the best cooks in the city, who had worked for days on the delicacies on the long tables. And there was wine. She cradled a cup of it herself.

  The Lord Healer, Hon Char Irilan, stood before the table of refreshments, a full mug of wine in one hand, sampling a pastry. Hon Hira Noh wore her usual homespun clothing, her tunic cinched by an empty knife belt; there were no edged weapons allowed in these rooms today. People made a wide berth around her and Rhin, who waited by one of the large windows, watching the group.

  Kirian made her way over to Hira Noh.

  “Get out while ya can, Hira—” Rhin was telling his leader as Kirian approached. “Ya think these high an’ mighty types don’t remember the horses we stole near Littleseed? Or when we robbed Lady Shain in the spring? They’re just waitin’ to arrest ya, and then where will I be?”

  Kirian smiled. “I do not think they will do anything like that against Callo’s orders, Rhin.”

  “Him! Where is he, I ask ya?”

  The breeze shifted and came in through the tall windows, carrying an unmistakable scent of the pyre. Kirian wrinkled her nose.

  “Barbaric custom, the burning,” Hira Noh said. “I never understood it. Rhin, you know King Ander was needed to officiate at the funeral. Only he could break the King’s bond to the land and set him free. I believe Lord Callo went with him.”

  Kirian said, “I wish Ander had not had to do that.”

  Hira Noh shrugged. “It is the only way. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want Sharpeyes’ soul tethered to Righar, causing trouble. I doubt he’d be any less of a tyrant in death than he was in life, you know. Better the bond be cut, and send him on his way.”

  Kirian looked around the room. Everyone there had come to witness Sharpeyes’ funeral. Then while the clerics and Lady Dria Mar went out to see to the burning of the body, those with tender sensibilities—or no regard for the King—waited in here, eating and drinking and socializing.

  A high voice carried to Kirian’s ears. It was Hon Sia, the plump merchant’s wife who had sheltered them and the Sword of Jashan as they planned their final attack. Hon Sia hung on her husband’s arm, dripping jewels he had acquired in his trading. She sipped from a glass of wine as she spoke.

  “Oh, it was very dangerous,” Hon Sia said. “But I knew what I had to do. These brave men and women, and that poor little prince dying in the castle . . . my heart just broke.”

  A polite murmur greeted her words. One of the Council members smiled at her earnestness.

  Hon Sia’s chin lifted. “You have no idea what it was like.” She sipped more wine and twinkled up into her husband’s face. “Almost under siege like that, in my own home!”

  Hon Sia’s husband put his hand around her waist.

  It was funny, Kirian supposed; hearing the frightened merchant’s wife brag about her role in events, while her husband smiled at her and squeezed her plump waist. It was amusing how Hon Char hovered over the table, tasting something from every plate, while his former King burned in the funeral gardens outside. And how poor Rhin fidgeted, sure that he and Hira Noh would be arrested at any moment.

  Kirian sighed. She wished this was all over, and she and Callo could go for a walk or lie together in his bed or even eat dinner together, alone, without worrying about the affairs of Kings.

  The guardsmen at the door stiffened into attention and began announcing new arrivals. King Ander, Lady Dria Mar, and two cloaked color mages entered the room. A Priest of Jashan, wearing purest white, followed them in. “It is done. Long live King Ander!” the Priest announced.

  The occupants of the room bowed deep. Ander walked over to Kirian. She noticed his face was white, but whether that was a remnant of his recent illness or a result of the ceremony he had just assisted, she could not tell.

  “I am glad to see you here, Hon Kirian,” Ander said. “And all these people, really. Though I never envisioned having to be grateful to the Sword of Jashan.”

  Hira Noh snorted. Rhin actually blushed down to his black beard, and Hira Noh elbowed him.

  “We were glad to do it, Your Majesty,” Hira said. “It gains us what we fought for, you know. I think you have agreed to our demands?”

  Ander winced a little. “It would be wise,” he said, “to stop calling them demands. It seems you are no longer a rebel group, but part of the government of this land.”

  “Ha!” Hira Noh said. “So we can address the wrongs that have been done to the common people.”

  Ander nodded. “That is long overdue. But remember, Hon Hira Noh, that you are a voice among many others here in Sugetre. Yours is not the only voice. I have sworn to give you a place, but not to give you free rein here. Your wishes will not always be fulfilled.”

  “I can live with that,” Rhin said. “Though not everybody agrees, Yer Majesty. We might have to beat some sense inta some of the people who prefer raidin’ to anything else.”

  The Lord Commander entered the room, cloaked and bejeweled. He cast an irritated glance at the footman who announced his presence, and stalked over to the window. “Your Majesty,” he said. “We have three of this woman’s people in the cells. They were taken into custody for rioting in the sacred grounds where King Martan was being sent to Jashan.”

  Kirian winced. That was very poor timing for whomever of the Sword of Jashan had dared to express their celebration in such a place.

  “Hon Hira Noh,” Ander said. “Will you deal with your people, or shall I?”

  “I’ll take care of them,” Hira Noh said. She bowed to the King and went out, Lord Dionar following her.

  Ander looked very tired. Kirian saw the righ representatives begin filing their way into the room, and knew the King’s attention would soon be called away. She asked: “How are you feeling, Your Majesty?”

  “It still feels much like a nightmare,” Ander said. “But I think the worst is over. The Council has come to an agreement. And Kirian, the Leyish King is sending his daughter to fulfill our betrothal.” He smiled; it was the first time since they had spoken at Northgard that Kirian had seen that expression on his thin face.

  “She will enjoy seeing the painting you have made of her, Your Majesty.”

  “Do you think she will? Shan-il says it is quite good, and he has never lied to me.” Ander’s voice held a note of optimism.

  Kirian smiled. “You will be able to devote time to your paint
ing, now that you are King and can command some of your own time.”

  “I hope so. My lady mother and the Lord Commander are not encouraging about that. I can see there is much to be done, with more Ha’lasi refugees landing in the west every day. Fortunately, the ku’an are too disorganized to mount any strong attack like a Black Tide. Though I have been told the mages are prepared.”

  That recalled Kirian’s mind to the fate of Righar’s two strongest mages in this power struggle. Mage Oron and Mage Yhallin had been released from their bindings and buried the day before. There had been little ceremony about it; Kirian thought people were too afraid of color mages in general to mourn at their passing. Callo and King Ander had stood shoulder to shoulder, pale and straight as the ceremony was completed. Kirian had watched and prayed to the Unknown God—a god neither of the deceased worshipped, but the god of all people lost—that they should find rest. That afternoon she and Callo stayed in his room, Callo silent with grief and Kirian weeping until her eyes were red. Everyone would miss the wise, courageous Oron; no one would miss Yhallin, who frightened people with her intensity. She and Callo drank a toast to both of them.

  “Who will be your new Lord Mage?” she asked Ander.

  “I . . . haven’t really announced it yet, It was just decided in our session.” Ander did not meet Kirian’s eyes as he spoke.

  Kirian frowned. “Your Majesty, what are you not telling me?”

  The King looked guilty. “Look, go talk to Lord Callo. He is still in the other room. I think he needed a minute to himself. He will tell you about it.”

  Kirian bowed and spun on her heel. She went past the door guards without acknowledging their greetings, and strode down the hall. She thought about what Ander had said, and not said, and by the time she swung open the door to the now-unguarded Council chamber, she was seething.

  Callo was alone in the chamber. He sat in a chair by the tall, unshuttered window. He wore valus fur and a gold righ ring of status, on a chain around his neck rather than on his finger since he was of illegitimate birth. The light fell on his fair hair and lit his amber eyes as he turned to her.

  “Tell me you have not let him name you Lord Mage,” Kirian snapped as she let the door close behind her.

  Callo sighed. “Not quite, my love. I suppose I am—temporary Lord Mage.”

  Kirian stayed on the other side of the room. She knew if she went to him, her anger would be lost—and she felt she deserved her anger. “How could you?” she said. “You will let him bind you! After all you have fought against, for all this time?”

  Callo raised a hand. “No binding,” he said. “Ander has agreed to that, though the Council is unaware of that little stipulation. The mages who will do the real day to day work of a Lord Mage are bound. They were in here a moment ago, promising me they would spare me all they could.”

  Kirian calmed down a little. “Well,” she said. “That is good.” She let her shoulders relax. “No binding?” she asked again.

  “No binding.”

  “What will you do?” Kirian asked. “I thought we could go somewhere together, and rest for a while. I know you are weary to death of all this violence, and I would like a little time in a normal place for once.”

  “Ah, I am. I hope you will stay with me while I fulfill Ander’s wishes, dear one. But if you cannot—” Callo shrugged. “Then I will escort you anywhere you choose, somewhere where you can be happy and still able to fulfill your Healer’s Oath, and I will come to you after my task is done.”

  Kirian said, “I would like that, if you came to me.” She went to him and sank down on the chair next to his, and held out her hand. “I was angry. I thought they had dragged you into their ridiculous intrigues again.”

  Callo shook his head. “You know, I think Ander will make a truly good King. Once he is a little grown, and if he has someone to guide him who is not power-mad.”

  “And that is you?”

  “For a while.” Callo sat up straighter. “The Council meeting was odd. All these people who once wished me dead—even Lady Dria Mar, who commanded me not a sennight ago to run as fast as I could after Sharpeyes was dead, because she would hunt me down—they all want a brake on the schemes of the power-hungry. I believe they were all terrified of Sharpeyes, and want no more of the same. Yet they want a strong King, too. So I am a sort of mentor, I suppose.”

  “Ander is in agreement with this?”

  Callo nodded. “As long as I continue to acknowledge his rightful Kingship. He is going out on a limb for me here, and for the Sword of Jashan who helped save him—to have me there, next in line for the throne, and unbound so I have no restraint on me.”

  “He is,” Kirian said. “A lesson from Sharpeyes for everyone, about the dangers of unbridled mania for power. Do you think that is what did it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If Ander doesn’t know by now how you feel about power, he must be blind,” Kirian said. “He knows you are no danger to his throne.”

  “Also, I do this for the Sword of Jashan. I swore to Hira Noh I would get them a voice on the Council. But the Council would not hear of it, rebels in their ranks, unless I stayed. They think I will be able to calm their wildness.” He grimaced. “I should have seen that coming. They are frightened to death of the Sword of Jashan. Gods, most of them have lost property, or even lives to them over the last five years.”

  Kirian grinned. “Can you see Rhin, sitting next to Lady Dria Mar at Council? I would like to see that.”

  “If it will entertain you, I will arrange it.” Callo smiled, then quirked his eyebrows. “They are all temporarily much in debt to me, and will grant me what favors I ask.”

  Kirian snorted. “As long as you realize, that is temporary.”

  “Oh, yes. I have lived in Sugetre long enough to know that.”

  Kirian abandoned her elegant but uncomfortable chair and sank to the floor, where she could lean against Callo’s legs as he sat in his chair. His long fingers began stroking her hair. Callo continued. “Ander has his work cut out for him. The Ha’lasi refugees under the ku’an Jol’tan have taken over Fortress Mount. Most of the refugees are just desperate for food, but there have been clashes here and there between them and the settlements of the coast and western plains.”

  “Lord Dionar will cope with that,” Kirian said. “Won’t he?”

  “Lord Dionar is still in shock over the violent death of his liege. Ander has promoted Balan ran Gesset to a position of authority, and it is likely Balan who will deal with the Ha’lasi. And some young brat named Froman, whose father I remember from my days here before.”

  “Not you,” Kirian said. “Do not say it is you who will help as well.”

  Callo shrugged. “If I am needed. And if you permit it, love. I have dragged you around with me too long, and it is time I listened to which direction you want to go.”

  Kirian felt a tear crawl down her cheek. Surprised, she wiped it away. Callo caught her hand and kissed the back of it.

  “I haven’t had any time to consider where I want to go,” she said. “Ever since I met you, we have been racing around like squirrels. There has been no time to think.”

  Callo laughed. It was a real laugh, and Kirian felt her tension ease away. “Do not tell Hira Noh and her people we are like squirrels, or we will not hear the end of it.”

  “You know what I mean.” She cradled his hand against her cheek. “So you are to remain here, love, at least for now. As an unofficial Lord Mage?”

  “That is it. And then we go where you will.”

  “You do not know how to do any of the magery,” Kirian said. “Surely they will figure out before too long you are unsuited to be a Lord Mage.”

  “I believe they already know this.”

  “Here, stand up.” She rose and took Callo’s arm, pulled him to his feet. He stood before her, beautiful with his amber eyes lit by the daylight, arrayed in his righ finery, as unlike her as day to night. His smile was a little uncertain as she
continued to look at him without speaking.

  Then he said, “Kirian, love, you worry me. Are you about to say you have had enough of me? Because if so . . .”

  “No, you idiot, I am not going to say that!” She stood on her toes and kissed him. He leaned into it, closing his eyes, his arms enclosing her. Then she grinned into the kiss, and he pulled away, grinning himself.

  “It is not usually good to show your teeth when kissing your lover,” he said. “Are you laughing at me, Kirian?”

  “Yes!” she said. “I plan to laugh at you a lot during the next while, Lord Mage. It will balance the sycophants you will be surrounded by.”

  “Ah, that is only brief, until they remember my scandalous illegitimacy and my distaste for power. But Kirian? Will you answer my question? Where is it you would like to go, after my duty is done?”

  “I have not yet decided,” Kirian said. “It will probably be somewhere uncomfortable, healing people with no food or comforts, and you will have to forego your righ luxuries and live like a nomad on the Plains.”

  “All right,” he said. “If that is what you wish.”

  “Until then,” she said, “I will follow your lead until it is time for you to follow my lead. Is that well with you, my lord?”

  “It is,” Callo said. His voice was suspiciously thick as he held her close. “Ah, Kirian, I am glad you will not leave me.”

  “Never,” she said. “You are mine, and all the gods know it.”

  Someone knocked on the door. She let go of him, and then he let go of her. Kirian saw him take a deep breath and straighten as the knock came again. There was a stray curl of color magery that sparked in his eyes as he looked toward the door and said, “Come in!”

  Author Information

  Anne Marie has always loved reading (and writing!), especially in the genres of science fiction and fantasy. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism and an MBA, both from the Ohio State University. She has worked as an office manager, an operations analyst and more recently at home raising her children.