Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1) (14 page)

“It was on the twenty-seventh of Summer that the demons came to White Rock to challenge the mage Corderan, good master of that place. Seven came, and seeing them beyond the walls Corderan rode out to fight with them, taking with him three other mages who had sought refuge in the great fortress, and a company of guardsmen, whom he had wait well behind.

“Corderan and the mages rode against the demons and struck them with hot fires, and hurled great stones on them, and beat upon them with great weapons, but it was all to no avail. The demons were unharmed, and laughed at the mages, called on them to make greater efforts. Corderan commanded the others to leave, but they would not, and the demons struck back, killing the other mages, but Corderan was not killed, being the strongest, and he fled with his company of guards, riding to the west, employing magic to hasten their passage. The demons followed, striking at the men with lights and fires, and many fell.

“On the next day the demons returned, and they were angry because they had failed to kill the great mage, who may yet return to drive them from his home.”

He closed the book.

“That’s all?”

“Yes. It’s the last entry. Corderan never re-appeared, so he probably did die, but he took something with him that Gerique needed or wanted, and he’s been looking for it ever since, or so the story goes. There are hundreds of references to it, whatever it was, all over the books I’ve found. Some call it the mage’s ring, some the key to White Rock, others even the soul of White Rock. The castle is supposed to be alive, you know, to have a mind.”

“Really.” Serhan held up his hand so that Rollo could see the ring. “This is Corderan’s ring,” he said. “I found him.”

Rollo came across the room and examined the ring carefully. He sighed. “It could be,” he said, “but it didn’t help Corderan, so I don’t see how it will help us.”

“It’s one more weapon.”

“I can see you still don’t understand,” Rollo slumped back in his chair. “All this,” he indicated the books and papers behind him, “and the years of research I’ve done all point to one thing. I’ve checked and rechecked, twenty times. The Faer Karan cannot be killed – not by magic, not by weapons, not even by each other. They are indestructible, immortal, and have the power to destroy anything that stands against them.”

“You’ve given up?”

“I know the truth. I have discovered the facts.”

“So this defiance,” Serhan was struggling with what he was hearing. “You have no plan? You’re waiting to die?”

“I do not choose to live as a slave.”

“But there are five thousand people here!”

“Including my wife and son. I have made the decision for them all.”

“You haven’t told them, have you? Nobody here knows that they’re going to die.”

“Better that way.”

“I cannot let this happen. We were sent to fight the Faer Karan, not get our own kind wiped out. There must be other approaches, other ways of finding their weaknesses. Our duty is to protect, to free our people.”

“Duty? You still believe that?”

“Master Brial would be ashamed of you.”

“Master Brial.” He pronounced the words with distaste. “You don’t know, do you? They were all so scared of Brial and Gris that nobody ever told you.”

“Told me what?”

“They killed your parents.”

“No!”

“When Brial discovered that wonderful memory of yours, saw how quick you were to learn – even at the age of three – he asked for you, but your parents would not agree. They had your mother killed first, thinking that your father would not want the burden, but he did. Nobody knew about your mother except me. I was training with them, living with them, and I overheard. They made it look like an accident. Your father wanted to keep you, raise you himself, so they killed him, too. Most people knew about that because they were less careful, but they were too afraid to tell you, even later.”

“I don’t believe you. Brial raised me like a son.”

“He used you. You’re just another blind arrow fired over the mountains at the Faer Karan; an expression of Brial’s hatred. Why would I lie?”

Serhan was stunned. Could it be true? Brial, the man who he thought of as his mentor, his master, had killed his parents? He felt deep within him that it could be true. Brial was obsessed – single minded. He could do such a thing. But did he?

“And I cannot allow you to take that ring back to White Rock,” Rollo said, and in one smooth motion he scooped up the dagger and threw it at Serhan’s heart. The dagger struck, and fell to the ground. Serhan reacted instantly, leaping to his feet and reaching for his sword. He had brought Shadow Cutter with him, and it leaped into his hand, as if sensing his anger. Rollo parried the blow expertly with his dagger, but it sheared off at the hilt and the sword plunged unhindered into his chest.

Serhan withdrew the blade at once, and Rollo slumped to the floor in front of his desk. He looked surprised.

“How?”

“Shadow Cutter, Corderan’s blade. Your protective spell was outmatched,” Serhan said. He kneeled next to the dying man. “I will be careful with the ring,” he said. “Gerique will not get it, and I will spare your wife and child. Goodbye, Rollo.”

Rollo died.

He looked at the books, and decided against taking them – for now. A new plan had sprung into his head. He stepped out into the corridor, and just before leaving the house he made himself invisible again, slipping out and walking most of the way back to the camp before relaxing his guard.

Was it really possible that Brial had murdered his parents? He searched his memory for clues, things that Brial or Gris had said, things they had done, expressions on their faces. He remembered Brial looking away once, when he had said that the old man was like a father to him. It wasn’t like Brial to look away, but that wasn’t evidence. He found that he had a need to know the truth, because Rollo’s version of events burned in him like a poison.

Back at the camp he woke Grand.

“What is it?” Darius asked. He was alert almost at once.

“We must enter the village at first light,” he said. “It is important.”

“I will arrange it. Did things go well?”

Serhan hesitated before answering, and was sure that Darius noted the pause. “I think that our problem is solved,” he replied.

“There is something wrong?”

“It was not what I expected. The details can wait.”

After that Serhan tried to sleep, but could not. As dawn broke the guards were ready, and they mounted and moved down into the village. Their arrival caused a general panic, but there was no organised hostility, so they went directly to the house he had visited the previous night, and found a few people armed with makeshift weapons already gathering there.

“We’ll wait for a while,” he said to Darius.

“Are you sure? They’re off their guard at the moment. If we move now they won’t have time to react.”

“Trust me. We’ll wait.”

The crowd built steadily for about fifteen minutes. The streets were packed in all directions, and the guard were beginning to look nervous. He judged that it was the right time.

“Who is in charge here?” he demanded of the crowd in general.

An elderly man stepped forwards.

“I am elder of this town, empowered to speak for its people,” he said.

“Then know that I am here by order of Gerique, Lord of White Rock and all its lands, to arrest the individual known as Rollo, the wizard, and to punish those who have aided him in his defiance of my lord.”

Unpleasant noises came from the crowd.

“Fetch him out,” Serhan called to the crowd, “or are we to assume that he is afraid to leave his house?”

Two of the townspeople went into the house, it seemed a little reluctantly, and were gone for about two minutes. When they came out again they were ashen faced, and spoke to several others. One of them whispered in the elder’s ear, and the old man appeared to sag.

“What is it?” Serhan called out. He wanted to make sure that everyone heard this.

“Rollo is dead,” the elder said to him. “He has been stabbed.”

“Dead?” He almost shouted the word. Everyone would know. He could feel Darius looking at him. He sprang down from his horse and strode to the house. The crowd, completely deflated by the removal of their hero, their trump card, parted meekly before him.

Inside the house there were now a few people milling around. Serhan asked one of them where the body was, and was shown to the room he had been in the previous night. Rollo was more or less where he’d left him, but he noticed that a couple of the books were missing. He made a show of examining the body, and ordered two of the people in the room to carry the body outside.

Back on the street he had two guardsmen tie the body to a pack horse, and then remounted.

“People of Sorocaba,” he said. “It seems that you have done my work for me. Know that because of this wise act I shall spare the town. There is no reason for anyone else to suffer.” He paused. “Remember. Do not anger my lord again. Obey his edicts, or it will not be me who comes to punish you.”

He nodded to Darius and turned his horse, pushing out through the crowd. The guard followed.

“They will be angry tomorrow,” he said. “And then they will get back to living their lives.”

“This was your plan?” Darius asked. “To kill him?”

“Not until it had happened. The man was suicidal anyway. He was expecting Dragan, and wanted to take the town with him, even his wife and child.”

“What would drive a man to do that?” Darius shook his head.

“I’ll tell you some day,” Serhan replied.

They rode back to White Rock, camping one night on the way. During that night Serhan vanished from the camp for several hours, and the men on watch woke Grand and told him. He told them not to be concerned.

In the morning Serhan was back in his bedroll, but he seemed very quiet for the rest of the journey, and would not engage in conversation.

The night was dark, but snow lay inches thick on the ground, and it caught the starlight so that every building and bush was outlined. It was like a black and white map of the village he remembered from childhood. For perhaps half an hour Serhan stood at the edge of the settlement and remembered. Snow should have been gone by now. It was going to be a hard year in the village.

Here was the house where the old woman lived who had given him sweet things that she had baked. Over here a man and woman lived. They could have no children, and were always melancholy, as if they were waiting to die. Here was a place where he was not welcome. This was a lane where he had played pointless children’s games until Brial had caught him and dragged him back to his training by a sore ear.

The sea lay beyond. He had not heard its voice for a year, but it had sung him to sleep for two decades, and the sound comforted him now. The sea had always been just the sea, but so complex in that simplicity. It was storms and lullabies, soothing and frightening, but it was always and only the sea.

Even the smell of the snow was different here. It was cleaner, and mingled with the sea air it smelt of innocence.

Eventually he stirred himself and walked down through the quiet houses, picked a door and knocked on it. There were noises inside, and after a moment it opened.

“May I come in?”

A face looked at him blankly, and he saw recognition, surprise, pleasure, and finally a look of puzzlement.

“Cal? Is it really you?” Her hair was still grey, and she looked the same age as she had always looked.

“It is me, Crialla.”

“Come in! What are you doing back here? I did not think to see you again so soon, or ever…”

He went inside and sat by the fire. He remembered the chair, and the stones of the hearth. Even the warmth of the fire seemed familiar. Crialla offered him a hot herbal drink, and he accepted. She did not ask him anything, but sat next to him by the fire waiting for him to speak.

“I have come to ask you a question, Crialla,” he said at last. “I need you to answer honestly, and to hold nothing back.”

“Of course.”

“Did Brial and Gris murder my father?”

She looked away, and did not answer. The silence became long. He waited.

“Who told you this?” she said when the silence could get no longer.

“Rollo. You remember him? He died last night.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. He was a clever boy.”

“My question?”

“Yes, Cal, they did.”

“And my mother?”

“I don’t know.”

Serhan sighed and drained the herbal drink. It warmed him inside, just as Crialla’s herbal teas always had, but now there was something inside him that remained cold.

“I must go now,” he said.

“Oh, stay and have something to eat. You are unhappy. Stay and talk.”

“I cannot. The future waits for me. There are a few more things that I must do here, but it does not pay to linger too long in the past.”

He stood and went to the door. She held it open for him, and he stepped out into the night. He saw that she did not close it for a long time. He walked down the hill towards the sea until he came to another house that he knew well. The sea was louder here. He banged on the door. It opened.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gris demanded.

“Step outside,” Serhan said. “Bring your stick.”

Gris stooped back into the house and emerged with his staff, firmly held in hugely powerful hands. He was the same as ever, a slab of muscle, competent, frightening.

“You always were a fool, Cal. You think you’re a match for me now?”

He drew Shadow Cutter.

“My father,” he said.

Gris started to say something, but he swung the sword once, a shoulder to hip cut with that unstoppable, deadly blade.

“Goodbye, Gris.”

He walked back up the hill through the village. Crialla’s door was closed when he passed it. What would Brial think in the morning? Serhan hoped that he would live in fear for the rest of his life, because one day Serhan would come back and pay him a visit. He looked forward to it.

At the edge of the village he turned right and headed up towards the woods. Just at the tree line he stopped at the black door that waited there, turned and looked down at the village for a last time, breathed in the snow and salt air, and stepped through.