Scar Felice (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 3) (16 page)

They set off again, allowing Pathfinder to guide them, and quite soon they began to see signs of industry. There were clearings where the trees had been felled, and tracks cut through the undergrowth where carts had passed. Felice became aware that Alder was muttering something, and when she looked at him he appeared to be wearing a red robe that dragged on the ground, and a red hat that covered his ears and the back of his neck. He was also carrying a black staff, topped with a black circle, which he used as an aid to walking. Glancing at herself she was surprised to see that she was now dressed in a long, black dress, and that a silver thread, so thin that it was barely there, hung about her neck.

This, then, must be the glamour that Alder had mentioned, a spell designed to change their appearance without really changing anything.

They broke free of the trees, and the cart track passed a group of houses and became a road passing through fields planted with a tall, green crop. She glimpsed figures working in the fields, but they were distant, and she could see little of them, other than they walked on two legs and favoured dark, mud coloured clothes that covered most of the body.

Their road approached another road, and she could see that other people travelled along it in carts pulled by oxen. Some even rode oxen, while still others walked, laden with baskets and parcels which were tied to their backs.

“It is a market day?” she asked.

“So it seems. Hide the knife now. We will be among them in a short while.”

She slipped the knife into a pocket, surprised to find it still there. The black dress had no pockets, but the garment that she really wore, the one that she had dressed in that morning at White Rock, had a pocket on each side. She could feel them with her hands, but they were quite invisible.

As they came closer to the road she could make out the people who travelled along it quite well. They were like men, but they were not men. Not quite. They had two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth, but the mouths were lipless, the eyes a fraction too large and apparently amber in colour. Their ears seemed simpler, their noses smaller, and their skin was a dusky shade, like the bark of an oak tree. A surreptitious glance at her hands showed that they, too, had become brown, and her fingers seemed a little longer than they had been, and lacked finger nails, and yet she could feel them.

They joined the road, walked with the people, keeping themselves to themselves. They passed a spur of woodland that thrust across the fields towards the highway, and as they rounded this curtain of trees the town came into view. It was walled, and its low, brown walls looked plastered with mud. She could see figures on the top, guards perhaps, carrying long poles like spears or pikes. The gates stood wide, and the road poured its thin stream of life into the gap they made, the town beyond absorbing all like a great dirty sponge.

Even from here she could smell the place. The breeze carried its sour odour of rubbish and wood smoke, sweat and spices across the fields to them. She tried to gauge the size of the town. It was certainly bigger than East Scar or Yasu; probably bigger than Pek, but Samara would be larger, she believed.

“We are in luck,” Alder said. He spoke in low tones so that only she could hear. “I know this town. It is called Herebat, and we will find aid here.”

“Ekloi?”

“Yes. We have a man stationed here. He is the governor’s treasurer.”

“Will he mind that you have an assistant?”

Alder smiled slightly. “He is junior to me. He will obey my commands.”

They entered the town, were swallowed by the open gates and found themselves in the midst of a great throng. They were pulled along by the crowd as it swept through the streets and eventually spilled out into a great square, the like of which she had never seen. It was big: a hundred yards on one side and two hundred on the other. The floor was not dirt, but had been paved with great slabs of grey stone. Hundreds of stalls had been set up, and mostly they were simple things, men and women selling off the back of carts, or even from the stones themselves. They had aligned themselves in great rows along the longer axis of the great space. The buildings bordering the market on the long sides were shops, dozens of them, and Felice feasted her eyes on the mouth watering variety of trade goods displayed. She could happily have spent the whole day just walking up and down the alleys, browsing the endless lines of merchandise, but Alder hurried them down the broadest aisle towards a great building that stood at the far end.

The building itself was one of the largest she had seen. It looked long and low, but only because it was so wide. Steps rose up from the market for its entire width, leading to a colonnade of pillars, and behind that a row of doors. Above the colonnade the building was set back a little, creating a balcony that ran along its entire width, and behind that were more doors and windows. The whole was made out of a bright, white stone that contrasted starkly with every other building in the town.

They approached the building, mounted the steps, crossed the colonnade. At one of the side doors they were confronted by a guard. The man barred their way, his hand resting on a long, serrated sword that was made of some kind of ivory. Alder spoke to him, the language sounding gruff to Felice’s ear, and they were quickly shown into a chamber within the building. It was not particularly ornate, and contained no furniture, so they were obliged to stand.

“I do not think much to their hospitality,” Felice muttered. She was feeling tired and thirsty. “Is there anything to drink?”

“In a moment,” Alder replied. “If Inshaful is here we will be received, then you may drink.”

Inshaful must be the Ekloi. Felice walked to the door and looked out onto the square. Most of the sellers displayed a marked indifference to their trade, and sat lifelessly behind their goods, staring dully at the passing crowd, making no effort to sell, to engage the passing multitude. In such company any trader from her own world could have made a fortune.

A voice behind her brought her back to the business at hand. The guard had returned and was speaking to Alder, his manner more respectful than before. Alder listened, then threw a glance in her direction, beckoning her to follow. The guard led them up a narrow flight of stairs, along a corridor, past two more guards, through two sets of doors, and eventually to a chamber. It was a busy room, tables crowded against shelves, books and papers covered every available surface, and a fascinating collection of curios, objects made of glass, bone and wood competed for space amongst them.

The centre of the room was filled by a desk, which was miraculously clear of paper, holding only a single book. Sitting behind the desk, and apparently caught in the act of turning a page, was another of the inhabitants of this world. He dropped the page and gestured to the guard to leave them, rising from his seat.

Once the guard was gone he approached Alder and held out his hands flat and level, palms upwards. Alder placed his hands on top briefly.

“Inshaful,” Alder said. “You will oblige me if we can speak in Shanakan vulgate. It is a matter of courtesy and practicality.”

“Of course,” the other said. “Will you identify your companion?”

“If you ask it.”

“I do.”

“Very well. Her given name is Felice Caledon, she hails from East Scar on the world of Shanakan.”

“Not Ekloi?”

“Not Ekloi.”

“This is irregular.”

“Inshaful, you are third tier, I am first tier. You will accede to my judgement in this matter.”

“I will.”

“We are here in pursuit of the Faykin Raganesh. This one,” and here he indicated Felice, “identified and tracked the Faykin. It attacked us while I was stepping, and all three were precipitated into this place. This one preserved my life while I was unable to do so, and killed the flesh that the Faykin had taken. When I recovered it fled in the direction of this Herebat.”

“Even so, it will be almost impossible to track. There are thousands of strangers here for the market, and if it has taken flesh again it will be one Shi among many.”

“This one has the means to track the Faykin.”

Inshaful raised an eyebrow. “She is most resourceful, Sinalder, I am not surprised that you bend the rules. What do you require?”

“We need a palanquin, arrayed in the colours of Shishnaran Tokari, and four bearers, and a troop of soldiers.”

“You will conduct a demon search? On market day? It will alarm many. There could be unrest, and I would have to answer for it.” Inshaful seemed worried. Felice was bemused by the whole conversation. There were so many things that were new to her she could barely keep track. Alder’s name was Sinalder? First tier? Shi? Shanakan? Faykin? She had heard him use the last term when addressing Raganesh, so it was another name for Faer Karan, she supposed, Shanakan was her own world, and Shi could be the native people here, but it was all guesswork.

“That is unfortunate,” Alder replied. “However, Raganesh had returned to Shanakan, and he could not have done so unaided. He is not wise. We fear that one of the more dangerous Faykin has also returned. Raganesh will know which one. If we wait until after market day Raganesh will have fled among the other Shi and we will have a harder task. While he is here we can restore things quickly.”

“I understand. The palanquin may take an hour to arrange, and I will give you twenty of my personal guard. Please wait in my resting chamber. There will be food and drink. I will send a man to you when all is prepared.”

They were shown through a door concealed behind a curtain in the office, and Felice was pleased to see comfortable chairs and couches, along with a jug of water, and a jug of wine.

“I trust your curiosity is assuaged,” Alder said.

Felice sat down with a sigh and reached for the water. “Do you understand people at all?” she asked. “A few drops of water do not slake a thirst. But do not be concerned. I will keep your secrets even if you drown me with them.”

The interior of the palanquin was comfortable, she could not deny it. The soft seats were lined with fur, and cushions abounded. It was more luxury than she had ever seen on a mode of transport. In spite of it, she hated the thing. The faint rolling motion, the twisting and tilting as she was carried through the streets made her feel quite ill.

She was alone inside. Alder walked beside the window, listening to instructions on which way to turn according to Pathfinder. The windows themselves were curtained so that nobody could see in, and that was half the problem. It was stuffy, and it was getting hot. Combined with the motion it was getting to her.

“Can we rest a minute?” she asked. The curtain pulled back a fraction.

“It is me that is walking,” Alder said.

“This thing is making me feel ill.”

Alder seemed to think for a moment. “Put your hand on the sill,” he said. She did so, and he laid his on top of it, spoke a few words in a language that she did not understand, and to her astonishment the sickness in her stomach vanished, her head cleared, and she felt fresh again. “We are in a hurry,” Alder said, almost apologetically. The curtain dropped back again and the motion resumed, but now she was immune. It was magic, she supposed; a simple spell for one who knew it, but a miracle to anyone else.

“Turn left here,” she said, and heard Alder’s voice speak to the bearers. The palanquin lurched, and they set off down another street. If Raganesh was close it would not be long before they found him.

She had not spoken to Inshaful, had played mute while Alder had arranged everything, and climbed into the palanquin – nothing more than a box borne on poles – when asked to do so. She had been aware of him watching her, though. For all that he obeyed Alder without hesitation, she knew that the junior Ekloi had reservations. She had them, too, but it was best to go along with things, to seem agreeable, when she was in an alien world. She was effectively deaf and dumb, and Alder’s favour was her only way home – probably her only way to survive. She was beginning to trust the old man, to give credence to his word, but she remembered an old saw from her childhood – trust is the child of an oak tree. It meant that you should be slow to trust, and a trust built over years would be very strong indeed.

She wondered how long they had been gone from her own world. It was at least the best part of a day, though she had no way of knowing for certain. How long would it be before the caravan left White Rock for Woodside? Time pressed on. Did they have enough time to get back?

“Bear left,” she said, and felt the direction change again. She was starting to notice a pattern in the changes of the blade’s pointing. After three more turns she was certain.

“Stop,” she said. They stopped, and the edge of the curtain lifted. She could see from Alder’s face that he had worked it out as well.

“He knows that we are following him,” he said.

“Yes. He’s leading us in circles – keeping on the move. But how? Can he sense the knife?”

“Did he touch it?”

“It killed him – stuck into his back.”

“Of course.” Alder looked thoughtful. “But he was not prepared. He did not have time to tag it. The magic that it contains is slight, and over such a distance he could not detect it. He has touched both of us, so it could be either or both of us that he can find.”

“It is me.”

Alder looked puzzled. “Explain,” he said.

“It is more likely that if he can trace anyone – if he had to perform some sort of spell to be able to do so – that he can sense me. The only time he touched you was when he was trying to kill you, so it would not make sense for him to mark you for following. It would mean that he knew where we were all the time at White Rock.”

“How will it help?”

“Can you use the blade?”

“No!” Alder seemed horrified at the suggestion. “I am reluctant to touch it,” he said, “and these things of Corderan’s are fussy about whom they cooperate with. They have a tendency to imprint on one person.”

“That will make it more difficult. Is there any way that you can remove the spell?”

“No. If I knew what he had done, then perhaps, but there are an infinite number of ways to mark a person or thing.”

“I see. Perhaps we can use that. Let me think for a minute.”

Felice dropped the curtain again and sat back in the warm twilight of the palanquin. Was there some way that she could drive Raganesh into a trap? She could not see it. They had no idea what he looked like. If he had taken one of the Shi he would be perfectly camouflaged in the crowds that would leave the town at the end of the day. Of all the thousands here only Alder and probably Inshaful could face him, so he must be brought to bay somewhere where one of them could be waiting. But she had already proven to herself that Pathfinder could do more than point.

“I think I have an idea,” she said.

“Tell me.”

“Is there a way that you can hear me over a great distance, if we are separated?”

“Yes. It will require an artefact, but I believe that Inshaful has such a thing. How will that help?”

“And can you get two maps of the city?”

“Easily.”

“Then send for these things and we will trap Raganesh.”

“You must explain it to me first.”

“Very well.” It was clear that Alder wanted to stay in charge. “I believe that I can get Pathfinder to indicate Raganesh’s position on a map. If I can speak to you, you can go there, and I will tell you if he moves so that you can follow. I will continue to move through the city as though I am following so that he will not suspect.”

“It is worth trying. I will send someone to fetch what you suggest, and then we shall see.”

“Can I get out and unbend my legs for a minute? This box is a torture. I will hide the knife.”

“As you wish, but we must not be still for too long.”

She stepped down into the street and looked about them. It was an ordinary looking street, lined by small, brown houses, each set back ten paces or so from the thoroughfare. The spaces before them were fenced and paved for the most part and each was dominated by a pole about a foot thick, rising some twenty feet into the air. At about head height the poles were painted in coloured rings, and each house had different colours. When she looked carefully at the nearest pole she could see random carvings – not covering the wood, but scattered about the surface. They were about the size of a hand, and each was a representation of a creature. Some looked mild, others fierce, some almost human, others quite definitely not.

Alder spoke to one of the soldiers while she was examining the poles, and the man set off at a run. He came over to where she stood.

“I have told him to meet us elsewhere. He will bring what we need,” he said.

“The poles…” she began.

“There is not time,” he said. “They represent family, allegiance, gods, but you could study them for a lifetime. Some have. Now we must move again.”

She climbed back into the cushioned box and was shut up once again. She withdrew her knife from a pocket and ran her finger along the blade.

“Show me again where Raganesh is hiding.” The blade moved. “Left,” she said. “Always left.”

They carried on, moving in slow loops through the city. They were not circles, though. They never seemed to travel the same streets. Felice guessed that they were slowly moving towards the gate, and that they would arrive there at the end of the day with the crowds leaving the town for their villages.

The palanquin stopped again, and Alder lifted the curtain. He passed her a map and a small, smooth stone. “Speak to the stone as though it were my ear,” he said. “I think you will have some trouble with the map.”

She looked at it and realised that she could not read a word that was written on it. The writing was meaningless – an alphabet she had never seen.

“I will manage,” she said. “Show me where we are now.”

Alder pointed.

She held Pathfinder loosely in her hand so that it dangled lightly above the map.

“Can you do it?” she asked the knife. “Show me where Raganesh stands. Point to the map.” The knife swung loosely for a moment, without purpose. She worried that it would fail, that Pathfinder could not do this, but a tremor felt through her fingers told her that it was moving, pointing.

Alder looked on apprehensively, and compared his own map with hers.

“It is only three streets away,” he said. “I will take half of the soldiers with me. The rest will stay to guard you.” He was gone.

Now she was alone. She could not even tell the soldiers to stop or change direction. They were moving in a pattern, as instructed by Alder, imitating their previous movements. The knife point moved.

“He is moving south,” she said, “down a short street to a junction of three ways.” There was no reply from the stone. It lay in her lap, and she wondered if it was working. She watched the point of the knife trace Raganesh to the next junction, where it paused, then bore left again.

“He had reached the junction and taken the left hand road,” she said. The palanquin turned again, taking a left. She was uneasy about her isolation, and lifted the curtain for a moment. She saw the same thing she had seen before, brown houses and poles, the marching feet of soldiers.

Glancing back at the map she saw that Raganesh had reached another junction. The knife point hovered over a crossroads, and then went straight over it.

“He has gone straight through a crossroads,” she said. The knife point crept on, moving steadily. How close was Alder by now? Would he be in sight? Had he even reached the first point? She could ask Pathfinder to show her where the Ekloi was, but it might cause her to lose sight of Raganesh for a moment.

The knife point came to another junction, a crossroads, and paused again. Then it turned right. He had been bearing steadily left for an hour, and now right. What had changed? Whatever it was it leant a new urgency to their pursuit. It would not be long before he sensed that she was still turning left, and he would be alerted. He would guess that something was wrong.

“He has turned right at the next junction, Alder,” she said. “Right at the next crossroads.” Perhaps he had caught sight of Alder and his soldiers. The old man was hard to miss in his red robes, and the soldiers would be obvious, too.

At the next junction Raganesh turned right again, no hesitation this time. She relayed the turn to Alder. What had made him change? She watched the knife point trace his route with a growing sense of unease. Felice did not know where
she
was on the map. Alder would certainly be moving as quickly as he could along the Faer Karani’s trail, but where was the palanquin?

He was up to something; some Faer Karan trick, but what could it be? Another junction, and another right turn. He had almost turned back on himself. Was he trying to come up on Alder from the rear?

She was seized by a terrible thought. What if Raganesh could sense both of them? He would know that they had split up. He would know that she was on her own.

“Show me where I am on the map,” she said. The point barely moved. It swung to the end of the street down which Raganesh was passing. He was heading directly for her. She reached out and pulled the curtain aside.

The streets here were not busy. It was a residential part of the town, and the houses were mostly quiet. People were at the market. She could see a single figure, a typical brown clad Shi, striding down the road towards her. There was rare purpose in his step, and a promise of violence. There was no sign of Alder.

Felice opened the door of the palanquin and stepped down into the street. The soldiers, who had been relaxing, immediately sprang upright and looked at her, as though expecting some instruction. They followed her eyes and saw Raganesh approaching. Ivory blades were drawn, so many sharp teeth, but they would not worry a Faer Karani.

She glanced at the soldiers and gestured for them to lower their blades. They looked reluctant, but did as she wished. There was no point in all these getting killed. She folded her arms and waited by the palanquin until Raganesh was no more than twenty paces away.

“You would be unwise to kill me,” she said.

“No. You are the one who can track me. With you gone, I will escape.”

“You are already too late, Raganesh. The Ekloi can see you.” She was lying, trying to stall him for a moment, and was as surprised as Raganesh to see Alder, red robes flying, round the far corner of the street trailing a phalanx of sprinting soldiers.

Raganesh turned back from the sight. He looked quite calm. “They will not save you,” he said.

“Think, Raganesh. If you kill me you will face the real death. There will be no more Raganesh, no more sunshine, no more power. How many years will you sacrifice for the pleasure of seeing me die?”

“I will die whether I kill you or no.”

“Not so. I can protect you. I can save your life.”

“You? You are nothing.” Raganesh drew closer. A couple more steps and he could strike her down. The soldiers were getting nervous, but she knew if they intervened all bloody chaos would break loose in the street and dozens would die, including her, Raganesh, and most of the Shi. She gestured again, and again the ivory blades were lowered, though more slowly this time.