by Tim Stead
“You have been an implacable enemy, Borbonil. This is a change that will take some effort to believe.”
“I was your enemy because I believed that you were mine, my lord. I thought you dangerous.”
“As I have proven to be,” Serhan said. “Now I see you in the same light.”
A difficult situation indeed, but he had been right about one thing; the man had compassion, even for the Faer Karan, and he saw it as a way out.
“There is a spell,” Borbonil said. “One that would assure you of my loyalty, and that of Cabersky.”
“Explain.”
“It is a binding spell, binding my life to yours. Once cast it can only be undone by you. So if I were to kill you I would kill myself.”
“Kill you? I thought it was impossible to kill the Faer Karan.”
“Difficult, but not impossible.”
“So why did you not bind yourself to General Grand, or any other person? It would have protected you as well.”
“Given the choice, my lord,” Borbonil said, choosing his moment, “I would not bind myself to anyone mortal.”
“What do you mean? I am mortal. If you bind yourself to me you will die when I die.”
“I hesitate to disagree with you, my lord, but you are no longer mortal. You are one of us now.”
The sword tip rose angrily to his throat.
“I am not one of you; I will never be one of you. I am a man!”
Borbonil spoke quickly.
“I can sense your presence, my lord. I can only sense the presence of the Faer Karan. Ever since your victory I have been able to sense three; myself, Cabersky, and now that you are here I am certain. When you drove out Gerique and the others something of them went into you. I cannot change the truth.”
“What does this mean?”
“I cannot tell, but I believe that you will not age, you will not die, and like ourselves you will be very difficult to kill.”
Serhan’s eyes unfocussed for a moment. It seemed to Borbonil that his mind was recalculating, weighing the implications.
“In many ways, it is a curse,” he said. He spoke quietly, as though to himself, and the louder again. “Tell me the spell, Borbonil. I will spare you for now, for I may have a use for you. Then we will find Cabersky.”
50 Sarata
The wind was blowing from the east, and carried with it the smell of smoke. The camp outside Samara was busy even as dawn came, dragging light over the jagged cliffs above Morningside, and spilling it down the slopes to the river and on into Gulltown. The sky was streaked with blood red clouds, smeared across the dark blue-black, and greying and vanishing in the west, like men growing old.
This is a day of destiny.
Darius sat in the growing, glowing light, breathing in the smells, listening to the comforting domestic sounds of the camp behind him. Pots banged, men spoke, some barely awake with the night still in their voices, others alert. The night guard going off duty perhaps. Something was being cooked back there. The smell of hot jaro came to him.
That seemed like a good idea.
He stretched himself, walked down off the walls and went in search of a warming cup. He found a large pot brewing over an untended fire, all ashes and embers. He dipped a cup and tasted. It was good. He enjoyed the warmth as it spread down his body, took a second swallow.
“You seem to be enjoying that, General. Is there another cup?”
Darius looked up and was startled to see Serhan standing on the other side of the fire. He was wrapped in a black cloak against the cool air of the night, and in the poor light only his face was recognisable.
“My Lord, I did not know that you had arrived.”
“I came in the night. I wanted to talk to the men, see what their spirit was like, and besides, I could not sleep.”
“Can I do anything for you, my lord?”
“Just the cup of jaro, General.”
Darius filled a cup from the steaming pot and held it out. Serhan took it.
“Thank you, Darius.” He sipped the liquid. “We’ve come a long way these last few years.”
“We have. Further than I could have imagined.”
“And yet a lot will end tomorrow. Things will change. There will be new hopes and new fears.”
“I do not know what you mean, my lord.” He was puzzled. Serhan had avoided talking about things, all things, for so long and now, when he finally chose to speak he made no sense. “What will happen?”
“You will be there to see it, whatever it is. It may be my last day as a man.”
“My lord?” Now he was worried. “Your last day?”
“I am being self indulgent, Darius. Forgive me. Now please carry on, I want to speak with the men a little longer.”
He watched as Cal Serhan, the mage, possibly the most powerful being in the world, strolled over to a group of guardsmen huddled around a fire. They were cooking breakfast, and they moved around to make room for their lord, who squatted down on his heels with the rest of them, accepted a plate of bread and salted meat, and talked to them. Darius heard laughter and saw smiles on fire-lit faces.
He shrugged and finished the cup of jaro, which was already growing cool. As usual, even as night became day, he was left in the dark. At least Captain Horlor would be pleased. He would not be made a liar by Serhan’s absence.
It was hours later, and the heat of the sun was peeling layers of clothes from the men and women in the camp, when the first of their esteemed guests arrived. Hagar Del entered the White Rock camp for the first time, and was clearly impressed by the size of it, the men, the weapons, and the quiet order. Horlor, who had led the escorting party, brought him over to where Darius was sitting.
Del looked awkward, stiff. He had never been quite so much at anyone’s mercy. He stuck out a vast hand.
“General Grand.”
Darius greeted him warmly.
“Hagar Del,” he said taking the man’s hand in his own two. “I am pleased to see you here. You were the first to send envoys and now the first to the conference table. How is your man Hekman?”
Del seemed to relax a little. Darius guessed that he had expected a cooler reception. In fact Del was one of the weakest of the parties present. He could challenge neither the guild militias nor the King for simple trained manpower.
“Sam is here with me, General. He will sit with us when we talk.”
“A good choice.”
“What am I to hope for here, General?” It was a very direct question, and he had not expected it of Del.
“What is fair,” he replied. “Justice, perhaps, as the Lord Serhan sees it. You must make your case, and be prepared to accept the middle ground. Do not be afraid to speak your mind, but speak it with conviction, and listen, always listen.”
“Good advice, I think. Thank you, General.”
He moved back to rejoin his party, but Darius had no time to give further thought to Hagar Del. A cry went up from the walls and he went up to see a party of about a hundred riding towards them from the city. He could make out armour and weapons, and knew that the King’s men were among them, but there were also colours not associated with the King. Traders?
The cavalcade advanced to the gate where it split open and disgorged its protected contents. First through the gate was an armoured and grey, grim man, whom Darius assumed to be the King. He looked tough, angry. He was followed by a young woman of arresting beauty, also armoured, but seemingly happier about being here. There were another three from the King’s party, and then the traders. The older man he assumed was Tarlyn Saine. There were a couple of other men, a very young man, and a girl. He was pleased to be able to put a name to each.
That was it, then.
He greeted them all, welcomed them, and eventually managed to get them all moving towards the tent. It was clear that the King was keen to be the last to be seated. Serhan, though, had made a point of being first.
The master of White Rock sat at an undistinguished seat a third of the w
ay along one side, flicking through a series of maps that Darius had given him showing the various claims of the Gulltown gangs. He was talking to Horlor, and the captain stepped away as the others entered the tent. As he left the tent he paused by Darius.
“General, he has asked me to keep a special watch to the east, and to summon him when I see anything.”
There was a questioning tone in his voice. Darius shrugged.
“I know nothing of this,” he said. “But obey him with diligence. He does nothing without a reason.”
The tent looked a lot grander than he had expected. Tapestries had been brought down from White Rock, and more substantial chairs. The table itself had been draped with soft green cloth, and the floor carpeted. It looked fit for its purpose.
“You!”
It was a single angry word. Darius looked up to see the King’s daughter reaching for her sword. Her arm was heavily strapped, however, and she winced and stopped the movement before her hand could close on the hilt. She was staring at Serhan.
“Do-Regana,” he said. “I am pleased to see you well.”
Darius could see it dawn on Calaine who it was that she was talking to. She flushed, aware that everyone in the tent was looking at them.
“My apologies,” she said after re-gathering herself. “I mistook you for another.”
“The error was mine, Do-Regana, and I regret it, but today will see all such errors set right, I believe.”
“You are gracious, my lord.” Calaine bowed to him. It was an unexpected gesture, and it seemed to offend the King. He spoke sharply to Calaine.
“We of the royal blood bow to nobody. It was poorly done.”
“Regani,” she replied, “This is the man who overthrew the Faer Karan. For that alone we owe him our respect and thanks.”
The king made a scornful noise and turned away without looking at Serhan.
Darius watched it all, and realised that there was a long road yet until a compromise was reached. So much for destiny. The King did not believe what Serhan had done, perhaps even thought him a liar. He knew that there were doubts everywhere, even among his own men, and perhaps even within himself, though he had heard Borbonil confirm the tale with his own ears.
Cal Serhan was a young man who had come to White Rock only a few years ago. He was clever and tricky, intelligent and filled with compassion. He would make a great lord, but Darius had seen nothing more than a few harmless spells.
“Ella Saine,” Serhan said. He clearly recognised the girl, and there was a flicker of recognition from Tarlyn Saine as well. They had all seen him before. “Will you sit beside me here?”
All took their seats, studied unknown faces. The talking began.
It was quickly apparent that the King was unwilling to cede anything. Time after time he spoke the same words:
“I am the King by right. My family has maintained the line unbroken for four hundred years. I will not give away that for which so many have lived and died.”
For the most part, Hagar Del and the others from Gulltown showed respect and a willingness to negotiate, but after one such statement by the King Del stood and clearly impatience had got the better of him.
“Regani, even with the Faer Karan to restrain you, you have been a poor king. You have oppressed us. We do not trust you. You are no better than the monsters that you replace.”
“It is not your place,” the King roared back, “to trust, to judge. I am your king and you will obey me!”
Serhan interposed at this point.
“Regani, it is clear that you must put something between you and the people; a council perhaps.”
“And what will this council do?” the King demanded. “Will it tell me how to rule? Will it oppose me? Only one man may rule.”
“Only a tyrant has no ears, Regani.”
“Do you call me a tyrant? You? A jumped-up lap dog of the Faer Karan?”
Serhan looked around the table. Darius studied his face, but could find no anger in it. He looked disappointed, sad even. The other faces around them looked expectant.
“Tarnell,” he said eventually, and his voice was quiet and even. “I will have peace in Samara. If the King is the only obstacle to peace, then it is an obstacle that can be removed.”
The King reddened, and no doubt would have escalated the argument further had not the tent flap burst open. A guardsman stood before the table.
“My Lord Serhan,” he said. “Captain Horlor says to come at once.”
Serhan now seemed to relax.
“Ah, Sarata, such good timing,” he said. Tarlyn Saine almost jumped out of his seat. So whatever Serhan had expected was also known to Saine, but he had not seen fit to tell them. That was interesting.
He saw Serhan hold Ella Saine’s arm for a moment. He spoke a few words to her, and then stood and strode out of the tent with a light step. They all followed.
Darius was appalled by what he saw. The whole of the eastern horizon, from the end of the cliffs that dominated the city to the woods in the north was filled by men, by an army of vast size. He hurried over to Captain Horlor.
“What do you think, Captain? How many?”
“Certainly more than two thousand, General. How did he know?”
“He does not tell.”
He looked around to see where Serhan was, what he was doing, and saw him approach Calaine. He laid a hand on her strapped arm.
“Calaine, you will never have cause to fear me,” he said, and then walked on until he stood by Darius and Horlor.
“General, how does it look to you?”
“They seem to move with order and precision, my lord,” he replied. “I would judge them a professional force. It would be folly to meet so many on the open plain. We must hold our position.”
“And if I order you to advance we will suffer great losses?”
“We would most probably be defeated, my lord. Hundreds of our men would be killed.”
Serhan turned and called to the King.
“Regani, these men have come to take your city from you.”
“You do not know who they are, or what they want.”
“It is the King of Sarata, Regani. He wants to rule all of us. Like yourself he deems me weak. What was the phrase you used? Faer Karan lap dog.”
“We will fight him.”
“You have three hundred men in the city.”
“They hold the citadel, and that will be most difficult to take.”
“It is badly supplied. They will have all the city in a day and the citadel less than ten days later. Do you wish this to happen?”
“I do not.”
“Tarlyn Saine, what do you see?”
“It is as you said, my lord,” Saine said, coming to join them. “This is the army of Sarata. They will take the city.”
“Do you wish it? They will certainly loot Morningside. All your property will be gone, your friends in the guild killed or impoverished.”
“I do not know how it can be stopped. There are too many of them.”
“But you would have them stopped, if it were possible?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Hagar Del, what do you say?”
“We in Gulltown are poor. We were poor before, and will still be poor if they capture Samara, but we would prefer your peace to another Tyrant. You are the only one here with an army capable of offering any resistance. The choice is yours.”
“Yet my general tells me that it would be folly to engage them. They are too many. We may lose, and still they will take the city.”
“Then the city is lost,” Tarlyn Saine looked downcast.
“You must do something, Serhan!” The King was angry, desperate. “If you do not act I will take my own escort out to meet them.”
“A hundred men?’ Serhan laughed. “Your men are good, Regani, but the archers in that army will cut you down before you get within ten yards.”
“But we will die with honour.”
“My Lord,” Darius interrupted
. “Riders come with a flag of truce.”
“Now we will see the man,” Serhan said.
They waited while the riders, three of them, covered the distance between the waiting army and the fortified camp. It seemed to take a long time.
51 The Curse
Cora Bantassin was awake at dawn. She had already breakfasted and inspected the guard on the walls of White Rock. Now she was entrusted with another duty. Serhan had asked her to wake him if was not already roused by dawn. He wanted time to prepare for the great meeting at Samara.
She judged the time to be right and climbed the stair to his chambers. As she climbed her tread was light. She recognised in herself the excitement, the eagerness to embrace a new age that filled everyone at White Rock. Here as always there was order, but now it was not an island in a sea of chaos, but a seed planted in fertile soil. She believed that it would grow and flow outwards to cover the entire world.
Cal Serhan was growing into his authority, and she judged that for the most part he had moved past the death of Mai, though at times he still seemed withdrawn and reluctant to be in company. That was to be expected of one with such responsibility.
She paused for a moment outside his door, and knocked briskly, but not too firmly.
There was no response.
She knocked again, allowing the blows to fall a little more firmly on the wood. She could hear the noise echoing inside the chamber. There was no other sound, no movement within, and after a decent pause she opened the door a foot and called through it.
“My Lord?”
She stepped inside, walked across the main room, past the table where she had dined so many times with Cal and Darius. This room was filled with good memories now. She knocked on the door of his bed chamber. By now she was almost certain that he had risen early and gone to Samara by whatever means he chose to travel.
She tried knocking and calling again, but there was no response, so she opened that door and found the bed chamber empty.
Gone then.
Just one last check to make. She knocked briefly and opened the door to his study. It was empty as well, but she noticed a book lying open on the desk there, and she hesitated. Cora was not given to impulsive behaviour, but her mood was light, her duties all discharged, and her mind affected by the drug of freedom.
