by Tim Stead
“It seems simple to me.”
“But I am sworn to keep the secret, and yet what you say is no more than the truth. It would be a crime against justice to harm you for no good cause. You are, as you have said, innocent in this matter. You neither sought the knowledge nor sought to conceal it beyond natural caution.”
“Then swear me to secrecy, too. I will tell no one.”
“It would be difficult to justify.” She could see that a deeper struggle now took place. The previous one had been for his words, but this was for his actions.
“And when the mage lord discovers you, as you can have no doubt that he will, will you kill him?”
“No, Ima, that is entirely different.”
“How so?” She sought to encourage fundamental considerations, to make him see that life was life, and one person equalled another.
“He is the pre-eminent figure in your world…”
“And you know what I will become? You will kill here and spare there just because of what is, and ignore what might be? It is true that the mage lord is greater than I ever aspire to be, but all life is potential. Think on the purpose of your secret. I take you for an honest creature, Alder, and if you give me your word that I am safe I will aid you in your capture of Raganesh, and I will keep your secret, even though the mage lord himself ask me to reveal it.”
“And what of the Shan?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“They will not touch me. I will protect my oath with my life.”
“It is a bold promise, to die for a secret when you will not be killed for it.”
“Never the less, I swear that it is so.”
Alder stretched in the chair, wriggling his fingers at the end of his long arms and curling his toes. He smiled at her.
“The Shan know,” he said. “You need not fear their touch. It is hard to keep anything from the Shan without killing them all. So I will take you at your word, Felice Caledon. You have my word that you are in no danger from myself, and in the morning you will lead me to Raganesh. Is it agreed?”
“It is agreed.” She felt a wave of relief, like a breaking fever, sweep over her. She believed that she had been moments from death, and powerless against its chosen agent, and now the threat had withdrawn, like a knife put away in a sheath. Alder put the lamp close to her bed.
“I will see you at breakfast,” he said, and slipped through the door as silently as he had come. Felice sat back and allowed her heart to calm itself. She covered her face with her hands shutting out the light. What had she done now? She had sided with an alien mage against a terrible and powerful creature, but she had had no choice. There was no fondness for the Faer Karan in her heart, and she had briefly felt a sort of kinship with Alder, but there was no guarantee that he would keep his word, just her faith in his character, his honesty.
A knock on the door startled her.
“Who is there?” she demanded.
“Sabra,” came the reply. “Lieutenant Sabra. May I enter?”
Felice pulled the blankets around her again. “Yes, Please.”
The door opened and the lieutenant stepped through. She was fully dressed and armed, and looked around the room, making sure that no other was there.
“What did he want?” she asked.
Felice hesitated. “It was a private matter,” she said. Sabra raised an eyebrow.
“If you do not wish to confide in me, then that is your right, but the colonel was concerned. There is no problem, no danger?”
She was surprised. She had assumed the colonel to be well past caring, well on the way to a drunken stupor, and yet here was her lieutenant, following Alder through the night, checking on her.
“I thank the colonel for her concern,” she said, “but there is nothing that I can say. It is a matter of honour, I suppose.”
Sabra nodded, as though this was something she understood. “Shall I bear any message to the colonel?” she asked.
“Tell her that I believe all to be well, but if I am not on the wagons leaving for Woodside the day after tomorrow, she should be very wary of Alder.”
“I understand,” Sabra turned to go. “There will be a guard in the corridor for the remainder of the night,” she added. “He will not do anything, but his eyes should ensure that you are not troubled again, just in case someone may be inclined to disturb your sleep.”
Then she was gone and the door shut quietly.
She had thought, for a while, that these were simple people. Seeing them sat around the table drinking wine and talking of simple pleasures it had seemed obvious, but it was a false apprehension. Here there was watchfulness, skill, and a spirit that cared for all within the fortress walls. It was the spirit of Serhan, she thought.
The morning was another day, and so she turned her back to the door and quickly fell asleep.
13. Alder
“I am not happy with the arrangement,” Alder said. They stood close to the gates of White Rock, just inside and out of the way of any passing traffic. The morning sun slanted across the opening, making it a dark tunnel to the green and blue world that lay beyond. People carried on their business in the courtyard behind them, and Felice wondered if they were watched. She could see no sign of it. She was surprised that Alder seemed so fretful, and she sought to reassure him.
“I have told you, Raganesh asked me to point you out. If we go down together he will be afraid and not approach. I must go alone.”
“He will not trust you.”
“Perhaps, but it is the best that we can do. It is the only thing that we can do”
“Then go, I will permit it” he said. “I will follow in no more than half an hour, and I will expect to see you in the tavern.”
“I will be there.” It was almost as though Alder worried for her safety, and that was surprising for someone who had been prepared to take her life the previous evening. She set off through the gate and took the great spiral road down the face of the rock for a second time. She did not enjoy the view, did not even raise her eyes to look at it, but bent them to the road in deep concentration. She wanted no part of this private conflict, but had trapped herself into it through a naïve blend of curiosity and not knowing when to leave something alone. It was becoming a familiar regret. She reached the bottom of the great rock and turned onto the track that led to the town. She walked slowly, but the distance between her and the town shortened more quickly than she liked.
One thing still troubled her, and she had not revealed her doubts to Alder, though in truth she was surprised that he had not raised the matter himself. Raganesh had, to all appearances, given her his true name when he could so easily have passed her off with one that he had invented on the spur of the moment. He must have intended that it should be recognised, but by whom? The Ekloi? It had certainly proven effective at drawing Alder down to the town. Was it intended to be a trap?
She walked through the first buildings of the settlement and looked around her. The place was no more attractive than she remembered. Indeed it seemed tattier than ever, as though the winds had chewed at the fabric of the place a little more. She walked slowly through the streets, glancing carefully into the shadows down the dim alleys between houses, scanning the broad streets. There was no sign of Raganesh. She remembered his face, his form, the tilt of his head, the shape of his hair, but she saw none of them in the people around her.
Eventually she came to The Black Sword. She stood before the tavern and studied the few people that were passing through the square, but nothing caught her eye. There was no sign of her quarry.
She went inside. It was as quiet as it had been the last time she was here. A scattering of people filled chairs separated by what seemed oceans of space, but a quick examination of the figures in the room revealed no sign of Raganesh.
“I am always pleased to see a customer return. May I get you something, Ima?”
She turned to see that Haken, the landlord, had appeared beside her.
“Hot jaro, if you would be so kind, Aki,” she said.
“At once,” he replied and turned to go, but she put out a hand and touched him on the arm to keep him there.
“Before you go, Aki, I have one question for you. I am looking for one of your customers. He always eats alone, and he is a trifle unusual, he may seem a little odd.”
“I think that I know who you mean, Ima. He seems arrogant, but also a little afraid.”
“That is him.” She smiled at the description because it was so apt. “Has he been in today? There is some business between us that we must conclude.”
“No, Ima. In fact I do not recall that he was in last night, which is unusual, because he has eaten an evening meal here every night for a week. One of my best customers.” He shrugged. “Beggars cannot choose.”
“Thank you, Aki. I will have the jaro now.”
“Yes, Ima.”
Haken disappeared in the direction of the bar and left Felice to her thoughts. Could he be gone, then? The giving of his name could have been a mistake that troubled him later when he recalled it. He could have fled the town. But she remembered his face as he had spoken the words. It had been a deliberate act, a positive decision on his part, so perhaps he had expected the name to be recognised. A trap then. And having laid the trap had he lost his nerve and fled? She was trying to double guess a double guesser – a futile exercise.
The hot jaro arrived, and she sipped it, waiting for Alder, and studied the other customers.
Close to the kitchens a group of four men played castle. She could hear the slap of the cards on the table and the clinking sound of copper coins as bets were adjusted. They were absorbed in their game. To their left two tables were occupied by unaccompanied men. The closest was asleep. He leaned back in his chair with closed eyes and an open mouth, an empty cup on the table before him, and she could hear his breath rasping through his throat even from where she sat. The other man was cradling a cup of jaro and picking occasionally from a bowl of spiced, crisped deerfruit seeds. He looked deep in thought.
Close to the door sat a man and a woman whispering secret words in each others ears. Lovers. Felice always expected lovers to look pretty, and she was always disappointed. He wondered what he saw in her. She had flushed, puffy cheeks and straggling blond hair that writhed free of her headband like so many dirty snakes. She snorted and squealed like a pig at the words he spoke. Laughter, she supposed. The man looked stupid and cunning.
On the other side of the door two men sat together and discussed something that was on a sheet of paper. They took turns in pointing to things and speaking, and turns at agreeing or shaking a head no. It seemed amicable. It seemed that they were making progress.
One of the card players called for a drink, and she watched as Haken hurried to bring it to him. What kind of life must it be, she thought, to be at the beck and call of every drunk and gambler?
A sudden light in the doorway snapped her eyes back across the room, but it was only Alder. He stood for a moment, caught in the bright rectangle of sunshine, his head turning from side to side until he saw her and let the door swing closed, striding through the empty space between the empty tables.
“This is a grim place,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. “Did you find him?”
She shook her head. “No, and the landlord did not see him last night, so there is a chance that he had fled.”
“That is bad,” Alder said, and he looked genuinely worried.
“Stay a while,” she said. “Have a cup of jaro, it is not that bad. Raganesh may yet show his face, and if he does not...” She shrugged.
Alder nodded absently, giving her cup of jaro an unfavourable look. “I do not like that stuff,” he said. “It is too sweet and too bitter all at once.” He raised his hand and the landlord hurried over. “Do you have any decent wine?” he asked.
“Fine wines from Blaye,” Haken replied. “For the discerning customer we have a few bottles from the most excellent Portina vineyards, but they are not cheap.”
Alder raised an eyebrow. “Portina? The royal wine? Well, then, I shall have a bottle of that, if you have not stored it in the sun.”
“Oh no, Aki,” Haken assured him. “I have fine cellars beneath us, cool temperatures on even the warmest days.”
“Then bring the wine,” he commanded. Haken left them and he turned to Felice. “You will have a glass? The chance to drink such a wine is not to be passed up lightly.”
“It is famous, then?”
“The reputation of the vineyard is ancient, and we have a number of bottles in the castle cellars, but I had not expected to find such treasures here.”
“It is not a poor tavern,” Felice said. “It only wants for customers.”
Alder nodded. “Perhaps, but we must talk of other matters.”
“Raganesh?”
“Yes. If we do not find him soon then I must tell… others.”
“Do you want me to go out into the town again?”
“Alone? No. If he is not here then he has probably moved on somewhere else. He could be anywhere by now. I think he would indeed have approached you if he was still here.”
“I am not so sure. All the Faer Karan had about them a sort of cunning, and Raganesh gave me his true name. Why did he do that?”
“A foolish mistake. He will have realised his error and moved on.”
“It did not seem like a mistake…” she did not finish her sentence, for at that moment Haken stepped towards them with a bottle and two glasses in hand. It was unusual to drink from glass in a tavern. Glass cups were expensive, brittle, and hard to replace, but Haken clearly thought the honour worth extending. He displayed the bottle to Alder who brushed a little dust from the etching on the glass and then nodded to the landlord.
Once he had removed the cork with surgical care Haken poured a half glass for each of them. Alder lifted his so that the light from the windows illuminated his face with a faint ruby glow. He then held the glass to his nose and breathed in the aroma, eyes closed. This was followed by the smallest imaginable sip which he rolled around his tongue with a pensive expression on his face.
“Very good,” he said. “You keep your wines well, landlord.”
“Thank you, Aki. I have always taken my profession seriously.”
Felice sipped her wine and was surprised by both its smoothness and its intensity. It had an authority that was not present in other wines that she had tasted, a mellow dryness that did nothing to hide its rich flavour.
“I like it,” she said, startled to find two pairs of eyes were waiting for her judgement.
Alder nodded. “Yes,” he said. It was clear that he thought the wine largely wasted on her. He paid the agreed sum to Haken and the landlord went away. He sipped the wine again. “It is very fine,” he added.
Alder seemed to be enjoying the wine so much that Felice did not like to speak to him again. She sipped her own glass and watched him go through various expressions of pleasure and delight as he drank his own. When he had finished the first glass he poured himself a second, and made a reluctant gesture towards hers with the bottle, but she shook her head.
“I get more pleasure out of watching you drink it,” she said.
He smiled at her. “It is one of the things that give me hope,” he said. “It is not possible to produce a fine wine in a world bereft of civilization, and this is certainly a fine wine. I must make the effort to visit the vintner one day.”
“You called it the royal wine?”
“The royal house of Blaye, as was, and I assume its royal house again. The family Portina have run vineyards in the hills around Blaye for hundreds of years, and did so long before the Faer Karan arrived. It was traditionally the preserve of younger brothers, princes not of the line, but one vineyard at least has always belonged to the Kings of Blaye, and in recent years the man who would otherwise have been king has turned his hand to the art. He has considerable skill.”
“Wine as high culture,” Felice mused. “I had not thought of it that way.”
<
br /> Alder did not reply. He was sipping at the wine again and had closed his eyes. The sleeping man opposite them awoke with a start and knocked his cup, barely catching it before it fell off the table. He shook his head and looked around, blinking at the room as it slowly resolved itself into something he could make sense of, before digging in a purse and putting a few coins on the table. He hurried out into the bright day.
She saw that two of the card players were arguing, one of them had risen to his feet and was gesturing at the other. The sight gave her a momentary chill, but a third player intervened and the matter was settled. The man sat down again with a last angry gesture.
On the other side of the tavern the two men discussing the piece of paper had gone. She had not seen them leave. The lovers were still pawing each other close to the door.
“Do they interest you?”
She turned to find Alder watching her.
“Yes, in a way.”
“I see other things in your eyes when you look at them,” Alder said. “You are afraid when you look at the card players – your brother?”
“They remind me of things I do not wish to remember.”
“Of course. And the man and woman – there is something else when you look at them.”
Felice did not answer. She glanced at the lovers and then away again. The sight of them offended her.
“I see envy,” Alder said.
“Envy?” She was aghast. “Of them?” She realised that she had raised her voice, and had half risen from her seat. She sat back down again, shaking her head. “You mock me!” she hissed.
“Well, they are in love, or she is at least. I am not so sure about him. Have you ever been in love Felice Caledon?”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“In many ways you are a remarkable young woman,” he said. “But in many others you are still a girl.” He held up a hand when she started to protest again. “I do not mean to offend you. It was the same with the mage lord when he first came to White Rock, and the innocence within him cost him much. You should not be shy of your own feelings. Examine them as you would any other phenomenon.”
