Scar Felice (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 3) (30 page)

“I would know…”

“Not necessarily. You have been creative in your excuses for your miracles, but I have checked each of them, those that have come to my ears, and I can confirm that in each case there has been an exercise of wild magic, untaught and blunt edged for sure, but clearly there. In some cases the power has been most impressive. I know this to be true, Felice Caledon, I will swear to you that it is so if you wish. Do not doubt me.”

She looked at him, saw the naked honesty in his face. He was not lying or joking. He believed. The Mage Lord himself was quite certain that she had magical ability. So it was true? She shook her head.

“It is true,” he said, as though he could read her mind.

“What if I do not wish to be trained?” She clutched at the last hope of her old life, though she could see it was no more than a thin cotton strand waiting to snap.

“You know that it cannot be so.”

She did. Of course she did. Such potential could not be wasted, and even if it could, she would be a danger to herself and others. Her temper could become a weapon more lethal than any sword.

“What will become of me?”

“It is a question that I cannot answer. You will study for a year, but beyond that you may do as you wish. I will ask that you take one of the great fortresses now vacant, if only until you feel otherwise. Perhaps you will take East Scar?”

“I can do as I wish?”

Serhan smiled. “Of course,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, eager to explain. “I am not a tyrant. I acted as I did simply to prevent war. Since Samara Plain I have left Samara to its people. Blaye, Pek, Sarata, all rule themselves. Even among the great places of the north I have allowed much latitude, though many know that their rule is as seneschal, not as master. They know that others will come.”

“They do not resent this?”

“Some do. Some see the sense of it, knowing that the Faer Karan may return.”

“And that is your only purpose, to defend against that return?”

“You think that I want to rule, to be master of the world? Nothing is further from the truth. I am happy here, at White Rock. The people here know me. They trust me, or I hope that they do. We have seen much change together, and they know my heart as no others do. Lord of White Rock is trouble enough, why seek the world?”

“You do not fear the ambition of others?”

“Not yet.” He looked into the fire again, a wry smile on his face. “The Shan tell me that trouble will come of this, of my teaching others what I know, but as usual they are vague and useless. They say that I will be defeated, but undefeated, that I will die but remain alive. Plain language seems beyond them.”

Felice could make no sense of the words. A thing, a man, was either alive or dead. One could not be defeated and yet remain undefeated. No subtlety could make it so. Yet she was troubled. If Serhan were dead, then who would keep the peace? Would it fall to her? To others? She thought of the boys outside, waiting to come in, and Carn.

“The others of the five, they are outside?”

“Yes.”

“Carn?”

“Carn is one of them.”

It was a comfort. She knew Carn, trusted his common sense. At least one of the five would be known to her, and known to be right headed.

“Ella was right,” Serhan said.

“Ella?” Ella Saine was the only Ella that she knew. What had Ella said of her?

“Yes. She said that you were self-invisible. I did not know what she meant by it. It is an odd phrase, but I think it true.”

“So what
does
it mean?” Felice was annoyed when others judged her, when they seemed to know more about her than she knew herself. It was not uncommon. Her father had called her clever, and she had thought it no more than a sop to cheer her because she was short and dark and weak. Others called her other things: brave, determined, strong; and she did not know where they found such ideas.

“When you look in the mirror you do not see what others see,” Serhan said. “In fact you barely see yourself at all. You see only skin, clothes, hair. There is so much more to Felice Caledon than the surface detail. You seek comfort in Carn, but he will draw more strength from you than you ever shall from him.”

When you look in the mirror you do not see what others see
. The phrase caught her mind with the hooks of memory. She had dreamed it, or part of her had dreamed it in one of those dreams that Serhan had termed significant. What did it mean? Had she dreamed the future? Was it a coincidence? There was so much that she did not understand.

“Can I return home first? I have not seen my father in half a year.”

“If you wish, but it will be no more than a farewell. The next time that you see them you will be different. They will never really understand what has happened to you. Even now it will be difficult.”

It was true. Again, what Serhan said was true, though it went against her desires, against what she longed could be so. She had felt it herself, thought it herself, but wished for it not to be true. She was no longer the diffident bookkeeper that had ridden out of East Scar on a wagon so many months ago. She was no longer Todric’s mouse. The time had torn her apart and rebuilt her again. It was no longer the world, or even the plurality of worlds that scared her – it was boredom, inaction, helplessness. She looked into the dead fire, and for a moment she saw there what Serhan must see, the past, happiness, simplicity, all burned away.

She looked at Serhan, met his gaze fully for the first time, and she saw that he understood, and he saw that she understood. Power, real power, is a simple choice between tyranny or duty. Like him, she would choose duty.

“I will stay,” she said.

Home was no longer home. Returning to a place as a different person made the place seem quite changed, when in truth it had remained quite constant. Felice Caledon looked out of the window and saw the town of East Scar laid out below her like a map. It seemed small. She had never seen it this way. She had never been in the castle before. The streets spread out like a crooked lattice, a net that followed the curve of the river, and bent to the great walls of the fortress. From here the buildings all seemed impossibly small and unimportant. She could not see her father’s house, though she knew where it lay. It was not within the slice of town that the window revealed. She could see the warehouse, its familiar roof line a single bold stroke above the surrounding buildings.

She stepped back, curiosity barely satisfied, and glanced at Serhan. He waited patiently, standing with his legs slightly apart, a neutral expression on his face, looking about the room in which they stood. It was mostly bare stone, the windows were unglazed, unshuttered, and the fire was not lit. It was cold. She was glad of the heavy woollen coat that she wore.

“Another lesson, Felice,” Serhan said, keeping his voice low so that the guardsman by the door could not hear his words. “We are unexpected, so it will be harder for the seneschal to disguise his emotions. If men are given time to prepare they are often better at concealing their true thoughts.”

They had, as Cal had said, arrived unannounced, stepping through a black door into this antechamber to the great surprise of the guard who stood here. Other guards had been summoned, and one had run off to find the seneschal.

“Enough lessons,” she sighed. “If you have not trained me now you never will.” A year ago she would not have dared even a friendly rebuke, but in that year they had become easy in each other’s company. There was still a distance between them, the gap that separates teacher and pupil, mentor and protégé, but within their established bounds they were friends.

“Remember,” he said, “the seneschal will not welcome you with open arms. He has ruled well, he is popular, and he is a man who cares about his people.”

“I know all this,” she said. “You forget I lived here for most of my life.”

“What you know and what you bear in mind may be different, Felice. Be generous.”

Their muted conversation was ended by the sound of many hurrying feet in the corridor beyond, and a group of five men entered. The seneschal was foremost among them. He was not an old man, but his face was lined with care, and there was a hint of grey bleaching the brown hair at his temples. He was clean shaven, and looked them over once with his serious brown eyes before bowing deeply.

“Mage Lord, you honour us.”

“More than you know, Lord Panseer,” Serhan responded.

Felice could feel the seneschal’s eyes on her as soon as he rose from his bow. It was odd, she thought, that she should be the stranger here. She knew this man’s face from the dozens of times she had seen him ride through the town, from the great day when they had learned that they were free. It was as familiar to her as her own. She was one of his people, and yet now stood unrecognised before him, an object of curiosity.

“My lord seneschal,” she said. “I am honoured to meet you at last.” She bowed to him, and she could see that he was pleased, if a little surprised by the forwardness of this young woman who travelled with the Mage Lord.

“Allow me to introduce you,” Serhan said. “Lord Panseer, this is Felice Caledon, or more properly the Mage Lord Felice Caledon, the new lord of East Scar.”

Inside, Felice winced. It was as bald a statement of usurpation as she had ever heard spoken, and she was astonished that the seneschal’s face showed only mild surprise. The man must have iron self control. The same could not be said for his men. They were officers, well trained, but she could see that all of them bristled as though challenged to fight. She recognised it as another test. There were always tests with Cal. He was always pushing, always making things difficult.

“We should speak of this in private,” the seneschal said.

It was wrong, though. One of the aphorisms that Cal had drummed into her, a simple rule; what was started in public should be finished in public, otherwise those who are denied witness will think the worst.

“My Lord Panseer,” she said, “I would greatly welcome your hospitality, but before we do so I would like to clarify my Lord Serhan’s remarks.”

They stopped in the act of turning away, and Panseer looked at her more closely, as though looking for something that would tell him more about this girl who thought to
clarify
the Mage Lord’s words.

“I was raised in the Scar,” she said. “I grew up under the rule of the Faer Karan, and like everyone else, I suffered, and then I lived for two years under your rule, Lord Panseer. Since then I have travelled. I have been to Blaye, to Samara, even to White Rock, and I have never seen a people happier under their lord as the people of East Scar. And so it shall remain. You will continue to exercise power. My Lord Serhan has taught me many wonderful things, many secrets, many skills, but he has not taught me how to rule. This I shall learn from you, and perhaps a time will come when you will trust me to govern your people, my people, as well as they should be governed.”

“Fair words,” Panseer said, “But words are only intentions, even if honestly spoken.”

“Quite so, my Lord, but you shall see that deeds follow words as well as I can make them. I am Scar folk, and you know that we speak plainly and as we mean to act.”

“I can vouch for her bluntness, Lord Panseer,” Cal said.

Felice ignored him. Cal was inclined to snipe from the fringes if he found himself somehow not central to a conversation. She ranked it as a character flaw. She had noted several.

“Given that you have the Lord Serhan at your side I could not ask for more, Karana,” Panseer said.

“There is one more thing, my lord…”

“Yes?”

“My family. Can you send for them? We will be many hours in discussions, I have no doubt, and I have not seen them for eighteen months. Can you send for them?”

“Your family? Of course. The name is Caledon?” He stopped and looked at her again, surprise in his face. “Marcos Caledon?”

“My Father.”

“But he is here,” Lord Panseer exclaimed. “I was speaking with him not ten minutes ago. All the council are here.”

He indicated a direction and Felice took three steps, stopped, excused herself from the company, ignoring Cal’s frown, and hurried away. It took all her will power to stop herself from running. Suddenly she wanted very much to see her father, to touch his hands, to look into his eyes. It was almost as though she needed proof to believe that he was real again.

She rounded a corner and saw two men talking by a window. Her father, Marcos, was the one on the right. She could see only his back, but she knew him by the bend of his neck, by the way he waved his right hand to beat time with his words as he spoke, by the brown wool coat with the leather inlays that he wore. It was as though she had just stepped through a door and travelled back a year and a half.

“Father!”

He turned. There was a moment of incomprehension and then he recognised her. He spoke a word to his companion and strode towards her, an expression of pure joy breaking out on his face. His arms reached for her as they fell into a warm embrace.

“Felice, I had not thought to see you again,” he said.

“I said I would return,” she said. “I told Kendric, and the letter I sent from Woodside…”

“I know, but… anyway I am glad that you are here.” He held her at arms length and inspected her, and Felice did the same. Her father had hardly changed. There was perhaps a little more grey in his hair, but nothing more than that.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“Have I?” She must have done, she supposed. So much had happened. It felt like she had been gone a decade, and in another way that she had never been away at all.

“Aye, you’ve grown up,” he said.

“I’m nineteen,” she replied.

He nodded, but he wasn’t talking about age. “Are you here to stay?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You’re going away again.”

“No. I’ll be staying, but I’ll be staying here, at the castle.”

“I don’t understand.” Marcos let her arms go, and she felt a small but irretrievable distance grow between them. Perhaps it would have been easier to ask Cal for another place, to always have that distance.

“I have been chosen to be Mage Lord of East Scar, Father.”

Her father was no fool. She had written to tell him that Cal was teaching her magic so he must have expected something, but apparently not this. He stared at her.

“Mage Lord? You have learned that much?”

“It seems I have a talent for it,” she said.

Marcos bowed his head. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to say that she was still Felice, that everything would be all right, but it would be a lie, and honesty stayed her hand.

“You are no longer my daughter,” he said, and she understood. These were the words of the coming of age, the time when children ceased to be children and took responsibility for their own lives. Usually this would be done in front of family and friends, usually on the eighteenth birthday.

“You have taught me much,” she responded. “I thank you for the food that filled my belly, for the clothes that kept me warm and the roof that kept me dry.”

“It was my duty, my pleasure, my honour,” he said.

“A duty now discharged, the pleasure and the honour I shared.”

“You are Felice Caledon,” he said.

“You are Marcos Caledon,” she replied. They took each others hands, formally. She decided that it was not enough. “Love and respect survive,” she added. “They do not need father and daughter. Felice and Marcos will more than suffice.”

Marcos smiled. “I hope so,” he said. The formality was over. “There are so many things I wish to ask you, Felice. Will you come to dinner tonight?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight. Duty requires that I settle things here. I must make new friends before I see old family. You will forgive the slight?”

Marcos bowed, a shallow bob of the head. “The company of the Mage Lord of East Scar is an honour at any time. Now I should go. Your mother will be delighted that you have returned, and your brother will burst with pride when he hears the news.”

“I will see you soon,” she said.

Marcos nodded, smiled again, and walked away with a light step. The turn of the stairs took him away and for a moment Felice stood alone in the corridor.

It would never be the same, of course, but that much was true of anyone. Time passed. Things changed. Felice turned and walked back up the corridor with a measured tread. There was no need to hurry. Everything was waiting for her just around the corner.