Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1)

by Tim Stead

  At the top he drew his dagger and pounded on the door. He waited and listened, but there was no response. No sound penetrated the massive portal.

  “Lend me your strength,” he said to his men, and twisted the great handle as they pushed against the heavy, metal-bound door. It swung open.

  They stood before the opening for a few moments, again expecting something to happen. Nothing did. It was quite dark within. He signalled his men to spread out across the room and search it thoroughly. There was shattered pottery on the floor, and at first he could make no sense of it, but then he saw a reflection on the ground and touched it: oil. He realised that these were the lamps that usually lit the great space. They lay shattered where they had fallen, robbed of their magical support.

  Perhaps it was a good sign.

  They stopped again before the final door. He could see that his men were afraid once more. This was the door that gave onto Gerique’s personal chamber. Darius had been on the other side of it, but none of his men had. To pass this way without being summoned was death, but there was no other way to know.

  He drew his dagger again and used the hilt to strike the door.

  It moved inwards an inch.

  He looked at the tiny gap. The unlocked door spoke to him of an empty room beyond. There was a smell, too, of burned wood and cloth and…and something else.

  He kicked the door open and stepped into the room.

  The space inside was filled with a thin haze of smoke that stung his eyes. Here and there things burned; broken furniture, books, tapestries. As he scanned the room he was aware of his men filing through the door behind him.

  “Captain, over here.”

  They found what was left of Serhan propped against a wall half way down the room. He was badly burned, most of his jacket was gone, and his arms seemed worst of all, though his face was burned mostly on the right side, and his lower face seemed to have been shielded from the heat. A sword like no other he had seen, with a black blade, lay on the floor beside him. It looked dangerous, evil. Darius did not have much hope but he bent down to check that his friend was dead.

  “You took your time.” The whisper startled him and he pulled back. The one good eye in Serhan’s face was looking up at him.

  “You’re alive.” He could not keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  “It seems so, though I wasn’t sure until you heard me.”

  The voice was very quiet, and Darius bent down again.

  “Is there anything I can do, Cal?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Sheath the sword. Fetch water for me, then guard the door for as long as you can.”

  He looked at Serhan’s ruined body in disbelief. Fine? Perhaps. He was looking at the man who had faced the Faer Karan.

  “You won?” he asked.

  “I think so. Small margin though. They’re all gone, Darius. All of them.”

  The sword was carefully put away and laid beside Serhan. One of the guardsmen arrived with a dented silver goblet filled with water. Darius took it and held it to his friends burned lips. Serhan winced as he sipped it, but took it all.

  “Now go,” he said. The voice was stronger; some of the old resonance was back.

  “We’ll guard the door, but against what?”

  “You’ll see. Now go.”

  Darius took his men out into the doorkeeper’s chamber and closed the door behind them. Now he was the doorkeeper. He waited patiently as the minutes passed, and tried not to imagine what was taking place in the chamber behind him. It was magic, and magic was forbidden.

  But was it?

  With the Faer Karan gone, if indeed they were, the rules were also gone. Who now was to say what was forbidden? Only men. He realised now that everything hung in the balance. Thousands of possible futures led away from this moment, and he was inadequate to make the choice. But he had orders, and he was a guardsmen. He had orders from the lord of White Rock, the conqueror of the Faer Karan, whatever state he was in, and if he was nothing else he was a guardsman, and knew how to do his duty.

  At the far end of the chamber the door from the stairway opened again and a group of about ten armed men entered. Darius recognised Colonel Stil.

  Now he saw how wise Serhan was.

  Stil knew that something had happened, that power was changing hands, and this was his chance to put his own hand into the ring, to grab what he could. The colonel had nothing to loose. He was Gerique’s man, and would aid his master if he could, and if not, he would seize what he might.

  “Colonel, you may not pass.”

  Stil stopped a few yards away and studied Darius and his men, allowing his own contingent to get slightly ahead of him, slightly closer to five drawn swords.

  “Who are you to bar my way, Captain? I am here to speak with Gerique.”

  Darius smiled.

  “I have my orders from the Lord of White Rock,” he replied. “You may not pass.”

  He could see Stil’s uncertainty, even in the gloom of the doorkeeper’s chamber. The colonel’s face was twisted with apprehension and doubt.

  “I am your colonel, Grand. I will take this duty. You are relieved.”

  “Indeed he is, Colonel.”

  Stil spun round at the sound of a voice behind him. Three more figures had entered the room from the stair, and Darius recognised Cora’s voice.

  “Captain Bantassin, you are not needed here.” The annoyance was clear in Stil’s voice.

  “I think differently, colonel. If a sword is raised against Captain Grand and his men you will be the first to die. All three of us cannot miss, even in the dark.”

  “This is rebellion, Captain.” Stil was furious. “You’re just as likely to spit your friends as my men. You wouldn’t dare shoot.”

  “We’re not aiming at your men, Colonel.”

  The colonel was edging slowly towards a pillar as he talked, seeking some sort of protection from Cora’s archers, but Darius knew it was a futile move. Trapped in such a confined space he would be easy to kill, and even as he moved the archers were moving, too, spreading out and closing the gap. The colonel’s men, on the other hand, seemed hesitant. In the long history of the White Rock guard there was no recorded incident when guardsmen had fought guardsmen. Their loyalty had always been to White Rock, which meant the guard and its commanders. Stil was the nominal commander of the guard, but Darius was their leader.

  “Very well, I will leave,” Stil said.

  “No, colonel,” Darius said. “If we allow you to leave you will be back with more men and a better story. We’ll all wait here.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “The Lord of White Rock.”

  “For pity’s sake, Captain,” one of Stil’s men said “Will you not tell us who the lord of White Rock is?”

  “I am.”

  Serhan appeared, not through the door as they had expected, but by stepping directly out of the wall next to it. The wall opened up with a noise like steel on stone and shut again behind him. It was an entrance that they would never forget. Somehow he was whole again. No sign of the terrible burns remained, and he was dressed in his now customary black and green. He stood for a moment looking at the tableau before him, and then spoke a word and gestured with his hand.

  The broken lamps that lay scattered about the floor reassembled themselves and rose towards the ceiling, light sparking from them, and in moments the room was as well lit as it had ever been.

  “I am Master of White Rock,” Serhan said. “I expect loyalty. In return I will give you order, justice and prosperity. I am the inheritor of Corderan, not of Gerique, and the line of mages that was broken is now reborn.” He turned to Darius. “Darius, Colonel Grand, you now command here,” and finally he turned and looked at Stil. By this time the men who had come with him to this room had put up their swords and adopted a stance that indicated they were awaiting orders. Stil looked scared, but he had not relinquished his blade.

  “Stil, you are banished. Within an hour you mu
st be gone from the fortress of White Rock, on pain of death. Within two weeks you must be gone from its domains, on pain of death. If you ever return, plot against White Rock, or if I hear that you have incited others against me I will seek you out and kill you. Be certain that you cannot hide from me, though you cross the ocean to another land and bury yourself a mile beneath the ground. This is mercy, and perhaps more than you deserve. Now go.”

  Stil hesitated for a moment, then sheathed his sword and walked calmly from the room, turning his back on Serhan. There may even have been something of a swagger in his step.

  When he had gone, Serhan spoke.

  “No blows were exchanged?”

  “None, my Lord.”

  “That is good. I would not have bad blood between the men.”

  He walked with them out of the doorkeeper’s chamber and down the Faer Karan stair. In the courtyard the crowd had grown quiet. They had seen Stil emerge moments before, but Stil had said nothing, had dared say nothing. When Serhan stepped out in front of them Darius could hear a murmur roll round them and every face turned to see. He glanced across at Cora, and she was happy, rigid with pride just a step behind Serhan’s left shoulder. He could feel the doubt slipping away as the meaning of what they were seeing sunk in.

  Serhan raised his hand and the murmur was stilled.

  “The Faer Karan are gone. The age of their domination of this world is at an end. This change is wrought by my own hand, and I claim White Rock and all its domains as my own, for as long as I can hold them. Those of you who wish to stay and serve me, you are most welcome, but understand that you bind yourself to this place, and to me. Those who do not wish to stay; you may go with my good wishes and seek whatever fortune you desire. I ask only that you decide within seven days. Give your answers to Colonel Grand before the evening of the last day. The choice is yours, and only yours.”

  When he was finished he left them and returned to his quarters.

  Darius stood and watched the crowd as it dispersed slowly. He had no wish to impose order on it. This was a kind of uncertainty and chaos that he had never seen before. He saw people talking. They were unsure, but they were smiling. Others stood or sat and gazed at nothing, just thinking. This was not a time for orders. Seeing it for the first time, Darius recognised it for what it was.

  It was freedom.

  44 The General

  Serhan sat in his chambers and tried to concentrate on what the other two were saying. It all seemed trivial to him, but Christo Milan of Stone Island and Ardin Wasric of Skycliff were both trying to convince him of the merits of their respective arguments. They had come to White Rock supposedly for advice, but now seemed reluctant to accept it. Both of them were new to power, and Serhan believed that they had not given it as much thought as it warranted.

  He saw it as a balance sheet to be manipulated. If you did one thing it must be balanced with another. Compassion must be balanced by strength, taking by giving, and the way you lived your own life by the way your people lived. Christo and Ardin still dwelled in a place where a ruler simply ruled.

  “My Lords,” he interrupted them. “There is a more important matter that we need to discuss.”

  Ardin raised an eyebrow.

  “More important?”

  How quickly they forget who is who, and where real power lies.

  “Samara.”

  “What is Samara to do with us, Lord Serhan?” Christo asked. “It is hundreds of miles from the borders of our domains.”

  “Samara is vital to our people’s well-being, my Lords. Everything comes from there. If it descends into chaos the other cities will follow and we will have no more swords, no more cups, and no more fine wine. Our clothes will be made of the crude cloth that our own people make. There will be no tapestries, no carpets for our floors, no nails to repair or build our houses. Do you see?”

  “Your point is well made,” Christo admitted, “even if you do so by appealing to our self interest.”

  “But what can we do? “ Ardin asked. “The city is huge. We have a few hundred men, perhaps a thousand between us.”

  “Great force is not necessary. I have been keeping watch on the situation, and it has degenerated into a conflict between the King and a number of groups who oppose his rule on the reasonable grounds that he has been nothing but a butcher. Bloody conflict is a daily reality. The city is tearing itself apart.”

  “The question stands, my lord,” Christo said. “What can we do?”

  “We can give them something else to think about. I propose that we send a small force, big enough to look after itself, but its main purpose will be to distract them from killing each other long enough to make them settle.”

  “Why not simply impose your will on them, my Lord?” Ardin asked.

  It was a fair question, and it had occurred to him that this was an option, but he hated the idea. If he did such a thing he would be no better than the Faer Karan, a tyrant. He was content to stay in White Rock and look after the people here. They had known him for years, and he had credit with them for improving their lives. He was seen as benevolent, and there was no rival claim to his position. If he seized control of Samara he would be resented, no matter what his motives might be, and no matter how the people benefited.

  Most of all, he did not trust himself. He knew that frustration could make him angry, that he was inclined to use too much power to make a point, and sometimes to strike before he had thought the situation through. This had been an advantage when he was living on the knife edge of lies and secrecy that had been necessary under Gerique, and for a lot of that time he had been different, his instincts more charitable. He recognised the change in himself. There was a bitterness within, and a deep anger that stepped forwards without warning.

  “I do not want to rule the world, my lords,” he said.

  “We are fortunate that it is so,” Christo agreed, “but we have our own lands to defend and patrol. There are domains bordering our own that are controlled by men who do not see things your way. They seek to expand their territory in the absence of any power to prevent them. If we commit our guardsmen to you, our own people will suffer.”

  “For the duration of your commitment I will guarantee your borders, personally. In time those ambitious and warlike men will be educated or replaced, but Samara is the priority.”

  “You make a good case, my Lord,” Ardin said. “Your willingness to defend us, however short lived in reality, will be remembered by others. However, I will have to return to Skycliff and confer with my advisers.”

  “I understand, but do not take too long. The situation in Samara is nearing a crisis.”

  “We will be prompt, my lord.”

  He left it at that. He would send Darius and two hundred of his own men at once, with orders not to get involved beyond talking. It would perhaps give the inhabitants of Samara some pause.

  * * * *

  Darius walked to the mouth of the valley alone, leaving his junior officers to organise the men. It was a small, dry valley, easily big enough to conceal them and their black door arrival from any curious eyes. From where he paused he could see buildings, farms perhaps, scattered about the countryside in small groups. Too small to be villages, they were dressed attractively with trees, and the buildings were white against the lush green of the landscape. They were like small clouds, their bright edges softened by orchards, fixed on a green sky. There was no hint in what lay around him that the city was close, but he knew that it was less than ten miles away across the rolling hills to the south.

  He looked back and saw that the last of the six wagons was coming through the black door. He had not been surprised when Serhan had opened it, though others had been. They did not expect magic from a young man who smiled and made small talk with the men, who drank wine with them. Magic was Faer Karan business.

  They would get used to it.

  In time he would get used to being colonel, and the new meaning that went with it. He could not be more different
from Stil, and would continue to do just as he had done before. He was pleased, though. He thought it had a nice ring to it.

  He walked back to his men. The door had closed, and he was alone in a grassy valley with two hundred men and their supplies and armaments.

  He gathered them before him. They looked eager, excited, and nervous. This was a new world for them, too

  “Our arrival had been careful,” he said to them. “But we are not here on a secret mission. Our Lord wants people to be aware of us, to know that we are here, and to wonder who we are, so we will be wary, we will do everything in good order, and we will be as noisy as a village market. Our camp fires will blaze like burning houses, and our patrols will raise dust clouds like summer storms. We are not here to fight, but if forced to do so we will engage with discipline and bring honour to the name of White Rock. We are promised more troops, so our numbers and our threat will grow until we may be attacked out of fear, but our positions will be well made, and we will not fail.” He saluted his men, drawing his sword and pointing to the sky. “For White Rock, for justice, for Serhan!” He cried. The song that the blade made as it slipped from its sheath was answered by a louder song. Two hundred blades sang back, and a forest of steel glittered before him and the guard answered.

  “For White Rock, for justice, for Serhan!”

  True to his commands they rode from the valley swiftly, and without any attempt at concealment. Outriders quickly gained the high ground on either side of the column and they advanced without pause the eight miles to their camp site, just two miles from the city, and in full view of it. As they rode, Darius watched the farms on either side. From time to time he saw figures among the trees and houses. Sometimes they stood and watched, and sometimes they ran inside. On one occasion he saw a horse leaving a small group of buildings at a gallop, heading directly for Samara. It was all good. Now they would be noticed, and in the city commanders would hear of them and wonder who they were.