Sword of Jashan (Book 2) (39 page)

Dria Mar sat heavily in the chair against the wall where Kirian had spent so many candlemarks watching over the boy. She gasped as she breathed, but it seemed she would survive Yhallin’s weakened mage attack.

“How is he now?” Dria Mar asked.

Jesel was still smiling. “He seems to be taking the heartsblood very well. I hoped so—he is young, after all, though his strength has been leached. He should awaken momentarily, my Lady, and tell us himself how he is feeling.”

Kirian put her head in her hands for a moment. Chiss stood beside her like a rock, hand on her shoulder.

Ander stirred. His eyes opened—his dead uncle’s eyes, Kirian thought, under the same sharp brows. After a moment his slow gaze moved from person to person.

“King Ander,” Jesel said softly. “It is good to see you awake.”

“
King
Ander?” the boy whispered. “I thought I felt . . .”

Kirian suppressed the shiver it gave her, that Ander might have somehow felt the King’s death.

“King Ander,” Dria Mar said, moving to the bedside. “You are safe, my son, and under guard. You may recover in peace.”

“Once all these people remove themselves from your chamber,” Jesel snapped.

Balan nodded. “We will indeed. Take your time, Sire, and heal well. You are protected like the castle walls. None shall harm you while you sleep.”

Ander smiled. It was nothing like the carefree smile he had given Kirian a few sennights ago in Northgard manse, but it was trusting. Ander’s eyes closed.

The guards had finished removing Yhallin’s body. Hira Noh looked around at all of them and left without another word, presumably to go to wherever Callo was being held. Kirian watched as Jesel examined Ander, clearly pleased with what he found.

“All is well,” the other healer said. “He must be watched, though, to make sure he does not decline when the heartsblood wears off.”

“We will watch,” Kirian said, though she felt sure Ander was on the mend now that Sharpeyes’ magery was no longer an issue.

She yawned, feeling every muscle twinge as it released from the awful stress of the last few candlemarks.

Jesel glanced at her. “I will watch first, with perhaps Chiss and Ander’s new man to spell me. Go and rest.”

She rose, releasing Ander’s thin wrist. “I will do that,” she said. “After I check on Callo. Where is he, do you think?”

Chiss said, “I will take you. Are you sure you are well enough to go?”

“Why?” She looked at Chiss with dread. “Is he all right?”

“As far as I know, he is exhausted but well,” Chiss said. “He is surrounded by rebels and confused
righ
and guardsmen who do not know what to do, but he is handling it. Rhin and Lotna are there, helping him.”

“He will need a Healer,” Kirian said, thinking of the reaction to the magery Callo had expended.

“Stay here for a few moments,” Chiss said. He looked at Jesel. “You will watch over her?”

Jesel nodded.

“I will check on him again for you, Hon Kirian.” Chiss went out the door.

Kirian turned to check on Ander. The boy lay in a deep, healing sleep. She said: “I am glad that is all over, Jesel.”

Jesel shuddered. “I have not seen mages fight before, Hon Kirian. I find I will be pleased if I never have to again.”

Kirian thought about how many mage battles she had seen since she had left Seagard Village. She would be as pleased as Jesel if she never had to witness mage energies streaking across the room again, or striking someone she loved to kill him.

She felt tears rise, and shifted her thoughts, trying to stop them.

Jesel had walked away from the sleeping Ander. “It is all right,” he said gently. “You have been through much, and held stronger than I would have imagined. No one is here but me to see you, Hon Kirian.”

The gentleness undid her. The tears came faster. She sat down on the chair by the wall. Her hands trembled, and her eyes burned. She took a deep breath and thought about everything she must do before she rested. She forced her thoughts away from the terror she had felt in the audience chamber as Yhallin came for her with the knife. She tried not to think about how frightened she was when Callo fell.

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 painting, 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.