Scar Felice (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 3) (11 page)

“I am curious about your route through the swamp,” the lord said. “Did you follow any principle to guide you, or was it just luck?”

“Luck, my lord,” she replied. She ignored a look from Tann, but she did not doubt that Christo had seen it.

“You made very good time. It is a full day’s march in a straight line from where you were last seen, and you took only three through the maze of the marsh. That is amazing.”

“I am amazed myself,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

Christo chuckled. “I will not pry further, Ima,” he said. “If there is a secret that you wish to keep, then that sits well with me.”

Felice blushed, and felt like a foolish girl, but she did not confess the secret of the knife. It was a valuable thing, and many men might covet it. Best, perhaps, they should think she had some power in herself, as the Pekkan sailors had done.

The conversation continued, but along other lines, and Felice told her story again, and heard tales of times before Serhan’s victory over the Faer Karan, of the creature that had ruled here in solitude. Most other Faer Karan lords had lesser creatures that served them, but not this one. Its name had been Kalnistine, and it had chosen Stone Island, it seemed, because it was isolated. There were no nearby farms or villages within its domains. It was a hermit’s castle, a secret place at the heart of the marsh maze.

When they had finished, and sleep threatened to claim them as they sat at table, the Lord Milan gave them leave to go to their rooms, and as they left told them one last thing.

“Sleep well,” he said. “In the morning there will be someone here to see you, and the children will go on to White Rock. You, Ima, are also required to travel to White Rock. It seems that you are needed there.”

“I have other business,” she protested. “I have told you that I must be in Woodside as soon as possible.”

“White Rock is closer to your goal,” Christo reassured her, “and I do not think they will keep you more than a day or so. It is a simple matter.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“In the morning, Ima. Another will tell you in the morning.”

Felice was worried. It would take time to get to White Rock, time that might let Karnack escape justice yet again, and she doubted that she would sleep, but the wine and the food worked their pedestrian magic, and she slept almost as soon as her head touched the very soft pillows.

*              *              *              *

Morning came, and she was woken by a knocking on the door of her room. There was no sun here. The mist blotted it from the sky, but she felt almost herself again, and swiftly bathed and dressed. Fresh clothes had been laid out for her, and although they were loose fitting it was a pleasure to wear something clean.

A man guided her down to a great hall where many people were eating the first meal of the day. She was shown what was available, and ate a good meal, washed down with jaro and the juice of southern fruits – a luxury that she had not expected. The others in the hall glanced at her from time to time, and she was reminded of what she had almost forgotten in the swamp – her face was scarred.

It did not disturb her as much as it once had. She was alive, safe, and a day ago she had doubted that such things lay in her future.

When the meal was finished a man showed her to Lord Milan’s chambers, and bid her wait there until someone came. The room was empty and the fire was dead, so she sat at the table and studied the walls. What kind of man was this lord, she wondered, who lived in the middle of a marsh, caged in a place without sun? The rooms told their own story. There was no sign of luxury or self indulgence on display. The chairs were simple and well made, as was the table. There were no tapestries or other decorations, and the walls were white and clean. A jug of water and several cups stood on a side table, but these, too, were simple and made plainly to serve their purpose.

In the absence of clues she imagined him a man driven by duty. What else could compel a man to stay here? Grateful though she was for the rescue, the food, the comfort, this had to be the worst place in the world. If it had been up to her the place would have been abandoned and left for the marsh to reclaim.

The door opened. When she saw what came through the door she dropped instinctively to her knees, not knowing how else to respond.

“Obeisance is no longer required,” the Faer Karani said. “You may stand.”

She stood and looked. Its form was almost human, but there was something strange about the way it stood, the way it moved, and the eyes were plain white with no pupil or iris.

“My lord,” she said.

“I am Borbonil of Ocean’s Gate,” the creature said. “I serve the Mage Lord Serhan, and he has directed me to bring you to White Rock, and to speak with you.”

“On what matter, my lord?”

“I confess that I did not understand his words until I entered this room, but now I see his wisdom is revealed. May I see the knife?”

She felt the shock of discovery, and a dread of what this thing might do next. For all her life she had feared the Faer Karan, and with good reason, and yet she had never seen one, even from a distance, until this day. Now she stood no more than a few feet from a monster that had ruled a good portion of the world, and she possessed something that was forbidden. Borbonil could destroy her in a moment, she knew.

She saw it notice her hesitation.

“There is no cause for fear, Felice Caledon,” it said. “Magic is permitted to all, to high and low. It is the Mage Lord’s rule. I am simply curious, as I have been instructed.”

She drew the knife and held it out. Borbonil made no move to take it from her, but simply looked. She reminded herself that this was the same Borbonil that had saved a thousand lives in Pek, had rebuilt the city.

“I know this blade,” it said. “It was a possession of the Lady Amarina, cousin to the King of Blaye. It was made by Corderan to find the way. It is named Pathfinder. It contains a part of a young girl.”

Each sentence was like a blow. All her secret revealed, and more than she had ever dreamed to discover about the knife. But the last sentence troubled her most of all.

“Part of a girl?” she asked.

“Yes. It was a device that the Mage Corderan sometimes used to give personality to artefacts that he created. The Faer Karan did not think such tricks or trinkets proper.”

“Will you take the blade from me?” she asked.

“Take it? No. It is of no use to me, and as I understand it the blade is yours.”

She put the knife away, feeling foolish, and yet also emboldened.

“You are the Lord Protector of Pek, are you not?”

“I have been given this title, and I do not object to its use,” Borbonil said.

“May I ask a favour of you?”

The Faer Karani was silent for a moment, its eyes turned towards her. Hard as she tried she could read no hint of what it was thinking in its expression.

“What is a favour?” it asked. Again she could not tell why it was asking. Surely Borbonil would know the word?

“A favour is a gift, a deed, perhaps. It is something done as an act of good will towards another. There is an implication of debt, but it is not a debt that one necessarily expects to be paid.”

“Do you expect to be able to repay me?”

“No.”

“Then why would I do this favour?”

“That is up to you, my lord. The supplicant can only ask. It is the prerogative of the other to decline.”

“Very well; you may ask your favour.”

“There is a child in Pek,” she said. “When you visited she was not in the city, and was not cured by your magic. She lacks the ability to see, but otherwise is sound of mind and body, and is as worthy as any other to receive your gifts. Her father blames himself for her absence, and they are good people. The favour that I would ask is the gift of sight for this girl.”

“You ask nothing for yourself?”

“Not unless you can raise the dead, my lord.”

“I know your tale, Felice Caledon. Lord Milan has revealed it to me, and I am surprised that you would not ask for another thing, for revenge upon the man Karnack.”

“I seek justice, my lord, not vengeance.”

“So it would seem, and I will consider your ‘favour’ if you give me the child’s name, but now it is time to travel to White Rock. It may reassure you to know that we have been able to retrieve your baggage, and that it awaits you there.”

Without further explanation he opened the door, and revealed the children standing outside with the Lord Milan. He ushered them in. The children were visibly troubled by his presence, and Borbonil took the trouble to reassure them in his uniquely unreassuring way.

“I have been told that you may be distressed by magic,” he said to them. “Do not be. No harm will come to you, and you will soon be with your father in White Rock.”

Mention of their father seemed to help, but the Faer Karani had already turned from them and begun the words of a spell. As he spoke a black mist seemed to rise from the floor and gradually coalesce into a square mirror, black as night, which reflected nothing at all.

He stooped and picked up the children as though they were feathers, and turning to Felice, told her to follow, and with that he stepped through the blackness. Felice hesitated. She knew what this was, or thought that she did, and if she stepped through it she would be at White Rock – a hundred miles with a single step.

She shrugged. It was just one more miracle, after all. She stepped into the black door.

She wished that she had arrived at White Rock for the first time in the usual manner, by the road across the plain. As it was she stepped from the black door into a windowless chamber somewhere deep within the walls, and she had no sense of the place at all. They could have been in a room ten feet from where they had started.

The room was quite dull; stone walls and stone floors, lit by an assortment of oil lamps; and was dominated by a large oak table with several chairs around it. At the table sat two figures. One was a youngish guard officer, and it was immediately apparent from his reaction that he was the children’s father. He jumped to his feet and ran to embrace them, a gesture that they returned with enthusiasm. There was love there, and it reminded her of her own family back in the Scar. For a moment she was overwhelmed by homesickness, but she pushed it away and the moment passed. She studied the other figure, which now stood and approached her.

“You are Felice Caledon,” she said. She was not young, but her face was more stern than old. She had strong features and clear, clever eyes.

“I am.”

“And I am Colonel Bantassin, commander of the guard here at White Rock.” The older woman held out her hand, and Felice took it, surprised by the recognition of equality that the gesture implied. She felt the strength in the hand.

The other guardsman turned from his children for a moment.

“Ima Caledon, I thank you for taking my children under your protection and seeing them through the marsh. I am in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it,” Felice said. “I needed them as much as they needed me. Without Tann we would not have had anything to eat.”

To her continuing surprise Pasha ran across the room to her and embraced her, reaching as high as she could the girls arms wound around her waist and gripped her fiercely. “Thank you,” she said.

“You were very brave,” she said to the girl.

Pasha stepped back to her father’s side and took his hand; looking up at him she said “she’s special”.

Felice wondered what she meant by it, but her attention was drawn back to the colonel, who indicated that she should sit.

“Is there anything that you want?” she asked. “Water? Food?”

“No. I’m fine. Why am I here?”

“It is a matter of law. To speak frankly we did not expect you to be found. The marshes around Stone Island are difficult to navigate, and very few that become lost in them are seen again. But to the point – we have a prisoner who claims you as a witness.”

“A witness to what?”

“His innocence.”

“You will have to explain, colonel.”

“Of course. You are familiar with the marking of bandits?”

“If it is the same as in the Scar, yes. A bandit, once caught is marked, usually with a hot iron. If he is caught again for the same crime, then the punishment is death.”

“It is the same. We have caught one such man, but we have not executed him because he claims that he was forced to join with the bandits and did all that he could to confound them, including helping you and the children.”

Felice recalled the day of the attack. There had been a man, a bandit, who had told them to flee and not attempted to prevent them from doing so. She did not know if she could recall his face. She had not looked at the face. He had been all threat and chain mail. She had looked more at his sword.

“There was such a man,” she said. “But I doubt that I would recognise him again.”

“I am surprised,” the colonel said. “I had expected it to be a tale which relied on your perishing in the marsh. There is at least some possibility in the story, then.”

“But I cannot confirm it.”

“There is another way. I assume that he was the only one present – the only one who saw you?”

“Yes. The others were too far away to see anything than another figure, but if they knew he had betrayed them they could have killed him, and made him tell what had passed between us.”

“It is unlikely. Such men do not believe they will be caught, and rarely think and plan for such a thing. Are you willing to see him?”

“Yes. If it is the same man, then all three of us are in his debt to some degree.”

The colonel took her out of the room and onto a stone staircase that wound downwards in tight spirals. They passed through a heavy door and suddenly they were in daylight. Felice blinked at the scene around her. They had entered a great courtyard, filled with people and horses. It looked as though some expedition was about to depart, and she barely had time to grasp the scene before they were through another door and walking down stairs again. Blazing torches set in the walls provided light, but it was a poor illumination.

They stopped at a heavy, iron bound door and the colonel spoke with someone on the other side. It opened slowly, and she was ushered through into a broad corridor where two guardsmen were stationed. They had chairs and a table, but no more than that. There were several doors set in each wall.

“Bring the prisoner out.” The colonel ordered.

The guards went to one of the doors and opened it. Words were spoken and a man stepped out into the torchlight. He looked thin, and wore a simple tunic and trousers over dull boots. Nothing about him triggered a memory in Felice. She remembered the armour, the short sword, the danger.

The man, however, seemed to recognise her, or at least gave every appearance of doing so.

“Karana,” he said. “I am very happy to see you. I thought that I was dead for certain.”

“It may still be the case,” the colonel said.

“I am sorry, but I do not remember your face,” Felice said.

“But you must!” the man said. “They will kill me if you do not.”

“Tell your story,” the colonel said. “Give as much detail as you can.”

The man looked puzzled for a moment, and then seemed to grasp the idea.

“It is a brief tale,” he said. “The group ambushed the train of wagons. Archers shot arrows and the last two wagons were abandoned by their drivers. I and others were set to check the last of the wagons, and there was evidence that passengers had been carried. We searched, and I was able to find them before the others. I set my torch in a bush by the road and backed away from it, coming towards them again only when the mist hid me. I came up on the right side, and got within ten yards of them. The Karana had her blade drawn, and I spoke to her.”

“So much is true as far as I can tell,” Felice said. “What did you say to me?”

“Thank you, Karana. I told you to flee, that it was not safe, that they would come back and search again. I said to go as far into the marsh as you dared, and hope that they would not follow.”

“It rings true, colonel. If this is not the same man, then he has stolen his memories. The voice is familiar, too.”

The bandit looked relieved. He smiled. “You have saved my life, Karana,” he said.

“We shall see,” the colonel said. “Lock him up again while we decide what to do with him.” The man protested, but his protests were half hearted. It seemed that he was happy enough to have proven his point and escaped death.

“What will you do with him?” Felice asked as they made their way back up to the courtyard.

“I am not sure. He was with the bandit group for several months, and in that time they did many evil deeds. We have been hunting them for all that time.”

“Were many killed? When they attacked us?”

“Just one. The man who drove your wagon. The others were lucky.”

A rough and unfriendly man. Barker. She remembered his name. She felt guilty for not liking him, now that he was dead. She tried to think of his good points, and realised that he had been very good at his job. It was something that she hadn’t thought about while they were travelling, but he was just the sort of man that her father would have hired; a competent, simple man who knew his work. That he had no time for his passengers and about the same for personal hygiene was not important in the scheme of things. He had not deserved to die, any more than her brother, but she guessed that nobody would be pursuing justice for Barker.

“What now,” she asked.

“Borbonil said you wanted to go to the testing in Woodside.”

“The testing?”

“Yes. Serhan is bent on training up a group of mages. I can’t think why. It can only cause trouble. He’s testing them to see who has ability.”

“Yes, I want to go to Woodside.”

“Well, I can lend you a horse and a guardsman to take you there, or you can wait two days and join a group of travellers heading down that way.”

“I’m not good with horses,” Felice replied.

“Then you’ll have to wait. The thing goes on for a couple of weeks yet, so there’s no hurry.”

“So people kept telling me.”

The colonel smiled and shook her head. “The impatience of youth,” she said. In spite of her blunt, soldierly manner, or perhaps because of it, Felice found that she liked the older woman. The colonel had an air of command, but her voice and her face betrayed a gentler side. She cared. She cared about the children, about Felice, about everything.

Bantassin left her in the care of a junior officer who showed her to guest quarters, which were comfortable but basic. Her baggage, lost with the wagons in the attack, was lying next to the bed, and she fell on it with all the joy of greeting an old friend. Even the silver coins were still there, neatly rolled in paper and stored with other valued items in her small wooden box.

She unrolled her clothes and looked through them all. It was strange to see them now. They were like childhood friends grown distant. She still recognised them all, still loved them, but they had grown strange in the time that they had spent apart. It seemed that so much had happened in so few days. They spoke to her of sunny mornings in East Scar and the smell of baking bread. They awoke memories of her room, the morning walk to the warehouse, cold air and warm conversation, punctuated by laughter, and the book keeping system she had devised for her father’s accounts. It was all part of a happiness that surely could not be salvaged.

She dressed in a simple dress and left her room. She walked down to the courtyard and noted that the men and horses had all gone, departed on some important mission, no doubt. It must have been like that, busy and purposeful, when they had gone to hunt down the bandits, travelling south when she had been travelling north.

She asked questions of the people that she found still there, and they told her about the town, so she left by the great gate, and walked alone down the broad and deserted road that coiled around the great rock on which the fortress stood. Now that she could see the walls she was awed by their height, the threat of them. She could see the plains as she walked, the roads that fled in every direction from White Rock, the white capped mountains to the west, and the green carpet of the forest, interrupted by tilled land, small patches of order scattered through nature’s greater chaos.

It all vanished when she reached the base of the rock, the roads, the forest, the distant villages. From here there was just a tree line fifty yards away, and a blue summer sky.

She walked around the base, circling back the way she had come, and eventually she came to the town. She would not have graced it with so grand a title. The houses were scattered, new, and many of them were poorly built. The town square was dusty and largely abandoned, and the Kalla Tree was too young to provide any shelter or shade. This was a new place, still struggling to come to terms with its own existence.

Some of the buildings were well constructed, and chief among these was the tavern. It was one of the few two storey houses in the town. Its heavy timbers and gaily painted sign suggested a degree of permanence. The sign was a picture of a man on a bay horse dressed in green and black with a background of forests and a distant castle. It bore the name The Black Sword.

The sun was high by now, and she pushed through the door into the tavern in search of food and a glass of wine. The place was well lit, mostly by natural light that entered through a row of tall windows on the south side. There was a scattering of solid but simple tables, a bare stone floor, and a long bar down the west side. There were about a dozen people inside, but it still felt empty.

She asked about food and was told the choices, ordering a bowl of stew, bread and a glass of wine. The wine was from Blaye, the landlord told her, and quite fine. She selected a table and sat alone, sipping her wine and allowing herself to casually study the other customers. One or two of them caught her gaze and nodded in a friendly manner, others were deep in conversation or absorbed in the process of eating, but one man struck her as unusual.

He sat alone at a table on the far side of the room, almost a mirror image of her position. He was dressed plainly in working clothes, like a field hand, and sat before a plate of food and a jug of ale. To a casual glance he seemed no different from any man she might expect to see in such a place, but that his plate was empty and he did not reach for his ale, but sat as though paralysed, staring at the plate with an intense expression. It was as though he had seen some terrible thing in the gravy stains before him and could not tear his eyes from the horror. In like fashion she could not take her eyes from him, but stared.