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Book: The Lawkeeper of Samara (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 2) by Tim Stead
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Authors: Tim Stead
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shall bring him to justice.”
“The truth is that nobody knows what this magic is, what it is capable of. The best course of action is to wait until the Mage Lord sends help.”
“The safest course,” Hekman said.
They argued a while longer, but Ella Saine didn’t try to order Hekman what to do. She seemed to recognise that whatever decision he made was his own, and Hekman had made up his mind. When Ella left he gathered them together in the big room.
Gilan had arrived, and the rest of the new recruits made the room seem quite full. Hekman told them the story again, from the beginning. He didn’t gloss over anything, and by the time he finished the atmosphere in the room had changed.
“We’re going to carry on,” Hekman told them quietly. “Today I want Gilan and Arla to take their squads and pay a visit to the House of Tarquin.”
Arla looked across at Gilan. The big man looked pleased. It would be the second time they had been out in the city as lawkeepers, and at least this wasn’t another trip to Gulltown.
She had to admit that they looked more impressive with the tabards and badges. They walked in a group through the streets of the old town and people stepped out of their way. Uniforms did that after four hundred years of Faer Karan rule. Arla didn’t know where they were going, but Gilan apparently did. They walked up through the increasingly more impressive houses and crossed into Morningside.
The place smelt of money, which to Arla was the same as flowers. There was no hint here of industry, or anything that might offend the nose. The houses had gardens and the gardens were full of flowers and the flowers stood in neat beds that laughed at poverty. Arla had never known poverty until she came to live in Samara. As a guard she had everything that she needed. Clothes, weapons, accommodation, food, and even companionship and purpose were all provided by the guard and the Faer Karan. Before Samara she’d never paid for anything in her life, but the people of Samara had.
This was something that she’d come to understand. Her well being had been at the expense of Samarans. It was a debt. Guards paid their debts.
They stopped in front of a rather grand house just three streets down from the cliffs. Morningside was a hierarchy. The best houses were at the top, so they were pretty close to that. It was clear that the house of Tarquin, while not in the most exalted of company, was no small enterprise.
Gilan didn’t hesitate. He stepped up to the solid looking wooden door and banged on it with his fist. There was a long pause. It grew so long that Gilan looked across at Arla and shrugged. He raised his fist again and at that moment the door opened, as though someone had been watching him.
“Yes?”
The man that stood in the doorway was short, plump and dressed in brown. By the cut of his clothes he was a servant.
“We’re here to speak with the head of the house,” Gilan said.
“We’re not interested,” the servant said.
Gilan pushed forwards, wedging himself in the doorway so that it couldn’t be shut.
“You go and tell Tarquin that lawkeepers are here to talk to him about the warehouse that burned down.”
The servant looked pointedly at Gilan’s hand where it rested on the door jamb, but when the big man didn’t remove it he stepped back inside. “Wait here,” he said.
Arla moved up and peered inside the door. It opened into a courtyard with a large cherry tree in the middle of it, and a fountain on one side. It looked very pleasant.
“A bit heavy handed,” she commented.
“He was going to close the door,” Gilan said.
“It’s his house.”
“It’s Tarquin’s house.”
A different man appeared at the door, and this one could well be someone called Tarquin. He was dressed in a brilliant green coat with a red sash, and there were gold rings on his fingers. Arla saw movement behind him. There were other men in there. She thought she saw a blade.
“Leave. Now,” the
“The truth is that nobody knows what this magic is, what it is capable of. The best course of action is to wait until the Mage Lord sends help.”
“The safest course,” Hekman said.
They argued a while longer, but Ella Saine didn’t try to order Hekman what to do. She seemed to recognise that whatever decision he made was his own, and Hekman had made up his mind. When Ella left he gathered them together in the big room.
Gilan had arrived, and the rest of the new recruits made the room seem quite full. Hekman told them the story again, from the beginning. He didn’t gloss over anything, and by the time he finished the atmosphere in the room had changed.
“We’re going to carry on,” Hekman told them quietly. “Today I want Gilan and Arla to take their squads and pay a visit to the House of Tarquin.”
Arla looked across at Gilan. The big man looked pleased. It would be the second time they had been out in the city as lawkeepers, and at least this wasn’t another trip to Gulltown.
She had to admit that they looked more impressive with the tabards and badges. They walked in a group through the streets of the old town and people stepped out of their way. Uniforms did that after four hundred years of Faer Karan rule. Arla didn’t know where they were going, but Gilan apparently did. They walked up through the increasingly more impressive houses and crossed into Morningside.
The place smelt of money, which to Arla was the same as flowers. There was no hint here of industry, or anything that might offend the nose. The houses had gardens and the gardens were full of flowers and the flowers stood in neat beds that laughed at poverty. Arla had never known poverty until she came to live in Samara. As a guard she had everything that she needed. Clothes, weapons, accommodation, food, and even companionship and purpose were all provided by the guard and the Faer Karan. Before Samara she’d never paid for anything in her life, but the people of Samara had.
This was something that she’d come to understand. Her well being had been at the expense of Samarans. It was a debt. Guards paid their debts.
They stopped in front of a rather grand house just three streets down from the cliffs. Morningside was a hierarchy. The best houses were at the top, so they were pretty close to that. It was clear that the house of Tarquin, while not in the most exalted of company, was no small enterprise.
Gilan didn’t hesitate. He stepped up to the solid looking wooden door and banged on it with his fist. There was a long pause. It grew so long that Gilan looked across at Arla and shrugged. He raised his fist again and at that moment the door opened, as though someone had been watching him.
“Yes?”
The man that stood in the doorway was short, plump and dressed in brown. By the cut of his clothes he was a servant.
“We’re here to speak with the head of the house,” Gilan said.
“We’re not interested,” the servant said.
Gilan pushed forwards, wedging himself in the doorway so that it couldn’t be shut.
“You go and tell Tarquin that lawkeepers are here to talk to him about the warehouse that burned down.”
The servant looked pointedly at Gilan’s hand where it rested on the door jamb, but when the big man didn’t remove it he stepped back inside. “Wait here,” he said.
Arla moved up and peered inside the door. It opened into a courtyard with a large cherry tree in the middle of it, and a fountain on one side. It looked very pleasant.
“A bit heavy handed,” she commented.
“He was going to close the door,” Gilan said.
“It’s his house.”
“It’s Tarquin’s house.”
A different man appeared at the door, and this one could well be someone called Tarquin. He was dressed in a brilliant green coat with a red sash, and there were gold rings on his fingers. Arla saw movement behind him. There were other men in there. She thought she saw a blade.
“Leave. Now,” the
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