benefit.
Their first outing had been partially successful. They had been out for eight days, and in all that time they had seen only one band consisting of eight men on horseback, who had surrendered at once at the sight of such a large force.
All the men had been disarmed and their weapons and horses confiscated. Serhan had taken the trouble to talk to all of them, and as a result had recruited three to train as guardsmen. They seemed the steadiest and most capable. The others had been told to make themselves scarce, but before being allowed to go each had been marked with a hot iron on the back of the left hand. Serhan had explained to them that if they were caught again as bandits the mark would guarantee their death. He made sure that they understood.
He had persuaded himself that a degree of ruthlessness was necessary. The area around White Rock, and possibly the whole world, was in a mess. Within a couple of generations there would be nothing left to fix, the villages would be empty, the land untilled, and they would all starve. Except the Faer Karan, who did not eat or breathe, but simply were. He made himself watch as each bandit was marked, heard them cry out, smelt the burned skin. It made him sick to see it, and it was worse for the bandits, but he believed that it should be difficult to order such harsh actions. When they released the men they looked suitably scared. He hoped that none of them would be caught again, but was quite ready to have them killed on a second offence if they did not heed the warning.
They picked up a lot of information. At first the villagers had been hostile, but when they understood that the guard were not there to take their food they were helpful. One name came up several times: Bragga. Sometimes it was prefaced with the rank of general. Descriptions varied, but he was always described as a large man, and always as a man who commanded a large force.
Back at White Rock he was planning a second expedition, perhaps further to the west this time, when he was summoned to see Gerique. After the usual formalities he entered the great chamber.
This time Gerique was waiting for him, sitting on a pile of rugs and furs opposite the door.
“My Lord.”
“I hear that you have been riding around the country hunting bandits,” Gerique said in his deep, firelight-in-winter voice. The Faer Karani’s speech was almost hypnotic in its beauty, and Serhan admitted to himself that he looked forward to these meetings just to listen to it.
“Yes, my lord. We have made a small beginning.”
“I am concerned.”
“My lord?”
“What do you think the other Faer Karan would say if you, who bested Borbonil at Ocean’s Gate, were killed by an arrow fired by some half starved brigand with bad teeth?”
“I could not begin to…”
“They would laugh. They would laugh at me.”
“I do not understand.”
“You are not required to understand. You are required to obey.”
“I shall, of course obey you in everything, my lord.” He was furious, but hid it. Gerique was going to ban him from going out with the guard. He would have to sit at White Rock and pull strings. It was not what he wanted at all. It was another part of the Faer Karan obsession with status and rules.
“Do not worry. I will not stop you from riding out.” It was as if the creature had read his mind. Was he that transparent? In this thing only, perhaps. “However, I do require you to take something with you. Do you see that blue cushion over there?” He indicated with a graceful limb.
Serhan walked over to the cushion and saw that there was a simple ring, apparently made of plain silver with no markings, laid in the middle of it.
“You will take the ring and wear it. It is a thing of low magic, and offends me, but will perform the service that I require.”
“Magic?” Emotions jostled each other in Serhan’s head. A magic ring? It must be ancient. The Faer Karan disliked such things, so it must be of human
Their first outing had been partially successful. They had been out for eight days, and in all that time they had seen only one band consisting of eight men on horseback, who had surrendered at once at the sight of such a large force.
All the men had been disarmed and their weapons and horses confiscated. Serhan had taken the trouble to talk to all of them, and as a result had recruited three to train as guardsmen. They seemed the steadiest and most capable. The others had been told to make themselves scarce, but before being allowed to go each had been marked with a hot iron on the back of the left hand. Serhan had explained to them that if they were caught again as bandits the mark would guarantee their death. He made sure that they understood.
He had persuaded himself that a degree of ruthlessness was necessary. The area around White Rock, and possibly the whole world, was in a mess. Within a couple of generations there would be nothing left to fix, the villages would be empty, the land untilled, and they would all starve. Except the Faer Karan, who did not eat or breathe, but simply were. He made himself watch as each bandit was marked, heard them cry out, smelt the burned skin. It made him sick to see it, and it was worse for the bandits, but he believed that it should be difficult to order such harsh actions. When they released the men they looked suitably scared. He hoped that none of them would be caught again, but was quite ready to have them killed on a second offence if they did not heed the warning.
They picked up a lot of information. At first the villagers had been hostile, but when they understood that the guard were not there to take their food they were helpful. One name came up several times: Bragga. Sometimes it was prefaced with the rank of general. Descriptions varied, but he was always described as a large man, and always as a man who commanded a large force.
Back at White Rock he was planning a second expedition, perhaps further to the west this time, when he was summoned to see Gerique. After the usual formalities he entered the great chamber.
This time Gerique was waiting for him, sitting on a pile of rugs and furs opposite the door.
“My Lord.”
“I hear that you have been riding around the country hunting bandits,” Gerique said in his deep, firelight-in-winter voice. The Faer Karani’s speech was almost hypnotic in its beauty, and Serhan admitted to himself that he looked forward to these meetings just to listen to it.
“Yes, my lord. We have made a small beginning.”
“I am concerned.”
“My lord?”
“What do you think the other Faer Karan would say if you, who bested Borbonil at Ocean’s Gate, were killed by an arrow fired by some half starved brigand with bad teeth?”
“I could not begin to…”
“They would laugh. They would laugh at me.”
“I do not understand.”
“You are not required to understand. You are required to obey.”
“I shall, of course obey you in everything, my lord.” He was furious, but hid it. Gerique was going to ban him from going out with the guard. He would have to sit at White Rock and pull strings. It was not what he wanted at all. It was another part of the Faer Karan obsession with status and rules.
“Do not worry. I will not stop you from riding out.” It was as if the creature had read his mind. Was he that transparent? In this thing only, perhaps. “However, I do require you to take something with you. Do you see that blue cushion over there?” He indicated with a graceful limb.
Serhan walked over to the cushion and saw that there was a simple ring, apparently made of plain silver with no markings, laid in the middle of it.
“You will take the ring and wear it. It is a thing of low magic, and offends me, but will perform the service that I require.”
“Magic?” Emotions jostled each other in Serhan’s head. A magic ring? It must be ancient. The Faer Karan disliked such things, so it must be of human
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