 
Markan Sword

by

Nicholas A. Rose

Copyright 2011 Nicholas A. Rose

Smashwords Edition

Cover by Joleene Naylor

Book Three of the Markan Empire Trilogy

Novel Length

Also in the Markan Empire Trilogy:

Markan Throne

Markan Empire

Novella Length

The Gifted Trilogy:

Gifted Apprentice

Gifted Hunter

Gifted Avenger

***
Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 – Lucky Escape

Chapter 2 – The Commander

Chapter 3 – In The West

Chapter 4 – Eldova

Chapter 5 – Plots And Plans

Chapter 6 – To Marry Again Or Not

Chapter 7 – Marka

Chapter 8 – Reunion

Chapter 9 – Decision

Chapter 10 – In Turivkan

Chapter 11 – Scouts Meet

Chapter 12 – Clashes

Chapter 13 – Pride And Desire

Chapter 14 – Kana's Gambit

Chapter 15 – Sunsinger

Chapter 16 – The Sword

Chapter 17 – March To Turivkan

Chapter 18 – Preparations

Chapter 19 – Reversal Of Fortune

Chapter 20 – Marching To Eldova

Chapter 21 – Prepared For War

Chapter 22 – Holding Fast

Chapter 23 – Politics

Chapter 24 – Sallis Begins Work

Chapter 25 – Into The City

Chapter 26 – New Plan Of Action

Chapter 27 – Dragon's Head Banner

Chapter 28 – Zenepha's Decision

Chapter 29 – Rebellion

Chapter 30 – Inside Eldova City

Chapter 31 – Dead Girl Talks

Chapter 32 – Settling Dust

Chapter 33 – New Direction

Chapter 34 – New Beginnings

Prologue

I: A New Task

Neptarik-y-Balnus, one hand resting on a full purse, walked cheerfully along the street. Light crystals set at regular intervals along the main roads in Marka helped night-blind humans to see, though few other streets and no alleys were lit. Light crystals, no matter how long lasting, were expensive.

Thanks to Mya staying in, his night had been all the more successful. One of the few who could outgamble him, she had dented his pride in public several times over the winter. Since their marriage, he supposed that didn't matter too much.

Married. A small smile ghosted across his lips. The best thing to come out of Re Taura had been his marriage. At long last, he had a wife. The smile faded when his thoughts turned to the least expected thing that also hailed from his time on Re Taura.

Tektu.

Neptarik had thought her dead, until the creature turned up on the ferry from Taura City to Calcan, unwanted and unwelcome. Unable to pay her fare, Tektu had managed to bully her way aboard and intimidated the ferry's ancient sylph into allowing her passage to Calcan.

And then the vile creature explained to Neptarik what happened when someone killed her owner.

He hadn't wanted to believe it then, and he didn't want to believe it now. Sat on the sidelines tonight, Tektu had quickly grown bored and wandered away from the gambling. Neptarik thought she might do well, glowering and intimidating people into losing. But she had never shown any interest in cards.

She had only come out because she felt uncomfortable in Mya's company. Mya had stayed in because she hated being anywhere near Tektu. Only after he and Mya had agreed to marry did they learn Neptarik was stuck with Tektu. She had lost her previous owner, Nijen da Re Taura, and lost him under specific circumstances.

No matter how indirectly, Neptarik had caused Nijen's death, so Tektu's allegiance shifted to him. And neither of them – meaning Neptarik and Tektu – could do anything about it. With terrifying honesty, Tektu assured her new owner that she would far rather have torn his throat out while she still had the chance. But far too late for that now, even if she still harbored a wish to see him hurt.

The astounded Neptarik had acquired an unwilling and angry slave. Tektu had never during her long life belonged to a sylph and she still fought the new strictures. But more than that complicated matters.

Tektu might be bonded to Neptarik, however reluctantly, but Mya had married him. Mya hated Tektu, because Tektu had killed her previous owner. The pair stayed far apart when possible, Mya horrified that her husband had somehow won Tektu through some weird automatic lottery she did not understand. Caught in the middle of the mess, Neptarik could see no way out.

Passing an alley, he suddenly had something else to worry about.

A pair of strong human hands grabbed Neptarik and pulled him into the alley. Before he had chance to react, the sylph was thrown to the ground.

Rolling, he assessed his situation, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the sudden lack of light.

Three men, two of them night-blind after staring along the lit street. One was clearly a bad loser, because he had gambled with the sylph earlier. And among the first to lose his money.

The bad loser seemed able to see better than the others in the gloom. "Grab that purse," he demanded.

"Grab the sylph first!" exclaimed another man.

Tektu had once surprised Neptarik, but the scout learned lessons well and adapted his skill. Jumping to his feet between two of the men as they moved to grab him, he twisted away. The two clashed against each other, grabbing for a sylph who had moved.

Their leader drew a knife.

Neptarik contorted again to avoid the slashing blade. One of the men came too close to his leader and screamed as he was cut. Another twist dodged a punch that instead landed on a human.

He began to enjoy himself.

So often the way with fights, it was over almost as suddenly as it had begun. Two men groaned and writhed feebly on the ground, while the third man's screams had reduced to whimpers and sobs as he clutched his slashed midriff.

Certain someone would have heard the man's screams, which meant the City Guard would soon turn up, Neptarik checked his purse and dusted himself down. He hoped he hadn't rolled in anything nasty, alleys were not usually the cleanest places in Marka. Nobody would believe a lone sylph had bested three humans and if these were stupid enough to claim it, they would be a laughing stock. The Guard would suspect the three men had been fighting each other, which up to a point was true.

He bowed to the three men. "Thank you for the ebatela practice," he said in his light sylvan voice, and left the alley.

"Impressive," said a new voice, speaking in sylph.

Neptarik turned, relaxing only when he recognized Smudge, leaning back against a building, one foot casually tucked back against the stonework. The eponymous dark birthmark spread like an ink stain across her right cheek from nose to ear. Spots were visible on the earpoint itself.

He shrugged. "How long have you been there?"

"Only just got here," she replied. She pushed off the wall and came fully upright. "Enya wants to see you."

"I might be busy."

"Perhaps. But I checked."

Neptarik's earpoints slanted forwards and he frowned. "You should know that a smart sylph is soon a smarting sylph," he said.

Smudge humored him with a smile, but her earpoints barely twitched. She clearly did not respond to threats.

"What is it this time?" asked Neptarik.

"Enya will explain," replied Smudge, as she led the male sylph back towards the palace.

Neptarik knew he would get no other answer.

Smudge left after depositing Neptarik in the room he recalled from last year. Visitors still had to sit with their backs facing the fire, and with Fynn's large desk between them and him. The scout nodded to his owner Balnus, and to Verdin, both looking impatient after waiting for his arrival.

"Now Neptarik's finally here," said Balnus, after giving his sylph an exasperated glance, "will you please explain why you called us at this time of night?"

"I apologize for the lateness of the hour." Morran Fynn's smile did not touch his pale blue eyes. "But the news is fresh."

"Anything to so with the Sandesterans being recalled?" asked Balnus.

"No."

Balnus turned his attention to Verdin. "Do you know what that's about? I thought the claim was renounced."

"Me too." Verdin shrugged. "Nazvasta is responsible for the recall."

"But it's not why you are here," interrupted Fynn.

"Enlighten us," suggested Balnus.

"The shadow riders warn me that Dervra rules in Turivkan."

"Old news," murmured Verdin.

Fynn gave the young man a level look. "Dervra has also announced a census," he continued.

"And this causes you sleepless nights?" Verdin arched an eyebrow.

"Something like that." Fynn clasped his hands together. "This census is causing some unrest among Turivkan's people. Boys a certain age are being taken away and not being returned."

"Perhaps Dervra needs more soldiers."

"Maybe." Morran's eyes were calm. "But boys born in just two years are being taken away. Ah, sixteen ninety-six and sixteen ninety-eight."

"Very specific," muttered Balnus.

"Significant too," added Fynn. "The old Prefect's sons were born in those years, which suggests they are still alive. I doubt if Dervra's overlooked the daughter, but she might already be dead."

"Why is Dervra moving against them now?" asked Verdin.

Fynn spread his hands. "Who knows why the Gifted act at the time they do?"

Not only Neptarik shuddered. Nobody liked to be reminded that Dervra was Gifted as well as a sorcerer.

Fynn continued. "I suspect that the boys are quietly disposed of, but the people do not know that yet."

"They soon will," said Verdin.

"Yes they will, and no need for you to tell them. When the inevitable happens, we will need one or both of those boys at the head of the rebellion, ready to take their rightful place."

Verdin laughed. "If Dervra cannot isolate them, what chance have we got?"

Fynn smiled. "Both boys are dark haired and hazel eyed. Names are Awen and Warlon."

"Like they use those names. I doubt if they're even aware of who they are." Verdin's eyes flashed.

"You are quite right," replied Fynn. "But unlike Dervra, we have contacts in Turivkan who do know. What's the matter, Neptarik?"

The sylph had been scowling at the floor and now looked up. "I'll be falling behind on battle stars," he complained. "Missed one for last year, and from the siege, mine's the only silver one."

"Battle stars." Fynn blinked. "You don't get paid any more for them."

"Not the point." Neptarik's earpoints twitched violently. "The loss of honor alone..."

Fynn's were not the only eyes to glaze over as the sylph warmed to his theme. After all, he was a scout, not a diplomat.

***

Moments after Neptarik had been taken out of the room, still complaining about his bloody battle stars, Smudge returned carrying an alovak can and two large mugs. She placed them on Fynn's desk before eyeing the rug before the fireplace.

"All right, Smudge, you've had a long day," laughed Fynn. "I'll pour when he gets here."

Smudge nodded thanks and quickly made herself comfortable in front of the fire, which had been allowed to burn down. Already long past her usual bedtime, she quickly fell genuinely asleep.

A quiet tap at Fynn's door brought her head up again though.

"Come!" called Fynn.

General Kelanus of Marcus Vintner's army, surely favorite to replace Mikhan as Marshal of Marka, entered the study. He glanced at Smudge before taking one of the chairs before Fynn's desk.

"Alovak?"

Kelanus nodded thanks.

"Are the captive Eldovans amenable to our suggestion?" asked Fynn, as he poured the dark liquid.

Kelanus leaned forward to take his mug. "Very," he replied.

"Grasping power for themselves, do you think?" Fynn closed his eyes to savor the alovak's scent. He heard, rather than saw, the other man's shrug.

"Mirrin doesn't strike me as that kind of man."

Fynn reopened his eyes. "They never do, until it's too late."

Kelanus shrugged.

"What about Janost?" pressed Fynn.

"There are some honorable men, but Janost works to his own morality."

Fynn changed the subject. "The difficult part is finding one of the Gifted with the skills you require and who is willing to help. Tahena does not have the necessary skills?"

"Alas, no." Kelanus grimaced. "But she insists on coming along anyway."

Fynn smiled. "I doubt if she would be happy left to rot on your estate."

"What estate?"

"Another problem." Again, that quick smile. Fynn changed the subject again. "Many of those returning to Eldova will be killed. My feeling is that Hingast... ah, Ranallic... will not be eager to see them return. After all, they were abandoned."

"Who would believe them?" asked Kelanus.

"Many, I'm sure. Their leader returns with so few and then large numbers of other survivors suddenly appear. And all telling a tale very different from the official line. I am certain there would be some unrest."

"All the more reason to find a Gifted willing to help."

Fynn nodded. "Agreed. But will Sandev?"

"No. Why not ask Grayar?" suggested Kelanus. "It will be nearly next winter if we must walk to Eldova."

"There has been a development in Sandester," replied Fynn. "I suspect Zenepha will want you to take over as Marka's Marshal."

"Sandester?" Kelanus scowled. "Nazvasta causing trouble?"

"Potentially. He's recalled the Sandesterans."

Kelanus shook his head. "All the more reason to take Ranallic down now. The army stays here; you only lose me and then only for a short time."

Fynn pursed his lips. "We must resolve the Sandesteran problem quickly. You might still be in Eldova this time next year. It is something else for you to consider."

"You don't need me for that. I doubt if I'd leave Sandester alive if I ever returned there."

"Maybe not."

"There's another thing. Tahena's not the only insistent one." Kelanus paused. "Belaika knows. How..." He shrugged. "That's sylphs. But he's told me that he will be one of the scouts."

Fynn tapped his fingers together. "Good idea. Take him."

***

II: Nightmares

Belaika-y-Marcus sat up in his blankets and wiped sweat off his face.

Eleka's arms snaked around her husband and held him close. "Again?" she asked, voice soft.

Fighting tears, Belaika nodded. "Always the same. Haema dead, Gajaran whispering that I am evil."

Eleka stroked his earpoints, hands so gentle that at first he barely felt their touch. Slowly, he calmed and arched his neck so she could get a better hold. "Never evil, not you."

"Kelanus is going to Eldova," said Belaika. "I must go too."

"I know." Eleka did not stop her gentle stroking. Just to soothe, not enough to... She blushed.

"It is the only way," he insisted.

"Yes, Icca." Eleka smiled and continued with slow, deliberate strokes. His earpoint muscles relaxed and stiffened as they twitched. He grew more content with every stroke.

The nightmare had plagued him ever since his return from the Western March. If not for him, Haema would still live. If not for his foolish hope for a second wife, Haema would not have been with him that fateful day. If –

So many ifs. But he refused to believe he had no fault for her death.

And this other nonsense, about the scouts being evil. Eleka almost tensed, before realizing that Belaika would pick up on it. Sandev should stop that Gajaran from spreading her nonsense.

But even Eleka conceded Gajaran had reason to feel this way about the scouts. A dead owner, possibly thanks to sylph scouts giving directions.

Such an event would color her own view. What if Belaika died? Would she blame Marcus Vintner for allowing sylph scouts to exist in the first place?

No. Even had Belaika personally directed the soldiers who killed Gajaran's owner, they had killed him, not her husband. At least, he was not evil. And Gajaran had a new, better, owner.

To ease his mind, Belaika must go to Eldova.

***

III: Eldova

The man who called himself Hingast looked down at the sleeping baby supposedly his and smiled. He must treat this child as he would any real son. The result of a real union between Ansin and himself – or any of the dead Hingast's three wives for that matter – would look nothing like this. The sleeping babe was the real Hingast's get.

After each had given him three daughters, the real Hingast had ignored his older two wives, concentrating on the third, in the now-realized hope of a son. The man who now called himself Hingast had been forced to emulate that. For the time being.

After almost two years, he now almost believed himself to be Hingast, permanently living his new role. He had been an officer in Eldova's army years before and, when the real Hingast had come early to his throne, he had been there to whisper in the man's ear.

Before he moved on to new pastures and new challenges.

This time, he had returned as the most powerful man in Eldova, a definite advance over his previous position. Even if he must wear another man's face as his own.

"They always look so peaceful when asleep," said Ansin, stepping forward.

The man who called himself Hingast snaked his arm around the girl's middle. And she was a girl, not yet twenty. He must be careful. Any slip, and he would be unmasked.

Never again. He had been uncovered many years before, when people discovered a... predilection and he felt obliged to murder his way out of trouble. He'd only just managed to save his own life.

He took much more care now. People grew ever more sophisticated and he knew some already suspected the truth about him.

Fortunately, they did not want to believe logic and their own senses.

"Peaceful and beautiful," he replied. He hated treating the older wives so badly. In fact, Hingast's first wife would be his preference out of the three; she had filled out very nicely. Sooner rather than later, he would make it so.

"What will happen now?" asked Ansin. "We have lost so many men, it will be hard to replace them."

The man who called himself Hingast winced. More importantly, Eldova had lost three generals, almost the entire head of the army removed at once. At best captured, to be ransomed back in the future. For gold, or the promise of peace and a dropped claim?

He enjoyed being a claimant. "More survivors may trickle in," he said. He hoped not; they would tell a very different story than the one he had put about. His fellow returnees were content to go along with this official story, or else be shown as cowards who chose flight over fight.

But Eldova needed all her men. The game was not yet over.

"Marka may attack us," continued Ansin. "The men you promoted are not as good as those we lost."

That was unfair and not completely true.

"A Markan army must cross the Barren," he said. Again, a wince.

The real Hingast had spent most of his sixteen year rule depopulating and destroying lands surrounding Eldova. Fertile farmland planted with softwood trees, changing the soil so other crops could no longer grow. This prevented any invading army from living off the land, the wood useless for making war machines and siege engines any potential invader would need.

A terrible waste of perfectly good arable land; he needed years to reclaim and restore it to proper use.

Clearing the land also meant the mass movement of huge numbers of people, which in turn caused prices to collapse in the slave markets. Followed by starvation for many and the highest proportion of enslaved humans anywhere on the continent. Which then made a significant number of sylphs destitute.

Not a good situation. Sylphs, not humans, existed to be slaves.

Everywhere, signs of avoidable neglect stood out. Human urchins infested the streets and were probably responsible for most of the crime. They organized and lived off whatever the many indigent sylphs managed to bring in. As in Marka, so many sylphs, particularly the infertiles, chose negative attention over no attention at all, happily joining human gangs that controlled and used them.

Copying the Markan sylph-Emperor's ideas would solve the problem of surplus people and sylphs. He had made a beginning since his return the previous fall. He had so much to put right.

Fortunately, he had a good feel for running a city.

Eldova's guilds had been denuded of men for the army, so the man who called himself Hingast had encouraged them to employ more women and even the older urchins. Trade and commerce must flow again.

Fortunately, the parts of Eldova Hingast had not ruined were fertile, so food shortages – caused by a lack of young men to farm – should not be repeated this year. He had begun to move surplus sylphs out from the city and onto the land, where they happily sowed and tended crops.

Every day, there were fewer and fewer beggars. Crime, a canker in any human society, was relentlessly driven down by a mixture of sylph relocation and strict enforcement of laws.

But he must also keep at least one eye on Marka. The sylph-Emperor might not attack, preferring to consolidate his position further east, but one man would have something planned.

General Kelanus.

"A pity Dervra seems to have left us," remarked the man who now called himself Hingast.

Ansin sniffed disapprovingly. She had never liked Dervra. In fairness, not very many people did, even if a goodly number had cause to thank him for what they were, or what they had managed to achieve.

The man who now called himself Hingast included. He gave Dervra a few moments' thought. The man probably lurked further north, hiding in the stronghold where he believed himself safe. Turivkan was anything but safe, all but surrounded by enemies and potential enemies.

Not his problem.

"The Markans won't worry us here," he said, at last.

He worried more about returning Eldovans, and began to plan what best to do should any appear.

***

IV: Sandester

"Support for our claim in Marka falls day by day." Kana Santon shook her head. "Those not for Marcus stand behind Zenepha, united in their desire to keep him from the throne, yet unable to agree who should take it."

Nazvasta grimaced. He was not in his study, but the palace. Carpeted floors were normal here, to help insulate against the bitter cold that could persist into early summer, despite the lack of north-facing windows or doors. And despite the palace being built into the hill.

A fire crackled cheerfully on the hearth and servants stood ready to keep it fed with fresh wood and coal. The ceilings in the palace were lower than in many other grand houses, again to help retain heat.

"So your attempts to garner support failed," he remarked.

Kana snorted. "I would have enjoyed considerable success had Verdin laid his claim, but he followed his father's example."

Nazvasta's eyes flickered aside briefly. "Quite. He seems to have thrown his lot in with Marcus."

Kana smiled. "He fancies himself as the man to rebuild the empire and in fairness, he's doing quite well so far. But he's running free from our control. What influence we might gain through his actions so far is being wasted. Remember though that he is my son."

"It is hard to forget that fact," smiled Nazvasta, leaning back. He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and clasped his hands together, fingers interlaced.

"Re Taura tamed by Marka, thanks to Verdin," continued Kana. "Ambassadors exchanged between Marka and former Prefectures, thanks to Verdin. Other Prefectures joining with Marka, thanks to Verdin."

"The boy certainly has a flair for diplomacy," remarked Nazvasta. "He's doing very well without us. Perhaps we can make use of your son yet."

"I hope so," admitted Kana.

"How secure is Zenepha?" Nazvasta kept his voice quiet.

Kana's grey-blue eyes were calm. "Away from his Supreme Council and Senate supporters, not very," she replied. "Marcus and Kelanus outmaneuvered him over Re Taura. Worse, Zenepha has begun to doubt himself."

"We offered Zenepha our support." Nazvasta tapped his fingernails together.

"Will you raise the dragon's head banner?" Kana's eyes were unblinking.

"If Zenepha abdicates?" Nazvasta paused. "I expect so."

Kana smiled and leaned forward. "You can count on my support."

Nazvasta did not return the smile. He faced a massive task to turn around support for Marcus Vintner, but he had overcome obstacles before, and could do so again.

One way or another, his claim would be settled.

***

V: Assassin

Dervra relaxed in his small study, where nobody would disturb him, except perhaps Marlen, if he brought really dire news. He kept the room sparsely furnished, with a desk and two simple chairs, a single painting of a snow-capped mountain above a hearth on which no fire burned. A single rug covered part of the stone-flagged floor and pale beech panels lined every wall to the ceiling.

A door lay behind one of those panels, leading to an escape tunnel, but Dervra had never tried to work out how to get into it. He had more entertaining methods of escape, should such ever be needed.

A row of books lined the mantel, with a carved wooden lion forming one bookend and a stone dragon the other.

Dervra had one chair, his guest the other and two mugs of alovak steamed gently on the desk between them. His guest had dark curly hair, dark blue eyes and the pale skin that would ensure near anonymity in Marka. Of course, his guest hailed from those parts, and would fit in perfectly there. That guest now sat perfectly at ease. Few people were so comfortable in Dervra's presence.

A closer look revealed oddities. The guest seemed relaxed, but the eyes held a wary glint and those narrow shoulders looked tense. An air of watchfulness, ready for fight or flight at any moment. All movements were sinuous and graceful; sylphlike or perhaps effeminate.

Dervra could not care less which.

"I trust the alovak is to your taste?" he asked, as he reached into a desk drawer.

His guest tensed until Dervra pulled free some miniature portraits. The guest covered the small movement by speaking. "Good alovak." The soft voice held an edge, as if the speaker tried to disguise its true sound. But disguise never fooled Dervra.

He nodded. His guest's alovak stood untouched, probably thanks to a suspicious nature. Dervra respected a strong survival instinct in others. "These are the people I want you to kill." He pushed the miniatures across the desk.

Dark blue eyes locked momentarily with Dervra's before the assassin leaned forward. The gaze flickered across the pictures before the guest sat back again.

"Many have balked because women and children are to be killed as well as the man," said Dervra. "Not to mention the sylph, of course."

The assassin shrugged.

"Do you need the portraits?" pressed Dervra.

"No." A long forefinger tapped against the assassin's own head. "They are in here now."

Dervra gestured towards the portraits. "You will eliminate all these people?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." Dervra smiled. "Marcus Vintner and his wife Zandra. Three daughters, infant son and Marcus's beloved infertile sylph." He raised a finger. "All of them."

The guest nodded, barely reacting as the targets were named.

Dervra reached into the drawer, and again the assassin tensed until the canvas bag sat on the table.

"Feel free to count it," invited Dervra, "I will not feel insulted. Two hundred in gold."

The long forefinger touched the bag, before the rest of the assassin's fingers wrapped around it. A moment later, the gold disappeared, secreted somewhere within the cloak.

"Make Marcus suffer as he loses his family. Drag it out, drive him insane." Smiling, Dervra grasped his alovak. "Soon, I will take you directly to Marka. But first a toast to your success!"

The assassin lifted the mug and even touched it to lips, but Dervra knew not a drop passed into the mouth. A suspicious nature indeed. Disposing of this one once the task was complete might not be as easy as he hoped.

***
Chapter 1

Lucky Escape

Reshiad wondered if he would see his seventeenth birthday.

Today had begun like any other, with washing and early morning chores, before heading out to check the livestock. Today, he and his father intended to take a couple of sylphs and repair one of the stone walls; sheep enjoyed obstacle courses and eventually pulled down any wall, no matter how stoutly built.

Breakfast, with his father, mother and only sister still living at home, was eaten quickly so father and son could get on with their chore. Sylphs padded around the table, serving the simple meal.

A normal day, up until the soldiers arrived.

They had heard rumors. Boys certain age disappearing, some reappearing unharmed a few days later, but others never came back. Darker tales of burned farms and people murdered also circulated. Few believed these tales, but they persisted, whispered in corners and over mugs of ale.

The Prefect's census went on at the same time. His father had filled out the form under the diligent eye of a bureaucrat, whose gaze had turned Reshiad's way more than once...

His sister Lien saw the soldiers first, as her seat faced the window.

"Father!" she cautioned.

Wajrun took one look and dragged his son to his feet.

"They've come for you!" he hissed. "Go now. Quickly!"

Reshiad needed no second prompting. Leaving everything, he slipped out of the kitchen door and began running as soon as he came around the side of the barn.

"Boy!" A stentorian voice, used to command. "Stand where you are!"

The words only spurred him to greater speed. A horse whinnied in frustration and Reshiad risked a look over his shoulder. A couple of sylphs had somehow managed to wander in the way, slowing the pursuit.

Thank you Manto and Kinto, he thought.

One of the sylphs cried out, caught by a boot or riding crop. He did not look over his shoulder to see which. A sylph's lot so often included rough treatment. Not that he agreed it should be this way of course.

He looked to the nearby forest where safety and freedom beckoned. Shouts from the farm faded, but a new sound intruded.

Hunting dogs? Who would hunt so early in the year?

Then he realized he was the quarry.

Reshiad increased his pace and didn't relax even when he reached the forest. He must cross the river to escape the dogs. Called the Foam Race River for good reason, he knew only one calm pool, where the raging torrent quietened briefly before continuing its race towards a distant lake.

Barking grew louder and he knew the dogs had his scent.

He dodged trees as best he could and jumped over anything on the ground that might trip him. Even so, brambles and ivy sent him sprawling more than once as they snagged an ankle or caught his toes.

At first, the river sounded little different from the wind in the upper branches, but the sound steadily grew to a roar as water thundered through gorges and piled across rocks. He almost fell in as trees abruptly gave way to one of the gorges, where water whipped to foam danced high in the air before falling back.

Death waited if he went in here.

He must flee downriver.

He scrambled down treacherous rocks as the riverside path faded to nothing and the ground became rougher, his footing precarious on the slippery surfaces. Even over the river's thunder, he heard the hunting dogs, gaining ground all the time.

Reshiad glanced across the river. Surely nobody waited for him over there? Perhaps he imagined it, he hoped for sanctuary once across the river. He slipped on the rocks and bounced a little distance before regaining his footing.

Barking behind. Barking to the side.

A flash of movement as something ran along the opposite bank. Friend or foe? A census. Boys of a certain age never came back. Reshiad assumed unpleasant things happened to them.

The barking grew louder and nearer.

With courage born of desperation, he threw himself into the river.

He twirled and spun in the water, fighting to reach air. He could deal with wet easily but oh, the cold! And blackness below. He struggled to lift his head as a leg broke the surface, but the current pulled him back under.

Lungs aching, spots danced across his vision. Fear faded and acceptance of the inevitable came. The light above called to him and he stretched toward it, vaguely aware of arms reaching out for him...

Sudden pain, and everything went black.

***

Reshiad opened his eyes.

Not what he expected from paradise, he blinked at the mixture of tree roots and dirt barely incas above. His head throbbed and a shoulder ached. He lay on a blanket, which in turn covered something soft, and a second blanket covered him, pulled to his chin. They looked clean, but smelled strongly of sylph, and sinabra – the sylph's natural odor – hung in the air.

Turning his head, he tried not to groan at the flash of pain.

This strange cave looked recent, hollowed out from the bare earth. He saw a narrow walkway and another recess opposite. Leaves hung to dry from the ceiling and ragged edges showed where parts had been torn free, for whatever purpose.

He pushed the blanket aside and realized his clothes were gone. He glanced around again, but saw no sign of his breeches and shirt. He felt under the lower blanket, where more leaves and grasses were stuffed to make the bed more comfortable.

Woodsmoke tickled his nostrils, so he must have company. He would remember making the dugout and lighting a fire. Besides, his hair was still damp, so there hadn't been enough time.

The dugout darkened as someone entered and Reshiad stared.

Painted gray, green and brown, the newcomer wore snug short breeches. Earpoints twitched forward and cat-slit silver-gray eyes widened. A sylph, despite his coloring. The only normal thing about him was a leather collar, with a nametag appended.

"Awake now?" asked the newcomer.

Reshiad nodded. He stared as a second sylph entered the dugout. This one wore a shirt as well as breeches, but no paint. The infertile at least looked normal, until he realized she wore no collar.

"Has the boy got a name?" asked the painted sylph and his earpoints twitched a little.

Reshiad spluttered and his eyes widened in outrage. "How dare you?" he snapped. "You will tell me your name and that of your owner. Now."

At home, sylphs always showed due respect and obedience, knowing they would get what for if they dared step out of line. They always lowered their eyes to him, none daring to meet the gaze of a freeman.

These two were different. The painted sylph looked amused – even his earpoints twitched. When Reshiad used this tone of voice to other sylphs, their earpoints always wilted.

The infertile's eyes hardened and her earpoints slanted forward. Bizarre: anger from a sylph?

"He saved your life," she said, indicating her painted companion. "The least you can do is give your name. Or we might put you back where we found you."

"I am Reshiad Wajrun Helzar," he replied.

Both sylphs blinked. "Does Awen Adelbard Haist mean anything to you?"

Reshiad shook his head. "Should it?"

The painted sylph pulled himself together and shrugged. He exchanged a look with the infertile. Stranger and stranger; breeders and infertiles rarely had much to do with each other.

"Now you have my name, you should at least return the courtesy," said Reshiad.

"I am Neptarik and this is Tektu."

"Just Neptarik and just Tektu?"

The infertile scowled at him again, behaving in a most unsylphlike manner.

Neptarik shrugged. "Neptarik-y-Balnus."

"And?" His attention turned to the infertile.

"Tektu-y-Neptarik," she snapped.

Reshiad stared. "You belong to him?" he squeaked.

"Long story," smiled Neptarik.

"One you are not about to hear," added Tektu. She glanced at her companion. "I will see if his clothes are dry yet."

Reshiad blinked again. No hint whatsoever of deference in the infertile's tone, but she must be inferior in status. An odd pair. With Tektu gone, he suspected Neptarik might be easier to converse with.

"What is it you want of me?" he asked.

"Probably nothing," replied Neptarik. "After all the effort of saving your life, I do not want to leave you to the soldiers."

Reshiad inclined his head and wrapped the blanket around himself as he swung free from the recess. "Thank you for that. Why did you ask about the name? Um, Awen."

"The oldest son of the last true Prefect of Turivkan," replied Neptarik. "He had two sons and the present Prefect wants them dead."

"Why?"

"You ask me that?" Neptarik's eyebrows and earpoints rose in unison. "A mere sylph."

Reshiad eyed the sylph's paint. "That word does not begin to describe you," he admitted.

Both turned as Tektu rejoined them, carrying a bundle. "Damp here and there," she said, "but wearable."

Neptarik looked Reshiad straight in the eye. "We will give you privacy to dress," he said, before leading Tektu back outside.

Reshiad's shirt and breeches smelled faintly of smoke, but "damp here and there" proved something of an understatement. Thanks to the fire, his clothes were warm and wet, instead of cold and wet. His boots felt worse, but he stamped his feet into them anyway and cheered up. His jerkin went on next, followed by his belt; he blinked in surprise to find his knife still in place.

He crawled from the dugout and eyed the two metal trowels. Surely the sylphs hadn't dug this using just those? He felt grudging respect as he saw no other tools anywhere. Once outside, he took deep breaths of clear air. He could tolerate sylph sinabra in small doses, but it had almost overwhelmed him inside the dugout.

From beside the fire, Tektu stared at him with barely concealed hostility.

"Where is Neptarik?" asked Reshiad.

For a moment, he thought the infertile might ignore him, but she shrugged her shoulders.

"Looking around," she replied. "Making sure the soldiers are not coming here."

Reshiad glanced at the fire; the lack of visible smoke meant the sylphs had found very dry wood. "Do you think they might?"

Another shrug. "If I start to run, it might be a good idea for you to keep up," she replied.

"Why are you helping me?"

Tektu looked him directly in the eyes. No infertile would dare hold a human's gaze this way! Why was she different? "Now that is a question," she said, after a long moment, "to which I have no answer."

Reshiad did not believe her. Something about Tektu bothered him, and not just because she acted nothing like an ordinary infertile. Or like any other sylph. She did not quite fit.

He jumped as Neptarik abruptly materialized and pretended he had not noticed Tektu's smile. He masked irritation as the sylphs conversed in their own language and wished he had taken the time to learn more of it. He only caught one or two words, not enough to follow the conversation.

"I'd like to know what you want with me," he told them, "when you've finished jabbering away."

Both sylphs looked at him.

"You are both from further east," continued Reshiad. He pointed to Neptarik. "Marka?"

"Calcan."

He turned to Tektu. "From Calcan too?"

"I am from everywhere." The infertile shrugged. "And nowhere."

Reshiad ignored the cryptic reply and his attention returned to Neptarik. "Why are you here?"

"Told you. Looking for the boy who should rightfully be Prefect. Sixteen years old. Hazel eyes. Dark hair." Neptarik paused.

"Lots of boys have hazel eyes and dark hair," countered Reshiad. "Especially around here."

"You were five when evacuated from the palace," said Neptarik.

Reshiad laughed. "You have the wrong boy. I cannot remember much from age five, but I remember my sister being born and she is four years younger. Before the time you say I was taken from the palace."

The painted sylph shrugged. "Perhaps."

"And I would remember having my name changed." Reshiad gave the sylphs a level look. "You know your name from very young, maybe even before you can speak."

"Awen," said Neptarik.

"Reshiad," insisted Reshiad. "I'm not the boy you seek."

"Put him back where you found him," interrupted Tektu. "Or hand him over to the soldiers. There might be a reward. Choca."

Neptarik subconsciously licked his lips.

"I'm not a commodity to be traded," snarled Reshiad.

"If choca is involved you are," said Tektu.

"Enough, Tektu." Neptarik did not raise his voice, but the infertile immediately subsided. The male sylph regarded the human boy for a few moments. "Very well," he said with a shrug, "wait a little longer and I will take you home. Tektu, get ready to move on. Reshiad's home is on our way."

Tektu disappeared into the dugout.

"Why are you looking for the real Prefect's son?" asked Reshiad. "Why now?"

"My owner wants the real Prefect's son," replied Neptarik. "We want him alive because Dervra wants him dead."

"To cause trouble?"

"More for true justice. Boys your age disappear and we think that what happens spoils their day."

Reshiad looked away. "I'm glad it's not me."

"It could be."

"So your owner sent you out here to look for someone who might be him. Anybody could claim to be... whatever his name is."

"Awen Adelbard Haist." Neptarik shrugged. "Until we find him and get people behind him, these killings will continue. All very cruel."

"He might already be dead," said Reshiad. He saw Neptarik's earpoints suddenly twitch up, sag down and jerk upright again. The human boy leaned forward. "You know more than you're telling."

Tektu saved Neptarik from answering. She left the dugout carrying blankets and the leaves from the ceiling. The sylphs quickly divided the blankets and leaves into two bundles, securing a trowel in the middle of each.

"Neptarik." Reshiad used his firm no-nonsense voice. It usually worked well with his father's sylphs. "Tell me about Awen."

Neptarik ignored him. "We should leave now," he said. He looked at the dugout. "We might need it again."

Reshiad sat back and watched the two sylphs maneuver branches across the entrance. When they finished, nothing looked out of place. If not for his anger at being ignored, he would admire the sylphs' skill at concealing the small cave.

"Tell me about Awen," insisted Reshiad.

"Want me to put him back in the river?" asked Tektu.

"Shut. Up." Reshiad scowled at the infertile.

Tektu glared back. "No."

Reshiad lifted his hand...

...and flew through the air until he crashed back to the ground. Tektu stood over him.

"If you ever lift a hand to me again, I will break every bone in it," she threatened, voice calm.

"Enough, Tektu." Neptarik turned to Reshiad. "It might be wise if you try not to attack her. She can get irritable now and then."

Reshiad surreptitiously rubbed his hip and avoided Tektu's eyes.

Neptarik turned back to Tektu. "I will lead, you follow."

"You should discipline your sylph more often," said Reshiad. "Sylphs do not act like that."

Neptarik smiled. "Leave the when and how to me. Keep your hands to yourself; we are not on your father's farm."

They left the small camp in silence.

Reshiad followed Neptarik, marveling as the sylph appeared and disappeared, thanks to his paint. Without the sylph's movement, he would be unable to see him at all. He felt less happy with Tektu bringing up the rear. What was she? That throw had hurt, but she couldn't be strong enough to hurl him into the air.

"We must cross the river," he pointed out.

"We know," growled Tektu from behind. "Keep moving."

Neptarik dodged this way and that, pausing occasionally to listen. The sound of the river grew gradually to a roar. The sylph scrambled over rocks, keeping his footing easily, unlike the unfortunate Reshiad, who slipped a few times.

"You don't mean to cross here?" squeaked the human boy.

He stared wide-eyed at ragged rocks with water foaming between them. Wet, green and black with growth, those rocks looked very, very slippery.

Neptarik leaned close. "Put all your weight on one foot at a time. Think and look before you move."

"I'll be in the water," protested Reshiad.

Neptarik shrugged and pointed upriver. "There's a road through the forest fifteen milas that way, and a bridge, if you prefer to go around. Perhaps soldiers are there too." He pointed across the river, roughly in the direction of Reshiad's home. "My owner is that way and the way we go from here."

Reshiad tried and failed to see exactly where Neptarik placed his feet, for the sylph moved like a dancer, crossing the river in moments.

"You moving today?" Tektu grumbled from behind.

Reshiad glanced over his shoulder, then looked back to where Neptarik waited impatiently on the other bank. He stared at the water and rocks.

"If you do not start moving farmboy, I will leave you here and you can walk around."

"What are you?" Reshiad's gaze searched the sylph's face.

Tektu sniffed. "If I charged for that question, I might get rich. Now get over that river."

All weight on one foot at a time. Reshiad picked a likely looking spot on the nearest rock and stepped onto it. His boots protected him from the rock's sharp edges and he wondered how the barefoot Neptarik coped.

He looked for his next foothold and tried to ignore the water foaming between his rock and the next. He stepped across the torrent and imagined the river rose up to take him. Momentum carried his other foot forward to the next rock, but he only leaned against that one; his weight still on the rock behind, as Neptarik had suggested.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Tektu watching impatiently. Those silver-gray eyes glittered at him, perhaps willing him to fall in.

The infertile wasn't his problem right now, but he must cross this river. He put pressure on his forward foot. Slippery, this rock would not hold him. He shifted position and tried again.

"Go on, farmboy," urged Tektu.

Reshiad resisted the urge to snarl or swear at her, but one good kick from behind and he would be in.

No turning back.

That last thought almost froze him to the spot, but he fought sudden panic. He shifted position again as he chose where might be a good spot. He transferred his weight by moving his body forward...

...and slipped.

For a moment he dangled, aware of something holding on to the back of his jerkin, pulling him back onto the safe rock. He panted and looked over his shoulder.

"You are strong," he told her. "Thank you."

Tektu shrugged, but her expression was neutral, an improvement on disapproval. "Careful," she cautioned. "Try that rock instead."

Two more steps and Reshiad was faced with something more than a step wide. Though not whipped to foam here, the water still moved swiftly. More than a pace wide, the gap was wide enough to make any jump to the next rock something of a leap of faith.

"Is that one slippery?" he called to the waiting Neptarik.

"Yes," came the morale-sapping answer.

Reshiad paused. "I'll have to jump it," he called.

"Fine. I did too."

Reshiad blinked. "I'll be off the other side," he pointed out. "I'm probably twice as heavy as you. More."

"Too well fed," came from the doom monger behind.

The nimble Neptarik jumped back to the last rock and moved to one side. He tapped a spot immediately in front of him with a foot. "Aim for that," he suggested.

"And?"

"Keep your eyes open and get ready to hang onto the far bank."

"What?" Reshiad shook his head.

"Keep your weight forward as you jump," continued Neptarik, "so no backward slips."

"Go on," urged Tektu.

Reshiad took a deep breath, and flung himself forward. Hitting the rock, his leading foot immediately slipped from beneath him and his upper body leaned forward. So near, yet he would still end up in the river.

Abruptly, vaguely aware of a hand somewhere on his lower back, his speed increased and he flew across the last step to crash into the far bank. Remembering Neptarik's urging, he clung on.

"Now climb!" shouted Neptarik.

Reshiad obeyed and finally pulled himself to relative safety. He lay panting on his back and stared up at the gently swaying treetops, vaguely aware of the two sylphs following.

"Well," he said, "thank you for getting me across."

Neptarik grunted something before slinging his small pack across his back.

Tektu rearranged her pack and stared down at him. "Might have been quicker to let you walk round." The familiar glower had returned.

"Why are you resting?" asked Neptarik. "The hard part is done now. Thought you wanted to go home."

Pulling himself to his feet, Reshiad resisted a growl.

***

Reaching the edge of the forest, Neptarik pointed.

"Over that way," he said.

Reshiad nodded, but said nothing. He left the sylphs and trudged towards his home in silence. The late afternoon sunshine bathed everything in a warm, pink glow and he hurried ahead.

When the buildings came into sight, he heaved a sigh of relief. For some strange reason, he imagined that they might have been burned. He had feared that the soldiers would vent their frustration at his escape on his family.

He glanced back at the forest, but saw nothing of his two rescuers. At least Neptarik would be invisible with his paint, but he should still be able to see Tektu.

Clearly, they had not waited.

When he saw the sheep, his relief evaporated.

That one might be resting was normal enough, but woolly mounds dotted the gentle pasture and not one raised its head as he approached.

Crimson stained every fleece. Even the lambs, still very young and barely able to keep their footing, had been slaughtered, together with their mothers.

Reshiad gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

No smoke rose from the chimneys, where his mother should be cooking a meal by now, or the sylphs heating water for baths. None of the sheepdogs raced out to greet him, as normal.

Nothing but silence.

Entering the farmyard, Reshiad took one look and began to scream.

***

Revulsion shone in Neptarik's silver-gray eyes as he looked around the farmyard. Tektu wore a bored expression as she looked at each human and sylph corpse in turn, ignoring the clouds of flies.

"Why?" Tears streamed down Reshiad's cheeks, but anger shone in his hazel eyes.

Neptarik shrugged. "Maybe because they resisted. Maybe because you got away."

"So it's my fault?"

The male sylph eyed the boy. He had seen this sort of reaction before, even suffered from it himself. "The fault lies with the men who did this," he replied. "And with the man who sent them."

"Because they think I might be this... what's-his-name."

"Awen Adelbard Haist," said Neptarik. "Yes, they think you might be."

Muscles in Reshiad's cheeks twitched. "You knew, didn't you?"

"No." Neptarik kept his voice quiet. Beside him, Tektu tensed.

"You knew they killed people who resisted!" shouted Reshiad.

Neptarik spread his arms. "I did not know they would come here to kill your family," he protested. "Once they saw you, I believed they would carry on hunting you."

"While we were yapping, soldiers were murdering my family!"

"Shouting at Neptarik will change that?" Tektu stared at the human boy, more than a hint of aggression in her eyes. "The soldiers killed your family, not us. Soldiers sent by the Prefect."

Reshiad stepped forward.

"You have my sympathy," continued Tektu, expression and earpoints hinting her words were a lie, "but lift your hand any higher, remember what I said the last time you tried that. Lift your hand to the Prefect, not me or Neptarik."

Reshiad gave a bitter laugh, almost a sob. "The Prefect? How can I lift my hand to him? I'm just a peasant boy."

"You are a human," answered Neptarik. "You can be anything you want."

Tektu looked at Neptarik.

"Come and speak to my owner," said the painted sylph. "He might help." His earpoints wilted and he inspected a fingernail, as if embarrassed.

"Might?"

Neptarik shrugged.

Reshiad looked from one sylph to the other. "Where is your owner?" he asked.

"A day or so away, if we move fast," replied Neptarik.

Reshiad looked at the sky. "It will be dark soon. And we must bury the dead."

"We?" whispered Tektu.

"Yes," said Neptarik, giving the strange infertile a furious look. "We will help you do that."

***

"Thought you said you could run."

Reshiad grimaced at the near contempt in Tektu's voice. "I didn't realize you meant all night," he grumbled.

He had not taken much from his home, just a couple of blankets and a change of clothes, all wrapped around a firebow and the bundle in turn wrapped inside his oilskin. His knife hung from his belt, and he'd tucked a sling into a pocket. A flexible saw – a narrow strip of metal – acted like a second belt. It looked like a shiny length of string, but could cut through wood as easily as a sharp knife through cheese.

"Lucky those soldiers are not still here," replied Tektu. "They would catch you otherwise. Annoying after all the effort we have put into you."

Reshiad almost squealed when a shadow transformed into Neptarik.

"The way is clear for milas," said the painted sylph, using the human tongue for Reshiad's benefit. "But keep quiet; you never know if I missed anything."

Although he heard sincerity in the sylph's voice, Reshiad doubted if Neptarik missed a thing.

"We will carry on to the next byawta," continued Neptarik, "and rest there."

"Next what?" asked Reshiad.

Neptarik shrugged, ignorant of the human word he wanted.

"Means a cave we made ourselves," said Tektu. "Now run."

Reshiad feared he might die before they reached the dugout. They ran beside the road, ready to jump into the ditch at the side to hide from any soldiers. From anyone at all, he suspected.

When the road led them into forest again, the sylphs turned aside, Tektu now having to fully guide the night-blind human. Not even starlight penetrated here. Soon, the sylphs pulled branches clear from the next dugout.

"How many are there around here?" asked Reshiad. He addressed his question to the air, for there was not even a glow from sylph eyes to show him where they stood. "The, ah, byawtas."

"Byawtula," corrected Neptarik, absently. "One is byawta, more than one –"

"All right, I'm not altogether ignorant." Reshiad failed to keep irritation out of his voice.

"Mind your head as you go in," said Tektu, helping the boy to the entrance. "You can crawl into the right. Do your best with your blankets."

Reshiad fumbled with his blankets in the dark, grateful that breeder sylphs were more or less the same height as humans. If they were all infertile-sized, he might not be able to straighten out properly. Even so, once comfortable, he turned his face to the wall and hoped Tektu would not overhear him weeping for his dead family.

***

"This is Merley," said Reshiad, looking about him.

Walking beside him, Tektu nodded.

Too large to be a village, yet too small for a town, Merley consisted of houses, a couple of inns and a handful of shops crammed alongside the single road, with more houses erected in no particular order behind. A river flowed nearby and fields surrounded the buildings.

Neptarik had ranged ahead very early, returning with the welcome news that no soldiers rested in Merley. Then he vanished again, and Reshiad hadn't seen him since.

Familiar with Merley from visits, Reshiad had never traveled further from home. He glanced at the road leading further west.

"This way," said Tektu, turning between one of the inns and a smithy.

She led him to the stables at the back of the inn, where Neptarik, still painted, waited for them.

The male sylph grinned at Reshiad. "Welcome to the Willam's Leap," he said. "The beds are more or less comfortable, but the ale is a bit, well, off."

"Why did you bring me to the stable?" asked Reshiad. Several horses filled the stalls, and a hint of sinabra warned him that sylphs were about. They probably helped the stablers by polishing tack and mucking out.

Neptarik's smile remained in place, though his earpoints betrayed inner irritation by a violent twitch. "Discretion," he replied. "You never know who might be watching in the common room. Spies looking for boys a certain age, perhaps."

Tektu gestured with her head towards the upstairs windows. "Mya is with him?"

"Yes."

The infertile sniffed. "Then I will wait out here."

Neptarik's attention turned back to Reshiad. "Coming?" he asked.

The boy followed the sylph into the back of the inn and up a narrow servant stair, emerging beside a door that led to one of the back rooms. Neptarik opened the door and indicated Reshiad should lead the way inside. The sylph came in after him and closed the door quietly.

Reshiad's gaze flickered around the room. Despite being a back room, it must be one of the largest the inn offered, with doors leading off to the sleeping chambers. Two men sat on the far side of a polished dining table, and light from the window framed rather than obscured them.

Both looked like soldiers, one older than the other. The younger man had perhaps twenty years or so, with blue eyes and dark brown hair curling over his ears. The other boasted similar hair and eye color, but he was stockier, with lines showing around his nose and mouth.

A female sylph crossed the room to Neptarik. A quick touch of fingertips and foreheads, then the pair parted again. Reshiad realized these two were emotionally involved.

"Alovak please, Mya," said the older man. "For three."

"Se bata."

Reshiad relaxed. At last, a more normal human and sylph relationship.

The younger man leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "I am Verdin Branad Vintner," he introduced himself, "and this is Balnus Kenta Pinton.

Reshiad smiled and nodded his head. "I am Reshiad Wajrun Helzar," he replied.

The smiles remained in place, but Reshiad sensed they were somewhat more forced.

"Not Awen Adelbard Haist?" Verdin's voice now held a definite edge.

Reshiad shook his head. "No."

Balnus turned his full attention onto Neptarik; the sylph's earpoints wilted and almost tucked away. Reshiad failed to hide his pleasure that something fazed the creature.

"The explanation why you have the wrong boy," began Balnus, "had better be outstanding."

***
Chapter 2

The Commander

Reshiad tried hard to hide his smile. He glanced across and stopped trying as he watched the sylph's mouth work silently. After the rough time this sylph had given him, Reshiad's pleasure at Neptarik's sudden discomfort bordered on the perverse. Not quite revenge though.

"We were too late," said the painted sylph, finally recovering his composure. "We reached the farm, but they had already taken the boy. We left the corpse buried where we found it; I have never seen a deader one."

Balnus's blue eyes hardened. "We can do without your facetiousness," he said. "Did you tell his adoptive family?"

Neptarik shook his head. "They probably know, or suspect," he replied.

Reshiad gave the sylph a sideways look. "That's pretty cold," he said.

"Perhaps." Balnus reached for his pipe and inspected the bowl. "But they would not like to hear the news from a sylph."

Verdin brought the talk back to the subject. "So why did you bring this boy?" The younger man gestured towards Reshiad.

Reshiad grimaced at Verdin's tone and almost spoke.

"He came to us," said Neptarik. "Soldiers went to his house, he ran away, but they chased him with dogs. We were on our way here to report about Awen, but had to rescue Reshiad from drowning in the river."

"Your sylph should not refer to me by name alone," spluttered Reshiad.

Neptarik ignored him and continued, glancing at Balnus. "His life belongs to you now."

Reshiad gave the sylph an angry stare. "Actually, no. I –"

"You can be quiet," said Verdin. "For now."

"He is the right age, eyes and hair are right..." Neptarik shrugged. "A replacement for Awen."

Verdin shook his head.

"They murdered his family, donenya," added Neptarik. "Just because he got away. Enya, give him a chance."

Balnus blinked and leaned forward. "What do you say, Reshiad?"

"If I can get back at the... at the vermin who ordered this, then I'm your man," replied Reshiad. "If that is what you plan to do."

The door opened quietly.

"Ah, alovak!" Verdin smiled.

"Thank you Mya," said Balnus. "You may stay and pour. Neptarik, disappear."

"Se bata." Neptarik inclined his head, brushed his fingertips across Mya's hand, and left the room.

"Take a seat, young man," invited Balnus. "And we'll tell you what we are about."

Reshiad sat, lifted the alovak and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. "Excellent," he murmured, giving Mya a quick smile and receiving a pleased twitch of earpoints in return. He looked at Balnus. "You're about deposing the Prefect," he said.

"Who himself usurped the position," said Verdin. "Dervra murdered Prefect Adelbard and his wife, and would have killed the children too, if not for the quick thinking of his sylphs."

"Why wait so long?" Reshiad took another sip of alovak. Quick-thinking sylphs had helped him escape too, and lost their lives doing so. He felt a brief stab of mental anguish. "Twelve years is a long time."

"Because before now we've been unable to do anything about it," replied Balnus. "Until the current Prefect decided to make himself unpopular by murdering boys of a certain age."

"Neptarik mentioned a second boy," said Reshiad.

"Also dead," said Verdin.

Reshiad glanced out of the window, but could only see rooftops. "Sounds like end of mission," he said. "Neither of you comes from Turivkan."

"From Marka," replied Verdin, a smile glinting in his blue eyes.

"You think I can do something about it?" Reshiad took yet another sip of alovak.

"Well, people here certainly need one of their own to lead any rebellion against Dervra," replied Balnus, fidgeting with his pipe again. "There are plenty of rumors about all the missing boys. Not many reappear."

"True rumors," murmured Verdin.

"More alovak?" Mya hovered.

Reshiad nodded and watched the sylph pour.

"You want me to become the next Prefect," he said, after another sniff at the dark liquid.

"As Awen," said Verdin.

Reshiad smiled. "If, and I mean if, I lead any rebellion, it will be as me," he said. "Not as a dead man."

Verdin pursed his lips. "Well, we can take you to the next town and introduce you to one of military leaders."

Balnus smiled. "A surprise for you, I can promise."

"Next town being...?"

"Shelcar," said Verdin.

"Two days away," said Reshiad.

Balnus changed the subject. "Have you got any living relatives?"

"Two sisters, both married. Obviously, I also have nephews and nieces. What have they got to do with anything?"

"Just a concern that if you use your own name, they might be threatened." Balnus flashed a quick smile, intentionally mirthless. "We are dealing with ruthless people here."

Reshiad's return look was level and serious. "I noticed," he replied. "But if I act, it is under my own name. Let them know who's coming."

Verdin and Balnus exchanged another look, while Mya refilled their alovak. Reshiad decided he did not like those looks, hinting at knowledge denied him.

"Too dangerous," said Verdin. "For the rest of your family."

"You don't know what these people are like," added Balnus. "They –"

Reshiad flung out an arm, pointing vaguely towards his old home. "My family is in cold earth out there," he snapped. "I buried them with my own hands, with your sylphs helping. I know what these people are like!"

Balnus smiled and leaned forward. "You use your own name," he said, quietly, "they will track down and eliminate the rest of your family, as if they were vermin. You really want that?"

Reshiad forced a smile. "We can hide what's left of my family." He sat back with his hands resting on the back of his head. "I suppose in exchange for helping me win this Prefecture, you want me to recognize Markan suzerainty?"

Balnus and Verdin exchanged a startled look, and Mya almost dropped the alovak can. She squeaked something about topping it up and all but fled from the room.

"Is that not why you are here?" Reshiad raised both eyebrows. "To extend Marka's reach and influence?"

"More to secure ourselves against future molestation from the man who rules Turivkan today," said Verdin.

"Whatever." Reshiad smiled. "You'd certainly have that guarantee."

"Very quickly given," murmured Balnus.

Reshiad nodded. "I read a book about history," he said. "A strong Marka meant happy people and peace throughout the lands. A weak Marka has always led to a darker world."

Yet another of those infuriating looks passed between the two men.

"A pity more of your compatriots didn't read that book," said Verdin, eventually. "The struggle to tempt the Prefectures back into the fold grows harder every day."

"So you agree I can use my own name?"

Balnus sniffed and looked away. Verdin shrugged. "So long as you realize any harm befalling your sisters and their families is on your head, not ours."

Reshiad smiled as Mya returned with fresh alovak. For the first time in days, he felt as though he had won one small battle. Even small victories counted.

***

Neptarik sat easily on his heels and watched two small infertiles cleaning tack. The smell of leather polish tickled his nostrils, but he resisted the urge to sneeze. Added to the other smells of straw, horse sweat and good old sinabra, a heady mix of odors filled the inn's stable.

The tack cleaners threw nervous glances his way now and then. Well, perhaps he did look a tiny bit threatening, covered in paint. Or maybe Tektu, crouched beside him and hugging her knees, caused their wariness.

She terrified all the stable sylphs, many of whom had taken to sleeping outside so they weren't under the same roof. Even horses became wild-eyed when they saw her. Tektu shrugged off the reactions and claimed few sylphs ever understood her anyway. If anything, the situation amused her.

Neptarik hoped that once they left, they would never return to Willam's Leap. Soldiers must pass through here and while sylphs usually displayed discretion, they tended to fully answer questions put forthrightly to them.

He stood out thanks to his paint, and Tektu because of her origins. And her attitude. Whenever she saw one of the inn sylphs looking, she stared them down.

"You will get into trouble with the innkeeper if you insist on frightening his inferts," Neptarik told her.

Tektu shrugged. "I am not doing anything to them," she protested. "Not teasing or threatening them."

"No," admitted Neptarik, "but you do glower a lot and show your teeth."

Tektu shrugged again. "We will move on soon. The boy will grasp the power on offer and come with us."

"He is the best replacement we found," said Neptarik. "They could not have done better."

"They were angry we failed to reach the real boy in time?"

"Frustrated I think." Neptarik smiled.

"Sooner he finds his mettle," continued Tektu, "the sooner he gets a following and the sooner we go home."

"Thought your home is wherever I am," remarked Neptarik.

Tektu's earpoints twitched. Neptarik had never really fully worked out their relationship. Most of the time she gave him level looks, as if between equals. Other times she looked at him almost with hatred and definitely disbelief.

But he had her obedience; nothing else mattered.

"It is so primitive out here," she complained. "I miss Marka. More sylphs to scare." She gave him a look that suggested embarrassment, but she did not fool Neptarik. Tektu had not changed one iota from when he had first met her in Castle Beren.

"Well, it is not up to me how long we spend out here," he said, after a few minutes watching the infertiles work on the tack. "If you are so bored, Marka is that way." He nodded vaguely eastwards.

"You cannot get rid of me that easily," protested Tektu. "You are not Mya."

"Then stay." Neptarik shrugged. "Just stop whining; you are getting as bad as that Reshiad."

Tektu's mouth clicked shut.

"Better." Neptarik hid a smile.

Tektu glared at the infertiles, who pretended to be very busy with the tack. Their wilted earpoints showed they knew why she stared at them.

"If it is any consolation, we will be moving on soon," said Neptarik. "We have stayed here long enough."

***

Neptarik's words proved prophetic; breakfast the next morning had barely settled before Verdin and Balnus began to chivvy the sylphs into movement. Dressed in traveling woolens, the humans rode quite ordinary-looking chestnut geldings with white noses and braided manes. Only a close inspection would show the animals looked to possess great stamina.

A white mare had been acquired for Reshiad and he rode a little behind the two men. Mya walked alongside Balnus and Tektu chose to walk beside Reshiad.

Neptarik was nowhere in sight.

"Where is he?" Reshiad wondered aloud. Tektu had so far proved resistant to conversation this morning, the first typical sylph behavior he had seen from her.

"Making sure the road ahead is safe for us," replied Tektu, finally breaking her silence.

Reshiad snorted. "He thinks he's a scout in a real army?"

Balnus looked over his shoulder. "He is a real scout in a real army," he said.

Tektu smiled at the boy's embarrassed silence, but said nothing.

Reshiad leaned forward and stroked the mare's long neck. "Did you ask what her name is?"

"Ercyan," replied Verdin.

Reshiad continued his petting, much to the mare's approval, who snorted softly and shook her head to a jangle of harness. Every now and then, Ercyan glimpsed Tektu and her reaction was very different.

"I know sylphs are frightened of horses, but I've never seen a horse frightened of a sylph before," laughed Reshiad.

"Only frightened of this sylph," growled Tektu, "which shows the horse has got more sense than the idiot riding her."

"You really do not like me." Reshiad scowled at the sylph, who looked anything but intimidated. "What are you?"

Tektu sniffed and lengthened her stride to catch up with Balnus. Moments later, Mya dropped back and now walked alongside Ercyan.

"Hope you're friendlier than Tektu," remarked Reshiad.

"Lots friendlier." Mya smiled up at him shyly. Of the three sylphs, Reshiad believed she was the most typical. He wondered whether he should ask about the apparent bad blood between her and Tektu, but eventually decided against.

"You are Neptarik's wife," said Reshiad.

Mya's earpoints twitched in satisfaction and she nodded. Her silvery eyes shone as she looked up.

"How did he end up with Tektu?"

Mya sniffed and her earpoints wilted before recovering. "By an accident of fate," she said. "More her ending up with him."

Reshiad reached down and patted the sylph's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to upset you."

Mya nodded and said no more. But she didn't move away again, preferring to stay well back. Reshiad watched and noted everything he saw, unsure whether or not he could trust these people.

Verdin dropped back next to speak with him, maneuvering his horse with his knees. He gestured around at the fields and copses with an arm. "I'm wondering how much you know about your Prefecture," he said.

Reshiad shrugged. "At first hand, not a lot. But I do read."

"You know how Dervra came to be Prefect?" pressed Verdin.

"Only from what you've told me," replied Reshiad. "Farmers here tend to concentrate on sheep, rather than politics."

"Certainly a safer choice of profession," admitted Verdin.

"Except when soldiers come." Reshiad blinked back tears and Mya gave him a compassionate glance.

"True." Verdin glanced away until certain the boy had recovered. "You have my sympathy."

"What would you know about it?" Reshiad wished the words back immediately. "Sorry, I should not have said that."

Verdin smiled. "My father was murdered two years ago," he said. "Purely for political reasons."

"Again, apologies for my hasty words."

"Accepted." Verdin smiled again. "So you understand that you truly have my sympathy, we share a common experience."

"What about the rest of your family?"

"Alive and well."

"It shames me that I live."

"It should shame the man who ordered their deaths." Verdin grimaced. "You can help hit back at that man."

Reshiad gave a bitter laugh. "How? I know nothing about military matters."

Verdin inclined his head. "Then I am at your service. Should you wish it, I will educate you."

As the two young men began to talk about armies and war machines, Mya kept an eye on Tektu and walked in silence.

***

"We'll stop here for our meal," announced Verdin, turning his horse off the road.

Reshiad looked at the small hollow and nodded in approval. A stream ran through the middle, large enough to refill their bottles and water the horses. Sheltered on three sides by bushes, they were out of the wind and very private.

"How did you know this was here?" he asked.

"We didn't." Balnus pointed towards the road. "Neptarik left a patteran."

"Where is he?"

"Here," said Neptarik, standing upright.

Tektu laughed at Reshiad's astonishment. Mya and Neptarik joined hands and sat to one side. Tektu went nowhere near her fellow sylphs after a warning glance from Mya, but stayed near Balnus. Verdin helped Reshiad feed and water the horses, before quickly checking their hooves.

"What can I expect in Shelcar?" asked the boy, after dislodging a stone that threatened to work its way under one of Ercyan's shoes. The white mare continued to munch grass, completely ignoring the boy fiddling around, though she seemed pleased to set the hoof down again.

"Your first followers." Verdin shrugged. "Assuming they'll have you."

"They might not?" Reshiad lifted his eyebrows.

"Considering you say you'll use your own name, they might decide to follow someone else."

"The old Prefect's sons are both dead."

Verdin nodded. "That won't stop someone from trying to claim to be one or other of them though," he replied. "Power is seductive and few can resist its lures."

Reshiad looked away. "What does the Emperor expect from his Prefects?"

"Not a lot and everything," replied Verdin. "Honesty and integrity. The courage to govern justly and fairly."

"That takes courage?" Reshiad's voice almost squeaked.

"Oh yes. Justness and fairness are not always easy. Not always nice either. Doing the right thing may mean taking the course of least evil and can still hurt some people. A land always has many factions and those factions all want to see their interests served. Steering a course between them often takes courage."

"But Prefects command and others leap to obey."

Verdin laughed. "If only that were so. A Prefect must keep on top of continuously shifting alliances and conflicting interests in his lands. He can either rule as a tyrant – always a dangerous choice – or as a diplomat. Either way, he needs supporters, and if he loses them all..." Verdin shrugged. "The life expectancy of a hated ruler is measured in days once he is deposed."

"And you expect me to walk into that?"

Verdin smiled and nodded. "Yes," he replied.

***

Reshiad had heard Shelcar described as a town, but it looked very much as he always imagined a city to look. Perhaps five or six times larger than Merley, the town boasted stone walls and two gates flanked by imposing towers. Buildings of stone, rather than wood, stood within the walls, and roofs were tiled rather than thatched.

He tried to look smaller when he spotted soldiers stood at the gate, but they paid his small group no more mind than anybody else. Even Neptarik, who had wrapped himself in a brown cloak to hide his painted body, received no more than a glance.

The main street, easily the widest in the town, bisected Shelcar east to west. Despite its width, there was barely enough room to ride two abreast. A stinking ditch ran down the center of the street and Reshiad tried not to look too closely at the contents.

"It's filthy here!" he exclaimed to Verdin.

"Most towns are," replied Verdin.

People crowded everywhere, all wrapped in their own thoughts and about their own business. Sylphs darted through the throng, trying to get their errands finished as quickly as possible, so they could then return to whatever they really wanted to be doing.

What appeared to be bundles of rags piled in some doorways shocked Reshiad once he realized what they really were. People and sylphs, stretching grimy hands towards him as they begged for alms. He tried to avoid their expectant gazes.

"Why do they live like that?" he demanded.

Balnus shrugged. "There are always a few," he replied. "Probably with as many reasons as there are beggars." He nodded towards a ragged male sylph. "Those are often sent out by their owners as an easy way of collecting more cash." He waved a hand in the general direction of a couple more sylphs. "And any surplus infertiles are always the first to be kicked out onto the streets when hard times come. Always."

"Disgusting," breathed Reshiad.

"This way," said Verdin, indicating a narrower street.

This street was quieter, if no cleaner, with fewer beggars.

"Is the City like this?" asked Reshiad.

"Turivkan? No; the Administrator there keeps things very tidy. This is a poorly-run town, which makes it ideal for us." Verdin smiled. "Nobody pays us any mind, except the beggars."

"Here we are," announced Balnus. "Nep!"

The cloaked Neptarik disappeared down a side alley, returning moments later to report deserted alleys and no soldiers waiting for them.

Reshiad followed Balnus and Verdin to a large wooden gate that Verdin rattled. A moment later, a small square of wood opened.

"We are Glayen's expected guests," said Balnus.

The small opening slammed shut.

"Charming," muttered Reshiad.

"Shush!" cautioned Verdin.

Minutes passed before the square of wood opened again.

"Ah, Balnus!" exclaimed a new voice. The opening closed with less force and a moment later, the gate swung inwards.

Reshiad looked about as he entered the yard. Stables stood to one side, with two boys and four sylphs staring at the newcomers. Two men stood there, one armed with a sword and the other beaming a welcome.

The less dangerous looking man nodded. "Welcome to you all. My home is yours and my servants are at your command." His eyes flickered to Reshiad more than once.

"Thank you Glayen, but we only wish for hot baths and a couple of rooms." Balnus swung out of his saddle and handed his reins to one of the boys.

Reshiad was pleased to get his feet on the ground again and stretched after dismounting. "I expected another inn," he said.

"Glayen's a friend and calls this place home," replied Verdin. "Being the main merchant here means he controls quite a bit of the trade coming through. And information comes with trade. He's also with us."

"You said I would meet one of the military commanders here," said Reshiad.

"And so you shall." Verdin smiled again. "After you."

Reshiad entered the house and stared. Light crystals provided all illumination, uncovered even at this time of the day thanks to the dark oak lining all four walls. An even darker wood formed the floor, though a scrap of rug here and there provided some color. Pictures lined the walls, most fanciful depictions of country life.

Sinabra hung in the air and, once his eyes adjusted, Reshiad saw why.

A good two dozen sylphs polished the wood and all paused in their work to stare at the newcomers. A few made eyes at Neptarik, earpoints coming fully erect, but the scout ignored them as he headed upstairs, muttering something about being married now, if Reshiad had properly understood his spoken sylph.

"You seem to know your way around quite well," remarked Reshiad.

"We've been here before," replied Balnus.

"This way," invited Glayen. "I have the same rooms for you."

More sylphs polished the wood lining the stairs.

"Who needs this many sylphs?" asked Reshiad. "I've never seen so many in one house."

"They aren't all mine," replied Glayen. He gave Reshiad another respectful glance. "They are here for safekeeping, but they must earn that keep."

When they reached a long corridor, Glayen pushed a door open. "I will let you know when the baths are ready," he promised.

Verdin paused outside the door with Glayen and Reshiad hovered, trying to listen. Neptarik shut the door and smiled at the boy.

"Go and claim a bed," he suggested.

"I've had enough of all the mystery," growled Reshiad. "I want answers."

"You will have answers soon enough." The sylph smiled again. "After we have enjoyed a relaxing bath."

Reshiad eyed the scout. "We all need one of those," he admitted, before turning away. He lugged his small pack across the room and took the bed nearest the window. He sat at one end, looking across rooftops.

"Rooms comfortable enough?" asked Balnus, making conversation.

Reshiad nodded and forced a smile. "I would like to know what's going on." He jerked a thumb towards Neptarik, who sat holding Mya's hand and whispering something to her. Tektu had gone through to the other room with Verdin. "Your sylph scout is determined to stop me from finding out."

Balnus looked at his sylphs for a moment before turning his full attention to Reshiad. "He's just doing his job, keeping eavesdroppers away. You're not missing much, honestly."

"How long will these baths be?"

Balnus winked. "Just as soon as they can haul enough hot water to fill the tubs. Maybe an hour or more."

Verdin soon entered the room and nodded to Neptarik and Mya. The two sylphs disappeared into the other room. A moment later, Tektu reappeared and settled down beside the door.

"What's going on there?" asked Reshiad.

"Sylph foolishness," replied Balnus. "Mya does not like Tektu."

"She's not the most likeable sylph I ever met."

"Perhaps not."

"Do you know why Mya feels the way she does?"

Balnus's dark blue eyes were expressionless. "That is her business, not yours."

"Fair enough." Reshiad spread his hands in surrender. "And what is it with Tektu? Something very strange about her, too."

"That's none of your business either." Balnus took the edge off his words with a laugh. "You really don't want to know."

Reshiad glanced across at Tektu again, but she had raised her head to stare directly at him. She actually frightened him, meeting his gaze without even flinching. No ordinary sylph. He broke eye contact first.

When a small sylph tapped at their door to announce the baths were ready, Reshiad was surprised when the three sylphs followed them downstairs.

Twelve wooden tubs and a stone washing area surrounded a large fire, stood within an annex to the main house. Several sylphs padded about, offering cakes of soap and pitchers of warm water. Reshiad paused but, seeing his companions stripping off with no sign of shyness, copied their lead.

He poured two pitchers of water over his head, followed by a good soap down, paying attention to all crevices where grime had a habit of collecting. He intended to enjoy his first bath since his wetting in the Foam Race River.

Neptarik scrubbed himself hard to remove his paint, with Mya helping scrape it off his back. His breeches had covered the only part of him not painted. This part, once the paint was off the rest of him, was considerably paler. The scout soaped and rinsed himself three times before fully satisfied with the result.

Once free from the worst of the dirt, they eased into the tubs. The water, Reshiad soon discovered, was better than warm. He could not help but sigh as he relaxed in the water.

"I have missed hot baths," announced Tektu, before sinking out of sight for a few moments. She sighed when her head broke the surface. "They are so backward in Marka."

After a good long soak, the serving sylphs returned with warm towels, a couple grinning to each other as they watched Neptarik haul himself from his tub. He eyed them back until Mya stepped beside him. The male sylph showed no hint of embarrassment, but the watchers blushed. Their earpoints wilted submissively and eyes lowered. When Tektu glared at them, they fled. Neptarik grinned before drying himself.

Reshiad almost laughed. He would never understand the strange mix of boldness and shyness breeder sylphs displayed to each other.

Reshiad dried before dressing in his clean clothes. The same sylphs had taken the old clothes for washing, though the boy noticed they left Neptarik's breeches behind. He pulled his best shirt on over his head and stamped his feet into his boots, before lacing up the shirt.

Balnus and Verdin also donned white shirts and dark breeches, while Mya and Tektu pulled on tunics and leggings. Neptarik wore a woolen shirt and breeches, together with a leather collar. Mya wore a silver collar, while Tektu wore no collar at all.

"Before we eat," began Verdin, "I'll see if the other guests have arrived."

"This military commander you want me to meet?" asked Reshiad.

Verdin smiled. "That's right."

"Come on," said Balnus. "Let's leave this for the sylphs to sort out. We'll go and wait in our rooms."

They did not wait long. Reshiad was just about to slip his boots off when Verdin returned.

"They are here," he said. "Coming?"

"I'll stay here," said Balnus.

"Us too," said Neptarik, holding Mya's hand again.

Tektu looked to be asleep, so she wasn't moving either.

So just Verdin and Reshiad left the room and walked along the corridor to another door. Reshiad felt nervous for some reason. What would he have to say to a military commander?

Verdin tapped at the door and, at a rumble from within, pushed it open.

Reshiad stared. A simple table with two chairs. A man had stood from one: a tall, hard looking man, with a lined face, brown eyes and light brown hair.

A girl occupied the other chair. A little younger than himself, with hair and eyes the same color as his own. Tall and slender, a long pale dress highlighted her delicate appearance. Reshiad had no doubt he looked at a highborn lady, her beautiful face and pleasant smile aimed his way.

Verdin made introductions. "Reshiad, please meet Erard Lennis Stenner, and Serifa. This young man, who insists on using his real name, is Reshiad Wajrun Helzar."

Erard glanced at his companion before nodding to Reshiad.

"It is foolish to use your real name," said Serifa, after a short pause.

Reshiad hoped she didn't mind him looking. Her musical voice was delightfully soft. Only one name suggested she might be some sort of slave. Though rare, human slavery existed in Turivkan, if usually of outlanders. This girl had a local appearance.

"If I'm to have revenge, I want the Prefect to know who's coming," he replied.

Serifa's smile lit up her face, but Reshiad hoped no mockery lurked under the surface. It seemed a genuine smile.

Erard snorted. "The Prefect won't have heard of you."

"He will have," retorted Reshiad. "In one day, my family got murdered, I was chased by dogs, almost drowned and beaten up by some wild creature that looks like a sylph but isn't... I want revenge."

"You were beaten up by a sylph?" Serifa lifted one delicate eyebrow, perfectly plucked into a narrow line.

"He met Tektu," said Verdin.

Serifa nodded. Ranva's breath, but she even made that look beautiful!

"That explains much," she said quietly.

"Anyway," said Reshiad, stepping forward and offering Erard his hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. I assume you are the General I've come to meet?"

For the first time, Erard smiled and shook the boy's hand in a crushing grip. "Just a bodyguard," he replied. "Serifa's the military commander."

Beside him, Verdin chuckled. "Balnus did say it would be a surprise," he said.

***
Chapter 3

In The West

The ilvenworld is full of oddities. Like here, a land with no people.

Of course, lots of lands have no people, but such places are usually natural. Dense forests and frozen wastelands are rarely seething masses of humanity. The casual observer might feel the sights here are also natural: long, still growing grass waving in the gentle breeze, and early spring wildflowers providing splashes of color. Everything the same, as far as the eye can see in all directions.

There is a road, made from packed earth and rutted by the passage of caravans. Nothing remarkable in that, if people choose not to live in a place, it doesn't mean they never pass through. There is also a small row of borderstones, proof of some human interest in this land.

But the trees dotted about, a few in copses, are all less than a decade old, and should our casual observer decide to take a closer look at the grass waving in the wind, familiar agricultural plants such as oat, barley and wheat would reveal themselves. Food crops allowed to grow wild. Which meant this land was not unpopulated, but depopulated.

And further east, if that observer cared to look, lay land spoiled by quick-growing softwood trees that would usually only be seen at much higher latitudes, altering the soil's acidity and making it useless for growing crops. A land deliberately wasted.

Sad, but nothing particularly strange about that, either. People fight wars and are rarely pleasant to the losers.

The oddity here is not the land, but four wagons. Ordinary canvas covered carts, each with two tethered horses. The animals are eating peaceably and waiting for the heavy work to begin again. The nosy observer might move closer to the carts before realizing the canvas hides cages, each locked and faced with wood, so nobody can see what's inside.

Perhaps these are not the real oddity, either. After all, there are plenty of carts to be found near roads, and they are usually pulled by either horses or oxen. But carts also have people.

There is nobody here.

Until...

The air shimmers and a group of fifteen people, six on horseback, materialize from nowhere. Well, nine of the fifteen are people; the other six are sylphs, earpoints slightly wilted, now busy rubbing their arms and staring at each other with wide eyes. Five of those sylphs have a surreal appearance, painted gray, green and brown, all with black slashes across face and chest. The only normal thing about the painted sylphs is that all wear black leather collars.

The fear they display is natural, as no sylph enjoys having the Gift used within sensing distance. No matter how important their task.

***

A silver-haired old man stared at the small group of soldiers and sylphs with piercing blue eyes, before nodding grumpily to Tahena. He glanced at the wagons, two carrying food and water, the others swords and equipment. A grimace twisted his mouth. He understood necessity, but he had not liked moving those weapons. Precepts might only be guidelines, but they existed for a reason.

Despite appearances, Grayar was never as grumpy as he pretended.

"You are a very persuasive man," Grayar told General Kelanus, the man in command, "but do not call on my services for anything like this again."

Kelanus, still mounted, looked down at Grayar and inclined his head, his pale blue eyes expressionless. "Sandev refused to help, with her... foci."

Though quickly suppressed, something very like rage flashed across Grayar's features. "You might find Sandev has no more of those," he snapped.

Kelanus opened his mouth to speak again, but Tahena laid a hand on her husband's leg.

"Thank you for your help, Grayar," she said. "Once again, you have proved invaluable."

Grayar's disapproving sniff bordered on a snort. He nodded again to Tahena, looked at the sylphs, then wandered towards the copse of trees. Despite putting distance between himself and the small group, when he finally projected, all six sylphs subconsciously rubbed their arms and stared at each other again. They knew what caused their sudden unease.

Marshal Janost, the senior Eldovan present, smiled as he stared across the verdant landscape. "The Barren," he announced in tones of deep satisfaction.

"Prefecture of Feylkin," corrected Kelanus, absently.

"The Barren is a good enough name," murmured Hanmer, Kelanus's yeoman.

With no other sign of human habitation, the road ran east to west, and even Eldovans still called it the Marka Road.

"Certainly a waste of good land," said Tahena.

Overhearing, Janost sniffed. "Hingast had the people moved, Mistress Tahena. These lands are a buffer no army moving against Eldova can cross easily. Further east there is no agriculture, so no food to plunder. A defensive ring for Eldova, at little cost."

"Except in people's lives, Marshal Janost." Tahena's voice was cold. "Hingast had more butchered than were moved."

Janost shrugged, an almost imperceptible movement that Tahena would have missed had she not been watching for it.

Janost carried on as if he commanded, rather than being a prisoner. All four Eldovans here – three humans and the only sylph not covered in scouting paint – were prisoners, captured either by Kelanus – as in Janost's example – or the shadow riders. Though what their exact status would become once the rest of the soldiers rejoined them remained unclear.

General Mirrin – another Eldovan – joined them. "Waiting here for the walkers to catch up before we move into Mpopa?" he asked, jerking a thumb westwards.

Most of the Eldovan prisoners had been disarmed after their capture and later released to make their own way home. Roads from the east eventually led here, where the Markan Road entered Mpopa, part of the Eldovan lands.

"Yes," replied Kelanus. "They cannot be far away now, so with luck we'll not be waiting long."

Kelanus and his small group had cheated, using Grayar's Gift to move them westwards from Marka. The Gifted had not been happy about that. Not so much moving the people, but the weapons.

Unable to carry them all, the victorious Markans had buried the defeated Eldovans' swords and axes. Everybody feared the Eldovan soldiers regrouping again for another attack; it had happened once already. But attacks were difficult when the enemy was stripped of weapons.

But Kelanus had asked Grayar to take him and some soldiers to the battle sites and recover the buried arms. This, Grayar had frostily informed the General, skirted very close to the edge of principle.

Two of the sylphs – Belaika and Fhionnen – had projected with them to the western battle site. These two sylphs had suffered three moves using the Gift, but looked to be holding up better than the other four, who had suffered one. Perhaps the first two had grown used to the Gift.

"Grayar feels we abused his talents," said Mirrin, making conversation. Of the Eldovans, he was the easiest to get along with. The sixth sylph in the small group – named Shashi – belonged to him and she now heeled her owner.

"He's done it before, so I fail to see what his problem is this time," countered Kelanus. "We had to get ahead of all those returning to Eldova and we had to recover their weapons. The Gift was the only way."

"But done under protest." Mirrin's dark brown eyes looked towards the copse where Grayar had last been seen.

Kelanus turned his attention to the five sylph scouts that, by some small miracle, he had been allowed to bring with him. "Except for Shyamon, the rest of you disappear and get on with it. Ean, you take Samel; Fhionnen stays with Belaika."

"Se bata!" came from four scouts and they scampered away, quickly blending into their surroundings while they formed a ring around the small group. Shyamon's earpoints twitched as the scouts sent pingers to each other while they found the best positions.

"Right," said Kelanus, "we'd better get our camp set up."

***

Nobody had brought large campaign tents, but small canvas affairs that each man could carry. Even Shashi had her own tent, which she erected within whispering distance of Mirrin. Only the scouts would sleep under the sky, even Shyamon who remained in the camp. Kelanus liked the idea of small tents and decided he would introduce them to the Markan army when he returned. Even so, with four carts and fourteen horses, the camp took some time to set up.

Grayar had wanted to keep the group even smaller, but Kelanus could manage no fewer than eight humans and six sylphs. Grayar then suggested leaving the sylphs behind, but Belaika and Shashi objected loudest to this.

Understandably, Shashi did not want to be separated from Mirrin, but Belaika refused to reveal his motives. Ever since he had caught wind of Kelanus's plan during the winter, he insisted on coming along and not even his owner could stop him.

Worst of all, there were no cooks until the remnants of Eldova's proud army joined them. Those who had never before cooked for themselves now learned new skills, with varying degrees of success.

They divided their camp by unspoken agreement.

Kelanus and Tahena sat to one side with Shyamon, the sylph tending the pot hanging in the flames of their small fire, using a wooden spoon to stir the stew. Yeoman Hanmer and Messenger Felis were both Calcanese and wanted to have as little to do with the Eldovans as possible. Their small tents were set up close to Kelanus, if still far enough away to allow privacy.

But the Eldovans were also divided. Mirrin sat with Captain Jediyah, Yeoman Taved and Shashi, while Janost set his tent up slightly apart from the rest.

Of the Eldovans, Kelanus trusted Janost least. The man had acted honorably enough since his capture, having the decency to surrender before all his men were slaughtered, but he had been Hingast's man to the core. Even now, he refused to believe that the man who now called himself Hingast was an imposter.

Even more secretive about his reasons for coming than Belaika, the marshal seemed quite happy to stay away from everybody else.

"A shame we couldn't have lost Janost," muttered Kelanus.

Tahena glanced towards the Eldovans. "Can we be sure of Mirrin? Of any of them?"

Kelanus glanced at Shyamon. The scout concentrated too hard on stirring the pot not to be listening. "Belaika seems certain we can," he replied.

"Belaika is close to Shashi. Be careful."

Kelanus chuckled, a bass rumble. "Not that close," he replied. "He was their prisoner, not a guest."

"Those," retorted Tahena, "are usually the most dangerous relationships of all." She looked at Shyamon. "What do you think?"

The sylph scout squeaked and almost dropped his wooden spoon into the fire. His earpoints thrashed momentarily before stabilizing again. "The stew is ready," he said, a touch breathlessly.

Kelanus laughed aloud. "Do you think Mirrin can be trusted?"

Shyamon's eyes betrayed wariness and his earpoints wilted. "He is Eldovan," he replied, as if that explained everything.

"We'll take that as a no," said Kelanus.

Shyamon said nothing further as he used a wooden hook to pull the pot free from the flames. Setting out three wooden bowls, he served the vegetable stew in characteristic silence.

***

General Mirrin sat crosslegged before his small tent, one hand resting atop his alovak. Shashi ignored all protocol and sat immediately in front of her owner and leaned back in the hope he might tease her earpoints, an increasingly rare treat these days.

Shashi wriggled closer as Mirrin remained silent. Her expectant smile faded and, feeling neglected, she looked over her shoulder.

The General's eyes focused and he forced a smile. "All of us from Eldova have been played for fools, Shashi," he said, answering her unasked question.

His sylph blinked, but wriggled around to face her owner, earpoints slanted forward to show she paid attention to his words.

"Hingast never wanted the throne for himself," continued Mirrin. "He wanted to destroy it and Marka. He intended to use us to enslave or massacre Marka's people."

Shashi shivered; sylphs disliked such talk. "Makes no sense."

"Makes every sense," retorted Mirrin. "Hingast wanted to remove the competition and build a new empire based around Eldova. That's why he allied with Re Taura and didn't care about them monopolizing trade in the Bay of Plenty."

Shashi, who had never seen the sea, shrugged. "Thought you agreed he wasn't the real Hingast."

Mirrin smiled. "Hard to believe that Sandev's claim might be true. All right, so it is true. If Kelanus gets his way, we'll soon find out."

Shashi shivered again. She knew what Kelanus "getting his way" meant. More death and another killing. Would humans ever learn to adapt without slaughtering each other? This sounded like more danger for her owner.

She motioned sideways with her eyes. "What about him?"

Mirrin glanced across to Janost, sniffed and pursed his lips. "It's never easy to learn that you've been living a lie," he said. "Some people adapt quicker than others."

"Why did he come?"

Mirrin smiled. "Most observant," he remarked.

Shashi scowled and waited for an answer.

"Perhaps he wants to see for himself. He might know something no imposter can possibly know."

"From the way he has been talking, he knew last year that Hingast was an imposter."

"Whatever his reasons for coming," said Mirrin, "we'll find out what they are soon enough. Perhaps he's just homesick, like the rest of us."

They fell silent as Yeoman Taved and Captain Jediyah returned with more water from the stream.

"How much longer before they get here, Sir?" asked Taved, more to make conversation than through genuine enquiry.

"Days I expect," replied Jediyah. "They can't be all that far away."

"And it'll be our lads who get here," added Mirrin. He glanced towards Janost again. "I'm not sure the other lot can be fully trusted. Though they should come in along the North Road."

"More sylphs," said Shashi. "Instead of... them." She glanced towards Shyamon and her earpoints wilted.

"Thought you liked them now," said Mirrin.

"Belaika yes," qualified Shashi. "He stopped them from killing you, enya." She blinked back sudden tears.

Mirrin decided that sylph interpersonal relationships were often confusing and said no more on the matter. From the far southwest of Eldova's small empire, Mirrin preferred to surround himself with men from Eldova's outer Prefectures. He trusted such men before any others. And the rest might have been tainted from their association with Hingast. Or whoever had replaced him.

In the gathering gloom, Mirrin shuddered.

***

Belaika and Fhionnen worked quickly together. Based to the east of Kelanus's small group, they would be first to make contact with any Eldovans making their way home after last year's battles. Belaika would know all those expected to come along this road. He had hoped never to see some of them again.

Working together they scraped out a shallow byawta, but made only one sleeping place. The two scouts would share the watches, to prevent anybody or anything from surprising the small group of humans from this side.

They worked well together, despite one being not yet fully trained.

In fairness, Fhionnen's skills had improved over the winter. After last year's adventures, the field held no terrors or discomforts. One of the few city sylphs recruited in Marka to be retained by the scouting corps, he had earned the already-trained scouts' respect. And one of the few not overawed by the more experienced sylph.

Being the first sylph scout ever captured, Belaika had feared ridicule after suffering this ignoble distinction. His experienced colleagues had certainly teased him over this humiliation. But the rest...

He had been captured, resisted giving anything away despite interrogations by one of The Ten, and he had escaped. All Belaika's protests about the help that he had received fell on deaf ears.

Belaika was special and somehow more than an ordinary sylph scout.

Fhionnen resisted such nonsense. He knew Velisar had rescued the prisoner, rather than Belaika escaping from the Eldovans. He also knew about the restrictions forced on Nicolfer and her methods. And he knew how terrified Belaika had been most of the time, rather than the heroic figure imagined by the less experienced scouts.

But Fhionnen had done and said nothing to silence them, either.

The sylphs inspected their work.

In byawta rankings, it might manage somewhere near the bottom, though in fairness they had very few materials to work with. They had cut a couple of saplings to form a square for a roof, and Fhionnen found enough broadleafs to tile that roof before Belaika piled some earth over and grass over the top.

"At least it cannot be seen more than a paca away," said Belaika, after a moment's silence.

"Probably the best we can say for it." Fhionnen grimaced. "If the Eldovans are further away than Mirrin thinks, we can always work on it a bit more." He glanced at his trenching tool and shrugged. "At least it will not fall in on us."

Belaika grinned. "On you," he replied. "I will take first watch tonight."

Fhionnen decided it might be better for him to try and sleep now. He took his blanket and disappeared inside the byawta.

Belaika found a place slightly away from their small cave, where he sat with his back against one of the small trees dotting the deserted land. As darkness strengthened, he continued to think.

And watch.

Before long he stiffened. Firelight? Belaika stood and glanced at the short tree. He decided it would hold his weight and shinned up. He saw a good three dozen specks of flickering light out there.

He hoped people were still awake. He sent a pinger, and waited for an acknowledgment. It came eventually, suggesting Shyamon's attention had wandered, or he had been asleep. Belaika sent his report and waited again.

Over there, Shyamon was probably waking Kelanus and asking for orders.

Belaika waited.

Maybe the other scout dithered, but he had worked with Kelanus before. Shyamon would know there would be no trouble, even if Belaika had got it wrong about the fires. There were fewer now, but that only meant the people out there were beginning to settle down.

Finally, a reply.

Investigate. Do not get captured this time.

Belaika scowled in the dark and acknowledged the command. He deliberately ignored the dig about capture; that sounded more like Kelanus than Shyamon.

He woke Fhionnen.

"We have company," he whispered, and explained what he had seen. "You stay here, I will go and see."

"You think it is them?" Fhionnen had woken in an instant, one of the good things about him.

"It might be."

Fhionnen sat outside and both sylphs glanced around. Thanks to the stars, the sky was more gray than dark, and clearly delineated from land, but no moon hung in the sky to flood everything in light. A large, bright star moved briskly across the sky: the Ark Star continuing its eternal voyage. Wind rustling through the grass would help Belaika, but also mask the sound of anyone else moving. If that camp belonged to the Eldovans, they would have their own sentries and scouts. And the camp sylphs might have heard the whistles carrying their messages.

"Lots of light," Fhionnen remarked, looking into Belaika's faintly glowing eyes.

"Too much."

"Good luck."

Belaika left. He knew that even to Fhionnen's sylph eyes, he would disappear before taking more than a few steps. Keeping low in the grass ensured he would not stand out against the starry sky.

Before long, he had left the waiting Fhionnen behind.

He moved fast and low, keeping his head below the height of the grass. He used the stars as guides, quickly closing the gap between his small camp and the larger one to the east. Any other scouts out would be human, which meant he held a slight advantage.

He glanced up at the sky with its countless glittering stars. However imperfectly, even humans could see in this. Even he would be seen if he stood upright. Still no hint of a moon, another advantage.

Belaika paused often and looked around carefully for anything out of place. After pausing for a quick sniff, rabbits ignored him or moved out of his way; if any humans were near, the rabbits' behavior would be quite different.

Soon, he saw no more rabbits.

He stopped and carefully lifted his head, hoping no light reflected out from his eyes. His instincts were good. A dark shape ahead, that might be mistaken for a rock, but for the wind rippling what he assumed was a cloak. He lay lower in the grass.

Scout.

Earpoints twitching and eyes questing for more scouts, Belaika went around this one, but the perimeter guards were the next humans he saw. At least these were easier to spot than the scout, because they moved about and stood out against the sky.

He slipped past undetected.

Only a couple of fires still burned, threatening to destroy his night vision. Wagons surrounded tents in a series of defensive squares and only a few soldiers were still about. But what a camp! Stretching for some distance, the watching sylph estimated at least two thousand here, including camp followers.

He began to recognize people.

Tempted to report immediately, Belaika remembered how camp sylphs had pointed him out the last time he reported this particular army's location. And that had led to humiliation. Though this army had somehow shrunk in size compared with last year, he knew that there were well over a hundred sylphs here, all with ears that would now recognize a scout's whistle.

Not only the first sylph scout captured by an enemy, but so far the only sylph scout captured by an enemy. His face burned in embarrassment.

He successfully and easily evaded the perimeter guards for a second time, moved carefully until past the scout again (the man had not moved, which surprised the sylph) and had almost reached the byawta before pinging Fhionnen.

The reply came almost immediately, so the boy had not fallen asleep, another of the good things about him.

"Mirrin's Eldovans," said Fhionnen, silvery eyes glowing faintly as his companion returned. He had passed the message on, of course.

"They will make contact tomorrow," replied Belaika. He stood, the better to hear Shyamon's faint acknowledgment. He turned back to Fhionnen. "You have improved. You saw me before I arrived."

Fhionnen grinned. "Three more years and I might be as good as you," he replied, referring to the length of time the Calcan scouts claimed it took to train. Five years to reach the required standard, and Fhionnen had joined the corps two years earlier.

Shyamon's whistle reached their ears.

"Kelanus-ya is pleased," said Fhionnen.

"I heard," replied Belaika. "You had better go back to sleep; it's still my watch."

***

Belaika and Fhionnen paralleled the Eldovans as they continued along the road. The two scouts sent no messages between each other, just in case any camp sylphs were listening. As a further precaution, they stayed beyond the range of the human scouts with the army.

In daylight, Belaika saw more familiar faces.

Lieutenant Kadyah must be the senior officer, riding ahead of the long column on a white stallion. A patch of blue showed where his sylph – Wenna, if Belaika's memory served – walked at his stirrup.

The fat quartermaster Jurabim rode on the lead wagon, also surrounded by sylphs, most walking, but one sat beside him. Belaika knew without looking there were four, all without owners. There had been six, but two had decided to stay with the Markans for their own reasons.

Belaika grimaced, pleased that Gajaran had chosen to stay behind in Marka with her new owner. The only infertile who had ever made him feel uncomfortable, she blamed sylph scouts for her previous owner's death. He hoped she and Sandev had bonded well. And he hoped he never saw her again.

He glimpsed Cavalry Sergeant Somersen on his horse and shuddered. The man had not been pleasant to the scout during his captivity. The man had never given any hint of an apology; did he hate all sylphs, or just scouts? It must be only scouts; Somersen had never displayed cruelty to any other sylph.

So many faces he remembered and he could put names to most. Once the enemy, but now a defeated and disarmed – if still disciplined – group of men with their camp followers.

Men Kelanus hoped to use.

Belaika shivered. He had his own reasons for coming here, but part of him felt Kelanus's plan was either madness, or perhaps bold and daring. The best plans always appeared insane in the sylph's view.

Belaika grimaced again when he spotted a couple of Eldovan scouts. He remembered his chats with Nalred and Vaul. The Eldovan scouts had adapted, wearing drab clothes, and now painted exposed skin brown and green for better camouflage.

Perhaps he would be in trouble for showing the humans the way.

Nearing the borderstones, Belaika stiffened, watching General Mirrin and Yeoman Taved ride forward to meet their old comrades.

Kadyah held up an arm, and the column halted. Eventually. More men rode or walked to the head of the army to huddle with Mirrin and his yeoman.

Belaika sat back in the grass, so he could just see the wagons and keep an eye on Mirrin. Now everybody else had stopped, movement from him might be seen by the wrong people.

Would the returning Eldovans see things Kelanus's way, or want revenge for last year's defeat? Apart from the sylph scouts, only Kelanus, Hanmer and Felis were Markan, though Tahena might be able to use the Gift to help them all escape.

Kelanus had taken a huge gamble and Belaika hoped it worked in the Markans' favor.

***

"Ranva's breath, it's good to see you again, Sir!" exclaimed Lieutenant Kadyar. "How did you get here before us?"

"Long story," replied Mirrin. "Let's just say ours wasn't the only defeat last year. Hingast got routed, but he fled and left the rest of his men to sink."

Kadyar's blue eyes hardened. "Those rumors, about Hingast being not what he seems."

Mirrin nodded. "That's why we're here. The real Hingast has a son and if Eldova is ruled by an imposter, we will put him on Eldova's throne."

"How can we prove it?"

"We'll prove it, Kadyar. Tell me, how was the journey home?"

"Not good." Kadyar's lips thinned before he continued. "We armed ourselves with staffs but still got attacked several times. We also lost a lot of men who've turned mercenary and sold their services to petty lords along the way."

Mirrin grimaced. "How many are left?"

"Just over half, Sir."

Mirrin growled an oath. "Half?"

"If all had come, we'd have starved before now. The Barren is aptly named."

Mirrin glanced along the column. About two thousand men, plus whatever might return from the northern group, who were the Eldovans he didn't trust. The men here might have to be enough.

"Janost is with me," said Mirrin.

Kadyar, not yet as politically minded as Mirrin, nodded.

"And a Markan general. Kelanus."

Kadyar nodded again. "Has he brought any abominations with him?"

"Five." Mirrin forced a smile. "Two will be around here somewhere; they reported your approach late yesterday."

Kadyar scowled. "I suppose we could use them."

"Come meet Kelanus and listen to what he has to say."

"We'll come," promised Kadyar, "and we'll listen. But beyond that, we'll make our own decisions."

Mirrin smiled. "Of course." He hoped his men would make the right choice.

***

Kelanus had expected a rough ride and he wasn't disappointed. Understandably, the Eldovans refused to trust a word he said, even if respect tempered their opinion of him. After all, he had defeated Hingast not once, but twice.

But they were reluctant to believe that Hingast was an imposter.

Only officers and sergeants were present, their weapons still locked away in the wagon. Should they decide to take matters into their own hands, there was little anybody would do to stop them. Perhaps why they had not, so far, made any demands concerning their arms.

"You expect us to infiltrate our own city?" demanded Sergeant Somersen.

"No," replied Kelanus, "I expect you to exercise discretion until we learn what the man who calls himself Hingast has said or done about you. He fled the field last year and returned home. He and those with him do not want to see you ever again. You fought honorably, but he fled home, so politically, you are all potentially embarrassing. He will have worked out a story to explain his presence and your absence."

"How do you know he fled the field?" demanded an anonymous Sergeant.

"He fled the field," said Janost. "I was there."

Silence met that.

"He ran," insisted Kelanus. "He saw an opportunity to go and abandoned everybody with him. Should any appear, his position is weakened. The man I suspect who is really Hingast will realize that and will have done something about it. You will be the ones accused of treason and cowardice."

A growl of disgust met that.

"Exactly. This is the sort of man you're dealing with," said Kelanus.

"Sounds nothing like the Hingast I know," said Nalred, Sergeant of Scouts.

Kelanus smiled. "That's because he isn't the Hingast you know."

"Then who? And how can he pass as Hingast?"

"His name is Ranallic Eydren and he is a sorcerer of some considerable ability. I've seen him at work, when he fled a field of contest, again as a coward." Kelanus's mouth twisted with the memory. He'd had him and still the man managed to escape!

"Ranallic Eydren is a southerner," said a doubting voice. "No way could he pass as Hingast."

Kelanus stared. "You know him?"

Quartermaster Jurabim stepped forward. "Sure I do. And I won't be alone in that. Anyone in the army more'n ten years will remember Ranallic. Ended up a Lieutenant and deserted at the turn of the century."

Kelanus exchanged a look with Mirrin. "Do you know the man?"

Mirrin shook his head. "I've always been posted south of Eldova."

Jurabim warmed to his theme. "He was well in with Hingast. And his advisor, ah, Dervra."

Kelanus stared.

"He used to find sylphs for Hingast to hunt," continued the quartermaster. "Some of 'em were already half dead for some reason."

Kelanus turned to Tahena. "Everything fits," he whispered. "It explains the gap between leaving Pensdren and surfacing in Sandester. He must have learned sorcery from Dervra. Even how he manages to pass as Hingast; he must know him better than almost anybody else."

"But what do you intend to do?" asked Kadyar, quietly.

"My plan is simple." Kelanus smiled. "I intend to kill Ranallic Eydren."

He continued to smile throughout the uproar now surrounding him.

***
Chapter 4

Eldova

As usual, Eldova bustled. The crowd consisted mostly of women; the few men were either very old or very young, and the exceptions either wore army uniform or were crippled beggars. The usual heady stink of packed humanity hung in the still air, mixed with the rather less unpleasant sinabra from the numerous sylphs in the crowd.

Helen Micha Arroch, first wife to Hingast, believed every city possessed the same vibrancy.

She had always enjoyed moving around the city. The city walls and gatehouses were all limewashed, gleaming as they reflected the strengthening sunlight and heat. Most buildings were built from red and yellow bricks or pale stone, but wooden structures were painted all colors. They stood out against the stone buildings and gave most streets a somewhat chaotic look.

Plainly dressed, so she did not stand out too much, she had left the palace without her husband's blessing. Not that Hingast ever restricted her movements, but she doubted he would approve her wandering around Eldova's streets without even a single bodyguard. As if anyone would recognize her!

No, always best to keep some secrets. Her three daughters were with their tutor (strangely, Hingast's second wife had also borne three daughters before he moved on to his third wife), and her two sylphs were always discreet. Both respected her wishes enough to keep their mouths shut.

Shops enjoyed a steady trade and hawkers – again almost all women – shouted to make themselves heard. Taynors squatted disconsolately in corners, unable to perform until the crowds thinned. They refused all offers of coin, they were here to entertain and delight, not beg. They had their professional pride to consider.

Helen turned off the street. Unlike most alleys in the city, this one appeared respectable, without the usual detritus usually found dumped out of sight of the main thoroughfares. A solitary male sylph, long silvery hair tied back in a long tail, and somewhat garishly dressed by the creatures' standards, waited outside a door.

"Hello, Cerant," she greeted him.

Cerant's earpoints slanted her way and he inclined his head as he smiled. "Greetings, Mistress," he replied. "You are expected."

Helen raised her eyebrows. "Really? I made no appointment."

"Anya sees many things," replied the sylph.

Helen kept a tight rein on her irritation. She had hoped to catch Cerant's owner unawares, without giving her a chance to prepare herself.

The male sylph followed her inside and closed the door. Helen made her way up the bare wooden stair and waited for Cerant to open the inner door for her.

She swept within without offering a word of thanks. "Hello Berlya," she said.

"Good morning, Helen." Two chairs flanked a cold fireplace, and the hazel-eyed woman she had come to visit rose from one of them. She smiled. "Please, come and join me."

Helen took the available chair, and the other woman sat down again.

"Alovak, if you please, Cerant," said Berlya.

The sylph bowed to his mistress. "Se bata, anya."

Helen watched him pad out of the room.

"So Helen, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I've been putting it off for months," said Helen, "but Hingast seems... different."

"Oh?" The woman's blue eyes held interested enquiry. "Tell Berlya, perhaps I can help."

Helen looked at her companion, unsure whether to trust her or not. "He is looking at me again," she said. "As a man looks at a woman he wants. He's not done that for years."

"Interesting." Berlya clasped her hands in her lap. "What about Ansin and Prella?"

Helen's lips thinned. "Ansin gave him a son so he still lies with her, but you can see his heart isn't in it. And Prella..." She sniffed in disapproval. "At least I am loyal to my vows."

Berlya gave a small smile as Cerant returned with a tray. "Be a good boy and pour," she told the sylph. "Then take a break for a few minutes."

"Se bata." The sylph's silver-gray eyes flickered towards the visitor a brief moment before his attention turned to his task.

Two cups, each on a saucer to contain spillage, were set out side by side. The sylph lifted the can and carefully poured the dark, almost black, alovak into the cups. His head bowed as he offered the first cup to Helen, before passing the second to Berlya.

"Excuse me, please." Cerant bowed his head again and left the room.

Helen smiled. "Your sylph is very well behaved," she remarked.

"Very well trained," replied Berlya. "But I am interested to learn why Hingast is suddenly filled with renewed lust for you."

Helen laughed. "So am I."

Berlya gave a small smile. "You said he seems different. How?"

The laughter was cut short. "More considerate. More thoughtful. And somehow more serious." She tapped a lacquered fingernail against her cup. "And he no longer indulges in the disgusting 'sport' of sylph hunting."

"Cerant will be pleased," murmured Berlya. She closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma of her alovak. "He can sleep easier at night knowing that."

"I wasn't aware sylphs were kidnapped for Hingast's hunts."

Berlya fixed her visitor with a steely blue gaze. "The men Hingast used to find him suitable victims would seize any male sylph who happened to be in the wrong place."

"I'm sorry, I never knew."

Berlya nodded. "No longer a problem," she said. "So Hingast is behaving differently. Is he ill?"

"Perhaps," replied Helen. "Two years, two defeats. But most men's behavior grows worse when they descend to madness, not better."

"True," murmured Berlya, cup incas from her mouth. "What else causes a man to change?"

"A new woman. But it is not that, or Hingast has also learned amazing discretion. Never one of his traits."

Berlya's considering expression firmed. "There will be a reason," she said. "What of the men who returned with him?"

"They say the same thing. A rout and slaughter of most of their companions. All of Mirrin's men are dead. It will take generations to recover the population."

Berlya shrugged. "Encourage the men who are left to take more wives and the population will recover in one generation," she said. "Perhaps Hingast is depressed. That might explain his new attitude."

Helen stared. "Depressed? If anything euphoric!"

Berlya laughed. "Another sign of depression," she pointed out.

Helen shook her head. "It's almost as if he's a different man. But that's impossible."

No it isn't, thought Berlya. You're not thinking. Aloud, she said "If I were you I would entice him back to your arms. Try lying in wait for him in a quiet corridor."

A smile bloomed. "Oh yes, I have been pushed aside for so long. It's time to start thinking like an adventurous young girl again."

Berlya nodded. Their meeting was at an end, but the niceties must be observed. A second cup of alovak was offered, and politely declined. They talked about the weather and Helen's daughters' education, before Berlya rang the small handbell beside her chair.

A few moments later, Cerant returned.

"The Lady Helen wishes to leave," announced Berlya.

The sylph inclined his head and escorted Helen downstairs and outside. Berlya stared at the empty fireplace until Cerant rejoined her.

"Any Markan pigeons in the cote?" she asked the sylph, as he quietly closed the inner door against intruders.

"Two, anya."

Berlya smiled. "Excellent. Bring pen, ink and my cipher book, please."

Cerant bowed. "Se bata, anya."

***

The man who now called himself Hingast scowled around the table. Maps of Eldova were spread across it and light crystals suspended from the ceiling provided plenty of light.

The planning room was quite low in the palace, so the windows were set high in the only external wall. That this room faced east also meant that after an hour of daylight, the sun had moved on.

"Are you sure they can make it across the Barren?" asked one man.

"Yes, General Lowst, they can." Hingast wondered about the men he had promoted. Even allowing for the extra learning, he doubted their competence, but he must be careful. There were other promising young officers, but they might prove equally useless, promoted too early or beyond their latent ability.

Lowst was one such. A senior Captain, which meant passed over a few times, he had waited years for a generalship. A good officer and a competent leader, popular with his men without being overfamiliar, but the man had no political skills at all. And had a tendency to speak his mind at the wrong time. Political ineptitude meant nothing in the field, but was essential when walking along the heights. But Lowst would be good in the field, and demonstrated good intelligence. He would stay.

"We created the Barren to prevent large numbers of men crossing," added Gusor.

Lowst gestured. "Stock up on food before crossing, break the group up into smaller chunks..."

Hingast nodded in approval. Lowst would always get there in the end. Unlike Gusor who, despite clear intelligence, had proved himself deeply stupid. And as subtle as a brick through a glass window.

The third man might make it to Marshal.

Thur Ran Racken, as his name suggested, was not Eldovan. He came from Pelirno, a powerful land with an enviable reputation for producing fighting men of quality.

Thur's early military career centered on mercenary campaigns and the man had amassed considerable wealth by various means. When he and his family settled in Eldova, he quickly moved up through the ranks.

Intelligent and astute, Thur rarely spoke at these meetings.

Now though, his pitch eyes held an unusual amount of excitement.

"We need extra men," he rumbled, deep voice filling the room.

Many in Eldova did not like Thur. Mistrust of outsiders might be part of that – the man who called himself Hingast knew all about mistrust – but his relative young age encouraged his enemies to pass him over for promotion.

The man who called himself Hingast soon put a stop to that nonsense. With his dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin, Thur blended easily with shadows, and he fought accordingly. Lurk, strike, retreat and lurk again.

He had never lost a battle.

"We need extra men," agreed Hingast, "but these fled the field at a critical moment in the battle. They are why we lost."

Thur pressed his full lips together in disapproval. "I do not like the idea of Eldovan fighting Eldovan."

Lowst grinned. "Being an outlander, that shouldn't bother you."

Thur turned his head to regard Lowst, but said nothing. Abruptly, Lowst decided his tunic needed a quick brush down and turned his attention to knocking imaginary dust to the floor.

Thur's intense gaze returned to Hingast. "We should try and get these men back on side," he said. "I understand the rumor that they all died is safest for their families, but we can and should still use them."

"They can't be trusted," pointed out Gusor.

Thur made an offhand gesture. "Execute the ringleaders, redeploy the rest. Their lives are forfeit anyway, and people here believe they are already dead, so we can use these people for our advantage."

"And how many of them have been turned into spies?" pressed Gusor.

Thur gave a guffaw of laughter. "Spy on what? How will they report and to whom? We do not need bring these people into Eldova. The possibilities are endless. We can use them to destabilize Marka. We can use them to attack supplies going into cities along the Marches. We can –"

"We can indeed," interrupted the man who called himself Hingast. "You and I are thinking along remarkably similar lines, General Thur."

Gusor and Lowst exchanged a look and a shrug.

"This is why General Lowst will ride out along the Marka Road and find all the stragglers. You will escort these men to Eldova. They are Mirrin's men, not tainted with the charges of cowardice and treason. But, if they have Markans in company, you must be prepared to use your initiative. Capture or kill any Markans you find."

Thur's expression was carefully neutral. Clearly a task he wanted, but Hingast needed Thur in the city. Now the orders were given, Lowst would prove competent enough.

Lowst would meet Mirrin's men along the Marka Road before any from his own group. The men who had fought under him would enter Eldova from the north These presented the greatest danger.

"Gusor, you will cover the North Road."

Gusor inclined his head.

"Ride east and north, and prevent these stragglers from reaching Eldova. Give their leaders the option of taking their men back to Marka, to raid our enemies at will."

"And if they refuse?" asked Gusor.

"Massacre them." Hingast spoke quietly.

Thur still looked too neutral. He had badly wanted one of these commands and he clearly disagreed with any notion of killing their own returning soldiers, no matter how cowardly.

Hingast turned to his favored General now. "How is the school coming along?"

Gusor and Lowst now assumed neutral expressions.

"Very well," replied Thur. "Several sylphs are almost ready to run with the army."

Hingast restrained a smile. The sylphs were trained harder, and faster, than in Calcan and Marka, but Eldovan sylphs were used to training that pushed them hard. The creatures were not quite so indulged here as further east.

"Good," he said. "Arrange a demonstration for us before your colleagues depart."

"I am unsure of the value of sylphs," said Gusor. "They are –"

Hingast interrupted. "They are another part of the reason we suffered such bad defeats last year and the year before," he said. "Attend the demonstration, and see for yourself."

Thur, who had listened when Hingast had outlined everything he knew about the Calcan sylph scouts, gave the other two Generals a tight nod of his head. "I recommend that, Majesty," he said.

For the first time since the meeting began, Thur smiled.

***

"We must camp somewhere off the road from now on," said Kelanus. "Too many caravans pass through here, rumors will start."

Mirrin nodded agreement. "We also need to learn how many patrols there are between here and Eldova," he said. "I recommend sending the sylphs ahead for that. We can do without them for a few days."

Kelanus smiled. "Quick to realize the advantage," he said.

Mirrin shrugged. "Not really that quick. Belaika showed the way, last year."

"We'll send the sylphs out this morning," said Kelanus. He grimaced. "All of them for as long a reach as possible."

"I also recommend we break up into smaller groups," said Mirrin.

"Two problems there," countered Kelanus. He gestured with his arms at the road. "More men are probably following these and we need to catch them."

"Do we?" Mirrin raised an eyebrow. "All the trustworthy Eldovans are already here, General Kelanus. You've already said you have no intention of laying my land to waste. And your second problem?"

"Is the question of trust." Kelanus smiled. "Are all these men trustworthy? Or will they report to the first Eldovan officials they meet? We can't afford to be betrayed now."

Mirrin looked around at the copse and seemingly endless grassland. "We stay here, we'll be betrayed for sure. We move around Eldova as one large army and we'll attract attention, probably of the unwanted sort."

"We'll move into Mpopa," said Kelanus, "but we mustn't stray far from the road. We should really stay on it as far as possible. Your suggestion about the sylphs is a good one, but who will watch our flanks and rear instead?"

"Humans can scout too; you must remember days before sylph scouts." Mirrin smiled. "We have scouts who, if not perhaps as good as your sylphs, are at least passable. Sergeant Nalred will detail men to keep their eyes open around us."

"So that's Shyamon gone too," muttered Kelanus. "Pity there's nobody to take over his serving duties; I'd just got used to having him around."

Mirrin laughed. "Surely a man of your stature can afford a sylph of his own?" he asked.

Kelanus shrugged. "Something I never got around to," he replied, vaguely.

Mirrin leaned back and a messenger was sent running, returning moments later with a single sylph infertile.

"Well, this one will serve you well enough," said Mirrin, gesturing towards the sylph. "Let me introduce Tula, one of our orphans. She will be delighted to take over Shyamon's domestic duties."

On first impressions, Kelanus suspected Tula was anything but delighted. She wore a startled expression that never seemed to change, or perhaps her eyes were naturally wide all the time. Her green work tunic looked worn and threadbare, the hem ragged and a blue elbow poked through. The sylph inside looked clean enough and Kelanus hoped she could perform her duties well.

"An orphan?" he asked.

Mirrin leaned foward and lowered his voice, though from the set of Tula's earpoints, she heard every word.

"Her owner was killed in a training accident," Mirrin told Kelanus. "But she can still serve."

Kelanus looked at the infertile, and Tula immediately averted her eyes. This sylph would be nowhere near as independent as the scouts and he suspected she needed much more attention.

"I'm sure Tahena will keep her eye on you while we travel," he told her.

Tahena sighed. "Thank you," she muttered, and turned her gaze to the newcomer. Tula looked unconvinced by the warm smile. "Well, you'd better walk alongside me," continued Tahena. "Or you can come up if you prefer to ride."

Tula shook her head. "Walk," she whispered.

"Suit yourself."

So, half a day later, Kelanus led his detachment into the first Eldovan Prefecture. Mirrin brought up the rear, leading the last group, as the only commander Kelanus felt he could trust. Kelanus kept his own people close, which meant Hanmer, Felis and Tahena rode with him. But should the Eldovans decide to change their status, Kelanus and his companions could probably do nothing to stop them.

All five sylph scouts now ranged far ahead, with even Shyamon acting as messenger. That just meant he was the closest scout, and probably about three milas away by now.

Together with his wife, the other two Calcanese, a group of Eldovans disgruntled to be under his command, and an orphaned Eldovan sylph who seemed as reluctant as her fellow Eldovans, Kelanus marched deeper into enemy lands.

The scout assigned to his group was a thin man named Vaul. His hands, face and clothes were painted in shades of green and brown. Kelanus realized that Belaika had – even if accidentally – given some secrets away while a captive.

"I spoke with Belaika several times," Vaul announced proudly, when Kelanus asked about the paint. "And I'm pleased to have met him. He is a remarkable sylph."

It seemed Belaika had won the respect of all the Eldovan scouts – certainly of those who had marched with Mirrin the previous year. Most had copied the idea of increasing their camouflage by painting themselves.

"He wasn't treated well by everybody," said Kelanus.

Vaul shrugged. "Nicolfer denied him water," he replied. "Some of us made sure he got some though."

"And Sergeant Somersen?" pressed Kelanus.

Vaul's brown eyes hardened. "Cavalry," he said, as if that explained everything.

Kelanus almost laughed. Rivalry between different parts of an army was not restricted to his own. "Well, Scout Vaul, you had better attend to your duties."

Vaul grinned and melted away, soon out of sight.

For the moment, Kelanus led his men along the road, easier going than the grassland on either side. Their lone cart rumbled at the rear and Kelanus had ensured this one carried the weapons. Trust only went so far.

Tahena rode immediately behind, with Hanmer and Felis beside her, holding her in conversation. But Kelanus did not ride alone.

Despite handing her over to his wife, Tula strode at his stirrup, looking neither left nor right, easily keeping pace with his horse. Her earpoints twitched in all directions, though her eyes concentrated on where she walked. Now and then, he overheard a light mutter as she mumbled to herself.

Kelanus glanced around and reveled in the warm sunshine. He almost told the infertile that today was a glorious day to be alive before remembering this sylph had lost her owner. He must choose his words carefully.

"Water, donenya?" Tula asked.

Kelanus looked down and blinked. "Thank you." He accepted the proffered skin and tipped some of the cool water into his mouth. "Having any yourself?" He passed the skin back.

Tula stoppered it. "Not yet thirsty," she replied.

Her brief reply did not bother Kelanus, more than used to sylph terseness. They were not a voluble species at the best of times, and Tula still had little idea of Kelanus's ways.

"You can relax," he told her. "We're not monsters."

Tula looked at him wide-eyed and startled. Or perhaps she always wore that expression.

Kelanus laughed. "You don't have to answer."

Slowly, gradually, the land changed. Grassland gave way to pasture, with domestic animals grazing peaceably. One or two cows lifted their heads to regard the passing humans with curiosity, and sheep that had strayed onto the road scattered before their horses.

In the distance, smoke rose lazily into the air and Kelanus lifted a hand to halt the small column. He pulled his spyglass free and inspected the land ahead.

"Farm," he grunted.

Kelanus supposed it looked like any other farmhouse. A tiled roof rather than thatch, limewashed walls and small windows. The attached barn also had a tiled roof, and a couple of other outbuildings helped form a square. Kelanus thought he could see children playing in the yard.

"Go around, Sir?" asked Hanmer, joining his commander.

"We may as well look as if we belong," replied Kelanus. "We'll continue past."

"Very good, Sir."

Lieutenant Kadyah spurred his horse forward until he joined Kelanus. "People here are usually wary of soldiers," he said.

"Thanks to Eldovans, people everywhere are usually wary of soldiers," replied Kelanus. "Don't think that we don't know who was really responsible for all the raiders."

Kadyah sniffed. "There are Eldovans and Eldovans," he replied.

"Granted," agreed Kelanus. "But it wasn't your enemies who created the Barren. What a waste." He shook his head in despair.

Kadyah dropped back.

"What does Tula think?" Kelanus leaned down. "Should we pass or go around?"

Tula looked even more startled than before. "I am just a sylph," she replied.

"You should know there are humans who hate hearing those words," said Kelanus. He smiled. "You are a living creature, not a machine. Machines are blind and simply do; sylphs are not and form opinions. I would like to hear yours, please."

"And if donenya does not like what he hears, what then?"

Kelanus's smile broadened. "See? You have some backbone. At least, you expressed yourself to me. If donenya doesn't like what he hears, then he can ignore what you say, or debate with you, or consider your words. So tell me what you think: should we pass, or go around?"

"We should pass," said Tula.

"Why do you think that?"

Tula's mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds. "They will see if you try to go around and wonder why you behave so strangely. So they will report it to the next patrol they see."

Kelanus smiled. "Now that wasn't too difficult. You have no need to fear me, Tula."

The infertile looked at him for a long moment before she turned her head away.

Kelanus's attention returned to the farm ahead. He had made a small beginning with the sylph. Much better to have one who would speak plainly, which was why he regretted having none of the scouts nearby, than a sylph who simpered or served in sullen silence.

Tula still walked without turning her head, but Kelanus fancied her step was lighter now. Hopefully, she might find some happiness while serving him.

***

As the small column approached, the children disappeared. Only one farmwoman remained, leaning on her broom to watch them pass in silence. Sadly, the road led them right past the house, though it did at least skirt the edge of their farm.

Kelanus had ridden along roads that passed between house and barn. For some strange reason, he always felt he was trespassing.

He smiled and nodded to the farmwoman, but she stared back blankly.

Kelanus turned to Tahena. "I really do not know what has been done to these people. Was Hingast really such a despot?"

"If not him, then perhaps some of his followers," replied Tahena.

Tula looked terrified that Kelanus might ask for her opinion and tried to make herself invisible. Being a sylph, and despite blue skin, she almost succeeded.

"We will pause over the next rise," announced Kelanus. "Anybody have any way of letting Vaul know?"

"He'll have at least one eye on us," said Kadyah.

"Good."

Once the farm was out of sight, they found a likely spot to stop for a quick meal. Somewhere to water the horses and top up their own supplies. They left the road and relaxed on the ground.

Tula waited on Kelanus and Tahena. Without alovak, she ensured they had plenty of water and that they had the best of the food on offer. She gave Kelanus's horse a wary look, but made no move toward it.

There, Shyamon found them.

He gave Tula a neutral look before turning away. Nothing unusual in that: males and breeding females usually ignored infertiles, and Kelanus knew he could do nothing to change the behavior. Friendships between the breeding sexes and infertiles, such as that between Belaika and Jenn, were rare.

"A report, Shyamon?"

The scout nodded.

"You could have given it to Vaul."

Shyamon grinned. "More fun to sneak past him," he replied. "He will be angry when he realizes what I've done with his bootlaces."

"Shyamon, this is no time for silly tricks." Kelanus gave the scout a stern look.

The sylph did not even have the grace to look embarrassed. "A wager," he said. "We have a wager."

"The Father save us," muttered Tahena. "Another gambling sylph."

The scout gave her a wary look. All the sylph scouts knew what they sensed when nearby and were suitably careful in all their dealings with her.

"I'm waiting, Shyamon," prompted Kelanus.

The sylph pulled himself together. "There are no patrols along this road that we can see. Belaika is furthest scout and he reports nothing."

"Are there any other roads joining this one?"

"Not that we've seen," answered the scout. "A couple of farm tracks, but that's the lot."

"How far is Belaika?"

"Far enough to give a lot of notice if a patrol comes," replied Shyamon. "If he stays where he is, you would take a day and a half to reach him."

"Plenty of time to hide." Kelanus smiled. "You've done well, Shyamon. I was tempted to give you some choca, but as you've been playing tricks on Vaul, you can just return to your duties."

Shyamon gave Kelanus a sylph's slow blink and his earpoints wilted. "Se bata," he said.

As the sylph disappeared again, Tahena laughed. "Now that was cruel," she said. "But the look on his face..."

"He shouldn't be messing about with the human scouts," said Kelanus, unsmiling. "Wager or no wager."

Tahena shook her head. "Too many of these sylph scouts are involved in betting and gambling. It's not right for them."

"So long as it doesn't interfere with their duties, it's not our problem," replied Kelanus.

"Well if Shyamon decides to sulk after what you said to him about choca, it might become our problem."

Kelanus sniffed, then became aware of Tula's expectant gaze.

"Donenya says I should speak," she said, though her earpoints betrayed inner nervousness.

"I do." Kelanus smiled. "Go ahead."

"If that scout is not getting his choca," she said, "can I have it instead?"

***

As the small group readied itself to move on, complete with a very happy sylph still licking her lips after the rare treat of choca, a small speck rose from the farm they had passed.

The pigeon circled higher and higher, until it was almost invisible in the bright sky. Once at height, the bird orientated itself and soon headed directly for Eldova.

Nobody saw it go.

***
Chapter 5

Plots And Plans

Nazvasta Ulvic Vintner – younger brother of the late Branad Ulvic Vintner, who until his death had claimed the vacant Markan Throne – looked around his study and nodded in satisfaction. The smell of old books mixed with the equally pleasant smell of wood polish. He looked at the two servants and smiled.

"Gena and Yeran, an excellent job as always."

Both servants bobbed their heads and gave a small curtsy.

"Back to the palace with you and remember, that if anybody asks, you've been –"

"Tidying the yard," Gena completed for him, while Yeran hid a giggle with a hand.

Nazvasta smiled. He doubted if the two girls – he still thought of them as girls, though Gena had almost as many years as he – were half as discreet as they claimed, but both were as good as illiterate, so could pass on none of his secrets. Once one servant knew a thing, all did.

He watched them leave by the old service tunnel, used by his grandfather to reach the observatory without leaving the comfort of the palace. Staflan had liked his comforts. Many had forgotten the tunnel even existed, so few ever bothered to come here. And now Staflan's grandson used the place as his study.

Morran Barr Fynn – Nazvasta's opposite number in Marka – had tried many times to infiltrate this room, but every one of his spies had been uncovered and either sent home, or given unpleasant duties elsewhere.

He had thought of acquiring a couple of sylphs for cleaning his study. The creatures were loyal, as well as intelligent, companionable and very discreet. He considered it now for a few moments, remembered that he disliked sylphs' natural odor, and dismissed the idea again.

The main room of the observatory – he had installed a false ceiling to trap most warmth, essential for his books in winter – formed his study. Or, as he preferred to call it, his library. Rows of books lined every wall bar one, shelved as high as he could reach. Two reading desks, three chairs and eight light crystals completed the furniture.

The unshelved wall boasted an impressive fireplace he could walk into, the stone surround carved into every animal the sculptor's imagination could remember. Above that the only decoration in the room: a lone painting of a ship battering her way through heavy seas.

Even though the servants had gone, he was not alone.

"Recalling everybody from Marka may prove a strategic blunder," said his companion. Nazvasta's most trusted advisor, many in the palace forgot Fareen-y-Vintner even existed. Not that the gwerin hid from view, but she rarely pushed herself forward. "That action will warn Marcus you intend to move against him. Whatever else we think of him, the man is far from foolish."

Nazvasta regarded the gwerin. "A little late to concern yourself about that now?" He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, we need our people here once the inevitable happens."

Fareen's pale brown eyes glittered. Even in this light, the cat-slit pupils stood out against her irises, betraying her sylph heritage. Her earpoints twitched. "Zenepha will fall," she said. "And Marcus is best placed to replace him."

"Our plan failed. Thanks to a sylph."

Fareen managed a small smile. "Better to stop the invasion from Re Taura, no matter how politically complicated the result has turned out for us. Zenepha's position has been considerably weakened."

"At least the questioning of our people as they return yields some results."

Fareen nodded. "Some surprising results. Will you set up a school?"

Nazvasta grimaced. Many of the officers and men who had served temporarily under Marcus Vintner spoke highly both of his rival and the sylphs he employed as scouts and messengers.

"Tempting," he answered. "But the struggle might be over quickly, and we will have Marcus Vintner's school."

Fareen stroked her chin. "Shortsighted," she murmured, hoping for a change of heart. "The struggle might not be over quickly."

"True," admitted Nazvasta, "but the worst that can happen is Marcus attacking us full on. He will either win or lose. Either way, there is only need for one scout training school."

Fareen shook her head, eyes solemn. "The worst that will happen is that Marcus decides to ignore us," she said. She changed the subject, though she would return to it at another time. She dared not tell him that she had already authorized Mikhan to establish a sylph scout school and training had already produced some promising young scouts. Another secret she must keep a little longer.

"There is something else you have forgotten."

Nazvasta blinked.

"You have a gwerin advisor." Fareen smiled. "But Marcus has two. Or will have, once Zenepha falls."

***

Captain Indelgar Manin da Saar leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the back of his head. His companion sipped at a dark drink.

"Is something wrong with your alovak?" asked the questioner.

"Of course not, just waiting for it to cool a little," replied Indelgar. He had nothing against the questioner as such, but the man's line of work left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Not that Indelgar had been put through a full interrogation, but persistent and thorough questioning made him feel like a suspect.

"Tell me about the scouts," prompted the questioner. "Many of your colleagues spoke highly of the sylphs Marcus uses instead of soldiers. Very good, a few say they are."

Indelgar snorted. "Better than very good. They're excellent. We knew within hours in Marka everything going on hundreds of milas away."

"They do seem very impressive." The questioner smiled. "And they communicate by whistles that, ah, humans cannot hear."

"That pretty much sums it up."

"Why can we not hear them?"

"No idea," replied Indelgar. "But the sylphs can. Their information is second to none and a commander is kept informed right up until the moment he commits to battle." He forced a smile. "Are we getting some?"

"Perhaps," replied the questioner, before changing the subject. "Right, so after serving with Lance General Kestan, you ended up as second to Commandant Treylfor."

"Yes." Indelgar leaned forward for his alovak.

"What did you think of the Cadisterans, both men and their commander?"

Indelgar's green eyes flashed and he sipped his alovak before answering. "You expect me to talk about these men as if they are enemies. They are my friends!"

The questioner smiled indulgently. "Captain Indelgar," he said, as if addressing a recalcitrant child, "today's friend can become tomorrow's enemy in the blink of an eye. We do not seek to harm Cadister or any of your other so-called friends, but they might seek to harm us."

"Why?" Indelgar shrugged. "We are all part of the Markan Empire now."

Again, that condescending smile. "Perhaps we are. But it is better to be prepared. Now, the Cadisterans, please."

Indelgar shook his head, but acquiesced. "Independent minded but tough fighters. They first came to Marka with little experience, but showed themselves to be quick learners and very, very adaptable. They adopt new tactics very quickly, without forgetting the old. Adaptable and flexible, treat enemies with a healthy respect rather than contempt, and they are well led."

"But a small officer corps," pointed out the questioner.

"A highly efficient officer corps," countered Indelgar, before taking more alovak. "Recruited on merit and not birth. Many are former private soldiers. Their army relies more on experienced Sergeants than young, highborn officers."

"I seem to recall you are not from a poor family." The questioner's eyes betrayed inner laughter as he spoke.

"Only way I could become an officer here," retorted Indelgar. "Whatever you think of my wealth, at least my advancement since has been by merit."

The questioner inclined his head. "Granted. You are highly commended and His Majesty has spoken of you."

A frown furrowed Indelgar's brow. "This is the part I don't understand," he complained. "Who is His Majesty? Verdin refused to return home and says that his father's renunciation stands."

The questioner looked surprised. "Nazvasta Ulvic Vintner is His Majesty," he replied. "Or will be once the sylph in Marka steps aside. Times have changed. We cannot let Marcus Vintner take the throne and, if he does, we must remove him."

Indelgar gaped. It seemed that a war he believed to be over had instead only just begun. "There is something else I'd like to know," he said.

The questioner paused. "Ask," he said.

"What is your name?"

The questioner's condescending smile returned. "It is a requirement of our service that we do not share names with those we interrogate," he replied.

Indelgar leaned back. "So you can hide behind anonymity," he remarked. "Many would see that as cowardice." Siranva, but he hated this wordplay! Unlike his father, he had always avoided politics, considering it a dangerous profession. But it seemed that politics had now snared everybody from Sandester who had marched under Marcus.

"They are not my rules, Captain Indelgar," protested the questioner.

Indelgar leaned forward to drain his alovak. "It strikes me that the man who now wants us to put him on the Markan throne is frightened to trust us." He gave an offhand gesture with an arm. "Here we are, being interrogated almost as if we are criminals. And you can tell Naz-bloody-vasta I said that."

Again, that glint of humor in the questioner's eyes. "Safer for you if I did not," he replied. "Or you might learn for yourself exactly how we do deal with criminals."

Somehow, Indelgar failed to see the funny side of the quip.

***

Mikhan Edric Annada, lately Marshal of Marka and now restored to his previous position as Marshal of Sandester, clasped his hands behind his back and stared out of the window across the city.

Ranva's breath, but he had missed this view.

Despite proximity to the palace, his office looked towards the bone-white turrets of the South Gate, the most impressive entrance to any city he had ever seen. Sure, Marka had its massive and awe-inspiring pyramid, but its entry gates were nothing special.

Many in Sandester also knew it as the Pauper Gate, because of the old tradition of expelling beggars and ne'er-do-wells from the city through it. Not a tradition exercised today of course, in these humane and kindly times.

But seeing the gate reinforced the knowledge that he had come home.

"Two years, Paul," Mikhan said, still looking out the window. "Two years and it's gone in a flash."

Mikhan's companion in the room stirred as the marshal turned away from the window.

Field Captain Paul Tennan shrugged. "At least you are back now," he replied, dark eyes thoughtful. Married to Mikhan's oldest granddaughter, he suspected that his promotion to Field Captain was partly due to that fact. "Any more thoughts on who to promote General?"

Mikhan's blue eyes twinkled. "Think you are ready for it?"

"Me?" Paul gaped. "I'm much too young."

"And more use at your present rank." Mikhan laughed. "Age is immaterial, experience and skill are more important. I took overall command of the army before I reached forty. Only a couple of years older than you are now when promoted to General."

"Bloodier times," muttered Paul.

"And incompetent leaders," added Mikhan. He gestured out the window. "Marcus Vintner Elder managed to besiege the city for a year and we needed new tactics to break him. But break him we did, and the incompetents were cleared out."

"Or dead," added Paul. He did not add breaking that siege had sealed Mikhan's reputation as a poliorcetic.

"We nearly lost everything to Marcus Senior," continued Mikhan. Salin. I lost my beautiful daughter. Thirty years and the pain feels fresh every time I think of her. "Imagine Calcan gaining control over all the ships passing in to or out from the Bay of Plenty, owning both Horns of Ramte."

"I imagine those Vintners might have the throne by now," said Paul.

"Very likely. But we threw them out of Sandester and they've never been back. The younger Marcus doesn't have the same fire as his father. More diplomat and politician than warrior, but no less dangerous for that."

"You worry that he might replace Zenepha as Emperor?" asked Paul.

"He will replace Zenepha. And Nazvasta will rebel against him."

"And remove him from the throne?"

Mikhan's shoulders slumped. "That is the stated aim," he replied.

"But?"

Mikhan smiled again. "Very perceptive. Sure you're not ready for that generalship? Maybe I should offer it to Drecan, or Indelgar."

"Indelgar might be the wisest choice," said Paul, eagerly seizing a straw. "Not related to you and very experienced."

Mikhan waited.

"My question?" prompted Paul.

"I don't think Nazvasta will be able to take the Markan Throne without fighting unless he moves before Zenepha steps down. And he won't do that, because he offered his fealty. Marka's Senate stands behind the sylph, but enough of them support Marcus should Zenepha fall. Marcus is there, in place, and ready. He's been politicking hard for two years. The best we can hope for is some sort of continued independence for Sandester, reinforced with military victories."

"Some will see that as defeatism," said Paul. "So many are tired of war."

"I know." Mikhan nodded. "But the reality is that war is inevitable when politics fail. Trouble is, I believe that Nazvasta agrees with me, even if he dare not admit to it openly."

"What is it you want me to do?"

"Do?" Mikhan's smile widened. "You carry on as normal, but we must help Nazvasta in any way we can. Kana is pushing Nazvasta hard to pursue the claim. She believes that is his duty, especially since Verdin stands by his father's renunciation. But whether Nazvasta has the drive and determination to win through is the bit we don't know. The last thing we need, if we must offer our lives, is weak leadership."

"So there is still hope that we can win?" Paul's dark eyes showed renewed excitement.

"Of course we can win." Mikhan spread his arms. "There is always hope."

***

Three barrack blocks and a cookhouse surrounded the square. Men formed an inner square, watching the last two men fight with practice swords. They might learn something while witnessing the duel. Among the junior soldiers, these were the best swordsmen.

Using both hands on the practice sword, Egran danced. Swordplay and dancing were similar, though one of the two disciplines was a lot more deadly. His opponent boasted excellent skills, and a telltale line of red across Egran's side showed where a hit had been scored, and where a fresh bruise would soon swell.

Many of these men came from Egran's Re Taura, but the rest hailed from other lands. Even a smattering of Sandesterans, who had returned home from Re Taura and joined their own land's army.

Egran turned on his feet, feinted to one side, then whipped his flexible practice sword against the other side of his opponent's chest, kept on moving and slashed again across the man's back.

"Enough!" The Sergeant overseeing the session clapped his hands.

Both men stepped back and inclined their heads.

Sergeant Tresker, Blade Trainer for Sandester's army, came forward.

"An excellent display, from both of you."

Both men inclined their heads again, but remained silent.

"Especially you, Egran. I feel a promotion might come your way very quickly."

"Yes Sergeant, thank you Sergeant." By Ranva, but Egran hated this submission. He hoped that promotion would come quickly; he disliked starting again in a new army.

"Right, you shower!" called Tresker. "Dismissed. You've got thirty minutes to get cleaned up for your evening meal."

Inside, at the row of wash basins, Egran found himself beside another Re Tauran with the look of a grizzled veteran.

"Wasn't you a red-tabber?" asked the other man, voice little more than a growl.

"That was then," replied Egran. "Just an ordinary soldier now."

A quick grin and flash of strong teeth. "World turns in funny ways," grunted the other man. "Thought you lot would've been looked after."

Egran snorted. "Once the old mametain was back in charge, he had no need for us," he replied. "He doesn't trust us; we were Nijen's men."

"Not much left of Castle Beren, so I hear," chuckled the other man.

"All the mametain's quarters are gone," said Egran. "But the castle is still garrisoned, if no longer by us."

The other man rinsed soap off his face and dried himself. He buttoned up his shirt and stuck his hand out.

"Name's Kullin," he said. "Used to be a Lieutenant. Like I said, world turns in funny ways. Yesterday I used the arserags, today I'm the arserag."

"I'm Egran." He shook the other's hand. "Like you said, the world turns in funny ways, but I reckon some of us can make something of what we've got now."

Kullin chuckled. "Like your attitude," he said. "We can make this our army, if we try."

The two men sat together for their evening meal.

"So what did happen at Castle Beren?" asked Kullin, while chewing on something that might even have been meat. "At the end I mean. It didn't just fall down."

Egran considered his words carefully. "Nobody is really sure. Some reckon a secret weapon, planted by spies. Others say sorcerers at work."

Kullin took another bite. "What do you reckon?"

Egran's smile looked more like a rictus. Nobody would believe the truth. He wasn't sure he believed it. "Spies," he said. "That's my favorite." Nearly the truth. He didn't dare add those spies were sylphs.

Kullin's gray eyes regarded his companion neutrally. "Spies with a secret weapon?"

"Yes."

"There's talk here about a secret weapon," said Kullin. "Reckon these were the ones who tried it on Castle Beren first?"

Egran shrugged. "So long as they pay us, I don't really care."

Kullin smiled. "Some of those who fought alongside Marka say there's a weapon that rips men to shreds."

Egran stared. "That sounds like it," he said, pleased for the diversion.

One of the cooks stuck his head into the dining hall, saving Egran from further questions. "If anyone wants more, he'd best come through now."

***

Kern Ranja Tulhern blinked myopically at Marshal Mikhan and gestured towards some black powder.

"I've managed to duplicate your sample, Marshal," he said, voice surprisingly deep for such an inoffensive looking man. "A question of getting the charcoal crushed finely enough and in correct proportion with the other ingredients."

"Excellent." Mikhan smiled. He recognized Marka's advantage as long as they held the monopoly for producing Aylos Jalan's firepowder. "It is now only a question of allocating resources for industrial manufacture. How long before you might arrange a demonstration?"

"Demonstration. Um. Yes. Well, er..." Kern blinked again. "Maybe in an hour?"

Mikhan laughed. "I feared you were about to say week after next," he replied. "It will take me a day or two to gather the right people. When I have, I'll let you know."

Kern smiled. "More resources always sound good, Marshal."

"I'm sure they do." Mikhan's deepset blue eyes glittered. "Just don't let me down."

"Of course not, Marshal." The blinks came faster now and Kern drywashed his hands. "You can rely on me. That you can."

Mikhan's smile warmed. "So glad to hear it," he murmured. He hoped the small man never saw his relief. Armies fighting without firepowder would be severely disadvantaged in future.

A modern army needed another secret weapon, and that was Mikhan's next destination.

***

Lieutenant Brennin, commander of the scout training school, dashed from his office and buckled his sword in place. He dismissed the messenger who brought warning of Marshal Mikhan's imminent visit.

Brennin hated unannounced visits and regarded them as rude, or else fishing to look for replacements. Thankfully, Mikhan had no entourage surrounding him.

"Sorry for descending like this," apologized Mikhan. "But I'm curious to see how you're getting on."

Brennin nodded to accept the apology. Such things from senior officers were as rare as gold nuggets. "Pretty well, Sir. We're getting more suitable sylphs sent to us every day. Now we've got the screening right."

"Screening?" echoed Mikhan.

"For fear of open spaces," replied Brennin, certain the Marshal already knew the answer. "We screen the candidates before they arrive, it helps keep the program more secret."

Mikhan nodded. "That's a good idea," he said. "Can we go through?"

"Of course, Sir."

Brennin led Mikhan to a large area, full of sylphs. Most exercised, some practiced self-defense techniques copied from Marcus's army, others cleaned equipment. All wore the green, gray and brown paint that acted as camouflage.

"I see there's no black in the paint," said Mikhan.

"Experimenting with the color scheme, we realized early on there's no need for it."

"Marcus's scouts wear it. Well, most of the younger ones anyway."

"It does no harm," replied Brennin carefully, "but adds nothing. So there's no point in adding it to the camouflage. Come this way Sir, and you can see for yourself."

Mikhan followed Brennin through to another area, even larger than the first. A mix of grass, scrub and trees, two Sergeants stood beside a wall, one with a spyglass.

"You relax Sergeant Eltren, the Marshal and me will go out there."

The Sergeant without the spyglass grinned and leaned back. "Yessir!"

Mikhan looked at the other man with interest.

Brennin gestured across the area. "How many, Sergeant?"

"Twelve, Sir," replied Eltren.

Mikhan looked out at the apparently deserted area.

"Another test, Sir," said Brennin. "We do this once the lads are a few weeks into their training. If they fail, they are back-classed and choca rations are cut."

"Fail what?"

"We walk out there, and we find them. We'll find them all right, but that's not the test. I'll put my hand on the head or shoulder and if Sergeant Pourn –" Brennin nodded towards the Sergeant with the spyglass "– can see any part of them, he's failed."

Mikhan smiled and nodded in approval. "This I like, Lieutenant Brennin."

The commandant smiled back. "I thought you might, Sir. Shall we see who we can find? Twelve of 'em are out there somewhere."

Mikhan followed Brennin as he walked, crisscrossing the ground. The commandant was right about the scouts being easy enough to find. Despite appearances, sylphs could not make themselves invisible, but stillness counted for a lot. And the paint helped them blend into the background.

In moments, they came across the first scout. They only spotted him at all because his earpoints twitched as he began to fear getting trodden on. Brennin crouched beside the scout and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"If Pourn raises his arm, he can see the scout," said Brennin.

Mikhan watched the man with the spyglass. It seemed the Sergeant pointed it directly at him. Eventually, Pourn lowered the spyglass and shook his head.

A slightly muted scent of sinabra reached Mikhan's nostrils, something he never remembered smelling from Marcus Vintner's scouts. How did they mask their sinabra?

"A pass," said Brennin. "All right, lad, you can go and join the Sergeants now."

A muffled response that might even have been the correct one, before the sylph stood and trotted across the ground to crouch beside Eltren. Mikhan thought he saw the Sergeant congratulate the successful scout.

"The Calcan scouts mask their sinabra," said Mikhan. "We can still smell the scouts here."

Brennin nodded. "We're working on that one, Sir. Hopefully get a result soon."

"I hope so," replied Mikhan, "because I'm already impressed."

He was more than impressed. Firepowder and sylph scouts. Sandester was catching up with her enemies.

Marshal Mikhan smiled. "Keep going as you are," he said. He gestured across the training field. "They don't fight, but that might prove decisive in any battle."

"Yes, Sir," replied Brennin. "We realized that very early on in the training. And these sylphs are second to none."

***
Chapter 6

To Marry Again Or Not?

Elsin Menra Handra tapped her long fingernails on the side of the alovak mug. As a widow – and a junior widow at that – she faced something of a problem. Moments later, Elsin's infertile sylph stepped forward and picked up the alovak can, refilling her mistress' mug without a word.

"Thank you Millan," she said.

The sylph flushed a brighter blue, bobbed her head and stepped back again.

Elsin hoped the creature never learned she'd been named after a favorite doll from her own childhood. Impressed by the service sylphs gave in Marka, she had acquired Millan the previous winter.

The infertile's wound had not yet healed, the pain of her mother's rejection still strong. Elsin knew infertile sylphs never fully recovered from such wounds of the mind. Rejection always made a young infertile yearn for replacement parents, and if sylphs would not look after her, then humans would do. Now she had stopped crying every night for her own mother, Millan had opened herself to bonding.

A properly bonded sylph was a joy; Elsin had witnessed so many who seemed almost able to read their owner's mind. Obedience, loyalty and eagerness to please were hallmarks of a sylph happy in her work.

Willing to please and still very young, Millan showed keen intelligence as she learned the new tasks expected of her. Infectious eagerness made up for her rare mistakes, and she never repeated those. Elsin marveled at her sylph's progress and never needed to raise her voice.

She pushed the sylph from her thoughts. Other considerations worried her more.

Both Elsin's parents were wealthy merchants, or heirs to their respective families' business. Their marriage had proved an astute match and, though her older brother would ultimately inherit her father's trading empire, Elsin would get her mother's successful merchant caravans.

When Elsin married Branad, then claimant to the still vacant Markan Throne, he had seemed a good catch. Being the junior wife meant she had no pressure to produce heirs to the throne, but association with the Vintners, and hence power, increased her chances of marrying her daughters to the most powerful merchant houses in Sandester and beyond. The possibilities thrilled her.

Then, disaster.

Defeated in battle, Branad had renounced the claim for himself and his descendants in favor of Marcus, a distant cousin. This meant her daughters could never inherit the claim, or the throne if that claim was ever successful, and also neatly severed links to the Vintners for her daughters and their descendants.

Elsin must wed again, and marry someone within the Vintner family, so her daughters could achieve the best possible connections through marriage to Sandester's merchant class.

Kana, Branad's first wife, always seemed disappointed that her son Verdin, honorably enough, had no interest in pursuing his claim to the Markan Throne. Both wives had been present when Branad renounced his claim, but Kana still needed to accept that. Even though she had transferred her support and encouragement to Branad's younger brother, technically not among Branad's descendants, she still had no plans to marry Nazvasta in the hope she might be crowned with him.

An error Elsin intended to exploit for her advantage.

Nazvasta had only taken one wife and publicly stated he had no intention of marrying another. Though rare for a man of his status to have only one wife, Kana respected the man's obvious commitment to a woman he clearly loved.

So naive.

Elsin knew any marriage to Nazvasta would be loveless from his part. And certainly resented bitterly by Heylena. Marriages in her class had nothing at all to do with love, but were about business, trade and extending influence.

Such marriages always came with a price attached, and Elsin was willing to pay.

Such a marriage would gain influence with the merchants and, in addition, she could persuade Heylena where her daughters might find suitable matches. A few generations, and Branad's renunciation would be forgotten. Who knew what might happen then?

Elsin smiled. She should not get ahead of herself. First, she must let Nazvasta pursue and win his claim to the Markan Throne.

And she had another, more risky, alternative.

Branad's son Verdin Vintner was not related to her and he might prove an equally good alternative. She had only six years seniority; she had heard of marriages with greater age gaps. If Nazvasta proved resistant, then perhaps Elsin could marry Verdin instead.

While that might cause raised eyebrows, she knew Verdin possessed many gifts. Not among the Gifted of course, but a talented young man with ideas how to drive Marka forward.

Any child from such a union would be barred from the throne – Branad's renunciation still stood – but he could build on Verdin's legacy. And Elsin would stand alongside him. Again, a few generations and who knew what might happen? A merchant king, perhaps?

Verdin might be the better alternative; after all, he happened to be the rightful heir to Sandester – Branad's renunciation had never applied to the lands he already ruled – and if Nazvasta's claim failed, Sandester might remain independent of any new empire.

An interesting problem. Who to go for? At least Nazvasta lived right here, in Sandester.

Her attention snapped back to Millan as the infertile opened the alovak can to peer inside.

Elsin smiled. "I've had enough alovak for the moment, thank you," she said. "Why don't you go to the kitchens and see if you can find something for us both to eat?"

"Se bata," replied Millan, dropping into a tiny curtsey, all that Elsin required.

She smiled to herself again as she watched her sylph scamper away, though she paused to close the door carefully.

Elsin's expression grew more pensive. She had always resented being treated as a junior. Younger child in her family, even if one a bit more indulged than her brother, then junior wife to Kana. Of course Branad had married Kana first, and of course she had produced a son, but Elsin knew possessing beauty did not equate to an addled brain.

Indeed, if building a loyal following in Marka been left to her, instead of Kana... Well, she believed that they, and not Zandra, would now hold sway over most of the wives who mattered in that city. But no, Kana instead tried to bully and patronize the city's richest and finest.

Elsin hoped Nazvasta could salvage something from the mess.

***

"Hello, little sister."

Millan squeaked, earpoints jerking upright in surprise, and spun on her heel. Seeing who had spoken to her, those earpoints lay back in her hair and she lowered her eyes.

The kitchens were warm and she stood to one side of the table, waiting for one of the cooks to bring her the food anya had requested. She had waited a little longer than expected, but the kitchens were busy and the small sylph did not think anyone deliberately snubbed her.

The speaker, despite cat-slit pupils and pointed ears, was no sylph, but a gwerin. Long black hair complemented skin so pale it looked unnatural, and her black pupils stood out against the pale brown of her eyes. She might have been born to sylph parents, but the human part of her more obviously stood out.

Fareen intimidated Millan. The infertile had not yet seen her fifth summer, but the gwerin emanated the wisdom that only came with great age. Fareen must be much older than Millan could even imagine. Generations of sylphs – and humans too, for that matter – were born, lived and died, while Fareen lived on. And on.

Age, itself deserving of respect, mixed with wisdom and intelligence. Both shone in those beautiful eyes. Millan felt like a scurrying mouse to Fareen's magnificent great eagle. Apt, thought the youngster, for something predatory lurked in the gwerin's eyes even as she smiled.

"Here to collect your mistress's meal?" continued Fareen, perhaps unaware how her presence troubled the youngster.

Eyes wide, Millan nodded. Her earpoints still lay back in her hair.

Fareen smiled. "Trust you are settling in well? Elsin looking after you properly?"

Another nod.

Fareen put a forefinger under the infertile's chin and tilted her head up so she looked directly into her eyes. She smiled. "No need to fear me little one, I will not hurt you."

Millan tried and failed to relax. "I am not frightened," she replied, but her thumping heart gave lie to her words. She wanted to get anya's meal and go.

"Is your mistress pleased to be home? Has she spoken much of what happened in Marka?"

Millan blinked. "She is cross with Kana-ya," she replied.

"Why is that, little sister?"

"Anya says that she wasted a good chance in Marka."

"I expect Elsin talks with you a lot. Does she speak of other things too?"

Millan nodded as her earpoints momentarily jerked upright in surprise. The familiar use of anya's name shocked her. No matter how valuable the gwerin's advice, and despite her great age and wisdom, Fareen was still property. She ought not speak of the free in such a way.

Fareen smiled. "I expect she also thinks you forget what you have heard."

Millan gave the other a sylph's slow blink.

"Ah! Here is the food you ordered. Let me help you take it up." Fareen smiled. "What else does your mistress talk about?"

***

Two soldiers outside the door guarded the small room against eavesdroppers. Within, four men sat around the polished table, an alovak can placed at its exact center. Each man present held a mug of the steaming black liquid.

Paintings of summer pastures lined the windowless walls, for this north-facing room backed into the hill. But the four men ignored the bright splashes of color on the otherwise drab stonework. They had not come here to admire art.

Fareen had decided to give this meeting a miss, pleasing Nazvasta. Some strange beliefs concerning gwerins were common, and few humans spoke freely around Fareen. Though Nazvasta doubted that his gwerin would intimidate these men, he wanted them to express their opinions openly.

"Thank you for coming, gentlemen," he began, opening the meeting. "I think we all know each other?"

Paul Tennan and Indelgar nodded, though Mikhan remained impassive.

"As you know, we believe that the time when Emperor Zenepha will stand aside is almost upon us. It seems likely that Marcus Vintner will replace him."

Indelgar stirred. From feelings of patriotism, or divided loyalties? Nazvasta continued.

"When this happens, I intend to raise the dragon's head banner and lay my own claim to the throne."

"Branad renounced the claim," interrupted Indelgar. "Before Marka's Senate."

"We know," said Mikhan. "I was there."

Nazvasta wore a small smile as he waited. So, divided loyalties. This man needed to be bought; his questioner had been right. "Branad renounced his claim for himself and his descendants," he pointed out. "I am Branad's brother, not a descendant."

Indelgar stared and his green eyes flashed. "By following the letter and not the spirit of his renunciation. Raising the dragon's head banner will lead to war!"

"Yes." Nazvasta's blue eyes were calm. "I expect it will."

Indelgar sat back, but held his tongue.

"We will not be marching to Marka, however." Nazvasta smiled. "Hingast made that mistake. But instead stay here and let Marcus come to us, or ignore us."

Mikhan and Paul nodded in unison.

"The question is, how might he attack?" Nazvasta gestured. "Thanks to Indelgar, we know Marcus's generals are capable of some surprising tactics."

Indelgar looked embarrassed.

"I suspect a direct assault from Marcus is unlikely," said Mikhan. "More a question of supply and logistics than capability. As his father learned when he, ah, visited." A stab of pain. Salin. His generalship had come at a high cost.

Indelgar nodded agreement and looked more hopeful.

"A defensive strategy is usually best until your enemy shows his hand." Paul Tennan spoke quietly, dark eyes thoughtful. "In Marcus's place, I would seize the northern Horn and simultaneously land north of Vertia. That would draw us away from Sandester."

"Northern Etrea and the southern Horn used to belong to us," pointed out Nazvasta. "Marcus's father grabbed both Horns before besieging Sandester. We only retrieved one Horn and have had to share the Bay of Plenty trade ever since. Will greed tempt Marcus to seize the northern Horn again?"

"It's some distance from Maturia to Sandester," said Mikhan. "Once all the Prefectures are properly garrisoned, he faces an awkward journey. His aim will be to take all of Sandester by squashing your claim and installing a ruler more... amenable to his rule."

"And Marcus has not built up his navy," pointed out Indelgar. "It rarely leaves the Bay of Plenty."

"Might he acquire Re Tauran ships?" asked Nazvasta.

Mikhan laughed. "We've got their army, but I suspect Marcus is more interested in gaining the throne than ships."

"Not a very likely route," admitted Paul, "but what about Vertia?"

"Again, supply problems, and crossing Prefectures hostile to him," countered Mikhan.

"And if he lands north of Vertia?" pressed Paul. "And crosses the tundra?"

"Back to supply problems," said Mikhan. "It's possible though, and certainly more likely than seizing the Horn."

"Unless he makes a grab for the Horn to tempt us into attacking him," added Nazvasta. "Marcus knows gaining control of all the trade in the Bay of Plenty will hurt us in our pocket, and the only way we could again share in its wealth would be through submission to his rule."

Mikhan nodded. The marshal knew war; he did not necessarily understand economics and commerce.

"You have displayed unorthodoxy in the past," Nazvasta said to Indelgar. "How would you mount an assault on Sandester? How would you get here?"

"I would ride north from Marka, then north-east," replied Indelgar. "The land is fertile for a good way, with plenty of farms to resupply my victuals. Once north of Sandester, I'd turn south. However, laying siege in my opinion would be foolish and only turn people against me."

"As Marcus Senior discovered," murmured Nazvasta.

Indelgar nodded. "Exactly. I would infiltrate city and palace with one aim."

Nazvasta raised an eyebrow.

Indelgar smiled. "To capture the claimant and force a renunciation from him."

"And if I refused?"

Indelgar blushed. "These are ruthless times; I doubt Marcus Vintner would order the execution of your family, but I fear he would certainly take them hostage. And, ah, use them during any negotiations."

Nazvasta looked at Mikhan. "I think we have found our generals, Marshal."

Indelgar and Paul exchanged a surprised look.

Mikhan spoke. "Paul, you will command the garrisons in Maturia, in case your scenario comes to pass. With the rank of General, of course."

Paul could not hide his delighted smile.

"My son will be under your command, but he will look after the garrisons in Vertia," continued Mikhan.

"And you," said Nazvasta, smiling at Indelgar, "shall have the task of ensuring my family does not fall into Marcus's hands. You will take an army north and secure our northern flank."

"As a Captain?" asked Indelgar.

"No," said Mikhan. "As a General."

"Two small points before I accept," said Indelgar.

The other three stared at him in surprise.

"Go on." Nazvasta's voice hinted at thinning patience.

"Firepowder and sylph scouts," said Indelgar.

Mikhan laughed. "Told you he was the right one," he told Nazvasta. "General Indelgar, we have firepowder and, while not quite as well trained as the Calcan mob, we also have sylph scouts."

"We do?" Nazvasta's eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. "I did not authorize setting up any school!"

"Apologies," said Mikhan, "but Fareen decided we needed a scout school here."

Nazvasta gave a disapproving sniff. "Under the circumstances, I will forgive this disobedience."

Indelgar sat back, clasped his hands in front of him and smiled. "Good," he said. "Without sylph scouts, we are doomed."

***

Fareen slipped silently into the study in the former observatory, but Nazvasta looked up anyway. They were alone, for the two servants who cleaned here had long since returned to the palace.

"How did your war meeting go?" asked the gwerin.

Nazvasta smiled. "My military people assure me we can defend Sandester and her Prefectures, but advise me that a successful assault against Marka is unlikely. We must do this Verdin's way. What have you been up to?"

Fareen pursed her lips. "A productive morning talking to Elsin's sylph. You have an ally in Elsin, if a dangerous one."

Nazvasta raised an eyebrow.

The gwerin was used to unspoken communication. "Elsin believes Kana threw away the opportunity to get the Markan guilds on our side. She does not believe we can make good on that mistake."

"Well that's something. I'm growing tired of Kana banging on about the claim she wants me to make."

"You should make it," said Fareen. "And you received wise counsel to not press it militarily. Maintain a dignified independence for Sandester, an armed neutrality if you will, and allow Verdin to rebuild the empire for Marcus. Point to his successes whenever there is one to report."

"Why is Elsin so dangerous?" asked Nazvasta quietly.

"She is ambitious," replied Fareen. "She wants the best for her daughters, particularly in finding husbands for them, and is aware that as a widow, she now stands on the periphery of events here."

"Her daughters are barely five years old," retorted Nazvasta. "I'm sure we can find some princelings to –"

"I think she has merchant families in mind," interrupted Fareen. "To build her own influence. She wants you to press your claim, because she understands the advantages to commerce when the empire is united."

Nazvasta sighed. "Another one prodding me in a certain direction."

Fareen smiled. "But prodding rather more gently than the other widow. Kana tries to bludgeon you into it, Elsin wants to be more... subtle than that."

"Oh?" Again, Nazvasta raised an eyebrow. "She's hardly spoken two words to me since she returned from Marka."

"She wants to marry you." Fareen's pale brown eyes stared into Nazvasta's blue.

"Not a chance," growled Nazvasta. "I'm happy with Heylena. Besides, it's bad luck to marry your brother's widow."

"Superstitious nonsense," retorted Fareen. "If she doesn't marry you, she's thinking of marrying Verdin."

"What?" Nazvasta raised both eyebrows this time. "Is the woman mad?"

"Very clever, I would say," replied Fareen. "Do you want me to recruit, ah, Millan?"

"Sounds to me like you already have," said Nazvasta. "But let's stay with Elsin. She can't marry Verdin!"

"Actually, yes she can," said Fareen. "They're not related in any way, except that Verdin's father married her first."

Nazvasta nodded. "Certainly not desirable though."

"True, people will talk." Fareen nodded. "And the thought of those two minds working together... Verdin and Elsin, gaining power and influence, one due to inherit all of Sandester's lands."

"What?"

Fareen blinked. "Branad's renunciation concerns the claim to the Markan Throne," she pointed out. "Verdin remains Branad's rightful heir here. If Sandester keeps her independence, Verdin is the legal ruler."

Nazvasta sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Are you serious?"

"Very." Fareen smiled. "And I am certain that Elsin has already worked that one out for herself."

"This has turned into a mess." Nazvasta shook his head.

"All the more reason to press your claim to the throne," replied Fareen. "It doesn't matter then, because Sandester will be absorbed into the new empire."

"What do you feel I should do about Elsin?" Nazvasta blinked.

"Marry her," said Fareen immediately. "For political purposes, of course."

"You're asking me to marry a viper!"

"You don't have to take her to your bed," added Fareen quickly. "Better she marries you than Verdin. The Father only knows what might happen as a result of that union."

Nazvasta shook his head and laughed. It sounded tired. "Recruit her sylph, and try to recruit Elsin. String her along. We can keep her hopes up for a year or so where. With luck, I'll have the throne before she realizes I've got no intention of marrying her. We can find powerful merchant families to marry her daughters into. By then, she might already be a powerful merchant in her own right. She'll have to make do with that."

Fareen inclined her head. "Very probably a wise course of action," she said, in tones of deep satisfaction.

***

Now firm friends, Kullin and Egran helped ready horses. Both had been assigned to the same light cavalry regiment. They were yet to be issued with their own horse, but both had armor and sword, a lance and leather clothes. A bedroll with a scrap of canvas to keep the weather off their faces when asleep. Eating utensils and a wooden bowl. Boots and polish. A set of brushes and small metal tools for horse maintenance. A saddlebag to keep it all in.

"Reckon we're on the move somewhere?" asked Kullin, with a wink. "Be good to see some fighting again."

Egran, who had hoped for a few more nights with his willing ladyfriend, nodded. "And look what they've given us as a General," he whispered. "Does he shave yet?"

Kullin chuckled. "Be finding out soon enough how good or otherwise he is. But for now, we stick with him, in case there's any field promotions coming our way. Make the most of every opportunity."

Amid the preparations, both men realized something big must be planned. Two light cavalry regiments, one of armored cavalry, thousands of infantrymen. Carts, horses, farriers, laundresses, physicians and their attendants, carpenters, smiths, cooks; all assembling just outside the city.

Kullin nudged Egran. "What're they for then?"

Egran looked to where several sylphs, clearly not officers' servants, clustered around a man in drab clothing. There were fifteen, painted gray, green and brown, and who looked to be almost naked.

"Look like undressed scouts to me," said Egran. "These mainlanders will never cease to amaze. I'm more interested in what might be in those wagons."

Kullin turned to look at three wagons, which were locked and under guard. "The cash I reckon," he answered. "If it gets too hot here, we can break in and set ourselves up for life."

"The gold's in that one," said Egran, pointing another way. "Because that's the one with the administrators clustered around it."

Kullin glanced across. "You're right." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Maybe it's the secret weapon we talked about."

"My thinking too," agreed Egran. His attention returned to the painted sylphs, who listened to the human in drab clothes attentively, but not submissively. Something about their stance looked oddly familiar, and they spoke with the human as equals, rather than as slaves to their master. Egran preferred sylphs being at least quiet, and better yet cringing.

He had seen this sort of behavior from sylphs before, but where?

Kullin inspected his lance, clearly unused to the weapon. He twirled it around and looked along the shaft to the point.

"So we'll be fighting Markans and Calcans," he said.

"They're supposed to be the same thing now," pointed out Egran.

Kullin sniffed. "So are we. Well, Sandesterans are anyways."

Egran shrugged.

"Can tell you weren't an officer," laughed Kullin. "If we all follow this Emperor Zenepha, then why are we getting ready to fight Markans? Why is Sandester so happy to welcome us into their ranks, when Marka isn't?"

"Maybe Marka is," retorted Egran. "We only came here because it's nearest. Maybe other Re Taurans went there and joined their army."

Kullin grinned again. "So we might fight our own countrymen. Serves 'em right for choosing wrong then. So long as they keep paying us."

"Right." Egran nodded. "So long as they keep paying us. And feeding us." He glanced again at the sylph scouts and the way they held themselves, and recognition dawned.

"I know who you remind me of," he muttered. "Neptarik."

***
Chapter 7

Marka

The two boys were sent to the darkened storage room to polish the sword. They carried candle lanterns and whispered ghost stories to each other, pretending they were too big and old to fear the dark. Being boys, they could hardly resist practicing with the sword, one pretending to attack the other when they finished polishing. When the Imperial Armorer arrived to give the weapon its monthly inspection, he sent the boys on their way, with an empty threat of a cuffing for disrespecting the ancient sword ringing in their ears.

The sword would not have minded being used for its intended purpose once again.

If it had awareness, which of course it did not, the sword would want to taste sweet, fresh blood, as in its distant youth. To be used as a weapon of war, taking lives in its owner's service.

But now, it served as nothing more than a symbol. Of government and administration no less, but still only representing some abstract ideal which had nothing to do with war.

Made from plain steel, its existence began in one of the many forges in Magiere. It could tell a tale of more than seventeen hundred years; it had seen empires rise and empires fall. It had seen yet more lands destroyed and ravaged, or annexed to stronger nations. It knew the euphoria of victory and the bitter taste of defeat.

Lettering etched into the blade had been worn to illegibility centuries ago, and the copper inlaid to enhance the etching gone long before that. The sword would miss the copper; fresh blood had the metallic taste of copper.

Still the sword continued its existence, preserved only because of its illustrious owner, the man who founded the first successful empire and began the long task of reintroducing civilization to a continent.

Whenever one of the man's descendants died, out came the sword, laid across the new Emperor's lap to serve as a symbol and reminder of what awaited whenever humanity abandoned order for chaos.

The sword had seen it all. Hope, success, victory, failure, loss and defeat. It had seen battles, it had seen hopes dashed. Wherever the Founding Mark had gone, the sword went too, and was used, perhaps too well used, to steal lives and secure victory.

And now, as the Imperial Armorer completed his monthly inspection, the sword was again returned to darkness. It had seen greatness pass and, if it had awareness, which of course it did not, would see greatness return.

But for now, alone in the dark, the Markan Sword waited.

***

Zenepha stared out of the window across rooftops towards the huge black pyramid that dominated the countryside and dwarfed the city built alongside it. Despite his position of power, he felt troubled.

The Eldovans' siege of Marka had been broken and the enemy forced to return home. The threat from Re Taura had abated, with the old mametain restored, the usurper dead and his army, if not disbanded, at least greatly reduced in size.

Lands bent knee to his rule, submitting once again to Marka's suzerainty, if not her direct authority. The shadow riders had returned from their long self-imposed exile and reaffirmed their vows; two gwerins who remembered the last Markan Empire had returned home and accepted their collars, with a third almost two years old and already beginning her schooling.

But worries furrowed Zenepha's brow. Despite all his success, he still felt like a pretender, as if living a lie. A sylph, sold as a chattel to Marka's Supreme Councilor... His earpoints twitched. No collar had graced his neck for almost two years and he still missed it. No slave could be an Emperor, even a sylph Emperor, a caretaker before the genuine ruler stepped forward to take his throne. A human ruler.

He failed to convince himself and squeezed his silver-gray eyes shut. As his previous owner had pointed out to the Senate on the day of his manumission, nobody really knew whether Zenepha had been born into slavery or not.

But surely all sylphs were born as property, the cost of their bargain with humanity, security in exchange for service, an alliance with the more aggressive species, instead of competition and enmity. Then wild sylphs had showed up and given lie to his belief.

Not even he knew his early history. All that remained from his early days, from before, was a vague memory of a gentle touch and a strange tattoo of many black lines that permanently marked the inside of his left biceps. He wanted to believe the touch had come from his mother.

He could not even remember her face.

He felt uncharacteristic anger rise as he considered his stolen memories. Nobody knew the how or why, but he wanted them back more than anything else. He needed answers that he believed to be his right. Did he have a family who missed him? Did his mother still live? Zenepha ached for knowledge to plug the gaps in his mind.

As Emperor, he wanted to command the return of his memories. Still unable to believe it, he whispered the mantra.

"By Siranva's Wrath: Emperor of Marka, Dominator of the World, Guardian of the Key, Commander of the Shadow Riders, Lord Protector of Gwerins; His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Zenepha."

Opening his eyes, he blinked a couple of times and felt no different. He still lived the lie.

Oh, he understood what had happened and even admired his former owner's cunning. There were many claimants to the throne, but only the two with the strongest claims had been invited to Marka. They met, they fought, and one captured the other. A clear choice.

Except that someone else decided the defeated claimant was now an encumbrance and murdered him, triggering events that led to claims being suspended and an unwilling sylph thrust onto the throne of the most powerful land in the known world.

Trickery had been involved of course, not least of all to himself. His old life had been quite comfortable, with a good owner and a loving wife, but he knew he could never return to that now. Come what may, that old and familiar life existed only in the past.

He missed it.

"I am a sylph," he muttered, as if to remind himself.

That humans had allowed his coronation still amazed him. Had his previous owner planned to make Marka a laughing stock?

But if anybody had ever laughed, it happened quietly and in private.

Had he really wanted to be removed from this unwelcome position, Zenepha knew he should have behaved very differently. But no, he'd played along and trapped himself.

His values and loyalties transferred from his owner to his country. He served Marka with the same diligence as he had Olista. He no longer belonged to one man, but to an entire nation and he made it his duty to serve them.

Then the siege cemented his position.

He had been nothing more than a figurehead. Yet people cheered him in the streets afterwards, soldiers cheered whenever he came close. Everybody pretended that they couldn't see blue skin, or silver hair, or earpoints, or anything else that marked him out as being non-human.

They pretended they had a real human as Emperor.

Which they did not, of course.

Sylphs regarded him with awe. They had elevated him to something more than he deserved, treating him almost as a god and all but worshiping the ground he walked on. Wild sylphs, freed by Marcus Vintner, held him up as an example of what sylphs could achieve without human ownership. Civilized sylphs muttered that he was an exception, yet argued among themselves whether or not they should continue wearing collars.

Both groups of sylphs believed he stood with them.

But he did not. The simple truth was that he stood completely, utterly alone.

Despite what people believed, despite what they wanted, it had begun to unravel last year.

His staunchest supporter, Marshal Mikhan, had advised him to guard against Re Taura. Marcus's General had advised him to concentrate on the Eldovans. Zenepha had taken Mikhan's advice which, even if not precisely wrong, had failed to best serve Marka's interests, and for the reasons Kelanus had so eloquently pointed out.

Everybody now knew that Re Taura really had planned to invade, but Zenepha understood that island country could never occupy a continent, could never force its way to a landlocked city, take it and, most importantly, hold it.

Those responsible for siting Marka had chosen their ground well.

Until the winter, he had hoped that the senior people from Sandester, from Branad Vintner's lands, actively supported him because they believed his rule to be for the best. They had ultimately shown themselves self-serving. Recalled to Sandester, all bar Branad's son Verdin, who had proved himself very loyal.

Trouble would come from that province, even if Zenepha had been assured nothing would happen while he held the throne.

That left Marcus Vintner in Marka. Despite his name, Marcus was barely related to the Sandesteran Vintners, a cousin so many times removed that nobody could say they were even the same family.

Marcus had proved loyal, up to a point, but his hunger for the throne had not lessened one whit. His wife Zandra had most of the guilds in her apron and Zenepha knew husband and wife continued to campaign for their accession. He had used the Sandester Vintners as a counterweight, but now they had left for home, he stood alone against determined opponents. He realized that the Calcan Vintners waited for him to slip, with no intention of catching him when it happened.

And they were right.

Sold to Marka's citizens as a successful foray instead of a lucky break, the Re Taura business had proved a serious blunder. The Calcan Vintners had carried the day there.

Marcus Vintner's people (though not the man himself, who had cannily refused to commit one way or the other) had warned Zenepha that the Eldovans were the biggest threat. Marcus Vintner's people who had defeated and put the Eldovans to flight. And Marcus Vintner's people who had now gone to Eldova to finish the job.

The people might still look to Zenepha because he was the Emperor, but High Councilors and Senators alike realized Marcus Vintner and his contacts decided almost everything now.

Zenepha gave a sylph's slow blink as he stared out of the window.

Only a question of time before Marcus replaced him. Except that Marcus Vintner remained unpopular with the Senate. Strange to think that Senators, who had ridiculed the notion of a sylph Emperor, were now his only counter against Marcus.

"Good morning, Majesty."

Zenepha turned on his heel and only just managed to stop himself from inclining his head. The creature stood before him was far older and infinitely wiser than he could ever hope for.

"Good morning, Samrita," he replied.

Most people and a few sylphs thought Samrita a human at first glance, until they saw her earpoints and the cat-slit pupils of her hazel eyes. Both things showed a sylph connection, though there similarities ended. Zenepha would never understand how sylphs could produce gwerins, throwbacks to some human inheritance everybody had forgotten about.

Or did not want to think about.

Gwerins were also highly intelligent and valued as advisors. He had two.

The second of those gwerins slipped shyly into the room behind Samrita.

Silmarila was not shy, but she deferred instinctively to Samrita, something to do with the older gwerin being more experienced. Samrita had served Emperor Kylist, great-great-grandfather to Emperor Rono. And Rono was centuries dead, buried in the ashes of the second Markan Empire.

Both gwerins curtsied together. It would be the only one he received from them today. He might get called "Majesty" a few times more though. For some reason, the gwerins didn't see him as a sylph, either.

"Nata should be here soon with sweetbread and fresh water," he promised.

Samrita laughed. "We will have plenty to eat, I also sent Nynra to bring the same."

Zenepha smiled. "Let us sit," he suggested.

Their conversation stayed light. Weather, crops, the timber harvest. Small talk, while waiting for their refreshments.

Nata, perhaps thanks to greater experience, arrived first. She set her tray on the table between the three of them, and curtsied.

"Thank you, Nata." Zenepha smiled.

The small infertile's earpoints twitched, she mumbled something barely audible, and fled. Zenepha sighed.

"We were friends once," he said. "On my free day, I always brought her some bread. After becoming Emperor, I offered her work here."

The gwerins exchanged a look. "An act of kindness," said Silmarila, who already knew Nata's history.

"I applaud," added Samrita. She cocked her head and all three heard the sound of ankle bells, growing stronger. "Ah! Nynra."

A moment later, the door opened again. Even now, months after her arrival in Marka with the shadow riders, Nynra's looks still gave Zenepha pause.

The infertile came from the far north, where sylphs had adapted and changed. Skin so pale it was almost colorless, with only a hint of blue. Eyes and hair were almost white, rather than silver, giving her a somewhat startling appearance to the uninitiated. Many in the palace believed Nynra to be some sort of phantom. The other sylphs – and not just infertiles – regarded her with awe, and even humans showed her more respect than they might to other sylphs.

More importantly, Nynra wore no collar. Both Silmarila and Samrita wore collars, made from red gold and encrusted with precious stones. Nynra had adopted the Markan custom of ankle bells for domestic sylphs, but refused to wear a collar. She hailed from Kelthane, where even infertile sylphs were free.

Yet she served. Both Nynra and Samrita feared that the free could not serve a slave, but nobody had ever questioned their arrangement. Zenepha happily left things as they were; at least one other civilized sylph in Marka did not wear a collar.

Unlike other servants, Nynra showed little obeisance, and Samrita made no move to dismiss her. Now refreshments were served, the gwerins came straight to business.

"Mansard's elevation to Marshal has met with surprising approval," said Silmarila, her dark brown eyes calm. "With him being Marcus's man, I feared the Senate might not approve."

"Captain Crallin turned it down," said Zenepha. "And Lance General Kestan has had to take command in the field since Kelanus went west. That narrowed the list of candidates."

"Just so," said Samrita. "And a reward for Mansard after being pushed aside by the shadow riders."

Zenepha grimaced. Until the previous autumn, Mansard had commanded the Emperor's personal Guard. The shadow riders' return had rendered that personal Guard redundant, and Fared had long since replaced Mansard.

"With all the Sandesterans returned home, we have little choice," he remarked.

"Very true," agreed Samrita. "Trouble lies ahead from Sandester, I fear."

"Indeed." This was the crux of Zenepha's dilemma. He could renounce the throne in Marcus Vintner's favor, but that might spark rebellion in Sandester.

"They might settle for independence," added Silmarila, who had taken time to study Sandester and knew a lot more than Samrita about this subject. "Bringing them back under the eagle will be Marcus's problem."

"But not a good start to his reign," pointed out Samrita, a little testily. "He ascends the throne and is immediately faced with revolt."

"If he has any sense, he'll leave them to it," countered Silmarila. The gwerin had enjoyed several long talks with Kelanus about military tactics and strategy, and absorbed her lessons eagerly. She wanted no repeats of past mistakes. "Whatever Nazvasta decides to do, the rightful heir is loyal to the throne. Verdin is the key to pacifying Sandester. And that will – would – be my advice to Marcus should he ascend the throne."

"The boy." Samrita sounded unsure of Verdin. "Young. Eager. Dangerous."

"All young men are dangerous," retorted Silmarila. "This is why we guide them."

"If they listen."

Silmarila fell silent. She knew the truth of that too well. Despite the passage of centuries, she could not forget the pain.

"Verdin could plunge Sandester into civil war," continued Samrita. "His father renounced the claim and Verdin respects that decision. Nazvasta argues on a technicality that his brother's renunciation does not include him. He is not a descendant."

Silmarila sniffed. "A younger sibling," she said. "An interesting point in law."

"We have no law to cover this eventuality." Samrita's voice was gentle.

Zenepha marveled. Humans would probably come to strong words and shouting matches while disagreeing, but these two gwerins barely raised their voices.

"Other than the law of inheritance." Silmarila smiled.

Zenepha nodded. "But it does not specifically state that younger siblings are descendants," he said. "Only that they can inherit."

Nynra stared at him with her white eyes.

Samrita laughed. "I forget that your former owner made you read those books."

Silmarila's smile was at best polite. "Just so. But how can a younger sibling inherit a renounced claim?"

"A very fine point in law," said Samrita.

"But a valid one."

Samrita grimaced. "For it to be valid, we need a judgment first. Trouble is, I doubt if Nazvasta would recognize any ruling from Marka not in his favor."

"Assuming that such a ruling was not," added Zenepha. "A very high risk strategy to seek one out."

Nynra spoke up. "But why bother? Your Majesty may reign for many years yet."

Everybody stared at the infertile. Even Zenepha had almost forgotten she considered herself free, perfectly at liberty to join in conversations.

The male sylph forced a smile. "Yes," he replied, vaguely, "I may." He tried to avoid the gwerins' combined gaze.

"We certainly hope so," said Silmarila, after a long pause. "But you must remember that our duty is to advise the Emperor, whoever that might be."

Zenepha gave her a sylph's slow blink. He hoped he heard no threat in those words.

***

"Alovak?"

Zandra lifted the alovak can and smiled at the two ladies in her sitting room. One of the palace sylphs had brought the alovak in a few minutes earlier, but her offer to pour had been politely declined and the servant dismissed from the room.

Zandra very much wanted to keep today's conversation private.

Hulen Shayler, head of the Mercers' Guild nodded immediately and her companion, Tamsin Mochna, senior wife to Supreme Councilor Olista, gave a verbal reply.

"No Jenn?" asked Hulen.

Zandra finished pouring and smiled. "She's with Marcus. Whenever he's free, she's never far from his side. Quite touching, really."

"A good, loyal sylph," added Tamsin, her graying brunette hair swaying as she nodded in approval.

"Sometimes too loyal," added Zandra.

Her companions laughed and Zandra laughed with them. Of all her network in Marka, she trusted these two most. Olista, and hence Tamsin, wanted to see Marcus on Marka's throne and had worked to that end from the beginning. Hulen had ambitions, lusting after the President's chair of all the guilds and correctly believed that Zandra offered the best route towards realizing that goal.

"Had I known, I might have brought Ylena," said Tamsin. "She's grown used to being a personal sylph now."

"I'm sure your sylph is enjoying her free time at your villa." Zandra smiled. "Besides, much safer for our discussions to remain beyond the reach of long ears. To some, our words are treason and we never know who reports to whom."

"True." Tamsin nodded. "But Ylena has been with us for many years."

"As a general domestic slave," said Hulen. "With respect, but she is getting a little old for such a large change in role."

Tamsin grunted. "Both Olista and myself are getting a little old for buying new sylphs. Any such unfortunates will still have many years of life ahead of them when we are dead. I rest that is a greater unfairness than the temporary strain of learning a new role. Sylphs, especially infertiles, find changes in ownership distressing."

Hulen shrugged.

"I trust Emperor Zenepha won't be too stressed when his job changes," said Zandra. "He has been very quiet of late."

Hulen and Tamsin nodded together.

"He felt last year's events showed an error of judgment," said Hulen.

"He fears the people are losing respect, that soon they will grow restless and demand a proper Emperor," said Tamsin.

"But who?" asked Zandra.

"Well, he had the sense to replace the Sandesterans with your husband's people," pointed out Tamsin, "so he must favor Marcus over any other claimant. And if he abdicates, he can choose his successor."

"The word is that he cannot have children," said Hulen. "No future claimant from his seed. I also believe he will choose Marcus to succeed him. And I do not say this because of your hospitality."

"I respect your candor," replied Zandra, "and am gratified you both think this way. Has Olista ever mentioned a potential abdication?"

Tamsin pulled air in over her teeth. "We had hoped that Zenepha would prove rather more malleable once the Sandesterans left the city, but the boy's found his feet now and is more than comfortable with power. He certainly has no need for any hand-holding from us." She grimaced. "Even though I doubt he's forgiven Olista for his manumission."

"Strange creature," smiled Hulen. "He has helped fuel the debate among the sylphs."

"Some debate," said Tamsin.

"I agree," said Zandra. "I suspect that the wild sylphs are only begging the city sylphs to reject their collars because so many of their own wonder about taking one."

"Surely not," murmured Tamsin.

"How many city sylphs have asked for manumission?" asked Zandra, quietly. "A few of the scouts have discussed it, but even the most vociferous has not dared take the actual step. I fear Zenepha very much remains an exception."

"And he did not ask for his manumission," said Hulen.

Tamsin nodded.

"On the other hand, lots of the wild sylphs, and not just their infertiles, appear confused on the subject," continued Zandra. "Some scouts have won hearts among the Free Tribe. Sandev couldn't hide her surprise when one begged for a collar, which she refused to grant."

Hulen nodded. "A wild sylph girl has gone for her scout?"

"Janin." Zandra smiled. "Sandev has given her blessing to a union, but she won't enslave a wild sylph."

"Janin used to be a beggar." Tamsin's blue-green eyes sparkled. "Perhaps he will ask for manumission."

Zandra barked a quick laugh. "Or perhaps he's already had enough of freedom. Among the scouts, he's one of the loudest voices urging sylphs to keep their collars. Two generations, possibly three, and the so-called 'Free' Tribe will be nicely civilized and wondering why they ever made a fuss about collars. Choosing Kestan as leader was but a first step along the road of domestication."

"We shall see." Tamsin laughed. "Speaking for myself, I remain unconvinced. Sylphs are never easy to predict. But let us speak of Sandev. She has remained ominously silent on the subject of Emperors since her return home."

"She's become something of a sylph collector," remarked Hulen. "Hasn't she brought some Eldovan infertile home with her?"

"There are certainly a few sylphs at her villa now," said Tamsin.

Zandra said nothing. However many sylphs Sandev collected was none of her business; she wanted to be certain Sandev would not stand in her way when the time came to put Marcus on the throne.

"I'm concerned what the gwerins are teaching Salafisa," she said.

Tamsin and Hulen stared at her for a long moment. Clearly they had forgotten one of Marcus's sylphs had birthed a gwerin. People already mistakenly assumed the youngster belonged to the throne.

Tamsin recovered first. "They will teach her loyalty to the throne. It is a gwerin's task to advise whoever sits on that throne."

"Will they advise Zenepha to abdicate?" asked Zandra.

"Not immediately," replied Tamsin. "But neither will they stand in his way if he decides to take that route. After all, Marcus is hardly a monster and he does at least have a legitimate claim to the throne. Unlike Zenepha."

Zandra leaned forward. "Then we must make plans to encourage the sylph to step down," she said. A smile blossomed. "More alovak?"

***

Kaira slipped through the crowds, wearing a small though happy smile.

Now the late spring wind had finally dropped, the sun warmed Marka. Thankfully, the heat had not yet grown too uncomfortable, when haze danced in the streets and people avoided outdoors at noontime. Blue skies, calm weather and increasing warmth all helped buoy Kaira's mood. Life treated her well.

Governess to the Vintner's children for the past five years, she had long since resigned herself to living in Marka, rather than Calcan. But she had known the Vintners were headed to Marka before she took the job.

A job she loved.

Born to a middling-successful trader twenty-four years earlier, the youngest of seven daughters and five sons, she learned early to compete for attention. Older siblings had previously owned her clothes while growing up, but she was otherwise treated no differently.

Raised to respect certain standards and educated to the best of her ability, her parents were overjoyed when she won her place with the Vintners. Alone of all her siblings, she would choose her own husband, rather than having a continuous parade of eligible partners suggested by her mother.

And, since arriving in Marka, she had found someone.

Also twenty-four, Basren worked in the main library. Unlike the library in Calcan, the mostly old men who looked after the books and records in Marka guarded their charges like overprotective bears. Books could be read, but not removed. With few exceptions.

Not that many people used the library. Kaira had been researching lessons for the Vintner children the day Silmarila came to reclaim her books. As far as the librarians were concerned, those books now belonged in the reading room and raised voices echoed around the huge vaulted chamber of the main room.

The gwerin had retreated, but returned within the hour, this time armed with several large purple-cloaked Guardsmen and an edict from Zenepha. Intimidation carried the day and Silmarila successfully reclaimed her books. The Guardsmen took several trips to load the carriage and the gwerin had to walk back to the palace.

Kaira and Basren had found the entire episode hilarious, and this shared humor had brought them together. Kaira had never thanked the gwerin, but she doubted if Silmarila would understand anyway.

They shared a similar sense of humor, and Basren always found a way to make her laugh. Kaira liked the slim young man straight away, and their relationship flowered from that moment. She was headed for the library now, and hoped for a long chat with him before returning to her duties at the palace.

She dodged an urchin running as fast as he could from a stallholder with a stick, turned a corner, and the library stood before her.

She would never understand why she felt so nervous before meeting Basren; even knowing he felt the same way made her no better.

As Kaira mounted the steps to the studded oak doors, calm yet pitiless eyes watched her every move.

***

"Zenepha is wavering, which is no good for the city."

Sandev watched Marcus Vintner, claimant to the Markan Throne, push dark brown hair away from his eyes. His infertile sylph, Jenn, stood patiently beside him. She stared around the room, finding Sandev's study interesting. Her own sylph Caya stood to one side, waiting for orders.

"Zenepha receives the very best advice," she replied carefully. "He will step aside when the time is right. Everybody knows he is only a caretaker. We made that clear even before his coronation."

Marcus stared into his empty alovak mug. "The Senate still stands against me. That is obvious by the maneuvering to keep Zenepha where he is."

Sandev must remember that this man was no fool. And whatever he missed from Marka's political pulse, his wife Zandra caught.

"You are popular in the city," replied Sandev. "The Supreme Council want you on the throne, the guilds are prepared to support you once Zenepha steps aside and even the Imhotep is ready to see you in your rightful place."

Marcus glanced at the shelves of books rising behind the desk at one side of the room. Sandev had received him in the study because decorators and painters worked in the main living room. Even so, her study offered as many comforts.

His gaze met hers and held firmly. "My victory is assured if even the Imhotep is on my side."

"Though you must realize that he pretty much respects whatever Djerana has to say on the subject."

"Djerana, yes." Marcus shook his head. "Ilven do not usually hold so much power over human decisions."

Sandev laughed. "I think Djerana would be horrified if she knew. Sadly, the Imhotep is obsessed with our resident ilven; thankfully that feeling is not reciprocated. You are empty."

Marcus raised a hand and began to say he needed no more, but Sandev had already turned.

"More alovak please, Caya."

The sylph stood slightly to one side inclined her head. "At once, anya."

Sandev sighed when the sylph had gone. "She has hardly left my sight since my return."

Marcus glanced at the door and subconsciously ruffled Jenn's hair, before resting his hand protectively on the infertile's shoulder. "She missed you."

"I know. She's not exactly climbed into bed with me, but she sleeps immediately outside my door. Worse than an infertile, now." Sandev peered across the table. "No insult intended, Jenn."

Marcus's own sylph smiled, but she gave no reply, awed by the woman's great age, if not her power.

"She even stays in the room when I use the Gift," continued Sandev.

"Rare in a sylph, that," remarked Marcus.

"Non existent, in fact," replied Sandev. "Before now."

The clepsydra chose that moment to gurgle, which caught Jenn's wide-eyed attention, her earpoints slanted sharply forward. Marcus patted her arm absently and the infertile soon relaxed again.

Sandev noted the speed of the sylph's reaction, but said nothing.

"Zenepha," said Marcus.

"He won't go until he's ready." Sandev shrugged. "We never realized how seriously he would take his duties."

"The gwerins have taken to him."

"It's the gwerins' task to serve the throne," replied Sandev. "No matter who sits there. And before you complain about that again, remember that you do have considerable influence with them."

Marcus nodded. "Thanks to Eleka."

Sandev smiled. "Thanks to Belaika too; it was perhaps unwise to let him out of the city."

"Belaika begged to go into the field; he has reasons of his own." Marcus had no intention of telling Sandev why his sylph had insisted on traveling to Eldova with Kelanus.

As Belaika and Eleka were Salafisa's parents, the older two gwerins in the palace gave them the same respect they would their own parents. Apparently all gwerins behaved in this way. Compared with sylphs, gwerins lived long, and the pair belonging to the throne behaved like children towards Eleka. Despite their great age, Eleka seemed to take their attention well.

And Marcus understood why Sandev voiced her regret that Belaika had left the city. Silmarila was close to Eleka, but Samrita regarded Belaika with a shade more warmth. Perhaps because she had met him first, or because he had earned the shadow riders' respect over the banner.

"Then you must use the available tools," said Sandev. "Eleka can increase your influence over Samrita and Silmarila."

"A strange weakness in gwerins." Marcus smiled.

Sandev shrugged. "Exploit it. But remember that the weakness is there when you take the throne, in case another sylph produces a gwerin."

"How common is it?"

"Not likely in Marka," replied Sandev. "But someone else might have a gwerin and her parents out there somewhere."

She had the answer, but was not about to enlighten him; such replies usually raised even more questions, concerning how she came by her information. Besides, her sources were thousands of years old and sylphs might have adapted since then.

"Then I'd better take Eleka to the next meeting." Marcus smiled and looked down at his infertile. "Hope you understand, Jenn."

"You might take both of us, enya," replied the infertile.

Sandev laughed.

The door opened and Caya came through, carrying a tray. She set it down and stood back, waiting for the alovak to brew a little more.

Sandev looked at Jenn and suddenly found her unwavering silver stare unsettling. He abandons me too much now, it seemed to say, do not make my task harder than it is already. She blinked and almost asked aloud what task Jenn already found difficult. Foolishness, but Sandev averted her eyes first.

A moment later and Jenn was just Jenn again, an amiable infertile who liked to stay close to her owner. One who thought of little beyond her immediate task and when she might be petted again.

Sandev covered coming second in the battle of the eyes by turning to Marcus.

"Alovak?" she asked.

***

Nedilen walked towards Marka's gates, staff tapping on the ground, green hood of his yellowflax cloak pushed back from his head.

His earpoints, freed from the constraints of the hood, twitched forward in curiosity. He had seen towns on his travels, but nothing so grand as this city. Buildings loomed over the patrolled walls and he shivered as a primeval instinct warned him to stay away.

And he pretended he could not see the huge black pyramid, stretching to the clouds. How could humans build such things?

But he must press forward. He had waited three years for this moment.

Nobody paid him much attention and travelers were much more tolerant of his presence than expected. Many gave him surprised glances, perhaps wondering why he wasn't with a human, until they saw his uncollared neck.

Other sylphs were the worst: they stared as if he had grown an extra head or something. They usually watched warily, and pity often shone in their silver-gray eyes, but none ignored him. They could not possibly know his reason for coming here, so why did they pity him?

For his own part, his gaze slid away from collars. How could they bear the things and the low status they represented? Yet these sylphs all wore them with obvious pride. Nedilen would never understand why they did not hang their heads in shame.

He had nearly reached the gates, where two guards stood in the portal, nodding people through after a cursory glance. Would they let him in, or refuse entry because he was a so-called wild sylph?

He warranted no more than a quick glance. Not even challenged. He paused and the guards, one with brown eyes and the other with blue, looked back at him.

Nedilen decided the one with gentle brown eyes was probably the more intelligent of the pair.

"Do you sing my tongue?" he asked.

"He can't even sing in his own tongue," replied the blue-eyed guard, speaking in what sounded like fluent sylph.

Nedilen should have guessed the dialect would be different here. His attention switched to the sylph speaking guard.

"I look for my son," said Nedilen. "He was taken and I think he is here."

"This is a large city." The sylph speaker shrugged. "Have you his name? There are certainly wild sylphs here."

Nedilen's heart leapt. Wild sylphs would not be in Marka unless forced to be here. "His name is Tilipha."

The guards were suddenly wary and exchanged looks. Even the one with brown eyes recognized the name! This father's hope strengthened.

The blue-eyed guard nodded towards a door. "Go through there and ask for Janin. He should be able to help."

The sylph nodded thanks and pushed the door open.

Another guard sat behind a desk, checking paperwork. The mysterious gift of reading, Nedilen supposed. The room smelled of human and paint. He sniffed the air carefully. Nothing seemed wrong. He spotted an infertile polishing metal in an adjoining room.

The guard lifted his head and burbled something quickly in his strange language.

"I look for Janin," he said.

A new voice came from behind him. "That's me."

Nedilen spun on his heel and blinked.

To judge from the silver-gray eyes and long earpoints, the apparition was a sylph. The creature's hair and skin were painted gray, green and brown, and vivid black slashes crossed face and chest. The paint left no hint of blue skin anywhere. The paint smell completely masked the natural sylph odor, or sinabra.

Nedilen's gaze flinched away from the leather collar.

"I am Janin," said the strange sylph, speaking slowly.

"The guards sent me here. I look for my son and they said you can help. His name is Tilipha."

Janin smiled. "Can do better than that," he replied. "I will take you to him."

Renewed hope flared stronger.

He would see his son again.

***
Chapter 8

Reunion

Marcus took Sandev's advice when he next met Zenepha.

Today's meeting should only be small, without most of the advisors. With any luck, only Supreme Councilor Olista and Senate Leader Rogort would attend. Neither of those politicians usually brought a sylph, but Zenepha would definitely have his gwerins.

So Marcus brought Eleka.

She had proven herself versatile and adaptable, quietly useful without being demanding on her owner's time. She also held a high status among sylphs, and not just because she belonged to Marcus. Born on the Vintner stud in Calcan, since involving herself with Belaika she had produced everything a sylph could birth. A litter of infertiles; female twins Callie and Sallie; and most recently a son, Halen.

But before him, the year she had acted as scout to Zandra, she produced a gwerin daughter, Salafisa. As the parent of a gwerin, Eleka was Marcus's secret weapon.

He had left Jenn behind today. She usually accompanied him to these meetings and failed to hide disappointment at her exclusion. The small infertile had served him well for many years – more than he cared to remember, truth to tell – and she resented every separation.

As Marcus had quarters in the Royal Palace, he and Eleka did not have far to travel. He remembered the small dining hall well; it had served as a map room for planning battles when armies still surrounded the city. Marka still had enemies, but none threatened at the moment, so all military planning took place elsewhere.

The dining hall had returned to its original purpose. The maps were gone, replaced by rustic paintings, and a polished wooden table sat in the exact center of the room, surrounded by chairs. One of Zenepha's better ideas – and one Marcus would emulate once he had the throne – was that nobody sat at the head of the table. All could speak freely here.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Marcus smiled at Olista and Rogort, before he noticed Senator Aelfrec, with his graying hair and hard, dark blue eyes, stood in one corner and inspecting a painting.

Olista and Rogort returned the greeting, but Aelfrec managed only a cool nod of the head as he turned to face Marcus. This man had once promoted Branad's claim to the throne, and Marcus knew this Senator had not surrendered support for that branch of the family.

"Zenepha is late again?" Marcus crossed to the table and sat on one of the chairs. "It's becoming a habit."

Olista laughed. In his early sixties, the Supreme Councilor managed to look many years younger. Clearly able to withstand the pressures of high office, he was the youngest to hold his office for three centuries. "The greatest art of princes is to make others wait," he said.

Rogort took a chair facing the door.

Marcus twisted around to look at Aelfrec. "Zenepha has invited you today?"

Aelfrec sniffed. "His Majesty wants a diplomat here," he replied, eyes and face cold.

Silence fell as Zenepha swept into the room, his silver-gray eyes sparkling and earpoints twitching in contentment. The two adult gwerins in the palace almost trod on his heels, hazel and dark brown eyes smiling. Their earpoints betrayed the same contentment as their ruler's.

"Sorry I am late," said Zenepha. "Please sit."

Samrita and Silmarila smiled at Eleka, who happily smiled back. The gwerins' earpoints slanted towards the sylph and they inclined their heads to her.

That's right, reflected Marcus, you distract them. Good girl.

"Shall I fetch alovak?" asked Eleka.

"Thank you." Zenepha inclined his head. "Nata is brewing it in the kitchens."

"I will help you," offered Silmarila, just as Samrita opened her mouth.

The older gwerin looked unimpressed and gave her companion a cool look.

Eleka and Silmarila left the room, the gwerin already wearing a part eager, part foolish expression. Marcus hid his pleased smile. Any sylph parent of a gwerin was treated by all gwerins as a parent. Such sylphs turned gwerins' brains into mush and regressed the throwbacks to some form of childhood.

And that appeared to be happening right now.

Zenepha smiled around at the humans.

"I invited Aelfrec here today because I wish to discuss reasons why so few Prefectures have returned and, of those who have pledged to return, only one or two actually have."

"Well Majesty," began Aelfrec, "this may be because –"

Zenepha lifted a hand. "We will wait for the alovak," he interrupted.

Marcus hid a smile. Zenepha had come a long way from the timid, half-terrified sylph he had first met two years before. He doubted if the sylph would ever squeeze back into a collar. Then remembered that those manumitted by the Senate could never be enslaved again.

The alovak came soon enough, with Silmarila doing most of the carrying. Trays were set down and the large cups arranged.

"Shall I pour?" suggested Silmarila.

"I'll do it," insisted Samrita. "After all, you helped bring it here."

Eleka did her best to hide her surprise, but even then stared open-mouthed at the gwerins.

Marcus hid a smile. As usual, Sandev was right. Samrita and Silmarila looked about to squabble over who poured the alovak, eager to help Eleka.

"Eleka will pour," said Marcus. "That is why she is here."

Shock painted the gwerins' faces.

"Of course." Samrita recovered first and stepped back.

Eleka poured the alovak, watched closely by both gwerins.

"Now," said Zenepha, after the men had stopped inhaling alovak aroma, "to the reason I asked you here."

Olista spoke up, before Aelfrec could speak. "Many Prefectures will wait before returning to us, I warned you of that. But you have done well to extend Marka's influence as far as you have." He gestured towards Marcus. "Sandester and the Trading Council, together with Marcus's Calcan, are already back in the fold, and many of those who have pledged to return cannot while they still share no border with us."

"Is Sandester truly ours?" Zenepha wondered aloud. "The rumors I hear all concern rebellion."

"There is no rebellion in Sandester," barked Aelfrec.

"Yet," murmured Marcus. He noticed that the humans failed to overhear him and if the gwerins had, they gave no sign of it as they smiled at Eleka. Only Zenepha's earpoints twitched in his direction.

"Might not another reason be because Marka is not ruled by a human?" asked the Emperor, quietly.

Samrita and Silmarila took notice of that.

"Perhaps," said Marcus.

"Unlikely," interrupted Samrita. "That you are only a caretaker might be one reason, but that you are a sylph should make no difference."

Marcus and Olista exchanged a look.

"Caretaker," said Zenepha. "It looks like I am here for life."

"You can abdicate any time you wish," said Marcus. "But remember who has the strongest claim. And that this man has cleared his name of all wrongdoing."

Zenepha's earpoints wilted a little and his smile was wistful. "Marcus, you won a battle against Branad to prove your claim. We fought off Hingast to end his. Enthan sends letters explaining why he ought to be Emperor, but I am certain he will be surprised if he is ever offered the throne."

"The Sandester branch of the family still has the strongest claim, Majesty," pointed out Aelfrec. "If Verdin persists in his foolishness, then offer the crown to Nazvasta Vintner."

"No!" Marcus was vehement. "Branad renounced his claim before the Senate. That one is over. Verdin recognizes that."

Unimpressed, Aelfrec sniffed. "It is up to the Senate to decide that," he retorted.

"Actually, no it isn't," said Olista.

Aelfrec blinked. "The Supreme Council makes its recommendations, but the Senate decides."

Olista smiled. "Only to end an interregnum. Which is not the case right now. We have an Emperor." He gestured vaguely in Zenepha's direction.

Aelfrec wore a disgruntled expression.

Rogort spoke up. "When the Emperor dies, the crown passes to his eldest son, automatically."

"Zenepha has no sons," muttered Aelfrec.

Rogort ignored him. "When an Emperor abdicates, he may do so in favor of whoever he wishes."

Aelfrec twisted to stare at Zenepha. "Are you about to abdicate?"

"I think about it every day."

Aelfrec's mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments. "I trust you will listen to proper advice and choose your successor wisely."

"He has the wisest advice," said Samrita, quietly. Her gaze flickered briefly to Marcus and away again. "When the time comes, he knows who to ask."

Aelfrec had not missed that flicker. He pointed at Marcus without looking at him. "A significant proportion of this empire will not accept that man on the throne."

Samrita smiled. "That is their choice. But Branad renounced his claim, before the Senate, in his own name and that of his descendants."

"Nazvasta is not a descendant." Aelfrec sounded sulky.

Marcus sighed. "Actually, yes he is," he said. "If Branad had died without a son, the claim would have passed to his older daughter. If Branad had died without daughters as well, then the claim would pass to Nazvasta. So from the point of view of inheritance, Nazvasta is a descendant. The claim is renounced."

"Branad's aunts and uncles have descendants to press the claim," protested Aelfrec.

Marcus snorted. "Even further removed from Branad than Nazvasta. They are still – legally – descendants with regards to inheritance. Accept it, Aelfrec, the Sandesteran claim is over, finished, ended. I will be the next Emperor, or there will be no Emperor."

"Is that a threat?"

Marcus laughed. "A statement of fact only. The only threats I hear come from the faction you still support, Aelfrec." He turned to Zenepha. "Never have I raised this subject to you but, should you decide to step down, I wish to be considered for my rightful place, through blood and battle, which is to replace you on Marka's throne."

The gwerins stared at him wide-eyed. Samrita eventually gave a sylph's blink.

"Very bluntly put," murmured Olista.

"Yes," agreed Aelfrec.

"Bluntness be damned," retorted Marcus. "You invited Branad and myself here in the first place. You knew we would meet and that there would be a battle. He lost, I won. My support to Zenepha remains but, should he abdicate, that large, heavy chair in the council chamber is mine."

"More alovak?" asked Eleka, as the silence stretched.

"Let me pour." Samrita leapt to her feet.

"And the Father has blessed me with a sylph who produces gwerins," added Marcus, pointing to Eleka. "How many more signs can you possibly want?"

Olista leaned back and steepled his fingers, watching Zenepha closely.

"The throne," continued Marcus, "is mine. Only a question of when, not if." He turned to Aelfrec. "And even you know that."

***

The Chief Cashier of the Royal Mint had been summoned to see Olista, so his wife called on Zandra. Among the first of Zandra's recruits, Arran Sacla had proven herself a loyal ally and a reliable source of information. Always pleased to receive her to catch up on guild gossip, Zandra waited patiently for alovak. The niceties must be observed always, even for social visits.

Zandra almost sent Jenn to bring the alovak, but one of the kitchen girls eventually arrived with the alovak. She entered the apartments without knocking. "Sorry about that," she panted, "but one of the boys let the fire die out."

"It happens." Zandra smiled at the girl, taking in the dark brown hair and dark blue eyes so common in Marka. "Are you new here?"

"Yes, Miss." The girl smiled, showing sparkling teeth. She moved delicately, with a hint of hesitation, as if expecting a blow. "I'm Weyna Hilltop."

"Well thank you, Weyna. I hope your association here is a long and happy one."

Weyna smiled again. "Me too, Miss." She all but fled from the room.

Jenn poured alovak, watched by Arran's own sylph, Cetlyn.

"A local bean," announced Arran, after taking a long sniff of the alovak.

Zandra gestured with a hand. "My own stock of Calcan bean ran out during the winter," she replied. "I hope to replenish it soon."

Arran smiled. "I hope so, too."

Both women relaxed in upholstered chairs, facing a cold fireplace. The small receiving room had the sun on it most of the morning, making a fire unnecessary. A serving table stood between them. Jenn now sat on her heels beside Zandra's chair.

Arran smiled. "Will you try some hard wheat?" she asked. "Apparently these are fashionable in the city at the moment."

"Hard wheat?" Zandra raised an eyebrow. "I must say it does not sound appetizing."

"The wheat is mixed with sugar, then compacted to drive the water out. They are very sweet."

"They look a lot like oatcakes to me." Zandra looked at the honey-colored objects offered to her.

"They call them biscuits," offered Arran. "Why not try one?"

Cetlyn carried the plate to Zandra, her ankle bells jingling as she moved.

Zandra accepted a biscuit and nibbled delicately at one edge, before nodding appreciatively and taking a full bite. "Delicious," she announced, brushing crumbs away from her mouth.

"We hope to export them," said Arran. "They should raise considerable funds."

"Until they learn to make them in other places," remarked Zandra.

"Even sylphs enjoy them. I... Oh."

Silently and unbidden, Jenn came to stand beside Arran and the infertile stared at the plate with suspicion.

"I'm sorry." Zandra apologized for Arran's surprise. "Jenn always moves silently."

"This is why we usually bell our domestic sylphs," said Arran. "They are too quiet, else. Have you considered belling her?"

The look Jenn directed at Arran should have warned the woman she walked on dangerous ground.

"Will you see if the snacks I ordered are ready yet?" Zandra caught Jenn's attention and the infertile inclined her head before leaving.

"Probably gone to startle a cook or two." Arran laughed.

"I went as far as buying an anklet of bells for Jenn," said Zandra. "Could I try another of those? Thank you."

"She will not wear them?" asked Arran. "I am told some sylphs dislike them."

Zenepha for one, thought Zandra. "Jenn manages to hide whenever I'm thinking of bringing them out for her to try." That was not quite the truth. Jenn had thrown a tantrum when Zandra had tried to put the bells on her and complained to Marcus. And he suggested bells were not a good idea for his sylph. Zandra had never heard of an infertile making such a fuss over something so unimportant. If anything, Jenn stood out as an exception by not wearing them.

"Such a pity," replied Arran. "Catlyn never removes hers except to bathe."

"I can see the advantage of bells, but Jenn is reluctant to wear anything unless Marcus insists on it."

"She only serves him?"

"She only obeys him," retorted Zandra.

Arran laughed. "Of course, she was given to Marcus before you were married." She nodded as if that explained everything.

"Sadly, yes." Zandra knew more about Jenn than the small infertile realized.

The runt of her litter, nobody had expected Jenn to survive long. But what she lacked physically, she made up for through sheer determination and stubbornness, traits she still displayed in wainloads. Not had she survived, but quickly established herself the most dominant of her siblings. All her siblings, and not just her littersisters.

"She is very small," said Arran. "Even for an infertile."

"She makes up for it by being so forward," said Zandra. "And she displayed that forwardness long before Marcus encouraged her to speak her mind. But she's utterly devoted to him. When we arrived here, her clothes were little better than rags, but she sulked when I gave her new ones, until Marcus told her how pretty she looked. And ever since, she's been fine with them."

"So she bonded well with Marcus."

"But not to me." Zandra shrugged. "She's fine with the children, and that's the important thing. It's a pity she was given to Marcus when both were so young, but quite frankly I can't see him with any other sylph."

"She is jealous of you?"

"Only of the time I spend with Marcus. Or time he spends away from her. Like today."

"How sweet."

You might not think so if you ever see her throwing a tantrum. Zandra smiled. That was none of Arran's business anyway. She glanced across as the door opened and Jenn returned, bearing a tray laden with sweetmeats and pots of honey dips.

With a jingle of bells, Cetlyn dashed to help the other infertile, but was ignored. Jenn insisted that she put the tray on the table and once done, she stood back.

Zandra gestured with a hand. "Please, help yourself."

Arran leaned forward. Once done, she snapped one of the hard wheat biscuits in two and offered half to Cetlyn and half to Jenn. The sylphs accepted this treat eagerly – Jenn only a little slower because she waited for Zandra's nod before taking the biscuit.

Zandra watched a look of delight cross Jenn's features.

"I think you're right," said Zandra, "this new treat will be popular with sylphs. The choca makers will be going out of business."

Jenn looked up and shook her head. "Melt the choca and spread it on this," she said, flourishing her half-eaten biscuit.

Arran stared open-mouthed at the infertile. Zandra blinked. Cetlyn giggled.

"Let me get my pencil," said Arran, after a long moment. "That is a brilliant idea, Jenn. Brilliant."

Zandra sat back and failed to hide her proud smile.

For her part, the infertile seemed unconcerned by the buzz she had just caused. She shrugged at Arran's excitement and eyed the last biscuit greedily.

"If I can have that," she said, "then you can have my idea."

"Jenn!" Zandra's voice held a warning tone.

Arran waved away the sylph's insolence with a hand. "Take it," she said, vacantly, while scribbling with her other hand. "It's yours."

***

"Where are we going?" Nedilen demanded of Janin. "The guard said free sylphs were here." He hoped nobody had lied to him. Humans lied as a matter of course and he would not be surprised if that trait had rubbed off on their sylphs.

Janin had led the older sylph back through the gates and now walked alongside one of the walls. "Our cousins have chosen to live outside the city," he replied, turning his head to look over his shoulder. "They visit sometimes and those who are scouts must take their turns at duties within the walls." He shrugged. "They prefer the forest."

"Scouts?" asked Nedilen, increasing his pace to walk alongside his guide.

"They were interested," replied Janin. "So they asked if they could help."

Nedilen eyed the younger sylph, though his gaze flinched away from the leather collar. The thing looked as though the other sylph could remove it should he wish. How could he wear it at all? "What is a scout?"

"We send messages and watch out for enemies," replied Janin. He gestured to himself. "I'm learning to be a scout."

"For an army." Nedilen's voice was flat. He shook his head. "I suppose you have no choice, but for one of us to join in the foolishness is not good."

"It is not foolish," protested Janin. "But very important work."

"All fighting is foolish," replied Nedilen.

"Of course." Janin eyed the older sylph's walking staff. "Which is why you carry a weapon."

"That is what I like predatory humans to think," replied Nedilen. "And I must say you think like a human. That saddens me."

Janin fell silent at the quiet contempt in the older sylph's voice. Nedilen followed the painted sylph into the forest, where his earpoints twitched this way and that, though he said nothing. He also sniffed at the air before nodding in satisfaction. Familiar smells that reminded him of home.

"We are almost there," promised Janin.

"I know."

Almost before Nedilen finished speaking, they were there.

Neither sprawling nor small, the colony consisted of thatched huts, low to the ground. Sylphs of all three sexes were sat about working on one thing or another, while others checked thatch or cleaned their huts. A low hum of conversation filled the air. Everything appeared neat and orderly, if rather too close to the city for Nedilen's comfort.

Trees swayed gently overhead, and dappled sunshine reached the forest floor. The colony spilled out from a central clearing, and Nedilen heard running water, though he could not see any streams from here. To judge from the inhabitants he had already seen, a bathing pool must also lie nearby.

At least they had the sense to understand what they needed to make their colony succeed as somewhere to live.

Very few sylphs he saw were properly adult, and he guessed slavers preferred to take younger specimens. Even if populated by youngsters, the colony seemed properly run.

As more and more sylphs became aware of the newcomers, all conversation ceased and heads turned, silver-gray eyes staring in wonder.

Nedilen's head and earpoints turned this way and that. His lips thinned whenever he spotted a sylph wearing what looked like a necklace decoration. Those twine necklaces did not fool Nedilen and he hoped his disgust did not show too obviously. These sylphs had spent too long too close to humans.

"Who leads here?" asked Nedilen.

A male and female sylph stepped forward. He guessed they might be the oldest here, yet barely fully grown.

"We do," replied the male. "While he is in the city."

"Nedilen Awibsalla-y-Hriptuven," said the older sylph, introducing himself. He liked what he saw of the two sylphs who led the colony, even if they were far too young for their roles. He hoped there had been a proper election.

"Acawibsalla." A whisper of awed respect rippled through the sylphs and they instinctively drew closer to him.

Aelfina blinked in surprise. "Aelfina-y-Nebonda," he replied.

Nedilen turned patient eyes to Aelfina's wife.

"Damaran-y-Nebonda."

"And who," continued Nedilen, "is 'he'?"

Aelfina and Damaran exchanged a quick look, while a sense of confused anticipation emanated from the other sylphs.

Aelfina's earpoints wilted slightly and he began to look out of countenance. "He is Kestan Taynor-y-nebonda, General of Lances and Field Commander in Marka."

"A human leads you?"

"Yes." Aelfina straightened and looked the older sylph straight in the eye. "He led the men who freed us. He made sure we were clothed, fed and cared for until such time as we could establish our own colony."

"And made you his thralls?"

"It is not like that," protested Aelfina.

"Yet." Nedilen pointed to an infertile, then to a breeder, then to a young male. "Those neck decorations are obscene," he said. "They emulate... this." He touched Janin's collar.

The sylphs he pointed to had the decency to blush a brighter blue and wilt their earpoints. They ought to be thoroughly ashamed of themselves, betraying their heritage by copying enslaved sylphs.

"We began an argument about freedom," protested Aelfina. "Many of the city sylphs may ask for their freedom."

"You think?" Nedilen shook his head. "Slavery is engrained in them, they know nothing else and fear anything else. Do you want freedom, boy?"

This last was aimed at Janin and, startled, the scout quickly shook his head.

Nedilen gave Aelfina a look that suggested end of discussion. "And you even work for the humans. As scouts."

"Some of us." Aelfina's earpoints wilted further.

"And more are nurses," interrupted Damaran. "These humans are our friends, we are happy to help out. It is not the same as being their slaves."

"How many generations before you are?" Nedilen sniffed. "None of you are Hriptuven," he continued. "What you do is your problem. But where is my son, Tilipha?"

A sylph painted in scouting colors of gray, green and brown, complete with black slashes of paint across face and chest, stepped forward. Nedilen's eyes widened further and further, and his earpoints rose to their fullest extent. He saw kneelength breeches but, thankfully, none of that foolish twine so many others had adopted.

"Tilipha, son."

Tilipha stepped forward and embraced his father. "Enya," he said, fighting tears. "I have missed you, Father."

***

Grayar read quietly in his easychair, a forefinger tucked under one corner of the page about to be turned. Clatterings from his small kitchen betrayed Salu's movements as she brewed alovak, an especially loud noise suggesting she might have dropped the tin that held crushed beans.

Grayar had company in his study.

The ilven Djerana wrapped brunette hair around one finger before releasing it again, and wandered along the shelves of books. Grayar knew the ilven could not read, but she patted some books like old friends.

When she turned, Grayar's blue eyes met Djerana's emerald green.

The ilven blinked and stopped pacing.

Grayar smiled. "All right, I give up," he said, folding a papermark into his place and setting the book aside. "Why are you eager to see me?"

"I've not seen you for a while," said Djerana.

"Not since before winter. I'm only two floors below you." Grayar knew a guilty conscience had not driven her here, but ilven often went around the outbuildings before getting to the point. Djerana was no exception. "Something is clearly troubling you."

"I thought you might have returned home by now."

Grayar chuckled. "Somebody must keep a careful watch on you. And sometimes more than one somebody is needed."

Djerana's eyes narrowed; ilven did not seem to fully understand banter. "I know Sandev would tell you if I needed your help."

"Such as returning home yourself?" Grayar arched an eyebrow.

"Not yet." The ilven blinked. "The short visits you allow me home are sufficient."

"You mean the short visits when you ask me to take you home and give strict instructions when I must return to fetch you back?"

Djerana grinned. "Yes."

"I expect you enjoy having two of the Ten to bully."

"One," corrected Djerana, absently. "Sandev does not help me very much."

"She has the city to look after," replied Grayar. "There is much work still to do and there are only so many hours in each day."

Djerana pouted briefly. "She makes it clear she has little time for me."

"You display your insecurity; the world doesn't revolve around you."

"Of course it does." Djerana giggled. "This is the ilvenworld. Our world and not yours."

Grayar shook his head. "I meant around you personally," he said. "You did not come here to debate the finer points of philosophy, nor yet to complain that Sandev ignores you."

Salu brought the conversation to an abrupt end as she pushed the study door open with a foot and entered, carrying the alovak tray. A large mug of water stood beside the can.

The sylph passed the water to Djerana and the ilven absently sniffed at it. Despite almost two years in Marka, she still did not fully trust water given to her.

Salu's earpoints twitched as she glanced at the ilven, but she adopted a rather more submissive posture as she served alovak to her owner.

"Thank you, Salu." Grayar smiled at her.

The infertile flushed brighter blue, inclined her head and returned to the kitchen. Djerana watched her go.

"Still a very quiet sylph," she remarked.

Grayar waved a dismissive hand. "That's sylphs," he said. "As you well know." He took a sip of his alovak. "Talking of sylphs, are you here because Zenepha is finally tired of you, or you of him?"

For a moment, he thought the ilven might stamp a foot, the nearest she usually came to showing bad temper.

"I'm worried that people are plotting against him," she said. "They plan to replace him with a human."

Grayar restrained an urge to laugh. "You knew all along this would happen. Speaking for myself, I'm surprised he lasted this long. Zenepha is a caretaker, crowned to stop the throne falling into abeyance while Marcus cleared his name."

"Yes, yes." Djerana sounded impatient and it was her turn to wave a dismissive hand, in mock imitation of his earlier gesture. "But not yet. His best advisors played him false and have gone home to Sandester, and Marcus Vintner all but demanded the throne today."

"Silmarila told me Marcus only pointed out that Zenepha was free to abdicate whenever he wished."

"I didn't say that he said 'Gimme the throne'," countered Djerana. "But it was a demand. Samrita told me that he also reminded His Majesty who had the strongest claim. What's that, if not a demand?"

"A reminder?" suggested Grayar, peaceably.

This time, Djerana did stamp a foot. "This is serious. Zenepha is getting quite concerned. The time is not right, yet I can see that he is tired of all the politics going on all the time."

Grayar gave a sympathetic nod. "Sadly, that is the nature of high office everywhere," he replied.

"It doesn't happen with us," countered Djerana. "Once we choose an ilvenleader, that is it."

"But when you are about to choose a new leader, there is always politics before the election," countered Grayar.

"They are not about to choose a new leader."

"If you mean the Markans, then yes they are." Grayar took another sip of alovak. "This is the culmination of a struggle to see the empire recognized again. And to address your earlier observation, it is one of the reasons why I'm still in Marka."

"But it's not fair on Zenepha," protested Djerana. "He has served faithfully and well. What will come of him when he is no longer Emperor?"

Grayar smiled and drained his alovak. "You finally ask an intelligent question. What indeed befalls Zenepha when he is no longer Emperor?"

"I'm not sure he could go back to a collar," said Djerana, a faint grimace of distaste twisting her features.

"Even if he wanted that, he couldn't," replied Grayar. "The Senate manumitted him, so there's no going back."

"Going back." Djerana nodded and her emerald eyes glowed with sudden enthusiasm. "That's exactly what he must do."

Grayar's puzzlement slowly faded as the ilven began to explain what she meant. Soon, a happy smile spread across his face. This might do very well indeed.

***

"I will see you tomorrow."

Kaira, her eyes alight, stood on tiptoe to plant a quick kiss on Basren's lips. The boy, as she had expected, blushed to the roots of his hair.

"You had better," he said, trying and failing to sound authoritative. "Any later and those books you borrowed will be overdue. All librarians hate that."

Kaira giggled. "You know I forgot to bring them on purpose," she said. "Any excuse to see you again."

Basren's arms snaked around her and hugged her close. "You could just come anyway," he whispered. "You don't need a reason."

"I do for the mistress," replied Kaira.

"Well you'd best be off then." Basren stepped back and smiled. "I want no trouble between you and the Vintners."

Kaira ran lightly down the library steps, paused at the bottom to wave to Basren, and disappeared into the crowds that swirled along Marka's streets.

As always, the city showed off its cosmopolitan population, with clothing and people from all over the continent. Some of the outsiders dressed like Markans, in billowing shirts and tight breeches, but others remained in their traditional clothing. Very pale men who wore furs came from the far north, while tanned men came from further south. Men with honey-colored skins from the west; men with jet-colored skins from the southwest; men with skins every color in between and from everywhere in between.

Some wore cloaks, even in the gathering heat of a Markan summer and a few even showed nothing more than their eyes. One such, perhaps shorter than the rest, caught her attention. Wrapped in some black garment, with only a fringe of dark curly hair and a pair of startling dark blue eyes showing, stopped almost in front of her.

"You are Kaira," said the stranger, movements graceful and sinuous. The stranger's voice was light, but not unduly so.

Kaira looked around. "How do you know my name?" she demanded.

The eyes suggested the stranger smiled at her.

"Thought it was you. There is something for Zandra Vintner, something you need to take to her, something urgent."

"What is it?"

"Come with me to my lodgings and you shall be given the message. You can carry it back."

Kaira felt suspicious. Though the familiar Markan accent rolled off the other's tongue, the words sounded strange. "What message?"

"From the field," replied the stranger. "Best it comes from you. No welcome for the likes of me at the palace."

"I must hurry back," said Kaira. "I'm already a bit late. The children –"

"Can wait a few moments more," interrupted the stranger. "My lodgings are near, not far. You will lose no more than a minute or two."

"I don't understand why you need me to carry your message," protested Kaira. "You can... Wait! Where are you going?"

The stranger already walked away and Kaira paused. Could this message really be so important that she must carry it? She lingered for only a moment before following. The stranger dodged stalls and easily twisted through the crowd without touching anybody. Nobody, not even sylphs, paid either of them any mind.

The sylphs' lack of concern allayed her fears.

Until the stranger turned into an alley.

Alleys crisscrossed Marka. Rarely threatening in themselves, Kaira usually avoided them because one never knew who might be met. And she preferred to ignore some of the uses alleys were put to.

"Is it far?" she called.

"Just by here," replied the stranger. "Just here, as I said."

Kaira paused and blinked. She looked around, but there were no doorways, just a black hole in the ground, from which she heard the thunder of a river far below.

"Well, what is the message?" she demanded.

"This," replied the stranger.

Kaira thought she had been punched in the chest, until she felt something hot and sticky dribbling down the inside of her clothes. She could not breathe and the pain went on and on. She stared at the spreading wet redness and tried to lift her head. One hand clutched the stranger's dark clothes for support, tearing a button free.

Then she fell into darkness...

***
Chapter 9

Decision

Reshiad stared. "You're the General?" he finally managed, staring at Serifa. "But, you're... That is, you can't be; you're a... a –"

"– girl?" completed Serifa.

At her side, Erard chuckled.

Reshiad blinked.

Verdin saved him. "We only hope that Dervra and his underlings dismiss the idea as quickly," he said. He waved a hand in Serifa's direction. "But I must say that she has received the best military education possible, short of open warfare."

Serifa's hazel eyes were expressionless. "We have nearly five hundred men and women within Turivkan's walls; a further thousand outside."

"The women are fighting as well?" Reshiad hoped he did not sound too naive.

"They too have lost loved ones," Serifa pointed out, "and in some cases are the only survivors from their family. They have as much reason to be angry as the men of this land."

"When Marka was besieged a couple of years ago," added Verdin, "the women of the city added their weight to its defense. There is nothing strange in this, Reshiad."

Erard said nothing.

"Yet it is true that they look for a man to lead," added Serifa. "They are happy to follow me, but the actual battle leader must be a man. If I am seen to follow him, then everybody is happy."

"You want me to take over?" Reshiad's eyes widened. "Everything I know involves sheep, stone walls and sylphs."

Serifa's smile widened. "I did not say you would actually lead," she said. "Only that I would be seen to follow. You will be guided and helped by me, and by those who assist me."

"And I will continue to teach you," offered Verdin.

"I am not related to the old Prefect," pointed out Reshiad. "I am not one of his sons."

"Which is a pity," said Serifa, solemnly, "but we must work with the clay we've received."

"I am not clay," protested Reshiad.

"Sounds like your feet are made from it though," muttered Erard, attention focused on cleaning dirt from under his fingernails with a daggertip.

"I understand we ask a lot of you," said Serifa. "But there is great need."

"If I say no?"

Serifa shrugged. "Then we shall arm you with a stick or something, train you to use it and put you in the ranks with the rest. If you want some time to make your decision, well and good, but I'm meeting some of the commanders in a little more than an hour. I'd be honored to introduce you to them."

"As their leader." Reshiad's voice was flat.

Serifa smiled and nodded. "Yes."

***

Glayen had a small courtyard, almost exactly square, beside the large bath area. Benches and pots holding flowering plants dotted the yard, giving the merchant somewhere to relax in the summer. Rain downspouts led to barrels in all corners, presumably to provide water for the pots.

Reshiad paced the yard, twelve steps before turning and twelve steps more before turning again. As he turned, he argued aloud for and against Serifa's proposal.

"I resemble the old Prefect's son; they need me." Turn. "I'm just a peasant boy, nobody will believe I am a battle commander." Turn. "They need to be led. A group of bereaved peasants with no more idea than I have." Turn. "Nobody can squeeze a lifetime's military education into weeks."

A cough came from one of the water barrels and Reshiad jumped. He saw a pair of sylph eyes, glowing faintly in the near dark.

"Neptarik," he said. "How do you manage that? I never saw you."

"I have been here all the time," replied Neptarik, just a touch of hurt in his voice. "It is not my fault human eyes cannot see well."

"You know what they want me to do?"

"Yes."

"I have no idea what to do." Reshiad sensed the sylph's earpoints had risen bolt upright. His eyes had certainly widened.

"Nobody hears a sylph's voice, but if someone did listen, then this one says Reshiad Wajrun Helzar should accept the proposal. He should go to these men, assume command and tell them how he shares their grief at losing loved ones. Reshiad might tell these men how he lost his own family, because of the census. He might point out that the murder of innocents suggests fear in those who give such commands. Rulers who fear their people cannot survive long."

"I've never persuaded people to follow me before," pointed out Reshiad.

Neptarik sniffed. "They already want to follow," he replied. "My advice, which no doubt you will ignore, is that you should go there, take charge and make them follow."

"Do you believe I can do it, Neptarik?"

"It does not matter what I believe," replied the sylph. "Only what you believe. And another thing, from this miserable sylph scout, whose advice has no value: assume a name that is not yours. Safer for you, safer for what is left of your family. This sylph thinks a name like Deshad would suit." Neptarik sniffed again and dropped to the ground with a soft, almost silent thud. "But nobody listens to a sylph's ramblings. We live to serve, donenya."

Reshiad held his tongue until the scout neared the door leading from the courtyard. "Your advice is wise, Neptarik and I will take it. Thank you."

The sylph paused. "I pulled the right boy out of the water after all," he said, before leaving.

***

Reshiad watched the five men arrive. They did not come together, but one at a time, tapping on the outer door before admittance. He leaned against the balustrade, watching each man bound up the stairs to the meeting room.

Serifa and Verdin were already within, as well as the taciturn bodyguard. Erard could give sylphs lessons in silence.

Three of the men went directly to the room, but two paused, greeted by sylphs Glayen claimed did not belong to him. To judge from the hugs and, in the case of the infertiles, tickled earpoints, the sylphs' genuine owners visited now.

Once all five men were closeted in the meeting room, Reshiad took a couple of calming breaths. At least, they were supposed to be calming.

"A disgusting display," muttered Neptarik, from beside him. "So public."

Surprised, Reshiad turned. "What?"

"All that touching of earpoints." The male sylph shuddered.

"It's different for infertiles," said Reshiad. "You ought to know that."

The door creaked open and Verdin left the room. He looked around, saw Reshiad and beckoned.

Reshiad stepped forward. He glanced over his shoulder once at Neptarik, who smiled and nodded encouragement. Reshiad managed a small smile in return.

"Come on," said Verdin, voice gentle. "You'll be fine."

As the door closed behind him, Reshiad felt like a condemned man climbing the scaffold.

The room had several light crystals to help keep it bright. That took some doing, thanks to Glayen's obvious obsession with dark wood paneling. Seven people sat around the table stood in the middle of the room, and most stared at Reshiad with open curiosity. He took the only vacant chair, between Serifa and Verdin.

Serifa looked quite at her ease. Girls her age could act ten years older or ten years younger, but she looked self-possessed and mature now. Erard's brown gaze skewered Reshiad and the boy quickly looked at the other five men.

"Good evening," he managed.

Serifa smiled and pointed to each newcomer in turn. "Let me introduce our field commanders." Even as she spoke, Reshiad knew he would hear false names, adopted to protect each man's family.

Helden, Vawn and Silbur had the hazel eyes and brown hair so common in Turivkan. The bearded Silbur had the palest skin, hinting at a base birth, while the other two had the honey-colored skin shared by Serifa and himself.

Ozbon had black hair and green eyes flecked with silver; while Kedric, blue-eyed, fair haired, and boasting an impressive mustache, was easily the oldest man present. Reshiad doubted if he had many more years than forty.

The door opened again, admitting Neptarik and Mya, carrying mugs and two heated cans. The sylphs passed around the room, offering alovak, before they withdrew to the sides of the room. Reshiad soon realized that the other humans quickly forgot they stood there.

"Which one are you?" asked Ozbon, after savoring his alovak and taking the first sip. "Awen or Warlon?" His strangely colored eyes glittered.

"He's too old for Warlon," muttered Silbur.

Verdin and Serifa looked expectantly at Reshiad.

"My name is unimportant," said Reshiad, "but you may call me Deshad. I am pleased to meet you all." He glimpsed Neptarik staring at him. See? Someone listens to you, miserable sylph or not.

Verdin and Serifa exchanged a look. The other five men nodded in approval.

"We feared you might already want us to call you Excellency," said Ozbon.

"Not yet," said Reshiad. He wondered what secrets Ozbon's assumed name hid from view. "We need to win first."

A small chuckle rippled around the table.

"My understanding is that we have fifteen hundred men and women here," continued Reshiad.

"That is just Shelcar's cell," remarked Ozbon. "Numbers vary, but we have fifteen cells, including one in Turivkan itself."

Reshiad nodded. "Good. Who is responsible for coordination between us all?"

Ozbon pointed to Serifa, who smiled.

"Excellent." Reshiad decided he was enjoying himself.

"Only thing that bothers me," continued Ozbon, his silver-flecked green eyes steady and expressionless, "is how you sound so different from her."

"We were raised in very different parts of the Prefecture," said Serifa.

Ozbon sniffed.

"But we are all here for the same reason," said Reshiad, hoping Ozbon was not about to destroy his promising start. Why would he think we should sound the same?

"Which is?" Ozbon sat back and crossed his arms.

Reshiad gestured with an arm. "We have all lost loved ones, else we would not be here. The man I called Father, the woman I called Mother and the girl I called Sister were murdered because they helped me flee. And I haven't even mentioned our sylphs, whose loyalty cost their lives. I am sure you and those who follow have equally sad stories to tell. Nobody needs revisit their grief to prove a point. The enemy is in Turivkan and, no matter what disagreements we have here, the Prefect unites us against him."

"One Prefect may be the same as another," said Silbur, quietly. "Especially to those with neither wealth nor property."

"Prefects should rule for the good of their people," said Reshiad. "He cannot notice if a man is a wealthy merchant or a landhusband; he must be blind to the color and shade of a man's skin; treat with men and women alike; listen to all sides of an argument before reaching a decision. He must be fair and constant, so even when a decision goes against a man, that man understands why, even if he does not agree. But there is something more."

Seven pairs of human eyes regarded Reshiad without blinking. Neptarik and Mya stared open-mouthed, earpoints bolt upright.

"More important than all of that, a Prefect must be about justice." Reshiad waggled a finger. "Justice is not served, cannot be served, while men turn a blind eye to the murder of children. And any ruler who commands such murders cannot remain a ruler for long. Such men are unfit to rule!"

The five men nodded. Reshiad blinked as Ozbon's green gaze augured into him. The moment dragged, but Reshiad refused to look away. The other man's face was still and expressionless, except for one small muscle that twitched in his cheek. Slowly, carefully, Ozbon rose and extended a hand.

"Deshad," he said, emotion thickening his voice, "I am your man, to the death."

Silbur extended a hand. "Deshad; I am your man, to the death."

Helden extended a hand. "To Turivkan and after."

Vawn grinned as he extended his hand. "I follow where you lead."

Kedric, the oldest, finally took his turn. "It'd better not come to dying," he said, flashing strong white teeth as he smiled. "And you'd better come good on those promises."

"I meant every word," said Reshiad, honestly.

The men took their time leaving, but they were soon escorted away from Glayen's house, returning to whichever inns they had chosen for their stay. Mya and Neptarik collected the used alovak mugs, putting everything together on one tray that Mya took with her as she left the room. Neptarik began covering the light crystals, taking his time and obviously eavesdropping.

Serifa smiled at Reshiad. "Impressive," she said. "Winning over Ozbon took some doing. How did you know both his sons died thanks to this census? They were killed in front of him."

"I assumed he lost someone." Reshiad grimaced.

"And you were wise to adopt a false name," continued the girl.

"Ah well, you can tha –" Reshiad fell silent as he saw Neptarik give a warning shake of the head. "Sometimes you must listen to good advice," he said.

"I think that went well," remarked Verdin, near the door.

Reshiad nodded before he turned back to Serifa. "Sorry if it looks like I've pushed you aside," he said.

Serifa smiled. "You haven't. As you'll be finding out soon enough. Verdin, can you show me where you've hidden the maps of Turivkan? I'd like to take a look before bed." Her voice faded as she and Verdin left the room.

Only two light crystals were left uncovered.

Reshiad shook his head. "They went for it," he said, as if unable to believe it.

Neptarik smiled. "You did better than I expected," he said. The sylph inclined his head in respect. "Excellency."

"Whoa." Reshiad made a shushing motion with his hands. "That's for the likes of Serifa, not me."

The sylph blinked. "I am about to cover these crystals. His Excellency had better get to bed."

***

Reshiad rode his white mare out from Shelcar. Serifa rode alongside him, on her dappled gray mare, while a grouchy Tektu walked between them, carrying Serifa's parasol and scowling at anybody who looked her way. Watchful, taciturn Erard rode behind them.

They left the city in small groups, trying to avoid attention. Mya and Neptarik had left with Balnus, while Verdin left with Ozbon, using the only cart to carry all their belongings. The other field commanders left separately with their sylphs.

"Are all these precautions strictly necessary?" asked Reshiad.

Serifa gave him a surprised look. "Of course. Do you see any pigeons in the sky?"

"You probably wouldn't notice them from here," said Reshiad, who didn't even glance up.

"They could be headed anywhere," continued Serifa. "Sent by anyone. Every city is full of spies, all taking money from somebody. We don't want Dervra to learn we're assembling an army until it's too late."

"He might already know," replied Reshiad. "We could be riding into a trap."

"Indeed." Serifa's smile lit her hazel eyes. "But isn't life fun when surrounded by so much danger?"

Reshiad said nothing, but reflected that a quiet life surrounded by nothing more vicious than sheep sounded more like fun to him.

"We have left the city now," interrupted Tektu, thrusting the parasol at Serifa. "You can carry this yourself."

The girl laughed, leaned down and ruffled Tektu's silver hair. "Stop being so grumpy."

Tektu scowled and jerked her head away.

"You'll be back with your beloved Neptarik before long, I promise," said Serifa. She tried and failed to catch an earpoint, in the hope of soothing the angry infertile.

"He's not my beloved," snapped Tektu and fell back to walk alongside Erard, where the bodyguard ignored her completely.

Reshiad screwed himself around to look at the infertile in surprise. Sulks from Tektu? The more he learned about this strange sylph, the more she confused him.

"How long have you known Tektu?" he asked.

"A couple of weeks. They are all from Marka."

"To help us or rule us?"

"Some of both," replied Serifa. "As you've already noted. So long as everything is for mutual advantage, the reemergence of the Markan Empire is beneficial."

"Even though it is ruled by a sylph?"

"For now." Serifa smiled. "I wonder if the Emperor is a sylph like Neptarik? Now there is an interesting specimen."

Reshiad doubted if Neptarik would appreciate being referred to as an interesting specimen, but decided to ignore the comment. "He's certainly different," he replied.

"Balnus tells me that the army seeks sylphs displaying a greater level of independence than is normal," said Serifa. "It is something for us to consider, I suggest."

"Do you think the Markans will help us with that?" Reshiad raised an eyebrow. "And I wonder what value sylphs are to an army. Armies are about fighting and sylphs are not fighters."

"We want to go this way," murmured Serifa, when they reached a vague fork in the road. "Our lot are hidden in the forest."

"Where are we headed to next? Nobody has thought to tell me yet."

Serifa smiled. "Turivkan," she said. "The longer we wait, the greater the chance of discovery."

Reshiad fought down a sudden feeling of panic. "So soon?" he asked.

"Best to get the job done quickly," she replied.

"Hope those feet aren't made from clay after all," interrupted Erard, breaking his silence. "Because that will get men killed."

Reshiad turned in his saddle. "There's nothing wrong with my feet."

Erard's brown eyes glittered. "Good."

***

Four of the field commanders had split away. Serifa explained that they had returned to their own groups, as the rebels dared not congregate in one place. The risk of detection was too great.

Ozbon's group of three hundred had made the nearby forest their home. As Reshiad saw no sign of them, he assumed they concealed themselves as well as Neptarik. The few people he spotted foraging all wore green or brown wool he expected to see on the poorest peasant.

"Look up," whispered Serifa, leaning closer.

Reshiad looked up and saw an archer sat comfortably on a lower bough of the nearest tree. Had there been more foliage, he would have seen nothing. And had the archer decided to shoot, Reshiad could not have possibly seen him until too late.

"Caution and a long life go together," he muttered.

Serifa smiled.

Reshiad looked carefully around and patted Ercyan's long neck. Nothing obvious stood out to show a camp. Large piles of wood were dotted about, all roofed to allow the gathered wood to season. He also realized it would burn with little or no smoke.

Two huts huddled together to give the impression of normalcy and two woodcutters worked nearby.

"Where is everybody?" asked Reshiad.

Erard chuckled and Tektu looked as if she thought Reshiad had taken leave of his senses.

"Look closer," suggested Serifa.

Reshiad did. A forest, with maybe a half dozen people in sight. Trees marching steadily uphill, screens woven from pliant branches and leaves to one side, probably to provide washing or privy shelter.

He had seen something like the screens before. "They live underground?"

Serifa giggled. "Welcome to Shelcar Mine," she said. "Headquarters of your rebellion."

Tektu led them towards one of the largest screens.

Reshiad expected a larger version of the byawta he had slept in, but he was wrong.

Tektu pulled the screening aside and even the horses passed easily through it. Only Ercyan showed any reluctance to move forward, but the white mare eventually followed the other horses' example.

As he passed into the cave beyond, Reshiad realized no dark hole lay ahead. The cave opened up and the floor ramped down. Regularly spaced light crystals showed the way.

"Wow!" breathed Reshiad, dismounting as boys came forward to take the horses. "What... a... place."

"Surprised?" asked Serifa.

Reshiad nodded.

A good twenty horses munched contentedly, all secured to the same picket line. Reshiad recognized Verdin Vintner's horse Blade and wondered who had ridden it out here. After all, Verdin was with the only cart, which he also spotted tucked away at one side.

"We keep the stables nearest the door," said Serifa, as if she owned the cave. "Easier for mucking out this way."

Reshiad saw that roofed huts had been built in long terraces, serving as barracks, workshops and offices. Perhaps fifteen smiths worked beyond that, hammering spare horseshoes and weapons.

"You going to gawp all day?" demanded Tektu. The sylph's eyes glowed faintly in the poor light. "This way, follow me."

Sylphs outnumbered the people Reshiad could see. Mostly infertiles, the roughly dressed sylphs dashed about carrying papers and messages. More worked at chores, cleaning tack, polishing weapons, sweeping out the huts.

The cave narrowed to a tunnel, which opened into another cave, its ceiling lost to darkness. Within, hundreds of men practiced with staffs, or swords, or pikes, dancing with their weapons in the harsh glare from light crystals.

Cooks worked along one wall, smoke from their fires – if any smoke, given the stacks of dried wood outside – rose and probably escaped somewhere through the roof.

"Follow," prompted Tektu, "else we will part company." Her tone hinted she didn't care either way.

Reshiad followed his companions into another tunnel, and down a set of stone steps. Reshiad and Serifa clung gratefully to the rope that ran alongside the steps for extra support, while Tektu demonstrated her agility by running down them. The silent Erard took his time, but he also scorned the rope.

Tektu waited patiently at the bottom. "This way," she urged.

"How big is this place?" Reshiad wondered aloud.

"Bigger than anyone knows," replied Serifa. "So don't be tempted to go exploring, or you might get lost forever. We've already lost a couple of over-inquisitive soldiers."

Reshiad suspected Serifa sported with him.

Tektu led them to another division and through a door.

"Welcome!" Ozbon stood and extended a hand. "Welcome to the nearly forgotten Shelcar Mine."

"What did they mine here?" asked Reshiad.

"Iron ore," replied Ozbon. "Until about two hundred years ago. We've been working on the place for the past five years, making it homely."

"And a suitable hiding place for rebels," added Verdin, standing from his chair. He smiled at the newcomers.

"Very impressive," said Reshiad. "Five years ago? The census only began last year."

"The resistance to Dervra's rule began when your, ah, father lost the throne," said Ozbon.

Reshiad almost told the man that Adelbard had been no relation. "Still, it's a good place."

Serifa shrugged. "It'll do." She turned back to Ozbon. "How soon?" she asked.

"We can leave in the morning," replied Ozbon. "Say the word, and I'll send runners to the other camps."

Serifa looked at Reshiad, and nodded.

Ozbon watched expectantly.

"All right," said Reshiad. "Let's get it over before too many more people lose their children."

Ozbon's green eyes glittered in the light crystals' glare. "Suits me perfectly," he said.

"And may Siranva aid us all," murmured Erard.

***

"Have we got it right?" asked the infertile sylph.

Mya watched as Neptarik peered into the small cans that she suspected should really be used for alovak. The cans held green, gray and brown paint.

The scout nodded. "Looks fine to me," he replied.

Under Mya's supervision, Neptarik stripped off his shirt and gray breeches, and stretched out on a convenient stone. Naked, he looked at the nearest infertile. "Paint up my legs to just below the crotch, and down my body an inca or two below my waist," he told her. "Green first, then I shall instruct you in the paint scheme."

Mya kept a careful eye on the infertiles as they painted her beloved husband green. She much preferred him when his natural blue. All three worked quickly and Neptarik obediently turned over when requested.

Once the green paint had dried, Neptarik stepped into the short breeches scouts wore to protect their modesty. These were already painted and the scout quickly secured the drawstring.

"Now," said Neptarik. "Brown and gray."

Bit by bit, Neptarik changed from normal sylph to army scout. Even his silver-gray hair turned green, gray and brown. Only his eyes still looked normal.

Mya understood the necessity of camouflage, even for sylphs, but she wished her husband did not look so utterly alien whenever he wore his scout paint. His role did not bother her; humans fought and sylphs were supposed to help their humans. After all, her previous owner had been a spy.

Humans got hurt, but that was the fault of other humans, not sylphs.

Except for Tektu. Mya screwed her eyes shut and tried to banish the image of her dead owner as they carried him from the cells in Castle Beren. She wanted closure; she wanted nothing more than to be with Neptarik, but every time she saw that hateful, evil Tektu, she received a reminder of what had been.

Delivered with the mental subtlety of a kick in the head.

She had heard the explanation of how her husband had ended up with the vile monster. She wished to be rid of Tektu, but even a collapsing castle had failed to kill her. The creature was now bonded to Neptarik and though that bond could be broken by killing her husband, that meant she would end up with her previous owner's murderer.

Neptarik stood and carefully inspected himself in the polished metal mirror one of the infertiles held up for his inspection.

"Not bad." The scout nodded. "Not everything is in the right place, but not bad at all."

The infertiles smiled and giggled, hanging around until Mya chased them out. She looked at Neptarik and thought of Tektu.

There must be another way of getting rid of her.

***

Preparations to leave went on through the night. Reshiad watched with Serifa. The fighting men and women had already said goodbye to their families, and most of them were ready to leave first. All wore a hungry look, doubtless a demand for vengeance, if not for justice.

They were ready to fight.

Verdin and the silent Erard watched with them. Balnus stayed with Ozbon, the field commander seemingly everywhere at once. Tektu stayed with him, for some reason wearing a petulant expression. But wasn't Balnus ultimately her owner? Even if she did claim to belong to Neptarik.

Talking of whom...

Reshiad glanced behind, where the scout had curled up on straw, earpoints tucked away. Mya lay beside him, but her twitching earpoints showed sleep refused to come, even if he had not seen her silver-gray eyes, wide and wondering.

"It's like a madhouse," he remarked.

Serifa nodded. "Organized chaos," she replied. "Everybody knows what they must do."

Erard grunted.

"Are the others coming too?" asked Reshiad.

"Others?" asked Serifa.

"The smiths, the sylphs, the fletchers, the laundresses..."

"Some of them," replied Verdin. "But we intend to travel light and fast. We'll be sneaking into Turivkan. A quick coup, rather than bloody battles and sieges, else we'll alienate the very people we want to liberate."

"The people you think are best ruled by someone else," remarked Reshiad.

Verdin pursed his lips. "You prefer to leave Dervra in charge?"

"Of course not."

"Perhaps you'd rather see a significant proportion of the population dead?" pressed Verdin.

"No!"

Serifa spoke up. "Good. We long ago decided against sieges and battles; after all, Dervra is the one with a professional army. We'd also prefer to keep that intact as far as possible. Or do you want the neighbors to sense weakness and attack just when you're trying to find your feet?"

Reshiad shook his head. "You have had an education," he muttered. "Who are you?"

Serifa's hazel eyes glittered with amusement. "Keep guessing, my noble Deshad."

Neptarik abruptly yawned and stretched, brushing his fingertips across Mya's. The sylph stood and stretched out each limb individually, shaking his hands and feet, working out any knots and ensuring all his muscles and tendons were in the right places.

He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and smiled at Reshiad. "Dawn," he announced.

How could the creature tell? Reshiad could not see outside, and the light crystals continued their unremitting glare. Night and day was all the same in here.

Ozbon and Balnus, with Tektu in tow, joined them.

Ozbon nodded to Serifa and Verdin, before turning to Reshiad.

"We're ready to leave," he said.

Reshiad did not wait for advice from Verdin or Serifa.

"Good," he replied. "Then we'd best get gone."

Ozbon nodded again and stumped away, shouting orders as he went.

"We'd better mount up," suggested Serifa.

***

Tearful sylphs lined the way, some breaking ranks to hug an owner. Neptarik led the column, even if he was quickly out of sight. Reshiad watched the displays from the other sylphs and wondered how many would decide following their owners might be the best idea. Such behavior could give the army's location away to the enemy.

He must have said something aloud, because Verdin spoke.

"They've been given strict instructions to stay behind," he said. "Given the way you sometimes treat sylphs, I'm certain they will obey."

"Perhaps," replied Serifa. "But many sylphs know their own mind and their loyalty is unquestioned. Usually."

More and more left the old mine, immediately breaking up into small groups.

"Everybody will make their way to Turivkan," said Serifa. "Smaller parties are safer than one large group. With any luck, Dervra won't know what's coming until we're there."

Reshiad sniffed. "The man's Gifted, isn't he?"

"Whether Gifted or a sorcerer, he isn't omnipotent," replied Verdin.

Reshiad said nothing, but he hoped they weren't riding into a trap.

***
Chapter 10

In Turivkan

Marlen Masser looked around the conference table, his pale blue eyes expressionless. Just short of his fortieth year, Marlen could take some satisfaction from his achievements, even if all the important ones had been gained in Dervra's shadow. Even now, he sat at the man's right.

The administrator droned on, boring everybody to death with his lists. Marlen had always despised Kanad, from the very first moment they met. An Eldovan, Kanad had marched with the now dead Hingast, the intention being to install him as Governor of Marka. Kanad had arranged people displacements before, but he was also a skilled administrator. As he had proved in Turivkan.

But.

Marlen could not care less about people displacements, a quaint euphemism for mass enslavement and murder; those had all been arranged under the beady eye of the insane Hingast. He despised Kanad because of the man's cowardice.

General Teven Vorbert looked to be asleep. The man's eyes were shut, though he still sat straight. His stature, lank black hair and slightly slanted eyes showed a southern inheritance. The man had served under the old Prefect and, true to his undoubted mercenary origins, had proved more than willing to serve under the new.

A General, yet the man had never been tested in battle.

Beside him sat Captain Shais, commander of Turivkan's City Guard. A stout man with a jovial expression, though his green eyes gave lie to the demeanor. A dangerous man, with a cruel streak. Marlen respected this man, though there was little to like. He now sat to Dervra's left.

And Delnor.

A servant, if a high one. Marlen had nothing against the man, but he resented the private chats he enjoyed with Dervra. That suggested some sort of reserve plan, one that excluded Marlen. He knew from others' experience that exclusion from any of Dervra's plans could prove fatal.

A lesson Hingast had learned to his cost.

"Thank you, Kanad," said Dervra. "You have been very thorough."

Too bloody thorough, reflected Marlen, as the administrator bobbed his head.

Dervra turned to his left. "Captain Shais; have you learned any more about this... rebellion?"

Shais pursed his lips. "There is little to glean from peasants who know nothing other than how to use a stick and that you are the enemy."

"Peasants with sticks have brought down empires," muttered Marlen, whose humble birth still rankled.

"Thank you, Marlen." Dervra's deep blue eyes glittered. "Continue, Captain."

"As well as Turivkan, I have learned about cells in Alban, Reyas, Salkis..."

"I think we can assume there are cells in every town and city," interrupted Dervra. "If they are aware of each other, they are organized. If there is organization, there are leaders. Try to capture one of those."

Shais ran a hand through blond hair. "Already thought of that one, boss," he said. "Even better, I've got one."

"Excellent." Dervra showed no surprise; Marlen suspected the man already knew. "And?"

"They only brought him in this morning," replied Shais. "Will go and speak with him after this meeting."

"I will accompany you," said Marlen.

Shais opened his mouth to deny the request, but Dervra broke in first.

"Please do, Marlen," he said.

Shais closed his mouth and glowered.

"How many cells have we infiltrated?" asked Marlen.

"All of them," replied Shais. "Well, all the ones we're aware of. The problem isn't getting men in, the problem is getting messages out."

"And is Turivkan ready for any assault from peasants with sticks?" Dervra turned to Teven, whose eyes were certainly open now.

"We are," he barked. "They come here, we'll squash 'em."

"I'm glad to hear it." Dervra smiled.

Marlen doubted if there would be any direct assault. Left to him, he would...

"Well thank you, gentlemen," said Dervra. "You all have your duties to attend."

Marlen had no choice but to follow the others out of the room.

"Not you, Delnor," said Dervra. "I'd like a word with you."

Marlen grimaced. Again, Delnor. He hoped this word had nothing to do with a reserve plan. He so hated feeling surplus to requirements. He caught up with Shais and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Let's go take a look at this prisoner of yours," he said.

***

Marlen looked at the prisoner. He felt distinctly unimpressed at the man's appearance, with stubble and unbrushed brown hair. The rough woolens the man wore had seen better days, though nothing marked him as anything out of the ordinary.

Marlen had always wished that something would mark rebels and traitors. Life could be made so much easier if sorcery – or in his case, even the hated Gift – had some talent for spotting malefactors.

A guard stood just inside the door, while Marlen and Shais faced the entry, the prisoner forced to sit with his back to the open door.

"You have a name," said Shais.

Calm hazel eyes calm regarded the Captain with a hint of mocking laughter. "Everybody has a name," replied the prisoner.

Marlen hoped his exasperation didn't show. Of course the man had a name! Everybody except young infertile sylphs had names and this man was obviously no sylph. Now the idiot had asked the man for his name, they must now win the battle. The effort would be better expended on learning answers to more important questions.

"I am Marlen Masser and this is Captain Shais of the –"

"I know."

Marlen's pale blue eyes hardened at the interruption. "You are involved with a group of rebels causing trouble throughout the Prefecture," he said.

The prisoner looked back. "Got no idea what you're talking about. Just a farmer, me."

"With the accents of Turivkan's merchant class?" Marlen raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you own several farms, but if you're a farmer, I've got earpoints and silver eyes."

The man shrugged.

Marlen's eyes flickered to the doorway. "Guard, join us please."

The guard crossed the floor.

Marlen continued. "I doubt if this man will tell me if he is right- or left-handed, so please break the little fingers on both hands."

The prisoner's hazel eyes widened. "You'd break my fingers because I won't tell you my name?"

Marlen felt Shais's gaze. "No, I'll break your fingers for your rudeness. You have our names, yet will not supply your own." Marlen's pale blue eyes flickered to the guard. "Continue."

"I am Yaan Erkin," said the prisoner, quickly, as the guard leaned forward.

Marlen sat back and smiled. He nodded to the guard, who returned to his post. "Thank you, Yaan." No doubt the man had supplied a false name, underlining the pointlessness of Shais's initial question.

Shais opened his mouth to speak, but Marlen forestalled him.

"We know you're a member of the rebel group," he continued, "we are not interested in hearing your denials, only in names."

This time, Yaan's smile was mocking. "Or you'll break my fingers?"

Marlen returned the smile. "No. I'll remove every extremity from your body and throw you naked into the streets to beg. Or starve."

Yaan shook his head. "Don't believe you," he replied. "You already backed away from breaking my fingers."

Marlen assumed a surprised expression. "So I did; perhaps that was an oversight. Guard, please bring that hammer and hold Master Yaan's hands flat on the table."

***

Marlen forced his face to stillness as he waited outside the closed door to Dervra's small study. Too much had gone on behind that door without his inclusion for Marlen to feel fully comfortable here.

He showed no emotion as Delnor opened the door.

"His Excellency will see you now," said the servant.

Marlen nodded and marched straight in.

Two chairs, one either side of a plain desk. A single rug covered part of the stone-flagged floor, a row of books on the mantel above a cold fireplace. And above the row of books, a lone painting of a snow-capped mountain.

Dervra looked up from behind the desk. His deep blue eyes twinkled.

"You have learned something?"

Marlen turned to stare at Delnor, the servant bristling at the unspoken command.

"Leave us please, Delnor." Dervra gestured with a hand.

Delnor bowed and stalked out of the study.

Marlen remained expressionless, though he felt petty witnessing the servant's small humiliation. He stared at the mismatched bookends until the door had closed again.

"We have indeed learned something." Marlen smiled. "Quite a few somethings. The most important of which is that the rebellion believes it is led by the oldest son of Adelbard."

Dervra's hand, resting on the desk, clenched. "They told us both boys are dead."

"They did tell us and the boys are dead." Marlen smiled. "The boy they claim is really Awen now calls himself Deshad."

"And if it is Awen?"

"It isn't, but if the rebels believe different, then he may as well be."

Dervra laughed. "Dangerous."

"Especially for the imposter when the rebels learn they've been played." Marlen grimaced. "He's probably some youngster with delusions of grandeur. Perhaps he's one who escaped our soldiers."

"There have been too many of those," remarked Dervra.

"We've caught up with most of them now," replied Marlen. "There aren't many boys with dark hair, hazel eyes and the required age left alive in Turivkan."

"Good."

Marlen had failed to grasp quite why Dervra feared his predecessor's boys and supposed that Seeing was somehow involved. The only thing he had in common with Dervra was being able to use both the Gift and sorcery, even if Marlen's Gift had not developed far before he discovered the easier, better way.

"The important thing we've learned is that this rebellion is organized, and probably with outside help," said Marlen. "They have a command structure and cells in every major town and city."

"We had already guessed as much," pointed out Dervra.

Marlen nodded. "Always good to have confirmation though. Every cell has been activated and I believe they are all headed here." He smiled. "It will not come to a siege."

"You seem certain."

"This is no trained army," pointed out Marlen. "Even if, as I suspect, Marka is involved with this rebellion, we are still talking about people who must assume different tactics to achieve their ambition."

"Why should Marka be involved?" asked Dervra.

"Surely you have not forgotten?" Marlen's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Remind me," prompted Dervra.

"The shadow riders passed through last year. We know they successfully joined with Kelanus and defeated, ah, Hingast." Marlen must remember he had never been party to the knowledge that the man who called himself Hingast, was not actually Hingast.

"Yes," Dervra smiled and nodded. "The gwerin who remembers the old empire and to whom Kanad so foolishly supplied my name."

Marlen smiled and inclined his head. "I am certain Sandev would have been fully appraised of the situation here the moment that gwerin reached Marka."

"I still doubt if Marka is directly involved," said Dervra. "They are too busy elsewhere."

Marlen inclined his head. "I've informed you of everything I learned from the prisoner," he lied. "May I be excused?"

"Of course. Please continue questioning the prisoner and try and get more."

Marlen inclined his head again and left.

Outside, he caught Delnor's arm to stop him from returning inside.

"I'd like a word with you," he said. "Walk this way."

Delnor tried and failed to break free from Marlen's grip. "What do you want with me?"

"I want you to tell me what plots and plans you are involved with."

"Don't you give me that nonsense!" protested the servant. "You don't frighten me with your bullying."

"You are involved in the rebellion and I want to know why."

"You're insane! Let go of me."

Marlen released the man's arm, but quickly wrapped his hand in Delnor's long brown hair and exposed his windpipe.

"You'd better start squealing," growled Marlen.

"Or what?" croaked Delnor.

"One son, two lovely little daughters and lots and lots of cute nephews and nieces," replied Marlen. "You've been seen, whispering in corners and spreading your vile lies."

"That's got nothing to do with the rebellion!" protested Delnor.

"Then you had better tell me, or your family is going to start dying off very, very quickly."

"You are a bastard."

"If you don't start talking, you're about to find out how much of one I really am," Marlen promised, then pushed the servant aside.

Delnor caught himself before he fell and stared at his companion with a mixture of contempt and fear.

"I'll start with Eyvid," Marlen promised. "He won't know what has hit him, but you will."

Delnor looked like he had rejected any idea of punching Marlen. He blinked a few times and looked around. "We can't talk here," he said.

Marlen nodded. "You lead on," he said. "And give me the answers I need." He watched the servant's back as he walked briskly along the corridors. Marlen smiled to himself. He would find out exactly what Dervra had planned without involving him.

A question of survival.

***

General Teven Vorbert, cloaked and looking suitably anonymous, glanced both ways along the street before entering the drinking establishment. Few taverns had a better reputation than the Buckled Hawk, despite the lack of choice when it came to ales.

Smoke from pipes hung heavily in the air and his feet threatened to slip on the freshly washed stone-flagged floor. Many of the men in here were outlanders, mostly from the south. Teven was fully aware that his slanted eyes marked him as an outlander, and outlanders tended to drink together.

While nobody had ever banned outlanders from mingling – Teven's own wife was native Turivkani – but some inner instinct always kept like with like. Plenty of northerners also drank here, but Teven silently thanked Siranva that he did not stand out.

Sylphs twisted through the throng, carrying mugs of cellar-cool ale to customers. Teven caught the eye of one young infertile and she nodded a silent acknowledgment of his unspoken order.

This establishment only had one ale, rather than the selection most others offered, an outlander recipe brewed locally. It couldn't possibly taste the same as the real thing, made with local water, so Teven was never disappointed.

He waited for his ale, thanked and paid the sylph (including extra, to ensure quick service from her next time), then looked for those he intended to meet.

Teven spotted them almost immediately: three plainly dressed northern men in a small huddle around a table. Despite their clothes, these three failed to blend with the other drinkers.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, crossing the short distance to the table.

One of the men waved a languid hand, but Teven knew nothing else about this man was weak or sluggish. And he most definitely was not drunk.

"We have a problem," muttered Teven.

"We do?" asked another, a pigeon trainer named Roddard.

"Yaan." Teven grimaced. "He has been captured and, even though I'm not involved in his interrogation, so far he's managed to avoid betraying anything or anyone. But it's only a matter of time."

"When did this happen?" The first man sat up straighter. Named Pallun, he coordinated supplies for the rebellion.

"Yesterday."

The three men looked at each other and then all around, though nobody had any chance of eavesdropping against the din of drunken conversation. These men had always lived in Turivkan and so were forced to use their proper names, and not the pseudonyms adopted by others in the rebellion in an attempt to keep their families safe.

"We must get him back before he says anything," remarked the first speaker, the leader. This man rarely mentioned his name, but Teven knew he sat on the Council and ranked highly. He also knew the man's name: Hevred.

"I've tried to convince the usurper that the rebels will try a direct assault," continued Teven. "But Marlen suspects different."

"Perhaps Marlen ought to die," suggested Roddard.

"You can try and kill him if you like," retorted Teven. "For myself, I prefer to avoid the Gifted. Or whatever he is."

"If he's one of Dervra's men, then a sorcerer," said Hevred.

"Either way, I'm not even going to try." Teven's black eyes glittered. "We should be more interested in Yaan; the man must be saved before he becomes a liability. Do you want him back?"

Hevred pursed his lips, considering. "Can you get him back?"

"I can try," promised Teven.

The leader considered a few moments longer and finally nodded. "Then get him out; he's of far greater use to us than he is to you." He turned to his companions. "Best if the others never find out Yaan has been a prisoner."

The other two nodded.

Teven smiled. "Remember that Marlen's been at him and Marlen likes to have his fun."

"If so, you will need to arrange an accident for him," said Hevred. "I'm not sure we can fully trust you though, General Teven. You've changed sides before."

"I've only ever been on one side." Teven grunted and drained his tankard. "I'd best get back before I'm missed," he said. "You've no idea what these people are like, forever passing summonses and suchlike. Man can't even have a couple of jugs in peace."

The three men laughed.

Teven stood, nodded, and left.

***

Teven had a small, but select, number of soldiers loyal to him personally. He had his ways of earning their loyalty, which included extortion, bullying, threats and blackmail. These men were always discreet and very effective.

Right now, three of them played cards against the guardsmen in charge of the cells. And playing very badly indeed.

Soldier Lemble, one of Teven's men, had chosen soldiery over mutilation after being caught cheating at cards. The man's hands were quick, his cheating almost impossible to see. Lemble had continued his previous career while soldiering, until Teven had found out.

Lemble's instructions had been specific: seek and befriend the senior guard working afternoons. He'd been given a lot of information, such as the target's name – Fulson – and even the card games the three duty guards liked to play.

And, after a couple of morning ales, passing time before the inconvenience of working afternoons, Lemble had thrown down his challenge. The three of them against him and two mates, at cards, winner takes all. Fulson, with his morning ale already having a slight effect, probably thanks to the neat alcohol Lemble had used to fortify the man's drink, accepted the challenge.

Even so, in Lemble's view, Teven's instructions seemed strange. He and his companions must lose the challenge, make it look convincing, and offer to stand the shift for the guardsmen.

Ranva's breath, but they were soldiers, not guards!

Lemble had made it convincing. All six sat around the lone table, four light crystal lanterns in the center, and gambled. Coins passed to and fro, laughter filled the small room.

The corridor beyond led to the cells.

Two of the guardsmen were eliminated from the card school first, wild cards popping up at random, slipped into the deck by Lemble's quick hands. Then two of the soldiers surrendered all their coin.

Now just Lemble and Fulson remained.

"You'll be losing next month's money," chortled one of the guards, a skinny beanpole with a scraggly mustache. Called Dwilt, he had been the first out.

Lemble grinned. When you finally find out what we're about, you'll be losing more than that, chum. Aloud, he said: "All in from me."

Grinning, Fulson pushed an equal quantity of coins into the middle.

Lemble glanced at his cards. Not a single named card, thankfully no wild card (though because those were all up his sleeve, thankfully was perhaps the wrong word), but a good run of six, seven and eight, if of different suits. A good flush, but that would be beaten by...

"Nine, ten and eleven of Trades," chortled Fulson, reaching out for the coin.

Lemble swore. "Another round," he said. "Another."

"You've not got the money!" Fulson shook his head.

"All right," said Lemble, "here's the deal. If I win, we three get all our money back and walk away; if we lose, you can disappear the rest of the day and we stand your shift here."

The guardsmen were instantly wary.

"That would be irregular," said Dwilt, still young enough to believe in rules and regulations.

"If anything went wrong, we'd be in deep trouble," said Alew, almost as bad a card player as Dwilt.

Lemble shrugged and exchanged looks with his fellow soldiers. "What could go wrong?" he asked. "You've only got one prisoner."

"Don't offer them that," protested Clyfe, as arranged. "I bloody hate afternoons. Would rather work nights."

"I want my money back," said Lemble. "And you two owe me favors anyway." He continued to shuffle the cards and stared at Fulson. "What do you say, Fulson? A free afternoon, or stuck in this stinking dinge-hole?"

The guards held a muttered conversation. Unsurprisingly, Dwilt proved the most reluctant, but the other two slowly won him around.

Lemble watched, shuffling the pack over and over.

Fulson eventually turned back. "All right, we accept. If you lose, we keep your money and you stand our shift."

Lemble winked. "That's the deal."

"Cheers Lemble," muttered Clyfe, the sarcasm again prearranged.

Lemble dealt quickly. He had no idea what cards Fulson received, it didn't matter. He dealt himself an eliminating wild card, the Zeutian of Wands.

The guards would get their free afternoon.

Moments later, Fulson chortled in triumphant pleasure. Lemble smiled and congratulated the man warmly. Clyfe looked like he wanted to punch the card sharp.

"Right," said the winner, still grinning from ear to ear. "We're off then."

Lemble and his companions waited until the guardsmen had left before he turned to the youngest.

"Go get the boss, Vin."

Vin left, returning in minutes.

With Teven. "Any problems?"

"As hard as stealing choca off of a sylph," replied Lemble, "but we managed it in the end."

A smile ghosted across Teven's face. "So I see. Wait here, the three of you. I've arranged witnesses on the far side of the city, so you don't get caught up in the lies those three are bound to spread when they're caught, but wait for me before you leave."

"Will do, Boss," replied Lemble and passed the keys over.

Teven took the keys and one of the light crystal lanterns. He ambled along the corridor until he reached the only locked cell. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside with lantern held high.

These cells were not meant to be comfortable, but a heap of blankets in one corner must hold Yaan. A smell from the slop bucket hung in the air, but Teven paid that no mind. The blankets moved and the prisoner sat up.

Teven waited for the man's eyes to adjust to the light.

"What do you want?" demanded Yaan.

"I'm your guardian angel," promised Teven. At least the prisoner did not sound broken.

"You're one of them, General Teven," replied Yaan. "Certainly unworthy of any trust."

"Really? After all the arrangements I made to free you? I hope your hand gets better soon; I've even arranged for a touch healer to sort it out for you."

"How do you know about that?"

"I have spies in low places everywhere."

Yaan grunted.

"I met with some, ah, colleagues of yours last night," continued Teven. "Seems they really, really want you dead. You ought to be more careful who you choose for friends."

"They believe I betrayed them?"

Teven smiled. "They believe you might, sooner rather than later and, despite all you've done for them, they would rather see you dead than take the risk."

"I can put them right about that," said Yaan.

"So glad to hear it." Teven smiled. "Well, I meant what I said; you're free to go. You've got about three hours before the farmers start to leave the city and seven hours before the guards are due to change in here. Take the chance, Yaan."

"How can I trust you?"

Teven laughed. "Perhaps you can't. Perhaps this is a trick. Stay, if you wish."

"No." Yaan stood and extended his left hand. "Thank you. And if there is anything I can do for you, let me know."

Teven looked apologetic. "Actually," he said, "there is something you can do for me."

Yaan waited. "I hope it won't take you an hour to tell me," he grumped.

Teven's smile returned. "About three minutes. Would you like to sit for a few moments? I'll explain what you can do for me. In Turivkan's name, of course."

***

Teven smiled to himself after attending Dervra's evening conference. Captain Shais was understandably incensed by his prisoner's escape, and threatened dire consequences for his erring guardsmen.

Teven had done something there, so he might end up with three more spies and another organization infiltrated.

He had told Dervra nothing. No mention of a brand new spy placed high in the rebel camp, and one who mistrusted his former companions. A man who believed those fellow rebels wanted him dead and that Teven was now his only protector.

And Teven would decide what, if anything, he passed on.

He had always played every side, waiting until it became clear which would prevail. Everybody believed he stood with them.

Teven had betrayed Prefect Adelbard, but also arranged escape for his children. One of the sylphs had been foolish enough to return to the palace, though that small problem had been quickly – and for the sylph fatally – resolved.

Yet Teven had betrayed the location of two of Adelbard's descendants, though not to Dervra. Everybody had forgotten or discounted the third. Despite this betrayal, he knew the blame would land on others' heads for the resulting census. He knew some wanted to claim credit in the hope of gaining Dervra's favor; Teven did not need such advantage, he played his own game.

Which now grew interesting again.

Dervra looked and sounded like a man preparing to move on. Perhaps he was one of the Gifted, or some sort of sorcerer, but Teven remained unconvinced. And to claim to be one of the Ten must be nothing short of suicidal, if such a gang of humans truly existed.

For now, Teven backed every side, as he always had, and waited to see what might happen. If Dervra stiffened, Teven would loyally hand the rebels to him; if not, then Teven would back the rebels against Dervra.

Until one side or the other moved, Teven remained safe – and uncommitted.

***
Chapter 11

Scouts Meet

The man who now called himself Hingast was still surprised whenever he saw Thur Ran Racken's infertile sylph. Not the fact he owned a sylph, but how ordinary she looked. He always expected, for some totally irrational reason, that his sylph would be darker than other sylphs.

His ordinary-looking infertile had nothing obvious to mark her as different, though he had read somewhere the tradition in Pelirno had been to tattoo infertiles as proof of ownership. Quite when, or even if, the custom had died out, he did not know.

But he and his companions were not here to look at infertiles.

The male sylphs Thur had lined up bowed nervously as the visitors approached. Hingast smiled to himself. They looked very like the scouts he had first met two years ago: painted gray, green and brown, with black slashes of paint across their faces and chests, and wearing short worsted breeches painted in the same colors.

But these sylphs displayed a lack of confidence that Hingast knew must change. Earpoints were at various stages of wilting as the scouts saw the humans looking their way, and a couple trembled. They could not be overcome with nerves whenever a human looked at them, whatever his rank.

"These ten," Thur explained, "have been training for six weeks. They are still fresh and still learning. They are not the best – not yet."

Not even close to good, reflected Hingast.

"They do seem very nervous," said Gusor.

Thur nodded. "That has something to do with the way Eldovan sylphs are raised," he countered. "It takes time to remove that early conditioning and replace it with something more useful."

"You've dragged us out here to watch ten nervy sylphs make fools of themselves?" continued Gusor.

Hingast waited.

"No, I've dragged you out here so you can see these ten hide." Thur smiled and gestured to the open grassland before them. "You can watch them go and hide, which means they will disappear from your view."

Unimpressed, Gusor sniffed. "All sylphs can do this," he muttered.

Thur ignored the comment and nodded to the less experienced sylphs who darted away. He pulled a spyglass from his pocket and opened it out. "This," he said, "comes from Sandester, where the best spyglasses are found."

Hingast nodded. He knew that, he still had one of his own. He decided not to ask how Thur had acquired his; as far as he knew the man had neither served nor fought against Sandester.

The ten sylphs found a hiding place and stood beside it, in full view of the watchers. Giving no warning, Thur gave a sharp blast on his whistle, and the trainees dropped out of sight.

"Now," said Thur, offering the spyglass to Gusor, the most vociferous doubter. "Try to see them. Any of them. If you can, I'll give you a gold pand per sylph you spot."

"Those boys are good, part trained or not," said Lowst, clearly impressed.

The man who called himself Hingast smiled to himself. Trust Lowst to be the first to understand the sylphs' potential. He himself had been deeply impressed the first time he had met a sylph scout, a wonderful specimen named Belaika.

The man who called himself Hingast felt something within stir. No. Not that. He had suppressed this urge for so long that it could not strike now. It would ruin everything, again.

"I hope you don't expect a pand from me," Gusor was saying. "My eyes aren't what they were."

"You only get one from me." Thur's deep chuckle resonated in Hingast's chest. "And only if you spot them."

Gusor looked and looked. His eyes narrowed, he inspected the spyglass several times and looked again. "You using sorcery?" he demanded, eventually.

Thur gave his rich chuckle again before inviting Lowst to take the syglass.

"Well, I'll be..." Lowst took less time, but smiled as he inspected the field. "Are there any ready for me to take when I leave? Ranva's balls no, I'll have this ten, if we ever see them again."

Thur retrieved his spyglass and gave Lowst a gentle thump on the shoulder. "You can take another ten," he promised. "I have plenty who are better."

Thur gave another short blast on his whistle, and the sylphs stood again. They remained in place.

"Are there any fully trained?" asked Lowst. "Can I see them?"

Thur smiled. "There are another ten out there," he said.

Gusor and Lowst exchanged a look.

Thur turned to face the field and clapped his hands sharply together. Ten more sylphs sprang to their feet and Thur's companions, Hingast included, started.

These scouts rose from the ground within easy hearing distance. Lowst inspected them, realizing these held themselves with a lot more confidence than he had seen from the others. He stepped down and began speaking with the scouts, asking questions and receiving calm answers.

"These," said Thur, "were out there, but have drawn closer while you were watching. And you never noticed their movement."

This time, even Gusor looked won over. "When we leave," he said, "can I take some of them too?"

"Of course." Thur nodded in approval. "I trust you can see that these look a lot more capable than the first ten you met."

They also looked tough and disciplined, Hingast thought.

The less experienced sylphs now rejoined Thur as a soldier handed a small leather bag to his commander. The scouts clustered around the General and Hingast watched as Thur doled out slivers of dark choca.

"Any more questions for the sylphs, gentlemen?" asked Thur.

Gusor and Lowst shook their heads.

Thur nodded to the sylphs, and the less experienced trotted away, choca already gone. The other ten stayed back and tried to look unobtrusive. Perhaps not all the Eldovan conditioning had been removed after all. Hingast restrained a smile as he spotted the infertile gently nudge her owner.

She received a small sliver of choca, handed out almost absently.

"General Thur," said Hingast, "you have done very well. Congratulations."

Thur inclined his head. "Congratulate the sylphs, Majesty. They have worked hard. Now some of them can learn how things out in the field really are."

Hingast turned to the remaining sylphs, and ten pairs of silver-gray eyes looked back neutrally. "Well? Are you ready to try the work for real?"

Ten sudden smiles, ten pairs of twitching earpoints, ten pairs of excited eyes. The answer came from ten throats.

"Se bata!"

***

While he remained in the city, another of Thur's duties was that of spymaster. He felt certain another man probably filled the real role, and that his official appointment served to mask the real intelligence gatherer. Even so, plenty of, and possibly even all, information passed through his hands.

His office – really a collection of offices with twelve secretaries – sat beneath the palace, between the servants' quarters and the wine cellar. It had its own stairway, accessed from an office above. A door – always kept locked – led into the servants' living spaces, but it had never been used in Thur's memory.

Descending the stair after returning from showing off the new scouts, Thur entered the outer office and the two secretaries working there looked up. One of them, a retired soldier named Vabon immediately stood and crossed the floor to join Thur.

"A pigeon came with this, Sir," he said, proffering a small sheet.

"Thank you." Thur glanced at the paper. That had never been attached to a pigeon's leg, but had been translated from cipher, presumably by Vabon. "Groups of soldiers traveling along the Markan Road. Who did this come from?"

"One of the farms in Mpopa," replied Vabon. "We have also received this. And this. All from different farms."

And all told the same tale, Thur realized. He smiled at Vabon.

"Thank you again," he said. "I'll see that His Majesty is informed."

"Of course, Sir." Vabon paused, head cocked to one side. "Ah, these are our soldiers? Just that my son marched with the army, Sir, and I'd like to see he's all right."

Thur gave the secretary a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he's with one of the groups," he said.

Vabon smiled and returned to his own duties.

Thur watched the man go. He hoped Hingast had told the truth about his own return from the field. The hardest thing to deal with in these backward northern countries was the way in which everybody seemed to lie as a matter of course.

How had Eldova managed to breed so many cowards? He would pass the messages on. And he hoped nobody innocent died as a result. Because another suspicion had surfaced.

Were these men marching along the Marka Road cowards who had fled the field of battle, or were the cowards those who had already returned with Hingast?

With this uncomfortable thought uppermost, he took the stairs three at a time as he went to report.

***

Mpopa was a rich Prefecture. Rolling hills with fertile valleys between, there were few towns of note, but plenty of hamlets and villages. There were even a few large lakes and plenty of rushing rivers. The land alternated between pasture and arable, with areas left fallow for this growing season.

The road kept to the valleys, rising to the occasional pass, but nobody batted an eyelid at the small groups of soldiers passing through. Some people rushed children inside, but most just continued with their everyday tasks.

Sylphs stared shyly at them, and some needed to be chivvied back to their work. Some younger sylphs ran excitedly alongside the carts, until pulled aside by their elders, in case someone fell under a wheel.

Kelanus felt unprotected without a sylph scout in talking distance. After almost half a decade in Marcus's army, he'd had plenty of time to get used to the idea of sylphs working within armed forces. Despite that, he felt surprise at the feeling. He had grown so dependent on the sylphs' reports, that he no longer trusted human scouts, no matter how efficient. Nothing escaped the sylphs' notice.

The five Markan sylphs ranged well ahead and Kelanus trusted one could report back quickly. Three days had passed since he had last seen Shyamon and he wondered if the boy still sulked over the withheld choca.

He glanced down at Tula, walking at his stirrup. She had come out of herself a little more now, but he still felt forced to drag words out of her, especially opinions. Careful and gentle questioning led to the revelation that her previous owner had died in a training accident, rather than through enemy action, so Mirrin had been honest there.

Whenever they stopped, she always dashed around everywhere, though she did not strike Kelanus as particularly excitable. But he could not doubt her efficiency and eagerness to please. By infertile standards, she displayed a high level of independence without stepping beyond accepted boundaries.

Perhaps that had something to do with the way Eldovans treated their sylphs.

Kelanus sighed. Born in the far north, everybody had to work hard for everything. Summers were notoriously short and winters seemed to last forever. In such a tough country, even infertile sylphs enjoyed a higher status than in the richer and softer lands further south.

But some places...

Kelanus shook his head. How Eldovans traditionally dealt with their sylphs was entirely their business, but he felt strictness could only achieve so much. And conditions were even worse in the Imperial Republic!

"Water, donenya?"

Kelanus nodded and leaned down to accept the waterskin. "Thank you, Tula." He had no reason to be anything but polite to the sylph. He drank and passed the skin back. "Remember to drink yourself," he said. "You need more water than I."

Tula's already startled-looking eyes widened further and she looked at the skin in her hands. "From this?"

"You fear catching a disease from me?" Kelanus smiled. All sylphs were sensitive and Eldovan sylphs always looked for implied criticism. He wanted no tears or sulks from innocent and gentle banter.

"It is not proper," protested Tula.

Kelanus sighed. He had this discussion several times a day.

"You must drink," he told her. "So drink."

Perhaps discussion was the wrong word, because Tula would not drink from the same skin until after he had given a direct order.

Tula drank.

Kelanus smiled encouragement. Sylphs at home, with the independence southerners associated with the wild tribes, would never balk at sharing a water skin with humans. And humans never thought anything of it either. Well, most humans.

"Everything all right, Sir?"

Yeoman Hanmer had joined Kelanus, riding to his immediate left.

"Fine thank you." Kelanus turned to Tula. "Make sure my wife has everything she needs."

"Se bata." Hearing the dismissal, Tula dropped back to speak with Tahena.

"I can't get comfortable with all these Eldovans about," muttered Hanmer. "There's only three of us."

"Four, with Tahena," pointed out Kelanus.

"It's if it comes to fighting that worries me," grumbled Hanmer. "What if they turn on us? Nothing we can do then!"

"Then stop worrying," said Kelanus. "Mirrin has acted honorably enough so far."

Hanmer gave a skeptical grunt. "Mirrin isn't here."

Both men stared at a row of farm buildings, all with strangely peaked roofs, a style neither had seen before. And unique in these lands, too. Perhaps the people living there had originated from one of the depopulated Prefectures and brought their style of architecture with them.

Tula hurried back to Kelanus.

"I heard something," she said, hopping from foot to foot with barely suppressed eagerness. "Over there." She gestured vaguely ahead of them.

"A whistle?"

Tula nodded. Though she had no idea what the whistles meant, that did not mean she couldn't hear them.

"Good." Kelanus smiled. "We can expect Shyamon in a few minutes then." For some reason, the thought reassured him.

***

Perhaps Shyamon was sulking, for Ean-y-Felis appeared with the message. Or perhaps Ean wanted to see his owner, having been away for a few days. The scout came directly to Kelanus first, however.

"Donenya, there are soldiers on the road, headed this way," said the male sylph. The black slashes of paint across his face and chest gave him a wild appearance that some found intimidating. Such as Tula, who kept herself on the far side of Kelanus's horse.

"What size?" asked Kelanus, as Kadyah and Felis joined them.

"Six men," replied Ean. "With another thousand beyond, out of range. But these six will be dangerous."

"Why do you think that?" Kelanus kept his voice quiet. One of the best things about the sylph scouts was their ability to see more than was just in front of their eyes.

"These seem especially vigilant," replied Ean. "Like they are looking for someone."

Kadyah grimaced. "For us, I expect."

"A welcoming committee," smiled Kelanus. "Interesting."

"Do you intend to meet them?" asked Kadyah.

"I intend to pass them," replied Kelanus. "As a merchant caravan. Do they search many?"

Kadyah shrugged. "We never used to further south," he replied. "Ledtren is the nearest biggish town and you might have come from Gowler, which is beyond The Barren. You might be trading furs, which explains only two carts."

Kelanus nodded. "Then that is what we are." He turned back to the scout.

Ean spoke in a low voice with Felis and the messenger nodded his head.

"You only need ask, Ean," said Felis. "Only that."

Kelanus decided not to ask what that exchange was about as Ean rejoined him, wearing a thoughtful expression.

"We'll be merchants," he told the scout. "Anything else I need to know?"

Ean looked to be debating with himself. "It might be nothing," he said, eventually.

"Out with it."

"Belaika thinks something strange is going on, but he is not sure what," replied the scout.

Kelanus paused. "Belaika is the most experienced scout here. Has he got any suggestions?"

Ean shook his head.

"Keep me informed. We want no nasty surprises."

"Se bata."

"And are you going to inform the groups following behind?"

Ean's face fell, no doubt dismayed at the amount of running ahead of him. "I will do that, donenya." Ean gave his owner a quick bow, then left, invisible to ordinary vision almost immediately.

Tula visibly relaxed.

"Right," said Kelanus. "Let's get looking like a scraggly merchant trading furs."

***

Luckily, they had enough furs to cover the arms in the cart, while Tahena made the other cart look like a home in a surprisingly short time, no doubt aided in some way by The Gift. Tula and Wenna lent an air of domestic authenticity, but Kelanus wished they had some very short people here to pass off as children. Caravans usually moved as family groups.

Scout Vaul stayed well away, but the rest of the soldiers stripped off leather armor and were issued with bows, giving the appearance of caravan guards.

"Why not swords?" asked Kelanus.

"Caravans crossing The Barren usually carry bows," countered Kadyah. "It's not raiders they fear, but running out of food. Bows are better at bringing down rabbits and deer than swords."

The men got their bows.

Kelanus and Kadyah secured their horses behind the lead cart. Kelanus took the part of the trader, while Tahena would watch and listen. The sense of something wrong reported by Belaika worried Kelanus, who knew scouts were rarely so vague. It might be nothing more than a feeling.

The Eldovans split themselves between the two carts, trying to look like merchant guards rather than soldiers.

"What about those following us?" asked Tahena.

"With any luck, Ean will reach them quite soon; what they do is entirely up to them," replied Kelanus. "Shame we've not got any camp followers with us. More women and sylphs will help make us look more convincing."

"We'll be all right." Tahena smiled.

Before long, the six soldiers came into sight along the road.

"Probably a squadman in command," said Kadyah, from his place atop the cart. "At most a Sergeant. Let's hope they don't know any of us."

"If they do, you'd better be ready with those bows," replied Kelanus, grimly.

Kadyah said nothing to that.

The small troop had a grizzled Sergeant in command. The man had a barrel chest and hands that looked like they could pound fence posts into the ground without a hammer.

"Good morrow, travelers," he said, after halting them. His light voice carried easily.

Kelanus nodded his head and gave a friendly smile.

"Carrying much?" asked the Sergeant, a casual inquiry while his men surrounded the two carts. He eyed Kadyah's bow.

"Furs," grunted Kelanus, not even attempting an Eldovan accent.

"All the way from the north?" The Sergeant raised an eyebrow.

"From Gowler," replied Kelanus, hoping the Sergeant had no familiarity with the city.

"You, I meant."

"From Frodger originally," replied Kelanus. Did Eldovans know a man from Frodger commanded the Markan Army? "A long time ago." At least this last was true.

"There is trouble ahead, Sergeant?" asked Kadyah, suddenly.

Kelanus tried not to wince. What was the man playing at?

"Nothing to worry you," replied the Sergeant. "We're looking for men returning to Eldova who got lost last year."

"Nice to welcome them home," remarked Kadyah.

The Sergeant barked a laugh. "Something like that," he said. "We've certainly got orders to escort them to our commander." His attention switched to Kelanus. "Off with you."

Kelanus inclined his head and cracked his whip, stirring the carts into movement again. He said nothing until the small patrol had fallen far behind.

"What in Ranva's name are you playing at?" he snapped to Kadyah.

"Trying to learn what's planned for us," replied Kadyah, peaceably.

"What if the man had guessed? You sounded like a soldier."

"Because I am a soldier," retorted the younger man. "Lots of merchant guards are former soldiers."

"The way you were talking, he might have sussed out you're too young to be a former soldier." Kelanus shook his head.

"We learned that we must keep up our pretense."

Kelanus blinked.

"That man has a commander," continued Kadyah. "And he mentioned nothing about the larger force ahead. They're looking for us and you'd better hope nobody back there panics, else we might suddenly be down a good number."

"We might have to regroup," muttered Kelanus. "Find another way through."

"We can swing north and try through Vaynan," suggested Kadyah. "Longer that way though."

Kelanus nodded. "You might end up taking most of the men that way," he said. "But I expect there are patrols and large groups of soldiers there, too." He sniffed. "When Ean returns, we'll recall the sylphs."

***

General Mirrin and Quartermaster Jurabim lay side by side in the undergrowth as the patrol rode past. Mirrin's dark eyes looked thoughtful.

"Hingast knows we will try to get home," he said.

"Of course, Sir," replied Jurabim, who suspected he was too old and fat to lie on the ground.

"There aren't enough soldiers here to kill us," continued Mirrin. "Even unarmed, we can overpower six men."

"But they are looking for us," said Jurabim. "They might have work for us."

"We can't trust Hingast," replied Mirrin, speaking treason for the first time. "Janost says he fled the field, which means we are a threat."

"Can we trust Janost?" asked Jurabim.

Mirrin restrained a bitter laugh. "We can only trust ourselves," he replied.

"There was no contact with Hingast's mob," pointed out Jurabim. "Not after."

"We helped pass enough of them through last year and the year before," pointed out Mirrin. "Enough to taint us by association." He remembered all the reinforcements Hingast had called from Eldova after the siege. They had passed through his hands, while Mirrin kept all the men from the outer Prefectures.

"I thought one of the abominations might have come along the road to warn us," said Jurabim, thinking a change of subject might be called for.

"I doubt if they could reach us in time," muttered Mirrin. "They were all sent ahead. Whatever Kelanus has got planned, he needs us. There are only three Markans."

"Eight if you include those sylphs." Jurabim shook his head. "Abominations."

"Donenulya," interrupted Ean, from immediately behind. "I ran quickly, but some of you were not easy to find."

Both men looked over their shoulders, neither having heard the scout arrive.

"Scouts do not fight," Ean told the quartermaster, "and we are not abominations." The sylph left Jurabim in no doubt of hurt feelings.

"That," retorted Jurabim, "is a matter of opinion."

"What's happening up there, Ean?" pressed Mirrin, who believed information was more important than trading insults.

"Soldiers patrolling the road," replied Ean. "There are perhaps a thousand men encamped ahead, but we do not know why."

Mirrin could guess. "How about the rest of us?" he asked. "Have any been captured?"

"Most hid, but others pretended to be merchants, or lone travelers," replied Ean. "Do not know if any got caught."

Mirrin nodded. "We're the last ones on the road," he told the sylph. "Return to Kelanus and tell him I recommend we regroup."

Ean nodded, but gave no verbal reply before he slipped away.

Jurabim shook his head. "I'll not get used to them, Sir. Never."

Mirrin ignored Jurabim. A thousand armed men ahead. He had two thousand. But would Eldovan fight Eldovan? He tapped his upper and lower teeth together, mind whirling.

As he thought, a plan formed in his mind.

***

Kelanus, already thinking along similar lines, accepted Mirrin's suggestion that they regroup and, slowly at first, the many small contingents again coalesced into one army. Kelanus had hidden within a forest, and most groups had the sense to approach from all directions, and not just from the road.

Two sylphs – Ean and Shyamon – guided the groups in and stayed close at hand, just in case any messages needed to be whistled to the other three scouts, still in the field.

Apart from that one lone patrol, they had seen no other soldiers, which gave Kelanus cause for alarm. Just the one small patrol? That made no sense at all. Especially with a large army group somewhere ahead.

Finally they were together again, Mirrin among the last of the groups in.

"Has anybody gone missing?" demanded the Eldovan. "Did they fight anybody?"

"Everybody accounted for," said Captain Jediyah. "They didn't even seem to realize we're the men they're hunting for."

Apart from the senior officers, who stayed together and laid plans, most of the men made themselves as comfortable as possible between the trees and bedded down for the night. Only Kelanus and Mirrin talked after even the officers bedded down and Tula had been dismissed for the night.

"I suspect that the Sergeant commanding that patrol knew he had no chance of arresting us all," pointed out Mirrin. "But the man is no fool. He'll know and will have reported back. We must find another way to Eldova."

Kelanus grunted. "We can't fight our way through; the attrition will be too high."

"If you can even get one Eldovan to fight another," pointed out Mirrin, reasonably.

Kelanus nodded at that. "Even if I thought they would, I can't afford the losses. We need these men."

Mirrin took a breath. "It would help me trust you if I knew why," he said. "Other than taking Hingast – the imposter, if you prefer – exactly what are your plans?"

"To put Hingast's infant son on the throne where he belongs," replied Kelanus. "After all, the real Hingast is dead and I believe you have hereditary Prefects here."

"And to make him Marka's puppet?" Mirrin's voice was quiet.

Kelanus gave a rude hand gesture. "That to Marka," he replied. "They cannot possibly reach here and rule effectively, not for many years yet. I'm here to finish a job that should have been finished two years ago." He smiled. "The man who calls himself Hingast, known to me as Ranallic Eydren, is mine. I... will... see... him... dead."

"An infant as Prefect?" Mirrin shrugged. "That could lead to complications."

Kelanus nodded. "Which is why I want you to be regent," he replied. "A man we can deal with. A man unlikely to send his armies marching across the continent to chase an impossible dream."

"The imperial throne," said Mirrin.

"It's taken," agreed Kelanus. "The man to sit on it is Marcus Vintner, not a Rexiter."

Mirrin sniffed. "I do not think Hingast ever intended taking the throne in Marka," he said. "My impression is that he wanted to destroy it and the city, and build an empire of his own."

"Well, a word of advice for you," said Kelanus. "If you feel like expanding, go west and south; stay well away from the east."

"You don't seem too bothered at the thought of another powerful empire rising, a potential rival for the future." Mirrin kept his voice peaceable.

"I couldn't care less," retorted Mirrin. "It isn't my problem. Unless, of course, you decide to come east again."

***

Not everybody bedded down even after Kelanus and Mirrin finally finished their planning. The two sylph scouts sat at the very edge of the encampment for a while, using their blankets as insulation. They were still waiting for any orders or messages for Kelanus.

Scout Vaul found them in place, though they were aware of him long before he reached them.

"Which one of you's Shyamon?" demanded Vaul.

"Me," said Shyamon.

"I've been waiting to see you for days," said the human scout.

Shyamon grinned. "Course you have," he replied.

Vaul pointed to his mouth. "Note the lack of smile," he said. "I near broke my neck after what you did."

Ean barked a laugh, quickly suppressed.

"And if you ever do that to me again," continued Vaul, "I'll tie your ears in knots and use them to dangle you off a tree branch."

Ean laughed again, though Shyamon looked less impressed.

Vaul's brown eyes remained unforgiving. "Remember that our business is serious," he said. "If you want to play jokes, do it to the enemy."

The humbled Shyamon nodded his head, but Ean's mocking smile stayed in place.

Vaul looked at the more experienced scout before he turned away and sought his blankets.

***

Belaika moved forward at pace.

All five sylph scouts watched the road ahead, as vigilant now as before they had learned a potential enemy shared that road with them. Kelanus had split the army again, this time into larger groups, but they now tried to find what cover they could, shunning the road.

Belaika and his companions sent frequent pingers to each other, but nobody had yet found anything out of place. Though Belaika felt uneasy. He had long since learned to listen to his instincts.

He had no idea what caused his sense of wrongness. Not sorcery or The Gift: all sylphs now recognized that feeling when it crept over them.

But something was definitely not right.

As he passed through a rare patch of scrubland, with plenty of cover to hide in, he sent another pinger, quickly answered by all four of his companions. It sounded as if Samel had drifted too far south.

Samel passed through arable land and had doubtless moved further away to avoid the fallow areas. Not only did noisy animals forage on fallow ground, ready to sound a warning at anything strange, but villagers had a habit of dumping their night soil in the same place.

A few sylphs made the embarrassing and yucky error of straying across fallow land, but not Samel. Belaika didn't worry about the younger scout, he knew Samel would be back in his proper place soon.

This small patch of ground, with bushes and stunted trees, gave a welcome break from featureless pasture or crawling through somebody's crops.

Belaika quested, trying to work out what caused his bad feeling. He had seen nothing out of place. Farmers tilled their fields, humans and sylphs working well together. Children ran and played between the houses in every hamlet and village. The occasional lone wanderer, perhaps seeking work somewhere new, or a criminal expelled from his home.

Below him, something moved.

Belaika barely took breath. He froze and dared not move. Minutes passed.

Slowly, step by careful step, two sylphs appeared. Earpoints quested and heads swiveled as they stepped out from their concealment. Both stared vaguely towards the spot from where he had last sent a pinger.

But these were not just any sylphs. Painted green, gray and brown, both had black slashes of paint across face and upper torso.

One of five Markan scouts, Belaika knew none of his companions were here. All now had field experience, though only Ean and Belaika were fully trained. All knew never to break position without whistling the reason.

These sylphs were not from Marka.

Just in case, Belaika sent another pinger, before he moved quickly away again, keeping under the bushes where possible.

The two sylphs stared at the spot he had just vacated, but gave no reply.

So where had they come from?

Having suffered the indignity of being the only sylph scout to be captured, he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. Both the other sylphs now crept uphill. They tried to make the most of their cover, but now Belaika had seen them, he knew exactly where to look.

They weren't bad, but not quite good enough. Neither made a sound, and Belaika wondered how they communicated, assuming they were scouts. They moved together and Belaika thought that perhaps one might act as messenger.

Belaika recognized neither sylph, but they still had not seen him. They looked around, trying to find his tracks. They crouched down and conferred in low whispers. They looked around and again failed to see Belaika, who pressed himself into the ground.

Would they look harder, or retreat?

They eventually moved away downhill and Belaika watched them go. He waited until they were out of earshot before he sat up, carefully composed his message and began to whistle it to his companions. The sylph nearest the humans must carry the message to them.

Kelanus-ya must be told that the enemy had sylph scouts.

***
Chapter 12

Clashes

Not only had Kelanus split the army up into larger groups, he also insisted that they remain in contact with each other. The sylphs could now pass messages between the groups as well as scout, and Mirrin's human scouts proved themselves amenable for use as messengers. But the sylphs still mostly ranged ahead, where they were most useful, and Kelanus wished again that he had fifteen or even twenty sylph scouts, instead of five.

But Kelanus now kept Mirrin and Janost with him. Mirrin he trusted, but he felt a little surprised that Janost had not gone over the moment he saw the Eldovan soldiers on the road.

These three men sat together now, with Tula moving around them, serving alovak.

"Should I fetch more?" she asked.

Kelanus nodded. "In case we're here for a little while."

Tula inclined her head and left the tent, after a quick glance at the fourth figure.

Belaika stood in front of the senior officers, the humans interested in his new information.

Kelanus's group had stopped for the night in a large wood, the mixed trees offering plenty of shelter. The men cursed having to search further afield for dry wood to burn, but Kelanus insisted on smokeless fires.

Because what Belaika had seen worried the General

"You're sure these were sylph scouts?" pressed Kelanus.

"Certain. Painted in our colors, but acted different." Belaika stood his ground. He knew what he had seen.

"Eldova doesn't use sylphs as scouts," barked Janost.

"Two years from home is a long time," pointed out Mirrin, voice calm. "A lot might have happened. They might have been training sylphs for six months." He looked at Belaika. "It is impossible to keep their existence a secret once you meet with enemies."

Kelanus nodded. "Even so. How good are they, Belaika?"

The sylph shrugged. "They can move well, but so can any sylph. I think they are only part trained, compared to us."

"Three of your companions are only part trained," pointed out Kelanus.

"Even compared with them," replied Belaika. "They have not emulated our whistles for communicating, though they certainly listen for them." He blushed under his paint, pleased the humans could not see his embarrassment. He had no wish to be caught out that way twice.

"Hingast hunts sylphs for sport," countered Janost. "He would not use them as scouts."

"Wavering in the view that the man who calls himself Hingast is not Hingast?" Kelanus smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"I already told you I'm reserving judgment on that," replied Janost.

"It's the very thing Ranallic would do though," continued Kelanus. "From the first, sylph scouts impressed him. And he's not renowned for kindness to sylphs, either."

Belaika winced.

Tula reappeared with fresh alovak.

"Are they dousing the fires yet?" asked Mirrin.

Tula nodded. "Last alovak," she said.

She stood unobtrusively to one side of the men, ready to refill mugs, though she carefully avoided Belaika. The scout gave no reaction; he knew from his capture that Eldovan sylphs despised him and his sort. Besides, Tula's view carried little weight, a mere infertile counted for little in the sylph hierarchy.

And anyway, she was the prisoner now. He hoped.

"Have you seen more of these scouts?" asked Mirrin. "I doubt if they have just the two."

"We are watching for them, donenya," replied the sylph. "But I have only seen the two. We expect there are more."

"Anything different about them?" asked Kelanus. "Compared with our lot, that is."

"They work in pairs," replied Belaika. "I think one acts as messenger, because they do not whistle. Unless they have some other form of talking to each other across distance."

"I don't see them using army signaling," muttered Janost. "They cannot read the codes, for one thing."

"Unless they are being taught that, too," said Kelanus.

"Sylphs?" Janost looked skeptical.

"I know two sylphs who can read," said Kelanus. "Sylphs have the ability to learn anything a human can learn."

Belaika inspected the ground between his feet.

"You'd better get back out there," Kelanus told the scout.

"Se bata."

"Your commander has introduced strange new weapons to armies," said Janost. "Sylphs as scouts? Had you mentioned this idea to me two years ago, I would either humor you as insane, or laugh at you."

Kelanus sipped at his alovak. "I used to think as you did," he replied. "And now you know how good they are."

"Feared by our sylphs," said Mirrin, giving Tula a quick glance. "If Belaika had shouted boo at ours last year, they might have fled." He thought of his own sylph. Shashi had displayed curiosity rather than terror, and sympathy rather than hate.

"Well, they are very useful if you want to know what's going on around you. As it happens, better than human scouts, simply because we cannot overhear sylphs' whistles." Kelanus gave a small smile. "Until you adapted and used other sylphs to point them out."

Tula wore a small smile as she topped up the men's alovak.

Mirrin shrugged. "But your sylphs quickly adapted again."

Kelanus laughed. "As I said, they are surprising creatures."

Janost grunted and drained his alovak.

***

Belaika moved quickly and silently through the forest, pausing at the edge of the trees. He dropped into cover before he moved into the open, watching and listening. He could hear or see humans easily enough, but any enemy sylphs would be harder to locate.

Once sure no sylphs stood in his path. He sent out a pinger, almost immediately receiving four replies. Good, nobody had been captured. Before moving on, he sent a query whistle, asking if anybody had seen any hint of enemy sylph scouts.

Four negatives returned.

Belaika again watched for any hint of sylphs moving about, trying to move in on him. Seeing nothing, he changed position quickly, dropping into cover every now and again, checking carefully for anything out of place.

He took as much care even as the evening gloom changed to full night. He sent out a pinger occasionally, always moving on again after receiving his replies.

Reaching his companions, he dropped into place beside them. Four pairs of silvery gray eyes regarded him.

"My first watch," he said. "You lot get some sleep."

***

The two sylphs sat on the ground and stared at each other. They had listened to the whistles bouncing around and even managed to work out their pattern. They had no way of telling what the whistles actually meant, but they could make informed guesses.

The short whistle must be some sort of position locator. They were brief and allowed the enemy scouts to ensure they were in the right place all the time. Longer whistles would be reports and perhaps questions.

The two sylphs had listened to the whistles and worked out that the enemy scouts stayed more or less the same distance away from the forest. One of those enemy sylphs had entered the forest and now left it again, rejoining his companions.

These two were not here to listen to whistles, but had a much more important task. Slipping past the much vaunted Markan sylph scouts with surprising ease, they now waited outside the forest. The dark of full night was their ally and, so long as they avoided the camp sylphs (who should now all be asleep), they would probably enjoy a successful mission. They knew the enemy had only five sylph scouts, and they knew exactly where those were located.

Both raised their heads cautiously. They stared into the darkness, watching and listening for anything out of place, as they had been taught. Too dark now for humans to see, but both knew there would be sentries posted.

Certain they were alone, both sylphs wriggled into the forest, moving slowly and cautiously. They would not stand until cloaked in trees, just in case the clouds parted.

They had a job to do, and they would discover how many men were in this group. Their eight companions, split into four pairs, would be doing the same job elsewhere. This army must be traveling towards Eldova, but they did not know its intentions.

These sylphs hoped that their masters would stop them from doing anything... dangerous.

But for now, they had a job to do.

***

Field Commander Lowst, ranked as Second General, sat in his tent, with just two companions. His batman, a junior soldier named Ollen, had brewed and served alovak to Lowst and his human companion. Lowst had then dismissed the young soldier with a nod.

The visitor with the alovak savored the drink's aroma before sipping at the dark liquid, the mug almost hidden in his huge hands. Sergeant Utlen briefly closed his blue eyes to heighten his alovak experience.

"There's a good two thousand men out there, Sir," said Utlen, voice surprisingly light for a man with a chest like his. "Split into small groups and all pretending to be anything but soldiers. Why would they do that, unless they're as guilty as the northern mob?"

Lowst ignored the question. "But you followed orders and did not engage."

"Course not, Sir." Utlen's tone suggested he wouldn't be so bloody stupid to attack so many with only six men under his own command.

"Good." Lowst's dark blue eyes glittered. He turned to his other companion, the one not drinking alovak.

The sylph scout's earpoints flickered upright. "They regrouped and have split into five groups, Sir." The sylph used the human tongue easily, perhaps raised with it as Eldovan sylphs so often were.

"And you managed to enter the camps, Aiten?"

The sylph, Aiten, nodded. "Near as makes no difference, Sir. Me and Vyren also nearly saw one of their scouts."

"Nearly saw?" Lowst raised an eyebrow.

Utlen snorted dismissively.

Aiten's earpoints sagged a little before recovering. "We heard him whistling and moving, but did not quite catch him in the open."

"Did he see you?" pressed Lowst.

"I do not think so." Aiten shrugged.

"What do you think of their sylph scouts?" asked Utlen.

"Better trained than us," replied the sylph immediately. "For now, they have more experience."

"What did you learn from the enemy camp?" asked Lowst, pulling the conversation back to important matters.

"Well," began Aiten, earpoints twitching and eyes sparkling, "we learned that they have broken into five groups of roughly four hundred."

"Yes." Lowst nodded impatiently. "Go on."

"The one me and Vyren got near has the commanders in it."

Lowst raised an eyebrow. "All the commanders?"

"The ones that matter." Aiten nodded. "General Mirrin."

"So he survived." Lowst nodded again. "One is not a plural Aiten, stop dragging this out."

The scout grinned. "Marshal Janost."

Utlen gave a low whistle. "Very high ranking for a coward and traitor," he remarked. "If he's with Mirrin, then they must all be involved."

"And I've not finished," said Aiten. "There's another General –"

"Hanan?" asked Utlen.

The scout shook his head. "Not even Eldovan," he replied. "General Kelanus; I heard the others say his name more than once."

Lowst sat back with a satisfied smile. "General Kelanus, of the Markan Army," he said.

"What more proof do we need that the men we face are traitors and cowards?" demanded Utlen. "Do you know how many of them are really Markans?"

Aiten shook his head. "Apologies Sergeant Utlen, but we did not conduct a census." He broke off in midsentence and his earpoints wilted. "I am sorry Sir, I overstepped myself."

"Apology accepted, Scout Aiten." Lowst smiled, speaking before Utlen lost his temper. "I think that you and Vyren have found the group that we shall attack."

The sylph nodded, though his earpoints wilted further at the word "attack". The boy must stiffen his backbone, or he really would be of little use.

"Go and round up the Captains for me, Aiten. I want them here in five minutes."

Aiten stood, saluted with fist to shoulder, and fled the tent.

Sergeant Utlen's blue eyes shone with eager anticipation. "So we'll have a battle after all, Sir. This is turning out exactly as Hingast feared."

"We still don't know for sure," said Lowst. "But they are not behaving like loyal men returning home. Why are they skulking through the land?"

"Why have they got Markans with them, Sir?" added Utlen. "They're up to no good."

"They were prisoners, I think, which is how Janost ended up with them."

"His Majesty believes Janost to be a traitor," muttered Utlen.

Lowst continued as if the Sergeant had not opened his mouth. "With luck, we'll capture the Markans tomorrow. Then the rest can continue to Eldova without their Markan overlords and we will escort them, exactly as commanded."

"Take it that means no prisoners from the group we attack, Sir." Utlen's tone gave no indication whether or not he approved.

"That is so unsubtle, Sergeant. We want the commanders if possible, and the rest are Eldovans. We take prisoners tomorrow; we're not here to massacre our own people."

Utlen nodded, but some of the light left his eyes.

***

Thanks to Belaika's warnings about enemy sylph scouts, Kelanus sent messages to the other groups of Eldovan prisoners to join him in the forest as quickly as possible.

At long last, weapons were issued from the cart that had carried them so far. Men warmed through wrist muscles, grown softer thanks to inaction, while archers tested strings and sighted along arrows.

Once everybody seemed happy with their armory, the men were again divided into five groups. Two groups would leave first, followed by a central group under Mirrin's command, with two final groups bringing up the rear.

Kelanus intended to command the rear left group and laid out his plans to the other commanders.

The enemy sylphs had doubtless worked out where the other groups were and Kelanus pointed out that whoever commanded the loyal Eldovan troops would expect the commanders to be within the central group.

Kelanus wanted the groups to travel far enough apart to give the appearance of not being in direct contact with each other, but a sylph would travel with each detachment. Well, at least nearby.

Shyamon would remain with Kelanus, while Belaika would march with Mirrin.

"Like old times," Mirrin said to Belaika, smiling.

The sylph grunted.

"Try not to overlap each other," Kelanus told the sylphs. "There are only five of you and you must remain especially vigilant, and not just for enemy soldiers."

"Their sylphs have not developed whistles to communicate," said Belaika, speaking to remind himself as well as his companions, "so we will not hear them, though they can hear us. But they work in pairs, one as scout and the other as messenger. Watch for unusual movement."

The other sylph scouts nodded agreement.

Captain Jediyah commanded one of the leading groups, with Marshal Janost in charge of the other. Lieutenant Kadyah led the final rear detachment.

"Remember," cautioned Kelanus, "the Eldovans will assume the central group is the important one and will hopefully attack that one first."

Belaika nodded, hoping to be well apart from Mirrin's group if any such attack came.

The sylphs and commanders left together, taking their respective groups with them.

Janost and Jediyah left first with their men, taking Fhionnen and Samel to begin their duties.

Belaika followed them to the edge of the forest and waited for Mirrin and his four hundred to follow. Shashi came forward with him.

"You are not needed here," said Belaika.

Shashi said nothing, but neither did she make any move to stay back.

Belaika tried to ignore the infertile's presence, but she crouched beside him.

"You saved my owner's life," she said, eventually.

Belaika made an offhand gesture, as if that action had little importance or merit.

"It will be dangerous out there," continued the infertile.

"It is always dangerous out there," replied Belaika. "You must stay with your owner."

Shashi smiled. "I intend to do just that."

Belaika glanced behind. "Here they come," he said, tensing and ready to move. He gave Shashi a rather more compassionate glance then before. "Thank you for the choca last year."

Shashi grinned and her earpoints jerked upright. "Thank you for saving enya," she replied. "He will not let you down."

Belaika nodded. "Keep your ears open," he said, before springing away and soon merging with the undergrowth.

He waited until the lead soldiers from his group left the forest, before he continued on, listening for pingers from the other scouts, and keeping his eyes open for anything out of place that might be an enemy sylph scout.

He had no intention of being caught out again.

***

Lowst had all his scouts out – human and sylph. Lieutenants reported that all the men had converged on the forest that morning and the General's spirits dropped, fearing that the army would coalesce into one large group again.

It did not, two groups leaving the forest and heading off almost in opposite directions. Followed by a single group and, eventually, two more groups.

"The command will be in the central group," Lowst remarked to his yeoman. "Let's see how far apart these men travel."

It quickly became obvious that the different groups would travel quite some distance apart. Lowst watched and planned.

No sign of those damned sylphs, he realized. Lowst hoped to lay an ambush, but with five sylph scouts out there, he knew they would see him long before he could engage. He expected the five groups would merge into one army – larger than his own – if he chased after that central group. Those sylph scouts would be in contact with each other.

He had showed his hand. The men marching under Markan leadership – could Mirrin really be a traitor? – would expect any attack to come between them and Eldova. As if the attackers had happened across them while traveling from Eldova. They might even use reverse planning and expect an attack from the opposite flank.

Lowst knew Mirrin would never divide his force, so that suggested that General Kelanus kept a tight hold on the reins of command. Lowst had never fought Kelanus and never read anything of his battles.

So what was the man's plan here?

For one thing, that central group struck him as a decoy. No matter how tempting a target, if Lowst committed to that, the other four groups would fall on him from every side the moment he joined battle.

No, the real command must be in one of the other groups. Perhaps his opposite number played a double bluff.

But the guessing game had always been half the fun of warfare.

He watched the last two groups leave the forest and also move almost in opposite directions. The enemy expected to meet him somewhere ahead. Or perhaps a flanking attack on the central group. His enemy expected that.

So, he would attack from behind.

Now he'd reached a decision, Lowst began to give his orders and arrange his men as needed.

***

Something felt wrong. Again.

Belaika did not know quite what and he remembered an old Sergeant, one of the first he had met as a younger sylph, laying a gnarled finger against his nose, ancient faded blue eyes disappearing under wrinkles as he smiled.

"Get enough experience and you can feel when it's wrong," he had said, voice little more than a whisper after fifty years of inhaling pipesmoke. "Gives you a proper shiver it does, you feel it in your chest, and stroking your skin."

Belaika felt that proper shiver right now.

He had answered each of the pingers in turn. Fhionnen and Samel ranged a little ahead of their groups, out to either side. They had – so far – seen nothing. Shyamon and Ean brought up the rear, also out to either side. Every sylph in place and doing exactly as commanded.

Belaika knew they could use at least another five sylphs, but human scouts filled the gaps along their flanks, ahead and behind. He did not fully trust the human scouts, as all were Eldovans. Who could trust these men?

Mirrin's group remained just in sight and the scout stared at it for a few moments. Somewhere in there rode Sergeant Somersen, again armed with sword and lance. The sylph shivered, unafraid to admit his fear of that man. Somersen had not been pleasant to Belaika when the sylph had been a prisoner.

Belaika sent a fresh pinger to Shyamon and Ean. He felt that if the enemy intended to attack from front or flank, it would have happened by now. The Eldovans must be waiting somewhere, or else had lost contact. Or...

Both those sylphs remained in position. Belaika warned them to be extra vigilant, that an attack might come from behind. Shyamon replied enthusiastically enough, but Ean maintained a dignified silence. Probably felt Belaika had just tried to teach him how to squat.

Belaika looked around everywhere, but saw nothing out of place. Exactly the same as before.

But something felt wrong.

***

"Sylphs have reported, Sir."

Sergeant Utlen thumped fist to chest in salute, which General Lowst acknowledged.

"Anything exciting?"

"Seems like all the groups passed without spotting us, Sir." Utlen shrugged. "Or them."

"And the enemy sylphs?"

"Each group has got one. The front two are out to either side and the rear two are basically the afterguard." Utlen cleared his throat. "The one in the middle seems to be the senior one, though. Or the best trained."

Lowst gave Utlen a considering look. "Did the sylphs get close enough to see?"

Utlen shook his head. "Got more sense, I expect."

"How do they know where the other sylphs are?"

"From the whistles, Sir. They hear the whistles, gives their position away. They move after whistling of course, but they stay more or less ahead or behind, and out to the side."

Lowst nodded. "With large gaps between."

"Yes Sir." Utlen smiled again. "But human scouts fill those gaps, unless this Kelanus is a complete bloody idiot. Are we going for them now?"

"We are. Rear left hand group, flash attack with cavalry, then break engagement and see what happens."

Utlen's smile widened. "Very good, Sir; I'll tell the yeoman to prepare the men."

"You do that, Sergeant." Lowst watched the man leave.

He took a deep breath and caressed his swordhilt. Time to make his move.

***

Ean-y-Felis planned as he moved through the undergrowth, keeping station with Lieutenant Kadyah's detachment. His owner traveled with Kelanus's group though; Ean practiced separation, for when he stood before the Senate.

Even as he planned, Ean kept ears and eyes open for anything out of place. They had expected an ambush, but none had come. They had expected hit and run raids, but so far they marched unmolested.

That nothing had yet happened, suggested that something would, and the more time that passed, the likelihood of an attack increased. So, as the day lengthened, Ean paid more and more attention to his surroundings.

As far as they knew, Ean's group passed nearest the enemy, which meant he was likely to be the first scout to make contact. A range of low hills seemed a likely spot to hide an army of a thousand men.

Tempting to take a look, but there weren't enough sylph scouts for that. Instead, he looked long and hard at the hills for anything out of place. A flash of light reflected from a weapon or armor; dark splodges to hint at the presence of man or horse; well trodden ground where there ought to be pristine hillside.

Nothing.

He also wanted to send another pinger, but an inner sense warned this might be foolish. Like Belaika, he had no idea what felt wrong, only that something felt very out of place.

He looked over his shoulder, but the lay of the land hid everything at any distance. Glancing aside, he spotted a low rise and made for it. Ean had no idea how much use the human scouts would be, and he deeply wished for more scouts further behind to whistle a warning, but he must make the best of bad human planning.

Ean scrambled up the rise on the side that would keep him out of view, and wriggled across the top to the further edge. He looked in all directions, but saw nothing out of place.

He scrambled down again, quickly regaining his station.

Ean planned, looking forward to the day he stood before the Senate in his own right, to demand his freedom.

***

"Thank you."

Kelanus leaned down from his saddle and accepted the waterskin from Tula. The infertile smiled shyly, which he supposed was an improvement over her cautious behavior so far. He swallowed and returned the skin.

"Take it to Tahena," he commanded, "and don't forget to drink something yourself."

"Se bata."

Hanmer gave the sylph an expressionless look. "That one's yours if you want her," he remarked. "It's not supposed to happen, but I think she's eager to bond."

Kelanus sniffed. "If Eldovans looked after their sylphs better, she would have no need."

"Surprised you've not got a sylph already, Sir," continued Hanmer.

Kelanus twisted around in his saddle to look towards Tahena, at the reins of the food cart rumbling in the middle of the small column. "According to you, it looks like I have," he replied.

His yeoman maneuvered his horse closer. "Can we trust these people, Sir? Will they break when other Eldovans attack?"

Kelanus fixed his yeoman with a steely gaze. "I suspect we will learn the answer to your question in the next day or so."

"You think they will attack, Sir? We outnumber them two to one."

"Ask Marshal Janost what he thinks about being outnumbered." Kelanus smiled. "It hasn't helped in the past. And we want this new General to think he can pick us off group by group."

"He might not take the bait," pointed out Hanmer.

"Yes he will." Kelanus nodded. "He can't afford to have us all turn up on Eldova's doorstep. He'll fight us here, today. And if not today, then tomorrow."

"Why did you spread the sylphs out between the groups, Sir? If the attack comes against us, we need them all right here."

"I expect the commander of every group feels the same," retorted Kelanus. "The only advantage I've given Eldova is the element of surprise; as I already know he intends to attack, that advantage is reduced, significantly."

"Agreed," said Hanmer, "so long as we know where that attack will come. As we do not..." He shrugged.

Kelanus leaned across to his yeoman and lowered his voice. "There are five groups here," he said. "All us Markans are here, in this group. That's a four in five chance that an Eldovan group is the one to get attacked." His voice dropped to a whisper. "We can afford to lose a few hundred Eldovans, don't you think?"

Abruptly, Kelanus straightened again.

Hanmer stared at his commander, mouth open.

"Besides," continued Kelanus, "I have a contingency plan."

Hanmer shook his head. "Glad to hear it, Sir. Got a feeling you're going to need it."

Kelanus wondered if Hanmer would still be so glad if he knew what that contingency plan entailed.

***

Lowst crossed the enemy's rear with his small army, at a safe distance to avoid detection, just in case any scouts lingered far behind. Now his intended target stood between him and the road, he pushed hard to catch up.

He hoped luck had helped; every battle commander needed a certain amount of luck, though that was usually tempered with some bad. Lowst had always believed that there must be a balance. But so long as he remained undetected, he would attack the enemy from an unexpected direction.

The advantage of surprise counted for far more than numbers.

Despite the push to catch up, Lowst took great care not to exert his men and horses, alternating between running and marching. Only the ten sylphs had to push hard, and they would not be expected to take part in any fighting.

Aiten dropped back every now and then, sweating and panting, reporting every enemy change of position. The five groups continued towards Eldova, staying in the same positions relative to each other.

"Their rearguard?" asked Lowst.

"Two sylph and two human scouts," replied Aiten. "No change."

"You are sure we have not been seen?"

"Convinced," replied the sylph.

Lowst raised his voice. "Yeoman Breyd! Pass on orders. Form line of battle, prepare to engage enemy."

"Very good, Sir!"

Aiten looked at his commander with wide eyes.

"You," said Lowst, "will lead us to the left hand of the rear groups. We will come between the two groups before turning on that one."

The sylph inclined his head.

Lowst began to work himself up for the fight ahead.

***

Sergeant Nalred considered the rearguard scout the most important position. No attack had come yet, which meant it must come from behind. Nobody could move an armed group that size any quicker than Kelanus already managed.

Unlike Ean, Nalred's thoughts concentrated purely on the task at hand. He prayed for the Father to look after his wife, three daughters and son every night and morning, but to think of them now would be nothing but a distraction.

He looked carefully behind – almost all his attention concentrated behind – but he saw nothing out of place. He wondered where the sylph scouts were right now and hoped all were as good as Belaika. And even Belaika had been captured last year. He worried that there might still be some weakness in using sylphs as scouts. And Belaika happened to be the best available.

Ean had told Nalred that Belaika had been unlucky, Nalred had retorted that scouts made their own luck. Scouts that didn't even take part in battles should never be captured. He glanced across and hoped young Ean would be just fine, that he would be safe from any danger.

Humans were supposed to face these dangers, not sylphs.

Movement in the grass caught his attention. Someone or something headed directly for him and he sat still, silently drawing his short sword.

Almost immediately, the sylph appeared out from the grass and Nalred almost ran the creature through.

"What are you playing at, Shyamon?" he demanded. "Why aren't you on the outer flank?"

The painted sylph stared at him, eyes wide and earpoints bolt upright, before wilting away.

"Well?" demanded Nalred. "Tongue fallen out?"

Strong hands seized him from behind and the short sword fell from a suddenly nerveless hand.

The sylph scout looked on, horrified, and Nalred wondered why he could see red blood spraying, before realizing he stared at his life blood.

"He's not one of your scouts, fool," growled Nalred's killer. "But one of ours."

From behind, Lowst's leading cavalry thundered past, ignoring the scouts and the dead man. A horn sounded, and they turned together, riding hard to fall on Kelanus's small group.

Battle was joined.

***
Chapter 13

Pride And Desire

Nazvasta's carriage moved quickly through the city streets. It looked no different from the multitude of other carriages, painted black and unadorned, its driver dressed like all other drivers, drawn by a single bay horse, just like the thousands of bay horses in Sandester.

Nazvasta had always preferred anonymity, rather than the pomp of an official escort, or a brightly painted and lacquered carriage. He wanted nobody to realize he had passed through, never mind remember. He kept his curtains drawn, as an additional precaution against recognition.

Beggars called for alms – perhaps they even begged from him, though they could not see each other – plaintive voices lingering long after the carriage had moved on.

As a ruler – and he hoped a benign one – people begging on the streets of Sandester pained him.

He had done what he could about the beggars. He had expanded his army, which then called for a larger number of camp followers: laundresses, workmen, armorers, physicians, nurses... They in turn created fresh vacancies elsewhere, but no matter how many people he managed to move into work, the number of beggars never seemed to diminish.

He did not understand. Farmers and landowners wanted more hands and were certainly not throwing people off the land. Work in the city had never been more plentiful, with some guildspeople complaining that they needed more people to work for them. And yet, the city sometimes seemed full of beggars. Nazvasta could only conclude that some people liked living that way.

Hardly an easy life to choose.

"Lib'ry, Sir," grunted the driver, as the carriage halted.

Nazvasta climbed out of the carriage. "Thank you, Tylan. Park round the side somewhere and wait, would you?"

Tylan inclined his head and cracked the reins.

Nazvasta glanced up the steps to the library before bounding up them. Pushing through the doors, the Head Librarian stood beyond to greet him.

"Good morning, Your Majesty." The old man bowed low, wisps of white hair contrasting with his brown robe. "We are honored to receive you."

"Not Majesty yet," replied Nazvasta, removing his gloves to shake hands. "Still just the Steward. How are you, Orard? I trust your various ailments do not trouble you too closely."

"As well as might be expected, Sire, given I live in my twilight years."

Nazvasta laughed and tapped the Head Librarian's arm with his gloves. "Spare me the sob stories," he said, "else we might find another to take over your duties and push you into a dusty corner somewhere."

The man's faded blue eyes lit with eagerness. "Provided you push me there with several nubile lasses, I'll be happy," he replied.

"Get away with you, old lecher," laughed Nazvasta. "Men like you die virgins."

"It has been so long, Majesty, that I may as well be one." Orard's eyes glinted again.

"That happens when you spend your life surrounded by books."

"Quite so, Sire, quite so."

"You have something new for me?" pressed Nazvasta. "There is a reason for your invite other than the pleasure of my company?"

Orard nodded. "Indeed there is; Hillon has returned with something he believes is very interesting for you."

"Not recovered from our archives?"

"Ah, no. Hillon is on the lowest level, sorry to say."

"Lead on." Nazvasta knew the way, but humored the old man. Orard still possessed a certain amount of sprightliness, if the man had slowed considerably over the past couple of years.

"Hillon has spent some time rummaging through Marka's archives," Orard threw over his shoulder.

"Do I know him?" replied Nazvasta.

They passed shelves of books, some with people browsing. Few came to the library, other than whose wishing to hunt for some obscure law, or point of law.

Or, like himself, to check genealogical tables.

"You might remember him, Sire. Gray hair, piercing blue eyes."

"That hasn't narrowed it down very much," chided Nazvasta.

"Well, he has been in Marka so long that I suspect the librarians there believe he is one of theirs. I'm sure he might have been involved in some of your lessons when you were a child."

"Hillon," mused Nazvasta, wondering who in Ranva's name he might be. Certainly not someone he recalled.

Orard paused at a door heavily disguised as oak paneling, swung it open, and headed down a spiral of stone steps. Nazvasta followed, grateful for light crystals set into the wall at regular intervals to show the way ahead.

The lowest level had fewer crystals but, perhaps surprisingly, no damp. A cat's eyes glowed at the intruders from one corner and a table piled with manuscripts sat in the center of the vault. Strangely, a candle lantern burned here.

"How does that cat survive down here?" Nazasta wondered aloud.

"He dines on mice and rats," replied Orard. "He finds his way upstairs now and then though."

"You still have mice and rats down here?"

"Of course, Sire. There are always mice and rats wherever there are people. Now, um, ah, I think Hillon is down here somewhere."

"Yes, I am here."

Both men turned together.

Nazvasta stared at Hillon and failed to recognize him. Perhaps no surprise; he hadn't remembered the name and could recall taking no lessons with him as tutor. The man's voice almost hissed as he spoke, voice sibilant. His eyes looked like deep black pools in the poor light and iron-gray hair topped his head.

For some reason, Nazvasta felt uneasy in this man's presence.

Orard grunted. "Have you been rolling on the floor in your robe?" he demanded. "Or not bothered to change it recently?"

Hillon half lifted the manuscripts he had in his hands. "I have been researching," he replied. "Down here, it is sometimes difficult to tell whether it is light or dark without. The time passes."

"Well," said Orard, grunting. "I'll leave you two alone."

Hillon stared at Nazvasta until Orard's footsteps had faded to nothing.

"You do not remember me," said the librarian, eventually.

"No," replied Nazvasta.

"I have spent most of my life chasing ancient documents and manuscripts," said Hillon. "I buy them, acquire them, copy them."

"Yes, that is part of your job here, as I understand it."

The dark pools of the man's eyes held Nazvasta transfixed. "Yes," he replied.

"And you have found something new?" Nazvasta allowed a hint of hope enter his voice.

"No Sire, I have found something old," corrected Hillon. "And important."

"How important?"

Hillon's voice rose. "Emperor Evlander."

"What about him?" Why must studious types always play games?

"When did he die?"

"Two and a half centuries ago," replied Nazvasta, beginning to think this man had spent too long alone in semidarkness.

"Fourteen fifty-six to be precise," snapped Hillon. "And who followed?"

Nazvasta sighed. "Rono. The Second."

Hillon wagged a finger, eyes alight with... zealousness? "The second one, yes. And who did he marry?"

"Maudla, I think."

"Maudla, yes! She became his queen."

"I think it's time you came to the point," said Nazvasta, tiring of the game.

Hillon dumped the manuscripts on the table and opened the candle lantern door. He rummaged through.

"Maudla had two sons," he said. "Ah!" He flourished a manuscript. "Rono and Kylist. Rono and Kylist!" He hooted. "Think on that. Rono Rono Vintner. What imagination!"

Nazvasta gestured with a hand. "Almost as bad as Marcus Marcus Vintner," he said. "But the bloody man is in Marka. Now come to the point."

"Rono. The second one. Murdered in his bed, fourteen sixty-three. Followed by the third one. Rono son of Rono Unimaginative."

"Yes. Ranva's balls, man, will you get on with it?"

Hillon's dark eyes glittered. "He ran away. Still a boy and he fled. Got some peasant girl with child. Hingast is descended from that one."

"You're sure?" A warning note crept into Nazvasta's voice.

"Course I'm sure! Wouldn't tell you that if I wasn't sure, would I?"

"Maybe you would."

"Younger brother, Kylist. Never crowned. Barely potty trained. Uncle Elwan became Protector and Preceptor as the Empire fell to pieces around him, though he had the good sense to send his infant son here. They called Elwan Rono too, you know. Some called him Rono the Fourth. Others called him Rono the Third. But his name was Elwan."

"It was," agreed Nazvasta, resisting the urge to grind his teeth.

"The Senate tried to call him Rono because they couldn't believe the other one had run away. But Elwan held onto Marka for thirty years before Kylist inherited." Hillon grimaced and nodded. "You lot are Elwan's get; Marcus Marcus Vintner claims a line running all the way up to Kylist."

"I know." Nazvasta restrained a sigh. "I've not come here to listen to your ramblings about history I already know."

Hillon flourished the selected manuscript again. "Tell Hillon what this is then," he demanded. Nazasta opened his mouth, but got no chance to speak. "That's right, this is the record of the marriage between Maudla and Rono. The Second."

Nazvasta shrugged. A collapsing empire's politics were usually messy.

Somehow, Hillon managed to get one corner of the manuscript into the candle lantern. It caught.

"Oh no!" wailed Hillon in mock horror. "That document cost your treasury many, many gold coins!"

Nazvasta stared as the manuscript curled and burned to ash.

"You know what this means now?"

Nazvasta shook his head. He was stuck on the lowest level of Sandester's library with a madman.

Hillon's voice rose. "It means the third Rono and his younger brother Kylist were bastards!" he shouted.

"You are insane," Nazvasta told the librarian. He kept one hand on his swordhilt, just in case. "That changes nothing, it –"

"Changes everything!" Hillon almost screamed. "How can they prove Rono and Kylist were legitimate? The record is gone. It never happened! It means you are the only true claimant to the Markan Throne!"

Nazvasta blinked.

Hillon stood, arms upraised, head thrown back and staring at the brick ceiling. Slowly, his arms returned to a more normal position and he eyed Nazvasta neutrally.

"I think it changes nothing," replied Nazvasta. "Birth out of wedlock does not in itself bar anyone from the throne."

Hillon sniffed. "Hingast's argument. And if allowed, it means he has the best claim to that throne. But a bastard has never sat on that throne. Never."

"There is nothing in Markan law to prevent one from inheriting," countered Nazvasta, voice carefully neutral.

"Yes there is," snapped Hillon. "The secret concord of 705."

"What about it? That dealt with the Preceptors, after the First Empire collapsed a thousand years ago."

"And two men wanted the title. Wurlan Vintner, descended from a son of Mark the Sixth, but otherwise unrelated to the Blood Royal, and Hinista, who claimed the family name Goldeagle through illegitimate descent from Branad the Third."

Nazvasta shook his head. "That concord still only dealt with the Preceptors."

"They blocked Hinista Goldeagle from his birthright because his descent was illegitimate!" howled Hillon. "And it has been the case ever since, that an illegitimate line cannot claim the throne. Just because a law is old, it does not mean that law is no longer current. It has never been repealed, so it is still in force."

Slowly, Hillon lowered his arms again and his voice returned to normality.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you think?"

Nazvasta blinked again. The man even looked normal now.

"I'll think on it," he replied. "Don't work too hard."

Hillon shrugged. "Orard is a slave driver," he muttered.

Nazvasta left the lowest level and, while not exactly hurrying, wasted no time climbing the steps back into the real world.

"Did Your Majesty find what he sought?" Orard bustled up to him.

"More than I'd bargained for," replied Nazvasta, walking quickly towards the door. "And don't talk to me in the third person when I'm in front of your eyes."

Orard shrugged, but offered no apology.

Nazvasta pulled on his gloves as he walked. "Oh, Orard?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Either have Hillon thrown off the library roof, or commit him to an asylum. The man is totally insane."

Orard laughed. "He always was," he replied. "Good librarian though."

As Nazvasta ran down the steps, Tylan pushed a half smoked pipe into his pocket and readied the carriage, bringing it to the front of the building. As he waited, Nazvasta smiled to himself.

Hillon had a point; Marcus now had no way of proving his legitimacy.

***

Done playing games, no longer masquerading as Hillon, and now alone in the library's crypt, Dervra threw back his head and laughed.

"Thank you for the hint, Grayar!" he called aloud and laughed again.

The burned document had been genuine enough, stolen even as the real Hillon had inspected it.

Time to disappear. Dervra knew the chances of the real Hillon showing up were zero. Heavy bookends applied with force to heads tended to ensure people never moved again. Even though clearing away the body and cleaning up the blood had proved more tedious than expected. He had used sorcery to destroy every trace of the body. After all, Marka had many experienced and successful bounty hunters who enjoyed practicing their arts hunting for missing people.

Dervra had finished his task here and the time had come for Hillon to die again. Still smiling, he closed his eyes and projected himself back to his more comfortable study in Turivkan.

After he had gone, the candle burned down in its lantern while a solitary cat licked his paws and washed his face.

***

Millan was grateful the laundry basket had wheels. They made it a lot easier to move the basket around the palace, until it came to stairs, when she must drag the basket as best she could. Not very easy when she still had growing to do and happened to be rather small for her race anyway.

Earlier, she had turned the basket upside down to inspect the axles and thought of asking someone to make an axle with three wheels at each end. Then, the triple wheel arrangement could turn as she pulled the basket and should make it easier to move up steps. After all, she felt the basket's full weight when dragging it up flights of stairs.

As she walked with the basket, she pictured in her mind's eye how that axle might be made and how it would work. The three wheels together might resemble a triangle, with two always in contact with the surface the basket moved across and –

"Hello, little sister."

Millan squeaked and looked over her shoulder.

Fareen leaned nonchalantly against the far wall and smiled at the infertile. "I forgot to thank you properly for answering my questions," she said. She held out a hand, palm up.

Millan's earpoints strained forwards. "Choca?"

Fareen smiled. "Your choca," she replied.

Millan looked at the gwerin, eyes wary. "Anya might not approve."

Fareen laughed. "What kind of sylph are you? Nobody else ever turns away choca. Oh well." She began to wrap paper around the dark treat.

"No!" Millan stepped forward and almost snatched the choca from the gwerin's hand. "Thank you."

Fareen's smile grew indulgent. "Gone all too quickly," she said.

"Why not eat it yourself?" asked Millan. "I did not expect a reward from you." She did not know, but perhaps gwerins were almost as bad as sylphs when it came to choca.

Fareen laid a finger along her nose. "Because I know the secret," she whispered.

"The secret?" asked Millan.

The gwerin nodded. "The very one. But you know I cannot tell you because it is against the law to tell sylphs."

Millan doubted that, and thought Fareen teased her, but neither would she learn the secret today.

Fareen continued. "And I have plenty of choca."

The infertile hoped her eyes held no greedy gleam.

"Which I'm willing to share."

Millan blinked. Nothing ever came without a price. Reward followed effort, through work or supplying a service. She said nothing.

Fareen nodded. The sylph might be young, but she was not stupid. "All I want is you to answer my questions when I see you."

"What questions?" Reward for information, then.

"About anything and everything," replied the gwerin.

Millan blinked. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, savoring the fading taste of choca.

"You ask me questions?"

Fareen nodded. "But I want full answers. Or no choca."

Millan's earpoints twitched before slanting ahead. The sylph shrugged. "All right," she said, eventually.

Fareen smiled and briefly tickled the sylph's earpoints. "Good girl," she said. "You had better take that laundry before I get you into trouble."

Millan gave a small grunt of delight under the physical attention. She picked up the tow strap of the laundry basket again, nodded to Fareen and moved on.

She had solved the problem of the wheels, but how best to make the axle? As Millan continued her way to the laundry room, she never saw Fareen's pleased, self-satisfied expression.

***

Egran had to admit that the landscape, if very different from his native Re Taura, certainly held a savage beauty.

Sandester lay in the very north of its lands, and the air here felt a lot chillier than the maritime climate in which Egran had spent most of his life. Not many trees survived on the high plain; the few dotted about were bent, twisted things, their agonized growth shaped by winds that so often screamed across the heights.

Snow-capped mountains surrounded the plain and Egran began to hope the pass would not be too high. Almost summer and he sometimes wondered if he might not freeze to death.

Even plants found life difficult up here, though plenty of pink and blue flowers dotted the plain right now. Plants with yellow and white flowers apparently made the best eating, but Egran could only see pink and blue.

Typical, he might end up starving from hunger and cold.

Kullin rode alongside Egran, but had offered little in the way of conversation so far today. Sometimes the man could talk the leg off of a sheep, and other times fell into long silences.

"Who'd bring an army through here?" Egran wondered aloud.

"Us," grunted Kullin, rousing himself at what he regarded as a foolish question.

"Thinking more about enemies," retorted Egran. "Like Marka. Why would they come this way?"

"Indelgar reckons it's a short cut between Marka and Sandester," replied Kullin. "He told me people used it as a summer trade route a thousand years ago."

"Trade route? You must be joking."

Kullin shrugged. "That's what he said."

Egran looked both ways along the snaking column. The newly promoted General Indelgar rode ahead of the supply carts, while infantry formed a sinuous line stretching behind. Camp followers were all bunched in the middle, immediately behind Egran.

"Two days to cross," mused Egran. "And nothing to see."

"Not even those sylphs," said Kullin.

Egran nodded in agreement. There were still human scouts, the nearest easy to spot against the sere land, but also fifteen sylphs. Ten stayed within the column, but the others scouted around the army. Of those, they saw nothing. How could even a sylph hide here?

"Indelgar reckons the road might be blocked through the pass," continued Kullin. "If we're the first ones, we might have to dig our way through old snow and ice."

"Bloody wonderful," retorted Egran. "At least digging should help keep us warm. I hope the weather on the other side is more like spring than the winter up here. Why didn't they send us to the Horn?"

"We'd be sick for home then," pointed out Kullin. "Anyway, they've sent some of the lads down there and some across to Vertia."

"To keep us apart," said Egran. "They don't fully trust us Re Taurans."

Kullin, a lot less suspicious than Egran, shook his head. "Just fairness," he countered. "They've got a lot to learn from us."

"Like what? Half the lads here have seen more fighting in the last two years than we have our entire lives."

Kullin shrugged. "Still reckon we use different tactics."

Egran stared at the former officer. Surely this man ought to know better? No amount of training could lead to better performance than real experience. Perhaps best that the planned Re Tauran invasion of the mainland had been thwarted after all.

"We'll be stopping soon," said Egran, changing the subject. "With any luck, I'll be able to get warm again."

Kullin laughed. "No chance," he replied.

***

"Fareen said what?"

Elsin leaned forward at her sylph's words.

Millan blinked and her earpoints wilted a little. "She asked me to tell you that Nazvasta-ya might be interested in marrying you."

"You have something else to tell me?"

Millan's earpoints wilted further and she looked at the floor. "She wants me to answer questions," replied the infertile. "About things you do and say."

"I see." Elsin drained her alovak. "I had better go and see Fareen," she said. She looked around the apartment. "Tidy up while I am gone."

"Se bata. Anya, have I done wrong?" The infertile's silvery eyes held an element of worry, bordering on fear.

Elsin knew the infertile feared a fresh rejection above anything else. She smiled and ruffled her sylph's hair. "Of course not. You stay here, while I go and see Nazvasta's gwerin."

Millan bowed her head as Elsin swept out from her rooms.

The best had trained Elsin while growing up. Never hurry, child; never let them see you out of countenance in public. Walk steadily and with purpose.

Elsin certainly walked with purpose now, but took time to smile at those she passed in the palace corridors and exchange pleasantries. She inquired after a serving girl's daughter who had recently recovered from an illness; she asked Korl after his son's lambs; said hello to servants she had never before seen.

So many of her family never bothered.

Always ask after their health, after their families. Memorize their names, learn what they fear, what they hope to achieve. Unless you have good reason to behave otherwise, always present a friendly, concerned face.

Such small courtesies went a long way with servants. That they served in no way made them less; those who believed that had forgotten their own beginnings.

Without rushing, speaking to those she already knew well, and learning more about a few she did not, Elsin finally reached her destination, one of the smallest servants' rooms, tucked discreetly away in one corner.

Many of her family, believing the palace to be their home, would never dream of knocking.

It is even more important to offer proper courtesy to those who work for you, than to those of your own station. Insult your equals and they may defend themselves. Insult those below your station, and they will feel persecuted. Offended servants can make your life a misery without ever breaking a rule.

Elsin rapped on the door.

A moment later, that door opened and Fareen peered out. Her earpoints slanted forward when she recognized who waited there and she opened her door wider.

"Elsin-ya; please come inside."

Elsin stepped into the small apartment. A door led to a sleeping chamber on one side of the room, a further door to a washroom on the other. A small fireplace and a single easy chair almost took up all available floorspace in the living area.

Books and papers filled the rest of the space, some open on the floor. A single window allowed a view towards the Pauper Gate.

"I had not expected a visitor or I would have attempted to tidy the place." Fareen sounded genuinely apologetic. She stepped forward and swept the books off the easy chair. "Please sit. There's a stool in my sleeping chamber..."

Elsin kept a polite smile on her face and accepted the comfortable chair. She sat carefully, pleased gwerins did not exude the same sinabra as their sylph relatives. A moment later, Fareen reappeared with a three-legged stool. She set it between Elsin and the empty fireplace, hunted around the room and eventually grabbed a cushion that had been covered with manuscripts.

"I am too old to sit comfortably for long on bare wood," the gwerin said with a smile. "Before I sit, may I offer alovak?"

"I have just finished a mug, thank you." Elsin smiled. "This is not exactly a social visit."

Fareen returned the smile, a little more cautiously. "Rare for our betters to come here."

"Just so. My sylph –" Elsin thought about naming Millan, but decided against "– has just informed me that she has been speaking with you."

Fareen spread her hands, smile still in place, if her earpoints suddenly slanted back in her hair before recovering. A small movement, but Elsin had been watching for it. "Should I not speak with my social equals?"

Elsin humored the gwerin with a smile. "I know you collect information for my brother-in-law, and advise him," she said. "Most of this family is blind, but I am not."

"So glad to hear it," murmured Fareen.

"You told my sylph that Nazvasta has suddenly sprouted an interest in marriage. Involving me."

"A political arrangement," said Fareen. "He has not tired of Heylena."

"Political?"

The gwerin nodded. "He has almost decided to press his claim to the Markan Throne."

"Almost decided?"

"Almost completely decided, yes." Fareen nodded. "When Zenepha steps down from the throne, of course."

"Why does he need a marriage?" Elsin leaned forward.

"He must bring the two parts of the Vintner family together. Branad's children, for one thing. He must strictly control who they marry and who they might produce. Your late husband's renunciation of his claim was quite specific. It precludes all descendants from the throne including your daughters, I am afraid to say."

"Indeed. I already knew that and plan to make arrangements with some of the more established merchant families."

"The wealthier ones, you mean." Fareen smiled in a failed attempt to take any sting from her words. "As Nazvasta-ya has expressed an interest in taking you as his second wife, you should find the best possible matches for your daughters."

"And what about Kana? Her children are more likely to cause problems than mine."

"Perhaps." Fareen shrugged. "Verdin seems to have made up his own mind, while her two daughters are making attachments to some of the old noble houses. Nazvasta feels those children are sorted. Forgive me for my forwardness, but you have also expressed your interest in exactly this match."

"Indeed," replied Elsin. "And?"

"It appears the feeling is mutual. Nazvasta is very concerned that your daughters find the best possible matches, and to the advantage of all parties concerned. I rather suspect your motivations are also political, so please do not start acting all coy now."

Elsin paused. What else did this creature know? "It is one thing to speculate aloud," she said. "But I must wonder what a lady might get out of such a political arrangement?"

"More status for her children," said Fareen. "But for you... Well, surely Empress Elsin must tempt?"

"Tell your master I will consider it," said Elsin. She stood to leave. "Thank you for your hospitality. One more thing, though."

"Yes?" Fareen slowly rose to her own feet.

"Millan."

"What about her?" The gwerin looked genuinely confused.

"She is barely five years old. Do not snare her in your schemes, do not recruit her into your networks. Leave. Her. Alone."

"As you command, my lady."

Elsin closed the door quietly behind her. She knew Fareen would not leave Millan alone, but Elsin wondered how best to turn this to her advantage. Her sylph was certainly too young for political intrigue, so Elsin might be able to train her to use her immaturity to appear open and honest.

When in fact, she would be feeding Fareen exactly what Elsin wanted the gwerin to hear. Once again, she silently thanked her old tutors for her own training.

She would get her way in the end.

***

Marshal Mikhan Annada met with Nazvasta Vintner. Strangely, the claimant had come to him, meeting the marshal in his office, near the palace. Maps, rather than paintings, lined Mikhan's walls. Maps of Sandester's lands and those surrounding it. A large map of Marka. Maps of the offshore islands, particularly Re Taura. Reports were neatly stacked on the single desk. A row of books on a single shelf, containing manuscripts on warfare, many old, and others written by the marshal himself.

Mikhan and Nazvasta relaxed in the two easy chairs, sipping at alovak prepared by the marshal's own hand.

"General Indelgar has sent birds to say he has successfully crossed the high plain," said Mikhan. "He got 'em all through the pass with no problems at all."

Nazvasta nodded. "How long before he is in position?"

"Weeks," replied Mikhan. "Indelgar'll stay in the far north of Frallon, there are sufficient supplies and I've sent carriers with plenty of birds to join him there. They should get there before he does."

"And Paul Tennen?"

"Somewhere in Maedada. He should be in place at about the same time as Indelgar. After all, he's got better roads to travel along."

"Roads the older Marcus used against us," mused Nazvasta.

"We learned our lessons from that episode, Majesty," murmured Mikhan. "Our defensive strategies will keep out any future invaders. Only a badly informed fool would come that way again."

"I'm glad to hear it. And your son. Drecan."

"In western Vertia." Mikhan smiled. "He will be the first to reach his post."

"Do you think Marcus will strike so far north?"

"Hard to say, Majesty. It's not Marcus's plans that worry me. Kelanus commanded here long enough to know all our weaknesses, where the ways into our lands may be found. How to take the cities, how to cripple our trade."

"Will Marcus give Kelanus the command to destroy us?" Nazvasta's voice remained quiet, considering.

Mikhan took a sip of his alovak. "Undoubtedly. Assuming Marcus Vintner bothers to move against us."

"You seem unconvinced. Are our preparations for nothing?"

Mikhan smiled. "Preparations are never wasted," he replied. "We must cover all eventualities. I suspect that Marcus will at least consider ignoring and sidelining us. Especially if we decide to concentrate on a purely defensive strategy. He might believe we are not worth the cost of rooting us out. Greed might tempt him into grabbing the north Horn, but can he hold it with his back to the sea?

"His father successfully held the south Horn," pointed out Nazvasta.

"But failed to hold onto the north Horn for the same reason we failed to retake the southern one." Mikhan smiled.

"And if Marcus decides to move against us? After all, he may wish to stamp his authority, and use us as an example to others."

"Not his style, Majesty." Mikhan drained his alovak; he would offer more in a few moments. "But he might send freelancers."

"Freelancers?"

"Are you aware that Kelanus has not been seen in Marka for weeks?" Mikhan arched a bushy eyebrow. "Where on the ilvenworld might he be? The army is intact, Marcus has not sent it anywhere. That means Kelanus is freelancing. Soon or late, we'll find out where he's working."

"Marcus has dismissed him?"

Mikhan laughed. "Not a chance. That's the mistake your brother made."

"Is he with Verdin?"

A scowl flickered. "Verdin's not in Marka either, so it's possible. But where?"

"More importantly, why? From Marka's point of view, there's unfinished business in Turivkan and unfinished business in Eldova. But what can two men do?"

"Unfinished business here, too," pointed out Mikhan.

Nazvasta nodded. "But Marcus will not move against us as long as Zenepha holds the throne. We are loyal to him."

"Zenepha wonders why you recalled all your troops," countered Mikhan. "It certainly upset him when I tendered my resignation as Marshal of Marka. He displayed considerable annoyance, vocally."

"Annoyance, a sylph?" Nazvasta gave a broad smile. "Interesting image."

"The boy has learned his princely arts well," pointed out Mikhan, "and he has excellent advisors."

"Will they continue to advise Marcus?"

"If they want to continue influencing policy, then yes." Mikhan nodded.

"And Zenepha. Any sign of him stepping aside?"

"There are cracks showing, Majesty. Last year's decisions concerning Re Taura affected him. Kelanus's disregard for his orders turned out to be the correct decision, and Zenepha now questions his own judgment."

"We all make mistakes," said Nazvasta.

"True, but this is different. There are people in Marka waiting for Zenepha to slip up, so they can point and say they now have proof sylphs are unfit to rule. Never Marcus's finger pointing, but he will be behind all such moves to oust the sylph."

"And in Marka?"

Mikhan shrugged. "Zenepha remains popular with both Senate and people. They remember the siege, and his amazing leadership there."

"Amazing?" Nazvasta looked wry. "Rare praise from you."

"He's just a sylph, Majesty. Most sylphs would have run away and hid during the siege, but he joined the men on the walls most nights. If anything, we had a hard time keeping him away from the worst of it."

"And how much of a survivor is he politically?"

"Good question." Mikhan shrugged. "As long as the Senate is behind him, he is safe."

Nazvasta nodded. "Then let us hope he remains safe until we are ready."

Mikhan smiled.

***
Chapter 14

Kana's Gambit

"The red dress, if you will, Telfin."

Kana Savara Santon turned away from the servant and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Unlike her sister-wife Elsin, Kana still preferred to use human servants. One usually held better conversations with humans than with sylphs. And certainly enjoy more of it. Sylphs seemed to pride themselves on taciturnity. Besides, when properly looked after, human servants made much better spies.

Blue-gray eyes stared back at her from the polished metal. Calm eyes, unperturbed, as if their owner had not a single care in the world. Yet she must begin finding suitable spouses for her eldest daughter, now eighteen and already dropping hints the time had come for her to discover her prince.

Kana's firm expression softened as she thought of her daughters. Some believed her stern, though nothing could be further from the truth. She glanced at her glossy dark hair, amazed it remained gray free after the problems of the past two years.

Not to mention the humiliation of being almost ignored in Marka. The moment her late husband renounced his claim, all interest in her ceased, and attention switched to Zandra.

Kana had nothing against Zandra, wife to her husband's greatest rival. But she felt a twinge of jealousy that the woman seemed able to get on with almost everybody she met. No doubt she had manipulated them all and taught them the steps to her dance.

But upon her return to Sandester, she had won her greatest battle.

Nazvasta had decided to press his claim, once the sylph Emperor stepped down.

"My lady?"

Kana turned from the mirror. She saw the servant held her dress ready, a deep red color, as she had requested.

"Thank you, Telfin." Kana obediently stepped into the dress and returned to studying her reflection as the girl began to do up the small wooden buttons.

No gray hairs and very few wrinkles, another small blessing. Kana doubted if she would marry again, but some women would size her up before engaging a son to her daughter.

She had hoped to have all this sorted by now. Her daughter was the same age as she when she married her beloved Branad. She should be finding a wife for Verdin, but the foolish boy had refused to come home, acting almost as badly as a traitor.

Even though her daughters would no longer ever be sisters to an Emperor, Verdin remained heir to the lands in Sandester. Nazvasta proudly retained the title of Steward and had assured her he had no designs to rule Sandester's lands himself.

"My lady, when we change this dress, I will need to sew some of these buttons. They are getting loose."

"Of course, Telfin, I'm sure you know best."

Now Telfin had proved herself very useful. An excellent seamstress, Kana ensured she had plenty of time to work at that, providing dresses for the many female servants in the palace.

As a result, she came to hear everything.

And everything Telfin heard, Kana learned within a day. And all passed on disguised as innocent gossip. If anybody ever overheard their chats, that is exactly what she wanted them to assume.

The girl was probably the highest paid servant in Sandester. Paid her servant's wage, as well as the money she earned making dresses, and paid as a spy. Surprisingly, Telfin's true role had slipped past the usually canny Fareen.

Or perhaps the gwerin did know, for she often kept her secrets close and rarely shared all her knowledge. Kana had been caught out before.

Next, Telfin picked up the wooden hairbrush and began to run it through Kana's hair.

"There is some speculation in the servants' quarters," began Telfin.

"Really?" asked Kana.

"Concerning Elsin and Nazvasta."

Kana almost turned her head.

"Thought that might catch your attention," smiled Telfin. She never referred to anybody else by title, and Kana never received anything more than "my lady", a refreshing attitude.

"She feels she is still young enough to marry him?" asked Kana.

"The word is that Nazvasta encourages her."

"I see." Unfortunately, Kana did see. "We must congratulate Elsin for having an eye for a good investment, but if she tries to snare Nazvasta, she'll miss. The man's utterly devoted to Heylena."

"Yes, my lady. There is also the question of her daughters."

"Her daughters are barely four years old."

Kana saw Telfin nod in the mirror. "My first engagement came when I was two, my lady."

One day, Kana would ask what had happened there, but suspected she might learn nothing.

"Who's she got in mind for them?"

Telfin paused in her brushing. "Aelfra."

Kana laughed as her mind whirled. Where had that rumor sprung from? "The blood is too close," she said. "And no child born of that union could take the throne, because of Branad's renunciation. Is there any word that dear Elsin has lost her mind?"

"They say it isn't illegal," pointed out Telfin.

"Neither is taking a sylph to your bed because you feel lonely, but it doesn't mean you should. And it certainly isn't desirable. Nasty things can happen when you marry blood that is too close. Insane or deformed children."

"I dare not ask." Telfin gave a delicate – and doubtless false – shudder. "My lady, I do not know of anybody taking a sylph to bed."

"Glad to hear it." Kana shook her head. "Perfectly legal to do it though."

"If Elsin marries Nazvasta, then surely that would prevent her daughters marrying his son?"

"I hope so." Kana had never rebuked Telfin for it, but she wished the girl would stick to feeding information, rather than trying to analyze it. The girl might just be passing on speculation from the servants' quarters. Under the guise of gossip, of course. Kana hoped somebody had managed to get the truth twisted horribly out of recognition.

Surely not even Elsin was so foolish?

"And some feel that Nazvasta might not see what she is trying to do," continued Telfin. "I know it's silly, but more than a few are worried that she might be trying to take power for herself."

Kana stiffened. She heard Fareen's voice here. The gwerin very likely understood the power of rumor and gossip, using it to counter Elsin's over-ambitious plans. Not that Elsin had any designs on the throne for herself.

"I had better go and see my brother-in-law," she said.

"Of course, my lady." Telfin smiled.

Kana hoped the gwerin would be with him. "I think my hair is brushed enough."

Telfin stood back and dropped into a tiny curtsy. "I will tidy your rooms before you return, my lady."

Kana smiled at the servant and left her apartment, sweeping along the palace corridors. She smiled or acknowledged all greetings given to her. She had ruled the palace while her husband lived and, though that duty now fell to Heylena, most remembered her rule well.

And, she hoped, fondly.

People respected the order properly organized society brought. Respect and compliance given to those placed in authority. But respect must be maintained, and Kana knew the three rules to follow.

Firm, fair and friendly. That worked with any sort of governance. Firm, which earned respect. Punish wrongdoers, protect the weak and innocent. Fair, which must be blind. Justice could take no sides, neither could fairness. Friendly, which prevented despotism. Friendliness spread, made people happier, encouraged them to give their best.

So many rulers, so many housemistresses, no matter how humble, and so many governments forgot these simple, easy to follow rules.

And disaster invariably followed. If not today, then tomorrow.

She approached Nazvasta's rooms.

She must give the man credit. Nazvasta had made no move to take Branad's old rooms, which now stood empty. He gave no outward hint that he had staked his claim to the Markan Throne, no sign of any title other than Steward of Sandester, granted by Branad and confirmed by Zenepha.

She respected his modesty, but sometimes saintly rulers came to sticky ends. Kana hoped the man was hard enough for what would come.

She rapped on the door.

A serving girl opened it immediately, gray eyes widening as she recognized Kana.

"Is he in?" she asked.

The girl nodded and opened the door wider. "In the main room," she replied. "Alovak?"

"Please."

Kana entered the main living room without announcement.

Nazvasta rose from his chair. It troubled her how much he looked like Branad.

"Kana! A pleasant surprise. Please, do come and sit." He waved vaguely towards a chair. "I trust Kelen has offered alovak? Good. I am sorry Heylena is not here, but she is out riding with the children."

Kana sat. "I have heard troubling rumors, brother," she said, without further ceremony. "Gossip, I am sure."

"Gossip you feel I should hear?"

"I am certain you have already heard it." Kana smiled. "Your gwerin has probably told you."

"Sandester's gwerin," murmured Nazvasta. "Fareen will see us and our children in our graves and still only be middle aged."

"Elsin."

"What about her?"

"Being overly ambitious as usual. She is chasing your hand, I hear. And if not that, chasing your son's hand for her daughters."

"Oh, that rumor. Yes, I've heard it. The second part is nonsense."

"I do hope so." Kana smiled.

"Elsin can expect excellent matches within the mercantile families for her daughters," continued Nazvasta. "No better than that."

Kana nodded. "Must I warn you to exercise extreme caution around her?"

"Fareen already has." Nazvasta smiled. "She sounds dangerous."

"The ambitious are always dangerous to people surrounding them," replied Kana. "Especially if those people get in the way."

"Must be hard to hold ambitions higher than my own," said Nazvasta.

Kana's smile grew tolerant. "Unless you happen to be the means to her end, rather than the end in itself."

"Very profound. Ah! Kelen."

The servant entered, carrying a tray with the alovak. She smiled at Nazvasta and poured two cups before withdrawing again.

"Profound and true," continued Kana. "Elsin is fully aware that she has the chance of seizing at least some power for herself and she is still too young for true wisdom. She does not share our values."

Kana sipped her alovak, watching Nazvasta pretend to consider her words.

"You are not the first to warn me about her," he said, eventually.

"Fareen has also seen through her?"

Nazvasta laughed. "Fareen recommends the best way to hold her in check is to marry her."

"So long as you realize how dangerous she might be."

Nazvasta nodded. "And if I die, what do you think will happen to her?"

Kana drained her alovak. "Meaning?"

"To lose one husband is a tragedy. But two?"

"Thank you, dear brother, for being so blunt."

"Come now Kana, we both know you are past tears."

"You still ought take more care. I am not speaking merely of upsetting widows." She smiled and leaned forward. "And be very careful which widows you upset."

"I hope you feel better as I assure you that we are keeping very careful eyes turned in Elsin's direction."

"I hope so. After all, you are still spymaster."

"Indeed. A task I might have to hand over to someone new in the very near future."

"Anybody in mind?" asked Kana.

"I suspect one of my late brother's widows might be successful in the role. The one with no intention of marrying again, who clearly has far too much time on her hands and one who listens to gossip."

Kana smiled. "I will carefully consider your proposal, under one condition."

"And that might be?"

"My hand holds Fareen's reins." Kana put her alovak cup down on the table. "I'll tolerate only one spymaster in Sandester."

"Sister, I'm not sure what you mean." Nazvasta drained his own alovak.

"Don't be so coy. We both know perfectly well that Fareen controls an extensive network of informants, all listening at doors or serving those she wants to learn more about." Kana stared at Nazvasta. "She reports to me, if I'm to take over from you."

Nazvasta considered for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds fair," he said, eventually.

Kana stood to leave. "Well then, I've passed on my warning to you and earned something more in return than I ever expected. It might be a good idea to arrange a meeting between us and Fareen, so the gwerin knows who holds the whip from now on."

Nazvasta grinned. "We can have the meeting in the morning, if you wish."

"Here, or in your other study?"

"Very perceptive of you." Nazvasta's smile remained in place. "Here, if you wish."

Kana nodded. "Same time?"

Nazvasta stood and inclined his head. "I will see you in the morning. With Fareen."

***

Ever since she had first come to Sandester so long ago, bringing Elwan's children with her, Fareen had loved the city. She did not know quite what pushed her buttons, but Sandester's premier city felt fresh compared with so many others. And that freshness had little to do with the Aboras scouring the streets.

Clean shoes peeped from under her cloak and the hood hid her face from the casual observer. Many others moved through the streets in similar garb: the Aboras had dropped, but Sandester rarely held much heat before the middle of the year.

"Alms," begged a light voice.

Fareen looked down and a small grimace of distaste turned her mouth. Every city had beggars, but she wished more could be done to encourage these indigents into proper use. That so many deliberately chose this way of life confused her.

A hand thrust in her direction belonged to no human, attached to a blue arm protruding from the bundle of rags crouched in a corner. This sylph no doubt belonged to someone who preferred to send their property out to beg for a living, rather than earn that living themselves. Such behavior from humans disgusted her.

She almost told the sylph to berate his owner for proper work, before she remembered this would serve no purpose. Her hand felt for and found one of the hard candies she always carried for sylph beggars.

"This is the best I can do for you," she said, dropping the sweet into the blue hand.

The creature leaned forward in a bow. "Mutydo, donanya," he said, before the sugary treat disappeared straight into the sylph's mouth.

Perhaps the lack of filth on the streets helped her view. Whoever had planned and built the city had ensured the inclusion of an adequate sewerage system. The rulers since then insisted that the main streets be washed down every night – Sandester had never been short of water – and Sandesterans had come to expect high standards.

Fresh paint adorned almost every building. Once the Aboras dropped in early spring, people coated their homes in a fresh layer of paint, stripping away anything that had begun to peel. That also helped keep the city spotless.

Ensuring the hood of her cloak masked her non human features, Fareen turned a final corner and entered the shop.

Finished dresses hung in rows along one wall, with bolts of cloth lining the other. Fareen had never bought a dress, her clothing being provided by the family she served, but she had sent many of Sandester's wealthy ladies here. Of the eight such tailors in the city, this one was the best. But the reason she came here had nothing to do with clothes.

Apart from the two assistants, the shop had no customers, so the gwerin pushed the hood of her cloak back.

"Mistress Fareen," said one of the assistants, an older lady.

Fareen smiled. "Hello Lesina." The gwerin remembered this older lady when she first started here, a tiny girl eager to begin her apprenticeship. And now a grandmother.

Lesina smiled back before turning to her companion, this one still an apprentice. "Deleyne, be a good girl and let Mistress Eslenna know the lady gwerin is here to see her."

Deleyne stared wide-eyed at Fareen before dashing through to the inner room. The gwerin grimaced, annoyed how many people seemed to see her as something she was not. Why did so many fear her?

Eslenna, the proprietress, bustled through a moment later.

"Deleyne, alovak if you please," she barked.

Deleyne nodded and disappeared again.

"Fareen, please come through." The woman's voice sounded little different, perhaps a whit softer, but she spoke this way to almost everybody.

The inner room had shelves sagging under the weight of wooden boxes stuffed with papers. All the minutiae of running a business, with detailed accounts, tax information, customer records... Eslenna always dealt with Fareen here, a comfortable enough room.

"You have not been to see me for some time," remarked Eslenna, her gray eyes twinkling. "Please sit."

As Fareen sat on one of the cushioned chairs, Eslenna turned to one of her shelves, ran her fingers quickly along the boxes and finally drew one out. Fareen saw nothing on the box to mark it in any way, but she supposed there must be some sort of system in use here.

Perhaps Eslenna used the Gift; not all gwerins shared the sylphs' ability to sense it in use. Some gwerins could, but she had not been so blessed.

"There is a message?"

Eslenna smiled. "From Eldova. From a fellow Gifted."

"Berlya." Fareen almost whispered the name. "Not heard from her for a few years."

"Well, she did send it to Marka and my contact there sent it on here."

Fareen smiled. Human relationships could be hideously complicated, but many humans could be bought. Especially those who were not Gifted.

Deleyne entered with the alovak.

"Thank you," barked Eslenna, using her mistress-to-apprentice voice. "Leave it here, please."

Deleyne obeyed, smiled warmly at Eslenna and left.

"What does Berlya have to say?" asked Fareen, as Eslenna poured the alovak.

"Intriguing, I think."

The gwerin accepted her alovak and inhaled the aroma. She waited.

"Hingast's first wife has been to see her," said Eslenna, after sipping her drink. "Says that Hingast has suddenly started showing interest in her again. As a woman."

Being an infertile, Fareen sometimes found such emotional entanglements confusing. Or perhaps because she was a gwerin. She understood, or thought she understood, love. But on the heights, few marriages had anything to do with love, or even emotion of any kind.

"As a woman," muttered Fareen, before sipping her alovak.

"Strange behavior, after being ignored for years," said Eslenna. "Even more strangely, he's now ignoring his younger wives."

Fareen nodded. "Hingast married Helen, who gave him three daughters. On the birth of the third, he married Prella of ilven looks and name. She gave him three daughters and, on the birth of the third, he marries yet again, but Ansin gives him a son."

"And a daughter, on whom he dotes, apparently." Eslenna smiled again. "The older six, and their mothers, he ignored completely. Until he returned home last winter."

Fareen nodded. "Perhaps now he has a son, he is more accepting of the others. After all, he can use the six daughters as powerful bargaining tools."

Eslenna regarded the gwerin calmly. "I will never feel comfortable with anybody referring to women and girls as tools," she said, a hint of anger entering her voice.

Fareen's pale brown eyes didn't even flicker. "Comforting or not, that is precisely what they are," she replied. "Alliances and more are built on such bargains."

"Such a cold assessment." Eslenna shook her head.

"Well, I will think on Berlya's words," promised Fareen, "but at the moment, I really see no significance to them. Contemplation usually helps."

The smile returned. "While contemplating, think on who next to send to my shop."

Fareen laughed. "That I can promise you."

***

"Right," said Nazvasta, rubbing his hands together, "first lesson."

They had met in Nazvasta's own quiet room, where they were unlikely to be disturbed.

"What is going on around the known world. Especially the parts connected to us in any way." Nazvasta smiled. "Of course, we are only as good as our information, but our network of spies is extensive, even if sometimes shared."

"Shared?" Kana blinked.

"Almost everybody accepts wages from more than one ruler, especially when sources do not hail from our own lands. Why not sell the same piece of information several times over?"

"That means everybody knows the same things," protested Kana, before sipping at her alovak.

"An excellent assumption to make," smiled Nazvasta. "It's how we interpret that information that makes each of us different. You would interpret it differently from me, such things are natural and cannot be helped."

"I see."

"Now, where do you think is important?"

"Marka," replied Kana, immediately.

Nazvasta nodded. "For as long as Zenepha remains Emperor, Marka is no threat to us. However, should the Emperor fall, we know cousin Marcus is best placed to succeed. Worse, the armies there know how we fight, balanced only because we know how they fight."

"What risk that Zenepha will fall?" asked Kana.

"High," replied Nazvasta, immediately. "We know that Marcus and Zandra are politicking hard to replace the sylph; we also know that last year's fear over Re Taura proved ill founded and that has weakened Zenepha's position. When he might fall is another matter."

"Trenvera and Metton," said Kana. "Will they join with Marka?"

"Eventually yes," replied Nazvasta. "We have pointed out to both those countries that we intend to retain our independence when Marcus takes the throne. They have refused to inform us of their intentions. Metton is most likely to join, so we will then have a shared border with Marka."

"And Trenvera?"

"Probably relishes her independence," said Nazvasta. "But we don't really know."

"So we run the risk of losing our buffer state against Marcus's lands?" pressed Kana.

"Yes."

"Thanks for cheering me up," she muttered.

"Our diplomats are helping ensure Trenvera decides to stay sovereign," added Nazvasta. "But who knows?"

"And Re Taura?"

"No longer a threat," said Nazvasta. "Most of their army has gone, much of it now serving in our army. They are trying to force a trade agreement and customs union with the other islands, possibly with themselves in charge. But they are only interested in defending themselves, rather than attacking us."

"And Eldova."

"Again, as far as we know, they have retreated all the way home so, for now, no threat at all."

"So we only really need worry about Marka and any new Emperor," remarked Kana.

This time, Nazvasta really smiled. "No, we really need to worry about all of them," he replied. "You never know when circumstances might change. And they can change with amazing speed, as you already know."

"Then I have to keep watching and listening," said Kana. "Can we ever stop?"

Nazvasta shrugged. "The day you stop is the day you die," he replied. "As Fareen will grow fond of reminding you, the only constant in life is change."

"Then let us hope that change affects us for the better," said Kana. She tapped the can. "More alovak?"

***

Fareen sat up in bed. She blinked in the darkness and almost uncovered a light crystal, before deciding she had no need for a light.

"A man who loses interest in a woman only returns to her if she is absent from his life and there is no replacement," she muttered. "Or if the replacement is no good." She chewed on a finger. "And one of the replacements gave him what he wanted. So why would he return to the oldest and first wife?"

She mulled over the reports given to her concerning Hingast in the past few months.

More knowledgeable about military matters. No longer hunted sylphs for sport. Somehow more approachable and friendlier than before.

And yet.

Fareen stopped chewing her finger before she drew blood and tapped it against her teeth instead. The answer stared her in the face, no matter how uncomfortable that answer might be.

And since she had demolished a similar argument for Nazvasta's benefit not too long ago. But the available information had changed. Not only did Hingast behave like a changed man, but like a different man.

Fareen crossed her legs and the finger tapped faster against her teeth.

The man now ruling Eldova was not Hingast. A ridiculous conclusion... until she remembered the Gift.

And sorcery.

***
Chapter 15

Sunsinger

Kestan and his wife Zillan followed the Free Tribe to the forest's edge. Almost everybody else in the Free Tribe had followed Nedilen, eager to listen to his singing. Only some of the wild sylph scouts were missing, though their duties kept them elsewhere.

Aelfina and Damaran stood at the forefront of the tribe, alongside Kestan and his wife. Mell, Zillan's infertile, clung to her mistress' hand and looked around wide-eyed, overawed by all these wild sylphs. From the way her earpoints had wilted, she wanted to be someplace else.

Kestan gave her a reassuring smile.

Cian, the wild sylph who served Kestan, stood the other side of him, earpoints twitching in contentment, rising onto the balls of her feet before dropping down again. Apart from her tunic, she wore a piece of twine tied loosely around her neck, and a small polished stone, a gift from Kestan, dangled from it.

Mell and Cian pointedly ignored each other.

The morning gloom brightened as everybody faced east. Only the giant ruby atop the huge pyramid glowed. Nedilen half closed his eyes and turned his face up, earpoints twitching forward. When the first edge of the sun rose above the eastern hills, he began to sing.

His voice soared as the sun rose higher and everybody pressed closer, their earpoints bolt upright. The wild sylphs made not a sound, open-mouthed at this wonder. None had heard a sunsinger since they were stolen from their tribes and others had forgotten this important sylph ritual. Kestan tried to follow the song's words, but failed to understand most, probably because the singer used a different dialect for his song.

Nedilen sang to the sun.

He wished him a safe journey across the sky and promised to return later to sing again at sunset. He sang in praise of the sun's life-giving properties and thanked him for his warmth.

And the moment all the sun could be seen, the song stopped.

The tribe collectively exhaled, perhaps their first breath since before the song had begun.

Nedilen opened his eyes and looked around. "Not the same when there is only one," he said.

Aelfina nodded. "There are younglings here with promising voices," he said. "You could quickly build a choir."

Nedilen glanced at Tilipha before his gaze settled on Aelfina's face. "I am here to take my son home, not train sunsingers." He managed to avoid sounding grumpy, though his earpoints twitched forwards almost aggressively.

"We cannot be a proper tribe without them," pointed out Aelfina.

Nedilen nodded and glanced at Kestan. "Nor can you be a proper tribe with a human leading you," he replied. He ignored the disgusted glance Cian gave him. "You should all go home."

"Which is where, exactly?" Aelfina's earpoints lashed in irritation. "We all discussed this years ago. We do not know where home is. Without seeing where we have already traveled, we cannot find the way."

Kestan listened, a small smile fixed in place.

"I might not be the only sylph determined to find his child," retorted Nedilen.

"And how many will make it?" retorted Aelfina. "How many will fall to other slavers? How many will even know where to begin their search? Perhaps you and Tilipha will fall to slavers if you leave."

"We have assurances," said Nedilen. "We –"

"Those assurances are worthless," retorted Aelfina, standing his ground. Kestan thought he looked every inca the leader. "If they had value, none of us would be here."

Nedilen blinked. "There is an Emperor now."

Aelfina shrugged. "His writ does not extend far beyond Marka." He pointed to one of the infertiles. "Besides, who will come for them? Do you suggest we abandon them?"

The infertile he pointed to shrank away and her earpoints wilted. Cian moved closer to Kestan and looked up at him, whether to seek reassurance or offer it he could not tell. She did not reach for his hand.

"You should all go home," insisted Nedilen.

"This is home," countered an anonymous voice.

"You'll all end up collared!" Nedilen tried to make that sound a threat, but too many sylphs here wore the twine necklaces, some with decoration, others without.

"If such is the price for staying with Janin, then I will pay it." Loran glared at Nedilen, as if daring him to speak. Her neck bore no adornment.

"You have fallen for a slave?" asked Nedilen, surprised.

"I am with a good sylph," retorted Loran, before her earpoints wilted a little in respect to Nedilen's greater age.

"You are all mad," said Nedilen. "The sooner I leave with my son, the better."

"What if he will not go?" Tilipha's gaze locked with his father's. "I am happy here."

Nedilen blinked, then turned to Kestan. "What have you done to them?" he asked.

"Nothing," replied Kestan, truthfully. His smile widened, now genuine rather than polite. "These sylphs have decided everything for themselves."

"He has done nothing to us," interrupted Tilipha. "He rescued us and looked after us. He and others like him encouraged us to either go home or found a new tribe. We have begun a new tribe."

"You have enslaved yourselves." Disgust thickened the older sylph's voice. "Demeaned yourselves."

Aelfina sighed. "Perhaps we have," he replied. "All the more reason for you to teach us customs. Such as training sunsingers." He bowed his head. "Acawibsalla-ya."

Kestan patted Nedilen's shoulder. "Looks like he's got you there," he said. "Have fun teaching them."

Cian blinked at the male sylph, but the set of her shoulders and earpoints hinted at satisfaction.

Kestan watched as Nedilen's mouth moved silently for a few moments. He pulled himself together and looked at Aelfina with considerably more respect than before.

"How many of you show promise?" he asked.

***

Zandra restrained a sigh as Jenn showed the girl into her receiving room.

"Alovak for two please, Jenn."

The infertile bobbed her head and disappeared at a near run.

In truth, Zandra could do without this, and wished that Marcus might have involved himself in choosing a new governess for the children. For whatever reason, Kaira had been gone for a week. Zandra wished she knew why.

Had she run away, been abducted, eloped with a boyfriend Zandra had never heard of? Had an even worse fate befallen her?

Whatever the reason, Zandra needed a replacement. She smiled at the shy girl sat opposite and restrained another sigh. The applicant stared at the table, a fringe of dark brown hair falling across her dark blue eyes. She pushed it aside with long delicate fingers and looked up as Zandra spoke.

"And what is your name?" she asked, gently. She suspected that her oldest daughter Caralin would run rings around this girl.

"Um, I'm called Galenna," replied the applicant.

Zandra kept her polite smile in place. "Just Galenna?" she prompted.

The girl looked up again. "Galenna Sheram Mannis," she replied, with an air of giving away all her secrets.

"From Marka?"

Galenna nodded. "Now, yes. I am from Istwan, originally."

"Local girl then. Have you worked with children before?"

"Two years as a teacher, I have references."

Galenna pushed some much-folded sheets across the table.

Zandra spread them out and glanced at them. Like many other things, anybody might have written them. Their contents could be true, or be a work of fiction.

"Are you familiar with Anclose's Theorem?" asked Zandra.

"First Theorem is that the interior angles of a triangle are always equal to two right angles," replied Galenna.

"Except?"

"When the triangle is used to plot a course along a curved surface, when they are always equal to three right angles."

"What is the importance of the Treaty of Settlement, 800?" Zandra changed subject.

Galenna's blue eyes flashed, perhaps because she felt her intelligence insulted. It was the first sign she possessed a backbone. "It paved the way for Enthan Vintner to take the throne and found the Second Empire."

"Mark the Eleventh is important why?"

Galenna smiled and shook her head. "The Second Empire expanded beyond the boundaries of the first, pushed forward by his son, Staflan, who died at the Battle of Pelirno Bridge, 960."

Zandra glanced at the references again.

Galenna shot around on her seat as the door opened, admitting Jenn. The sylph almost dropped the alovak in surprise as the girl stared at her, before recovering some of her composure.

"Sorry," muttered Galenna.

Jenn stared for a long moment. She eventually padded across to the table and poured the alovak, though she kept a wary air whenever she looked at the applicant.

"What is used to predict the planets' positions?" asked Zandra, watching delicate fingers curl around the alovak mug.

"Bansinger's Tables," replied Galenna.

"And the exceptions to his predictions?"

"Moon and Ark Star," said Galenna. "Neither of which are properly planets."

"Oh?"

"As noted by several astronomers, notably and most recently, Staflan Vintner."

"Staflan Vintner of Sandester?"

Galenna nodded.

"And if one was to say that name should never cross your lips?"

Galenna stared at the table again and blushed. "Politics cannot replace observed data," she whispered.

Zandra smiled. "Good girl."

Galenna looked up in surprise. "That is the required answer?"

"It is."

The girl looked relieved.

"You seem desperate to get this job," remarked Zandra. "Are there reasons for your urgency?"

Galenna nodded. "I have to leave my lodgings before the end of this week," she replied. "If I cannot get a position here, I must return home."

"Well, I have a couple more to interview," lied Zandra. "If you return at this time tomorrow, I'll have an answer for you."

Galenna smiled. She finished her alovak and stood, permitting Jenn to show her the way out.

"Well Jenn," said Zandra, as the sylph returned, "that is the only applicant for the position. She is not the only one who is desperate."

Jenn scowled. "I would extend the closing date," she suggested.

Zandra restrained a sigh. First Galenna, now Jenn. "What's wrong with her?" she demanded. "I'll send someone to check a couple of these references, but she clearly has knowledge."

"I do not like her," replied the sylph.

This time, Zandra did sigh. "Jenn," she said, in her firmest no-nonsense voice, "you are too old for these petty jealousies. No, don't interrupt me! There is a world of difference between speaking your mind and running the household. Who I employ as governess is up to me. If your owner was here, he could take a part in deciding that but, as he chose to leave this task to me, then it is my task. Not yours."

"I did not feel this way about Kaira." Pouting, Jenn collected the empty alovak mugs, set them on the tray beside the can and flounced out of the room, eyes and earpoints betraying hurt feelings.

Zandra shook her head. She would not feel guilty over the sylph's bruised ego – why should she? Not for the first time, she wished Jenn had never been encouraged to speak her mind so freely.

And yet, the sylph had a point. Jenn had never said anything about employing Kaira. Had never displayed any jealousy towards her. Had treated the governess with more respect than she ever showed to Zandra, truth to tell. And the suggestion that she ought to extend the closing date said that Jenn had no objection to a new governess for the Vintner children.

So why might she feel different about Galenna?

***

Basren sat on a simple wooden chair, his arms resting on a plain wooden table. Papers were piled in front of the chair opposite. Captain Crallin, commander of Marka's City Guard, walked around that table. Basren had come to the guard voluntarily and had not been arrested. Yet.

He already regretted his decision.

"As far as we can tell," Crallin told him, "you are the last person to see Kaira alive."

Basren squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I saw her to the door of the library, but I did not leave the building."

"I think you arranged to meet later and you had a disagreement."

"No!" Basren wrung his hands. "I love her!"

"You came here because you feel guilty."

"I came here because I want your help to find her!"

Crallin shook his head. "She's been gone a week," he said. "We have searched this city wherever we can. Many people have opened their doors to us, checked their cellars for us, looked in every corner they can find. She isn't here. Her employers have not seen her."

Had Kaira's employers been anyone else, Basren suspected he would be facing someone other than the Captain of the Guard. Anybody else.

Crallin abruptly sat in the chair opposite. "That leaves two options, Basren." He kept his voice low and gentle. Basren stared, but felt like a trapped animal. "She has either run away –"

"Why would she do that? She loves her job. She loves me."

"– or she is held against her will somewhere."

"Who would do that?"

Crallin smiled, though it did not touch his dark blue eyes. "Someone who wants to get at the Vintners, or someone who got spurned and doesn't want to let go."

"Where could I keep her?" Basren fought to control tears. "I live in a room beside the library!"

"There is a third alternative. A horrible alternative."

"No! I do not believe she is dead."

Crallin kept his voice gentle. "You arranged to meet. You disagreed and you fought. It happens all the time, Basren. Some men do not know their own strength. So many killers refuse to accept what they've done, and try to deny it to themselves, even if caught in the act."

"It wasn't like that!"

"So you did meet."

"No!" Basren shook his head. "The last time I saw her was when I waved to her as she walked down the library steps." He remembered the dress she wore, he remembered the headscarf to help keep the sun off her head, he remembered her loving smile...

Crallin kept a polite smile on his face. "Did you lash out, Basren? Or did she move against you first?"

"That did not happen." A solitary tear leaked free.

"It happens all the time."

"I came here for help, to help." Basren stood, almost knocking his chair over. "Not be insulted."

Crallin waved a dismissive hand. "You are free to leave," he said. "But remember that we're watching. Your name and description has been circulated to the gates; please do not try to leave Marka, or you will be arrested."

At the door, Basren looked over his shoulder, face cold and collected. "I did not harm her."

Crallin gave no response whatsoever.

Outside, in the glaring sunshine, Basren weighed his options. His heart pounded in fear. He had not killed Kaira, but what if everybody believed he had? He imagined he could hear the jury pronouncing him guilty, see the judge's pitiless eyes as he passed sentence. Basren did not want to hang, his family permanently shamed with the taint of a murderer.

He imagined the jeers from the crowds and the huge cheer that would erupt as he dangled and choked. Or would his family leap forward to hang from his legs and hasten his death?

No. He would not hang. Kaira was not dead.

And he knew the very person who could help.

He had no idea how he could pay, but the idea gave him fresh hope. And the threat of a noose gave him impetus.

Basren knew the man he wanted to see liked alovak. Except when working, he spent a lot of time in Marka's alovak houses. Though in a city Marka's size, there were hundreds of alovak houses, to meet the huge demand. People drank alovak for pleasure, when socializing, when conducting business, when visiting.

Basren had researched the man and read everything recorded about his exploits. Mostly by reading between the lines in court records. He had hoped to visit the man at home, but every case recorded a different lodging.

He clearly liked to move a lot.

Basren supposed this man must have lots of enemies, all wanting to see their nemesis at least seriously hurt, if not dead. But he could not find him by using court records alone. Even the most recent might be unreliable.

And the man often accepted commissions that did not result in court cases. Basren decided not to dwell too deeply on any hidden meanings there.

So he asked questions. He should have started at work because surprisingly, Irard the Head Librarian knew the alovak house Basren wanted.

He'd spent half the morning so far walking past this alovak house, its front opened up so customers could make the most of the late spring sunshine. Shades were draped over the tables for those who enjoyed the heat, but not direct sun.

Finally, Basren made a pass and noticed a tall, thin man, dressed in brown shirt and breeches, brown cloak draped over a chair to one side, sword seemingly tossed carelessly aside.

The description fit.

Fighting sudden nervousness, Basren mounted the two steps that led to the alovak house and crossed to the corner where the man sat. A dark brown gaze bored relentlessly into him as he approached, and Basren sensed anticipation in the other man.

Worryingly, the man's hand rested on his swordhilt, so perhaps the weapon had not been casually tossed aside after all.

"Are you Sallis ti Ath?"

"Yes."

Basren paused, heart thundering. He faced a legend! This man had caught murderers, recovered lost property, unmasked traitors and, in the process, made himself very wealthy.

He hesitated, overawed.

"You seem unsure boy," said Sallis. "Do you think I would claim the name? Dangerous for people to try. I have many enemies, most of them unpleasant people."

Basren pulled himself together. He glanced at the man's short hair, also dark.

"I have no idea how to pay you," he said, "but I really, really want someone to find my girlfriend."

"You scared her off?" A hint of a smile played about Sallis's mouth.

"The City Guard think I murdered her."

All traces of humor vanished and Sallis gestured with a hand. "Take a seat. Alovak?"

Basren shook his head, but Sallis had already called one of the servers over.

"Usual, donenya?"

"For two," replied Sallis.

"Se bata." The sylph disappeared inside with a jingle of ankle bells.

"Is it true you use the Gift to find criminals?" asked Basren.

"An unusual line in small talk before alovak." Sallis smiled again. "Yes, it is true."

"You can tell a criminal just by looking at them?" pressed Basren.

"I can tell potential criminals just by looking at them," replied Sallis. "Because everybody is a potential criminal."

Basren felt a stab of disappointment. "I had hoped you could tell I am innocent of everything the guard think I've done."

"I'll get a feel about that as our conversation continues." Sallis's gaze flickered quickly aside. "Here's our alovak."

The sylph set the tray down and bowed. Sallis efficiently set out the two cups, inspected the contents of the alovak can, and poured.

Basren inhaled the aroma, then took a small sip.

"Now, why not tell me who's missing?" prompted Sallis.

"My girlfriend," replied Basren.

Sallis sipped his alovak. "Has she got a name?"

"Kaira. She is the Vintner's governess."

Sallis placed his cup down precisely, but otherwise sat quite still. "I see."

"We want to get married. I love her!"

"Usually a good start if you want to marry, despite what nobles claim." Sallis frowned. "Why would she run away?"

"I don't know."

"Have you got anything that belongs to her?" pressed Sallis.

Basren had read about this peculiarity of the man sat opposite. He had originally thought it must be some sort of gimmick, now he would discover the truth.

"Yes," he replied. He took a small piece of folded linen from his pocket and put it on the table.

Sallis held out his hand and shook his head. "Not on the table," he said. "Give it to me."

Basren wondered why Sallis didn't just pick the favor up, but did as he was told. He watched as Sallis closed his eyes. Then as Sallis frowned.

"Is it working?"

Sallis opened his eyes, sniffed, then passed the linen square back. "I won't be able to find her for you," he said.

Basren's eyes widened and his mouth worked silently.

Sallis kept his voice gentle. "I hope you're ready for this," he said, "but Kaira is dead."

Basren found his voice. "She can't be!"

"She can be and she is." Sallis sighed. "I cannot follow the dead."

Basren held his head in his hands and his shoulders shook. People glanced across and Sallis shook his head at them.

Basren looked up, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet. "You can find her body," he said.

"I can try."

"And when you do, that will lead you to her killer."

"If anything belonging to the killer is with her, then yes. Otherwise, no."

More tears leaked free. "Then find her," Basren begged. "Please?"

Sallis refilled the cups.

"They will think I killed her. I did not."

Sallis pushed Basren's cup nearer. "I believe you."

The server, at the far side of the alovak house glanced Sallis's way, but he shook his head at her.

"Why her?" Basren angrily wiped at his face. "She never did anyone any harm, so why her?"

Sallis said nothing to that.

Basren stared at the dark-eyed man. "Why is it always the innocent people who get hurt?"

Sallis's lips twitched upward, but not in a smile. "Believe me," he said, voice little more than a whisper, "sometimes it's the guilty who get hurt."

Basren fought for control.

"Some advice for you," continued Sallis. "Drink your alovak, return to wherever it is you live, and release all that pent-up emotion. Get all your grief out, then return here tomorrow and we shall talk again."

"What would you know about it?" Basren almost wished the words back. Not only did he bandy angry words with a fighting man, but why was he angry at all?

Sallis gave Basren a tolerant look. "More than you might ever realize," he replied. "I'll see you tomorrow. Drink your alovak, and go."

***

Basren had been gone for only moments before Sallis ti Ath had another visitor. He spotted Oston, Captain Crallin's stocky secretary, hurrying towards him. Sallis smiled to himself; typical for commissions to come his way two or three at a time.

Sallis turned to the server and nodded his head for fresh alovak. The sylph crossed to him and cleared away the used alovak cups and tray.

Oston glanced at it. "Another friend?" he asked.

"You might be surprised to learn I've got more than one," replied Sallis. "I've ordered fresh alovak."

"That'll be welcome," replied Oston. "The day is warmer than expected."

The sylph returned quickly with clean mugs and a can of fresh alovak. Oston thanked the infertile when he received his.

"I'm sure you're here on business," said Sallis.

"Good guess." Oston grinned.

"Let me see." Sallis's brown eyes twinkled as he stroked his chin. An old game: guess the commission. "You want me to find a missing librarian, a visitor from Sandester."

"How do you know about that?" Oston smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"More than one secretary feeds me tidbits of information now and again," replied Sallis.

"I doubt if an unpaid lodgings bill is your line of work," said Oston.

"Perhaps not." Sallis shrugged. "If it's not the librarian, you must want me to find the Vintners' missing governess."

"Close." Oston did not smile now.

"That's fortunate. I might have a hunt around for her myself, but you do realize I'm looking for a dead woman?"

"We suspect as much. Suspected. How do you know she's dead?"

Sallis gave an offhand gesture. "We Gifted have our ways."

"We want you to keep an eye on the boyfriend," said Oston. "His name –"

"– is Basren Kellit Anerin," completed Sallis. "I know."

Oston's dark eyes blinked. "One step ahead of me I see. Basren is our prime suspect for the murder."

"So he told me." Sallis inhaled the aroma of his alovak before sipping at it, eyes closed.

"Basren told you?"

Sallis opened his eyes. "Basren did indeed. In fact, he's commissioned me to find the killer."

"Has he?" Oston schooled his face to stillness.

"He came to me believing her to be alive and gave me a scrap of cloth that had belonged to her. I got nothing off it, so that's how I know Kaira's dead."

"I suppose that was his alovak the sylph took as I arrived?"

"Yes."

"And I suppose the guard have got the wrong man as suspect?"

Sallis smiled. "Ah, I can't give you a definite answer there. But I suggest it would take a very foolish killer to commission me to find the murderer." He arched an eyebrow.

Oston's smile returned. "We need to review our procedures," he said. "We do seem to have developed a habit of hunting the wrong people."

Sallis shrugged. "Thankfully, not all crimes are straightforward," he said.

"We prefer the easy ones."

"No we don't." Sallis drained his alovak. "If there were no crimes too difficult for you to crack, I'd have no work."

***

Nedilen winced and grimaced as the final notes faded to silence. More than twenty young sylphs surrounded him and, while the song had not been bad, it hardly counted as good either.

He glanced at the hills and winced again as he saw no hint of sunlight.

"If he does not return in the morning, I know who to blame," he said, eventually.

The youngsters laughed, if uncertainly. Thankfully, Nedilen knew enough sylphs would sing – and had sung – to wish the sun a good night, that he might overlook a few strangled notes, or voices not quite as pure as they ought to be.

"We can try the song again," said Nedilen, looking at the six males and fourteen females. Infertiles were excluded – very few had good singing voices and none ever good enough to be sunsingers. The sun only appreciated the very best sylphs had to offer.

The younglings shifted on their feet. Nedilen thought of them all as youngsters, even the adults. "Vendigar, you must take deep breaths at the end of your lines. Teleran, keep your head up; that helps keep your air passages clear. And how many times, Erian, must I tell you to open your mouth wide to sing? We sing to the sun to wish him well on his night's journey, not give him a dirge to mourn over."

Jaclan sniffed disparagingly and her earpoints slanted forward. "In our tribe, the sun is a she," she said.

"Well in my tribe, he is a he," retorted Nedilen, "and as I am your teacher, we will call him a him."

Jaclan sniffed again and glanced at Vendigar. Nedilen suspected she only joined in this because he desperately wanted to be a sunsinger. So long as she joined in properly, he would not pass comment about her romantic entanglements.

"Right," continued Nedilen, pleased all opposition had collapsed, "we will try again. And... sing!"

Twenty sylph voices soared through the notes, wishing the now-departed sun a great and glorious night and hoping that she, he, whatever, would return to give life to the world tomorrow.

"Better!" Nedilen shouted with pleasure. "Much, much better. We'll make sunsingers of you all yet."

Evening's gloom deepened over Marka and its lush valley.

***
Chapter 16

The Sword

Olista held a light crystal lantern high as he led Marcus deep underground. Two purple-cloaked guardsmen from Marcus's personal guard brought up the rear, one of them holding a second lantern. Both lights threw looming shadows across the walls and ceiling.

The underground labyrinth lay beneath the coronation building and Marcus stared all around. Bare rock, with patches of brickwork in places, and all surprisingly dry, given how far down they had come. Where Marcus saw bare rock, he wondered how the builders had managed to keep the sides of their tunnel so smooth. As they came deeper, the lanterns' light reflected off metal walls.

"Is that steel?" asked Marcus.

Olista glanced over his shoulder. "We're not sure," he replied. "Certainly metal of some sort. These tunnels were built during or shortly after the First Civilization."

"Older than the city," remarked the claimant.

Olista nodded. "Much older."

In contrast with the lining covering walls and ceiling, the brick wall ahead with a heavy oak door appeared primitive. The Supreme Councilor halted before the door and turned a key in a well oiled lock. With barely a click, the door swung open.

"Wait here, please." Olista spoke quietly to the guardsmen, but his voice boomed from the walls.

Marcus and Olista stepped through into an anteroom and walked towards a second wall and door. The same strange metal covered the walls here, and the floor showed remnants of tiling to either side. And there was still no sign of damp.

Marcus's mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. "I never knew this existed."

"Few do," replied Olista. "Not exactly secret, but we don't shout about its existence, either."

Olista unlocked the second door, which opened outwards. Stepping through, he beckoned Marcus to follow.

Within, the claimant stared.

"Have you brought me here to mock me?" demanded Marcus, eyes wide.

The crown jewels were all here, on their purple cushions: crown, scepter, orb and, hilt poking from its plain scabbard, the sword that had belonged to the First Mark, the near legendary figure who had founded Marka.

"Many of Marka's most precious possessions are kept here, in the dark except for important occasions of State." Olista's voice sounded more normal in here. "The treasury is in another tunnel, which I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear is full. You're not here to be mocked, but because this is the only place in Marka where I'm certain we can speak privately. Sylphs have very long ears and are not always discreet."

"Meaning Zenepha?"

"Perhaps." Shadows hid Olista's face, but he might have smiled. "The boy certainly picked up statecraft very quickly."

Marcus drew the Founding Mark's sword. It slid smoothly from the scabbard. "Someone comes here to keep this clean," he remarked.

"Once a week." Olista nodded. "But not today."

Marcus slammed the sword home and replaced it on its long cushion. "Why the need to meet here?"

"I hope it is never again necessary," replied Olista. "But this news must be kept secret as long as possible."

"What news?"

"A bird came from Sandester."

"Nazvasta has declared for the throne?" Marcus's eyes gleamed in the semidarkness.

Olista snorted. "Not exactly. He claims that your descent from Rono the Second is illegitimate."

"He what?"

"Rono's marriage to Maudla has been called into question."

Marcus waved a dismissive hand. "There will be records."

"That's the problem," said Olista. "We have hunted through those records and we can find no sign of the manuscript affirming the marriage between Emperor Rono and Maudla. We have found Kylist's marriage certificate and the records pertaining to that, but not for Rono."

"Does it matter?" Marcus shrugged. "It hardly debars the claim."

Olista grimaced and tugged at an earlobe. "Actually, it does," he said, apologetically. "Well, could do."

A dangerous note crept into Marcus's voice. "Care to explain?"

"Senator Aelfrec has already demanded the Senate be reminded of the Secret Concord of 705."

"Never heard of it," replied Marcus.

"You will soon enough. It is how the Vintners came to prominence in the first place."

"Meaning?" Marcus stared.

"Meaning that the surviving lines of the Goldeagle family were all illegitimate," replied Olista. "Almost a century of turmoil followed the Year of Three Emperors, and few lines of descent of the Blood Royal remained legal. An illegitimate line from Branad the Third, another from Staflan the Second, and again from Mark the Ninth... All squabbled and fought against each other."

"Much like us Vintners now," put in Marcus.

Olista shook his head. "Much, much worse," he replied. "Far bloodier, until someone new stepped forward."

"Wurlan," breathed Marcus.

"Wurlan Vintner." Olista nodded. "But he restored peace at a price. While lands belonging to the Goldeagles could certainly be inherited by the old royal family, the Markan Throne must be occupied by descendants legitimized in the eyes of the Father."

"Born of marriage," said Marcus.

"The Vintners had a hard struggle over that," continued Olista. "Took another century before they were strong enough to take the throne for themselves, but your family is certainly aggressive and persistent."

"We were taught that our descent came from the Goldeagles," said Marcus.

Olista barked a laugh. "Not even related," he replied. "Though after a thousand years, we have no idea who now are Goldeagles. Your ancestors saw to that. Being successful rarely includes being nice. It would not surprise me if the old family was forced to marry into yours until only the Vintners were left."

"Vintners and Goldeagles always marched side by side," said Marcus.

"Until the empire fell through corruption, when they marched against each other." Olista sighed. "It is all recorded; most librarians know. But we digress. If we cannot prove your legitimacy, your claim is over."

"I'd like to see this Secret Concord. Today."

Olista smiled. "Thought you might, which is why I've already made an appointment. Today."

Marcus reached out to the sword again and touched the scabbard. "That throne is mine, Olista," he said, before turning away.

***

"I don't know how I can afford to pay you."

Basren sipped at his alovak and watched for the other man's reaction.

Sallis ti Ath savored the aroma of his alovak, eyes closed. When he opened them again, those eyes were already focused on Basren.

"The City Guard are paying me to keep an eye on you," he replied, a faint smile on his face.

Basren blinked. "You often take two commissions at the same time?"

"Fairly often yes." Sallis's smile widened. "Though rarely from opposite sides. They are convinced you're their man, which gives us the advantage."

"How?"

"Because we know you're not. And the coin the guard pay me can be used to offset some of your costs."

"Isn't that dishonest?"

Sallis pursed his lips. "I prefer the word creative," he murmured. He sniffed. "Not really. I'm keeping an eye on you, just as commanded. And I'm helping you recover Kaira, just as commanded. And then finding the true murderer, as commanded by both of you. Nothing dishonest in that. But if I took the money and didn't do as commanded... Now that's dishonesty. How much I charge to whom for whichever services I provide is entirely my business."

Basren shrugged. "If it keeps my bill smaller, then I won't complain," he said.

"Sensible lad." Sallis smiled again, but those dark eyes remained devoid of all expression.

"The guard say they have failed to find... her." Basren hoped he wouldn't start crying again.

"Do you know her route between palace and library?" asked Sallis.

"I only walked with her once," replied Basren, "so I assume the most direct."

"Did she ever divert?" pressed Sallis. "Have anyone else to see while she had the opportunity?"

"Not as far as I know. She kept busy either at the palace or at the library. She prepared lessons for the Vintner children there. She –"

"Did she have any friends outside the palace? Relatives who visited?"

Basren shook his head. "Nobody she ever mentioned."

"Shall we walk that route now?" asked Sallis. "The guard may have missed something."

"What could they have possibly missed?" Basren wrung his hands in despair. "We'll not find anything!"

"You might be surprised," replied Sallis, draining his alovak. He caught the serving sylph's eye. "The bill, please."

The sylph scampered inside with a tinkling of bells.

"Why would we be surprised?"

"You, I said," grunted Sallis. "I've worked alongside the guard a quarter of a century and nothing would surprise me about them any more."

The sylph returned with Sallis's bill and grumped when he overpaid her.

"If you don't want to keep the change, offset it against tomorrow's charge," Sallis told her, when she insisted on making him wait. Despite his words, the sylph refused to let them go until she had sorted the bill.

Sallis raised his eyes heavenward. "Sylphs," he muttered.

"Don't you have any?" asked Basren.

"Not that I keep in Marka," replied Sallis, as they walked towards the library. "I bought four to help on my father's farm many years ago, and he has a lot more than that now. In fact, he makes more money from sylphs than he does from sheep."

"You don't look much like a sheep farmer," grinned Basren.

"And you don't look much like a librarian," retorted Sallis, "but it doesn't change the fact that you are one."

"Something I'd like to know," said Basren, feeling emboldened. "The records suggest you move lodgings often. If you're worried about enemies finding you, why do you always come to the same alovak house?"

Sallis stared at the boy for a long moment before he barked a quick laugh. "You see well, Basren. The people who run lodging houses are innocent and I do not want my enemies to use them to get to me." He gestured with his arms. "Here, my enemies can come to me direct and we can sort out our differences."

"Have your enemies ever used other people to get to you?" asked Basren.

Sallis's dark eyes went flat and cold. "That is part of my history and none of your business," he replied.

They walked the rest of the way to the library without a further word.

When they reached the library steps, Sallis ended their uncomfortable silence. "When you kissed goodbye, which way did Kaira go?"

"That way." Basren pointed.

"Towards the palace."

Basren nodded.

"All right." Sallis began walking the direction Basren had indicated. "Nice, well populated street."

People about their daily business hemmed them in on all sides.

"If something happened here, someone would have seen," said Basren.

Sallis shrugged. "People are very good at not seeing things," he replied. "They try not to involve themselves, which means they pretend to see nothing. Most even convince themselves that is the truth. But sylphs... Nothing gets past them; they see everything."

"You mean to question them?"

"Only those who are here all the time," said Sallis. "They will see anything out of place and remember it. Very reliable creatures, in that way."

He glanced down each alleyway and carefully noted what stood opposite. He walked on, turning left into Victory Parade, at the end furthest from the North Gate, then left to the palace.

"Did you notice anything?" asked Basren.

"I suspect she may have been lured into one of the alleys," replied Sallis.

"I hope none of them are shortcuts." Basren looked shocked. "Anything might be down here."

"And usually is," muttered Sallis. He raised his voice. "I'll ask around. You'd better go back to work. Don't be surprised if you see me hanging around when you finish. I am supposed to be keeping an eye on you after all."

Basren nodded and hurried away, soon swallowed up in the crowds swirling along the street. Sallis ignored the crowds and began to look for sylphs. He would get answers, one way or another.

***

"We have a problem," said Marcus, closing the door to his inner room and shutting out his children. Zandra and Jenn stayed with him, the infertile pouring alovak for them both before sitting crosslegged on the floor to one side.

Faint sounds came from the children enjoying themselves in some game, probably with poor Galenna as a victim.

"A new problem, or an old one?"

"We cannot locate the record confirming Rono's marriage to Maudla," said Marcus. "Which throws my legitimacy into question."

Zandra lifted an eyebrow and Jenn sat straighter.

"One of my ancestors forced a secret law through the Senate a thousand years ago, which insisted that to be Emperor, any claimant must have been born within wedlock."

"You were," said Zandra.

"According to the records, Rono and Kylist were not." Marcus sniffed. "Which means I'm not as far as the law is concerned."

Zandra closed her eyes and sighed. "This is nonsense," she replied. "Of course they were married. Just because some old fool lost the record doesn't change facts."

"The Senate has been reminded of this secret concord and shown the document. I've seen the document myself."

Jenn stood up, face concerned and her earpoints slanted forwards.

"Where has this suddenly come from?" demanded Zandra. "If people were aware of this concord, they must have checked it and the marriage documents before now."

"You think it has been stolen?" asked Marcus.

"Of course it's been stolen!"

Jenn flinched, looking from Marcus to Zandra and back again.

"The information came by pigeon from Sandester," said Marcus.

"And how did Nazvasta come to be the first to realize this?" Zandra shook her head. "It's him behind this, stirring up trouble."

"We've got to sound out our supporters," said Marcus. "I'll grab the Senators and Councilors, you deal with the wives."

"Tread carefully," warned Zandra. "This might not be the problem you think it is."

"I hope you're right," said Marcus. "Jenn! More alovak please, and tell Galenna to keep the children occupied for at least another hour."

Jenn's mouth twisted in distaste, whether about the new crisis or having to speak to Galenna, Marcus did not know.

"How long before you see the wives?" Marcus asked Zandra.

"I'm seeing the guildwives tomorrow," replied Zandra. "Political wives the day after."

"Any chance you can bring that forward? I'm going to see Senators and Councilors this afternoon. Starting with Aelfrec. I might very well wring the man's neck."

Zandra shook her head, but smiled. "I do hope that's just temper speaking," she said. "I don't know what affect killing a Senator would have on your claim."

"When we get that throne," replied Marcus, "I'll have to find an excuse to stretch his neck."

"I suspect you'll leave the poor man alone."

"The librarians tell me that nobody has ever asked for the secret concord or to view marriage documents in their lifetimes," continued Marcus. "Then some librarian from Sandester breezes in and asks for them. Why now? And how did he know what to look for, what to ask for?"

"There are plenty of books regarding the law available," said Zandra. "This librarian obviously researched it. Why not ask him?"

"He fled, without even paying for his lodgings." Marcus sighed. "It all seems very sudden."

They shared a short silence, broken only as Jenn entered the room with alovak.

"That girl says she'll keep the children busy," said the sylph, still refusing to refer to Galenna by name. "And if you want to know about the law, why not ask Zenepha? He knows all sorts of things."

"Were you listening, Jenn? We had a little chat some years ago about eavesdropping, remember?"

Jenn colored and her earpoints wilted for a moment. "Your voices were not discreet," she replied, eventually. "I could hear from a good distance."

Zandra laughed, but Marcus wore his stern stare a few moments longer.

"We also had a little chat about fibbing," he added.

Jenn's earpoints wilted further, declaring her guilt to the world.

"Well," said Marcus, once Jenn looked sufficiently contrite, "I'll see Zenepha after I've spoken with the politicians."

"I'll see what I can do about bringing my meetings foward," promised Zandra. "We must kill this one before it takes root and strangles us."

***

All the Senators who formed Zenepha's advisory council were present, together with Captain Crallin, Marshal Mansard, and Olista representing the Supreme Council. Anybody from the Council could attend these meetings if they wished, but usually only Olista bothered. Well, the room couldn't hold all sixty-one Councilors.

The Senate Leader had sent his apology, as had Lance General Kestan. Both gwerins were in attendance, the reason why Marcus had brought Eleka with him, instead of Jenn. Well, one of the reasons, the other being punishment for lying and eavesdropping.

Zenepha breezed into the meeting room a minute early, with Captain Fared of the shadow riders at his side. Marcus hid his smile. Of all the people here, Fared might well be the only one he trusted fully. Except for Eleka of course, but even her first loyalty lay with Belaika.

"Good afternoon everybody," said Zenepha, opening the meeting by taking his seat.

A rumble met his greeting, except from the two gwerins, who made eyes at Eleka.

"Just our usual weekly summary," said Zenepha. "I do not think there is much change from last week."

"Actually, Majesty," began Aelfrec, before being cut short.

"Captain Crallin," interrupted Zenepha, "we will start with you."

Marcus stared at Aelfrec, but the Senator pretended not to notice.

"No real change in crime," said Crallin, gruffly. "We think there is a murder case, but we have no body, yet."

Marcus winced. Kaira.

"She has not returned?" Zenepha's silvery eyes held compassion as he looked at Marcus.

"Not a sign."

"Any suspects?" Zenepha swung back to Crallin.

"Just one," replied the guard commander. "We're keeping an eye on him."

"Good." Zenepha worked his way through his cabinet one by one. Senator Ollan reported no problems with food distribution; the lively and young Senator Dlavan reported Marka's population to be fully employed. Marshal Mansard had nothing to add to the discussion, while Senator Maben reported the city's coffers were full.

Senator Aelfrec seethed. Twice he tried to interrupt, and twice rebuffed. Senator Elvert reported the guilds all seemed happy enough and Senator Panan said the justiciary had no problems for the Emperor to solve.

"Now, Senator Aelfrec." Zenepha finally turned to him. "You have some important news. Concerning new acquisitions for the empire?"

"No Majesty," said Aelfrec. "I think we have acquired all we shall in the short term. But I must speak concerning Marcus Vintner's claim to the throne."

Here we go, thought Marcus.

Eleka and the two gwerins stared at Aelfrec.

Olista looked at Marcus and shrugged.

Senator Elvert, a supporter of Branad's claim and who now wanted to see Verdin take the throne, leaned forward on his elbows.

"Very well." Zenepha nodded, after a quick glance at Marcus.

"It has been brought to the Senate's attention –"

"By you," murmured Marcus.

"– that the marriage manuscript for Emperor Rono the Second cannot be located. That in turn calls into question the legitimacy of certain claimants to the throne." He smiled at Senator Maben, who used to support Hingast. "Including your old friend."

"No friend of mine," grunted Maben.

"However, it does include the claimant sitting in this very room."

All heads turned to Marcus Vintner.

Samrita tapped a finger against her teeth, deep in thought.

"Even if this is true," said Marcus, "and there was no marriage between Rono and Maudla, illegitimacy is no bar to inheritance in Marka."

"With one exception," said Aelfrec.

"Yes, silly me." Marcus smiled. "The secret concord of 705. I believe that came into existence to keep the squabbling Goldeagles from the throne, rather than debarring claimants in perpetuity."

Aelfrec spread his hands. "A law is law."

"And who brought this one to your attention?" asked Marcus.

Aelfrec scowled.

"I'll tell you: Sandester. And how did Nazvasta come by his information? Did somebody come here to research it?" Marcus leaned forward, aggressively. "And this researcher; how do we know she or he did not steal the required documents?"

"The law –"

"– is sometimes not amended when it ought to be," interrupted Marcus. "Your secret concord exists only because of needs that were peculiar to the collapse of the First Empire and establishing the Preceptory. That was a thousand years ago."

Zenepha pursed his lips. "But it is still the law," he said. He vaguely recalled reading the statute. "We cannot just turn it aside for convenience."

"I was not born illegitimate," protested Marcus. "Nor my father. How can anybody prove beyond that? Can Nazvasta prove that all his ancestors were born within wedlock? I doubt that. It is Nazvasta's money you're taking?"

"That is a slur." Aelfrec's dark blue eye flashed with anger.

"Well, Senator Aelfrec-in-Nazvasta's-employ, can you prove Nazvasta's legitimacy?" Marcus smiled. "Well?"

"It is the Emperor's legitimacy that is important," said Aelfrec. "Not what happens in between."

"Nonsense, the whole point of the secret concord had to do with what happened in between." Marcus kept his voice calm and quiet. It would not do to lose his temper. "Either birth out of wedlock is a problem in perpetuity, or it is not. I argue it is not, else all claimants must be able to prove their legitimacy dating back to the first civilization."

"Now that is a nonsense," spluttered Aelfrec.

Senator Cleran, the Principal Chancellor, tapped on the table. "This must be debated within the senate," he said. "Not here."

"And am I permitted to come and defend my position?" demanded Marcus.

Cleran considered. "That decision will lie with the Senate Leader," he replied. "You must ask him."

Marcus gritted his teeth. "What do the gwerins have to say?"

Silmarila blinked at him. Samrita's earpoints twitched.

"Our role is to advise the throne," said Silmarila.

"Then advise him," said Marcus, a warning note in his voice.

"Why? Right now there is no problem." Silmarila's dark brown eyes smiled, even if her facial expression looked solemn. "The throne is occupied and all is well in the city and Prefectures."

Samrita nodded.

"Thanks," muttered Marcus. He turned to Cleran. "Where is Rogort now?"

Cleran smiled. "In the Senate," he replied.

"Then I'll lie in wait for him there," said Marcus, rising to his feet. "If there is nothing else, Majesty?"

Zenepha nodded his permission for Marcus to leave.

"You might not have to wait long," called Aelfrec. "Rogort might ask you to renounce your claim instead."

At the door, Marcus paused and looked over his shoulder. "Never," he replied.

***

Fared Granton, Captain of the Shadow Riders, pulled off his boots, wriggled his toes and relaxed into his easy chair with a sigh of contentment.

"Troubles of the world on your shoulders?" asked Telisa, gray eyes twinkling as she set her embroidery aside.

"Not exactly."

Their quarters in the palace were not large, but sufficient for his small family. Keeping with Kelthane custom, Fared had only one wife. A family room, where they relaxed and ate, a study where Fared dealt with his administration, and five bedrooms.

A man needed no more, except perhaps a secretary to help with his administrative work.

None of his three children had yet returned from their various tasks. Heleen, the oldest, still worked on her nursing skills, doubtless with two sharp eyes open for a prospective husband.

Sion, struggling with advanced mathematics and weaponry, demanding to know when he might be allowed to join the shadow riders. And Nena, the youngest, who spent a lot of time with the palace librarians and soaking up knowledge like land drank water after a drought.

"Had we known how busy Zenepha keeps you, we might have been better off staying in Kelthane."

Fared barked a quick laugh at his wife. "I feel almost ceremonial," he said. "The lads do most of the hard work."

"It's good you're seen at his side," continued Telisa. "A constant reminder that he is the Emperor."

Fared nodded. Most of his problems were caused by sylphs. Zenepha, Emperor of Marka, yet wracked with self-doubt and suffering a crisis of confidence. Yet he could see good metal in him.

And Ojasan.

He had acquired her by accident. The Eldovan infertile had been traveling home with Mirrin's army when captured by the shadow riders and the Markans. Still young, her owner dead in a riding accident, she had been seeking to bond with a new owner.

Unknowing and unsuspecting, Fared had let the sylph help with keeping his kit clean and tent tidy. Before he knew it, Ojasan began regarding herself as his sylph and refused to hear any different.

The sylph in question padded into their quarters, carrying an alovak can. She smiled at Fared and Telisa.

"Thank you, Ojasan," said Telisa, accepting the first mug of alovak.

Fared nodded to the infertile as he accepted his alovak, though he eyed the narrow strip of leather around her neck with distaste.

Sylphs were not slaves in Kelthane. They served and did what they could where they could, but none were property. He and Ojasan had never rowed about her collar: he commanded her to remove it and she obeyed, only to replace it the moment he turned his back.

They had finally compromised on that narrow strip. Ojasan seemed unduly proud that her name had been embossed on the leather and refused to remove it in his presence.

Fared had decided to let it pass. After all, most sylphs wore similar neckwear here. Ojasan should not have to stand out, as if she were a wild sylph.

"It seems that Marcus Vintner has hit a new problem in his quest for the throne," said Fared, once Ojasan took her usual place at his feet, another strange eastern practice. Fascinated, she stared at his wiggling toes.

"Yes, the palace is full of chatter. Half the servants seem relieved that Zenepha will stay and the rest upset." Telisa sipped her alovak, embroidery forgotten for the moment.

"Zenepha cannot stay Emperor for ever," said Fared. "But the shadow riders serve the throne always."

"And if the Senate decide that the rightful claimant is Nazvasta Vintner?" asked Telisa.

"That's the problem," replied Fared. "He isn't. The rightful claimant would be Verdin Vintner. Whatever the Senate decides, Zenepha might be the only individual capable of keeping the peace in Marka."

"Then he stays on the throne," replied Telisa.

"And what will happen when he dies?" Fared's voice dropped to nothing more than a whisper. "He has no heirs."

Telisa sniffed. "We should have stayed in Kelthane."

Fared sat back and sipped at his alovak. "We might be forced to make a decision," he said. "We might have to get involved in politics. Discreetly, of course."

"A dangerous path," said Telisa.

Her husband nodded. "Very. But as I said, Zenepha cannot stay Emperor for ever. I very much fear that trouble lies ahead."

***

Surrounded by people, the assassin ate alone. Infiltration had proved successful, but now the time had come for the next stage. Decide on the order of victims and begin to plan method and execution.

A delightful word, execution. The assassin always anticipated this stage eagerly, for the power rush could not compare with anything else.

Death always followed life. The assassin realized death was an occupational hazard, but had long since come to accept that. But others always seemed surprised when death came suddenly, unexpectedly.

But holding that ultimate card, having the choice between who lived and who died... now that was power.

Ignored by everybody else, the assassin delicately lifted a piece of meat on the fork. Chewing slowly, the assassin smiled and planned.

***
Chapter 17

March To Turivkan

Thanks to the clouds, Neptarik had known hills lay ahead long before seeing them. Turivkan the Prefecture lay well inland, which for the most part meant clear skies at this time of year. Those clouds suggested either an early change in the weather, or a far more likely change in terrain.

He and his small group marched into cloud before nightfall.

Cloud and fog made life far more difficult for the scout, especially as Serifa could not guarantee keeping to the road. Despite what so many people seemed to believe, even sylphs had limitations. A homing pigeon might be able to stay in contact with the group in dense fog, but a lone sylph scout could not.

Now, lying in his warm rabbit fur blanket, Neptarik felt smug that he kept the outside well oiled and that he'd pegged out the hood. Hills did not just bring fog.

They also brought rain.

While other men cursed and struggled to keep their kit dry – not easy in darkness when everything must be done by touch – Neptarik snuggled deeper into his blanket and relished the sound of refreshing raindrops bouncing off metal and canvas. In some cases, soaking into clothes and carelessly stored belongings.

Curses grew as some men discovered they had bedded down in places where rainwater either gathered, or ran off the hill. Neptarik smiled, pleased that he had learned from all his experiences. He had checked the ground carefully before claiming his own sleeping spot, and ensured it showed no sign of water damage.

Even before he first fell asleep, he had heard the gentle patter of light rain on his blanket, the reason he had pegged out the hood. Now he could relax, keeping warm and dry.

Mya and Tektu had similar blankets – in fact, all three had been acquired by the infertile – but slept on different parts of the hill, as far apart as they could manage. Understandably, Mya and Tektu would never get along. He wished to have some way of getting rid of the unwelcome infertile; he loved Mya and hated to see the strain she suffered just because of what Tektu had done to her previous owner.

Neptarik watched as darkness retreated before the coming day. Shutting his eyes for a few brief moments, the scout finally wriggled free from his blanket and rolled it up, ignoring the raindrops splatting against his painted skin,

The paint would help keep him waterproof.

He crossed the short distance to his owner and shook him by the shoulder.

"Just getting light now, enya," he said, as Balnus grunted and turned over.

Another seasoned campaigner, Balnus also had sense enough not to spread his bedding in a watercourse, and kept his own blankets well oiled. Balnus sat up, pulled his jerkin on over his head, wriggled free from his blanket and pulled on his boots, which had been kept warm and dry overnight in the blanket.

Serifa loomed out of the mist. "Miserable in the rain," she muttered, "but saw nothing this watch. Looks like we got these hills to ourselves."

"You can never be too careful," said Balnus. He eyed the rain and mist and grimaced as water dripped from his hair. "I suppose getting a fire going is too much to ask."

"Cold breakfast and water," said Neptarik. "Want me to wake the rest?"

Serifa nodded. "Time we were moving again," she said.

***

A small, wet and bedraggled group came through the pass just before midday. Neptarik led, though he kept out of sight in the swirling mists, especially once the rain eased.

Reshiad rode alongside Serifa, with the taciturn Erard riding on her other side. Balnus and Verdin followed, with Mya walking between their two horses, then the six peasants from the barely trained army on foot, soaked through and shivering.

Tektu and a seventh peasant brought up the rear.

"Wonder what Turivkan looks like," said the man, making conversation.

Tektu, uninterested in cities, shrugged. "Probably stinks," she replied. "Most cities do."

"Been to many cities?" asked the peasant.

"Lots," replied Tektu. She increased her pace, bored of the conversation, and left the rearguard to mutter about rudeness.

Seeing her approach, Mya dropped back, her head turned aside to avoid looking at Tektu.

"Bored of being the rearguard?" asked Balnus.

Tektu looked up him, her eyes unblinking until water droplets fell into them. She doubted if she could ever get used to belonging to someone who in turn belonged to someone else. "Something like that. He just wants to ask questions about what Turivkan looks like."

"It's built from sandstone," said Verdin cheerfully, "so it'll be either red or pink."

"I don't really care," said Tektu. "And the sandstone might be white."

"And it stands on a fertile plain," added Balnus. "Towers, fortified barricades and rich farms cover it."

Tektu turned her lip and strode ahead again, half running where the road meandered its way downhill, cutting corners as she ran. She halted abruptly as she suddenly left the cloud behind, coming to bright sunshine and unexpected warmth.

Neptarik already stood there and he turned as Tektu joined him.

"Not quite like coming to Marka," said the scout, "but almost as impressive."

"No pyramid," said Tektu, her gaze flickering in all directions.

The rest of the group caught them up and Serifa nodded to herself.

The plain stretched in all directions and certainly looked lush, with fields several shades of dark green. Towers were dotted randomly around the plain and roads crisscrossed it. Serifa pointed to more boiling clouds to her left.

"The main road to the west, and most of the Prefecture," she said, before pointing east. "Dzigain lies that way, past a couple more hill ranges."

"Dzigain," murmured Verdin. "And the fabled Black Cloud Mountains at its eastern edge."

Serifa laughed. "No fable," she said. "They really exist. Always winter there, even in the passes."

"The mountains may by no fable," said Verdin quietly, "but the city hidden there certainly is."

The merriment faded from Serifa's face. "Magiere," she said. "They say you must find the mountains that form an almost circular wall and the city sits atop them."

"And are there such mountains?" asked Balnus.

"Nobody has ever some back to say," said Serifa. "But legend says the air cannot be breathed there."

"So impossible for a city to exist," said Verdin, "if people can't breathe the air."

"There's a city down there though." Balnus pointed to where spires and buildings rose from the heat haze.

"Pink," Verdin told Tektu. "Turivkan is pink."

Tektu shrugged. "It can be blue and yellow for all I care," she replied.

"Less squabbling," said Serifa. "We need to get down there and regroup. Then we must plan how to infiltrate the city."

Balnus called to Neptarik, who stood slightly apart from the group with Mya. "Don't go exerting yourself," he instructed. "When we reach the plain, you'll have plenty of running about to do."

The scout grimaced and his earpoints wilted before recovering almost immediately.

"Se bata," he replied.

***

They found the meeting point at the very edge of the arable land nearest the hills. An old farmhouse and attached barn stood alone about half a mila from the road. Serifa turned towards it and the rest followed. At a nod from Balnus, Neptarik streaked ahead, quickly out of sight as he blended into the background.

"No trust at all?" Reshiad stared at Balnus.

"None at all," said Verdin. "Everybody gets to live longer this way."

"These are our friends," protested Reshiad. "They want to see Dervra gone."

"Want to see Dervra gone, yes," retorted Verdin. "But that does not necessarily mean that they are our friends."

Reshiad started as Neptarik returned, unnoticed until he spoke. "Two men inside and two boys in the stable, enya," he told Balnus. "And a family."

As they drew nearer, two men left the building and stood outside, waiting.

"Yaan!" Serifa dismounted and hugged the taller man. "I've missed you."

Yaan's hazel eyes looked troubled, even as he smiled at the girl. "And we've missed you," he replied.

"Friends of Turivkan," continued Serifa, as the seven peasants split around the farmhouse and began to look as if they were working the land. "Balnus, Verdin..."

Yaan shook hands with the men as they were named.

"Mya, Tektu... and the painted one is Neptarik."

Yaan smiled at the sylphs.

"And this is, ah, Deshad." Serifa indicated Reshiad, stood shyly to one side.

Yaan and his companion had already been eyeing Deshad carefully.

"So it's true," whispered Yaan. "One of you lives."

Reshiad smiled and shook hands with both men. "My name is Deshad. Nothing else."

"Of course." Yaan drew the words out, as if playing along with something he recognized as a charade. "Shall we go inside?"

The farmhouse had few furnishings. The main room looked like any other farm, with memorabilia and a few wooden chairs and cushions strewn about. A handful of people formed a family, complete with a couple of children and an infertile sylph. The latter eyed the newcomers warily, earpoints slightly wilted.

Balnus nodded to himself.

"Through here," said Yaan, leading them into the barn.

It doubled as a stable and boys already brought the horses round. One corner housed the pigeons and Serifa immediately crossed to them.

"I don't recognize any of these," she complained.

"They got sick and died," explained Yaan. "We had to get some new ones."

"From the same man?" asked Serifa.

Yaan smiled and nodded. "From Roddard, yes."

Serifa looked at Yaan. "I'm glad to hear it," she said. "How are things in the city?"

"Terrible," replied Yaan. "They are trying harder and harder to infiltrate our organization. And it's impossible to say whether they have succeeded or not. They mutilate anybody they suspect of involvement. The touch healers have been kept busy for weeks." He held up his right hand. "Watch out for a man named Marlen, he is stepping up security in the city."

Serifa went very still. "How can we avoid notice?"

Yaan shrugged. "I recommend you stay outside the city. Send your sylphs in for a look. Pallun can still be contacted."

"Will Neptarik oblige, Balnus?" asked Serifa.

"I'll dangle a piece of choca in front of him, that usually guarantees his cooperation," replied Balnus, to the others' laughter.

"All right," continued Serifa. "Where are we quartered?"

Yaan pointed to the hayloft. "For tonight," he replied. "Tomorrow we'll move you to one of the abandoned towers." He crossed to the dovecote. "I'll get a message off to Pallun, warn him that Neptarik is coming in to see him."

Balnus and Verdin exchanged a look.

"Better if you don't," said Verdin.

Yaan's eyes widened. "How else will he know your sylph is coming?"

"Pigeons can be caught," said Balnus. "Let's keep it quiet."

Yaan smiled and inclined his head. "As you wish."

Balnus did not climb into the hayloft. "I'm going to have a word with my sylphs," he said.

Yaan gave him a questioning look.

"They've been growing fractious. A matter of discipline," said Balnus, and Yaan nodded in understanding.

***

Only Tektu looked completely unconcerned as the three sylphs walked away from the farmhouse with their owner. Neptarik had put on his brave face, but his earpoints were wilted the same as Mya's.

"What have we done, enya?" Neptarik could not keep worry out of his voice.

Balnus gestured ahead. "Just keep walking until we're out of sight of the farm. Some things must be kept private."

Neptarik and Mya exchanged a confused look. Only Tektu walked on as if nothing was wrong. She glanced at Neptarik with a half smile and shrugged her shoulders.

Eventually, Balnus looked over his shoulder and checked the land round about, finally satisfied they were alone.

"Right," he said, "I think we're private now."

"If we have angered, we are truly sorry," said Mya."

"What?" Balnus smiled. "You've not angered me."

"Then what is this matter of discipline?" spluttered Neptarik.

"Dense." Tektu muttered under her breath and shook her head. "So very dense."

"Just an excuse to get away from our so-called friends," said Balnus. "We must speak privately."

Tektu looked at the other two sylphs and sighed. "Maybe you should discipline them," she said. "Might improve their perceptiveness."

"I need no advice from you, Tektu," said Balnus.

The infertile subsided.

"When we return to the farm, I want Mya to keep an eye on Yaan," said Balnus.

Neptarik half sat up.

"The man seems very eager to send you into Turivkan, which wouldn't bother me, except that he wants to send pigeons too." Balnus shook his head. "Got no idea why, but the man puts my hackles up."

"What must I do?" asked Mya.

"Nothing dangerous," replied Balnus. "Just keep working near him until we leave again. Neptarik, lose your paint before going into the city."

"Of course." The scout looked surprised that there might be any suggestion he should keep his paint on.

"And one more thing. Tektu, I want you to go to Turivkan ahead of Neptarik. In fact, I'd like you to leave now."

"No problem, Mister Balnus," replied Tektu. She gave Neptarik a triumphant look. "See how obedient I am?"

"Only when you want to be," retorted Neptarik.

Tektu shrugged. "Right now?" she asked.

"Listen in to Yaan's instructions to Neptarik and get there one step ahead. Don't introduce yourself, just find out if any of these men in Turivkan can be trusted. I'll send Neptarik a day after you."

"I can do that," said Tektu. She turned to Neptarik. "Will you release me from my promises?"

The scout raised a finger. "No killings," he said. "No release from that. I have never made you promise not to defend yourself when attacked."

Tektu sniffed. "And if I need information?"

"I do not want to know how you get it," said Neptarik.

"We'll return in a few more minutes," said Balnus. "When we do, remember to look like you've had the scolding of your lives."

***

Mya and Tektu quickly prepared the ash and sap paste used to strip off the scouts' paint when they returned from the field, while Neptarik was shown to a small room, private from the rest of the farmhouse.

The infertile sylph belonging to the family looked like she wanted to help, but the moment she saw Tektu, her earpoints tucked away and she scuttled back into the main farmhouse.

Yaan followed them into the room and shut the heavy oak door.

For once, Tektu and Mya just ignored each other, instead of walking apart.

Unashamed, Neptarik peeled off his scouting breeches and lay face down on the stone-flagged floor.

Mya rubbed the paste on every part of her husband's exposed skin, starting with the head and working her way down, while Tektu started at his feet and worked her way up.

Yaan ignored Neptarik's nakedness and gave his instructions. "When you get to Turivkan, you will find Pallun's small workshop opposite the disused palace temple. It has a window either side of the door, the wood and shutters painted blue."

"And the stonework?" asked Neptarik.

"The place is built from the same sandstone as the rest of the city," replied Yaan. "I'm afraid there is little alternative, except perhaps for mud bricks."

Mya and Tektu soaked rags in the buckets of water and began to rinse the paste off Neptarik. Bit by bit, he turned from a camouflaged scout into a normal blue-skinned sylph.

"You need to tell Pallun that Turivkan's rightful Prefect is outside the city and has been quartered in the Red Ivy Tower." Yaan smiled. "Men are waiting for this news all over the city."

"How will I recognize Pallun?" asked Neptarik. At Mya's urging, he obediently turned over.

Embarrassed at this new display, Yaan kept his gaze fixed firmly on Neptarik's face. "Tall, with large hands and well muscled. Ruddy face, cheerful expression, light brown hair and eyes so dark that they are nearly black."

Neptarik nodded. "How do I leave the city again? Enslaved sylphs are not usually allowed to leave cities unless accompanied."

"Pallun will give you a pass," replied Yaan.

"How do I introduce myself?" persisted the scout.

"I was going to send a pigeon, but your owner stopped that." Yaan sniffed. "Serifa is writing a letter of introduction you will take."

Yaan watched as more and more of the scout turned blue. "When will you leave?"

"Once I have learned where enya is quartered," replied Neptarik. "We scouts are not Gifted; I need to know where to report before leaving."

"If there's any doubt, you could return here," offered Yaan. His hazel eyes glittered. "Eylrin rarely has any sylph company."

Neptarik supposed Eylrin must be the infertile. He nodded. "But I prefer to return to my owner," he said. He sat up. "Which of you two has got my clean breeches?"

Two innocent sylph faces regarded him in return. "We thought the mighty Neptarik has no need for clothes," said Tektu. "So we left them in the saddlebag."

"Breeches and shirt," commanded Neptarik. "Now."

***

The next morning, as they gathered outside the farmhouse to leave, Balnus put a hand on Mya's shoulder. "Anything?" he asked, in a low voice.

Mya, who had worked as close to Yaan as she could get, shook her head. "Nothing at all," she replied.

"Still mistrustful?" asked Verdin, quietly.

"It's my sylph being sent into that city," replied Balnus. "Until he returns safely, I will not trust them."

Yaan stepped outside and carefully looked them over. "Are you sure you know the way?" he asked Serifa.

"Of course," she replied. "It's not all that many weeks since I was last here."

Yaan smiled and nodded. "Of course." He turned to Balnus. "One is missing. Where is Tektu?"

"Sulking," replied Balnus, referring to yesterday's supposed scolding. "She'll be watching us from somewhere near and will no doubt rejoin us when she's ready."

From beside Serifa, Erard grunted. "You should get yourself a tamer for that one, Balnus," he growled. "Far too willful."

Everybody who knew Erard stared at him as he uttered this long speech.

Yaan hugged Serifa and stood back as she mounted. "May Siranva shelter you," he said. "Watch out for patrols." He turned to Reshiad and inclined his head. "Soon, Majesty."

Reshiad inclined his head in return. "I'm still just Deshad," he replied.

"Not for long." Yaan smiled.

"All right," called Verdin, "let's get moving."

Neptarik and Mya ran ahead of the small group. Balnus kept glancing back until they entered a small wood, which eclipsed the farmhouse from view.

Thanks to the trees, he never saw the pigeon rise into the sky above the farm and set its course for home, somewhere in Turivkan.

"The land is very flat," said Verdin, making conversation.

Balnus watched and shook his head ruefully as Verdin moved his horse closer to Serifa.

"Very rich soil," replied Serifa. She gestured towards the crops. "We sometimes get two crops a year from this. More than enough to feed the city and countryside. Turivkan used to export spare grain, when there were still markets."

"Lots of cattle and sheep," remarked Verdin.

"Lots of stone boundary walls and trees lining these tracks for enemies to hide behind," interrupted Balnus.

"You are looking on the dark side this morning," laughed Verdin.

"My ambition is to die at a great age in bed," said Balnus.

Serifa twisted around on her horse. "Your sylphs will give warning," she said.

"If they were scouting, yes." Balnus looked ahead to where Neptarik and Mya walked together, speaking quietly to each other. "They seem to have other things on their mind."

"And Tektu?" asked Serifa.

"Probably still sulking," replied Balnus.

Serifa laughed. "You mean she's gone ahead into Turivkan," she replied.

"A lady's intuition is not always correct," said Balnus.

Reshiad twisted around on his horse. "Do you distrust everybody?" he asked.

"Only those I don't know," replied Balnus. "Misplaced trust has killed many a good man before now."

Serifa gestured at the land. "These people have been losing loved ones. They will not betray us."

"People will do what they believe is in their best interests," retorted Balnus. "This has always been the way of the world. And not everybody has lost loved ones. Only those unfortunate enough to have sons of a certain age and with certain hair and eye colors."

"Well," said Serifa, "I hope you're wrong."

Balnus smiled. "So do I. If that's any consolation."

They passed through a coppice, where each tree had several thin trunks, then their destination stood before them.

"Red Ivy Tower," said Serifa.

"Should be Green Ivy Tower," remarked Neptarik, staring at the ivy covering most of the structure.

Serifa gave the scout a tolerant smile. "You should see this one in the fall," she replied. "It looks so beautiful."

"Is it safe?" Neptarik eyed the tower cautiously.

"It's been unused for about ten years," replied Serifa. "But we refloored it only last winter. Stabling below and living quarters for the rest of us above. And a good supply of food."

"Why don't the Turivkan authorities still use it?" asked Verdin, before Balnus could open his mouth.

"The watch towers were built because of raiders, but that all ended some years ago. The only good thing this Prefect has done for us; he at least restored order."

"But at what cost?" murmured Balnus.

"None of the towers on the plain are manned today," continued Serifa. "But recently, those in the mountain passes have been garrisoned again. No idea why."

"From when the shadow riders passed through," Verdin murmured to Balnus. He raised his voice. "Perhaps there are fresh raiders."

"We've not heard of any," said Serifa. "Anyway, come on inside. We'll have to look after our own horses and cook our own meals."

Neptarik caught Balnus's eye. "Should I go now?"

Balnus shook his head. "In the morning," he replied.

"Tektu hasn't made an appearance," said Serifa, with a shrug. Her hazel eyes held a knowing look.

Balnus shrugged right back. "One thing she's good at is sulking," he replied. "She can drag it out for days and days. She'll reappear when she's ready."

"I'm sure." Serifa gave him a disbelieving look. "Anyway, let's get inside."

Erard dismounted and, together with one of the peasants, pulled the ivy aside to reveal a dark hole. One by one, they led their horses within. Serifa rummaged in one of her saddlebags and pulled out some light crystals, which she set into sconces around the walls.

Balnus nodded in approval. Several stone-walled rooms led off and each had been lined with wood to form stalls. In minutes, they had stabled their animals and two of the peasants were detailed off to check hooves and give the animals a rub down. Neptarik and Mya were told to clean the tack.

Balnus pointed to one of the empty stalls. "You two can settle down in there," he said. "Plenty of straw to help keep you warm."

Mya frowned, but Neptarik nodded in understanding. His owner wanted the sylphs down here to sound warning if there were any visitors.

"We go up here," said Serifa, indicating a stone stair, tucked discreetly to one side. She turned to those working on the horses. "When you're done here, join us upstairs."

The men nodded in acknowledgment.

Verdin and Balnus followed Erard up the spiral stair, hands on swords, just in case.

"Oh, wow!" exclaimed Verdin as the stair gave way to a room still smelling of freshly cut pine.

A huge fireplace stood at one end, with a neat stack of seasoned wood piled from floor to ceiling on both sides. The massive room's wooden ceiling looked recent, though some of the beams had an aged appearance at odds with the planking laid across them.

"Is there another room above?" asked Balnus.

"Not exactly," replied Serifa.

"I'll go and check it anyway," he said.

Balnus returned to the spiral stair and climbed to the next floor. The stone built rooms were deserted and, as he stood on the fresh planking, he saw the roof had been repaired to keep the rain out. A few beams remained to show that, once, a room very like their own had been here.

Serifa had spoken the truth. This could hardly count as another room now, as all the heat would travel straight up into the roof, far above. There were no signs of recent occupation.

Balnus returned to the stair and checked every room as he climbed. The small rooms surrounded the central portion of the tower and all were deserted. He eventually came to the roof.

As he had already seen, the roof itself had been repaired. He noted fresh slates and realized he stood in what was effectively the gutter. Openings in the round wall gave any water an escape route.

And the view!

Looking one way, he glimpsed the distant Turivkan. Small hamlets and rich farmland stretching to the foothills surrounded him in all directions. And the mountains hemming in the plain were clear today. He even saw other towers dotted about.

Hearing a sound, he spun on his heel, hand on swordhilt.

Verdin stepped out.

"Nearly," said Balnus, his smile more relieved than happy.

"Good lookout point," remarked Verdin.

"The tower's clear," reported Balnus.

"Thought it might be." Verdin grinned. "What a place. Care to tell me what's bothering you?"

Balnus shrugged. "It was fine until we got here. But it doesn't add up now."

"Why not?"

"These towers. Why are we using them? They stand out for milas, yet ordinary people don't bother with them. Why not? What do they know we do not?"

Verdin sniffed and looked out over the plain.

Balnus continued. "Yaan was eager to send Neptarik into the city and he wanted to send a pigeon. We're using towers to hide in, but these towers clearly still belong to the authorities – the very ones we want to hide from."

"The towers are abandoned," pointed out Verdin.

"Abandoned yes." Balnus nodded. "But are they ignored completely?"

"Tektu isn't sulking somewhere, is she?" Verdin kept his voice low, just in case someone had followed him up the stair,

Balnus turned to face Verdin and smiled. "I've sent her to the city," he replied. "Somehow, I think they'll be waiting for Neptarik."

"I think you're jumping at shadows and maybes."

"I hope you're right. But I've got the feeling here." Balnus prodded his own stomach. "I've felt it since yesterday and it's not going away."

***

Neptarik had very little to pack. He must look like a sylph on an errand, rather than some sort of itinerant chancing his luck in a new city. Allegedly, he was to take a letter to Pallun and he hoped it contained nothing to incriminate him.

He would carry nothing but his blanket, but Mya insisted he also took a change of shirt and breeches at the very least.

"Looks like you have had to travel then," said Mya.

Neptarik muttered, but obediently wrapped the small bundle in some oilcloth to keep out any wet and pushed his blanket aside, to wrap up after sleeping.

He and Mya sat in one of the free stalls. Once they had piled straw, they made the stall warm and comfortable.

Serifa joined them there, both sylph heads popping up as she approached.

"Letter," said Serifa, flourishing a missive. "Your owner tells me you can read."

Neptarik frowned, but nodded.

"You should know what it says," continued Serifa, "before I seal it. Remember to call yourself Neptarik-y-Selhend if anyone asks your name."

Neptarik gave the girl a level look before taking the letter from her hands. He bent his head to read. His eyes scanned the flowery greetings before he concentrated on the letter itself, reading it aloud for Mya's benefit.

"It is with much regret that I must inform you that the expected goods are unavailable at the price offered. Of course, I am happy to buy the merchandise rather than making the exchange as we had originally hoped, so at the least you will not be out of pocket."

The two sylphs exchanged a look before Neptarik continued.

"I have taken a new partner, the older of the two offered to me. He seems capable and has already begun to spur my people to greater and more effective production. He should do well.

"Please look after my sylph until I reach the city. His name is Neptarik and serves an excellent brew of alovak. Sincerely yours, Selhend."

"Full name Selhend Accas Elgan," said Serifa.

"Excellent brew of alovak," Neptarik grouched.

"Better brewing alovak than mucking out stables," Serifa pointed out. "Stop complaining.

"It looks innocent enough," said Neptarik, passing the letter back. "But humans are clever and might work it out."

"Maybe. But even if the duty officer wants to read it, he has no way of telling what the letter is about."

"He might ask what the merchandise is," pointed out Neptarik. "And ask for the new partner's name."

Serifa smiled. "You're just a sylph, your Mistress does not share this sort of information with you."

Neptarik's earpoints gave a violent twitch at the "just a sylph", but almost immediately recovered when he realized Serifa wasn't insulting him. "He will know sylphs have long ears," he retorted.

Serifa laughed. "The merchandise is cloth, the new partner is named Rannad. They won't be checking."

Neptarik watched as the girl secreted the letter into a pocket before fixing his gaze firmly on her eyes. "I hope you are right," he said.

"You'll be fine. I promise." Serifa smiled again, before leaving the two sylphs alone for the night.

***
Chapter 18

Preparations

Marlen Masser always knew when something felt wrong. Even with stronger and better talents, he had long since learned to listen when inner senses shouted warnings.

He leaned against the wooden guard and watched the bustle in the large courtyard below. People about their daily business, servants scurrying about tasks, sylphs cleaning or following their owner at a discreet distance. Everything and everyone in the Prefect's palace crossed that yard at some point.

Perhaps Delnor wanted to get his own back after Marlen had attacked him, though he doubted if the servant had told Dervra what secrets he had betrayed to his attacker.

Marlen wondered what Delnor had managed to hold back; perhaps he should give the man another visit.

What Delnor had told him caused worry enough.

Dervra really did have a contingency plan, and it excluded Marlen, as he had suspected. Worse, he could not learn where Nicolfer had disappeared to, presumably also thanks in part to Dervra's plotting.

"If the rebels succeed," Delnor had told him, "I am to stay here and make myself useful to the new Prefect."

"And keep contact with Dervra?" pressed Marlen.

A shrug of those thin shoulders. "More him keeping contact with me."

Marlen had already tried to recruit servants to work against Delnor, but the man seemed disgustingly popular, apparently a kind taskmaster who looked after those ranked beneath him.

But Shais of Turivkan's city guard hinted at a darker side of Delnor's personality.

"Used to be bullied," said the Captain, when Marlen asked about Delnor's past. "Picked on by one lad mercilessly."

"Someone I can meet?" Marlen had sounded hopeful.

Shais had shaken his head. "He fell arse first down a privy shaft and broke his back. Delnor was the only one to laugh when he heard."

Marlen had raised an eyebrow at that little snippet. And more came.

"Delnor is faithful," said one of the cooks, furiously kneading dough as Marlen questioned her. "He was at the last Prefect's side when he died."

Marlen suspected faithful might not be the best word to use. A bully involved with Delnor, who met a convenient death, and then an employer who died under questionable circumstances.

No wonder Dervra liked the man!

"You are being very thoughtful," said a voice beside him. "Perhaps Prefect Dervra should find you something to do."

Marlen had long since schooled himself to keep still, especially when startled. It usually put the other on the defensive. He turned his head and regarded General Teven neutrally. He hoped his pale blue eyes were at their very coldest.

"I am often thoughtful," he replied. "My job, like yours, requires a certain level of brain power."

Teven smiled, though that smile did not reach his black eyes.

"You are taking fresh information concerning our enemies to the Prefect?" continued Marlen, more to make conversation than from genuine inquiry.

"Something like that." Teven smiled. "There are certainly enemies enough gathering on the plain."

"Oh? Are we talking a handful, or thousands?"

"Peasants with sticks." Teven's smile broadened. "Enough of them to cause a hard time."

"You have infiltrated their organization?"

"I'm working on it."

"Which means that you have." Marlen grimaced.

"If I give you a list of the cities and major towns in Turivkan, there is a group dedicated to overthrowing Dervra. The, um, census has proved a bad idea."

"Though successful in removing Adelbard's heirs," pointed out Marlen.

"Really?" Teven arched an eyebrow and gestured with an arm. "Somewhere out there, one of his heirs is gathering forces."

Marlen barked a laugh. "Both his sons are dead," he retorted. "They can prop any boy the right age on a horse and claim to follow Adelbard's heir. The orders were explicit."

"Which is why you killed all boys the right ages?"

Marlen shrugged. "Babes die all the time."

"There's a difference between dying and killing," pointed out Teven. "I wonder how many peasants with sticks would be out there right now had we not killed so many of their children."

"Well, no matter how many there are, we do have an army to protect the city," said Marlen. "And if that fails, I'm sure Dervra will run away."

"Now we come to it." This time, the smile did touch the General's eyes. "One of his most trusted lieutenants, yet the Prefect has excluded you from his reserve plan. Yes?"

"I suggest you mind your own business." Marlen kept his voice calm. "Which is defending this city."

Teven's look was too knowing. "Knowledge is power," he said. "The men out there believe that they have Adelbard's eldest son with them. If they believe it, they may as well have the real boy. It doesn't matter. What do you plan to do if the peasants with sticks win?"

Marlen blinked.

"You said yourself that they have brought down empires."

"I know. If they win, I'll move on."

"Which you've already done, else you wouldn't already be here." Teven's look was carefully neutral. "Like after the siege of Marka."

"A rout."

"Despite your careful plans. Dervra saved you then, no? Yet you feel excluded now."

"Dervra is not renowned for leaving loose ends," admitted Marlen.

"Sounds fatal."

"Sounds like you play the same game," retorted Marlen.

"I am just a simple soldier. Nothing more, nothing less."

Marlen snorted. "And a master politician. You must be, to have survived so long. What will you do when the peasants with sticks take over?"

"I shall continue to serve Turivkan, as I always have."

Marlen eyed the General's obvious outlander appearance. "Because nobody else will pay you more."

Teven let that pass. "I hope our enemy out there loses," he said. "But should they win, I hope they recognize who made life difficult for them and decide it is far better to have a man like me fighting alongside them than against them."

"Or they might just pop your head on the end of one of their sticks." Marlen smiled. "Funny creatures, peasants. And I should know, I used to be one."

Teven inclined his head to acknowledge the point. "That the Prefect has clearly made arrangements to leave, abandoning some of his followers in the process, tells me the man expects to lose."

"Or is merely prudent," countered Marlen.

"Dervra has the reputation of fighting to retain what he already has in his fist," said Teven. "So why regard Turivkan differently? What's his thinking? You must ask yourself this: exactly what is Dervra's overall plan and why are you surplus to his requirements, when before you were not?"

Marlen shrugged. "The overall plan is to struggle against Marka and prevent it from reestablishing its empire."

Teven sniffed. "Perhaps that is his plan."

"You seem unconvinced."

"Well spotted."

"Whose side are you on, Teven?"

The General laughed aloud. "I am on my side," he replied. "I recommend it as the best side to be on."

"You want me on your side?" Marlen shook his head. "I cannot even begin to trust you."

"You'd rather trust Dervra?"

"You claim to serve him loyally."

"I do. My job is to general Turivkan's army, to which I'm fully committed." Teven's slanted eyes were calm. "If you have any evidence to the contrary, I'd love to hear it."

Marlen subsided. "I will think on what you have said."

"Of course you will. I might be your best chance for survival, if Dervra is about to abandon us."

***

The stout Captain Shais could never decide whether or not he liked General Teven. Despite his ambivalent feelings, he had to observe the proprieties when entertaining a guest, so sent his sylph to brew alovak.

The Captain's office held three chairs, a desk and boasted a single painting above a rather imposing fireplace. This happened to be the room's best feature as, papers strewn across the desk apart, there was nothing else in here. Pale green walls and a white ceiling, a scratched and marked wooden floor that had not seen polish in years. A wooden stool in one corner, its seat polished from use.

"Have you learned which three of your soldiers were responsible for that gambling sting?" he demanded, his green eyes hard.

"I suspect there were no soldiers," replied Teven, calmly. "They were bribed to let the prisoner go. Who in their right mind would go into a cell and deliberately lose at cards?"

"I admit it sounds unlikely," said Shais, "but the men's stories remain consistent even when put under considerable pressure and questioned separately."

Teven shrugged. "It just means they rehearsed their story carefully beforehand. The three men they named all have witnesses supporting their version of events."

Shais shook his head. "To think that men of the City Guard could be so corrupt."

"Corruption can be found everywhere," said Teven. "Among the high as well as the low. Perhaps especially among the high."

"What are you saying?"

"We try hard to infiltrate the rebels' organization; they try hard to infiltrate ours. You must admit it is possible that we have rebels among our ranks."

Shais pursed his lips and considered.

Both men turned as the door opened and the infertile sylph padded back into the room, bearing a tray with the alovak can and two large mugs. She set the tray down on the desk.

"Thank you, Mayhur. No, I will pour."

The sylph crossed to the stool and began to lower herself onto it, moving with a stiffness that indicated a back injury.

"You may leave us, Mayhur," continued Shais, pouring the alovak without looking at her. "Return in twenty minutes."

The infertile gave her owner a look that suggested he might have spoken before she began to sit. Whatever Mayhur thought, she said nothing and closed the door quietly behind her as she obeyed her owner's command.

Teven watched her go.

"So you suspect Yaan's escape to be down to people on the inside of my City Guard?"

Not your City Guard, fat fool; Turivkan's City Guard. Aloud, Teven said "A possibility to consider, I have heard nothing from my contacts. But it is highly probable that some men in the guard – in the army come to that – have relatives who have suffered as a result of this census."

Shais pursed his lips and shook his head. "Shocking," he murmured.

Teven accepted his alovak with a nod, but made no move to inhale its vapor or drink the dark liquid. "Hardly surprising," he continued. "I cannot completely rule out the involvement of all my men, only those your men accused of being there."

"Annoying," said Shais, opening his eyes after his first sip. "We could have learned who the traitors are."

"These things happen," replied Teven, touching the mug to his lips without drinking. "One of my contacts received a pigeon this morning. He believes that one of the late Prefect's sons passed through his place yesterday."

"They are both dead," grunted Shais.

"If the rebels believe one or both sons to be alive, then they may as well be," retorted Teven.

"Well, we have you to repulse any assault against the city," said Shais. "After all, that is your responsibility."

Teven smiled. "I have the impression you almost want me to fail," he said. "Perhaps share your embarrassment?"

Shais's green eyes remained cold.

"Well, my contact says that they are sending someone into the city to see how things are," said Teven. "I recommend your men at the gates be extra vigilant of those entering the city."

Shais nodded. "Thank you for the information. Did your contact suggest who we need look for?"

Teven shrugged. "Afraid not," he lied. "Human or sylph, male or female; he did not seem to know. He only said that the rebels intended sending just one. Perhaps your men ought to be vigilant about single travelers entering through the gates."

"I'll pass it on," promised Shais.

Teven smiled and nodded. "I also recommend your men keep a list of those who do enter the city and mark them off when they leave again."

"We already do that," said Shais.

"For humans yes, but what about sylphs?"

Shais smiled. "Sylphs are just sylphs. They travel with their owners all the time."

"What about sylphs traveling alone?" pressed Teven.

Shais shrugged. "We get a few now and then. They usually come for easy begging or scavenging."

"Might be an idea to take their names, or not let them in at all."

"I'll tell the men to prevent sylphs entering the city, except in the company of their owner." Shais nodded. "But who would use sylphs in such a way?"

"Markans," replied Teven, instantly.

"Markans? Here?" Shais looked to be on the verge of laughter.

"The shadow riders passed through last year, they are bound to have reached Marka by now. Our Prefect is allied with Eldova, Marka's sworn enemy. And if they learn of a potential rebellion here, they're bound to send someone to help stir up trouble. And we know Marka uses sylphs for a good few military tasks. Such as scouting and intelligence gathering."

"Sylphs?" Shais stared.

"Yes, sylphs." Teven smiled at the other man's obvious confusion. "Marcus Vintner apparently introduced them into his army some years ago. Their existence is common knowledge further east now."

"How did you learn about them?"

"I have contacts everywhere, as you know." Teven sipped at the alovak, quickly draining his mug. "But Dervra warned me to be especially vigilant for sylphs if the army ever meets the rebels. He is also convinced that Markans – even if only a couple – are helping foment the rebellion. If that is the case, they will have sylphs to scout for them. I'm just passing the information on."

"What if one of these sylphs comes here with his, her, whatever, owner?"

"They will be unknown to your men. A little extra checking can't go amiss."

Shais finally nodded and some of his false joviality returned. "Thank you for this Teven, I shall do as you suggest."

Teven returned the man's false smile. "I'll see you at the next meeting. Thank Mayhur for her truly excellent alovak. I hope her back gets better soon."

***

Captain Shais called in on the duty Officer-of-the-Guard without warning. The Lieutenant scrambled to his feet and hastily reached for his tunic, presently draped across the back of his wooden chair. In his haste, he upset the chair, which crashed to the ground.

"Relax, Lieutenant Arrol." Shais flashed his usual jovial smile. "This is not an official visit, just something that's popped into my head."

"What might that be, Sir?" Arrol succeeded to salvage chair and tunic. He hastily began to button it up. Why did superiors always walk in just as you'd stopped dashing about?

"I've received word that the rebels might be using sylphs as messengers."

"Sylphs come in and leave all the time, Sir. If you look now, you're bound to see a few waiting to enter."

Shais nodded. "I'm not concerned about accompanied sylphs," he replied. "Only sylphs traveling alone."

"Every now and again we see one or two."

"I know, Lieutenant Arrol. Despite the rumors, I wasn't born wearing a Captain's uniform; I did start at the bottom, like everybody else."

"Sorry, Sir."

"I would like you to start checking unaccompanied sylphs more thoroughly. Pass it on to the other watches."

"Yes, Sir." Arrol paused. "Exactly what are we looking for?"

"Letters being carried, or perhaps verbal messages. Analyze whatever's found carefully and, if necessary, escort the sylph to his destination and out again. But it might be best if you turn them away."

"And if we find anything suspicious, Sir?"

"Detain the sylph and report to me."

"And the level of force, Sir?"

Shais looked surprised. "You are joking? We're talking about sylphs. Just hold them until we can conduct a more extensive interview."

"Sir? What is the Prefect going to do about the rebels?"

"Until they make some sort of obvious move, I don't see what we can do. We remain vigilant and look for anything out of place."

"Very good, Sir."

"One more thing, Lieutenant: always ensure you have someone to keep an eye out for senior officers approaching. That way, you should get no more surprises."

Arrol noticed the twinkle in the other's green eyes and decided a smile would be safe. "Yes, Sir; thank you, Sir."

Satisfied, Shais turned away.

***

The messenger arrived late at Pallun's workshop. Pallun glanced both ways along the street and across at the abandoned temple, before pulling the man inside. He turned, locking the door and dropping his shutters.

In the increased gloom, his stock cast longer and darker shadows. More inclined to make deals between different merchants, Pallun had an uncanny knack of getting required goods to people who really wanted them. Every now and then he got it wrong, hence the assorted bits and pieces here, which he sold as and when he could.

The perfect cover story for the rebellion's logistician.

Living with just his sylph – he had only taken one wife and she was estranged, taking their four daughters with her – helped keep Pallun out of sight. Nobody paid him much attention, though people sometimes gossiped about the possible reasons why his wife had run away. He had long since learned to ignore them all. Given what he was about, safer for her anyway.

"We've got more pouring onto the plain all the time," said the messenger, as Pallun checked the door.

He lifted a finger. "Just a minute, Eldinsen." He raised his voice. "Ilina!"

A moment later, an infertile sylph, dressed in work tunic and breeches, with a plain linen shirt underneath, stuck her head around the door. Her earpoints twitched.

"Enya?"

"Keep an eye open at the back; I'll watch the front."

The infertile bobbed her head and withdrew, presumably to follow her orders.

Pallun turned back to Eldinsen. "Right, what have you got to tell me?"

The messenger drew breath. If he had taken any offense because alovak had not been offered, nothing showed on his face.

"Men and women are pouring onto the plain from all the cities. They're trying to exercise discretion, but it cannot be much longer before the authorities realize we have more people here than there ought to be."

"Are they keeping to the abandoned towers and safe houses?"

"Mostly, yes."

Pallun grimaced. "Send messengers out of the city tomorrow to ensure that they do. If they cannot stay out of sight, they must withdraw to the mountains or beyond."

Eldinsen nodded.

"Remind them that Turivkan's army is disciplined, trained and effective."

"There are rumors," continued Eldinsen. "They say Awen Haist marches with them."

"I have heard nothing," replied Pallun, spreading his hands. "Of course, a messenger may be on his way to me right now with that news."

"That would give us all hope." Eldinsen firmed his voice.

Nothing more though, reflected Pallun, those boys are dead.

"I recommend you do not spread this rumor until there is confirmation of it," he said, aloud. "If we have an uprising in the city too soon, there will be a slaughter. We are dealing with utterly ruthless people."

Eldinsen's hazel eyes held a hint of guilt, suggesting he had already mentioned the false rumor to people.

"When will you start giving the weapons out?" he asked.

"When we are ready." Pallun's dark brown eyes flashed. "Not before. Remember, if the authorities hear of this, we are all doomed."

Eldinsen finally nodded. Pallun let him out through the back, where the watchful Ilina gave him a neutral look. Once the messenger had left, Pallun watched the now-shut gate in the high fence. Finally, he turned to his sylph.

"Alovak, please. Then join me in my study."

Pallun had a small living accommodation above his workshop, comfortable and sufficient. He sat in the only easychair (Ilina usually made do with the floor; failing that a wooden seat and a cushion in one corner of his living room sufficed) and relaxed.

How much of the information he had just received should he pass on to Teven? Perhaps he should wait until the rebellion's leader contacted him, before he passed anything on at all.

He just wished he could find the slightest trace of trust for the General.

***

Tektu cautiously approached Turivkan's pink sandstone walls. Now nearly dark, the gates had been shut hours before. The darkness did not bother her in the slightest; excellent night vision happened to be one advantage of being trapped in this weak sylph's body. Such a shame it always failed to properly digest her favorite food, causing no end of upsets.

Despite everything, such as an unexpected change in owner the previous year, she found this present task surprisingly enjoyable. All ownership changes were unexpected, except those brought on by old age, but she had never before in her long, long life belonged to another sylph.

It certainly added a certain depth of humiliation to her punishment.

And yet.

She dropped onto her heels beside some bushes and watched the walls. She had no intention of spending yet another night sleeping rough outside the city, so she must get in the city tonight and track down this Pallun. Perhaps spend the night in his stable.

She watched the walls, waiting for any signs of activity. There were always night patrols in cities, if not necessarily along the walls. The moon rose slowly, initially orange before settling to its normal silver-gray color, hanging in the sky like a huge sylph's eye.

She saw nobody after two slow counts to a thousand, which meant patrols along the walls were either irregular, or only done at set times through the night. She began to walk around the outside of the city, making a careful inspection as she went.

There were always weaknesses. Old doors, perhaps with larger gaps than there ought to be. Too small for an armored man to crawl through perhaps, but large enough to allow a child to pass. Or an infertile sylph.

Tektu snarled at this reminder of her reduced status, but forced her temper back under control. It worried her how easily she could do that these days. Perhaps she had lost the ancient struggle against what this body expected.

Not just old doors, but the height of the walls varied. Not all walls had been completed, often being lower on their so-called "safe" side. Some cities cared more about level walls, rather having them rising and falling with the lie of the land. This meant their walls were lower in relation to the ground in places. Marka was one such city.

But not Turivkan.

In fairness, Marka had been built on flat ground, while Turivkan sat on a raised exposure of sandstone, too low for an outcrop, but high enough to raise the city above the surrounding land.

But Turvikan certainly had a weakness.

Sandstone eroded quickly, which meant frequent repairs were needed to the aging walls. The builders who repaired them needed scaffolding and that must be affixed to the walls to prevent accidents.

Tektu found no section of wall under repair; she knew any such area would be under guard and she never got that sort of luck, anyway. But a recently repaired section would not be so crumbly to climb, and the holes for the scaffolding – called putlogs – would be large enough for her to squeeze in a hand or foot. Such a way in might not be here either.

After completing a circuit of the walls, Tektu knew she must climb.

Though the effort required would be irksome, she had no fear of falling. Those who punished her knew their work well and, if she survived a collapsing castle, a fall or two from the walls would only bring bruises and cost time.

When she finally selected the place for her climb, the only light came from the moon and stars.

Her chosen route, a recently repaired patch, thankfully lay in the moon's shadow, in the angled part between wall and one of the evenly spaced towers. No chance of being seen.

She found it surprisingly easy. Every block had a slightly rounded face, which gave a narrow ridge of just under an inca atop each one, before the stone above began to round out. She could reach the top of each sandstone block without stretching and, by angling her foot sideways, could comfortably stand on the narrow ridges the rounding allowed between the blocks, gripping a higher ledge with her fingers to help keep her balance.

Reach up, pull, push toes onto the ridge, push up on toes, turn foot, reach up with hand. Repeat.

The occasional putlog granted temporary relief, as soreness built in her hands and feet. She hoped she left no smears of blue blood behind her. She had grown so soft over the years! Even those who had witnessed her worst behavior usually only saw a sylph.

Some owners had spoiled her; Nijen da Re Taura had been especially indulgent.

No, she must not think of him now. The pain of her loss always faded eventually. They all died in the end, from either old age, when her ownership passed to the oldest child, or from violence, when ownership would pass to the killer.

But Nijen seemed to have a strong liking for sylphs. Even sylphs like Tektu. And there had also been Siaba. The pretty sylph scribe had died at Tektu's hand though, need driving her actions. If only she had managed to find Neptarik! Her present owner would be dead, and her last owner would still be alive. And she would never have needed to harm Siaba, one of the few Tektu had ever regarded with genuine friendship.

Dead now, gone to whatever came next for the lower orders of life.

Her temper simmered again and her pace up the wall increased. Suddenly, she reached the crenellations. She leaned through and carefully looked in both directions.

Nobody.

The city's buildings caused trouble now. Many overlooked the walls and, as the moon bathed the walkways in light, she had no way of remaining concealed.

Hopefully, anybody looking out of her window would assume she was just a sylph sent on an errand. Or one of those strange things that always seemed to happen at night.

Either way, the hard part lay behind her. She was in.

***
Chapter 19

Reversal Of Fortune

Kelanus suddenly discovered another drawback of having only five sylph scouts. Quite simply, he didn't have enough of them to cover all five of his groups.

When Eldovans, unannounced and unwelcome, suddenly smashed into his detachment of troops, he realized how utterly dependent on their reports he had become, and only having one sylph left large gaps in his outer defenses.

Shyamon ran somewhere out on the left flank, too far away to report directly to Kelanus. The General had become complacent and forgotten that human scouts could not do the work as well as sylphs.

"To me!" he bawled, reacting quickly as a deadly fall of arrows began to reduce his numbers.

In fairness, the Eldovans under his command reacted immediately, forming two defensive squares. So far, no doubting their intention to hold firm, even if they must fight their own countrymen. The beginning of the battle did not concern Kelanus, but rather what might happen later on.

Pikemen formed outer defensive squares, one surrounding the wagons and the other protecting Kelanus. Archers and cavalry formed inner squares, waiting for targets to present themselves.

Rhythmic thudding of hooves heralded more cavalry, attacking both squares from all sides. Archers loosed arrows at the newcomers, renocking and loosing, again and again.

Whips curled around the pikes, tearing them from the grip of those holding them in place. More cavalry pushed forward, exploiting the gaps.

Kelanus looked down, saw Tula cowering with her hands over her ears, reached down and gripped her silver hair. Uncaring of her protests, he hauled her to her feet.

"Is anybody whistling out there?" he yelled at her. "Tula!" He gave the infertile a small shake.

The sylph came to her senses and her eyes abruptly focused again.

"Is Shyamon whistling?" he demanded again. "Any of them?"

Tula shook her head. Taved stepped forward and wrapped the sylph in his cloak, offering some protection.

Kelanus snarled as more Eldovans piled into the defensive squares and drew his sword. Tula should be anywhere but in the middle of a battle, but he had nowhere to send the sylph for safety. Contact with an enemy sword jarred his arm, then the General began to fight for his life.

Tahena! Was she safe?

He must leave Tahena until later.

More and more men piled into the melee. Kelanus cursed his oversight. He had expected to meet the enemy ahead and never considered that these Eldovans might find a gap to squeeze through at the rear.

Where had they waited?

How had they evaded the sylphs as five groups passed?

Where were the bloody sylphs?

A final jarring sensation and Kelanus's opponent fell from his horse. Sword dripping red, Kelanus turned, looking for his next victim.

A new noise, somebody using a speaking trumpet.

"Brother Eldovans! There is no need for you to die today. Put aside your arms, in Hingast's name."

"Hold fast!" bawled Kelanus, who knew very well that the longer they kept fighting, the greater the chance that Mirrin or one of the other groups would come to their aid. How come nobody else had noticed yet?

But then, the battle had raged for less than a minute.

Speaking Trumpet Man repeated his message, entreating Mirrin's Eldovans to surrender and avoid unnecessary killing.

"Archers!" shouted Kelanus, gesticulating with his sword. "Take that man out; put him down!"

The amplified voice continued. "Eldovans, your Prefect needs you. Do not listen to the Markan poison. Put aside your weapons and return with honor."

"Put him down!" repeated Kelanus, even as he slashed at another cavalryman who strayed too close. A useless clang on his armor, before both men spun away.

Two minutes.

Kelanus's square shrank with terrifying speed. Not just by deaths, but an increasing number of men listened to Speaking Trumpet Man, who repeated his words over and over. Cheers brought fresh hope until Kelanus realized they came from the men he fought.

There were no reinforcements. The other square had surrendered and men who had kept their resolve until now, wavered as they eyed that square to see no slaughter, just men being disarmed and lined up.

Kelanus glimpsed Tahena, a prisoner with the rest.

"Surrender, and you will be spared!" Nobody had taken Speaking Trumpet Man down and he continued to make his promises.

Men who faced death moments before, instead chose life.

Kelanus knew this battle was over. Eldovan fighting Eldovan had clearly been too much to ask for. He became aware of a man roughly his age, helmet tucked under his arm, approaching carefully. Dark blue eyes regarded him expressionlessly. Kelanus took a square cloth and wiped his blade, before sliding off his horse.

The other man came nearer and gave a small bow. "Lowst Adnan Irka," he said, formally. "Second General."

"Kelanus Arus Butros." Kelanus offered his sword, hilt first. "Field Commander and General."

"From Marka."

"Frodger."

Irritation, quickly suppressed, flickered in those dark blue eyes. "Working for Marka."

Kelanus inclined his head.

Lowst took Kelanus's sword and passed it to an assistant, before turning back. "When we dine tonight, you can explain why you have invaded my homeland."

***

General Lowst took no chances, perhaps fearing a sudden reversal of fortune should Kelanus manage to persuade the Eldovans to rebel again. He separated the Markans from the returning Eldovans and ordered two men to watch them.

Hanmer and Felis, disarmed, stood with Kelanus. The Markan yeoman's mouth twisted with distaste whenever he saw one of their former allies.

"Told you: never trust an Eldovan," Hanmer growled, several times.

Felis said nothing, but waited in silence.

Now the battle was done, Tula's usual startled expression had replaced her earlier terror. Strangely, she remained close to Kelanus and refused to join her fellow Eldovans.

The Eldovans who had formed Kelanus's group and survived the battle, kept their arms and armor. Split into smaller groups, they mingled with Lowst's men, despite the renowned contempt between Eldovans from the inner Prefecture and the outer Prefectures.

Once questioned, so Lowst could satisfy himself that these men really had marched under Mirrin and not been involved in Hingast's defeat at Kelanus's hands the previous year, the men were allowed to join with Lowst.

"It's hard to fight your own countrymen," said Kelanus.

"Lowst has made our task even harder," replied Hanmer. "We used the fear of what the Eldovans might do to returners to build our argument for replacing Hingast."

"Lowst is one man," retorted Kelanus. "Just one man. Let's see what happens when we reach Eldova."

"Is that where we're going?" asked Felis.

Kelanus smiled. "It's certainly where Mirrin's going," he replied.

"Can we now trust Mirrin?" muttered Hanmer.

"Could we ever?" added Felis.

Kelanus looked away from his companions and stared at the area where wounded men were tended together. Lowst's camp followers looked after them, and Tahena – allowed considerable freedom despite being a captive – healed those with the worst injuries.

"If Mirrin is trustworthy, he will attack this army and take us back," said Hanmer. "Not that I'm expecting anything anytime soon."

"Lowst will have scouts out." Felis shrugged. "Maybe Mirrin kept going."

Kelanus said nothing at first, but neither did he share his yeoman's cynicism. If Mirrin had any sense at all, he would avoid fighting running battles all the way to the city. Kelanus could see no point in such attrition, especially as any captives would be treated well.

"Mirrin and Janost will avoid fighting Eldovans if they can avoid it," said Kelanus, eventually. "That is sensible."

"And part of your reserve plan?" asked Hanmer.

Kelanus smiled and winked. "Part of my reserve plan," he admitted.

"Why are they waiting here?" Hanmer grimaced at another Eldovan who strayed too close. "Bloody turncoats."

Kelanus could see men digging a large pit. "We're waiting here to bury the dead," he said. Disappointment entered his voice. "Oh no."

A man led a horse towards Lowst, but Kelanus had spotted a painted body, streaked with blue, slung across the animal. Tahena had also seen it and now veered across, ignoring a woman bustling after her, probably demanding she return to the injured soldiers.

"That's Shyamon," said Kelanus.

"I hope so," said Felis, craning his neck to ensure the sylph tied to the horse was not his Ean. He ignored the look Hanmer shot his way.

The cavalryman with the horse untied the sylph from the horse, and the scout collapsed soundlessly to the ground.

Lowst beckoned to Kelanus and he crossed the ground at a run.

Kelanus looked down, relieved to see the sylph's chest rise and fall normally.

"Shyamon-y-Pulista," said Lowst. "According to his collar. One of yours, I believe."

Tahena reached the stricken scout at the same moment and laid her hands on him, gently probing for injuries.

"What happened to him?" demanded Kelanus. "What did you do?"

The man with the horse shrugged. "He ran, so we knocked him down."

"We?"

The man gestured towards the horse. Another sylph stood beside it. So Belaika had not been mistaken.

Lowst smiled. "That one is definitely not one of yours."

The sylph looked at Kelanus for a long moment, before melting away again, quickly out of sight as he returned to his duties.

Shyamon coughed as he woke and gave Tahena a terrified look. His earpoints tucked away, then jerked upright. He sat up and felt himself carefully. Kelanus crouched beside him.

"You all right?"

Shyamon nodded and smiled thanks to Tahena.

Kelanus turned his head. "You need to rest," he told her. His attention returned to the scout. "Keep quiet and tell them nothing," he whispered.

Shyamon nodded again and closed his eyes.

"I'll look after him," said Kelanus, before Lowst could say anything. "When we move on, do we get our horses?"

Lowst nodded. "You do."

***

That evening, Lowst entertained Kelanus and Tahena.

Lowst's tent was hardly ostentatious, though the tapestries hung on every side gave it a certain homeliness. Large enough to accommodate a polished table for three diners, with room left over for men to move around it to serve. An infertile sylph sat crosslegged in one corner, a peculiar stringed instrument on her knee. The sounds it made were pleasant enough.

Kelanus and Tahena exchanged a look as two soldiers showed them to their seats. Lowst stood politely, until his guests were seated.

"Very impressive, at such short notice," said Kelanus. His gaze fixed on his sword and spyglass, in the exact center of the table.

Lowst smiled, though his dark blue eyes remained watchful. "We must maintain the proper courtesies," he replied. "Rare for me to have company when in the field."

"I suppose you don't invite your prisoners to dine every day," added Tahena.

Lowst's smile for her was considerably warmer than for Kelanus. "That depends on the prisoner," he replied. "Rare for me to have one of the Gifted and a skilled General as guests."

"I'm surprised the rest of my people didn't fall on you today," said Kelanus, fishing for information. He was anything but surprised, though he had no need to tell this man.

Lowst raised an eyebrow. "Your people? They are Eldovans, even if outlandsmen. Hingast accuses the other group, those under his command you fought last year, of cowardice, desertion and treason. He is somewhat more tolerant of those you call yours. Now I've captured you, they must be considering their position. And I'm sure Hingast might reconsider his view of them once he knows they marched under your leadership."

"They still outnumber you," pointed out Kelanus. "It's not too late for them to make your life very unpleasant."

"Indeed." Lowst leaned back in his chair. "They, or at least their commanders, can guess what my orders are. But I assure you, Hingast is very keen to bring General Mirrin's men back to his side. And if not... Well, we'll see what he decides then. If I were them, I'd be trying to make up my mind how best to get myself back into Hingast's better graces."

"Where are they now?"

"Grouped together and still moving towards Eldova."

At least they had not surrendered. Kelanus nodded as a soldier offered alovak. He inhaled its aroma deeply, before sipping at the black liquid. "Have they sent a messenger to you?"

"Not yet. But my sylphs are still in contact and following their every move."

Kelanus hoped his sylphs were being a sight more careful than Shyamon. "And do you plan to attack them again?"

"Only if strictly necessary," replied Lowst. "I owe thanks to luck, rather than judgment, that I captured the real commander – you – first time."

"Sometimes we make our own luck," admitted Kelanus, sourly.

"Well, I never believed you would be with the central group." Lowst looked like he might start preening himself. "A tempting target, but a dangerous one."

Kelanus managed a smile. "So, lucky you today." He lightly stressed "today".

The same soldier returned to the tent and placed a bowl holding a nondescript brown liquid before each of them, together with sweet bread to mop it up.

"Venison broth," explained Lowst.

They ate in silence, until the man returned again to clear the bowls away. The sylph in the corner changed her music to something even more relaxing.

"I am interested to learn," said Lowst, between dabbing at his lips with a square of cloth, "why you decided to invade my homeland in the first place. I would understand if you had a Markan army at your back, but with Eldovans?"

"I'm here to end a duel that began in Sandester four years ago," replied Kelanus. "I brought Eldovans because I mean your country no harm."

Lowst drained his alovak. "Care to explain further?"

"The Hingast who returned to Eldova last year is not the Hingast who left," replied Kelanus.

"Experience forces us all to adapt," smiled Lowst.

"There's adapting, and there's being replaced," said Kelanus.

"Looks like the same man to me," retorted Lowst.

Kelanus leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "But he behaves differently," he said. "How many sylph hunts since his return? How many new Prefectures has he laid to waste? Where has his new found military skill sprung from? Does he listen to his advisors, when before he did not?"

"Still looks and sounds like Hingast."

"From your reaction," said Kelanus, "you are quick to understand what I'm talking about. Perhaps you have heard rumors?"

"There are always rumors." Lowst shrugged. "But he even sounds the same man."

"Voices can be trained, General," said Tahena. "And we believe the man pretending to be your monarch is a sorcerer."

A discordant plunk came from the corner and Kelanus saw the infertile musician staring in wide-eyed silence at Tahena.

"Believe is not proof, nor even evidence." Lowst turned his head. "Keep playing, Unnis."

The sylph blinked, nodded, and bent her head over her instrument. Moments later, soothing music again filled the tent. Even if the musician's earpoints remained wilted.

"You wanted to know why I came here, so I answered," replied Kelanus. "You, your people and your lands have been, and are being, played for fools. Hingast was a monster, possibly always cruel, and driven mad before his reign. But he was certainly Eldova's rightful ruler. How is his advisor, the man named Dervra?"

Lowst frowned.

"Abandoned you, hasn't he? Dervra was the man who kept Hingast in line, who encouraged him to hunt sylphs for sport, who wanted him to march to Marka and seize the throne. Where is he now?"

"I'm yet to hear any evidence Hingast is a different man," protested Lowst.

"Then I suggest you use your eyes and ears," said Kelanus.

Conversation came to an abrupt end as soldiers entered the tent and served the main course. For some time, the only sounds in the tent were those of gentle music, and contented eating.

"I would offer wine," said Lowst, as they finished the meal, "only I brought none with me. An oversight, I admit."

Once fresh alovak had been served, Lowst dismissed the sylph, who stood and bowed without giving a single word.

"Very well behaved," murmured Tahena. "A credit to her owner."

"Unnis? Yes, Sergeant Raynor is very proud of her. He spoils her though. We Eldovans don't usually tolerate such sulks from our sylphs."

Tahena nodded.

Lowst changed the subject. "Now we are alone, I want assurances from you, General Kelanus, on your honor."

Kelanus glanced at his sword and spyglass. "Go on," he rumbled.

"First, no attempt to escape, until we reach Eldova. What you do once you're out of my hands is none of my business."

"Granted."

Tahena looked at Kelanus in concern.

"Second, no interference with the authority of myself or my officers."

"Also granted."

"And third. Nothing about Hingast. Not a single word. I only hope Raynor's sylph has sense enough to keep her mouth shut."

Kelanus smiled. "When we reach Eldova, General Lowst, I will prove my words to you."

Lowst smiled back. "When we reach Eldova, General Kelanus, you will no longer be my responsibility."

***

"I say it is time to reconsider this foolish, insane plan!"

Marshal Janost's deep blue eyes flashed as he spoke and General Mirrin listened carefully. Not because he agreed, but so he could raise considered counterarguments. Now his opposite number held Kelanus prisoner, Mirrin feared a revolt within his own group. He must hold this together, especially now.

The wagon Grayar had moved from Marka boasted a canvas extension, a sort of tent in its own right, and Mirrin had commanded it to be erected this evening, with chairs placed within for all his Captains and Lieutenants. But Janost pulled rank, dismissing all but Captain Jediyah and Lieutenant Kadyah.

"And replace that plan with what, exactly?" asked Mirrin, quietly. He watched Wenna, the sylph who belonged to Kadyah, pad around the table offering alovak; followed by his own sylph, Shashi, who carried sweetmeats.

All the Markans were prisoners, except for the four remaining sylph scouts. At Mirrin's insistence, Belaika had been included in the meeting, though he stood unobtrusively to one side.

"You seem to think Kelanus is infallible," snapped Janost. "Should we remain as separate groups, whoever commands over there will pick us off one by one. As a single group, we can defend ourselves if attacked."

Mirrin hoped that would not happen. Those men captured alongside the Markans now marched with their fellow Eldovans. Mirrin wanted to avoid forcing Eldovan to fight Eldovan. Especially if some of those who had been marching with him this morning, might be fighting him tomorrow.

"If I ever thought Kelanus infallible, that belief would lie in tatters since his capture," countered Mirrin. He glanced across the tent at Belaika.

Mirrin found it ironic that he could trust a sylph – and an enemy sylph at that – more than some men he marched with. Infinitely more trustworthy than Marshal Janost.

Belaika remained impassive at the insult leveled at his commander, but Mirrin had learned enough of this scout over the past year to realize he would memorize every word Janost uttered.

Mirrin fought the temptation to ask for the scout's opinion. "Whoever commands will take Kelanus to Hingast," he pointed out. "Which is what Kelanus wants him to do."

"And you think we should also continue to Eldova." Janost's deep blue eyes glittered.

"Better than lurking out here, waiting for more men to reinforce those who would oppress us," said Mirrin. "We should stay close to those men already out here, and avoid battle for now."

"We should do our best to kill these men while we outnumber them," retorted Janost, his three chins wobbling. "Merge the groups and turn on them in the morning, regain our lost companions."

Mirrin shook his head. "We will need them all, once Hingast is replaced."

"How will you keep contact?" pressed Janost. "They have sylph scouts, which is how they got an entire army past all our scouts today."

"We also have sylph scouts," pointed out Mirrin.

"Who were of little use," snapped Janost.

Belaika stirred and opened his mouth to speak, but Mirrin silenced him with a quick shake of his head.

"We had one sylph scout with each group," countered Mirrin. "Even Kelanus said that's not the best way to use them."

"So why did he?"

"He had a plan that didn't work." Mirrin's dark brown eyes held no expression. "These things happen in war. We wanted oppo to fall on the central group, but he did something different instead. Tell me, how well did your plan to take Marka go?"

Janost's eyes flashed again, but he subsided, though Belaika received a cold stare as the sylph restrained laughter.

Mirrin continued. "I agree with you that we merge into one group again, and we can use the four remaining sylphs to best advantage."

Janost grunted. He still seemed reluctant to believe the Markan sylphs were of any use.

"I'll send human scouts with them," continued Mirrin. "They can carry messages, instead of the sylphs whistling. It'll take longer, but the risk of them running into enemy sylph scouts is minimized."

Janost shook his head and, perhaps fortunately, never saw the look Belaika directed his way. "Should we send our prisoners to scout for us?"

Mirrin blinked. "I do not think they are our prisoners," he said. "More our partners. Instead of staying as prisoners in Marka, we agreed to Kelanus's proposal and it's my understanding that we are still following that proposal. The situation hasn't changed, just that Kelanus is now in a different place."

"Once Hingast gets his hands on him, the best Kelanus can hope for is to be displayed in a cage." Janost sniffed. "More likely a public flaying and salting."

Belaika definitely gave the marshal a chill look now. Again, the sylph opened his mouth to speak.

Mirrin scowled again at the scout to silence him. Didn't these sylphs understand discretion? One thing to be encouraged to speak your mind, quite another to foolishly offer opinions to your enemy. Strange to think of Janost as an enemy, instead of Belaika.

Mirrin spoke to fill the silence. "Why did you come, Janost? Why are you here? To convert us back to the man who abandoned you, who left you to die? The man who's probably left orders for all returners to be quietly disposed of won't be very welcoming should you appear in Eldova."

Jediyah coughed into his hand. "I believe we are best staying as one group and continuing to Eldova," he said. "If the man holding Kelanus captive intended us any real harm, he would have begun before now. Should he show signs of beginning a slaughter, we must ride to our former companions' aid; if he leaves them in peace, we should do likewise."

Janost glared at Jediyah.

"These are fellow outlandsmen we're talking about," said Jediyah. He smiled. "We know we don't exactly get on well together with ayepees, but I don't see them killing each other, so I reckon we can safely proceed."

Kadyah joined in. "We should exchange envoys between our two groups," he said. "And I expect Kelanus will be working on whoever is in charge over there."

Janost grunted. "You're right about Hingast being unlikely to welcome me – or you – home, but I do want to know why he abandoned us. I want to know why he fled the battle before it was even clear we had lost."

"Why the prevarication?" murmured Mirrin.

"Because somewhere out there, if not today then tomorrow, returning Eldovans will die. It is those coming along the North Road I fear for most, because they are the ones Hingast abandoned, the ones he definitely does not want to see again."

"And what do you suggest?"

Janost sniffed. "I think we should go meet the returners from the north and let them join with us into one large army. It is easier to question Hingast from a position of strength. I reckon that we can together form an army larger than anything he can muster in Eldova."

"Delaying the inevitable," replied Mirrin. "A smaller force has more chance of infiltrating Eldova; they see a large army coming, and they'll shut the city gates to us. That means a siege, and a siege means bad feeling afterwards. We want to heal Eldova, not tear her apart."

"Going to Eldova is the worst possible choice," insisted Janost.

Mirrin shook his head. "For all I care, you can stay out here for ever, Marshal Janost, and gather your men as you see fit. But I'm going to Eldova and so are the men with us."

Janost narrowed his eyes. "I am your superior officer," he hissed.

"In Eldova you are." Mirrin forced a smile. "But we're marching under Kelanus's ultimate command and he named me his first officer, not you." He gestured towards Belaika. "That's the reason why he, and the other sylph scouts from Marka, are not our prisoners. We're going to Eldova, where we will face what comes like men, and not cower from a butcher like sheep."

Not even Mirrin could prevent Belaika from giving Marshal Janost a curt nod of satisfaction.

***

General Gusor often felt the weight of command, but never before like right now. As General commanding the North Road (all right, so he had awarded himself the title, but it did sound good), his duty included overseeing all the tired soldiers straggling home after last year's defeat. Simple enough in itself, especially as his orders from Hingast were clear.

Encourage those men to return to the field, guarding Eldova's outer borders from the expected Markan retaliation, or to begin raids on Markan territory again.

Or else he must massacre them.

Gusor had never flinched from massacre before. No matter how unpleasant, the option had always been open, especially after defeating an enemy, or annexing a neighboring Prefecture. But massacring your own soldiers felt a very different thing, leaving a sense that one's soul had been damned forever.

He had served with many of the men struggling home, had commanded some, and followed others. Even if individuals were unknown to him, many were brothers, sons, fathers, uncles or cousins to people he did know.

No matter how forcefully put, Gusor refused to believe that all these men were cowards and traitors. Soldiers knew discipline kept men alive in battle and he could not imagine so many would desert the battlefield. Even if the battle had been lost. Eldovans knew their enemies could employ massacres, too.

His orders commanded him to commit fratricide, but where did the responsibility ultimately reside? With the man who had given those orders, or with himself, prepared to carry them out even though he knew them to be morally repugnant, if not worse?

If orders were orders, he must follow them. And his were indeed so clear that a man far more stupid than himself could follow them.

But.

There was always a but.

And this but had appeared in the form of a horseman catching up with Gusor two days after he left Eldova, bearing a missive purportedly from Hingast, secured with a blob of blue wax, impressed with the Prefect's great seal. Gusor kept that missive on his person at all times, because when he returned to Eldova, he suspected only that would keep his head on his shoulders.

Even a paper shield was better than none.

The orders within contradicted those Hingast had given. Oh, the options he must give the returning troops remained the same, only these orders exhorted Gusor to "avoid massacre as far as possible" and to "negotiate with men returning from the field".

He knew many of his contemporaries viewed him as among the least intelligent in the officer corps, but he was far from stupid. Or less so than they believed. These orders had not come from Hingast, a man not in the habit of sending riders with messages two days after giving his commands.

If Thur Ran Racken had not written this letter, Gusor would run naked through the streets of Eldova with bells tied to his private parts. Still, it gave him an excuse to shrink from one of the more unpleasant duties Hingast expected from his commanders.

Gusor had traveled further into the Barren than intended, but he hoped that would encourage returners to turn around, while they still had sufficient food. In case they did not, half of Gusor's men were usefully employed buying foods to be handed over.

He looked up as he heard the outer guard's voice.

"Scout Ryvern, Sir!"

"Send him in." Gusor refolded the missive and tucked it away again, as the scout ducked into the tent.

Ryvern, a human scout – Gusor remembered a time only weeks ago when he had no need to qualify the race an army scout belonged to – entered the tent. Dressed in drab clothes, and with some sort of paint liberally applied to his exposed skin, only bright blue eyes showed the man's humanity.

"Another group, Ryvern?" asked Gusor.

"Yessir," replied Ryvern. "Roughly two hundred strong and a handful of camp followers. They'll be with us in about an hour. The sylphs spotted them leaving the forest."

Gusor nodded. "Still not won over?" he asked, quietly. "They do seem to be very good."

"The sylphs, Sir? I reserve judgment until I see them in battle."

Gusor smiled. "Of course. Have whoever commands these men brought to me as soon as you make contact."

"Very good, Sir."

Gusor returned to his administration after Ryvern left the tent. Requisition forms for the food (contrary to popular belief, the Eldovan Army only plundered food from foreigners; they must pay for food requisitioned from any Eldovan Prefecture), requests for promotion, reports on all those met and turned away...

This last still bothered him. Not so much the soldiers – after all, he was saving their lives, even if they did not initially realize it – but their camp followers. Civilians who served, waited on, made small items, repaired weapons, armor and carts, officers' sylphs. Even they were sent back into the field.

Many had died, whether from disease or fights against people seeking revenge (Gusor still felt a flush of anger now he knew that General Kelanus had disarmed the defeated Eldovans). Many more had died from hunger and cold through the long winter when people had no food to spare. Many more had simply taken arms in the service of the many petty lords and small Prefectures that lay along the road leading home.

Some had even already suspected what alternative might await them if they returned home.

What most of the men Gusor had interviewed said about Hingast he did not dare report.

Eventually, Ryvern returned with a young Lieutenant. Gusor relaxed in his chair, leaning back and clasping his hands on his stomach, his papers still spread across the desk between him and the young officer. He seemed vaguely familiar from somewhere.

This boy had led his men across more than a thousand milas and managed to navigate the Barren to stand before him today. His armor now rusty and his uniform worn, he had proved his leadership. A thin fuzz of a mustache decorated his upper lip, which put him at... seventeen, eighteen? A beardless boy. Yet those dark blue eyes stared coldly and watched everything intently. He had seen battle and death.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. I am General Gusor."

The Lieutenant inclined his head, though his eyes did not change. "Dagban Shedry," he replied. "Sir."

Gusor ignored the slight gap before the boy said "sir". Now he knew why this one seemed familiar. "Is your father Raynor Shedry?" he asked.

Dagban blinked. "He is, Sir."

"I served with him a few years ago. A talented code breaker."

Dagban nodded. "He is good at whatever he turns his hand to," he replied.

"Then you deserve to know that I am not here to welcome you home."

Nothing showed on the boy's face, which suggested he had already guessed that. If he had half the intelligence of his father...

"His Majesty seems keen to see your men patrolling the Barren," continued Gusor, managing a smile that even touched his hazel eyes. "Or better still, raiding small lands between here and Marka."

"My men are exhausted," countered the young officer.

Gusor grimaced. The boy was not the first to be overprotective of his men. A sign of a good officer. He glanced down at his notes. "Lieutenant Dagban, your care for your men is commendable, but His Majesty made his orders quite plain. You are now under my command, and my orders are to secure the Northern March against infiltrators and spies."

Dagban scowled. "My men have been away from home for almost two years. They have done their bit and earned their rest. Sir."

"I appreciate that, Lieutenant, but you and your men must now join my command."

"To walk up and down the North Road to protect those in the city who have done nothing for the past two years. Which is more than you've been doing. I can tell this camp has been here for weeks. Where were you when we were repulsed from Marka? Where were you when we –"

Gusor smacked his hand down on his chair arm. "Enough, Dagban! I have had my orders and I have followed my orders, as have you."

Dagban stood bolt upright, dark blue eyes even colder. "I will return to my men and make it plain whose orders prevent them from seeing loved ones again. I am sure they will insist we proceed to Marka."

"Blame whoever you wish, Lieutenant, but let me show you what my orders actually are." Gusor slid the original parchment across the desk.

A muscle twitched in Dagban's cheek as he scanned the orders. Tendons stood out in his forearms as he resisted the urge to crush the parchment in his hands.

"I have shown these to nobody else," said Gusor. "And I show you only because of the respect I have for your father."

Dagban's eyes burned with fury when next he looked up and Gusor reassessed his opinion. This was no boy, no matter how young.

"Cowardice and treason?" hissed Dagban. "Hingast and a few of his men abandoned us. They left us to die. And so we would have, if Marshal Janost had not surrendered." He gestured at the parchment after tossing it back onto the desk. "This has it the wrong way around. The traitors and cowards are in Eldova, not out here."

"So others have told me," said Gusor.

"How many have you murdered?"

"None," replied Gusor. "But neither have any passed."

"If I give this to my men, they might decide to tear us to pieces," said Dagban. "They have seen much and want only to return home."

"That is understood," replied Gusor, "but safer if they do not. I urge you to choose life; Eldova will need all her sons in the days to come."

Dagban sighed and his shoulders sagged. A moment later he firmed himself again and his dark blue eyes simmered with resentment. "Where do you want us to patrol?" he asked.

Gusor relaxed and only just managed to hold in a sigh of relief. No need for murder today.

***

Kelanus could just make out Shyamon's features in the glow of the dying embers. Curled up with his earpoints tucked away, his knees almost obscured his face. Kelanus wondered how sylphs could sleep deeply while so tightly curled.

Though Tahena had healed the scout's injuries, most of the strength for that had come from the sylph. Kelanus almost felt guilty about waking the scout, and knew Tahena would not approve, but there was work for him. Every sylph scout learned early in training that the job always came first. Leaning down, Kelanus put a finger to his lips, and gently shook the sylph awake with his other hand.

Shyamon's eyes snapped open and his earpoints flicked free. He blinked a couple of times, opened his mouth to protest, then saw Kelanus. He immediately sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"Come with me," the General whispered, in little more than a breath.

Shyamon slipped free from his blanket and obediently padded after commander. Men slept all around, some in tents, but many not. Before long, they neared one of the carts.

A pair of sylph eyes glowed in the darkness and Tula stepped forward, blinking.

"I need to find out if Mirrin is still in contact," whispered Kelanus.

Shyamon looked around nervously. "There are many in the camp."

"Most won't hear you," said Kelanus. "And the camp sylphs here might not know Mirrin's trick. If they do, Tula here will point them the wrong way."

"Their scouts will hear," countered Shyamon.

Kelanus grimaced in the darkness. He had forgotten about them. "Send the pinger, then move."

Shyamon nodded and puckered his lips. Tula stared at him, some of her earlier fear returning. Her earpoints twitched to the left before she turned her head.

"Ean is out there," said Shyamon.

Kelanus smiled. "Ask him if Mirrin intends continuing to Eldova."

Shyamon nodded again, and complied.

"That is the plan," said the scout, after a brief pause. He ignored the look Tula gave him.

"Good." Kelanus nodded to himself. "Back to your blankets, Shyamon."

"Se bata."

"Looks like you weren't needed." Kelanus smiled at Tula. "You may as well get some sleep as well."

The camp slept on and Kelanus hoped he'd got away with the clandestine communication. At least it seemed that Mirrin stayed loyal to the plan they had concocted together.

They would regroup in Eldova itself.

Smiling to himself, Kelanus settled into his blankets and fell asleep happy.

***
Chapter 20

Marching To Eldova

Helen lay in that comfortable zone somewhere between sleeping and waking. Her husband lay beside her and she smiled to think of her personal triumph. So long neglected, she had again snared Hingast and renewed his passion.

She had won him back.

And yet, something about him was different, though she had no intention of dwelling on that now.

A knock on her door, little more than a gentle tap, brought her fully awake.

"Come, Riccan," she called, as Hingast sat up beside her.

Hingast had presented each of his wives with an infertile sylph as a wedding gift, but Helen preferred to keep company with the sylph her father had given her. Riccan had replaced – and been named after – a pet she had lost.

They had grown up together and, although Hingast's gift – named Eltan – was much loved, Helen kept Riccan closer.

"A messenger for His Majesty, anya," said Riccan, stood in the doorway.

Hingast grunted and threw the bedclothes aside. "You must excuse me, my love," he said, gently stroking her cheek with his fingers.

"Of course, my lord," murmured Helen, before collapsing with a giggling fit. She felt ten years younger again.

She watched Hingast leave her chamber as Riccan pulled the drapes away from the windows.

"Alovak, anya?" the sylph asked.

"Send Eltan for it," she commanded. She beckoned Riccan closer and seized the surprised sylph, hugging her close. "He loves me again," she whispered.

As an infertile, Riccan did not understand such things, but she managed a smile. "Yes, anya," she said, certain this was the proper response.

"Go and send Eltan for the alovak, then return to me."

Riccan wriggled free of her mistress and padded quietly out of the room.

Helen watched her go, wearing a happy smile. Her husband loved her again.

***

The man who called himself Hingast grunted his thanks as a sylph proffered alovak. In the map room, he sipped at the black liquid and nodded to the only other man in the room.

"You have some important news?"

Thur Ran Racken nodded. "Indeed. Several pigeons have returned from our men in the field. General Gusor reports that Eldova bleeds no more sons for now. Every group returning so far has accepted the further duties you offered."

Hingast shrugged. "If any refuse the terms, then they must pay the price. You disagree?"

"Yes," rumbled Thur.

The man who called himself Hingast knew such a blunt answer would have sent the real Hingast into a towering rage, but this Hingast respected such candor. "Explain."

"Sooner or later we will need those men."

"Once a coward, always a coward," responded Hingast.

"Marka will come knocking on our gates soon or late," Thur pointed out. "Talking of Markans, General Lowst has also reported."

Hingast drained his alovak and sat. He thrust the mug towards the sylph hovering beside the door.

"More," he commanded. "And fetch Thur some, too."

Thur grunted. "Lowst has captured Markans. He thinks all the Markans who marched with Mirrin and Janost are now his prisoners, except for their sylphs."

"How many?"

"Three fighting men," replied Thur, "as well as one woman, one sylph scout and one infertile sylph. Though he assures me the infertile is Eldovan."

"Just three soldiers?" Hingast sounded incredulous. "Hardly the invasion you fear so much."

Thur said nothing to that. "The senior Markan is one General Kelanus Arus Butros."

Hingast sat very still. "He's come all this way, almost alone. Why?"

"As Lowst is returning to Marka, we will find out soon enough." Thur smiled. "I would very much like to meet this Kelanus, see if there is anything I can learn from him."

The man who called himself Hingast scowled. "Whatever he might have to offer, you had better learn quickly," he retorted. "I want to see General Kelanus, regicide and mutilator of sylphs, dead. When he arrives, bring him directly to me."

***

Mirrin's day had begun strangely.

Messenger Malan had brought a dusty rider before him. A young man, clearly Eldovan, and unarmed. He had inclined his head to Mirrin.

"Lieutenant Elling," he said, introducing himself.

Mirrin took in the young man's appearance and the fine cut of his clothing. No ordinary soldier this, but a lordling, with his commission purchased, rather than earned.

"General Mirrin," he replied, rubbing a hand across his stubble.

Elling smiled, deep blue eyes lighting. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he replied. "My father has always spoken highly of you."

Whoever he might be, Mirrin reflected. "What can I do for you?"

General Lowst wishes to meet with you, Sir." Clearly a youngster who liked to come straight to the point. "Today, between the two armies. Just you and him, unarmed. You may bring a sylph scout and an escort with you, as will my General."

"What does he want?"

The other's smile turned wistful. "Ah, he does not share his plans with so junior and inexperienced an officer as myself."

"That I doubt, Lieutenant Elling, unless Lowst has changed the way he runs things a very great deal since we last met."

"Even so, Sir, he has not shared his intentions with me, on this exact subject. He must have his reasons."

"Return to your commander. I shall meet him at the precise midway between us at noon." Mirrin smiled. "Go in safety, Lieutenant Elling."

The young officer bowed again and left the tent.

"Trap," said Shashi, returning with alovak.

"You've grown very cynical in the past year," Mirrin told her. "And you might be right."

Shashi managed a smile. "You do not intend going?"

"Of course I do. Shashi, rattle up Janost and send him to see me. And if you can find him, send Belaika in too. If you can't find him, any of the Markan scouts will do."

Shashi's mouth firmed. She still could not hide her distaste for sylph scouts, though it seemed Belaika could do no wrong in her eyes. Before leaving, she bobbed her head in acknowledgment, but said nothing.

Janost blustered in almost immediately.

"Why's that upstart asked you and not me?" he demanded.

Somebody's already been asking questions, thought Mirrin. Did the lordling come to see me directly, or did he first speak with you? Aloud, he said: "He probably fears you might try to bully him into something. After all, you are the senior man."

For once flattery failed.

"I should go in your stead," insisted Janost.

Mirrin considered it, but eventually shook his head. "We need someone senior to look after the men, in case this is a trap," he replied.

"Noble of you."

Their conversation came to an end as Belaika scratched on the tent wall before entering. Janost blew out his cheeks and gave the sylph a considering look. The scout glanced once at the marshal, before turning his attention to Mirrin.

"There is something I'd like you to do," said the General. "I'm going to meet the enemy and I want you to come along too."

Janost muttered something under his breath, but was ignored.

"I stand ready," said Belaika. He smiled. "And I get to see one of the Eldovan sylph scouts?"

"Probably." Mirrin smiled back. "Very probably."

***

And so, as the sun climbed to its highest point for the day, neither army had moved. Heat haze shimmered as two horses approached each other. Beyond, two lines of armed men stood quietly in the long grass.

Belaika walked at Mirrin's stirrup and the General felt strangely reassured by the sylph's presence. The Markan scout never looked up and said nothing, but that the scout had come pleased Mirrin. He felt grateful to have met this sylph and he suspected some sort of mutual respect existed between them. Mirrin had left his sword behind, and he trusted Lowst had the good sense to have done likewise.

Either way, he would soon find out.

Mirrin saw another painted sylph, this one walking alongside Lowst's horse.

"There were no sylph scouts in Eldova when I left," Mirrin said to Belaika. "How good will they be?"

Belaika shrugged. "They will be inexperienced," he said.

Both horses halted, the distance far enough to prevent any swordplay. Not that such was possible, Mirrin realized, seeing that Lowst carried no sword.

"So you finally got that generalship you've always craved," said Mirrin, breaking the short silence. Fully aware of the two sylphs staring at each other, he indicated his scout with a gloved hand. "This is Belaika, one of the famed Markan scouts."

"I've already met one. Ah, Shyamon his name is."

Belaika barely blinked at the news, but he eyed the other sylph warily, earpoints slanted slightly backwards. Their camouflage was similar, but Belaika wore his hair very short, while the other sylph had his tied back from his face. The Eldovans had not realized that tammin leaf juice masked a sylph's sinabra; Belaika could smell his opposite number, a distinct disadvantage in the field.

"Shyamon is a prisoner," said Mirrin.

"All the prisoners are being treated well." Lowst gave Belaika a dispassionate glance. "The Markans that is. The Eldovans I captured are not prisoners."

"Magnanimous of you."

"Just following orders." Lowst smiled. "Your men are all offered safe passage to Eldova."

Mirrin returned the smile, if a considerably less friendly one. "And you believe your thousand men can stop us if you wished?"

"We'd give it a good try," replied Lowst. "But fighting is unnecessary."

"Forgive me if I do not trust your word," replied Mirrin. He kept one eye on the sylphs, who now warily circled each other. Their earpoints were still slanted backwards. Mirrin had never heard of violence between sylphs, but they sometimes squabbled.

"As you wish." Lowst shrugged, as if it did not matter. "You want to travel to Eldova, my orders are to escort you and my prisoners to Eldova. Our immediate goals are the same, so why do we need to fight?"

"Dsak," the Eldovan sylph growled at Belaika.

Belaika did not retaliate verbally, but the set of his lips showed his contempt for the other scout.

"Aiten." Lowst pointed to his stirrup and the named scout obediently stepped back into place, though he continued to stare venomously at his opposite number.

"Belaika." Mirrin copied Lowst's gesture. "Please."

The Markan sylph also subsided and stepped back, though his contemptuous sneer stayed in place.

"You suggest we march to Eldova together?" asked Mirrin.

Lowst shook his head. "Keep your independence. I suggest we escort you to Eldova, admittedly from a safe distance. Though I doubt if you will be allowed into the city without permission from Hingast. He seems to think that so many of you are cowards and traitors. His words, not mine."

"If Hingast is who he claims to be," said Mirrin quietly.

Lowst gave no reaction, though Aiten stared.

"You've heard then," continued Mirrin.

"My prisoner has made some wild claims; I am disappointed to see you've fallen for his foolishness."

Mirrin shrugged. "We'll see."

"Your friend squealed in terror when we took him," Aiten told Belaika.

Again, Belaika refused to rise.

"Be silent, boy," growled Lowst. "We treat together; this is no place for insults."

Belaika managed a small smile for the other sylph's public humiliation, but stilled his face almost immediately.

"You offer me a peaceful journey to Eldova?" asked Mirrin.

Lowst nodded. "So long as you return that compliment and for so long as you continue traveling to the city."

"Done." Mirrin moved his horse forward and offered his hand.

"Done." Lowst smiled. "Come, Aiten." He turned his horse and rode away.

Mirrin watched them go before he looked down at the scout stood beside his horse. "Well Belaika, what did you make of that?"

***

"Tell me what you learned about Belaika," said Lowst, keeping his horse to a slow walk for Aiten's benefit. Not even sylphs could comfortably run and talk at the same time.

"Impressive," replied Aiten. "And disciplined. He did not respond to my insults."

"And that makes him impressive?" Lowst cocked an eyebrow.

Aiten shrugged. "He carries himself well. He has confidence and I suspect much experience, despite being so young."

"They start them young in Calcan," said Lowst.

"I think he is calm under pressure. He... intimidated me."

Lowst stared at the sylph in surprise. "You didn't look very intimidated to me."

Aiten shrugged. "He is a seasoned scout and I am not."

"They are not infallible," pointed out Lowst.

"Neither are humans, but they intimidate me too."

Lowst chuckled. "Well I think you sylphs have made an excellent start. Are you no nearer working out how their whistles work?"

Aiten's earpoints wilted. "No. I think a human worked out how the whistles should sound and taught the sylphs. It is hard to unravel that backwards." The sylph looked disgusted with himself at this failure.

"Well keep trying." Lowst gave the sylph a reassuring smile. He hoped Aiten didn't fear punishment. One clear difference between the two sets of sylph scouts was that the Markan sylphs felt easier speaking their mind.

He must try to find a way around the problem of decoding the enemy whistles himself. Sergeant of Signals Raynor and his sylph Unnis might be able to help with that.

***

Mirrin and Janost sat in the shade of Mirrin's tent, while Shashi and Belaika hovered, the latter to pass on any whistled messages.

"We should get a half day's march in," insisted Janost. "Put some distance between us. I cannot trust having that army so close – Lowst has attacked us once; there is nothing to stop him from doing it again."

Mirrin cocked an eyebrow. "You think he is so untrustworthy?" He nodded thanks as Shashi topped up his alovak.

"He might not have shared all his orders," replied Janost. "I know how Hingast thinks. He abandoned us and there is no way he wants anyone to turn up and give their side of the story. I note how we are regarded as cowards and traitors, who abandoned Hingast, rather than the other way around. Nice touch, until people start turning up again. Better if they are silent, and the best way to keep men silent is to kill them."

Mirrin saw shock painting Belaika's face. A young, if experienced scout, the sylph was probably used to the decent behavior always exhibited by Marcus and Branad.

"We were not with Hingast," replied Mirrin. "That offers some protection."

"I was." Janost's voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "So too was Kelanus. And Hingast will know you and I are marching together. You are tainted with the charges as much as I am."

Aware Shashi stared at him in horror, Mirrin gave his sylph a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"We can stay for today and give the men a short break."

"I expect Lowst has his sylphs spying on us," said Janost. "How many has he got?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Mirrin.

"Ten," said Belaika. "Working in five pairs."

"Are you certain?" Janost still failed to hide his distaste at the scout's forwardness.

"Pretty certain," insisted the male sylph.

"Does Lowst know Shyamon is sending reports to us?" asked Janost.

"If he keeps them discreet, Shyamon might be able to get away with it," said Mirrin. "I'm not even sure that Lowst is using his sylphs to pinpoint whistles."

"Assume that he is," offered Janost, unable to keep admiration out of his eyes. "He is as intelligent as you, despite what people say."

Mirrin smiled before he turned to Belaika. "Your impressions of those scouts are what, exactly?"

"Inexperienced but good," replied the scout. Shashi stared at him, amazed a sylph was allowed to participate in the meeting. "They work in pairs, which reduces their effectiveness, but they can conceal themselves well."

"Thought you might have an advantage in spotting them," grunted Janost.

"Only if they move," replied Belaika. "Movement is what gives a position away."

Janost grunted again. "I suppose they move more, working in pairs."

"They do not have whistles," pointed out Belaika, "so one acts as messenger. But now we must move after reporting, so perhaps we move the same."

"Your whistles might be your weak point," said Janost.

"Only if there are sylphs to hear them," countered Belaika.

"Which there are," pointed out Janost.

"We number four," said Belaika. "You can have two pairs, or four scouts. Against ten, who must work as five pairs."

"Continue as you've been trained," Mirrin told Belaika. He turned his attention to Janost. "And we stay here today."

***

Ean lurked somewhere between the two armies, hiding easily in the long grass, feet dangling into the reverse slope while he faced the enemy Eldovans. With more Eldovans behind, allegedly not the enemy. He'd asked for the detail early that morning and hurried eagerly into place when it became obvious that neither army would move today. He'd watched Mirrin and Lowst ride toward each other and watched them ride away again.

It felt strange to follow orders given by Eldovans, now Kelanus and his Markan companions had been taken prisoner.

Before arriving at his station, he sent a pinger to Shyamon, a captive with his owner. He'd received no reply. Even so, he whistled a question, asking after his owner Felis, and he still waited for an answer.

He felt a flush of embarrassment. He had asked Felis if he would consider manumitting his scout. But Ean had not actually asked for manumission yet. And he now pined for his owner, still thought of him as his owner. No, not pining. Felis had been part of his life for almost all of it, he should feel no shame in asking after the man's welfare. And besides, he could hardly ask for manumission while his owner remained a prisoner, let alone receive it.

Felis had promised Ean a wife, but nothing had happened. Always open minded, Ean had listened to the wild sylphs argue against slavery. He had considered the arguments, yet felt unpersuaded by them.

Until Tensan tangled his feelings and loyalties into knots.

A wild sylph female, Tensan had willingly volunteered for scout training, among the first wild sylphs to do so. She had as many seasons as he did, and showed herself very keen to spend time with the sylph responsible for spotting and reporting the slavers' caravan that had held her prisoner. If not for Ean, all the wild sylphs now in Marka would have gone to the sales block.

But Tensan had a price for her hand. Ean must ask for manumission. Ean must put aside his collar.

A difficult choice, but Ean spent hours talking with his owner and now his mind was set. When Felis regained his freedom, Ean would ask for his manumission. He could put it off no longer. The world was changing and even sylphs must change with it. Adapt or die, as Tensan said.

He made no secret of his decision and the other sylphs in the camp had given mixed reactions.

Belaika had congratulated him, but shook his head when Ean asked if he might not also like to ask for freedom. Shyamon shrank back from the suggestion, earpoints wilted, and Samel had laughed while shaking his head in refusal. Of the scouts, only Fhionnen considered Ean's plea, earpoints slanted forwards in interest, but he refused to say a word on the subject.

The infertiles in the camp had refused as one. Divyan, one of the orphaned Eldovan sylphs, had gripped the nametag on her collar and burst into tears. But then, Ean knew all infertiles were strange.

Ean concentrated on the grassland, lifting his head just enough to see. He hoped to catch one of the scouts on the opposing side. They had lost Shyamon and Ean desperately wanted to restore some balance. He had to admit that he had no idea how to go about capturing an enemy sylph. The thought of inflicting violence brought a shudder, so he supposed that method was out. And no doubt any enemy sylph who felt threatened would just run away.

His earpoints pricked up as he heard a very faint whistle.

Still there, Ean?

At last, Shyamon!

Yes, he whistled back.

All well here. Felis says hello.

Ean swallowed a lump. Stupid sylph! He'd be sobbing like an infertile next. Please say hello back. Hope to see you all soon.

A quick acknowledgment, then silence again.

About to drop back out of sight, Ean paused. Could he see movement down there? He squinted and a slow smile spread across his face. Perhaps it would be his lucky day, after all.

***

Thur Ran Racken scanned the report three times before he sighed and leaned back in his chair, a solitary cushion his only concession to comfort.

"Alovak, enya?" Sensing her owner's tiredness, the sylph stood patiently beside his chair.

"Thank you Heba, alovak will be most welcome. Before you brew that, will you please send Ederin to me?"

The infertile flashed him a quick grin, bobbed her head in acknowledgment, grabbed the empty alovak can and all but skipped out of the room. Moments later, Ederin entered.

"Anything I can help with?" Even though properly deferential, the gray-haired secretary was no soldier.

He had accompanied Thur on many campaigns and had been with him more than twenty years. Captured on a slave raid, he had proved so useful, that Thur manumitted him a few years later.

"Gusor has done well to avoid killing men returning from the east," said Thur. "But eventually, he'll meet a commander who will insist on returning all the way to Eldova. His orders are to massacre all those who persist."

Ederin barely blinked. Of course, he would have read all the messages.

"We need those men," insisted Thur. "How can we possibly defend ourselves without them? At some point, the Markans will follow."

"Perhaps His Majesty will have to buy or hire several companies of mercenaries," suggested Ederin.

"Who are not always reliable. Homegrown men are always better for defending their own homeland."

"Of course." Ederin inclined his head and looked over his shoulder as Heba returned with the alovak.

Thur sat back again and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to have to change Gusor's orders," he said, eventually. "Perhaps without Hingast's knowledge."

Heba gave her owner a concerned look and her earpoints wilted.

"A dangerous course to steer, Sir," said Ederin.

"I know that." Thur forced irritation away. "Everything is dangerous with Hingast, though admittedly he's not as bad these days."

"To save those men, you must move quickly," continued Ederin. "A fast rider must be sent with the amended orders you suggest."

"Do you think Hingast'll change his mind?"

Ederin pursed his lips. "If we were told the truth about these men, that they are cowards and traitors, then he might see the logic in keeping these men alive, especially if Marka is stamping on their heels. They can act as a buffer, and at least slow any Markan advance."

"I'm waiting for the but."

Ederin shrugged and spread his hands. Heba poured two mugs of alovak and stood back, though she paid close attention to everything Ederin had to say.

"If we turn the accusations around, and it is Hingast and those few returning with him who are the cowards, then he will never agree to sparing their lives."

"That is just rumor," said Thur.

"Just so." Ederin inclined his head again. "You should petition His Majesty, state your case and listen to his answer. That should tell you which scenario is likely correct."

"I should send the rider even if Hingast's answer is no?"

"With caution Sir, yes." Ederin smiled. "I can forge His Majesty's signature if required. If these men are as His Majesty says, you are effectively joining in their treason."

Thur nodded. "Find me a reliable man," he commanded. "I shall go and see Hingast. If he says yes, we are safe."

"If he says no, we are all likely to be dead," pointed out Ederin. "And your family, Sir."

Heba's eyes widened.

Thur sipped at his alovak. "It must be done," he said, eventually. "For Eldova's good. Heba?"

"Though I am frightened to die, I stand with you, enya," replied the sylph.

"You won't be dying," Thur assured her. "Not before your proper time, anyway." He drained his alovak and turned his attention to his secretary. "Get me an appointment with Hingast."

Ederin nodded. "As you command, so do I obey."

As the door closed quietly behind Ederin, Thur patted Heba's shoulder. "You'll be safe," he promised.

***

Ean jumped in front of the enemy sylph scout, facing away from him.

"Do not fire, lads!" he called out, in the human tongue. "We will capture him instead."

Before the startled Eldovan sylph had time to react, Ean had turned back to face him. "Do not run for the Father's sake," he said. "They will put four feathers through you before you can take two steps."

The other sylph's mouth dropped open and his earpoints shot bolt upright in shock.

Ean turned away again. "Vaul, Burred, do not shoot him! Look, he has surrendered."

The enemy sylph had his arms spead and looked about him with frightened eyes, earpoints now wilting. "I cannot see these archers," he protested.

Ean shrugged. "Run, then." He folded his arms.

"All right!" The sylph kept his arms wide. "I surrender."

"Hold your hands out in front of you," said Ean. He stepped forward as the other obeyed and tied his hands together. "I am Ean-y-Felis."

"Aiten," replied the enemy sylph. "Aiten-y-Hingast."

"Auspicious owner," said Ean.

Aiten shrugged. "All scouts belong to His Majesty."

"Where is your mate?" pressed Ean. "We know you work in pairs."

"Carrying a message," replied Aiten.

Ean knew it must be something like that, because he had seen only one scout moving. "You walk in front of me," he commanded. "Remember: run and you die." He raised his voice. "Stay out at the side lads."

Aiten looked around, eyes still fearful. "I do not see them," he said.

"They have learned well from us," replied Ean. "Less noise and walk that way."

Aiten obeyed in frightened silence.

Before long, one of the scouts met them – the real Vaul. The human had painted himself in the same camouflage as that used by the sylphs.

"How did you catch this fish?" he demanded of Ean. He smiled at Aiten's obvious discomfort.

Ean shrugged. "A bit of bluff. Like playing cards."

Aiten turned on his captor. "You lied: there were no archers!"

Ean smiled. "You had no way of knowing that."

"You lied," repeated Aiten. "You –"

"You are a prisoner," said Vaul. "And if I were you I'd keep quiet, else I'll demonstrate to Ean how Eldovans deal with insubordinate sylphs."

Ean restrained a laugh as Aiten fell silent, earpoints quivering in outrage and humiliation.

"Good work, Ean." Vaul smiled. He gave Aiten a firm look. "C'mon you, let's go and see the Boss."

Aiten looked over his shoulder at Ean and disgust shone in his silver eyes. Ean shrugged his shoulders and turned away. He had captured an enemy scout! Somehow, it made up for his owner's capture and he felt some honor had been restored.

Perhaps there might even be some choca for him.

***

General Lowst again entertained Kelanus and Tahena in his tent. The same infertile sylph sat crosslegged in her corner, the same stringed instrument on her knee. She played different tunes, all probably learned by rote.

Kelanus hoped the music had all been learned by rote; if this sylph could write musical notation, they risked losing the secret of the sylphs' whistles. He now suspected there might be another reason why she sat in at mealtimes.

"I strongly suspect today's little discussion with General Mirrin is also a good result for you?" Lowst arched an eyebrow.

"We are all going to Eldova, which makes me very happy."

"That emotion may change once Hingast gets his hands on you."

Kelanus smiled. "Perhaps."

"Let's talk about Shyamon." Lowst took a sip of alovak. "A fine example of the sylph race, I would say."

"The scouts have to be physically fit specimens," said Kelanus. "As I'm sure you know. Weaklings are no use, nor those with a fear of wide open spaces."

"Very true." Lowst gestured towards Tahena. "It would be a very great pity to damage such a fine specimen, especially after Tahena's efforts Healing him."

Kelanus narrowed his eyes and ignored the discordant plunk that came from the sylph in the corner. She bent her head over her instrument, adjusting a string, before the pleasant music continued. "Why would you damage him?"

Lowst smiled. "Surely you know he has been whistling messages out from this camp? Presumably to General Mirrin. You must of course understand that such actions violate the spirit of our agreement, if not the letter. Perhaps you did not impress upon him the nature of our discussion."

"Whistling has nothing to do with our agreement," said Kelanus. "If the boy wants to whistle –"

"If the boy does not stop his clandestine whistling, I will be forced to do something about it." Lowst leaned forward. "I have no wish to take any such action, but that does not mean I'll shrink from it."

Tahena stared at Lowst as if seeing him for the first time.

"I'll tell him." Kelanus assumed the air of the wronged party. It probably no longer mattered: everything important had already been communicated.

Lowst smiled and relaxed. "I'm so pleased," he said. "There really is no need for any unpleasantness, particularly towards sylphs."

Everybody turned as a messenger entered the tent. He leaned over Lowst and spoke directly into his ear. Again, the sylph in the corner gave out a couple of discordant notes, clearly overhearing whatever message the man brought, and this time she did not start playing again. She stared wide-eyed at Lowst, her earpoints partly wilted.

"Bad news, General?" Kelanus managed to avoid smiling.

Lowst waited until the messenger had left. He turned his attention to the infertile. "Keep playing, girl."

The sylph's earpoints jerked upright and she nodded. Moments later, soothing music again filled the tent.

"One of our scouts has failed to report." Lowst's dark blue eyes glittered.

"Lost him? That seems careless." Kelanus gave Lowst a quick grin and ignored the glare Tahena directed his way. "Perhaps he deserted."

"More likely captured."

"I can ask Shyamon to find out whether or not your sylph is a prisoner," offered Kelanus. "Of course, he'll have to whistle to ask the question." And it also meant Shyamon could get the rest of the information out.

This time, Kelanus smiled in pure pleasure.

***
Chapter 21

Prepared For War

General Paul Ulvic Tennan reined in his horse and dismounted. He now stood on the North Horn of Ramte, with all of Maturia stretching behind him. He looked across the green water of the Eastern Ocean where it met the Bay of Plenty, with nothing to show where one ended and the other began. If he traveled east across the sea, Re Taura would be the first land he reached and if he went south, the next lands he touched belonged to Marcus Vintner of Calcan.

The next land south, imaginatively enough, men called the South Horn of Ramte. Whoever controlled the horns, controlled trade entering and leaving the Bay of Plenty. Up until thirty years ago, Sandester owned both horns but, thanks to the ongoing war between the claimants to the throne, had never managed to capitalize on their possessions.

Thirty years before, Marcus Vintner Senior of Calcan had seized both horns, a stunning diversionary tactic that stung Sandester into a response. The bulk of Sandester's army had hurried south to reclaim their lost property, while the majority of the Calcans sailed north and landed in Vertia. They passed through abandoned territory unopposed, fell on Sandester and deepened a feud into enduring hatred.

Old man Marcus withdrew from the north horn, leaving Sandester's flowering youth rotting in the ground. The remnants had staggered north to relieve the siege of their capital city and were slaughtered in sight of home.

Never again.

They had recovered the North Horn, but had lost the South Horn forever. And the Calcans were well able to enforce their dues from much of the trade passing through. Sandester had driven off the invader, but Calcan had benefited best, at least in wealth terms.

While traveling south, Paul had wondered if he might see remnants of that invasion, more than thirty years in the past. But other than sea-washed pebbles and the usual flotsam brought ashore by wind and tide, there was nothing here.

Paul knew any landing here from Calcan would be a feint; it would suggest that Marcus Junior attempted to duplicate his father's tactics. If Nazvasta raised the dragon's head banner, Paul suspected a pincer move on Sandester from Marka in the west and Calcan in the east. The Markan army would hurry through the Northern March and Calcan would send theirs by sea to land in, or to the north of, Vertia.

Paul also feared a Markan diplomatic offensive on Trenvera. If that large kingdom capitulated to Marka, Sandester would find survival difficult. He hoped Nazvasta had begun his own diplomacy to ensure Trenvera retained her independence. Or threw her lot in with Sandester.

He watched a trading vessel pass. Probably headed for Re Taura, the two-masted trader made the most of the fresh breeze, both her lateen sails drawing well.

Paul knew nothing of ships, but he understood war and the part trade could play in it. Trade built wealth and wealth paid soldiers. And the trade in the aptly named Bay of Plenty generated huge wealth. With Calcan lands and Trenvera in Markan hands, most of that wealth would go to the fledgling Markan Empire.

He turned away from the sea.

"Lance Sergeant Erras," he called.

"Sir." The recently promoted Erras joined his commander.

"We'll pitch our tents here. Ensure two rows of latrines are dug well downhill from the spring, and a palisade erected."

"Yessir!" Erras paused, pale blue eyes thoughtful. "And a practice ground, Sir?"

Paul nodded. "For everybody," he said. "Not just the new lads."

Erras touched fist to shoulder in acknowledgment and turned away.

Paul's small army had gathered recruits on its journey from the north. Older boys for the most part, bored of farm life and seeking excitement elsewhere. Paul had only turned away those too weak or infirm to fight, deflecting protests from mothers and, in a few cases, wives.

But Sandester needed her sons now. Paul hoped they would never be used in battle, but knew he could never hesitate from doing so if necessary. Flinch, and another would exploit the weakness. Such were the burdens of generalship.

As a young Lieutenant, he had watched and carefully noted how the General of this generation handled himself and his army. The ideal replacement in the field for his grandfather-in-law, General Kelanus had led by example. Paul hoped he had learned well. He also hoped he never faced Kelanus in battle.

Ferocity tempered by humanity; judgment based on mercy; discipline applied fairly. And merit recognized before social standing. Field promotions were always worth more when earned, rather than granted.

Had Kelanus not destroyed his own career through an unusual perversion, Paul wondered if Branad Vintner might not be sat on the Markan Throne right now. Life would be so much simpler then.

As Paul's dark eyes turned inwards in thought, the sounds of the men establishing their camp intruded. As part of his custom of being seen, he wandered through the activity, smiling and nodding at those who saluted or acknowledged him.

He had not chosen the old site for this camp. Little remained of the old buildings, scoured by weather and the sea. His army camped further inland, away from any possible flooding and sheltered from the offshore winds. Some veterans marching with him today remembered the old Ramte Horn Camp and assured him they never wanted to see the place again.

"Sir!"

Paul turned and saw Yeoman Annack hurrying toward him. Annack remembered the Siege of Sandester, making his first kill from the city walls as a young soldier. He had lied about his age to join in the first place, and now lied about his age to stay in the army, though by rights he should be retired.

When this nonsense finally ended, Paul would put that right for Yeoman Annack.

"Yeoman." Paul waited for him.

The slender yeoman, without even a hint of gray in his dark, almost black hair, inclined his head. "We'll need to send a couple of carts further inland to get enough wood for the palisade, Sir."

"Do whatever you think is necessary, Yeoman," commanded Paul. "Remember to pay for any wood not cut from a forest."

Annack's dark eyes hinted he already knew that, but he said nothing.

"For now, just enough wood to erect a palisade around the camp," continued Paul.

"It'll take us a day or so," replied Annack. "What follows the for now, Sir?"

Paul laughed. He must remember this man had served many commanders and had probably seen everything.

"We're going to establish a proper camp here," he replied. "We must build proper barracks; tents are no good except when we're traveling. The more comforts the better."

"I'll see to it, Sir," promised Annack, before he hurried away, snapping out orders.

Paul looked across the camp as more and more tents were pegged into place. This had better be a good camp; they might be here for some time.

***

Field Captain Drecan Annada watched the Mayor of Vertiana look around the camp, nodding to himself in satisfaction. Mayor of the most northerly city in Sandester's lands, he probably found Drecan's presence reassuring.

"Can remember the last time the vermin came to visit," said the mayor. "Back in 'Eighty-one it was. Sacked the city before they rode off to lay waste to Sandester. Thought we'd seen the end of them, but they came back in the late autumn and sacked the place again before sailing away."

Drecan smiled politely. "This time we mean to be ready for them," he replied. "Please come through to my office, Mayor Unnel. Things aren't quite settled yet, but we can manage alovak."

Unnel smiled back. "Alovak is most welcome, General."

Drecan almost frowned. "Captain," he answered, vaguely.

Two men gave the outside of the wooden hut a much-needed coat of paint, while two more scrambled about the roof slipping tiles back into place. The painters touched fist to shoulder as Drecan passed.

This area had not been used for more than a decade and the smell inside still hinted at recent use as a sheep shelter. Cleaned out now, four chairs stood around a small map covered table.

"Alovak for two, please," Drecan said to the infertile sylph scrubbing one of the walls clean.

"Se bata." The sylph bowed her head and left, earpoints lashing in irritation at being given a second task before completing the first.

"We do have some concerns," said Unnel, blue eyes expressionless.

Civilians usually do, thought Drecan. "About?" he asked.

"Some of the, ah, women who have come the city."

"The prostitutes, you mean? Or the camp followers who do our laundry?"

Unnel blinked. Perhaps camp follower and prostitute meant the same thing to him. Wisely, he passed no comment about that. "Them, yes," he said. "They will give our city a reputation we do not need."

Drecan resisted telling the Mayor that every city had its share of such women. Vertiana was mainly a mining town and Sandester's northern border crept nearer the icefields with every fresh discovery. Men came here searching for work, usually alone. And those men had certain needs that must be met. Now Drecan had brought an army here...

"An army is mostly made up of young, single men," said Drecan. "Discipline only counts for so much among men, and often means little when those men are stood down. If there is no enemy to fight, they may invent one. You have already told me you have seen bored soldiers give your city their attention."

Unnel blinked.

"They can of course find their release elsewhere, by other means." Drecan smiled. "If you wish, I will pay these women to move out from your city, but the consequences of that must rest on your own shoulders."

Unnel opened his mouth to speak again, but the infertile returned with the alovak.

"I'll pour," Drecan told the infertile. "Go and take a break for an hour or so."

The sylph inclined her head again, and left without a word.

Drecan turned back to the mayor. "Any other concerns?"

"Some people fear you might send recruiters into the city."

"You can reassure them that there is no might about it." Drecan smiled again. "I have sent recruiters into Vertiana. We are here to protect and defend your city; your people can help with that." He held up a hand to forestall the mayor. "I can assure you they seek volunteers only and no coercion will be used."

Unnel grunted.

"Anything else, Mayor Unnel?"

"One more thing." Unnel smiled. "I would like you to meet my son. Only eight years old, but he has some ideas you might like to hear."

Drecan just managed to restrain a sigh. "I'll do my best," he said, hoping life would keep him too busy to ever see this man's son. At least until he was old enough to join the ranks.

Drecan's hopes were dashed with the next sentence.

"If you'll grant me the honor of dining with me," said Unnel, "you can meet him tonight."

Drecan forced a smile. He needed this man's cooperation. "Delighted," he lied.

***

Drecan needn't have worried.

Mayor Unnel lived in a modest enough house, its wooden fascias painted blue and red, presumably to help it stand out from snow and ice in winter. Inside, tapestries adorned walls and rugs gave floors bright splashes of color. Light crystals were dotted about, most behind colored shades. All the windows faced south, reminding him of Sandester. Of course, the Aboras blew here, too.

Resplendent in his dress uniform of polished breastplate, plumed helmet and red tunic and breeches, Drecan certainly found himself the center of attention.

Farin, Unnel's slim wife, greeted him pleasantly enough, gray eyes smiling from a plain, unlined face. The mayor's two teenaged daughters made eyes at him, which he tried hard to ignore. The girls shared their mother's gray eyes and dark hair, while the excited Rayen – the son Unnel wanted him to meet – shared his father's blue eyes and light brown hair.

"Nissa and Reeva." Farin made the introductions. "Our eldest daughter is not here; she has her own family now."

"I am delighted for her," replied Drecan. "I hope they are all healthy and strong."

An infertile sylph accepted Drecan's helmet with a small bow of her head, before padding noiselessly away.

"Is it true that you are Mikhan Annada's son?" squeaked the boy, pushing his head between his two sisters.

Drecan smiled. "It is," he replied.

"I'm Rayen," continued the boy, before his mother could open her mouth. "I've always wanted to meet a real General."

Drecan laughed again. "May your wish one day be granted. I am a mere Field Captain."

"Oh."

Farin reclaimed his attention. "If you would like to come through, the meal is almost ready."

Granted the head of the table, Drecan took his seat first and accepted a glass of wine from Unnel.

"Only a white," said the mayor, apologetically. "I'm afraid the climate here does not suit red wines."

Drecan sniffed at the wine, took a sip and murmured something appreciative. The mayor and his wife sat down one side of the pine table, the two girls down the other and Rayen sat at the far end.

As the sylph returned, carrying their first course, Farin gestured. "This is Lisent, our sylph. She was a wedding gift and a valued member of our family."

The sylph smiled, her lips pressed firmly together, while her earpoints suggested concentration. She bobbed her head at him.

"Excuse her if she doesn't say very much," said Farin.

"Sylphs rarely do," said Drecan.

Farin grinned. "If she says even less than that," she continued. "She's teething and hates showing gaps in her smile."

Drecan smiled as Lisent blushed a brighter blue. "I'm sure you'll have your smile back soon enough."

The sylph bobbed her head and almost opened her mouth to say something.

More polite talk followed, though Drecan noticed Rayen trying to break in on the conversation several times. He eventually decided to include the boy.

"Your father tells me you are very interested in the army," said Drecan, facing the boy along the table.

One of the girls failed to stop an audible groan.

Rayen nodded. "And very interested in history," he replied. "I like learning about things that happened long ago. I like to read how Mikhan Annada broke the siege at Sandester."

"He reads it again and again," said Reeva, rolling her eyes. "And again."

"What do you like most about that?" asked Drecan, gently.

"I like the way he wasn't scared to try new things," replied Rayen, promptly. "He was always ready to try. If they didn't work then it didn't matter too much, but if they did work, then everything went right. He never gave up either. Never."

"That is a good trait to have," remarked Drecan, leaning back as Lisent cleared away the dirty plate.

"Yes it is." Rayen nodded. "But enemies never give up either. Are the Calcans coming back? Is that why you are here?"

"We don't know," replied Drecan. "They might be."

"How do you know that they will land here?"

Farin began to shush her son, but Drecan lifted a hand. "Let him speak," he suggested, quietly. He looked at Rayen. "It is the shortest distance by land to Sandester from here," he replied.

"They landed here last time," said the boy, his blue gaze intense. "They probably know you will be here, waiting."

"They might bring more men this time."

Rayen shook his head. "If I was leading Calcan, I would land somewhere else."

"Like where?" asked Drecan.

The boy shrugged. "It doesn't matter where, but it would be anywhere but here. Are there any other armies?"

"We have another one in Maturia," replied Drecan.

"If something happens there, how will you know here?"

Drecan shrugged. "We'll probably only learn of it when it's too late." He sat back again as Lisent served the next course.

"And if the Calcans land somewhere between, neither of you will know," said Rayen.

"They have birds to carry messages, stupid," interrupted Reeva.

"Sadly, we don't," said Drecan. "It takes time to train birds and the only ones we have are trained to fly straight to Sandester."

"I know a way of sending messages without birds." Rayen smiled. "And it's just as quick."

"Really?"

There must have been something in Drecan's tone, because Rayen frowned. "Will you try new things, like your father?" he asked.

"Rayen!" cautioned Farin.

Unnel gave his son a warning stare.

Drecan inclined his head. "I'm listening," he replied.

"We need a range of towers, each in sight of the next. Then messages can be sent between them, from one army to the other."

"Messages sent how?"

Rayen leaned forward on his elbows, meal forgotten. "By use of two arms that can be moved. Separate arms." He demonstrated using his own arms. "Straight up, stuck out to the side, straight down and a halfway point between each. One or both arms can be used. A position can be used to mean something, or the arms can be used to represent letters."

Drecan's mouth dropped open. "Like signal flags," he said.

"Better." Rayen grinned.

"Would work well in daylight hours," muttered Drecan. "But what about at night?"

"Eat your meal," said Farin.

"Yes ma'am," said Drecan.

Farin blushed. "I meant Rayen," she stammered.

"Who would make a landing at night?" Rayen wondered aloud. He stuffed some food into his mouth. "Nobody could see anything."

"And don't speak with your mouth full," added Farin.

"Calcan uses sylphs," said Drecan. "And they can see in the dark."

"Attach light crystals to the signal arms," said Rayen, after finishing his mouthful.

"Hah!" Drecan laughed and slapped the table. "Quite brilliant, and only eight years old."

"Nine." Rayen's frown returned. "I'm nine years old."

***

The so-called Northern March looked a forsaken place to Egran. Grasses – many looked familiar as crops grown wild – stretched as far as he could see, though plenty of hills restricted that distance somewhat. Having grown up on Re Taura, Egran had never appreciated the collapse of the old empire had brought hard times to its many peoples.

"Abandoned," he muttered to himself.

Beside him, a sylph stirred and his earpoints twitched. "Donenya?"

"Just mumbling to myself, Fenall," said Egran. He gestured with a hand. "It seems as though nobody lives here, though at one time they did."

"There are still people out there," said Fenall. "Hamlets who trade with any city or travelers. And it is said a relic from the first civilization lies somewhere out there." The sylph's voice sounded hushed with awe.

"Probably some spike that points uselessly at the sky." Egran dismissed such relics because they had no relevance to people today. Besides, nobody knew what they were for.

Fenall regarded the cavalryman with unblinking silver eyes. "But donenya, it means there used to be something more."

"But no longer." Egran smiled at the sylph. He must remember his loyalties had changed and that people on the continent allowed sylphs to be much too forward in their dealings with humans. "We must cope with the world as it is, not how it used to be."

Fenall shrugged and his earpoints wilted a little. "We must live in the hope of something better to come."

"Very profound. Makes you sound like you're a century old, rather than a decade and a half." Egran turned to look over the March again. "How many live out there?"

"Handfuls, in places." Fenall shrugged again. "Lots of wild sylphs, because there are so few humans. Most people moved further south when the old ways stopped."

Old ways of trade, Egran supposed. He sensed Fenall straighten beside him.

"Something moving out there now," said the sylph, staring west.

"Surely not an army already?" Egran squinted against the bright sunlight and envied sylphs their ability to see so well.

"A cart perhaps. Wagon. Three of them, two horses each."

"How many men?" Even squinting, Egran could only just make out that something was moving over there. He wished he had one of the vaunted Sandesteran spyglasses.

"Cannot tell yet," replied Fenall. "Better report."

Fenall put his head back and sent out a sighting whistle. The Sandesteran sylph scouts had learned about the Markan sylphs and their whistles, but nobody could replicate them. Branad's army had never used sylphs, so nobody had ever heard the Markan whistles.

The Sandesteran sylphs put their heads together and compiled a list of whistles for general messages. Imperfect, and nowhere near as flexible as the code their cousins used further south, but it sufficed.

"I told them we have company," Fenall told Egran. "I did not include the enemy qualifier, but I think Indelgar-ya will investigate anyway."

"If he has any sense," said Egran. He nodded towards the approaching wagons. "Can you tell how many are out there yet?"

The sylph stared across the grass "Five men," he said, eventually. "That I can see."

"I'm surprised they got past the outer ring," remarked Egran.

Fenall shrugged. "Only Lerence is ranging out there. We are the outer ring, until a proper roster is sorted."

Egran bit his tongue. On Re Taura, any sylph speaking this way would be lucky to avoid a cuffing. On Re Taura it might even have been him doing the cuffing. But not here. The sylph was just doing his job.

"Lucky it's not a full army then," said Egran.

Fenall grinned. "Nazvasta-ya has not even declared yet."

"Not the point." Egran's expression hardened. "We must be ready for anything anytime."

Fenall said nothing, but concentrated his attention on the approaching wagons. His earpoints suggested he had plenty to say and Egran doubted if it was complimentary. On Re Taura, even the set of a sylph's earpoints might earn him a cuffing.

Egran's head shot around at the sound of hoofbeats approaching. He poked the scout. "What happened to the warning?"

Fenall looked affronted. "Coming from that way, they are on our side," he countered.

"You've still got a lot of learning to do," snarled Egran. "Sir!"

Indelgar dismounted and a sweating sylph halted beside him. Fenall inclined his head.

"Egran, what have you seen?" Indelgar pulled his spyglass free.

"Fenall spotted wagons, Sir." Egran pointed.

Indelgar focused the spyglass and peered through it at the small caravan and well out to both sides. "Just them I think," said the General.

"We think so too, Sir," said Egran.

Indelgar turned to the sylph who had run out with him. "Illard, run back and tell the men to stand down, but remain vigilant."

"Se bata." The named sylph inclined his head and was gone.

"Strange to see someone out there, Sir," said Egran, making conversation.

Indelgar shrugged. "Traders often come this way, though they are usually a lot further south than this, headed for Metton."

"The sylph spotted it first," continued Egran, deciding fairness was the best policy here.

Indelgar smiled at Fenall. "These scouts will be indispensable," he told Egran. "Those of us who fought alongside Marcus Vintner these past couple of years were all impressed by the Calcan sylph scouts."

"Did you come across many, Sir?"

"Hundreds."

Egran should ask. So rare for an ordinary soldier to have the opportunity to talk to someone so senior, but he could hardly just ask. Blow it, he would ask. He opened his mouth.

"Does the name Neptarik mean anything to you?" Surely he hadn't used his real name?

Indelgar laughed. "Neptarik-y-Balnus? Gimme-battle-stars-Neptarik? He's outstanding, even among other outstanding sylphs. He helped Kelanus clear his name, he helped lift the siege of Marka. Amazing lad. I know him. Surprised you do."

Egran looked at Fenall concentrating on the wagons. He would be listening, sylphs couldn't help themselves. "Get yourself out of hearing range for two minutes," he told the scout.

Fenall's earpoints rose before returning to their normal position. He stalked away, clearly offended. Egran would have words later. He turned back to Indelgar.

"Then you must know that Calcan doesn't just use sylphs as scouts, but also as spies. A Neptarik was in Re Taura last year and compromised certain... plans." He'd actually done a sight more damage than that, but Egran doubted if he could believe it, and he had been there.

"Probably. All Sandesterans who were involved in Marka have been told to watch out for sylphs they recognize. But thank you for the thought, anyway."

Egran relaxed. "So long as you are aware, Sir." He raised his voice. "All right, Fenall."

The sylph looked over his shoulder, but stayed in his new place.

"Sulking now," grumped Egran.

Indelgar laughed. "We'll have to teach you how to handle sylphs correctly."

Egran reflected that he already knew how to handle sylphs correctly. "With respect, but they're the ones wearing collars. We should be teaching them how to fit in around us."

Sulking or not, Fenall soon rejoined them. "Should I quickly scout around them?" he asked. "Make sure it is just them?"

"Be careful," said Egran and nodded.

The sylph touched fist to shoulder but gave no verbal reply.

Indelgar made another inspection with his spyglass. "They're not even armed," he remarked, surprise lacing his voice. "Either very lucky, or fools."

Even Egran could now see the wagons clearly. All three were covered, the canvas stretched tightly across the frames. Very tight. It looked unnatural.

Indelgar saw one man's head whip around, then another stared at the same spot. "Looks like they've seen Fenall," he remarked. "Silly boy."

Egran felt a little more sympathy. Easy enough to hide in this long grass when staying still, but hard to conceal movement.

"They've spotted us now," continued Indelgar. "They're carrying on though."

"Let's stop them, Sir."

Egran stood in the way of the lead wagon and the driver pulled on the reins to halt the horses. The five men looked at them neutrally until one, a tall man with straight light brown hair jumped off the box of the middle wagon and crossed the short distance to join them.

"Sandesterans," said the tall man, in an accent neither man could place. "To judge from the uniforms."

"I'm General Indelgar Manin da Saar," said Indelgar, "and this is Cavalryman Egran del Sevren."

"Erek Ines Warden." The tall man bowed, then smiled. "A General and a cavalryman with one horse between you. Does your sylph scout carry the other one of you?"

The men on the wagons began to laugh.

Indelgar's return smile looked like he thought of drawing his sword. "There are plenty more of us. Where have you come from and headed to where?"

"I am unused to interrogation when crossing Sandester's lands." Erek's hazel eyes narrowed. "Is there a reason for this heightened security?"

"A trader with knowledge of politics." Indelgar shrugged. "In case you've not noticed, there have been wars here for, oh, the past two centuries or so."

"I've come from Frodger and heading for south Frallon," said Erek. "I've made this trip many, many times and never before encountered soldiers here."

"A first time for all things," said Indelgar, peaceably. "What are you trading, trader?"

Erek inclined his head again. "A mere pedlar, good sir; nothing so grand as a trader. Small transactions only. My sky metal is highly sought after, with many blades in circulation."

"A quick check inside your wagons and you'll be on your way."

"What are you looking for?" Erek looked wary again.

"Anything out of place." Indelgar smiled. "This will take but moments."

"What are we looking for?" asked Egran quietly, as they followed the pedlar.

"To see if they have any more men," Indelgar murmured back. "These men have accents I've never heard before."

Close up, Egran thought the canvas covers looked even stranger and he rubbed the material. Not canvas, but what? He'd never felt anything like this before. Erek pulled the covers apart and both men peeked inside. Wooden slatted crates with what appeared to be swords and other weapons inside.

"The blades are much sought after," said Erek. "Perhaps you would like to inspect them?"

"Thank you, no," replied Indelgar, firmly.

The middle wagon carried water, though the painted container felt like no metal Egran had ever touched. In fact, it did not even feel like metal. The third was clearly where the men slept at night. Five bunks only.

As Indelgar peered inside the last wagon, he spoke to Erek. "You are familiar with sylph scouts. From where?"

"I saw them first when in Marka a couple of years ago," replied Erek. "Then again last year when I happened across some Eldovans. They weren't interested in my sky metal either."

"The Eldovans have sylph scouts?" Indelgar raised an eyebrow. "I'm grateful to have met you, Erek Warden."

"More a prisoner I think." Erek shrugged. "Are you going to be much longer?"

"No, we're done." Indelgar straightened. "Thank you for your cooperation, pedlar. If you head a little further south, you'll avoid the rest of my army."

"I'll do that," promised Erek. His head turned. "Do you like fruit, boy? Thought so. Catch!"

Erek's hand shot out and something green streaked through the air. Fenall stood from his concealment and snagged the fruit from the air.

Indelgar's suspicions grew. "Fenall, here now!" He turned to Erek. "What are you playing at?"

Erek's hazel eyes were innocently wide. "Nothing. Just a small delicacy for your sylph. He looks unfed. We'll be off now." He strode back to the front of the caravan and stepped up onto the box.

Fenall joined the two humans as the wagons rumbled away. Egran stared at the fruit in the sylph's hand.

"A pear," said the sylph, as if the two humans might not recognize it.

Indelgar looked at the back of the rear wagon. "A pear out of season," he remarked.

Egran stiffened. How had he failed to notice that?

Fenall sniffed carefully at the fruit. "Smells all right," he said. "And it feels all right."

"Yet preserved miraculously from last year," said Indelgar.

A soft crunch and the scout spoke around a mouthful of pear. "Tastes good too."

"If it upsets your digestion, I'll class it as self-inflicted," warned Indelgar.

Fenall shrugged and quickly finished the fruit.

Egran watched, concerned. That fruit should not exist, which meant the pedlar must be more than he seemed. So who exactly was Erek Warden?

***
Chapter 22

Holding Fast

"So glad you deigned to attend," said Nazvasta, blue gaze boring into Fareen's pale brown eyes.

The gwerin barely flinched at the sarcasm and her earpoints failed to give even a flicker of embarrassment. "You wanted to meet with me and Kana Santon," she replied.

"A week ago," said Nazvasta. "Where have you been hiding?"

Kana hid a smile. Fareen's absence had been deliberate, she never showed signs of absent mindedness.

The gwerin gave a merest hint of a shrug. "I needed to think," she said. "I am here now."

Nazvasta grunted. "Alovak, if you please, Kelen. For three."

The human servant dropped into the smallest curtsy and left Nazvasta's study in his palace quarters. Nowhere near as impressive as the study in the old observatory, but sunshine flooded the room from two windows with views across the city. Plain rugs covered the floor and wooden chairs with tasseled cushions surrounded a polished table. A single bookshelf stood over an empty fireplace, and a pair of rampant lions formed the bookends.

"We were discussing potential love matches for my oldest daughter," said Kana. "While we were waiting."

Fareen smiled. "I know little of love," she replied. "Being an infertile."

"Life would be so much simpler if we were all neuters," said Kana, sitting back in her chair.

Fareen lowered herself onto the cushioned chair Nazvasta pointed her to. "There would certainly be a lot less of it," she observed. "But I am sure your insistent summons has nothing to do with marrying off your daughter."

"Perceptive as always," murmured Nazvasta. "If blunt. And what, please tell, needed a whole week for you to think about?"

"Hingast returning to the bed of a wife he had earlier discarded," replied the gwerin.

"Perhaps the fires of passion rekindled?" Kana smiled at the gwerin.

"The man set aside each wife before taking the next," pointed out Fareen. "If he loved all three equally, or even just two of them, then this is easy to understand. But we know such is not the case. Hingast doted on his third wife because he hoped for a son, who has duly arrived. But when the man returns from war, he ignores his third wife and instead lavishes attention on the first, who he has left alone for some years. This is not natural human behavior."

"An expert on love after all," smiled Kana.

"Only on rational and logical behavior," retorted Fareen, as Kelen returned with the alovak. "Which this is not."

"Something may have happened to him while he was away," said Kana.

"Something permanent and irreversible, maybe." Fareen sounded far from convinced and fell silent as she watched Kelen pour the alovak. She remained silent until the servant left.

"You reached a conclusion?" prompted Nazvasta.

"Yes." Fareen's expression firmed. "Remember our discussion last year, when I assured you that the man in Eldova was most likely Hingast?"

Nazvasta nodded.

"My mind is changed," said Fareen. "There is only one conclusion. The reason why Hingast has returned to his first wife is because he is not Hingast."

Everybody, including Kelen, stared in surprise at this announcement.

Nazvasta eventually shrugged. "He has three wives, and perhaps feels he's neglected the first two unfairly."

"He lavishes attention on one only," countered Fareen.

"Cousin Marcus insists the man he killed was Hingast," said Kana.

Fareen nodded. "That is probably the truth. No normal person acts this way. I have heard of men returning to previous lovers, but usually only after losing a more recent one. This has not happened; all three wives are hale and healthy. We talk here of two men."

"Ranva's breath!" Nazvasta shook his head. "But it even looks like the man."

"Yet cannot be him." Fareen smiled. "It is the only logical answer."

Kana reached for her alovak.

"Ours is a peculiar world," continued Fareen. "We are surrounded by mystical beings who we claim form part of the godhead. Strange things happen."

"Sounds like you don't believe they form the godhead," said Kana, before sniffing delicately at her dark drink.

"Unlikely that they do," said Fareen.

"Sounds like blasphemy."

Nazvasta snorted. "Imhoteps would die from shock if they heard some of our discussions," he told Kana.

"Carefully thought through logic," said Fareen. "Were the Father truly omnipotent and saw all, how could the Malefic Sephiroth exist, let alone operate? How could we have sorcery? Unless we accept duality of the Father's personality, which makes no sense at all."

Kana stared, speechless, unaware of Nazvasta's sudden smile.

"And the ilven resemble us so closely, there is barely any difference." Fareen smiled, as if in triumph. "That's because they are creatures, the same as we are."

Kana took a sip of alovak. "So what are they, if not gods?"

"Ilven? Or the Father?"

"All of them. The sephiroths, the ilven."

"A very good question." Fareen smiled. "I do not claim to have answers, only conclusions reached after much careful deliberation, over many years."

"And your conclusions are?"

"That the sephiroths are nothing more than a higher form of life. Much greater than us, but a form of life nonetheless."

Kana smiled. "A terrifying conclusion."

"Frankly, yes." Fareen smiled. "Any true god must stand outside of what we understand as creation. Just as a piece of furniture wrought by a craftsman is not the craftsman and does not, in fact, hold any part of him other than his labor and skill."

"And presumably can be just as easily destroyed?" Kana took another sip of alovak.

"Or remade. Yes."

"Quite the philosopher." Kana smiled.

"When I have time to think." Fareen shrugged and leaned forward to take her own alovak. "Just one of my skills."

"Of course, we are not here to discuss philosophy, or the nature of the godhead," said Nazvasta. "Interesting as such chats can be, they do have a habit of going around in circles."

"Only when two incompatible belief systems collide," pointed out Fareen. "Then –"

"Thank you, Fareen."

The gwerin subsided.

"What has this got to do with Hingast?" asked Kana.

"I am pointing out that the man is – most like – an imposter and uses sorcery to make him look like the real Hingast." Fareen sipped at her alovak. "Not my original conclusion, but fresh facts should always force reevaluation." She grinned mischievously. "And that is a good philosophy to hold fast."

Kana turned to Nazvasta. "She must drive you insane sometimes."

"Intellectually, I'm often floundering," admitted Nazvasta.

Fareen scowled. "I do my best to explain." She looked from one to the other.

"The reason we wanted you to meet with us has nothing to do with philosophy or politics," said Nazvasta. "You ought to know that, when I lay claim to the throne, I will appoint a new spymaster."

For the first time, Kana saw uncertainty and surely not fear flicker in the gwerin's eyes. "Enya?"

Kana almost relented at the plea in Fareen's tone.

"Instead of me, you will report to Kana," said Nazvasta.

"No!" Fareen jumped to her feet. "No, no, no. When you take the throne, I will be your advisor. I belong to you!"

Nazvasta leaned forward. "Fareen, you belong to the throne." He kept his voice gentle.

"No! I belong to you, to the family." Fareen's earpoints wilted and she pointed at Kana. "She is not a Vintner."

"Fareen! This is about reporting, not belonging."

Fareen tucked her earpoints away and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. A moment later, Kana heard the outer door to Nazvasta's apartments slam.

"Well," said Kana, "I don't think she's too impressed."

"Huh." Nazvasta looked disgruntled. "She's taking it better than when I inherited her."

***

Fareen had several secret places of her own.

The Vintner Palace, overlooking Sandester City, had been quite a modest affair when she had first come here with Elwan Vintner's children. Built into the hill and facing south, granting the best protection against the winter wind, she had seen every stage of the palace's expansion since.

Because various parts were added at different times, the palace offered a chaotic jumble of double walls, many hollow with room for a gwerin to walk through, steps up or down to newer extensions and – her favorite – forgotten turrets and walled up rooms.

As an advisor, Fareen always enjoyed access to keys. The sneaky, underhand part of her had carefully copied those keys and, over two centuries, she had acquired a large collection. Sometimes she now possessed the only key.

As an advisor with plenty of time on her hands, Fareen had explored every corner of the palace and believed she knew every forgotten room and passageway between double walls. She had climbed every turret and chosen one least likely to be remembered as her own secret place. She knew about the Vintners' hidden skeletons, in two cases literally.

Her chosen turret lay in what was now almost the exact center of the palace, itself surrounded by other turrets. As all windows faced south, none looked across her secret place, and the roofers who scrambled across the tops repairing any tiles that may come loose, would not know which turrets were unused.

Now, she slipped behind the tapestry depicting a forest glade and stepped into the alcove. She waited there, but heard no approaching footsteps. The small door, made from the same wood as the surrounding paneling, would not be easy to spot even when servants removed the tapestry for cleaning.

Though she did ensure a new tapestry replaced the old whenever someone decided it must be cleaned.

The key turned easily in the oiled lock, emitting a barely audible click. A sylph might have heard it, but this branch of the Vintner family did not own many sylphs. Fareen slipped inside and locked the door, leaving the key in place. A trick she had learned many years before, ensuring no other key could be inserted.

Just in case someone else had a collection.

Inside, bare stone walls encased steps thick with dust, except for her footprints, leading up in a steep spiral. Once a princeling's tower, his grieving mother had ordered it shut off when disease claimed the young boy's life. The boy's room must be left intact, as if he were still alive.

Fareen had overseen closing the tower, and made her own arrangements.

She had – and still – respected Naryan's wishes concerning her dead son. The pleasant, airy bedroom remained exactly as when the boy had died. Fareen even laundered the bedclothes and curtains, ordering exact replicas as the old wore out. The originals she kept on top of the large wooden chest in one corner, that also served as a toy box.

The single garderobe contained the boy's clothes and a couple of toys were strewn about. Fareen had taken it upon herself to keep the room clean. She even washed the windows.

Another door led into the turret's spire, doubling as a child's hiding place. And Fareen always came here to sulk.

She sat crosslegged on the stone floor, hands resting on her knees, and stared vacantly at one of the wooden trusses. Her earpoints had recovered from her earlier shock, but unhappiness still darkened the gwerin's mood.

Fareen-y-Vintner was her name. The name she coveted would always be Fareen-y-Marka, her old name. But she had no intention of changing again. She kept "Vintner" because she had outlived so many, passed from father to son.

But she had not passed to Branad Vintner, but to his younger brother. That had been bad enough, though she had grown used to Nazvasta. Had even come to love him, after a fashion, though gwerins did not bond the same way as sylphs.

And now she must change her loyalties again, to the Santon woman, who learned espionage to replace Nazvasta as Sandester's spymaster. She even had the effrontery to demand control over Fareen's own networks.

No.

Those networks would remain under Fareen's control. She would report as she always had – to do otherwise might damage Nazvasta's chances of gaining the throne, and be childish besides – but her contacts would remain under her control alone.

Nazvasta had always been content to leave his gwerin to conduct her intelligence activities without close supervision. She suspected that might change under Kana's leadership.

Leadership, not ownership.

Fareen leaned her head back until she stared at the spire's apex. Foolishness. She really ought to have outgrown this by now. Gwerins lived a long time and served many owners.

She held her simple nametag in her hand and ran her fingers over the lettering.

"Fareen-y-Vintner," she muttered. "That will not change."

***

Kana thanked Millan and accepted the steaming mug of alovak from the young sylph. She leaned back in the easy chair and took a deep lungful of the dark drink's aroma. It also helped mask the unpleasant smell of the infertile's sinabra.

"Well," said Elsin, after savoring her own alovak, "what brings you here?"

Kana smiled at her companion. "Very rare we get together these days," she replied. She glanced around the sparsely furnished, though comfortable, room. Plenty of cushions were strewn on the floor, presumably where Elsin's daughters sat or played.

"I must say that I prefer to go my own way," replied Elsin. "No Millan, you may stay."

"Se bata." The sylph obediently stood where her mistress pointed and fidgeted with the neckline of her tunic.

"We need to stand together now more than ever before," countered Kana.

"I don't recall us ever standing together," retorted Elsin. "From your antipathy towards my marriage to Branad, to our time in Marka, or even now."

Kana forced a thin smile. "Rumor tells me you seek a new husband."

"Word flies around the palace quickly." Elsin returned the smile.

"Is this one true love, or another political arrangement?" Kana's tone dripped contempt as she uttered the last two words.

Elsin laughed. "At our level, all marriages are political," she replied. "Love comes later."

"Hardly." Kana sipped at her alovak, resisting the urge to give this upstart a piece of her mind. "Many marriages are for love. Mine to Branad, Heylena's to Nazvasta."

A shadow flickered in Elsin's eyes.

"Have you chosen to chase Nazvasta for your own reasons, or because your father still wants to stick his nose into Imperial politics?" Kana took another sip of alovak.

Elsin smiled, but her eyes betrayed anything except friendliness. "My aim is merely to ensure a widow is cared for as she grows older."

Kana harrumphed. "You are not yet thirty; spare me that nonsense."

"And," continued Elsin, "Nazvasta has expressed some level of interest."

"For convenience," pointed out Kana, her smile still in place. "He loves Heylena. And what of this foolish plan of marrying both your daughters to Aelfra?"

Elsin laughed. "That is rumor," she replied. "My daughters hands will kill any claim to the throne, after Branad's renunciation."

Kana nodded. "Then marry one to Eylvras."

Elsin's eyes narrowed. "You suggest giving the hand of one of my daughters to Marcus Vintner's son?"

"Why not? It would end his claim to the throne. At least, it'll stop his grandchildren from inheriting." Kana watched carefully for Elsin's reaction.

A shrug of those narrow shoulders. "Branad's daughters with me are destined for mercantile families," she said. "Of course, any child I have by Nazvasta –"

"There will be none, he loves Heylena."

"– will be a different story." Elsin ignored the interruption and looked like she restrained an urge to laugh.

For her part, Kana hoped she kept the shock off her face. A possibility she had not considered. If Elsin had children by Nazvasta, a whole new set of potentially dangerous scenarios presented themselves.

"There is another advantage of Eylvras," she said, "especially if Nazvasta gains the throne."

"Oh?"

"We will need the Calcan Vintners' cooperation, and we will already have a marriage proposal to help build bridges between the two branches of the family."

"And if Marcus wins?" murmured Elsin, before draining her alovak.

"Then you at least will have a useful connection to the Emperor." Kana finished her own alovak and shook her head as Millan stepped forward. "But he'll need us as much as we need him. But Branad's renunciation might put him off."

Elsin smiled. "Especially if he holds the throne," she replied.

Kana's smile faded. "None of our children, or their descendants, can inherit the Markan Throne because of that. Anyone descended from Branad's blood cannot sit on the throne. Did you think anyone would forget?"

Elsin's smile remained in place. "This is true. But there is much our children can manage stood to one side of the circle of power. Look at Verdin's example."

Kana winced, not wanting to think of Verdin's example. Her mind whirled with the possibility of children between Nazvasta and Elsin. "Marry Nazvasta yourself, but look elsewhere for your daughters' future husbands, or you risk plunging the empire into chaos yet again." She stood to leave.

The two widows, once married to the same man, exchanged parting pleasantries before Kana withdrew. Outside the apartment, she narrowed her eyes. If Elsin had children by Nazvasta, she strongly suspected that maneuvering for the succession would begin afresh. Elsin's ambition made her a dangerous opponent and Kana now realized something else.

Elsin could not be allowed to marry Nazvasta.

The messenger boy abruptly straightened as he saw her.

"Well Tamon, that's today's warfare over," she said.

The messenger smiled, but his clear blue eyes showed no real understanding. The lad probably had the good sense to keep out of palace politics.

"You don't happen to know where our resident gwerin hides herself?" asked Kana.

"With respect, but nobody knows that," replied Tamon. "But a messenger might spend all day chasing her around the palace."

Kana smiled at the boy. "I'm sure she'll reappear eventually. Now, would you please go to Nazvasta and warn him that I must see him again as soon as possible?"

Tamon nodded. "Consider it done," he replied, before turning and trotting away along the corridor.

Kana turned the boy's words over. Consider it done. If only everything in life could be so simple.

***

"The girls will be back from their tutor soon," Elsin told Millan. She hid her smile as the sylph's earpoints wilted briefly before recovering. Even though of an age with the two girls, Millan often found the girls' boisterousness exhausting. "What did you make of Kana's visit?"

Millan's silver-gray eyes regarded her mistress. "I think she is trying to stop you from marrying Nazvasta," she said.

"Good girl," said Elsin. "And I'm sure she will redouble her efforts after I told her about potential children with Nazvasta."

The sylph blinked and her earpoints twitched in all directions, a sign of confusion. Millan was already proving surprisingly adept at detecting undercurrents, but she still had a lot of learning to do. Or perhaps she underestimated her sylph again, people always said the blue-skinned creatures saw more than they ever let on.

"She is certainly trying to steer me in a certain direction," continued Elsin. "But she cannot grasp political subtlety. I'm the one in the driving seat. Though her suggestion of marrying one of the girls to Marcus Vintner's son is actually very good, if I wanted to go that way. Are you still speaking to Fareen?"

Millan blinked. "She still asks me questions, yes."

Elsin gave her sylph a quick grin. "Come closer."

Millan obediently stepped forward.

Elsin reached out and began to stroke one of the infertile's long ears. She watched the sylph half close her eyes in contentment and relax. "Next time Fareen asks about my plans, this is what I'd like you to say."

As she spoke, Elsin silently thanked Siranva that she had chosen her sylph well. She continued to stroke the earpoint as she fed information and misinformation to her sylph.

She could barely wait to hear Kana's reaction.

***

Mikhan watched from his window as Kern arrived. The scientist blinked several times in the strong sunshine, used a small piece of soft cloth to clean the glass lenses, then used the small screw to keep them in the right place before his eyes.

Mikhan knew that, for Kern, those lenses threw everything into sharp relief. Blurred edges would sharpen, and faces become recognizable, even from a distance. While he wore them, he could see as well as anyone with perfect eyesight.

The marshal watched as a junior officer greeted Kern, welcoming him to Sandester Barracks. A quick glance at the South Gate, then he turned away from the window to smile his own welcome.

"Good morning," he said.

Kern nodded and, after a quick look around the room, removed his lenses. He peered myopically at Mikhan.

"I'm told you have just delivered our first batch of firepowder," continued Mikhan.

"Yes," replied Kern. "Yes, I have. Two tuns of it, in fact."

"Excellent work!" boomed Mikhan. "You and your men are to be congratulated."

"Thank you." Kern bobbed his head. "But there has been an argument."

"If I can help sort it out, I'm at your service."

"A generous offer. The charcoal burners are most unwilling to share the secrets of their trade. To maintain production, we need more charcoal, which calls for more burners. The other ingredients are easy enough to acquire, but without more charcoal, the rest is useless."

Mikhan reflected that two tuns of the firepowder might be sufficient, but dared not voice that opinion aloud. Who knew what might be happening in Marka? "I'll do what I can," he promised. "I'll have words with the guildspeople."

"Already tried that." Kern pulled his lenses and soft cloth free and began to polish the glass again. Vigorously. "They are almost as pigheaded as the burners."

"I'll ask them if they're prepared to compromise if we use other guildspeople," said Mikhan. "Don't worry, I'm used to arguing with guilds. They seem to be the same the world over."

"I tested random samples throughout the manufacturing process," continued Kern. "Well, as random as I possibly could. There's no way for one man to really choose things out completely at random, because his brain chooses. And a man's brain always looks for patterns, which means –"

"The tests?" Mikhan hoped his prompt came across as a gentle interruption. Not only guildspeople were touchy.

Kern gave the marshal another myopic stare, quite disconcerting with those eyes imprecisely focused. "The tests. Yes. The quality of the firepowder is first class, I can assure you."

"I'm glad to hear it." Mikhan smiled again. "This is a decisive weapon."

Kern nodded again. "We'll continue to produce it until you tell us to stop," he promised.

"With any luck, we won't need it," said Mikhan. "And with the containers we keep it in, it'll stay good forever."

"So long as it stays dry," said Kern, fixing his lenses in place again. "If we can get more burners working on getting us more charcoal, I can produce firepowder at this rate indefinitely."

Mikhan's smile looked more predatory this time. "You'll get your burners," he promised.

***

Nazvasta and Kana looked up as the door to the observatory clicked shut.

"Better now?" Nazvasta raised an eyebrow as he spoke to Fareen.

The gwerin shrugged and took a seat so Nazvasta sat between her and Kana.

"Whether you like it or not," continued Nazvasta, "you will report to Kana from now on. Get your sulking over and done with, and take a good grip of yourself." Despite his strong words, sympathy lurked in his voice. "You've done this before and survived."

Fareen's pale brown eyes stared balefully at Kana. "I will report to you as faithfully as to Nazvasta," she promised. She tapped her nametag. "But my allegiance is his alone."

"As you wish," replied Kana, blue-gray eyes calm. "You can even still report to him. But you come to me first."

"Se bata."

Nazvasta decided to ignore the irony Fareen added to the words.

Kana fixed the gwerin with a steely gaze. "Elsin's plans have gone beyond marrying Nazvasta simply for political convenience," she said. She gestured towards her brother-in-law. "I've informed him, of course, but I think you need to know."

Fareen blinked. "Gone beyond?"

"Elsin now wants to have my babies," added Nazvasta with a grin.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." Kana nodded. "Those children would not be bound by Branad's renunciation."

"No." Fareen's expression grew thoughtful. "You think Elsin is now a threat?"

Kana shrugged. "She's always been ambitious. Certainly not to be trusted. I think we should tell her to forget her dreams of marrying Nazvasta."

Fareen pursed lips. "But we must offer her something else."

"Think on it," said Nazvasta. He stood and looked along his bookshelves. He twisted his head to read some book titles and eventually found one he sought. He pulled it free and blew dust from the top of the pages.

"Ingen's Statecraft," he told Kana, passing her the book. "Essential reading. The woman is eight centuries dead, but the principles she outlines are as valid today as they ever were."

Kana riffled the pages.

"There are no pictures," added Nazvasta, with a grin.

Kana looked up. "Never expected any," she replied. "The print is awfully small."

"It's quite a long book," explained Nazvasta. "Fareen reads the Histories for punishment, but she reads that one for fun."

Fareen gave a disapproving sniff.

Nazvasta ignored the gwerin's rancor and returned to the shelves. "Blaymer's Causes of War. Another good book. Telli's On diplomacy. Frensa's Age of Expansion. Rannard's State Survival and his rather philosophical treatise Ideal State. Should keep you going for a week or two."

Kana looked at the small pile of books.

"Nothing about spying," she remarked.

Fareen laughed.

"Read between the lines." Nazvasta smiled. "How a state comes into existence and how it survives; how and why to fight wars; the way in which states use diplomacy and empire building." He waved his copy of Ideal State. "Most importantly, why idealists are always dangerous and must be watched." He dropped the book onto the pile.

"A lot of complicated ideas here," complained Kana.

"You'll manage," said Nazvasta. "You certainly seem intelligent enough, and I'm sure Fareen will help explain anything really deep."

"Or words that are too long," added the gwerin.

"That'll do, Fareen." A warning note crept into Nazvasta's voice.

"I'd better get these to my rooms then." Kana stood and looked at the gwerin. "I'll meet you here tomorrow, immediately after breakfast and we can discuss in depth what to do about Elsin." She turned her attention to Nazvasta. "You may as well tell her what you told me."

Navasta watched her leave.

"Tell me what?" demanded Fareen.

"That all three armies are now in place," said Nazvasta. "We received birds this afternoon. We're ready to play."

"Good."

Nazvasta leaned down and deposited a bundle of light blue cloth in front of the startled gwerin. "I hope you're satisfied."

Fareen lifted one edge far enough to see one side of a golden dragon's head and a slow smile spread across her face. "Oh yes," she murmured. "Very satisfied."

***
Chapter 23

Politics

Jenn tried her best to be discreet while she watched Galenna with her owner's children. She ought to be with Marcus now, but he had gone to the Senate, where she would not be welcome. She remembered the mutters the first time they went into the Senate, when she had sat at his feet and ignored all the unfriendly stares directed her way. How could she have known infertiles only ever entered the place to clean it?

Marcus now took Eleka to his meetings with Zenepha. She understood the reasoning behind that because, as mother to a gwerin, Eleka could wrap the palace gwerins around her finger just by being there. Even so, Jenn resented being left behind in her owner's quarters and sharing household chores as if she were a simple domestic sylph. Wherever her owner went, she ought to go as well.

So now she sat in the children's room, set aside for play and teaching the younger children, watching while assuming an air of bored indifference.

Caralin – oldest of the Vintner children – now received formal education at one of the schools in the city, but the two younger girls were still taught in the palace. And Eylvras, at three the youngest and now beginning to look like a proper human, struggled to learn his first letters.

Jenn watched Galenna carefully. Something about the girl bothered the sylph and she always listened to her instincts. She did not think simple jealousy caused the feeling.

She envied the attention Marcus lavished on his children, but always chided herself for selfishness. Human parents had to dote on their offspring. But she knew she felt jealousy towards Zandra, who had effectively stolen Marcus from her.

She had never gotten used to the woman's presence, even if she could now tolerate it. She must, she had no choice. No matter her foolish dreams, she would never have her owner's attention the way Zandra enjoyed.

But this feeling was different.

Jenn liked and respected Kaira. Had. The infertile sylph feared the worst for the previous governess. She would not have run away, the Vintners were good employers and reasonable people.

She looked at the interloper and her earpoints slanted forward. Suddenly, Galenna stared back at the sylph, her dark blue eyes unusually intense. Dark brown hair fell forward, normally an endearing feature, but now it looked threatening. Jenn quickly looked away.

Definitely something about the new governess, and that something troubled Jenn.

***

Marcus spoke to the Senate at length. He suspected he had rarely given a better speech, employing logic and emotion in all the relevant places. He had always believed the old merchants' saying that, while logic opened a man's mind, emotion opened his purse. Or, in this case, swayed votes in his favor.

All two hundred and thirty-two Senators were packed within, Marcus stood slightly in front of the leader's chair. Senator Rogort listened, head resting on his chin.

"In conclusion," said Marcus, as pleased as most of the Senators to reach the end, "a missing or stolen scrap of paper cannot turn aside my legitimate claim to the Markan Throne. All my ancestors were born in wedlock, and even the marriage we debate today was properly legal."

He looked around the chamber. There were plenty of enemies here and he knew his words would not have swayed them an inca. "Remember also that the reasons for the secret concord's existence are no longer valid, as enunciated earlier. Ask who you would prefer to rule you: a man whose line renounced the claim, perfectly legally; a man whose customs and traditions are alien to our own; or the man who won the right to this throne through battle."

A stir met those words. "I remember standing in this very chamber two years ago and urging you to choose wisely," said Marcus. "I urge the same today."

He turned and inclined his head to the Senator Rogort, who nodded back. Ominously, silence filled the Senate.

"Thank you, Marcus Vintner," said Rogort. "You may stay for the debate and vote if you wish, though I must tell you that this vote must be held by secret ballot, because of its sensitive nature."

Marcus nodded. "I'll wait in Olista's office." He had no wish to hear the arguments over his alleged illegitimacy. He leaned forward. "This is a ridiculous waste of time."

Rogort leaned forward too and lowered his voice. "But inevitable that someone would turn this up. The document's absence would have been discovered sooner or later."

"The document's absence is an irrelevance," retorted Marcus. "I'll wait in the Supreme Councilor's office until you have a result."

"As you wish." Rogort sat back.

Marcus heard the Senate leader raise his voice over the murmurs as he left, letting the door close under its own weight behind him.

He did not have far to walk.

Olista's secretary looked up as the claimant entered the office.

"Marcus Vintner," she said. "He's expecting you."

"Thank you, Melda," replied Marcus, giving the middle aged secretary a small bow. He felt surprise that she did not challenge him over an appointment. Perhaps Marka's effective ruler already knew he would end up here.

Olista rose to his feet when he saw Marcus walk into his study. He gestured towards a pair of easy chairs with a smile.

"We may as well sit," said the Supreme Councilor.

Marcus sat. "It's not looking good," he said. "No need for alovak."

Olista took the seat opposite. "I checked the depository records," he said. "The best I can find is a listing of the book that contained the document. Not specific documents."

"Should there be a listing?" Marcus sat straighter, hope sparking anew.

"There should." Olista's voice sounded grim. "But there isn't."

"We must find a way around this," insisted Marcus. "We've come too far to be thwarted by a single sheet of parchment now."

"You do possess one advantage." Olista smiled, though it barely touched his dark blue eyes.

"I'm in Marka and Nazvasta isn't." Marcus waved a dismissive hand. "And my army is here, which Nazvasta's isn't."

"That must count for something," said Olista. "And there is no move in the Council asking Zenepha to summon any other claimant to Marka."

"And if the Senate votes against me?" Marcus shook his head. "One of my best speeches and I got no response whatsoever out of them."

"The Senate might surprise you."

Marcus snorted. "I doubt if I'll leave this building happy. They've been told all about the secret concord and all except my most fervent supporters will put their legal blinkers on, say 'but it's the law' and end my claim."

"They cannot end your claim," replied Olista. "Only refuse to accept it."

Marcus gave a dismissive wave. "Amounts to the same thing."

"Your claim is out of their hands," continued Olista. "Nobody on the Council is agitating against you, even amongst your opponents."

"They must feel very happy about this missing scrap of paper," muttered Marcus. "But I do wonder when the document might have been stolen."

"Not to mention the question of the thief's identity," added Olista.

"We know the thief's identity," retorted Marcus. "Oh, I doubt if Nazvasta stole it himself, but he certainly commanded whoever did remove it from the depository."

Olista rested his elbows on the chair arms and interlaced his fingers. "Perhaps."

"Dammit, the information reached us from Sandester."

Olista inclined his head. "I do not question that Nazvasta has capitalized on your misfortune; neither do I question that the information was granted to your rival first. But remember that Nazvasta has not yet staked his claim."

"Nor should he," grunted Marcus. "Branad renounced it."

"Nazvasta will not jump into this as long as Zenepha holds the throne," pointed out Olista. "He swore his allegiance to the boy."

"But he will do anything to prevent me from replacing Zenepha."

"And who else has a vested interest in an ongoing civil war, with faction fighting faction?" Olista smiled.

"Whoever's pretending to be Hingast," suggested Marcus. "Perhaps Enthan wants to keep us on the back foot."

"Who stood behind Hingast? Who helped the Markan Empire collapse in the first place?"

"I assume you refer to one or another of Sandev's mysterious friends." Marcus tutted. "Something else I must worry over, it seems!"

"Exactly. That game hasn't played out to its conclusion." Olista interlaced his fingers again. "Grayar remains in Marka. Djerana refuses to return home."

"I don't see what a struggle between the sephiroths has to do with Marka," said Marcus. "At least, not in any direct sense."

"Everything." Olista leaned forward. "Without the struggle between the sephiroths, there would be no Marka. That is the whole reason we exist. What Marka stands for."

Marcus held up his hands. "So you're saying the malefic sephiroth stole my ancestor's wedding document? Haven't they got more important things to worry about?"

"You are the important thing they have to worry about." Olista smiled. "Sure you don't want alovak?"

"No thank you."

"As you wish." Olista's gaze swept across his books before returning to Marcus. "Look how many Prefectures returned to us just because we put Zenepha on the throne. Imagine how many more will return once the rightful Emperor takes his place. Order restored from chaos. Peace from war. Law from anarchy. Marka is seen as a beacon of hope. We don't claim to be the jewel of the world for no reason whatsoever."

Marcus blinked.

"A strong and united Marka keeps Siranva in the forefront of men's minds," continued Olista. "It keeps away the darkness that's always looking for new ways to subvert this world, our home, to its own image. People look at Marka and the pyramid beside it and remember that once men were more. And will be again. This city ensures all men in the world remember that there is a malefic sephiroth to guard against."

"And instead Marka's Senate squabbles," grumbled Marcus.

"If putting Nazvasta on the throne would end our woes, I would do that tomorrow," said Olista. "No, hear me out. It would not, for several reasons. If the Senate blocks your accession because of a missing document, it will block Nazvasta's accession because of a renunciation of the claim. And that is recorded. That particular document is not missing, I can assure you."

"If the Senate vote goes against me, how will we win through?" asked Marcus. "I've given this much thought and can see nothing."

"Probably because we're thinking of ways to counter the missing paper your enemies are exploiting." Olista smiled again. "We'll find something, I promise you."

"Are there any duplicate documents anywhere?" asked Marcus. "In any other library?"

Olista pursed his lips. "I doubt it," he replied. He looked over his shoulder. "I insist you take alovak with me. The debate might last hours and we have much to discuss."

Marcus stared, then relented. "Very well," he said.

***

Zandra frowned into her alovak. Both Tamsin and Menta sat with her in the garden room at Olista's villa. This room enjoyed a tiled floor, walls painted white, and wicker furniture. Though the wicker gave easily, Zandra could not hide her gratitude for the cushions.

One wall was missing, large wooden shutters folded back so the occupants of the room could enjoy the garden without sitting out in the sun's full glare.

A sylph hovered with the alovak can, while two more worked quietly in the large garden, deadheading early roses and pulling the occasional weed that dared invade the otherwise pristine plot. All three wore plain gray work tunics and simple leather collars.

Tamsin sighed as she watched the sylphs. "Ylena and Pelena much prefer to be out there pottering, than in here serving," she remarked.

"But they do serve?" Zandra raised an eyebrow.

"They do."

"Is anything wrong with the alovak?" asked Menta, observing Zandra's hestitation. "Rabaran will brew more if it is too strong, or too weak."

The sylph with the alovak can nodded and took a half step forward.

Zandra came to. "It's fine. Thank you." To prove the point, she took a sip and, in fairness, the brew was exactly as she liked it. "Just thinking of what the Senate might do."

"They might do anything." Menta smiled. "Though we understand your worry."

Tamsin tutted. "If the vote goes against us, we will have to think of another way," she said. "I know several Senators spoke of changing that particular law to clarify the circumstances under which it is valid."

"If it is on the statute, then the law is already quite clear," said Zandra. "Perhaps it is time to remove it altogether."

"Olista doubts if there is another copy of the marriage document anywhere," continued Tamsin. "Whoever took it has probably destroyed it."

"Your words cheer me considerably," said Zandra.

"Have you met with the guilds?" asked Menta.

Zandra pulled herself together. "Yes. They are still happy to support Marcus, but only when Zenepha stands aside. I asked what might happen if Nazvasta claimed the throne instead, and all I received were blank looks."

"Which means they have not considered the possibility," remarked Tamsin.

"Until I pointed it out." In truth, this last bothered Zandra a lot more than the likelihood of the vote going against Marcus. They both expected that to happen.

"Donanya?" Rabaran lifted the alovak can.

"Thank you." Zandra held out her empty mug for a refill.

"Zenepha is quite upset that this missing document has been brought to the Senate's attention," said Tamsin. "The boy hopes to step down –"

"We hope he does," murmured Zandra.

"– but the Senate have other ideas. There is even a faction, small but growing, who want to make his position permanent."

"What?" Zandra almost spilled her alovak.

Tamsin smiled. "There are many who believe that Zenepha is an excellent Emperor. It's true, but sylphs are not meant to lead humans, no matter what the wild sylphs say on the matter."

"We fear what might happen if Zenepha abdicates and nobody succeeds him," put in Menta. "Imagine all the chaos that will probably follow."

She gave a delicate shudder, but Zandra doubted if this woman was either delicate or frightened.

"We already know what will happen," said Zandra. "Even if we accept – which we don't – that the loss of this quarter-millennium old document debars Marcus's legitimacy, he still won the right to the throne in battle. He defeated and captured the only other claimant the Supreme Council summoned to Marka."

"It's not how the Senate sees it," said Menta, gently.

"So is this part of the political maneuvering between Senate and Council?" asked Zandra.

Menta shrugged. "We think it is more to do with politics between different branches of the Vintner family."

"Branad renounced his claim. For himself and his descendants. We must begin with that." Zandra looked at the two women with her. Rabaran stood to one side, wearing a mask of assumed indifference, while the other two sylphs continued to work in the full glare of the sun. Where were the rest of Olista's sylphs? Zandra recalled this villa being full of them. "Everybody must remember why we want the throne in the first place. And, no matter how good he is, they must also remember that our Emperor will not be taken seriously by many of the former Prefectures. We know better, but to them, he is only a sylph."

"And if the vote is against Marcus?" Tamsin spoke quietly.

"Then we begin to educate people why a human Emperor is better than a sylph one. Starting with those in the Senate who believe there is a better way, or a better candidate."

Tamsin laughed. "We've been trying to do that for years. There are always those who will not see."

Zandra stared into her alovak again. She had come too far and faced too many setbacks to surrender now. Yet she could see no way out of this one.

***

"Mixed news, I'm afraid."

Olista looked down at the note delivered by messenger and passed on, unopened, by Melda.

Marcus, who had already passed his limit on alovak, gritted his teeth. "Don't spin it out," he growled.

Olista nodded. "You managed sixty votes, which isn't bad."

"The rest voted against," groaned Marcus.

"No." A smile flickered at the corners of Olista's mouth. "One hundred and fifteen voted against and fifty-seven abstained."

Marcus leaned forward, interest shining in his eyes. "Just short of an outright majority," he said.

"Which means your claim isn't dead yet." Olista flashed a quick grin. "Not the best outcome and you can expect them to have a second vote. And there is something more."

Marcus waited.

"Senator Panan has tabled a motion to abolish the secret concord, but I have no more information than that."

"One of my supporters," remarked Marcus, pushing hair away from his eyes.

"He is." Olista nodded. "Well known for scouring the statute for obsolete laws to repeal. A very tidy Senator, obsessed with detail and simplicity."

"Sounds like a contradiction."

"Perhaps. He has a good eye for detail and believes the law must be kept as simple as possible, preventing too many legal interpretations of the same piece of legislation."

"He sounds a sensible man," said Marcus. "We must pay more attention to him from now on."

"My advice to you is to worry about the second vote. Personally, I believe that is inevitable, as they are just two votes short of an outright majority."

"Would that end my claim?"

"As far as the Senate is concerned, yes." Olista grimaced. "It is possible for you to force your way onto the throne despite it, but far better to gain that throne through peaceful acceptance than by the sword."

Marcus stroked his chin. "A political problem, rather than a military one," he mused. "More the sort I enjoy solving."

"We will find a way around it," promised Olista.

"The solution is probably easier than we yet realize," said Marcus. "I wonder if Djerana might be able to help."

"Djerana?" Confusion clouded Olista's expression.

"You wanted an ilven," said Marcus. "Remember that they carry a lot of influence, just by their presence."

"But she attached herself to Zenepha!"

"So she did." Marcus smiled. "But that doesn't mean she can't help influence the choice of his successor."

"Worth a try, I suppose," said Olista, "but don't expect too much. Ilven don't appreciate being prodded in a given direction."

Marcus laughed. "Only one way to find out."

Olista smiled. "I warn you: be very subtle. Any hint the conversation is not going as you wish, I recommend you withdraw, discreetly and quickly. It means you can return to the subject later."

Marcus, who had already decided something along similar lines, inclined his head. "Thank you for the advice," he said. "And the alovak."

***

Djerana looked up and smiled as Marcus entered the palace garden. As usual, the ilven lay comfortably sprawled on some grass, pleasantly shaded from the worst of the sun. She wore forest-green tunic and leggings, barefoot as always, showing no concession to the heat. Marcus could not recall her ever removing an item of clothing. He supposed she must sometimes; he'd seen her wear clothes of different colors before.

"Thought you might be enjoying the sun," remarked Marcus, sitting crosslegged beside her.

Djerana's emerald gaze flickered towards a couple of sylphs who lay fully stretched out in full sunlight, wearing as little as possible.

"I'm ilven, not a sylph," she said, as if that was explanation enough. "And as forest dwellers, we ilven like to shelter in a tree's shade in the heat of the day."

"Well, coming from a maritime climate myself, I tend to find summer heat stifling," admitted Marcus. "I'm glad to find you in a shady spot."

"And what can I do for you?" asked Djerana. "I'm sorry to hear about the vote, but I cannot see what I can do about it."

"Neither do I." Marcus smiled. "You must be pleased that Zenepha gets to carry on as Emperor."

"Mixed feelings," replied the ilven, "which mirror his own."

"I'm surprised you're not with him."

"He's with Selkina." Djerana shrugged. "I'm not always welcome those times."

Marcus joined in her laughter.

The ilven grew serious again. "You have not asked me to attach to you," she said. "You must know that was the reason they brought me here."

"You make it sound as if you had little choice," replied Marcus. "Which is not quite how Grayar tells it."

Djerana grinned and nodded. "You have no idea how persuasive Grayar can be. Some might call it bullying. But when he told me he was coming here... Well, what adventurous ilven could resist?"

"Your loyalty to Zenepha has been nothing short of commendable," said Marcus. "And few can have forgotten your courage during the siege."

Djerana snorted. "Courage? Why do people think ilven have no courage? It is what you mean. You do not expect me to stand before an enemy, so you praise me for courage when I do."

"No." Marcus shook his head. "I really mean courage. Nobody who did not have to be at the walls ever came near. You did, despite everyone urging you to stay away. That's courage, Lady Ilven."

"Your sylph scouts display greater courage every day." She wrinkled her nose, perhaps still not completely reconciled to the idea of sylphs running with armies.

"And when Zenepha steps down, will you stay with him, or return to your sisters?" asked Marcus.

"I'll return to my sisters eventually," she replied. "But I must see Zenepha settled first. There are questions from his past that must be answered and Grayar tells me I can help with that."

"You'll always be welcome in Marka, Djerana."

The grin returned. "Hoping I'll attach myself to you and help cement your position?"

Marcus spread his hands, as if caught out in an underhand scheme. "The thought did gallop into my mind and take lodgings there," he admitted.

Djerana laughed. "Thank you for your honesty. Though ilven are not possessions to be passed around like sylphs."

"Neither are sylphs," pointed out Marcus. "They hate changing allegiance."

"But for the most part, they are possessions." Djerana gave her companion a neutral look.

"If you feel so strongly, why have you not entered the debate between the Free Tribe and civilized sylphs?"

"Because that is for them to debate and reach their own, individual decision," she replied. "I am a free agent. If I ask to be returned home, Grayar or even Sandev would take me there."

"Of course. Your status is not in any question." Marcus shrugged. "Well, if you don't want to, you don't want to."

Djerana put a hand on his arm. "I'll tell everybody I meet how unfairly you've been treated," she promised. "But I cannot do any more than that for you. We ilven ask to be left alone by humans, and if we reward that indulgence by interfering in your politics, the compact might break down."

"Somehow I doubt that. Si – The Father himself gave us his instructions concerning his daughters."

"So He did," said Djerana, as if she might have forgotten. "You still have my word. You deserve the throne."

"And when I get it, will the sisters return to Marka?" asked Marcus.

"Our numbers dwindle." Djerana looked sad. "We do not know why, but those He calls to His side number a little more than those He sends to us." Her emerald eyes abruptly focused again. "I doubt very much if we shall return to this continent during your lifetime."

Marcus sighed. Probably something to do with the struggle between the sephiroths again. "Well, if I ever find a way to reverse that, I promise to tell you."

Djerana's smile suddenly lit up her face again. "I appreciate the thought."

Marcus gave the ilven's shoulder a gentle squeeze, regained his feet and looked down at her. "For what little you can do, thank you," he said, before turning to leave the garden.

***

The assassin crouched and stroked the cat's fur with long fingers. Thoughts whirled and twirled, mingling with half plans and ideas.

"Make Marcus suffer as he loses his family. Drag it out, drive him insane."

A cruel command. Despite the assassin's profession, cruelty did not rate highly. The assassin preferred self-preservation over creative murder. Fortunate indeed that the girl's body had not yet been recovered. With luck, her boyfriend would hang for the murder of the Vintners' governess, which would deflect attention away.

The boy would be an unfortunate casualty, so the assassin could complete the offered contract. The commission always came first; to act otherwise would be unprofessional.

That Marcus Vintner lived within the palace made the task harder. So many people seemed to believe that an assassin could swan into a place, hide as if invisible, strike from the shadows, and melt away. The truth was very different.

Sure, an assassin gave the appearance of invisibility. An assassin might be anybody, but no killer could take out people one at a time without others becoming aware of what walked in their midst. Even a series of accidents would stretch anybody's belief in coincidence.

Fire, ambush, poison... A number of options had been considered and rejected. The Vintners rarely traveled around together, which excluded ambush. A fire might not be successful, or might kill those who were not targets – and that would be most amateurish.

Poison seemed a useful option, but sometimes a cumulative dose was necessary. Sure, that guaranteed the children dying first, adding to Vintner's anguish, but it would be realized long before the adults died that a poisoner was responsible and an investigation begun.

And these people had access to the best healers, including those who were Gifted.

Worse than that, their damned sylph seemed to have some sort of sixth sense. She was suspicious of almost everyone entering those apartments and checked everything carefully. The assassin had begun to believe that the sylph must have been specially trained to detect anything out of place.

Perhaps Jenn ought to be the next to die.

But again, that would trigger its own investigation; they had lost Kaira and if the Vintners now lost their sylph, they would know.

And suspicion always fell on new starters first.

The cat purred under the attention of those long fingers, and dark blue eyes smiled down at the creature.

Both parents were out now and the children were at their most vulnerable, but the assassin made no move. An unplanned, spontaneous attack would be the worst possible thing to do, with no lines of retreat planned or protected.

And the sylph was there.

A fall from a window or a trip on the stair? Such things happened even to sylphs, renowned for their agility. A cart with stones suddenly upending? No, that required far too much preplanning and preparation. Not to mention involving someone else, anathema to any self-respecting assassin.

Too many things could go wrong and capture would end all future assassinations.

Not for the first time, the assassin wondered if Dervra wanted his tool to survive this commission. But planning would eventually provide a solution.

Long fingers stroked harder and the cat, pleased for the attention, purred.

***
Chapter 24

Sallis Begins Work

Sallis ti Ath walked Kaira's route between the library and palace several times. Though he often mocked the City Guard for sometimes missing the obvious, the organization usually displayed efficiency and thoroughness during its investigations.

Sallis smiled as he walked, and a woman, thinking the smile meant for her, smiled back. He nodded as he hurried on through the crowd. Perhaps unfair to accuse the guard of missing the obvious, they almost always went for that; what caused the guard problems was failing to understand that life never quite worked that way.

Most people who went missing did so after a row. Cause created effect, according to simple logic. In the absence of any other information, the guard were right to suspect Basren, but wrong to ignore Kaira's employers. The employer was just as likely to be responsible as the lover. Not even the Vintners could be above suspicion with regard to crime. Even if Sallis believed he would soon cross Kaira's employers off his suspects list.

The guard assumed death had found the unfortunate Kaira; Sallis knew it had, but the guard did not enjoy the privilege of the Gift. Kaira had died somewhere between the library and palace, or else had been abducted and killed later.

Sallis determined to learn which today, then he could concentrate on the why.

He wished the favor he still held in his pocket could give him some sort of lead, a trail to follow, but it only told him its owner was dead. He could not follow the dead, not even trails left when they were still alive. Death, it seemed, destroyed all traces, except for memories. And even those faded over time.

He thought as he walked, and remained observant, aware of everything going on about him.

As always stalls filled part of the road, some obscuring the many permanent shops. They were always erected in a slightly different place each day, so the holders would have little to say about the missing Kaira. Poorly dressed children and sylphs, presumably sent out to beg or steal what they could, lingered hopefully, or avoided watchful stallkeepers. Despite Zenepha's precautions, some people were still too lazy to work if they could find an easier way, even at someone else's expense. Sallis firmed his lips; using children or sylphs to provide such people a living disgusted him.

People swirled around him, some more observant than others. Most saw him without looking, just another human obstruction to push aside or, after closer examination, pass. Few saw more than a tall, thin man exuding a hint of menace.

Almost nobody recognized him, just the way he liked it. Mothers often used his name to frighten children into obedience, but few people could actually describe him.

Perhaps he looked nicer than the tales suggested.

The sylphs were different. They saw everything. Their gaze did not flinch away, for they rarely looked directly into Sallis's eyes. Most darted through the crowds on errands and he had no interest in them. Perhaps they had been on the street the day Kaira had been abducted, and likely not.

An infertile crouched opposite the first alley Sallis reached, leaning her back against a wall. She looked comfortable, with arms wrapped around her knees. She watched everything going on in the market, her earpoints twitching in interest. People obscured her from view as they passed, but only her head and eyes moved. She looked far too clean to be a beggar – not that there were many proper beggars left in Marka – but Sallis vaguely recalled seeing her several times before, in exactly the same spot, watching everything on the street.

He crossed to join her and dropped a copper coin immediately in front of her. The infertile stared down at it, her earpoints twitching forward before she looked up. She made no move to touch the coin. Sallis noted both ears had a wisp of silvery hair, showing this sylph had seen many summers.

"Donenya, I have no need for your money," she said, clear silver eyes looking at his cheek.

"Not a beggar then," remarked Sallis.

Those silver eyes glittered and her earpoints came fully upright. "My owner is Tranos Dovna Grulian," she replied. "But I tire easily these days and I am allowed to spend my days enjoying the sun." She tapped the wall. "My home lies on the other side."

"You're here every day?" pressed Sallis.

The infertile nodded.

"Have you seen anybody taken down that alley against their will? A young human woman?"

The infertile sighed. "Lots of people enter the alley," she replied. "Some young, some old; some male, some female; many sylphs, a few humans."

"Any hint of anyone taken there against their will?"

This time the aged infertile's gaze met Sallis's. "Never," she answered.

"Thank you," said Sallis, turning away.

"I do not need this coin, donenya."

"Keep it," replied Sallis. "Give it to your owner, whatever."

Sallis looked into the alley anyway, but it looked no different from alleys in any city. This one might perhaps be cleaner than most, but nothing stood out here.

The next alley had a couple of young sylphs playing in it, dodging around the piles of rubbish infesting the ground. They were shy however, and ran away when Sallis tried to question them.

He prodded about, but eventually left with no new clues. About to leave the alley, he glanced across at the slightly raised area, covered with a wooden lid. He pushed the cover aside and peered into the inky blackness below. Far below, he heard rushing water.

"Not thinking of throwing yourself in, young man?"

Sallis turned at the new voice and hid his surprise. The old man stood before him wore fashionable white shirt and ankle-length breeches, and dark shoes covered his feet, but he was anything but ordinary.

Hair silvered with age topped a lined face, but keen blue eyes skewered him with their intensity. Sallis felt no surprise that the man had come on him unawares; only now he sensed the Gift emanating from him in waves. More importantly, he recognized the man.

"Grayar," said Sallis, inclining his head. "Throwing myself in is the last thing on my mind."

Grayar managed a smile. "Though there must be an interesting reason why Marka's most famous bounty hunter is staring into the river into which the poor throw their night soil."

Sallis smiled and shrugged. Though Gifted himself, he had few reasons to trust others so blessed. After all, one had trained him and then dropped him when that training did not bring the expected results. And Sandev, though outwardly friendly and polite, always maintained her distance.

They didn't understand him and he didn't really want to know them, either. He no longer let their mistrust bother him.

"So long as the poor do not draw their water here," said Sallis, which hardly served as an explanation.

Grayar smiled. "The city's water comes from another river, higher than this one," he replied. "I remember them sending down the first bores. The lower river was discovered later – lower rivers to be precise – and the city's founders decided then to utilize those for carrying away sewage."

"And do you know where this river comes out?" asked Sallis.

"They come out in different places," replied Grayar. "You need to ask the linesmen, who are the poor unfortunates who must clear blockages."

"Never heard of that happening," remarked Sallis, "and I've been here almost thirty years."

"You've never heard of the city being flooded." Grayar smiled. "Storms often wash forest debris into the rivers and that can get jammed underground. And if the river that carries away the city's sewage is allowed to rise too far, then the drinking water will be contaminated. Hence the linesmen."

Sallis had never heard of linesmen. "Where might I find them?" he asked.

Grayar's silver eyebrows rose in unison. "The Water Office," he replied. "Next door to the main library. Thirty years, and you never knew that."

Sallis nodded and filed the snippet away. "I'll bear the linesmen in mind."

Grayar skewered Sallis with another piercing gaze. "There is a reason why you're staring at the drain," he said. "You didn't come down here to frighten sylphs."

"You're right, I didn't." Sallis smiled. "Why are you here?"

"Most of us who are Gifted help to heal the sick," replied Grayar. "Some of us even give our time freely. Some."

"My healing kills," retorted Sallis. "My skills lie in other directions."

"So they do." Grayar gave Sallis a tight nod, before leaving the alley.

Sallis pushed the wooden lid back into place. He doubted if anything had happened in this alley and soon followed Grayar back onto the street.

Sallis walked on to the next alley, delighted to see a row of shops opposite the entrance. Even better, a jeweler's had two sylphs sat laboring in the window, their nimble fingers suited to the delicate work fine jewelry usually demanded.

They might have seen something.

Sallis paused at a stall surrounded by salivating sylphs, where he bought a couple of soft treats, laced with choca. Carrying his purchase carefully, he pushed his way into the jewelry shop.

Both sylphs looked up as he entered, but interested inquiry changed to confused concern. Sallis knew why, though he doubted the sylphs realized they could thank the Gift for their sudden discomfiture. The shop owner bustled up, a lady somewhere in her middle years, but with a stern face.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Sallis smiled. Not only sylphs felt uncomfortable around him. "Perhaps your sylphs can," he replied. "I've been asked to investigate a sudden disappearance and I'm wondering if they might have seen something."

"They would surely have said something at the time," replied the woman.

Sallis kept his smile in place. "Perhaps they might like to answer for themselves."

The woman's mouth tightened. "So long as you do not keep them from their work too long," she said.

Sallis inclined his head. "I shall do my best to be brief," he promised.

The shop owner retreated to allow privacy, but her blue eyes watched Sallis carefully as he turned his attention to her sylphs.

"I'm Sallis ti Ath," he told them. "And you probably overheard the reason I'm here."

Both sylphs nodded slowly and the male gave him a slow blink. They carefully laid their tools down and turned away from setting small stones into gold rings.

"Melden," said the male sylph, introducing himself.

"Esrina," said his female companion. A glow to her complexion suggested to Sallis that she was in the early stages of pregnancy.

"A girl used to pass here several times a week," said Sallis. "About so tall, with light brown hair and blue eyes."

The sylphs exchanged a look and blinked. "There are many girls like this in Marka," said Melden, eventually.

"Young, with a little less than twenty-five years," continued Sallis. "She usually wore finely spun dresses, but otherwise without any adornment or jewelry. She is unlikely to have been a customer here."

Blank looks met Sallis's words.

"Can you remember anyone even remotely fitting the description entering that alley?" Sallis nodded towards the alley in question. "She might have been dragged or lured in."

Esrina shook her head.

"Melden?" Sallis had noticed the male sylph's earpoints twitch upright.

"Weeks ago," said Melden. "A young lady went into the alley with a companion wrapped all in black, but only the companion left it again."

"You're sure?" asked Sallis.

Melden nodded. "Light brown hair, though I did not see her eyes. Pretty dress."

Sallis swung to Esrina. "You did not see?"

Esrina shook her head.

"You were brewing alovak," Melden told her. "Perhaps the girl had passed before, but there are many with that description. But I remember the companion all in black."

"Not many wear such garb in Marka," remarked Sallis. "Mostly outlanders, mostly from the south and west. Did you notice the color?" He tugged at his cheek skin.

"Pale, like most Markans," replied Melden, immediately. "That is why this one stood out. Very pale hands, instead of amber, or jet."

"Good lad." Sallis smiled. "Anything else you remember?"

"The one in black maybe the same height as the girl," replied Melden. "Slender fingers. That is all."

"Get a look at the face?" pressed Sallis.

Melden shook his head and his earpoints twitched downward when he saw disappointment in Sallis's eyes.

Sallis nodded and smiled again. "Thank you," he said, before turning his attention to the shop owner. "Your sylphs have been very useful," he told her, "and I'll interfere with their work no longer. But they deserve choca for their information."

Both pairs of earpoints pricked upright at this.

The shopowner sniffed. "I do not keep choca on the premises," she said.

"Then if you will permit me." Sallis gave the owner no chance to answer as he presented the sylphs with the treats he had bought. "Eat them quickly," he whispered.

He turned back to the shopowner before she could stop the sylphs enjoying their reward. "Thank you for your time," he told the woman. "I shall detain your sylphs no more."

The sound of smacking lips from behind let him know the treats were now beyond recall or regret. He successfully masked his amusement as he left the shop and crossed directly to the alley.

The only thing different about this alley was the lack of a low rise around the hole that led to the river. It had a wooden cover like the rest, but a couple of stones rested on that, probably to prevent the careless from kicking the lid free and falling in.

Sallis took the stones away and lifted the cover.

Exactly like all the others, with the sound of rushing water far below. He could see nothing out of place, perhaps unsurprising after so long since Kaira's disappearance.

And yet... He had a feeling about this one, a vague sense of rightness, though he chided himself for foolishness. He always listened to his senses, a lesson learned long ago from a sylph named Lyssan. He knew these feelings were due to the mind interpreting whatever normal senses detected, even if unconsciously.

There was nothing here to cause the feeling, yet he knew. Kaira had been lured here, killed, and dropped into the river.

Time to visit the linesmen.

***

Sallis wondered why he had never before given any thought to how water reached Marka, or to the equally important topic of taking waste water away again. Life on his farm had been simple, with an indoor water pump linked to a nearby stream, and an outhouse for disposing of waste. An outhouse that moved, as old pits got full, and his father had dug a new one, erecting a new outhouse above it. Of course, that was impossible in a city.

Sallis had always known that a river supplied Marka's drinking water, and that the city had been built over the top of it. He had never given a second thought to how the drainage and sewerage worked. Perhaps the city's wealthy never needed to, and he reluctantly included himself among the ignorant.

Any river that took away waste would have to be somewhere below the one that brought fresh water in, and of course keeping the rivers free from obstruction would be among the more important jobs in the city.

Despite Grayar's direction that the Water Office lay next door to the main library, Sallis quickly realized why he had never heard of it before. Even standing right in front of the library, Sallis needed to ask for directions. The unassuming building had once been part of the library and the plaque outside had not seen polish for years, as dirt almost completely obscured the script.

Sallis stepped inside to a vile smog of bacca smoke from half a dozen pipes. Even then, he needed to ask if he was in the right place.

"This is the Water Office," a gray-eyed man confirmed. "And what can we do for you?"

Sallis introduced himself. "I'm looking for a missing girl."

"Missing eh?" The man's eyes held concern. "And if they've set you onto it, she's a dead 'un too."

"I think so yes."

The man smiled at his companions, sat around the room, some with papers in their hands, others sat quietly. "What's that do to with us?"

"My suspicion is that she was dumped into the draining river. If that is so, how long before the body comes out again and where?"

The man sucked air in over his teeth. "That all depends."

"On what?"

"Which river she got chucked into, how much water was in it at the time, whether or not she was dead before she hit the water."

Sallis blinked. "Do you get many bodies?"

Those gray eyes looked sad and the other men fell completely silent.

"Now and then. Sometimes unwanted babes, sometimes a child falls in, or the desperate do away with themselves by jumping down the shafts."

"Babies?" Not for the first time, Sallis despaired for his own race.

"Not often mind."

"Can you take me to where the river comes out?" asked Sallis.

"Can do better for you than that." The gray-eyed man smiled. "I can take you along it." He stuck out a hand. "Name's Giddens, by the way."

Sallis shook the proffered hand. "Give me an hour," he said.

"I'll need that to get everything ready," said Giddens. "While you're gone, get something warm to wrap yourself in. And an oiled cloak. We might be gone a few days."

***

In the library, Basren looked up from his work and nodded to Sallis. "You've found something?" He looked hopeful and reluctant all at once.

"I'm working on it. But you're going to have to come with me."

"Why?"

"Unfortunately, I've got to follow up a lead and that involves me crawling around the draining rivers."

"What do you need me for?" Basren's dark blue eyes looked worried.

"I don't need you. But if the City Guard learn I'm no longer keeping an eye on you, they're bound to come and arrest you. If I hand you over to them, they're more likely to look after you properly."

"What?"

"Wish there was another way, Basren." Sallis grinned. "You're going to have to trust me."

The young librarian wrung his hands together. "But the guard will lock me up! They'll –"

"Whoa." Sallis lifted a hand. "The guard will probably assign a man to keep an eye on you. You can't come with me, because I'll probably be leaving the city. So we're going to the guard, where I'll explain where I'm off to and why you're their responsibility again."

Basren sighed. "This is not what I had in mind when I asked you to find Kaira."

"As I said, you're just going to have to trust me."

***

Not having heard of them, Sallis had obviously never before seen linesmen at work. He gave Giddens and two of his men directions to the alley, sitting beside the leading linesman on the cart. He glanced quickly at the contents on the cart, eyeing with trepidation the thin craft that resembled a small boat with two bows. When they arrived at the alley, roughly a minute later, Sallis watched in respect as the three men set to work.

The linesmen removed the wooden lid and carefully set it to one side. Three tree trunks, maybe three pacas long, were lashed together, each trunk forming a leg and all three meeting at the top. A rope was then tied to the small boat, followed by a rope ladder secured to a crossbeam placed across one side of the dark hole.

"I'll go down first," said Giddens. "You follow when I reach the bottom."

Sallis nodded and eyed the rope ladder warily. The rope was of one thick length, with wooden slats set through it. He had expected a sailor's rope ladder, with two lines of rope and the footpieces set between the two. After weighing it up, Sallis eventually decided he could climb down it.

This one looked a lot more dangerous than a sailor's rope ladder.

"You'll need this," said Giddens.

Sallis blinked and watched as the other man secured a leather strap around his head. At the front, a light crystal glistened in the bright sunshine. Sallis secured his own in place, pleased to note the thickness of the leather between the crystal and where it would rest against his head. Light crystals left against unprotected skin usually burned. He watched as Giddens began his descent, the rope jerking this way and that as the man climbed down, step by step.

Then came Sallis's turn.

He grasped the crossbar and clung to it until he found the first slats with his feet. As he began to descend, his feet threatened to skid off the ladder with every step, until he finally caught the knack of balancing his weight. Gradually, the light from his crystal replaced natural sunlight, throwing wild shadows in all directions as the air grew dank and chill. He had expected a great stench from the waste thrown down here, but he smelled nothing wrong. The noise of the river grew louder and louder.

"You're down!" Giddens shouted in his ear.

Sallis found himself standing on a stone ledge, perhaps a single paca above the water that flowed steadily, throwing occasional spray as a submerged rock disturbed its passing. He felt a stab of panic as the rope ladder suddenly disappeared and he looked up, seeing a distant circle of light.

"What's next?" Sallis shouted back.

"They'll lower the boat. Be ready to steady it."

The light far above darkened. The strange double-ended boat, with paddles, a net and two bedrolls securely lashed inside, slowly lowered.

"Pull it onto the shelf," shouted Giddens. "We'll launch it later."

Sallis helped Giddens pull the boat – thankfully weighing very little – onto the shelf and freed the rope. That disappeared quickly and, as Sallis looked up again, the circle of light abruptly winked out.

He and Giddens were alone with the splashing river and dancing shadows cast by their light crystals.

"We use the net for catching fish?" asked Sallis.

"Sort of," replied Giddens. "Easier to recover corpses with a net than using your arms. When they've been in the water for a few weeks, the skin isn't, ah, attached very well."

Sallis grimaced and changed the subject. "The boat doesn't look very stable," he remarked.

"It isn't." Giddens nodded. "That's why we need to be careful."

"What if someone drops stuff on us?"

"Look around," Giddens shouted back. "There's nothing here, which means people up there don't throw to this side. We're safe."

Sallis thought he heard laughter in the other man's voice. He left him to check the boat alone, while he looked around. The rocks were all smooth here, suggesting this route had been cut by the river.

"What do we do if the water level suddenly increases?" he shouted.

"We drown!" Giddens chortled at his joke.

Sallis did not find the jape very funny. He had no intention of dying down here. He concentrated his attention on the reasons he was here, and tried not to think what might go wrong.

He would find answers here.

***

Zandra sat back in her easy chair with a sigh, kicked off her shoes and wriggled her bare toes. Snatches of song drifted through from the children's room, where Galenna had her charges singing rhymes.

"Not joining in with that, Jenn?" Zandra regarded the infertile through one half closed eye.

Jenn scowled and her earpoints twitched. "No," she replied. Her head turned a few moments before Zandra heard the padding of feet approach her room.

Weyna pushed the door open with a foot and smiled uncertainly at its occupants, her dark blue eyes lighting.

"The alovak, Mistress," she said, long delicate fingers curled around the edges of the tray.

"On the table please, Weyna," said Zandra. "You can go, Jenn will pour. She'll only sulk, else."

"Of course." Dark brown hair fell across Weyna's face as she leaned forward.

Jenn watched the servant until she left them alone again. She stepped forward, inspected the contents of the alovak can, then poured it before stepping back.

"Thank you, Jenn." Zandra sat straighter and picked the mug up, inhaling the alovak's aroma. "Care to explain why you're avoiding the singing, when before we could not keep you away from it?"

"Because before it was Kaira," said Jenn, by way of explanation.

Zandra sighed. "This silliness has gone on long enough." She put just enough of an edge in her voice for Jenn to detect the rebuke, but not enough to overstep the mark. After all, the sylph belonged to Marcus.

Jenn pouted and her earpoints wilted. "I do not trust her," she muttered.

"For Ranva's sake, why?" Zandra struggled to keep more than an edge from her tone. "She's very good with the children, they seem to like her well enough."

Jenn shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"I need more than that, Jenn." Zandra leaned forward and forced a smile. It was no good, Jenn had the same uncanny skill shared by most sylphs and saw through the ruse. The infertile leaned away and her lower lip trembled. "What do you think is wrong with her?"

Another, smaller, shrug.

"Jenn, I can't deal with this, unless you tell me what is wrong."

The sylph stared at the rug, earpoints wilted completely. "I just think she is bad," she whispered. "Kaira-ya leaves with no reason, then Galenna just appears. I have a feeling."

Zandra noted the lack of honorific for Galenna from the usually over polite infertile. "She answered a notice Marcus and I posted," she said. "Are you sure it's not just your usual resistance to anything new?"

Jenn still stared at the rug, but she gave a tiny shake of her head. "Not that," she whispered.

"You're being very silly." Zandra kept her chiding as gentle as possible. "You won't tell me what's wrong, so I must assume you're making it up. Do I need to speak to Marcus about your behavior?"

Jenn's earpoints shot upright and her eyes met Zandra's calm gaze. "I am not making it up!" she almost shouted. "Galenna is bad; I do not know how I know."

The infertile spun on her feet and stopped, her earpoints wilting again. Galenna stood in the doorway. Jenn blinked and looked down. Galenna looked at the infertile, her dark blue eyes calm, yet anger flared there.

"Just to let you know I've finished with the children for the day," Galenna informed Zandra. "With your permission, I'll just run down to the palace library to prepare next week's lessons."

The governess gave Jenn another cool look, ignored by the sylph as she flounced out of the room.

"Of course." Zandra smiled, even though she felt the beginning of a headache. "Galenna?"

About to leave, the governess turned.

"Ignore Jenn," continued Zandra. "She was like this with me when I first came into Marcus's life."

Galenna smiled back. "For the family's sake, I'll try my best," she promised.

***

The assassin lay back on the bed, dark blue eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Plans and ideas whirled, some worthy of more thought, most almost immediately rejected.

Learn your target. That was the first rule.

Marcus and Zandra; infant son, three daughters; that damned sylph. Possibly a couple of other unintended – but also unlamented – victims.

Plan of action. The second rule.

The infant son and the two younger daughters always spent their day in the Vintner rooms. They would go first. Except for the infertile Jenn, the other Vintner sylphs spent their time in another room. That meant Eleka and her younglings, which the assassin discounted, unless they managed to get themselves into the wrong room at the wrong time.

Either Zandra or Caralin would return next, Caralin being the oldest girl, now schooled formally. They never returned together, so the assassin could work one at a time, always the best way.

Finally, murder spree's climax: the return of Marcus Vintner. Grief would turn to rage, and enraged men never thought clearly. The assassin felt unable to drag out the killings and avoid detection, so committing them all on the same day was wise.

Even the infertile.

The assassin really wanted to eliminate Jenn first. Marcus certainly seemed very attached to the creature and the assassin had wondered if the master-sylph relationship might not be a little too close. Even better if that was so, though no evidence for it had actually come to light.

But Jenn's death depended on whether or not she stayed in with the younger children, attended Zandra while she met with her guildspeople, or clung to her owner while he spent his day chasing after the throne he coveted.

But the damned sylph was the one to watch. She saw far too deeply, even by her race's already high standards. She did not trust easily and resisted change at every turn.

Of them all, Jenn caused the assassin the greatest disquiet. Killing a sylph was easy enough; they drowned in their blood as quickly as humans once someone opened their throat, though simple asphyxiation took longer. Sometimes though, sylphs were more than they appeared. Some had been trained to protect their owners.

Might Jenn be one such?

The assassin had been unable to learn anything of Jenn's early days, for they had been spent in Calcan. Probably unlikely that the infertile had been trained this way: the assassin knew that Marcus and Jenn had been inseparable from an early age, so there would have been no time for proper training.

But the sooner Jenn was removed from the game, the better. Just in case.

Line of retreat. The third, final and most important rule, in case anything went wrong. Even if everything went well.

Nobody would challenge the assassin in the palace. Two changes of clothing, all three sets identical and – so far – unworn. The assassin would not be out of place in the palace, indeed was already well known to most of the guards and recognized by the rest. Once away from the palace, the assassin would melt away in the crowd, change clothes yet again, and walk away from Marka before the gates closed for the night. Easy.

Lying back on the bed, the assassin finally blinked and glanced at the window. The day was coming

***
Chapter 25

Into The City

Neptarik gave the small queue a glum look. The worst of the dawn rush into the city had ended, but the scout had decided to walk alongside one of the carts as if he belonged there. Thanks to his short hair and reasonably smart breeches and shirt, he stood out more than he liked. Glancing at other sylphs, he noted they were much more plainly dressed, wearing woolens more suitable for travel. And all wore their hair long.

He stayed close to the cart as it moved slowly towards the gates and resisted the temptation to jump on the back of it. Guardsmen eyed the cart, watching everything.

"Ho, Lendar!" One the guards called to the cart driver. "Handsome new sylph you've got there? Dressed for a party."

The two guards laughed together.

"What new sylph?" Lendar twisted on his seat and finally spotted Neptarik. "Not mine," he said after a quick look, and cracked the reins.

The guards' laughter ceased. "You, stop."

Neptarik stopped and his earpoints wilted.

"Who do you belong to, boy?" asked one guard, twisting the nametag appended to Neptarik's collar so he could read it.

"I belong to Selhend Accas Elgan," he said.

"Where is he?"

"She."

"All right, where is she?" The guard's hazel eyes hardened.

"Not here."

"Hmm. 'Neptarik-y-Selhend'," the guard read from the nametag. "One hard crack across back of head every time he is cheeky."

"Does that all fit on one small piece of metal?" Neptarik's earpoints stayed wilted. He knew the nametag said nothing of the sort, but he was always wary whenever humans joked about violence. Towards sylphs, they usually meant it.

"No, but if you don't start showing a bit more respect, you'll learn more about my tamer."

"I am tame enough already, thank you," said Neptarik, quickly.

"Good. Where's your Mistress?"

"Over the hills." Neptarik turned and vaguely pointed. "She sent me with a message for Pallun Shand."

"Tell me."

Neptarik reached inside his shirt and pulled the letter free. He handed it over sideways, as if the writing meant nothing to him.

The guard read the letter, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. He looked up and passed the letter back.

"Brews good alovak? Could use you in the guardhouse," he remarked. "Bad news for you, Neptarik-y-Selhend. Single travelers are no longer allowed into Turivkan."

Neptarik feared the worst and his earpoints wilted further. "Why?"

The guard leaned forward. "Why is not a question that passes your lips to your superiors."

"I must carry this into the city." Neptarik let his voice tremble. "Se alut batut," he said, almost managing tears.

The guard paused. He looked at Neptarik's face and noted the wilted ears. He sighed and relented. "Go on with you," he said and tapped his forehead. "Your name's in here boy. Even if I never saw you and you come in on the back of a cart."

Neptarik grinned and his earpoints immediately recovered. "Mutydo, donenya," he said, before trotting through the gate.

He had made it into Turivkan.

He jumped as Tektu suddenly appeared beside him.

"Se alut batut?" she asked. "How pathetic. I thought better of you than that."

"Got me through the gates," retorted Neptarik. "How did you get in?"

"Climbed the walls," said Tektu, matter-of-factly.

"Had enough of clambering over walls last year," retorted Neptarik.

"As I remember, you usually fell off," pointed out Tektu.

"Or got catapulted over," grumped Neptarik.

"A bad couple of days for you."

"Yes they were. I ended up with you for baggage."

"Not exactly overjoyed with the situation myself," muttered Tektu.

"Why stay then?"

Tektu sighed and changed the subject. "I found Pallun's place," she said. "He has some interesting visitors."

Neptarik looked around at the crowds that filled the streets, the progress of some rich man's palanquin slowed by the press. The man leaned out of the box, shouting at the crowds to make way. The crowds ignored the man, who only grew redder and redder.

"Not here," cautioned the scout. "Know anywhere quieter?"

Tektu gave him a look. "Nowhere in this city is quiet," she replied. "Only the temple grounds by the palace. And Pallun's place is opposite."

"Let's go there then."

Tektu nodded and led Neptarik through the crowds. They had separated again, in case anybody remembered a male sylph chatting to an infertile like they were old friends. Such relationships happened, but were rare enough to be remarked upon. Not to mention Neptarik's fairly smart appearance that contrasted with Tektu, in her worn traveling woolens. She looked more like a beggar than a genteel sylph. As if Tektu could possibly be described as genteel.

For all his skill, Neptarik quickly discovered Tektu could be discreet when she wanted, and he almost lost sight of her several times. One time he did lose her, only for her to appear beside him a minute later and silently lead him away again.

The scout wondered how she could find him so easily. There must be some sort of sense or bond that tied her to him, although he could sense nothing about her in return. Perhaps she would always be able to find him; his blood chilled at the thought.

But now was not the time to ask.

Neptarik felt very self-conscious as they crossed the first market square. He felt every sylph beggar's gaze on him as he passed through, unfriendly eyes whose owners resented his presence here. He'd felt it before, in Taura City.

But the beggars should leave him alone: he was obviously a sylph on an errand, not an indigent with nowhere to go.

As they neared Turivkan's heart, the crowds began to lessen and, eventually, a locked temple stood before them.

"I slept here last night," said Tektu.

"At least it should be cool inside," remarked Neptarik.

"It is locked," pointed out Tektu.

"And I suppose you would be uncomfortable inside a shrine dedicated to the Father." Neptarik smiled.

"Why? It is just a building, like any other. The graveyard is quietest."

The graveyard looked neglected. Stones were overgrown and grass stood waist high. Tree branches sagged towards the ground and Tektu gestured towards an Andler tree.

"I will just ensure we are private," she said, before crawling under the tree's branches. Moments later, a startled infertile scurried out and ran from the graveyard.

Tektu crawled out after.

"What did you do?" asked Neptarik.

"No need to do anything." Tektu grinned. "She left anyway."

"Just the one under there?"

Tektu nodded.

"Right, tell me about Pallun."

Tektu gestured with a thumb. "That is his place, right behind me."

Neptarik stared across the road. Pallun's workshop, built from the same pink sandstone as almost every other building in Turivkan, was exactly as described. A door in the center, a window on either side, with all the wood painted blue.

"Just him and an infertile living there," said Tektu. "Quite a large yard at the back, with its own entrance. He lives above the shop."

"Does not look much," remarked Neptarik. "And he has weapons for the army?"

"He does not keep them here if that is true," remarked Tektu. "He had several visitors last evening. Most look ordinary, one or two wear uniform."

"City Guard?" asked Neptarik.

"Army," replied Tektu.

"Serifa's lot have probably got people in Turivkan's army."

"Or Pallun cannot be trusted," pointed out Tektu.

"That is your reaction? He is a traitor?"

Tektu shrugged. "No idea. But Dervra is one of the Ten; do you think he might have a good idea what might be going on?"

"Mayhap." Neptarik shivered. He did not like to think of Dervra being somehow the same as Grayar and Sandev. "Foolish to have that census and take away those boys. How else did he expect people to react?"

Tektu shrugged. "Foolish was he? Think a bit harder about that. The malefic sephiroth is about causing discord and creating chaos for genuine rulers. Everything Dervra does has that end in mind."

Neptarik disliked this line of conversation and avoided Tektu's intent stare. Unlike most others, he now knew more about his "sylph" than he really wanted. "But he rules here," the scout pointed out.

"Perhaps he is about to move on," countered Tektu.

"So we are wasting our time?" Neptarik's voice almost squeaked and his earpoints lashed in irritation.

Tektu shrugged again. "I know how the malefic sephiroth works," she said. "And I have seen many times just how they tunnel within and destroy whatever they leave behind."

"But they have not won anywhere," said Neptarik.

"Not about winning." Tektu shook her head. "All about causing mayhem and confusion. You think the battle is about who takes the throne in Marka. The battle is about control of the ilvenworld. Marka is so much piff compared to that."

"Well, while I go to Pallun, you had better wait out here."

Tektu sniffed. "So I am supposed to beg while you live it up with the plutocrat? Sleep rough and go unwashed?"

"It will do you no harm for a couple of days." Neptarik grinned. "And you will be useful watching out here. Besides, the man only expects one visitor."

Neither sylph paid much attention to the bird circling high above.

***

An infertile opened the door to Neptarik's knock. She eyed him up and down suspiciously, her earpoints slanting forwards in curiosity.

"I am Neptarik-y-Selhend," he said, dropping into his new persona with barely a blink. "Anya has instructed me to bring this letter to Pallun-ya."

The infertile barely glanced at the missive Neptarik clutched. "And your mistress is?"

"Selhend Accas Elgan," the male sylph promptly replied.

Pallun's ruddy face abruptly appeared behind his sylph. "Also known as Serifa," he said, quietly. "Ilina, show the boy in. Alovak for me, water and fruit for him."

The infertile opened the door wider and inclined her head as Neptarik stepped across the threshold. He was aware of Pallun eyeing his collar, probably checking the nametag.

He entered the workshop, full of crates and tapestries slung apparently at random across beams. Pallun held one of the tapestries aside, revealing a cozy den. An easy chair and a couple of wooden stools were within.

"Help yourself to a cushion for a stool." Pallun gestured to some plain cushions that smelled faintly of sinabra.

Neptarik chose a red cushion with yellow tassels and gratefully sank onto it on one of the stools.

"The letter?" Pallun's dark brown eyes twinkled.

The male sylph blinked and handed the missive over.

Pallun scanned the letter quickly, grunting a couple of times. He looked up at his guest once, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. He had probably reached the part about brewing good alovak.

"Has anyone else read this?" asked Pallun.

Neptarik decided to keep his own literacy a secret. "The guard at the gate," he replied.

"I think it is coded well enough not to be too obvious." All traces of humor left Pallun's eyes. "Do you know what it says?"

Neptarik shook his head. "I am just a miserable sylph," he said.

"You look happy enough to me. I'm to look after you until Serifa enters the city; apparently you can brew alovak."

The tapestry was briefly twitched aside again, to give Ilina access. She passed a mug of water and a strange orange fruit to Neptarik, then poured alovak for her owner.

Neptarik stared at the fruit.

"You need to peel it before eating," said Ilina, helpfully. She took one of the cushions – blue with a red trim – and sat on the other stool.

Neptarik nodded thanks and split the orange fruit's skin. He froze in shock for a moment as Pallun passed the letter across to his sylph. Ilina could read!

"Looks like they did not bring the powder you expected," remarked the sylph.

"But they will buy the weapons," replied Pallun. "Better than nothing." He turned his attention to Neptarik. "From that accent, you hail from the east. How many Markans are with you?"

Neptarik blinked. "Two," he replied.

"And they have come without firepowder?"

This time, Neptarik gave a sylph's slow blink.

"All right, I'm sure your real owner has you sworn to secrecy." Pallun sipped at his alovak.

"And they have one of Adelbard's boys," continued Ilina.

We do not, reflected Neptarik.

"So it seems." Pallun folded his hands and tapped his thumbs together.

The infertile regarded Neptarik with a frosty expression. "And why has he got to stay here?"

"It won't be for long," promised Pallun. "Now, there are some people I must go to see. Neptarik, will you help Ilina tidy up?"

The scout inclined his head. "Se bata."

The infertile looked even less pleased, but Neptarik ignored her ill temper. He hoped Tektu would cause no trouble, while left to her own devices.

***

Tektu had not stopped watching the door since Neptarik had gone inside. She sat crosslegged on the ground, leaning her back against the sandstone wall of the temple. People swirled around, one or two almost treading on her. Most completely ignored what they assumed was a beggar.

Some copper coins were dropped in front of her, and someone even passed her half a pastry. She welcomed the food and wolfed it down, hoping the spicy vegetables would cause no upset stomachs. Tektu had to walk a strange dietary path. Some foods she enjoyed caused no end of digestive upsets, and other foods the sylph body loved made the real her feel ill.

She murmured thanks as appropriate, but watched nobody in the crowd, almost all her attention fixed on the blue door. She even ignored patrolling guardsmen, one of whom remarked to his companion that things must be getting really bad when sylphs dared beg so close to the palace.

Tektu ignored them, because the blue door opposite opened.

As Pallun stepped into the full glare of the sun, Tektu hastily snatched up the coppers and rose smoothly to her feet. A moment of panic as Pallun turned towards the palace, but he turned again down a connecting street.

Tektu followed cautiously.

Pallun's movements might be completely innocent: the man must have other contacts in the city to help the fledgling rebellion, but Tektu had her reservations. She had lived too long and seen too much to ever fully trust a human unknown to her.

The man paused frequently, usually to exchange a word or pleasantry and Tektu marveled at the number of people clearly involved in the conspiracy against Dervra.

Then, he turned into the doorway of a drinking den.

Tektu decided that this place had no idea how to be discreet. A huge sign covered part of the front wall, complete with the human lettering she had never bothered to learn. Most of the mural consisted of a painted hawk, complete with a hood buckled in place. The tavern clearly enjoyed a brisk trade and she suspected it must be hard to keep any conspiracy quiet if the participants met here. She could not see in and she dared not enter. Perhaps sylphs were welcome there and perhaps not, but nobody welcomed beggars. With her mussed hair and clothes already beginning to look well worn, she could hardly be mistaken for anything else.

Instead, she leaned her back against a wall opposite, lowered herself until sat on the ground, and drew her knees up under her chin. She'd deliberately chosen a different begging posture, in the hope people would not remember her from outside the temple. To complete the appearance, she held a hand out in front of her.

Perhaps all the people entering or leaving the tavern were involved somehow, but Tektu knew that would be unlikely. She had no way of telling which of them might be of interest to her and which not, but she had a keen eye for detail.

One man caught her attention almost immediately. He swept along the street, cloak wrapped securely about his body, though she saw polished boots and a distinctly southern appearance, if tempered with features she associated with humans further north.

He entered the tavern and Tektu strained to see, muttering gratitude to someone who dropped a silver coin into her hand. She immediately secreted that away; the golden rule was to never show silver, only coppers.

Turning her head, she saw someone else watched the tavern.

There was little to remark him, neither dressed well, nor poorly. Average height, average build, dark hair and piercing pale blue eyes. Those eyes made him stand out more than anything else.

Her nose twitched, though she smelled nothing. However, other... senses... told her this man was either Gifted, or else practiced sorcery. She ached to reach out and snatch it from him, but they had blocked her from the power that should be hers to use. All part of the punishment she had been forced to endure for so long. Cut off and cast out.

She turned her head away before he became aware of her stare. She had no wish to draw attention to herself.

People, mostly men, came and went, but the other watcher did not follow Pallun when he eventually left the tavern. When the man with the polished boots eventually stepped back out onto the street, the human watcher turned to follow him.

Deciding this might be a new lead, Tektu trailed after the man with his distinctive pale blue eyes.

***

Neptarik decided that Pallun's infertile sylph would never rank among his favorites. Ilina made it perfectly clear she resented his presence, criticizing almost everything he did and, in one or two cases, taking the chore out of his hands altogether.

"You may as well go into the yard," she said eventually. "You are not much use in here."

The scout gave the infertile a tight smile and stalked outside, closing the door quietly behind him. He poked around in the yard, but it seemed to mostly contain stacked timber, presumably waiting to be sold on. He would be very surprised if Pallun was foolish enough to store weapons here. Bolts secured the back gate top, middle and bottom, so any thought of crossing the road to join Tektu must be abandoned.

It was still only morning and he already knew staying under the same roof as Ilina would be testing at best. Little wonder that infertiles were abandoned by their parents; they all seemed to be a royal pain in the –

Neptarik's head swung back to the gate. He had definitely heard a noise. He stared warily at the gate, expecting it to mysteriously open, but nothing of the sort happened.

He crossed over and put his eye to a crack between two of the slats. Something moved beyond, but he could not make out what. Thief? Ally? Someone else?

The shape moved away and Neptarik glimpsed a cloaked figure moving along the alleyway. He turned and went inside again.

"Do you often get people wandering along the alley?" he asked Ilina.

The infertile shrugged. "Of course, it is an alley."

"Just caught someone trying to look into the yard."

"Probably nothing." Ilina shrugged. "So long as whoever it was did not try to force his way in, we have nothing to worry about."

"Given what our owners are doing, we have everything to worry about," Neptarik told her. "Your owner's life is at risk and very likely ours too. Anything strange going on should be noted, always."

Ilina sniffed. "The only strange thing going on around here is you," she said, before returning her attention to dusting.

Neptarik restrained a sigh, but his suspicions were aroused. Without knowing why or how, Pallun and his sylph just did not add up.

"Excuse me," he said, after a pause, "but I'm going for a walk."

Ilina nodded an acknowledgment, but said nothing.

***

Tektu had no idea where the man with the polished boots ended up. Pale Blue Eyes caught up with Polished Boots and the two men had a brief conversation – of which Tektu only caught snippets – before they parted company.

Now this behavior was equally strange, so Tektu decided to stay with Pale Blue Eyes. He turned back towards the palace and she followed him directly there, watching him nod to the guards and disappear inside.

"Thought you were staying by the temple," said Neptarik, catching her as she crossed the square. "I thought they had captured you."

"I followed Pallun," she replied. "And I have a feeling he has met agents working for Dervra."

"Certain?" Neptarik's silvery eyes stared patiently into her own.

"Not all that certain. I only saw people go into and leave the tavern, but a man with polished boots went inside and only left after Pallun. And he was being watched by another man who had a conversation with him before going into the palace."

Neptarik shook his head. "This place is a mess of politics," he sighed. "Do you think Pallun is a traitor?"

Tektu shrugged. "No idea. But be very careful."

Neptarik smiled. "I am always careful," he replied.

"Where are you going now?"

"Just for a walk through the markets. What are you going to do?"

Tektu scowled. "I will keep on eye on Pallun's place. Come and speak to me before you go back inside so I can report."

Neptarik nodded and wandered away.

Tektu pushed Neptarik from her thoughts. He could probably look after himself and she could always point directly towards him. She did not want anything untoward to happen to him. The bond itself worked against that, making her protective towards her owner. But also changing allegiance always hurt and she did not want that to happen twice in as many years, unless it meant her freedom.

The infertile she had chased from under the andler tree returned and stared at her with unfriendly eyes. Tektu guessed she had stolen this girl's begging spot.

"You normally beg here?"

The infertile nodded and moved closer. A knee poked through her leggings and her tunic looked threadbare and worn.

"A deal for you," said Tektu.

"It is my spot," said the infertile.

"Listen, or leave," said Tektu, hardening her expression.

The infertile flinched.

"You beg here while I watch over there," said Tektu. "All coppers and all food you get is yours. All the silver is mine."

"All mine," insisted the infertile.

"Except the silver." Tektu stared until the infertile reluctantly nodded. "Good girl."

Tektu watched the infertile as she settled down against the temple wall. She kept her eyes as blank as possible and hid her smile as she realized she had thoroughly intimidated the infertile.

Tektu turned away and entered the temple graveyard. She pushed her way through the weeds until she found a discreet spot to watch Pallun's place.

She vaguely heard the infertile's voice calling for alms. Extra silver would always come in useful.

Carts came and went from Pallun's yard all the time. Tektu even saw the man himself, supervising the work. She also caught glimpses of his infertile, scurrying about with alovak.

But there was nothing to catch her interest here. She concentrated thoughts on Neptarik for a few moments, wondering why he had not returned from his walk. Her bond told her he stayed in one place, strange for one who claimed to be walking.

Probably the stupid scout had decided to exceed his orders and interfere where he had no need. She had noticed that trait before. Rescuing Mya had been no part of his orders in Re Taura, she now knew. Perhaps he was spying again.

Tektu shook her head, part in exasperation and part in... It felt like concern, but Tektu knew it couldn't possibly be that. Much as she hated to admit it, there was something likeable about Neptarik, though she knew Mya would never forgive her for what she had done to her previous owner.

Gradually, the sun shifted and began to set, the streets slowly emptying of people. The infertile came into the graveyard and almost squeaked as Tektu appeared silently beside her.

"Your silver," said the infertile holding out a hand.

Tektu took the five pieces of silver. "Just the five? You have been there all day; I managed as much in a fraction of the time."

The infertile watched Tektu with wary eyes.

Tektu leaned forward and frisked the other sylph, ignoring her protests. Tektu had little wish to search the creature, suspecting the infertile did not wash quite as often as perhaps she ought, but found another eight pieces of silver without delving too deeply.

"How much copper?" asked Tektu.

"You said I could keep that!"

"How much copper?" repeated Tektu.

Reluctantly, the infertile showed the copper. Tektu rummaged through it and took the largest pieces. The infertile began to cry.

"You tried to hide silver from me, despite our agreement," said Tektu. "Think yourself lucky I have only charged you a few coppers and not welted your hide."

"What are you?" whispered the infertile.

"Something for you to fear," Tektu whispered back. "I will be back in the morning. Sleep well."

Tektu's attention returned to Neptarik. He had only gone for a walk and there was still no sign of him. Her senses warned her something must have gone wrong. Where was he?

***

Neptarik stirred and put a hand to his head. Apart from some grogginess, he felt quite all right. He blinked and shook his head. What had happened?

He was sat in a wooden chair and not restrained in any way. His feet reached the floor comfortably and he felt no bruises or injuries. The room he found himself in had four sandstone walls, one slightly curved, and that wall had the only window.

"Awake now?" asked a human voice.

Neptarik turned his head, immediately spotting an average looking man with dark hair and cold, pale blue eyes.

"What happened?" he asked. "Where am I?"

"You really should be more careful what you accept from infertile sylphs," chided the human. "What happened was that I gave you something to make you sleep. You are presently inside Turivkan's palace, a guest of the Prefect, though he doesn't know you're here. Yet. And he needn't know, if you are cooperative."

"Who are you?"

The man smiled, though his pale blue eyes showed no more emotion than before. "My name is Marlen Ulvan Masser."

Neptarik blinked. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

The man's expression hardened again. "Your collar claims Neptarik-y-Selhend, though I doubt that is your real name."

"I am Neptarik." The sylph nodded.

"Very good. And you are involved in this... rebellion."

The sylph kept silent.

Marlen lifted his hands. "No need to answer. I don't even have to torture replies from you. I have contacts."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"An intelligent question; clever boy."

Neptarik almost told the man that he could save his patronizing attitude, then realized he could sense Marlen. He must be Gifted. Or a sorcerer. Knowing who ruled here, the scout suspected the latter.

Marlen took a chair opposite Neptarik and leaned forward on his elbows.

"What I want is for you to go to the leaders of this rebellion and ask them to grant me safe passage out of Turivkan."

Neptarik blinked.

"I'm aware of your friend also in the city. Ah, Tektu. The Prefect has come across her before, in Re Taura. He's most curious to learn precisely what she is. It probably involves a lot of cutting and probing and pulling out of innards. Dervra's like that sometimes, his curiosity is almost insatiable."

"Is that a threat?"

Marlen laughed aloud. "More a promise. You will take the question and you will return with the answer. Or I betray your friend to Dervra."

Neptarik almost told the man to do it, but simple decency stilled his tongue. Tektu might behave that way, but Neptarik was different. He would not leave even her to Dervra's non existent mercy.

"Safe passage," he said. "Out from Turivkan."

"From the Prefecture, not just the city," added Marlen.

"And if the answer is not the one you want to hear?"

Marlen smiled again. "We'll discuss that then," he said.

"I might not return," said Neptarik. "They might not let me."

"Poor old Tektu." Marlen smiled.

"How did you know we were in the city?"

"A pigeon came," replied Marlen. "The man who gets the messages is a friend of a friend."

Oh, how right Balnus had been!

Marlen shrugged and continued. "Of course, it only told me about you, real name Neptarik-y-Balnus, scout for the Markan Army. But like all who are Charmed, we have our ways."

"My owner might not let me return."

"We don't have to meet in the city," replied Marlen. "We could meet just outside the gates. Bring friends if you are worried and I will bring Tektu, as a sign of goodwill."

"Why do you need safe passage?" asked Neptarik.

A shadow flickered in Marlen's eyes, the first open emotion the sylph had seen there. "Let's just say I don't figure in Dervra's plans for after Turivkan."

Neptarik's mouth dropped open. "He's going to let the rebels win?"

Marlen laughed. "He's going to let the rebels take the city," he replied. "That's not the same as winning."

Neptarik felt cold and wished he understood what Marlen had just said. How could they take the city and not win?

He sniffed and sat back in his chair. "I will do as you ask," he promised. "What is the message?"

***
Chapter 26

New Plan Of Action

Ean began to regret capturing Aiten within a couple of days.

The men had congratulated him and told him how much they respected his initiative and quick thinking. Ean's fellow scouts were also pleased, though only Belaika really spent any time with the captive, finding him a lot less insulting this time around. Belaika spent his time trying to learn how much Eldovan sylphs had copied and what they still did not know. He seemed torn between keeping as much as possible secret and actively helping these new scouts.

Aiten proved himself more talkative with Belaika than on their previous meeting, but he regarded Ean with icy contempt.

"Slippery," he muttered, whenever Ean came near.

Ean stayed away after that.

He expected – had hoped for – a request from General Lowst for the return of his sylph, but the other group of Eldovans remained silent. Didn't they care about losing one of their sylph scouts?

Officers took Aiten aside most days for questioning, which appeared to Ean to be friendly chats rather than interrogations. As a prisoner, he was treated far more leniently than Belaika had been the previous year. Then again, Aiten was not a foreign sylph in their view.

Ean found the reaction of the camp infertiles strange. While some were clearly pleased that Eldova had its own "painted devils", most regarded Aiten in exactly the same light as his eastern cousins. As something to be reviled and feared.

Mirrin insisted the captured scout stayed with him while they marched on towards Eldova. Belaika and Ean ran ahead, while Fhionnen and Samel brought up the rear, leaving the flanks to human scouts.

Crossing a plain dotted with farms, Belaika and Ean kept well apart, sending regular pingers to each other, but came together when the two armies halted.

"Not seen a sign of any of theirs," remarked Belaika, referring to Eldovan sylph scouts.

Ean grinned and his earpoints twitched. "Probably frightened of losing one or two more," he replied.

"We must make a plan in case we need to sneak into their camp," said Belaika.

"What?" Ean sat up.

"Into Lowst's camp. We might need orders from Kelanus-ya."

"We get orders when Shyamon whistles the daily love message for Aiten," protested Ean. "We need take no risks."

Messages for Aiten began the night of his capture. Reassuring messages telling the captive to be strong, to hold fast and keep a tight rein on his fear. The sylph looked surprised to receive anything at all, but refused to explain either the messages or his strange reaction.

"Lowst is not a stupid man, he will soon ask we swap Aiten for Shyamon. He must at least suspect Shyamon is being used to pass messages, other than comfort for our captive."

Ean sniffed. "He is enjoying an easy life right now," he complained. "No running about and a gentle walk beside Mirrin's horse. Not even secured behind it."

Belaika winced at the memory of being tied behind a horse and stumbling along in its wake.

"We might all need to run," he said. "We cannot lose contact with Kelanus-ya. He has probably worked out a new plan. Or an escape."

Ean shrugged. "Do you think the Eldovans will turn on us?"

"Can we really trust them? Janost is certainly no friend and Mirrin is just one man. Maybe they can buy forgiveness from Hingast simply by handing us over."

Ean blinked; he had not considered that.

"And there is something else," continued Belaika. "Are the messages for Aiten really everything they seem? There might be another code at work here."

Ean's earpoints stood upright at that one. "All right," he said. "We need to make a plan to get into their camp and speak with Kelanus. How?"

"We must include Fhionnen and Samel, but none of the Eldovans."

Ean gave his companion a patient look. "Already took that one as obvious."

Belaika grinned. "We can move at night and only one of us need actually take the risk of getting in. Maybe we should throw coins for it, like Neptarik would."

"Needs someone experienced," said Ean. "Me or you."

"Between us two then. These are my thoughts..."

Ean listened to Belaika and made a suggestion here and there. When they finally stood, as the armies readied to move on again, Ean wore a smile. The plan sounded good, very good.

He thought they should try it out, even without need.

***

Mirrin stared at the captive sylph scout. Shashi sat a short distance away, watching and listening for any eavesdroppers, while Aiten lounged on the ground, quite unconcerned about his captivity.

"So Lowst has no orders to slaughter us?" Mirrin asked.

"Not so far as we know, donenya. It is those who fought further north who are tainted, and Marshal Janost, of course."

"Strange, because Janost seems to be Hingast's main supporter here," replied Mirrin. "And the impression I get is that Hingast fled the field."

Aiten grimaced and bowed his head towards the ground. "Forgive me if I am too forward donenya, but Lowst-ya says you were not there."

"Neither was Lowst. Nor you."

Aiten nodded acquiescence. "Lowst-ya has orders that allow him to use greater initiative. He much regrets having killed already, and mourns the loss of his own men in our recent fight. But he says Eldova will need her sons in the times ahead."

"And General Lowst has told you this?" pressed Mirrin.

"Even before we left Eldova. In case anybody was taken prisoner." The sylph scowled at the ground for a moment.

"Sounds a lot like Lowst's command style." Mirrin smiled. "You did not expect to be among the prisoners."

Aiten shook his head and looked up, earpoints stiffly upright in anger. "That scout tricked me," he protested.

"Learn from the mistake," snapped Mirrin. "You must learn to be as independently minded as the Markan sylphs, and think on your feet."

"Se bata."

"Ean's was an excellent ruse; ensure it never works again."

Aiten inclined his head again.

Mirrin changed the subject. The captive scout Shyamon whistled a message from Lowst to Aiten every day, and Kelanus used that as cover for passing on his own messages. But why would Lowst send Aiten messages daily and use an enemy sylph to pass them on? He and a couple of his men wrote down the words as they were reported – usually by Ean or Fhionnen – and pored over them hunting hidden meanings. So far, they had discovered nothing.

"Why are these whistles sent to you?" he asked.

For a moment, Aiten looked startled, but quickly recovered his composure. "Perhaps they miss me," he suggested, though his earpoints slanting forwards hinted at confusion.

"Perhaps they do, but your owner does not march with the army."

Aiten shrugged. "It is good to be missed though."

Mirrin raised a smile.

"Will you send me back?" asked the sylph.

"No."

Aiten gave a sylph's slow blink. "We are all Eldovans," he pointed out.

"We are?" Mirrin shrugged. "I might send a rider across to Lowst tomorrow and negotiate an exchange."

Again, that sylph's slow blink.

"For Shyamon," explained Mirrin. "I'm surprised Lowst hasn't already suggested it." Another thought struck him. "Has Lowst got any musical sylphs with him?"

Aiten nodded. "Only an infertile," he replied, his voice puzzled.

Mirrin sniffed and returned the nod. "I promise you, I'll try and arrange an exchange, but don't get your hopes up."

"Why not? I am more use to Lowst-ya over there."

Mirrin chuckled. "Don't be too sure of that."

***

Raynor Shedry ran a hand over his ten minutes' worth of stubble that already showed over his pointed chin. The skin felt smooth enough under his fingers, but if he looked in a mirror, he would appear unshaven. His mother always told him he could thank starting to shave too young in life for that.

He next ran his hand over his forehead, reaching hair somewhat later than in his youth. A shame the hair there could not be so bountiful as that on his face. A few more years and baldness would rule up there, instead of glossy black hair that still showed no hint of gray.

His other hand rested on a small pile of hurriedly penciled music sheets, his sylph's attempt to write down the whistles Raynor asked Shyamon to whistle across, addressed to the captive sylph Aiten. The replies were also there, together with any other whistles she had happened to overhear.

Raynor had gladly given his life over to service. A soldier for over thirty years, he had privately questioned some of the orders he had received in the past fifteen or so, but served loyally. But for most of those years, his commanders had utilized a talent that had manifested itself very early in his career.

Raynor could crack codes and uncover hidden messages. He had no idea how, but it seemed as if he could read a letter, and immediately see any underlying meaning. Or see unusual patterns in the words, suggesting a hidden code.

When old Aelfrec still ruled Eldova, before his insane son took over, the Prefect had asked one of the Gifted to look Raynor over, to see if he had any latent abilities.

No such luck, the Gifted had said – in Raynor's view a great blessing – but the Gifted suspected coming from a musical family might have something to do with his ability to crack codes and spot unusual patterns.

It might even be true.

Raynor had spent most of the past year thinking about the Markan sylph scouts and their peculiar method of communicating. Crack those whistles, and a lot of the advantage the Markans enjoyed would dissipate in an instant. Whistling allowed almost instant communication, but it might also prove a weakness.

And it took his mind off other matters. His daughter had married a Sergeant six years before, but Imin was among those who had marched east with Hingast and not returned.

And his son Dagban, not yet twenty, and eager to help Hingast complete his claim to the Markan Throne. He, also, had not returned home. Son and son-in-law among those Hingast accused of cowardice and treason.

Or already dead.

"Tonight's message, enya?"

Raynor blinked and turned his blue-gray eyes onto his sylph. He smiled. "Of course, let me think a moment."

When he married, two infertile sylphs had been presented as wedding gifts. Littersisters, and looking identical, both had already begun training in musical instruments and – of essential importance now – how to read and write musical notation.

Unnis and Lynnis always brightened the newly-weds' evenings with their music and songs; Unnis always accompanied her owner on campaigns, especially once he attained the rank of Sergeant.

And Unnis had proved herself useful now.

Unlike Raynor, she could hear the sylph scouts' whistles, and unlike most other sylphs, she could write down what she heard. And for the past coulpe of days, Raynor had carefully controlled the messages sent to Aiten.

Capture an enemy sylph scout and feed him messages, get another sylph to write down the whistles in musical notation, then work on the code.

Raynor already knew the sylphs did not use a whistle for a single word, like the strange writing system used in Pelirno. Rather the notes and pitches represented a single sound, much like the letters in the Markan alphabet used over most of the rest of the continent.

And Raynor could already see a pattern in those whistles.

He knew he was not the first to think of this as the way to crack the sylphs' code and he marveled how someone had managed to create it. Probably a human, but sylphs could be surprisingly inventive. Then again, few sylphs were literate in these troubled times.

It didn't matter.

"Right, tonight's message," he said, leaning back after checking which sounds he had not yet used. "Slightly different. Ready?"

Unnis nodded.

"Hope all is well with you Aiten. The Father will shelter you until released in Eldova. Aiten, be strong." Raynor smiled. "Pass it back."

"Ala, lena ginad tul ewa, Aiten. Naya, Zhenya merinmin abut Eldov nebonda. A oplal, Aiten."

Raynor thought for a moment. "Make the 'we' exclusive, not inclusive," he instructed, "so a repeat 'you' appears in there."

Unnis barely hesitated. "Ala, le naya ginad tul ewa, Aiten. Naya, Zhenya merinmin abut Eldov nebonda. A oplal, Aiten."

"Good to have the long 'shee' sound." Raynor smiled. "That appears rarely enough in the language. Right, get it sent."

"Se bata."

Unnis disappeared at a near run, and Raynor bent his head over the music sheets again. A harder code to crack than usual, but he would get there. Eventually.

***

"Donenya, Mirrin-ya has sent a messenger; he should be here soon."

Kelanus looked up from his conversation with Tahena and blinked at Shyamon.

"Belaika just whistled it through," continued the sylph. "I think Mirrin-ya wants an exchange."

"Who for whom?" asked Kelanus.

"I think Aiten for me." Shyamon blinked. "Belaika says that he thinks Mirrin-ya doubts he will get the swap though."

"Oh?" Kelanus raised an eyebrow. "Surely they are missing Aiten over here; his scouting mate Vyren certainly looks lost without him."

"They do not let me run with him," said Shyamon.

"They know you'd just run back to Mirrin."

Shyamon grinned.

Kelanus excused himself to Tahena and crossed the short distance to where Lowst readied to move on. The Markans, who had given their word, were again armed, though Lowst had been reluctant to let Yeoman Taved anywhere near a weapon. Kelanus needed half a night to persuade his yeoman to behave.

"But they're Eldovans, Sir," Taved protested. "The enemy."

"Not for the moment," Kelanus had retorted. "Right now, they're doing what we want, which is taking us to the city."

That had been that, Kelanus hoped. Either way, Taved wore his sword and, from the lack of dead Eldovans, the General assumed his yeoman had behaved himself so far.

As Kelanus approached, Lowst's Sergeant-of-Signals abruptly straightened and folded some papers. Both men eyed his approach warily, while the infertile sylph who entertained them with music in the evenings peered shyly around a tent flap.

"Shyamon tells me Mirrin is sending a messenger across," said Kelanus, wondering why the Sergeant flinched at the mention of the scout's name.

Lowst nodded. "I'm sure he will be brought before me with all courtesy."

Kelanus turned to the sylph. "We all enjoyed your music last night," he told her.

She bobbed her head, flushed a brighter blue and her one visible earpoint twitched straighter in pleasure. She grew even shyer and withdrew from sight altogether.

"Delightful," remarked Kelanus. "She plays well for one so young."

"She's nearly thirty," grunted the signals Sergeant.

"Shy for her age then."

"That's infertiles," replied the Sergeant.

So you're Sergeant Raynor, reflected Kelanus, filing the snippet away, holding his silence as Sergeant Utlen brought a young rider before Lowst. He stayed close.

"Messenger Nayliss, Sir," said the rider, introducing himself.

"General Lowst. What does Mirrin have for me?"

"He offers an exchange, Sir. The sylph you hold captive for the sylph we hold captive."

Kelanus hid a smile. Again, a sylph's perception had proved right.

Lowst glanced at his signal Sergeant. "Raynor?"

Kelanus blinked as the Sergeant gave the smallest shake of his head.

Lowst turned back to the messenger.

"Submit my compliments to General Mirrin and thank him for his kind offer." Lowst smiled. "But I decline. If we swap the sylphs over, we have no way of communicating with each other, should the need arise."

Kelanus ignored the flowery partings as a few pieces turned over in his mind. The musical sylph belonged to the signal Sergeant. Signalers were often used as encoders and code breakers. Eldovans had tried to use a music-literate sylph to crack the scouts' whistles before...

"You look surprised, General Kelanus," remarked Lowst.

"I thought you might like the chance to get your sylph back," replied Kelanus, while watching Raynor. I don't even need to ask; I expect your musical sylph can read and write musical notation. "I'd better get back, I expect the march will be tiring for my horse."

Lowst smiled and nodded. "We'll be leaving very soon," he promised.

Kelanus hurried back and supervised men saddling horses for Kelanus and Tahena. Lowst had not provided spare animals for Taved and Felis, but neither man had voiced a complaint.

"Shyamon."

The sylph was at Kelanus's side in a moment.

"When that sylph brings her message for Aiten tonight, don't whistle it."

Shyamon shrugged. "We use that message to hide our own orders," he said.

"That sylph belongs to a signal Sergeant named Raynor," said Kelanus. "I expect the messages come from him. They're trying to work out your whistles."

Tahena watched them, dark eyes troubled. Taved growled something under his breath, hand on sword hilt. Felis shrugged and said nothing.

Shyamon gave a sylph's slow blink.

"Tonight, you will tell the yenakula to ensure their whistles, except for any acknowledgments, must be passed between each other beyond the possible earshot of any enemy sylph in either camp."

Kelanus waited for Shyamon to nod before continuing.

"This will be your last message; tomorrow I'll tell General Lowst that you'll send no more messages to Aiten, because an offer of exchange was made and refused."

"What's happening?" asked Tahena.

"They're trying to crack the scouts' whistles. That's why Lowst is happy for Aiten to stay over there," said Kelanus. "The lad is probably as unhappy about it as we are."

"Are you sure?" asked Tahena.

"Not definitely, but we know from Belaika that they've tried before. This time, they're using owner and owned together."

"We don't even know that sylph can even read musical notation."

"Willing to take the risk?" Kelanus raised an eyebrow. "Neither am I."

"Told you we can't trust 'em," muttered Taved, hand stroking his scabbard.

"Don't go running amok just yet," warned Kelanus. "Let's get to Eldova in one piece, eh?"

***

The four Markan scouts came together in a huddle at the end of the day. A long message had been whistled in from Shyamon, and Belaika had made up a suitable message for Aiten's benefit, even though there had been none. After all, Eldovans were not stupid, or not particularly so, and they would realize that if nothing came for Aiten, then the whistle must contain another message.

After all, the other sylphs marching with Mirrin had hardly gone deaf.

The scouts came together, and their stance suggested outsiders were not invited, as a couple of the camp infertiles learned. Even Shashi, usually welcomed by Belaika, wandered away disgruntled.

"Long message," remarked Fhionnen. "We must go even further afield to whistle to each other."

"And how can we give warning of any attack?" asked Samel.

"Send a double pinger," suggested Ean. "Ordinary pingers for positioning ourselves, like now; double pinger for trouble. We will still have to run to pass the message on anyhow."

Belaika nodded in approval. "They must be trying to understand how our whistles work again," he said. "Even sylphs here can duplicate them. If they whistle from this group to that one, and they have another sylph who can write them down..."

"How can they work out meanings though?" asked Samel, who wanted to believe everything sylph scouts did was infallible.

"Humans are clever," muttered Fhionnen.

Ean gave Fhionnen a doubtful look.

"They look for patterns," said Belaika. "That is how it is done. Any human who understands how our language sounds will find the same patterns in our whistles they can find in our speech."

Fhionnen and Samel, the least experienced of the four scouts (and the least trained, according to Belaika and Ean), looked at each other, earpoints wilted.

"Like I said, humans are clever." Fhionnen shook his head.

"Kelanus-ya had better be clever," said Ean. "According to Mirrin-ya, we will see Eldova City soon."

"We have a way of getting orders without whistling," Belaika told the others. "But it is dangerous." He quickly outlined the plan he and Ean had worked on most of the day and the other two sylphs nodded in appreciation. Their enthusiasm increased when they realized Belaika intended to penetrate Lowst's camp alone.

"But what if Kelanus has got no plan?" asked Samel.

Belaika shrugged. "He will have a plan," he said. "He always does." The scout fell silent again. When they reached the city, no matter what else happened, he had his own plan to see through.

***

Kelanus stirred in his blanket. Sleeping under the stars could be a pleasant experience in warm, dry weather, pretty much as they enjoyed right now. He blinked in the darkness, wondering if someone had touched him, or whether he had just been dreaming.

Stars seemed to glow in the cloudless sky above, countless endless stars. Land was a black mass when compared with the bright night sky. No moon. He stared up at the heavens, wondering when the Ark Star would next put in an appearance.

He turned his head at a small sound and saw a pair of sylph eyes regarding him, glowing as they reflected surplus light.

"What is it, Shyamon?" he whispered.

Those eyes swung from side to side as their owner shook his head.

"Belaika? What are you doing here?" Kelanus fought to keep his voice under control. Even a whisper sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness of the sleeping camp.

"Waiting for orders," whispered Belaika. "Now we are not whistling, this is the only way."

"No more orders until we reach Eldova," replied Kelanus. "Go back now and take no more unnecessary risks. We'll meet again in Eldova."

Belaika nodded. "Se bata."

"Get gone," commanded Kelanus. "And don't get caught."

He watched the scout's shape as he crept away through the camp. Foolish sylph, putting himself at risk this way. Well, if the boy had succeeded to get in undetected, he should be able to get out again.

Kelanus lay awake a little longer, mulling over his plan, what there was of it. When they reached Eldova, he would be taken before Hingast. He smiled as he thought of standing beside the man who ruled in the city. Once confronting the man who called himself Hingast, he would...

His eyes closed and he drifted away into a deep, and pleasant, sleep.

***

As they reached the highest point of the pass through the last range of hills, General Lowst invited Kelanus and Tahena to ride ahead with him. Tula trotted beside Kelanus's stirrup, not wanting to be separated. With more than a thousand men snaking behind, Lowst had commanded all his scouts to keep a careful eye open behind, in case Mirrin broke his word and attacked in the pass.

The scouts reported that, so far, Mirrin kept his distance, though he had sent his own scouts into the hills on either side of the pass. He might fear Lowst planned to attack him, despite assurances and promises.

The road turned a corner and, abruptly, they looked down on fertile land, with small woods dotted about. And in the distance, lay a city.

Kelanus granted Eldova looked impressive, though few cities could match Marka. Many rivaled Marka, in size and complexity at least, but no other had anything quite so impressive as Marka's pyramid. No such relic from the first civilization graced Eldova and Kelanus had never seen or heard of any relic as large as the polished black pyramid without Marka's walls.

"Eldova," announced Lowst, with a proprietary sweep of his arm. "From here, Hingast plans to rule an empire of his own."

Kelanus grunted. "The city looks well tended," he said, "though perhaps difficult to tell from here."

"Thur Ran Racken has been looking after it," said Lowst. "The man hates being used as an administrator, but he is good at it." Lowst sniffed. "In fairness, the man is rather good at everything he turns his hand to."

"Never heard of him," said Kelanus. "But if that is an Eldovan name, I'll eat my boots."

"Originally from Pelirno," replied Lowst. "Made General last year. Maybe the future Marshal of Eldova."

"Not one sent forward with Hingast then." Kelanus grinned.

Lowst leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Hingast used to dislike him. Nobody knows what changed his mind."

I do, thought Kelanus. "When will we reach it?"

"Tomorrow or the day after," replied Lowst. "I've no doubt more men will come out to meet us, process Mirrin and take you into custody."

"Process Mirrin? Sounds ominous."

Lowst smiled. "I already told you, Mirrin is not tainted with the charges leveled against the men who fought further east under Hingast."

"And he knows I'm your prisoner."

"He should do; I sent messenger pigeons. Several pigeons, in case of raptors."

"Thoughtful fellow," remarked Kelanus. "If I were you, I'd put out feelers and ask if Mirrin might not like to join us. With all his men."

Lowst managed a smile, though his dark blue eyes held a considering look. "Still hoping for a chance to take us over?"

"I gave you my word," retorted Kelanus. He pulled his spyglass free, but not even the famed Sandesteran lenses could provide much more detail of Eldova from this distance. "And Hingast is not to be trusted."

"While we're alone, why can we no longer hear your sylphs whistling?"

Kelanus smiled. "You're an intelligent man, General Lowst. I suspect you know the reason. And I've given strict orders to Shyamon, about sending no more, ah, encouraging messages to Aiten."

Lowst pursed his lips, then nodded. He turned to Tula. "Take yourself out of earshot, girl. I want to speak privately."

"Se bata." Tula's earpoints barely twitched as she wandered across the short distance to Tahena.

Lowst watched her go before he continued. "Let us assume that my men and Mirrin's merge into one large force. What, exactly, do you hope to achieve in Eldova?"

"Why should I tell you that? You'll only try to stop me."

"Perhaps."

Kelanus arched an eyebrow.

"I will not instigate a war against my own city," said Lowst. "As for who rules it..." He snapped his fingers and waved the same hand. "The people will not permit an outlander to rule them, or not for long. They've already seen the result of one regicide and I doubt if they are in any hurry to see another."

"Hingast is already dead and they are ruled by an outsider."

Lowst grimaced. "So you say."

"The child is genuinely Hingast's though."

"Meneda?"

"The boy, yes." Kelanus smiled. "And he will need regents."

"That might trigger our own civil war," pointed out Lowst. "From which Marka can profit."

"I was thinking of Mirrin as regent. From far enough away to stand back from the internal politics in Eldova, yet close enough to be an insider. And I know he is a decent and honorable man, who'll raise Meneda to be a Prefect fit for your land."

"What do you get out of it?" Lowst stared into Kelanus's pale blue eyes.

"I see the man who has been my rival for a decade, who has twice seen me removed from my post, who has allowed the most evil rumors to circulate about me... I get to see that man dead."

"All... right..." Lowst drew out the two words. "Let's assume you're wrong –"

"I'm not wrong."

"– and the man you tell me you're going to kill, is not the man you say he is. Let's assume that he really is Hingast."

"Then I doubt I'll outlive Hingast for long. But whoever that is ruling your country, he's not Hingast."

"I remain skeptical." Lowst smiled. "Even though Janost seems to have lost his love for Hingast and Mirrin certainly never had any."

"And you?" Kelanus arched his eyebrow again.

"The man's attitudes have certainly changed," said Lowst carefully, "and I'm suspicious of the reasons he wants so many of the returners from his own army turned away or killed, but he has ruled Eldova pretty well."

"A lot of people have died thanks to Hingast," said Kelanus, "but that is a charge many of us can face. But Hingast has killed... gratuitously. The man hiding under his face kills for his own survival, unless you happen to be unfortunate enough to be a pretty male sylph."

"Not heard him charged with that one." Lowst shook his head. "We'd have heard. Hingast certainly used to enjoy hunting sylphs, but I never realized he cared how pretty they were."

Kelanus smiled.

Lowst sniffed. "When we reach Eldova, I'll have to hand you over. After that, it's up to you."

"Will you merge with Mirrin?" asked Kelanus.

Lowst nodded. "So long as he's agreeable."

"Good." Kelanus turned to look towards Eldova again.

"One more thing," said Lowst. "This conversation never happened."

Kelanus nodded. "Fine by me," he replied.

***

Reaching the hilltop, Belaika dropped onto his haunches and wrapped his arms around his knees. A small smile turned his lips as he spotted Eldova's main city, a good day or two away.

He stared at the city, the reason he had begged to come on this incursion. So long, yet his goal was now in sight. Somewhere inside those walls, he would finally learn the truth.

Down there, he hoped to find redemption.

As he stared at the city, Gajaran's words echoed inside his mind, words that had haunted his nightmares for almost a year. Words that even invaded his flying dreams.

"You do what no sylph should. You direct men to death. Your enemies, your friends. Maybe even sylphs. You are an aberration, a devil. Evil."

He wanted – and yet at the same time dreaded – an answer.

***
Chapter 27

Dragon's Head Banner

Nazvasta Ulvic Vintner looked around at the Senate from the throne. Vintners had ruled here for more than two centuries. Unlike Marka, where the ruler – whether Emperor, Preceptor or Prefect – was banned from the city's Senate, provincial Prefects were supposed to preside over their own Senates.

Sandester's Senate building was discreetly tucked away down an easily defended road. It held eighty-eight Senators, eleven from each Prefecture under Nazvasta's rule. There were plenty of side chambers, from where Senators and their minions conducted much of Sandester's daily political business. The main room, with its vaulted ceiling, impressed everybody, including Nazvasta, who had seen it many times before.

Right now, the room could hold no more and faces stared expectantly down from the packed public gallery. They stared at him, as if they had known all along that the day would come when Nazvasta stood before them and made the announcement.

Heylena sat on the throne beside him, with their son stood between them. Seven years old, Aelfra already believed himself a man.

Marshal Mikhan, wearing his best uniform and carrying his baton, stood to Nazvasta's right, while Sandester's flag, blood red with its single horizontal gold stripe, flanked Heylena's throne. Fareen stood immediately in front of that, her earpoints twitching as she smiled around at the large room.

Senators sat expectantly, all faces turned his way. But most fixed their gaze on the pale blue cloth folded neatly on Nazvasta's lap. Gradually, slowly, silence descended, after ushers shushed a noisy minority in the public gallery. Excitement clearly ruled the room.

"It is rare for me to attend the Senate, except for formal occasions," began Nazvasta. "But today is an exception.

A murmur quickly died.

"Everybody knows my late brother awarded me my title as Steward before Marcus Vintner of Calcan forced him to renounce his claim. After Branad's death, Marcus decided our lands now belonged to him, and offered me the title of Viceroy, which of course I refused. We granted Emperor Zenepha our allegiance, not some other claimant to the throne.

"As the empire rebuilds, each Prefecture represented here deserves to regain its rightful place within that empire, even if our eleven Prefectures decide to stay together, as some private empire within an empire. But that is up to us."

Nods met his words.

"News reached us some time ago calling into question the legitimacy of Marcus Vintner's line."

An excited mutter ran through the assembly. Nazvasta noticed Fareen turn her head in his direction, but he ignored her pleased smile.

"As I said, Sandester willingly pledged allegiance to Emperor Zenepha, and our promise stands. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Zenepha, whose position daily grows ever more precarious. I fully expect Marcus Vintner to take the throne and rule as a usurper."

Silence. But the air almost crackled with expectation.

"If and when that happens," continued Nazvasta, "Sandester will stand against the usurper and I will take the throne from him!"

Nazvasta, hands on corners of the light blue cloth, abruptly stood and allowed that cloth to unfurl. Light blue, with a gold dragon's head emblazoned across it.

"When Marcus takes the throne from Zenepha, we will again serve under the dragon's head banner!"

Cheering met Nazvasta's words and Senators stood to applaud. Heylena turned and smiled at her husband, while Fareen nodded her approval. Aelfra stared wide-eyed at this outpouring of emotion and support, while a glint of satisfaction showed in Mikhan's deepset blue eyes.

"And we will serve true justice. We will see our great empire rise again from the ashes of the old!"

The cheering renewed, and Nazvasta allowed himself to bask in the adulation as minutes passed.

"Remember the path ahead will not be easy," he cautioned them, as silence fell. "Marcus Vintner is no fool. He will try to break us, or tempt us to try and break him. We must proceed with caution: ready to repulse any attack and always pressing our claim forward. Sandester holds the key to our bright future!"

Cheering resounded again, and Nazvasta hoped they remembered his warning. Fareen turned to congratulate him, leaning forward as she bowed before the throne.

"You are doing the right thing," she told him. "The right thing."

Nazvasta stared at her. "Each will give their obeisance," he told her. "Beginning with you."

"You have no need to command it from me." Fareen's smile widened as she bowed her head.

The Senators began to file past, each bowing his head, or dropping into a curtsey if a lady Senator. Nazvasta paid none of them any mind, planning for the future and dreaming of a throne he had believed forever out of his grasp.

Sandester would take her rightful place in the histories.

***

Elsin stayed away from the Senate. She suspected Heylena would resent her presence and felt certain the woman knew of Elsin's own interest in her husband. With luck, she also knew everything Elsin had told Kana.

She smiled to herself as she imagined the reaction.

She had continued to act as if she still intended to marry Nazvasta, opening discussions with two of Sandester's wealthiest families concerning her daughters by Branad. She even made some effort to keep the talks secret, though she prayed every day that at least Fareen had heard about them.

All part of the game. Fareen could easily work out that if Elsin married her two daughters into those families, she would have access to, and possibly even partial control over, almost half the available wealth in Sandester.

But she had her gaze fixed firmly on bigger plans. So long as Kana interpreted her stated intention to have children by Nazvasta as a threat.

On the face of it, she could control so much of Sandester's wealth and have considerable influence over Nazvasta's heirs.

Elsin had a suspicion that Nazvasta and Kana might well try to stop her, though she needed a lot of luck to successfully hoodwink the gwerin. They would want her out of the way, and Elsin knew exactly where she would like to go. And who to play for.

She could build something much greater than anything Kana and probably Nazvasta imagined. Fareen might guess, but Elsin hoped the gwerin might regard her reserve plan as a possible advantage to herself.

Sat on the ground immediately before her mistress, Millan leaned her head back and murmured appreciatively as Elsin curled an earpoint around one of her fingers, twisting her hand so the finger spiraled round and around the ear.

"Has Fareen been asking many questions of late?" Elsin asked her sylph. "I happened to notice a small piece of choca had melted onto your tunic the other day."

"I must have missed it," said Millan, as she twitched and trembled under the attention lavished on her earpoint.

Elsin giggled. "Too late now," she said, "you laundered those clothes yesterday."

"But Fareen has not asked too many questions," said Millan.

Elsin did not doubt it. She fed her sylph even more choca whenever the infertile told her mistress everything Fareen had asked, and the answers she had given. Elsin had told the sylph to answer all questions honestly, knowing where the answers would end up.

Unsurprisingly, Fareen had ignored her command to leave her sylph alone. Elsin had already known that, but she must be seen to go through the motions of trying to deny the gwerin the information she always craved. So Elsin happily fed whatever she wanted to reach Nazvasta's ears to her sylph. And whatever she wanted to reach Kana's ears now, apparently.

Millan leaned further back, perhaps hoping to be invited up, but Elsin no longer allowed her sylph onto the furniture. Some of her visitors disliked the sinabra, and certainly had no wish to share seating with her sylph. So Millan now had to make do with a wooden stool, though she had been granted a plump cushion to make life considerably more comfortable.

Elsin grimaced as she thought how few people truly understood sylphs. A natural secretion, the creatures' sinabra rarely overpowered and could not be confused with a lack of washing. But the prejudice was there, and Elsin must put up with it the same as Millan.

"This head is further and further from the floor every day," remarked Elsin.

Millan grinned and murmured in appreciation. "Perhaps one day I shall be as tall as Fareen," she said.

"Or taller." Elsin resumed the earpoint stroking. Some infertiles gained considerable height, though such specimens were exceptional. "You might be lucky."

Millan pulled a face and Elsin felt the strong ear muscles contract under her finger. "Not too tall," said the sylph.

Elsin laughed. "I'm not one of those easily intimidated by height," she said, "and I know all sylphs serve well."

Millan nodded.

"And you serve better than most," continued Elsin. "You help me to confuse those who do not work in our best interests."

"Ours?" Millan blinked.

Elsin must remember her sylph still had too few years to understand everything. "The better things are for me, the better they are for you," she said. "I'm sure you have seen how so many other sylphs must work much harder for their keep. Some are forced to beg, some do not eat well, some are poorly dressed."

Millan blinked and Elsin again felt the earpoint under her fingers try to wilt.

"This is why I must remarry, and why I must find good matches for my daughters," continued Elsin. "Kana is also looking for good matches for her daughters, and Heylena is doing the same thing."

"It is like a race," said Millan.

"Yes." Elsin smiled, proud of her sylph's perception. "Very like a race. And the cleverest sylphs who are lucky enough to belong to those who win their races are usually very well rewarded indeed."

"Lots of choca?"

Elsin laughed. "If you like. Though when you're a little older you might think of other things you might want, as well as choca."

"I live to serve," said Millan immediately. "And I will still serve, even if you lose your race."

"Oh, Millan." Elsin's fingers moved faster around the earpoint. "From the moment I first saw you, I realized you were the right one. I'll tell you what I plan to do if Nazvasta marries me, as Kana has remained so silent after our chat. And yes, when Fareen comes to see you again, make sure you tell her everything."

"If she asks," said Millan.

"She'll ask," promised Elsin. "She will ask."

***

Fareen wished she had held some information back from Kana.

Not because she still sulked, though the arbitrary way in which she had been passed on to another spymaster still rankled, but because Kana had not shared all her information.

She had spoken to Millan again, the young infertile telling the gwerin how much her mistress looked forward to marrying Nazvasta and having his babies. And when she told Kana...

The woman already knew! Worse, she had heard from Elsin directly and Fareen knew nothing about it. Kana had told Nazvasta, and Nazvasta had agreed with Kana, that Elsin might be a threat. All sorts of nonsense about Elsin seizing the throne by murdering Nazvasta's other heirs, or even her new husband.

Why were humans so blind?

Millan had proved so informative – and insistent she pass the information on – that suspicions had surfaced in Fareen's mind. The sylph seemed too knowledgeable for her age. Sylphs, particularly infertile sylphs who did not have far to go, could mature with amazing rapidity, but if Elsin confided her plans in her sylph for the sake of it, then Fareen would give up advising – permanently.

So either the youngster had a liking for choca far beyond that of even the greediest normal sylph, or Elsin fed information to her, knowing where it would end up.

That meant Elsin had no intention of marrying Nazvasta, or at least doubted if she would ever be allowed to.

Fareen had lived long enough to realize humans often overreached, especially while trying to be clever. It also made them very dangerous. But what was Elsin's real goal?

Did she want Sandester? That ran counter to Fareen's own plans, which happened to mirror Nazvasta's. He intended Kana to rule Sandester once he had the throne, for it then to pass to Verdin, the rightful heir anyway.

Fareen grimaced. There must be an answer, and she began to wish the two widows had been left behind in Marka. She smiled. The perfect solution had just occurred to her and even Elsin could benefit.

***

Marshal Mikhan had no idea why today's meeting was held in one of the small receiving rooms at the palace, rather than in the more usual War Room. Fareen attended with Nazvasta, though the gwerin appeared distracted or perhaps excited by something.

One small polished table sat in the center of the blue-painted room, with several chairs arranged around it. Paintings on the walls were mostly of forest or farmland, and two windows let in most of the natural light. Those windows allowed glimpses of rooftops and white clouds scudding across a deep blue sky.

The presence of Branad's widow Kana also gave him a moment's pause.

Nazvasta opened the meeting. "I've brought Kana along," he began, "because she's going to replace me as spymaster."

Mikhan turned his deepset blue eyes to Kana. "Congratulations," he said. "I hope we have a long and fruitful association."

Kana smiled and inclined her head, though she said nothing.

"Now," continued Nazvasta, "I understand our armies are now in place?"

"They are." Mikhan nodded. "All the pigeons have returned. Paul has established a permanent camp in Maturia, with good watch posts to give good warning, and Indelgar reports all his sylphs are in position across the north."

"And Drecan?"

"Has reached Vertia." Mikhan smiled. "And passed on a suggestion."

"Sounds good." Nazvasta leaned forward. "A new tactic?"

"Something like that." Mikhan glanced down at his papers. "From the local mayor's son, apparently; Drecan insisted any reward for the idea goes to him. The lad has suggested we build a series of signal stations all over Sandester, each in sight of the next."

"For communication?" asked Nazvasta.

Mikhan nodded. "Using signal arms during the day. The lad suggested how we might use those. And he said to affix light crystals to those arms, so we can even signal to each other at night."

"What do you think, Marshal?"

"I think we should do it. Another soldier, some years ago now, suggested how we might communicate each other at a distance by using our arms to represent letters, but Branad felt we didn't have enough time to introduce it."

Nazvasta stroked his chin. "How many signal stations will we need?"

"I recommend we build them around our external borders and along the coast," replied Mikhan. "With two or three roads where we can have a line of them to pass on messages here. It would certainly allow for a more rapid movement of our army as needed."

"Once an army crosses the border, we might lose it again," pointed out Kana.

"True," replied Mikhan. "But consider why an army would invade us. To seize the North Horn and monopolize taxes on the Bay of Plenty trade? We have an army there. To grab our natural resources in Vertia? We have an army there, too." He smiled. "And any Markan army invading is coming directly to Sandester. We will know where they passed into our lands and it's not hard to work out their line of travel once they pass the borderstones."

"And if they destroy the nearest signal stations?" Kana kept her voice quiet.

Mikhan smiled. "We can ensure there is an hourly message sent around the stations. I'm well aware the stations in themselves would be vulnerable, but we can work around that."

"And we can also disguise the signal stations," suggested Nazvasta. "As windmills, for example."

"Or even trees," added Mikhan. "And there is another advantage."

Nazvasta waited expectantly.

"Neither Markans nor Calcanese use this method of communication, they prefer to use a net of sylph scouts whistling to each other. They won't know what the signal stations are."

Nazvasta leaned back and laughed.

"How soon can we build them?" he asked.

"I'll send pigeons to all the provincial governors," promised Mikhan. "Shall we say one month?"

"And if Marka attacks before then?"

Mikhan's grimace might have been a smile. "You haven't raised the dragon's head banner yet," he pointed out. "Why would Marka attack us now?"

Nazvasta nodded. "Good point. Get them built, Marshal, and men trained in how to use them."

Mikhan stood, a rare smile turning his lips, and inclined his head. "Consider it done, Majesty."

***

Elsin smiled as she watched her daughters – Beanna and Reanna – rolling on the floor as they played tag with Millan. The sylph usually found the girls too boisterous for her taste, but she played the perfect playmate for the moment, temporarily shedding her cloak of early maturity. Elsin knew the friendship would end when the inevitable came, and her daughters left the infertile sylph behind as they aged.

Tanna, a middle aged servant seconded to act as nurse and tutor to the young girls, also watched the three younglings playing together on the rug, occasionally imploring one or another to play less roughly.

All play ceased and heads turned towards the door as someone knocked on it.

Millan sat up and, after a quick glance at her mistress, stood up, straightened her tunic and padded to the door. One of the palace messenger boys came into the room and gave Elsin a quick duck of his head.

"His Majesty would like to see you," said the boy, wide-eyed.

"Now?" asked Elsin.

The boy nodded. "Alone, Miss," he said.

Elsin said nothing to the messenger. "Are you all right looking after them?" she asked Tanna.

The woman smiled. "Of course," she said, showing no sign of subservience. Elsin respected that, knowing the woman's attitude would rub off onto her daughters.

"I'm sure Millan will fetch alovak as required," she said.

For once, the infertile failed to pick up the hidden message. "Do you need me to carry anything?" she asked.

"Stay here," insisted Elsin. "Nazvasta wants to see me alone."

"Se bata."

Elsin smiled at her sylph. Remembering how some personal sylphs sulked whenever separated from their owners, Elsin silently thanked the Father for Millan's obedience. But part of her was also pleased that the infertile wanted to stay with her mistress. That boded well for the future. She turned to the messenger. "Lead on, young man."

The boy bobbed his head again, and led her out of her apartment, along corridors and down steps. Away from Nazvasta's rooms, or Kana's apartment. The boy eventually knocked on the door to one of the smaller receiving rooms.

The moment Elsin stepped inside, her spirits plummeted.

Nazvasta and Fareen she had expected to see, but not Kana and definitely not Heylena. Nazvasta's wife gave Elsin a careful look, her blue eyes deliberately neutral. The woman was certainly pretty, but her petite physique and open, honest face were often mistaken for naivety, a mistake so many people had made.

But that look told Elsin they knew. If Kana had not told them, then Fareen definitely had. Would her gamble pay off?

"Thanks for coming quickly," said Nazvasta. He gestured with a hand. "Please, come and sit."

Elsin sat at the round table.

"I've discussed your interest with Heylena," continued Nazvasta, "and we both agree it is rude to keep you waiting for your answer."

Elsin blinked and wondered why the answer must be given so publicly. She glanced at the gwerin, but Fareen stared at her hands, clasped on the table before her.

"We understand the need you have to secure your daughters' future," continued Nazvasta, "but we question the necessity of securing that future through marriage to me."

"Your answer is no then," said Elsin. She hoped she looked suitably disappointed.

Nazvasta smiled.

"Unequivocally no," added Heylena.

"I see." Elsin sat back and looked at Kana. "Have you beaten me to it again?"

Nazvasta chuckled as Kana shook her head.

"No," replied Kana. "I've no intention of marrying again."

"So I'm to be cast out?" Elsin's attention returned to Nazvasta. "Returned to my family in disgrace?"

"Don't be foolish, we're your family now," replied Nazvasta.

"Feels like it."

"We understand your bitterness," said Heylena, "but we felt you deserved a quick answer. We don't think any worse of you."

Yes you do, Elsin reflected, I'm a threat.

"In fact we have an important new role for you," added Nazvasta. "So you don't feel left out."

Elsin masked her sudden elation by giving the others a suspicious stare. "What new role?" She looked at Fareen again, but the gwerin remained uncharacteristically shy, still staring at her hands.

"You are aware that an important member of the family is busy working for Marka's good," said Nazvasta.

"Verdin?"

"The very one." Nazvasta smiled.

"So you intend to exile me."

"No," said Heylena. "None of us want that."

"But Verdin is running free and, for now, beyond our influence," added Kana. "We need to bring him back into the fold."

"Why me?" asked Elsin.

"Why not you?" countered Nazvasta. "The boy has always got on well with you. He might be more prepared to listen to your advice, without it seeming that his mother is trying to exert her control."

"You do intend to exile me," insisted Elsin. "I don't share Verdin's interest in reuniting the Markan Empire."

"Then acquire it," snapped Kana. "Reuniting the Markan Empire is what we're all about in this family."

Elsin sat back, and restrained a smile. They could giftwrap this any way they wanted, they intended this new role to be an exile. The part they didn't know was that they had played into her hands. She turned to Fareen.

"This is your idea," she said.

Fareen looked up and her pale brown eyes glittered. "Yes." Her earpoints betrayed her, the gwerin knew. How, Elsin could not guess, but the bloody creature knew Elsin wanted this.

"So I must return to Marka," she said.

Nazvasta and Heylena stood to leave. Perhaps some sympathy lingered in Nazvasta's eyes.

"We expect you to be gone by the end of the week," he said.

Elsin looked across the table at Kana. "Satisfied?" she demanded.

"You've been left kicking your heels too long," replied Kana. "We are your family now; a lesson even Fareen has needed to relearn recently. You'll do well." She forced a smile. "You told Nazvasta you believe building up contacts in Marka should have been left to you, rather than me. Something about enjoying greater success?"

Elsin shrugged.

"Now's your chance to prove your words," added Kana. With a slight smile, she also left the room.

"Just you and me in here now," said Elsin. "This idea has sprung from your mind and don't you dare try to deny it."

Fareen gave her a knowing smile. "If it is any consolation, I did not expect Nazvasta to make his refusal of your offer so public," she said. "And I have two small pieces of advice for you."

"Oh?"

"Make the most of the opportunity offered to you." The gwerin shrugged. "In Marka, you will be close to the seat of power. Not only is Verdin only six years your junior, but he is also the heir to Sandester. No matter what Branad said before Marka's Senate, that only affects claims to the Markan Throne."

"And your other advice?"

Fareen smiled. "Never try to trick a gwerin," she said. "We know."

Elsin laughed. Not half as much as you think. Aloud, she said "You believe I planned this from the beginning."

"Something like that." Fareen said nothing more, but also left the receiving room.

Make the most of the opportunity offered to you. Elsin barked a quick laugh. As so often, the gwerin was right. Nazvasta had exiled her, sure enough, but she would return to Sandester with this land's true ruler wrapped securely around her finger.

She sat back and grinned.

She had won, after all.

***
Chapter 28

Zenepha's Decision

Jenn had very little to do. Eleka had taken her brood to one of Marka's parks, except for Salafisa, who now spent most of her time with the other palace gwerins. Her owner attended a meeting with some Senators, trying – and so far failing – to persuade them to throw out the nonsense surrounding claims of his illegitimacy. Zandra had gone to one of her increasingly frequent meetings with some ladies' group or other, furiously marketing Marcus.

Jenn curled up on her sleeping pallet and blinked at the wall opposite.

Caralin, oldest of the Vintner children and Jenn's favorite, was with her private tutor in the city. The three younger children were still in, but they were with Galenna.

Jenn's earpoints wilted as she thought of the new governess. Both Marcus and Zandra had scolded her for what they saw as the sylph's jealousy, but she knew envy failed to explain her reaction. After all, Galenna hardly took up any of her owner's time. Unlike Zandra, of whom she was jealous, even if she had learned to bury the emotion deep. Or even the Vintner children, though Jenn fully empathized with their demands on their father's time.

She had never felt envious of Kaira. Jenn blinked back tears. Kaira had always given comforting words whenever the infertile felt abandoned. She had even slipped sugared candies meant for the children the sylph's way. Why had Kaira run away?

She had run away, or held against her will somewhere, perhaps as future ransom against the Vintners. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

Kaira had gone, whatever the reason, and Galenna had replaced her. The new governess had more about her than Jenn expected. Oh, the sylph expected the new girl to have intelligence and knowledge, mixed with the benefits from an excellent education. She harbored no jealousy over that.

Something about Galenna frightened her. Hence she lay on her pallet tucked in one corner of the spare sylph room and stared at a wall. She thought briefly of happier days when she slept in her owner's campaign tent, and from before then, before he had even married, when she slept in one corner of his room in the Vintners' palace in Calcan.

Because of Galenna, she stayed alone in her room, rather than joining in the fun and games with the children. Even here, she could hear everything going on and nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.

The children liked Galenna. Marcus and Zandra liked Galenna. The servants who came into contact with her liked Galenna. Even Jenn found her personable and likable. But more lurked within.

Jenn's instincts warned her about... something.

And that unknown frightened her.

Hearing the outer door, Jenn shot upright and padded through to the main room, hoping one of the adults had returned, even Zandra.

Weyna Hilltop, one of the newer servants blinked shyly at the sylph and lowered her dark blue eyes. This always surprised Jenn, considering the infertile had a lower status than Weyna. She supposed some humans could be shy of sylphs.

Weyna's dark brown hair flopped across part of her face and she hefted the tray. "Alovak for Galenna," she said, her soft voice surprisingly firm for one so shy.

Jenn nodded and held open the inner door, watching as the serving girl moved quickly and delicately through into the children's room.

"Thank you, Weyna." Galenna smiled at the servant. "On that table will be fine. Oh, and might you fetch some of the sugared candies for the children please?"

Weyna smiled. "I will be minutes," she replied and left.

Jenn looked at the children, all happy. With blue eyes sparkling, Eylvras gurgled at her and poked his pink tongue out, while Taralin tugged at the hem of Jenn's work tunic, one of her favorite games.

"Want me to pour?" asked Jenn.

"If you like." Galenna's dark blue eyes glittered neutrally at Jenn. Since her outburst, the governess knew the sylph's opinion of her.

Moving slowly, thanks to a child larger than her clinging to the hem of her tunic, Jenn crossed to the table and poured out a mug of alovak. Two smaller mugs, for the girls, followed.

"Thank you Jenn." Galenna managed a small smile for the infertile.

The sylph nodded and turned as the outer door opened again, heralding Weyna's return with the candies.

"Now," said Galenna, holding the tray. "One at a time, youngest first. No, Eylvras, one at a time..."

Jenn turned her head to see Weyna watching the children as they eagerly reached for the candies. The servant's gaze met Jenn's and both smiled at each other.

Then Jenn realized an oddity. The servant had not knocked on the outer door before entering. If Weyna was so shy, surely she would never dare just walk in on her superiors?

Jenn shrugged and turned away again, eyeing the candies. She licked her lips.

"Can I have one of those?" she asked.

***

"I expected it to stink more down here," remarked Sallis ti Ath.

He only turned his head to speak. He sat carefully in the boat, as near to the centerline as he could. As Giddens had warned, their double-ended boat was hideously unstable if one moved about too much, though at the moment it drifted slowly downstream, guided only by the linesman's paddle. The light from the crystals affixed to their headbands reflected light off the black water and the rocky sides and ceiling of the underground river that doubled as one of Marka's sewers.

Despite the enclosed space, the river flowed quietly for the most part, and their voices sounded dulled in some places, and echoed from a rocky ceiling in others.

"Why?" asked Giddens, from the stern of the boat. If a double-ended boat could be said to have a stern. "It all lands in the water, which will mask the smell. And it's soon washed away."

"What are those white markings for?" asked Sallis, his crystal illuminating the marks in question.

"They show where there are other access points, like the one we climbed down," replied Giddens. "We'll pass the last of those soon. Then we've got a day before we reach the outside world again."

A swirl of water betrayed the presence of a rock, but Giddens expertly steered the boat around it. They had not always been so lucky, but the small boat had been built to withstand collisions with rocks and Sallis no longer drew in a breath when a scraping sound and the boat's sudden shudder showed they had met another submerged obstruction.

Sallis kept looking from side to side. Giddens had assured him that a corpse with air in its lungs would have floated out by now, but a sunk or partly submerged body might have caught up somewhere. Sallis supposed the linesman was the expert on that particular subject. Either way, they had seen nothing out of place so far.

"And we must stay away from those pipes," added Giddens.

"Why?"

"Those drain from houses fortunate enough to enjoy the privilege of indoor plumbing," replied the linesman. "And you never know when they might be active."

Sallis restrained a laugh, though he doubted he would immediately see the funny side should such a disaster befoul them.

The river flowed placidly enough, but there were some pools off to each side, where an eddy might have brought up a body. Sallis inspected those closely and even asked Giddens to take them in for a better look if his crystal's light failed to penetrate far enough.

His stomach had begun to growl when Giddens brought the boat alongside a rock ledge and hooked a line around a short spike.

"Time to eat," he announced.

"How can you tell?" asked Sallis.

"Well, when you spend a lot of time working in darkness, you tend to listen to your own body more," replied Giddens. "Besides, I can hear your digestion complaining from here."

"How far before we leave the city behind?" asked Sallis.

"Perhaps another hour," replied Giddens. "Then there's a bumpy bit, which can be exciting at times, then a day before we see daylight again. The river comes out at a large pool."

"The River Retchen?"

"The very one." Giddens nodded his head and smiled. "Ready for some dried fruit?"

Sallis accepted the offered food, but sat quietly as he ate. He hoped his hunch was right. Without recovering Kaira's body, he had no chance of finding her killer.

***

Zenepha, the reluctant Emperor of Marka, stood looking out the window. He stared at, but barely registered, the black pyramid towering over the city, a permanent reminder of past civilizations greater than their own.

The sylph idly wondered if rulers of that city used to contend with squabbles and political factionalism. They probably had. It seemed to be the way of humans. When they faced a choice, three humans might split into four factions.

The nonsense concerning Marcus bothered him the most. There had been a determined effort to keep him from the throne ever since he won the right to it and Branad had renounced his claim. Only Verdin, Branad's son, seemed honorable enough to abide by that renunciation.

That the other factions were prepared to keep a sylph on the throne, rather than allowing it to pass into the hands of the rightful claimant, only showed their desperation.

Enthan Vintner, ruler of the distant Imperial Republic (where, Zenepha had been repeatedly assured, humans were not exactly kind to their sylphs), sent an occasional letter pressing his claim, but clearly had no intention of traveling north to enforce it. Besides, intelligence suggested Enthan had problems of his own.

The faction that supported Hingast had pretty much disappeared, but they preferred to see the sylph hold the throne, rather than to see it pass to any other claimant. Zenepha wondered how they might cope once he died, childless.

And Nazvasta Vintner, avowedly loyal, but who had recalled all the Sandesterans. He had laid no claim to the throne and Zenepha doubted one would come for as long as he retained his position. But the sylph knew that once he stepped down, Nazvasta would denounce the new Emperor and take up arms against him.

The empire would not grow further for as long as a sylph held the throne, and might well immediately shrink if that sylph stood down. Now there was a pretty mess.

And the thing concerning Marcus's legitimacy. Someone had stolen that document and most likely destroyed it, with the aim of causing mischief. The secret concord had been drafted for a specific reason, concerning a specific situation at a specific time. Senator Panan was quite right to table a motion to abolish it.

But nobody rushed forward to back that motion; at least, not while Marcus Vintner remained a claimant. Zenepha did not understand. The people wanted an Emperor and had begun to realize Zenepha could be no substitute for the real thing. They wanted a human.

Perhaps ordinary folk could not care less who governed them, only that they were ruled fairly and justly. A big ask perhaps, but Zenepha knew Marcus would be ideal as Emperor.

The Senators, some of whom might feel their own interests threatened under Marcus's rule, saw things very differently.

But Zenepha was sick of it.

At first excited to be ruler of so many humans, the thrill had worn off months and months ago. Ruler and servant of his people, Zenepha knew he was beginning to flounder. The siege had proved to be his high point, despite knowing nothing about war. A happy ignorance, in his opinion. The Re Taura business had undermined his authority in some eyes, especially with the old enemy still stamping up and down the Western March.

The threat from Re Taura had also fooled Silmarila, but she was a mere advisor, not the ruler.

Well, that was all done with now. Zenepha had expected the chop to come quickly after that small debacle, and Marcus Vintner must be bitterly disappointed that only his unpopularity with so many Senators now kept the sylph on the throne.

For that matter, Zenepha shared the sentiment.

The people would follow Marcus Vintner. The Supreme Council had never recommended anyone else since inviting Marcus and Branad to Marka almost three years ago.

Only the Senate caused problems. The Council recommended, the senate decided. And the Senate had decided to reject Marcus Vintner.

Except...

Except that this only held good when there was no Emperor on the throne. He might only be a caretaker, but he held the throne. The thing was his to –

A smile spread across Zenepha's face as he remembered. Rogort, during a meeting. The sylph could picture Rogort's face as he spoke.

"Whoever he wishes," he muttered. "That is what you said."

In that moment, Zenepha knew he had set a new course and the decision was made.

***

Walking to the library, Basren knew a guardsman followed. One always shadowed him, though most gave him no more than a neutral glance. Some looked at him as if looking for an excuse to arrest him, his guilt already decided.

Sallis had been gone for little more than a day, yet it seemed an eternity since the man's presence reassured him. Despite what he had said about Kaira.

Basren still prayed that she would turn up alive, having been kept against her will, or perhaps recovering after an accident of some sort. Such things happened. But, as time passed, the belief had faded to hope.

And under the hope, a small voice told him the cold truth.

That Kaira was dead might well be the truth, but her death had nothing to do with him. His fellow librarians all knew that Basren was the only suspect in the guard's eyes.

"Not with us today?" asked the head librarian, a smiling man of great age. Irard Fassen di Maaren's name alone marked him as an outsider, even without his pale brown eyes and hair so blond that nobody knew if any of it had gone white.

"Sorry," replied Basren. "Thinking."

"Thinking or brooding?" Irard sniffed. "One is good, the other a waste of time."

"I'm wondering where Sallis has got to." Basren had not forgotten Irard had initially pointed him in the right direction to find the bounty hunter.

"You can rely on him to be doing everything he can," promised Irard.

"You've used him in the past?"

"Several times. And he's never let us down. If anything can be done for your poor friend, Sallis is the one to do it."

Basren looked up into the gaunt, lined face, the older man's eyes glittering in paternalistic concern. "Do you think I did it?" he asked.

"Remember that people are often prepared to believe the worst of others," replied Irard. "Always. General Kelanus has learned that particular lesson. For me, I'm swayed by the fact you asked for Sallis ti Ath to find Kaira. Because if you are guilty of anything, he'll uncover it and take you to the guard himself." Irard smiled. "I don't think you're that stupid."

Basren blinked. "Neither do I," he replied. "But I wish he'd hurry up and catch whoever did take her." Yes, whoever took her. She was locked away and not lying dead somewhere. Someone had taken her and everything would be all right. Soon.

***

"What's that noise?" asked Sallis.

"Rapids," replied Giddens. "Not too bad, thank Ranva, but we've got to get past them in the boat. After that, I know somewhere we can get our heads down."

By following the light from the crystal strapped to his head, Sallis saw that the way cut by the river narrowed, speeding up the water. Probably thanks to different rock, or something.

Up ahead, Sallis saw white, rather than black, water.

"Hold tight!" called Giddens. "And keep your hands inside the boat!"

Sallis obeyed and silently prayed to the Father as their small boat suddenly lurched, scraped over a submerged rock, and flew down a small rapid.

Giddens knew what he was about however, and skillfully paddled the boat around the worst of it, aiming for the darker parts of the water, in places only just wide enough for the boat to fit.

No wonder the linesmen used boats like these, rather than something like a coracle, that would at least be more stable.

One final lurch, and they were through.

"Told you they weren't too bad," called Giddens. "Wait until the water level drops; sometimes we have to get out and carry the boat over."

Sallis nodded. "Where are we sleeping?"

Giddens pointed with his paddle. "Over there," he said, already guiding the boat towards a quieter part of the river.

Over there turned out to be a series of rock ledges. They pulled the boat out of the water onto the first ledge, Giddens still insisting on securing a rope around a rock spike. He stepped up to the ledge above and spread out his bedroll.

"And if it rains during the night?" asked Sallis, who doubted he could sleep over the noise of the river.

Giddens shrugged. "We're in the dry season," he replied. "The water level will only go down at this time of year. But the boat is secure, just in case."

"What about us?"

"The water never gets this high except in winter." Giddens smiled. "But if you're asleep, you'll probably never know what's happened."

"Not very helpful," replied Sallis. "I'm hoping for another sixty or seventy years yet."

"May your wish be granted," said Giddens. "At least until tomorrow or the day after."

Sallis chewed on the dried meat that his companion passed across. "I'm surprised we haven't found anything," he said.

"Me too. When they drown, they usually fetch up pretty close to where they went in. But like I said, if she went in with her lungs full of air, she might fetch up anywheres. If she's here at all."

"She's here," growled Sallis. And what Giddens said about the dead fetching up only reinforced his belief that Kaira was dead before she hit the water.

Even so, Sallis knew he was not infallible. He had only used logic and a single witness report to work out the most likely place Kaira might have met her doom. The sylph Melden had seen two people enter the alley, one of whom might have been Kaira.

But another question nagged at Sallis. Why did someone want the Vintners' governess dead at all? He had pretty much ruled out the Vintners and Basren, and he found little evidence that Kaira knew that many more people well. It looked a lot like a planned attack, rather than a random murder of an innocent in the wrong place.

If he ruled out Kaira's murder as the end in its own right, then it must be the means to an end. Perhaps the Vintners were the target and removing Kaira had created a vacancy – for someone to bring them harm?

These questions turning over in his mind drowned out the sound of rushing water and Sallis quickly fell asleep thinking...

...only to wake after what seemed to be minutes.

"Morning," said Giddens, who had poked Sallis with a foot. "Sleep well?"

"Only just closed my eyes," said Sallis.

"Could hear you snoring over the river," complained Giddens. "Last of the water and dried fruit for breakfast."

Sallis sat up and pushed his blanket aside. They could hardly lift water from a river used as a sewer, so they'd brought every drop of drinking water with them. He missed his alovak and suspected he might get a headache from the thirst brought on by an insufficient supply of his favorite drink.

The light crystals threw shadows across the black water and Sallis gave their boat a resentful look. He'd survived so far and he supposed today could be no worse. According to Giddens, the worst now lay behind them.

Sallis still looked around, expecting to find something at any moment. And up ahead, he spotted something different, a line of light in their path. At first he thought his eyes played tricks – as human eyes often did in near total darkness – but he eventually looked over his shoulder.

"Is that daylight?" he asked.

"It is," replied Giddens. "We're nearly out and, with luck, one of the lads will be there with a cart and horse."

As Sallis turned back, his light crystal shone across something definitely out of place and he pointed.

"In the eddy," he said quietly. "Over there."

***

Having reached his decision, Zenepha spent a restless night, much to Selkina's worry. After breakfasting on oatmeal spiced with dried fruit, he called for his guard.

Zenepha kissed Selkina goodbye for the day and, with four black-cloaked shadow riders as escort, left their apartment. Armor and weapons jingled as the shadow riders trotted alongside the Emperor as he descended the palace stairs at a near run.

Outside, they turned a corner and, with people staring at the small procession in surprise, crossed Senate Square. The Riders fanned out as Zenepha entered the coronation building and walked the short distance to Olista's rooms.

There, a surprised Melda rose to her feet.

"Is he in?" asked Zenepha, smiling at the secretary.

"You are early," replied Melda, "but he's in his office." She nodded them through and Zenepha entered Olista's inner study.

"Are all the High Councilors in the building?" asked the Emperor, without even exchanging pleasantries. His earpoints slanted forwards in determination and his mouth set in a thin line.

"If they aren't already, they will be soon," replied Olista.

"Escort me to Coronation Hall," commanded Zenepha. "When all Councilors are present, summon the Senate."

"This is quite irregular," protested Olista. "You –"

"Please?"

Olista sighed. "I'll go and ensure everybody is in place," he said. "When they are, I'll come and escort you into Coronation Hall. And then you can summon the Senate. Don't wait here until the Senators are present before you enter, or you'll cause confusion." He blinked at his erstwhile sylph. "If this is what I suspect it is."

"I expect my announcement will cause confusion anyway," replied Zenepha.

Melda offered water, which the Emperor accepted, and made alovak for the shadow riders. Time passed.

And passed.

Olista eventually returned. "All Councilors are in Coronation Hall." He gave Zenepha a concerned look. "Sure you want to do this?"

Zenepha nodded. "Certain."

Still flanked by the shadow riders, Zenepha followed Olista along half-familiar corridors and into Coronation Hall.

"Gentlemen!" called Olista. "By the Father's grace: His Majesty, Emperor Zenepha."

The sylph stepped forward. The last time he had been in here, he had heard the claims and counterclaims of Kelanus and Ranallic. The time before, Hingast had held a knife to his throat. And before that, the first time he had ever come in here, was to take the throne and receive his crown.

Today would probably be the last time ever. He stood before the throne, turned and sat. Councilors followed his example. Zenepha leaned back in the large chair and rested his hands in his lap.

"Supreme Councilor," he called, in his clear, high voice. "Summon the Senate."

As muttering broke out among the Councilors, Olista inclined his head, reached for his staff, and left the chamber.

Flanked by his shadow riders, Zenepha let his eyes glaze over and ignored the calls from the floor. When the doors opened again, Olista led Senators inside. The Emperor waited for them all to enter and for the large doors to be shut again, before he spoke.

"High Councilors and Senators," began the sylph, "for the past two years, we have been through rather a lot together. Siege, warfare, invasion. We have seen Marka's fortunes rise and her lands expand."

He could see the faces of those listening to every word. An expectant hush crackled in the air.

"We have heard so many arguments why this claimant or that claimant cannot take the throne. I will end all discussion on this subject today. I claim the ancient right of rulers to name his successor."

A horrified mutter ran around the assembly.

"This right is rarely exercised as the line of succession is usually clear, but as I have and will have no children, there is little option. Events of the past twelve months or so have convinced me of one, inviolate fact. An empire of humans must be ruled and governed by humans. Not a sylph."

The cleverest of those present realized what was about to happen. Councilors and Senators jumped to their feet, waving order papers and calling out in confusion. Zenepha did not see who started it, but a single word, shouted out, caught on and swelled to a furious crescendo.

"No! No! No!"

Olista banged his staff on the ground, but few paid him any heed.

"This is why," shouted Zenepha, "I am abdicating the Markan Throne –"

"No, no, no!"

"– in favor of –"

"No, no, no!"

"– Marcus Marcus Vintner."

***

Rumor is part of life in any city. Those who had seen the Emperor walk from palace to coronation building immediately knew something was going on. For as many people who had seen the small procession, there were as many rumors, spreading through the streets like wildfire in an arid forest.

The Eldovans had returned and would lay siege to the city again. No, Eldova had surrendered and submitted to Marka's rule. Sandester had declared rebellion. No, Sandester had succeeded to the throne. The Imperial Republic had declared war. No, the Imperial Republic had taken more territory in the far south of the continent. Perhaps more Prefectures had returned to the fold, or sent letters of defiance.

Slowly, gradually, crowds gathered outside the coronation building and an expectant buzz stirred the watchers. Soon, messengers and runners left the building, sent on various errands. Before long, messenger birds circled high into the sky, carrying the news to the furthest corners of the empire, and even beyond. Some of the human messengers were intercepted and questioned by men in the crowd, before being sent on their way again.

And the people learned the truth.

It spread, a whisper at first, but growing louder and louder as the minutes passed. Workers laid down their tools, sylphs ceased their tasks, and all followed their employers and owners onto the streets.

Marka had a new Emperor.

***
Chapter 29

Rebellion

Reshiad looked around the circle of faces at the Red Ivy Tower. Only Ozbon from the Shelcar group attended, though Serifa and Verdin flanked him. Perhaps because this happened to be the only group from the rebellion he knew, Reshiad felt he could trust the green-eyed battle leader.

Including Ozbon, a representative from each city attended the meeting. Three were women, which no longer surprised him. Goff, from Rissan, was easily the oldest and Stellan, from Lyang, the youngest. All wore simple woolen clothes and none would look out of place on a farm, though a few men here had some wealth.

And all looked up to him. Reshiad worried what might happen when they eventually found out he and Adelbard Haist were not even related.

"Albansen's group will rise within the city," said Reshaid, "seizing the main gate and market squares."

Albansen, leader of the Turivkan Section, nodded.

"Shenzen, Modden and Elvaran: your people will fill the square outside the palace and prevent anyone from leaving. Ensure you have your shields, I expect Dervra's men will try to fight their way out using crossbows and longbows."

"Do we return fire?" asked Shenzen, one of the female leaders. If not for scarring down one side of her face, she would be pretty.

"Only if absolutely necessary," said Reshiad. "We do not want to weaken Turivkan, only replace the Prefect."

"What about the rest of us?" asked Smithsen, from Anbury.

"Ronard, Stellan, Fenrock and Goff will follow the other groups inside the city. Ronard: you reinforce the main gate; Stellan and Fenrock add your weight to the men already in the squares and Goff those outside the palace. Jenneta and Sendra: you will assault the palace."

"And what about the sorcerers who are there?" asked Jenneta, another of the female leaders. This one was sturdily handsome.

"Avoid them if possible," replied Reshiad. "If you cannot avoid them; well, arrows kill them as quickly as anybody else. Try to keep your casualties to a minimum. As I said, we want to change the Prefect, not destroy Turivkan."

"And the rest of us are in reserve?" asked Abain, a man who gave the appearance of laziness.

"You are," replied Reshiad. "You, Smithsen, Devves and Kreft. I suspect you will most likely be needed at the palace, which is where I expect the fighting to be fiercest. There –"

Reshiad broke off and all heads turned as the door opened and Neptarik strolled in.

"We weren't to be disturbed," snapped Serifa, as Balnus followed his sylph inside.

"You might want to hear this," said Balnus. "Neptarik's just returned from the city."

"And?" asked Reshiad. "There can't be a problem with the armaments, Pallun has already sent his underlings to supply us."

"One of Dervra's lieutenants wants safe passage out from Turivkan," said Neptarik.

Ozbon stood with a growl. "Not if he's the one who ordered the census."

The scout shook his head. "Dervra commanded the census and Kanad Tanor carried it out, giving the soldiers their orders."

"That's all you have to tell us?" asked Serifa, quietly.

"Dervra seems to want you to take the city," added the sylph.

"What?"

Neptarik shrugged. "Marlen told me that Dervra fully expects the rebels to take the city."

"Trap," muttered Smithsen, immediately.

The scout nodded. "My thoughts too," he replied. "Marlen claims not."

"Marlen is the one who wants safe passage?" asked Serifa.

"He said he will meet you tomorrow evening where he dropped me off." Neptarik grimaced. "He can move about, using the Gift."

"Have we got any choice?" asked Serifa.

"Not really." The sylph blinked. "If you say no, I must return to Turivkan with him. And he has got Tektu."

"Trap," repeated Smithsen. "Does he know the plan?"

Neptarik shrugged. "He asked no questions about it, but he certainly knows you are all here. Dervra must know too."

"Someone has been carrying tales," growled Ozbon. "Did you send this sylph to spy for us, or to betray us?"

Verdin shook his head. "Don't just automatically blame the outlanders," he said. "Dervra is no friend of ours."

"I betrayed nobody," insisted Neptarik, silver-gray eyes flashing as his earpoints slanted forward in anger. "They already knew. Somebody sent a pigeon even before we reached this tower."

"Yaan I expect," muttered Balnus.

"Let's not start blaming each other on the word of one man, and an enemy at that," said Reshiad, fearing the rebellion might collapse in bitter recriminations.

"We'll have to abandon the plan," said Modden. "If they know, we're all at risk."

"Perhaps we should meet with Marlen first," said Verdin, quietly. "Why does he want safe passage out? Is it for him, or are others involved too?"

"Just him, I think," said Neptarik.

"And is it a trap?"

Neptarik shrugged and his earpoints wilted. "I do not trust him," he said. "But he captured me and did not hand me over to the Guard. Or to Dervra."

"We should meet him," repeated Verdin.

Ozbon gave the sylph a close inspection, before his silver-flecked green gaze switched to Verdin. "I agree," he growled. "But if he can move about using the Gift, he does not need safe passage, surely?"

***

Already waiting for them, Marlen gave Neptarik a neutral nod as the scout led a small group to a wooded outcrop. A lump on the ground turned out to be Tektu, and Marlen pulled her upright as the rebels approached. He kept a firm hold of Tektu, who merely stood there without making a sound. Neptarik wondered how Marlen managed to make her so compliant. Whatever the trick, he wanted to learn it. He'd never seen her so... docile.

Mya followed Neptarik with the other rebels, just in case they failed to reach a deal and her husband must return to the city. This time, she intended staying with him, no matter how dangerous. Verdin and Balnus came with them, as well as Serifa and Reshiad, Ozbon and Smithsen.

Marlen's pale blue eyes regarded them all calmly, with no hint of fear.

"So," he said, "the leaders of the rebellion, all in one place."

"Yet you're the supplicant," growled Ozbon. "Give me one reason why I should not take your head."

"Because if you do, you'll never take Turivkan peacefully," replied Marlen. "That is your intention, I understand."

"You seem certain." Ozbon glared at Neptarik, as if the sylph had supplied this information to Marlen.

"If I was the rebel," continued Marlen, "I would want to keep Turivkan's army and guard in one piece. I'd also not want any bad feelings running high while trying to establish myself. I can help you with that."

"Why would you want to?" demanded Ozbon.

"Because you are not the only ones to be betrayed," replied Marlen. "Dervra intends to abandon Turivkan and I do not feature in his plans."

"So you're looking to save your own skin," said Ozbon.

Marlen smiled. "Yes."

Serifa and Reshiad exchanged a look.

"Why do you need safe passage?" asked Serifa. "You seem to have the ability to physically project yourself from place to place."

"That is true, young lady." Marlen gave her another smile, one that hinted at knowledge. "But I cannot be in two places at once. I can either help you take the city bloodlessly, or I can project myself away and to safety. If I help you, will you help me?"

"You are one of the men who opened Marka's gates to Hingast," said Verdin, suddenly.

"I am." Marlen's eyes showed no hint of regret.

"Your life ought to be forfeit for that alone," continued Verdin.

Marlen shrugged. "Do you want me to help you, or not?"

"You've betrayed Marka, you're in the process of betraying Dervra, so how do we know you won't betray us?"

"Because I'm offering to take a group of you into the palace," said Marlen. "I'll be under your guard at all times, once I leave here."

"Take us into the palace?" asked Serifa.

Marlen shrugged. "Perhaps you'd like to take the place by force instead, with all the bloodshed that would involve."

"Talking of bloodshed, what about the census?" demanded Ozbon.

"Dervra commanded it, Kanad arranged it."

"And you weren't involved at all?"

"Only as a passive bystander," replied Marlen.

"We cannot trust you," said Serifa.

"I understand. But as I recommend taking only a small group into the city, and only to the palace, you will still have the rest of your army out here, ready to take their revenge if I betray you."

"How many?" asked Serifa.

"Twenty," replied Marlen.

"And we can secure the palace with twenty?" asked Serifa.

"You can open the gates with twenty," replied Marlen. "And I know you have people already in the city. Get a message to them and they can storm the palace tomorrow evening."

"You are after a reward for your services?"

Marlen shrugged. "Just safe passage out of the Prefecture. And I'll never return to it."

Serifa nodded. "Good. We'll offer safe passage out, but no guarantee of any safe return."

Marlen inclined his head. "That is all I ask," he replied.

"Tektu?" asked Neptarik.

Marlen gave the infertile a little push and she waddled across to join Neptarik, eyes blank.

"What have you done to her?"

"Nothing permanent," replied Marlen.

"Pity," muttered Mya.

Marlen clicked his fingers and Tektu spun around.

"What? Why? Who?" She turned and turned, growling and spitting until realization of her surroundings dawned. She blinked a few times, stared at Neptarik and shook her head. Her earpoints wilted and she fainted.

"She'll be all right," Marlen assured them. "Now, am I going to be kept out here all night? I've surrendered to your custody."

"Come on then," said Serifa. She turned to the others. "We must decide who is to enter the city."

***

Making that decision turned into such a row, some people began to believe that Marlen had really come among them to cause dissension.

Serifa wanted to go, until Verdin pointed out that if she and Reshiad went, the rebellion ran the risk of losing them both. Serifa argued that Reshiad could stay behind instead, but something Verdin whispered in her ear made her blush – and give way.

Reshiad really wanted to know what that something might be and felt, not for the first time, that Serifa hid more than most behind her false name.

Ozbon declared that it would be better if "Deshad" came with the group and said he would feel far happier if all the ladies stayed in the relative safety of the Red Ivy Tower. That brought Jenneta, Shenzen and Sendra angrily to their feet, even though none were chosen to be part of the group.

"One battle leader is enough," growled Ozbon.

"And that should be me," said Albansen. "This is my city."

"You'll be more use rallying your people to take the palace," said Reshiad. "We'll open the gates for you."

"And taking his head if he betrays us." Albansen pointed his sheathed dagger at Marlen, who shrugged.

"You'd better leave now," said Balnus. "Else you'll miss the party tomorrow night."

When he learned Balnus was one of the twenty, Neptarik insisted on his inclusion. In turn, Mya and Tektu demanded they should come too, neither very happy when Reshiad and Balnus countered that only one sylph could come. Despite objections, Tektu managed to wrangle her way into the group.

"I will be more useful than you can imagine," she said. "And I know my way around."

"Not inside the palace," retorted Balnus.

Tektu shrugged. "I am still coming."

Mya could not hide her pleasure and immediately dropped all argument for her inclusion. She had no wish to spend any time with Tektu that could be avoided.

"You'd better not come to any harm," Mya told Neptarik. A sideways glance at Tektu showed she meant her words for him alone. "And never threaten to leave me alone with that... thing... again."

"I must obey my owner," replied Neptarik, peaceably. "He insisted she should stay here. As the only trained scout I must go, and she is right about being useful."

"They will not need a scout in the palace," retorted Mya.

So, after a discussion lasting long into the night, they agreed that Balnus, Reshiad and Ozbon would lead the party, with Neptarik as their scout and Tektu backing him up, with fifteen of the most skilled men from the rebels.

Albansen, leader of the Turivkan group, left with a cart and a couple of companions, pretending to be a farmer, intending to reach the gates when they opened in the morning.

The others were to spread themselves across the plain, ready to seize all crossroads, in case the army tried to flee or massacre the population. Marlen said he thought this very unlikely. Despite Dervra's depredations, he said that General Teven of the army, and Captain Shais of the guard, were definitely loyal to the city and Prefecture.

"I suppose you think they'll help," growled Ozbon.

"You take the palace, then yes they will," promised Marlen. "Especially Teven."

"Why?" Ozbon sounded more than skeptical. "We might hang them all for the murders."

"Teven can easily distance himself from those," replied Marlen. "Kanad requisitioned all the soldiers used during the census. And Teven will back you if you take the palace, because Teven always follows the winning side."

Ozbon grunted, still not completely convinced.

"Listen." Marlen's pale blue eyes stared relentlessly at Ozbon. "If I'm lying, you lose twenty from your army of, what? Thousands? And still with most of your leaders intact out here. What do I have to gain by lying or betraying you?" He glanced sideways at Reshiad.

He knows, Reshiad thought as he listened to the conversation. He knows I'm not who everybody thinks I am. And yet the man kept the secret.

"Where are you going after leaving Turivkan?" he asked.

"I want to give Dervra a nasty surprise." Marlen grinned.

"You're going to kill him?"

Marlen laughed. "I doubt you could kill Dervra," he said. "The moment he believes that you have won, he'll leave Turivkan. You won't see him go and you'll never find him. Personally, I recommend you find a head, ensure the face is unrecognizable, shave and tar it, and display it prominently. Claim that it's Dervra. I assure you, he'll never be back to naysay you."

Reshiad and Ozbon exchanged a look.

"You don't trust me, I accept that." Marlen looked around the small group. "I'm certain you have the courage to come with me; after that, you'll know I've not played you false."

Serifa cleared her throat. "I think we shall keep this conversation between ourselves," she said. "Just in case someone hears who should not."

"Then release all your pigeons now," suggested Marlen. "Whoever hears our plans cannot tell anybody without pigeons."

Serifa nodded and leaned back to speak with one of her men, who disappeared at a near run. "Good idea," she said to Marlen.

Reshiad readied his blankets and glanced at their visitor several times. What did the man really want?

But the thought of taking Turivkan tomorrow remained uppermost in his thoughts as he fell asleep. Either that, or he would be dead.

***

The following day dragged.

Albansen and all his men had gone, presumably already in the city, or nearly there. And hopefully laying their plans for the evening's assault. Most of the other groups also left the Red Ivy Tower, spreading out across the plain, exactly as commanded.

Ozbon and Balnus sat quietly together, with the other men in the small select group nearby, all cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Tektu crouched behind Balnus, staring vacantly into space, shunned for now by the other two sylphs.

Neptarik and Mya had gone onto the tower roof, sitting together in silence, holding hands. Intruders were definitely unwelcome on what might be their last private hours together.

Below, Reshiad and Serifa strolled together along the cart track, with Erard trailing at a discreet distance.

"Be very careful," Serifa warned her companion. "There will be plenty of dangers when you get into the palace. And that's if Marlen proves trustworthy."

"What if Ozbon expects me to know my way around?" asked Reshiad.

Serifa laughed. "I doubt that. Even if he truly believes you're one of the Adelbard's sons, you would have left the palace before you were five."

"And Marlen isn't trustworthy," added Reshiad. "The man's playing his own game with us."

"True. But it doesn't mean betrayal is his intention. Or perhaps he was sent here by Dervra just to split us up."

"Though that doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't," agreed Serifa. "It's safe to say the man has his own plans, and those are to make life uncomfortable for Dervra. In that his interests and ours are the same." She suddenly turned to face him and held both his hands in hers. "Remember, the moment the palace is secure, you go to the throne room and take the throne. Sit on it and proclaim yourself Prefect of Turivkan."

"Me?"

"Who else, numbskull?"

"I thought you were going to become Prefect!" Reshiad blinked. "I'm just a farmer, not a ruler."

Serifa's hazel eyes shone as she laughed. "You've not done half badly so far. Don't worry, I won't leave you to rule alone."

"You intend to rule with me?"

"Of course." Serifa's smile broadened. "My mother said sometimes the boys would come to me and that sometimes I must show them the way."

Reshiad blinked.

Serifa stood on tiptoe and kissed him. A moment of confusion from him, then he responded with a lingering kiss. His arms snaked around her middle and she sighed before pulling away.

"So it's like that," he breathed.

"Yes," replied Serifa. "It is."

"Who are you really, Serifa?" he asked.

She put a finger to his lips. "Don't spoil the moment," she whispered. "And kiss me again, while Erard is still looking the other way."

Reshiad happily obliged.

***

And so, several hours later, Neptarik noted the happy smile Reshiad wore as the small group of twenty gathered around Marlen. The sylph could not know for sure, but he could guess and he hoped Reshiad would not let the flush of love interfere with his concentration tonight.

"I'll take you near to the palace gate," said Marlen. "Somewhere discreet and out of the way."

"On the inside, I trust," growled Ozbon, warming his wrist muscles through.

Marlen gave the man a tolerant smile. "Of course. And I'll stay with you until you've taken the gate."

"And nobody will be manning the gates?" asked Reshiad.

"No more than one or two, if anybody," replied Marlen. "But they won't be far away. It's the guard within the palace, not the army. Not quite as well trained."

Ozbon nodded. "And Albansen?"

"With luck his men are already in place," said Marlen. "Not that I've been to check; it's your plan, after all."

Balnus nodded. "We're ready when you are."

"Right, everybody ensure he's touching someone else," said Marlen. "And you –" he nodded to Ozbon "– keep a firm hold of my arm. For those who've never been physically projected before, you'll feel a sudden jolt. And a brief period of absolute nothing."

"How can you feel nothing?" muttered one of the men.

Marlen overheard. "It involves temporary dimensional displacement and that probably means nothing to you," he said. "And we haven't got all night while I teach you what my explanation means."

A ripple of laughter ran through the men.

Neptarik felt Balnus grip his arm and he almost clung to Tektu's wrist. The infertile looked into his eyes and smiled at the scout's nervousness. She looked unconcerned, despite Marlen about to use his sorcery. But then, Neptarik knew she was not a sylph.

"Not so fearless now," she mouthed at him.

"Everybody ready?" called Marlen.

A sudden jolt, as described, and a sense of dislocation from reality were over almost before Neptarik was really aware they had happened. Even so, as he felt cold stone under his bare feet, he shivered and rubbed his arms.

"Nothing to worry about," said Tektu quietly, for his ears alone.

Marlen had not lied: they stood in a large anteroom, before a barred and locked wooden door.

"Armory," explained Marlen. "The gatehouse is immediately above us. The watch assembles here to collect weapons before going on duty. Up there, the dormitory lies to your right and the office to your left as you look at the main entrance."

Balnus looked over his shoulder. "Quick look, Nep."

"Se bata." The sylph bounded away, taking the stone steps two and three at a time. The spiral stair managed one semicircle before it opened out into the hallway. As Marlen had predicted, nobody stood guard there, but Neptarik remained wary.

Two doors stood either side of the main entrance. Time to test Marlen's word.

Though outside the scope of his orders, Neptarik tried the door handle leading to – he hoped – the office. It opened silently to a gloomy room, the only light leaking around poorly covered crystals. The room was indeed the office and thankfully deserted. So Marlen had not lied. So far, at least.

The sylph slipped around the desk and quickly found the key press, disguised as a cupboard. He scanned the keys quickly, helping himself to one labeled "armory" and, as a plan occurred to him, a second marked "guard room". With luck...

With luck indeed. The second key slid silently into the lock of the door opposite and turned with a click that seemed loud to the sylph, but caused no reaction from within. Neptarik hoped the guards were all inside; locking the door had probably saved their lives.

He took the steps down two at a time and gave a low whistle for human ears.

"You took your time," grumbled Balnus.

"I locked the guards in their dormitory," replied the sylph, who knew how quickly palace guards could react.

Ozbon grunted a laugh. "Good thinking."

"Deserted up there," continued the scout. "The door is ours."

Balnus and Reshiad led, with Neptarik scampering almost on their heels. Ozbon and Reshiad turned their attention to the door, unbarring and unbolting it. The rest of the men fanned out, securing the hall.

Muffled shouts caught their attention and the men started to grin as guards rattled the door they could no longer get through. Someone began to kick it, the sound echoing along the hallway.

"Get that front door open!" hissed Balnus.

The door to the square beyond the palace finally swung open and rebels began to pile in through it. One of the first in, Albansen's hazel eyes glittered at Reshiad, his teeth bared in a silent snarl.

"Let's get this done," he said. He gave Marlen a quick glance and nod. "We've secured the city gates and some of the lads are entertaining the night patrolmen. Even more good news for you: we have General Teven in our custody."

"I'm done," said Marlen. He turned to Reshiad. "Best of luck to you."

Ozbon grunted and watched a moment, as Marlen strolled out from the palace. "We shouldn't have let him go," he said.

"The throne room," said Reshiad. "We gave him our word. And he played us true."

Albansen called for and got hush.

"Men!" Reshiad barely raised his voice. "Capture as many as you can, and bring them all to the throne room. Defend yourselves where necessary, but no needless killings. Those who deserve it, will receive the Prefect's justice."

Silently, the men began to move through out from the hallway, filling the large courtyard that stood before the palace's main building.

Reshiad looked at his companions and then at the large door across the courtyard. "Let's get into the throne room," he said.

This time, Neptarik led the way.

***

Albansen's men spread through the palace quickly, waking and rounding up all those they could find. More gathered outside the dormitory beside the entrance hall, ready to face the guard when their door was finally unlocked.

Neptarik and his companions pushed the door from the courtyard open, the sylph quickly assessing what he saw. Light crystals set in sconces showed the way to a row of gleaming marble steps and a heavy bronze door. Offices stood silent and empty on both sides of the hall.

"Here!" he cried, bounding up the marble steps.

Tektu suddenly brushed her way past everyone. "Stop!" she screamed, eyes wild in fright, her earpoints laid right back against her skull.

About to push the bronze door open, Neptarik paused.

"Can you sense it?" panted Tektu, joining him.

Neptarik paused, a vague sense of unease brushing against him. "Thought it was excitement," he muttered.

"What's wrong?" demanded Balnus and Reshiad, together.

"Sorcery," said Neptarik.

"You're sure?" asked Reshiad, impatience thickening his tone.

"Very sure," snapped Tektu. "He is a sylph and they are never wrong about these things."

"You're a sylph too," murmured Reshiad.

"How did you sense it before me?" whispered Neptarik.

"Because it is the Charm," replied Tektu. "Or sorcery, if you prefer."

"If it's some sort of spell, do you know what it'll do?" asked Balnus.

Tektu shook her head. "Probably not nice."

Neptarik grunted in agreement. "A trap."

Albansen's men had already begun to push prisoners towards the throne room, herding them together in the courtyard first. Runners came from the city gates, informing them that these now stood open and were under the rebels' control.

"Is anyone in the palace Gifted?" asked Balnus. "A healer, someone like that?"

Blank looks met his question.

"Looks like there isn't." Ozbon grimaced.

"There is a way," said Tektu, slowly.

"How?" demanded Balnus.

"I could trigger it," replied Tektu.

"Sacrifice yourself?" Balnus blinked at her.

Tektu sighed. "It would not kill me, only be very painful," she explained, before nodding towards Neptarik. "It might kill him though, because of our bond."

Neptarik blinked and Balnus noted the hint of fear in his scout's eyes, an emotion he very rarely showed. "What bond?" he asked.

Anguish crossed Tektu's face. "He killed my former owner," she said. "That is how it works with me. More I cannot say."

The men looked at Neptarik with considerably greater respect.

"You've killed a man?" asked Ozbon.

"I did not mean to," said Neptarik, defensively.

Ozbon's flecked green eyes shone with appreciation. "You're some sylph, lad."

You did not mean to, reflected Tektu. And you killed him indirectly. Sorcery bounced right back at him, deflected from a shield. That was how she ended up with a sylph as her owner. She had not even been won in a fair fight!

"We'll try and find someone Gifted," said Balnus.

Tektu sniffed. "If it is going to kill him, the curse will not let me trigger the trap," she said, hoping she spoke a lie. "My curse forbids me from harming my bondholder, no matter what. Though it will be painful for him, if it is painful for me. Everybody move back, just in case it goes with a bang."

Everybody except Balnus and Neptarik moved quickly away. Tektu turned to face the doors.

"We'll find someone Gif – Tektu, no!"

With luck, this will kill him, even if it is painful for me. With luck, I will become my own creature again. Free.

Lifting her hand, the strange infertile ignored Balnus. And pushed the bronze door open.

***
Chapter 30

Inside Eldova City

After several meetings, the two groups of Eldovans eventually agreed to merge into one large group of three thousand before reaching the plain below. Lowst sent riders and a pair of Eldovan sylph scouts ahead, warning the city of their approach. As Lowst said, having come so far it would be a shame to be slaughtered in sight of home because of a misunderstanding.

As a result of the merge, Shyamon returned to duties with his fellow Markan scouts, and tension appeared to ebb away as normality settled on the single army.

Belaika knew better.

Lowst's men eyed Mirrin's men with suspicion and wariness. They had easily absorbed the small group captured with Kelanus, but Mirrin's men, outlandsmen every one, now outnumbered the men from Eldova. They looked at their supposed fellow Eldovans as they would at very annoyed vipers after falling into their pit.

Belaika remembered Branad's army merging with his owner's, immediately after the battle on Candin Plain. Now felt very like then, when the scouts worried open hostilities might break out in their own camp.

If anything, that seemed more likely today.

All five Markan sylph scouts remained wary of the Eldovans and not just because they feared fighting. Short of torture or mutilation, Lowst seemed keen to get his hands on the secret of their whistles, so the sylphs decided on their own rules.

They had already agreed that all whistling except pingers must happen out of any other sylph's hearing. They now decided that even the shortest positioning whistles must now fall silent.

"And another thing," said Belaika, who had most experience of underhanded Eldovan methods, "never accept choca from any of them. Especially that Raynor."

Four pairs of silver-gray eyes regarded him with varying degrees of shock.

"Not even from Kelanus?" asked Samel, the most horrified.

"Well, obviously it is all right from our own people," said Belaika.

"But he has got no choca," Samel pointed out.

Belaika sighed. "They will try anything to get the whistles out of us," he said. "Anything. Just do not accept any treats off them. Off any of them. Them means Eldovans, Samel. Kelanus and Tahena, Hanmer and Felis are us, not them."

"Well..."

All conversation ceased and heads turned.

"What do you want, Unnis?" asked Shyamon.

The infertile sylph stepped shyly forward. "Just to say that we will move soon."

"We already know," said Shyamon.

Belaika gave the infertile a slow blink. "Unnis-y-Raynor?"

The Eldovan sylph clutched at the nametag on her collar.

"Thought so." The male scout gave her a mirthless smile and his earpoints slanted forward in accusation. "Hoping to learn more about our whistles?"

Unnis seemed to shrink into herself, blushed a brighter blue and her earpoints wilted, as if she had been caught misbehaving.

"Go away, Unnis-y-Raynor," continued Belaika. "Leave us alone."

Unnis blinked. "But you are all prisoners now!" she protested. "Enya says that when we reach the city, you –" She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Belaika shook his head. "I have heard threats like these before," he said, more for his companions' benefit than to Unnis. "We will tell you nothing. Now go away, acsin."

The scouts stayed silent as they watched the offended infertile leave.

"Wonder what she might have said if you let her speak." Fhionnen was not the only scout to look worried.

"Probably nothing for us to worry about," said Belaika.

"But we will be Hingast's prisoners," protested Fhionnen.

"Hingast," countered Belaika, "is dead."

***

Surrounded by Eldovans, the Markans rode together.

Kelanus and Tahena rode side by side, watching everything in silence, while Hanmer and Felis rode before and behind, so the small group formed a neat diamond. The Markan sylphs all ran ahead of the army, Lowst refusing to allow any to hang back, though he did not otherwise restrict them.

Mirrin remained with his men, but Janost rode alongside Lowst, his precise status unclear. Eldova's Marshal had been tainted with accusations of cowardice and desertion. Kelanus knew those charges were unfair; Janost had only surrendered when it became obvious that the battle was lost and before he lost too many men unnecessarily. Being able to make that decision required its own courage.

They rode through farmland, keeping to a rutted road, with patches of ancient paving here and there. Ahead, Eldova City grew larger in their eyes.

"A pretty enough place," said Tahena. "As large cities go."

"I didn't know you'd been here before," grunted Kelanus.

Tahena smiled. "I've visited most of the great cities at one time or another," she replied. "My tutor, Ta Dutt, insisted I learned about the other cultures on the continent."

"How long did you spend here?"

"About an hour."

"Not too big on culture then," laughed Kelanus. "I don't suppose you can remember your way around?"

"You're planning to escape?"

"No." Kelanus grimaced. "What happens when a shapeshifter dies, does he return to his natural appearance?"

Tahena blinked. "Yes. Or so I was taught. Before Ranallic, I never met a shapeshifter, let alone see one die."

"We've got to see this through to its conclusion," continued Kelanus and lowered his voice. "Ranallic must die."

"Or Ellas, or whatever his name really is." Tahena shrugged.

"I only really know him as Ranallic."

"Why are you doing this?" pressed Tahena. "And it's got nothing to do with helping these people. They'll kill you if you aren't careful."

"When the Eldovans see they've been ruled by an imposter, we'll be better treated," said Kelanus.

"Hopefully."

"It will happen quickly." Kelanus smiled. "Once Ranallic learns I'm in his city, he won't be able to resist. He'll either come to us, or summon his prisoners to the palace. Pretty much immediately. He can't wait to see me dead."

"We'd best hope his wish is not granted," replied Tahena, fighting an urge to grind her teeth in frustration. "I don't like this plan of yours one bit. Too much to go wrong. There's gambling and there's gambling."

"Neptarik's the one for gambling," grunted Kelanus.

Tahena grimaced. Trust that boy to find a wife who also gambled. She had hoped to see Neptarik settled properly. But that sylph was no longer her problem and his owner seemed happy with things the way they were.

"This is more than a considered risk," she said. "They won't let you in front of the man they believe is Hingast without a heavy guard. And there is no chance you'll be armed in his presence. You might even be chained. Anything can go wrong."

"I know."

"It won't help us if you end up dead." Tahena's dark eyes regarded him expressionlessly. She loved this man and could not stand the thought of losing him to a sword. Not when revenge appeared to be his only motive. "You say you're doing this for Eldova."

"And so I am," he rumbled. "They deserve to have a proper Prefect."

"You're doing it for yourself."

He turned and grinned at her. "Primarily, yes," he admitted.

Tahena turned her head. "What do you think, Tula?"

The infertile sylph blinked and almost stumbled. "I think it is time we stopped for alovak," she replied.

This time, Tahena did grind her teeth and failed to restrain the sigh that followed. No help from that quarter, then.

Tula must have realized something Tahena had not, because Shashi tripped across to join them.

"We will stop for a rest soon," Mirrin's sylph announced.

Kelanus smiled down at the infertile. "And are you glad to be home, Shashi?"

The sylph blinked and nodded towards Mirrin. "Where he stands is my home," she replied, before trotting away again.

"Sweet," muttered Tahena. "A properly bonded sylph is a joy to behold."

"So they say." Kelanus shook his head. "At this rate, we won't reach Eldova for another week."

However, the rest stop proved very short, with no time to even heat water for alovak. Keen to reach Eldova, Lowst failed to hide his eagerness to transfer authority for his prisoners who, on paper at least, ranked higher than himself. Kelanus remembered him admitting to doubts concerning Hingast, but that did not mean he wanted to get himself actively involved.

"Hope your feet aren't getting sore, Tula," said Kelanus cheerfully, as they moved on again.

Tula glanced up at him. "Not yet," she replied. "I am used to marching."

"But not on surfaced roads," replied Kelanus.

Tula gave the rutted track a single disgusted look. "We have not yet reached the surfaced part."

"You can come up, if you like," offered Kelanus.

The sylph considered his horse for a moment. "I will walk, donenya."

"Suit yourself."

Tahena laughed. "Not today, Kelanus," she said.

Kelanus shrugged. "She's free to choose," he replied, peaceably.

"Free?" Tula's earpoints sagged and her lips twitched as she looked at the ground. "I should not be free," she whispered.

Kelanus and Tahena exchanged a look, but neither said a word.

***

The road, now paved with white stone, climbed a range of small hills.

Belaika felt the small bumps barely merited the description hill. The road did not even switch back, but climbed straight up, treating the gradient with contempt. True to their training, the Markan sylphs left the road and dropped to the ground before they reached the summit, just in case someone might be lurking on the far slope. They crawled over the highest point, so they did not stand out against the skyline.

Belaika noticed their Eldovan rivals stayed on the road and made no attempt to hide their presence. Foolish, even allowing for their proximity to home. His attention turned back towards the city.

"Beautiful," remarked Shyamon.

Belaika nodded. Eldova's principal city appeared to float above a sea of heat haze, and shimmered palely like a mirage. His expression firmed.

"So why did you come?" whispered Shyamon. "Really?"

Belaika turned his head sharply. "You can be too perceptive for your own good," he said.

Shyamon grinned and looked away again. "We all know you insisted on coming here. There must be a reason."

"There is." Belaika closed his mouth.

"We could probably reach it today," said Shyamon.

"We could," corrected Belaika. "I am not sure about them. We will probably have to camp out one more night, then reach Eldova in the morning."

"Are we going to be allowed to just walk in?" Shyamon wondered aloud.

"Looks that way."

Shyamon turned his head to regard the city. "Nothing is like I expected."

Belaika tugged a long blade of grass free and nibbled at the end, pushing it between two teeth. "Nothing ever is," he replied, philosophically. "Get used to it."

***

Belaika was proved right about camping out another night. Long before sunset, the combined Eldovan army halted and set up their tents along the road, taking care to damage no crops. Those tents spilled over onto grazing land, but men were detailed to chase away curious cattle wanting to know who had invaded their pasture.

In a show of disobedience, the Markan sylph scouts waited, though they fully realized the army had halted. Unsurprisingly, Aiten and his constant companion, Vyren, were sent to bring them back.

"The army has stopped," Aiten told Belaika, though he carefully avoided Ean's unfriendly stare.

"We know," replied Belaika.

"You must come into the camp," continued Aiten, taking some pleasure from the restriction. "So the owners can keep a close eye on you."

Belaika sniffed.

"Mirrin-ya wants to ensure you are supervised," said Aiten, with a smile.

The five Markan sylphs ignored Aiten, but slowly made their way into the camp, where bored Eldovan guards waved them through.

Ean muttered something to Aiten which sent him away, and the scouts joined their fellow Markans.

Ean crossed to his owner and Belaika watched as they sat apart from the others, heads together in conversation.

"You look concerned," said Tahena, moving silently to join the scout.

Belaika nodded. "I worry that Ean might ask for something he will regret later."

"Whatever is going on, it's between owner and owned," remarked Tahena.

Belaika pulled himself together. "Ean has listened to what the wild ones have said about freedom. Dangerous talk."

"The wild sylphs seem to do very well." Tahena smiled up at the sylph. She had forgotten about his height and this close the willowy scout stood a good head taller.

"They are confused though," replied Belaika. "Especially their infertiles."

Tahena pressed her lips together. "I sense change coming concerning you sylphs," she murmured, only half to the scout. "Much will change."

The scout shivered and his earpoints sagged.

Tahena changed the subject and gestured somewhere behind him. "What do you think of Eldova?"

Belaika blinked at the sudden change of subject and looked over his shoulder where Eldova's lights pierced the night air, muting the starlight. Light spilled from watchtowers and light crystals adorned the walls, set into lanterns with colored glass so they emitted blue, green, yellow and red light.

"I will tell you when we reach it," replied the scout. "All cities look pretty at night."

Tahena laughed and nodded her head. "You're worried."

"Yes." The sylph's admisson was frank enough.

"Me too, if that helps any."

Belaika grinned. "Perhaps we worry about different people, but the same thing."

"Kelanus might do something stupid when we get there," remarked Tahena. "I've no wish to see him dead."

"He seems to be very lucky, even for a human." Belaika carefully kept his voice neutral. "He will come through."

"Even he can only have so much luck," replied Tahena. "But Kelanus is not what worries you."

"No."

Again, Tahena found the scout's candor refreshing. "Why did you insist on coming here?"

Belaika paused. "I must find someone in the city," he replied. "When the chance comes, I will slip away once we enter Eldova."

"You're looking for closure, rather than a quest." Tahena smiled.

The scout nodded.

Tahena gripped his shoulder. "Kelanus seeks closure also. But he wants to win that closure through vengeance."

Belaika blinked. "For me, it is through love," he whispered. "Please do not tell the others."

"Of course not." Tahena patted the sylph's shoulder. "You can tell them yourself, when you've found what you seek."

The sylph smiled. "Thank you."

"We'll be there quite early tomorrow morning," continued Tahena. "Try and get as much sleep as you can."

"Se bata."

***

The next morning, Lowst ordered the Markan sylphs to stay with Kelanus and the other Markans, only sending out his own sylph scouts. General Mirrin and his men were separated from Lowst's. Tula – unwillingly on her part – stayed with Mirrin and gave Kelanus a wild-eyed look bordering on panic. Kelanus gave the sylph a reassuring smile.

"You'll be fine," he promised.

Eldova glistened pink in the early sunshine. The walls and towers, together with the upper storeys of any buildings higher than the walls, were limewashed, and would stand out white once the sun was properly up.

In the distance, the city gates swung open, allowing a steady stream of soldiers to leave, before the farmers and those going to market were allowed to enter.

Clearly, they would not enter Eldova unchallenged.

"What are they going to do to us?" whispered Samel. "Surely they do not intend killing us now."

"Be quiet," hissed Belaika. "They are not about to kill us."

Kelanus gave the scouts a compassionate look, his pale blue eyes twinkling. "You will all be fine," he promised. "Those men are going to escort us into the city." He sighed happily. "At last, we'll get into the city."

Belaika nodded, as eager to enter Eldova City as Kelanus, if for his own reasons. He hoped their captors had little interest in the sylphs, because he intended to slip away at the first opportunity. He firmed himself.

The soldiers from the city formed up on the paved road, and two riders came forward. Lowst and his yeoman went to meet them, and a pair of Eldovan sylph scouts stepped out from concealment.

Belaika sucked air in over his teeth and his earpoints gave a twitch. "I never saw those two leave the city," he remarked.

Ean shaded his eyes for a better look. "They might have been there all night," he said.

Lowst returned after a short time and reined in before the Markans. "You're all wanted in the city," he told them. "Including your sylphs."

Belaika looked at his companions. "We will be fine," he assured them. He glanced up at Kelanus on his horse. The man looked even more eager.

"Marshal Janost, General Mirrin; your presence is also required," continued Lowst. "Mirrin, you may go armed; Janost... Sorry, but the orders were clear. You must leave your weapons here." Lowst gave an apologetic half smile.

The two named Eldovans looked at each other and shrugged. Mirrin touched his swordhilt and then his dagger, secured to his left hip. Janost slipped off his belt and handed his sword to Lowst.

"Not you, Shashi." Lowst gave the infertile a compassionate look as he slipped Janost's sword under a saddlebag's strap. "You must stay here."

"No." Shashi turned to Mirrin. "Enya, please."

Belaika heard anguish in her voice and sympathized.

Mirrin leaned down and gripped his sylph's shoulder. "I'll be all right; they're letting me keep my weapons. You stay here. No Shashi, you will stay here. Sna alut batut."

The infertile stepped back, blinking back sudden tears and looking like she might sulk. She scowled at Lowst and twisted past his hand, so he could not pat her shoulder in comfort.

Men Belaika had not seen before escorted them across to the small army that had just left the city. They formed up around the small group and began to escort them into the city.

"Thought they said you were safe," Kelanus said to Mirrin.

Belaika listened to their conversation.

"I am." Mirrin grinned and touched his scabbard. He nodded towards the unarmed Janost. "I'd be more worried if I was him."

Janost looked over his shoulder and shrugged. His deep blue eyes showed no hint of concern. "Whatever happens, I'll be glad to have it over," he said. His attention switched to Kelanus. "We'll find out soon enough whether or not you've been lying."

"You will indeed," promised Kelanus and Belaika noticed that eager light in his eyes again. He fell silent as Tahena laid a hand on his arm.

Belaika walked with confidence, pleased that his sylph companions remained calm, though Samel had wilted earpoints and fear shone in his silver-gray eyes.

"They will not hurt us," Belaika promised him.

"How do you know?"

Belaika smiled. "Everything will be fine," he insisted.

"Sylphs keep silence!" One of the men barked the command.

The sylphs immediately fell silent and Belaika felt some pleasure that they were not referred to as prisoners.

The queue waiting to enter the city had gone by the time they reached the gates, which now glistened white. Belaika looked up as they passed through an outer and inner courtyard. Murder holes were everywhere, but he doubted if anybody manned them today. At least, he saw no movement there, though beyond was a little dark for even his eyes.

Then they passed into the city proper.

Belaika noticed that only the upper parts of tall buildings were limewashed, and that most others were built from red or yellow bricks. Sometimes both colors had been used, and some had been built from pale stone. Wooden structures were painted all colors and gave the street a chaotic look.

And the streets gave a loud hum. Every human city without exception bustled. Humans went about their chores efficiently, while sylphs darted in all directions, hurrying in their chores, or perhaps giving the impression of rush and industry. Many of those sylphs paused to stare at the scouts in their paint and somewhat unwashed appearance.

Beggars wrapped in rags cried for alms, their voices drowning in the noise of a city conducting its business. Belaika could not ignore that most beggars were sylphs. Like with so many other things, it seemed life dealt a crueler hand to his own race.

All the time, he looked for a chance to twist away.

"Are you taking us to the palace?" demanded Janost.

"You'll find out soon enough," promised one of the men.

Janost leaned closer to Kelanus. "They're taking us directly to the palace," he whispered, though Belaika overheard. "You'd better be right, or we're dead men."

Janost thought correctly. They were escorted to a large square, complete with two fountains, and what could only be the palace stood opposite. Armed men stood guard outside its gates, while pristine white stonework towered over them.

The escort and their prisoners came to a halt.

Belaika looked around quickly. Now or never. He gave Samel's arm a quick squeeze. "See you later," he whispered. "Do not follow me."

Belaika looked around again, ducked between two guards, dodged an outstretched hand and sprinted across the square.

"Stop!" boomed a voice.

"Don't shoot!" cautioned a second. "Not in the city!"

A guard must have nocked an arrow, and the running Belaika began to swerve from side to side, just in case. Once safely round the corner, he slowed his pace, staring back at a beggar who flinched her gaze away.

He had best be about his work, the reason he had come to Eldova. He crossed to the beggar.

"Have you heard of Jinsla Martan Renkra?" he asked.

The infertile stared at him unblinking. "No," she replied. "Have you got any food or money?"

***

"Stop!"

As the Sergeant's voice resounded, Kelanus looked over his shoulder and saw Belaika racing across the square. "Bloody stupid sylph," he muttered. "He's trying to get himself killed."

"Listen to who's talking," muttered Tahena.

Kelanus noticed admiration in his wife's eyes.

"He's seen his chance and gone," she continued.

A couple of archers nocked arrows and one even drew fletchings to his ear.

"Don't shoot!" commanded the officer with a plume in his helmet. "Not in the city!"

Belaika must have heard that, because he began to zigzag, and quickly disappeared from sight.

"Shall we chase him, Lieutenant?"

"Let him go. You, return to the gate and warn them to keep an eye open for a sylph wearing scouting paint. Tell them to prevent any lone sylph male from leaving the city, just in case he has some way of washing the paint off."

The soldier nodded, tapped clenched fist against his shoulder, and trotted away.

The Lieutenant turned to Kelanus. "What have you got planned with the sylph?" he demanded.

"Nothing," replied Kelanus, honestly. "The lad saw his opportunity and legged it. Not my fault if you people are careless with prisoners."

"We won't be so careless when we catch him," promised the officer, though he made no attempt to deny they were prisoners.

The palace gates opened and everybody was ushered into a cobbled courtyard. Grooms stepped forward, to take the horses, and more soldiers left a guardhouse as everybody dismounted.

They saluted Janost and Mirrin, or perhaps just Mirrin. The Lieutenant ignored Mirrin, but quickly checked the Markans and Janost.

"We're all unarmed," said Kelanus, peaceably.

Janost muttered something when his turn came to be searched.

"Just making sure," said the Lieutenant. He eyed the scouts and satisfied himself that they had nowhere to conceal weapons.

"You may continue as you are," the Lieutenant told Mirrin.

"One rule for some," sighed Kelanus.

"You're in the Royal Palace now," said the Lieutenant. "And you are no friends to Eldova."

Janost cleared his throat. "I serve Eldova," he snapped.

"Do you?" The Lieutenant's voice held an edge.

"Told you we couldn't trust 'em, Sir," growled Hanmer. "You mark my words, we'll be dead before sunset."

"Your sylphs may make themselves comfortable in the stable," continued the Lieutenant, who ignored Hanmer's cynicism.

Samel looked to Kelanus, who nodded.

Felis glanced at Ean. "If anything happens to them," he growled.

"Nothing is going to happen," promised the Lieutenant. "Not to them."

"Just try not to lose any more," said Kelanus. "Takes years to train them up."

Sensibly, the officer ignored the taunt.

At an inner doorway, a tall man awaited them. His black uniform went well with his dark skin and tightly curled head hair. Dark eyes regarded them calmly, expressionlessly, though he gave Mirrin a tight nod.

"I am Thur Ran Racken," he told the Markans, voice a low rumble. "His Majesty will see you all now."

"A man with a voice even deeper than yours," Tahena whispered to Kelanus. "Now what are you going to do?"

Kelanus shrugged.

They were led to a receiving room, a polished table between them and a small group beyond. Guards lined both walls, and closed in as the Markans approached the table. All hands rested on swordhilts, bar one.

General Mirrin, arms folded, stood to Kelanus's right.

Three women and a man sat on the far side of the table. None of the women had yet reached thirty, so far as Kelanus could tell, but they had no interest for him. They were pretty enough, but not the reason for him coming here. The man with them was a different matter.

Tall and broad shouldered, black hair curled over his ears in the manner familiar from other Vintners Kelanus had known. Gray-blue eyes regarded him with some amusement, before their attention flickered to the other prisoners.

"Marshal Janost, a unexpected surprise," said Hingast. "I had thought you might have been with the rest of the deserters, but it seems you have been poisoning more minds."

Janost glowered and refused to incline his head, but held his tongue. He glanced at Kelanus.

"And General Mirrin," continued Hingast. "One of Eldova's better Generals." Hingast stood and walked around the side of the table. He gestured towards Hanmer and Felis. "These two have no interest for me, return them to the stables."

Four soldiers moved to obey and escorted the yeoman and messenger from the receiving room. The guard had been weakened for as long as those men stayed out of the room.

Tahena leaned close to Kelanus. "That man is Gifted, or has sorcery," she whispered.

"Stand aside," Kelanus whispered back. "Give me room."

Tahena blinked and stepped further away.

"Three Markan soldiers and a southern woman." Hingast smiled at Kelanus. "A massive invasion of Eldova; we tremble in terror."

"Hello Ranallic," replied Kelanus, face expressionless. "It's been a while."

Hingast waved a dismissive hand. "Some returnees have been raving some rumor that I am not who I seem," he said. "I must assume that you are the originator of those rumors."

Kelanus's smile widened. "Difference is, I can prove them," he replied. In one fluid movement, he reached across and snatched Mirrin's dagger from its scabbard. Without pausing, Kelanus turned and drove the dagger into Hingast's chest.

As those gray-blue eyes blinked and stared in disbelief, Kelanus pulled the dagger free and had time to plunge it into Hingast's chest again. A last blink, then the man who called himself Hingast sank to his knees and fell over backward, so his eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Perhaps a second, while everybody else was stunned to impotent silence.

Then, one of the Eldovan women screamed and guards leapt forward, kicking the back of Kelanus's knees, bringing him to the floor. Even as he dropped to his knees, Kelanus turned to Tahena.

"He hasn't changed back," he said, accusingly. "You said he would change back."

"You lied to us," said Janost.

One of the soldiers used a booted foot to push Kelanus forward, then looked to his commander. Thur Ran Racken gave Kelanus a single contemptuous look before he nodded to the soldier.

"Bring me his head," he ordered.

***
Chapter 31

Dead Girl Talks

"Don't pull, let me get the net around her."

Sallis stopped tugging on an arm and glanced at Giddens. "She looks very well preserved." The headscarf Basren had described was quite prominent.

"Cold fresh water does that," replied the linesman. "But I expected more bloating and the skin becomes more liable to... Ah, there we go, all done."

Giddens had succeeded to drape his net all around the body, and he now secured the free ends of the net inside the boat.

"You can help paddle," he told Sallis. "These boats become pigs to steer when towing anything with a bit of weight to it."

"Sure thing," replied Sallis, readying his paddle.

"When we get out," continued Giddens, "leave the body in the water as long as possible. Well preserved or not, they smell terrible once on dry land."

Expecting as much from what he had already seen, Sallis nodded. As always when he had been proved right, he felt a mix of emotions. Elation that they had found Kaira mixed with sadness and sympathy for those she had left behind. Despite the unpleasantness of the task that lay ahead, he hoped to find something more when they searched the body.

The line of light grew larger and brighter, then they abruptly passed from the underground river into sunshine. Both men shielded their eyes after spending so long in darkness. Sallis took a deep breath.

"We're out," he said.

Giddens laughed. "It always seems the world has shrunk to nothing when you're in there," he said. "And it takes my eyes longer to get used to the light again than it used to. Head for the bank where the grass slopes to the water."

"I hope there are no villages downriver," said Sallis.

"I expect so."

"And they get all our sewage?"

Giddens grimaced. "As far as I know, they draw their water from tributaries and dump their own sewage into the river. Besides, it's pretty much broken down long before it reaches here, never mind any further."

Sallis felt certain that would have no effect on spreading disease, but he said nothing further, and paddled for the grassy area. The boat grounded with a soft crunching sound and Sallis hopped out to pull it higher still.

A moment later Giddens joined him, tugging their boat until it was almost out of the river.

"You said someone would be here to meet us," said Sallis.

Giddens glanced at the sun. "The gates won't have been open long," he replied. "Someone'll be here soon enough."

Sallis nodded and pulled the net closer to the shore.

"Not yet!" cautioned Giddens.

The smell was already bad enough and Sallis almost paused before touching the body. Without being able to turn and inspect it, he had no way of telling this was definitely Kaira.

Yet he knew and knowing had nothing to do with the Gift. As the body moved in the gentle current, one arm lifted a little more out of the water, hand clenched into a fist. With some effort, Sallis opened the fingers, one by one.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Giddens. "Careful or –"

Sallis pulled a wooden button free and he held it up between a thumb and forefinger, dark eyes glinting in triumph.

"The dead girl talks," he said, wading back out of the river.

"What d'you mean?"

Sallis ignored Giddens and stood on the riverbank, holding the button, his eyes closed. He released the Gift and turned his head, questing. He closed his fist around the button.

"The killer is in Marka," he announced.

Giddens nodded. "Thought he might be," he replied. "Have we come all this way for you to discover the obvious?"

Sallis almost laughed. "When I reach the gates, I'll be able to find him," he promised. "Anywhere. Now where's this cart?"

"It'll be here soon," promised Giddens.

"You'll bring her into the city?" Sallis nodded towards Kaira's corpse.

"We will."

"If you catch up with me, I'll thank you for a lift," said Sallis, "but I'd better get started. I have to catch the killer as soon as I can."

"You're leaving now?"

Sallis nodded. "I can't waste a minute," he replied, fist tightening around the button. "Not a second."

***

"We've won Jenn, we've won."

Jenn's eyes widened as Marcus gripped both her earpoints with his hands and pulled her head towards his, giving her an interesting series of sensations. Much to her surprise and delight, her owner then kissed her full on the mouth.

When Marcus released her earpoints, they shot bolt upright before slanting forwards and twitching. She smiled and wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. She restrained giggles as Marcus clasped his hands in front of him and smiled around at his family.

"The throne," he announced, "is mine."

Eylvras gurgled happily at his father, emotion strangling coherency as it so often did in the very young, while his sisters were all smiles. Zandra looked around the table at them all.

"It means that both your father and me will be very busy over the next few days," she told them. "So you'll spend longer with your governess than usual."

Jenn's earpoints wilted a little as she glanced at Galenna. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked her owner.

Marcus opened his mouth, but Zandra beat him to it.

"You can run errands for Galenna," said Zandra. "She will have her hands full for longer than usual. Caralin will help you when she returns from her tutor."

Caralin looked almost as disgruntled as Jenn. "What about Eleka?" she asked. "Why do we have sylphs if we don't use them?"

"You know full well that Eleka is needed to help your father handle the gwerins," replied Zandra. "And she is looking after her own children too."

"The only sylph here will be me?" asked Jenn.

"Afraid so."

Jenn's earpoints wilted further and all her earlier euphoria faded to nothing.

Galenna smiled at the infertile, but it looked forced. "I won't bite you, Jenn."

The sylph flinched, as if she had threatened to do just that. She turned to Marcus.

"Enya, are you sure you have no need for me at all?"

Marcus patted her head, but that nowhere near made up for abandonment. "Not today Jenn, perhaps tomorrow."

"And don't start sulking," added Zandra, seeing the sylph's lower lip suddenly tremble. "It doesn't work on me."

"All right, enough taunting," said Marcus suddenly. He stood and offered his hand to his infertile. "Come on through, Jenn."

In the sylph room, Marcus sat Jenn on one of the stools and crouched in front of her.

"This has to be done," he told her. "Eleka helps me keep the gwerins in line; you can't do that."

Eleka, readying herself for her own day, glanced across. She gave Marcus a small smile, but completely ignored his infertile.

"I will be all alone." Jenn's voice sounded very small.

"Nonsense. The girls will be here."

"She will be here."

Marcus almost sighed. "Galenna is the children's governess, Jenn. It's not going to change. No, I've heard enough concerning Galenna from you. That's enough. You're staying here, and that's that."

Jenn blinked and fought tears. "Why does nobody believe me? Enya, she is –"

"Enough, Jenn."

The sylph subsided. Her owner rarely lost his temper with her, was almost never angry with her, but she saw exasperation in his eyes now. She nodded and Marcus smiled, reaching forward. She turned her head so he missed her earpoints this time and his mouth thinned.

"As you wish," he told her. "If I hear you've left these rooms for any reason other than an errand, there will be trouble when I return. Don't spoil our victory, Jenn."

She watched as Eleka and her brood followed Marcus out of the room before she left the stool and crossed to one corner of the room. Lowering herself until she was sat on the floor, she pulled her knees up under her chin and hugged them.

Leaning her head on her knees, her earpoints wilted and tears flowed. Why did they not listen to her?

She stayed in place, obedient to the command she had received, and listened as the door opened and closed several times. Enya on his way to make arrangements for the transfer of the crown, anya off to invite the guilds and her other friends and to arrange their part in the coronation, celanya hurrying to her tutor's school. Through it all, Jenn hugged her knees and sulked.

The door to the sylph room opened and Jenn looked into Galenna's dark blue eyes, regarding her neutrally.

"Are you coming through, or staying in here?" asked the human girl.

Jenn turned her head aside, blanking the interloper.

"Suit yourself," said the governess, "but come through anyway when you're done sulking."

Jenn did not hear the door close, but when she glanced up again, the door was shut and Galenna nowhere in sight.

Jenn never heard the outer door to Marcus's rooms open, but she did hear it close with a click, suggesting that someone had turned the key, locking everybody in and everybody else out. Curious to learn why, the sylph rose silently to her feet.

***

"So it is finally over," said Grayar, relaxing in Sandev's study. "Djerana will be disappointed she no longer has an Emperor's ear."

Caya poured alovak, while Gajaran proffered a tray bearing sweetmeats.

Sandev took a sweetmeat, once Grayar had waved the tray away. "Not before time," she said, after taking a bite. "Zenepha as Emperor has lasted a lot longer than we expected."

"Or planned for," replied Grayar, after a sip of alovak. Salu sat on the floor at his feet, earpoints tucked away to suggest she had fallen asleep.

Sandev waited until her two sylphs had left the study. "The strain of high office has begun to show on poor Zenepha," she said. "He should not have been left in power for so long, no matter how intelligent or gifted."

"The strain came more from last year's mistakes rather than the office," Grayar pointed out. "The Sandesterans didn't help when they abandoned him."

"He still fears for the future."

"Well, he can never return to a collar," said Grayar. "Once manumitted, that's it, permanently free."

"I think that's what he's afraid of."

Grayar laughed.

"Home for you after the coronation?" asked Sandev.

"Immediately after," replied Grayar. "There's no more need for me here."

"There's still the small matter of Dervra and Nicolfer to be sorted."

"There will always be the small matter of Dervra and Nicolfer," retorted Grayar. "If they return, you know where to find me."

"Djerana's not going home with you," said Sandev, without even a hint of a question.

"Briefly," replied Grayar. "Very briefly. There is something she wants to help Zenepha with."

Sandev sighed. "This attempt to regain his memories."

"Our resident ilven is very unimpressed they were ever taken from him." Grayar's sharp blue eyes flashed. "She'll never understand why, though Zenepha might if he succeeds."

"Might he succeed?"

"I expect so. He can be very determined when he wants."

Sandev's lips thinned. "He'll be lucky to reach Magiere," she said.

Grayar laughed. "Alone, I'd agree with you. But with an ilven for company?" He shrugged and spread his hands. "It must be long since they've seen a sister and I suspect he's going to make it all the way."

Sandev grimaced. "That could be dangerous."

Grayar nodded. "I know. But I suspect something like this has been inevitable ever since they started selling their surplus sylph population to the world at large. I fear the consequences."

Sandev laughed. "We will never agree on this subject Grayar. You will never want to see humans gain too much advancement and I say it can't be prevented."

"We shall see."

"Dervra and Nicolfer." Sandev changed the subject.

"I think they'll leave us alone for a while. They've been bested at every turn, so they'll take a bit of time to plan out their next move. I rather suspect one or both of them are behind Sandester's new intransigence. If this document was truly stolen from the library and destroyed, that too has Dervra's method splashed all over."

Sandev nodded agreement. "There is no longer any sign of them in Marka. All the suspected sorcerers are gone too, or so the Gifted claim. I must admit, there isn't a single practitioner I'm aware of in the city."

"Have they been gathered?" Grayar steepled his fingers under his chin.

"Or considered loose ends to be tied off."

"Hmm," grunted Grayar. Neither of them wanted to dwell on how Dervra usually tied off his loose ends. "Either way, Marka is safe for the moment."

"Well, we'd better not let centuries pass before meeting again," said Sandev.

Grayar gave her one of his rare smiles. "That sounds a very good idea to me."

***

The cart never caught up with Sallis ti Ath. Sallis walked part and ran part of the way back to Marka. He wished Giddens had warned him that they had floated milas downriver. And the city was not even in sight yet!

He gripped the button in his fist. For as long as he held it, he could vaguely point in the general direction of the killer. He still did not know why Kaira had died, but he would soon learn the reason.

Of course, his talent could not reveal the killer's identity, only lead him there. He knew only that the killer remained in Marka. He would enter the city, visit his rooms to collect his sword, then track the killer down. Handing these people over to the guard was always a satisfying experience.

He just hoped Basren wasn't the killer after all. But, given who Kaira had been, Sallis somehow doubted that. There would be a calculating reason for the governess' death. She had been murdered in cold blood, not in the heat of the moment.

For once, Sallis ignored the great pyramid dwarfing the city and ran towards the gates. He slowed, letting his thumping heart return to its normal rate and hoped his sweat was not too obvious to the casual observer.

After all, he had a reputation to maintain.

"Nobody said you'd left the city," grinned one of the guards at the gate. "Have you heard that Zenepha's stepped down? Marcus got the throne after all."

"He did?" asked Sallis, walking straight past. "Interesting."

Once inside the walls, Sallis increased his pace again. The moment he entered the gateway, he'd picked up the killer's trail. Though he saw nothing on the ground, it looked to Sallis that the killer had left footprints everywhere, and some burned in his mind more brightly than others.

Or so it seemed.

As Sallis moved – quickly but without running – through the city, he suddenly realized he could waste no time. Not even to retrieve his sword.

The brightest trail led directly towards the palace and the nature of his investigation suddenly changed again. Kaira had been the Vintner's governess, and now a Vintner had taken the throne.

Sallis broke into a run after all, and blast his reputation. He had an assassination to stop.

***

Jenn found the door locked, as suspected, but the key had gone. The sylph suspected whoever had locked the door wanted nobody to pass through either way. The sylph checked the other rooms and found them empty, until she entered the children's room.

Weyna, the shy serving girl, stooped over the table, setting down a tray of alovak and sugared candies.

"Thank you," Galenna was saying. "That'll be all until the meal, Weyna."

"Yes Miss," replied Weyna.

Galenna's eyes flickered towards Jenn, a movement the servant noticed. Weyna stepped back from the table, caught Jenn by an earpoint and hurled her further into the room.

Jenn squealed in pain, unused to feeling any weight in what was, after all, a fairly sensitive place.

"Weyna?" Galenna also took a step back.

Metal glinted in Weyna's hand and she lashed out at the governess. Galenna twisted her body before, fingers stiff, she used her hand to chop the servant somewhere above her ear.

The girl barely flinched, and her knife flashed again, slicing Galenna diagonally from shoulder to abdomen.

The children began to cry and scream as Jenn recovered. The sylph herded all three into a corner and turned to face Weyna.

"You can't save them," snarled the servant, advancing with her knife turned for downward slashing.

"No!" Galenna, red seeping through her slashed dress, leapt on Weyna, arm around her throat. The girl jabbed the governess with her elbow, somewhere around the ribs area. She turned and slashed at Galenna again, opening the girl's face across one cheek.

Galenna leapt back as blood spurted. She felt her cheek and blinked in shock at the blood smeared on her hand.

Weyna's attention returned to Jenn and the children she shielded.

The sylph snatched up toys and threw them at her assailant, every one easily batted aside.

"No!" Jenn screamed at her. "Leave them be!"

Weyna smiled, but her eyes showed no emotion whatsoever.

"He wants you dead too," she whispered.

Jenn tensed to leap forward, to sacrifice herself for her owner's children, but Galenna was there again, pulling Weyna back, screaming in her ear. Jenn felt sick as she saw the governess' teeth through the gaping wound in her cheek. Weyna jabbed back twice, catching the governess in the face. This time, as Galenna staggered back clutching at her bleeding nose, Weyna pivoted, leapt and kicked her in the head.

The governess collapsed bonelessly. The servant grasped one of the display cabinets and brought it crashing down on Galenna. The governess coughed and tried to wiggle free.

Jenn went for Weyna.

The knife flashed and slashed incas from the sylph's terrified eyes, but she clung on. She used both hands to keep the knife away, blue blood smearing and weakening her grip as the blade cut deeply into her skin.

No pain, not yet.

Then Jenn was on her back and Weyna stabbed down...

The sylph twisted her head aside just in time as the knife buried itself into the wooden floor. She spat into Weyna's face.

"Filthy sylph!" snarled the servant. She scorned the knife and lifted Jenn's head by her earpoints. And smashed it into the floor with a bang. Then, Weyna's hands went around the sylph's throat.

Jenn fought for air, struggled and gurgled. Her hands rose, but Weyna easily avoided her frantic scratching. The world began to darken and pain grew in her chest. She tried to scream to the children, telling them to run and hide, but only a rasp came out.

She heard Galenna's coughing weaken as the heavy cabinet pressed against her chest, making every breath harder to pull in.

Another bang, but this time no pain. Had she been hit again? She had certainly felt the room vibrate. Or was that her head?

She opened her mouth to pull air in, but nothing reached her lungs. She tried to raise her legs to kick Weyna off her, but the girl was too heavy and the sylph too weak.

Something dropped to the floor with a double click and Jenn turned her head slightly to see a water-stained wooden button.

"That belongs to you, I believe," said a man's deep voice.

Weyna's dark blue eyes widened. Her mouth opened and closed, then spewed pink froth and red blood over the sylph. Then she and her hands were falling away.

Jenn gasped air in great breaths. Tears leaked free as her bloodied hands felt at her throat hoping everything was still there. Full vision returned and she stared up at a man wearing brown clothes and cropped dark hair, with dark brown eyes looking down at her.

The sword in his hand dripped red.

Jenn rolled over and lost her breakfast on the floor, retching twice before she pulled herself together.

Weyna's eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

Galenna first.

"Help her," croaked the infertile, wondering why it hurt so much to speak.

The man set his sword down and pulled the cabinet off the governess. Galenna pulled herself upright.

"The children," she said, immediately crossing to them, hugging them close. Jenn tried to ignore the broken bleeding nose, and the hole in the governess' cheek.

Suddenly, guards burst into the room, two or three taking hold of the man who had saved Jenn's life. Who had saved all their lives.

"No!" Jenn pulled herself upright again. "Good man," she managed and pointed to Weyna's body. "She was bad."

"All right," said a Sergeant. "But we'll hold him for now."

Abruptly, Jenn sat down in her regurgitated breakfast as shock kicked her hard. All she could do was hold her head and cry.

***

Sallis ti Ath did not even struggle in the guards' grip. One of them retrieved the sword Sallis had stolen from him. He looked around at the carnage in the room.

The injured governess held all the children, still using her body to try and protect them. Kaira's killer – an assassin of some sort – lay the middle of the floor in a pool of blood, dead eyes still open. The sylph cried her eyes out, smearing blue blood from her injured hands onto everything she touched and apparently unaware of what she sat in.

"One of you send for a healer," he snapped. "A Gifted one."

"Already done," replied one of his captors.

Sallis could have easily pulled free, but knew he had nothing to fear. "Kaira's killer," he said.

"What about it?"

Sallis nodded to the body. "That's her."

"Sure."

"Ask the City Guard," added Sallis. "They know me and what I do."

"In good time." The man nodded.

The healer arrived two steps ahead of Marcus and Zandra. Zandra crossed to her children immediately, followed a moment later by Marcus.

"The children are unharmed," breathed Zandra. "Thank the Father."

The healer turned to Jenn. "Close your eyes," she whispered.

Jenn obeyed and cried out as she felt the Gift. She opened them again. The wounds on her hands had gone and her throat felt better, though she still had blood smeared everywhere, and the remains of her breakfast soaking into her clothes.

The healer crossed to Galenna and, a moment later, all the governess' stiffness had gone. Air flowed through her nose properly again and, most importantly, the hole in her cheek had gone.

"Nasty had that got infected," said the healer. "All gone now, though you will be left with a scar on your face. Any stiffness while eating will go as the muscles repair themselves."

Jenn tugged at her owner's hand and pointed to Sallis. "He saved us," she said. "All of us."

"Who are you?" demanded Marcus.

"I'm Sallis ti Ath," he replied. "I was asked to investigate the disappearance of your last governess, Kaira."

"A bounty hunter." Marcus's tone held no hint of what he thought of bounty hunters.

Sallis nodded.

Marcus gestured to the guards. "Let him go."

"Sire –"

"Let him go."

Sallis rubbed his arms.

"Sallis ti Ath, from this moment, you are the Imperial Bounty Hunter, and you'll receive a retainer from the coffers in case we ever have need of your services again."

Sallis stared into Marcus Vintner's dark blue eyes, so common in Marka. "Thank you, Majesty, but I prefer my own freedom to operate."

Marcus smiled, then barked a quick laugh. "And you shall have it. But we'll pay you that retainer, just in case."

***

Later, much later, after the children were tucked in bed to sleep off the day's excitement, and the cured wounded had bathed and dressed in clean clothes, they finally heard how Sallis had discovered poor Kaira's body and the all-important button grasped in her fist.

Sallis spoke how he had picked up the killer's trail immediately he returned to the city and his dash through the streets.

Though everybody else sat enthralled by Sallis's tale, Jenn crept across the floor and put a hand on Galenna's knee.

"I am sorry for doubting you," she whispered.

Smiling, Galenna leaned forward and tickled the back of an earpoint. She tapped her knee and, recognizing the signal, Jenn scrambled up to sit there. She wrapped her arms around the governess.

"You're forgiven," Galenna whispered back.

"I feared I was too late," Sallis was saying. "But Galenna and Jenn had held her off long enough."

"How did you manage that?" asked Marcus, turning his head. "This Weyna was a trained assassin."

Still holding Jenn, Galenna smiled. "One of the skills I learned was how to defend my charges," she explained, "though I am out of practice, as today showed. I certainly did not expect Weyna to be an assassin." She jiggled her knees to emphasize Jenn's presence. "Being a trained fighter is what I think caused your sylph so much unease when we first met."

Zandra smiled. "Looks like you'll get along just fine now, though," she said.

Galenna stroked an earpoint to an appreciative murmur. "I do hope so," she said.

Sallis stood. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "but I must report to the man who commissioned me."

"Who's that?"

"Basren."

"Basren." Marcus managed a smile. "Not the killer then."

"No." Sallis shrugged. "I must go and tell the City Guard. As far as I know, they're still following him about."

Once Sallis had left, Marcus turned to Galenna. "Welcome to the family," he told her.

"Welcome," added Jenn, with feeling.

***
Chapter 32

Settling Dust

Neptarik felt pain, as if something tried to rip part of him away, a rending sensation inside his head that went on and on. His lips turned as he fought the pain and willed himself to hold in his scream. All around, soldiers and civilians alike were flung to the floor, some bouncing down the stone steps.

A soundless roar echoed inside the scout's head as the pressure wave passed by, though he managed to stay upright. The throne room, its bronze door open, blazed with incandescent light, Tektu a black shadow at its center.

Then, nothing.

Men groaned as they pulled themselves upright, rubbing elbows and knees, or wiping their heads, hoping the hand came away clean. The only injuries seemed to have been caused as men fell against stone.

Tektu and Neptarik stared at each other, the infertile wearing a disgusted look.

"That worked out well for you," said Neptarik, eventually. Why had he ever thought this creature might be trustworthy?

"I'll kill that sylph for you," growled Ozbon, patting dust off his clothes. "What in Ranva's name did you think you were doing?"

"Breaking whatever it was," replied Tektu.

"And you'll leave her alone," said Balnus. "She does not belong to you."

Ozbon subsided, but his silver-flecked green eyes regarded Tektu with hate.

Beyond, the throne room looked intact.

"Intended to kill our new Prefect as he passed through," said Tektu. "Had he rushed forward unthinking."

Neptarik looked at his sylph. She seemed to be preening herself, asking for adulation as she had saved Reshiad's life. But she had triggered that spell, or whatever, for her own selfish reasons. She'd done it in the hope that Neptarik would die and she could free herself.

He could never trust her again.

Neptarik followed as Reshiad swept into the throne room, bringing his men with him. He stood before the twin thrones before turning to face the hall, the scout stood to one side, Balnus to the other.

"Bring everyone in!" he called.

Gradually, the throne room and the courtyard filled, some arriving more eagerly than others. More than once, Ozbon motioned him to sit, but he only smiled and shook his head.

"Not yet," he said.

The palace staff were brought in, and more of Reshiad's soldiers crammed in behind them. A youngish man approached.

"Your Majesty," he said, inclining his head. "My name is Delnor Selad Rylin and I command the servants. The palace is yours."

Reshiad nodded. "Who was responsible for the census?"

"Prefect Dervra ordered it, Majesty," replied Delnor. "But Administrator Kanad drafted the detailed orders and oversaw its operation."

"Did Marlen Masser involve himself in any way?"

Delnor's mouth thinned and his hazel eyes flashed. "I would love to say yes, Majesty, for I have no love for Marlen. But honesty compels me. He had no involvement in the census."

Reshiad nodded. "So the man didn't lie to us after all," he told Balnus, before returning his attention to Delnor. "And where is Kanad now?"

Delnor smiled. "A very good question. He did not leave with Dervra and he's certainly not left the palace. Hiding somewhere, perhaps."

"Once found, he is to be brought to me so I can pronounce his sentence," continued Reshiad.

"No trial?" whispered Ozbon, at his side.

"We could hang all of them," Reshiad whispered back, "but Kanad will have to do. We want to rebuild Turivkan, remember?"

"Are you going to take that throne? What are you waiting for?" Ozbon's eyes glittered.

Reshiad smiled. "Soon."

A man with more than a hint of the south in his appearance, and under guard, now approached. "Majesty." He bowed low. "I am General Teven Vorbert, commander of Turivkan's army. It is my pleasure to inform Your Majesty that the army is yours."

Reshiad smiled. "Decided to choose the winning side, General?"

Teven arched an eyebrow. "Majesty, I am always on the winning side."

"A survivalist. I respect that."

"More a pragmatist," replied Teven.

A small commotion by the door caught Reshiad's attention and he stared across the room, a smile finally spreading across his face. "Let them through!" he called.

Moments later, Serifa had joined him, with Erard and Verdin right behind her.

"You smell like a horse," he told her.

Serifa's hazel eyes gleamed in joy. "You've got the throne then. We near rode our horses to death getting here."

"Not yet." Reshiad raised his voice. "People of Turivkan! By right of conquest, the reign of Prefect Dervra is over. My name is Reshiad Wajrun Helzar and I claim the title of Joint Prefect."

"Joint?" murmured Balnus, eyes widening in surprise.

"My rule will be shared with this young lady here." He leaned towards Serifa. "Announce yourself," he murmured.

"People of Turivkan," she began, "I am known to many of you as Serifa. Like so many in the movement dedicated to liberating us from Dervra's tyranny, I have been forced to live under a false identity." She looked around the hall. "My name is Steffir, daughter of Cler Elyse Mirlen."

A small gasp ran around the hall.

"And I am daughter of Adelbard Glayen Haist, murdered Prefect of Turivkan!"

Neptarik gaped for a moment, before recovering his composure.

Muttering grew.

"So you are the true Prefect," said Reshiad. "It seems my reign was very short."

Serifa – Steffir – shook her head. "We will rule jointly as you announced, and we will be husband and wife."

Reshiad smiled and stepped forward. To cheering, he leaned forward and kissed his wife-to-be. Hats were thrown into the air and the room trembled from the noise.

"How sweet," remarked Tektu, from somewhere beside Neptarik.

The scout looked around. "You," he said, "can stay as far away from me as you can get."

Tektu shook her head. "I wish it was that simple," she replied. "I really do."

***

Verdin Vintner secured the last straps before he turned to shake Reshiad's hand and give Serifa – Steffir – a hug. He had always known her as Serifa and found the change of name difficult. Even if that change was to her real given name.

They waited just inside the main gates to Turivkan.

"The air itself smells different," remarked Verdin, giving the air a token sniff.

Reshiad waved a dismissive hand. "That's only because the dung carts haven't arrived yet."

Verdin and Balnus laughed, while even Neptarik managed a tight smile. That smile grew fonder as he felt Mya's grip tighten on his hand. He didn't even glance at Tektu.

"Remember," cautioned Verdin, "to leave as much of the city's existing organization intact as possible."

Reshiad smiled "We will, though we are calling elections for the Senate."

"You'll be hard pushed to find a supporter for Dervra now," continued Verdin. "And I hope there won't be too many more of those."

He nodded towards the central square, where Kanad's lifeless body dangled from a gibbet, hastily erected the previous day.

"We'll have to make do with Kanad for our revenge," said Reshiad. "And even he received an easier death than he deserved."

"Such is the nature of justice," replied Verdin, "unless you want to become the new oppressor."

Reshiad laughed. "Are you sure you won't stay? We could certainly use your advice."

"Thank you for the thought." Verdin inclined his head. "Unfortunately, there is work for us elsewhere. Are you sure you want to do this?" He flourished the parchment, passed to him only that morning.

"Yes." Reshiad's hazel eyes sparkled. "It might be decades before Marka can reach us, but we stand ready to welcome our Emperor when he comes."

"Then everybody shall be happy."

Reshiad had turned away from Verdin to grasp both of Neptarik's hands in his own.

"And Neptarik," he sighed. "There will always be a place for you here."

The scout blushed.

"You saved my life," continued Reshiad. "And you showed me the way."

"I made suggestions," said the sylph, modestly. "You chose to follow them."

Reshiad pumped Neptarik's hands. "I chose to listen," he said. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Make your peace with Tektu."

He straightened and smiled around at them all. "My invitation goes for all of you," he said. "Human or sylph. You will always be welcome in Turivkan." His gaze lingered a little longer on Neptarik. "A pity I cannot have you as an advisor. A shame you are not human."

Neptarik blinked. "Am I not?" he asked.

After final goodbyes, Balnus led the small procession of Markans out through the gates.

"Stop dawdling, Neptarik," he cautioned, without looking over his shoulder. "We want to be in Marka before winter, not year after next."

"Who is dawdling?" retorted the scout, from immediately behind. "You have almost tripped over my feet twice."

"Less backtalk," cautioned the sylph's owner. "There's time for me to buy a tamer yet. Get ahead and do your job."

"Se bata." Grinning, Neptarik ran forward and was quickly out of sight, scouting the way home.

***

Delnor waited in his small office for the new Prefects to return. Once certain the Markans were out of Turivkan territory, he could begin to follow the instructions Dervra left for him.

For once, it appeared events ran in his favor. Dervra gone, the bully Marlen fled, the creepy Kanad dangling from a rope.

He had his instructions and he would obey. But he knew high office awaited him, once the usurpers had been pushed aside – if necessary, fatally.

Clasping his hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and smiled as he daydreamed of the Prefect's throne.

***
Chapter 33

New Direction

Belaika slowed his pace the moment he turned the corner. He kept looking around, keeping a sharp eye for patrolling soldiers. He would surrender in his own time, when he completed his self-imposed task.

He collected more than his fair share of puzzled stares while pushing his way through Eldova's capital city. Lots of people – human and sylph – stared at him, an apparition painted gray, green, brown and black. But, he noted, not everybody looked at him in surprise; they clearly recognized sylph scouts. With luck, any soldiers he saw would mistake him for an Eldovan.

Once safely away and certain nobody pursued him, he began to ask after Jinsla and Haema. He asked again and again, repeatedly receiving blank looks and shaken heads.

Gajaran's words echoed through his mind. "You do what no sylph should. You direct men to death. Your enemies, your friends. Maybe even sylphs. You are an aberration, a devil. Evil." Over and over.

"Jinsla Martan Renkra," he asked, in near desperation. "Makes musical instruments. His sylph copies musical notation."

"Take your paw off me, filthy sylph," growled the man he had touched.

You do what no sylph should.

"Haema-y-Jinsla," he asked a human woman. "Where might I find her owner?"

You direct men to death.

"Jinsla, a musician and instrument maker," Belaika begged another woman. "I need to find him."

Maybe even sylphs.

"Where might such a man take residence?" A new thought struck him; Eldova's sheer size might mean he would never learn where Haema had lived.

You are an aberration.

"Please tell me where I can find Jinsla Martan Renkra."

A devil.

"Might it be somewhere close? Do you know anybody I can ask?"

Evil.

Belaika blinked. "Where did you say?"

The male sylph, somewhat garishly dressed in colorful shirt and breeches, smiled and inclined his head. "Jinsla Renkra had a workshop three streets over," he said.

Belaika noted the sylph's long silver hair, tied back into a single ponytail, dangling between his shoulder blades. The breeches were red, his shirt yellow. He certainly stood out.

"Thank you," said the scout.

"I will take you there," offered the sylph.

"Thank you, but unnecessary."

"I will take you," repeated the sylph. "My owner awaits you there, Belaika-y-Marcus."

"How do you know my name?" Belaika grew very wary.

"My owner knows many things," replied the sylph. "Many. Forgive my rudeness. My name is Cerant."

"Yes?" Belaika cocked his head to one side, expecting more.

The smile returned. "Just Cerant."

Belaika, senses alert to a trap and ready to run again, followed the strange sylph at a distance. For his part, Cerant walked apparently without a concern, perhaps indifferent whether the scout followed him or not.

Or perhaps he knew Belaika would. And that possibility bothered him even more. He felt no better as they turned into a quiet street and halted before a small shop, sandwiched between two warehouses.

"This is no music shop!" he protested, when Cerant nodded towards it.

The single window displayed cloth of various colors, draped to best show off its quality.

"And hasn't been for almost a year," said a woman's voice.

Belaika turned to look down at a pleasant face, hazel eyes smiling back at him, mouth turned upwards. Brown hair was brushed back from her face.

"And Jinsla?" asked Belaika.

"I have waited to meet you for some time, Belaika," continued the woman, ignoring his question. "I knew when you eventually came here, you would herald great change for the better. And when I heard of Markans in the city... Well, let's say I had a strong suspicion you might be with them."

"I will herald great change?" The scout took a step back. "I am just a sylph."

The woman glanced his painted skin and nodded. "Of course you are."

"You are Gifted?"

"Indeed I am. My name is Berlya. Would you like to hear my full name?"

Belaika shook his head. "Where can I find Jinsla?"

"Nowhere this side of the grave," replied Berlya.

The scout gave a sylph's slow blink. "He is dead?"

"Nicolfer never leaves loose ends, I'm afraid. Spring last year they found him. Nobody's seen his sylph since."

As Haema had believed, right from when he first met her. "She is also dead, killed during a battle." A lump in his throat at the memory of Haema in the mass grave, but the news about Jinsla brought release too. "They are together again," he said.

"Now you can move on," said Berlya. She sensed his sorrow, or else saw it on his face and by the set of his earpoints. She gave his arm a reassuring pat.

The scout nodded.

"We'd better get you to the palace." Berlya smiled at him. "History is being made this very day."

"What do you mean?"

"You won't find that out standing here, young sylph. Now come along, and escort us both to the palace."

Belaika glanced back at the shop. Gajaran's words still echoed, but their power was gone.

As promised, Haema had rejoined her owner.

***

It took four men to hold Kelanus in place on the floor and even then he tried to escape. After retrieving his dagger, General Mirrin calmly wiped Hingast's blood from its steel blade and watched as the men struggled to keep Marka's General in a kneeling position, his head pushed forward.

"No!" Tahena tried to interfere and was pushed aside.

"You told me he would change!" Kelanus hissed at her.

"You told us he was an imposter!" said Janost. "You lied to us."

Mirrin laid a cautionary hand on Tahena's arm. "Don't even think it," he warned. "Not here. Not the Gift."

Hingast's three widows watched in varying states of shock. Blood pooled under and around the body, soaking into the torn clothes. The chest no longer moved and the twitching of legs and arms had ceased.

One of the four men hefted his sword and Thur nodded.

"Proceed," he commanded.

"Stop!"

All heads turned as Janost held up a hand, staring at the corpse. Helen, the eldest of the three wives stood, hands covering her mouth. She screamed again.

"Look!" urged Janost.

All heads craned for a better view.

"See... raan... vaa," breathed Thur. "What sorcery is this?"

The corpse's features slowly changed. The black hair retained its color, if straighter than before; the skin darkened slightly and the sightless gray-blue eyes changed to black.

"That is a southerner," breathed Mirrin.

"That's Ranallic Eydren," said Kelanus, voice muffled as he spoke directly to the floor. "As I told you. And told you."

"Ellas Panir," breathed Tahena.

"Release him." Thur stepped around the body to take a good look. "How is such a thing possible?"

"Shapeshifting," explained Tahena. "The real Hingast died in Marka two years ago."

"An imposter," said Helen, still aghast. "He... He..." She shook her head, unable to continue.

"He tricked everybody," said Tahena gently, after embracing Kelanus, who had scrambled back to his feet.

"Any apology, Janost?" he asked. "You just named me liar."

Thur gestured towards Kelanus. "You think to claim our throne?" he asked. "Three of you and a handful of sylphs."

"And me," murmured Tahena.

Kelanus shook his head. "Never my intention to claim that throne," he said. "I serve Marcus Vintner and no other."

"So why did you come?"

"Unfinished business," replied Kelanus. He nodded towards Ranallic. "Now complete. And as you're going to let me keep my head, I'll thank you for safe passage out from Eldova again."

"You came here just to kill an imposter?" Thur almost smiled.

"I came here to secure Marka's western border." Kelanus shrugged. "And settle an old score, true."

"You've deliberately engineered a succession crisis in Eldova," said Janost angrily. "We will not be ruled by an outlander."

"Nor shall you be." Kelanus smiled and gestured towards the widows. "Hingast has a son, Meneda."

"Hardly eighteen months old," retorted Janost.

"But still Hingast's rightful heir," pointed out Kelanus. "Even if he was born after the real Hingast died. You can even claim the real Hingast has only just died if you like. Just don't go hunting more shapeshifters to imitate a dead man."

"Meneda cannot rule; he will need a regent," pointed out Thur.

"More than one ideally. The oldest of Hingast's wives." Kelanus smiled at the still shocked Helen. "And a military man, to keep a steady hand on the government."

"We have the same problem," said Thur. "I'm an outsider."

"And I'm an outlandsman," added Mirrin. "Still Eldovan, but almost as bad as being an outsider from the City's point of view."

Janost smiled and opened his mouth to speak.

"The pair of you should do well," laughed Kelanus. "Eldova needs careful rule and good governance. I know General Mirrin is admirably suited to the task."

"What about me?" demanded Janost. "After all, I'm Marshal of Eldova."

"And you still are I expect," said Kelanus. "You need to take the army in hand and look after the men returning home after years away. How many have died to hide that man's cowardice?" He gestured contemptuously towards Ranallic's body.

Thur nodded. "You've not demanded we bend knee to your new Emperor."

"That's right, I haven't."

"Why not?"

"It will be decades, perhaps centuries, before Marka's writ can reach this far," replied Kelanus. "But whether in ten years or a hundred, one day we will come."

Thur laughed. "And we'll be waiting for you," he promised.

***

"Don't you ever do that to me again," chided Tahena, as they returned to the stable. Thur had promised them better accommodation, but they wanted to return to their companions and the sylphs first. "You were about two seconds from losing your head."

Kelanus rubbed the back of his neck and considered. "Good job I struggled," he said. "Else I'd've died before Ranallic changed."

"Before Ellas changed."

"Whoever. When you said shapeshifters changed back, I thought you meant straight away. Almost thought I'd killed the wrong man."

"Well that's the first shapeshifter I've ever seen die," protested Tahena. "So how am I supposed to know how long it takes?"

They fell silent as they reached the stable. Hanmer and Felis waited outside, Ean stood with his owner.

"What happened, Sir?" asked Hanmer.

"Ranallic died," replied Kelanus. "They believe I'm telling the truth now." No need to tell the man anything more.

"Good," said Felis.

Ean nodded, but said nothing.

Four sylphs stood as the humans entered the barn. Three scouts and Tula.

"Still no Belaika?" asked Kelanus.

The scouts exchanged looks and finally Shyamon shook his head.

"Good lad that," said Hanmer. "Saw his chance and took it. Probably taking in the sights even as we speak."

The sylph scouts laughed.

"So they've not caught him," said Tahena. She turned to Tula. "Thought you were supposed to stay with the other Eldovans."

"We followed you into the city," said Tula. "And I came here when they told me you were here."

"Why did you follow us?" asked Kelanus.

Tula crossed to Kelanus and shyly took hold of one of his hands. "You will return home now?" she asked, silver eyes glowing in the gloom.

Kelanus looked down at her. "Soon. There are still things we need to sort out. And we must wait for Belaika; Marcus will never forgive me if I leave him behind."

Tula took a breath. "I might be useful," she said.

Kelanus laughed and ruffled her hair. "Come, and welcome," he said and looked over his shoulder at Tahena. "Looks like we've got our first sylph."

He looked back and saw Ean speak to Felis.

"We must talk," said the sylph.

***

Nervousness almost overcame Ean as he and his owner crossed the stableyard to a quiet corner. Born and raised within Felis's family, he felt rightly proud of the association between his ancestors and Felis's.

Selection for scout training and, more importantly, passing through all that training, had brought much honor to him, his family and his human owners. Yet, the argument raging between wild and civilized sylphs, together with a lady friend among the Free Tribe, had affected Ean's outlook on life. As the first sylph scout to spot the slave caravan, Ean knew he would always be welcome among the wild sylphs he had helped liberate.

Felis spoke first.

"You've made your decision," he said, not asking. "Whatever it is, whichever way you've chosen, know that I'll respect it and stand by you."

Ean's earpoints slanted forwards and he smiled in gratitude. "Not an easy one to make," he admitted. "Maybe I am not doing the right thing."

Felis smiled and nodded. "I understand. Before you tell me, you should know that once your manumission has been read, there's no coming back. That is the law. You're welcome to keep your association with our family, but you'll never again wear a collar. Mine or anyone else's. Either you are free, or you are not."

Ean almost changed his mind. His mouth felt dry now the moment had arrived. He could put it off no longer and, if he tried, he knew he would never remove his collar.

"Enya, I would like you to have my manumission read to the Senate," he said, stammering over half his words.

Felis hugged his sylph. "When we return, I'll see to it," he promised.

And with those words, the world again changed. But Felis doubted if the change could ever be undone.

For the first time in history, an enslaved sylph asked for his freedom, and the world shifted on its axis a little more.

***
Chapter 34

New Beginnings

Marcus Marcus Vintner, stood beside his wife Zandra Caralin Ems, waited outside the door leading to Coronation Hall. High Councilors and Senators were packed within, together with representatives from the old noble houses, a collection of priests and imhoteps, dignitaries from around the continent with offices in Marka, and the various leaders of the guilds.

He could see the thrones, the Imperial Throne together with a consort beside it for Zandra. The back of the throne was higher now, with an additional board painted with the gold dragon's head of the Vintner family, set on a black background. The flags, one either side of the throne, hung listlessly. The golden eagle on its black field stood on one side, and the gold-over-green-over-gold flag of Marka's people on the other.

The flags were a visual reminder that the Emperor was servant to City and People.

Behind and above the thrones, a new stained glass window let in plenty of light and Marcus gave it a quiet smile. The new window showed a rider on his horse, bursting in through that very space to save a sylph Emperor from a madman.

People stood in front of Marcus. The imhotep, for once with Djerana, stood beside him. The ilven had at least agreed to attend the coronation, which would legitimize it in some eyes. Supreme Councilor Olista, bearing his sunburst staff with its steel cube for knocking on the ground. Four shadow riders, including Captain Fared, surrounded him, the only people with swords bared in his presence.

And sylphs lined the way to the throne.

Marcus knew most of those sylphs would be his precious scouts. He had expected them to be scrubbed clean and dressed in their white shirts and charcoal-colored breeches. He had also expected to see them in silver collars and wearing the purple sashes that hung from shoulder to hip and displayed the silver battle stars the scouts had earned.

More sylphs belonged to one or another of the temple choirs scattered throughout the city. These usually wore white. And Marcus also knew that, among all these sylphs, twenty were wild sylphs, who usually wore green tunics and leggings made from the misnamed yellowflax. More importantly than their presence, the wild sylphs were sunsingers.

But none of them wore what he expected.

The scouts had been busy with their paint. Not that they were camouflaged, not exactly, but they were also unrecognizable as sylphs. Painted so skillfully that the paintings looked real, the sylphs represented dragons. Gold dragons, copper dragons, red dragons and white dragons; dragons in flight and dragons breathing fire.

The sylphs had been converted to living artwork.

Supreme Councilor Olista deliberately banged his staff on the ground. Once, twice, thrice... Silence fell and Olista's voice resounded around the hall.

"There comes one to be anointed, with the Father as witness, to rule over and guide us, to protect and succor us, to govern and administer us. Stand!" The sunburst staff crashed on the floor and the clang reverberated through the chamber. Bowing, Olista turned aside.

Flanked by two priests and an ilven, the imhotep started forward, movements slow and graceful. Marcus and Zandra, purple robes over their clothes, followed. As the imhotep stepped into the hall, the sylphs began to sing.

The sunsingers began it, mouths pouring pure and clear music, voices soaring through the notes without accompaniment. No human voice could hope to match it. The temple sylphs joined in, adding their voices to the wild sylphs, mouths opening and closing in unison. And then the scouts followed.

Marcus glanced at the back of Djerana's head and regretted his failure to persuade the ilven to provide him with an ilven choir. One had sung at the Founding Mark's coronation and nothing like that had been heard since.

The imhotep and his priests turned aside, leaving Marcus and Zandra to mount the two steps leading to the thrones. They turned, and sat. The choir reached a crescendo, then ceased.

The imhopter broke the short silence.

"We are here today, gathered as witnesses with the Father, to anoint Marcus Marcus Vintner and Zandra Caralin Ems Emperor and Empress of Marka. We pray to the Father."

Only those used to the religious ceremonies spoke the prayer aloud and properly, Marcus heard only mumbles from the crowd beyond. He didn't care, it didn't matter. Today he would finally realize his lifelong ambition.

He looked up at the imhotep and smiled as the religious leader used a finger to rub oil onto his forehead.

"With the Father and these as witnesses, I anoint you Emperor of Marka." He moved on to Zandra. "And you, Empress of Marka."

The imhotep took the scepter from one of the priests and placed it in Marcus's hand. Encrusted with sapphires and rubies, diamonds and opals, emeralds and amethysts, Marcus sat with one end of it propped against his leg.

"You are to rule over and guide us. The scepter symbolizes your rule and guidance."

Turning to the other priest, he placed the orb into Marcus's other hand. Also gold, it too had its share of gemstones.

"You are to protect and succor us; the orb symbolizes your protection and relief."

Marcus watched as the imhotep drew the sword. Plain and simple, it had remained in its stained leather scabbard for Zenepha's coronation. But Marka now crowned her real Emperor and the sword's blade was bare to the world. The Founder's weapon, it was a priceless artifact, ancient and well used.

The imhotep laid it across his lap.

"You govern and administer us," he said. "The sword symbolizes your government and administration."

The imhotep took the Emperor's crown from Olista, while an assistant priest took the consort's crown from another Councilor. Stepping forward, both crowns were slipped into place at the same time. Marcus took a deep breath. Now for the controversial part. He should really be crowned Mark the Fifteenth, but he had insisted on something different...

"I crown you Emperor Mark the First of Marka; Dominator of the World, Guardian of the Key, Commander of the Shadow Riders and Lord Protector of Gwerins."

Nobody seemed to have noticed. Marcus insisted that the numbers must begin anew, as if all of history before today had never happened. He had his reasons for it, yet nobody had questioned it. Yet.

Stepping back, the imhotep turned to the assembly. "Behold your Emperor and Empress!"

The cheering filled the hall. Marcus sat on the throne, on his throne and smiled around the hall. He had announcements to make, granting the sylph scouts the much-coveted imperial title, rewarding Sallis ti Ath for saving his children, granting him his new title of Imperial Bounty Hunter. He had orders of chivalry to found and service awards to create.

The cheering only came to an end as the sylphs began to sing again. Marcus wished they would get on with it.

He had an empire to rule.

***

Elsin halted her horse and stared at the borderstones marking the end of Sandesteran territory. The Prefecture of Pelentar lay behind her and ahead a line of twenty Metton soldiers waited patiently. Metton retained her independence for now, but Elsin wondered if the soldiers were truly an honor escort, or just there to ensure she passed into Markan lands.

After all, she had no need for protection from lawless bandits, who did not infest Metton.

"Ready to press on, Ma'am?"

Elsin turned in her saddle and smiled at Sergeant Argrofan, commander of her small bodyguard. Six rather old Sandesteran soldiers to see her safely to Marka. Perhaps to make sure she really got there. Waiting patiently, Fineas and Vesten sat atop the same armored carriage used the last time she traveled to Marka.

Inside the carriage, Tanna probably kept both Beanna and Reanna under tight control, but she spotted Millan peering at her through the slits in the carriage sides.

Her sylph had proved a poor traveler. Staying in the carriage shook up her insides and made her ill for the first few days. Riding outside the carriage made no difference. Sitting the sylph on Elsin's horse made her worse, and after a lifetime kept inside buildings, she weakened too quickly to walk alongside the carriage for long.

Elsin began to fear she might be forced to leave Millan behind or watch her die, but she began to recover on the fourth day. She could walk further each day as her legs strengthened, though being kept inside the carriage still made her ill. She quickly made her hatred for riding obvious, but Millan showed enough determination to keep up with her Mistress.

Elsin silently saluted her sylph's courage.

"All right Sergeant, let's get it over with," she replied. She rode forward with Argrofan to meet and welcome the Metton soldiers. She could not help but glance back again at the borderstones.

The Vintners in Sandester believed Elsin's exile began here, but Fareen had the right of it. Elsin was entering a new beginning, with plenty of opportunities to exploit.

This exile would be the making of her.

***

Dervra prayed.

He rarely prayed; the malefic sephiroth demanded practical obedience rather than verbal obeisance, but there were times the Ranked Ones liked to hear a report. They were everywhere of course, but the cursed Siranva kept this benefic ilvenworld veiled from their view.

Soon, that would change.

The dragon's head banner had been raised in Sandester and Nazvasta had laid his claim to the Markan Throne. Eldova was in uproar as factions squabbled over the infant Prefect who now ruled there. Turivkan – which he had deliberately abandoned – convulsed as old scores were settled and some peasant boy tried to learn the skills of high office.

And now Dervra had the Imperial Republic in line for his special attention. Once that land descended into chaos, the dream of a new, reunited Markan Empire would be over.

Then humanity would be ready for a new, better, way.

This was a benefic ilvenworld and Siranva kept it veiled from the malefic sephiroth's view.

Soon, that would change.

But for now, Dervra prayed.

***

The end of Markan Sword.

***

Nicholas A. Rose is the author of the Ilvenworld novels and novellas. He enjoys everything to do with the sea, the outdoors and the mountains, which he finds inspirational. Nicholas also enjoys the rather more sedentary pastimes of chess, reading, real ale and, of course, writing.
