Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (27 page)

“Everything all right?” He focused his attention beyond the walls of his little room to hear only the occasional sounds of a guarded camp: footsteps on patrol and the snap of the campfire that lit the central clearing. Bugs chorused in the surrounding weeds and bushes. Cool air drifted through gaps in the walls, bringing with it the smell of wood smoke. He smiled at the feeling of Kirian’s warmth next to him as the cooler air tickled his face.

She burrowed into his shoulder. “They would not dare touch me,” she said. “I am a mage’s consort, and even better, I have healed three of their men. I’m a treasure now.”

“You have always been a treasure,” he said. He lay still for a moment, memory etching along his thoughts, waking him. “You will not object to staying in here with me?”

“Better than with Lotna, who likes to entertain men after dark. And Fentany is too curious—she will not let me sleep.”

“I suppose she wants to know about your travels.”

“Yes, and about Sugetre Castle, and the King. And also whether the color of your eyes means you are filled with fire and as hot under the sheets as a color mage who bedded her once when she was young.”

Callo raised his eyebrows. “I see. I wonder who he was.”

“She giggled when I asked, and would not say. She still has a soft spot for the man.” Kirian raised up on her elbows. Callo used his skill in magery to light a soft glow in the room. He had no training to be able to accomplish the acts of skill and virtuosity performed by such as Mage Oron, but he could at least stir the energies to allow him to see her features better in the dark.

“Callo, do you think Mot is all right?”

“I think Chiss will guard her with his life.”

“I feel as if I broke my promise to her.”

Callo shrugged. “You did not. Sugetre Castle is no safe place for her without you by her side. You will yet fulfill what you have promised her, when we are all back in the city.”

“You place great faith in Chiss.”

“I do indeed. He is well worthy of it.”

“I will try to be patient, then, and not be miserable over something I cannot help.” She lay down again with her head on his shoulder.

“Kirian, I must ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Are you comfortable now? That is, do you trust me enough to stay here with me?”

“I would not be here otherwise.” Kirian’s voice was soft. “My love, that is all over now. You have conquered that part of you that would use the psychic magery without your will, is it not so?”

“Yes. That is, I have taken it in, and it has become part of me rather than a beast I must constantly fight. I will never use it on you again, sweet heart.”

“Oh, no,” she objected. “Do not say what you have no means of doing. You will use it on me again, it is almost certain—as when you made us trust you in the woods, and again when you sent Hira Noh’s men away, for example.”

“I mean I will not use it when we are alone, together. And never on you alone for any purpose.” He sighed. “I wish I need never use it at all. On anyone. It is wrong, and yet I seem to use it more and more often.” He remembered when he had asked Jashan to bind the magery, so he could never use it for ill. That time seemed long ago.

“You have used it when you must, for your safety and mine. How can that be evil? But, my love.” She hesitated and went on. “You will need to use it for more than that, before this struggle is all over.”

“I fear you are right.” He looked at her serious expression, her eyes on his face. “But never on you, my love. Never.”

“I know.” She turned her face into his.

Their lips met, and then Kirian opened her mouth, warm and inviting. He groaned and rolled onto his side, hands sculpting down her smooth sides under her tunic. She was warm and sweet. He felt desire take him, lighting the color magery in his veins, creating a snap of magery that lit the air around them, harmless and beautiful.

Kirian laughed. “Fentany will be envious.”

Callo imagined what the color magery would look like, from the dark outside, lighting up the cracks in the wooden slats in the exterior wall. He did not care who saw and knew what they did in here.

“Fentany is long asleep, she and her questions,” Callo said. He settled her under him on the hard mattress, feeling her quiver with his touch. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said.

“I have loved you for a very long time,” she whispered. “Come here and be with me.”

The little wooden room enclosed them, and the color magery sparked from his desire and traced along their bodies with a cool nuzzle of power that also washed up the walls. Kirian’s skin was smooth as he pulled the tunic from her shoulders. Her strong legs wrapped around him. He ran a hand down the curve of her back and hips, and lifted her hips to meet him. Her need sparked an answering fire in him that was his own fire, not born of any magery but that known to every human being, every lover. She invited him in, and he responded.

Outside, the calls of crickets faded, and they heard nothing else from the rest of the world until dawn crept under the slats of the wooden door.

* * * * *

In the morning, Callo requested his sword back from Rhin so he could complete Jashan’s ritual.

“Don’t know why a wooden sword’s not good enough,” Rhin grumbled. His eyes were shrewd as he scanned Callo’s face. “I have heard of this ritual. Thought it was a feast day thing, with no real meanin’.”

“Not for me,” Callo said.

“I’ll be watchin’ ya, so be sure ya don’t use the weapon for none but yer worship, now.”

Callo thanked him and waited his turn to use the big plot of hardened earth where the Sword of Jashan ran weapons drills and practice bouts. He raised the sword in the traditional salute; then, he moved into the first form. His arms ached with the pleasant discomfort of muscles that had remained unused for too long. His fingers, still tender from the burns he had suffered in Deephold’s isolation room, seemed to feel every groove in the sword’s hilt. Autumn sunlight glittered off the weapons of the rebels who waited, watching him with no expression.

The weight of the sword was welcome. He moved in the ancient pattern, and Jashan answered him, as the god always did. Callo felt his emotions calm as if oil had been poured on them.

The sounds of the camp and the chatter of the people died around him. He heard only Jashan’s silence.

In that silence he remembered Arias, who since boyhood had been his only friend, and who had died because he had helped Callo. It was almost as if his half-brother’s spirit drifted there, waiting. There was no emotion in the god’s ritual, only peace, but Callo swore again to slay the man who had Collared, then killed Arias. And save young Ander in the process.

When he had completed the last turn, he lifted the sword in salute and took a deep breath. It had been too long since he had worshipped Jashan. He felt renewed now, as he tried to replace the sword in its scabbard and remembered he was not wearing it. He looked around for Rhin and came face to face with a stranger.

“Ku’an!” yelled the stranger.

“Unknown God, I thought so too!” said a second man, who was folded into the dirt at the side of the practice area as if he could not stand any longer. Callo stared at him, seeing the caved-in cheeks, the bloodshot eyes, and the skin red from the sun.

“I mean you no harm,” Callo said. “Who are you?”

The first stranger stumbled backwards. “I don’t want no ku’an lookin’ at me,” he said. His voice shook. Callo noticed this man, too, was very thin. He began to realize where these new people had come from.

“You are from Ha’las,” he said. “Are you not?”

Then someone else was with them, a man a head taller than Callo and with the bulk of a fighter. He glared at Callo and reached out, pulling the sword from Callo’s unresisting grasp. Callo hissed as the hilt scraped against the tender new skin of his burnt hands.

“That’s not yer sword!” Rhin protested.

“I leave you for a sennight, and when I return, you and Hira Noh have invited a Ha’lasi ku’an into our stronghold, and what’s worse, you have armed the man!” the big stranger said. He glared at Rhin.

“I don’ know how ya figured out he was a ku’an,” Rhin said. “Yer good, Kel, but how’d ya know that?.”

The big man grimaced. “I brought people from Ha’las. They know a ku’an when they see one.”

“It’s the yellow eyes,” said the thin man who had collapsed into the dirt. “All the ku’an’s got them.”

The man named Kel shoved up closer, standing so close Callo could smell his breath. Kel looked down at him. “What are you doing here, ku’an?”

“I came to ask help, and to offer a consideration of my own,” Callo said. “I think you need to speak with Hon Hira Noh before you jump to any conclusions.”

Kel chomped his jaws, still looking down his nose at Callo. From his first annoyance, Callo’s mood had shifted to amusement; it was obvious Kel wanted nothing better than to be rid of Callo, but he dared take no action if Hira Noh had commanded otherwise.

“They can just
look
at you, and you feel like doin’ whatever they want,” said the emaciated man in the dirt.

“Fought for Jol’tan in battle,” the first Ha’lasi said. “Never cared for him, but he looks at you until you think you’re goin’ to explode from wanting to fight so bad, and you go and bash in enemy heads until yer bleeding too bad to walk.”

“What goes on here?” said a lighter voice. Hira Noh, clad in a mail shirt, strode up to them. “Kel! Get away from him.”

Kel stepped away. “We were gone for days, got you three new horses and these recruits from Ha’las, and come back to find this! What’s wrong, Hira, tired of Rhin? Taken a fancy to the ku’an’s looks?”

Hira’s brown hand whipped out and struck Kel across the face.

All sound in the yard ceased.

Kel rubbed his face but did not strike back. “I’m not working for no mage, Hira. I’m sorry for implying you were just a slave to your desires; I suppose I warranted that. But if he stays, I’m gone. And I’ll take whoever wants to come, with me. We never bargained for bowing to any
righ
who needs a ready-made army.”

Callo said: “I will tell you exactly why I’m here, Hon Kel.”

“I think you’ll tell all of us,” Kel said. “Hira! You know why we follow you. It ain’t because you’re a
righ
. It’s because you know what to do to bring them down. A healthy head-count we have so far, and more to come. You can’t just meet in secret with this ku’an and expect us all to fall into line like we’re your personal slaves or something.”

Hira Noh moved back a step. She nodded at Callo. “He is not wrong. These are not my men. I lead only because they have asked me to.”

“And because we like yer fire,” Rhin said, grinning.

“And you’re tough as old iron,” Kel said. He rubbed his cheek. “And have a hand like a sledge.”

Hira laughed. “But this, they will not understand. Kel, Rhin. They will not like this, and yet it is for their good. Come with me. I will tell you about it. Lord Callo? Will you join us?”

He nodded.

Kel said: “I brought you men who want to fight, Hira.”

“If they can stand,” she said.

“I never said we didn’t need to feed them up a bit first. There’s two more back at the tree line. Lotna’s bringing them food and some of the wine. They need it, Hira. And they hate ku’an, and
righ
, too, and are willing to fight for food. You’ll like them.”

Callo followed Hira Noh back to the room with the broken-armed chair. Rhin and Kel walked behind him, arguing in low tones. Callo touched the hilt of his dagger at his belt, wishing he had his sword instead. It was disconcerting to have Kel, who had gotten in his face half a candlemark ago, at his unprotected back.

Hira Noh did not sit in the chair. She made sure there was a man to guard the door. Then she said: “Introduce yourself to Kel, Lord Callo.”

He nodded. “I am Callo ran Alkiran, a color mage—and yes, a ku’an as well. I mean no harm here. I came to offer a trade, of sorts. An agreement that will benefit us both.”

Kel growled. “You have nothing that can benefit me, lordling.”

“You see these Ha’lasi refugees you have brought,” Hira Noh said. “They are starving. Their ku’an have abandoned all pretense of ruling, and exist merely to sate their own desires.”

“It is an ever-present temptation, when one can simply bend the emotions of others as one wills,” Callo said. “There were never many ku’an—less than a dozen all told, to rule a nation. The boy King, Ar’ok, is a selfish brat with great power received too young. He ignores his people, and plays with women he makes willing while the crops dry up in the fields and his people starve. There are a few ku’an of responsibility—Si’lan, the ku’an’an, is one—but I assume they are overburdened by the sheer scope of what they must manage. Or they are dead. I do not know.”

Kel looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “I have my own problems. Why does this matter to me?”

Hira stepped up to him and yanked his chin around and down, forcing him to stare into her face. “You fool, Kel. They are starving, and no one is helping them. There is violence in the cities. Ask your refugees. They are coming, here. Hungry and violent and not caring for anyone else. We are facing an invasion.”

“Let the King cope with that,” Kel said. “I am just a man whose livelihood was stolen by a
righ
who already had too much of his own. I want his head.”

“The King can defeat the Ha’lasi invasion,” Hira Noh agreed. “After all, they are just poor, starving people with no weapons, right?”

Rhin nodded.

But Kel frowned. “They are starving, and desperate. And they are not unarmed. They have burned villages. Some of them are led by guardsmen who fought in the south. They are not to be disregarded. But the King can defeat them.”

“Sharpeyes will no longer be on the throne to defend us,” Callo said.

Kel looked at him, then spat. “What? Do you yearn for the throne yourself, Royal Bastard?”

“I do not. But I do crave justice, as do you. You should understand that.” Callo was frustrated with all the talking. He knew some of the crimes this group had committed over the last few years, and regretted them even as he understood the rebels’ desperation. If only he did not need these people—but he did, and he thought they needed him, too.