Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1)

by Tim Stead

  Delf Killore was distressed by this. He had long since returned to Woodside, leaving three travelling groups of builders to complete the work that he had begun, and was constantly bothered by people who travelled to visit him in his home, mainly to ask his opinion on legal matters. He protested that he was just a builder, or even just a farmer, but answered their questions anyway.

  “It is a mistake,” Serhan told him when he visited White Rock. “You should never have answered their questions.”

  “I know,” Delf replied. “But I find that I enjoy the problems. I had no idea that law was so much like building – you need good foundations for the whole thing to stand up.”

  “You prefer it to farming?”

  Delf looked at him sideways. “You’re not just asking that, are you?”

  “No. The law needs a home. It is becoming too fragmentary, beginning to diverge across White Rock, and even more across the other domains that have taken it up.”

  “And?”

  “We need a lawmaster, and a place where the law is kept. Do you want the job?”

  “I’m quite happy in Woodside. I have friends there now.”

  “So stay there. Build a House of Law by the village. White Rock will provide funds.”

  “I am tempted, but I will have to think about it. The towns and villages will need to know if this happens, and rulings will have to be stored somewhere, written down and corrected. We may need to train people to send out as advisors.”

  “You see, you are already half way there,” Serhan smiled.

  “It needs to be done, and it is important work.”

  “Take your time. Come back to White Rock when you have thought it through, and do not take more than thirty days. But for tonight think no more of it. You are dining with me. I think Captain Grand has some questions to ask you about modifications to the Kalla House design, and we have some very good wine.”

  All the time, as life hurtled past him with no sense of control at all, there was Rin, and there was magic. As he walked or rode around the country, moving from one Faer Karan stronghold to another he heard and saw magic that he had never imagined. The older the spells the more difficult they were to capture, but there was always something, and he quickly became adept at storing away the sounds and sights, and would spend the quiet of the night unpicking them and learning secrets that he would not have known to seek.

  One night as he sat in a guest chamber in the fortress of Skycliff, collecting his thoughts for the day ahead, he had a startling idea.

  All day he had been impressed by and made to wonder at the fortress itself. It was built into a great cliff face, the lowest of the entrances being fifty feet clear of the ground, and the guards operated a series of suspended platforms that were hoisted up and let down to allow passage around the place.

  Who ever had built Skycliff centuries before had blasted a section of the cliff clear from the surrounding high ground, so that it was impossible to reach the top of it by foot. It stood like a sinister island off the coast of the original massif. On the flat top there were a few low buildings and training grounds for the guard.

  From a distance it looked like a natural formation, and as you drew closer it seemed at first to be a fortress like White Rock, and then even closer the height of the cliff became apparent, and the eye was appalled at the sheer size of the place. It rose three hundred feet from the base of the cliff, almost vertically. The rock seemed to have been smoothed somehow, so that an assaulting army would have no way of ascending once the platforms had been raised.

  The fortress itself was mostly in the outer thirty feet of the rock, allowing light to penetrate, but giving the odd impression that its inhabitants ran around inside the skin of some great dead beast, peering out through holes in its carcase at the world beyond. The deepest chambers, lit by magic and so far within the rock that daylight never penetrated, were those of the Faer Karan.

  The lord of Skycliff, a Faer Karani called Hinshaway, did not deign to meet with Serhan. It was left to the newly appointed seneschal to show him around. Like most new seneschals, this one was a former guard officer. Ardin Wasric was younger than most, and unusually he had not been the colonel of guard before becoming seneschal. He had been picked for his organisational skills, and also, Serhan guessed, for his enthusiasm.

  “This is a new beginning,” he said when they met for the first time. “It will be remembered for ever.”

  It was that phrase, ‘a new beginning’, that brought the thought to him, sitting in the dark after a busy day. It was an old beginning that interested him; an important beginning. Did anyone know where the Faer Karan had arrived in this world? It was certain that there had been a time when they were not here, and they must have arrived at a place, or perhaps at many places, but he had seen nothing in all the many books he had read. There were no folk tales that named a place. The sea – he recalled that they had come from the sea. It had been in the book that Rollo had read from; across the sea to Samara.

  Not the sea.

  “What do you mean?”

  They came to Samara from the direction of the sea, but they arrived on Cabarissa.

  “The Shan island?”

  Yes.

  “You have memories?”

  No. But tales have been passed down. There is a place traditionally accorded the distinction of arrival.

  “I must go there.”

  You think there will be some trace of the magic that brought them here?

  “I don’t know, but it may be worth a visit.”

  It has been four hundred years.

  “Even so.”

  The Shan will not welcome a man.

  “But I am not just a man.”

  That is true, but they may still not accept you. There is a risk that word will get back to Gerique at White Rock.

  “You think they might betray me?”

  It is possible. There may be some advantage in it for the betrayer. However, there may be a way that we can avoid that.

  “I can become invisible.”

  It may take days to find the exact spot. We may need help.

  “I thought you knew.”

  It is a valley. Nobody lives there and it is a considerable size.

  “So we will consider it, and when it is planned we will go.”

  You are a busy man, seneschal. You will need to arrange things so that you have a few days free from commitments.

  “It can be done, but may take time. I will arrange it as soon as possible.”

  The decision being made it was only a matter of time before the journey could be managed. Difficult as it was, Serhan knew that he would have to step outside his life for a while, and even now he dreaded idleness, feared the quiet of empty days.

  Since the victory at Barisal he had been troubled by guilt and doubt. It had begun with something that the young lieutenant, Portina, had said to him; something about orphans and widows. For a soldier it was a natural part of life. You fought, you killed, or you were killed. The former was always preferable. Serhan was not a soldier. He knew within him that he had options not available to ordinary soldiers. He could have used some other trick to escape from the canyon. He could have repulsed the first guard attack in a different way, but he had chosen bloodshed, chosen to personally end the lives of perhaps a dozen men, and it had been unfair. Protected by Gerique’s ring and wielding Shadow Cutter he had been a creature out of legend, and not really a man at all. They could not have killed him.

  Killing their captain had been worse. He had justified it to himself as a strategic act. The enemy would be disorganised for a short while when their chain of command was pruned, but again, he could have chosen another way.

  He had killed Captain Gorman because the man had annoyed him.

  He knew that Darius would not have done it, nor Cora. He was appalled that he was even capable of such an act. Should a man who could do such a thing hold the position of seneschal?

  After Barisal he stayed away from conflict as mu
ch as possible, and no longer rode out with the guard when there was fighting to be done. It was now rare that such things happened, but the guard had noticed. Darius had noticed.

  He had even abandoned Shadow Cutter, putting the great sword away in the secret room that Corderan had created inside White Rock. Now he carried the jewelled sword that Gerique had given him, with its fine steel blade. He had killed with this, too, but with more justice, and malice had not been in his heart.

  He did not confide these thoughts to anyone, and although Rin probably knew, being in his mind, she said nothing. Each thing he did that saved lives was now an act of atonement. He looked for such opportunities.

  He had lost count of the men he had killed, and he had become afraid of himself, of his own darker side.

  Being busy kept such thought at bay, and he put off the trip to Cabarissa for weeks, immersing himself in the numbing rush of detail. Delf had agreed to take on the role of lawmaster, which pleased him, and the building of the Kalla houses was nearing completion. In a few months they would all be built and garrisoned.

  It was at this time that he received a letter.

  Serhan had never received a letter before. The carriage of such a message was both expensive and uncertain, but when a guardsman came to tell him he was quite certain.

  “Yes, my lord,” he said. “A letter. The man who brought it will only give it into your own hand. I think we would have to kill him to get it from him.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “Hard to kill,” the guard smiled.

  Serhan walked out to the front gate and even from a distance he could see what the guardsman meant. The man looked strong, wore mail and plate armour. He had a sword and two daggers, and a bow slung over one shoulder. He looked hard, too; a professional soldier, but not a guardsman.

  “You have a message for me?” he asked when he came up to the man. Close up he looked even tougher, and covered in dust and sweat from his journey.

  “You are Serhan?” the man asked.

  “I am.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  Serhan laughed, and gestured around the courtyard. There were about thirty guardsmen in sight. “Ask anyone,” he said.

  The soldier pulled out a letter, folded in rich yellowish paper and sealed heavily with wax. It had every appearance of having shared his journey.

  “I have been charged to give this only into the hands of the Lord Serhan, Seneschal of White Rock and all its domains.” He seemed reluctant to part with his charge.

  Serhan glanced about them and saw a familiar face.

  “Sergeant Blayso,” he called across. The grizzled master at arms ambled over, not quite slowly enough to be insolent. It was the older man’s way of not showing too much respect.

  “My lord?”

  “This soldier has travelled far to bring me a message. See to it that he has a place to bathe, good food and enough wine to relax him.”

  “At once, my Lord,” Blayso said.

  Serhan held out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation the soldier placed the paper there and went off with Blayso. He examined the paper. The front of it bore his name and titles, and the thing was sealed with enough wax to light a room for a night. He took it with him up to his chambers and sat down so that he could read it in comfort.

  He broke the seal, opened out the letter.

  It was written in a good hand, one used to writing, and he immediately looked to the bottom of the letter to see if he could determine its author. He did not know the name, but it was clearly written, as was the title.

  Calaine Do-Regana Tarnell of Samara.

  He had no idea that there still was a throne of Samara. After four hundred years? It showed an awesome level of perseverance under Faer Karan rule, and the soldier who had brought the message showed that it was no pretence. He was a real soldier, belonging to a real power.

  He read the letter.

  It began with a liberal dose of flattery. He had been heard of, it seemed, across all the world, his fame as a warrior and a wise ruler etc. etc. He understood the form. This Calaine had no idea who he was or what he was like. Then there was a name mentioned – Portina. She knew Portina, and Captain Portina now. So the young man had done well out of his loyalty. His heart was warmed by the news. He had liked Portina.

  It was evident that she understood his situation, and even the latitude that he was allowed by Gerique. The bandit general Bragga was mentioned. Someone in the south was keeping track of him.

  Now the heart of the letter. She wanted his help. Samara was within territory controlled by Borbonil and Ocean’s Gate, but she wanted to implement changes along the lines that he had done without the consent of the Faer Karan. Well, it was a dangerous game, but if they had maintained the royal line of Samara in hiding for forty decades, then it was hardly raising the stakes.

  He read on. There were some things that he could not do for her. They would place him in a very poor position with Gerique if they came to light, and with so many involved it was likely that they would. Other things he could provide.

  He put the letter to one side and called Alder.

  “My Lord?”

  “Alder, there is a soldier from the south down in the barracks being entertained in a friendly manner by Blayso. Can you ask them to escort him up to my chambers when he has bathed, eaten and had time to relax a little?”

  “As you wish, my Lord. How relaxed do you want him?”

  “Comfortable, but quite coherent. I have some questions for him.”

  “I understand.” Alder left him, and he read through the letter again. He guessed that it has been penned by a scribe, but the words were those of someone young. There was a certain gaucheness that appealed to him, and enthusiasm, and honesty. He wondered if her father the king knew about the letter. He lifted it to his face a breathed in its scent. Dust, a thousand miles of dust and the faintest hint of a garden filled with flowers.

  How could he offer support without seeming to condone a position that defied the rule of the Faer Karan? The first step is to make sure that nobody ever saw the original letter. He touched Corderan’s ring to the wall and stepped out into the secret chamber, leaving the letter on the desk there. It would never leave the room again.

  Back in his chambers he was roused from his thoughts by a knocking. It was Alder.

  “My Lord, you wished to speak with this man?”

  “Ah, yes. Please come in.” The soldier was a good deal more relaxed, though Serhan noted that the sword and daggers remained firmly attached to his belt.

  “At your service, my lord,” the soldier said.

  “Will you join me in a glass of wine?” Serhan asked. “You have journeyed long, and brought me good news.”

  “I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but I will not. Your guards have provided me with all that I may safely drink, and I must keep a clear head to do my duty.”

  “That is wise and admirable,” but not convenient. His estimation of the man rose a notch or two. “What can you tell me of the king of Samara?”

  “He is my lord and I serve him. Beyond that I am not empowered to speak.”

  “Yet you come here with a letter that bids me ask such questions.”

  “This I do not know, but I can speak of the Do-Regana, if that is your wish.”

  “Then speak.”

  “She said that I was to speak freely, but I find myself reluctant, my lord.”

  “If I am to respond to her letter I must know certain things. I must know her character.”

  “Of her character I can be open and free. She is a good soldier, honest and loyal, and her arm is the equal of most men in my king’s service. She is also kind and wise.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-two, or so it is said.”

  “Does her father know of this letter?”

  “I cannot say.”

  “Or will not?”

  “Cannot, my lord. I was given the letter and my instructions to bring i
t here and left at once.”

  “Does her father trust her?”

  “My lord, I do not think…” the soldier stopped. The meaning of the question had taken a moment to reveal itself to him. “His sun rises and sets in her eyes, my lord.”

  So she speaks with confidence, she is honest and she is kind. He wondered at this distant young woman. What had she really expected of him?

  “One more question. What does she look like?”

  The soldier stared at him, and Serhan thought that he could detect a reddening about the man’s ears.

  “It is not my place to say.”

  “It is my place to ask, soldier, and I need to understand. Nothing that you say here will be repeated. Tell me.”

  “My opinion is worth little, my lord, but all men say that she is the fairest of all Samara, but that they fear the king, and he will not have it spoken.”

  “Thank you. Now you will forgive me if I have you conducted immediately from the fortress to a place of safety. This is a Faer Karan place, and your master and his daughter are no friends of the Faer Karan. I will in time convey a message to you for you to bear back to Samara, but be patient.”

  He summoned Alder and had the soldier taken from the fortress and lodged in the village beyond its walls.

  Now what to do? There was no doubt that Gerique would hear of this visit, and there would be questions, but he could honestly say that he had spoken to the man and sent him away. What else? He could also say that the letter was from Calaine Tarnell, and that the gist of it was her wish to step down from open hostilities with the Faer Karan. She supported what she had heard of the changes in White Rock, and wished for them to be implemented in Samara. That was all true, but not all the truth.

  He wanted to help, but something in the tone of the letter reminded him of the officers at Barisal, and the way they had expected him to do the impossible, even relied on him to do it.

  He would reply. He must reply, but there could be no real practical help unless things changed at Ocean’s Gate.