by Tim Stead
“Rollo. You remember him? He died last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. He was a clever boy.”
“My question?”
“Yes, Cal, they did.”
“And my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
Serhan sighed and drained the herbal drink. It warmed him inside, just as Crialla’s herbal teas always had, but now there was something inside him that remained cold.
“I must go now,” he said.
“Oh, stay and have something to eat. You are unhappy. Stay and talk.”
“I cannot. The future waits for me. There are a few more things that I must do here, but it does not pay to linger too long in the past.”
He stood and went to the door. She held it open for him, and he stepped out into the night. He saw that she did not close it for a long time. He walked down the hill towards the sea until he came to another house that he knew well. The sea was louder here. He banged on the door. It opened.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Gris demanded.
“Step outside,” Serhan said. “Bring your stick.”
Gris stooped back into the house and emerged with his staff, firmly held in hugely powerful hands. He was the same as ever, a slab of muscle, competent, frightening.
“You always were a fool, Cal. You think you’re a match for me now?”
He drew Shadow Cutter.
“My father,” he said.
Gris started to say something, but he swung the sword once, a shoulder to hip cut with that unstoppable, deadly blade.
“Goodbye, Gris.”
He walked back up the hill through the village. Crialla’s door was closed when he passed it. What would Brial think in the morning? Serhan hoped that he would live in fear for the rest of his life, because one day Serhan would come back and pay him a visit. He looked forward to it.
At the edge of the village he turned right and headed up towards the woods. Just at the tree line he stopped at the black door that waited there, turned and looked down at the village for a last time, breathed in the snow and salt air, and stepped through.
16 The Builders
“Tomorrow,” Delf said. “We have to leave tomorrow if we’re going to be there.”
Wulf said nothing, which in itself was a bad sign. Wulf was an agreeable sort, and often agreed with Delf even when he disagreed with him, if he didn’t hold a strong opinion. Wulf not agreeing with him meant that there was a problem. He had to admit that he hadn’t realised how much he missed the village until they had made it back. It was probably the same for Wulf. Their house had been kept pristine at Tarbo’s insistence. Their food stores had not been touched. It was home. It was a very new home, but it felt like the real thing.
Their welcome had been spectacular by village standards. Three of the village’s most important men had insisted on hosting them for what amounted to an out of season harvest feast. He was sure he had gained five pounds. Delf had never been a hero before, and he wasn’t at all sure that he qualified for the honour now. He had done very little, and if Serhan hadn’t shown up when he did it was likely they wouldn’t have made it back at all.
The village was quite sure, and his denying it made them even more certain. Hadn’t he saved the village from attack? Hadn’t he and Wulf rescued Falla from the bandits? Not really, but thanks for the food.
As much as he enjoyed being back he was keen to be off again. He was at heart a builder, and had never been happier than when he was overseeing major projects back in Samara, and now a whole building industry was promised. His palms itched.
Wulf was different. Wulf had discovered love. Providently, Falla also seemed smitten, and the two of them spent a lot of time together. Falla was a lot better now that she was back home, and beginning to feel safe. There was still something ugly inside her, and she was inclined to exalt in the fact that Bragga was dead, but that rage cooled a little bit every day, and he was sure that she would mend in time. She had turned out to be quite pretty once she started caring about such things again; far prettier than Wulf deserved, he observed as often as he could.
He had mentioned their promised journey several days ago, and Wulf had been non-committal. Now it seemed that he had made up his mind, and Delf was not inclined to push the issue. He would miss Wulf like he’d miss his right hand, but the man deserved what happiness he could get. He would just have to manage without his old friend.
“You’re going tomorrow?” Falla asked, sitting at the table opposite him. She loved Wulf, but she treated Delf like a brother.
“Yes,” he said. “I gave Serhan my word that I’d do a job for him, and the others will be expecting me to meet them. If I don’t show up I don’t suppose anybody will go to White Rock. I won’t get there in time if I don’t leave in the morning.”
“Wulf,” she said, turning to him. “Do you want me to pack a few things for you?”
Wulf coughed. “I’m not going,” he said. “I’ll stay here with you.”
“Oh, no!” Falla said. “You can’t let Delf go on his own. Who’ll look after him? Besides, we owe Serhan a debt. You should go.”
“I want to stay with you, Falla,” Wulf said, but Delf could tell from his tone that there was no fight in him. He would do whatever she wished.
“Just the first couple of jobs, Wulf,” he said. “You can train the others so we can manage better when you do leave.”
Wulf looked trapped, but Delf knew that it would be all right. One good thing about having a home is that you could look forward to getting back to it. He hoped that his friend would see it that way.
Wulf shrugged. It was a gesture of surrender.
“Well, if I’m going I suppose I’ll need a few days food and a good set of work clothes.”
Falla smiled and went to pack a bag. She enjoyed doing things for Wulf at the moment. Delf wondered how long that would last.
Wulf sighed and sat down. “Just two jobs, then?” he asked.
Delf laughed.
* * * *
In the morning they left fairly late and rode off at a gentle pace. It felt good to be going somewhere for a reason, and even better to be doing so on horseback. Once out of the village they picked up the pace and made it to the old bandit camp a little before sunset. Delf was heartened to see smoke from camp fires, and they rode into the camp to be greeted by about twenty-five people.
He quickly learned that they had been waiting for him anxiously, and debating how long to stay before heading off home again. He was their leader, and they were not prepared to go to White Rock without him. After all, he was the one that knew Serhan. He was surprised to be brought a plate of food almost as soon as he sat down amongst them. They treated him with respect, which he wasn’t used to. He had forgotten what it was like. Nobody but Wulf had asked his opinion on anything since they’d left Samara over two years ago. In a sense very different from the village, this felt like home, too. He was a master builder, and this was his work force.
He talked to them again that night, making sure that he had a grasp of at least the names of all the men and the skills that they brought with them. Most of them were just strong and fit, and looking for an honest job, but there was a carpenter, a potter, and a couple of carvers.
The next morning they rode to White Rock. Delf had never been near the place before, only seeing it from a distance. It had always represented danger, and that which could not be trusted. It felt very strange to be riding towards it, and the apprehension that gnawed at him seemed to spread to the rest of the party, and by the time they reached the foot of the rock they were silent.
“Nothing to worry about,” he said. “We’re invited.”
Nobody answered him, and he realised he was talking to himself as much as to the others. He spurred his horse up the road to the gate and stopped ten paces short of the guards who stood before it. Everyone else stopped five paces behind him. The guards looked at him, but said nothing.
The place scared him, but he knew e
nough about the design of buildings to realise it was the architecture. Whoever had planned this place had meant for people to feel small and vulnerable standing in front of these gates. Nice job.
“I’m here at the request of Cal Serhan,” he said.
The guards looked at each other, and Delf sensed that what he’d said meant something to them.
“He’s not here,” one of them said. There was uncertainty on both sides now, and it gave Delf confidence.
“Captain Grand? Captain Bantassin?” he asked.
“Captain Bantassin is here,” the guard said.
“Well?”
“I’ll go and ask.” The guard who had spoken went into the fortress through a small door set in the gate, and the remaining guard looked uncomfortable. Delf drew a couple of conclusions from this exchange. Serhan was respected, and perhaps just a little feared by the guards at White Rock. That was impressive. It was also obvious that none of the guards knew to expect him, so there was an element of unpredictability in the mix.
“You know Captain Serhan?” the remaining guard asked. Delf was surprised. He hadn’t expected the man to speak at all, but he was getting more comfortable now.
“Yes,” he said. “I knew him before he came to White Rock.” It was factual, but not really true. The guard seemed impressed.
“You’re from the west?” he asked.
“No,” Delf confessed, “I’m from Samara, but I was between the west and here when he passed through. We met.”
The small gate opened again and three people stepped out. One of them was the guard who had gone in, and the other two were women, archers. The older of these looked at him for a moment.
“You must be Delf the builder,” she said.
“And you must be Captain Bantassin.” It was a guess, but a good one. She nodded.
“We’ve got quarters set up for you. You can wait there until he gets back.”
There was a murmur behind him. Delf understood.
“If it’s all the same to you, captain, I think we would prefer to camp outside the fortress,” he said.
Captain Bantassin hesitated; spoke to the other archer who then went back through the gate.
“I think we can manage that, Delf,” she said. “I’ll have supplies brought down to you. I suggest you set up beneath the gate – more shelter from the winds there.”
“Thank you. We will.” He turned and rode back down the hill. The others followed him closely. Keeping near to the base of the great rock he found the spot that Captain Bantassin had spoken of. There was a spur protruding from the rock that gave a good amount of shelter, and a small spring supplied adequate water. They tethered their horses and started setting up camp.
A short while later people began to arrive from the castle above. They brought tents – enough for his entire crew, plenty of food, wine, and anything else they could have wished for. In a couple of hours it looked like a small town, lit by oil lamps and the glow of fires. Delf’s people were in high spirits, and a grand meal was being prepared, much to the delight of Wulf, who interfered whenever he could.
By morning they were all pretty much relaxed with living in the shadow of White Rock. The people from the castle left them alone, apart from the occasional load of supplies that they didn’t really need. On one such visit Delf asked if there were any builder’s tools up in the fortress. Two hours later a wagon load of assorted items came down, and he picked through them with Wulf. There was a lot of junk there, but enough useful equipment to fit them out convincingly as a building crew.
Wulf took it upon himself to start training the men.
The following evening they all heard the sound of approaching horses, and Delf rode around to the foot of the gate road to see if it was Serhan. He saw a company of guardsmen, over a hundred, just beginning the climb up to the gate.
“Delf!”
It was Serhan, about fifty yards up the path. He wheeled his horse round and came back down.
“You made it, then. I expected to find you inside the castle.”
“The people with me didn’t feel comfortable staying inside the walls,” Delf replied.
Serhan seemed in a hurry, and not at ease.
“Look,” he said. “I have things that I must do. You’re camped round the side?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll probably not see you tonight, but first thing tomorrow we’ll go through the plans. I have a destination for you, though. How many did you bring?”
“Twenty-five.”
“A good number.” He spurred his horse back onto the gate road. “Tomorrow, then.” He was gone, riding fast up the incline through the dust of the troops that had now passed out of sight. Delf shook his head. The man had looked tired. He rode back round to the camp and told them all what had passed between them.
True to his word, Serhan came to their camp the next morning while they were still breaking their fast. He had plans with him, drawn up in an amateurish but neat manner. These they discussed for a while. When Serhan seemed satisfied that Delf understood what he wanted he told him where he wanted him to build.
“Sorocaba? That’s a fair ride from here,” Delf commented.
“We just came from there. I think they need to feel that they haven’t been abandoned, but it could be difficult for you. We were sent to punish them.”
“We’re builders, not soldiers.”
“I’ll send ten men with you.”
“Ten? Sorocaba’s pretty big, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but they should be quite subdued. I don’t expect any trouble, and I’ll brief the guard sergeant in charge so you won’t get any. Don’t expect a warm welcome.”
They made a number of other arrangements, and by the time they had finished the sun was high in the sky, and Serhan sat down to eat with all of them, and seemed at ease there, though all showed him respect, and few addressed him directly. He left them after that and they relaxed for the rest of the day.
On the following morning a group of ten guardsmen arrived with a pair of empty wagons and they packed all their tents and provisions before setting out for Sorocaba. Delf had enough to worry about now, and he could see that the guard sergeant was quiet also, but the rest of the company proceeded cheerfully enough.
17 Seneschal
They rode hard on the second day, coming to White Rock in the late afternoon. As they started up the incline to the gate, Serhan was surprised to see Delf coming around the base of the rock. He rode back to him, and they had a brief conversation before he promised to visit their camp in the morning. Apart from bearing at least three things that would cost him dear if Gerique found them he knew that the Faer Karani would want a report on what had happened in Sorocaba as soon as possible. Everything else would have to wait.
When he got to the courtyard of the castle he handed his mount over to someone else and ran up to his quarters with his arms full of luggage. He put the sword and the book in a corner of his bed chamber and covered them with a cloak, putting a pack on top of them. The ring he hid at the bottom of his pack.
He went as quickly as he could to the Faer Karan stair and waited at the top to be admitted. It was a short wait. Gerique was pleased.
Somehow the Faer Karani seemed to already know everything that had passed in Sorocaba.
“It pleases me that order has been restored at the cost of only one life.” he said. “The town is intact and will continue to serve my interests. It is very economical. Tell me about the so called wizard.”
“No more than a trickster, my lord, though he had the people of the town convinced. He may have known some magic, but not enough to defend himself.”
“Why did you kill him? I would have liked to question him.”
“My lord, he was dead when we arrived in the town, killed by one of the townspeople.”
“That is a remarkable coincidence. The timing is most fortunate for you, because it allows me to consider the convenient occurrence of his death while you were camped just a mile outside th
e town a reflection on your abilities.”
Serhan said nothing, and the Faer Karani studied him for a while.
“Bearing in mind your talent for coincidence and unlikely good fortune,” he continued, “I have decided to elevate you to the position of Seneschal. It is a position of some influence, as you will now be responsible for all human activity in the domains of White Rock.”
“My lord, all human activity?”
“Yes. Even Colonel Stil will have to defer to you, though he will continue to speak with me when I require his particular services. There are certain privileges that come with the position, but doubtless they will mean little to you. I require you to inform me only of your goals. The methods you choose to achieve them are your own concern. I trust that you will not fail me.”
“I will not, my lord.”
Serhan was surprised yet again. He had heard that the position of seneschal existed in a few of the Faer Karan domains, but as far as anyone knew there had never been one at White Rock. No further advancement was possible. He wasn’t even certain what additional duties he would be expected to perform. Never the less, he felt the thrill of achievement, the elation of success.
His rise within White Rock had been so meteoric that even Serhan was beginning to wonder at it. He was confident of his abilities, perhaps even over confident, but he had not expected this within two years. It was as if Gerique was pushing him on, giving him more and more power just to see what he would do with it. After all, he could still be eliminated at a whim. There was no such thing as security at White Rock.
Gerique dismissed him and he went back down the Faer Karan stair to find a man waiting for him at its foot. He was much older than Serhan, about the same size, but dressed in the sort of clothes that made you invisible at White Rock, everything in greys and browns.
“My lord Serhan,” the man said. “I am here to assist you in ascending to your new role. I will be your chief servant.”
“Chief servant?”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said. “As Seneschal of White Rock you are entitled to many servants. It is my job to organise them, and you.”