Color Mage (Book 1) Page 7

  King Martan paid Callo no heed until he finished the conversation he was having with one of his guardsmen. As soon as that man bowed and went about his affairs, His Majesty turned to Callo.

  “Where have you been?” the King asked.

  Callo felt irritation stir at the King’s brusque question, but forced it down. He thanked Jashan for the calm the god had granted him during the sword forms he had just completed in the ring. It had always been critical that he keep a calm mind, since unpleasant things seemed to happen around him when he did not. Chiss had introduced him to a Jashanite warrior-priest when he was ten; the man had taught him everything he knew about the sword, and initiated him into the discipline of the ritual forms.

  “Your Majesty, I have been in the training ring. Did you require my presence earlier?”

  “I have not heard from the village. The Leyish ship is overdue. Send down to the village to see what is going on. Also, you’d better send a man to Two Merkhan—if the ship has already arrived, I’ll have some heads.”

  “Sire, Elder Hame assured me they would keep constant watch. The ship must round the High Rocks to make port at Two Merkhan, and when it passes them, it will be visible from the village. I believe the Elder is actually sending boys out to the High Rocks to check. But of course I will send to make sure.”

  “Do that. I will be departing immediately for Sugetre. As one of my Guard captains, I require you to make your men ready. Leave a man here to meet the ship and send word to Sugetre when it arrives. Alkiran will have to do the honors when the delegation arrives.”

  “Your Majesty!” Callo said. He paused, his thoughts spinning. He wanted to remain here a little longer; something about the place drew him, and he was reluctant to leave Arias just yet. “I respectfully request to remain and await the Leyish delegation.”

  King Martan’s eyes grew even colder. “Why do you not wish to accompany me, Lord Callo? Have you forgotten where your living derives?”

  “No, your Majesty, and as always I appreciate your generosity.” Callo fought down the twist of anger; he should be used to Sharpeyes’ manipulative techniques by now. When King Martan had taken him on as a child, out of family obligation since his sister Lady Sira Joah refused to have the boy in her house, he had gifted Callo with the title and income from a small manor near the Leyish border. That was what allowed Callo to dress and live like the hereditary noble he was, in spite of his shameful birth.

  King Martan stared at Callo as if trying to figure him out. “You are not ready to depart?”

  “With your permission, I will await the delegation and give them an appropriate welcome.”

  King Martan was silent for a moment. “Granted,” he said. “Bring me news out of this place when you come. I will start you out by telling you that our hasty departure is due to an attack on us by the Ha’lasi. Not a candlemark ago there was a Black Tide, turned just in time by the alertness of Lord Mikati and Lord Arias. See, that binding pays its due already! I must depart. My safety is paramount. But I want news out of this place as we prepare for hostilities.”

  “Yes, Sire!” Callo was shocked. He had been unaware of any such momentous events, practicing his forms in the training room all alone. If there had been a magical attack from Ha’las, the enemy fleet would be waiting behind the Black Tide. The Ha’lasi warriors would be planning to take the Castle with a minimum of trouble, easily slaying the defenders who would have been struck into a state of torpor by the psychic deadening of the Tide.

  “A sennight,” King Martan said. “No longer, Nephew.”

  “Absolutely, Sire.” Callo left the King to his conferences and preparations and left the royal chambers, retrieving his sword at the door and returning to the floor where he and Arias had their guest rooms. Midway down the hall, he saw Rosh carrying newly-cleaned clothing to his lord’s rooms.

  “Hai, Rosh!” Callo called, and the manservant turned.

  “Sir?”

  “Where is Lord Arias?”

  “In the Tower Watch room, sir. He keeps Watch with Lord Mikati.”

  Callo made haste to go up to the tower room. There, he entered the outer chamber, a sort of luxurious sitting room for the comfort of the noble family, and a hubbub of many voices speaking at once fell on his ears.

  Lord Mikati sat in the center of a sofa, head thrown back on its crimson cushions. He seemed pale and weary, and the lines on his face seemed deeper than they had the day before. A servant stood close with a jar of wine, and the old Healer from SeagardVillage held Lord Mikati’s wrist and spoke to him softly.

  Two men at arms escorted Lord Forell into the tower room, apparently to stand the next Watch. The plump young lord was speaking constantly, complaining that this was not his assigned time for the Watch and someone was going to have to go to his rooms and inform his concubine that he would not be with her.

  “And you can take the consequences,” he told one of the guards grumpily. He spun around, wafting some exotic scent into the small room as he took in the scene. “Better in there than out here, I suppose,” he said, and vanished into the tower chamber.

  In the center of the room stood Lord Arias, his dark eyes very bright, speaking to Healer Kirian. He clutched his cloak about him, although the room was quite warm. Callo went immediately to his half-brother, who smiled.

  “Cal! Have you heard? There was a Black Tide.” Arias’ face was flushed. Callo saw his hand tremble as he gathered his cloak closer. A spray of color spun around his hands, and Arias grimaced, frowning.

  “My lord, come sit down,” said Kirian. “You are newly Collared, and this exertion has tired you more than you realize.”

  Arias allowed Callo to pull him to a nearby soft chair. Now he was shaking all over, but he ignored this and began telling Callo about the attack as the young Healer began checking her patient’s pulse, breathing and condition. Arias paid her no attention, indeed almost seemed unaware of her, as he told Callo about the attack, and about the ships that were mobilized from Two Merkhan as soon as the attack was turned back in case Ha’lasi troops waited behind the Tide.

  Callo looked at the spiky bent head tending to Arias and felt an unexpected flash of impatience. Was the Healer a slave to be ignored like this? Then Arias paused, gasping a little for breath, and Callo forgot his irritation.

  “Quiet for a while, you idiot!” he said with the full license permitted a friend. “Let this Healer tell you what you can do to regain your strength. I have never heard what happens when a mage turns back a Black Tide, but I’ve seen your friend Mikalion after he puts on the fireworks for the graduating mages, and you’d best rest for a while, my friend!”

  Arias laughed and put his head back on the cushions, closing his eyes. “Yes, Mikalion needs a sennight’s rest after the graduation party, but that’s not because of the fireworks. That’s because he dearly loves the wine and the mellweed. I’ll be fine, Cal.” But he shivered as more magery escaped his control.

  “Why did they attack now?” Callo said abruptly.

  “Who knows? There have been reports out of Ha’las of desertions. The boy King is feared, and this new Ku’an’an . . .”

  “Later, then,” Callo interrupted, remembering the presence of the Healers and two guardsmen who didn’t need to know the state of affairs between Righar and Ha’las. He looked at the young woman as she stood. “How is he?”

  “It seems you just asked me that a sennight ago,” she said, and Arias grinned with his eyes closed. “He will be fine, my lord. Lord Arias, you must avoid exerting yourself, physically or—using your talent—for a few days.”

  “Forell will love that,” murmured Arias.

  “You run the risk of depleting yourself for far longer if you do,” Kirian said sharply. “Your lord father seems to be in a more serious condition. I will go help Hon Ruthan with him.”

  Callo turned to see Lord Mikati being helped onto a litter. Callo looked down and saw the old lord looking drawn and pale. He was breathing oddly, almost panting as they
carried him by.

  “Possibly his heart,” Ruthan murmured to Kirian as they followed, but Callo caught the words and raised his brows in surprise.

  “What?” Arias said to Callo.

  “Nothing. Your father is not so strong.”

  “No wonder. It was amazing, Callo—half exhilarating, half like being pounded with a mace. I doubt he could have turned it alone. Jashan, I doubt I could have turned it alone! Why is there only one on Watch at any time? I wonder why there is not someone standing by, at least . . .”

  “Let that wait for later,” Callo said. “It is your new binding, you know, making you think about the Watch constantly. Rest. And as for other matters…”

  Arias stood up, shrugging his cloak closer about him. “It is cursed cold in this room. Odd I never noticed it before. What is Sharpeyes doing about this? I assume that’s why you’re here?” There was no sign of more magery escaping Arias’ control. He had years of training, much of it devoted to helping a color mage keep the magery where it belonged, instead of letting the energy escape to wreak havoc. Forcing it back after a major working was supposed to be a considerable challenge. Callo kept his eyes on his half-brother, relieved to see that Arias was coping with his usual grace.

  “Indirectly. He’s leaving, before nightfall.”

  “You, too, then?” Arias began walking toward the door, and Callo followed.

  “I have asked to remain and await the Leyish ship.”

  Arias glanced over at him as they began walking down the stairs. “It’s just a diplomatic delegation. You needn’t wait. I am here, and my father.”

  “I must have time to consider things. It won’t be the same at Sugetre. You will be staying here now.”

  “I have no choice anymore.”

  Callo noticed his half-brother didn’t seem distressed about that fact, as he would have been had this been suggested to him a few days ago. The Collar did that; nothing was as important as the Watch now, or ever would be. Callo felt a twinge of irritation that Arias would not miss his friendship, and then shook himself free of that. It wasn’t Arias’ fault, far from it.

  “Does Sharpeyes know what you’re considering, that jealous fool?” The question had a bite to it. Callo felt better.

  “Sharpeyes has ordered me to bring him intelligence, and I will do as he commands. In the meantime, Brother, our lady mother will be less than thrilled that I am staying, and I doubt she will be able to hide in her chambers the whole time I am here. Must I skulk about avoiding everyone as I have been doing? For a couple of sennights it was bearable, but I would much rather face her and have it done.”

  “Of course,” Arias said, but Callo thought he sounded distracted.

  Callo snapped his fingers, a sound which brought Arias’ surprised eyes back around to his face again. “Don’t fade off, Brother,” Callo said, growing angry. “Fight that binding a little, will you? It’s me here. We fought in the south together, remember?”

  Arias flushed. “You need not remind me,” he said. “It’s because of you I’m here today.”

  “Well, then . . .”

  “The damned Collar is new. It is everything I can do to—well, enough of that. I will support you as I can. You know that. I suppose I can send a message off to Sugetre with Rosh, to tell the Guardmaster I will not be returning? And to inform those at my lodgings?”

  “If you’re quick. I really think you’ll have no need to tell anyone. Unfortunately, the story of your binding is common knowledge.”

  Unexpectedly and charmingly, Arias grinned. “I had no idea I was such a threat to Sharpeyes. The stories of my prowess go before me. Poor Lady Fiora! I hope she’s happy with the old man.”

  Callo grinned too, glad to see his friend returning to his old self, relieved to see the cloak loosened about Arias’ shoulders as his friend lost the strange chill that had gripped him after the attack.

  “You’ll do,” he said. “Now let’s just work on my future.”

  But any decisions about Callo’s future were delayed as Lord Mikati, who had trouble with his heart and was now further weakened by the battle against the Black Tide, fell ill. The old lord would not stand for the new Healer to see him, so Ruthan attended him at all hours, staying in a guest room in the Castle while Kirian tended to the needs of the villagers in SeagardVillage.

  “How’s he doing?” Callo asked Arias as he passed his friend in the hall two days later.

  Arias shrugged. “The Healer requested audience with all of us last night. She says there is not much she can do for this kind of heart condition. She says he needs good food and rest, and Jashan will decide.” He paused for a moment, looking at his friend with tired eyes. “I have sent a messenger to try to inform Sharpeyes before he gets back to Sugetre.”

  “That close, is it?” Callo said. “That will be a burden for you and Forell and Eamon, to be alone on the Watch.”

  “They did it without me, remember. Besides, the old man wants to Watch.”

  “He’s been taking a Watch? Hon Ruthan lets him?”

  “You should know nothing stops my father from doing what he wants, especially when it has to do with the Watch. His binding won’t let him rest if he hasn’t Watched. He gets upset, and Hon Ruthan finally said to give him some time in the tower each day.” Arias yawned. “He falls asleep, though. One of us needs to be there too.”

  “You look like you’re about to fall asleep. Get some rest!” Callo put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and pushed him off in the direction of his room. Then he continued on to the family breakfast room.

  Lady Sira Joah looked up from her plate, her eyes wide as she saw him.

  Callo paused. “Lady Alkiran!” he said. He bowed, then hesitated. “Would you like me to . . . I will return later.”

  “Stay. I understand you are lodging here for a while, and I am sick of my chamber walls. I suppose I had better greet you here and now.” She did not sound happy to see him. Her eyes swept over him then fell to her plate. He had expected her eyes to be his own shade of amber, and was surprised they were the same pale gray as the King’s. Her embroidered head veil, which had been pushed back behind her shoulders, drooped forward to shade her face.

  “Greetings to you as well, Lady Mother.” Callo looked at her for a moment, seeing the fine lines on the clear skin, the hands showing the signs of age. He could see a few strands of her hair under her veil, hair the same color as his, but sparked now with strands of white. Lady Sira Joah was only a year or two older than her husband Lord Mikati Alkiran, but she looked a decade older now.

  A servant brought him tea and bread. The man’s eyes were sharp and curious.

  “I am sorry to hear about Lord Alkiran,” Callo said. He sat and buttered his bread and spooned fish from the covered dish on the table. “How does he do?”

  She shook her head. “Not well. He is very weak.” She looked away from him and sipped her tea. The silence between the two of them filled up the room. Callo shifted in his chair.

  “I will be civil to you,” Lady Sira Joah finally said as she stood and pulled her cloak around her against the pervading chill in the room. “I do not expect to have to be friendly. Martan went against my wishes when he took you in. Arias did the same when he chose to have you as a friend. But it would not do for me to have to remain in my rooms the whole time you are here, and I know that Arias will not send you away as long as you wish to stay. The best for both of us would be for you to stay out of my way.”

  Callo could feel his mouth twist. “As you wish, Lady Mother,” he acknowledged bitterly. He stood and bowed as she left the room. He supposed he should count it as a great improvement that she should be willing to see him at all. He had long known she couldn’t stand the memory of her youthful indiscretion. But it was still strange to have her reinforce her hatred at the breakfast table, and in such an unemotional voice. He left his food uneaten and headed for the guardroom.

  * * * * *

  There was no guard duty for Callo to stand at Seagar
dCastle. With his men under the command of Drale, his second, now gone to Sugetre with the king, Callo found too little to do. Arias occupied himself with the Watch most of the day; with Mikati gravely ill, he had been taking on some of the old lord’s duties as well. Callo rarely saw him, unless for an hour or so after the evening meal, when they would meet for wine and dice in the castle guard commanders’ quarters.

  Callo spent time in the ring, honing his skills, occasionally doing the Jashanite ritual when he felt his irritation threatening to escape his control. He knew others watched him. They always did, wherever he practiced the sword; his skill was well known. But he was surprised when one day he came sweating out of the ring to find Sopharin, Lord Mikati’s representative to Sugetre, sitting on a bench with his legs crossed, watching him.

  Sopharin rose when Callo neared him. The man wore garb completely unsuited to the ring—a gold-trimmed tunic and surcoat with green silk lining showing through artful slashes, and silk breeches. His boots were coated with the dust of the ring.

  “My lord Callo!” Sopharin bent in an elegant bow. Callo eyed him with a slight frown. He never had much to do with the representative, and Sopharin was always scornful of him when they chanced to meet.

  “Hon Sopharin.” Callo bowed in return. Behind him he could hear the shouts of two combatants as they began their contest in the ring. “Have you come to speak with me?”

  “I was told you were here each morning.” Sopharin fell into step with him as Callo began walking back to the changing room. “I thought we must speak soon, with events in such turmoil.”

  “Turmoil? Oh—you refer to Lord Mikati’s illness. Surely you should rather speak with Lord Arias? I have little familiarity with Lord Mikati. As you know well.”

  “You have given it little thought, it seems. It will indeed involve you, my lord.” Callo could almost hear my lord bastard from the sneering lips. Nevertheless, in spite of his past disdain, the man had troubled to speak with him in private.

  “It is most regrettable that Lord Mikati Alkiran is likely to go to the gods quite soon. I have the utmost sympathy for all his relatives—however incidental—and how they must feel on this occasion.” Sophiran gave a sigh. “But reality must be faced, my lord. Great families such as this cannot go long without continuity in their representation in the capital. It may seem callous of me to be discussing such issues at such a time . . .”