Read Online Sword of Jashan (Book 2) by Anne Marie Lutz - Free Book Online Page B

It would not be long, he promised himself—long enough to finalize the defenses they had set in place, and make sure there was a better way to defend against the possible use of color magery in an attack. Even more important than his vengeance was making sure Martan’s schemes were brought to nothing—and that meant making sure Callo was never forced to take the throne of Righar.
 

Chapter Five
    Callo awoke the next day to an ominous pressure in his head. By the time he was dressed, he had snapped at Chiss twice and apologized twice. Standing at the door to his chamber, ready to go down to breakfast and then to confer with Lord Zelan, he stopped and felt the walls pulsing around him.
    “Chiss, I cannot go down.”
    “I thought something was wrong, my lord.”
    “Another headache. I think it is going to be worse than the others.” Already the pressure had metamorphosed into a stabbing pain.
    Chiss put a hand on Callo’s arm and drew him back to his bed. “This is the fourth one, Lord Callo. What is happening?”
    “Don’t know.” Callo sat down and let Chiss pull off his boots. “Chiss, please get more of that remedy from the Healer. Go now—my head is splitting.”
    Chiss was gone for what felt like a year. Callo lay motionless on his bed, eyes closed. It was as if a blacksmith worked inside his head, pounding on his skull. After a while he realized some vision was playing itself out in his brain; he heard his own voice echo in the room, and came to full awareness to see Chiss bending over him.
    “Did you call, my lord?”
    Callo stared at Chiss, still caught in the vision, and did not reply for a moment. Finally Callo said, “The remedy?”
    “The man isn’t here. Went to one of the villages on a call. Hon Kirian was filling in for him. I have asked her to come instead, my lord.”
    “No.”
    “Too late.” Kirian’s round face appeared in Callo’s painful vision. He turned his face away from her, but there was little he could do to object in this condition. Kirian’s cool hands were on his forehead, testing for fever, then turning his face back to hers to look into his eyes. He did not want her to see him like this. Gathering every ounce of will, he pushed her hands away and sat up. The room spun around as if he were drunk.
    “I don’t need you,” he said.
    “You certainly do,” she said. “So it’s you that’s been having the headaches, not Chiss.”
    Callo did not reply. The vision was trying to come back again, partially blotting out Kirian’s face in a whorl of color and light. He felt hands push him gently back onto the bed. He heard Chiss murmuring to Kirian, and heard the clink of pottery as she mixed something in a cup. Then Chiss’ hands were behind his shoulders, lifting him as someone presented a cup to his lips. The aromas of rueberry, mellweed and wine assaulted his senses. He groaned and turned away.
    “Drink it, my lord,” Chiss said. “It will help.”
    The white light grew behind his eyelids, and he thought he heard Som’ur’s voice, the brutal ku’an god who had accepted him at the temple in Las’ash. He opened his mouth to ask if the others heard the voice, and the remedy tipped into his mouth. He swallowed and coughed, then swallowed again. He was lowered back down on the pillow.
    “How long . . .?” Kirian’s voice, talking to Chiss, trailed off into vision. He felt his internal barrier grow thin, as if it were under some assault; he struggled to keep the barrier whole, to keep inside the ku’an magery he could use to influence others against their will. At the same time, the white light turned into color magery and fought him. It boiled up like the liquid fire of a volcano. He felt the color magery begin to spill out of him. He struck out with his sword arm, fighting it back.
    “My lord,” came Chiss’ voice near him. “Calm down, my lord, there is nothing here to fight.”
    Chiss could not see the energies ready to pour out of him. “Out of the way,”