Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1) (3 page)

“I shall be recommending that they burn you for sport,” he said, turned on his heel and walked out.

So yes, an enemy.

But if the Faer Karan knew their colonel, and he was sure that they did, they would understand and ignore anything he said. The offer of cooperation had been a mistake. Stil was not a man to share power. He was a man clinging to a ledge in a high wind, terrified that anyone up there with him would loosen his grip, and down he would fall.

He could learn more from the captain, anyway.

*              *              *              *

The following day he was visited again.

Two women stepped through the door. One was about his age, and the other maybe twice that. They studied him for a while, and he studied them back. They were archers, he could see that from the uniforms, the wrist leathers and the quiver straps over their shoulders. The younger of the two could have been good looking, but she had cropped her hair and adopted a fierce expression. The older was clear eyed, neutral. She was trying to learn something from his appearance.

“Can you use a bow?” she asked eventually.

“I’ve hunted with one.”

“And did you hit what you shot at?”

Serhan laughed. “More often than not.”

“I am Cora Bantassin, Captain of Archers. This is my lieutenant, Sabra. We have been asked to determine if you have any such skill. Follow us.”

They went back through the great door, up the stairs and out into the courtyard. Serhan found the sunlight almost painful after a day of nothing but oil lamps, and squinted in the brightness.

A target had been set up at one end of the courtyard. A bow and a quiver of arrows lay on a table about fifty paces from the target and along the sides of this makeshift target range there sat, stood or lay about sixty men and women. The majority of them were guards of one sort or another, but some others were there also.

Captain Bantassin indicated the table and he walked slowly to it, letting his eyes adjust. The buzz of conversation that had quietened when he emerged from the stairs picked up again. He could see that some were laying bets. He noticed the smaller of the two guards that he had fought with at the gate, and the man nodded to him. He nodded back. No malice there.

High above the courtyard there were great windows set in the stone walls. Did demon eyes gaze down from behind the glass? They would be up there somewhere, the Faer Karan, and he wondered if they would be interested enough to watch.

He picked up the bow.

“It’s larger than my own,” he commented, stretching the bowstring. “The tension is higher.”

“Is that an excuse?”

“Maybe. Can I have three arrows to get the feel of it before you start counting?”

“That’s fair.”

“Wagers off on the first three arrows,” he called to the crowd in general. There was a small ripple of laughter, and he saw people smiling. They understood that he understood.

He picked up the first arrow and fitted it to the bow. The arrow, too, was a different weight. He drew it back so that his fingers were close to his ear and sighted along the shaft. He raised the bow a few degrees. About there. His fingers relaxed and the arrow flew through the air, striking the target near top in the outermost of six rings around the bull. He had underestimated the power of the bow.

He fitted the second arrow and took aim again. This one hit at the right height, and in the second ring, just to the right of the bull. He frowned. That should have hit square. Looking at the first arrow again, he saw that it, too, was a little to the right.

Placing the bow back on the table he walked slowly down the track that the arrows followed. About two thirds of the way to the target he felt a strong breeze on his left cheek and turned that way. He could see nothing that would cause the effect, and stood there for about a minute gauging it. The breeze was quite constant.

Walking back to the table he could see that the captain was smiling. So the little breeze was part of the test.

The third arrow hit the bull.

The next four arrows all hit the bull as well, but the fifth was deflected by the fletching of one of those already crowded in and struck the target in the next ring out.

There was a scattering of applause from the crowd. Money changed hands.

“Not bad,” Captain Bantassin said behind him. “I wouldn’t like to be a deer in your woods.”

“Oh it’s much harder to get a clear shot at a deer, Captain.”

She nodded. “Back to the cells for now, I’m afraid.” They walked back to the door trailing an escort of guards.

“Tell me, Serhan, do you know how to use a sword?”

“No. It’s just a metal stick to me.”

It was the captain’s turn to laugh. “I’ve heard about you and sticks,” she said.

They started down the stairs.

“Can you tell me anything about the Faer Karan, Captain?”

“Not much. Darius is your man for that. He’s taken our guard up against Faer Karan commanders a few times, and knows their minds better than most. He always seems to win, and Gerique values him highly.”

“He’s fought the Faer Karan?” Serhan was astonished.

“No. Matched wits with them would be a better way of putting it. It’s a game to them. Since they can’t die, they use us to determine who wins. It’s against the rules to have a go at our masters, though nothing seems to affect them anyway. Apparently it annoys them if you shoot at them, so we don’t.”

“Wise indeed.”

“So why did you come here?”

“To serve.”

“Who? The Faer Karan, or yourself?”

“Both to differing degrees, Captain.”

“Darius said you were a politician. A good one, too. A lot of people are hoping you’re going to make it.”

“But not Colonel Stil.”

“No, not him.” They had reached the door to his cell, and she held him back for a moment. “You worry me, Serhan. Nobody knows what you want, but we don’t want things messed around with. It works here. It’s not perfect, but it works.”

“I can’t even promise to be alive next week, captain.”

“But you have a plan.”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But for now I’m playing it by ear.”

“And you’re not going to tell me.”

“Not now.”

He went into the cell and the door closed behind him again.

“Darius thinks you might be a good thing, Serhan,” she said from the other side of the door. “He’s normally a pretty good judge of character, and for what it’s worth I hope he’s right, but we’ll be watching you.”

The big door clanged shut.

Fair enough, he thought.

Closing his eyes he reached into his memory and pulled back images of the scene in the courtyard. His recall was so precise that he was able to study the detail as if the image was still before him.

He was sure there had been a shadow at that high window. A very large shadow.

He sat in the chair doing reruns of the day’s events until he was tired. Then he slept.

He was roused from sleep by someone gently shaking his shoulder. For a moment he thought it was master Brial, that he was still in the village, but he opened his eyes to find Captain Grand bent over him. There was another guard in the cell close to the door.

“It’s now. They want to see you now,” Grand said.

Serhan sat up and rubbed his hands across his face. He felt tired and thick headed. He had been dragged up from the deepest of sleeps.

“What time of day is it?”

The captain grimaced. “After midnight, before dawn.”

So they wanted to see him at lowest ebb. Perhaps they had no low point themselves. Perhaps they never slept at all.

“Water?” he asked.

“I can do better than that,” Grand said. He reached back and the guard passed him a steaming cup. “Drink this,” he said. “It’s jaro, made from a root that grows around here. It’s said to promote alertness.”

Serhan took the cup and sniffed at it suspiciously. It had a pleasant, sweet odour. This was Grand, he reminded himself, a man that he had judged to be as straight as an arrow. If this were a drug or poison it would be colonel Stil offering it. I was trained to look for deception and evil, he thought, to be always on my guard against it, and my dark adapted eye will see shadows where there are none. This also I must guard against.

He sipped. The taste was unexpectedly bitter sweet. He liked it. He swallowed and felt the hot liquid warm him from the inside. He took another draught.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Now follow me.”

Serhan drained the cup and followed Grand through the door and up the stairs to the courtyard. At this time of night it was deserted and still. A light burned by the gate, and high above them there was evidence of lamplight in the big windows. The stars were unobscured by either clouds or light, a breathtaking display of cold brilliance, and their faint glow illuminated the world just enough to see. The air was warm. It was a beautiful night.

As he walked his head cleared, and the weight of sleep was banished.

Not a night that I wish to die, he thought, but I must be prepared to play my role, even to the point of death. He relaxed his mind, as he had been trained, into a state of watchful acceptance detached a little from the here and now. It would enable him to do his best without fear.

Up the stairs they went; two flights, four flights, six flights. There were no doors on this stair, he noted. It just went up.

He had learned his lessons well. Back in the valley, a place that was so remote that they had no name for it – simply the valley – he had dug in the fields for strength, and in the evenings they gave him more food than the others, and he felt guilt, refused to eat. Master Brial said to him, Eat. You are the sword with which we shall strike at our enemy, and that sword must be strong. He ate.

They taught him pain, and how not to fear it. Death itself was not to be feared, only the failure to do his best. He bore the pain, ate the food, grew strong, his remarkable memory improved, and they taught him three magic spells – all that had survived the coming of the Faer Karan.

When they judged him ready they had given him a hard staff, good clothes and a pack full of food and told him the way across the mountains.

Now he walked up the stairs behind Grand and he said to himself ‘I am the sword’, and his fear diminished.

At the top of the stair there was a great door of blackened timber bound in iron. It was twice Grand’s height. The captain looked grim, and the guardsman that was with them looked afraid. Grand drew his sword and struck the door three times with the pommel. The blows sounded very loud in the still night.

“Good luck,” the captain said. He gestured to the guard, who set off down the stairs at a trot. Grand followed him at a more dignified pace.

Serhan turned to face the door and waited.

After perhaps a minute there was a loud metallic sound, like a bolt being drawn, and the door swung inwards. He could see no sign of life, and stood for a moment gazing into the chamber now revealed.

Huge stone pillars reached up from the floor to a dimly visible arched ceiling thirty feet above. The pillars marched away from him towards another door, visible a hundred feet distant. Oil lamps floated in the air with no apparent means of support, gliding slowly between the pillars and changing the landscape of shadows moment by moment.

He took three steps and was inside the hall. It was no surprise to him that the door closed loudly as soon as he was clear of it. He waited again, sure that he was being watched, but unable to make out anything else in the dancing shadows.

Time passed. Eventually he walked towards the door on the other side of the chamber. Perhaps he was meant to pass that way.

A large shadow detached itself from the dimmer areas to his left and stalked towards him. He glanced at it, and knew it for what it was. He fell to one knee and lowered his head.

The creature that approached him was about ten feet tall, and walked on powerful, bird-like legs tipped with claws that clicked on the stone with every step. Its arms were long and thin, ending in slender claw-tipped fingers, six on each hand. The body was covered in black hair and scales, and a long, black mane framed the face and fell down its back almost to the floor. The face itself was featureless apart from two large yellow eyes, somewhere between the colours of brimstone and gold, and a mouth full of sharp, white teeth. All this he saw in a glance.

“Faer Karani,” he said. “I submit to your authority.”

“What are you?” asked the creature. Its voice was both deep and sibilant.

“Mortal man, soon to die.” It was a form of words that he had been taught; one of the things that his masters in the valley knew.

“Why are you here?”

“I am here to serve.”

‘How will you serve?”

“As the Faer Karani directs.”

Although he was watching as much as he could out of the corner of his eye, the blow still caught him unawares. The creature moved with inhuman speed and strength. He was lifted off the floor and flung across the room, fetching up against one of the pillars. A quick inventory told him that nothing was broken. There was blood on his face. He struggled to assume the kneeling posture again.

The creature approached a second time.

“Why are you here?”

“I am here to serve.”

“How will you serve?”

“As the Faer Karani directs.”

He was expecting the second blow, but that made little difference. He glanced off another pillar and heard a crack in his arm as a bone broke. The pain was severe, but he knew how to cope with pain. His right knee hurt, but he still managed to get his left knee under him again.

“Why are you here?”

“I am here to serve.”

The creature bent down and looked at him closely. It did not breathe on him, because the Faer Karan do not breathe.

“And how will you serve?”

“As the Faer Karani directs.”

The third blow was in some ways worse than the others because he had no control, and everything hurt. He crashed into another pillar, and felt bones break inside his chest. There was something wrong with his lungs.

Try as he might, he couldn’t get back onto his knee, and lay by the pillar.

“Why are you here, mortal man,” it asked.

“To serve,” he managed.

“How will you serve?”

“As the Faer Karani… directs.”

It didn’t hit him again, but bent over him and studied him for a full two minutes. Serhan tried not to look into the yellow eyes.

“Now that you are dying, is there anything that you wish to say?”

He fought to get enough air into his lungs. Most of all he wanted to spit hatred and defiance into those yellow eyes, but his training had been thorough, and he used the hatred as strength. His victory would be that the Faer Karan would never know his true purpose.

“I regret,” he said. “That my service… has been… so small.”

The Faer Karani reached out one spidery hand and wrapped it gently around his head. It spoke a series of words and he felt for a moment that his body had caught fire, then the pain was gone and he was looking up at the ceiling.

“I have made you intact,” the creature said. “I am Balgoan, the doorkeeper. You may offer your service to the great one.”

Serhan’s whole body was shaking as he stood, but Balgoan was honest, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him. He filled his lungs with air and there was no pain. He flexed his arms and legs. No pain, but he was haunted by the shadow of pain, expected it, moved carefully.

The inner door was open, he saw, and so he approached it with head bowed, stepped through.

The inner chamber was even larger than the outer. A glance around him took it all in. Tapestries hung on the walls, and rugs were piled on the floor. A great fire burned in a huge fireplace, and shelves full of books and nameless objects packed the walls. In the distance was a great window, thrown open to the warm night air. The room was a riot of colour and luxury.

“You like my room?” A voice like rolling thunder and music.

He fell to one knee at once and stared at the carpet beneath him.

“Faer Karani, I submit to your authority.”

“My name is Gerique, please call me that.”

“Great One, I am not worthy to speak your name.”

“That is something that you will allow me to decide. It is only a name. Now stand up, I want to look at you.”

He stood. He knew it was wrong to stand in the presence of such a one, but even more it was wrong to disobey. He allowed himself a glance.

Gerique was even more massive than Balgoan. He looked feline, but stood perhaps fifteen feet high, and was covered in black fur that obscured his shape slightly. His yellow eyes were huge, like moons, and the gaze that came from them almost felt warm, as though they radiated heat and light.

“You are curious,” Gerique said. “You may look upon me, if you wish.”

“I do not understand, Great One.” Serhan was out of his depth, and he knew it. Gerique was breaking all the rules. Obedience or disobedience, both were punishable by death.

“I will explain. Balgoan tells me that you were both respectful and resilient. That is good. My colonel wants you dead, which means that he fears you. My captains tell me that you are talented, able, and subtle. That is also good. I know that you are a man, that you are here to serve, and that you will serve as I direct, or at least that is what you will say. I want to know more.”

A huge black hand wrapped around his waist and lifted him into the air so that his face was held before the yellow eyes.

“You should fear me, Cal Serhan,” it said. “Balgoan fears me. The other Faer Karan fear me. But you must also speak to me, because I need to know that you can function in my presence.”

He looked into the yellow eyes.

“My lord, I will do as you wish.”

“Good”

Gerique put him down and retreated to a huge bed draped with furs on which he reclined.

“Tell me what you think of my people, Cal Serhan.”

“I have met only a few.”

Gerique sighed. “You may assume that I know everything but what is in your mind.”

“My lord. Captain Grand seems competent, highly respected and well liked; a good judge of character and sure of his own judgement. He is more of a leader than his colonel, who I judged to be somewhat insecure. Captain Bantassin also appears competent, though perhaps less confidant than Captain Grand.”

“So you liked Grand?”

“Yes, my lord.” He was being as honest as he could. He was very aware that Gerique was using his words not as judgements on his people, who he would know as well as he could, but on Serhan himself. Gerique was looking for insight.

“Tell me more about my colonel.”

“He is afraid, my lord; afraid of you and perhaps even more of losing your favour. He will never lie to you and never do other than you have instructed without first confirming your wishes.”

“Very good. Grand was quite correct. You are subtle.”

“I am what I am, my lord.”

“And what is that? What is a Cal Serhan? What does it want?”

“Outside the walls of this castle, my lord, life is hard and usually short. Bandits despoil the countryside, farmers struggle to survive, and tradesmen have no place to ply their trade. Here there is plentiful food, comfort and stability. Here my talents may be of some use.”

“What else?”

Serhan paused for a moment. This was a game of truth and consequences.

“If I have the power, and it coincides with my lord’s interests, I would like to improve the lot of the common people of your domains – those that live outside the walls.”

Gerique studied him without expression. It was decision time, Serhan realised. The next words that Gerique spoke would determine his immediate future, or if he was to have a future at all. The Faer Karani shifted its great bulk on the couch, but easily, as though it weighed no more than feathers, and gazed out of the window for a while.