by Tim Stead
She gave up and went back to her room. She would be expected to attend dinner in the colonel’s quarters in an hour, and she had to bathe and dress for the occasion. There would be other guests, important figures at White Rock, and she did not want to seem a rough provincial bumpkin.
It took a while, but eventually she was satisfied that she was as well attired as she could be. Her dress hung off her, emphasising the weight that she had lost, and the trials that she had survived. In spite of herself she was looking forward to the meal. She was hungry, and food was the road back to strength. Besides, she would be meeting men and women who had taken part in events that were now legendary, people who had stood with Serhan in the earliest days.
A knock on the door told her that someone had come to show her the way, and she followed a smartly dressed guardsman down one flight of stairs and up another until they came to a door that was indistinguishable from her own. But once through the door she saw that the colonel’s chambers were big, much bigger than her modest guest room. Weapons and tapestries adorned the stone walls and carpets softened the floors, but it remained a temple to strength and military prowess. Everything that she saw shouted White Rock’s pride in its arms. Even the tapestries depicted battles. A grand fireplace dominated the west wall, but it was not alight, and although some light came from the windows on the east side, most came from dozens of candles mounted in three black iron chandeliers that hung from the ceiling high above them.
Felice was shown to her seat. There were just six other people at the table, though a number of servants made the room seem quite full and bustling with purpose. The colonel presided. She sat at the head, and she wore her casual clothes as though they were armour. She moved with motions that were accustomed to the weight of chain mail and the stiffness of plate. Felice sat at her left hand. The colonel had placed Tann and Pasha’s father, Lieutenant Falan, at her right, presumably because she thought that they would have something in common.
To Falan’s right was an older man. He was not a guardsman, his thin frame was draped in grey and white clothes, a tunic, trousers, an over tunic that seemed excessive in the warmth of a late spring evening. His name was Alder, and he was Serhan’s steward. Beyond him there was a young officer of archers, pretty but severe in face and poise, almost as though she resented being off duty. Her name was Sabra. Beside Felice there sat two more guard officers who conformed more to the type. She was uncomfortably reminded of Karnack. They displayed the same easy confidence and watchful eyes.
The food was simple and wholesome. It did not compare with the exotic treats that she had enjoyed as a guest of Ella Saine in Samara, but she had not expected that it would. At least the food was plentiful, and the wine never stopped flowing. No sooner did she drain her cup than it was filled again. She noted that the colonel and Falan did not stint themselves in the least, and nor did the other male guard officers, but Sabra left her glass half full and listened a great deal more than she talked. The steward, Alder, also drank little and listened a lot. Felice steered the middle course.
Her story made her something of a celebrity. The others all knew each other’s tales by heart, it seemed, and they scoured every detail out of her. She made a point of praising both Tann and Pasha, and saw their father swell with pride at her words.
“So he never doubted you?” he asked.
“Oh, he doubted, Lieutenant,” Felice assured him, “and perhaps he even despaired a little, but he never complained and never really gave up. He played his role with courage and determination.”
“So will you put him to the guard?” Bantassin asked. “It sounds as though he would make a fine officer in time.”
Falan shrugged. “If that is what he wants. He has not expressed a wish, though I know that he has a fondness for the sea, having grown up with his mother in Samara.”
“A ship’s captain is a skilled and honourable profession,” Felice said.
“We know little of the sea here,” the colonel said. “I, myself, have never seen it, and most of the men have seen it just the once, though we have a good contingent here now that once served at Ocean’s Gate.”
The other guard officers looked doubtful, and it dawned on Felice that she was not the simple country girl here. She had travelled half the world, made two sea voyages, passed through a great storm, been attacked by bandits, and made her way through the impassable marshes of the Great North River. She could count wealthy merchants and King’s Counsellors as her friends. She was, in a modest way, a person of note.
“I was wondering,” she said, “if anyone here at White Rock knows anything about the Shan, their ways and such.”
“Alder is your man there,” the colonel said. “He is a great scholar.”
The old man looked a little uncomfortable at suddenly becoming the centre of attention. He smiled slightly and put aside the task of eating. “I only know what I read, Ima,” he said.
“Modesty, Alder?” the colonel feigned astonishment. “You are not known for it.”
“Indeed, colonel, I am hardly known for anything at all.”
“Nevertheless, Aki,” Felice said, cutting in on what she guessed was a regular form of banter. “Will you permit me to ask you a question?”
“By all means.” He turned his gaze on her, and she felt that he could see within her. It was quite disconcerting.
“How do they view men?” she asked.
“Through their eyes.”
The guardsmen laughed, and even the colonel smiled.
“It is his way, Ima,” she said. “We have concluded that he cannot help himself. I have even heard him talk like that to the Mage Lord. It is a wonder that he is still alive.”
Felice tried again.
“Is there a particular historical context in which the Shan regard men?”
“A better question and one that deserves an answer,” Alder said, “though it may be a long one. The Shan divide the time of this world into five ages. The first age was the age of the Shan. They believe that they were alone on the world, accompanied only by dumb beasts. They developed their civilization, build their buildings and acquired wisdom according to their lights. They hold that this age, which lasted many thousands of years, ended with the arrival of men in the world. If you were to ask them they would date this event to about four thousand years ago. They say that men were put here by some higher power. The arrival of the Faer Karan just over four hundred years ago signalled the end of the age of men, and the banishment of the same a couple of years ago heralded the start of the fourth age, which they call the age of wisdom. They believe that men will learn to co-exist with the Shan, and eventually depart the world, leaving it to the Shan again for the rest of time.”
“Could what they believe be true?” Felice asked.
“Yes. Anything is possible, though we only have their version. The history of mankind has been lost, or a great deal of it has. The Faer Karan had little use for historical documents. The Shanish version of history is the only one with any claim to antiquity.”
“So how do men account for history?”
“Most assume that we have always been here.”
“It seems a reasonable point of view.”
Alder sighed. Felice recognised that particular sigh. It was the same noise that her teacher in mathematics had made when she jumped to an erroneous conclusion, a sigh that said I knew it was too much to hope for, she was not offended.
“I see that you do not agree,” she said, smiling at the old man. “You subscribe to the idea that everything changes, as in nature, where the greatest mountain will eventually be worn down to a plain, the mightiest rivers dry up, and the largest of lakes will be filled with silt. So why should we be any different? Change is the only constant.”
“I had not thought,” Alder said, “to meet somebody who had actually been educated.” He executed a small bow in her direction while still seated. The guardsmen laughed again. They were at the stage where anything would seem amusing.
“
I was taught much, but much did not find purchase,” she replied.
“It is always so, or nearly always. I believe that the mage lord is an exception.”
That was the end of their conversation, and the impatience of the guard’s officers drove the company into more mundane, more entertaining avenues. Felice wanted to talk to Alder again, to ask him about the name; Raganesh, about the Ekloi perhaps, but this was not the time. She stayed in her seat and sipped her wine, but noticed that Alder glanced in her direction from time to time. She had made an impression.
Perhaps it was the wine, and perhaps it was boredom, but some time later she found that she had lifted Pathfinder from its sheath, and was toying with the blade. It spun smoothly on her hand, and she could see that it had caught the colonel’s eye. Felice touched the metal feathers of the blade, and under her breath she spoke the words.
“Show me,” she said.
The knife spun, but not to her, it quivered with purpose and pointed away, across the table, and she lifted her eyes along the line of the blade and met other eyes looking back at her. She picked up the weapon with studied calm and put it away, but that changed nothing. It had pointed. It had shown her a man not born in this world. Ekloi. It had pointed to Alder.
She picked up her cup and took a sip of wine. She was surprised that her hand was steady, because her mind was racing and close to panic. He had seen, Alder had seen the knife spin and point, but had he understood? She tried to remember the look in his eyes, tried to read it from memory, but she could not. If there was hostility it had been hidden, and if there was understanding it had not been obvious. It had seemed an expression that conveyed nothing other than interest, and perhaps surprise. Surprise might be bad.
She risked a glance in his direction, and his eyes were still on her, had never left her. The rest of the table seemed oblivious. Except for Sabra. The young officer seemed aware that something was going on between Felice and Alder, and glanced between them, her eyes examining them both with equal interest. It was perhaps a small assurance that nothing would happen here, at the table. The meal was over, though, and very soon they would all be leaving, and she would have to go back to her room where she would be alone.
It was hard to believe that Alder was dangerous. He seemed an elderly academic, a mild and pedantic figure. Raganesh had not been mild at all, and he was afraid of the Ekloi. So if Alder was an Ekloi, then Raganesh feared him.
Perhaps it would be better to go sooner rather than later. If she waited she might end up alone with Alder and the colonel and have to leave with him, or even worse he might wait for her outside. Best to leave early, then, but there was no safe way out.
“Colonel,” she said. “I am tired, and so I must express my regrets and leave you. It had been a most enjoyable evening, and I will long remember the hospitality of White Rock.”
“I am sorry to see you go, Ima. It is a long time since we heard such a good tale as yours, and the hospitality is the least we could offer after bringing you here not entirely in accord with your own desires.”
She stood, moved away from the table, waiting for Alder to offer to accompany her, or make some other move so that she could rebuff him. She had reasons prepared, but he did not rise, did not speak. A glance in his direction showed that his eyes were now elsewhere. He was speaking with the officer that sat next to him, and did not even glance in her direction, giving all appearance of having lost interest.
She stepped out of the door, waved away a servant who waited to guide her, but accepted his lantern to light her way. She walked back to her own room, and was not followed. She went in and set the lamp on the table while she sat on the bed. She did not feel safe.
There was no lock on the door, and so she braced a chair against it. It would be difficult to open. Impossible to open without making a noise that would wake her, give her time to do something.
Her weariness had not been a lie, and having taken her few precautions she blew out the lamp and sleep came quickly, washing over her like a choppy sea, full of questions.
She woke many hours later, her eyes suddenly open in the dark. She lay still for a while, but could hear nothing. A noise came in the distance; a man’s voice called out, but it was answered and silence slipped down again. But it was not a proper silence in the same way that black if often not completely black. True black and true silence are equally striking, and the silence in her room did not strike her in that particular way. She imagined that she could hear the wind against the fortress walls, or perhaps it was the feet of mice in the corridor beyond the door. Then again, it could be the echo of the blood pounding in her ears.
“I know that you are awake.”
The voice, little more than a whisper boomed in her straining ears like a great shout, and she jumped upright.
“Who…?” she began, but she knew the answer. She was not surprised to see a light struck, and in the flickering of the newborn flame she saw Alder’s face. He carefully moved the light to the lantern and it bloomed to fill the entire room. Felice did not speak, but she watched him carefully. He seemed at ease, not in the least worried. She saw that he was sitting on the chair that she had braced against the door.
“I thought that you had another question for me,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. It was true enough. “But I had not expected you to make yourself so available.”
Alder smiled. “What was the question?” he asked.
“Raganesh,” she replied.
“What about Raganesh?”
“Who is Raganesh?”
“An interesting question. May I ask where you heard the name?”
“Certainly not before you answer me, and then it depends upon your answer.”
“I see.” Alder sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, touching them to his lips while he studied her. “You are not…concerned by my presence?”
“If you are trying to scare me you have done that already, so answer my question, or leave, or do whatever else you intend.”
Alder nodded. “Very well. Raganesh is, or was, a minor Faer Karani who dwelled at High Green until their exile by the mage lord.”
Felice shook her head. “He is a man.”
“They are shape shifters, Ima,” Alder reminded her. “He could appear in any number of forms, but it is interesting that you used the present tense.”
“A man,” she insisted, “a flesh and blood man who smelled of sweat and breathed air.”
“You were near to him then? I am most grateful for this information. You should know that the Faer Karan are capable of taking a human body, of evicting the mind of its owner and occupying it. There are drawbacks, however. They are more limited if they do this, and cannot be released from the flesh before it dies. They are also much harder to find.”
“So this Faer Karani, this ‘minor’ Faer Karani – it fears you?”
“Did it say as much? Did it mention me by name?”
“No and no, but it did fear. It asked me to find you.”
“Me?”
She did not answer. Alder stared at her for a while, and then looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. She heard him sigh again, but this was a different sigh. It was the noise a man makes when he has completed a long and awkward job only to realise that he has gone about it the wrong way.
“There is much that you do not know,” he said. “There is much that you will never know. I understand that you are afraid, but would you rather side with a Faer Karani?”
“Than with an Ekloi?” She saw that he was startled by the word. “All I know,” she went on, “is that accommodations can be made with the Faer Karan. Borbonil serves the mage lord.”
“The Faer Karan serve nobody,” Alder said, and there was a vehemence in his voice that she had not heard before. It was a candle’s light short of hatred. “Borbonil bides his time, that is all.”
“You have not spoken with him.” It was not a question. She had been surprised by what the Faer Karani had said to her,
by his choice of words, but also by the genuine sense of wonder that she had heard. Borbonil was very aware of his own state of change and excited by it in his own peculiar dry fashion, and she did not believe that Alder would have failed to perceive this, had they spoken.
“There is no need,” he replied. “I have known the Faer Karan a long time, and others before me for still longer, going back many years; centuries. They have never changed. They do not change.”
“You are mistaken.”
Alder flapped his hand in an uncharacteristically violent gesture of frustration. “Enough,” he said. “Will you tell me about Raganesh, what he looks like, and where I can find him?”
“I can deliver him into your hands, but I am still questioning if this would be a good idea.”
“I do not understand. You have been oppressed by the Faer Karan for four centuries and now you think you might like to protect them?”
“How do you feel about me knowing your secret, Ekloi?”
“You know very little.”
“I know enough. I know that the mage lord is mistaken in his belief that he is the only mage in the world. I know your name, or at least what your kind are called, and I know that you and yours have watched us suffer for hundreds of years, and yet done nothing.”
“I cannot explain this to you.”
“But I should trust you with my life none the less?”
“It is your choice.”
“Is my life safe? Does this knowledge threaten me?”
Alder paused, as though caught between an easy lie and a difficult truth, and the answer to her question was clear. There was a threat. This was a secret that Alder was supposed to keep. She watched him struggle for an answer for a moment. The fact that he struggled at all was much in his favour. A less moral creature would simply have lied.
“If my life is in danger I would like to know for what crime I will be punished, for I am not aware that I have committed one, and it is the mark of any just society that it does not punish the innocent.” She sat back in her bed and watched him.
“It is a dilemma,” he said eventually.
