Color Mage (Book 1) Read online

  Now that she was posted here and the noble family had access to a Healer, the College’s duty was done. They had probably forgotten she existed.

  The next day Kirian heard a knock on the door. She opened it to a middle-aged man wearing a brown jacket and breeches.

  “There you are!” he said. “You must be this new Healer my lord wants to see. Hon Kirian, is it? Lord Alkiran wants you. I’m Tabe, the second groom.”

  Kirian felt a gust of wind grab at the door she held open. She looked west; the sky was a foreboding shade of gray. A few people were dragging boats up onto the rocks, away from the foaming surf.

  “There’s going to be a storm,” she told the groom. “It looks like it could be pretty bad. Is it safe to go up the cliff in the storm?”

  “Whether it is or not, we’re going all the same,” he said. “Hon Ruthan, you in there? My lord wants you too.”

  “Lord Alkiran’s timing is just as good as it always is,” Ruthan grumbled. “Hurry, young Tabe, and maybe we can get up the cliff before it hits. Kirian, your cloak, girl!”

  Kirian grabbed the cloaks and her bag and pulled the door tight as they left. An old coach and four nervous horses waited around the corner. A village boy dropped the reins into Tabe’s hands as the groom climbed into the coachman’s seat. Kirian helped Ruthan into the coach and climbed in herself.

  The coach started off immediately. “Come on, old horse, come on,” Tabe’s voice urged from the coachman’s seat. Kirian looked out at the village moving past her window, and a few minutes later felt the lurch as the horses pulled the coach onto the cliff path.

  The wind picked up force. Kirian felt it shoving at the coach as they ascended the path. Looking out the window and down, she could see the gray sea swirling around rocks below. The coach jolted, and her hand grabbed for the strap.

  Ruthan cackled. “Great fun, isn’t it, my girl? I’ll wager my lord didn’t look out the window before he summoned us.”

  Kirian wondered why they hadn’t invited Tabe into the house, sent the horses to shelter in Marka’s shed, and waited out the storm before going up the cliff. Instead, she asked: “Is it safe to take the cliff path with four horses like this?”

  “Two horses can’t pull the coach up,” Ruthan said. “Though I’ll agree it seems narrow for four. Tabe knows what he’s doing, Kirian.”

  Kirian risked another look out the window. The path came perilously close to the edge of the cliff, she thought. Below, the sea crashed against the rocks. In the distant slate-gray sky, thunder rolled. The coach bumped up the path; Kirian wondered if it was always this rough, or if Tabe was rushing his horses to beat the storm. She held on to the strap to keep herself from sliding across the seat into Ruthan.

  The coach pulled to a stop before a stone arch. The door was yanked open. Kirian saw a boy dressed in groom’s brown. “Hurry,” he said, and helped Ruthan down the coach steps. Kirian grabbed her bag and followed Ruthan under the arch just as the curtain of rain reached them. The wind pushed it under the arch and soaked the edge of Kirian’s cloak in just a few seconds.

  “That’s a wild one,” the servant boy said, grinning up at the healers. “Here, I’ll take you to someone who will show you where to go. I gotta help Tabe with the horses.”

  Kirian waved thanks to Tabe, who held the horses’ heads. As they entered the castle, thunder crashed above them, and Kirian heard the frightened neigh of one of the coach horses.

  A liveried servant led them up two flights of stone stairs to a comfortable room. Kirian took off her wet cloak and took Ruthan’s as well, holding them since no one offered to hang them for her.

  “This is Lord Alkiran’s study,” Ruthan said, while settling into a chair near the fire. The chair next to hers was a tall, engraved affair that was clearly meant for Lord Alkiran. Kirian remained standing and looked around at the room, which was warmed by a large fire and lit against the darkness of the storm by several oil lamps. There was a large mirror, a tool of the color mage’s art, in a corner of the room; a corner of it gleamed from under the red hanging that draped it. A large window dominated the sea-side of the room; it was made of the faintly green, thick glass that was used in fancy goblets. It was an unimaginable luxury in such an expanse of window.

  Lord Alkiran strode into the room a moment later and sat in the ornate chair by the fire. He surveyed Kirian with dark, hawk-like eyes in a face that had aged into lines of severity. His black and silver hair fell to the top of his shoulders, almost hiding the golden gleam of the Collar around his neck.

  Remembering Ruthan’s instructions, Kirian bowed. Ruthan, remaining seated with the allowance due her old age, bowed from the neck.

  “So,” Lord Alkiran said. “This is the new Healer.”

  “Yes, Lord Alkiran. My name is Kirian. I graduated from the Healer’s College a year ago. Master Raiko sent me to complete my journeyman’s time with Hon Ruthan and to be the Healer to SeagardCastle.”

  “Of what quality is this Healer?” Alkiran asked, turning toward Ruthan. “I have had word from Raiko that she is one of their best, despite her lowly origins.”

  “Lord Alkiran, I have no complaint of her. She should meet your needs well. She has knowledge of the body, illnesses and injuries, as well as the needful herbs and medicines. She relates well to all those she has met, which is a valuable thing in a Healer.” Ruthan coughed a little, behind her hand.

  “Relate to whom? Villagers and fishermen?” Alkiran’s brows drew together as he transferred his gaze to Kirian. “You are engaged to treat our ills, not relate to us, Healer.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Alkiran stared at her. “I was told you have no family so that there is nothing to keep you from serving us as Healer permanently.”

  Kirian felt a spark of anger that he should be pleased about her charity origins. “Yes, Lord Alkiran. I’m free to make this posting my first priority, as all Healers do, regardless of their families.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You may remain in the village while you are completing your training with Ruthan. Then you must move up to the Castle. It is important that you are close in case there is need.”

  “My lord,” Kirian said, still standing with the wet cloaks soaking through her sleeve. “As you just saw, I can be here from the village in twenty minutes, even in a thunderstorm.” Ruthan coughed again.

  “Nevertheless.” Alkiran turned to look at Ruthan for a moment. The fire glinted off the gold of his Collar. Kirian thought it appeared uncomfortably tight. The skin of his neck stretched into wrinkles above and below its smooth expanse.

  Kirian bit back her first urge for a swift retort. The man was a despot, but she would endeavor to begin their association on a favorable note. “I assume that I may also serve as Healer to SeagardVillage while residing at the castle?”

  “Second to your duties here, yes. It is to our benefit that you stay skillful in your craft, and also that the villagers stay healthy enough to provide fish for our needs.”

  “My lord.” She bowed.

  “You will find, Hon Kirian, that you will be treated with a respect commensurate with your position, if you show you understand where your duty lies. You may ask your mentor for a clarification later. Ruthan will acquaint you with the residents of the Castle, both righ and otherwise, and our medical needs. I must speak with her now, however. In the meantime, you may begin by seeing Lord Forell’s concubine. I am informed she has need of a Healer.”

  She bowed again to Lord Alkiran, said something polite, and left the study. In the hall a manservant awaited. She followed him down wood-paneled corridors that merged into older stone halls with foot-hollowed troughs in the center. The servant announced her at a plain wooden door.

  The door opened, and nothing else was plain. Gold and red hangings draped the window, which was shuttered against the storm. A trailing plant hung from a hook in the ceiling, its long branches adorned with bright green leaves of an almost circular shape. A bed took up most of the middle of the room, b
ut there was a side table covered with many small glass jars and pots, some with jeweled brushes stuck into them. The concubine’s cosmetics and perfumes, no doubt. Kirian turned to ask the manservant where the woman was, but he had vanished.

  “Hon Healer, I am here.” A low voice spoke from the curtained alcove. “I am Shala Si, the Lord Forell’s concubine.”

  Kirian saw a young woman of middle height, with dark hair and eyes and the golden skin of the southern provinces. Instead of the revealing costume that Kirian had expected, Shala Si was completely covered in several colorful robes of a very thin, shimmering fabric. The effect was exotic and brightened the room even further.

  The woman raised her hand in a gesture of welcome, and Kirian saw the thin golden chain that circled Shala Si’s wrist, connected by fragile links to the concubine’s necklace. Kirian realized this woman was a slave, and the decorative chain, fashioned to be similar to chains worn by slave laborers, was an unsubtle reminder of the fact. Kirian wondered who had given her the chain; it was someone with a nasty sense of humor, no doubt—her noble master, perhaps.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Shala Si,” Kirian said. “I am Kirian from the Healer’s College, Hon Ruthan’s new assistant. How can I help you?”

  Shala Si leaned very close to Kirian, so close that her flowery fragrance enveloped Kirian. “I am glad you have come, and not that old bitch. She would not do as I asked. She gave me an herb to prevent me from conceiving a child. I stopped taking it months ago, but still there is no sign of a child!”

  Kirian said, “Shala Si, you must know I cannot give you any herbs for fertility without the consent of Lord Forell.”

  “Because I am a slave! Yes, that is so. But you can tell me what to do, can you not, to make it happen? My lord is with me almost every night; indeed, he thinks highly of me. Still I bleed every month and there is no child!”

  Kirian sighed. The young slave seemed desperate. If this were any other person seeking her aid, she would tell them the best time to conceive. She might even make up for them some of the powdered herbs that would – no, not ensure pregnancy, but make the womb softer, safer, more ready to nurture any child that might be ordained by the Unknown God. But not this woman. In fact, by the Healer’s code she ought to inform Lord Forell immediately of his concubine’s attempt to get fertility herbs.

  “I cannot do it,” she said. “Not without your master’s consent, Shala Si. Indeed I sympathize, but I am new here, and to do this without Lord Forell’s consent—well, I would lose my posting at the least.”

  Shala Si picked up one of her cosmetic pots with her delicate chained hands and flung it at Kirian. It struck Kirian on the shoulder. The lid flew off, leaving a smear of some honey-colored cream on Kirian’s tunic.

  Kirian said, “I am sorry, Shala Si. Is there anything else?”

  “No, there is nothing else!” Shala Si hissed. “I will tell my lord that I am ill and you refused to help me. He will tell Lord Alkiran to send you back where you came from. Now get out of my room!”

  The concubine reached for another bottle, this one of glass. Kirian bowed, grabbed her bag, and left the room, feeling wretched.

  A servant led Kirian to the stone arch where Ruthan awaited her. The old woman looked at Kirian’s downcast expression and the smear of cream on her tunic.

  “You needn’t fear,” Ruthan said. “She won’t do what she says.”

  “How do you know?”

  The coach drew up to the arch. Tabe sat on the box again, the horses much calmer now. The storm had subsided to a steady rain that would have been relaxing if Kirian had been in her own room back in the College. Now, its chill seemed to soak through her skin into her heart.

  “She’s threatened me before,” Ruthan said. “The silly chit. She thinks she can scare us into doing as she asks. When she calms down, she’ll remember that Forell may not ask questions, but Lord Alkiran will.”

  “What questions?”

  “Like why she called for us in the first place. Mikati is a color mage, Kirian—cruel, but sharp as a tack. If he found that his son’s slave mistress—who has no mage talent either—was plotting to have an illegitimate child . . .” Ruthan snorted. “Well, I wouldn’t give a fishtail for her chances of living until the next caravan came by.”

  “I know the Collared Lords are supposed to keep the blood pure, to breed the mage talent true. But he would kill her?”

  Ruthan coughed again, and Kirian wished she had a blanket for the old woman. “Mikati is a Collared Lord, Kirian. The only ruler in SeagardProvince. Even the King won’t thwart him.”

  Kirian looked down at the sea. It had calmed considerably. The sky was dark with rain and with the nearing of night. She hoped Tabe could see his way down the rain-slick path.

  She had heard about the supreme powers of the Collared Lords, but somehow she had never thought through what that might mean. The Collared Lords were bound by the King’s magic to Watch endlessly for incursions from Righar’s enemies—in this case, on the western coast, from the island nation of Ha’las and its psychic mages. From the time they were Collared, they could not leave the Watch, but in return they and their families had wealth, influence and real power greater than anyone but the King’s. The righ families were raised to consider the Collar a great honor, for which they alone were suited; they had their male children Collared too, as soon as they were old enough, to serve the King.

  “I hadn’t thought,” Kirian confessed. “What if Shala Si just happens to conceive? Will they blame me?”

  Ruthan coughed. “It cannot happen. She stopped taking the preparation I made for her, but I ordered the cook to add it to her tea. She has tea every morning.”

  Kirian felt a vague guilt. Surely the woman should be allowed to have a child if she wanted. Only her slave status and Lord Alkiran prevented her. But Kirian didn’t feel courageous enough to defy her new righ Lord. At least, not as a student that arrived less than a month ago at Seagard village.

  “Until I found myself here and under his power, I didn’t understand anything about Collared Lords.” Ruthan hesitated. “I must warn you, young one . . .” She broke into a fit of coughing so hard that she bent over, unable to speak.

  “Later,” Kirian said. “Are we almost there? Here, I have a sugar drop in my bag; perhaps that will help.”

  She felt the coach level off, leaving the path at last. It was dark now, but lamplight shone in the windows of the houses they passed. The smell of fish rose up from someone’s shed as they passed, strong, homey and welcome. Kirian determined to get the old woman a cup of hot tea and then into bed as soon as they arrived. The rest would wait until later.

  After she helped Ruthan into bed, she thought again about Mikati. He reminded her most unpleasantly of some of the noble students who had been her bane at College—those who looked down on her because of her common origins. Dramin in particular, the third son of an impoverished lord, had been brutal to the charity students when he was drunk. She did not suspect Lord Mikati Alkiran of getting drunk and beating his servants; the man was too secure in his power for that. But he would not hesitate to punish when he did not get his way.

  The rain that followed the first violence of the storm had eased off. She could no longer hear the steady drizzle on the roof of Ruthan’s house. She was comfortable in her shapeless old robe, curled up in her bed, with the sounds of the rain and the sea in the back of her consciousness. She decided she could find a way to work with Lord Mikati. She liked it too well here to fail so soon.

  Chapter Two

  Callo ran Alkiran entered the palace through a side door and ran down the servants’ stairs, adjusting his gold-trimmed dress tunic as he went. The residential part of the palace was nearly empty; only an occasional lamp cast a glow around the halls, and there was no sign of life at all. Everyone was downstairs at the ball.

  As he emerged from the back of the main hall and approached the reception rooms, a murmur that had been registering on his subconscious for some mi
nutes expanded into a roar. Callo grimaced. Most of Sugetre must be here, talking at full volume. He could not even hear the musicians above the racket. The two liveried servants who flanked the reception room looked at him and made no attempt to announce his entrance.

  The room was almost unrecognizable in its finery. Rose-colored hangings draped the walls; the Queen’s conceit no doubt. The hangings sometimes shifted in a draft, adding a surreal air to the festivities. The ancient chandelier, a treasure of the royal Monteni house, blazed with candles, dripping wax on the shoulders of the dancers below. The room was jammed with the most prominent nobles and soldiers in Sugetre. Lords and ladies in their evening finery glittered in the light of the amazing chandelier and numerous other candles and lamps, clustered carefully away from the silken wall hangings. Guardsmen dotted the room, immediately visible in their dress surcoats and medals. Sweating slaves squirmed between the guests, trying to offer food and drink without bumping into anyone.

  Callo searched the room, but could see no sign of the King or Queen. Perhaps they had not yet entered the room.

  “Callo! Here at last, are you?”

  Callo turned to see Lord Arias Alkiran, his half-brother and oldest friend, grinning at him. Lord Arias Alkiran was the heir to Lord Mikati Alkiran, who held Seagard castle, but instead of the gold-trimmed tunic of a nobleman, Arias wore the black cloak of a color mage. Swirls of color rose and then dissipated in the cloak, as if sinking into liquid. It was disconcerting; Callo had never liked it.

  “I forgot the time,” Callo said.

  Arias snorted. “You just didn’t want to come. Well, now that you’re here, I want you to meet someone. Come!”

  Arias took Callo’s arm and pulled him through the crowd. His half-brother apologized to those they brushed past, but did not alter his path to wind around and between the shifting groups as Callo would have done. Behind him, the mage’s cloak appeared woven with sinuous bands of color. People made way, sometimes bowing, sometimes grinning. Callo gave a crooked grin; Arias had that effect on people.