“Lord Forell? Perhaps Lord Eamon?” Callo asked, naming Arias’ brother and uncle, who had spent their lives here and been bound to the same service as Mikati.
“I’ll thank you not to disturb either of them. The Healer will manage. Stay with him. Call some servants—Borin will help.”
Lord Mikati swept out, leaving Callo fighting a rush of anger. On his heels came a slave leading an ancient woman with ruined eyes and a young woman with defiantly cropped hair. Both wore cloaks beaded with water from the sea spray and carried bulky bags.
“The Healers, Lord Callo,” the slave said.
“Thank you. Stay close for a while, in case we need you,” Callo ordered.
“I am Ruthan, and this is the new Healer from the college, Hon Kirian,” said the old woman. She ignored the flashes of color magic around the man on the bed and walked right up to touch his forehead. “This man is very hot. A binding fever, you say?”
“He is newly Collared,” Callo said. “He was not expecting it. It was in the nature of an attack.”
The younger woman’s brown eyes searched his. “Is this his first binding, my lord?”
Callo nodded. “He went into this fever almost immediately, Healer. I warn you, he is a color mage, and in this fever he will be dangerous.”
“We will reduce the fever,” Ruthan said to the young Healer. “Bitterwood.”
“Do you want me to bring in Lord Arias’ manservant to help you?” Callo asked.
“Is that who was huddling out there?” the younger woman asked. “He’s not doing much good. He is afraid of the magery?”
Callo nodded. “He’s not wrong to be afraid, Hon Kirian.”
The old woman interrupted, her hand on Arias’ wrist as she measured his pulse. “Mix me some mellweed too, young Kirian; he looks to need it.”
“But . . .” Callo stopped.
“Mellweed,” Ruthan repeated. Her blank eyes looked in Callo’s direction. “It will send his mind elsewhere, into dream or vision. He might be fortunate enough to have a true dream, sent by one of the gods. But he will no longer have the focus to fight the Collar.”
Callo nodded, understanding. It was a sad thing to conspire to thwart his friend’s will to fight against this binding that he clearly had no wish for. If asked right now, Lord Arias might even refuse the drug, choosing to struggle against the King’s binding with every bit of his strength. But Callo knew such a fight would kill Arias; he had no hope of succeeding. And he wanted Lord Arias alive, even if it meant his half-brother’s submission to the King’s vengeful binding.
“Go ahead,” he said.
The younger Healer mixed the bitterwood in an earthen jar. The familiar odor wrinkled Callo’s nose even where he stood. The mellweed, mixed with cold tea in another jar, looked innocuous and soothing; it was difficult to understand the power the thick substance had. Arias seemed to smell the mixtures as well; he paused in his restless movements and took a deep breath, as if inhaling the healing mixtures. The wild colors momentarily ebbed.
“That’s right, my lord,” Ruthan said. “You know this is what you need. You’ll take it without any need to get that manservant in here to help, I think.”
The old woman lifted the earthenware jar to Arias’ lips. She tilted the mixture down his throat and he swallowed, but then he struck out with a flash of red power that shattered the jar and the nearby window, throwing the old woman back onto the floor.
Callo leaped to the bedside and pinned his friend’s arms to the bed. Kirian helped the old woman up. Hon Ruthan cradled her right wrist in her other hand.
“Ruthan!” Kirian said. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Ruthan gasped as she allowed herself to be helped to a chair. “When he broke that jar, he got my wrist, too. It’s broken; there’s no doubt.”
“Oh, no!”
“We’ll deal with that in due course,” Ruthan said. “Here’s a task for you, my new assistant! Get that mellweed down him, and the sooner the better for all concerned.”
Kirian picked up the cup and nodded to Callo, who tightened his grip on his friend’s arms. She tilted the mixture down my lord’s throat and leaped back out of immediate reach.
Arias swallowed and opened his eyes, looking for a moment aware and bewildered.
“Callo!” he said. “Why are you holding me down?” As soon as the words were out, his eyes closed again, and he slumped into Callo’s hold, unconscious. The color magic receded in a glorious ebbing tide back through his hands and into nonexistence.
Callo let go. He and Kirian stared at Arias’ still form until they were sure he was no more threat.
“At last!” said Callo.
Kirian went to Arias’ side to check his pulse and breathing. She worked with a cool professional calm, eventually straightening the sick man’s pillow and pulling a silk sheet over him.
“He’ll do, for now,” she said. “Now, Hon Ruthan needs me.”
Ruthan sat hunched over, in obvious pain. Kirian examined the injured wrist.
“What does it look like?” she asked Ruthan.
“Broken,” Ruthan said. “I looked at it while you were busy with Lord Arias there. We’ll need a stiff splint for now, more when we return home.”
“How does she know?” Callo asked, puzzled. The wrist looked normal to him. There were no bones poking out, and the wrist showed no swelling yet.
“She knows, my lord,” Kirian said. “She can see it. Here, Ruthan, let me take care of it.”
Callo left the young woman to the task of splinting and binding up the old Healer’s wrist. He stood over Lord Arias for a moment, noting his friend’s even breathing and the flicker of his eyelids as the mellweed took effect. Then he stepped outside, beckoning Rosh back into the room.
“It’s safe,” he said. “Find out what he’ll need from the Healers. You’ll stay with him first, and get help to keep watch through the night. I’ll send Chiss, too.”
“Yes, sir,” Rosh said, and re-entered the room.
Callo sighed, closed his eyes as he leaned up against the wall, and finally relaxed his shoulders. They did not want to ease after the hours spent in tension. Callo looked down the hall toward his own chamber, wishing for rest. He yawned, then startled when a deep voice interrupted him. It was the steward Borin, finally showing up when all the hard work was done. Callo ordered accommodations for the Healers, and the man faded away down the hallway to a servants’ pantry. Callo heard the clink of pottery from the little room. He felt as if he would fall asleep where he stood.
Chapter Three
Kirian finished binding Ruthan’s wrist. She walked over to the bedside. Lord Arias looked peaceful now, no longer feverish and wild as he had been when she walked into the room. She wondered how he would feel if he knew he had broken Ruthan’s wrist. It was hard to say with nobles; most cared for no one but themselves and their riches. Inmay would have it that all
righ
were selfish fools.
Perhaps that was why King Martan had to bind them to the Watch, unable to count on his
righ
mages to serve the land of their own free will. Kirian shrugged. Whatever the reason, this had been a brutal binding, and the man in the bed had almost died from it. She didn’t envy those who were bound, no matter how rich and privileged they were.
She thought he looked rather handsome, even lying there with his mouth open.
“Now young Kirian,” Ruthan said, “Those sweets aren’t for you.”
Kirian grinned. “I know it,” she said.
“Besides, you have to work for him,” Ruthan said more seriously. “He is a noble and a mage, and thinks no more of you than his father does of the beggars in the street in Sugetre.”
“I was just looking at him,” she said. Just then the lord’s manservant came back into the room, and Kirian busied herself for the next few minutes giving instructions to the man. Then she and Ruthan took their leave and walked out into the drafty stone hall.
The nobleman who had been in the room when they arrived leaned against the wall. When he looked up, Kirian took note of him for the first time since her arrival. He was tall, and broad of shoulder, with long fair hair drawn back in a warrior’s tail, and he had unusual eyes, like clear amber. He looked nothing at all like a member of the Alkirani clan. He saw her examining him and smiled at her. It was a nice smile, she thought; she couldn’t picture such on the lean dark face of an Alkiran.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “Is it safe to leave him?”
“We are staying here overnight, and will be returning to the village in the morning,” Ruthan said. “His man in there has all our instructions.”
“Well, let me find Borin. He can show you to your room and order you something to eat.” He led them to a little room at the end of the corridor where a servant worked, collecting cups of wine on a lacquered tray. “Borin, please attend to them. Thank you for your assistance—however belated.” He spoke with a flash of irritation that the steward did not react to, undoubtedly being used to such treatment from the
righ
he served. Then Callo bowed to Ruthan and Kirian, an unexpected courtesy, and left them.
In the small room that had been allotted them, Kirian asked about Callo.
“What was he doing there, taking care of Lord Arias, instead of a member of the noble family?” she asked as she changed into the night robe she kept in her healer’s bag.
“I expect Lord Mikati was too wrapped up in the Watch to care what was happening down here.”
“What about the brother and sister? What about his lady mother?”
“Brother and sister—well, I have no idea, young one. But as for the mother…” Ruthan chuckled. “She will not be seen outside her rooms until this Callo goes, no matter if divine Jashan himself comes to call.”
“What does she have against Lord Callo?” Kirian mumbled through the sting of her tooth cleaner.
Ruthan sat down on one of the beds. “This Callo, you see, is Lady Sira Joah’s bastard son.”
Kirian’s mouth dropped open. “But she is the King’s sister!”
“The King’s sister, Lord Mikati’s wife. She had an affair with some minor dignitary who visited here one year. Of course, Lord Mikati can’t stand the bastard son, but the boy is the son of the King’s sister after all, and he has rank in spite of the circumstances of his birth. And just to spite them all, Lord Arias and Lord Callo are great friends.”
“Then I think the better of Lord Arias,” Kirian said. “How is your wrist?”
Ruthan complained that it was sore and swelling, but then smiled and said, “You did a good job on it, sweet.”
“My thanks,” Kirian said, and slid under the covers. When Ruthan was settled she blew out the single candle and darkness claimed the room. In only a few minutes, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
She opened her eyes to see faint gray light along the edges of the shutters and was surprised she had awakened so early. In the next bed, Ruthan snored in the light sleep of the elderly. Kirian rose and dressed as quietly as possible, dragged a comb through her hair, and eased out the door.
The corridor was empty but for one early-rising manservant carrying a jug of water, who went silently along without a glance at Kirian. She reversed her steps from last night, ending up at Lord Arias’ door. The door opened to show the broad, weary face of Arias’ servant Rosh.
“Good morning,” Kirian whispered. “I thought I would check on his lordship. How is he doing?”
Rosh stepped to the side, allowing her to enter. “No change,” he said. “He sleeps as if he has not slept for days.”
Kirian went to the bed and rested a hand on Arias’ forehead. It was cool, and the mage did not stir at her touch. His breathing was deep and even. She smiled.
“He seems well,” she told Rosh. “Do not allow him to be disturbed until he wakes of his own accord. Then, if he complains of headache, or if the fever begins rising again, give him the dose Hon Ruthan provided you.”
“Yes, Hon Healer.”
“Have you been here all night by yourself?”
Rosh shook his head. “No. Lord Callo sent his manservant to help, and the servants brought us food and drink. We are well.”
Kirian nodded and left, pleased with the progress of her patient. She found herself at loose ends and began walking through the corridor, looking at the tapestries which covered the old stone walls. Many of them had clearly been there for a very long time, as they showed the fading colors and occasional frayed strands of age; but they were all clean, and apparently cared for with some attention. She descended the corner stairs, her shoes scraping against the stone, and found her way through a maze of formal rooms to a corner room which was a sort of conservatory, with tall unshuttered windows along the eastern and southern walls. The room held low benches, a marvel of a tiny fountain, and pots of greenery. There she sat; looking at the gracious space around her while the morning sun grew stronger and began to take the chill from the room.
The peace of the room sank into her, first pleasing her eyes, then radiating to her muscles. She relaxed.
“Who the hell are you?”
She started. A heavy young man stood at the door, staring at her with the hawk-like eyes of the Alkirani but oddly surrounded in folds of fat. The Collar gleamed on his thick neck. This must be Lord Forell, Lord Alkiran’s second son.
Kirian flushed and stood. “I am Hon Kirian, sir, the healer from Seagard. I was up early and thought to enjoy the room.”
The man smiled, showing brownish teeth. His tunic was gathered at his bulging belly by a sash which he caressed with one hand as he approached her. He walked slowly, but did not seem to want to stop. When he came close enough to make Kirian uncomfortable at his nearness, she stood and faced him. She smelled the fragrance he used; it was some exotic scent she had not experienced before.
“Look at this hair!” he said, taking a short strand of it between thumb and forefinger. “What kind of statement were you intending to make, with this hair?”
Kirian flushed. “Statement, my lord?”
His hand dropped to caress the line of her neck, then dropped as she stepped back, startled. “You are like a gazelle,” he murmured.
“My lord, stop.”
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I am Lord Forell Alkiran. You were tending my older brother last night, or so I hear. Perhaps now you can tend me. I have been feeling faint and easily tired. Come with me, gazelle, and tend my hurts.”