Scar Felice (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 3) (14 page)

It was hard to believe that Alder was dangerous. He seemed an elderly academic, a mild and pedantic figure. Raganesh had not been mild at all, and he was afraid of the Ekloi. So if Alder was an Ekloi, then Raganesh feared him.

Perhaps it would be better to go sooner rather than later. If she waited she might end up alone with Alder and the colonel and have to leave with him, or even worse he might wait for her outside. Best to leave early, then, but there was no safe way out.

“Colonel,” she said. “I am tired, and so I must express my regrets and leave you. It had been a most enjoyable evening, and I will long remember the hospitality of White Rock.”

“I am sorry to see you go, Ima. It is a long time since we heard such a good tale as yours, and the hospitality is the least we could offer after bringing you here not entirely in accord with your own desires.”

She stood, moved away from the table, waiting for Alder to offer to accompany her, or make some other move so that she could rebuff him. She had reasons prepared, but he did not rise, did not speak. A glance in his direction showed that his eyes were now elsewhere. He was speaking with the officer that sat next to him, and did not even glance in her direction, giving all appearance of having lost interest.

She stepped out of the door, waved away a servant who waited to guide her, but accepted his lantern to light her way. She walked back to her own room, and was not followed. She went in and set the lamp on the table while she sat on the bed. She did not feel safe.

There was no lock on the door, and so she braced a chair against it. It would be difficult to open. Impossible to open without making a noise that would wake her, give her time to do something.

Her weariness had not been a lie, and having taken her few precautions she blew out the lamp and sleep came quickly, washing over her like a choppy sea, full of questions.

She woke many hours later, her eyes suddenly open in the dark. She lay still for a while, but could hear nothing. A noise came in the distance; a man’s voice called out, but it was answered and silence slipped down again. But it was not a proper silence in the same way that black if often not completely black. True black and true silence are equally striking, and the silence in her room did not strike her in that particular way. She imagined that she could hear the wind against the fortress walls, or perhaps it was the feet of mice in the corridor beyond the door. Then again, it could be the echo of the blood pounding in her ears.

“I know that you are awake.”

The voice, little more than a whisper boomed in her straining ears like a great shout, and she jumped upright.

“Who…?” she began, but she knew the answer. She was not surprised to see a light struck, and in the flickering of the newborn flame she saw Alder’s face. He carefully moved the light to the lantern and it bloomed to fill the entire room. Felice did not speak, but she watched him carefully. He seemed at ease, not in the least worried. She saw that he was sitting on the chair that she had braced against the door.

“I thought that you had another question for me,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. It was true enough. “But I had not expected you to make yourself so available.”

Alder smiled. “What was the question?” he asked.

“Raganesh,” she replied.

“What about Raganesh?”

“Who is Raganesh?”

“An interesting question. May I ask where you heard the name?”

“Certainly not before you answer me, and then it depends upon your answer.”

“I see.” Alder sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, touching them to his lips while he studied her. “You are not…concerned by my presence?”

“If you are trying to scare me you have done that already, so answer my question, or leave, or do whatever else you intend.”

Alder nodded. “Very well. Raganesh is, or was, a minor Faer Karani who dwelled at High Green until their exile by the mage lord.”

Felice shook her head. “He is a man.”

“They are shape shifters, Ima,” Alder reminded her. “He could appear in any number of forms, but it is interesting that you used the present tense.”

“A man,” she insisted, “a flesh and blood man who smelled of sweat and breathed air.”

“You were near to him then? I am most grateful for this information. You should know that the Faer Karan are capable of taking a human body, of evicting the mind of its owner and occupying it. There are drawbacks, however. They are more limited if they do this, and cannot be released from the flesh before it dies. They are also much harder to find.”

“So this Faer Karani, this ‘minor’ Faer Karani – it fears you?”

“Did it say as much? Did it mention me by name?”

“No and no, but it did fear. It asked me to find you.”

“Me?”

She did not answer. Alder stared at her for a while, and then looked away, rubbing the bridge of his nose. She heard him sigh again, but this was a different sigh. It was the noise a man makes when he has completed a long and awkward job only to realise that he has gone about it the wrong way.

“There is much that you do not know,” he said. “There is much that you will never know. I understand that you are afraid, but would you rather side with a Faer Karani?”

“Than with an Ekloi?” She saw that he was startled by the word. “All I know,” she went on, “is that accommodations can be made with the Faer Karan. Borbonil serves the mage lord.”

“The Faer Karan serve nobody,” Alder said, and there was a vehemence in his voice that she had not heard before. It was a candle’s light short of hatred. “Borbonil bides his time, that is all.”

“You have not spoken with him.” It was not a question. She had been surprised by what the Faer Karani had said to her, by his choice of words, but also by the genuine sense of wonder that she had heard. Borbonil was very aware of his own state of change and excited by it in his own peculiar dry fashion, and she did not believe that Alder would have failed to perceive this, had they spoken.

“There is no need,” he replied. “I have known the Faer Karan a long time, and others before me for still longer, going back many years; centuries. They have never changed. They do not change.”

“You are mistaken.”

Alder flapped his hand in an uncharacteristically violent gesture of frustration. “Enough,” he said. “Will you tell me about Raganesh, what he looks like, and where I can find him?”

“I can deliver him into your hands, but I am still questioning if this would be a good idea.”

“I do not understand. You have been oppressed by the Faer Karan for four centuries and now you think you might like to protect them?”

“How do you feel about me knowing your secret, Ekloi?”

“You know very little.”

“I know enough. I know that the mage lord is mistaken in his belief that he is the only mage in the world. I know your name, or at least what your kind are called, and I know that you and yours have watched us suffer for hundreds of years, and yet done nothing.”

“I cannot explain this to you.”

“But I should trust you with my life none the less?”

“It is your choice.”

“Is my life safe? Does this knowledge threaten me?”

Alder paused, as though caught between an easy lie and a difficult truth, and the answer to her question was clear. There was a threat. This was a secret that Alder was supposed to keep. She watched him struggle for an answer for a moment. The fact that he struggled at all was much in his favour. A less moral creature would simply have lied.

“If my life is in danger I would like to know for what crime I will be punished, for I am not aware that I have committed one, and it is the mark of any just society that it does not punish the innocent.” She sat back in her bed and watched him.

“It is a dilemma,” he said eventually.

“It seems simple to me.”

“But I am sworn to keep the secret, and yet what you say is no more than the truth. It would be a crime against justice to harm you for no good cause. You are, as you have said, innocent in this matter. You neither sought the knowledge nor sought to conceal it beyond natural caution.”

“Then swear me to secrecy, too. I will tell no one.”

“It would be difficult to justify.” She could see that a deeper struggle now took place. The previous one had been for his words, but this was for his actions.

“And when the mage lord discovers you, as you can have no doubt that he will, will you kill him?”

“No, Ima, that is entirely different.”

“How so?” She sought to encourage fundamental considerations, to make him see that life was life, and one person equalled another.

“He is the pre-eminent figure in your world…”

“And you know what I will become? You will kill here and spare there just because of what is, and ignore what might be? It is true that the mage lord is greater than I ever aspire to be, but all life is potential. Think on the purpose of your secret. I take you for an honest creature, Alder, and if you give me your word that I am safe I will aid you in your capture of Raganesh, and I will keep your secret, even though the mage lord himself ask me to reveal it.”

“And what of the Shan?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“They will not touch me. I will protect my oath with my life.”

“It is a bold promise, to die for a secret when you will not be killed for it.”

“Never the less, I swear that it is so.”

Alder stretched in the chair, wriggling his fingers at the end of his long arms and curling his toes. He smiled at her.

“The Shan know,” he said. “You need not fear their touch.  It is hard to keep anything from the Shan without killing them all. So I will take you at your word, Felice Caledon. You have my word that you are in no danger from myself, and in the morning you will lead me to Raganesh. Is it agreed?”

“It is agreed.” She felt a wave of relief, like a breaking fever, sweep over her. She believed that she had been moments from death, and powerless against its chosen agent, and now the threat had withdrawn, like a knife put away in a sheath. Alder put the lamp close to her bed.

“I will see you at breakfast,” he said, and slipped through the door as silently as he had come. Felice sat back and allowed her heart to calm itself. She covered her face with her hands shutting out the light. What had she done now? She had sided with an alien mage against a terrible and powerful creature, but she had had no choice. There was no fondness for the Faer Karan in her heart, and she had briefly felt a sort of kinship with Alder, but there was no guarantee that he would keep his word, just her faith in his character, his honesty.

A knock on the door startled her.

“Who is there?” she demanded.

“Sabra,” came the reply. “Lieutenant Sabra. May I enter?”

Felice pulled the blankets around her again. “Yes, Please.”

The door opened and the lieutenant stepped through. She was fully dressed and armed, and looked around the room, making sure that no other was there.

“What did he want?” she asked.

Felice hesitated. “It was a private matter,” she said. Sabra raised an eyebrow.

“If you do not wish to confide in me, then that is your right, but the colonel was concerned. There is no problem, no danger?”

She was surprised. She had assumed the colonel to be well past caring, well on the way to a drunken stupor, and yet here was her lieutenant, following Alder through the night, checking on her.

“I thank the colonel for her concern,” she said, “but there is nothing that I can say. It is a matter of honour, I suppose.”

Sabra nodded, as though this was something she understood. “Shall I bear any message to the colonel?” she asked.

“Tell her that I believe all to be well, but if I am not on the wagons leaving for Woodside the day after tomorrow, she should be very wary of Alder.”

“I understand,” Sabra turned to go. “There will be a guard in the corridor for the remainder of the night,” she added. “He will not do anything, but his eyes should ensure that you are not troubled again, just in case someone may be inclined to disturb your sleep.”

Then she was gone and the door shut quietly.

She had thought, for a while, that these were simple people. Seeing them sat around the table drinking wine and talking of simple pleasures it had seemed obvious, but it was a false apprehension. Here there was watchfulness, skill, and a spirit that cared for all within the fortress walls. It was the spirit of Serhan, she thought.

The morning was another day, and so she turned her back to the door and quickly fell asleep.

“I am not happy with the arrangement,” Alder said. They stood close to the gates of White Rock, just inside and out of the way of any passing traffic. The morning sun slanted across the opening, making it a dark tunnel to the green and blue world that lay beyond. People carried on their business in the courtyard behind them, and Felice wondered if they were watched. She could see no sign of it. She was surprised that Alder seemed so fretful, and she sought to reassure him.

“I have told you, Raganesh asked me to point you out. If we go down together he will be afraid and not approach. I must go alone.”

“He will not trust you.”

“Perhaps, but it is the best that we can do. It is the only thing that we can do”

“Then go, I will permit it” he said. “I will follow in no more than half an hour, and I will expect to see you in the tavern.”

“I will be there.” It was almost as though Alder worried for her safety, and that was surprising for someone who had been prepared to take her life the previous evening. She set off through the gate and took the great spiral road down the face of the rock for a second time. She did not enjoy the view, did not even raise her eyes to look at it, but bent them to the road in deep concentration. She wanted no part of this private conflict, but had trapped herself into it through a naïve blend of curiosity and not knowing when to leave something alone. It was becoming a familiar regret. She reached the bottom of the great rock and turned onto the track that led to the town. She walked slowly, but the distance between her and the town shortened more quickly than she liked.

One thing still troubled her, and she had not revealed her doubts to Alder, though in truth she was surprised that he had not raised the matter himself. Raganesh had, to all appearances, given her his true name when he could so easily have passed her off with one that he had invented on the spur of the moment. He must have intended that it should be recognised, but by whom? The Ekloi? It had certainly proven effective at drawing Alder down to the town. Was it intended to be a trap?

She walked through the first buildings of the settlement and looked around her. The place was no more attractive than she remembered. Indeed it seemed tattier than ever, as though the winds had chewed at the fabric of the place a little more. She walked slowly through the streets, glancing carefully into the shadows down the dim alleys between houses, scanning the broad streets. There was no sign of Raganesh. She remembered his face, his form, the tilt of his head, the shape of his hair, but she saw none of them in the people around her.

Eventually she came to The Black Sword. She stood before the tavern and studied the few people that were passing through the square, but nothing caught her eye. There was no sign of her quarry.

She went inside. It was as quiet as it had been the last time she was here. A scattering of people filled chairs separated by what seemed oceans of space, but a quick examination of the figures in the room revealed no sign of Raganesh.

“I am always pleased to see a customer return. May I get you something, Ima?”

She turned to see that Haken, the landlord, had appeared beside her.

“Hot jaro, if you would be so kind, Aki,” she said.

“At once,” he replied and turned to go, but she put out a hand and touched him on the arm to keep him there.

“Before you go, Aki, I have one question for you. I am looking for one of your customers. He always eats alone, and he is a trifle unusual, he may seem a little odd.”

“I think that I know who you mean, Ima. He seems arrogant, but also a little afraid.”

“That is him.” She smiled at the description because it was so apt. “Has he been in today? There is some business between us that we must conclude.”

“No, Ima. In fact I do not recall that he was in last night, which is unusual, because he has eaten an evening meal here every night for a week. One of my best customers.” He shrugged. “Beggars cannot choose.”

“Thank you, Aki. I will have the jaro now.”

“Yes, Ima.”

Haken disappeared in the direction of the bar and left Felice to her thoughts. Could he be gone, then? The giving of his name could have been a mistake that troubled him later when he recalled it. He could have fled the town. But she remembered his face as he had spoken the words. It had been a deliberate act, a positive decision on his part, so perhaps he had expected the name to be recognised. A trap then. And having laid the trap had he lost his nerve and fled? She was trying to double guess a double guesser – a futile exercise.

The hot jaro arrived, and she sipped it, waiting for Alder, and studied the other customers.

Close to the kitchens a group of four men played castle. She could hear the slap of the cards on the table and the clinking sound of copper coins as bets were adjusted. They were absorbed in their game. To their left two tables were occupied by unaccompanied men. The closest was asleep. He leaned back in his chair with closed eyes and an open mouth, an empty cup on the table before him, and she could hear his breath rasping through his throat even from where she sat. The other man was cradling a cup of jaro and picking occasionally from a bowl of spiced, crisped deerfruit seeds. He looked deep in thought.

Close to the door sat a man and a woman whispering secret words in each others ears. Lovers. Felice always expected lovers to look pretty, and she was always disappointed. He wondered what he saw in her. She had flushed, puffy cheeks and straggling blond hair that writhed free of her headband like so many dirty snakes. She snorted and squealed like a pig at the words he spoke. Laughter, she supposed. The man looked stupid and cunning.

On the other side of the door two men sat together and discussed something that was on a sheet of paper. They took turns in pointing to things and speaking, and turns at agreeing or shaking a head no. It seemed amicable. It seemed that they were making progress.

One of the card players called for a drink, and she watched as Haken hurried to bring it to him. What kind of life must it be, she thought, to be at the beck and call of every drunk and gambler?

A sudden light in the doorway snapped her eyes back across the room, but it was only Alder. He stood for a moment, caught in the bright rectangle of sunshine, his head turning from side to side until he saw her and let the door swing closed, striding through the empty space between the empty tables.

“This is a grim place,” he said, taking the seat opposite her. “Did you find him?”

She shook her head. “No, and the landlord did not see him last night, so there is a chance that he had fled.”

“That is bad,” Alder said, and he looked genuinely worried.

“Stay a while,” she said. “Have a cup of jaro, it is not that bad. Raganesh may yet show his face, and if he does not...” She shrugged.

Alder nodded absently, giving her cup of jaro an unfavourable look. “I do not like that stuff,” he said. “It is too sweet and too bitter all at once.” He raised his hand and the landlord hurried over. “Do you have any decent wine?” he asked.

“Fine wines from Blaye,” Haken replied. “For the discerning customer we have a few bottles from the most excellent Portina vineyards, but they are not cheap.”

Alder raised an eyebrow. “Portina? The royal wine? Well, then, I shall have a bottle of that, if you have not stored it in the sun.”

“Oh no, Aki,” Haken assured him. “I have fine cellars beneath us, cool temperatures on even the warmest days.”

“Then bring the wine,” he commanded. Haken left them and he turned to Felice. “You will have a glass? The chance to drink such a wine is not to be passed up lightly.”

“It is famous, then?”

“The reputation of the vineyard is ancient, and we have a number of bottles in the castle cellars, but I had not expected to find such treasures here.”

“It is not a poor tavern,” Felice said. “It only wants for customers.”

Alder nodded. “Perhaps, but we must talk of other matters.”

“Raganesh?”

“Yes. If we do not find him soon then I must tell… others.”

“Do you want me to go out into the town again?”

“Alone? No. If he is not here then he has probably moved on somewhere else. He could be anywhere by now. I think he would indeed have approached you if he was still here.”

“I am not so sure. All the Faer  Karan had about them a sort of cunning, and Raganesh gave me his true name. Why did he do that?”

“A foolish mistake. He will have realised his error and moved on.”

“It did not seem like a mistake…” she did not finish her sentence, for at that moment Haken stepped towards them with a bottle and two glasses in hand. It was unusual to drink from glass in a tavern. Glass cups were expensive, brittle, and hard to replace, but Haken clearly thought the honour worth extending. He displayed the bottle to Alder who brushed a little dust from the etching on the glass and then nodded to the landlord.

Once he had removed the cork with surgical care Haken poured a half glass for each of them. Alder lifted his so that the light from the windows illuminated his face with a faint ruby glow. He then held the glass to his nose and breathed in the aroma, eyes closed. This was followed by the smallest imaginable sip which he rolled around his tongue with a pensive expression on his face.

“Very good,” he said. “You keep your wines well, landlord.”

“Thank you, Aki. I have always taken my profession seriously.”

Felice sipped her wine and was surprised by both its smoothness and its intensity. It had an authority that was not present in other wines that she had tasted, a mellow dryness that did nothing to hide its rich flavour.

“I like it,” she said, startled to find two pairs of eyes were waiting for her judgement.

Alder nodded. “Yes,” he said. It was clear that he thought the wine largely wasted on her. He paid the agreed sum to Haken and the landlord went away. He sipped the wine again. “It is very fine,” he added.

Alder seemed to be enjoying the wine so much that Felice did not like to speak to him again. She sipped her own glass and watched him go through various expressions of pleasure and delight as he drank his own. When he had finished the first glass he poured himself a second, and made a reluctant gesture towards hers with the bottle, but she shook her head.

“I get more pleasure out of watching you drink it,” she said.

He smiled at her. “It is one of the things that give me hope,” he said. “It is not possible to produce a fine wine in a world bereft of civilization, and this is certainly a fine wine. I must make the effort to visit the vintner one day.”

“You called it the royal wine?”

“The royal house of Blaye, as was, and I assume its royal house again. The family Portina have run vineyards in the hills around Blaye for hundreds of years, and did so long before the Faer Karan arrived. It was traditionally the preserve of younger brothers, princes not of the line, but one vineyard at least has always belonged to the Kings of Blaye, and in recent years the man who would otherwise have been king has turned his hand to the art. He has considerable skill.”

“Wine as high culture,” Felice mused. “I had not thought of it that way.”

Alder did not reply. He was sipping at the wine again and had closed his eyes. The sleeping man opposite them awoke with a start and knocked his cup, barely catching it before it fell off the table. He shook his head and looked around, blinking at the room as it slowly resolved itself into something he could make sense of, before digging in a purse and putting a few coins on the table. He hurried out into the bright day.

She saw that two of the card players were arguing, one of them had risen to his feet and was gesturing at the other. The sight gave her a momentary chill, but a third player intervened and the matter was settled. The man sat down again with a last angry gesture.

On the other side of the tavern the two men discussing the piece of paper had gone. She had not seen them leave. The lovers were still pawing each other close to the door.

“Do they interest you?”

She turned to find Alder watching her.

“Yes, in a way.”

“I see other things in your eyes when you look at them,” Alder said. “You are afraid when you look at the card players – your brother?”

“They remind me of things I do not wish to remember.”

“Of course. And the man and woman – there is something else when you look at them.”

Felice did not answer. She glanced at the lovers and then away again. The sight of them offended her.

“I see envy,” Alder said.

“Envy?” She was aghast. “Of them?” She realised that she had raised her voice, and had half risen from her seat. She sat back down again, shaking her head. “You mock me!” she hissed.

“Well, they are in love, or she is at least. I am not so sure about him. Have you ever been in love Felice Caledon?”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“In many ways you are a remarkable young woman,” he said. “But in many others you are still a girl.” He held up a hand when she started to protest again. “I do not mean to offend you. It was the same with the mage lord when he first came to White Rock, and the innocence within him cost him much. You should not be shy of your own feelings. Examine them as you would any other phenomenon.”