Free The Lawkeeper of Samara (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 2) by Tim Stead

down in the mud to see what it was. He stuck his hand into the mud and it came out gripping a round object. A stone. He was about to toss it aside when something about its shape made him stop. He wiped it with his sleeve, scraped off the river filth, and revealed a regular shape. It was like a cylinder, but instead of round it was eight sided, about half a foot long and half a hand wide. He spat on it and polished it some more. There was a hint of blue when the light got at it.
    Sam tucked the stone into a pocket and resumed his search.
    He found the cage in square twelve. He flipped over a partially burned plank and there it was, sticking out of the mud like the hull of a wrecked ship. It was distorted, crushed and warped by the fire and the collapse of the building, but it was still a cage.
    Sam took hold of it and pulled. It didn’t move. He tried again, bracing his legs on either side and using them to pull. It did nothing but settle his feet a little deeper. He should have brought a spade, he thought.
    He began to dig with his blade, loosening the mud around the cage and flicking it away.
    “Found something?”
    He looked up. Donnal was sitting on a rock watching him. The man was beginning to annoy Sam.
    “Get me a shovel,” he said.
    “Where?”
    “A shop, I should think,” Sam said.
    “But we’re here to guard you,” Donnal said.
    “I need a shovel more than I need a guard.”
    Donnal looked at him for a minute as though trying to guess if he was being serious, then he shrugged and walked away. Sam hoped he was going to fetch a shovel. He didn’t wait. He set about the mud with his blade again, sliding it down the sides of the cage, trying to loosen the mud’s grip. He gripped the cage again and tried to rock it to and fro’. It moved.
    Sam stood up and stretched his back. It was hard work digging, and he was hot. There was no sign of Donnal or Findaran.
    There was a man watching him.
    The figure was along the shore, perhaps a hundred paces towards the sea. He was wearing a cloak with the hood raised which was odd on such a warm day. Sam stared at him. The man was very still. The only movement was the lazy flapping of the cloak in the sea breeze.
    “Findaran!”
    There was no answer. Sam stared at the cloaked man again. He was still there. It was possible that he was just a Gulltown idler, someone wasting a bit of the day watching the lawmaker of Samara digging up a lump of metal. It was possible, but Sam didn’t think so. He couldn’t see anything but the cloak. It could even be a woman.
    “Findaran!”
    Still no answer. The question was what to do. He could climb up the rope and try to chase the watcher, but Sam wasn’t a runner. The time he’d spent in chains had seen to that. He walked well enough, but his legs were damaged. Even if he caught the man he’d probably only get himself killed.
    A hundred paces. He wished Arla was with him. An archer of her quality could probably hit him from here. He gritted his teeth.
    “Findaran!”
    He walked towards the rope. He had to try.
    “Chief?”
    Findaran’s head poked over the top by the rope. Sam pointed down the shore. “That man, the one in the cloak. Go and get him. Arrest him.”
    “What man?”
    Sam backed up a couple of steps. The figure in the cloak had vanished.
    “There was a man down the shore there, wearing a cloak. Run down there and see if you can see him. I think it was the killer.”
    To Findaran’s credit he was off like a shot, sword drawn, sprinting down the river bank towards the sea. Too late, though. Sam climbed the rope and clambered over the top onto the bank. He was in time to see Donnal walking back with a shovel over one shoulder. The guard saw Findaran running down the dock and looked at Sam.
    “What’s happened?” he asked.
    “I was being watched,” Sam said. “I think it was the killer.”
    Donnal looked sceptical. “People will watch a donkey shit in Gulltown,” he said. “What makes you think it was the