Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1)

by Tim Stead

  “If I might say something,” it was Alder, who had remained silent and by the door all through their conversation, not moving except when asked to summon their breakfast.

  “Of course,” Serhan said. “What is it?”

  “The Shan,” he said. “They are unpredictable. They do not see things as we see them. Many believe that they can see the future and the past as well as the truth; not clearly, but in shadowy ways. You are, if nothing else, a person with an interesting past and a momentous prospect. That may confuse it.”

  “You think so?”

  “No, but it sounded good and with the secrets you keep you may not even know what is true yourself.”

  Serhan laughed. “Even now you mock me, Alder. Thank-you.”

  There was a discreet knocking on the door. A guard had arrived to say that Gerique required the presence of his seneschal at once.

  “My friends, it seems that breakfast is over. I will see you all when I return.”

  He put a last piece of dried fruit in his mouth and walked out of the room without saying anything else, least of all farewell.

  The walk to the Faer Karan chambers was a long one. He had no plan, but he went round and round the situation like a trapped animal, looking for the smallest openings. There were none that he could believe in.

  So this was to be the end, perhaps. Never the less he would maintain his innocence. There was always the chance that some doubt would save him, some small part of Gerique that would value him as a tool more highly than it condemned him as a threat. At any rate he would soon know more about the Shan than he had ever wished to.

  He was ushered in to Gerique’s presence without delay, and that alone was a bad sign. The Faer Karani was alone, and Serhan spotted Corderan’s book almost at once. It lay open on a table in the middle of the room, and Gerique was flicking through the pages.

  “Have you seen this?” he asked, almost conversationally.

  “I do not think so, my lord,” he said. “Is that the book that was being taken from the castle?”

  “Yes. You do not know what it is?”

  “I do not, my lord.”

  Gerique flicked over a few more pages, allowed the silence to build a degree of menace.

  “It is the personal text of Corderan, the man who built this fortress,” he said eventually. “You do not know how your secretary came by it?”

  “I cannot imagine, my lord. Perhaps somewhere in the fortress itself?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The silence extended again, and it seemed to Serhan that Gerique was genuinely absorbed in the text of the book. Eventually the Faer Karani looked up again.

  “Quite exceptional,” he said.

  “My lord?”

  “Just one more thing,” Gerique said. There was no gesture that he could see, but a door opened again, and a small figure entered. It was hooded so that he could not see the face, and just for an instant he thought it was a child.

  “The Shan will take your hand, then you will confirm to me that you knew nothing of Corderan’s book, and then you may go.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  He looked at the Shan as it drew back its hood and looked back at him. He had not expected a proud bearing and a steady gaze. It was old. The face was lined and creased, and it almost looked human. The nose was too small, almost rudimentary, and the mouth appeared lipless. The eyes were most striking, for the Shan have no whites in their eyes, and this one looked at him steadily out of large brown and black pools, set apart just as human eyes are.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Seneschal,” it said, and the voice was soft, feminine. He had not expected it to speak, her to speak, he corrected himself. He reminded himself that the Shan were intelligent; an ancient race.

  “Under other circumstances, perhaps,” he said.

  She smiled, and it made her look less human. “I am Seer Sage Rin Percan Sylbastinorette,” she said.

  “Proceed with the truth telling,” Gerique interrupted. The Shan shrugged, a very human gesture, and held out her hands towards Serhan. “I am sorry for the hastiness of what should be a solemn ceremony, Lord Seneschal.”

  “I understand how things are,” he said, and placed his hands in hers. They were small and cool and dry, old hands, but her grip was firm. He looked into her eyes and saw a widening, as though they were surprised, and then the brown eyes closed, and several seconds passed in silence.

  Serhan felt nothing. There was no indication that the Shan was reading him, no sensation at all. It seemed wrong to him that something so profoundly invasive should be impossible to detect. His mind turned to Mai, lying dead somewhere in the fortress. He had not even seen the body, he realised. He would like to see her one more time, whatever. He wondered if it would be possible.

  This was a moment, he realised, such as those that Cora had spoken of all those months ago in the archer’s mess. Since Mai’s death he had been the arrow in flight, arcing through the hours in an unbroken geometric curve, with no possibility of deviation. He could have done nothing other than what he had done, and there had been no choices to be made, or none that he, Cal Serhan, could have made. Now he was nearing the ground again, and his flight was coming to an end.

  I have done the best that I could have done. But it was not really true. He had taken risks, trusted to luck, walked ever closer to the edge only to have it crumble beneath his feet when he had most to lose.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Frateri Moru.”

  The Shan had spoken to him, so quietly that he was certain even Gerique could not have heard her voice, and he realised that he was looking into her eyes again. She released his hands and turned to face Gerique. What had she called him?

  “Great One,” she said to the Faer Karan. “Did you know that your colonel had tried to poison your seneschal? It was only Stil’s ineptitude with Shan poisons that saved this one’s life.”

  Gerique seemed momentarily stunned. It took a moment for him to speak. But that was not right. The poison had been well used, and would have killed him if not for the healing spell that he had used. The Shan was wrong, or she was lying.

  “Is that so?” he said. “But what of the book? Did he know of the mage’s book.”

  The Seer Sage cast a glance back at Serhan, and then turned to Gerique.

  “No, Great One. He had no knowledge of the book.”

  He watched the Shan leave, thoughts whirling in his head. She had lied. Now there was no doubt in his mind at all. She had seen everything and chosen to deceive Gerique. Why?

  He was dismissed, and as he left he remembered what she had called him: Frateri Moru. Alder had taught him enough of the old tongue that he knew the phrase. She had called him the brother of death.

  What did it mean?

  29 The Brother of Death

  There had been a lot of suppressed emotion when he emerged unharmed from his audience with Gerique and the Shan. Cora held his arm so tightly that it hurt, and Darius had been mute with relief. He excused himself from their company as soon as he felt it was decent to do so, because there were two things that he had to do.

  Firstly, he went to say goodbye to Mai.

  Thirty minutes later he was back in his chambers.

  “Alder? Where are you?”

  Alder appeared almost at once. He seemed oddly inarticulate.

  “I am here, my lord,” he said. There was no mockery at all in his tone. Serhan smiled.

  “I have questions for you, Alder. How much do you know about the Shan?”

  “Not that much. I have read some books.”

  “More than most then, I imagine. Can you tell me the significance of the phrase Frateri Moru?”

  “Of course. It is basic to their mythology.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ll simplify things for you,” Alder said.

  “You always do.”

  “The Shan believe that the time of the world is divided between five ages. In the first age only the Shan inhabited the worl
d. In the second age men arrived, drove them from the mainland to their current island home. In the third the Faer Karan arrived. They believe that the fourth age will come when the Faer Karan are gone.”

  “I know you’re going to get to the point in a minute.”

  “Indeed. They believe that each age is ushered in by an individual. The old age falls prey to death, and the new is ushered in by life – personified. They call this individual Frateri Moru – the brother of death. The Shan thinks this is you?”

  “Why would they?”

  “I have no idea, my lord, but I am interested to know where you heard the phrase.”

  “Just a left over curiosity, Alder.”

  “There is one more thing, my lord.”

  “Yes?”

  “Captain Grand was here looking for you. He said there was a bandit raid taking place on the eastern borders. Apparently a number of guardsmen have been killed, and he thought that you should ride with him at once to resolve the problem.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this at once?”

  “I believe that I was busy answering your questions about Shan mythology.”

  Serhan hurried down to the courtyard where he found Darius busy outfitting a large force of guardsmen. The space was crowded with horses, men and armour. He joined in with desperate enthusiasm.

  “So many?” he asked.

  “I know,” Darius replied. “The reports are clear, though. A band of about a hundred bandits have attacked a town called Barisal. They seem to be trying to hold it.”

  “Hold it? They must know that we’re not going to allow that?”

  “Yes. I don’t like it. It’s not like bandits.”

  “How did you hear of it?”

  “The guard sent a messenger when the bandits showed up. He got through.”

  “Any news of the garrison?”

  “All dead or captured. The messenger hung around long enough to be sure that the bandits had taken the town. He talked to someone else, someone who had been in the town, and they said that the guard were all killed. They also said that the bandits intended to hold the town.”

  “So many messages getting through. It’s as if they want us to know.”

  “My thoughts too.”

  “We still have to go.”

  “Of course.”

  “What do we know about the town? I’ve never been there.”

  “Quite small. About as thousand people. It’s the closest town to the border with Far Delve. Not a close ally to Gerique, but not known to ally with Borbonil, either.”

  “So probably not inspired by them. Have there been any reports of groups this size?”

  “Not since Bragga.”

  And that was it. The incident was odd, but it required a swift response. Serhan was glad, in truth, to be riding out of White Rock. The place echoed differently, cast different shadows now that Mai was dead. He felt uneasy there, and the feeling ate at him. A trip away, a long trip, would give him time to think, to re-adjust. It was what he needed.

  He had seen Mai’s body, spoken to her, held her cold hand, but there was nothing there any more. She was inside him now. His memory was perfect and would not let him forget the smallest detail. He could see her every time he closed his eyes, hear her voice, feel the warmth of her body. It was almost as though she lived on inside his head, but there would be nothing new, no surprises, no joy from the remembered images, words, and feelings. He could only hope that the gripping fist of grief inside him would one day turn to melancholy, and that the bitten back rage he felt would mellow into sighs and wistfulness. For the present he was controlled, functioning.

  He had never thought of his memory as a curse before, but now he began to wonder if it might become one, dragging him back over and over to things, times and feelings that he would forget if he were another man, perhaps should forget. It took an effort of will to pull himself back to the present, and the dusty road to Barisal, the sound of hooves around him, the cool breeze.

  “You’ll be all right,” Darius said. He became aware that his friend had been watching him as they rode.

  “It will never be the same,” he replied.

  “No, never the same. Perhaps worse, perhaps better, but the future is a rolling horizon full of things that we do not expect, or even hope for.”

  “You are philosophical today.”

  “Am I? I did not mean to be,” Darius smiled. “I will ruin my reputation as a simple soldier.”

  They rode in silence for a while, and the fields, trees, occasional villages reeled past them on the road, becoming a journey.

  “You must have seen a lot of death,” Serhan said.

  “It is true. I’ve lost good friends, parents, seen promising young men and women die pointlessly.”

  “You carry it all with you?”

  “Of course, but I also carry memories of triumph, friendship, good fortune, love, and any other thing. They make me what I am, but not what I do. I use them, like an extra strength within me, to make me stronger, more determined, more careful.”

  “I know this technique. I was taught it as a child, but Darius, I am all but overwhelmed by this.”

  “You will master it as you master all things, Cal. You will. One day, perhaps years from now, you will remember what I say, and you will smile and say that the old dog knew what he was about after all.”

  “So time heals?”

  “Time allows you to heal yourself. You will never forget Mai, Cal, but time will fill the space between you and her with other memories, and life will throw obstacles in your path that you must overcome.”

  “It is difficult to believe.”

  “I know. The wound is raw and bloody and feels fatal, but it is not. You will always carry a scar, though.”

  When evening found them they were close to a village, and chose to camp on its outskirts. There was a Kalla House here, and the guard garrison came to their camp and joined them for their evening meal, bringing food, local wine, and stories that were filtering through from Barisal.

  The more that they heard of it, the odder the attack on the town seemed. The bandits were well organised, disciplined, and had begun to fortify the town. Supplies had been gathered in, and patrols moved through the woods and hills. These people would not be taken by surprise, but made no effort to conceal what they were about.

  “They can’t be bandits,” Darius said.

  “It is possible. They could have been watching the guard, picking up ideas.” Serhan wasn’t sure.

  “I can’t think of any reason that bandits would be doing this. Whoever they are, there’s sure to be a second force somewhere, outside the town.”

  “Why?”

  “Everything they’ve done has been a provocation. They want us to come, to attack the town. A second force is the only explanation. It will probably move into position behind us when we move on the town.”

  “Do we have enough men?”

  “I think so.” Darius was thoughtful, measuring the possibilities. “The way to approach this is to find and take on the second force before we attack the town. It will probably be about the same size as the one in the town, and I’d back our guard against any equal force.”

  “What about the bandits in the town?”

  “They won’t come out. If they do they’ll probably be too late for the fight. If they’ve prepared fortifications they’ll stick to them, feel safer holding them. We can get the battle over before they come out, and if we’re lucky we’ll catch them in the open in poor position.”

  “I can see the sense in it.”

  “I still don’t think they’re bandits.”

  “Who else? It’s miles from any of Gerique’s enemies, and there’s no ill feeling with Far Delve. If they’re guard, then who’s? It would be a huge breach of the rules if one of the Faer Karan was putting troops into Gerique’s domain by magical means – almost a declaration of war.”

  “I know.”

  Two days and we’ll find out. Not that it presse
d on him that much. He was drained. The effort of suppressing his grief was great, and time was passing too slowly. If he could sleep for a decade, sleep and wake up free of the pain it would be a thing he would do. Anyway, he could at least sleep, perhaps, and postpone grief until morning.

  30 Barisal

  Within an hour of pitching their camp just over the hill from Barisal they were approached by people from the town. The bandits, or whoever they were, did not seem to object to people coming and going. On the whole the people were glad to see the White Rock guard, and volunteered information readily.

  There were, as originally reported, about a hundred of the invaders. They seemed to be very unusual bandits, like none that Serhan had ever encountered. They had officers and organised units, and obeyed orders. The fortifications that the townsfolk described were simple, but probably quite effective, and they had based them around the Kalla House. The one thing that rang true was a lack of archers – none of the townspeople had seen a bow.

  The townspeople confirmed that the garrison were dead. They had fought to the last man, made use of their defensive position, and killed twenty of the attacking force before being overwhelmed. So it had been a determined assault. That again was something that bandits had never done before.

  “I’m still certain about the second force,” Darius said on their first evening camped outside the town. “But these are not bandits, and if they’re not guard troops then they’re something new.”

  “New?”

  “Another force. Someone’s put together a disciplined body of troops, a private army if you like, and is making war on White Rock.”

  “To what end? If we lose here they’ll either face a larger force or the Faer Karan themselves.”

  “I don’t know, and that worries me,” Darius rubbed his eyes. Serhan reflected on the difficulty of fighting an enemy if you didn’t know what their real goal might be. “Whatever they are, it’s certain that they want a fight,” Darius continued, “and they don’t seem too bothered that we know about their defences. That tells me that they don’t expect them to hold. They really are relying on a second force.”