Free Sword of Jashan (Book 2) by Anne Marie Lutz

Callo gasped to the manservant. “I can’t control it—too much pain.”
    Chiss said, “It’s all right, my lord.” He stayed close, too close, keeping a firm grip on Callo’s upper arms, holding him down. Surely Chiss knew what he was dealing with. He had helped him fight the ku’an magery all these years, and he had seen Callo’s battle against the color magery on board ship from Ha’las.
    Kirian’s voice said, “Callo, take it easy. The herbs will take effect in a few minutes. You will be all right.” Her voice struck his internal battle like calming oil poured on troubled waters. He stilled, listening.
    “Keep talking to me,” he asked.
    “If you wish. First you will feel the mellweed, calming a little. I did not give you enough to put you to sleep. I know how you dislike that, so I used only as much as I needed. You might feel sleepy as the pain goes, though. As for the rueberry . . .” Her voice went on, soothing. He did not listen to her words, just her voice, as the rebellious energies receded and his internal wall was reestablished, protecting him and everyone else. Eventually he said: “Thank you.”
    “You are feeling better?”
    “Yes. Just a little pain now, and no . . .” He stopped himself before he said voices, or vision, or any other thing that might lead them to question his sanity.
    “No, what?” Kirian asked.
    “Nothing.” He opened his eyes and saw them leaning over him, faces pale and worried. Chiss removed his restraining hands from Callo’s arms. Callo felt as if someone had wrung him out, as if his body were a piece of limp clothing on the washerwoman’s board. “Thank you. Both of you.”
    Kirian began feeling his forehead, taking his pulse, looking into his eyes, and doing all the things a Healer does. She was cool and professional, and did not speak. By the time she was done he was feeling sleepy with the mellweed and the relief from pain. He yawned.
    “You’ll do,” she said. “Sleep, if you want. But I insist on seeing you as soon as you awaken. Chiss says this is your fourth headache since we have arrived. I want to know what’s going on.”
    “I doubt there is anything you can do about it, other than be there with a dose when needed.”
    “Why is that, my lord?” Chiss asked.
    Callo grimaced and sat up. The pain was gone, and his stomach was growling. “It’s the color magery. It’s almost too much for me—holding back the psychic magery while fighting to control the color magery. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
    “You need a color mage to advise you,” Kirian said. Her eyes shifted away from his gaze. Now that he seemed to be recovering, she stepped back, away from him.
    “Young Ander has been telling me what he has been taught.”
    Kirian pursed her lips. “I am doubtful that a fourteen-year-old can understand what you are going through. And remember, you have more than just color magery to deal with.”
    “Thanks to Sharpeyes and his damned breeding experiment.”
    She smiled, but the expression was fleeting. “Callo, I think you need another mage. Someone who is capable of dealing with all this complexity before . . .”
    “What?”
    “Well, before it is too late, if you want to know,” she said. Her voice was unexpectedly cool; Callo frowned, puzzled at her demeanor.
    “There is Mage Oron, in Sugetre,” Chiss suggested.
    Callo shook his head at that, and then was sorry as the pain reminded him it had been only recently overcome. “Mage Oron is the King’s man.”
    “He is an estimable man,” Chiss said. “Lord Arias valued him.”
    “He still belongs to the King.”
    Kirian spoke with a controlled tension that alerted him before he even comprehended the words. “There is a mage healer who usually lives away from Sugetre, a legend at the Healer’s College—a charity case like me, who turned out to be an abandoned half- righ color mage. This mage is the only Healer who can work with troubled mages. Have you heard of