Color Mage (Book 1) (17 page)

“Occasionally. The color magery is hard to control. But only the
righ
lords are Collared, my lady, and some mages are even left unbound. Not many, it is true, because His Majesty prefers it that way.”

Ghosian gave a huge belly laugh. “King Martan knows how to protect himself, eh? Bind anyone who can cause him trouble. I have heard of worse ways to ensure one’s security. Now, my lady, would you like more wine before you leave us?”

The lady’s companion spoke up. “No, Captain, thank you anyway for your gracious hospitality. I will conduct my lady to her cabin now.”

The lady giggled in a way that made Kirian think she had enjoyed far too much wine already. Her companion rose and stood by her until the lady rose, complimenting Ghosian extravagantly. As she pushed her chair back, her eyes laughed into Ghosian’s. The Captain and Lord Callo rose, too, bowing, and Ghosian’s eyes swept the lady’s slender form as she left the cabin. Kirian wondered if the companion slept in the same cabin as the lady, and if not, whether Ghosian would find his way there later that night.

When they were gone, Lord Callo asked her how she liked her cabin.

“It is comfortable,” she said. “I cannot wait to see Las’ash.”

“It is a grim place, Las’ash,” Ghosian said. “But all I can speak of is the port area. It is restricted, you know, my lord—we are not permitted into the city itself.”

“How will we enter then?” Kirian asked.

Lord Callo shrugged. “I hadn’t considered it.”

Kirian stared at him. How like a
righ
, to assume all barriers would be cut down before him. “Well, we must do so. What if we end up deported, or imprisoned even?”

Ghosian grinned. “I have been putting in at Las’ash, legally or not, for a decade. I’ve made some few connections there. I think we can get you in, my lord. It may require a little . . . incentive.”

“Of course. So no one comes out of Las’ash either?” Lord Callo asked. He sat back, sipping his wine. His broad shoulders leaned against the tall chair-back.

“I did not say that,” Ghosian said. “Thrice I have been able to bring Righans out of the city—and my predecessor brought more than one. Find them and you may unlock the stories of the ku’an. I myself have never seen one.”

“Not one ku’an? In ten years?”

“Strange, is it not? And the ku’an so talked about. They protect their women from them. They say that the ku’an can infect them with a powerful desire, so that the women beg to go with the ku’an.” Ghosian sighed, as if he wished he had this power over women. “They say the ku’an can pull the life from men’s minds, so that the people so attacked go about their days with deadened minds, like the fish before a Black Tide. And yet—no, I’ve never met even one.”

Callo fell silent as Ghosian himself poured more of the wine into both their cups. The Captain turned his red ring on his thumb, watching Lord Callo, and then gestured at his manservant. The servant brought a tiny brazier and set it in the center of the table. He lit it from a candle. The grassy substance in the brazier burned slowly, releasing a fragrant smoke into the close air of the cabin.

“Captain, when do we leave port?” Kirian asked, trying to think of a way to leave politely. She had no desire to breathe the Smoke.

“We have left, Hon Kirian, unless my second is asleep on the job.”

Kirian listened for a moment. There was only a slight difference in the rocking motion of the ship, but the distant sounds of Two Merkhan that had infiltrated the Captain’s cabin were gone. She shivered, realizing there was no turning back.

Lord Callo seemed to awaken from his consideration. “Are you cold? I have a cloak, back in the cabin. Chiss, would you . . .”

“No, no need. I am fine.” She hesitated. “I am very tired, however. Captain, if I may be excused, I would return to my cabin.”

Callo’s golden eyes glinted with sudden humor. “I cannot imagine what reason you have to be tired, Hon Kirian.”

“The last few days have been exhausting. I’m sure you are tired too, my lord.” She grinned, looking back into the intriguing eyes. “Perhaps you, too, should retire early.”

Ghosian gave a bray of laughter. “An invitation, my lord! And from such an unusual piece.”

Just like that, Lord Callo turned cold as ice. She saw his face set, his shoulders square. Before he could speak, Chiss said, “I will escort Hon Kirian back, my lord.”

Silence filled the room. Ghosian watched Lord Callo like a specimen. After a moment, Lord Callo said, “Thank you, Chiss.” And then, looking at Ghosian, “Hon Kirian is a Healer and a respectable woman, Captain. I ask you to remember it.”

“My very deepest apologies, Hon Kirian and my lord.” Ghosian rose and bowed, the lamplight glittering on his jewelry. “Indeed I meant no insult.”

Kirian made a courteous rejoinder and left the Smoke-filled cabin.

“Do not take offense,” Chiss said as he walked her back through the chilly night. “He is only a seaman, after all.”

“Of course,” she said.

Chiss left her at the door to her little cabin. She lit the candle and replaced it in its tin cup; it cast a dim and febrile light on the walls. Kirian sat on the cot and fished her old nightgown out of the bag Ruthan had packed. The cabin felt chilly, but rocked her like a pair of comforting arms. She heard movement in the larger cabin next door and knew Chiss was preparing Lord Callo’s things for his return. She thought of Lord Callo’s eyes, smiling at her, and told herself not to be foolish. After changing, she lay down and pulled the big soft blanket over herself. It wasn’t until she was almost asleep that she remembered Inmay’s pale face staring at her from his own cabin on the
Fortune
.

After a few minutes, she threw back the blankets, wrapped one of them around her, and left her cabin. She could not let this wait. She had to talk to Chiss.

Chapter Eight

Callo excused himself soon after the Healer had gone. Waving away Ghosian’s offer of wine for his cabin, he pulled his valus fur closer about him and stepped outside.

The night air was very cold and carried a taste of salt. Callo walked over to the deck rail. The sea was calm; the gentle rocking of the ship was little greater than it had been in port. There were lanterns at bow and stern, and a seaman visible at the bow.

He looked east, towards Two Merkhan. The mage-lit beacon in the harbor had fallen behind, its reddish glow blending into the lights of the port. At night, Two Merkhan was a collection of lights, sparse around the hills, growing thicker in what he supposed was the dock area. The docks would be active all night, he knew. Farther South, although he could not see it from here, were the few dim lights of SeagardCastle on its promontory, the village at its feet.

To the west he saw only the black of night.

The breeze stirred his hair, but did nothing to dispel the cloud of Smoke in his brain. He leaned on the rail, looking into the impenetrable dark. The
Fortune
sailed into the unknown.

Only now, passage safely gained and with his goal before him, did he have a moment to reflect. It had been bitter, these last days, to see his oldest friend turn against him. The knowledge that Arias was to some degree at the mercy of the dictates of his Collar eased this bitterness very little—for surely if he wanted to, his half-brother could overcome that. Surely one binding could not erase the friendship they had shared.

He wished there was something he could do to free Arias from the Collar. He even wondered if the blunt edge of Arias’ hostility would have eased had he stayed to remind Arias of their friendship with his constant presence. But Callo could not stand the thought of staying at SeagardCastle, where he was a pariah, reminded always of the myth his life had been. In the end, every time Arias had met him, his half-brother’s hatred had seemed sharper.

He must accept that there was nothing he could do about Arias. Only King Martan bore the responsibility for that. Perhaps time would make a difference, and someday he would return to Righar and be welcomed by his old friend.

The Smoke is making you stupid
, he told himself.
Arias will never welcome you again. If you show up, he’ll kill you himself.

Callo knew that there was no going back for a long time. Whatever his reasons for traveling to Ha’las, he was going to an enemy land which had only recently attacked Righar through the Black Tide. Even worse, he had disobeyed the King; Sharpeyes would have his head as a traitor if he ever saw him again.

With a wrench he realized that his little estate near the Leyish border was lost to him. Sharpeyes would seize it immediately. The manor house, the stables, the valley where his tenants raised his crops—all gone. His steward, a man of integrity who had always treated Callo with respect, would curse his name as a traitor. The nobility of Sugetre would raise their brows and whisper behind their hands and say that breeding did tell. He hoped his men and Drale, his second, did not reap any ill effects from their commander’s rebellion.

Callo put his head into his hands. He’d had too much of Ghosian’s excellent red wine. Even worse, that cursed Smoke filled his mind with evil shadows. The tops of the sea’s gentle swells gleamed as he stared down at them.

A seaman had joined the man at the bow. Raised voices drifted back to Callo on the night breeze. They were arguing. He ignored them, but became aware that a sense of misery hung over the ship. Behind him, from one of the cabins, he heard someone cry out, a sound of distress that plunged him deeper into pain.

Someone cleared his throat behind Callo. Callo did not react; he did not care who it was.

“My lord.”

It was Chiss—Chiss, who had come along on this desperate excursion for love of him or for lack of other alternatives. Either way, he owed Chiss something. He tried to push away the murkiness claiming his mind so that he could respond.

“My lord,” Chiss said again. “Come inside.”

“I’m fine out here,” he said, and stared west again, toward Ha’las.

“It is very late. You have been out here for some time.”

He didn’t respond to that. He had never been in so gloomy a mood, so dispiriting that it was hard to keep his attention on Chiss. There was a crash of dropped pottery in the galley and someone swore. He let his mind drift out into the night again.

“Surely you are cold, my lord.”

He twitched the valus fur cloak at Chiss. Why would the man not leave him alone?

“It would be best to come in. I have something I must say to you, my lord. Besides, there is an evil mood on the ship.”

“No worse than my own,” he said. He straightened and sighed. The stiffening wind tugged at his hair. Whoever had cried out was silent now, but he heard the shouts of some argument coming from the seamen’s quarters, along with the thud of fists. There was more noise from the galley, as if someone had dropped dishes. It was late, but those who were awake did seem to be in the grip of a foul temper. It seemed a different ship by night, as if Ghosian’s insidious Smoke had claimed all the vessel’s inhabitants.

“Must you?” he asked.

“It is important.”

Callo remembered he did owe Chiss something—at the very least, his attention for a while. He turned and nodded, leaving the blackness of the sea behind, and headed for their cabin. Chiss followed.

In the cabin, two shielded lamps hung from hooks and the beds were made up and piled with blankets. It looked very comfortable, but Callo felt closed in. He looked back at the deck railing, but Chiss followed him in and closed the door. Then, wearily, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the mug of wine that Chiss had prepared.

“Where is the Healer?” he asked, trying not to think about the danger he was taking her into.

“Abed, hours ago. There is no one to hear us.”

“What is it, then?”

“My lord.” Chiss paused, as if he was having difficulty putting his thoughts into words. “You should not have the Smoke.”

“I had little chance to refuse it,” he snapped. “Why is this your concern?”

“My lord, Callo. I have known you for many years. Will you trust my words?”

“I have no reason not to. You joined me on this wretched journey. You have never failed me. What would you say?”

“The Smoke. It is not good for the ku’an.”

“What?”

Chiss said: “You are ku’an, my lord.”

Callo stared at his manservant. The Smoke would not release him; he felt dull, with depression still clinging to him. “Nonsense.”

“It is true. You know you are the son of a ku’an. You have his yellow eyes. And now, this ship is caught in some blight of the mind because of it.”

“You say that I have—somehow infected this ship with my black mood?”

“That is what the ku’an can do. They cannot read minds or force actions. But in the realm of emotion they are supreme. A ku’an can induce any state of mind. When he is under the influence of Smoke, his barriers come down, and the whole world shares the state of his emotions.”

Callo stared at Chiss. The manservant’s narrow face was side-lit by the lamps, so that it looked strange to him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the wisps of Smoke. It was true that the stuff had invaded him, turning his thoughts dark in a way it never had before. But for his grim thoughts to cast such a pall over the ship—no. He searched within himself for the wall of restraint Jashan’s discipline had helped him build and maintain, and found it wavering, almost transparent. He snapped alert, shocked.

“Your sword forms, my lord,” Chiss said. “You should worship Jashan as soon as you may. The discipline will help.”

“Jashan has turned from me since Lord Mikati’s funeral,” Callo admitted, remembering the forms he had done in the clearing near the cliff path where Kirian had interrupted him. “My control has gone.”

Chiss poured him some water and he gulped it. It was fresh and cool. It chased away the stale taste of wine and Smoke. He sighed, looking at his old servant. “A ku’an, am I then?”

“It seems so, my lord.”

“Then I go to the right place after all.”

Memories flashed—his bewilderment when, as a child, his own moods seemed to blow events around him out of proportion. How his childish tempers fueled anger in others, including his old tutor, who had beaten him in an inexplicable fury. How his rage at the other children, who taunted him as a bastard, made their teasing warp into violence. He had learned early, never understanding, the consequences of lack of self-control. He had tried to suppress his moods, without success. That is, until Chiss was hired for him, and told the King that Callo needed the discipline of Jashan’s worship. It all clicked.