Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1)

by Tim Stead

  “We have to leave soon,” he said. As soon as possible, he thought. Tonight would be best of all, but there’s not much hope of that. “Can you two try to behave normally for the next few days?” he asked. Wulf looked at him. Falla nodded. “I understand, Wulf, really I do, but this is the place it is, and we’re already in trouble.”

  Wulf continued to look at him.

  “All right,” he said. “The others know that you’re good with herbs, so tell them that Falla has some sort of infection, and you’re treating it. They might believe that. Tell them it will only be a few days.” They would have to be gone by then.

  Where to go was the next question. Even if they managed to get away from the camp they would be noticed within hours. They were three days’ journey from Tarbo’s village, even on horseback, and the bandits would probably be able to trail them there, so it was not a good place to go. Ideally he would have to think of something that would make the bandits not want to follow them, but for now he was drawing a blank.

  * * * *

  Two days later Delf was still getting nowhere with his escape plan. He was sitting looking into the fire turning over a number of poor options, trying to decide which version was least likely to get them killed when Wulf tapped him on the shoulder.

  “This could be interesting,” Wulf said and pointed across the camp site.

  Delf looked, and saw that a man was standing just inside the circle of fires, and by the look of him he was definitely not a bandit. He was of average height, but it was his clothes that caught the eye. He wore good black leather boots, new by the look of it, black trousers and a green jacket on which a skilled embroiderer had spent many hours. A fine looking sword with a jewelled hilt hung from one hip, and a dagger from the other. A riding cloak of heavy green cloth hung down his back.

  The man was being confronted by a couple of Bragga’s close allies, but did not seem to be troubled by it. He looked quite calm and relaxed. Delf made his way to join the group that was gathering around the stranger.

  “…and who are you to be giving us orders?” one of the men was demanding.

  “I represent Gerique, of White Rock,” the stranger said. Delf heard the voice and caught sight of the man’s face at the same moment, and recognised both. It was the same man that they had tried to rob all those months ago on the mountain road. He struggled to recall the name, but immediately saw that this represented an opportunity. He moved closer until he was standing only a few feet from the conversation. This man was a trained warrior, and a dangerous one.

  The crowd parted and Bragga himself strode through.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  “This man wants us to surrender to him.”

  “Are you mad, or just keen to die quickly?” Bragga asked.

  “I represent Gerique,” Serhan said. “You are, against all precedent, being given a chance to save your lives.”

  “You represent nothing,” Bragga said. “Except possibly a bit of practice.” He turned to a group of men nearby. “Kill him.”

  “I challenge that order!”

  Almost everyone in the camp turned to see who had dared utter the words. They were all looking at Delf. He reasoned that nobody would be crazy enough to come into the camp without pretty impressive backup, and that just outside the circle of firelight there would be a number of guards with arrows on the string and swords drawn. If this turned into a melee there was no telling who might be killed.

  “You?” Bragga laughed. “Now you want to die? Or are you going to set Wulf on me?” There was general laughter. Serhan, however was looking at him quite differently.”

  “Delf, isn’t it?” he asked. “I did say you should get out of this trade.”

  “You know this man?” Bragga was momentarily uncertain.

  “Yes, general,” Delf confirmed cheerfully. “We met just once, last year. He taught me a valuable lesson.”

  “And that was?”

  “The same one that I hope you are about to learn, General. I nominate Cal Serhan as my champion.”

  “Who..?” and then Bragga’s eyes lit up. “The tailor’s dummy? You nominate this?” he pointed at Serhan.

  “I do.”

  “As you wish. Fetch me my weapons.” A couple of men ran off.

  “What have you got me into, Delf?” Serhan asked.

  “Simple. You kill the ogre and nobody else has to die. He kills you and there are going to be a lot of bodies round here, mine included. You do know how to use that sword?”

  “I’ve been taking lessons,” Serhan smiled. “I like the way you’re thinking.”

  Bragga’s men returned and handed over his massive war hammer and sword. Serhan drew his blades and stood ready.

  “Anything you’d like to say before I kill you?” Bragga asked.

  “Yes. You still have the option to surrender.”

  The general aimed a massive blow at Serhan with the hammer, but the smaller man easily avoided it and his sword followed Bragga’s hand, cutting it across the back. The hammer flew off into the crowd. People ducked and leaped to get out of its way. The general roared with pain and anger.

  Serhan ducked another blow and cut the big man on the hip. It was quickly apparent that the fight was only going to end one way. Bragga’s massive strength was enough to crush a smaller man with a single blow, but he was too slow to land one. Serhan moved about him with care and precision and cut him almost at will. Bragga tried again and again to close with Serhan, where his weight and strength would make a difference, but always found himself stumbling into empty space where his opponent had been a moment before. It took a long time, but the general was eventually so weakened that he failed to keep his guard up, and Serhan stepped forward and plunged his sword point into the man’s heart, stepping back again as the giant fell face first to the ground.

  There was a moment of quiet. The crackling of the fires was the only sound, but some of Bragga’s men recovered quite quickly, and perhaps seeing an opportunity for advancement, advanced towards Serhan with drawn swords. He lifted his arm and from the darkness behind him thirty guardsmen moved up in good order. A commotion of the other side of the camp indicated that there, too, a military presence was felt. Serhan sheathed his sword and walked over to Delf.

  “Does that make you the leader of this band?” he asked.

  “I doubt it. There was only ever one leader here, and one plan.” Delf explained Bragga’s tactic, and that many, if not most of the bandit group had been pressed into service.

  “So you can tell me which ones are, how shall I put it? Professional?”

  “Yes.”

  The bandits were easily disarmed and rounded up. Serhan then went through them one by one and, with advice from Delf, divided them into the pressed and the criminal. The latter were branded on the back of the hand and released with the warning that they were under sentence of death if they were caught robbing again. The others were disposed according to their own wishes, with twelve being recruited into the guard and the bulk of them heading back to their villages.

  When it was done Serhan took Delf to one side.

  “How many people do you need to build a substantial building?”

  Delf shrugged. “One, given sufficient time.”

  “Yes, not a good question. Look here.” He knelt and sketched out a rough plan in the dirt. “These are living quarters, enough for ten, these are cells, and here is a meeting hall that can house a couple of hundred. This is a storehouse.”

  “You’d need a common space, like an entrance hall, to control access.” He sketched a few changes. “This is some kind of guard post, yes?”

  “It contains a guard post.”

  “So you want the walls thick enough to keep out unwelcome visitors?”

  “You have the idea. Also a roof space with some shelter for archers. It must be quite simple, though. I don’t want it to be a fortress.”

  Delf thought for a moment.

  “If I have twenty people, probably abo
ut fifty days.”

  “How many of the people here can you use?”

  “All of them. There are a few good skilled people here, but even a labourer is useful. There’s a lot of simple work in building.”

  “Well, see if you can put together a group from what’s left, and bring them to White Rock in ten days’ time.”

  “To White Rock? That might be a problem. Not many will go near that place willingly.”

  “I guarantee their safety.”

  “Even so, Wulf and I have to return home and make arrangements before we can do this. Perhaps twenty days?”

  “You have a home?”

  “We took your advice, after starvation reinforced it a little. We were farming in a village three days’ ride from here up until a couple of weeks ago. We even have a house, and a food store, if it’s still there.”

  “I take it you’d rather be a builder?”

  “If there’s a decent project.”

  “There will be. I’m not intending to build just one of these things, Delf. One for each town, and then perhaps even one for each village, but it is a major piece of work.”

  “I see,” Delf was quiet for a while, looking at the plan scratched on the ground. “You can do this?” It was amazing that he could have come by such power after so short a time at White Rock. He wondered what Serhan had done to achieve this.

  “I think I can persuade Gerique.”

  “That, I would like to see. On second thought, perhaps not.”

  “You will be at White Rock in twenty days?”

  “Yes, I will be there, with all the people that I can persuade.”

  “Thank you, Delf. I shall see you then. If I am not there, please ask for Captain Grand or Captain Bantassin. Either of them will treat you well until I return.”

  The agreement made, Delf approached the recently released people who were still at the camp site. It was almost dawn by now, and most were still making plans, eating, trying to catch a few hours of sleep before dispersing.

  He persuaded twenty eight to join him, and arranged to meet them back at the camp site, which was conveniently no more than a day’s ride from the fortress, in nineteen days. He then secured three horses for himself, Wulf and Falla, and rejoined his old comrade at their hearth.

  “We’re going home?” Wulf asked when he finally sat down beside them.

  “Yes, after I get the chance to close my eyes for a while.”

  “What were you talking about?”

  Delf explained quickly. He had assumed that Wulf would come with him, but looking at his friend now he saw that he was having doubts. He decided on the direct approach.

  “You don’t want to do this?”

  “I don’t know,” Wulf was hesitant. “I really liked it back at the village, and if the guard from White Rock are clearing up the bandits it could be a really good life.”

  “I need you, Wulf, at least on the first one. I need someone I can trust to train the others.”

  Wulf nodded, but Delf could sense that the decision wasn’t made.

  A few hours of fitful sleep and he was woken by the warmth of the sun. Wulf was already up, and he had the luxury of eating a good breakfast almost as soon as he rolled off his sleeping mat. Falla had changed. What had once been almost unrecognisable as a human had become in a few hours a young woman. She had found a comb somewhere and cleaned out and tidied her hair, which now framed an oval face which while still mostly grave was host to the occasional smile. She had a good smile. Her sack-like clothing was now tied at the waist, and she was paying a lot of attention to Wulf. Wulf was loving it.

  They rode out of camp and headed south towards the village. For once Delf felt that he could relax and enjoy the journey. The horses were a valuable acquisition, and they had been allowed to keep their weapons, so there was very little chance of being waylaid by bandits, if there were any left to waylay them. The sun shone, breezes cooled them and they took their time, stopping in pretty places to eat and rest, and while they rode Falla was given to singing songs. She was tuneful, and her voice was soft, so Delf found it most pleasing.

  When they camped on the second night and Wulf disappeared into the forest, as was his habit, to gather herbs, Falla approached Delf. She hadn’t really said much in the previous two days, and she was still a stranger to him.

  “Sir, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course, but please don’t call me ‘sir’. Everyone just calls me Delf.”

  “Are you Wulf’s master?”

  “His friend. We are both free men, or at least we were until we met Bragga.”

  “I’m glad he’s dead,” she said, and there was a change of tone, a vehemence in her voice that suggested a considerable volume of hatred.

  “Bragga wasn’t a good man.”

  “..and it was your friend who killed him.”

  “Hardly a friend, though I’d be glad to call him such, and glad to work for him, I think. He has not mistreated me the times we have met, and he’s certainly had the opportunity.”

  “Do you think he likes me, Wulf I mean?”

  Delf was surprised at the question, but it made sense. Wulf had looked after her, but he wasn’t a very demonstrative man, and hard to read. Delf could, though; he had a lot of practice at it.

  “I think so. I think he likes you a lot,” he said, and was treated to another smile. He didn’t think she was fully recovered from her ordeal yet. It would take time, he guessed, but for now she was still swinging between hate and joy, love and despair. Her freedom and safety weren’t real yet, and would take some time to become solid, dependable, and trusted. Being back with Tarbo and the rest of her family would help.

  “Will we be home tomorrow?” she asked.

  “I think so. If I read the land right we should be there in the afternoon.”

  She nodded and wandered off to tend the fire while Delf looked after the horses, making sure that they were hobbled and had good grazing and water within reach.

  The following day was beautiful from the moment it dawned. Birds serenaded them from the trees and the spring air was full of life and promise. They rode easily through the hours, accompanied by Falla’s songs and the gentle sound of their horses’ hooves on the forest floor. The paths through the trees felt wider and more spacious than he remembered, and it was shortly after they had stopped for a mid day meal that they came out of the tree cover into the fields around Woodside.

  It was quite a homecoming. A number of men were working on the land. It was close to the end of planting time. At first the people looked alarmed by their appearance, but they waved and smiled, and were recognised. One figure came running madly across the fields and rushed up to them out of breath and red faced. It was Brono, Falla’s brother, and she leapt from the saddle into his arms. They embraced for a long time, not speaking, and other farmers gathered around them.

  Eventually, they disengaged and Brono turned to Delf and Wulf, who sat on their horses grinning.

  “From this day you are my brothers,” he said. “You cannot imagine the joy that you have brought to our family.” He turned to another man, one of Tarbo’s field hands. “Go,” he said. “Run. Fetch my father.”

  The man ran off in the direction of the village, and the whole party moved slowly in the same direction.

  “When you failed to return there were people who said that you had fled, left us to our fate,” Brono said, “but my father denied them. Then when the bandits did not return in a day, two days, three days, we realised that they were not coming back. We wondered why.”

  “Delf told them you had the plague,” Wulf volunteered. The glow of good will all around him was making him voluble. “They caught us in the woods half way back here, and we joined up with them to lead them astray.”

  Questions flowed, Wulf answered most of them, and Falla walked with her brother, gripping his arm like an anchor in a stormy sea. Half way to the village they were met by an even larger party hurrying out to them. It was a very good day.


  11 Poison

  There were few tasks that Serhan dreaded, but prominent amongst these few was a mission such as this: punishment. Gerique had summoned him and told him that a problem existed in the town of Sorocaba, which lay about sixty miles south east of White Rock. The problem was a man, and the man was practising magic. Reports had come in from those who served the Faer Karan that a wizard had arisen in the town, and that the wizard was exhorting the people to open rebellion. It was not something that the Faer Karan could ignore, and Gerique did not choose to do so. Without the option that Serhan represented he would have sent Dragan, a Faer Karani in his service. Dragan was the punisher, and its methods were known, and feared. Dragan ate villages and towns, it was said. After it left there was nothing to be seen but flat ground. There were no bodies, no houses, just bare, flat, burned ground.

  Gerique made it clear that this was a test of Serhan’s ability to solve such problems, and that Dragan was waiting in case of failure.

  Serhan wondered at the reports. A wizard? No such thing had been seen in nearly forty decades. He himself was the nearest thing to a wizard that he could imagine. His perfect memory had given him seven spells in addition to the original three he had been taught, though they had yet to be tested. He was personally keen to try the black door spell, but the opportunity had not yet arisen. He was still uncertain of Gerique’s tolerance towards his use of magic, even though he had been given the magic ring. He was walking a tightrope, though he was doing so with some confidence.

  He went to consult with Darius and Cora and found them sharing a bottle of wine in Darius Grand’s quarters. Consultation had become a routine in dealing with any problem. Their advice was always sound and he had come to rely on them to agree with him. This time he was surprised.

  “A wizard?” Darius said. “No such thing.”

  “Not my words,” Serhan said.

  “Cal, we’ve never seen or heard of a wizard,” Cora said. “We can deal with people, but we don’t know what a wizard is, or what it does. How do we fight it?”