Shanakan (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 1) (22 page)

Delf had begun to suspect that the resentment was organised, that there was some person or group of people behind it all.

In spite of it, the building progressed, and after forty days of work was beginning to look as he had imagined it. From the outside it was solid and strong, squatting broadly at the edge of the square, completely different from any other structure in Sorocaba. The many long, thin windows were set high in the walls, and their shape made it all but impossible for a man to get through them. The door was relatively small, and therefore defensible. There was a solid roof, surrounded by battlements behind which a few dozen archers could hide. Inside it was less forbidding. The light and the high ceilings made it airy in the main chamber where the council were intended to sit. The guard quarters were pleasant, too, while the store rooms and cells were darker.

Delf had moved his men inside the building as soon as the walls were complete, and the attacks had all but ceased. Guards up on the roof were a lot less vulnerable, and had a better view of what was going on.

There had only been one incident, and he blamed himself for that. It was traditional in Samara to celebrate the completion of the roof of a new building, and he had allowed his men to do so. Sorocaba had three taverns, and the closest of these to the new building was a place called the Good Harvest. It stood on the square opposite the Kalla House, and was popular with locals as well as the builders. The guard sergeant had decided long ago that his men would do their drinking apart, and in moderation, so they had stayed behind within the completed walls.

White Rock, or Serhan, had provided Delf with silver coin to spend if he needed it, as this was the common currency throughout all domains, so he bought drinks and food for his men beyond what their small salaries would have allowed.

Many of the men became quite drunk, but the mood was good. The locals in the tavern didn’t seem to object, especially when Delf bought them drinks, and the evening went on in a good spirit.

He was reluctantly beginning to think that it was time to return to the new building when a commotion broke out near the door, and he could see the builders streaming out into the night. He found out later that one of his men had stepped out to clear his head and been attacked. The man’s friend, who had been a few steps behind him, had raised the alarm and a brawl ensued.

The men who had been lying in wait outside were sober, but numbered only five. They were, however, equipped with clubs and knives. The fight was brief and bloody. It ended when the guard contingent, roused by the noise, hurried across the square, swords drawn. At this point the attackers had fled. One of the archers in the guard had shot at them, hitting a man in the leg. The wounded man was captured and protected by the guard from the outraged, drunken builders.

Delf was not entirely sober himself, but managed to calm things down. His men stood in a group by the tavern door. They were angry, and it was now plain to see why. One of them had been stabbed to death, and another was wounded. Delf himself was angry, but he was less so at the attackers than with himself. He should have seen this coming.

There was a chorus of demands from his men to hang the culprit, to behead him, to kill him any way.

“What do you want me to do?” the guard sergeant asked.

Delf was in two minds. Like his building crew he wanted swift revenge, but he was aware of the locals from the tavern, who were now outside and watching everything that he did. By moonlight and lamplight he could see the new Kalla House opposite. It frowned across the darkness at him.

“Bind him,” he said eventually. “Take him to the Kalla House and hold him there. Treat his wound and make sure that he remains alive and untouched. We will deal with this in the morning.”

“As you wish.”

The builders protested, but he hushed them again.

“My friends, have patience,” he said. “What we are building here is a symbol of justice. If we stain its walls with hastily spilt blood our work will have been for nothing. In the morning we will be sober, and in the morning we will see that justice is done.”

It satisfied the men for now, but Delf had no idea what form justice would take. Should they publicly kill the man? Should there be a trial? Maybe he would be able to think more clearly in the morning’s light.

*              *              *              *

The morning came, and the problem remained. He went to see the prisoner, who was being held in an unfinished cell. He was bound and two guardsmen stood over him. Delf was pleased to see that he had not been hurt beyond the arrow wound that he had received the previous night.

He was a young man, one of those who watched the builders during the day, and Delf had no doubt that he was one of those that threw stones at night.

“What is your name?” Delf asked him.

“I am of The Free,” the man replied. “I will not tell my name to a slave of the Faer Karan.”

“I am no slave. I am a master builder employed to do a job, and paid for it. Who or what are The Free?”

“We are the ones who do not bow to the beasts who rule the world. We are free men who will only be ruled by free men.”

“And which particular free man rules you?”

The prisoner spat on the floor and would not speak.

“If you want him to talk,” one of the guards said, “I’m sure we can get anything you want out of him.”

“No,” Delf said. “I want the people of the town to see him, to know what he’s done. He should be whole for that.”

The guard shrugged.

Delf left the Kalla House and took two guardsmen with him. He went to the house of Mayor Granis. Granis had heard of the events of the previous night and was visibly upset.

“I want you to get the council together and come to the Kalla House,” Delf told him. “Tell as many people as you can that they should come too.”

“What are you going to do? It wasn’t our fault. We tried. We talked to them.”

“Have no fear, Mayor. You are quite safe. You will be needed at the Kalla House. Will you come?”

“I will, and the council with me.”

The promise secured, he returned to the building himself. The assembly hall wasn’t finished, but it was close enough. There was a raised dais at one end, and he had his men put half a dozen seats on it. He posted guards at the door and waited.

After a while people began to arrive. Granis and the council were seated on the dais, and everyone else that showed up stood in the body of the hall. There were about a hundred and ten of them, but Delf could not see any of the group who regularly watched the builders. When it seemed that nobody else would come he had the doors closed and ordered the prisoner to be brought out and sat on the dais so that everyone could see him.

Delf stepped up onto the platform and faced the people himself. He had no idea how to do this, but he thought that he understood, finally, what Serhan was trying to do with the Kalla House. This.

“Last night,” he said, “just on the other side of the square from here a man was killed.”

The crowd moved uneasily. They were used to revenge.

“He was unarmed. He was drunk. He was happy. He had a wife and a child back at home. He came here to build a place that was intended to protect you. This place.” He gestured at the walls, the roof. “His death was a crime; a crime that should be punished.

“For a long time we have viewed the will of the strong as the law. This has been the way of the Faer Karan. It has been the way of the bandits. The weak must give way, give up, move aside, die.”

He had their interest now. Fear was still present, but they were expecting something new. He could see hope, curiosity, and even eagerness on the faces before him.

“That way must end. As far as it is in our power, and in the power of the Lord Serhan, Seneschal of White Rock, that way will end. The law now, in this town, is the judgement of the council, duly elected. We will hear those who saw the crime speak, and the accused man will have his say also, and the council, not I, not the guard, will decide his fate. The guard will do as the council decides.”

Everyone in the hall started talking at once, but Delf held up his hand and they quietened again. He tried not to look at the guard sergeant, but turned and pointed at the prisoner, the one who had declared himself to be one of the Free.

“I accuse this man of the deliberate murder of Aled san Terral Handellan, and of the wounding of others.”

He took the role of prosecutor himself. Called Aled’s friends to speak, called the townsmen who had been in the Good Harvest, called the guardsman who had shot the arrow, and when all had told their stories he turned to the prisoner.

“Do you wish to speak in your defence? Is there anyone who you want to question?”

“I will speak for myself,” he said, and stood before the crowd. For a moment he just stood, looking at them. “You are all cowards,” he said. “You quail before dogs. We are The Free, and we will not be ruled or judged by these servants of the beast. You,” he turned and pointed at the council, “dare not speak against me. Free me and see how honest these soldiers are. They are not here to protect you, but to oppress, to kill, and to bend you to the will of their demon overlord. We will triumph because we are the true inheritors of this world, from before the coming of the Faer Karan. I was there at the tavern. I fought these dogs and will do so again until they are driven from the town, and from the world itself.”

He sat down.

Nobody spoke. Time passed and the silence became long, restless and pregnant. Granis turned to the council, realising that it was their turn. They spoke in whispers for a few moments and all ears strained to catch a word. Even Delf was intrigued. Granis stood up and cleared his throat.

“You know me,” he said. “You chose me to be Mayor because you think me wise, or at least sensible. You know this man, too.” He gestured to the prisoner. “Him you did not elect, but he has chosen to speak for you, and to act in your name. He has killed a man and confessed to it. He has threatened your elected council, and who in this room has not been so threatened by this man’s friends, in word, deed or some other way.

“If we are oppressed it is not by the builders sent from White Rock, nor by the guards who come with them. I have spoken to these men and found them honest. While they are here I do not fear White Rock, but if this man and his friends succeed, and they are driven off or killed, it is then that I fear, for if they go you know who will come in their place, you know what will come. It will be the old justice that comes with great claws and wings and fire, and Sorocaba will cease to be the name of a town.

“We will not rise against the Faer Karan. We will not scoff at the power of White Rock and Gerique, for it is real and terrible, and we are not its equal. These facts, however, play no part in our decision.

“What this man did was wrong. The life he took was not his to take, and the act was against all natural law. It is the judgement of the council that he be given to the guard for a swift and merciful death, and that his property be forfeit, to be sold and the proceeds, meagre they may be, sent to the slain man’s widow and children.

“Let it also be known that if any should think that we can be intimidated or punished for deciding thus, then we will see those people here, in this room, and the council will decide again, and again, as many times as it takes to bring a measure of peace to this town.”

Granis sat. One of the other council members patted him on the shoulder and spoke a word in his ear.

Delf was as surprised as everyone else in the room. He had not expected Granis to be so strong, so unafraid. It was a thing well done. Even though the prisoner screamed threats and abuse as the guards took him out, nobody seemed scared of him. They talked to each other and jostled forwards to speak to Granis.

Delf slipped quietly from the room and went to the store rooms where he sat alone for nearly an hour. He felt exalted, justified, but most of all he felt as though he was part of something that would change the world.

When he emerged it was early in the afternoon, and as he walked past the main door of the Kalla House he was knocked off his feet by a man bursting through it, out of breath and red in the face from running. The guard sergeant ran from his quarters to see what the noise was, and just as he arrived the man caught his breath enough to speak again. He managed only one word.

“Bandits!”

He always awoke when Mai left his bed, but he never got up right away. He lay in the warmth with his eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the fortress around him, enjoying the scent she had left behind, waiting for her to return. Sometimes he fell asleep again, but this was an important day, so he stayed alert, rehearsing what he would say, re-examining the places that he had chosen for his trip.

It was a few minutes before she returned with a tray. It was a gesture that he always enjoyed.

“You are awake,” she said.

“It’s an important day.”

“All of your days are important days,” she said. “You are the seneschal, my lord.”

“Nobody but Alder mocks me more than you, but then he isn’t nearly as pretty.”

She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, started cutting up the food on the tray. He watched her for a few moments. The plate wasn’t very stable and she had to concentrate. Small lines appeared between her brows when she concentrated. He liked that.

“Soon you’ll insist on chewing my food for me,” he said.

“I’m not your mother, Cal”

For a moment his mood darkened. He didn’t remember his mother, but he knew what had happened to her, and he knew who had killed her. Gris being dead didn’t ease the memory, and the pain of his unknowing betrayal. For years he had worshipped the men who had killed his parents.

“I’ve said something,” Mai noticed the distance in his eyes, the coldness of his posture almost instantly. “I’m sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Not you,” he said. He put a hand on her arm and smiled, banished the guilt. It was an effort.

“I wish that I knew more about you,” she said. “You won’t tell me anything.”

“I am made of secrets, my love,” he said. “If I were to tell you the smallest one you would pull the thread and I would unravel completely, and disappear.”

“Now you mock me.”

“Not entirely. I will tell you the truth one day, and then it will seem dull and perhaps a little tragic. The truth that you need to know is that I enjoy every moment that I spend with you. You make my life better. Your smile heals parts of me that physicians cannot touch, and when I am away from you I wish I was not.”

“You say the sweetest things.” She pushed a forkful of food into his mouth and he was forced to stop talking to chew. He let his hand rest on the small of her back and felt the warmth through the rough cloth of her shirt.

“What is the hour?” he asked when his mouth was sufficiently empty.

“The guard have not yet changed. You have two hours yet.” She put another forkful into his mouth. He chewed.

“Do you know anything about Stone Island?” he asked.

“They say it is a dreary place, set in the midst of marshes, and covered in mists as often as not,” she replied. “I do not know anything for sure, but they say that its lord is an ally of Gerique, or a follower at least. There is only supposed to be one path through the marshes to the front gate, and it is not marked. A few steps off the way and you will never be seen again. The marshes are deep and hungry, or so they say.”

“So the seneschal is not likely to be a colourful character?”

She laughed again, and his own heart was lightened by the sound.

“Go,” he said. “Begin your duties for the day. I will finish eating by myself. I have a thousand things to do before the man arrives, and if you stay I will be distracted – most pleasantly, but still. I will see you tomorrow night.”

She put the tray aside and bent down to kiss his cheek. He touched her face, and then she was gone, the door closing, and it was back to the business of the day.

*              *              *              *

Serhan made sure that he was waiting in the courtyard well before the black door was due to open. Gerique had not emphasised the importance of this particular duty, but its significance was obvious. He awaited the arrival of the Lord Christo san Andor Milan, seneschal of Stone Island and all its territories. The Faer Karan lord of Stone Island was Kalnistine and, because he was a close ally of Gerique, apparently inclined to adopt the changes that were taking place in Gerique’s realm under Serhan’s guidance.

This was the point at which his ideas and strategies might begin to spread across the world. He was anxious to impress the man. He was dressed like a prince in green and black, and an honour guard of White Rock guardsmen glittered in the courtyard like so many warlike jewels set in a steel necklace. His favourite horse was held for him by his groom, and another fine animal awaited the lord Christo.

It was a good day in a good season in a good year for Serhan. He had risen as high as a man could rise in the world. Hundreds, perhaps thousands did his bidding. He was favoured by his lord; he loved and was loved in return by a fine woman. All his plans were bearing fruit. The villages were growing again, even if most of the new blood came from other domains or retired bandits. The bandits themselves were mostly gone, and only the occasional raid from other territories now kept the guard busy.

He was in love with his life. It was as if the sun shone every day. Every meal he ate tasted good. He slept well and awoke refreshed, keen to be about the new day, whatever it brought. He had not known that life could be like this. Even so, today was a special day.

At the appointed hour the black door formed and a man stepped through. The lord Christo was older, almost twice Serhan’s age. His face was lined and adorned with a short, neat grey beard. He was even dressed in soft greys and he wore a simple, businesslike sword.

“I am Serhan, are you prepared to ride, or is there anything that we can arrange for you before we leave?”

“I am prepared.” Christo said. His voice was soft and careful.

They mounted and rode out of White Rock side by side with their escort behind them. He could see at once that Christo was a polished horseman, and everything about him signalled that he was also a soldier, a swordsman, raised through the ranks of the guard and promoted to his lofty position after many years of loyal service. He was clearly everything that Serhan was not.

“How long have you served Gerique?” he asked as they rode down the spiral path to the plain, almost as if to confirm his thoughts.

“Not yet three years,” Serhan replied.

“And you have come so far.” Christo’s tone was expertly neutral. There was neither criticism nor praise.

“I have been fortunate. Opportunities have arisen giving me the chance to show my lord that I can be of some service to him.”

“Indeed. I hear that Borbonil wants your skin for a rug. Some of his guard even say that you are Faer Karan, but I can see that it is not the case.” Now he was smiling, but the tone was still the same; deadpan.

Serhan laughed. “You think I am falsely modest, Christo. It is true that a lot has been done in this last year, but it is also true that I have been lucky, and that many other hands have done great deeds. You yourself know this. You tell men to go and they go, tell them to build and they build. They do it well because it is in them to do so, or not.”

“I like your words, Serhan,” Christo said. “Let us see if they are matched by what we see on this tour of yours.”

“I hope that we see the setbacks as well as the triumphs. It has not been an easy time.”

They rode west, towards the mountains that rose up between the plain and the western fiords. It was a fine day and they enjoyed the ride.

After an hour or so they came to the outskirts of a village. It was one of the closest to White Rock and bore the name Hillshade. Being so close it had become something of a project for Serhan, and the people here were used to the sight of the seneschal riding with a guard through their fields. They were not afraid, but showed respect. Serhan stopped beside a couple of men who were working in a field.

“Good farmers,” he addressed them. “How are things in Hillshade? Do my guards behave?”

“Things are good, my lord,” one of them replied. “Your guardsmen do you honour. We are safer for their presence.”

“No bandits?”

“Not for more than half a year.”

They rode on into the village and stopped outside the Kalla House. The sergeant commanding the small garrison stepped out to greet them with a salute.

“My lord,” he said. “A welcome surprise. What can we do for you?”

“I am glad to see you well, Sergeant Dinal. We are here to take a look at the Kalla House. This man is Lord Christo of Stone Island. He has some interest in how we do things.”

The sergeant showed them all the rooms in turn, finishing with the guards’ quarters and the cells. There was a man locked inside one of them.

“What has he done?” Christo asked.

“Theft, my lord,” the sergeant replied. “We’re holding him here for a few days while the council decides what to do.” He motioned for them to step outside, and once they were out of the prisoner’s hearing he continued. “To be honest, my lords it was a trivial crime, and we have no suitable punishment. The property has been returned undamaged. The council thought that a week sitting in a cell wondering what was going to happen to him would do him some good, so in a few days we’ll release him without further punishment.”

“Very creative,” Christo said. “A pity, though. It would have been interesting to see one of these hearings that you hold for a crime.”

“No two are the same,” Serhan said. “The form is still evolving. The first was held in Sorocaba, in the first Kalla House, but since then we have developed quite a lot. The council remains the judge, but guilt can be decided on a show of hands by the people present, or by the council. Less articulate accused people are permitted to have someone speak for them, and there is a difference when the accused admits the crime and when they deny it. We’re also considering allowing them to ask for a second trial if they think their guilt was determined for the wrong reason.”

“It sounds very complicated.”

“For the most part the councils themselves do the work. We let them know what other councils are doing and they adopt or reject the ideas. So far it’s working well.”

They took a cup of wine and a light meal at Hillshade and then rode on to the village where they expected to spend the night. It was a larger village, less accustomed to the sight of guardsmen and lords, and bore the name Woodside. Their reception was cooler here, but still respectful. Some men moved away from them as they passed. Others stopped working and stared.

When they got to the Kalla House they found an argument in progress between the guard sergeant and an older man, clearly one of the villagers. The argument stopped as they approached, and the sergeant saluted.

“My lord,” he said.

“What is the disagreement, sergeant?”

“Nothing that need trouble you, my lord.”

“You are Serhan, the seneschal?” the old man asked. Serhan noted the man did not use his title.

“I am. Who are you?”

“I am Tarbo, head councillor of Woodside. You must make a ruling on this matter.”

He dismounted.

“We will go into the Kalla House,” he said. “Then you will tell me the matter, and I will decide if a ruling is needed.”

Inside the building they sat together on the dais of the great chamber. Christo sat to one side, attentive.

“Now, Tarbo, tell me what the matter is.”

“Simply that one of the White Rock guard has committed a crime and they will not permit the council to judge him.”

“What crime is he accused of?”

“Theft.”

“My lord, he took some food,” the sergeant protested.

“Tarbo?”

“Yes he took food. No it was not a great deal of food, but it is a principle. He stole.”

“Sergeant, the man admitted taking the food?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then he should be heard by the council, assuming that the council would wish to press such a matter.”

There was a pause.

“Why would we not?” Tarbo asked.

“Indeed, why not? All of the men here have risked their lives in the field against bandits, and most of them were present when Bragga was defeated. Punishing one of them for something so minor may lead them to question their commitment, but if it is a principle, head councillor Tarbo, then you may go ahead.”

Tarbo looked at his feet for a minute. The sergeant tried not to look at anyone. Christo smiled.

“What do you suggest?” Tarbo asked eventually.

“If it sits well with you, Tarbo, I will pay for the food out of my own pocket, I will speak to the man in question, and if you wish I will post him back to White Rock. Such a thing will not occur again, will it sergeant?”

“No, my lord. You can be sure of that.”

“Tarbo?”

“It is acceptable. You need not post him back to White Rock,” the old man sighed. “Too much has been stolen by bandits for us to permit the same thing to start again. We have an agreement to provide a certain amount, but anything else must be bought and paid for.”

“I understand, Tarbo, and I am glad that you also understand. This new way of doing things is very important to me and I appreciate your flexibility. I will ensure that the men of the guard understand. Thank you.”