 
Markan Empire

by

Nicholas A. Rose

Copyright 2011 Nicholas A. Rose

Smashwords Edition

Cover: Joleene Naylor

Editor: Stephanie Dagg

Book Two of the Markan Empire Trilogy

Novel Length

Also in the Markan Empire Trilogy:

Markan Throne

Markan Sword

Novella Length

The Gifted Trilogy:

Gifted Apprentice

Gifted Hunter

Gifted Avenger

***

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 – Hunting

Chapter 2 – Marka

Chapter 3 – Re Taura

Chapter 4 – Castle Beren

Chapter 5 – Shadow Riders

Chapter 6 – Prisoner

Chapter 7 – Hingast

Chapter 8 – Rumor

Chapter 9 – Memories

Chapter 10 – Plans And Plots

Chapter 11 – Turivkan

Chapter 12 – Flight From Turivkan

Chapter 13 – Planning

Chapter 14 – Marching North

Chapter 15 – Escape

Chapter 16 – Trapped

Chapter 17 – Evening Chores With Tektu

Chapter 18 – Tektu's Evil

Chapter 19 – Enemy Contact

Chapter 20 – The Banner

Chapter 21 – Shadow Riders Join Battle

Chapter 22 – To Marka

Chapter 23 – Murder In Marka

Chapter 24 – Sallis ti Ath Hunts

Chapter 25 – In Marka

Chapter 26 – Familiar Lands

Chapter 27 – The Mametain Makes His Move

Chapter 28 – Neptarik: Spy

Chapter 29 – Old Enemies

Chapter 30 – Captives

Chapter 31 – Avenging Angel

Chapter 32 – Husband And Wife

Epilogue

***
**Prologue**

I: The Pledge

One hundred men – thirty of them mounted lancers – and five sylph scouts formed up in the square before the newly reopened West Gate. Husbands and wives had said their final goodbyes; the small army now ready to leave.

The worst of the ice had been cleared away, but here and there, a sylph earpoint gave an irritated flicker as stray snowflakes settled on an eartip.

Lance Captain Dekran and Banner Sergeant Yochan made their final checks, ensuring all was as it should be. As senior scout, Belaika glanced at his companions. The other scouts were Markans and at best only part trained. Which meant he would have to carry them most of the way out and back. Only Fhionnen could be regarded as reliable for formulating messages. The rest could pass messages between each other, but would be of little use either as Dekran's messenger or as furthest scout. Belaika knew which of those dangerous jobs he and Fhionnen must shoulder.

The only married sylph of the five scouts, he felt a stab of loss as he looked across the square at his wife. Pregnant again, this time Eleka insisted she would birth a son. No sylph had ever produced two gwerins and she knew she carried only one child.

Lance Captain Dekran mounted.

Banner Sergeant Yochan looked from Belaika to Eleka.

"You didn't drag her out in this?" he demanded.

Belaika shrugged. "She insisted."

Yochan shook his head. "Foolish sylphs. Selinde is expecting too. We said our goodbyes before I came out. Best for her to keep warm. Best for pregnant sylphs, too."

"We hope for a son." The scout's earpoints twitched before sagging a little.

Yochan nodded. "So do we, but after five daughters maybe Siranva has other ideas."

"I will likely miss the birth." Belaika's earpoints sagged further.

Yochan gripped the sylph's shoulder. "Us married men must look out for each other. If anything happens, I promise to tell Eleka."

Belaika blinked and bowed his head. "Should you fall, Selinde will know what to tell your son when he is older."

Yochan's hand left the sylph's shoulder and he smiled. "We are pledged," he said.

"Pledged," agreed Belaika. He looked away, silently praying that nothing happened to either of them.

Yochan mounted and hefted the Vintner Standard: a gold dragon's head on a dark blue field. He nodded to Dekran.

The Captain lifted an arm and motioned ahead. The gate swung open and the small army passed out of the city.

Belaika turned to smile at his wife and held her gaze as long as possible until the city walls hid her from view.

His head turned to the front and his expression hardened. He had a job to get on with; he would meet his son when it was done.

***

II: Homecoming

Even snug in the folds of her cloak, Silmarila wished the late winter wind would ease its chill blast. Carts and sedans queued, patiently waiting their turn to enter Marka. She waited with them on the narrow road into the city, wanting to draw no attention to herself. Many less patient than she walked past the line and ignored choice comments thrown their way by those less mobile than themselves.

She smiled wistfully at the huge pyramid dwarfing the city, a giant ruby light crystal at its apex. Those seeing Marka for the first time stared more at this feature than at any other and she overheard their awed murmurs. She could remember her own reaction the first time she saw that pyramid. Marka must rank highly in the list of impressive cities, but the pyramid overwhelmed it, dating from a time when much knowledge, now lost, abounded.

Mounted guardsmen rode along the line to break up a fight. One glanced at Silmarila, eyeing her walking staff and trying to see into the cowl of her cloak. She hoped his memory of her lasted as long as his appraisal.

Many fighting men eyed that long rod with respect. They knew a quarterstaff when they saw one. She'd had no call for it on her journey, but these were troubled times.

"All right, that's enough!" One of the guardsmen told the brawlers. "Enough, or you'll spend your time in Marka in a cell."

The line surged forward before halting again after a few steps. Many waiting to enter the city were travel-worn family groups, drawn by the offer of free land. Some might even be farmers and their families.

Silmarila wondered how much "free" land was left and of what quality. Although for very different reasons, the rumors that lured these people were the same that brought her to Marka. But she had no need of free land. She looked towards the city gates.

Marka had an Emperor again.

The rumor that Marka's Senate had called two claimants to the vacant Throne had caught her attention the year before. Stirred to action, she left her comfortable village to return home and hopefully reclaim her rightful place at the new Emperor's side.

More rumors followed hard on the shirt tails of the first. One claimant had defeated the other; one had murdered the other after a battle; a general had gone berserk and murdered both claimants... Silmarila could hardly wait to learn the truth.

There were always rumors, but these were many and too fast to be other than truth, even if embellished.

"Break it up, I'm telling you!" The scuffle had broken out again. "Any more and you're arrested. All of you!"

She was already on the road when the whisper of a no longer vacant Throne reached her ears. She had initially discounted what the rumor said; she had _laughed_ at such a ridiculous notion. A sylph on the Throne? A _sylph_ , ruling humans? But the nearer she came to Marka, the more persistent the tale and, now she had arrived, she had no alternative but to accept it as truth.

When stories of the siege reached her, she almost turned back. She had never flinched from advising it when necessary, but she hated war. All that suffering and pain and hunger and grief.

She had halted in a village, wondering whether or not she should turn back, return to advising a village council that appreciated her contribution. And Councilors who had begged her not to travel to Marka.

Then other stories came.

An ilven was in Marka. She hadn't seen one of the sisters for, for... Well for longer than she cared to remember. But not only the ilven pulled her onward. A young gwerin had been born in the city. A baby gwerin with no idea what was expected of her, alone and in need of schooling.

Through the winter, she wished several times that she had listened to those Councilors, but now she could see Marka's gates, Silmarila felt the thrill of homecoming after so long an absence.

She shivered as the wind chewed through her cloak.

The city walls were more or less as she remembered them, with repairs needed here and there after last year's siege. Most buildings poking their upper levels above the walls were different, but some familiar edifices loomed benignly toward her.

_The only constant in life is change._ She smiled while recalling her tutor's words. Sometimes change came slowly and sometimes it seemed like change had ground to a halt, only to rush forward like an avalanche in winter. Inexorable and blind, not all things changed for the better. But she wished change would affect this damned wind. In early spring, the Markan winter clung tenaciously to its empire, spiting nature's attempts to drive it away.

She grimaced at the human remains hung in a cage above the gate, picked white by carrion and weather. The placard dangling underneath announced to the literate that these were some of the remains of Hingast, failed invader of Marka. He was not the first to be broken by the Jewel of the World and she doubted if he would be the last. Some rumors claimed Hingast still lived.

She pushed the cowl of her cloak back just far enough to show her face to the guard at the gate. He gave her a once-over before nodding her through. He had no reason to deny her entry, even if he knew who and what she was. Especially if he knew. She passed through the gate and into the city.

She took a deep breath; she was home.

Though the trees lining the center of the main road were new, the streets followed a familiar layout. The bustle of Marka at work was unchanged and she could remember the way to the Imperial Palace.

As numerous as ever, sylphs thronged the crowd. If any realized what walked among them, they gave no sign of it, but Silmarila increased her pace anyway. Sylphs always saw more than they let on. She drank in Marka's sounds and scents, all so painfully familiar she knew she had missed them. She had reached the end of her journey.

She turned another corner and smiled in pleasure.

The Coronation Building looked the same; she would have been shocked if that had changed. She grimaced at the ugly warehouse, built a good time ago to judge from the state of it. That would never have been allowed in Emperor Evlander's day. She left Senate Square and the Imperial Palace stood before her.

Silmarila mounted the stone steps, ready for the guard's challenge.

"Halt!"

She obeyed instantly. This guard wore the uniform of a Markan soldier, which might be an advantage. She kept her voice calm. "Please send a messenger to inform His Majesty of my arrival."

A small smile played around the guard's mouth as he weighed her up, taking in her dusty cloak and somewhat worn appearance. "You are expected, young lady?"

Silmarila masked her irritation, but her grip on the quarterstaff tightened. This... this _boy_ dared address her as _young lady_? She almost told him that she had been born in the first year of Emperor Evlander's reign and was only three years short of completing her third century. She mentally cursed the color of her eyes; the dark brown irises made it almost impossible for humans (and many sylphs) to tell where the pupils began and ended. Or the shape of those pupils. Instead, she pushed her cowl all the way back and set her earpoints free. They now twitched irritably as the guard's eyes widened in recognition of what stood before him.

"My name is Silmarila- _y-_ Marka," she told him. "Gwerin Advisor to the Throne of Mark and I believe that my presence is demanded by bonds of duty stronger and older than yours."

The guard nodded and called for a messenger. When he arrived, the young boy stared popeyed at her before dashing back inside. Silmarila smiled at the guard to show she meant him no harm. No matter how exalted her status, she belonged to the Throne. She was property, as surely as the sylphs dotted about.

The messenger returned moments later.

"His Majesty will see you now," he squeaked, breathlessly.

Silmarila's smile widened. Sylph or no, this Emperor at least knew not to keep gwerins waiting.

"Thank you," she said. "After you."

She followed the messenger through corridors and up two flights of stairs. Servants and guards looked at her, but hurried about their business. Those who noticed her earpoints stared.

The messenger stopped and knocked at a door. He opened it, but did not enter. "In here, um, Miss."

The boy was forgotten as Silmarila swept past. Two sylphs and a human stared at her.

The tall human male had dark brown hair that curled over his ears. His dark blue eyes were expressionless and he studied her as closely as she studied him.

An infertile stood behind the human's chair, and her silver-gray eyes held a mixture of awe and fear as she stared at Silmarila. Her tunic had a dragon's head emblazoned on one breast, symbol of the Vintner family. The other sylph in the room must be Zenepha, Emperor of Marka.

Silmarila dropped into a deep curtsey. "Your Majesty. I am Silmarila- _y_ -Marka, Gw –"

"Silmarila," said Zenepha, "come and sit." He indicated a vacant chair at which the gwerin stared in surprise. She was allowed to _sit_ in his presence? The sylph made hasty introductions. "This is Marcus Marcus Vintner and Jenn- _y_ -Marcus and I am Zenepha."

She inclined her head toward Marcus and Jenn as they were named, but no more. Her attention fixed on Zenepha. "Your Majesty, I hurried back as quickly as I could. Have... have any others returned? Samrita or Marasil?"

Zenepha's silver eyes were grave and his earpoints twitched once. "If you ask after gwerins, you are the only one to make herself known."

Silmarila's earpoints sagged. "I hoped others might have arrived. Even though I am the youngest, I should not be the only one." Her eyes flickered briefly to Zenepha again. "Was the youngest. I hear there is a young one here?"

"There is," replied Marcus, before Zenepha could speak.

"She will need schooling," the gwerin said. "I am happy to offer my services."

A smile played around Zenepha's mouth and his earpoints twitched in amusement. "Part of your duties as I understand them. Salafisa belongs to Marcus Vintner, but you may teach her."

"Surprised she does not belong to the Emperor?" asked Marcus, his gaze fixed on the gwerin's face.

Silmarila was not surprised at all and she shrugged. "His Majesty is only protector of gwerins. If one is no longer needed or wanted by her old owners, the Throne gets first refusal. We needed such protection. And still do, I don't doubt."

Marcus nodded.

"The Emperor never laid claim to gwerins born to wild tribes," continued Silmarila. "They usually end up leading their tribe, as wild sylphs elect the oldest as chieftain. Given our longevity, it is inevitable gwerins come to lead such tribes."

"There are wild sylphs here, if you tire of serving Zenepha." Marcus smiled.

"I am pleased you have come, Silmarila," interrupted Zenepha. "The gwerin rooms have been kept ready for your return."

Jenn came around the chair and, eyes still wide, bowed to Silmarila. "I will show you the way."

Silmarila smiled at the small infertile. Provided the correct rooms had been prepared, she already knew the way, but she wouldn't deflate the sylph. Jenn looked nervous; infertiles usually were around adult gwerins. She had never learned why. "Please lead on. I trust the bathwater is hot? I have come a long way and..."

Jenn led her out and away.

Outside the palace, the late winter wind chilled everything in its path.

***

III: Sandester

The Aboras, the freezing north wind that scoured everything between the polar ice and Sandester, rattled windows and doors at the observatory. Only a few scruffy villages, soil poor but mineral rich, stood between city and icecap. Sandesterans were used to wrapping up against the Aboras, which often blew until mid-spring. Even so, the wind found its way through most things meant to keep it out.

Built into a hill and facing south, the Vintner Palace had good protection against the wind. Few buildings in Sandester had north facing doors or windows for the same reason. A century before, Staflan Vintner built the observatory on top of the hill, even if nobody still used it as one. It could be reached by means of a covered stair without leaving the palace. Most of Staflan's notes were still here, though the telescope was long gone. What had turned him away from stargazing remained a mystery and why he had destroyed his telescope equally unknown. The best lensmakers in the known world had gathered in Sandester, thanks to Staflan's pastime.

Staflan's grandson, Nazvasta Ulvic Vintner – brother of Branad Ulvic Vintner, late claimant to the no-longer vacant Markan Throne – used the observatory as his study. Here he kept his most troubling correspondence. Troubling, ever since his brother had left Sandester for Marka a year before.

He kept his library here, row upon row of books lining every wall bar one, shelved as high as he could stretch with his arms. A couple of reading desks, three chairs and eight light crystals completed the furniture. One wall held an impressive fireplace, the stone surround shaped into every animal the sculptor's imagination could conjure up. Above that, a lone painting of a ship battering her way through heavy seas provided decoration.

Nobody but the servants knew he came here; in truth only a few of them were supposed to know, but when one servant knew a thing, they all did. In his experience, they knew more about what went on in palaces and grand houses than the owners. Even here, his spies included servants.

Spying had always been part of Nazvasta's duties, learned from his uncle. As the potential claimant to the Throne, he had no intention of relinquishing his role of spymaster. Not yet. Siranva knew there were problems enough to keep him busy if he lived to be ninety. His hand hovered over the wooden box where he kept the most important letters.

"Will you lay your claim?"

Nazvasta glanced at his companion: Fareen, Sandester's best kept secret. His father and brother had ignored her and most had forgotten the gwerin even existed. She moved through the palace at night and was sometimes not seen even when someone looked directly at her. Useful to his uncle, now she was useful to him.

She had been the last gwerin advisor in Marka, going to the city to shelter in the Emperor's protection and arriving as the last three official gwerins left. She liked to say she had entered Marka by the East Gate as the other three left by the West. Emperor Rono kept her presence in the city quiet, commanding his scribes to ensure her presence was never recorded.

"The claim is the least of my worries," he replied, "yet you demand I press it. Branad renounced it. Not a good result, but it happened."

Fareen nodded. "Renounced it on behalf of himself and his descendants. You are not a descendant."

Fareen stayed in Marka for five years, leaving only as the Empire began to collapse the day of Rono's murder. She took Rono's nephew with her, and brought him to Sandester. Nazvasta's potential claim originated with that young man, allegedly smuggled out of Marka in a basket.

"Branad was captured in battle by Marcus Vintner and the claim renounced before Marka's Senate." Nazvasta shook his head. "There's no way around it."

"Even now Marcus works to secure his claim at the sylph's expense."

"Zenepha." A sylph-Emperor.

"Mikhan was wise to accept the post of Marshal of Marka," continued Fareen. "He helps keep Marcus off the Throne."

"The sylph-Emperor demanded Sandester's submission to his rule."

The gwerin smiled. "Which you supplied. The Senate was not pleased, but they acquiesced."

"Eventually." Nazvasta knew Sandester's Senate was unhappy at its demotion to provincial status.

Fareen's eyes flickered to the small wooden box. "You still have Marcus Vintner's letter. You are not going to accept his offer?"

Nazvasta laughed. "A letter offering what is already mine. Sandester has accepted the Emperor's authority, not Marcus's. My title of Steward is sufficient, Viceroy means nothing to me." Marcus claimed that his own prefectures and those of Branad were now united under one rule. His. "I've not replied."

Fareen smiled. "Good. If you accept his offer, you recognize his claim over your own."

Nazvasta never knew why this gwerin wanted to see Marcus Vintner's claim ground to dust. Perhaps something had happened to her in Marka. Perhaps she doubted his pedigree. She never responded to his questions, only stated that Sandester's claim was the best for a future Markan Empire. Perhaps she wanted to be the first – or only? – gwerin advisor in a resurgent Marka.

"Will you raise the dragon's head banner?" asked Fareen.

"Not while Zenepha holds the Throne."

"He is only a caretaker. Marcus Vintner is there, scheming and politicking."

"A sylph ruling humans is a temporary aberration. I expect he's held on a tight leash."

"Nobody knows who holds the other end of this alleged leash," replied Fareen. "That suggests nobody does, which in turn indicates there is no leash."

Nazvasta changed the subject. "And the sylph scouts. Has the world gone mad?"

Fareen laughed. "Annada and Tennen were quite explicit in their report. An excellent idea."

"Several beggars were almost lynched when the story of sylph scouts mutated into a story of sylphs spying for Marcus on our streets." Nazvasta grimaced. No matter how distasteful beggars might be, they did not deserve to be lynched on a rumor. And they were only sylphs, with no chance of defending themselves.

"You stamped down on it."

"Yes."

"And now there is a new threat?" Fareen's pale brown eyes gleamed. She loved having problems to puzzle over.

"A threat to Trenvera."

"Our cushion."

A buffer between Sandester and Calcan, the Kingdom of Trenvera had kept the warring factions apart. That the Vintners had never fought a battle on its soil stood as testimony to the effectiveness of its diplomacy.

"Prince Mikel warns that Re Taura's army has grown so large that he fears Trenvera is the intended target."

"Or Calcan. Or us."

"If it's Calcan, that's their problem." Nazvasta was sharper than intended, so smiled to take the edge from his words. "I've sent Field Captain Tennen to Maturia and other armies to our coastal prefectures. If Mikel requests assistance, I've more men to send there."

Fareen grimaced.

"I know." Nazvasta showed his teeth. "Potential repercussions from Calcan. But we can't let Trenvera fall to a third party."

"Espionage in Re Taura has failed." Fareen's eyes flickered to the small box. She had, of course, read all the correspondence. "Someone in Re Taura is good at unmasking infiltrators. So nobody knows the Mametain's intentions."

"If Trenvera's spies fail, I'm sure ours would fail too. I will not send men to their deaths unnecessarily."

Fareen nodded. "The risk outweighs any chance of success. I agree." She grinned again. "Isn't life fun?"

***

IV: Re Taura

Tektu stared across a mila of windblown water to the City of Taura, capital of Re Taura. Her sylphic face contorted as she wrinkled her nose and twitched her earpoints. She reveled in the fresh breeze, but could not shake off her feeling of unease.

Castle Beren stood on what used to be the small island of Re Beren, separate from, yet all but surrounded by, the main island of Re Taura. A previous Mametain had built a causeway to link the two. Despite this, it still felt like an island, sheltered by its larger sibling on three sides, with the Eastern Sea to the fourth.

Tektu's head swiveled briefly west, towards the mainland, before her attention returned to the harbor.

Soldiers patrolled the ramparts of Castle Beren, though none approached her. Even other sylphs – especially other sylphs – gave her a wide berth.

Let them hate, so long as they feared.

Her silver-gray eyes focused briefly as the door onto the walkway opened, but it was not the Mametain. Not yet.

Masts hid the buildings beyond Taura's harbor, betraying the presence of a large number of ships. Beyond the city walls, thousands of soldiers practiced their maneuvers, preparing for the planned invasion of Trenvera, intended to drive a wedge between the two branches of the Vintner family and help throw the reemerging Markan Empire into disarray. It did not matter to her that a sylph sat on the Markan Throne. Her real masters did not want to see the Markan Empire rise again. Ever.

A hand closed on her shoulder and she turned to stare into the face of the Mametain. His dark eyes glittered at her.

"Something is wrong?" asked Nijen da Re Taura.

"A feeling," she replied. Her earpoints gave a violent twitch as she shrugged. "You should allow me to interrogate the spy Talnan again."

The sylph carrying refreshments for the Mametain stared at Tektu and her eyes widened in fright. She could probably sense what Tektu really was. Which did not bother Tektu in the slightest. After all, who would believe the word of a sylph over that of her owner? _She_ held real power, as those who fell foul of her quickly learned.

"Thank you, Mya." Nijen smiled. At a nod, the serving sylph scuttled away, eyes still wide.

The Mametain looked down at Tektu over his drink. "I will arrange it," he promised. "This afternoon. Try not to kill this one too quickly."

Tektu managed a bow. " _Se bata, henyi_." She licked her lips in anticipation.

***

Mya crouched over the furthest privy and chewed the edge of her tunic to muffle her moans. She rocked on her heels and fought tears. She had started at Castle Beren the same day as her owner, Talnan.

He worked for the King of Trenvera, the latest in a line of spies sent to Re Taura to try and discover the Mametain's plans. And now a prisoner.

She held no illusions; when Tektu had finished with him, her owner would die. She was more terrified for him than for herself. If he failed to keep her existence a secret, she hoped her death would come swiftly so she could continue to serve him in the next life.

Execution as a spy terrified her less than the prospect of spending the rest of her life here, under Tektu's eye. Even worse, wondering if Tektu and the Mametain knew the truth. Might they suspect her reasons if she asked to be released from service? Not unusual in itself; Castle Beren had a high turnover of sylphs, despite the alternative work being worse than at the castle. But if anyone noticed she had started here the same day as her owner, questions would be asked.

She dried her eyes with her tunic and stood. She forced herself to feel happy so her earpoints could not betray her true feelings. The meal break neared its end and she must return to work. She wanted nobody to find her crying here.

She must carry on as if life held nothing more for her other than working for the Mametain. She must find her own way out.

***

"They send spy after spy after spy. They obviously know something's going on." Nijen da Re Taura looked at his companion, sprawled comfortably in the easy chair opposite. They were quite alone, the loyal Tektu still dealing with a now dead spy.

The fire burned cheerfully, banishing all cold. The study was oak-paneled to half height, the stone walls rendered and whitewashed above that. A rug lay between the two chairs and a large desk stood behind them.

"They're supposed to know something's going on, that's the point of your army. Last year's siege was an unfortunate setback, nothing more. We have spent the winter gathering an army large and competent enough to try again."

"The rumor is that Hingast is dead."

"Just rumor. He is alive and well, I assure you."

Nijen only just restrained a shudder. It was impossible to like the man sitting in his study and equally difficult to trust him. Yet trust him he must, for without him Nijen would still be roving the lands selling his sword to the highest bidder. "It is only a matter of time before they decide they want to try to replace me, or else send one of the Gifted."

The other man snorted in contempt.

The Mametain's dark eyes sparkled with anger. "The Gifted may be easy for _you_ to deal with, but not for me. I'm a swordsman, not a sorcerer."

"The opportunity was offered." Long, iron-gray hair swayed as he shook his head, his blue eyes boring into Nijen. "I have something for you."

A pocket suddenly bulged as he put his hand into it. As if something had only that moment appeared. Sorcery had just been used.

Nijen stared at his companion's hand. "A bottle."

The other man smiled. "You might call it essence of sorcery. Rub a small amount onto your hands, make a throwing motion... like so... and a ball of fire will appear. Sufficient to defend yourself, I suggest."

"The throwing motion is necessary?" asked Nijen.

"For an adept, no. But you are not an adept."

Nijen leaned forward and took the gift. "Essence of sorcery?" He looked as if he thought the bottle might melt into his hand.

"Only two living can make it." The smile widened. "Be warned, anything you produce can be deflected or even reflected back at you." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "A rebounding flame made from this essence will have very unpleasant consequences." The man abruptly stood and his voice returned to normal. "Continue as before, extract information from the spies and let Tektu kill them if necessary." A small frown furrowed his brow for a moment, as if unsure exactly how Tektu could do the things she did. "When Marka and her allies finally move against you, I'll be ready to move against them. Be well."

Nijen saw something briefly spin in the air and glimpsed a tent interior. He looked into the startled eyes of a young woman before his companion left him alone.

He carefully put the bottle on his desk. Visits from Dervra were supposed to reassure him, but he was yet to feel reassured from any meeting. If anything, he felt worse. He did not want Marka and her allies to move against him.

Not for the first time, he silently thanked all the gods that deep water separated Re Taura from the continent.

***

V: The Mission

"I understand someone wasted her winter teaching you to read and write."

Neptarik- _y_ -Balnus stared at Morran Fynn and wondered why one of Marcus Vintner's clerks should make him so uneasy. Not wanting to speak, he nodded his head. Not only had Tahena Mithon taught him his letters, but she had also tried to find him a wife.

Sandev's own sylph – Caya – had turned her nose up at him. She had her own worries and two other male sylphs chasing her affections. Not that she seemed particularly interested in them, either.

Breeding female sylphs were often very choosy when it came to a husband. Most Tahena found knew Neptarik liked his gambling and believed he could never stay with just one wife. Or two. They were friendly, but no more.

Neptarik needed no encouragement to keep practicing his letters; his literacy had opened doors to a new world. He must utilize this new skill as much as possible.

He was not alone in the clerk's study.

Staff Captain Balnus, Neptarik's owner, stood beside his scout, together with Verdin Vintner, son of a claimant to the Markan Throne. Son of a _dead_ claimant to the Markan Throne. A young man who apparently wanted to cover himself with glory while reuniting Marka's lost Empire.

So long as it was only glory he covered himself with and not blood. And if blood, preferably not Neptarik's.

Fynn's desk stood at the opposite end of the room from the fire and visitors had to sit facing him, their backs to the warming blaze.

Another sylph was present, curled up on a rug and probably as close to the flames as she dared. Neptarik could not see much of her, except that she was rather plainly dressed. She probably belonged to Fynn and the scout thought her indulged to spend her time asleep instead of working.

He glanced up as Balnus placed a protective hand on his shoulder.

"He learned well and quickly," he said, expression daring Fynn to say anything different.

Fynn nodded. "His Majesty is concerned by news received from the Overseas Office of Trenvera."

Neptarik stared. The Majesty Fynn referred to was not Zenepha, for he always named the sylph. He spoke of Marcus Vintner.

Fynn continued. "The Mametain of Re Taura plans invasion. Given his location, there are only three possible targets: Trenvera, Sandester or Calcan. Most likely Trenvera."

Neptarik eyed Fynn as if he had never before seen him. An unremarkable man, anyone might pass him several times a day and never remember or even notice his presence. His expression was neutral, no threat to anyone. His clothes were clean and plain, with nothing to mark him out in any way. But he discussed these threats as if he had a right to know of them. No ordinary clerk.

Fynn continued. "Trenvera's spies in Re Taura have an unfortunate habit of disappearing. The King has decided to send no more." He sniffed. "Plans should always be reevaluated whenever an agent is lost."

Neptarik exchanged a look with his owner.

Verdin nodded. "Prince Mikel is Trenvera's spymaster."

"That may be so."

Neptarik changed his mind about Fynn's unremarkableness. Those pale blue eyes were flint as Verdin spoke. He looked over his shoulder at the sylph sleeping in front of the fire.

"There is something His Majesty wants us to do?" asked Balnus.

Fynn steepled his fingers. "We must establish the Mametain's intentions, and to do that, we must send people to Re Taura. Infiltrating Castle Beren is no easy task and I don't recommend sending a human to do it, as they have all been compromised."

"So you will send a sylph." Balnus's eyes hardened and his grip tightened on Neptarik's shoulder. " _My_ sylph."

Fynn nodded. "There is a steady turnover of sylph servants in Castle Beren. Many leave, or ask to be released from service. Some may even run away. Who knows why; they're not mistreated. But they _are_ frightened of something or someone there. They prefer harder work, rather than enjoy an easier time in domestic service. Either way, the turnover of sylphs is higher than of humans, which means it is easier to insert a sylph. But I need an exceptional sylph and there are not many of those."

Neptarik's earpoints twitched in pride.

Fynn smiled. "A sylph used to operating alone, which means a scout. A courageous sylph. Is that a field commendation stud in his collar? I thought so. A sylph who knows which plans to steal, so one who is literate. My list of candidates has one name on it."

"You can't have him," said Balnus.

"When do I start?" asked Neptarik, at the same moment.

Fynn smiled as sylph and owner responded in opposite ways. Neptarik wondered if the man had already predicted the responses.

"Your protectiveness is commendable," Fynn told Balnus. "Which is why you will travel with Neptarik. However, you must _not_ attempt to enter the Mametain's service."

"Why do you need me?" asked Verdin.

"There is unrest among the population. It seems they are not altogether happy with the new Mametain. We want to discover what happened to the old one and his family."

Verdin nodded. "You want to replace the existing Mametain."

"With the old one, yes. I'm not suggesting you claim a new Throne."

Verdin spread his hands. "My loyalties are to Marka."

"I'm glad to hear it. If you accept this assignment, I will arrange more detailed briefings for each of you. Everything we know. Have I picked the right people?"

"When do I start?" repeated Neptarik. His eyes danced, earpoints bolt upright in anticipation of adventure.

"I'm up for it," added Verdin.

Balnus sighed. "Answer the question. When do we start?"

Fynn gave another smile. "In a few days. I'll send for you later this evening, when you will be briefed in more detail."

Fynn watched them leave his study. Only Neptarik glanced at the still sleeping sylph as he left. The clerk leaned forward on his arms.

"Well, Smudge?"

The sylph, who had spent the entire time before the fire, sat up the moment the door closed behind the visitors. Her eponymous dark blue birthmark looked prominent in this light, very much like an ink stain spreading across her right cheek from nose to ear. Spots of it were visible on her earpoint. "The boy is impressive, _enya_ ," she replied. "As I told you."

Fynn's smile was warm. "How could I function as spymaster without you? You've done very well to bring those three to my attention. Choca tonight."

Smudge grinned. She had said what she must and needed say no more.

***

VI: Shadow Riders

Fared Amel Granton leaned forward to better hear the Wise One's whispered words.

Only a select few in Kelthane boasted a properly Markan name, instead of the more usual _that_ , or son of, between given and parental name. For more than two centuries, these few and their descendants had helped protect their adopted homeland from the attentions of the less savory. They helped defend a people who sheltered and succored them in return.

Their ancestors had come from Marka, commanded to leave the city by its last true ruler, Emperor Evlander, the Empire collapsing about them. They were the Shadow Riders.

Fared commanded the Shadow Riders, a post he would hold for life. The Shadow Riders restricted themselves to no more than six hundred. Many were now indigenous Kelthanians, as those of Markan descent grew rarer. None of the Riders had ever seen Marka. _Honor, Service and Glory_ was their ancient motto, sworn with one hand gripping a dagger until blood was drawn.

A spasm seized the Wise One and she reached up with suddenly strong arms to grasp Fared's shirt collar, watery blue eyes clear as ice.

"You must go east," she whispered.

Fared leaned further forward to catch her words. Instructions from a vision? After all, she was Gifted.

"Home?" Fared's own blue-gray eyes brightened.

"East." Those eyes were insistent. "Seek the banner sylph."

"A banner with a sylph emblem on it?"

The Wise One shook her head. "Sylph as bannerman. Sylph with a warrior's fire. Seek him. The banner sylph."

Fared blinked. Sylphs did not carry banners and they were not warriors. Sylphs took no part in fighting.

"I don't understand." Fared shook his head. "What sort of sylph is a bannerman?"

The Wise One wrapped herself in her blanket and fell asleep.

Fared turned to his companion. "What did you make of that?"

Samrita moved closer; her earpoints twitched and her hazel sylph-slit eyes held a thoughtful expression. Not only had the gwerin seen Marka, she had been born and raised there.

"Up to you whether you follow her counsel. Her visions have always proved true before." She shrugged. "Not being Gifted, I cannot help you in your decision. She might tell us more when she wakes again."

"Just when I could use gwerin advice most, you fall silent on me." Fared admired Samrita; she remembered the last days, before the Empire's fall.

The gwerin grimaced. "Perhaps it is time to go home," she said. "If Kelthane can survive without us. We seek this... banner sylph. A warrior." She shook her head in disgust. Warlike sylphs were as much a mystery to her as to Fared. "One with a warrior's fire."

"Home." Fared ignored the gwerin's spoken thoughts. He could not contain a delighted smile. "The Jewel of the World. Marka."

Samrita nodded. Unlike in Kelthane, sylphs and gwerins did not remain free in Marka.

"Yes," she replied vaguely. "Home."

***

VII: Haema

Nicolfer's carriage turned into one of the many quiet backstreets in Eldova and halted outside the music shop, unobtrusively squeezed between two warehouses. The few people out took one look at the plain black carriage and hurried about their chores. They did not want to know what business one of the Prefect's agents might have with a lowly music man.

"Wait here," commanded Nicolfer, as she stepped from the carriage.

The coachman said nothing, but obeyed.

Inside, musical instruments lined the walls and a man looked up from his work. A breeding female sylph worked alongside him, her pen scratching on parchment. Her blue tongue protruded and her earpoints were bolt upright in concentration as she worked.

After a quick glance, she ignored the newcomer.

"May I help you?" The man had a pleasant expression; interested inquiry shone in his eyes and a slight smile turned his lips.

"You are Jinsla?" asked Nicolfer.

The man drew himself a little more upright. "Jinsla Renkra, composer and builder of musical instruments. I also sell sheet music. I have composed –"

"Among other things, you have composed several pieces that might be construed as treason." Nicolfer smiled. "And I am told your sylph is literate."

The sylph looked up from her work and her earpoints slanted forward. As she took in Nicolfer properly for the first time, her eyes widened.

Jinsla was thrown off balance. People never came to his shop to accuse him of treason. "Haema." He gestured to the sylph. "She's not literate in the true sense of the word. But she is intelligent."

"She can read and write musical notation." It was not a question.

"Yes. May I offer alovak?"

"No need." Nicolfer's jet eyes glittered. She watched Haema blink and put her pen down. The sylph looked from Jinsla to Nicolfer and back.

"What is it you want with Haema?" asked Jinsla.

"Just to borrow her for a vital task. I'm sure His Majesty will overlook your treason when that task is complete."

A look of horror crossed the sylph's face and her earpoints wilted.

"What task?" asked Jinsla.

"Our enemies use sylphs as scouts. They communicate with each other by whistles and we need to learn what they say. Our codebreakers cannot hear the whistles as they are pitched too high for human hearing. Our sylphs can hear the whistles, but we have so far been unable to train any to break codes. So we need a sylph to write the whistles in musical notation. Then our codebreakers can work on them."

"You intend taking Haema away." Jinsla was aware of his sylph's distress.

"I'm afraid so as she must be in the field to hear the whistles. I hope she is not needed for very long."

"I can't let you take her."

"Very well. But your next visit will be from the City Patrol who want you to answer charges of treason."

"Treason?" Jinsla's eyes widened. "A piece of _music_ , treason?"

Haema put a hand on her owner's arm. "I will do it, _enya_ ," she said, only a slight tremor in her voice. "For you."

Nicolfer smiled and lifted a purse. "There is remuneration."

Jinsla relented, concerned more about the charges of treason than because his sylph had spoken or a heavy purse had been offered. "You can have her tomorrow, when I –"

"Now," insisted Nicolfer. "Anything she needs I can buy."

Jinsla and Haema exchanged a look. The composer slumped and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but this is necessary." Nicolfer turned to Haema. "My carriage is outside. Get in it, please. I'll join you in a moment."

Haema gave her owner's hand a last squeeze before she left the shop, feet dragging. Nicolfer watched as the sylph climbed into the carriage.

"Close the blinds," suggested Nicolfer. "You never know who's watching. Don't want to be robbed of this, do you?" She hefted the purse again.

Jinsla blinked before he complied, aware of Haema's frightened gaze from the carriage. He forced a smile.

As promised, Nicolfer did not take long and she gave the sylph a compassionate look as she climbed into the carriage.

"What you are about to do may save lives and help Eldova defeat her enemies." She lifted her voice. "Drive on!"

The carriage jerked forward and Haema looked over her shoulder at her old life. She whimpered.

"You can stop that," said Nicolfer. "You'll rejoin your owner when I've finished with you, I promise."

Nicolfer, aware of what Haema was looking at, drew her cloak over her purse, as fat and heavy as before. The sylph's earpoints wilted completely. She was intelligent enough to realize that no money had changed hands.

Nicolfer forced a smile, wanting to put the sylph at ease. "We shouldn't be too long in the field."

Behind them, the music shop was silent, and lifeless.

***

**Chapter 1**

Hunting

Banner Sergeant Yochan looked at the heavens and shivered in the predawn gloom, his breath clouding in the chill air. Shooting stars whizzed through the night sky and the soldier watched with interested curiosity. Exactly one year ago, on a day as cold as this, two claimants to the then vacant Markan Throne had clashed. That battle triggered events in which soldiers from both armies were now caught, this time as allies, if not exactly friends.

Done staring at the heavenly display, he ducked into his commander's tent, the only one with an uncovered light crystal.

"Good morning, Banner Sergeant."

Yochan grunted what might have been the correct response. Lance Captain Dekran's advancement from Lieutenant had only been confirmed immediately before they left Marka, months after his field promotion.

"News from the sylphs, Sergeant?"

"Not yet, sir. But Belaika can't be too far away from them now."

"Good."

"There have been a lot of pingers," continued Yochan. "But we're still out of contact."

Sylphs gave the name pingers to short ranging whistles, which ensured they were still in touch with each other and in position correctly. They were also used to keep contact with other patrols.

Dekran grimaced. "If I thought our orders would have brought us this far west, I would've insisted on fully trained scouts."

Yochan nodded. "We've only got Belaika."

"Fhionnen's not bad. He can at least compose messages and not just pass them on."

"True. But all the hardest tasks fall to Belaika and that's not fair."

Dekran smiled. "You seem to have taken quite a shine to our leader's sylph."

"We have an agreement, but this is more a question of fairness."

"What can we do? It takes five years to train a sylph up to the required standard and our _Emperor_ was in a hurry to increase the corps' size."

Silence stretched between them. Dekran referred to Emperor Zenepha, a surprise candidate for the vacant Markan Throne. A sylph. Neither man could quite believe it. Having a sylph as Emperor in Marka caused consternation, ridicule and awe in equal measures everywhere they went. A sylph ruling humans was an idea so preposterous that nobody quite knew how to deal with it, human _or_ sylph. Belief systems had been stood on their heads.

"We should have asked for wild sylphs," said Yochan. "They're not too bad either. A sight more independent minded, anyway."

"And don't complain so much. That Samel had a whinge about the lack of baths last night. Baths!"

Yochan laughed. "He was joking."

"You can never tell with city boys. And the ones left in the corps show greatest promise."

"They do. Just not trained enough, sir. Fhionnen doesn't whine."

Dekran smiled. "Doesn't speak much either. Ever get the feeling that he ended up with us because his owner wanted to see the back of him?"

Yochan shrugged. The scouting corps couldn't care less about a sylph's past; it was irrelevant because only the now mattered. "We need to find out what's happening further east, sir. For all we know, Hingast's mob has already regrouped."

"Is it still Hingast's mob? The man is dead, Yochan. Forget rumor; the man's bones hang outside Marka's gates for all to see."

"Of course, sir. But if his men believe he's alive, then he may as well be."

"If the lot in front of us turn east, then we can assume the rest have regrouped," said Dekran. "So far, they're just gadding aimlessly about the countryside."

A scout, barely recognizable as a sylph under his camouflage paint, entered the tent and interrupted their conversation. The paint scheme varied slightly sylph to sylph, but that variation only told the keen observer who had applied it, not who wore it.

But Dekran knew which sylph had messenger duty today.

"Belaika has found the men we hunt," said the newcomer.

"Thank you, Fhionnen." Dekran smiled. "What else did Belaika have to say?"

***

From his elevated vantage, Belaika stared at the army. Three thousand men were difficult to hide, but these Eldovans were surprisingly good. Since learning about sylph scouts, they had got better.

But not quite good enough.

A small smile ghosted across the sylph's face before he grew serious again. These men were only resting before moving on.

So long as he avoided silhouetting himself against the skyline, he would not be seen. Gray, green and brown paint helped camouflage him, but stillness was his best defense. Vivid black slashes crossed his chest and face, but they were more for show than concealment.

He pinged to ensure Samel still held his position before sending a more detailed report. Three thousand Eldovans, with no war machines, but certainly a lot more force at their disposal than the Markan patrol. He heard Samel acknowledge his message. Faintly, he heard it passed on. Bar perfect.

Belaika wriggled away from his place. He found better cover, from where he could keep an eye on the enemy. The Eldovans would have scouts – even if they were only humans – so he must be wary not to blunder into any. Had his sylph companions been trained to the proper standard, he would feel happier this close to the enemy. But for now, the dangerous tasks mostly fell on his shoulders.

Worse, they were alone. Dekran had brought his detachment so far west, they had lost contact with all other patrols and news of events nearer Marka. Not even the watchers – sylph scouts surrounding Marka to warn of any approaching armies – had come this far west.

Beyond any possible reinforcement, a patrol of one hundred men and five scouts could only avoid battle against three thousand, or else show how to die gallantly. Belaika was not ready to die yet, gallantly or otherwise.

He waited for a response from Dekran.

When it came, the whistle was stronger; Samel had closed the gap a little. Belaika hoped the instructions reached him correctly.

Command to Belaika. Stay with target, follow and report course changes.

Belaika scowled as he whistled. _Sounds like another night in the open for me._

_Choca tonight,_ taunted Samel.

That must be a joke. It was not funny. _Remember to save mine,_ whistled Belaika.

Not a chance, brother.

Then, he saw sylphs in the enemy camp.

There was nothing special about them, just ordinary infertiles. Probably officers' servants, dressed in the usual garb of plain work smocks. But that had not caught Belaika's attention.

What they were doing showed how well the Eldovans had adapted.

At the first whistle, they tumbled out of their tents. Some headed for the center of the encampment and others to the sides. A soldier accompanied each sylph as she pointed into the forest. Belaika stiffened.

Difficult to tell, but he suspected they pointed to where his orders had just been whistled from. Towards Samel. Imagine lines taken from those pointing fingers and, where they crossed...

He whistled a warning and another message before abandoning his lookout point. He must find another.

***

" _Donenya!_ "

Lance Captain Dekran turned from the morning inspection of his men as Fhionnen ran to him.

"Message?" He had never seen this sylph so animated.

Fhionnen nodded. "Belaika and Samel have changed position. The Eldovans have found a way to pinpoint them when they whistle."

Dekran's eyes widened and he drew the excited scout to one side. "How?"

"They use sylphs to show our positions. They stand in different places in the camp and point."

"Triangulation." Dekran shook his head and resisted the urge to swear. Sylphs were the one advantage he had over the Eldovans. Or used to have. "They send horsemen out to run the scouts down?"

Fhionnen nodded. "So says Belaika. He and Samel have moved."

Dekran nodded. "Thank you. Keep me informed."

" _Se bata_."

Dekran stared into the distance and hoped the sylphs were capable enough to avoid capture. He could not afford to lose one.

***

Sandev scrubbed the pot hard. Her hands were sore from the work and she wished her skin had the same toughness as that of the small infertiles who worked alongside her.

She had spent the entire winter a prisoner, but could not contemplate escape while so far from Marka. There was no guarantee her plan to break free would actually work. The block that prevented her from using the Gift held, but she had worked out how Nicolfer had made it and felt certain she could break through when needed.

She was so far west she doubted if she could easily find her way home. Except by using the Gift. It showed her captors were confident she could not break the block.

Dervra – one of those captors – remained with the bulk of the Eldovan army, doubtless working on the next part of his plot. Nicolfer came and went, but spent a lot of her time with General Mirrin's army. Sandev wished she would stay with Dervra and leave her alone.

Mirrin held frequent conferences with his officers and sergeants, which sometimes involved Dervra and Nicolfer. Tactics and plans were rarely discussed while Sandev was present, and if not for the sylphs, she would have less idea what was being planned.

A small smile played about Sandev's mouth.

Most officers and a few sergeants had their own sylphs; there were almost two hundred in the camp. They made themselves useful and were always discreet. Which in turn meant that the blue-skinned creatures were all but invisible to the leaders, who spoke freely where long ears could eavesdrop.

Sandev did not doubt that every sylph was loyal to her owner. But there were six exceptions, ignored even more than the rest.

Deaths were inevitable in an army. Accidents, disease and enemy action all helped whittle down numbers. Immune to most human diseases and not expected to fight the enemy, there were sometimes sylph "orphans". They were usually sent out of the way, west, waiting to be sent home. As Mirrin's camp lay the furthest west, it held six of these unfortunate sylphs. When Mirrin's army came into contact with Eldovan home patrols again, these six would leave.

But for now, they were useful to Sandev.

Orphaned or not, they must still work where needed and they often served alovak during meetings, because few sylphs liked to be near Dervra or Nicolfer. Not that the orphans enjoyed the proximity, but they had no protective owners prepared to stand up on their behalf. At these meetings, their presence ignored, they heard everything.

Sandev had not remained idle while a captive. Seizing the opportunity to use these sylphs for gathering information, she looked after the six because nobody else did. The quartermaster ensured they were fed, clothed and kept clean, and made sure they were healthy and exercised, but that was all.

These six sylphs also had emotional needs, which _were_ overlooked.

Sandev offered kind words, a shoulder to cry on for those recently bereaved and sometimes stole choca for them. In return, the six fed Sandev every scrap of information that came their way.

She had learned that the plan was for some "country out east" (as the sylphs put it) to attack Marka or her allies, and get a reaction. While Marka's forces were otherwise engaged, the Eldovans would fall on the city from the west and north with what was now a superior army. It sounded like an effective plan and Sandev desperately needed to send warning to Marka.

She felt a gentle touch on her arm.

"I'm sorry." Sandev hastily passed the pot to Gajaran. One of the orphans, she thought it unlikely the infertile enjoyed working for the sake of it. Sandev began washing the next pot.

The sylph dried the pot quickly and waited patiently for the next. Gajaran had lost her owner during the siege of Marka. Raw with grief, she had been handed over to Mirrin's group during the winter and now waited to return home. Like most infertiles, she looked eager to finish her chores.

There might be another reason why Gajaran wanted to finish quickly. The sylphs stepped warily around Sandev for the same reason they were frightened of Dervra and Nicolfer. They could sense the Gift flowing through her, even if the temporary block prevented her from using it. Sylphs avoided practitioners, whether sorcerers or those blessed with the Gift.

Gajaran stiffened as another sylph joined them. The newcomer carried two dirty plates which she washed herself. Shashi belonged to General Mirrin.

Plainly dressed in a work smock, no different from that other sylphs wore, she enjoyed as much influence among the sylphs here as Jenn did in Marcus Vintner's army. She wore a gold collar studded with several jewels, unlike the dull metal the camp sylphs wore.

"You might like to know that my owner expects Nicolfer tonight." Sympathy glittered in her eyes and her earpoints twitched.

"Thank you." Sandev saw no reason to be anything but polite to Shashi. Gold and jewels or not, she still wore a collar. And it _was_ useful to know Nicolfer was due to return. She'd been gone two days. No sylph dared serve Nicolfer any longer than she must, so Sandev had learned almost nothing new about her captor.

Done with her chore, Shashi nodded and left them.

Gajaran glowered. "All right for her, she is safe with her owner."

Sandev shook her head. "Nobody is safe from Nicolfer," she replied.

Gajaran stiffened and her earpoints turned. "Whistles," she said. Something akin to rage flashed across her face.

Sandev tried not to smile. The sylphs had heard whistling off and on for the best part of the day, which meant Markan scouts had found them. Soldiers friendly to her were not far away. Sadly, she knew it was unlikely to be a very large Markan army. They were too far west. But whistling meant at least two scouts.

Many of the officers' sylphs already pointed towards the source of the whistling, which they had been doing for most of the day whenever they heard something their owners could not. Horsemen rode out, hoping to run the scouts down before they had chance to move out of harm's way.

"They will catch one of the _dursanonecul_ soon or late." Gajaran did not point, but she could not hide her eagerness to see a scout captured. Her earpoints wilted.

The camp sylphs called the scouts _dursanonecul_ : devils. They were terrified of the scouts, who were sylphs actively involved with an army. Gajaran especially reviled and feared sylph scouts, blaming them for her owner's death.

Both Nicolfer and Mirrin wanted to question a sylph scout. But to do that, they must first capture one.

Sandev hoped they never succeeded.

"They might never catch any," she murmured. Gajaran gave her a level look, the nearest Sandev ever got from an orphaned sylph to open disagreement.

Another stir ran through the camp.

"Nicolfer is here," breathed Sandev.

Gajaran's look grew more sympathetic.

Four men carried Nicolfer's sedan, which they set down outside her tent. Another of the sylph orphans stepped forward, but was curtly dismissed. Nicolfer stared around imperiously and her jet eyes glittered.

Sandev tried to remain unnoticed and, for once, Nicolfer did not call for her attendance. Usually harried all day and half the night, Sandev waited hand and foot on her captor. The sylphs disapproved – serving was their role – but they could do little except offer sympathy.

The dismissed sylph crossed to join Gajaran.

"Hello, Tula." Sandev smiled at the newcomer.

Dusk gathered around them.

"Pots done already?" asked Tula.

Gajaran nodded. "And the laundry. Some of it's not fit for burning. Why don't they...?" Her head came up. She and Tula looked at each other, then at Sandev.

"What?"

"Short whistle; very short." Tula stared into the darkness.

"Like he got stopped," added Gajaran, satisfaction in her tone. "Maybe caught." Her eyes were solemn for Sandev's benefit, but her earpoints lashed with unsuppressed glee.

"Surely not?" Sandev tried to peer into the surrounding forest, without success. Like everybody else, she was forced to wait until the riders returned.

The captive scout had been slung unceremoniously across a saddle before the rider. Sandev moved closer so she could see more than just a shape. Long legs – painted gray, green and brown – dangled down one side of the horse. As the horse turned, she saw black slashes of paint. Only younger scouts wore black as part of their camouflage scheme.

Her heart pounded. Surely not _her_ sylph scout? They could not be so short of scouts to send Janin into the field?

A crowd of humans and sylphs gathered to watch the rider show off his prize.

"Firedrake trod on 'im," said the rider. "Even then, had he not squeaked, I'd not 'ave found 'im."

He lifted the upper end of the scout and let him slide from the horse. Unable to stand unsupported, the sylph collapsed and squealed in pain as he scrabbled in the dirt.

Gajaran looked at the captive and emotions flickered in her eyes. Sympathy was not among them. Most of the other sylphs looked at the moaning scout with a mixture of loathing and terror.

"That's a sylph scout?" General Mirrin looked inquisitively at the heap beside the horse. "With a broken leg?"

Sandev almost stepped forward, then felt pleased she had not moved. Nicolfer put her hands to both the sylph's legs. The unfortunate creature shrank back from her touch.

"Nothing broken," she said.

Sandev masked a sigh of relief. Sylph bones were light and extremely supple; even now she winced when she saw how far an arm or leg would bend. Broken limbs might be rare in sylphs, but when it happened, the bone rarely broke cleanly, instead splintering like green wood. The massive internal bleeding such breaks caused was usually fatal.

"Where did you find him, Camanda?" continued Mirrin.

"Closer than we'd like," said Camanda, the man who had captured the scout. "And it was pure luck we caught 'im."

"So you said." Mirrin gave a mirthless smile.

"Stake him out and I'll speak with him in the morning," continued Nicolfer. "Make sure he is secure."

Mirrin nodded to his yeoman. "See to it, Taved. Come, Shashi."

The yeoman gave orders and two men hammered a stake deep into the ground. The unfortunate scout found himself chained to it by a wrist and given water, but no food. The small crowd lost interest and melted away, though some sylphs lingered longer.

Once the humans were gone, the captive immediately began to look about. He gave the watching sylphs a savage, feral grin that drove most of them away.

"Beast." Gajaran sounded bitter. "He's in the best place for him now." She and Tula moved away.

Sandev stayed, if she kept her distance. A small smile turned her lips. Whatever had happened, this boy had not lost hope. Several soldiers watched the scout try repeatedly to uproot the stake. She doubted he would succeed; these stakes secured the tents against even gales.

At least it was _not_ Janin, though she suspected she knew who the Eldovans had caught.

Sandev waited until the guards moved further away, and everybody else had lost interest. She carefully picked her way towards him.

The scout's head swiveled toward her long before she thought she might be noticed, especially in darkness. Or perhaps he sensed her. His eyes glowed faintly in the gloom and grew brighter the nearer she came.

"Sandev- _ya_." The sylph inclined his head.

As he spoke, Sandev's suspicions were confirmed.

"Belaika?" Her voice almost squeaked. "You're the last scout I expected to get caught." She sensed his embarrassment.

"Lucky chance," he muttered.

"How's that leg?"

"Sore." Belaika's eyes glittered with wariness.

"Wish I could do something, but I'm trapped somehow."

"It is not broken." If anything, the scout sounded warier.

"Are you in contact with Marka? Can you get a message out?"

"I can try. Not in range of the city though, we moved too far west."

"Not tonight. Not yet. Any more scouts nearby?"

Belaika nodded, perhaps having exhausted his stock of words for tonight.

"I have information that _must_ reach the city."

The scout nodded, but said nothing further.

Sandev gripped his shoulder. "Remember you have friends here."

***

Belaika's eyes betrayed nothing as he watched Sandev meander away. He remembered her, as she had helped with the plan to break an innocent man out of jail. But she served Marka's interest only, which meant he doubted if he could fully trust her. As always, it was best for a sylph to wait and see. If only he could lose the dull throb from his leg. He managed to make himself comfortable and, after a whistle – quickly acknowledged – to let the others know he was still alive, fell asleep.

***

As the evening deepened to night, Yochan listened as Fhionnen- _y_ -Neffas reported to Dekran. They had not traveled far that day, the Eldovans moving slowly as they tried to corner a sylph scout. Successfully, they now knew. He watched his commander's reaction carefully and already formulated his own plans.

Being older, Yochan managed to hide his surprise better than Dekran, but the experienced bannerman knew they had lost their best scout. They must get him back, somehow.

Fhionnen held Dekran's gaze, not as easily intimidated as the other barely trained scouts. "Belaika is captured, _donenya_ ," he reported. "He is held by the enemy –"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Dekran, almost angrily, "I know what captured means."

Yochan saw Fhionnen's face go blank, though his earpoints shot upright in anger. Had the boy learned this defensive reaction before becoming a scout? He held himself surprisingly well as most sylphs wilted before a human's anger. Definitely a sylph with a past.

Yochan stepped forward before angry words were spoken. "Sir, I suggest we take him back before they try to get information from him."

Dekran ignored his sergeant. "You have more to tell me, Fhionnen?"

The sylph nodded. "Belaika is injured and cannot walk. Samel says they only caught him when a horse trod on him."

"Then we won't mount a rescue just yet."

"Sir –"

"No, Yochan. I'm aware of your foolish promise to the boy, but the needs of the hundred men under my command must come first."

Even so, Dekran looked a touch indecisive and Yochan did not blame him. Marcus would probably take a dim view of them losing his scout to the enemy, especially if he stayed lost.

"If an opportunity presents itself, I'll do something," continued Dekran. "For now, we're forced to move closer to our enemy and use our scouts more." The Lance Captain turned to Fhionnen. "Can Samel take over Belaika's task, or would you rather do it?"

Fhionnen's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Better if I do it," he replied.

"Summon Mezhen to take over from you."

" _Se bata_."

Yochan waited until the sylph had left the tent before turning to his commander.

"The game has grown more dangerous for our scouts," he said. "The Eldovans are learning to counter them."

Dekran stroked his chin before snatching his hand away. "They use their own sylphs to point towards the whistles," he murmured. "Then ours must move when Eldovans send out riders."

"Movement gives them away, sir. That's why Belaika stayed still and low when he saw the horse. Pure luck on their part. I can take two men and have –"

"No."

"I must protest, sir. We can snatch Belaika out of their hands tonight, before they make him more secure."

"Protest noted, Banner Sergeant. But there will be no rescue attempt until after a thorough assessment of that army. That's an order."

Offended, Yochan stiffened. " _Se bata_ ," he hissed.

He left Dekran's tent and looked across the few fires in the camp. Somewhere here were two men who used to be scouts, until sylphs replaced humans in the role. He doubted if their skills had deserted them. No rescue attempt. But Dekran wanted that thorough assessment done. As a dutiful bannerman, Yochan would ensure that task would begin tonight.

***

Belaika woke from a pleasant dream about flying just before dawn. His shoulders had stiffened, thanks to the chain that secured his wrists and his leg ached thanks to a heavy horse. He gave a feeble tug against the stake, but it held firm.

He glanced at the dried blood on his leg and wondered if it would support his weight. As he carefully felt around the injury, he heard a pinger telling him Fhionnen had replaced Samel as the nearest scout.

Unless Samel had got confused again, which would not surprise him.

Belaika wanted no trouble, so he decided against acknowledging the pinger. He doubted the sylphs in this camp were sympathetic towards him and they would know he had whistled. He hoped to keep safe through silence.

His night had been short. Now, with only a hint of light in the sky, the camp came back to life. Cooks prepared a meal while men struck tents and packed equipment away, all moving about in near silence. The Eldovans would move on soon, and Belaika overheard a sergeant saying he hoped they moved further and faster today.

A sense of unease crept over him and he glanced the other way. A pair of jet eyes, so dark he could not tell iris from pupil, met his gaze levelly. Those eyes belonged to a youngish looking woman with hair as dark as her eyes, who crouched before him. He held her gaze just long enough to show she could not intimidate him.

The woman caused his unease; he sensed she could manipulate the power used by both Gift and sorcery. He knew her, he had been asked to find her in Marka.

And she _did_ intimidate him.

His heart pounded.

"Tell me your name." The woman forced a smile.

"Belaika." The sylph bit off the rest; better that these people never learned his owner's name. His earpoints twitched; deceit was not his strongest point.

"No owner? Most sylphs are proud to speak their owner's name, so why are you an exception? I am Nicolfer."

The scout swallowed nervously. He must be careful.

"Efforts to protect your owner's identity are futile, Belaika- _y_ -Marcus; I know exactly who he is. And now I know who you are, the rest of your secrets are mine. Or will be."

What else did Nicolfer know about him? Bad enough that she knew him at all. His eyes focused beyond the human and the scout saw a female sylph stood behind her. Pretty, but she also looked to be in distress.

Nicolfer saw him switch his attention and gestured off-handedly. "This is Haema- _y_ -Jinsla. She reads and writes musical notation."

A small frown crossed Belaika's face. Haema looked terrified and her earpoints were wilted.

"She has written down most of the whistles we heard yesterday. We know how they go." She pursed her lips and gave an imitation of Belaika's ping, only pitched for human ears and with the sounds all wrong. Another small smile. "Of course, we do not know what they _mean._ " The smile was gone as if spat away. "Which is where we need your help."

Belaika's earpoints slanted forwards and were still. His mouth firmed. "I will not aid you." He had no idea what the whistle Nicolfer had demonstrated meant either. He looked at Haema, who stared at the ground.

"Oh good, you want to resist." Nicolfer made an almost apologetic gesture with her hands. "Let me see. Torture? Humiliation perhaps?" The small smile returned. "Many here would enjoy hearing you howl. You scouts have caused people so much trouble. They've lost friends because of sylph scouts. Some here have lost beloved owners. But I do so abhor violence against sylphs. Usually. A pity to damage such a fine example." She touched Belaika's cheek with a finger and he shrank back. "And such actions would reduce your ransom value."

Determination faded from his earpoints.

Nicolfer gave a delighted clap of her hands and a small giggle. "I know! Eleka. Of course."

"No!"

"Beautiful wife you have. Acid perhaps? Missing limbs? Would you like to return to that?"

Belaika snarled at his tormentor.

"Foolish boy." Nicolfer's jet eyes were hard. "Perhaps not Eleka. I'm sure you're not too bothered about your infertile daughters – cruel of you sylphs, that, and the relationship between you and humans could not work without them – but what about Callie and Sallie? Slow, painful deaths? Salafisa perhaps? Lovely gwerin, but I never did like them, far too intelligent. They see too deeply and say too much. Unlike you fullbloods, who see deeply and keep your mouths shut. She would suffer long, boy. I would bring the corpse for you to view what you caused. Yes, what _you_ caused, by your own, stubborn stupidity."

" _Ne! Dson an, dson san!_ "

Listening to the screamed epithets, Nicolfer sat back and giggled in pure delight. She had not expected so much pleasure today.

***

Belaika was not the only one awake early. The two human scouts Yochan had sent out woke him just before dawn and the three men conferred in whispers in his tent.

"Belaika is held in the center of the camp," explained the older scout, Felnar. "The perimeter is closely guarded, which means they learned lessons from our raids."

Udan, the second scout, nodded. "A sylph might slip past unnoticed, but we'd have no chance."

Even though the sylphs had replaced almost all the human scouts in Marcus's army, the lack of animosity from those forced to learn new skills had always surprised Yochan. What little bad feeling there had been had quickly faded. These two had been among the best scouts and had worked with Yochan for many years. Even they recognized the advantage of sylphs.

"We might force a way through, but we'd take casualties in any rescue attempt," added Felnar.

Yochan shook his head. "No rescue. The Boss has said no."

Felnar shrugged. "Probably wise. Even if a sylph slipped through, he couldn't free Belaika from that chain."

"We must think of something," insisted Yochan. "We're not going to leave him to the enemy."

"Of course not." Felnar and Udan exchanged a look that suggested they thought there was little choice but to abandon Belaika to his fate.

Yochan sighed. This would be difficult, but he always kept his promises. There would be a way.

***
Chapter 2

**Marka**

Petan looked across the table at his companion and smiled, though that smile did not touch his hazel eyes. He wore a work smock, woolen trousers and cracked boots that suggested a laborer rather than a soldier. Nothing to say that he was still allegedly a sergeant in Hingast's recently defeated army.

He doubted if his officers would recognize him, probably just as well considering his beard fanned to his chest, a style no Eldovan officer could countenance.

The alovak house fronted one of the wider side streets in Marka. Petan and his companion were sitting out front, trying to ignore the spring wind. The third chair for this table had been pushed away, to deter anyone else from joining them.

Similarly dressed to Petan, the second man had never before visited this alovak house. He had used a plant sap – if he'd used paint, he would regret his poor choice – to dye his hair black. When he first met Councilor Brendin Jendran, the man's hair had been sandy, almost red. He could do nothing about his dark blue eyes, though these were typically Markan.

The Councilor had probably borrowed the idea of disguising his hair color from the sylph scouts.

Petan tugged irritably at his beard, though the itching stage was long past. "There's no need for this," he growled.

"If not for that sylph you didn't kill last year, you'd not need it," retorted Brendin.

"I tried," said Petan, defensively.

"And failed, or else he made a miraculous recovery. I don't believe in undead sylphs."

"He looked pretty dead to me."

"He looks pretty bloody healthy now."

Petan changed the subject before he got angry. He might not have killed Janin-allegedly-no-owner, but he _was_ very effective at finishing off stroppy humans. "What are the latest instructions?"

Most who patronized this alovak house were more sympathetic to Hingast's cause than Zenepha's, or else were plain disreputable, but discretion came easily. Caution was one reason they sat outside, despite the season and its chill wind.

"They left a sylph named Tangan behind and they want him back. He's presently in Sandev's house."

Petan grimaced. "You expect me to wander into the home of one of the most powerful Gifted and steal something guarded by another of the most powerful Gifted. Not to mention a man who acts as though he was born with a sword in his hands. And several sylphs in the building, including the one I believed dead, who will doubtless recognize me the moment I walk in."

Brendin's smile had remained in place too long to be genuine. "You don't have to go there in person. I'm sure you know many who are more than capable."

"And if this sylph makes a noise?"

The smile was gone now. Without it, those dark blue eyes were very cold. "The neck arteries are in the same place in sylphs as they are in humans."

"So, an assassination. Why is this sylph important?"

"All you need know is that we want him back. Preferably alive, but dead will do." Brendin threw a coin onto the table. "For the alovak."

Petan stared at the table for some time after the Councilor had gone, his mind awhirl. How could a _sylph_ be so important?

***

Marcus Vintner leaned on his fists and stared at the largescale map spread across the table. His gaze flickered all over, pausing briefly at each flag that marked the positions of his own detachments and the scattered groups of Hingast's army. The map showed the continent from Eldova in the west to Re Taura in the east; Frodger in the north to the Trading Council's lands in the south. Known positions were marked in red and estimated positions in blue. Flags marking Eldovan positions were distinguished by a black border. The further from Marka, the more blue flags.

The map was so large, that two old dining tables had been joined together to hold it. The map room now occupied one of the smaller dining halls in the palace, with room to fit in up to thirty people at a time. The paintings had been removed and replaced by maps, if smaller scale than that on the table.

Sylph scouts were thinly spread around Marka: all available trained scouts – and many partly trained ones – were in the field and staying there longer than was really fair. Complaints and grumbles would begin soon, if they had not already. But Marcus must tolerate detachments straying in and out of whistle range, so the sylphs would just have to put up with discomfort a bit longer than usual.

Marcus was not alone in the room. Emperor Zenepha knew far more about the principles of warfare than six months before. He could certainly assess the information given by the map a lot more quickly. Mikhan Annada, Zenepha's War Minister and Marshal of Marka, stood beside the Emperor. Also Marshal of Sandester, Annada had become one of Zenepha's closest confidants. Too close, in Marcus's view, who worried that his already too-small influence on the Emperor had ebbed away.

He hoped everybody remembered who had won last year's battle on Candin Plain. Annada's influence over Zenepha rankled.

Captain Mansard, Commander of the Imperial Guard, and General Kelanus, again Field Commander, were at least Marcus's men, even if Kelanus used to serve under Annada. Captain Crallin of the City Guard was also present, but his only loyalty was to Marka.

The gwerin Silmarila stood just behind Zenepha, ready to whisper in the sylph's ear, though Marcus had already realized she had no concept of military tactics. With war the subject of the meeting, the ilven Djerana was conspicuous by her absence.

That surprised him, because ilven were allegedly the sephiroths' warriors. Little wonder that Siranva always seemed to be on the back foot. Although Grayar assured him that ilven had more growing to do once called to the Father, Marcus failed to see what difference that could make. He could not put the image of a fierce warrior together with shy, inoffensive Djerana.

Jenn, who had belonged to Marcus since both were children, sat crosslegged on the floor, not wanting to be any further from her owner than necessary. Whenever he spent time away from Zandra and the children, Jenn kept herself near.

Supreme Councilor Olista's duties kept him away. Though now Marka had an Emperor, discussions here were no longer his concern.

"There is little change from our last meeting," said Marcus. "The Eldovan Army is still scattered, and all the pieces are moving. But they only move around and not away. To the best of our knowledge, Janost and Hanan are alive. General Mirrin lurks further west, beyond our communication lines."

A small stir met his words; people were so used to sylph scouts that they forgot their limitations. Marcus continued.

"The enemy avoids contact, despite skirmishes. We are still to learn precisely who exercises overall command, but despite the rumors, it is definitely _not_ Hingast. More worrying is that these groups have been reinforced with fresh men. Which means they must be in contact with each other. We suspect either the Gifted or, more likely, sorcerers maintain communications between the groups."

Another small stir. Everyone knew there were rare individuals, born with an inborn ability, the Gift from the Father of the Benefic Sephiroth. Practitioners never sought the Gift, nor could it be learned without the Gift inborn. Those who sought such powers became sorcerers and that power was no gift, but inspired by the Malefic Sephiroth. So many humans deliberately sought power, so there were more sorcerers than Gifted, though both types were thankfully rare. Nobody liked the thought of such a person controlling an army.

"Bringing fresh men forward suggests they want to try again," rumbled Kelanus, his bass voice low.

"One of the patrols presently out of range should send a sylph within distance in the next day or so." Marcus ignored the interruption. "General Mirrin has also increased the size of his force."

"How?" Zenepha's voice was quiet. "They dare not reduce their strength in Eldova too far."

"They probably gain some recruits locally," replied Marcus.

"These things happen, Majesty," explained Kelanus. "Armies on foreign soil attract recruits. Lots of farmboys get bored staring at an ox's rear all day. Before they learn the reality, a soldier's life seems glamorous and exciting. We gain some, so do they."

"The Eldovans refuse contact, yet do not return home," said Mikhan. "Are they just taunting us?"

"We should chase them down, Majesty," said Kelanus, speaking to Zenepha. "If you would permit me –"

"No." Zenepha's voice was light yet firm. "We need you here, General Kelanus. Perhaps the General of Lances could be sent?"

Both Marcus and Kelanus smiled. The newly promoted General Kestan had more than proved his mettle during the siege.

"Perhaps, Majesty," agreed Kelanus, after a quick glance at Marcus.

Marcus noted Mikhan's scowl. The man hated anyone coming to Zenepha's attention without his approval. Mikhan would do anything to help Zenepha continue as Emperor and deny Marcus his birthright.

Zenepha turned to Crallin. "Have we uncovered or captured any more enemy agents in Marka?"

"They have gone to ground, Majesty. Only those already known to us have been brought in. We can't rule out the possibility of more – there are always traitors ready to be bought off or turned – and only one man known to us still evades capture."

"Petan?"

Crallin nodded. "Him, yes."

"Might Sallis ti Ath help?" Zenepha looked unsure whether ti Ath's name left a bad taste in his mouth or not.

"He's been busy." Crallin smiled. "We've not set him onto Petan. Yet."

"What are the intentions of Eldova's new ruler?" asked Zenepha.

Marcus spoke. "We don't know if Eldova _has_ a new ruler. Representatives take a while to cross the continent in unsettled times. It's unlikely that there will be any change in policy. Hingast's uncle will press the claim I feel. And we heard that one of Hingast's wives is pregnant. She'll have birthed by now. If the child's a boy..." He spread his hands and shrugged.

"The way of humans," added Silmarila. "There will always be somebody to press a claim until the question of who sits on the Throne of Mark is settled."

"The question _is_ settled," interrupted Mikhan.

Marcus tried not to sigh.

Silmarila curled her upper lip. "For now yes, but there will always be those who refuse to see anything any way except their way. Your assumption is the most likely, Marcus- _ya_."

Marcus's dark blue eyes met the gwerin's dark brown. She held his gaze easily, as if passing an unspoken message for him alone. He could never tell whose side she was on. She claimed only to speak in the best interest of Marka. She could not pass comment on claims, but she would serve whoever sat on the Throne. She would give the same loyal service to who _ever_ sat on it. Not her place to pass comment, but surely she had an opinion? Marcus had no idea how to take the gwerin, but her involvement with _his_ gwerin did not make him feel any better.

"I recommend," said Mikhan, "that we leave Petan alone unless he moves against us. The Eldovan soldiers surrounding our city, even from a distance, are a more immediate concern and I strongly urge we increase our soldiers engaged in eliminating the enemy dotted about. And there is another concern."

Zenepha raised an eyebrow.

_Here we go,_ thought Marcus.

"We must pay attention to Re Taura. They've raised a sizeable army and clearly intend using it."

"Marka and Re Taura have never had problems before, Marshal." Zenepha's voice was quiet.

"Re Taura believes a resurgent Marka will monopolize trade in the Bay of Plenty." Mikhan tapped the relevant area of the map. "They may wish to seize land to gain greater control in the area. Trenvera is the most likely place to drive a wedge between Calcan and Sandester."

"That would be no more than a diversion," countered Kelanus. "We denude Marka to reinforce Calcan, Sandester or Trenvera, and the Eldovans will kick the gates in here again. Leave defense of the area to the armies already in place while we concentrate on destroying the Eldovans. Ignore Re Taura."

"Re Taurans on the mainland could threaten Marka," protested Mikhan.

"How?" demanded Kelanus. "Even if they seized land, they still need to resupply from overseas, which is no easy task. Both Calcan and Sandester have ships to interfere with any supply route. Trenvera is the same size as Re Taura and has as many people. No invader could reach us from there unless they can live off the land, do without supply trains _and_ defend themselves against a hostile population. Look at the problems the Eldovans have; look at the problems _we_ have."

"Conjecture." Mikhan waved a dismissive hand. "We can't afford to ignore Re Taura. The Mametain has not built up an army of that size for no reason at all. He is a threat."

"Whoever now leads the Eldovans felt compelled to retreat almost all the way home over the winter," pointed out Kelanus. "They've only managed to push forward again this spring. And they crossed relatively sparsely populated regions. That isn't the case to the east. Re Taurans would have to fight their way here _and_ defend their supply routes." The General shook his head. "Not a chance."

Marcus added support. "Historically, Re Taura has had no territorial ambitions on the mainland and they have always avoided trouble with Marka. They have always treasured their independence, which would end if they attack us and lose."

"If they attack Calcan," spluttered Mikhan, "you might not be so dismissive of them."

_If they attack Sandester, you mean_ , reflected Marcus.

"I suspect that the Re Taurans are working with the Eldovans," said Kelanus.

Mikhan snorted. "And how do they keep contact?"

"Probably the same way the different Eldovan groups keep contact," pointed out Marcus.

"Marka alone is the target," insisted Kelanus. "Any Re Tauran action is diversionary."

"We must track and destroy the Eldovans who infest our lands." Zenepha looked from Mikhan to Kelanus, perhaps to remind them who was really in charge.

"Yes," said Kelanus. "A policy I recommend."

"Marshal Mikhan?" Zenepha looked at the aging marshal.

Mikhan bowed, but said nothing.

"Then that is what we shall do. Should we offer Trenvera protection?"

"Let them ask for it." Silmarila pursed her lips. "They will suspect your motive otherwise."

Zenepha's earpoints sagged a little. "Not very many prefectures have returned to the fold. We may have to force them all, eventually."

Mikhan laughed. "Majesty, you rule lands from the tundra in the north to the Trading Council in the south. All of Sandester and Calcan has submitted to you. Entry to the Bay of Plenty is controlled by lands _you_ rule. Your achievements are greater than any other Emperor in our history."

Silmarila smiled. "That is true," she said. "If Marka expands to Frodger in the north and Eldova in the west, you will rule lands the size of the First Empire."

Zenepha sniffed, but he had flushed a slightly darker blue under the praise.

Marcus's eyes were flat. Some lands were supposed to submit to him, but Nazvasta Vintner had never replied to his letters. His instincts warned of trouble ahead from that quarter.

"Very well, we will leave it there." Zenepha smiled around the table. "If anything changes, inform me immediately."

All remained standing until Zenepha, followed by Silmarila, left the room.

Jenn almost trod on her owner's heels as they left the map room. Once in the corridor, she positioned herself to walk alongside him.

Marcus ruffled his sylph's hair affectionately. "My duties keep me from spending as much time with you as I would like."

Jenn smiled up at him and her earpoints twitched. "We are together now," she said. "It is enough." Fatalistic, as always.

"Missing the field?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.

Jenn nodded. At least there, she had him to herself.

"The time will come when we will campaign again. But we must return to Zandra now; apologies if that disappoints you."

Jenn pulled a face, but she preferred Zandra's company when her only alternative might be neglect. Before Marcus reached his rooms, Morran Fynn stepped out to speak with him. Whatever the clerk had to say was clearly meant for Marcus only, as Smudge turned from a tapestry to engage Jenn in conversation.

"Your Majesty," began Fynn. "Is Zenepha still unaware of Sandev's disappearance?"

"To the best of my knowledge."

"He wants to know why she has not been to see him all winter. My assurances that she is about her work elsewhere are beginning to wear thin. Any news from Grayar or Stanak concerning her whereabouts?"

Marcus smiled. It must grate that Fynn had lowered himself to ask his employer for information. Or perhaps he intended to pass a coded warning.

"Nothing," he replied. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Tell, Majesty?" Despite Zenepha being Emperor, many of Marcus's servants still referred to him as if he were the Emperor and not a cast-aside claimant. "Better Zenepha remains in ignorance, or he might panic when he discovers that Marka's true protector is a prisoner. But if he discovers the truth for himself..." Fynn shrugged.

Marcus looked over his shoulder at Jenn, deeply engrossed with whatever Smudge had to say. Sylphs saw much and let on little, but he wondered if Jenn either knew or suspected the truth about Sandev's whereabouts.

If people learned that the enemy had captured Sandev... He reached a decision.

"The secret must be kept as long as possible. Any news from the east? Mikhan is growing more concerned and presses harder for our involvement with every meeting."

Fynn inclined his head; if he was annoyed by the abrupt change of subject, nothing showed. "Nothing yet. In fairness, Majesty, our people may only just have reached Re Taura. Far too early to expect information."

"Fair enough."

Fynn changed the subject back again. "Must the secret be kept at any cost?"

Marcus wagged an admonitory finger. "No deaths. Nobody wants that. If rumors start, we tell some version of the truth. Keep your ear to the ground."

Fynn bowed. "As you command, Majesty." He turned to leave. "Come Smudge, we have work."

After one glance at Jenn, the other sylph ended her conversation, inclined her head to Marcus, and trotted after Fynn.

"What was that all about?" asked Marcus.

"Just chitchat." The position of Jenn's earpoints showed she knew Smudge's chat had been a diversion to stop her overhearing the humans' discussion, but she wisely kept questions to herself.

Marcus nodded. "I know where there's some choca."

Jenn's earpoints twitched fully upright and a smile spread across her face. "So do I," she said.

***

Tired and irritable, Grayar scowled at Sandev's desk and ignored the gurgling clepsydra. Often short-tempered, he had a reputation for grumpiness, except towards sylphs, but the tiredness was new. He had not yet fully recovered from carting an army across hundreds of milas to defeat Hingast. Despite using an aid that should no longer exist, the effort had drained him. If not for the foci, he would likely be dead.

Stanak stood beside him. His employer had disappeared to the Father-knew-where, presumably a captive. If he worried for her safety, nothing showed in his gray-blue eyes. Always calm and unfazed, certainly much calmer than Sandev's two sylphs.

Sandev only acquired Janin recently, after his life had been threatened. Grayar had never known her to be charitable when it came to unowned sylphs, but he supposed she must have a reason for this one. Either way, he had spent most of his time in scout training and had barely bonded with his mistress. Even so, even the most dullwitted could see his worry. He continued his scout training, which at least helped keep his mind occupied.

Unlike Caya. Grayar and Stanak did their best to keep the female sylph busy and working to her usual routine, but she _had_ bonded with her owner. Despite her initial hostility towards Janin, she had drawn closer to him during the winter months. Driven by terror that she would never see Sandev again, she now missed his company whenever he attended his training.

Janin rapidly approached the age when he should marry, but Caya had already rebuffed him. Caya claimed to be wed to her role looking after Sandev, and suggested he should look elsewhere for a wife.

Grayar expected sulks from Janin, but the male sylph had held up quite well and continued to offer Caya moral support.

There were two more sylphs in Sandev's villa.

Salu belonged to Grayar. She offered comfort to Sandev's sylphs but trod carefully. Sandev's two were breeders and Salu only an infertile, of much lower status. A whole decade older than Caya and almost a quarter century older than Janin, she must still step warily around the two of them. Luckily for her, tact and diplomacy came easily.

The fourth sylph in the villa concerned Grayar most. The ownerless Tangan troubled him. Grayar had never met the sylph before the previous fall, but he knew the boy's name. A name "more or less" granted to him by his mother. Grayar feared the sylph lied about that; perhaps he was _unable_ to be completely honest. A worrying thought. Something had been done to this sylph and Grayar suspected it involved Nicolfer's sorcery. He must find out what.

Sadly, the books lining the walls were of no use.

Tangan squatted in one corner, arms wrapped around his knees, staring at the floor and apparently unaware of the unease his presence caused.

Grayar glanced at Stanak. The bodyguard had been with Grayar when they found Tangan, but he had no idea why Grayar stepped around the boy so warily. For that matter, he didn't understand why the other three sylphs avoided Tangan either. His main concern centered on Sandev's return.

Dervra and Nicolfer held Sandev. Stanak deserved to know the truth about these two and Grayar plugged the gaps in the man's knowledge. Sandev had told him that these two were among the ten humans originally granted the Gift by the Father, and that they had betrayed their companions and the deity who had offered shelter.

He knew that, but before Grayar educated him, Stanak had not known the full story. Those two were the enemies of Sandev and Grayar.

Stanak felt no happier, but he didn't want to give up either, which was another of his good points.

"We've done little since midwinter," said Stanak, looking at Tangan. "That boy's been useless; enslave him or send him to the sales block."

Eyes expressionless, Tangan lifted his head and twitched his earpoints.

Grayar grimaced. "What would you have us do? We must discover where Nicolfer and Dervra are hiding themselves before I – we – can move against them. And the boy stays."

The sound of clattering pots through the open door betrayed the presence of Caya and Salu, preparing the midday meal.

"Anything could have happened." Stanak lowered his voice. Just because the sylphs clattered pots, it did not mean they weren't eavesdropping. "She might even be dead."

"No!" Sharper than intended, Grayar immediately moderated his tone. "Not that. She is basically unharmed."

Stanak's eyes were as steel. "How do you know?"

"I believe it."

"That's only what you want to believe."

"You want me to believe I'm chasing a corpse?" Grayar snapped, and immediately wished the words back.

Taller than Grayar, Caya stood in the doorway, bearing a tray with two steaming bowls of gruel and an alovak can. As Grayar spoke, her silver-gray eyes brimmed with tears, her face crumpled in grief and her long earpoints tucked away completely.

Stanak moved quickly to relieve the sylph of her burden, while Grayar spoke to reassure her.

"She's still alive," he said softly, massaging one of the sylphs hands between his own. "We _will_ find her."

Caya nodded, but said nothing. Pulling her hand free, she fled from the room. Embarrassed, both men looked at each other.

"This is what it's come to," growled Stanak. "Her would-be rescuers squabbling like gulls over food."

Grayar nodded at the unspoken apology. "We must locate Dervra and Nicolfer. They work together, so I doubt if they're far apart right now." He glanced down at Tangan, as if the sylph might lead them to their prey. "And it's time to check your health, young man. How are you feeling?"

Tangan stared back up at the silver-haired old man. "I am well, _donenya_ ," he replied.

Grayar heard Stanak sigh. He hoped the man wouldn't grow too impatient. He wanted Sandev back as much as anyone else, but they could not move until the proper time.

Grayar suspected Sandev had her own plans.

***

General Kelanus Butros met Marcus Vintner outside the map room. The would-be Emperor was at least punctual. Kelanus blinked in surprise when he saw Jenn heeling her owner; he had not expected the sylph.

"Shall we go inside?" Marcus smiled.

Kelanus started. "Of course."

They went into the map room together. Apart from one candle lantern that had nearly burned out, the room was in darkness.

"Light crystals, Jenn," suggested Marcus.

" _Se bata_."

The infertile walked around the room uncovering the crystals, starting with the table in the center.

"Have you shared your concerns with Zenepha?" asked Marcus.

"Not since the meeting," replied Kelanus.

"Mikhan?"

Kelanus grimaced. Once, he had served under Mikhan Annada; once, they had been friends. Perhaps they still were, despite everything that had happened since.

"No," he replied. "Zenepha is too much in Mikhan's hand and Mikhan works hard to keep you off the Throne."

"Just you and me then." Marcus smiled.

Both men could now see the detailed map spread across the table. The flags marking known and estimated positions of the soldiers were exactly as they had left them that morning.

Jenn stood by the door, listening. She nodded to her owner.

Kelanus crossed to one of the smaller scale maps hung on the wall, this one showing Marka and its immediate surroundings. He used the stem of his pipe to tap several places.

"Why are you looking at that?" asked Marcus. "The battles will be fought out here." He gestured to the table.

Kelanus shook his head. "Thousands of men are out there – more if we include Mirrin's mob out west – who show no inclination to go home. They are coordinated and controlled. They are waiting."

Marcus nodded. "If they combine, they will fall on Sandester. Or Trenvera. Or even Calcan."

Kelanus almost smiled. "The target is Marka."

"You sound certain."

"Because I am. Re Taura."

"What about it?"

Kelanus drew deeply on his pipe before exhaling a long streamer of gray-blue bacca smoke. "The Eldovan commander wants us to react to that threat. If we don't, he'll force action. Sandester is his likeliest target; it's harder to reach Trenvera or Calcan from the north. Wherever, so long as we react and send our forces. Or even if Mikhan decides to take them home. The Eldovans are conveniently pointed toward Sandester."

"Why?"

"They might know more about the Sandesterans here than we do."

"Your point being?"

"Zenepha is in Mikhan's hand, in military matters at least. I suspect Mikhan still gets his orders from Sandester."

"Nazvasta?" Marcus scowled as he spoke.

"Nazvasta. He wants you nowhere near the Throne. He would far rather see Zenepha hold it until death than let you take it."

"Thank you for the reminder. What about Re Taura?"

"A diversion. My hunch is that Trenvera is Re Taura's target. Not easy for us to send soldiers there, unless the Trenverans ask nicely. Diplomacy takes time, but the army will be out of Marka." Kelanus smiled as he lit a taper from the candle lantern and relit his pipe. "But the Throne here is the target."

"Oh?"

"The Eldovans may or may not have territorial ambitions in the north, but what's the point in seizing lands there when Marka can so easily cut them off from Eldova itself?"

"The Re Taurans might want the Throne."

"Maybe they do." Satisfied his pipe was drawing properly again, Kelanus took a few draws. Jenn sneezed as the fresh pipesmoke tickled her nostrils. "They'll never reach it though."

"The Eldovans nearly succeeded last year."

"To get here, the Eldovans crossed lands that are either empty, in chaos or indifferent towards Marka. The Re Taurans must cross territory that will be at least passively hostile. Their supply lines will stretch and be susceptible to attacks. They must resupply from overseas and their ships will be at risk from us and probably also Sandester."

Jenn watched both men from her position by the door and rubbed her nose, trying to rid it of the bacca smoke's stench.

"Even so, we cannot abandon Sandester or Calcan. Neither can we afford to lose Trenvera to a third party. It would throw the east into total chaos." Marcus grimaced.

"I suspect that's the intention. But we must look first to Marka. We can drive the Eldovans away; that must remain our first priority. Even if the Re Taurans occupy lands to the east, the Eldovans must be dealt with first." Kelanus's eyes flashed. "We can drive Re Taura out at leisure afterwards. If they come."

"We have people on the ground in Re Taura," said Marcus. "They'll discover the truth or otherwise."

"The rumors will probably prove true." Kelanus smiled. "But whatever the Re Taurans do is nothing more than a diversion."

"What's in it for Re Taura? Assuming they have allied themselves with Eldova."

Kelanus shrugged. "The lucrative trade in the Bay of Plenty and perhaps some mainland territory."

"Supposition."

"True." Kelanus nodded agreement. "But suppose you're Janost, what would you do?"

Marcus glanced at the large map on the table. "Drive a wedge between Marka and the Vintner lands. Then drive a wedge between Sandester and Calcan. Or the other way around."

"The wedge between Sandester and Calcan first is the better way round." Kelanus tapped the wall map again. "But the Eldovans themselves cannot work it that way around because of Marka."

"But this is supposition." Marcus's smile was thin.

"Indeed. But the Throne is here. _That_ is the Eldovans' objective. First, entice troops away from Marka by having an ally drive a wedge between the Vintner lands by invading Trenvera. Then, divide Marka from the Vintner lands by falling on the city from the north. Add pressure by falling on the city from the west." He stroked his pipestem against the Candin Plain, the scene of Marcus's decisive victory the previous year. A gentle reminder of who had ensured that victory.

"I see. Any evidence to support this theory?"

"Only by omission." The pipestem moved slowly around to the west of the city. "Anybody in western Outer Marka? Or Finnan, in Dras or Elas? Senda?"

"Of course not. General Mirrin is much further west than that. Detachments are trailing him. What are you getting at?"

"Local militia aside, our entire western march is unprotected. Why haven't the Eldovans gone home? Eldovans to the north and west, Re Taurans to the east. We can't fight everybody at once. They encircle us, but we must deal with the Eldovans first, _even if the Re Taurans land_." A finger tapped the map to emphasize each word.

Marcus stroked his chin. "Might the Imperial Republic be involved as well?"

Kelanus considered for a moment. "Unlikely. The Imperial Republic is far away and Enthan too engrossed with the south. He would never ally with Eldova unless his claim is the one to be pressed. But I don't see anyone in Eldova going along with that."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "A bit like Sandester and Calcan."

Kelanus laughed. "Something like that."

"Still conjecture," insisted Marcus.

"Informed guesswork," agreed Kelanus. "But my outline, Marcus Vintner, is pretty much what I expect Marshal Janost to do."

"And what would _you_ do to counter it?"

Kelanus grinned. "What nobody would expect me to do."

A small smile turned the corners of Marcus's mouth. "The Emperor is sending Kestan north to harry the Eldovans. Is that enough?"

"Perhaps not."

Marcus continued. "He told me this afternoon that we must reinforce Calcan and Sandester. The army we send should hover near the border with Trenvera. He wants you to command that flank."

"I'm not convinced it's needed."

"Should you decide to defy the Emperor's orders, I hope your analysis of the situation is better than Mikhan's. I'll not be able to save you this time." Marcus smiled. "Don't tell me your decision; it's between you and your conscience."

Kelanus smiled. "I will see you at tomorrow's meeting."

Marcus barely acknowledged the General's departure. He stared at the large-scale map and again assessed the positions of the flags. In his mind's eye, he repositioned some of the blue flags and added fresh ones to represent Re Taura attacking Trenvera. He saw the army driven from Marka, fleeing south and east, heading for Calcan because that was the only way out. He shivered when he realized that the repositioned enemy could now wheel around and fall on Calcan. There would be nowhere left to go. Vintner power smashed and Marka captured. Kelanus had seen it and Marcus could accept the possibility of it. He shook his head.

"What do you think, Jenn? And don't tell me you're just a sylph."

Jenn changed what she had been about to say. "You should listen to him, _enya_."

Marcus nodded to himself. "Why oh why did Branad ever let you go?" he whispered.

***

Melnea, more familiarly known as Cloudy, leaned against _Flying Cloud_ 's bulwark and stared morosely at the narrow strip of dirty water below. She should be thinking about the proposal put forward to her and Captain Liffen, but she worried instead about the red tea stored in the warehouse. Brought back from Emplar for the winter, it had not sold as well this year. Cloudy feared a small trading loss on the last trip. And add to that the cost of a new ship...

With a small smile, she glanced outboard to her identical sister-ship, _Velvet Moon_. This one did not wear the horizontal gold-green-gold striped ensign of Marka, but the vertical black-white-black stripes of Hejiller. Black and white streamers looked prettier than green and gold ones.

Cloudy shook her head. She was not supposed to be thinking about bunting for the mastheads, either.

_Velvet Moon_ and _Flying Cloud_ had planned to travel together for this first season, then winter in their respective homeports. Sometimes plans must change and it now looked as if they would travel in company for part of the first trading trip only. The relatively inexperienced _Velvet Moon_ had a great deal to master, despite the obvious intelligence of both sylph and ship.

As for the proposal, the ship remained ominously silent.

To sail to Re Taura and stay there in case Imperial agents needed to escape. Through Cloudy, the ship had asked for those agents' names, so she could tell when or if they approached.

The proposer had demanded an acceptance of the commission before he would divulge names, warning that careless talk cost lives.

The answer impressed neither sylph nor ship and the ship's initial reaction was to refuse the commission.

Cloudy glanced at the ensign now flying from the stern. Not as impressive as the old Trading Council's ensign of two black anchors, crossed and fouled on a gold field. Nor as impressive as the Imperial Ensign of a gold eagle in flight on a black field, which the ship would wear if she accepted the commission. Certainly more impressive than that she wore now. The streamers for the peak of each mast would look more impressive in black and gold.

_Small matters_. The ship spoke directly into her mind with a gentle rebuke for her continued concern over bunting. _I still say no_.

_The money is good,_ retorted the sylph. _The Father knows we need that._

The silent conversation came to an abrupt end as Liffen's large hand closed on Cloudy's shoulder. "He wants an answer."

"It will be awkward; we already have the cargo for Beshar aboard."

Liffen winced. "We can sail in company as far as Beshar, offload there, collect the rum and sail back."

"What about _Velvet Moon_? She does not know the route."

Liffen smiled. "We'll swap Sedaro and Raldtu with their opposite numbers, and some of the crew. They'll be fine."

"The ship still says no," said Cloudy.

"Then come below and tell him."

Cloudy steeled herself. She didn't want to face the man with the flat brown eyes and devil-may-care attitude. A local man named Jeckon, and some sort of minion for the Trading Council, always fishing for information about events in other lands.

She followed Liffen down the double companion ladder and entered the main cabin that stretched from one side of the ship to the other.

"The Emperor wants a speedy response to his question." Jeckon's eyes were uncaring, hinting that if Cloudy refused the commission, he would go elsewhere. Somehow, Cloudy doubted that; she suspected Jeckon was eager she took the commission. "One hundred crowns, the old gold standards, is a lot of money to turn away."

"The ship wants to know the names of the agents."

The other's eyes went even flatter. Perhaps he did not believe ship sylphs were more than they seemed. Few people did; even some of the crew doubted.

"Or the answer is no." Cloudy turned on her heel and made her way back to the door. "Take your commission elsewhere."

"Two men and one sylph." Bluff called, Jeckon spoke quickly. "The sylph is named Neptarik. That will have to do, I can tell you no more than that."

She stopped walking. The ship was silent, but Cloudy knew she had changed her mind. Another thought came and she smiled. "In Re Taura, do they drink red tea?"

***
Chapter 3

**Re Taura**

Mya shifted on her heels. She might only have to spend time here during the market's business hours, but a cage was a cage. A straw-strewn floor and a wooden stool were her only furnishings. She replaced the straw each morning, knowing many humans found the fresh smell inviting. She could sit on the floor or the stool and she came out in the middle of the day to freshen up for the afternoon.

Light crystals brightened the indoor market, which had no natural light. Sinabra competed with straw as the dominant odor, but she barely noticed either.

She dreamed of a kind owner, but potential buyers always passed by, attention caught by a prettier or younger sylph, or one who might be more compliant. As if sylphs were anything but compliant.

She was not badly treated here, but the longer she remained unsold, the more her care cost the market's owner. She shared the market's chores as one way to earn her keep, but as she aged, she despaired of ever getting out. The proprietor, no matter how kindly, still had all the sylphs he could need.

More than anything, she yearned for a proper owner.

She stirred, sensing a customer's presence. The sylph opposite also moved to the front of her cage and pushed a hand from between the bars in supplication. Always hopeful, Mya's earpoints twitched forward as she pressed her forehead against the cage bars. The market owner showed the customer his wares.

"I have many sylphs. If none match your requirements, I will find one who does." She glimpsed a hand gesturing in her general direction. "Here, we have a –"

"I need a breeder," interrupted the customer. "An infertile will not do because she must have some independence."

"Must be a breeder, sir? Males have independence aplenty."

"No. Males are too expensive and are needed for breeding." The customer sounded insistent. "There is no need for the sylph I take on to actually breed, but neither will an infertile suffice for the duties."

She strained to see the customer.

"She cannot stand out in a crowd," continued the customer. "And not too pretty. Bright enough to remember details of anything she's told, or sees, or hears. Also, she must be companionable and friendly."

"Quite a list, sir. Though I must point out that all sylphs remember everything they see or hear. I think just the sylph for you is right here." The proprietor gestured towards her cage.

Then, the customer stood before her. She smiled and her heart pounded. He inspected her quickly, and moved on.

Her earpoints wilted in disappointment. She knew she faced plenty of competition for his attention. Younger sylphs, extrovert sylphs, highly intelligent sylphs... Her hands gripped the bars and she gently banged her forehead against them. Eyes shut, she rocked her head from side to side in frustration and despaired of ever having an owner. About to turn away from the bars, she became aware of a presence. She looked up into the customer's dark eyes. He had returned.

For the first time, a potential buyer gave her more than a cursory inspection.

Suddenly shy, she smiled.

"My name is Talnan," he told her. The smile she would come to love widened. "Would you like to tell me yours?"

***

Mya- _y_ -Talnan, in true sylph fashion, finished her allotted tasks as quickly as possible and disappeared before an overseer could find her more chores. She now stood at the window of the barest room in Castle Beren. She watched a ferry from the mainland as it prepared to negotiate the narrows into Taura Harbor.

She admired the beautiful spring day, and imagined she could feel the fresh breeze that whipped the wavetops white and deepened the troughs between. Waves that broke as they crashed onto the castle's rocky foundation.

The sun strengthened every day and already heated the stone walls; soon the only fires would be in the kitchens. Mya blinked as the ferry passed out of sight, already taking off sail and readying oars. She stared at the sea with unseeing eyes.

Never opulently furnished, several wooden stools and a couple of benches dotted the room. Once – perhaps still – admonished servants came here to reflect on their misdemeanors. It was called the Sulking Room, but Mya had never seen anyone else in here. She did not come here to sulk.

One of the few places in the castle she had to herself, here she could pray for her dead owner. And openly mourn him.

" _Zhenya, fatil enya; enewa_ ," she prayed, eyes turned upwards. "Great Father, care for my owner; he is a good man."

Talnan had been dead for weeks. Should she ask to leave the Mametain's service, or wait for the next spy? Trenvera's king might refuse to send more and leaving the castle meant working at some menial or unrewarding task. Then again, the next spy might be on the ferry she had just seen.

If another spy was sent, would he be told about her? _Enya_ denied knowing his predecessors sent to Re Taura. Mya would feel happier if she knew what, if anything, her owner had told Tektu before he died. Nothing might happen if she asked for release, or perhaps Tektu waited for that request before she pounced.

She chewed her underlip and wondered what best to do.

" _Yonacen, abmerin tena_ ," she prayed. "His soul, guard always."

She spent her waking moments thinking of Talnan. They had shared a lot of adventures in fifteen years. She served him with pride, and he served Trenvera as fervently. Ironically, she might now spend the rest of her life serving Trenvera's enemy.

She fought the tears that always lurked. Did she cry more for him, or for herself?

" _Abenya, ewnin tena_ ," she said. "Grant him eternal peace."

Tektu had murdered Talnan. Mya shivered.

Tektu terrified her. The Mametain's faithful servant, rarely far from his side. She had the _appearance_ of a sylph, despite a personality no sylph could or should have. Nobody knew exactly how old she was, but any sylph could see she had great age and the wisdom those years bestowed. Even sylphs in denial sensed that.

When Tektu looked at Mya with those too-knowing eyes...

She whimpered and shifted on her heels.

Talnan was dead. Fifteen years of spying for Trenvera and, in the end, that job cost him – and his sylph – dear. Halfway through her life, Mya knew she did not want to spend the second half stuck on Re Taura.

But she was trapped here as surely as if chained.

" _Se, granicen suniba_ ," she said. "Let him remember me."

Mya leaned her head against the lintel and prayed for herself. Some said the Father was everywhere at once. Whether he could see her, or hear her thoughts, she did not know. Was it wrong to pray for herself? Screwing her eyes shut, a solitary tear leaked free.

" _Zhenya, abse acacfa_ ," she begged. "Great Father, send me a savior."

***

Neptarik- _y_ -Balnus swung his legs in the free space between the back of the cart and the ground as his transport trundled into the city. He winked at one of the gate guards, but the soldier ignored him. Thankfully, they were different guards from two days before, when he and his human companions had left the city.

The scout wore nondescript woolen breeches and a shirt under his tunic, a simple leather collar about his neck. Only short hair distinguished him from any other farm sylph. He wished he'd grown his hair before coming to Re Taura, as short hair on sylphs stood out, but he would wear a wig for nobody.

Safely inside the city walls, he grabbed two carrots from under the tarpaulin, stuffed one inside his shirt and chewed the other as he slipped off the cart. With luck, the farmer would never realize he had carried a passenger. The carrots must have been carefully stored over the winter, for they tasted fresh, as if harvested only yesterday.

A sylph beggar saw him, or perhaps she was more aware of the food Neptarik clutched. It had better be the food, and not short hair marking him out. He intended to be done here quickly and, if he got his timing right, hitch a ride back out with the same unsuspecting farmer. Until then, he had a job to do. He hummed something tuneless as he looked back and to.

The city Taura felt pretty much like every other he had visited. The inhabitants might prefer to paint their buildings in gaudy reds, blues and yellows, but their gray and white clothing was a lot less colorful. Though the streets were laid out to a different plan, the bustle and hum on the streets sounded the same everywhere. Shops sold near enough the same goods as other places he had seen: food, cloth, clothes, precious metals, gemstones, tack. People and sylphs went about their business, with soldiers dotted among them.

Neptarik looked for beggars. Every city always had some. Even so, they were not quite as common as he expected. If this Mametain was an enemy, Neptarik wanted to find evidence of a bad reign, but from first impressions, the city looked well run. Even the streets were clean. Horse manure lay everywhere of course, but the streets looked as if even this was cleared away regularly.

There were sylph beggars – mostly, but not exclusively, infertiles – and the occasional stick-thin human urchin moved about furtively. Nothing for it but to discover what people thought. At least, what the sylphs thought. Beggars were usually a good source for information, but they were also competitive souls who jealously guarded their pitches. Not that sylphs were violent, but they could squabble in loud voices and Neptarik wanted to draw no attention to himself.

"Work?" The first beggar he asked was incredulous. "Being a boy, they will come to you. All right for some." Her earpoints twitched and her silver-gray eyes flashed briefly.

"Who will come?"

"Mametain always wants sylphs. Lots leave. Run away. They –" Abruptly, she grew defensive. "You want work, they come looking. They will ask." The beggar's eyes now held an unusual amount of fear. "Move on. Please?"

"What is wrong?" Neptarik was concerned, wondering why the sudden change of attitude, but the infertile refused to be drawn. He moved on.

"Work?" The next sylph he asked looked aghast at the prospect. "Lose freedom? You are mad! If you cannot beg, go to the City Elders and they will work you for food. Cleaning horse dung maybe. Emptying human cesspits likely." The beggar shuddered. "Madness!"

"What about the Mametain?"

The other's mouth moved soundlessly and her earpoints wilted away. She looked him up and down; this one was no infertile. "He always wants sylphs, but lots leave. Perhaps you should ask why they do so."

"Why do they leave?" There was more than a hint of wild sylph about this one; Neptarik thought she would not be out of place with Aelfina and his fledgling Free Tribe.

"They will not say." The other sylph looked in control of herself once more. "You dance or sing? Maybe you can beg along with me. If not, go elsewhere."

Neptarik grinned. "Another time," he replied. He stood and moved on again.

Most beggars refused to say anything at all about the Mametain or his household. Those who did told him that lots of sylphs left his service and preferred to clean cesspits than work at Castle Beren any longer than they must. He asked them all why working for the Mametain should be so bad, but nobody would explain.

Before much longer, he realized someone followed him.

Neptarik began looking as he turned corners. At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but after a few more turnings, he saw the same man time after time. The shadow was an average looking fellow, with a round pink face and outwardly unassuming manner. He watched everything the sylph did. He stopped every time the scout stopped and, if he spoke to a beggar, the man copied him as soon as he moved on. Did this man cause the beggars' unease? It was the first odd thing he had seen in the city.

He hummed a quick snatch from 'My Shadow's Never Far Away'.

Neptarik turned another corner, stepped into a convenient doorway and waited.

The pink-faced man followed moments later and his pace increased when he realized the sylph was nowhere to be seen. Looking the wrong way when he passed Neptarik, the scout detected a hint of panic. When he stepped from his hiding place, he was now the follower.

More people filled the streets now and this helped keep Neptarik undiscovered longer than he deserved. Eventually, the man stopped, turned and immediately spotted the sylph behind him.

Neptarik pretended he had no idea that the man had been shadowing him.

Relief chased momentary consternation from the man's face. He turned and approached the sylph. Neptarik readied himself for flight or _ebatela_ , whichever might be required. There was no hint of imminent violence on the man's part, but the sylph almost jumped when he spoke.

"They tell me you're looking for work," he said, in an ordinary voice.

Neptarik nodded.

"Day after tomorrow. Sylphs' Hall." The man handed a green card to the surprised scout. "Show that on the door and they'll help you find work."

"How did you know to find me?" asked Neptarik.

The pink-faced man ignored the question. "Your choice. Go and find work, or else try your luck on the streets. But they tell me work is what you want. Your choice." He turned and strode away.

Neptarik scowled and his earpoints lashed. He hated rudeness from humans, such as ignoring his questions. Were people paid to follow other people around in this city? The notion seemed rather silly.

He hummed the opening bars of 'Foolish Humans' before he could stop himself.

He glanced at the card surreptitiously, remembering few sylphs could read or write. There was little to read. A simple green card with black ink scrawled over it.

"Probably good enough for the castle." He inspected it carefully to ensure he had not misunderstood any words. The castle must be the Mametain's home, which he had seen from the Calcan ferry as it entered the harbor. Smiling to himself, he tucked the small card inside his tunic.

He decided to try and discover what people thought of the Mametain's rule. People were often more careless when sylphs were about, but he heard nothing to grab his attention. He meandered slowly to the harbor.

On arrival in Taura two days before, he had been amazed. The harbor still impressed him.

An incredible amount of activity was squeezed into such a small place. There were only six long berths and these were crammed with ships, some three or even four deep along the wooden quays. At least forty ships loaded or discharged cargo.

Yet there were lots of ships in the harbor doing nothing, and all were crewed. Some lay alongside and others moored in open water. Everywhere, Neptarik saw rather more soldiers than he expected. Beyond the quays, the natural harbor opened out. In the distance, almost a mila away, Castle Beren dominated the entrance. The channel that ships must follow passed almost directly beneath the fortress perching like an eagle on its eyrie.

From here, Neptarik could appreciate the military thinking that had gone into Taura.

Whoever sited the city had given his choice much thought. Taura was built on a plain, so any approaching army would be seen long before it became a danger. And to reach the city by sea, any invader must first negotiate The Narrows, guarded by Castle Beren.

"If a beggar's life is too hard, do not drown yourself here," said a sylph's voice immediately behind him. "There are too many people about for privacy."

Neptarik turned to look at the infertile who now stood beside him. Humor glinted in her silvery eyes and she tugged unconsciously at a wooden button on the cuff of her wool tunic. A silver collar, white linen shirt and canvas trousers completed her attire.

"I am not a beggar," replied Neptarik. "And I am not about to drown myself, with or without an audience."

"Glad to hear it." The infertile smiled.

Neptarik turned to look out across the harbor again. "You are a ship sylph?" he asked.

"Degan, of the _Sea Dragon_ ," she answered.

"My name is Neptarik. I hope to get employment in there." He nodded towards the fortress.

"To work for the Mametain," said Degan. "I work for him too, though he has never heard of me. My ship belongs to him."

"A trader?" Neptarik turned to look at the infertile again.

Degan laughed. "Not exactly."

"Why are there no fortresses opposite the castle?" asked Neptarik. "A ship could easily avoid the channel."

Degan smiled. "You won't get anything much larger than a rowboat in or out, even at the highest tides. If you wait until low water, you will see the flats."

"Flats?"

"Stone ledges that come almost completely across The Narrows," explained Degan. "Every ship that comes in or goes out must pass the castle."

Neptarik nodded. If he and his companions needed to escape, he hoped they would flee from another port. Nobody could pass Castle Beren without the Mametain knowing.

"Impressive," he said.

"Well, I wish you luck with finding employment, Neptarik." Degan pushed out a hand in the human fashion.

Neptarik looked at it for a moment before shaking it. His eyes widened and he shuddered. "What did you just do?" He took a few quick paces away.

Degan looked at him as if she had been burned. "You are familiar with ships," she said, her own eyes still wide.

"You keep your ship out of my head," snapped Neptarik. "Keep her out!"

"I must return." Degan still looked shocked. She bobbed her head in a quick bow. "Pleased to have met you."

Neptarik stared after the ship sylph and then at his hand. What had just happened?

He moved away and kept a wary eye open for any more nautical sylphs whose ship fancied her chances at invading his thoughts.

He eavesdropped on as many conversations as he could. Most were about mundane matters, others were not. Some made his earpoints twitch fully erect.

"Most ships can take three or four hundred soldiers," said one man, strolling along the quayside with a companion.

"Possibly half as many again," said the other man. "It's not as if we'll be at sea for long, the crossing will only take two days."

_So they_ are _planning something_ , thought the sylph. He filed this small snippet away to be reported later. He pretended that he stared at nothing in particular and showed interest in even less. Even so, he was not surreptitious enough.

"Why are you here boy?" demanded one of the men.

"Waiting for the day after tomorrow," replied Neptarik and flashed his green card.

The human smiled. "Yes, you'll be looked after then. You must have missed yesterday's roundup."

Not understanding what roundup meant, the sylph shrugged.

"Thought you were here to beg, boy. Best for you to move on. Get into the city, find somewhere comfortable for a couple of nights. There may even be some food, if you're lucky."

Now he had been asked to go, Neptarik knew he must leave. No point in overstaying his welcome. That he had been moved on suggested the authorities had something to hide, or at least something they didn't want everyone to see.

Food sounded like a good idea. There must be a fish market near the quay. Only now he noticed that of all the ships here, none were fishing boats. No smell of fish hung in the air, no piles of nets anywhere. What sort of harbor had no fishing boats?

"Is there a fish market here?" he asked a man with gold stripes on his tunic.

"Further up," replied the man.

"Where are the fishing boats?" asked Neptarik, feeling bold.

The man smiled. "They've been gone for about two years," he said. "A row over landing fees. If it's fisher-boats you want, try Sentena, Codden or Safeford. That's where the boats are now."

Neptarik thanked the man and wandered back into the city, leaving the harbor behind.

***

From the _Sea Dragon_ , Degan watched the strange sylph, who knew at least something about ships, leave the harbor. He paused to ask Captain Naeppin a question the ship sylph had no chance of hearing.

"Anything wrong?"

Degan almost jumped; she had not heard Ommas, one of the sailmakers, join her at the rail. She pulled herself together and shrugged. "Just thinking."

"You can think while throwing an eye splice on the end of this." Ommas proffered a rope's end.

"I want to be at sea." Degan ignored the suggestion. "The ship wants to be at sea."

"All at sea, more like." Ommas waggled the rope's end her way again. "Cap'n'll be back soon, with his orders."

"I know, he's over there."

"Maybe your wish is about to be granted."

"With a load of soldiers, pukin' everywhere." Degan's earpoints twitched as she grimaced.

"Eye splice," said Ommas, a little more firmly.

"All right." Degan dropped onto the deck beside the sailmaker. "Cut me a piece of twine. Which thimble?"

_Sea Dragon_ had been afloat eighteen years, ten years younger than Degan. The ship that inhabited the sylph, however, was far older than that. The wooden part of the ship was roughly two-fifty pacas in length and boasted four masts. Two rigged with traditional lateen sails and the forward two fitted with revolutionary square sails four high. An additional square sail lurked under her bowsprit and she could set four staysails between her foremost masts and four more between foremast and bowsprit.

She could make almost fourteen knots under full sail, which meant not many ships could keep up with her, let alone catch her. Even today, twenty years since her construction began, _Sea Dragon_ was one of only four ships with square sails.

Now, she must serve as a lowly troop carrier for the Mametain's planned invasion.

"Steady," cautioned Ommas, watching what happened to the rope. "I keep forgetting how fast you are with those fingers. No more tucks, or there won't be enough left to taper it."

"Sorry." Degan took a little more care, but she watched the gangway.

"Captain's returning!" cautioned one of the side boys. Officer-of-the-deck and ship sylph reached the gangway together.

"Well?" demanded Degan, the moment Naeppin's foot touched the deck.

The Captain arched an eyebrow. "Well what?"

"When do we sail?"

"Soon. Once we've taken our share of soldiers aboard –"

"Pukers," muttered Degan.

"– and hoisted the Flag."

"Ensign," corrected Degan, who liked giving things their proper names.

"Flag," repeated Naeppin. "We won't be a private ship when we sail."

Degan swore.

"Behave," cautioned Naeppin.

She made no move to apologize. "Which old fart are they dusting off for us?"

"The senior admiral." Naeppin smiled. "You should remember him, unless you're even dafter than you look. Iklaus da Seppayu, this ship's first skipper."

Degan's demeanor changed and her face lit with pleasure. "He'll do very nicely."

"Thought he might meet with your approval."

"What did that sylph want with you?"

The change of subject threw the Captain for a moment. "What? Oh, him."

"Begging was he?"

"Only for directions to the fish market," replied Naeppin.

Degan became thoughtful again. In the back of her mind, a small voice repeated itself, over and over.

Beware, he is dangerous. Beware...

***

Neptarik wandered back into the city. He decided the buildings painted in bright colors added character and interest. He wondered why more places didn't follow Taura's example. It was certainly better than undressed stone, or the unrelieved limewash used in so many other cities.

The row of shops here all had open fronts and the sylph spotted wooden shuttering stacked to one side of each shop. He paused to stare at a woman buying rather a lot of choca and guessed she might be the owner of a stud. He had never seen so much of the dark treat in his lifetime. Even walking, he kept his ears open, but he still heard nothing interesting about the Mametain. Above, the sun passed its meridian.

The directions Neptarik had been given were good and he soon started to follow his nose to the fish market. A large group of sylphs congregated around it. Little chance of getting anything here.

Some sylphs touted services in exchange for food, but most simply begged. Compared with them, Neptarik's appearance was smart. The stares he received were unfriendly. Earpoints slanted forwards and eyes narrowed.

"What's he doing here?"

"This is our place."

"Not enough to go around."

"Go away, stranger."

Neptarik took the hint. He turned away reluctantly, despite the tantalizing smell of fish bringing water to his mouth. The smell hung in the air, teasing him.

As the afternoon wore on, he looked for farmers leaving their market. Few would want to travel in darkness, so he guessed they would pack up soon. He poked his head into the farmers' market a few times. There were fewer beggars than the fish market, but they glared in Neptarik's direction whenever he showed his face.

_These aren't pleased to see me, either,_ he thought.

He stayed out of the square and ignored what the beggars had to say about interlopers. He desperately wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself.

Spotting "his" farmer readying his cart, Neptarik wandered away from the square, now waiting in a quiet spot where the scout thought it best to hitch his lift. The cart was a lot emptier than this morning and he knew it would be harder to hide on the way out. The guards at the gates should have changed by now, or it might be difficult for the farmer to explain why he brought a sylph in and then forgot to take him home again.

Neptarik hoped the farmer never learned he'd carried a passenger.

He tried to look like he wasn't skulking while he waited. A few minutes of worry passed before the cart finally came rumbling around the corner. The farmer must have stopped for a chat.

He pulled free his second carrot and chewed it nonchalantly. A quick glance to ensure nobody would see and he pressed himself against the wall, so the cart itself would block him from view.

He grabbed the side of the cart as it passed and, with one easy motion, swung himself onto the back. He grinned at the sylph beggars who also turned the corner after the cart, hoping some remnant of the crop might fall off the back.

"He is not even a beggar," said one and her earpoints twitched indignantly.

Another shook her head. "Some will steal even our food."

Neptarik blushed and scowled. Well, he was up and the farmer had noticed nothing. He glanced at the back of the man's head and rearranged the tarpaulin so a large lump hid him, just in case the unsuspecting driver turned around.

He looked back at the beggars and finished his carrot. By sylph standards, they had proved to be an aggressive lot.

Thanks to being with a human, getting out of Taura was as easy as getting in. The farmer bade the gate guards a cheerful goodbye as he passed. Neptarik did not even earn a glance, which pleased him.

He resisted the urge to hum something joyful as this would give him away. Behind, the city shrank in the sylph's vision. Two milas on and the scout dropped off the back of the cart. Still wary of the farmer looking over his shoulder, Neptarik left the road and dropped into cover.

There was a clear strip of perhaps two or three stridas wide on each side of the road, before shrubs and trees took over. Neptarik appreciated the military sense of this, as it put the road out of bowshot from the forest and reduced the risk of ambush.

His companions had made their camp in this forest. Although he could easily make it into the camp unseen, Neptarik deliberately made plenty of noise as he approached.

"Enjoy your day in the city, lad?" Balnus stepped from behind a tree and only now released his grip on the swordhilt. "We expected you sooner."

Neptarik shrugged. "Found nothing out about the Mametain," he said, "but I did get this." He handed the green card to his owner, who glanced at it.

"Let's go see Verdin." Balnus pursed his lips and looked at the card again.

Once in the camp, Neptarik warmed himself before the small fire.

"Well?" asked Verdin.

Neptarik explained everything he had seen and heard. Verdin only just hid his disappointment that the sylph had so little to tell.

"I'll have to go tomorrow," he said. "See what I can discover."

"Should I go to this?" Neptarik flourished the green card.

Verdin smiled and his eyes flickered quickly to Balnus. "If your owner agrees, then yes."

"Do it." Balnus sounded as if the decision was not easy. "You say sylphs often ask to be released from his service. Anything looks like going wrong, you get out. Understood?"

Neptarik bowed. " _Se bata,_ " he replied.

***

Verdin Vintner took the head off his mug of beer, savored the taste of the unusual dark brown liquid, decided it suited his palate and relaxed with a sigh. The fireplace stood cold and empty, but the common room was warm enough. The native Taurans regarded this sunny and bright spring weather as summer. Compared with Sandester, this _was_ summer.

For some inexplicable reason, the inn was called _The Dragon_ , but instead of a sinuous serpent, the sign outside featured a man with gray eyes and reddish-brown hair. The undragonlike figure was dressed in red and black, and carried a staff in his left hand, right arm shoved inside his tunic. Verdin wondered what the connection was.

The red and black theme continued both outside and inside the inn; it seemed there was no other color paint here.

Two men leaning against the bar gave him sideways glances before resuming their conversation about how best to preserve food surpluses. The common room was full, with every table and bench occupied. Conversations were loud and topics ranged from the weather to the likelihood of good or bad crops. Nobody mentioned politics.

Verdin was easily the youngest man present, if not the only one with no gray in his hair. His blue eyes were a rarity in Taura, though not unique. His accent gave him away immediately as an outlander, but he wasn't pretending to be anything else. Being a foreigner was not a problem, which suggested plenty of outlanders were here.

One man sat alone and in silence, staring at the cold fireplace. Despite his detachment, Verdin had the feeling this man noted everything going on around him. Graying dark hair was tied back with a cord and, when he glanced around the room, Verdin noted sharp, dark eyes.

The man was alone and apparently friendless. A spy? If so, for whom?

Verdin finished his drink and left _The Dragon_ , stepping back onto the street. Here, he was forced to stop.

A large carnival parade came past, with giant puppets surrounded by dancers in streaming clothes. Hordes of children and sylphs shadowed it, many joining in the dance. Adults stopped their chores to watch.

Verdin stared.

"Something to take people's minds off the tax burden," said a voice beside him.

Verdin turned. The man sitting alone beside the cold fireplace had followed him out.

"Taxes are necessary for good governance," he countered.

The older man smiled. "When people see nothing in return for taxes, good governance often turns bad. And when some of that money is spent just to entertain the people, something is _badly_ wrong. Government by circus always ends in tears."

"Perhaps." Verdin turned his head to face the front again.

"A curious mind must wonder why you aren't in uniform. Most young men are in either the army or the militia, yet you are not. Even outlanders come here for the bounty. Fighting is better than starving is how many fools see it."

"I hold the rank of Lieutenant," retorted Verdin, haughtily. This was true, even if only an honorary rank conferred by his late father. There was no need to tell this man in which army he held that rank.

The older man's smile broadened. "Something might interest you at _The_ _Green Knight_. Tomorrow evening, after the gates close. A good day to you."

Verdin blinked as his companion turned and walked quickly away. A moment later, he hurried after, but when he turned the corner, he had the street to himself. Trap, or genuine lead? How did the man know what he was looking for? What if this wasn't what he was looking for? He had a little more than a day to take precautions.

He stopped the first passer by he saw. "Can you tell me the way to _The Green_ _Knight_? It is an inn."

***

Balnus and Verdin made plans over breakfast. Or perhaps Verdin made the plans. Although Balnus technically ranked higher than Verdin – Captain to Lieutenant – Fynn had put Verdin in charge of the mission.

The humans enjoyed goat meat washed down with alovak, while Neptarik scooped water-soaked rolled oats into his mouth. Cooked the previous day and eaten cold now. No alovak for him, but there was plenty of water.

"You will go directly to Sylphs' Hall," commanded Verdin.

Neptarik glanced at his owner, who nodded. " _Se bata_ ," he replied, after a careful swallow of his porridge.

"Accept any work that gets you close to the Mametain," continued Verdin.

" _Se bata_ ," replied Neptarik, his tone suggesting he had already thought of this.

"Balnus, you wait outside the city. If Neptarik is successful, you keep an eye on the castle and wait for developments."

"Sounds good to me," replied Balnus. "You still want to wander into this inn?"

"Worth the risk."

"Smells like a trap."

"If it's a trap, then why give me a whole day to clear out?" Verdin shrugged. "I'm going to back my hunch. That fellow knew exactly who to look for."

"That's what worries me." Balnus shook his head. "He'd meet you _before_ the gates close if this is genuine."

"If it's a trap," retorted Verdin, "I'm sure you and Neptarik will prove more successful in your tasks."

Neptarik's earpoints wilted a little and it worried him that his alleged superiors might disagree so soon into the mission. Comments from him would be unwelcome, so he said nothing.

"If you feel so strongly, then go. But be careful. You should have arranged a time when the gates are open."

Neptarik took the bowls and cutlery to wash them. He rinsed them in the stream, used grass to dry them and packed them away in the panniers Balnus stored in his shelter. His owner would stay here; it was conveniently private.

He looked at Balnus as his hand gripped his shoulder.

"Look after yourself, lad. Keep your skin."

Neptarik smiled. "I will," he promised. "Keeps me dry when it rains."

Balnus laughed and walked with his companions to the forest edge, the road beyond. "Good luck, both of you," he said.

Verdin clasped arms. "A quick in and out," he promised. "Should see you tomorrow."

Neptarik shrugged. "The Mametain had better be a good owner."

"Not too good I hope." Balnus grinned. "You belong to me."

Having said their goodbyes, Verdin and Neptarik walked to the road and turned towards the city.

"We should enter Taura separately," said Verdin. "Best not to be seen together in case questions are asked."

Neptarik nodded. "I will jump on a farmer's cart," he said. "There is a market every day."

"No need to smuggle yourself in," said Verdin. "Show the guards your green card and that should be it."

Neptarik twitched his earpoints and shrugged. "Prefer a cart," he insisted.

"Suit yourself."

Neptarik watched Verdin continue along the road until he was out of sight around a bend. The sylph made himself comfortable beside the road and waited.

And waited.

He was about to give up and walk to the city when his long ears caught the unmistakable rumble of an approaching cart. The sylph flattened himself and lay still.

The cart – a different one from his last visit – trundled past and Neptarik chose his moment.

He swung up onto the cart bed and ensured the driver remained blissfully unaware of his passenger. The sylph bedded down on the back of the cart, well out of sight of the driver. No carrots today, but some of the potatoes and turnips that had fallen from their sacks looked tasty.

Verdin was closer to the city than Neptarik would have credited as the cart passed. He caught the human's attention by throwing a potato at him. Their gazes locked and the sylph gave Verdin his friendliest smile. He restrained a laugh when the walker gestured rudely in return.

As Neptarik had long known, and many humans needed to learn, sometimes you must waste time to gain time.

The guards never noticed Neptarik on the back of the cart and no beggars saw him drop to the ground. The mischievous part of him had thought of waiting for Verdin to gloat at his misfortune, but the sensible part dismissed the idea. If the wrong someone saw them together, it could be dangerous. They must be careful: Verdin and Neptarik were risking their lives, even if everything – so far – seemed normal. Nobody liked spies.

He paused before a beggar. "I seek Sylphs' Hall," he said, flourishing his green card.

The beggar glanced at the card as if it might bite. Her earpoints wilted and she shook her head. "Do not go," she said. "Throw that away."

Neptarik's earpoints rose in surprise.

"Do not go." The sylph turned her head away; he was dismissed.

Neptarik went a little further into the city and next asked a female how to find Sylphs' Hall.

She looked at him and her earpoints slanted backwards. Envy shone in her silvery eyes. She shook her head without saying a word and hurried away.

Neptarik asked no more sylphs.

" _Donanya_ , I seek Sylph's Hall?"

The human woman looked him up and down. "Never heard of it," she replied.

"A few streets further east," said a soldier, who also gave Neptarik a strange look. "Four or five, I think."

"Next left, third right," said another woman. She inspected him intently. "Handsome lad like you should work for me. Got a couple of nice young female sylphs who get lonely sometimes."

Neptarik grinned and flourished his card. "If they refuse me at Sylphs' Hall, I will come looking," he promised.

The woman laughed.

The directions were good and he soon stood before the door to a rather large building. A few horses grazed the grass surrounding the building and carts were lined along one side. The letters carved above the door announced to all able to read that this was Sylphs' Hall.

Neptarik grasped his green card and steeled himself. He would do his duty.

Inside was not quite what he expected. The hall had a huge main room, the roof supported by stone arches, with some smaller chambers at the back. Tables were set up along both walls with men and women sitting on the far side. Rows of sylphs stood before each table. Some were clean and smartly dressed, others ragged and a few dusty from hard travels.

More milled in the middle of the floor, waiting to be directed to a queue. Humans circulated around this mass of unemployed sylphs.

"Have you got a card?" A human fixed Neptarik with a stare.

The scout said nothing but showed his green card.

The man took it from the sylph and turned it the right way up. His lips twitched. "That table." He pointed.

"Thank you." Neptarik gave no honorific.

This table had only ten sylphs standing before it, easily the shortest queue. A human male and a sylph infertile were sitting on the other side. Both wore spotless tunics with a sigil on the breast. The human's tunic was wool, but he could not tell what material the sylph wore. It was only just sufficiently darker blue to show she wore clothes. As he came closer, Neptarik saw the sigil was a red crown on the right breast. He stared at the sylph as she wrote on a parchment, the first literate sylph he had seen since Zenepha. And she was only an infertile, another surprise.

The sylph at the head of the queue turned away, her earpoints wilted and a despondent look crossing her face. Neptarik waited patiently.

Successful candidates were directed outside, the rest ignored. Not many were rejected.

His turn came quickly.

"Name?" The human barely glanced up.

"Neptarik," replied the sylph.

"Neptarik- _y_...?"

"Neptarik," he repeated.

"Sex, male," intoned the man as the infertile scribbled away.

"You're not from Re Taura," continued the human.

Neptarik shook his head.

"Far too many outlanders come here these days," he continued.

Neptarik stared. Was the man fishing? What did he want to hear? _Yes sir, I am here to spy on your Mametain. My masters believe he is planning to invade, so they sent me here to stop him._ Something about this man troubled him. He said nothing.

"Ever been owned?" he demanded.

"Yes. Rather not talk about it."

There was no sign of any compassion or even empathy in the man's expression as he looked up to inspect him. Finally satisfied, he nodded. "How did you get here from the mainland?"

"Stowed away on a ship."

The infertile glanced at him before resuming her scribing.

"Physically fit?"

"She seems to be," quipped Neptarik. He grinned at the sylph.

"You I mean." The human did not smile. Neither did the sylph; her expression was neutral.

The scout restrained a sigh. Scribes seemed to come from one mold and the Father missed out "sense of humor" when He made it. "Very. I lift and carry and work long hours. Good work as well."

"Wait on?"

Neptarik nodded.

"Follow orders?"

Another nod.

"Obey to both letter and spirit of said orders?"

He nodded yet again.

The human scribe leaned forward. "It is required that you wear a collar. The Mametain releases those who wish to leave, but in Castle Beren, you are collared at all times. Understood?"

"Of course."

"Where are you sleeping?"

"Doorways, convenient bushes."

The scribe nodded. "Not tonight. If you'd got here much later, you would have missed us. Siaba."

The infertile inclined her head and stood. "This way, please."

Neptarik followed Siaba from the hall. That had been rather easy, the Mametain must be desperate for sylphs. The only mystery was why some in the queue had been rejected. He glanced at Siaba's metal collar and saw she could not remove it. He was used to removable collars.

"Is the Mametain a good owner?" he asked.

Siaba's eyes regarded him solemnly. Perhaps she had not forgiven his quip. "Good enough," she replied, cautiously. "You should have asked that question before you were accepted, no?"

They walked towards a knot of sylphs sitting on their heels beside a cart. More waited beside other carts.

"Never seen a literate sylph before." Neptarik made conversation.

"I cannot speak for the mainland," replied Siaba, "but there are a few of us on Re Taura."

"Who taught you? You are an infertile."

Siaba shrugged. "The old Mametain said I could learn, so he had me taught with the human children. Jealous?"

"It must increase your value to the Mametain."

Siaba nodded. "It means work in the warm with no heavy lifting. Or mucking out stables. Or cleaning privies." She smiled at him. "Unlike some."

So much for no sense of humor, reflected Neptarik.

"Wait here, please." Siaba indicated the group beside the cart. Twenty sylphs, bound for the Mametain's service. She raised her voice. "It is not too late for you to leave, if you wish. Wait here, please." She walked back into the hall.

Neptarik dropped onto his heels and glanced at his new companions. There was no conversation, though earpoints flickered here and there. There was one other male sylph and four females. The rest were infertiles, though one or two might be young breeders. Not always easy to tell when a sylph was young. If nothing else, the Mametain liked to employ his race in the correct ratio.

He regarded the females with open interest, though he noticed the other male kept his eyes lowered. Perhaps ashamed of something. The females ignored Neptarik completely, though one or two infertiles grinned at him. If anything, the females looked shocked that he dared stare at them. Tauran sylphs must have strange customs.

As the sun reached its meridian, Siaba and the human scribe returned.

The human spoke. "If anybody has had a change of heart, now is the time to walk away." He looked around, but nobody moved. "If anybody needs easement, get it over with now, or else wait until you reach the castle."

Again, nobody moved.

"All right, in the cart with you."

Neptarik leapt to obey with the rest of the sylphs. He made himself comfortable on the hard wooden cart bed. He noticed Siaba was allowed on the bench beside the human. Privileged indeed. He pretended to sleep as the cart jerked into motion. Still no conversation from the other sylphs. There would be time later. He hoped to have answers soon, then he could leave Re Taura and go home.

***
Chapter 4

**Castle Beren**

Neptarik stared as hard as his newbie companions as the cart began to wind its way down the steep path. The cliffs were too smooth to be natural, and the way down looked as though it had been made. Artificial or not, the narrow path demanded skillful driving and Neptarik hoped the man at the reins knew what he was about. Having no fear of heights or falling did not mean sylphs could not appreciate danger.

Castle Beren disappeared from view long before the cart reached the bottom of the path. It then rumbled across the causeway linking the small island of Re Beren to the Re Taura mainland. Long and narrow, water washed both sides of it. On the seaward side, a row of stakes poked above the waves, acting as a breakwater. The cliffs ahead also looked too smooth to be natural.

Siaba looked over her shoulder.

"Until a hundred years ago, we would need a boat to cross," she explained to the sylphs. "They built the causeway by filling the way with stone dug from the cliffs behind us. They built the castle by digging out the cliffs we are about to climb."

Neptarik filed the information away. The military thinking behind this was obvious. The causeway reduced the defensive capabilities of the castle, but digging out the cliffs increased them again. Attackers must clamber down almost five hundred pacas before crossing exposed ground to traverse a narrow causeway half a dozen men could defend. They then faced more exposed ground before clambering up another five hundred pacas, presumably with more defenders on the top waiting to make life hard for the invaders.

Or an enemy might come by sea. Try to pass the castle through the channel, or make a landing on the seaward side. But everywhere down here lay within easy mangonel range and mangonels could catapult fire, burning any ships that might stray too close.

A direct assault on Castle Beren would be very difficult to accomplish.

Not that Neptarik said anything. He was nothing more than a sylph starting new employment, and certainly not one who understood anything so complicated as military tactics. Cresting the next set of artificial cliffs, Castle Beren came into sight again.

The sylphs stared, some with mouths agape. Neptarik copied them, without needing to pretend.

Siaba looked over her shoulder and grinned at the others' reactions. "Castle Beren," she said.

The fortress impressed Neptarik even more in proximity. Two huge towers framed a gateway and dominated the view. The limewashed stone bulk glistened in the sunshine like a giant bone. A glimmering moat surrounded it, though Castle Beren was not far from the cliff edge that dropped into the Eastern Ocean.

The strip of land between moat and cliff edge was too narrow for any besieging army to hold it comfortably. And everything up here lay within mangonel range.

"How do they get the water up here for the moat?" asked Neptarik, before he could restrain himself. He ignored the surprised stares of the other sylphs.

"There are springs," replied Siaba. "The moat is salt water and very deep. At least part is natural."

Neptarik nodded. Salt water, so no enemy could drink it, though he had never heard of salt water springs. A lot of thought had gone into siting this castle.

The cartwheels sounded louder as they crossed a wooden drawbridge. Neptarik looked at everything. The sun was blocked as they passed through a squarish arch between the gate towers. He craned his neck and noted that the drawbridge, if lifted, would slot into place just below a window above. He glimpsed the portcullis bottom, which would drop in front of the iron-studded oak gates. Inside the curtain wall, slate-roofed buildings hemmed in a cobbled courtyard on three sides, where the cart finally halted.

Behind the buildings, Neptarik saw the curtain wall looming over the roofs. Another curtain wall with a short tower in its center faced him. An inner bailey must lie beyond as a smaller gateway stood to the right of the tower. And more towers rose beyond that.

Every tower had a small turret rising higher, presumably serving as lookouts. Flagpoles pushed higher still, each proudly displaying a white flag, with two red stripes in one corner and some motif between them in red. As the wind snapped the flags straight out, Neptarik glimpsed the motif was a crown and saw two red crossed swords decorated the flag's fly.

Wheeled war machines, a type of catapult Neptarik had never seen before, were stationed at regular intervals along the curtain walls, each with a supporting buttress of stone behind, to give extra width to prevent a machine recoiling off the walls.

Soldiers patrolled the curtain walls, and more were dotted about, not just in the gatehouse. Strange rope lines led from the two gatehouse towers to a large aperture in the central tower.

Sylphs scurried everywhere and some paused to give the newcomers curious glances. All wore sky blue breeches and tunic, each with a dull metal collar. Some wore capes and most also had the red crown motif on the right breast. Others did not. The motif must be a mark of rank.

An infertile waited for them in the courtyard. She glowered at the newcomers, her eyes neutral and earpoints slanted forwards. She waited until Siaba and the human scribe had climbed off the cart.

"My name is Tektu," she said. "Welcome to Castle Beren."

Neptarik blinked, and not at the empty tone or insincere welcome. This infertile wore no collar. Her tunic and breeches were the same color as the other sylphs, but she wore a brown fox on a yellow field motif on her right breast.

"This is as far as you ride," continued Tektu. "You get time to gawp later."

Neptarik waited his turn to climb off the back of the cart and took his place in the straggly line of sylphs. He began to wonder what lay ahead now. From the silent shifting of his companions, Tektu caused them all some unease.

The human scribe took the cart to the stable, off to one side.

"One or two rules you must be aware of," said Tektu, standing in front of the newcomers. "Here, discipline is maintained at all times. When commanded, you obey; when summoned, you come; when dismissed, you go. You do not leave the castle except on a free day, or under escort. You may speak to each other, but not to the free unless spoken to first. To you, human slaves count as free. You may fraternize, but – and this is important – closer relationships are _not_ permitted except with the Mametain's blessing. Castle Beren is a workplace, not a stud and you are employed to work, not rut."

Several pairs of earpoints rose in indignation at Tektu's tone and Neptarik resisted the urge to tell this insulting infertile that even studs were workplaces, but held his tongue. He wanted to learn what it was about this strange sylph before upsetting her.

Unsurprisingly, the other sylphs noticed it too, though perhaps they understood it even less than he did. He watched as Siaba gave Tektu sideways glances; admiration mixed with attention. Neptarik wondered what the story might be there. Did Siaba _not_ sense something wrong about Tektu? Or perhaps she was used to her.

He suddenly realized that Tektu had not spoken in the sylph language, preferring to use the human tongue. He filed the snippet away to mull over later.

Tektu glowered at them all again and nodded to Siaba, before disappearing through the inner gateway.

Once alone with the new sylphs, Siaba relaxed. "Follow me please. This is the sylphs' tower. The kitchens and laundries are here, as well as your dormitories. This is where you will be cleaned and collared."

Despite the tower's name, Neptarik saw plenty of humans dotted about. Scribes and kitchen boys, maids and housekeepers all worked alongside the sylphs. Some, he saw with a shock, also wore collars. He had never seen this before; sylphs wore collars, not humans.

"This way, please." Siaba chivvied the awestruck sylphs like a mother hen, ensuring none were left behind. "Stay with me until you have a guide. Castle Beren is large and you can easily get lost here."

_That_ , thought Neptarik, _must be the understatement of the year_.

Castle Beren impressed even him and fortresses were familiar to him. They were led down flights of steps until they reached a steam-filled room, brilliantly lit by dozens of light crystals. No shortage of money here, reflected Neptarik. Siaba spoke again.

"There are two hot springs in the castle. One rises in the outer bailey and supplies hot water to the garrison and our quarters; the other supplies the inner bailey. There is also a large cold water spring that feeds the well. Here, you must strip and bathe."

The infertiles were quick to obey, but the breeding sylphs stared at each other in silence. Neptarik shrugged and wondered why they were so reticent. Must be something in the upbringing here.

"You will not be bare for long," promised an apologetic Siaba, embarrassed for them. "But you must get clean for the Mametain."

Seeing Neptarik stripping off, the others reluctantly followed his example. Siaba stuffed the old clothes into a bag. Neptarik resisted her when she tried to take his scarf.

"Old clothes must be burned," said the infertile, her eyes showing sympathy. "You will get new."

"Not this." Neptarik held the smaller sylph's gaze until her eyes flickered away and her earpoints wilted. Siaba gave it up and turned away.

Neptarik eased into the water and accepted the piece of soap. He kept one eye on his scarf, even while washing his hair and giving himself a thorough soaping. Unused to bathing in warm water, he reveled in the new sensation. When Siaba had said hot water, she meant it.

He grinned as he saw how shy the native female sylphs were, keeping their backs turned to him and the other male in the large communal bath. The infertiles never noticed the females' discomfort, but few things ever bothered them.

"Hurry along, please," prompted Siaba. "Towels are here."

The towels were also warm and Neptarik dried himself quickly. He wrapped the towel around his middle and the others copied his example.

"Follow me, please." Siaba left the washroom and climbed one flight of stone steps. She pushed her way through a door, where she ushered the newcomers into what was clearly a store. A man leaned nonchalantly against the counter and eyed the sylphs with bored disinterest.

"Twenty more for the Mametain?" A smile twisted his mouth as he spoke to Siaba. "Infertiles first. You, drop that towel and step forward."

Each sylph was given two pairs of breeches, two tunics and one of those odd capes Neptarik had seen on some of the sylphs outside. He rubbed the strange material of the tunic and breeches, something he had never felt before. Pleasantly comfortable to touch, but also thin and very light in weight. Everybody also received a comb and facecloth. None of the tunics or capes had the red crown sewn into the breast.

"Right," said the man, briskly. "My name is Kurgan. Not Kurgan- _ya_ or _donenya_ , just Kurgan. There are regular kit inspections and trouble if you fail. To keep out of trouble, you bring anything with tears, rips or whatever's wrong, straight to me. It's not the end of the world; we'll swop the gear and you'll be spick and span again. But cleaning... cleaning's up to your good selves. Keep your kit clean and it won't let you down. Next."

Neptarik revised his opinion of Kurgan upwards several notches.

Once everybody was dressed, Siaba led them up another couple of flights of steps and outside.

"Farrier next," she threw over her shoulder.

Neptarik stiffened and his heart beat a little harder.

A farrier meant collaring. As they entered a small lean-to at one side of the stable, Neptarik knew. The smithy fires were cold, but a selection of the dull metal collars had already been laid out, locking pins in a box to one side, the hammer to knock them into place atop that.

As expected, the farrier was a blocky man, if shorter than the smiths Neptarik knew in the Vintner Army. Gentle hands with deft fingers fitted each collar, ensuring it was neither too loose nor too tight. Neptarik admitted that he barely felt the collar pin knocked in. For the first time, he wore something he could not remove himself.

He must remember that these people were enemies, but he liked those he had met so far. Except for Tektu. He could not get the measure of her; she made him uneasy.

Collaring done, Siaba led the newcomers back to the sylphs' tower, where a guide was assigned to each. The human scribe who had detailed guides had not expected so many new starters at once. More and more "volunteers" appeared at a run to take a new sylph in hand.

Siaba made all introductions, asking each new sylph her name. The other male newcomer was given a male guide, but Neptarik was introduced to a sad-eyed breeder.

"Mya, this is Neptarik." Siaba needed no prompt to remember his name. "If you will show him around please."

Mya glanced neutrally at Siaba, then nodded. She gave Neptarik an equally empty-eyed look.

"I am all yours," he said. He glanced quickly at the red crown sewn onto the breast of her tunic. _Was_ it something to do with rank?

Mya smiled.

_Pretty,_ thought Neptarik.

"Best offer so far this year," she replied. The smile disappeared and she was all seriousness again. "We will start on the walls."

Neptarik obediently followed Mya up the sylphs' tower. She showed him the kitchens and laundries. He learned that the rope lines from the gatehouse towers to the sylphs' tower were for sending heavy canvas bags directly to the laundry, instead of dragging them across the courtyard.

"The last Mametain thought of that one," she explained. "He saved a small fortune in laundry bags. Four sylphs had to drag bags across, and now it only needs one to hook bags to the line."

"Clever old Mametain," muttered Neptarik. "Is the hot water his invention, too?"

Mya smiled. "Not the water, that comes from springs, but he made sure it was piped everywhere for all to use instead of hauling buckets."

They continued up and Mya showed him the sylphs' dormitories. Neptarik relaxed as the familiar sinabra washed over him. Humans could never decide whether the sylphs' own smell was unpleasant or not – a fine opinion given the stink they emanated – but to Neptarik it at least felt homely.

Stood on the central curtain wall, the entire fortress was laid out to their view. Neptarik looked into the cobbled inner courtyard. A covered well was in the middle, beside a strange contraption that resembled a capstan. He pointed to it.

"For hauling cold water. Turning that, it takes an hour to pump water where it is needed. Beats carrying buckets all day. Last Mametain thought of that."

"Last Mametain thought of a lot."

Mya gave him a neutral look, unsure whether or not he mocked her.

Neptarik looked down at the slated roofs of the inner buildings. Workshops, storerooms, living quarters for the Mametain's personal guard, a smaller feasting hall for important visitors.

"The Mametain lives in the northeast tower," explained Mya, drawing it to his attention.

They then looked across the outer bailey.

"Great feasting hall is to the right, where we work most," said Mya. "The other big building is the stable, and the farrier is next to it."

There were more workshops, two armories and the gatehouse towers that housed the soldiers' barracks.

Neptarik noted everything.

"Mucking out the stables is easy," Mya was saying, "one corner has a chute that leads out of the castle for the old straw and stuff. The last Mametain thought of that one."

"Did you know the last Mametain?"

Mya shook her head. "Only been here less than a year."

Neptarik followed her into one of the towers and from there they followed the curtain wall around the castle. They walked above the inner bailey, which was as large as the outer bailey. The far curtain wall was higher than the others, so they had to climb a spiral stair after entering the next tower.

"This is the northeast tower." Mya spoke in a hushed whisper. "The Mametain lives here. We only go above this floor when tasked. Or invited."

They moved through the tower and onto the far curtain wall. Neptarik looked across to Taura and the opposite headland. Looking down, he could see the inflated bladders marking the channel that was the only safe way for ships. It passed almost directly alongside the castle.

Entering another tower they leaned against a wooden barrier. The stair beside them led down to the normal level of the curtain wall.

"Southeast tower," explained Mya. She nodded past the barrier. "This is the old Mametain's secret place."

Neptarik leaned against the barrier and looked down. The room covered the entire tower floor. Workbenches and desks were dotted all over; glass tubes and containers covered every one. Books and rolls of parchment were stuffed everywhere and shelves sagged under their weight. Two stained glass windows in the outer wall let in light and a doorway opposite showed the obvious way in. Another door was beneath him and he guessed the spiral stair led to that as well as the next wall walk.

His eyes flickered everywhere. He was vaguely minded of another man named Aylos, in another city, who would love to work in a place like this. Two shining golden-colored shields glistened on one wall.

"A laboratory," he murmured to himself.

Mya nodded. "Yes. The last Mametain was a very clever man. We must go down, as the next wall is lower."

Neptarik obediently followed. The corridor narrowed and curved here, as it followed the line of the laboratory. Just before they stepped out onto the seaward curtain wall, Mya indicated another door.

"You should see this."

The small room was bare, with only three rope pulls. Neptarik stared, quickly read the signs attached to each, and waited for his guide to explain what he had already read for himself. Difficult to remember that he was supposed to be illiterate.

"These connect to bells, all different. It uses buckets of water to sound the bell and when it is heard, the guards on the other towers repeat it. This one is pulled for fire, this one when under attack. And this one can only be pulled if the castle must be evacuated."

"Evacuated?" echoed Neptarik.

Mya nodded. "The last Mametain tried some dangerous chemicks I am told, so these alarms were set up in case anything went badly wrong. They are tested once a week. At noon, on the second day. The bells sound different for fire, attack and get out. You will hear them soon."

"Interesting." Neptarik had never heard of such a system before.

Back on the curtain wall, Mya indicated the wheeled catapult beside her. "All refuse comes here and once a day, it is thrown to sea."

Neptarik inspected the trebuchet carefully, looking at the large bucket that swung free. He had never seen a war machines like this before and welcomed the opportunity to have a closer look at one. He glanced at the ocean, wrinkled by waves far below.

"Next is the south tower. It has dungeons at the bottom," said Mya. "They were for misbehaving servants, but they use them to hold other prisoners now, sometimes. If the evacuation alarm is sounded, even they are released."

"How humane."

"Do you take anything seriously?" Mya's eyes held his own.

"I take everything seriously," replied Neptarik. "But not too seriously."

Mya sniffed.

Neptarik's tour continued, with the outer bailey shown to him in some detail. The main business of Castle Beren was conducted here. The rooms beside the gate towers were the busiest: two workshops and two armories. The stables were populated with stableboys and the Masters-of-Horse, who between them cared for the carts and animals. Mucking out and polishing tack were duties that fell to sylphs.

More sylphs filled the great feasting hall, cleaning and polishing everything.

"A lot of work here," remarked Neptarik.

"A lot of sylphs to do it," replied Mya. "So long as it gets done, we are allowed free time."

"What can we do with free time?"

Mya smiled. "On free days we are allowed into the city. We can go anywhere in the outer bailey, we can rest in our dormitories, we can play games." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "The Mametain does not like it, but some of us join the card schools."

This sounded more like his thing. "You gamble?" asked Neptarik.

Mya gave a quick grin. "Sometimes," she admitted.

Neptarik looked around and saw some sylphs with the red crown. He gestured towards his own plain tunic. "Why do some have the crown and some not?"

Mya glanced at her own tunic. "You get the crown when no longer on probation," she replied.

"How do I get the brown fox instead?"

Mya went very still and she stared into the other sylph's eyes for a long time. He wondered what she was looking for.

She snorted. "Only the Mametain's personal sylph wears that," she replied.

That meant Tektu.

"Not even Siaba has that privilege," she continued.

"But Siaba _is_ privileged?" he pressed.

Another sniff from his guide. "She is always polite," said Mya carefully, "but she is literate, and has many privileges. Tektu's favorite, too."

"I would like to learn more about Tektu," said Neptarik. "She –"

"Shall we continue?" Mya bared her teeth in a mirthless smile. "This way."

As he was shown the armories, where sylphs were expected to help keep weapons and armor clean, he wondered more and more why he was here. Might there be an innocent reason for the Mametain's large army? But those ships were in the harbor for a reason and obviously intended to carry the army somewhere. Besides, nobody built a huge army just for bluff.

But everything at the castle seemed normal. People were friendly and easy going and, more importantly, sylphs were allowed more freedom than he had supposed.

Even the collars on human slaves were probably down to tradition and foreign ways, rather than anything sinister.

Then he remembered the strange sylph, the only one he had seen wearing the brown fox. The one Mya seemed so reluctant to talk about.

"What is Tektu?" he asked.

Mya's eyes widened and her earpoints wilted. "It is best," she replied, "not to ask _that_ question and pretend that _she_ is one of us. She wears the brown fox, so she is very powerful. Let me show you where you are to sleep..."

Neptarik stopped listening. Despite outward appearances of normality, something here was definitely very wrong.

***

Verdin wandered around the city. He peered into shops, narrowly avoiding unnecessary expense several times, and stopped for alovak a good half dozen times. Towards noon, he enjoyed a meal at an inn he had not visited before. He did not want to stand out too much, or arrive at his destination too soon.

People packed the streets and he heard many accents foreign to Re Taura. There were even some he heard from home and he began to fear recognition. People looked content. Even beggars looked happy. As in every city, beggars knew more about what went on than anyone else. If they were content, there could be little wrong.

Yet something here jarred.

Another parade passed and he shook his head. These were paid for from tax money? Just entertainment, or a diversion?

Off-duty soldiers mixed with the crowds. But very few men Verdin's age wore civilian clothes. He was not unique, but certainly rare enough for people to stare. Men without uniforms either had completely gray hair or were too young to shave. Come to that, many of those in uniform were yet to see a razor.

Why were there were so many men under arms here, when Re Taura was quite obviously not at war?

At the fish market, sinabra hanging in the still air almost overwhelmed the smell of fish. A large number of salivating sylphs waited there and not all beggars, hoping for spare fish or the bits thrown away by wasteful humans.

Verdin went to the harbor, where he saw the ships and soldiers for himself. Neptarik had not exaggerated the numbers. It was not that he doubted the scout's word, but he would never get unused to sylphs doing tasks that should be left to humans.

He moved on before anybody questioned his presence and walked until he reached part of the harbor that was not built up. A gang of sylphs scoured the beach, scavenging for flotsam and jetsam, anything they might be able to sell or pass on. Others gathered huge armfuls of kelp, presumably for food, though Verdin doubted even hardy sylph stomachs enjoyed that bitter taste.

"Stuff's better dried out and used for arse-wiping," he muttered to himself. That might be the reason why they collected the kelp. Or for physicians. Wrinkling his nose, he moved back into the city.

Neptarik had reported he heard very little of interest from others' conversations and Verdin confirmed this for himself. Stares apart, he was all but ignored, and felt very alone.

After stopping for alovak again, the realization dawned that it was not easy to spend a whole day here. He should have brought Balnus for company and someone to talk to.

Even sitting in parks brought problems. Beggars came directly to him there. Humans demanded money or food, some of them quite intimidating. Verdin made to draw his dagger more than once to drive them away. He began to wish he had brought a sword, but that would stand out.

Sylph beggars sat on their heels and watched. Not so easily frightened away, aware that humans did not attack sylphs with daggers, they demanded nothing, but their patient stares were no less troubling for that, and Verdin gave up on the parks.

His frustration grew. From what he had seen, there was nothing to justify Marka or her allies attacking Re Taura. Also as Neptarik had intimated. Verdin wanted to find something – anything! – that the sylph had missed.

A suspicion that Re Taura worked with Marka's enemies, acting as part of a large pincer movement, was not proof. A large army did not always mean there was any intention to use it, if certainly indicative.

But he had come here to find the truth.

Re Taura might feel threatened by a resurgent Markan Empire. Its larger neighbor had used cajolery and even threats in the past, but had never consumed it. The army might exist to deter the claimants from snaring Re Taura in their schemes and, if any claimant decided to take more direct action, it was ready to throw any invader back into the sea.

Perhaps the Mametain needed to counter residual instability after the old Mametain's overthrow. The new man's grip on power might not be as firm as it seemed. What better way to bring a people behind a Throne than to invent an enemy? Or pay for entertainment, or provide employment through public service?

And yet, and yet... Neptarik had sensed _something_ was going on. He had overheard men discussing how many soldiers would fit into the ships. This army existed for one reason only; Fynn was right.

While thinking, he walked and reached the wealthy quarter of the city. People were still out, and sylphs scurried about their chores, but everybody looked better dressed and sylphs' collars were more likely to be silver than base metal. Buildings were larger here, better painted – if no less brightly – and well tended. Grass even grew along the center of the street, fenced off so no cart would mar its smooth surface, nor a hungry horse graze. Verdin was pleased to be not too shabbily clothed. Then, surely he would be shown back to the scruffier parts of town. Here, children played rather than worked.

Time dragged until, several hours later, Verdin stood outside _The_ _Green_ _Knight_ , just as the spring day faded to dusk. Trap or not, he would order food once inside; it was always better to face whatever came with a full stomach. Forcing down tension, he pushed the door open and went inside.

***

Balnus held the borrowed spyglass (Verdin had no need for it in the city) to one eye and resisted the urge to hum as he swept it from one side to the other. Again, he marveled at the quality of the lens, something he grudgingly admitted Sandester could make well.

The soldiers were nearly finished for the day, and most had already left the training field, but he guessed two or three thousand still exercised. A sizeable army by any standard, and this was only one city. Neptarik had reported more troops in the city and on the ships at the quays.

He had watched the cart carrying his sylph to Castle Beren, and noted how the set of Neptarik's earpoints betrayed barely suppressed excitement. He hoped the lad would keep out of trouble. Perfectly capable of looking after himself, Balnus put his sylph out of mind and returned his attention to the scene before him.

Morran Fynn was right: Re Taura had built up a large army and the question was when, not if, the Mametain of Re Taura decided to act. But against whom?

***

Tektu paced restlessly around her small chamber, eyes vacant and earpoints quivering. A hunter of patterns, she worried that she saw nothing now.

Trenvera had sent spy after spy to infiltrate the castle and now there were none. She knew Trenvera wouldn't just stop sending spies, only change tactics. Everybody who had started at Castle Beren since Talnan's exposure and death had proven loyal, if not always effective.

Tektu had no interest in the efficiency of those working at Castle Beren, or even in the spies who came to Taura. Re Taura's enemies already knew about the army; young men were drawn to Re Taura from overseas, hoping to make a fortune fighting for a good paymaster. Word would spread. They intended that, but all plans for the army's use were held in the castle. Unless someone infiltrated Castle Beren, Re Taura's enemies could learn nothing.

Might Trenvera send troublemakers to foment rebellion?

Through many diversions, the people of Re Taura were as happy as humans could possibly be kept, so that plan would get Trenvera nowhere. Keeping the people happy was one reason Nijen was unenthusiastic about eliminating his predecessor and family. If the people were content, there could be no trouble.

"Wrong," she muttered. "There is always _someone_ who is dissatisfied."

Once Nijen had taken power, Tektu had begun to hunt for the old Mametain and his family, until her owner forbade her from pursuing it. Obedient to her enforced vows, Tektu stopped her hunt. Instead, she passed the task to a bounty hunter, commanding him to keep his discoveries to himself and keep watching. Until needed, he must keep silence.

She always obeyed her owner's orders. If in her own way.

She shook her head. "We could have them today."

Nijen believed the people would revolt if he took the lives of the old Mametain and his family; Tektu said she would see to it if squeamishness bothered him.

He replied that he would not oversee the murder of women and children.

She would never understand why people balked when the disposal of women and children became necessary. Human females were no less dangerous than human males and today's children were tomorrow's avengers.

Tektu preferred to tie off loose ends permanently.

The number of sylphs asking to leave the Mametain's service troubled her. Rumors might spread why. Most transferred to duties outside the castle, but others asked to be released altogether and eked pathetic existences as beggars.

She had never learned why so many left, since sylphs here were not badly treated. If anything, her master genuinely liked and respected them. At least those who left preferred not to talk about their experiences. They started no silly stories.

Tektu stared at her comfortable cot, which stood three feet above the floor, to keep the drafts off. The well padded mattress had clean sheets and plenty of blankets that, even in spring, were needed at night. A useful chamber pot was underneath, rarely used but convenient if one wanted to avoid long walks to the privies at night.

Her clothes were no different from any other sylph, except for the brown fox sigil and that she wore no collar. She had no need to show off her ownership; indeed, she would infinitely prefer not to be owned at all, but be free to...

That line of thinking would get her nowhere. She should be used to her status by now. She glanced around her small chamber. Time to go for a short walk, that always helped her think.

But why had Trenvera stopped sending spies?

***

Verdin Vintner enjoyed his meal in _The_ _Green Knight_. Tender beef and green vegetables cooked so they crunched in his mouth. All washed down with an ale that boasted a distinctive flavor he had never tasted before.

While he ate, he felt someone watching.

Not the innkeeper, who cleaned and moved things around his casks. Nor the serving sylphs, who certainly kept an eye on the customers, in case anyone wanted more ale. But they watched him no more than any other.

It wasn't the other customers either. Sure, as a stranger he had earned glances, but no more than that. All were much older than he, few with hair its original color. Or even any hair left. Maybe they had few teeth left; perhaps they could manage one set between them...

He pulled away from the rather foolish thought. None of these people watched him; the watcher could not be seen. Verdin caught the eye of one the sylphs.

"More of that ale, please," he called.

"The heather ale, Spruce," cautioned the innkeeper.

Spruce, who had almost gone to the wrong cask, filled a fresh tankard and brought it across.

"Thank you." The sylph scampered away again.

Verdin took the opportunity to try and spot the watcher. Still nothing. He had a suspicion that, if he did anything to frighten or anger the watcher, he was unlikely to leave the inn alive.

Tapping against the windows caught his attention and he grimaced at the raindrops running down the glass. Hopefully, that would pass before he left.

An older man entered the inn and shook raindrops from his cloak. The innkeeper straightened and nodded, serving the man personally. The newcomer swept a look around, then left the main room by a small door.

More men trickled in, all dusting rain from cloaks and hats. Some stayed in the main room; lean, hard-looking men who tried to look inconspicuous. Others left through the small door. Verdin began to take an interest. The men left behind had the look of bodyguards.

And bodyguards looked after rich or important men.

There must be a back room; people didn't walk in just to leave immediately. Verdin's heart thumped in excited expectation. This many wealthy men suggested a gathering. A gathering held out of sight suggested privacy. And privacy suggested conspiracy.

If Verdin asked about them, he knew that the sylphs and innkeeper would deny their existence.

Next to enter was the same man who had spoken to Verdin the previous day. He stamped his feet to catch his attention. He accepted his ale, looked straight at Verdin and smiled.

"You may as well come up," he said. "Oh, Mirten will want paying first."

Verdin paid his bill and followed the other man through the small door. He climbed a flight of wooden stairs that creaked under their weight.

The stairs led to a brilliantly lit room, light crystals placed carefully so no shadows could be cast towards the window. Verdin had seen eleven men enter – he and his companion made thirteen – but there a fourteenth man waited in the room. Verdin suspected he owned the watching eyes.

Everybody in the room shot Verdin suspicious looks.

"Relax gentlemen," said Verdin's contact. "Our guest has more to fear from us than we do from him."

If the men relaxed, Verdin saw no sign. Comfortable chairs were dotted around the room, but nobody sat. All gazes were fixed on the interloper.

Verdin ignored them and turned to his contact. "I feared a trap, but you clearly want to remain hidden. From the Mametain?"

The men laughed.

Verdin's contact smiled. "We have nothing to fear from the Mametain. They work for him."

"So this _is_ a trap?"

Another laugh. "Come and sit, young man. We are not here to trap you."

"Sit," said one of the men.

Verdin sat and the other men followed his lead. He noted several chairs were left empty.

Another man fidgeted with an empty pipe. "I understand the sylph in Marka has proved himself an excellent Emperor," he said.

"I am not –"

"Do not insult our intelligence," said his contact. "You are Verdin Branad Vintner, son of the late Branad Ulvic Vintner, claimant to the Throne of Marka. You hold the honorary rank of Lieutenant and you were sent here by Emperor Zenepha."

Verdin held his tongue. The man's intelligence wasn't quite as good as he thought – Marcus Vintner's spymaster had sent them here, not Zenepha – but how did he know any of it?

The older man smiled at what he thought was Verdin's confusion. "Permit me to introduce myself. My name is Steppan da Kanpura and until six years ago, I was the Mametain of Re Taura."

***
Chapter 5

**Shadow Riders**

Captain Fared Granton held the ancient spyglass to an eye and surveyed the village below, a gentle breeze ruffling his black cloak and light brown hair. The rest of the Shadow Riders stayed in the forest, with the families and camp followers. Fared had done his best to ensure only single men marched to Marka, but this was not possible for everybody, including himself. Although scouts would be nearby, only Samrita had ridden out with him.

The journey east had not been easy. Too many villages were full of people terrified of armed riders. Fared always paid for whatever his small army needed. Village mayors or headmen stared in surprise when he did and looked like they wondered when the slaughter would begin. He feared most soldiers who passed through simply helped themselves, and not just to food. The Empire had fallen into moral as well as political decay.

Some Riders recommended summary execution for those caught pillaging villages and perhaps a hand lopped off for lesser cohorts. Samrita pointed out that revenge would be taken against the villagers once the Shadow Riders were gone. Not to mention earning the enmity of every faction and petty lord along the entire route. Not what anybody wanted, given how far they must travel and how small their army was in comparison.

Fared swung the spyglass this way and that.

"How is Nynra?" he asked, to make conversation.

"Holding up well so far," replied Samrita.

Nynra was the small pallid infertile who attended the gwerin's needs. A servant rather than a slave – Kelthane did not practice slavery – she had always served Samrita. The Shadow Riders and their families had no sylphs with them. As sylphs were gregarious and enjoyed the company of their own kind, Fared worried Nynra would be lonely. Samrita did not quite count – and the humans not at all – as company.

"What do you see?" asked Samrita.

"A wooden palisade, but if those are trained soldiers down there, you can take the command from here on. Nynra can." His upper lip curled in contempt. "So much of the world is not how it should be."

"The palisade probably deters raiders." Samrita's upper lip curled in disapproval. "Who are probably no better trained than the villagers."

"All these petty aristocrats, seeking to carve empires for themselves." Fared looked and sounded outraged. "All with ideas above their station."

"People act for what they believe is for the best, or to survive." Samrita's earpoints twitched back and forth. "We will trade here?"

"Trade?" Fared snorted derisively. "Buy. Or beg. We need take nobody except you and me. And Nynra to act as your maid."

"Not much acting needed there." Samrita smiled. "I hope this time that their meat is good."

Fared grunted and hid a smile. The last village tried to cheat them, a mistake he doubted they would dare repeat next time a small army called. Angry soldiers knew how to vent frustration better than anybody. Even so, the villagers had escaped lightly. There were no killings and no injury worse than a broken bone.

From what he had seen since leaving Kelthane, few others would act with such restraint.

"We'd better get ready," he said.

***

Fared did not think much of the village's defenses as he approached the palisade. The wooden wall aside, the villagers had dug a ditch and filled it with sharpened stakes. A wooden bridge, intended to be pulled away if the village was attacked, crossed the ditch. But any experienced soldier would immediately see the flaws.

The chains that led from the bridge were half buried and no horses were in sight to pull it away from the ditch. The stakes in that ditch were too close together, so a few dead horses thrown in would make a bridge, and there was no sign of oil to be set alight if enemies attacked. These villagers had grown overconfident as their ditch and wall would not save them from a determined enemy.

Samrita wore a cap to hide her earpoints, so she could pass as human at first glance. She rode carefully across the bridge, perhaps fearing it might collapse under the horse's weight. Fared waited until the gwerin had crossed before following. He had wanted to ride in first, but Samrita insisted this would look wrong to the villagers and – reluctantly – he eventually agreed.

They'd had this discussion at every village.

Fared felt unhappy about Nynra sitting immediately behind the gwerin, but the sylph would slow them if she walked, and they might need to retreat hastily. As at every village before, the sylph showed no inclination to ride and needed persuading to get her up behind Samrita. Typical sylph, frightened of large animals. Nobody would think twice about a sylph not having her own animal to ride. Even so, it would look wrong to have her sitting behind Fared.

The moment they were across the small bridge, Nynra slipped to the ground and held one of Samrita's stirrups. They halted at the gate, which was shut. Fared sensed, rather than saw, hidden watchers.

A rough voice called out from behind the gate. "Welcome to Woodend, strangers. What is your business here?"

Samrita had proved herself a skilled negotiator, so she answered. "We are here to trade by barter or purchase."

"What are you after?"

"Contact with your merchants, or local ruler, whoever is nearest to negotiate with."

A short silence, then one of the wooden gates swung open to admit them. Their challenger stood in the space, though Fared doubted he had any intention to bar their progress alone.

He introduced himself. "My name is Shiorj. I am mayor here. We have no merchants, nor a local lord. Only villagers and farmers. And out there..." He gestured helplessly.

_Bandits_ , thought Fared.

Shiorj stared at Nynra. "A mist child," he said, a touch of awe in his voice.

Fared grimaced. Nynra's pallid coloring had attracted attention before. Sylphs like Nynra were common in Kelthane, hair and eyes almost white, and skin so pale that only a hint of blue showed. Nynra came from the far north, where the sun left the sky for part of the year and only shone weakly whenever it appeared. Sylphs living in those icy lands had... adapted.

"My servant is not for sale or trade, Mayor," said Samrita.

Nynra gave the human a contemptuous look. She had been demanded as the price before. Her expression said it all: people here were barbarians if they thought she was a chattel that might be bartered for.

Shiorj pulled himself together. "Of course not. Come on inside." He swung the gate wider for them to enter Woodend. He caught the bridle of Samrita's horse as she passed through. There wasn't much to the village: perhaps thirty thatched, mudbrick dwellings and a couple of log-built common houses. Shiorj led them to an open-sided log hut, sheltered from the elements on three sides.

Samrita and Fared dismounted, and boys came to take the horses.

"I am Samrita."

Shiorj looked curiously into the gwerin's eyes as he shook hands. Her cat-slit pupils stood out against the hazel irises.

The mayor drew breath sharply. "You're not human! You're –"

"A gwerin." Samrita smiled. "Apologies if my appearance startles you."

"Mist child and gwerin." He looked from Nynra to Samrita, before turning to the Shadow Rider. "What surprises do _you_ hide?"

"Knowing one end of this sword from the other," Fared growled, one hand already resting on the hilt and his gray-blue eyes cold.

Samrita smiled and laid a hand on Fared's arm.

Sylphs – with more usual silver-gray hair and eyes, and a deeper hue of blue to their skin – paused to stare at the strangers. They eyed Samrita with respect, and Nynra as if she might be dangerous.

"Forgive the sylphs their ignorance, mist child," said Shiorj, "it is rare to see any like you this far south."

Nynra looked at her distant cousins with some pity and then ignored them.

Shiorj gestured to Fared. "Your man may remain armed, but I trust he won't be used as a threat in your negotiations?"

Fared did not react to this insult.

"His sword remains sheathed unless he feels danger." Samrita smiled. "He is quite tame otherwise, I assure you."

Fared's bared teeth gave lie to her words.

Shiorj indicated seats and took one himself. A glance warned Nynra that the invitation was not extended to her. The sylph gave a small sigh and sat on her heels beside Samrita.

A scruffy-looking sylph eventually served alovak. Samrita noted that the sylphs here were also uncollared. Perhaps being sylphs, as in many other places, was sufficient to display their status.

Samrita knew Nynra would get a shock further east and wondered how she might react when she reached Marka.

The gwerin closed her eyes and breathed in the alovak's aroma. Fared did not even look at his earthenware cup. His attention fixed on Shiorj.

"I've never dealt with a gwerin trader before," remarked the mayor.

Samrita opened her eyes and spread her hands. "We all do what we must to survive in turbulent times," she replied.

"Even so, I expect you ought to be advising some powerful lord or ruler, but instead you wander the countryside, trading. Whatever. Strange times we live in."

"Dangerous times to judge from the stockade," added Fared, calmly.

Shiorj nodded. "We had trouble a couple of years ago. We generally make do for ourselves – there is no local lord and the Prefect is many milas away."

"Troubling times indeed with no Emperor." Samrita sipped her alovak.

"But there _is_ an Emperor. Have you not heard?"

"No." Samrita and Fared looked at each other.

Shiorj's eyes widened and he snorted. "Have you not left the far north for the past year? Where _do_ you trade? Everybody knows there is an Emperor in Marka. Or so I thought."

Samrita inclined her head sideways. "Do you know who took the Throne? And from which faction?"

Fared leaned forward in interest.

Shiorj shrugged his shoulders at the questions. "He's from none of the factions as far as we know. His name is Zenepha."

"Unusual. That name sounds –"

"Sylph." Shiorj nodded. "That's because he is one."

Nynra looked up at Samrita, who simply stared.

Fared barked a laugh. "Rumor," he snorted. "A sylph ruling humans? Ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous or no, the Throne is occupied. Some prefectures have recognized him, others haven't. Prefect Tomo is still to make his mind up. I've heard a messenger from the Emperor has arrived in Hakon, but that _is_ only rumor."

"A sylph." Fared shook his head. His mirth faded under Nynra's level gaze.

Shiorj shrugged. "They say his council is made up of wild sylphs, who wear green and brown paint, but nothing else."

Samrita and Fared exchanged a look, and Nynra gave them both a sylph's slow blink. Samrita pulled herself together.

"Your news is surprising," she said, eventually. "But that does not change the reason we are here. We would very much like to purchase from you five weeks' supply of salted meat for one hundred mouths."

They had learned some time ago that it was easier to ask for several weeks' worth of food for a smaller number of people. Asking for a week of food for five hundred people frightened most folk off. Perhaps they feared unfair terms. Asking for only a hundred over a longer period made them happier.

"Five weeks." Shiorj's tone was carefully neutral. "Meat only or do you also require wheat and oats?"

Fared watched everything as Samrita and Shiorj bartered. The village sylph kept them supplied with alovak. The world had just grown a new dimension of strangeness.

A sylph, ruling humans?

***

With a lighter gold chest and fuller food wagon, the Shadow Riders continued their journey southeast, hoping to reach a home none bar Samrita had ever seen.

Fared rode with the gwerin on one side of him and his wife, Telisa, on the other. Nynra walked behind Samrita's horse.

"If a sylph sits on Mark's Throne," Fared said, "then a banner sylph no longer seems so strange. There might be hundreds of them."

Samrita smiled. "Assuming it is not rumor. News gets twisted as it travels."

"What do you think?" Telisa's voice was quiet, as she pushed dark hair out of her eyes.

The gwerin considered. She had never seen the Shadow Riders' Captain so off balance. "It is so ludicrous that it must be true."

"Might even make a better job of it than most humans," added Nynra, from behind.

Fared glanced quickly at Nynra and chose to ignore the comment. Telisa scowled, though the sylph was as free as anyone else to speak her mind. Samrita readied herself to defend that right.

Fared changed the subject. "The villagers did not try to swindle us."

"Woodend is clearly inhabited by honest folk." Samrita smiled. "That seems a rarity these days, everywhere."

"Indeed," replied Fared. "Especially in lands where a stranger could easily be bandit or other lawbreaker."

"There is something you have not told me." Samrita's earpoints twitched. "Are you going to enlighten me?"

Telisa looked at the gwerin, her gray eyes looked thoughtful.

Fared shrugged. "Our scouts report we're being followed. We don't know who yet, but he – or they – is too good to be one of the villagers. We assume hostile intentions."

"Probably wise." Despite herself, Samrita felt nervous and her earpoints lay back in her hair. Nynra also looked around fearfully and her earpoints mirrored the gwerin's.

Telisa looked unconcerned.

Fared gave a tight smile. "We won't draw blood until absolutely sure."

Samrita nodded. "Have you seen anything?"

"Only plants moving that should be still. They are good, very good."

Coming from Fared, Samrita supposed this was high praise. There were few to equal or better the Riders, not that she had heard tell of. "I suppose you have put more scouts further out?"

"Ahead and behind." Fared made it sound like _of course_. If having his professional judgment called into question annoyed him, he gave no other sign of it. "We'll soon find out who it is."

Samrita nodded. With nothing more to say, she turned to Nynra and tried to reassure her. The sylph's earpoints remained wilted and she clung to the gwerin. Samrita had forgotten how nervy infertiles could be, that they demanded protection in return for their service.

Telisa watched the display, her face expressionless.

Only after the Shadow Riders halted for the night did their shadow make a mistake. One of the scouts, dagger drawn, forced a young man into the camp ahead of him.

"Captain, sir!" called the scout. "We've caught him."

"Just a boy," remarked Telisa, at her husband's side.

Overhearing the voices, Samrita hurried out of her tent to see. Even Nynra peeked out, until she saw the cause of her earlier fear. She then withdrew, presumably to sleep.

"Well done, Deren," said Fared.

Samrita eyed the newcomer up and down. He had reached that difficult age when he believed himself a man, though really still a boy. He wore clothes little better than rags, if clean and tended to. But still more patch than original cloth. Deren carried the boy's weapons: a short bow, a long knife and a sling.

"Why do you follow us?" asked Fared, calmly.

"Thieves!" Rage twisted the boy's face. "You murdered my family, took everything you could carry and burned the rest! You –"

Fared held up a hand. His gray-blue eyes locked with the boy's brown. "We ride to Marka from Kelthane. We rob and harm nobody who does not first try to harm us. You are from a nearby farm?"

"You should know," snarled the boy, righteous anger overriding any fear he might also feel. "You pillaged and burned it!" He struggled against Deren's steady grip.

Samrita blinked while Fared and Telisa exchanged a look. The gwerin looked over her shoulder in time to see Nynra withdrawing her head back into her tent again. Perhaps curiosity overcame her need for sleep.

"Have you got a name, boy?" asked the Captain, more gently than deserved.

The boy stared and Fared sighed.

"I am Fared Granton. This is my wife, Telisa. The gwerin is Samrita. The shy one who keeps sticking her head out of the tent is Nynra and the scout here is Deren. We have nothing to do with your tragic loss."

"No?" The boy was still defiant. "You think I don't recognize those casks of salted meat you carry?"

Fared looked at Samrita and mouthed _honest folk?_ silently at her, before turning back to the boy. "We bought them from a village named Woodend. We cannot know where they came from before that."

"Or even if your claim is true or not," added Samrita.

"You doubt my word?" The boy's hands balled into fists. "My parents, brother and sisters died before you took it from us! Our animals driven away or killed, even the farmhands and their families murdered. Don't deny it!"

"We had nothing to do with it," insisted Fared. "Your loss pains me."

"If not you then those people in the village would know."

"They may have traded for it fairly, also." Fared fixed the boy with an auguring gaze. "Are you going to tell me your name or not? You have the courtesy of ours."

"Peytor." He spoke reluctantly, as if he feared giving away something precious.

Fared nodded to Deren. "Escort Peytor from our camp, return his weapons and send him on his way."

"Is that wise, husband?" asked Telisa, in little more than a whisper.

The boy stared at Fared in surprise. "Why aren't you killing me?"

"You have done me no harm and, whatever you think, neither myself nor my men have harmed you or yours." Fared nodded to Deren. "If you are thinking of going down to Woodend, remember that they are many and you are one. Siranva loves a trier, but He will not aid you in this. And the villagers might not be aware they traded with bandits."

Peytor looked even more amazed that his thoughts had been read. "You will not help me?"

"No." Fared was abrupt and emphatic. He gestured toward the cart that held the casks of meat. "We paid for that honestly and my conscience is clear." His eyes were uncharacteristically cold. "Go as you will Peytor. May the Father cradle and shelter you. Escort him from the camp, Deren."

As Deren and Peytor left, Telisa rounded on Fared.

"Do you think it is wise to send a boy out there at night?" she asked.

"You handled that well," said Samrita, quietly.

Fared grunted. "The lad seems more than capable of looking after himself. Looks like he's done all right for himself so far."

"Such an angry young man; I wouldn't put it past him to go to Woodend and get himself killed," said Telisa.

"Perhaps." Fared nodded. "They'll deal with him if he gets there. Personally, I think he'll stick around us for a few days, until he's sure we mean no harm."

Telisa gave a disapproving sniff.

Samrita laughed. "Going to try and recruit him?"

"Maybe; from what I've seen, he'd make an excellent scout."

Telisa shook her head. "We don't need recruits until after we reach Marka," she countered. She stared into the darkness. "Even so, I am not happy about you sending him out there alone."

Samrita followed Deren at a distance. She watched the boy walk out of their camp, staring down anybody who dared meet his gaze. His expression softened only for the children, who watched the stranger in open curiosity.

She heard Deren laugh. "Arrogant young pup," he chortled. "You could teach our lads a few things 'bout scouting!"

A group of Riders playing _Knife In_ caught Peytor's attention, one man throwing a piece of wood into the air while the others took turns to throw a knife into it.

The boy had fallen silent and Deren seemed happy to let the silence grow. Samrita knew the scout kept a careful eye on his younger companion, ready for foolish moves. He kept hold of the boy's weapons, but Samrita wondered why Fared had decided to let this obviously skilled youngster leave.

They finally reached the camp perimeter, but Deren kept walking until they were well clear of the camp. Samrita saw him hand the bow, knife and sling back to their rightful owner.

"On your own from here, lad."

Peytor looked back at the scout and his eyes glittered in the gathering darkness. He looked across to Samrita, and the gwerin knew he was memorizing her face. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the forest. Deren remained still for a moment until the noise of the boy faded.

Only when all was quiet again – apart from usual nocturnal noises – did he move. The boy knew where he stood and Deren had no intention of feeling that knife, or sensing an arrow or rock heading his way at the last moment.

"And what do you think of this Peytor?" Samrita asked Deren, as she joined him.

Deren's blue eyes were thoughtful. "Impressive," he replied. "But dangerous. What d'you make of him?"

Samrita smiled. "I doubt we have seen the last of him," she replied. "Good night, Scout Deren."

Deren bent his head in acknowledgment, but gave no other reply. He made a quick round of the perimeter and warned the sentries about Peytor. Deren hoped the boy would leave them alone; he was a problem they could do without.

***

Back in her tent, Samrita stared into her small chest. Never opened in Nynra's presence, as the contents might disturb the small infertile, it held very little. A sheet of parchment identifying the gwerin and her role. A bracelet gifted by a grateful monarch.

And something she'd had no right to remove from Marka. This would probably distress Nynra, if she knew.

Samrita lifted the collar out.

Made from gold, jewels of every hue studded it. Worth a small fortune, she knew that if Fared ever learned of its presence, he would appropriate it to buy supplies. But it was not hers to give.

Like her, it belonged to the Markan Throne.

When worn, it marked the gwerin as property.

She sighed and shook her head. She could not square this circle. Nynra was free, yet in Marka she would serve a slave. Samrita had been gifted infertiles before, but they were themselves slaves and she did not think Markan Law permitted free sylphs to serve slaves.

On the other hand, Samrita could not let Nynra go, as the sylph had served her all her adult life. Or what passed as adult life for infertiles, anyway. Ever since her wound – this happened when parents stopped caring for their infertile offspring – she had served Samrita.

Nynra had bonded with Samrita and her ties were impossible to break. She would never bond with another and the gwerin was still young enough to outlive the sylph.

Under Markan Law, no free sylph could be enslaved, a protection for the many tribes living within the old Markan Empire. But even if Nynra wanted slavery – which Samrita very much doubted since they both knew the difference between a bond and outright ownership – she could not belong to Samrita.

Even in Kelthane, sylphs certainly served humans – or infertiles did, anyway – but they were not property. As a Kelthanian, Nynra could never tolerate a collar like her eastern cousins.

And she would never understand why Samrita would be collared in Marka.

She dropped the collar into her chest, snapped the lid down and locked it again.

Samrita must find a solution to the problem before they arrived home.

Anything else would be unfair to Nynra.

***

Over the next few days, the Shadow Riders moved slowly southeast. They passed heavy merchant trains traveling between villages and towns, guards eyeing the Shadow Riders with suspicion. Fared had three hundred fighting men with him and almost that number again in camp followers. From a distance even women and children might be mistaken for more soldiers. And five hundred was a sizeable army in these turbulent times.

However other people viewed them, the Riders were left alone, and Fared happily returned the favor.

Gathering parties were sent out every day to supplement their food stocks. Birds or animals too slow to recognize danger ended up in cooking pots before sunset, often with plants gathered during the day.

The Shadow Riders remained alert, but there was little to interest Fared and less to threaten his Riders. Even the relative excitement of Peytor's sudden appearance had been forgotten before many days passed.

They passed signs of old trouble. Wagons burned out and pushed off the road; others left to weather away. Scattered bones of horses and people, slaughtered and then left to rot where they had died.

No longer maintained, the roads sometimes disappeared altogether, with only deep, muddy ruts showing the way ahead. At irregular intervals, they passed clusters of farms that had come together for mutual protection. There were buildings around a central green, where the livestock could be herded in case of trouble. The Riders recognized defensive measures against potential enemies.

Fared avoided the hamlets, except when he must buy supplies. He wanted no trouble and had no intention of fighting these people, all clearly wary of armed men. If they were wary, they were afraid, and frightened people could turn violent very quickly if they felt threatened.

If not already burned out, other buildings were long abandoned to the elements. Few were still complete. Livestock, gone feral over the years, was much in evidence and treated in exactly the same way as most wild animals the Riders encountered: killed for food.

There were no inhabited farmhouses out here. The abandoned homes provided some shelter at night for his men, particularly when the Riders found whole villages, deserted long ago. It was better than terrorizing the countryside merely by their presence. Apart from the occasional merchant caravan, the Riders might well have been alone in the world.

Even the land showed signs of abandonment. Native forest and scrubland reclaimed pastureland and once-cultivated fields. Without repair or reconstruction, boundary walls tumbled down.

Sad-eyed, Samrita looked around her. "To think it has come to this," she muttered. "Gone, deserted. Nobody caring for the land."

Nynra looked at everything with innocent curiosity. Though she shuddered at signs of past violence, she did not shrink from them. And coming from the icy north, wildernesses were no shock to her.

"Even the bandits have moved on," Fared said to Samrita one morning, as they passed the remains of a wagon. Only rusty metal parts showed. "That is at least a decade old."

"Nothing left to steal," replied the gwerin. "Easier pickings can be had elsewhere."

"Some may wait to ambush caravans." Fared sounded hopeful that they might appear at any moment.

"Where have they all gone?" asked Nynra. "They cannot _all_ be dead."

"To the nearest village or town," replied Samrita. "Which means fewer people are farming, so less food and more hunger."

Thinking of his full food wagons, Fared felt a twinge of guilt.

Occasionally, the scouts showed themselves to the Riders. Cover was sparse, but none were foolish enough to stand against the skyline. Had anyone else been about, they would have been more circumspect.

"Highly unlikely that we'll find a sylph bannerman here," said Fared.

"Still a long way to Marka," replied Samrita and her earpoints twitched. "Plenty of time yet. The nearer we come, the more people and sylphs we will see."

"It's getting late," said Fared. He nodded towards some abandoned buildings. "Those'll do for tonight."

After sending a couple of scouts ahead to ensure the buildings really were empty, the Shadow Riders halted to make camp for the night. Downhill – and downwind – men dug latrines, while others hunted through the old buildings, in case anything useful could be salvaged.

Other men, watched by some of the wives, began to play _Knife In._ They had taken their turn scavenging or digging privies before. Fared always insisted every man – officers included – took their turn at the dirty work. Thanks to their late stop, the light was already fading.

A shout from one of the diggers caught Fared's attention and he headed downhill to see what the problem was.

"Captain, sir! Look at this!"

A knot of men had gathered around something on the ground, while more erected screens around the latrines for privacy. Fared looked over the shoulders of the nearest men to see the cause of the excitement. A box, almost rotted away to expose lead lining that showed green through what was left of the wood.

"Leyen found it."

"Open it," said Fared.

A spade was pushed against the rusty hasp of the box and twisted. With a snap, the lid flew open. The same man used the spade to break open the leather bags contained within.

"Silver!"

"And gold!"

In good condition thanks to the lead lining, old coins spilled free from the small bags. Coins, but no jewels. The owner of the farm must have sold his animals and crops, buried the proceeds here and left. He doubtless intended to return at a later date. That he had not was the Riders' gain.

Fared looked uphill at the abandoned farmhouse, all but tumbling down. It must have been empty for at least a quarter of a century. Nobody would return for this; at least, not tonight.

He held one of the coins up, but the markings meant nothing to him.

"Not from the Empire," said Samrita, appearing beside him.

Some of the men looked around; they had not heard or seen her approach.

"They will be worth something," continued the gwerin, inspecting one of the silver coins.

"Should buy us some supplies, Captain?" Leyen grinned up at his commander.

"All donations gratefully received," said Fared.

The men laughed.

***

As the dark deepened, Deren took his turn at _Knife In_. He exchanged a quick look with his wife, Kwenby, before hefting the knife. His first throw took the piece of wood cleanly in the middle, to applause.

Crin and Gorst took their turns, but Crin missed. Down to him and Gorst. Again the piece of wood sailed upward and again Gorst's knife skewered it.

"Getting too dark to see," said Deren.

"If you can't see, you can always resign. Coming second ain't bad." Gorst showed his teeth in a mirthless grin.

Deren looked at the thrower. "Send it up," he said. He held his knife, ready to throw.

The wood was dutifully sent into the sky once again and Deren threw his knife and cursed as it missed. Another knife sailed through the darkness and skewered the wood.

"Who the...?" The men turned.

Kwenby, dark eyes concerned, stared into the darkness.

Deren recognized the knife that now stuck out of the wood. Grinning, he stared into the darkness.

"Peytor," he called. "You may as well show yourself. I know it's you."

Dressed no different than before, the young man strolled arrogantly towards the men. He grinned at Gorst humorlessly. "Looks like you got new competition," he said.

Deren interrupted. "How did you get so close without the scouts seeing you?"

Peytor grinned and his brown eyes showed genuine amusement. "They were busy with that box you dug out the ground. Just picked my moment and strolled in."

Deren sucked at his teeth as he pulled the boy's knife free. "You and me had better go and see the boss," he said.

Peytor's smile widened. "Sure. Just let me and your friend finish this game first."

***
Chapter 6

**Prisoner**

Belaika stared from between the wooden uprights of his cage.

It took Karlon – the camp's carpenter – two days to make the cage and when complete, they no longer tethered Belaika like a dumb animal at night. That was the only advantage.

The cage enabled soldiers to watch him continuously, afforded him no privacy whatsoever and offered no protection from the elements.

For those previous days, Belaika traveled strapped like a sack to a horse. Despite the discomfort of having his insides bounced about, it did give his injured leg time to recover. Not that he tried to show off the improvement; he might manage to wrangle some privilege if his enemy believed him to be hurt.

But he could not fool everybody. On his first night of captivity, the army's physician, Velsen, inspected his leg. On the second night, he was demoted in importance to the farrier's attentions. The third night, both men came.

Hedron the farrier inspected him first. Belaika obediently bent his leg this way and that, sometimes resisting as he tried to make his injury look worse.

Hedron sniffed. "I know when you're holding back, boy," he said. "Just by watching your muscles work. Now do it again."

Belaika warily eyed the man's wide shoulders. Hedron could be surprisingly light and quick on his feet for his bulk, experienced at dodging warhorses who wanted to kick.

Hedron pushed his fingers into the scout's muscled thigh until the sylph squeaked in pain.

"A good inca further than two nights ago," said the farrier. "Stop whinging, boy."

Hedron turned to Velsen. "Up to you, sir, but this is only badly bruised. Exercise is what's needed now."

Velsen made his own inspection, which was at least painless. Belaika hoped for another day's riding.

The physician finally sat back. "I concur. He is fit to walk." Velsen looked directly at the sylph and the man's gray eyes held a hint of laughter. "Looks like you're getting some exercise tomorrow."

After eating a quick breakfast, a cavalry sergeant tied Belaika's hands with one end of a tether, while soldiers hoisted the sylph's new cage onto a wagon bed. The speed at which Mirrin's soldiers could rig up a wooden crane and disassemble it again impressed the captive.

The cavalry sergeant's blue eyes were cold as he looked at the prisoner. "I'm Sergeant Somersen," he introduced himself. "Any trouble and I'll tie this around your neck instead of your wrists. Understand?"

Belaika gave the man a level look, although his earpoints betrayed his fear by lying back in his hair.

Somersen lifted the free end of the tether as if to lash the sylph with it. "When I question, you answer, boy."

"I understand," said Belaika, quickly.

Somersen nodded and turned away to secure the other end of Belaika's tether to his saddle. He paused at his stirrup. "You fall, you get dragged," he said. Once mounted, he didn't look back at the sylph once.

The scout wondered if Sergeant Somersen had something against all sylphs, or whether he just disliked Belaika. Certain Somersen meant what he said about dragging, he determined not to fall.

Belaika limped along as the army began to move. No matter how painful at first, he resisted crying out, determined to give Somersen and his ilk no pleasure from his discomfort. However, the pain in his leg soon settled to a dull throb and the sylph reluctantly agreed that Hedron had a point about the exercise.

And he quickly realized something else. Walking would help keep him fit, for when the time came to escape. His leg must first get better, else he would not get very far.

He walked on, determined to show no weakness. As he walked, some of the men came within earshot.

"I'm surprised we caught one," said one of Mirrin's lieutenants, Captain Jediyah.

The man riding alongside him shrugged. "Pure luck, sir," he said. "These sylphs know the work well, I'd say."

Belaika could not help but stiffen with pride.

"Speak with him when we rest again," continued Jediyah. "Our lads could try that camouflage and see how they go."

"Will do," said the second man.

Belaika smiled to himself. It seemed he had some respect among these men. But that did not necessarily mean they liked him, for much of what he overheard was far less pleasant.

"They'll send him to Eldova and put him on display," said a footsoldier, whose group strayed close to the captive.

"No chance, Jaegar," retorted Camanda, the man who had captured Belaika. "He's ransom. Half to the coffers, rest split 'tween me and the Boss. He's Marcus Vintner's sylph."

"Nah, I reckon once the witch has got her answers, they'll slit his throat and bury him in the latrines," said a third man.

"No Burred," continued Jaegar, "they'll give him to Hingast to hunt down before they waste him like that."

Belaika turned his head to stare at the three men. "Do you not know Hingast is dead?" he demanded.

The men stared in surprise before all three burst out laughing.

"Whatever," said Burred, before the three men moved away.

Somersen looked over his shoulder at the sylph. "Button it," he snapped. "You talk like that again and you'll be in for it."

Belaika buttoned it and walked – limped – on in silence.

At the next rest stop, the Sergeant of Scouts crouched beside him.

"I'm Nalred," he said.

"Belaika," replied the sylph.

"I know."

This man had been speaking about him earlier with Captain Jediyah and Belaika remained wary. He wanted to give nothing away to these people.

"I'm interested in your paint," continued Nalred.

Belaika shrugged and looked away. He wished he could clean his camouflage off, so he would at least look like an ordinary sylph. And perhaps curious humans would then leave him alone.

"I can see how the colors help you to blend in," said the human, "but why black? Are all sylphs painted the same, or does the color scheme vary?"

Belaika said nothing.

"Look, I know not everyone treats you as well as they should, but I am not your enemy."

Belaika arched an eyebrow and his earpoints went upright. "Everybody here is my enemy," he replied.

Nalred laughed. "Our commanders are enemies," he corrected, "and of course we fight on opposite sides, but we are not personal enemies." He forced his voice lower. "Not like Somersen, who would love to leave you somewhere with your throat cut."

"I do not respond well to threats." Belaika's voice was calm. "Ask Nicolfer." He drew his knees under his chin and wrapped his arms around them. He stared vacantly and waited for Nalred to leave.

Belaika did not care one way or the other what the soldiers thought of him, but the sylphs were a different matter. Most of them regarded him with a mix of loathing and fear. Earpoints wilted whenever sylph eyes turned in his direction and most of them avoided him. Their tacit rejection cut deep.

There were three exceptions. Those he named Choca, Insult and Interrogation.

***

Choca watched him every night, but she came nowhere near until after they put him in the cage for the first time. But then...

"Have a care, small one," said the guard. "I want no trouble with your owner."

Belaika sat up.

"It is all right, Girran. _Enya_ knows I am here."

Girran turned his back. "Suit yourself."

Belaika sat crosslegged on the ground and rested his hands on his knees. He looked into the faintly glowing eyes of Shashi- _y_ -Mirrin.

"How is your leg?" asked Shashi.

Belaika gave her a slow blink. Not the expected question. "Sore," he replied.

"I am pleased it is not broken."

Belaika shrugged. Tempting to lie and tell her that his leg had not yet recovered, but this conflicted with his decision to say nothing to the enemy.

"Take this, before it melts."

Another slow blink as Shashi pushed a scrap of something dark through the bars. Principle was forgotten as he leaned forward, all but snatched the choca from her and swallowed it, before she could change her mind.

If Belaika's silence bothered Shashi, nothing showed. "You should know that _enya_ thinks Nicolfer- _ya_ is wrong in the way she treats you."

Belaika shrugged. He held the other sylph's gaze before hers flickered away. Nothing to read into that: few infertiles could hold a breeder's gaze for long.

"You should not be here," she continued. "It is wrong."

"Then let me go."

Shashi – Choca – blinked at his words. "I cannot." She pushed a hand through the cage and patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Sorry."

Then she was gone.

***

Insult was another infertile and a lot less friendly than Choca.

She also watched Belaika from a distance until the night he was caged. Insult could – and did – hold his gaze. She kept her distance while Choca spoke with him, but he felt her angry gaze even from the shadows.

When Choca left, Insult replaced her, staring at him through the bars of his cage in silent anger. Her stare never flickered aside, never dropped. As if she felt she held the moral high ground. As if she might be the senior sylph.

Girran grumbled something about visitors not being allowed, but both sylphs ignored him and he eventually turned his back again, pretending he was alone with the captive.

Insult stared silently at Belaika.

Irritated, he stared back.

They locked gazes for a few moments.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he finally asked.

"I am Gajaran- _y_ -Delwin," she replied.

"I am Belaika." Were all Eldovan sylphs strange?

" _Enya_ was killed last year. By the men you work for."

"Men die in wars, but I am –"

"If not for you _scouts_ , he may still be alive," she snarled. A tear leaked from one eye. "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."

Belaika's mouth dropped open. "We did not kill him."

"You may as well have! Scouts betrayed his position and men killed him."

"He would have killed other men," protested Belaika. "Soldiers are there to kill the enemy."

Gajaran fought for control. "Sylphs are not soldiers," she continued. "You are unfit to be a sylph. You have blood on your hands. All of you! _Dsacul_!" Her voice began to rise. "Murderer! Killer!"

"Whoa, that's enough!" Unnoticed by both sylphs, Girran had come around and now intervened, half dragging Gajaran – Insult – away. "You'll wake the camp with this carry on. Get to your bed, or I'll speak with Quartermaster Jurabim."

Belaika watched her leave, shock painting his face.

***

The third regular sylph visitor was Interrogation.

She came every night after his capture, except the first night Belaika slept in his cage. As she had missed one, she came the very next night, carrying her sheets of music paper. Of the three sylph visitors, only she came to him against her will.

And she did not come alone. Nicolfer always accompanied her and, though Haema did not interrogate him, her appearance always heralded intense questioning.

Nicolfer terrified him.

Insult's behavior saddened him, but he understood it. At least it was emotion. The soldiers' sometimes embarrassed him when they elevated him to something he neither was nor deserved to be. Other times they frightened him, like when he overheard those who wanted to see him dead. But at least it was emotion.

Nicolfer showed nothing. She was usually cold toward him, though if she scored a painful point she took great pleasure from his anguish, despite claiming to hate seeing sylphs in pain.

But the sylph he'd nicknamed Interrogation confused him. From the first whistle Nicolfer had read from the music paper, Belaika knew Haema confused him. That whistle had been jumbled beyond recognition. The sylph knew enough about musical notation for Nicolfer to read it, yet she managed to mangle the whistles into something different.

Despite his resistance, Nicolfer never gave up.

The second night in his cage, Belaika sat on his heels and waited. Any of the three sylphs could appear at any time. Would it be Interrogation, Choca or Insult? His spirits fell when he spotted Nicolfer with Haema trailing behind with her sheets of music paper. Interrogation.

Myrad was the guard on duty tonight. He opened the cage to let Nicolfer and Haema inside, the only ones ever allowed in, and left the gate open. Myrad gave Nicolfer a neutral look and a large hand gripped Haema's shoulder for a reassuring squeeze. Belaika assumed it was reassuring.

The divisions and petty dislikes in any camp never ceased to amaze him. Different people working towards the same end, and yet detesting each other.

Nobody at all liked Nicolfer.

She slipped a choke chain around his neck and gripped the other end. She used the chain to pull him forward until satisfied she had made him compliant. She nodded.

Belaika did not wait for the nod, but sat on the ground the moment Nicolfer stopped pulling on the chain. His earpoints slanted backwards in his short hair and he had no doubt that wariness showed in his wide silver-gray eyes. This woman had threatened to harm his family.

Haema gave what he thought might be a sympathetic look.

He wondered which tactic his interrogator would employ tonight. Was it possible that, because she had not come last night, she had used her power to harm his family instead? He had not suffered any violence yet, but what if she had harmed his loved ones?

Surely Nicolfer would gloat if she had.

"Before we begin, I warn you that, if you fail to cooperate, your water ration will be withheld tomorrow and the day after. If you are a good boy, you will be rewarded." Nicolfer smiled, but that smile did not reach her jet eyes. Her smiles never did. Coldness, her only emotion. "Thirst may help you decide."

Belaika almost told her that if he was a _good boy_ , he would not betray his owner and colleagues. He said nothing; taunting her might be dangerous and the way she might react terrified him.

"Well?"

Belaika stared at her and remained silent.

"As you wish."

A small victory, but the scout let nothing show on his face.

Nicolfer turned to Haema. "Give me that sheet," she commanded.

Haema nodded and passed one of the music sheets across.

Nicolfer turned back to Belaika. "Tell me what this means." She puckered her lips and began to whistle.

***

He had expected to see plenty of Sandev, but she seemed the least anxious to associate with him. Once he had got over the initial feelings of rejection from the one person he felt ought to be his friend, Belaika realized Sandev's way might be for the best. If Nicolfer even suspected they were collaborating, the Father alone knew what she might do.

Then again, Sandev would have her own plans and her own goals. Helping him might not feature in those plans at all.

It was unpleasant to feel so insignificant.

***

Sandev hoped nobody noticed what she was up to. Out of the way with Belaika, Nicolfer had no time for her at the moment. The orphaned sylphs were busy with evening tasks. Soldiers and camp followers stayed away from her. The other camp sylphs rarely tried to overcome their fear of her power. They never came near her if they could find something else to do.

She felt carefully around her block and hoped to sense a surge of power at any moment. A surge that would prove the Gift flowed freely again. But things made with sorcery were crafted differently from those made from the Gift. Hard to believe sometimes that the Gifted and sorcerers used the same power.

She kept well away from everybody else; she wanted to be sure her sylph friends wouldn't sense what she was doing. They might be frightened or insulted that she used her power around them. No sylph ever understood, not even her own.

She felt guilty leaving Belaika to his fate, but the boy held up well against Nicolfer. Few humans could stand up to her, never mind sylphs. She admired his courage, but he must be terrified underneath that calm exterior.

But sylphs were always more courageous than most people allowed. Everybody believed the creatures frightened easily, so whenever a sylph displayed bravery, humans were always surprised. She wouldn't put it past the blue-skinned creatures to deliberately hide such virtues from general inspection.

Attempts to break her block ended abruptly as Tula tumbled into the tent. This sylph always gave the impression of rush. Sandev raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Gajaran is missing!"

Sandev winced. "Probably worked herself into knots again over the prisoner," she said, cautiously. Belaika's capture had reopened Gajaran's wound over her lost owner. Sylphs were always... overwrought... after such catastrophes.

Tula nodded.

"I'll look for her," promised Sandev.

Tula managed a smile and watched the human leave.

Sandev sighed. She knew where to find the missing Gajaran. Of the ownerless sylphs who marched with General Mirrin, she had most time for Gajaran. She could trust all six – up to a point – but the missing sylph had something about her.

But Belaika's appearance in the camp had shattered her already fragile composure and set her back months.

Sandev cut across the camp, avoided Belaika's cage where Nicolfer still worked, and moved quickly as she passed the already stinking latrines. No doubt dug in some haste. Sylphs refused to share latrines with humans and, from tonight's evidence, Sandev did not blame them.

Sylphs had their own latrine area and there she found Gajaran.

The sylph crouched on her heels on the latrine board, chin on knees and arms wrapped around herself, a posture very similar to that Belaika used. Her earpoints twitched at Sandev's approach, but she gave no other sign of recognition.

"Grief is easier to cope with when you share the pain with a friend."

Gajaran raised her head, expression neutral. She didn't look as if she'd been crying but, unless Sandev missed her guess, tears lurked there somewhere. The bond between an infertile and her owner was often stronger than that between parent and child. Even if the owner abused the sylph, it was neither forgotten nor broken.

"You know about the _dursanonecul_. You know what they do." The sylph's tone held a hint of accusation. For an Eldovan sylph, Gajaran pushed the line of acceptable behavior.

"Of course, though in my defense I did not invent them." Sandev tried to sound sympathetic. "As in all things, sylphs do as they must."

"Are they forced to become scouts and lead soldiers to kill?"

Sandev decided to be completely honest. "No."

"Then they truly are devils."

"Of course not; just sylphs." Sandev spread her hands before she patted the sylph's shoulder. "If they did not help their soldiers to defend themselves, then their enemies would kill them. Wars kill and humans begin wars, not sylphs."

Sandev waited.

Gajaran turned her head to one side to consider. Another typical sylph reaction, Sandev realized. So unlike humans, who could and often did react hastily, perhaps never to repent.

"They do not have to be scouts."

Sandev inclined her head. "True. But they are slaves, with even less choice than humans. They're encouraged to become scouts and they believe they follow a just cause. Like humans, they cannot know the true nature of war until they find themselves in one. They are sylphs, not devils."

"You think they are on the good side." Gajaran's tone said she doubted the statement. " _Enya_ was not an evil man."

"There is no good side in war." Sandev suspected those tears might surface at any moment and kept her tone gentle. "Your owner believed in his cause, otherwise he would never have joined the army. Nobody forced him, he felt he must do his duty."

Gajaran's earpoints twitched. "He was not evil."

"Not very many people are. Many fight on the wrong side or on the losing side, which is not always the same thing." Sandev did not add that Hingast enjoyed hunting sylphs for sport. "In war, people must sometimes do evil things. Delwin was at the siege of Marka. Inside the city walls, people and sylphs starved. They were hungry. They were frightened for their lives. Is that a good thing? When the Eldovans broke into the city, they killed many people, innocent people. Evil things happened, but it does not mean the people who did those things were evil." Not all of them anyway, but Sandev didn't add that part.

Gajaran's earpoints wilted before twitching upright again.

Sandev continued. "Now, when scouts find enemies and lead soldiers from their own side to fight and kill, it is an evil thing. But they act the way they do because it is war. It does not mean the sylphs are evil." How could she explain to this intelligent infertile that she – and her owner – served a butcher who killed for fun? There was a world of difference between Hingast and Marcus. If she wanted to win this sylph's trust, she _must_ remain neutral, no matter how difficult.

Gajaran considered again.

Sandev realized there was no need for more explanation. It did not mean she had suddenly converted Gajaran to the righteousness of sylph scouts, or that she would forgive Belaika for his sins. But she definitely mulled over Sandev's words. What she decided would be passed on to the others.

"You say that _enya_ was wrong to have joined the army he did?"

"I don't think he had any choice which army he joined." Sandev hoped her smile reassured. "You're from Eldova. I'm sure Delwin was raised to believe the justness of Hingast's claim to the Throne. Or at least the justness of Eldova's claim." She paused, but the sylph remained silent. "Belaika is from Calcan. He also had little choice in the army he joined and he, too, believes in the justness of _his_ preferred claimant. Even wild sylphs have joined Marcus Vintner's army as scouts, that's how strongly they feel. It doesn't mean they're right, nor that they are on the side that will win, but neither does it mean they're evil."

She gave the sylph another small pat on the shoulder, but did not remove her hand. "Come, you cannot skulk around here all night."

Gajaran slipped from the latrine board and threw her arms around Sandev. The expected tears finally flowed. "I miss him," she sobbed. "I cannot forgive those who took him from me!"

"I know." Sandev held the sylph close. "I understand."

She put her arm fully around Gajaran's shoulders and led her back to the camp. Tula and one of the other ownerless sylphs – she found it difficult to tell in the dark, but she thought it was Rukana – watched as she returned to the camp.

She suspected she had passed whatever test the sylphs had given her. Gajaran shivered beside her. Sandev hoped to build on her work tonight. These ownerless sylphs deserved better and she hoped she was finally winning their trust.

Then she could move on to the next part of her plan.

***

Nicolfer eventually stormed away from Belaika in something of a huff. The scout had refused to cooperate and stared into space, while his earpoints hung limp. Even then, they reacted to some threats, betraying his emotional turmoil. He thought a scarf such as Neptarik wore when gambling might be a good idea.

Temper boiling, Nicolfer almost strangled her prisoner when she used the choke chain to pull him closer, and almost ripped his ears off when she pulled it over his head.

Haema gave a delighted giggle at Nicolfer's temper and only just managed to restrain herself when she was glared at.

"Guard!" snapped Nicolfer.

"Yes?" Myrad stood by the door.

"Ensure this sylph is given no water."

"Yes, ma'am." Myrad gave Belaika a sympathetic glance.

Belaika watched Nicolfer and Haema leave. He wondered why the sylph had not been punished for laughing.

Haema was a mystery.

"Haema- _y_ -Jinsla," Belaika muttered to himself. "But who is Jinsla? Where is Jinsla?"

Domestic sylphs were rarely separated from their owners this long – how had she ended up with Nicolfer?

He shook his head as he thought of the recent interrogation. Even if he wanted to, he could not help Nicolfer.

The whistles trapped on the paper were _nothing_ like the real whistles. Perhaps Haema could write musical notation, but the notes Nicolfer whistled came out all sorts of strange ways. He recognized none of them. Did Haema have something wrong with her ears?

No water.

Belaika did not look forward to thirst, but scouts had been forced to go without before. What sylph stuck in Marka during last year's siege could forget the terrible hunger? All sylph scouts sometimes made sacrifices regarding comfort and diet. Even so, each day's long march would be no fun when thirsty.

Sylphs needed plenty of water. Thirst cramped muscles and confused digestion. Sylphs lasted longer without food than humans, but they suffered more quickly from thirst. And died from it sooner.

The only certainty was that Nicolfer wanted him alive. She would get no answers from a corpse, and Mirrin no ransom.

He wrinkled his nose at that last thought and his earpoints wilted.

Ransom. He would never live it down.

There were plans to make before things got to that stage. He intended to –

He raised his head and stared beyond the bars of his cage.

A noise from the darkness caught his attention. Torches were out and most light crystals covered over. Only the sentries and his guard should now be awake.

Belaika could see Myrad: still awake, the guard paid no attention to the noise. Either he had not heard yet – in which case even by human standards he was deaf – or else he knew who approached.

Belaika saw a sylph carefully picking her way toward him.

A sylph, because of the faint glow from her eyes, and a she, because he was the only male sylph in the camp. He waited.

It was not Choca, as he half expected, but Interrogation.

For a few moments, Belaika and Haema stared at each other, then both sylph heads turned as one to Myrad. The guard so obviously looked another way that he may as well shout his indifference to Haema's presence. The two sylph heads turned back to regard each other.

" _She_ does not know I am here," said Haema, in a low voice. Whispers would carry further, Belaika knew. Haema didn't need to say who she meant.

"Why are you here?" The scout nodded toward Myrad. He knew she could see his movement. "He might tell."

Haema shook her head and her earpoints twitched in suppressed amusement. "They do not like her."

Belaika waited for the answer to his question.

"You plan escape," continued Haema.

He must be very careful. Thanks to their earpoints, sylphs could rarely lie convincingly, but they could be trained. Or conned into believing a lie was truth. He shrugged.

Haema did not even try to argue.

"When you go, take me," she begged.

"Why? You have an owner. Jinsla."

Pain flashed in her eyes. "Jinsla was the composer I belonged to. _She_ took me away from him. _She_ murdered him." She looked around and Belaika detected fear. "I think she did. Must get home to make sure. You will take me, when you go? You can see me safe away from this army and I will find my way home from there."

"You only think she murdered him?" Belaika hugged his knees.

" _She_ offered him money. _She_ sent me ahead and when she followed, _she_ still had her money."

"Why should I trust you?"

Haema's eyes gleamed. "You do plan escape. I thought so."

Belaika turned his head away. "No plan," he said, neither a denial nor a lie. He _did_ want to escape, but he had laid no plans yet, and he only intended to take Sandev with him when he went.

Haema ignored his comment, but fumbled under her tunic to pass something through the bars. "Drink it before dawn," she said.

She stood to leave.

"Can you really trap our whistles on paper?" he asked.

"You mean write musical notation." She smiled at him. She gave a whistle, pitched beyond human hearing, and a perfect imitation of Fhionnen's pinger. "Yes. Would you want me to write down your secrets properly?" Without waiting for an answer, she melted away into the darkness, moving almost as skillfully as a scout.

Belaika opened the leather water bag, sniffed at it and tasted it. Just ordinary water. Why should he trust a sylph he had seen half a dozen times? Fair enough, she had always looked sorry for him, but that was no reason to betray everything she knew to help him escape.

And she did know how to write music. Which meant whenever she heard a whistle, or another sylph repeated one to her, she wrote it down wrong. Why?

He must solve the puzzle of Haema before he reached a decision.

Interrogation was not his only visitor that night. Not long after Haema left, Insult appeared silently at the wooden slats of his cage. Belaika eyed Gajaran as warily as if she were Nicolfer, but she said nothing. She merely stared at him for perhaps two minutes.

He returned her stare and waited.

She opened her mouth to speak once or twice, but her earpoints wilted each time. She eventually left as silently as she had arrived.

Hopefully, he would now be left in peace for the night.

***

Belaika stirred in his cage. Though they tried not to disturb him, he sometimes woke when his guard changed. Girran and Myrad were usually silent; he heard more noise from the perimeter sentries.

Neither perimeter sentry nor guard had made the noise. The lump of darkness remained so still that Belaika knew Girran had replaced Myrad as the guard. More than halfway through the night then. Myrad always moved about a lot more when on guard. Girran always looked to be asleep – or dead – but appearances were deceptive and the man was always more alert than the image he projected, as Belaika had already learned.

Something else had disturbed Belaika.

He finished off the water Haema had given him.

A horse on the picket line snorted. Small rodents rustled in the bushes. A far-off scream of an animal caught by a predator. All normal night sounds. Nothing out of place.

Yet Belaika was wide awake and expectant.

Out of the darkness, from beyond the camp perimeter, a whistle came. A whistle no human could hear. Belaika's heart leapt; _he_ almost leapt for joy. He hoped all the other sylphs were asleep.

_Hold fast, brother,_ it said. _Help will come. Velisar._

Belaika restrained an urge to laugh and sing. That whistle came from no part trained sylph. He had never heard that whistled sign with his own ears, but older scouts whispered the name with awe and respect. It belonged to a legend, to the one who had demonstrated his race could be scouts, and who many now believed to be dead.

But that sylph was here, not dead. The first, oldest and wisest of all sylph scouts. He was Velisar.

***
Chapter 7

**Hingast**

Lance Captain Dekran ran a hand through his dark brown hair and thought about getting it cut. He already had plenty piled on his shoulders, but reducing hair length would solve nothing. He wondered if any gray hairs were showing yet.

His detachment lay well beyond the range of scouts who would relay any messages to Marka. The enemy commander seemed determined to keep well west. Dekran still shadowed Mirrin's army – but only just.

He glanced at Banner Sergeant Yochan. "The scouts stay out of the hearing distance of Mirrin's sylphs when they whistle?"

"They do." Yochan's gray-blue eyes glittered. "Nobody's in a rush to be the second captured scout."

Dekran inwardly winced. "I hope there's no danger of losing him when they move away to whistle. Ranva knows we had enough trouble finding him first time."

Yochan smiled. "It helps now we've added Felnar and Udan to the scouts. If nothing else, they have experience."

"If I'd known we'd be so far west for so long, I would've insisted on fully trained scouts. No wonder Belaika was unimpressed."

Yochan shrugged. "We might not have got five even then, sir. There aren't enough to go round. Two Vintner armies, parts of the City Guard _and_ the Trading Council's Grand Army under one command, there's too much army for the scouts to cover. We won't be the only ones resorting to human scouts again."

"And even more are used on the watching service, scattered everywhere, except here." Dekran hoped one was nearby; he desperately needed to report.

"Well, we've got two experienced scouts." Yochan lowered his voice, in case of eavesdroppers. "I don't mean to undermine your authority sir, but we could have three."

Dekran clenched his teeth. Yochan still pushed for a rescue attempt. Without Dekran's knowledge, he had sent Felnar and Udan to see how well or otherwise Mirrin had organized his camp. He had not directly disobeyed the letter of his orders, but certainly pushed using his initiative to the limit. "Belaika is now kept in a cage," he pointed out.

"At night," agreed Yochan. "We also know he is being interrogated in the evenings and there is only one thing they can possibly want to know from him."

"The whistles. The advantage we hold over our enemies." Dekran restrained a sigh. Commanders did not sigh in front of more junior officers.

"There's no alternative but to rescue him." Yochan kept his expression carefully neutral.

Dekran knew there _was_ an alternative, but he dare not suggest that just yet. It would earn him no thanks from Marcus Vintner, either. He faced the end of his career over a captured sylph scout. "We might lose most of our men in any rescue attempt, then what?"

"Surprise will aid us."

"They have sentries and Mirrin knows we're here." Dekran reflected that perhaps he should give the command to this man. He should resign his commission, or throw himself on his sword. Well, perhaps not that until after they were done with whatever happened here, and any battles that must be fought had been.

Resignation would be shameful enough without people also thinking he had run from his duty. Cowardice was not among his faults. But how could he explain to Marcus Vintner that he had managed to lose his sylph?

He could share nothing with his sergeant; he must carry this burden alone.

"We should still try, sir. I recommend snatching him during the day, when he is getting exercised."

"Hardly exercise," retorted Dekran. "Fhionnen reports that Belaika's leg is injured."

"It can't be too badly hurt," countered Yochan. "Else, he wouldn't be able to walk at all."

"I am also concerned about the number of garbled messages we get." Dekran wanted to talk about anything but Belaika. Marcus and Belaika were close. The only way it could be worse was if he lost Jenn to the enemy. "You have told the scouts never to improvise?"

"I have sir." Yochan nodded. "Kadhen and Samel know it's better to ask for a repeat than to fill in gaps themselves. They're not always paying full attention so they don't hear some whistles properly."

"We cannot afford mistakes with this lot."

"Any thoughts of Mirrin's intentions?"

"He's split his men, but he is careful to keep himself well away from Marka." The Lance Captain sighed. It also kept Dekran well away from Marka. "I think they're waiting for orders before moving on again."

"Sensible to keep his men moving fast and in small numbers," said Yochan. "Living off the land is much easier with a small group than a large."

"But rumors of their presence will also multiply their numbers."

"All we can do is follow, sir. And wait."

"It is." Dekran waited. He would mention it again, any second... now.

"Trained scouts are too few and too precious to fall into the wrong hands, sir." Yochan's expression grew intent. "Would you like me to formulate a plan to liberate Belaika?"

Dekran sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "If it keeps you quiet, Banner Sergeant, then make a plan and present it to me when it's ready." He suspected that plan was already formulated and would be presented with commendable speed.

Yochan smiled. "Yes sir!"

Dekran shook his head as the sergeant left his tent. He must exude calm confidence, give the impression of command over all situations and he must listen to senior soldiers such as Yochan.

Yochan suggested using soldiers who used to scout as well as the partly trained sylphs. An excellent idea that already gave results. Belaika was right about the Markan sylphs: they were so untrained that they were almost useless.

He settled into his chair and turned his thoughts to freeing Belaika. How best to extract him? What if he failed? What was an acceptable casualty rate to protect the secret of whistles? He _must_ get Belaika back.

The alternative terrified him and would probably see his head on the block. He dare not tell anybody, because his only choices were to rescue or kill the captured scout.

How could he possibly arrange that?

"Captain, sir!" The tent guard called.

Now what? "Yes?"

"Banner Sergeant Yochan and Scout Mezhen."

"Send 'em in."

Yochan led the shyer sylph into the tent and indicated Dekran.

Dekran managed a reassuring smile. "You have something?"

Mezhen looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. His earpoints twitched in all directions before they finally settled. He nodded.

Dekran waited.

"Scout Felnar asked Fhionnen to whistle it in. He saw someone with the army today, a woman."

Dekran reflected that there were lots of women marching with Mirrin. Every army had camp followers. His own would have had them if he'd known how long he and his men would spend away away, and the distance they must travel.

"He's not sure, _donenya_ , but he thinks this woman is Sandev- _ya_."

Dekran stared at Yochan. "Well, that snippet changes a few things." He turned his attention back to the sylph. "Thank you, Mezhen, you have done well."

Mezhen grinned, bobbed his head, and fled.

"I'll think on how to rescue Sandev as well, sir," promised Yochan.

Dekran nodded. "We'd best do that. And soon."

***

Belaika stumbled and only just caught himself. A fall here would be embarrassing, especially as they were not traveling quickly. The horse hardly lifted its hooves and the rope around his wrists lay slack, sometimes trailing in the dust. Now getting better every day, his bruised leg barely pained him and he limped this morning purely for show.

Nicolfer had been as good as her word; he had received no water with breakfast, his food kept deliberately dry. His thirst burned, sticking his lips together. Dust lined his eyes, for the tear ducts were already dry.

He wondered if Nicolfer knew anything about sylphs. No food meant hunger for a day, then a sylph began to slow. But no water led to sudden death, as sylphs lost water so quickly. He would be lucky to last through a second day. And that was despite the water Haema had given him. Before long, he would be unable to walk behind this horse.

Belaika stared at the animal, almost hating it. It gave no sign of being aware of him, but he probably weighed far too little for it to notice his presence. At least it had stopped breaking wind as often. He had learned to keep watch for a lifted tail. At least he wasn't expected to ride the thing.

Somersen would no doubt have conniptions if he tried.

At least Nicolfer rode somewhere near the head of the column, thankfully far away from Belaika, stumbling along near the back, together with the other sylphs. Sandev was here somewhere too, but she stayed well clear.

He should feel uncomfortable around Sandev because of her Gift, but instead felt strangely reassured by her presence. She at least had the sense to stay away, because Sandev talking to him might bring the wrong sort of attention. Or perhaps he was insignificant to her plans. She might not care about him at all, but he suspected she was not so insensitive.

Nicolfer never told him he could not talk to anyone, and he had no shortage of companions. Not even Somersen tried to stop them.

Haema- _y_ -Jinsla dropped back to speak with him. She flourished her pencil and music paper under his nose.

"Got a plan yet?" she asked in a voice that could be heard at the head of the column.

Belaika stared. He would prefer her to demand what the whistles on her paper said.

She shoved the paper under his nose again. As Nicolfer rode somewhere near the head of the column, he wondered whose attention she feared.

"No," he replied, tersely. "Take care; you do not know which ears are listening and which mouths may open in the wrong place." He sighed. Had the girl no sense at all? Perhaps she was part of a trap, after all.

Haema lowered her voice. "You only need to be careful of Gajaran; she hates you."

"I noticed."

"Sandev- _ya_ spoke with her, but she did not change her mind."

"Her choice. Why do you want to come with me?"

Haema looked all around and lowered her voice further. "When you leave, my life will be in danger."

"Why?"

"I believe Nicolfer killed my owner." A tremor entered her voice for a moment. "I must return to Eldova to find out. She... she promised I could rejoin my owner once I had helped her."

Belaika nodded, while he stared at another sheet of paper. The black dots and squiggles meant nothing to him. "If your owner is dead, then she intends to kill you once you are of no further use."

Haema blinked. "If he is not dead, then my running away with you makes no difference. I return to Eldova and everything is right again."

_If Nicolfer found you once, she can find you again,_ he reflected. "And if he _is_ dead?"

"Then I will go to Marka and seek you out."

Belaika have her a sylph's slow blink. This one presumed a great deal. "Why would you do that?"

Haema looked pleased he had asked; her earpoints twitched in what could only be satisfaction. She smiled at him. "If you do not know why, I am not about to tell you." She giggled and scampered away.

Belaika watched her go, but he was not alone for long. Shashi- _y_ -Mirrin appeared alongside him.

" _Enya_ tells me you were at the siege of Marka," she said.

"Yes." He glanced carefully at the infertile. What did she want? "Trapped inside the city." Shashi might want to know for her own benefit, but he doubted that. The direct route had failed Mirrin and Nicolfer, so perhaps they had thought of a new way to get the information they wanted. If so, they should have sent a pretty _breeding_ female, not some scrawny infertile. Even if she did feed him choca.

"What was it like? Did you get very hungry?"

"We were all hungry towards the end," he replied, "and frightened."

Shashi shuddered. "I would hate to be inside a city under siege."

"Of course. Infertiles get fed least of all."

She looked at him as if she thought he sported with her. "How did they lift the siege?"

"Reinforcements arrived." Belaika clamped his mouth shut. He would not tell this sylph how the Gift had been used.

"From where?"

"I am just a scout, they do not tell me everything."

Shashi nodded and glanced sideways at him again. "You do not trust me."

Belaika turned his head, smiled and lifted his bound hands. "You serve the man commanding the army that holds me prisoner. Why would I trust you?"

Which ended _that_ conversation.

A soldier replaced Shashi the moment she left. He wore drab clothes, with green and brown paint smeared across most of his exposed skin. Belaika tried to ignore him.

"I am Vaul," said the newcomer. "I scout."

Having already guessed the second part, Belaika nodded. Yet another tactic?

"We are trying your paint colors," continued Vaul. "I am surprised we never thought of it ourselves."

Belaika smiled. "Simple ideas are often the hardest to catch."

Vaul nodded. "We're still thinking of a way to pass messages so our enemy cannot hear them."

_Here we go,_ thought Belaika. _The answer to that one stares you in the face._

"The whistles you use are a good idea."

Belaika said nothing. He refused to acknowledge that sylph scouts communicated using whistles.

"Does the cold and wet not bother sylphs?"

"Of course," responded the sylph. "It is why we paint ourselves. The paint keeps us waterproof and also helps to block the cold."

Vaul smiled and remained silent for a few moments.

Belaika worried that he had given something away.

"And once you paint yourselves, using colored paint that helps you blend in is just one simple step away."

The sylph nodded.

Before Vaul could ask his next question, Mirrin called a halt. Released from his tether, one of the ownerless sylphs whose name he did not know, fed Belaika the same dry food he'd been given for breakfast. While sympathy flickered in Vaul's eyes, the ownerless stared at him with a mixture of fear and loathing.

After eating, the scout was pleased to see the back of her.

Quite clearly used often for halts, several firepits containing cold ashes and blackened sticks were dotted about the clearing. It also held a surprise: three pedlars' wagons with a few men here and there.

One, a tall man with hazel eyes and light brown hair, shaded his eyes against the sun and watched the army come to a halt around him.

"Good morrow, good sirs." The pedlar bowed. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Erek Ines Warden, pedlar and purveyor of..."

Belaika ignored the man's patter and made the most of the opportunity to stretch out on stones that looked to have been warmed pleasantly by the strengthening sun.

His thirst burned and he tried to ignore the inviting tinkle of the nearby stream. Besides, Somersen watched him. When a shadow fell over him, he opened his eyes, expecting to see Nicolfer or Somersen.

"Come with me," said Vaul, helping the sylph to his feet. "The sun should have warmed the rocks over here better."

Belaika followed Vaul towards the stream. The human dipped a mug into the water and passed it to the sylph. He looked all around to ensure they were alone.

"Don't rush it," warned Vaul, "or you'll be ill. You can have more when it's gone."

Belaika gratefully sipped at the water. The first sip tasted of nectar, beautifully cool and refreshing, even better than his first mouthful of food at the end of the siege. The next swallow tasted just like water again.

"Thank you," he said.

Vaul nodded. "More?"

"You might get into trouble."

The human shrugged. "What she's doing is wrong. Mirrin controls the discipline in this army, not her."

"Thank you anyway."

A sound of rocks clicking together brought their heads up.

Belaika saw General Mirrin with the pedlar.

"So this is one of the vaunted Markan sylph scouts, General?" The pedlar looked directly into Belaika's eyes.

"You have heard of them?" Mirrin sounded surprised.

"I visited Marka last year," said Erek. "Before the siege began. I told you, my sky metal is much sought after in many cities. Did you know that a sword, made from this metal, is –"

"Save me the sales pitch," interrupted Mirrin. "You have seen the scout now."

The pedlar leaned forward and dipped a hand into his leather satchel. "Looks half starved to me," he said. Suddenly, the pedlar pressed something cool into Belaika's hand and leaned closer. "Eat it quickly," whispered Erek, before he turned and followed Mirrin away.

Belaika and Vaul stared at what was in the sylph's hand.

"That's a pear," said Vaul.

Belaika could see that. Not only a pear, but one that looked as fresh as if picked only yesterday. And felt as cool as if it had been packed on a bed of snow.

The sylph bit into it and juice ran down his chin.

Vaul stared.

The sylph left only the stalk, which he tossed aside.

"I'll leave you to have a nap," said Vaul. "Don't run, Mirrin's put guards out."

Belaika nodded and, thirst slaked, stretched out on the warm rocks. Where had the pedlar managed to get a pear out of season?

The next shadow to fall over him did not belong to Vaul.

"Time to move on," growled Somersen, looming over him. He pulled the sylph upright, resecured his wrists and led him back to the horse. Moments later, the army moved on, leaving behind the strange pedlar and his wagons.

Not long after that, the road plunged into dense forest, blocking the sun from sight. Belaika looked around and grinned. The trees made ideal cover and even untrained scouts could hide in this. Not alone to think so, Haema rejoined him.

"I can get a knife for that rope," she whispered. Eyes wide, she looked at the dark forest. "What a place!"

"No." Belaika spoke quietly, but firmly.

The female sylph looked at him in surprise.

"Not in daylight," explained Belaika. "We are surrounded by an army that knows what it is about. They will hunt us and likely catch us."

"But you are a trained scout!"

Belaika nodded. "You are not."

Haema shuddered. "I thought this would be a good place."

"When it comes to escape, let me do the thinking." Belaika smiled to take the sting from his words.

Despite what he said, he knew the chances of finding a better place to escape were remote. Though he knew Haema had a point, the last thing he wanted was to be compromised by an untrained sylph. Regardless of what she seemed to think, he still had not decided she could come when he escaped.

He glanced away. "We spend too much time together."

Haema took the hint and dropped back, sulking. That was two sylphs he had upset in one day. The girl worried Belaika; what did she really want? Did she really want to escape for her own reasons, or did she dance to another's tune?

He wished he could trust her.

***

Nicolfer performed her disappearing trick that evening, which freed Sandev for the night. Or so she thought. About to go and see the six ownerless sylphs who were in her hand, Sandev paused as Shashi poked her head through the tent flaps.

" _Enya_ wants to see you," she said. Her earpoints twitching in curiosity suggested she had no idea why.

Sandev sighed and threw a cloak around her shoulders. She followed the small infertile to Mirrin's tent, which was larger than Nicolfer's, if less lavish.

Her first time in this tent, Sandev glanced around. The many light crystals lighting the interior must have cost their owner a small fortune. A camp stove burned quietly, smoke ducted through a small pipe to an aperture far above, hidden in darkness. Hanging rugs masked the area where Sandev assumed the General slept.

Mirrin slouched in the only easy chair, with a camp chair set up nearby. The man's dark eyes regarded her expressionlessly.

"Alovak for two please, Shashi," he said.

" _Se bata_." Shashi left in a swirl of cool air.

Mirrin's attention turned to Sandev. "Please, sit. It is difficult to be anything but polite to one of The Ten, even if she is a prisoner."

She took the camp chair. As the only other seat available, she had little choice. "You waited many months before you decided to be polite," she countered.

She could not tell where Mirrin's sympathies lay; but she already knew he practiced neither sorcery nor the Gift.

The skin around those dark eyes crinkled in amusement. The General's hair was mostly iron-gray with white wings at the temples. "No need while you were under Nicolfer's care."

"And still am, if care is the word."

"Affairs between The Ten are nothing to do with me. Unless of course, they decide to interfere with my duties."

Sandev saw those eyes harden and remembered he was a fighting man; he had not gained rank through softness. Or stupidity.

"You have been talking with Gajaran," he continued.

Sandev stiffened. _Gajaran_ had told him what she said? Why would the General even notice an infertile who belonged to nobody?

Mirrin continued. "The quartermaster informed me her work has slipped in the past few days."

"Perhaps Jurabim should realize caring for infertile sylphs is more than just ensuring they are fed, clothed, washed and wormed. Attention and encouragement count far more with them than anything else." Sandev's speedwell eyes flashed.

Mirrin shrugged. "They are not badly treated."

Sandev opened her mouth.

He continued before she could speak. "None have even tried to run away."

Sandev laughed. "I think you fail to understand sylphs," she said, as Shashi returned with the alovak.

Mirrin's eyebrows rose. "You think. Shashi, do I fail to understand you?"

Setting out the cups for the alovak, Shashi looked up, surprised. Her collar glinted in the light as she swallowed.

"You may speak freely." Mirrin's tone was gentle.

" _Enya_ understands me all too well," she replied. She gave Sandev a level look, challenging her to name her liar.

Sandev's eyes narrowed. Perhaps she should have worked on the officers' sylphs first. "Infertile sylphs crave to belong to something greater than themselves. It is instinctive. Even abusive ownership is better than no ownership at all, in their view."

Shashi poured the alovak and, at her owner's nod, fled. Doubtless to eavesdrop from somewhere more discreet.

Mirrin held the alovak to his nose and breathed deeply. Sandev barely touched hers. Mirrin spoke again.

"Delwin was a fine man, an officer with promise. Gajaran is now concerned that he served evil. That she serves evil. That we all in fact, serve evil." Mirrin gestured and looked around him, as if to encompass the entire camp. "Thanks to you, she's a bundle of nerves and terrified that Siranva will abandon her."

"I never said she, or her owner, or you, were evil." Sandev took a sip of alovak.

"You let her believe that was what you meant." Mirrin's eyes flashed in anger.

"All who serve or follow Nicolfer and Dervra serve or follow evil. I didn't tell her that, but she is clearly intelligent enough to work it out for herself."

"This army serves Eldova and Hingast."

"Who in turn follows Dervra and Nicolfer." Sandev gave a small smile. "And _they_ serve only the interests of the Malefic Sephiroth. You are a tool of evil, General Mirrin."

"Nonsense."

"You and your land deserve better, Mirrin. When a tool breaks, it is thrown away. Dervra and Nicolfer have used many lands and many people in their schemes. It always ends in tears."

"I'm not interested in whatever it is you believe." Mirrin's eyes flashed dangerously. "Neither did I bring you here for a debate. You will leave those sylphs alone. Stop frightening them. Stop frightening Gajaran."

"You wanted to see me because you are concerned for the feelings of an ownerless infertile?" Sandev raised an eyebrow and glanced at her untouched alovak.

"A moment ago you berated me for not understanding them." A quick smile, a point scored. "I'm concerned for the feelings of _all_ my people, human and sylph."

Sandev held her tongue.

Mirrin's dark eyes were intent. "Orphaned is a better word than ownerless, under the circumstances. At least as far as understanding infertiles is concerned. I wanted to see you because you have upset Gajaran."

"The capture of the sylph scout is what upset Gajaran and I had nothing to do with that."

"Scout Belaika- _y_ -Marcus." Mirrin smiled. "He should fetch a pretty ransom. I'm surprised you and he do not talk more, you must know each other."

"Nicolfer spends far too much time with him as it is. I don't want to earn him more of her attention."

"She has not harmed him."

"Yet."

Mirrin sighed and drained his alovak. "I know it is a pointless exercise to ask anyone to change their beliefs."

Sandev shrugged.

"However, I will not tolerate you causing distress to any members of this camp, human _or_ sylph. If necessary, I will see that discipline is maintained in this camp. I trust that is clear?"

Sandev leaned forward. "General Mirrin, I've heard so many threats in my lifetime that they bore me. I represent truth and lie to nobody. Nicolfer and Dervra are evil and I mean precisely that. There are many claimants to the Throne of Marka who do not enjoy my support, but they are not evil. I did not pick on Hingast for no reason. But Dervra is evil. Nicolfer is evil. And they worked on Hingast's mind until he was evil."

Mirrin's eyebrows climbed again. " _Was_? He has repented perhaps?"

"You don't know?" Sandev gave a gentle smile. "Hingast is _dead_. Killed by Marcus Vintner. He came close to the Throne, but not close enough."

Mirrin laughed. "You prove yourself a liar from your own mouth. Hingast is alive and well; it is only days since he last visited me with Nicolfer. Did you actually see the body?"

"Of course not. Nicolfer captured me the same night. I've been here ever since."

"So your opinion is based on unfounded rumor." The laughter was gone. "Drink your alovak and go. Above all, leave those sylphs alone; I want no more minds poisoned with your nonsense."

Sandev ignored her alovak, said nothing more to Mirrin, and left. Time to work on that block to her Gift.

Despite her ill temper, Sandev spotted Shashi skulking towards Mirrin's tent entrance. Not as good as the sylph scouts, she was easily seen. Sandev would eat grass for a week if Mirrin's sylph had not been eavesdropping after leaving the tent.

She reconsidered her suspicions.

She had initially thought Gajaran had carried tales, but perhaps the orphaned sylph had only talked to the other sylphs and that _Shashi_ had carried the tale to her owner.

Reaching Nicolfer's tent, Sandev threw herself onto one of the rugs and sat crosslegged to consider Mirrin's words. The man was clearly a lot more aware of what went on in his camp than she had allowed.

If Shashi gathered information for her owner – and Sandev did not blame her for that, only herself for not realizing sooner – then she must be more circumspect around the officers' sylphs in future.

No matter what Mirrin wanted, Sandev had no intention of abandoning the ownerless sylphs now. She had worked too hard to win their trust.

One of those sylphs poked her head into the tent. Ojasan had not had time to bond with her previous owner before he died in an accident, so she actively sought another. Sandev wished her luck with that.

"Sandev- _ya_ , Nicolfer has returned. She is in Mirrin's tent."

"No doubt she wants me."

Ojasan smiled. "A private meeting. Dervra and Hingast are with her."

Sandev's eyebrows lifted. " _Hingast_ is with her?" It seemed as though Mirrin might be at least partly right. But it could not possibly be Hingast.

Ojasan nodded. "And Dervra."

"I must see them."

"They should not be disturbed. Tula and Vristan had to serve alovak and even they stay outside the tent."

"That's because Nicolfer and Dervra are in there." Sandev stood.

Their discussion came to an end as the sergeants roused the rest of the camp.

"General muster! General muster!"

"That includes us," remarked Sandev. She reflected she would get no chance to work on the block tonight.

Ojasan nodded.

In the central square of the camp, soldiers and camp followers squeezed together, where a few boxes made a temporary dais. The ownerless sylphs stayed at the back, but Sandev pushed her way almost to the front of the throng.

Nicolfer and Dervra stood behind the boxes, firelight shadows flickering across their faces. Mirrin and Hingast stood side by side atop the crates.

Sandev stared open-mouthed as the soldiers cheered around her.

It was definitely Hingast. Tall and broad-shouldered, long black hair swayed as he nodded his head to the acclamation. Gray-blue eyes regarded the crowd before him and he waited in vain for silence. Mirrin eventually shook a small bell and silence fell.

"Comrades," began Hingast. "The road was harder than planned. We have all spent too long away from loved ones."

A murmur of assent met his words.

"The time now comes to bring it to an end. Tomorrow comrades, at last – at long last – you turn east for Marka!"

Sandev watched as men capered and cheered. She was not too saddened; soldiers left bored too long were always euphoric at the thought of impending action. These men were no different from any others.

"The end game is at hand, comrades," continued Hingast. "When Marka is dealt with, we can all go home."

A final cheer and the sergeants dismissed the men.

Sandev stood and stared. How could this be? She had not seen the man's body, but reliable people had told her of Hingast's death. And sylphs were not given to spreading lies.

She watched discreetly and kept carefully out of sight as Hingast spoke with Mirrin. Nicolfer was shrugging her shoulders at something and Dervra looked stony-faced.

Sandev decided now might be a good time to speak with Belaika and ask about Hingast's "death".

However, it was obvious that other people wanted to speak with the captive scout. Before she reached his cage, she realized that Hingast's small group was also heading his way.

Sandev's heart sank. If Hingast decided he wanted a nice, noisy hunt... She kept out of sight and eavesdropped.

"Congratulations," said Hingast. "You managed to capture one."

"A lucky accident, Majesty," pointed out Mirrin.

"Lucky or otherwise, I am pleased. Who captured him?"

"Camanda. Well, his horse Firedrake trod on the boy."

Hingast nodded. "Promote him. Camanda that is, not his horse."

A small ripple of laughter ran through the group.

Sandev blinked. A joke out of Hingast?

Mirrin bowed. "As you command, Majesty."

Hingast's attention returned to Belaika, who stared defiantly back.

_Don't be foolish_ , Sandev silently willed at him. _Don't anger him_.

"Has he said much?" asked Hingast.

"Not yet," replied Nicolfer, "but we're working on him. He's had the thirst punishment all day."

"Really?" Hingast peered closer. The scout suddenly shrank back, but Sandev could see no reason why. "He looks remarkably well watered to me."

"Yes," replied Nicolfer, after a furious look at Mirrin. "He does."

Mirrin sniffed. "If you want answers out of the boy then ask him the proper questions. Nobody goes thirsty in my camp."

Hingast held up a hand. "No squabbling, children."

Nicolfer scowled at Mirrin before her attention returned to Hingast. "I hope you do not want to take him with you. I would prefer to continue his interrogation here."

Hingast smiled. "I have given up hunting sylphs," he told her. "Relax, your prize is safe. For now."

_Now, that_ is _interesting,_ reflected Sandev.

"Mirrin, you have your orders."

"Majesty." Mirrin inclined his head again.

Hingast turned to Dervra and Nicolfer. "We have other camps to visit tonight. We'd best be about it."

"Of course, Majesty." Dervra smiled. "We will depart from General Mirrin's tent; that will be more private."

As the two former members of the Ten led Hingast away, Mirrin stared into the darkness, directly at Sandev.

She stepped forward and glanced quickly at Belaika. The sylph sat on the ground, hugging his knees and apparently ignoring the humans.

Mirrin smiled at her. "Thought you might be here. Satisfied about Hingast now?" He walked away.

Belaika did not look up as Sandev came closer.

"They told me he was dead," she said.

Belaika looked up, his silver-gray eyes glowing in the darkness. This close, they looked to her like beacons. "Hingast _is_ dead," he insisted.

Sandev gestured, helplessly. "They don't believe that here."

"I felt the same just then as the night Branad- _ya_ died." Belaika's voice was quiet.

"Did you ever get close enough to Hingast to know if he feels any different now?"

"Of course not. But I did see the body. And his bones still hang outside two of Marka's gates."

Sandev sighed. "You saw a body."

Belaika stiffened.

"I don't doubt your word," she added hastily. "It's the people here who will."

"I never met Hingast," continued the sylph. "But when he looked at me, I saw recognition in his eyes. The man knows me. So I am sure I know who he really is."

"You're sure?"

"Sandev- _ya_ , sure from me means certain. That is Ranallic Eydren."

***
Chapter 8

**Rumor**

Olista Allert stared into the mirror, pulled a face and poked his tongue out at his reflection. Despite the self-mocking manner, his dark blue eyes regarded himself rather solemnly. Rather a lot of gray had appeared in his medium brown hair over the past year. He should not complain; many men got their first gray hairs in their thirties, though most waited another decade. Olista would be sixty-one years old at his next birthday.

He usually felt only half that age, but sometimes felt every day of his life weighing on him. Supreme Councilor in Marka, his responsibilities were many and sometimes heavy. There were always difficulties but, after more than forty years serving Marka – he had joined the City Guard at seventeen and never been out of public service since – he was more than used to problem solving.

Over the past few months, he had needed these skills more than ever.

He had gained much satisfaction and harbored few regrets from his life. His plutocratic family had hammered a strong sense of duty into him from an early age. Life had always treated him well and he respected his good fortune.

He applied himself diligently throughout his education and paid the same careful attention to every task given him since. Seven years a Lieutenant in the City Guard, a little more than a dozen years a Senator, followed by service in the Supreme Council. High Councilor was not the end of his success: he reached the dizzy height of Supreme Councilor six years ago, the youngest to hold that office for almost three centuries, itself an achievement, the highest any commoner could hope for.

Yet still not his greatest accomplishment.

He had successfully seen the Throne recognized and, despite problems with the claimants, managed to get an Emperor on that Throne. If not quite the candidate anybody expected.

He scowled at the mirror and tried to ignore the mountains of paperwork surrounding him and his assistants. Every day, they ploughed through more. All the land Zenepha had granted to farmers must be accounted for and the registries brought up to date. Olista involved himself in this particular task and refused to delegate it, as he feared an inevitable clash of interests if or when the old families returned.

The assistant behind passed a document across and Olista flicked through it. "The Farren family is still around somewhere," he remarked. "I wonder if they know their tenants now own most of their land?"

Olista passed the document back to the assistant and turned his back on the mirror. He started, for it was not the usual man sat there, but Silmarila.

The gwerin smiled. "Surprising to find a man of your rank set on so menial a task." Silmarila kept her tone joking, but her smile mocked. "Concerned perhaps that His Majesty has gifted your lands?"

Olista returned the smile, if a little bleakly. "Nothing so mundane," he replied, "but even Emperors are not exempt from legal action."

Silmarila nodded. "All must be subject to the law, or there is no law," she said, an agreement of sorts.

"Just so." Olista smiled. "If Zenepha grants land that is not his to gift, there might be claims against him when the old owners return."

Just before the Second Empire collapsed, three gwerins had left Marka. Olista had searched diligently, but only this one had returned. Even so, he did not really understand her motivation. Despite enjoying considerable influence with Zenepha, she still wore a collar around her neck. She really preferred slavery here to freedom elsewhere?

But even with that collar, he envied her in many ways.

"The old owners." Silmarila's smile broadened. "They fled and as a result, all was forfeit. They refused to fulfil their duties and obligations. The old Empire is dead; a new one now rises in its place."

"And where did you crawl back from? I don't seem to recall you being in the city until rumors of a new Emperor pulled you here."

Silmarila did not rise to the insult, though he understood gwerins were slow to anger at any time. Even so, baiting her might not be a very good idea.

The gwerin gestured to her collar. "I claim nothing for myself," she retorted. "Merely property returned to her rightful owner. I belong to the Throne and was sent from Marka by one of its last occupants. Not a former owner, trying to reclaim something no longer mine. There is a difference."

Olista admitted she had a point, but he was unused to coming worse off in discussions like these. He envied her clear intelligence. And _all_ gwerins were this intelligent. Little wonder that Zenepha listened more to her than to him.

"Have you come to mock my menial task?"

"No, I came to see you. Melda did try to keep your whereabouts a secret, but scribes are usually happy to answer questions."

"Why do you need to see me?" In truth, Olista had begun to feel neglected since the gwerin had walked into the palace.

"Something troubles His Majesty and I have no answer for him. He fears he has upset Sandev and wants to know why she no longer advises him. I echo his worry. Where is she?"

Those dark eyes regarded him. In this bright light, Olista could see the cat-slit pupils, showing her sylph inheritance. Unsettling in that otherwise human face. Her earpoints slanted forward in determined query, exactly as a sylph's would. Or at least, he assumed her earpoints acted in the same way.

Would she detect a lie? Did she expect one? He felt like a child compared to an adult of immense age...

He looked around at his assistants, but none were close enough to hear. "Sandev is not in the city," he said.

The gwerin also had a sylph's slow blink. "That is an evasion."

"It's the truth."

"But still an evasion. I asked where Sandev is, not where she is not."

Olista grimaced. "She has disappeared and not even Grayar knows where she is. Is that direct enough for you?"

Silmarila nodded. "Disappeared as in run away or kidnapped?"

"Kidnapped." The assistants still had their heads buried in manuscripts. "As far as we know, it's gwerins who run away."

Again, no reaction from Silmarila. No wonder gwerins needed imperial protection, they must all eventually rub their owners up the wrong way.

Olista continued. "It might be best for the Emperor's confidence if this does not reach his ears."

"Grayar is at Sandev's villa?"

"When he's not out looking for her, yes."

"Perhaps this is not bad news," said Silmarila, gently. "I know Sandev, she will resist and discover everything she can for our advantage before freeing herself." The solemnity dissolved into a broad smile. "She is very resourceful."

"I know."

Silmarila inclined her head. "Thank you for your frankness, even if it had to be dragged out of you."

"You're welcome." Was the gwerin friend or not? Olista must remember that she served the Throne and nothing else.

He watched her go before turning his attention back to the scrolls. The gwerin had not promised to keep the news about Sandev from Zenepha. He sniffed; he had come off worst from the conversation. If she told the Emperor, on her head be the consequences.

***

Grayar was aware of Tangan's inner turmoil.

The rangy sylph crouched on his heels, arms wrapped around his knees. The rug must be far more comfortable to even his tough feet than cold flagstones. Perhaps he had enough of cold whenever sent outside to exercise.

The sylph had settled well, given who his former owner had been. Grayar held no illusions: the boy's name gave away that Nicolfer had been at him, and the human wondered what form of control had been exercised.

The boy had found his way around the villa, unafraid to wander through all the rooms. So far as Grayar knew, nothing had gone missing and Tangan had made no threatening moves of any sort. So far.

Despite his suspicion, the boy certainly acted as a normal sylph, behaving with respect. At times, Grayar even thought the sylph might be enjoying himself here. He was certainly better clothed than had been the case before.

Tangan even acted as if Grayar truly was his owner.

And yet.

The boy had definitely been Nicolfer's creature. Perhaps not bonded to her – not willingly, anyway – but Grayar held no illusions. Precisely how his former colleague from the Ten had messed up this sylph, he was still to learn, but she would have done _something_.

She had a reason for abandoning him to Grayar.

Tangan claimed to have no memory of Nicolfer, even when his earpoints shouted lie to his words. Even when his mouth twisted in distaste as he spoke her name.

In turmoil indeed.

"You're hanging around here for a reason," said Grayar. His piercing blue eyes failed to intimidate the sylph. "Out with it. What's bothering you?"

Tangan's earpoints twitched in contentment. "Just restless," he replied.

"You have a question." Grayar gave the male sylph a level look and waited.

Tangan gave him a sylph's slow blink. "Is sorcery always evil?"

Grayar paused. This question must have gnawed at the sylph ever since he became aware what his previous owner represented. He had probably been involved in some pretty dubious schemes and doubtless wanted his guilt relieved.

Grayar could not help the boy much with that last.

"The power itself is neither good nor evil," he replied, eventually. "It is everywhere and in everything, unthinking and unaware. Practitioners of sorcery, at least to start with, are neither good nor evil. But the source of their power is controlled by the Malefic Sephiroth."

Tangan blinked.

"The Gift is granted by the Father; sorcery is sought. Because it is always sought for selfish reasons, it is inspired and controlled by the Malefic Sephiroth, and eventually corrupts its practitioners."

"What about those who have both?" Tangan's silver-gray eyes were intense.

Grayar nodded. "Nicolfer is indeed Gifted."

No reaction from Tangan at the mention of her name.

He continued. "She is one of ten granted the Gift by the Father in the earliest days of our inhabitation of this world. And yes, Nicolfer also sought more power for herself, and was granted sorcery, but _not_ by the Father." Grayar paused. "She wanted more power for herself. Selfishness is the weakness shared by all sorcerers, and exploited to the full by their new masters. Oh sure, sometimes the initial reasons are pure – to heal a sick relative for example – but still a selfish motive to seek power."

Tangan shrugged. "Does the Malefic Sephiroth force sorcerers to work for it?"

"That pretty much sums it up. Sorcery corrupts the soul and all because the power was sought for selfish ends. Nobody seeks out the Gift; at least, those who try find only sorcery."

Tangan looked like he wanted to say more, but instead bowed his head. "Thank you."

"Should she wish, Nicolfer can still use the Gift, though I expect she prefers sorcery. Worried that you served evil?"

"I do not know Nicolfer." The sylph's earpoints twitched wildly, whether in betrayal of his lie, or in terror of her name, Grayar did not know.

"As you wish. The only comfort I can offer is that you no longer serve evil. How you make good whatever wrongs you may have committed is between you and your conscience."

"I will try," he promised and blinked as he wondered if he had admitted to something he would rather not.

Grayar gave the sylph an expressionless stare. "I'm sure you will," he said. "Yes?"

Salu hovered in the doorway, her eyes wide.

"There is a gwerin to see you," she breathed. "Silmarila?"

"All right, Salu, I'll come through now." He turned back to Tangan. "Think on what I said. We will talk again, if you wish."

Salu stared at the male sylph for a moment, before she turned and led her owner to the study.

Grayar thought the gwerin did not know he was there, so intently did she study the gurgling clepsydra. He used the opportunity to inspect her. Much as he expected, she was smartly dressed in a gold-edged white tunic, gold collar about her neck, pointed ears rather than rounded ones, and a generally human appearance.

She spoke without turning away from the clepsydra.

"I have not seen a water clock for many years," she said. "Emperor Evlander had two, but I cannot find either now. It does not surprise me that one Sandev now owns one – I wonder if you do, too. Does Grayar-of-The-Ten own the other?" She straightened and turned. Dark eyes regarded him expressionlessly.

"Grayar does not," replied Grayar, irritated by the oblique accusation of theft. "And that one of Sandev's is far older than anything Evlander owned." Her eyes were so dark, he could not see where iris ended and pupil began, but he knew they would be cat-slit.

Silmarila smiled and inclined her head in a sort of bow. "I am Silmarila. You are Grayar?"

"That's right."

"His Majesty is concerned that Sandev has not been to see him recently, so may I ask how your hunt for her is progressing?"

Grayar almost blinked. "Zenepha is aware that Sandev is not in the city?"

"No, but I will not lie if direct questions are asked."

"I won't ask how you found out." Grayar's gaze should have been making the gwerin sweat, but she looked fireproof. Too many gwerins had been capable of ignoring his gaze.

Silmarila smiled again, as if aware of his thoughts.

"We're doing all we can," continued Grayar.

"We?"

"Stanak and I." Grayar felt relief that she didn't know everything.

"Of course, Sandev's bodyguard. He must be sore that he failed in his primary duty. You still do not know where she is."

"Not precisely. Probably with Nicolfer or Dervra."

"That makes me feel much better."

"As a prisoner." Grayar ignored the gwerin's irony. They were all alike when it came to irony and sarcasm, perhaps they were born that way. "Knowing Sandev, she will find out all she can about what our enemy is up to."

Silmarila shrugged. "I will do my best to reassure Zenepha. But I meant it about direct questions."

"I believe you. After all, that is his collar around your neck."

The gwerin shook her head. "Not his collar. I belong to Marka, not the Emperor."

"Amounts to the same thing."

Grayar watched as Salu escorted the gwerin out. The infertile sylph's earpoints were slanted forward when she returned.

"What is it, Salu? Yes, be as frank as you like."

" _Enya_ , I do not think it is wise to speak like that to gwerins."

Grayar snorted. "Unlike infertile sylphs, gwerins need reminders of their status from time to time. Like infertiles, they have that status for a reason."

Salu nodded, but she still looked concerned.

***

Janin- _y_ -Sandev looked around at the small group of scouts.

He could still hardly believe his change of fortune. A former beggar, he now belonged to the most auspicious human in Marka. And he was doing well in his training, accepted by the _yenakula_. In so many ways, the scouting corps _was_ a brotherhood.

One of the first sylph scouts, Bascon- _y_ -Mansard now despaired of ever again being sent far into the field. His owner commanded the Imperial Guard and Bascon was rarely away from his side. He usually wore a hunted look because his wives liked to fill his spare time and their attentions were not always welcome.

Another of the original scouts, Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon was probably the most experienced scout present. Despite his youth, Ean- _y_ -Felis had finished his training and run with the army for two years.

And Tilipha- _y_ - _Nebonda_ completed their small group. Another scout in training, another accepted by the _yenakula_ , but different. Being one of the wild sylphs, he wore no collar. He was free.

That freedom bothered the others. Not so much Tilipha's freedom, but the debate that raged among the scouts, and even beyond them, about whether _all_ sylphs should be free.

"I say the idea is good," pressed Ean. "We will still work for humans and still work together as now."

"I say no," countered Janin. "I know what freedom is. Hunger and cold, dirt and squalor. Until Sandev- _ya_." His mouth closed with a click; there were too many rumors about his owner and he was one of the few who knew the truth.

As Bascon and Tynrasa exchanged a look, their earpoints twitched.

"We have always served humans," said Tynrasa. "We belong to them, it is natural. My family has belonged to _enya_ 's family for at least twenty generations."

Bascon touched his collar. "This is reality," he said. "Everything else is a dream. We will fly sooner."

Tilipha smiled. "Tynrasa, your family would remain close to your owner's family, even if they were free," he said. "Just as we intend to remain close to Kestan- _ya_ 's family. But, if they ever became abusive, we would leave and start afresh. You cannot do that if you are property. And do not give me that infertile guff about an abusive owner being better than none."

Bascon shrugged.

"You say you are still free," said Janin, "yet it looks to me as though you have bonded yourselves to Kestan- _ya_."

Tilipha shook his head.

"Sylphs take what comes," added Tynrasa. "Until we pass over to the next life, when we continue to serve as needed. If we do not serve in this life, we will be alone in the next."

Tilipha snorted. "No. If you are free in this life, then you are still free in the next. Better to have no owner than an abusive one. My experience of owners is thankfully short, yet brutal."

Three pairs of sylph eyes regarded their wild cousin with shock, but Ean eventually nodded his head. "Some humans are bad owners."

"Does Felis- _ya_ beat you, Ean?" Janin grinned to take any insult from his words. "We have not heard you cry out."

"Not that." Ean smiled back. " _Enya_ is not cruel and his leash is light. But I understand Tilipha's words."

Janin shrugged. "A human leading wild sylphs suggests that those sylphs are no longer wild. A strange arrangement."

Tilipha's eyes narrowed. "No stranger than a sylph as Emperor," he countered. "And Zenepha is free."

"Freed after many squeals and arguments," said Tynrasa. "And most of those came from His Majesty. I am told he still misses his collar."

"And he is only a temporary Emperor. The Throne will pass to a human before long." Janin spread his hands as if that was the end of the discussion.

"Zenepha has got used to freedom," countered Ean. "Some humans say they hope he never steps down. He is very good at bossing them about."

"He does not boss them." Tynrasa shook his head. "He tells other humans to do that."

" _He_ tells _them_." Tilipha's earpoints quivered. A triumphant smile played around his mouth.

"It is unnatural," insisted Tynrasa.

"This debate is happening all over the city," said Janin, "but nobody has asked for manumission."

"I think," interrupted Bascon, "that those sylphs bred into slavery will always be slaves inside." He thumped his chest. "And those born free will always be so. Few wild sylphs sold into slavery are ever happy. Except perhaps for infertiles."

A grimace crossed Tilipha's face. "They are different," he said. "Infertiles are strange creatures."

Janin laughed. "They drool whenever they see a collar," he said. "Do not try to deny it, Tilipha. You can pretend those pieces of twine and leather are supposed to be necklaces, but they do not fool _us_. You know what they seek. And it is not just your infertiles."

"A lot of the girls agree with Tilipha," said Ean, dragging the subject back to freedom versus slavery. "Many believe his argument has much merit."

"Then ask your owner to manumit you."

Ean stared at Janin. "Not yet," he said, after a pause.

"Why?" Janin had the bit between his teeth now. "Nervous of freedom? No shame in that, it frightens me!"

"Perhaps." Ean looked at Tilipha for support.

"Fear of the unknown is understandable." Tilipha sniffed. "Freedom is not as bad as you might think."

"Oh? I never enjoyed my so-called freedom." Janin did not smile this time. "I do not say that you should beg for a collar Tilipha, but neither should you try to force me out of mine."

"Better when you decide what you do that day instead of another deciding for you," insisted Tilipha.

"We would still be told what to do. Instead of belonging to our owners, we would instead work for them. They still decide." Janin's earpoints slanted ahead, as if he had ended the argument.

Tilipha looked at Bascon and Tynrasa. "Freedom or slavery? Your choice, not some human's."

"I agree." Ean nodded.

"Foolishness." Bascon gestured with a hand.

"Why?"

"Wild sylphs live in colonies, away from everyone else."

"We do – usually." Tilipha nodded.

"Yet you are not free," argued Bascon. "Human cities grow, and you cannot stop them, only move away. Humans still hunt and enslave you. Their choice, not yours. Humans pass laws in some places to protect wild sylphs and preserve their rights. Humans decide that, not you."

Janin nodded as Tilipha shook his head.

Bascon continued. "Humans decide, and you build prisons you dare not leave, except to scuttle to another prison. I go where I wish almost all the time and pass in peace because of my collar. _That_ is freedom."

"Hardly," snorted Tilipha. "The air you breathe is fresher when you make all decisions that concern yourself."

Janin took a breath and tapped his chest. "Air fills the lungs, not the belly."

And that seemed to be the last word. For now.

***

"Shapes?"

Captain Crallin's dark blue eyes regarded Lieutenant Patisk in disbelief.

Patisk nodded. "Shapes. Outside the walls at night. I've done my best to quash it, but the rumor persists."

"Keep trying. Shapes. Pah! Has anybody reliable seen them?"

"Of course not, sir. Nothing reported from the city walls and the scouts outside the walls have seen nothing either. If they haven't seen any shapes, then they aren't there. Nothing gets past those sylph scouts." Admiration thickened his tone for a moment.

"Where do these rumors sprout from, Patisk?" Crallin laughed. "And I wonder what sort of shapes people are supposed to see."

"We had problems last year with rumors, sir. Perhaps our malicious spreaders are back at work."

"Some enemies linger within the walls. We must redouble our search for them. Have the turncoats any idea who to look for?"

Patisk grimaced. Many Eldovans had changed sides after being captured. The Emperor accepted them, but few guardsmen trusted them, though they tolerated their presence. They were yet to prove themselves and some feared they might change sides again if the opportunity presented itself.

"Part of me fears the rumors come from them, sir."

Crallin pursed his lips. "Sergeant Sajalan seems to have a good head on his shoulders. Bring him here; it's past time some of these Eldovans earned their keep."

Patisk saluted. "I'll have him here within the hour, sir."

***

Newly promoted Sergeant Sajalan of Marka's City Guard looked down at Meylka and ruffled her hair fondly. The infertile sylph ripped the paper off the parcel and stared at the contents.

"For me?" Her earpoints lashed in pleasure and she smiled at her owner.

"As promised, new clothes for you. I can afford it now." Sajalan smiled back. Seeing Meylka pleased was itself a pleasure. "Those are as new as you can get. Never worn by another, not even tried on by another."

"Fit for a dance." Meylka held up a dress and measured herself against it. Now she knew why Sajalan had measured her in minute detail. Her eyes shone. " _Enya_ , I am grateful. There are clothes here for every day of the week!"

"The least you deserve." He ruffled her hair again and tickled her earpoints. "We've faced some hard times, but the worst is behind us now. We're free from Hingast, despite the rumors. We have new, better employers."

Meylka's attitude suddenly changed. She grew solemn again. "There is something wrong?"

Sajalan smiled again. "My sylph sees so clearly."

" _Enya?_ "

"Only rumors. We know Eldovans still surround Marka, even if at a distance, and we know what will happen if I am ever captured by them."

Meylka nodded. She knew, and the thought filled her with terror. Not for herself, but for what would be done to her owner before he would be allowed to die. She would be forfeited property, but it was unlikely that she would be tortured or physically harmed before going to the sales block.

Sajalan continued. "Only rumors, but there are tales of strange shapes outside the city. Fearsome shapes. Not wraiths, but something else."

Meylka shuddered and her earpoints wilted away. "Friends of Dervra?" she whispered. She rued the day she had ever met Dervra; some of the things done to her were terrible. Not least having dogs chase her in an experiment, ruined by sylph scouts.

Her owner nodded. "More friends of Dervra. I do not know how he gets away with it. Surely the Father should intervene? After all, this is His Ilvenworld. Either way, the rumor says shapes are outside the city walls at night." Human and sylph heads swung around as a loud thump, repeated three times, resounded on the door.

Meylka, perhaps afraid of a shape, skulked towards the door and opened it, her earpoints wilted. She recognized Lieutenant Patisk.

"Your owner is here? Ah! Sajalan. The Captain wants to see you."

"Me sir?"

"You sir, yes sir." Patisk smiled. "Now might be a good idea."

Sajalan wondered which of the regulations he had breached and quickly decided there was quite a list. He sighed and swung his cloak around his shoulders. "You stay here, Meylka."

Eyes wide, the sylph nodded.

As the door closed behind the guardsmen, Patisk turned to Sajalan. "There are rumors, which we believe are false."

"The shapes rumor?"

"That's the one. We believe somebody's spreading it from within the city. Come and find out more from Captain Crallin."

"I'm with you all the way, sir." Sajalan's brain whirled. At least none of his indiscretions had been rumbled. What did the Captain of the City Guard want with a lowly sergeant anyway? The rumors were nothing to do with him.

Sajalan's quarters were not far from Crallin's office, hardly surprising since Sajalan was quartered within the barracks. Minutes later, he stood before the highest-ranking officer in the City Guard.

"You sent for me, sir?" Sajalan stood stiffly before the desk.

At a nod from Crallin, Patisk pulled up two chairs, took one himself and indicated Sajalan should take the other.

"I did." Crallin pursed his lips briefly. "Have you heard the rumor?"

"About shapes? Yes sir."

"Nobody reliable has seen them. No guardsman or scout has reported anything out of the ordinary. Which means the rumor is baseless, which in turn means somebody has spread it." Crallin stared at his underlings. "This is somebody known to us, an enemy of Marka; somebody we already know likes to spread malicious rumors. Which is why we hope it is not you, or any other of the Eldovans who joined our ranks after the siege."

Sajalan relaxed. He had feared he or his comrades from Eldova might be blamed for any little thing going wrong. Obviously, this wasn't about to happen now.

"We try our best to fit in, sir. We have no wish to upset any carts."

"Just so." Crallin nodded, as if he expected nothing less. "Your task is to find whoever is spreading these rumors. Report to Lieutenant Patisk on a daily basis. He will decide what action must be taken. Don't worry, I'm mindful of His Majesty's promise that Eldovan will not be used to fight Eldovan."

Sajalan could not care less about any Eldovan except Meylka and himself, curiously enough in that order. "And if the rumors are true, sir? You never know."

Sajalan felt he pushed himself a little too far forward here, but he wanted to make sure these were just rumors.

"Then someone reliable will verify them soon." Crallin smiled again. "But somehow I doubt they will."

***

Kelanus ripped open the letter and began to read. The moment he read the salutation, he recognized his former wife's hand.

My dearest Kelanus

I have heard by the merest chance that you have cleared your name from the awful allegations that were made against you some time ago.

You must understand that such allegations are very difficult to live with and that these almost destroyed me, and your sons. Both are delighted that you succeeded to clear your name.

Kelanus, I know you feel betrayed and, indeed, I am aware I must shoulder much of the blame for that betrayal. But I recognize the error now, and I wish to make amends. Your sons again want to carry your name with pride.

My dearest Kelanus, I wish to end the animosity between us and make good the dreadful mistake I made. Is it not too late for us to try again?

I remain, my Dearest, your loving Wife

Saran.

Kelanus refolded the letter. The Father only knew how it had managed to reach him, but here it was. Saran had heard and was now willing to believe his version of events in Sandester.

He sat in silence, the missive gripped in one hand. She had not been so willing to believe at the time. Then, Kelanus was the most evil creature to walk the world. Even worse, he had sullied her good name, and that of their sons.

Their sons – _his_ sons – had been so shocked that they renounced Kelanus and took their maternal grandfather's name as their own.

And now Saran wanted him back.

A muscle twitched in Kelanus's cheek. He had walled away his pain, but the letter came like an arrow to his heart. He should reply, but she had always ignored his letters before.

He must think about this; he needed air.

The moment he left the palace, he knew he no longer walked alone.

"I have missed seeing you."

Kelanus turned and smiled at the outlander woman. "Tahena, you know I come to see you whenever I can. Sadly, there has been much to do of late." His bass voice resonated in her chest.

Tahena pushed a finger against his lips. "That sounds suspiciously like an excuse."

Kelanus laughed, a deep rumbling sound. "The best I could think of at short notice."

"Then try harder. You must know I miss you." Tahena looked into his face and he hoped she could not see his inner turmoil. "I'm not as busy as you; there are no students and no Sandev to find small errands for me to run. Grayar is more of a loner and has little for me."

Kelanus stopped and gave his companion a solemn look. "If that bothers you, I can find you plenty of work. I'm not the only one who could do with a messenger."

"If I get too bored, I'll find tasks of my own, thank you."

Kelanus laughed and walked on. Tahena kept pace and he had no need to shorten his stride.

"Going anywhere special?"

"Just for some air," he replied. "One can spend too much time staring at a map."

"You mean you want to turn a few things over in your mind."

Kelanus laughed again. He rarely laughed so much; he was grateful that Tahena always managed to drag one out of him. Even when, as now, he didn't feel like laughing. "One or two things to straighten out."

"Sounds ominous. When a tactician as gifted as you mulls things over, I'm sure Marka must fear something dreadful."

Kelanus looked at her again and this time his pale blue eyes were expressionless. "Marka must always fear something dreadful. If it doesn't happen today, then tomorrow."

"A worrying philosophy. If we follow it, at least all our surprises will be pleasant ones."

Again, that bass rumble. "Perhaps one or two nasty surprises."

Tahena's expression sobered. "That's always the trouble, but there must always be balance. Though I'm not a great believer in fate."

"Oh?" Kelanus raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously. I very much believe in free will and the ability to affect things ourselves. Having our entire lives already mapped out, as if determined by another, is a frightening thought."

"Perhaps we do not have the free will we would like."

Tahena laughed. "And what, please tell, do you mean by that?"

"Some of the Gifted –" Kelanus dragged his voice lower, although nobody was close enough to overhear, "– can see the future. How can that even happen without at least some predestination?"

Tahena considered the statement.

Kelanus hid a small smile. Most people took everything at face value, whereas he never did. Perhaps this was why people believed him such a good tactician. Even Marcus Vintner admitted that, until Kelanus switched sides, his cousin Branad had headed for victory.

"Those who See –" Tahena emphasized the word so the capital was audible "– only look at the most likely outcome of an occurrence, or a course of action. Seeing is triggered only by particularly significant events and even then, things can change to make the entire vision irrelevant. Happens all the time."

Kelanus considered her words. "So that's why Seers speak so carefully. Riddles wrapped in riddles, just to keep us on our toes. Or perhaps we only think we understand what they say."

Tahena shook her head. "When a Seer speaks, she or he is usually very certain what is said will come to pass. And also remember that these visions are usually warnings about a thing that _will_ happen if some other thing is not done. Even Grayar is careful about everything he Sees."

"That is almost as confusing as one of Sandev's explanations."

Tahena realized it was time to change the subject. "I'm still glad I ran into you," she said. "Where shall we go?"

Kelanus smiled. "I'm also pleased that we met. Perhaps we should go to our favorite park. I need your advice concerning a letter."

Tahena smiled. "Any advice I have is yours."

***

Hidden in shadows, Nicolfer watched the villa across the road. She could use her sorcery to make herself invisible, but using power might be detected. She did not want to give herself away.

In that villa, her enemy was about to die. She had hoped Tangan might have completed his task before now, but his sylphic nature obviously still fought against her conditioning. Proximity would override his instincts and force him to act. Not the best way of doing it, but the only way available to her.

She watched a night watchman, lantern on the end of a long pole, pass by. He expected to see nobody this long after curfew, so he saw nobody. Fortunately, the authorities had not yet thought to use sylphs as patrolmen because they would miss nothing. Their excellent night vision would ensure that.

Once the watchman had gone, Nicolfer relaxed a little. She felt adrenaline course through her veins; her excitement always overflowed before an event.

She came out of the shadows and reached out with her mind.

No need to reach far, he was close. She felt his mind, a feeble thing compared with her own. She also sensed terror in the part of him still fully aware of what she did, against his will and better inclination.

Nicolfer smiled as she reached into the boy's mind.

Time to wake, Tangan. Time to kill.

***

The sylph Tangan started at a sudden gurgle from the clepsydra, before remembering what caused it. The villa was otherwise silent, with only a creak now and then from a timber or joist as it settled from the stresses of the day. Nothing to alarm him. Unlike the thing that now, after months of waiting, forced him to his duty.

His mission terrified him, but he must accomplish it. There was nobody else. He felt somehow trapped, as if he could not even control his body. His earpoints were still tucked away, as if he had really stayed asleep in his blanket, and though sounds came through the folded skin, they were muted.

He did not want to do this! He wanted to cry and shout, but powerlessness kept him silent. On legs he did not really want to work, he crept silently from shadow to shadow. He hoped somebody else would wake and stop him.

His silver-gray eyes glowed faintly from the reflected light. Almost all the light crystals were covered and he vaguely heard deep, relaxed breathing coming from the occupants of Sandev's villa.

Wake up properly! Still no control. Someone else maneuvered him, and he could only be a silent witness to an automaton.

He must be careful of the other sylphs. Either might decide she needed to go somewhere, or even hear him moving through the building. At least Janin was away from the villa, on a training exercise.

Part of him wanted one of them to wake.

Caya- _y_ -Sandev and Salu- _y_ -Grayar had sharp hearing. But they shared one of the bedrooms. Salu seemed to think Caya would be reassured by the presence of another sylph. Or perhaps Grayar encouraged it. Either way, she did not sleep in Grayar's bedchamber, an advantage for his task.

Stanak, for some strange human reason, had decided to sleep in the stable, but at least Grayar stayed inside the villa. Having the bodyguard outside made his task even easier.

Even so, the part that was him did _not_ want to do this. He wanted to be stopped!

Turning the corner from the study, a flight of wooden stairs faced him. The second, fourth and seventh steps creaked; if he had a shred of decency, he would tread on every one.

Compelled by another, forced to obey, he kept to the shadows and glided from one step to the next. First to third, to fifth, to sixth... eighth, ninth... tenth, eleventh, twelfth... thirteenth and fourteenth.

He paused at the head of the stairs. Had a door just closed below? He strained to hear, but heard nothing more, except that water clock. To his sensitive hearing, it sounded like a fully laden cart rumbling down the street, despite his earpoints being tucked away.

He felt a muted sense of... something, but thought that might be the Gift, permeating every part of the villa. Even from here, he could sense the power that surged through Grayar like a river. If not for a greater imperative, that sense would terrify him.

Right in front of him was a linen cupboard. Thanks to the light crystals glowing behind their covers, he could just make out the door. However, thanks to the heavy drapes and external shutters, even he could see very little.

Turning from the stairs, he went up on his toes. Easier to walk silently this way. One hand gripped the stolen dagger and sweat poured out of him. He hoped someone would wake and rouse the household. He must accomplish his mission.

Why was his mind no longer his own?

The next door led to the sylph room, where he trusted both Caya and Salu were sound asleep. Next came Sandev's room, ready for her return. Then, the room Grayar had taken for his own. Was that door shut, or just pushed to?

Tangan pushed against the door. Pushed to, so he did not even have to turn the handle. Inca by inca, it moved inward. He kept the movement slow, in case it met sudden resistance. Anything could be behind the door. Neither did he want to bang it and cause a disturbance.

He _should_ bang it. He really wanted to.

Could the other sylphs overpower him? Infertiles sometimes put themselves in danger to save their owner's life. Might Salu do that?

Once he had killed, his mind would belong to him again. He wanted his mind back, he wanted full control of himself, but he did not want to kill to achieve that.

The door stood open enough and he slipped through the space.

The room stank of the Gift and he assumed it all came from his target. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the increased gloom, listening to Grayar's deep and even breathing. The man was soundly asleep. No need for Tangan to see, for his other senses would guide him.

But he waited. The more senses he could rely on, the better. Gradually, he saw more and more.

At least Grayar was meticulously tidy. He already knew this from long chats with Salu; the small infertile was happy to boast how neat and tidy Grayar kept his small cottage. How her owner took pride in taking his share of the chores.

He found it difficult to believe how badly Grayar spoiled his slave. The man should have saved his money; slaves were those to do chores. Unless he needed companionship, of course. Many humans bought sylphs for precisely that reason – to keep them as pampered pets rather than as slaves.

He pulled his thoughts back to his task. He shifted his grip on the dagger and stared at the lump that was Grayar.

At least, the breathing sounds emanated from there. He came closer, until he was stood over the human. Grayar's breathing was deep and unconcerned. Now, he must complete his duty. Now or never.

A snarl turned his lips as Tangan lifted the dagger and carefully chose the place to plunge it in...

***
Chapter 9

**Memories**

Neptarik leaned on his broom and waited for Mya to fetch the dustpan. To help with familiarization and training, guide and newbie stayed together for a few weeks. Neptarik had no complaints about that; he enjoyed the company of female sylphs.

Today they swept and mopped the tiled corridors in the gateway towers. A pleasant task and not too onerous.

His first few days had passed quickly and he had plenty of new experiences to savor. He was getting to know the sylphs here, especially those with whom he shared the small male sylph dormitory. There, he had his own bed and a small lockable box for effects and spare clothes.

The key to his box hung around his neck. Surprisingly, sylphs in Castle Beren were paid. Admittedly a pittance compared with a sylph scout's pay, but at least he, and not his owner, received the wage. A thrifty sylph could save towards a free day in the city, or for extra rations. Those who saved hard could even buy extra choca.

Neptarik had always found learning new tasks pleasurable, especially when none were difficult to master. Best of all, once detailed for work, the sylphs were left alone to get on with it. So long as everything got done, they were left alone. When the job was complete, free time began. Unless a sylph happened to be foolish enough to be caught lazing around by an overseer.

The only irritant so far had been the deworming humiliation. No matter how necessary, no sylph enjoyed that attention, but one should be warned before it happened. Tricks with choca were not the best way. He wouldn't mind half as much if his real owner had ever neglected this annual chore.

Of course, he could not say so to the man who believed himself to be Neptarik's genuine owner.

"What are you muttering about?" asked Mya.

Unaware he had spoken aloud, Neptarik blushed. "Nothing important," he said.

She flourished the dustpan. "Shall we get done? We can rest up somewhere then."

Mya fascinated Neptarik. Coy about her past, she was clearly not from Re Taura. He knew a mainland accent when he heard one. There had been few questions so far, but he suspected Mya had as much interest in him as he had for her. He had caught her looking at him, earpoints erect and twitching, sometimes slanting forwards.

His own earpoints doubtless behaved the same way.

He hummed a quick line from 'Scrubbing the Halls' as he swept dust into the pan and Mya then emptied it into a small metal container.

"Do you always hum?" she asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

"When happy, yes," he replied. "If it bothers you, I will stop."

"No, I like it." Mya flashed a quick grin. "Only know one or two bars of each song?"

Neptarik grinned back. "Much more than that," he replied. "I will hum full songs for you another time. Or sing them if you like. Do we mop now? Better finish before the evening meal."

They mopped the floor together, Neptarik aware of his companion's eyes on him. He moved methodically and meticulously while mopping his part.

The sylphs stood aside politely whenever a human wanted to pass. Most of the soldiers were equally polite, walking along one side of the corridor deliberately left unmopped. When they finished mopping the rest of the corridor, Mya went back to finish the last strip.

They drank from a water fountain – there were several dotted about the castle, another fabulous invention of the last Mametain, as Mya loved to point out – and then sat side by side in the window alcove above the castle entrance.

"There's never been any glass in this window," Mya explained. "No idea why."

Neptarik knew the explanation was the same as if Mya had wondered why there were holes in the stone floor. They were directly above the entrance here and the openings made it easier to attack any enemy who made it across the drawbridge.

"Shall we sit in there?" he suggested, before scrambling into the gap that formed the window.

He sat facing out and swung his legs in the space above the drawbridge. He tried to work out how far up the drawbridge would come if ever raised, while Mya plumped down beside him.

He finally decided the far edge of the drawbridge would almost reach where they were sitting. Now he had seen this from above and below, he filed the information away; it might be useful.

Neptarik ignored most of Mya's amiable chatter – far too talkative for a sylph – and stared across to the main island. How many days since he had been brought here? He was still to do any real spying. He could not see the drop down to the causeway connecting Re Beren to Re Taura from here, but he could see the top of the cliffs on the mainland. His pupils narrowed against the afternoon sun as he stared wistfully in the general direction of home. He caught a question from Mya.

"How long have I been a traveler?" He turned and smiled at his companion. He noted their eyes were level, they were the same height. A pointless thing to think about.

"That is what I asked." Mya rolled her eyes. "Not listening?"

He had certainly been listening to her voice. And enjoying it. "I was born into a traveling group," he replied, truthfully. Neptarik knew he might need a cover story, and staying close to the truth was easiest.

"You must have seen a lot of the world."

Neptarik's smile widened. "Not as much as you might think."

"How did you end up here?"

"If I tell you that now, there will be nothing to talk about tomorrow."

Mya gave him a level look and sniffed. "If you do not want to talk, that is fine."

Neptarik glanced at the moat and drawbridge again, thankful for the escape. He preferred not to say much about his past yet. After all, the guides might also be spies, but for the Mametain.

"Now you have gone all misty-eyed on me," complained Mya.

Neptarik jerked from his thoughts and his eyes focused again.

"What is wrong?" Mya stared curiously into his eyes, earpoints slanted forwards.

"Thinking about my younger days." He forced a smile. "A mix of good and bad memories."

"I would like to hear them."

"All right. Some anyway. We will be very hungry before I finish, else."

Mya looked at him. "I am listening."

"My early days are full of upheaval. So much change, and so often. My earliest memories are of moving from place to place. We were taynors, we made people happy and they paid to see us. I lived with my mother and, like many traveling sylphs, I never knew my natural father."

"Why not?"

"It is common. We are not born into slave-owning families as are most sylphs. There are no genealogical tables and pedigrees for us. Male sylphs from other groups are, ah, lent to prevent inbreeding."

Mya detected a hint of bitterness. "Like that for some of us, too," she countered. "All right, I am still listening."

"Our group split when I was about eight cycles old. Taynoring got harder every year, because raiders were everywhere in the countryside and city-dwellers became ever more suspicious of outsiders."

"That is the same everywhere nowadays." Mya blinked. "Sorry, please continue."

"The leader's son – Salden – decided crime was the way ahead. He never suggested robbing country folk, because they gave travelers somewhere to stay for work, but he told us that city-dwellers were fair game. They never really liked us anyway."

Mya blinked.

Neptarik paused and chewed at a finger. So far, he had stuck to the truth.

"Salden's father never agreed, so the group split. Mother and myself stayed with Salden. He liked me."

Mya gave him a slow blink. "He liked you."

"Not that way." Neptarik shook his head. "I was lithe and fit and could squeeze into very small spaces. Even now, if my head goes in, the rest follows."

"Even now?" Mya giggled and twisted to give Neptarik's body a close look. "You look very fit, but you are still young."

"And you are ancient?" Neptarik smiled.

"Older than you," she replied. "Anyway, you were saying."

"Salden taught me how to look after myself, how to avoid humans who wanted to hit or attack me." Neptarik smiled. That was the origin of _ebatela_ – self-defense – which sylph scouts and many soldiers in the Vintner Army now used. He could not tell Mya that part though, so he left it out. "I also learned that showing fear, or even feeling fear, can lead to trouble. The criminal world is very rough."

Mya nodded, but said nothing.

"As he liked me, Salden always chose me to go into the cities with him. I stole jewelry, gold, papers, gemstones, whatever he told me to. If it had value and a sylph could carry it, I would take it. I climbed into houses to unlock them, so stronger humans could take the things I could not lift."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Neptarik grinned and shrugged. "Something I had to do: sylphs have no choice but to obey or starve. I admit I enjoyed the challenge of getting into places, but not everything was fun. I had to wear old clothes that were little better than rags. If the chasecry raised – thankfully rare – I pretended to be a beggar. Beggars are nearly always sylphs in cities and usually ignored. Crime is a human pastime, not a sylph one."

"What did you get out of it?" asked Mya, quietly.

"Salden looked after me and, more importantly, Mother."

"It came to an end?"

"After two years." Neptarik nodded. When they reached Calcan, but he was not about to talk about part either. He still knew next to nothing about her! "How did you end up here?"

Mya looked across at the low sun and shrugged. She must say something, after her near interrogation.

"My owner wanted to get away from the troubles on the mainland," she said. "We came to Re Taura, but he found troubles of a new sort. He –" Her breath caught and she fought the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. "He died. A sylph must survive, so here I am."

Neptarik's eyes shone with compassion and his earpoints wilted slightly in understanding. "I am sorry," he said. "Sounds like this happened recently."

Mya pulled herself together and wiped angrily at her eyes. She changed the subject. "Your accent is not from Re Taura."

"Of course not. We traveled mostly on the mainland." Neptarik's eyes still regarded her, unblinking. The compassion was still there, but he looked away first. "We have rested here long enough, it must be time to eat."

***

After the evening meal, Mya nudged Neptarik while they were still sitting on the long bench at their wooden table. "You asked about gambling. I know where we can earn some coin."

Neptarik grinned and touched his 'lucky' scarf, presently wrapped around his waist. This was tolerated, so long as it stayed out of sight under his tunic. Mya smiled back.

"They keep the stakes low when we gamble with them, but many will toss dice or play cards with us. For pennies, of course."

"Better than for nothing," remarked Neptarik.

Mya led him back across the outer bailey to the gateway towers. He carefully noted the position of everything; one day the knowledge might be useful. Below the floor where the laundry line left the tower, Mya tapped gently on a door. One of the castle guards opened it.

"Hello Mya." The man smiled. "Brought a friend?" He gave Neptarik, who had already wound the scarf around his head, a quick once-over. "Hurt yourself, boy?"

Neptarik shook his head, but did not explain why he wore the scarf. Humans had an unfair advantage when they knew which emotions flitted through a sylph's mind while gambling. The scarf took that advantage away.

He glanced sideways at Mya and decided she must lose more often than she won. With nothing to hide her earpoints, she would be easy to read. Oh well, there was one born every minute.

"Well, come on in. Not many sylphs come to gamble against us." He looked at Mya as they passed into the messroom beyond. "Has he got coin?"

"Yes he has," replied Neptarik, who disliked people asking questions concerning him as if he wasn't there. He jingled his purse invitingly. "Only pennies, which I hope to turn into silver before I sleep."

The guard laughed. "Well come on in, we don't bite. Usually."

"That is just a joke," Mya whispered to the other sylph.

Neptarik nodded. He had already guessed as much and almost told his companion, when he remembered that he was playing the part of someone who had always been a traveler or beggar, and unused to soldiers' humor.

The room within was already a fug of smoke from pipes and the sylphs smelled beer fumes mingling with the smoke. Eight soldiers, each with friends hanging around them, sat at a circular table.

Neptarik sneezed, but the smell didn't seem to bother Mya. The mundungus in the morning must be as bad as the smallest inn, he thought.

"Three card chop," said the guard who introduced them to the table. "Nice and easy for us simple soldiers."

_And us stupid sylphs,_ reflected Neptarik. Three card chop suited him very well, provided he kept winning.

"Are you used to five suites?" asked the same soldier.

"Yes I am," replied Neptarik.

"No wild cards," said another soldier. "Not in chop."

The male sylph nodded.

"Introduce us to your friend, Mya," continued the soldier who had let them in. "He's new here."

"This is Neptarik," said Mya, a large grin on her face.

The sylph nodded to each of the gamblers as Mya made introductions. He was on familiar ground here, despite being unused to the stench of bacca in enclosed spaces.

The man who had opened the door was Sergeant Jillar, a grizzled veteran who had gambled here for more than twenty years. The sylph sat on a chair between two fresh-faced youngsters; neither had reached twenty years of age. Gerog was another outlander, but Brinyard hailed from the northern end of Re Taura. Shad, Rifford, Chani, Dryd and Fasal were locals and had served in the castle for years, though only Jillar remembered the previous Mametain. Neptarik forgot all the names, even before Brinyard, who was acting as banker _and_ gambling, dealt the cards.

He knew cards were unique to each designer, but these were barely recognizable. Swords, Trades and Wands were the same, but Crowns were called Gods here, and Coins known as Metals.

He stared across at Mya, who arranged her pennies in a small pile. He wondered how she managed to still her earpoints so well. What was her trick? He soon amended his view of the female sylph.

He was doing pretty well, and better than most of the humans. Mya, however, did much better. Her earpoints never betrayed her and even he found it impossible to guess her thoughts when she looked at her cards. No way to tell if she bluffed when she raised the stake, or sat back.

Those earpoints were unnaturally still and only the eartips twitched. But that gave nothing away.

As always, the gamblers chattered at the table, a way of throwing opponents' concentration. Neptarik had always been aware of this trick and ignored it now.

The two youngest soldiers were out first, which did not surprise him. This was definitely a game where old age and treachery overcame youth and skill.

Jillar described the best drinking establishments in Taura City, where he recommended everyone spend their leave when it fell due.

"Does that include sylphs?" asked Neptarik.

"The Mametain is generous," replied Jillar. "Of course it does."

Neptarik fell back into his customary silence when gambling.

The other soldiers chattered about poor rosters, unfair duties and the excuses people made for trying to get out of their share of chores. Nobody said a word about the Mametain, or his plans, or indeed about anything much beyond the castle. Neptarik listened for snippets, but he already knew off-duty soldiers rarely spent much time talking about the job.

Mya spoke endlessly about anything and everything. The volume of words pouring from this representative of sylphhood impressed Neptarik. No sylph talked this much even to an owner and he began to wonder if somehow she might be related to Cloudy, a ship sylph who claimed to speak for two.

Or perhaps Mya was related to Tektu.

That brought his thoughts to the strange sylph-that-was-not-a-sylph and he pushed the image away. He did not want to think about her right now. Jillar spoke to him.

"So lad, is it true that you have lost an owner, which is why you travel about so much?"

Neptarik, caught off-balance, gaped. "I have lost an owner," he said, cautiously, "but that is not why I travel." He narrowed his eyes as he looked at Mya. How had she worked that out? His thoughts turned to the misadventure in Calcan, when still with Salden.

The villa squatted in the night, impregnable to Neptarik's relatively inexperienced eyes. He knew what was expected of him and where he must go to find the wealthy family's valuables. They must have suffered before as a fence surrounded the property and barking drifted to his long ears. He hoped the dogs were not loose. Like all sylphs, he treated animals with large teeth with a wary respect, preferably given from a distance.

"Go on!" Salden hissed to him. "Get on with it!"

His instincts screamed danger and the sylph hesitated. Salden threatened expulsion and worse before Neptarik finally scrambled over the fence. He looked for the way in to plunder the villa of its riches.

It did not take very long. A door carelessly left unlocked. Jewels, gold coins, necklaces, bracelets... Neptarik decided the people who owned this villa were stupid to leave so much lying about for him to collect. No hint of guards or even servants. The dogs' continuous barking no longer bothered him; he assumed they were chained or otherwise restrained.

He should have listened to his instincts.

Once he filled the sack, he left the villa and quickly scaled the fence. Looking both ways, he was surprised to be alone. Salden had gone.

It would be dangerous for him to stay, so Neptarik made his way through Calcan, to where he and Salden had arranged to spend the night until the gates opened.

There, both his owner and the City Guard waited. The last Neptarik saw of Salden was his apologetic look as the burly guardsmen took him away. Human and sylph went in different directions. They had not bonded, as owners and owned tended to do, but it felt the same to Neptarik as losing an owner. How would he make his living now?

He blinked at his fellow gamblers, who stared at him through the heavy fug of smoke.

"He does that sometimes," said Mya. "It is like he is no longer with us, and then... Ah! He is back again."

Neptarik shook his head, but said nothing.

"You playing that hand tonight?" asked Jillar, a smile on his face. "Sorry if we reminded you of something you'd rather forget." The sergeant, clearly concerned despite his smile, looked curiously into Neptarik's face.

The sylph blinked again, looked around and realized only he and Mya were to play their hand. The competition here was pretty poor. He spread his three cards.

"Seventeen." Jillar sounded disgusted. "We should have left you to sleep."

A small ripple of laughter ran around the table and Neptarik grinned. This was friendly banter, and he relaxed. Soldiers were soldiers wherever they were from. His grin faded. A pity that these might turn out to be his enemies.

"Mya?" prompted Jillar.

The female sylph's eyes danced, but her earpoints were still strangely quiescent. She turned her cards over one at a time.

"Nineteen!"

Neptarik stared, aghast. He had lost, to another sylph!

Mya pulled the coins towards her. Neptarik glanced at his remaining coin. For the first time in years, he would leave a table with less money than he had arrived with.

"I think perhaps you should go and sleep," said Jillar. "It is almost curfew."

Mya inclined her head and smiled.

Neptarik scowled. Curfew was for children and... well, and for slaves he supposed. He had enjoyed considerable freedom for so long, now he must try and get used to having his time controlled.

"Mya, you go ahead. I'll send Neptarik out to you in a moment. Go on, this is man to man." Jillar smiled at her.

Sulkily, Mya obeyed and Neptarik knew she would interrogate him until he told her what was about to be said. He unwrapped the scarf from around his head and his earpoints, again free, twitched. If she cared about him that much, then perhaps... His heart thudded.

"Look, none of us want to reopen any wounds," said Jillar, a paternal hand on the sylph's shoulder. "If you suffered after your loss, I apologize for reminding you."

Neptarik nodded, his eyes solemn. "Thank you," he said, knowing the soldier expected a response.

"All right. Go and catch up with Mya." Jillar smiled. "Next time, I'm sure you'll play better than tonight."

The sylph gave the sergeant a quick grin before he left the room.

"Well?" demanded Mya. "What was that about?"

Neptarik grinned. "He wanted to say sorry for making me feel sad, talking about my lost owner." His earpoints lashed to and fro. "What are you doing? What are _those_?"

Mya gave a disparaging sniff as she removed a piece of shaped wood from each ear. "I wear these," she explained, "for the same reason you wear that scarf around your head." She gave him a tight smile.

Neptarik laughed. "Remind me the way back to the dormitories," he said.

***

Neptarik never saw Salden, nor any other human from the group, again. Although he had never tried to find out, he supposed they were exiled, or sentenced to penal servitude. None would have received the death penalty, as nobody had ever been injured or killed. Salden was strict about that – they were thieves, not murdering raiders.

But the sylphs in the group were not left alone.

A friendly man interviewed every sylph and gave the impression that he already knew the answers before asking the questions.

Neptarik was as honest and open as possible. After all, he prided himself on his personal honesty.

The sylphs would not be tried, not even Neptarik who had proved so successful at the thieving game. As their interrogator told them, sylphs in Calcan had little option in their choice of career, but must go where their owners directed.

No trial, but a magistrate would decide each sylph's fate.

Neptarik's concern was for his mother. She had never done any harm and he wanted the magistrate to find a good home for her. He claimed to care little for his own fate.

"We are here to consider you, not your mother," the magistrate had replied, sternly. "She will be dealt with as we see fit." Then he had turned to the man who had interrogated the sylphs.

Neptarik learned some things about himself he had not considered before. Forward, but not overtly rude. Knew his own mind and showed a determination unusual in sylphs. Not really suited to domestic work and would probably thrive in the outdoors.

The magistrate had nodded and turned back to the sylph. "There is," he explained, "an opportunity to serve the rightful Emperor."

The army needed scouts and, in the magistrate's opinion, Neptarik seemed a suitable candidate for such work. Being hazardous work, warfare always brought personal danger, but there would be adventure too. More importantly, it was an honest profession.

"I suspect that you need excitement in your life," concluded the magistrate.

"And my mother?"

"Your mother will be dealt with as we see fit." Obviously the only answer Neptarik would get.

Given the choice of the sales block and an uncertain future, or the scout school, Neptarik chose the scout school.

***

Sweating, Neptarik sat up in his bed and wiped a hand across his brow. Had he called out? He was not given to shouting during dreams, but he wanted to give nothing away. The other sylphs in the male dormitory were sound asleep, so he must have remained quiet. He lay awake for a few moments in his comfortable blankets.

Part of him wanted to curse Mya for asking about his past. He thought the memories were buried deep, but she had ripped the cover clean away. He recalled the events as if they had happened yesterday and not fifteen years ago.

If Mya persisted, he might talk himself into trouble. If he continued his story, he had reached the time when he must start making it up. Not that it was bad, but the truth would be dangerous to tell here. And he certainly did not know Mya well enough to trust her; for all he knew, she carried tales to Tektu.

He smiled in the darkness as his thoughts turned back.

Although he did not appreciate it at the time, that magistrate had done him a favor. Neptarik had even taken time after his training to seek the man out and thank him.

"Don't dare thank me," said the magistrate. "Everything you have done is down to you and nobody else."

But that came later.

Without knowing his mother's fate and unused to a disciplined environment, he found the training difficult to cope with. Neptarik fretted more about his mother than the scout school. Despite that, he came joint top or nearly top of his class in almost everything. He drank the new knowledge and learned he was more than suited to his new task.

Most of his fellow trainees had never spent a night outdoors before and needed plenty of time to toughen up. Neptarik was already tough. When the trainee scouts were granted a couple of days leave after five hard weeks, Neptarik resigned himself to a stay in barracks. Where could he go?

The Duty Sergeant found him sitting on his blankets, alone in the sylphs' dormitory. "You have a visitor in the guardhouse," he told the surprised sylph.

Neptarik did not recognize the middle-aged man, but was overjoyed to learn that he and his wife now owned Neptarik's mother and, if the boy wanted to visit, he would be very welcome.

From that day on, Neptarik never looked back.

After a rather emotional reunion, Neptarik spent most of his leave with that couple. When in Calcan, he still visited them. He and his mother had not lost contact since.

He reached adulthood while still in training.

While learning, he found a new sense of responsibility and duty. He now belonged to something bigger than himself. If he looked out for his comrades and friends, they would look out for him.

And he made lots of friends. Many sylphs came and went in the early days of the sylph scouting corps, but four from the first class remained – four out of eighty who began the training. They became the first sylph scouts and were still looked up to by the rest of the corps.

Tynrasa and Bascon were younger than Neptarik. Serious and dutiful, Bascon could not differ more from the fun-loving prankster Tynrasa. Yet both had become excellent scouts.

Older than Neptarik, Velisar had always exuded mystery. He rarely took part in discussions and only ever came to life in the field. He had suggested that sylphs could scout for the army and was the best scout of all. Neptarik came close in many areas, equaled in others, but surpassed in none.

What counted to Neptarik was that he belonged. The feeling strengthened when a common soldier visited the barracks, looking to adopt an unowned sylph. Balnus Pilton became his official owner and Neptarik happily bonded.

The only thing missing from his life now was a wife. Oh, and he supposed some children would be good to have as well.

He returned to the present. He had not lied to Mya. He _had_ always been a traveler. He smiled to himself as his thoughts turned to the sylph whose question had triggered all these early memories, many of which he had tried to forget or suppress.

Mya had something more about her than that she had defeated him gambling. She had a reticence that equaled his own and he sensed she also had something to hide. Everybody had their secrets. Still, more than simple attraction intrigued him about the female sylph. Neptarik was no stranger to lust, but he had never before discovered a female sylph as besotted as himself by gambling.

He turned over in his blankets, snuggling down. He smiled as he thought of Mya. Perhaps he might get a little fun out of this place after all. Not to mention filling some of the gaps in his life.

Pushing aside Tektu's admonition that he was here to work and not rut, he fell asleep again, dreaming of flying over green meadows with a happy Mya at his side. When he woke, he actually looked forward to another day's work. None of the other males knew why he hummed a happy tune to himself.

Life was sometimes good.

***

Neptarik and Mya were detailed to clean the walkways of the inner bailey. This meant another day of sweeping and putting rubbish beside the catapult in time for the daily throw.

Mya told her companion in a conspiratorial manner that this was one of the easiest tasks in the castle.

"The soldiers tend to keep the inner bailey clean as they patrol," she told him. "After all, this is the part where the Mametain lives."

Neptarik watched a couple of soldiers with red flashes on their uniforms cross the bailey.

"What do those red flashes mean?" he asked

"That they are part of the Mametain's personal guard," explained Mya. "Most are decent to us, a few are not."

Siaba, clutching parchments and a satchel, hurried around a corner and slowed as she saw the other two sylphs.

"Hello," she said, smiling at Neptarik. "How are you getting on?"

The male sylph shrugged. "I am learning," he replied.

"I hope you have got your ink bottles stopped properly this time," said Mya, giving the infertile a cool look. "Took me an hour to clean up your mess last time."

Siaba dragged her gaze away from Neptarik and blushed a brighter blue. "I apologize," she stammered. "I did not know."

Mya nodded, but she still looked disgruntled. "I am sure you do not want to be late," she said.

Siaba took the hint and fled.

"A bit harsh," remarked Neptarik.

"She was looking at you like she wanted you to sweep her off her feet," muttered Mya.

"Jealous?" Neptarik grinned.

Mya sneered. "She is just an infertile," she said, as if that made all the difference in the world.

Neptarik decided it might be safer to change the subject. "When will they test those alarms again?"

"Soon. And you will learn that each one sounds a little different. One for fire, one for attack, one to evacuate the castle."

"Why are we not asked to clean higher here?" asked Neptarik, who had already worked out which tocsin was which.

Mya paused. "Siaba works a lot here. Sometimes other sylphs are told to clean here in the evening," she said. "They get choca and a free day in the city in exchange for their services."

"Choca?" Neptarik's eyes lit. "How do I volunteer?"

Mya laughed. "No volunteers. Tektu chooses."

"Tektu seems to get to choose a lot of things here."

Mya's expression sobered. "Neptarik, you must be careful." She quickly looked around, but the two sylphs were alone. "Be careful what you say where she might hear."

"What is she?"

"What is what?"

"What is Tektu?" Neptarik held Mya's eyes and refused to look away.

The other sylph shook her head. "Do not ask. I have already said."

"That is not an answer."

Irritation flared in the female sylph and she glared at her companion. "Answer or no, it is the only one you get from me."

Neptarik spread his hands in surrender and his earpoints wilted a little. He did not want to upset his guide. But why would everybody be so terrified of Tektu? He sensed something obviously not quite right about her, but what?

But Neptarik had not come here just as another domestic sylph. He needed to learn the Mametain's plans regarding his homeland. To discover anything of importance, he must find a way to work in this part of the castle.

"How does Tektu choose who works up here?" he pressed, gently.

Mya's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want this? Most of us avoid working under Tektu or the Mametain if we can."

Neptarik grinned. "I like choca. A lot."

"So?" Mya was still suspicious.

Her expression held a hint of fear, something Neptarik easily recognized. He had seen it on many sylphs' faces, usually immediately before a battle. But he also saw revulsion.

"Even choca is not worth the risk of having Tek –" Mya bent her head and made shushing motions at the other sylph. "Talk of evil," she muttered.

Moments later, Neptarik was busy cleaning as Tektu stalked out of a room, sweeping a couple of soldiers before her. She glowered at everything, eyes only softening briefly as she saw the two busy sylphs. She paused.

"Make sure he knows where to put all the refuse," Tektu said to Mya.

"I will." Mya swallowed and nodded, barely able to contain her fear.

Neptarik gave the infertile a level look, refusing to be cowed by her. Tektu held his gaze for a moment, before looking away.

"You missed a bit," she said, before striding off.

Mya gritted her teeth and clenched her fists as she looked her companion directly in the eye. "Do not stare at her!" she hissed. "We want no more attention from her than we can get away with."

"Tell me why." Neptarik shook his head. "Why do you all come near to terror whenever she is about?"

"You would not understand."

"Looks like I get no chance _to_ understand."

Mya's mouth worked soundlessly. "She is dangerous. Be very careful around her."

"How does she choose sylphs to work for her?"

"No idea. I do not want to know. _You_ do not want to know. Few sylphs who work for her stay long. They will not say why they leave."

"Siaba seems happy with her."

"Then Siaba is strange. You do not want to work with Tektu."

"The offer of choca is tempting."

Mya did not laugh. As Neptarik bent back to his work, she wondered why this sylph was so eager to work here. Talnan had been the last she had known to act this way, and that eagerness eventually cost his life.

She began to wonder if Neptarik, in his own way, might not be as troubling as Tektu.

***
Chapter 10

**Plans and Plots**

Steppan da Kanpura lit his pipe and wreathed the room in smoke. He finally settled back in his chair and blew a long streamer of bacca smoke towards the ceiling. Alone with Verdin Vintner, this was their second private meeting at The Green Knight and the younger man hoped to learn more today.

"First pipe of the day," Steppan murmured in tones of deep satisfaction. "Herrena has forced me to cut back; she says it's bad for me."

"I expect she is right," replied Verdin, who did not smoke. He looked around the paneled room. The age-dark wood exuded an ambience of comfort and relaxation, yet he knew the risks just being here. Almost all the chairs were unoccupied, for Steppan's fellow conspirators were about their daily business.

Steppan looked at the other man, gaze intent. "I am interested to learn where your two companions are."

Verdin smiled. "Balnus has got his eye on that large army outside Taura and the other one is working. Gainfully, I trust."

"The other one is in Castle Beren?" Light reflected from the silver in Steppan's otherwise dark hair as he leaned forward and jabbed his pipestem at Verdin. "He is in great danger. Trenvera has lost spy after spy. I'm not sure if it is Nijen himself or his sylph who hates spies, but all are found and all end up dead. Last one was called Talnan. An excellent man by all accounts. A very _experienced_ man."

Verdin decided to ignore the insinuation that Marka's men were inexperienced. "Nijen's _sylph_ hates spies?"

Steppan smiled around his pipestem even as he drew heavily on it. More smoke spiraled towards the ceiling. "Her name is Tektu. Or so my people tell me. Yes, I have spies in the castle as well; many served me well before I was ousted."

Verdin listened.

"There is a large turnover of sylphs in the castle. Those few I have talked with are reluctant to speak of it, but they fear an infertile named Tektu."

Verdin shook his head in disbelief. "They fear an infertile?"

"Hear me out. There are many strange things in the world. Especially this world. When you reach my age, you are prepared to take a few things as read. The sylphs refuse to say anything about Tektu, except that she serves the usurper."

"Why are they frightened of an infertile?" Verdin struggled with the mental image.

"I ask why, but most refuse to answer. Others claim that she's _not_ a sylph. Talks, looks and even smells like a sylph. But isn't."

"Sounds like nonsense to me." Verdin smiled.

"Perhaps so, but sylphs are not given to such fancies that I ever heard." Steppan paused to relight his pipe. "Whatever the truth, I'll be surprised if you ever see your man in Beren again."

"He is perhaps the best we have." Verdin hoped his sudden doubt did not show. Sylph scouts – even Neptarik – had limitations.

"Not for much longer. Sooner or later he must try to learn Nijen's plans and that is when they are usually caught. The usurper's guards are loyal to him personally and not the Throne. They are impossible to infiltrate and believe me, I have tried." Those brown eyes were cold now.

Verdin sipped at his alovak. "How did you lose your Throne?" From Steppan's cold reaction, he thought he might not get an answer.

"I made the mistake of taking a holiday. I left one of my brothers in charge and he mysteriously found his way into the bucket of the catapult we use for waste disposal. Hitting the sea from that height is very similar to landing on rock." Steppan's face was expressionless. "Nobody ever found his body: it probably disintegrated on impact. That followed the news of the deaths of myself and my entire family in a boating accident. Nijen claimed Lorend committed suicide in grief." Steppan shook his head.

"And when you returned?"

"Nijen sat on the Throne and his hands held the government's reins. A well executed move that he must have planned for years. He certainly picked his moment well. Anything I say or do now would be construed as an imposter claiming something he has no right to."

"Your family?"

"Safe, but not here. I'm sometimes impetuous, but not stupid."

"The people?"

"Very likely would not know me if I punched them in the face." A wry smile. "My own fault for being too wrapped up in my work. Perhaps my inventions failed to set the world on fire, but they made life in Castle Beren and the cities considerably easier. I believed that if the people were content, I had no chance of losing power."

"And the people remain content, despite higher taxes and a large army just outside the gates?"

"People are content with high taxes as long as they see what they get in exchange."

Verdin raised an eyebrow. "And as long as they can feed and clothe themselves and their families."

Steppan shrugged. "Of course. The people enjoy plenty of allegedly free entertainment and there is a large army to protect the city and island from invaders. Such as Hingast. Or Marka."

"Marka?"

Steppan gave another wry smile. "You are better educated than this. Re Taurans are islanders and fiercely independent. Always were and probably always will be. The sea is our main line of defense."

"So landlocked Marka is a threat?"

Steppan laughed. "If it was just Marka, then no threat at all. But it is no longer just Marka is it? The Trading Council and Calcan have thrown in their lot with Marka. Sandester, too. All three of those powers have coastlines and two face Re Taura."

Verdin shrugged. "Marka has got a long way to go before she's a threat to the neighbors, never mind anybody else."

It was Steppan's turn to look disbelieving. "Nijen has warned for years against outside intervention, against a resurgent Markan Empire and I'm afraid your sylph-Emperor has given his words the appearance of truth."

"How?" Verdin was surprised.

"Zenepha has sent emissaries to independent lands, asking them to recognize his legitimacy and in exchange these, ah, diplomats offer security, monetary union and customs union. You are aware of this?"

Verdin nodded. He was the instigator of those emissaries.

"That has been interpreted here as the Markan Empire trying to reassert itself, to regain dominance."

"As far as I know, nobody has been sent to Re Taura," protested Verdin. "Only to former prefectures."

Steppan nodded. "True. But Re Taura trades with many of the coastal prefectures and kingdoms on the mainland. A new customs union with them would threaten our trade. Unless, that is, we enter that customs union, which many see as an attempt to bring us under Marka's rule."

"I see." Verdin _did_ see. In a headlong rush to reunite the Empire, to stand against evil claimants and dissuade others, lands who had never been part of that Empire must fear a new age of expansion had begun. "Marka has a long way to go to regain lost lands before looking for new ones. And trade between Marka and Re Taura would remain unchanged. You have import duties against our goods, I'm sure."

"Just so." Steppan nodded. "For now at least, possibly for centuries to come, nothing need change. But people fear today what might happen tomorrow." He raised a hand and clenched it. "And Nijen has all the power in his fist."

"What have you done to regain your Throne?"

"What _can_ I do? Nijen has the army and the people in his hand; he holds Beren." Steppan shrugged. "All I can do is wait for an opportunity."

"If we can prove that he wants to use the army to drive a wedge between Marka and its allies?" Verdin sounded eager.

Steppan laughed and inspected the bowl of his pipe. "To the dottle already," he muttered before looking up again. "Most Taurans would support that. You might not like it, but they don't want a powerful Marka knocking at their gates any time soon."

"We think that army is going to be used."

"So do we." Steppan smiled.

Verdin hid his shock. "Nijen is helping another claimant move onto the Markan Throne. He will divert attention away from the Eldovans. If somebody like Dervra takes the Throne, an _evil_ Marka might then come knocking at the gates."

"Maybe." Steppan sounded far from convinced. "People only see what Nijen wants them to. How else can they know of such things? But the people know Re Taura is ready and able to defend herself. And, if necessary, project her power overseas to protect herself. What free people and what free country could possibly be unhappy about that?"

Verdin's mouth moved soundlessly.

"Now you see why my days are spent skulking here and not regaining my Throne." Steppan smiled again, but his eyes were solemn. "Balnus must find gainful employment within the city; I can arrange that for you. Lurking out there, he will be discovered sooner or later, so safer for all concerned if he moves within the walls." Genuine remorse entered Steppan's eyes. "As for your man in the castle, you must prepare to mourn him."

***

Neptarik's morale had plummeted. After almost enjoying the past few days of relatively cushy work, he knew today would be hard and dirty.

He and Mya – with two infertiles – were to work in the stables. There were eight stableboys, whose duties included currying horses and repairing tack, but mucking out fell to the sylphs. They forked old straw into handcarts before emptying it through the hole Mya had so proudly pointed out to him on his tour.

It certainly made life easier.

Neptarik glanced out of the stable and saw the haycart immediately outside. No shortcuts for laying fresh straw.

It was not the only cart in the bailey. The one that had brought him to Castle Beren also waited there, with a cargo of twelve sylphs wanting to leave the Mametain's service. When he had learned of the high turnover of sylphs, he hadn't realized just how high.

"Where will they go?" he muttered to himself.

"They will get dirty work. Mucking out cesspits probably. Or cleaning the sewers." Mya shuddered. "If not that, then they will become beggars."

Neptarik shook his head. There was certainly a feeling about Castle Beren, but he did not think he would leave employment here because of it.

When the cart returned, there would be new slaves on it. Indeed, he watched Siaba scramble into place beside the scribe. He doubted if he would be asked to be a guide as he still had not received the red crown on the breast of his tunic. A moment later, Tektu appeared and spoke with Siaba.

She glanced across at the stable and saw Neptarik leaning on his fork.

"You should be working," she growled.

Neptarik shrugged and returned to his cart.

"Do not get us into trouble!" hissed Mya.

Neptarik returned to his work and showed a bit of enthusiasm. The other sylphs avoided the horses, much to the stableboys' amusement. After a recent adventure, Neptarik's wariness of horses had lessened, but these animals might not be as tolerant. He looked along the double row of stalls, thirty in total, with a tackroom at the far end. The leather and brass of the tack had to be polished, and inspected to ensure it was still serviceable.

After mucking out and cleaning the tack, there would be a small mountain of saddle pads and blankets to be sent to the laundry for cleaning. Neptarik wondered if the humans knew the horse-soiled things would be cleaned in the same laundry as their clothes and bedding.

He would be here for the day, with little respite.

He already looked forward to an evening bath and change of clothes. He glanced at the stableboys, who split their time between repairing some tack, checking the horses for problems, and watching the sylphs work. He probably bathed and changed his clothes more often than they did. Not that they seemed to care; perhaps they rarely left the stables and didn't share sleeping accommodation with sensitive-nosed sylphs.

He hummed several lines from 'Barefoot in Dung Alley'.

Once they mucked out the main part of the stable, it would be time to start on the stalls. Neptarik wrinkled his nose and wished that the air could be better circulated in here. The low roof did not help. He turned to the nearest boy.

"Which one first?" he asked.

"Start at one end and do the empty ones first," answered the boy. "Much easier that way."

The time passed pleasantly enough. Between the four sylphs, all the empty stalls and half of the occupied ones soon had fresh straw. They now waited for the straw cart to return and a gurgle from Neptarik's digestion reminded him the time had come for the midday meal.

"We eat in here," explained Mya. "We will not be welcome in the main refectory today."

"In here?" Neptarik's earpoints wilted and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He eyed one of the boys, who entered the stable with a large and a small can. His stomach grumbled again, so perhaps not all of him was disgusted enough to refuse.

He accepted his plate of slop eagerly enough. As he began to eat, a soldier with red flashes on his cloak rode into the stable and called for somebody to take his horse.

One of the boys stood and winked at Neptarik. "They always come when we're eating," he remarked. Moments later, he led the horse into one of the empty stalls. The soldier almost stood on the boy's heels, giving instructions. The boy was properly deferential, yet the man grabbed him by an ear.

"Make sure you've got it right," said the soldier.

Neptarik set his plate aside. "Hey!" He noted the stricken look on the boy's face and rose to his feet. "No need for that."

Stableboys and sylphs stared at him in consternation.

The soldier turned slowly. "What did you say?" Anger twisted his face.

"I said," began Neptarik, speaking louder and more slowly, as if to a particularly dense child, "no need for that."

"Leave it!" hissed another stableboy.

"Sit! Sit!" urged Mya, tugging furiously at Neptarik's tunic. She managed an ingratiating smile for the soldier. "He is new, sir; he does not mean to –"

"Silence."

Mya subsided.

"What is your name, boy?"

"Neptarik."

The soldier with the red flashes eyed him up and down. Whenever sylph and human eyes met, Neptarik made sure his gaze remained firm and level, despite his feelings inside. He thought about winning when gambling, so his earpoints would not betray him.

The soldier eventually released the boy. "I will tell Tektu about you." A smile flashed briefly across his face. "She will teach you manners." He turned on his heel and left.

Stableboys and sylphs stared at him with a strange mix of respect and pity. Mya stared as if he had two heads.

"That was unwise," said the boy whose ear still glowed after its twisting. "But, thank you."

"That was _not_ wise." Mya shook her head. "Brave, but stupid. When Tektu finds out..."

Neptarik shrugged. "Let Tektu do her worst," he said softly. "What _is_ she anyway? More than an ordinary infertile sylph."

Mya threw up her hands. "I have been paired with a mad sylph."

Everybody else laughed, but Neptarik earned considering looks as they began their afternoon's work. The soldier with the red flashes did not return, neither did anybody come to take Neptarik away.

Tektu made a brief appearance. She looked at Mya and pointed at Neptarik.

"Make sure he keeps busy," she said. "I had better not catch him leaning on that fork again."

"Yes, Tektu." Mya looked to be groveling in Neptarik's opinion, but nobody mentioned the incident with the soldier.

Tektu waited in the bailey until the cart reappeared with a cargo of new arrivals at Castle Beren, who stared open-mouthed at everything.

Neptarik ignored Tektu's welcome – an identical copy of what she had said to him when he arrived – and hurried the cart inside. That was about all the work left to be done.

When they finished the last stall, the sylphs relaxed. The stables had been given their daily clean and it would be someone else's turn tomorrow.

The sylphs and stableboys now took their ease, waiting for the time when they could return to their quarters and, in the sylphs' case, wash the dirt of the day away.

"Why not go now?" asked Neptarik. "Chores are done, so time's our own."

One of the boys nodded. "True. But then you might find that you get the stalls to paint as well, or some other pointless task. The Mametain might decide he only needs six boys instead of eight, so two get thrown out to starve. You want that?"

"All right, we'll wait," grinned Neptarik.

From the chit-chat, Neptarik realized he had won the stableboys' respect. The sylph smiled at Mya's puzzled stare.

Though sylphs regarded drawing attention to one's self as foolishness, sometimes the risk justified the end. If nothing else, he would come to Tektu's attention the moment that soldier complained about him.

To complete his task, he must access the Mametain's living areas. He needed Tektu's attention and an invite to work with her. Otherwise, he might have to wait months before progressing.

Of course, Tektu might decide he was a troublemaker and put him on the next cart out of Castle Beren, but he didn't have a reputation as a gambler for no reason.

He wished Mya's stare could be a little less admiring. Nothing like flattery to win a boy's attention, he knew. Glancing at her, he wondered if he felt something more than ordinary, healthy lust.

If he discovered the Mametain's plans and escaped, would Mya be sufficiently interested to throw over her life here and leave with him? He glanced sideways at her and his earpoints twitched forwards in interest. Had she noticed? Probably, though female sylphs sometimes hid their feelings as well as humans – as he had discovered the previous evening.

After loafing in the straw, the time eventually came for the sylphs to return to their quarters. There, Neptarik gratefully stepped into the hot baths after washing his old clothes. After drying and dressing in fresh tunic and breeches, he and Mya, followed by the two infertiles, went to the refectory.

Neptarik hoped he could not see worship shining in the infertiles' eyes whenever they looked his way.

Although the evening meal period had almost ended, plenty of food remained. Whatever faults this Mametain may have, starving his sylphs did not number among them. Both quantity and quality were excellent. Sylphs were allowed fish or fowl once a week and sylph cooks worked alongside humans in the kitchens.

Every serving sylph eventually spent time in the kitchens, either working in the bakery, or ensuring that ovens were fueled. There were spits to turn (apparently the last Mametain had decided spit sylphs were more hygienic than dogs), pots and cauldrons to clean, fireplaces to be prepared. All hot work.

He sat beside Mya to eat. The two infertiles who had worked with them gravitated towards a table with more of their own sex. All the infertiles' heads came together and a whispered conversation ensued. From the glances, turned heads and erect earpoints, Neptarik guessed they were talking about him and his confrontation in the stables.

On the next table, a young human male and a sylph male squabbled amiably. Orrin and Pedden, if his memory hadn't confused the names. More interesting than anything the infertiles had to say.

"You can't use something over your head to slow down if you're falling," protested the human. "You're falling through nothing. Look, nothing there." Orrin waved his hands.

"The wind is something," protested Pedden. "If strong it will lift sylphs off their feet."

"And not too strong at that," added Orrin, with a grin. "But still nothing there."

Intrigued, Neptarik and Mya exchanged a glance.

"Must be _something_ there," said Pedden. "Else the birds would fall out of the sky."

"Prove it then." Orrin sat back.

Pedden gave a triumphant smile and Neptarik suspected that the other sylph had had this argument before.

"Very well." Pedden clambered onto the table and balanced himself at the end. He launched himself into the air and landed gracefully. "Did you count?"

"Less than one, but I don't see what that proves." Orrin shrugged.

Pedden's earpoints twitched as he flourished his cloak. His smile showed a hint of smugness. "Now watch again."

Neptarik had a feeling the words were meant for all of them. He watched.

Pedden clambered back onto the table and wrapped cloak ends around his hands. As he jumped, the cloth ballooned over his head.

Neptarik's eyes widened and his earpoints twitched upright. A definite difference in the time taken to land.

"No difference," insisted Orrin.

"Of course there was," snorted Pedden.

Neptarik agreed with the sylph, but said nothing. Landing took longer with the cloak.

Orrin settled further back, until he was in danger of falling off the bench. "Show me again."

Pedden leapt back onto the table. "Without cloak." Thud. He jumped up again and prepared to wrap the cloak around his hands. "I could jump off the walls like this and land safely. I –"

The room went silent.

"Nobody will be jumping off the walls," interrupted Tektu, her voice quiet. "Though someone might get thrown over if he is careless. And you should not stand on a table meant for meals. Your feet are probably filthy."

Pedden squeaked and scrambled down. Blushing a brighter blue, his earpoints sagged submissively, but he made no move to defend himself. He remained silent.

Pedden was forgotten as Tektu's attention switched to Neptarik.

"I understand you had a disagreement in the stables." Though still light, a warning note had crept into her voice.

Neptarik nodded, but said nothing.

Everybody, infertiles included, stared at him now.

"Whatever the rights or wrongs of it, you do _not_ interfere in anything the free do. None of your business. Egran is free, you are not."

Neptarik almost told this strange creature – despite appearances, she could not be a sylph, though he had no idea _how_ he knew – that bullying could not be allowed, but instead kept silent. His earpoints showed disagreement, slanted forwards and still. The boy had not deserved to have his ear almost twisted off.

"So you can hold your tongue when you try." Tektu nodded. She leaned forward abruptly. "You are the first for some time who is not afraid of me. Siaba is the only other here." Her silver eyes looked curiously into his own. "You are different, Neptarik." She wagged a finger under his nose. "Do not run around upsetting too many more soldiers, or I might have to do something about it. That, I assure you, is not something you would enjoy."

Neptarik's eyes narrowed and he glared at the smaller sylph.

As Tektu turned to leave the refectory, she pulled her gaze away. "I will call for you, Neptarik. Soon."

Every sylph stared wide-eyed at him, earpoints bolt upright in shock. Even Orrin's mouth hung open.

"You stood up to... her," breathed Pedden, cloak forgotten in his hands.

Mya recovered first. "You are going to get us all punished," she whispered. Her earpoints lashed in agitation. "Neptarik, you are mad."

Neptarik looked around at the sylphs in the hall – and at Orrin. All silver and silvery gray eyes stared back at him, many with respect. Probably all except the human had been bred into slavery, but that was no excuse for cowering away from bullies. Though he suspected Tektu might not actually be a bully, just dominant. He shook his head and blinked.

"All I want to know," he said, "is what she is."

The infertiles put their heads together again and began a new whispered conversation. The other sylphs just stared at him.

Orrin banged his hand on the table to get attention. "Trust me," he told the sylph, "you do not want to know."

"Do _you_ know?" pressed Neptarik.

"No. And I want to keep it that way." The human boy stood and left.

"We had better go," urged Mya. "We can enjoy some free time before you get us all killed. She might come back."

There was no need to say who "she" was.

Neptarik allowed himself to be pulled away. He grabbed one last morsel from his plate before leaving it for the refectory sylphs to clear away.

The infertiles stopped whispering and watched him go.

***

Balnus was not too happy when he learned he must enter the city. Concerning the Mametain's army, he gave a full report to Verdin with regards to size and effectiveness, even as they traveled.

When they reached the city, Verdin introduced Balnus to Steppan da Kanpura as the leader of the resistance and deposed ruler of Re Taura. For his part, the true Mametain twisted his mouth at the introduction, but made no protest.

"Why must I enter the city?" asked Balnus.

"For your own safety," replied Steppan. "You will be discovered out there eventually, assumed to be an outlaw and killed. The soldiers are sometimes a little too eager to see malefactors dealt with."

"So what am I to do?"

"I can get you a position as a cart driver," replied Steppan. "There are merchants sympathetic to me and our cause."

"A cart driver." Balnus looked and sounded unimpressed.

"Carters enjoy considerable freedom. Goods are always carried between Taura and Sentena, or Codden, or Safeford. You can move in and out of Taura at will, delivering luxuries and returning with produce. And nobody will question you."

"And Castle Beren?"

"You're unlikely to be sent there," replied Steppan. "If Nijen wants something, he usually sends someone out to get it."

For one night, Balnus was given an attic room in the same inn as Verdin. Discreetly tucked off the main streets, _The Raven_ always had plenty of guests, its reputation for warmth and comfort well earned. And as Balnus pointed out, the ale and food were pretty good too.

Verdin had forgotten that Balnus liked a smoke. As they relaxed that evening in Verdin's private retiring room, Balnus stuffed bacca into his pipe, lit it using a taper and sat back.

"I must find proper lodgings tomorrow," he said.

Verdin looked at the pipesmoke with distaste. "Yes," he said, "you must."

"Any news of Neptarik?"

"Not precisely," replied Verdin.

Balnus smiled around his pipestem. "What do you know?"

"I've told you all you need to know about Steppan da Kanpura. I've shared everything about what's going on and how we might help."

"What have you heard about Neptarik?"

Verdin gritted his teeth. "I think we made a mistake."

"How?" Balnus kept his voice quiet. A mistake?

Verdin sighed. "Steppan told me the present Mametain is skilled at sniffing out spies. When he found out we had someone inside the castle – I didn't tell him who, of course – he told me to mourn for him."

"I see." Balnus took the pipe out of his mouth and looked away for a moment. His mind whirled. It was impossible to be overprotective of someone like Neptarik. Surprisingly independent by any standard, the lad was often away from his owner for considerable periods. Even so, he cared deeply for his sylph. "We'd better hope that it doesn't come to that."

"I do."

"Can we trust this lot you've attached us to?"

Verdin spread his hands and shrugged. "Perhaps not fully. For as long as our interests coincide, then yes. Beyond that, Ranva knows."

"Is Kanpura's organization tight? What if the Mametain has spies in it?"

"A chance we are forced to take."

"Sounds to me we're taking too many risks." Balnus drew deeply on his pipe.

Verdin took a deep breath and glared at his companion. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "We're more likely to find ourselves turned in if Steppan believes we are about to become a threat to him."

"Sounds a good reason not to trust him at all."

"We don't have a choice."

"So you say." Balnus continued. "Steppan is the deposed Mametain, so why might we be more of a threat to him?"

"He may fear we're here to turn _him_ over to the new Mametain."

"Would you like me to check them all out? Discreetly, of course."

Verdin considered and nodded. "Good idea, but don't get caught. And if you do find a traitor to Steppan, make sure you have good evidence before making accusations."

Balnus raised an eyebrow. "Do I look stupid to you?"

***

Nijen da Re Taura, Mametain of Re Taura and Steward of Castle Beren was outwardly relaxed in his study. Opposite sat a man he did not and could not like. Dervra's deep blue eyes regarded the Mametain calmly. Dervra knew too much about Nijen, particularly his beginnings. Nijen did not like it, but he must trust this man.

Alovak steamed beside them, served by a now-banished Tektu. Nijen had no doubt she listened outside the door. He would never mention it and neither would she, but he knew she was there.

Nijen sensed Dervra's uncertainty of Tektu, though he always looked easy around other sylphs. Of course, there was a very good reason for that, but Nijen would not dwell on why a human sensed something usually only sylphs could.

"Not long and we move to the next stage of our plan," said Dervra. "Any more spies?"

"Not to my knowledge," replied Nijen. "They might have switched their attention from the castle to elsewhere."

"Perhaps. My own spies in Trenvera have learned nothing new. Perhaps they have given up. Though Prince Mikel is not that sort of man." Dervra smiled. "Determined certainly, but not especially imaginative, so it's anybody's guess."

"I assume the basic plan is unchanged?"

"A good assumption." Dervra smiled again and this time showed his teeth. "The next time we meet, I will bring one of the military commanders to brief you."

Nijen nodded. As he listened to Dervra's outline, he grew more and more excited. Not only would he go down in history as the man who saved Re Taura from a resurgent Markan Empire, but he might even be remembered as the man who developed an Empire of Re Taura's own.

***

Tektu grew bored of eavesdropping. She wandered to the inner bailey, where she stalked up and down one of the paths. That it was almost completely dark didn't bother her. Sylph eyes were good enough, she supposed. There were plenty of light crystals and even old-fashioned candle lanterns, but Tektu ignored them all.

She hated what now troubled her. Like an itch, only it would soon grow into pain. She looked at her hands, where the physical symptoms always showed first, but could see nothing wrong. Her real self again tried to reject the body they had forced her to inhabit so long ago.

She dreaded having to do the only thing that would stop the itch, but the instinct to survive overcame even her owner's orders. She must kill again.

Nijen had forbidden her from harming sylphs, except to preserve her life. That small qualification gave her a way out. The only way she could maintain her present appearance – forced upon her by powers infinitely greater than her owner – was to...

No! She must resist as long as she could.

She lashed out irritably with a foot and kicked one of the shrubs planted alongside the path. She almost snarled, but forced herself to silence. It would never do to attract attention.

She _must_ act as nearly as possible like a normal infertile. Her small hands clenched into fists and her mouth twisted as her earpoints lashed furiously. She wanted to bang her head against a wall, she wanted to cut out the heart of this weak and pathetic body, she wanted –

As abruptly as the feeling had come upon her, it was gone.

She almost fell onto a bench, glad for the respite. She looked at her hands again. Nothing wrong. A false alarm perhaps? Even as she thought it, she knew she'd received a warning. She must renew herself; the body she inhabited was far older than anything intended for a sylph and it must be refreshed periodically.

How could she explain to Nijen? The last time this happened, Nijen's grandfather – at that time her owner – had been disgusted beyond belief at Tektu's instinctive and unavoidable actions. And Nijen _liked_ sylphs.

Come to that, so did she. It was impossible to be imprisoned inside the body of one for so long and not feel some affinity, if not sympathy, for the creatures.

But soon, very soon, she must put that affinity aside and disobey her owner.

But who would be the victim?

***
Chapter 11

**Turivkan**

"Something wrong?" asked Fared.

Samrita stared at the city from their vantage below the ridge. The Shadow Riders had come through the only pass along that ridge, following a surprisingly well-maintained road. They had passed unmanned watchtowers at the far end of the narrow route through the mountains as well as in the middle, with more high on the ridge to either side. After a full day and night in the pass, the plain below was a welcome sight.

"The First Markan Empire collapsed because of external enemies," said Samrita, ignoring Fared's concerned question. "As the Second Empire expanded, border cities were built close to ridges, wide rivers and mountain ranges for extra defense."

"Very sensible," remarked Fared.

Samrita turned her attention to the Captain, her hazel eyes intent. "The Second Empire collapsed from within, not because of external enemies."

"Your point being?" asked Fared, gently.

Below, farms were set out at regular intervals and stone walls marked field boundaries. Cereal crops already turned the arable fields green. Sheep and cattle grazed in peace. Towers and fortified barricades dotted the plain.

"The land down there is rich," said Samrita.

"Looks that way," agreed Fared.

"Which always attracts the worst sort of people," continued Samrita.

"They look ready to defend themselves against violence," Fared pointed out. "Those pastures are all close to barricades."

"Indeed." Samrita's eyes were focused on the large city, with a distinct pinkish hue she remembered well, that dominated the entire plain. Beyond, stood thick forest. "But does violence come from out here, or in there?"

"From the city?"

"It is called Turivkan," said the gwerin. "I passed through on my way to Kelthane. Some years ago."

"Painful memories?"

Samrita's earpoints twitched. "A friend died there."

Fared steered the conversation away from memories. "Will they tolerate our presence? Those forts tell me these people are troubled by bandits and outlaws."

"Yes," said Samrita. "But are the bandits enemies of Turivkan, or do they rule it? If we are welcome, they will try to recruit us; if not, they will try to drive us away. Or kill us."

"We'll do the same as at Woodend," suggested Fared. "Or take a couple of the families so we seem like travelers and not an army."

"I thought we had enough food."

Fared's gray-blue eyes sparkled. "Enough to bypass Turivkan if you wish," he said. "There will be other chances now we've reached a more populated part of the world."

"We'll go." Her old teacher was down there somewhere. She remembered the funeral as if it were yesterday. "What are your plans for Peytor?"

The abrupt change of subject – a trick learned from the ilven long ago – almost confused Fared.

"He claims sixteen summers, which means he is old enough to be trained. His fieldcraft is excellent and he could teach us a few things. He's good with the bow and deadly accurate with his knife. I suspect that was made for him, the balance is too good to be otherwise."

"He carries his weight," remarked Samrita. "That sling brings in a good number of rabbits and squirrels."

Fared laughed. "And small deer."

"He taught us how to catch trout with our hands."

"That boy could guddle trout all day."

"So can Nynra. Now." Samrita's maid had proved more eager than most to learn. Now she caught three fish to anyone else's two and was even better at it than Peytor.

"If he wants to stay, he can. I'm not about to send a child away."

"Just so." Samrita nodded. "But if he's seen sixteen summers, I'll eat that hat Kwenby made for him."

"Fourteen at most, I suspect." Fared felt sorry for Peytor. There were boys the age he claimed and boys younger than the age he probably was, but none his likely age.

Deren took care of Peytor and Kwenby had made new clothes for him. She had knitted a cap, which the boy wore with some pride, though heaven knew why a _cap_ , of all things, would please him so.

"If Peytor agrees, Deren and Kwenby will adopt him." Samrita smiled. "He claims he is too old to be adopted, yet his voice only now shows any sign of breaking. And he won't tell us his full name."

"He doesn't trust us yet." Fared shrugged. "If half what he says about his family is true, then I understand his reticence."

"You will train him to kill?" Samrita's earpoints gave a sad twitch, yet the gwerin regarded killing and warfare with greater pragmatism than she cared to admit.

"No more than he already is," replied Fared. "If we can develop his sense of justice, rather than revenge, he has the maturity to make an excellent soldier. Or whatever else he wants to be. I'll add the quarterstaff to what he already knows; that's an excellent defensive weapon."

"It is." Samrita nodded. Though nobody believed her, she once saw a man with a quarterstaff take on and defeat two swordsmen. "I have given your suggestion some thought."

"Which one?"

"About Turivkan. We'll take two families, a couple of armed men, and a scout. We'll take Peytor as well, because he's probably never seen a city and it might help broaden his mind."

"I'll go and detail the men we want." Fared looked at the gwerin as if about to say more, but changed his mind and walked away.

Samrita's attention returned to the city. Seeing it again reopened the wound she had thought long healed.

Looking at Turikvan stripped the years away when, full of sorrow, she was just leaving the city. She reminded herself that even gwerins died eventually. Her old tutor had told her that, as she lay dying.

"Age is killing me, nothing more." Marasil's old, wise eyes were still sharp, and still augured Samrita when needed. "Even gwerins die, eventually. We are not immortal, we are not gods. We are not of the Ten."

_"But,_ acsaluv-ya _, we still need you._ I _still need you." Samrita was aware of tears pricking at her eyes as she held the hand of her old tutor. "I... I do not know what to do without you."_

Marasil laughed, but the laugh turned to a cough and a wheeze, until she caught her breath. "You know what must be done, Samrita. Keep the Shadow Riders safe until the time is right for them to return. Guard your knowledge carefully, teach only those who will not abuse it. Carry the faith, child; keep the faith. Marka will rise again."

"But when?" Samrita sobbed openly now, aware of gentle hands supporting her, trying to move her away. "When?"

"Hush," a voice whispered in her ear. "The last thing she hears should not be lamentation and sorrow, but rejoicing and happiness. Still your tears and respect what she has given you. Still your tears and celebrate her life."

Samrita returned to the here and now. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes and cheeks. The pain had not gone, only lain dormant.

"You know what must be done, Samrita. Keep the Shadow Riders safe until the time is right for them to return."

She hoped the time was right to return and as for the other... Well, she had done her best.

Marasil had been right: she _had_ known what must be done. She turned her eyes skywards. "If you are listening, I hope you are proud."

"Talking to yourself?"

Samrita turned to see Fared had returned.

"More like arguing with myself. Gathered the men you need?"

"Just waiting for you." Fared smiled. "I hope you're not losing your mind now, of all times."

Samrita shrugged. "Think I lost that a long time ago. Let's go take a look at Turivkan."

***

Fared again acted his role as a merchant's guard, joined by a younger Rider named Charel. Deren and Peytor ranged ahead as they approached the city, eyes open for anything out of place. Samrita acted as the merchant of the caravan, with Nynra again her maid. Officially, they had come to buy food, rather than trade.

Two families came with them. Fared's wife Telisa drove the leading cart, the smallest of the three. Fared's daughters flanked her: Heleen, already sixteen and with her eyes open for a potential husband, and eight-year-old Nena, eager to see a large city for the first time.

Sion, Fared's son, rode alongside the cart. Barely twelve, he was too young to begin military training. Deren's son Niyel rode with him, a similar height despite being the older boy.

Kwenby and her three daughters were in the second cart. A little larger than the leading cart, but only part was boxed in for the family to sleep in. It also had sleeping partitions for Charel and Peytor. The rest was intended for Samrita and Nynra's use.

Samrita followed in the empty third cart, with Nynra sitting beside her and looking around in interest.

Fared and Charel rode either side of the small convoy, while Deren and Peytor ran ahead. Everybody, including the scouts, remained in full sight as they approached the city gates, which stood open.

The oak gates were banded with steel, but the towers and walls were built from the pink sandstone that gave the city its coloring from afar. A single guardsman stood in the gateway and waved them through. A second guard directed them to a small area beside the guardhouse, where another merchant wagon already waited.

"Somewhere to stay, or a holding area?" muttered Fared, as he rode alongside Samrita's wagon. He glanced around at the buildings, most built from the same stone as the walls.

"Both I expect," replied Samrita. "To keep us under their eye. Unless things have changed seriously for the worse since my last visit, Turivkan is a reasonably honest city. And it respects the rule of law. But that was more years ago than I care to remember."

Fared smiled and nodded. He stayed close even so, ready for the inevitable questions from the guardsmen.

They parked the wagons and unhitched the horses. As they worked, a man with flashes of silver on his coat sleeves hurried toward them.

"Good morrow to all, masters and mistresses," he said, a little breathlessly. "Before we get comfortable, please note that this area carries a charge of eight scyats a night or fifty for seven nights." He rattled on, explaining the charges for fodder, where they could deposit their night soil, and the protection offered to their wagons while under the eye of the City Guard. He eventually enquired if anybody present was able to write. If so, would she or he care to fill out the gate forms?

"A mere formality, good masters and mistresses," he said. "To keep the Prefect happy."

"So he knows the comings and goings of strangers," added Fared. "A sensible precaution." He hoped the others understood his tacit warning.

Samrita took the forms. If the official recognized a gwerin, he gave no sign. He showed more surprise at seeing Nynra. Pale-skinned sylphs were obviously rare and Fared wondered if anybody knew of a plant that might darken the sylph's coloring. But he could do nothing about the infertile's eyes, so pallid they were almost white compared with most sylphs here.

Nynra watched the official staring at her.

He became aware of her scrutiny and smiled. "Beautiful," he told her.

Nynra's earpoints twitched in irritation.

The official's attention returned to Samrita as she filled the forms. Fared inspected them and made suggestions as Samrita's pen filled in all the relevant sections.

Even the younger children waited patiently while this was done. All were eager to explore Turivkan, barely able to contain their excitement.

Peytor added his own surprise when he spotted a spelling mistake.

Samrita and Fared both looked sideways at the boy.

"You kept your literacy quiet," said Fared.

Peytor shrugged. "You never asked."

"Any more little surprises to come from you?"

The boy grinned. "I expect so."

Once the forms were done, the official with the silver flashes on his sleeves gave Fared and Samrita a small bow. "Welcome to Turivkan." With that, he hurried away.

The younger ones wanted to go and explore immediately, but Fared, Deren and Charel ensured that the horses were looked after first and the wagons laid up properly. Fared volunteered to stay and keep his eye on the wagons, to free up everybody else to have a look around the city. This made sense; an armed man to look after the wagons, and a second to accompany the "trader" Samrita while she hunted for her bargains.

Telisa and Kwenby promised to keep an eye on the children while exploring, while Deren and Peytor swore to guard the ladies. Charel was to escort Samrita, who would conduct their business in the city.

Nynra also decided to stay with the caravan.

"No interest in the city?" asked Fared.

The small infertile shrugged. "If everybody is going to stare at me, then I'd rather stay here."

"Suit yourself."

Fared watched the others leave, all displaying some excitement at being in a strange place. He wandered around the three wagons before helping Nynra light a small brazier. Once done, she pushed an alovak can into place to make a brew.

Fared wandered to the other side of the wagons to take a look at the other caravan. It too had a solitary guard watching over the two wagons, a friendly-looking man who handled his spear as if he knew how to use it. Fared assumed he probably did.

The man smiled and nodded. Fared nodded back.

"Here for long?" asked the other guard.

"No idea," replied Fared. "Not up to me."

"Course." The other man shrugged. "Strange city this. Can't put my finger on it exactly, but it's just not normal. Somehow."

"Oh?" Fared raised an eyebrow.

"Folk here all seem honest enough, but there's not a single one gone though the gates in the three days we been here. Folk come in and the same folk go out, but the city folks stay within the walls. So far as I've seen anyway. Just odd. No crime here, or not much. That's weird as well."

"Perhaps." Being a believer in the rule of law, Fared thought that a good reason to make this city home.

"That sylph of yours a good worker?"

"Yes," replied Fared, only just stopping himself from saying that Nynra wasn't his and that outright ownership of another sentient being was disgusting. "Very good."

"Never seen a mist child this far south," said the guard.

"Plenty of 'em where we're from."

The other guard changed the subject. "Going far?"

"East, possibly to Marka."

The other's breath whistled as he drew it in. "Long way that. Never seen the place." He moved closer and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I've heard they got an Emperor again. A sylph." He giggled, a surprising sound. "A sylph! I ask you. Maybe it's just rumor and maybe it's not. Strange times we live in."

Fared grunted. "A curse to live in interesting times. Perhaps we offended in a past life."

The other man shook his head. "I don't think the governor here likes the idea of an Emperor in Marka. Prefect, whatever the fellow's called. They all have different names in these parts."

"As you say, strange times." Fared turned as Nynra joined him.

"Alovak?" she asked.

***

At first, Samrita was unaware of any oddness in the city. She strode through the streets and left Charel struggling in her wake. From the moment she had again seen Turivkan, she felt compelled to seek out her old mentor's grave. As if she must pay homage or try to exorcise Marasil's shade. She felt foolish; gwerins did not haunt each other after death. She pushed everything else from her mind, except reaching the graveyard where her friend was interred.

Many buildings had changed since her last visit, but the streets were laid out to the same pattern she remembered. And the style of the buildings had not changed much over the years. The local pink sandstone faced most, but here and there, paler stone was used. Samrita preferred the local stone; it made the city glow.

She turned a corner and knew she was getting closer.

Somewhere to the left stood the Prefect's Palace. She and Marasil had been made very welcome there. The older gwerin more so, but sudden illness and death stalked her old tutor.

To have so august a personage die while a guest had deeply embarrassed the then Prefect. He had insisted on paying for all funeral arrangements.

"Don't get too far ahead!" warned Charel. "Do we race?"

"Sorry." Samrita slowed her pace, but offered no explanation.

Turivkan's streets were as busy as she recalled, though there were fewer beggars than on her last visit. Every city was infested with beggars; even Kelthane had a few. But this city either had enough work to soak up all surplus, or else beggars were persecuted and had found easier pickings elsewhere.

In Samrita's experience, it was usually the second reason.

But beggars were unimportant right now. Samrita caught her breath and halted so suddenly that Charel almost cannoned into her.

The temple fronted onto the street and the fence surrounding the graveyard had been replaced since Marasil's funeral. But the grounds inside were completely neglected. The paths were clear, if narrower than she remembered. The trees at the entrance were perhaps the same trees, if larger.

The small temple looked silent and unkempt and the gate set in the fence was secured with a rusty chain.

"Looks like it's no longer used," remarked Charel.

Samrita agreed. "This was the Prefect's temple. I understand it is the fashion now to have the temple in the palace."

"Wrong to let it get this neglected." Charel sounded shocked.

"Happens all the time in cities," replied Samrita, absently. She fumbled with the chain, which came free in her hands. "That was easy enough. Coming?" The gwerin entered the graveyard.

Charel paused. "Should we?" he asked. "It might be forbidden: that chain's there for a reason."

"Wait out here if you like."

Charel shrugged and followed.

Many gravestones had fallen and others leaned at odd angles. The writing on most had worn almost to illegibility. A disadvantage of the local stone, Samrita realized. This graveyard had not been used for some time.

The gwerin rushed ahead along overgrown paths. In the middle of the graveyard, sandwiched between two Prefects, lay her friend's last resting place.

Even the headstone was overgrown. Samrita pulled ivy and brambles away and used a finger to trace barely visible words.

"Marasil," she whispered.

"Everything's neglected," remarked Charel. "Is this normal for here?"

"Nothing looks normal here," replied Samrita. She wandered around the former Prefects' graves. The writing on these had also worn away, but a few stood out more clearly. The most recent was of Prefect Glayen and dated sixteen-sixty-seven. She pulled herself together. "Let's take a look in the temple."

They returned to the street and Charel moved ahead to open the temple door for her. He grunted in surprise.

"Locked," he muttered. "Never seen such a thing before."

Samrita stared. "Nor me."

She walked up to the temple door and pushed. Nothing. Locked, as Charel had said. The door hinges were rusted and the door had not been painted or treated for some years. The only footprints in the dust were their own.

"Something is wrong here." She looked around. "Unkempt graves, locked temples..." She sniffed in disapproval. "I must see the Prefect, see what I can find out."

"The Prefect?" Charel's eyes widened.

"Of course. The Father's priests always care for a gwerin's grave, so I want to know what has gone wrong."

"Why not see one of the priests?"

Samrita gave her companion a mirthless smile. "Because you always get answers quicker when you start at the top and work down. Come on, we have work to do."

***

Peytor paid as much attention to his surroundings as he could while keeping an eye on Telisa, Kwenby and the children. He and Deren were supposed to protect them and watch for threats, which did not leave much opportunity for sightseeing.

Plenty of distractions surrounded him, so much he wanted to stop and see, but kept his mind focused on his task. Thankfully, Telisa and Kwenby ensured everybody stayed more or less together, even if Peytor did rather suspect that they would not see too much of the city this way.

They reached one of the market squares – one of four in the city, apparently – and the group soon scattered as the ladies looked around. Peytor and Deren watched the exits while the others browsed. Unused to cities, Peytor was staggered by the assault on his senses.

Plenty of sylphs were dotted about. Some hawked their services, offering to carry goods, while others waited with brooms and large bags to scoop up horse dung. Little wonder the city looked so clean and apparently well organized. He was pleased to see few beggars. Probably employed collecting horse droppings.

Well used to sylphs, Peytor watched those he saw with a sympathetic eye. Two sylph families had been bonded to his father's farm. Useful with sheep, goats and arable produce, but not quite so good with cattle and horses. Even farm sylphs were at least wary of large animals.

His face fell. The farm was past tense. The male sylphs and some of the infertiles had been taken away, presumably to be sold.

Peytor's hands clenched and unclenched. The sylphs had been bonded to the farm, they were not slaves. He hoped the stolen ones now had decent owners and that they had been lucky. He really hoped that, because the rest of the farm sylphs had been slaughtered. Even very young ones. Even pregnant ones.

He had needed three days to dig graves for them all and he'd rushed to finish the job before they began to rot where they lay. His family first, then the sylphs.

He blinked back tears.

He must not dwell on that. What was done was done. He lived; he had a future. But why did he feel so guilty that he had survived?

Peytor noticed something else almost straight away. Stallholders were not as watchful of their stock as he expected and there was no sign of thieves working the market. In a city, where people did not know everybody else, criminals usually flourished. There seemed to be none in Turivkan.

He kept Deren in sight all the time. As they were on opposite sides of the square, this was not easy. He dodged around people who consistently got in his way, or blocked his eye line.

Concentrating his attention on things in the middle distance and ignoring everything else nearby proved a recipe for disaster. The boy soon bounced off a much larger man and found himself sitting on the ground.

"Careful!" cautioned the man, more surprised than angry.

"My apologies," Peytor managed, as he scrambled to his feet.

The stranger he had bounced off offered a hand, which he accepted gratefully.

"I'm sorry," Peytor apologized again. "My thoughts were elsewhere."

A smile flickered across the other man's face. "Try thinking of what is in front of you; I'm hardly difficult to see." He winked, then was on his way.

Peytor looked around and realized he had become separated from the rest of the group. He stood on tiptoe to look further afield and panic tinged his disappointment when he saw nobody he recognized.

He suddenly felt very alone and began to dodge through the crowds. He looked for someone, anyone, he knew. He left the market square, hoping to find Deren, or Kwenby, or Telisa...

Unused to crowds, it seemed to Peytor that a multitude thronged the streets. Certainly far more people than he usually saw at once. He pushed his way through, hoping to find his companions. He was supposed to be looking after them.

He abruptly found himself in the middle of the thoroughfare, where a cart almost crushed him. The driver snarled and flicked his whip in his direction, but the boy ducked in time.

He almost shouted after the driver, then remembered he was not supposed to draw attention to himself.

A male sylph, broom and bag at the ready, watched expressionlessly, chewing slowly and obviously uninterested in anything humans got up to.

"You are lost, young man?"

Peytor spun on his heel and stared at the neat, well dressed man stood before him.

"Yes," he replied. "I was with some people and we seem to have gotten separated." Nothing about the man suggested officialdom or authority, but something in his demeanor demanded an answer.

"Usually only drunkards wander about the middle of the avenues."

"I'm not drunk," retorted Peytor. "But neither am I used to cities."

The man nodded. "Where are you staying?"

"With a caravan that's stopped just inside the main gate."

"I will escort you back." His expression hardened a little. "If those people are your friends, you'll have found your way home."

Peytor thought he heard a hint, but failed to work it out.

"Do you like Turivkan?" The man made conversation, perhaps an attempt to put the boy at ease.

"Very much," answered Peytor. "So clean and no beggars."

The man smiled. "We find work for the beggars, so they at least earn their keep. We have no criminals, either. At least, they don't remain criminals for long."

"What do you mean?"

"One chance to reform, then the Prefect or his Administrator orders an execution. No more chances are required. Or given."

"I saw the watchtowers on the plain. Is there trouble with bandits?" Peytor needed to know.

"I am afraid so. Only sometimes, but enough to give us a headache. We live in troubled times, so the land is infested with criminals and rabble-rousers. Our soldiers hunt them down and deal with them. No second chances there."

"Sounds fatal."

"It usually is." The man smiled again. "Bandits prey on the weak and deserve all they get when caught. Crime is a canker to properly organized society. And like all cankers, the only cure is to cut it out. That is the Prefect's job. You seem very interested. But from whose point of view?"

"Not the criminal's. Bandits murdered my family and farm chattels."

The man stopped. "I _am_ sorry to hear that," he said, sincerity thickening his voice. He ignored the crowds swirling around and looked sideways at Peytor. "I might be able to introduce you to the Prefect or his Administrator; he is always looking for honest young men like yourself to become guardsmen. Fighting against bandits and criminals."

Peytor blinked. "How long might that take? My friends..."

"A day or two. Of course, your friends will be worried. Let me take you to them now. If you like, I will try and make an appointment with the Prefect for you. I'll return to you in a day or so. Ah! The main gate. Which is your caravan?"

"That one." Peytor pointed.

The man shook Peytor's hand and bowed his head. "Perhaps in a day or two, we will meet again."

"Thank you."

The man smiled, turned on his heel and was gone. Peytor stared after him. An offer to work in this city. Helping prevent crime and doubtless punishing it when it happened.

Tempting.

He was torn.

The people looking after him now had done him no harm. How would they feel if he left now? Still, a tempting offer.

He crossed the short space and saw Fared with his back to him.

"I've returned," he said.

Fared jerked from his reverie. "You're early; where are the others?"

Peytor grimaced.

The conversation with his escort had pushed his failure at his task to the back of his mind.

"I got separated from them in one of the markets. I collided with someone, landed on my rear end and when I got up again, they were gone. I tried looking for them, but no chance with all those people. So I thought it best to return." He gave an apologetic grin. "I expected them to be back already."

Fared did not look impressed.

Peytor took the other's silence as a demand for more information. "I'm not used to cities this size." He realized this might not be a good time to mention the offer.

Fared relented. "All right, it's easy to get lost in crowds. At least Deren is still with them. Learn from the mistake and remember."

"I will, I promise."

"Good." Fared smiled. "Take over from me for a few moments – I'm just going to have a word with Nynra."

The next arrivals were the families, with Deren still keeping a close eye on them. Of the three adults, only Deren looked pleased to see Peytor. He turned to Telisa.

"See?" he demanded, triumphantly. "I _told_ you he had sense enough to return here if he got separated."

An unimpressed Telisa huffed pointedly. "The boy isn't as good as he claims if he lost us in a market of all places."

Deren laughed. "Well, you needed no protection."

"This time."

Deren turned to Peytor. "Why did you run off? I looked across the square and there you were, next time I looked you were gone."

Peytor grimaced. "I bumped into someone and fell down. When I got back up again, _you_ were gone."

"Was crossing the square to look for you, lad."

"Oh. Sorry." Peytor included the ladies in his apology and seemed to be winning them around. After all, Turivkan was the largest city any of them had seen. Fared climbed down the steps from his wagon and hugged his wife.

"Find anything useful?" he asked. "My turn to have a wander. With Nynra, if she's changed her mind of course."

Fared never got his wander for, at that moment an agitated Samrita, with Charel in tow, arrived back at the caravan.

***

Samrita looked up as the servant returned. Servant might be too lowly a title; this man clearly stood higher than that.

"The Administrator will see you now," he said.

"Not the Prefect?"

The man managed to look apologetic. "The Prefect is away."

"When will he return?"

Surprise flickered those dark eyes.

"Who can tell? Perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow. Or even next week."

Samrita sighed, aware of Charel's gaze on her. "Very well, the, ah, Administrator will do."

"If you will follow me."

The corridors were achingly familiar; the palace had been as a home to her when she last visited. Familiar, yet different. The tapestries and paintings had changed, but much of the furniture was the same.

She remembered the room she now entered. Then, it had been used as a small receiving room. Now it served as an office, with papers strewn on every surface except the floor. A huge wallmap took up the space between two windows. Light crystals were dotted around the room and two illuminated the central desk.

The man behind it stood and gestured politely.

"Administrator," began their escort, "may I introduce the gwerin Samrita and Rider Charel."

"I am pleased to meet you," smiled the Administrator, though his blue-gray eyes remained wary. "You may leave us, Delnor."

The servant closed the door behind him on his way out.

"I am Kanad Vyer Tanur, Administrator for the Prefect."

"Pleased to meet you," said Samrita. "I am here to raise a concern about the state of the old palace temple and graveyard. It is –"

"Yes, the Prefect has had other priorities in past years. As you are probably aware, we have suffered from raiders and the security of the living is more important than the comfort of the dead." Kanad raised an eyebrow.

"But very disrespectful," countered Samrita. "Can you tell me when the Prefect will return? I prefer to deal with him directly."

Kanad's eyes hardened at the snub. "The Prefect might return at any time. Today or next month; he controls that, not I."

"Neglecting other duties?"

Muscles twitched in Kanad's cheeks. "Prefect Dervra is a very busy man. He – are you all right?"

Samrita stared, eyes wide. "You said Dervra?"

"I did."

For a moment, the gwerin floundered. "Then I must wait for his return."

"Indeed." Kanad smiled. "Shall I call for Delnor to show you out?"

Samrita knew she had been snubbed – a gwerin should be offered rooms in the palace – but she was glad to get out onto the street again.

"What's wrong?" asked Charel, once they were outside.

"We must leave this city," replied Samrita, already starting to walk toward the main gates. "Now."

***

"We must leave," Samrita told Fared, earpoints wilted and eyes wide. "Quickly, before the gates close."

"Why?" Fared looked from gwerin to human and back again.

"The Prefect here is a man named Dervra," explained Samrita. The children's eyes widened at the obvious fear in the gwerin's voice. "And the moment he learns who we are and what we are about, it will be dangerous for us here."

"The name sounds familiar," said Fared.

"So it should." Samrita looked no less terrified. "Dervra is partly responsible for the collapse of the last Markan Empire." Nynra's earpoints wilted to match Samrita's.

"That's impossible!" protested Peytor. "Nobody lives that long."

He became aware of Samrita's patient stare.

Peytor's protest faded.

"Dervra," explained Samrita, "was one of the Ten. He turned against the Father." She patted Nynra's shoulder absently. "When he discovers we are headed for Marka, the Father only knows what will happen."

"He still has the power of one of the Ten," added Fared.

"What's wrong with one of the Ten?" demanded Peytor. "Aren't they supposed to be good? And how do you mean, he 'turned against the Father'?"

"Questions later," said Fared. "If Samrita says move, we move. Come on lad, jump to it."

***
Chapter 12

**Flight From Turivkan**

Peytor moved closer to Samrita's wagon. Since leaving Turivkan, this was the first full night they had stopped, the city now two days behind them.

The gwerin sat on the wagon front, ink bottle beside her and a book open on her lap. She dipped her steel-nibbed pen into the ink now and again, then recommenced writing unhurriedly. A solitary light crystal over her head provided the light, one of only two crystals in the camp. The other belonged to Fared's secretary. Nynra sat at the gwerin's feet; the sylph's head nodded and her eyes were closed.

Peytor paused and wondered whether to step forward or melt back into the darkness. Even if the gwerin answered his question, could he trust her to answer truthfully? Sylphs rarely lied, but Samrita had more human than sylph in her and Peytor knew his own race lied as a matter of course.

Nynra's eyes opened and her earpoints twitched in his direction. She lifted her head and looked directly at him. Thanks to the light crystal, there was no way she could see Peytor, though he had come close enough to see her eyes glow. Samrita's head came up a moment later.

"Hello, Peytor," said the gwerin, looking more or less in his direction. "Join me if you wish. Gwerins don't bite, even if you want us to."

Peytor grunted in surprise. As he stepped into the pool of light, Nynra stood and he saw that her nearly white eyes no longer glowed. Perhaps he had imagined that.

"Your hearing is good," he remarked.

Samrita gave a small smile, wiped the nib of her pen on a small piece of cloth and stoppered the ink bottle. She closed her book carefully and passed it to Nynra.

"Having long ears helps," she replied. "Come and sit. Alovak?"

"Not for me, thanks."

Nynra waited for Samrita's nod before taking book and ink into the wagon.

"You have a question? Perhaps unsure whether or not I will answer." Again, that small smile. "I reserve that right, of course."

Peytor nodded. "It's a question."

"Ask." Samrita waited patiently while the boy gathered his thoughts. Nynra returned from inside the wagon and gave him a neutral look. Her earpoints twitched.

Peytor wondered what it must be like to be the only sylph here. With Samrita the only gwerin, perhaps it was small wonder they stayed together. He remembered his question.

"Turivkan."

The gwerin waited, even though Nynra stared at the boy as if he had taken leave of his senses.

"Such a well run city, with no crime. At least, only a little. Yet you say we would be in danger if the Prefect found out about us."

"That is true. No doubt the papers we filled in when we entered the city were on his desk before nightfall."

"You said he was one of the Ten. I was taught that they were good."

The small smile again. "Everybody wants to believe the Ten _are_ good, and nobody wants to learn that the Father makes mistakes."

Nynra twisted around to stare at her mistress and her earpoints wilted.

Peytor's eyes widened. "Siranva makes mistakes?"

Although Samrita did not react, Nynra's mouth twisted. Sylphs believed it blasphemous to speak the Father's name aloud.

"Ten humans were chosen to receive a Gift, The Gift." Samrita kept her voice gentle. "But the Father overlooked that all humans are flawed. One of those was a man called Dervra. The Ten used to have other names, but now answer only to those they adopted."

"What gift?"

"The Gift. Power to do things."

"Things?"

"Things." Samrita nodded. "Special, magickal things. More were born with The Gift from then on. And still are. Most are good people, but not all."

"So Dervra has a gift given him by Siran –" He paused and glanced at Nynra. "By the Father."

"Indeed. But he made a mistake, or perhaps we should say an oversight." Samrita's eyes were sad. "He never insisted that humans worship him, for he is not the humans' god or creator. His attention concentrated on the ilven, his daughters. Everything else was secondary. He had made the rules, so he ignored humans from then on. He trusted too fully, or perhaps never fully understood creatures who are a mixture of both sephiroths."

Nynra's earpoints tucked into her ears and she stared at the wooden planking.

Peytor's eyes grew wider. " _He_ does not fully understand us? Then who does?"

Samrita smiled. "Now there _is_ a question. There are two sephiroths: benefic and malefic. The hierarchies within each are perfectly balanced in strength and number. Nobody on this world actually knows our god, or even who is supposed to be our god."

"Surely the Father knows? Si – the Father is the Father."

"And is but one among many." Samrita's smile faded. "Few can handle the truth that Siranva is not our god."

Nynra whimpered.

Samrita touched the sylph's shoulder. "Go inside," she said.

A grateful Nynra scrambled away.

Samrita sighed as she watched the sylph leave. "The poor child cannot understand. I'm not sure that _I_ understand."

"So there are a number of gods? I thought there was but one." Peytor looked almost as deeply disturbed by Samrita's words as Nynra. "There is only one god, can be only one god."

"There is only one creator." Samrita tried to be gentle. "Who smashed the cosmic egg, and brought everything into existence. Everything, boy: the stars and world and, well _everything_. The Benefic Sephiroth born by the act of creation. The Malefic Sephiroth brought into being by the act of destruction."

"What act of destruction?" Peytor's brown eyes were troubled.

"By smashing the cosmic egg, the Creator wrought creation from destruction; the ultimate paradox." The gwerin nodded to herself. "Good and evil created simultaneously. Could we have one without the other? Can one exist without the other? Universe created from destruction; might it be destroyed from a new creation?" She leaned forward. "Surely that is the Malefic Sephiroth's aim?"

Peytor felt the conversation had slipped. "What has this got to do with Prefect Dervra?"

"Everything. Dervra believed he had discovered a new way of using the Gift. Nicolfer – another of the Ten – worked with him. Nobody knows – except the two concerned, of course – if they had already turned to the Malefic Sephiroth, or whether that betrayal came later, a result of his discovery." Samrita's eyes looked even sadder and her own earpoints sagged. "Even the best of humans can be corrupted and evil often lurks behind the best intentions."

"What happened?"

"Dervra discovered sorcery. Anybody can learn its secrets, but it originates from the Malefic Sephiroth and, without exception, taints its practitioners. Dervra and Nicolfer destroyed the civilization the rest of the Ten had built."

"And now he is Prefect of Turivkan." Peytor shook his head.

"Dervra and Nicolfer were responsible for the collapse of the Second Markan Empire," said Samrita. "If they learn I still live, they will do their best to kill me. If they learn we travel to Marka to help reestablish what is lost, they will do their very best to kill all of us."

"I see." Peytor did not; he had never heard of this before. And he still did not fully trust the people he traveled with. And gwerins could lie. "Why are you such a threat?"

"Because whatever is happening in Marka, there are forces working to prevent the Empire from ever rising again. To disrupt the rule of law and order, to deny justice and peace to the people of this continent and perhaps even beyond."

"So?" A small frown furrowed Peytor's brow.

The gwerin smiled again. "The struggle Dervra and Nicolfer are engaged in is about more than just Marka. Ultimately, it is about who controls this ilvenworld. Whether it remains with the Father, or falls to the Malefic Sephiroth."

Peytor stared. Certainly not the answer he had expected to his question.

Samrita continued. "I – perhaps more correctly, we – are a threat because we have learned where Dervra and probably Nicolfer are based. They will know any experienced gwerin has heard of Marka's new Emperor and will travel there to enter his service. We are a threat to them because of our knowledge and experience."

"They fear that?"

"They fear advice we might give the Emperor. My presence here tells Dervra and Nicolfer our destination, and now they have learned of us, they will try to kill us."

Peytor shook his head. "I came here hoping for reassurance," he said.

Samrita's smile broadened. "Then accept my apologies for disappointing you."

***

Marlen Masser listened as Kanad outlined Samrita's visit.

"A gwerin?" Marlen's eyebrows rose. His pale blue eyes remained unchanged, however. "Certain she's with the Shadow Riders?"

"That's what she called them. And men have seen the army: certainly more than three hundred strong."

"Then the rumors have reached the far west," mused Marlen. "The old gwerins return home and the Imperial Guard has reformed."

"That's the Shadow Riders, is it?" asked Kanad.

"Their descendants, perhaps. Did the Boss give any hint how long he'd be gone?"

"Nothing." Kanad scowled. "He never says."

"Have you done anything about the Riders and this... Samrita?"

"Only sent some troops to make sure our uninvited visitors leave Turivkan."

"To attack them?"

Kanad sighed. "I gave orders to follow as far as the border and fight only if attacked."

Marlen was tempted to find these soldiers and amend their orders, then almost immediately decided against. Foolishness to cause potential confusion by interfering with lines of command. A golden rule his so-called superiors often forgot.

A better idea came to him.

"That'll do," said Marlen, and smiled. "I'll go see if I can stir up trouble for our gallant Shadow Riders between here and Marka. If local lords believe that they are no more then raiders..."

"If they are really traveling to Marka," added Kanad.

Marlen remembered that this man always had a negative outlook on life. He had believed the fight ended with Hingast's death. Dervra only tolerated the man for his administrative skills.

Marlen must remember that.

***

Fared rode alongside Samrita. Presently wrapped in silence, they usually shared easy conversation. He knew the gwerin did not always confide in him, that there were secrets she was determined to keep. But he trusted her enough to inform him of anything he must know to keep the Shadow Riders out of danger. He found her counsel invaluable.

They had left the arable land behind, lush green crops giving way to small copses and rough pasture. They passed the occasional farm, but even these thinned to nothing as the road wound uphill. The type of tree changed from large pines to stunted and twisted sharpthorns or wash trees.

As the road degenerated to little more than a rutted track, the ground grew ever more swampy, with rocks poking everywhere through the thin soil.

Samrita glanced nervously over her shoulder from time to time and asked regularly if the scouts had seen or heard anything out of place. Fared waited for her to share her fear, but so far she had said nothing. Yet she feared _something_.

She drew her horse closer.

"I am concerned about Peytor," she said.

"What about him?" Not quite the subject he expected, but it might lead to an opening.

Samrita paused for a moment. "He's seen how cruel anarchy can be. He lost his family and home through it."

Fared nodded. "Everybody knows that."

"He has seen that Turivkan is peaceful and well ordered."

"So it is," agreed Fared.

Samrita continued. "He has already compared the lawless countryside with an orderly city and drawn conclusions. Time for him to choose his path."

"A choice we all face at some point."

"But not under such extreme conditions. A murdered family who were free, set against a protected people who are not. Is it best for evil to rule harshly, or for the anarchy that stole his first life to be allowed free rein? Most of us get guidance from those we trust or love when we face the choice, but Peytor does not enjoy that luxury."

Fared considered. "I will speak with Deren. He's closest to the boy."

"A pity we cannot take Peytor to Kelthane. There he would see fair and just rulers keeping order on their streets without fear or oppression."

"Trouble is, we don't know that Dervra rules Turivkan using fear and oppression," countered Fared. "If Peytor could see that, he might reconsider."

"Perhaps." Samrita shrugged. "The only people who should fear the authorities are lawbreakers. Criminals ruin life for the law-abiding majority, but true justice cannot flourish when oppressive rulers restrict the freedoms of their people. I hope Peytor is old enough to recognize the difference."

"Not so subtle a difference at that."

Samrita laughed. "More than you realize," she countered. "Men like Dervra are capable of amazing subtleties. They steal freedom from people without them ever realizing. So many lands fall into the trap of handing over ancient freedoms in the name of something else. Greater security. Need of the greater good. Many other excuses."

"It's not only Peytor bothering you." Fared decided it was time to take back the initiative. The gwerin might never tell him otherwise.

Samrita looked over her shoulder again.

"And before you ask, the scouts have reported nothing. If you told me what troubles you, I'll tell them what to look for."

The gwerin smiled and her earpoints slanted forwards. "The scouts already know what to look for; neither of us need tell them their job. They will know the moment they see it."

"You believe Dervra's administrator has sent someone after us?"

"Yes. Unless the Administrator is deeply stupid – which I doubt – he will know by now that Shadow Riders accompany me, and that some entered the city. He'll want to ensure we leave as quickly as possible."

"That he and I agree on," said Fared. "Will he send an army after us?"

"Probably not an army. Certainly some men."

"The scouts will report any they see."

Samrita's smile was warm. "I know. Where is Peytor now?"

"Running with the scouts," replied Fared. "Never far from Deren."

"Losing Telisa and Kwenby in Turivkan shook him some. It is unlike him to be subdued."

Fared nodded. "A little humiliation is good for the soul, so long as he doesn't make mistakes like that twice."

Samrita's earpoints wilted. "We cannot let him decide in favor of men like Dervra."

She did not add that, had Dervra realized who was walking around his city, it would not have really mattered. She changed the subject. "Have you given this banner sylph we are supposed to find any more thought?"

Fared blinked and turned his head. "I've never heard of a flag carrier who was anything but a soldier. Sylphs don't become soldiers, so they don't become bannermen. Did we hear the Wise One aright?"

"She definitely told us to look for a banner sylph."

Fared shrugged and almost spread his hands, before remembering this would stop his horse. "Then we heard her right. It doesn't make sense. Sylphs and armies don't mix."

"Certainly not in battles," added Samrita. "They carry banners for nobody. Plenty become camp followers, or used to anyway."

"The only time a banner is carried is into battle. Otherwise they fly from poles or hang from windows. She said sylph _bannerman_."

Fared turned in his saddle to look at their own banner. Two silver dragonheads faced each other on a black field. Absurd to think of a sylph carrying it into battle.

A shout from behind distracted them. A small cloud of dust approached, which they guessed was a horseman. He must bear an important message to be riding so hard. The scouts had seen something.

Fared used his spyglass and recognized the rider, despite the dust. A veteran of several campaigns when an expansionist neighbor threatened Kelthane, Qatan was among the more experienced Riders here. The older man halted beside Fared and bowed respectfully to Samrita.

"Lady Gwerin, Captain Fared."

"Rider Qatan." Samrita returned the bow.

The skin around Qatan's eyes crinkled for a moment, then he grew serious again. "We are being followed."

Fared's eyebrows lifted. "From the city?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Armed men? A caravan?"

"Both, sir."

"Are they catching up with us?"

"It's a small caravan and moving quite quickly. But we estimate two days before they draw level. There are about two hundred men with the caravan and a couple of hundred more flank it, at a distance."

"A special escort for the caravan?" asked Fared.

Samrita sat perfectly still on her horse.

"No sir," replied Qatan. "The outriders are following our trail, so we have hidden it as best we can."

Fared smiled. "Excellent."

"But they have professional trackers; it will do no more than slow them."

"Tell the scouts to continue covering the trail. Tell the yeoman to detail men to make sure we leave nothing behind. And send the yeoman's messenger to me."

Qatan bobbed a quick bow, and was gone.

"We must try and avoid bloodshed if possible," cautioned Samrita. "Fighting our way to Marka will see us dead long before we reach our destination."

Fared bared his teeth. "I seem to remember saying something like that to Peytor. But neither can we survive if we fail to defend ourselves when attacked."

"They might be here to ensure we leave Dervra' s lands."

"Four hundred men," mused Fared. "Three hundred of us. Unfair odds for them, but you never know."

"They are probably unaware of the Riders' prowess." Samrita smiled to himself. "That means that Dervra has still not returned; he would never assume the Riders have lost their skills. You sure these people are hostile?"

"No caravan needs four hundred guards," countered Fared. "And the scouts report these men follow our trail. They are hostile."

Samrita fell silent as the yeoman's messenger approached.

"Pass the word to everyone," commanded Fared. "We are being followed, so be ready for battle."

Fared knew he should take no risks. Nothing could stop them from reaching Marka.

***

"The borderstones."

Samrita pointed them out and Fared focused his spyglass on them. Large rocks, all arranged in a line, some partly submerged in the mires dotted about. The Shadow Riders easily outpaced the soldiers following them and the scouts had long since reported there was little danger of being caught. It was as if the soldiers wanted to let them go, a sensible choice if they knew anything about the Riders.

Samrita assured Fared that the following soldiers only wanted to be certain that the Riders had left Turivkan. Dervra's administrator gave the impression that their destination was unimportant; he just wanted them out of his master's lands.

The caravan that the soldiers had escorted now turned south along one of the old roads. It had picked up a better road and increased speed.

"Headed for Eldova," said Samrita. "South of here."

The Turivkans lined up, watching the Riders. Fared had his banners flying, but the other troops displayed nothing.

Fared reached the borderstones first and turned his horse. Samrita waited with him as the Riders and their families passed. The carts traveled quite easily along the rutted track. The families had ensured the weight was distributed evenly among the carts, so none was unduly heavy for the swampy roads. There was no sign of the rear scout, which did not surprise him, but Fared waited.

"Why are they letting us go?" he wondered aloud. "They might have at least tried."

"Making sure we leave Turivkan," said Samrita. "A show of force."

"Your friendly administrator must know we're heading for Marka. We might return with an army to displace him."

This thought had also troubled the gwerin. "Perhaps there is a difficulty between here and there."

"Meaning?"

"Impassable roads perhaps. Military weakness in Marka."

"Even so." Fared pondered the problem.

"An army friendly to Dervra between here and there," added Samrita. Her eyes widened and her earpoints sagged. "That's all we need. I wish we had stayed in Turivkan long enough to get news of anything going on further east."

"I seem to remember you were in a hurry to leave."

Samrita gave Fared a forced smile.

Deren joined his commander at the borderstones. "They'll not be troubling us," said the scout. "They didn't even try to catch up."

"They turn away now," said Fared. "Look!"

Now clear that the Shadow Riders had passed the stones, the soldiers lost interest in them. Already they wheeled their horses and headed home.

"Stay in the rear," Fared commanded Deren. "Let me know if that mob changes direction."

"Very good, sir."

As Fared rode to catch up with his men, his mind was troubled. The Riders had avoided trouble today, but what lay ahead?

***

Marlen swung the borrowed spyglass this way and that, viewing the small boggy plain below. Almost twenty wagons were down there in three caravans. Perhaps a hundred people all told, including thirty guards.

Done, he passed the glass back to his companion.

"Leave plenty of survivors," he commanded. "Let as many escape as possible without making it look like you allow any such thing."

Gerfal smiled, showing perfect teeth. "As you command, so shall it be done."

"Remember to leave at least one banner behind," urged Marlen.

Gerfal nodded and jerked his head at his men. All wore unfamiliar black armor, and all were mounted. At least they were used to horses. Six men carried banners. Silver dragons' heads on a black field, the banner of the Shadow Riders.

"Also," continued Marlen, "you may take food and valuables from the wagons. Not their goods, just coins, gold and silver. Jewels too, if they have any."

Gerfal nodded.

"Be ruthless. Be hard. Strike terror into them."

Gerfal wheeled his horse with no further acknowledgment.

Marlen knew the man disapproved of some of the actions he had suggested, but he had no care for his objections. So long as he obeyed, nothing else mattered.

Marlen settled on the ridge to watch the raiders thunder downhill and onto the plain. The merchant guards already reacted, unlimbering bows while others drew their swords.

Marlen smiled. He intended to enjoy this spectacle to the full.

The Shadow Riders would be blamed for this raid. It might force them to increase their speed as they headed east. They might even grow careless. They would know turning back was now out of the question. They would earn the enmity of every lord along the way; Gerfal would see to that.

And with luck, they would blunder into Mirrin's army. No matter how good the Riders were, or even if they had earned every scrap of their reputation, thousands of men would always overwhelm a few hundred.

As the first blood was spilled below, Marlen began to laugh.

***
Chapter 13

**Planning**

Tangan stabbed down with all the force he could muster. He stopped himself from yelling at Grayar's sleeping form and even managed to restrain a grunt of effort. His slash slowed the nearer the knife came to his intended victim until, less than an inca from Grayar's chest, something unseen forced the knife away and the sylph was thrown backwards.

Tangan shook his head and scrambled to his feet as Grayar swung out of bed. He lurched forward, but Grayar sidestepped away from the sylph and caught his knife hand. The suddenly nerveless hand opened and the knife thunked point down into the floorboards.

Tangan stared at the gently swaying knife and shivered as the light crystal covers mysteriously turned. Every time before, his bloodlust drained away the moment he killed. This time, it still raged. Every time before, he got his full control back. He grunted and growled, but was held firm.

So close to success and freedom, yet he had failed.

Control returned and his earpoints sprang free. "No!" he shouted and buried his face in his hands. Those earpoints wilted again. "No!"

Anger sparked in Grayar's blue eyes. "Did you think I would sleep unwarded? That I'm unaware of the slyness of your masters?"

"No choice!" Tangan struggled against Grayar's grip, but he could not escape. "Was forced!"

"I'm sure." Grayar's anger evaporated as he regarded the sylph. Tangan shivered under that weighing look.

Caya and Salu tumbled into the room, and thudding footsteps heralded Stanak's arrival. All three newcomers stared at the male sylph in disbelief.

" _Enya!_ " Salu crossed the floor and grasped Grayar's free hand. She gave Tangan a look of part terror and part loathing.

Stanak took Tangan from Grayar and secured the sylph's wrists with a length of rope. "This one's for the City Guard," he said.

"No." Grayar shook his head. His heart pounded; the sylph had almost achieved his objective. Grayar must improve the wards he set around himself – yet again.

"Why not?"

Tangan looked from one man to the other and tried to stifle his fear. Human eyes looked menacing in the light crystals' glare.

"Imagine the effect of a public trial. Attempted murder... by a sylph. Think of the consequences when people believe they can no longer trust their sylphs. At the very least, an increase in violence against them. Perhaps even a massacre."

Stanak subsided and nodded. "All right, I'll take him to the stable. I don't enjoy harming sylphs, but this one deserves to die. Quick or slow, Grayar?"

Tangan's eyes widened and his earpoints slanted backwards in terror.

Caya and Salu stared at the bodyguard as if seeing him for the first time. Their earpoints wilted.

Grayar leaned forward and his gaze bored into Tangan.

"Well?" pressed Stanak.

"We must learn what made him act this way." Grayar's tone sounded almost conversational.

" _Enya_ , you cannot!" burst out Salu.

Tangan's eyes barely flickered.

Grayar's expression softened as he looked at his sylph. "You know I will do what I must." His expression hardened as he turned back to Tangan. "What are you, boy? If not a sylph, then it's time to show your true self."

"I am a sylph." Tangan flinched as Grayar laid a hand on his head.

Caya and Salu rubbed their arms and threw Grayar accusing looks.

Grayar's eyes widened in surprise. "So you are. Not what I expected. Looks like we'll have to find out the hard way what makes you tick."

"Sylphs don't act like that," said Stanak, gesturing to the knife.

"They do not," agreed Salu.

"Either Nicolfer or Dervra has been at this one. There's a strong residue of compulsion, which might never completely fade." Grayar grimaced. "They tried to stimulate the human part of him... and failed. Fools. The ancients knew what they were about."

Tangan flinched as Stanak and the sylphs exchanged a confused look.

"Care to translate that?" asked Stanak.

Grayar looked up. "Just thinking aloud."

Tangan regained his composure, though his stomach throbbed with barely suppressed fear. "Do what you will."

"You even tried to warn us." Grayar shook his head. "When I asked if your mother had given you that name, you replied more-or-less. What is your real name?"

Tangan's lips quivered.

Grayar turned to Stanak. "We must find out what they did to him," he said. Grayar's voice was so cold that even Stanak looked twice.

"All right," said the bodyguard, "I'll secure him in the stable. Alive."

Tangan gritted his teeth as Stanak pulled him away.

***

Kelanus pretended to watch the sylph serving alovak at the defense meeting. He used her movement to mask his observation of the others in the room.

Marshal Mikhan leaned on the large map table, in reality two old dining tables temporarily merged, and looked around at everybody across the large-scale map. The flags marking known and suspected positions had moved around, but only a little.

The marshal's expression suggested he had recently won an argument. Weights held his notes in place atop the map and they also hid them from casual observers, such as over-inquisitive sylphs. Zenepha might not be the only literate sylph in the world, but Kelanus would be astounded if the one serving alovak belonged to that select group.

Lance General Kestan clutched his own notes, possibly questions to ask. Unless his orders were about to change, which would not surprise Kelanus, this would be his last meeting before heading north to harry Eldovan detachments.

The sylph moved around the table, earpoints upright in concentration, and Kelanus's gaze followed her.

Commandant Treylfor from the Trading Council looked quite at ease, chatting amiably with Captain Crallin of the City Guard. Both men thanked the sylph for the alovak.

Only Captain Indelgar appeared as thoughtful as Kelanus. He had been a Lieutenant when serving under Kelanus's command in Sandester, and an able officer.

Once everybody had received their alovak, the guards escorted the sylph from the room and shut the doors with themselves on the outside to prevent eavesdroppers.

Kelanus firmed himself. He expected arguments today.

Mikhan looked around the table and smiled. "Good morning, gentlemen."

A rumble from the men present returned the greeting.

Mikhan continued. "What I have to say comes from His Majesty. Orders."

"Sounds ominous." Indelgar's words matched Kelanus's thoughts. The Sandesteran drew contentedly on his pipe and sent clouds of bacca smoke upwards. "There have been disagreements?" Although his green eyes sparkled with hidden laughter, the question showed a shrewd mind. Kelanus had always trusted him in the field.

Indelgar must have been deeply mischievous as a child. Kelanus knew he had joined Sandester's army so his parents could see the back of him. Or so the tales said.

Mikhan ignored the banter. "Disagreements or not, His Majesty requires us to guarantee Trenvera's safety."

Kelanus sat up straighter. Had everybody in Marka taken leave of their military senses? Zenepha's military advisors were Mikhan – with a vested interest in protecting Sandester – and Marcus. Kelanus expected better from Marcus. Or was Marcus the cause of the disagreement? Nobody else batted an eyelid.

Mikhan paused, probably expecting protests, and continued when none came. "Received information suggests that an invasion of Trenvera by Re Taura is imminent. The Emperor insists we act now, to prevent more bloodshed later."

"Has anybody bothered to tell Trenvera we're coming?" asked Kelanus. "Else they might think we've come to invade from the west and that _we_ are allied with Re Taura."

"Diplomatic advances have been made; your assessment has been considered and concluded to be an acceptable risk."

"Really? Don't you think we've already got enough wars to contend with?"

Mikhan's deepset eyes glittered. "Re Taura is about to act, General."

Kelanus pursed his lips. "Does this information come from our people on the ground, or from Nazvasta Vintner?"

A mutter swept around the table.

"The source is unimportant," replied Mikhan. "You will command the force going east to Trenvera."

"Very good, but you know my views, Mikhan. Anything Re Taura does is no more than a diversion. Who covers the north?"

Mikhan continued as if Kelanus had not spoken. "Lance General Kestan. You will unite the detachments already in the field into one large force. Your task: root out and destroy the enemy wherever you find him."

Kestan nodded.

"And the west?" pressed Kelanus.

"Lance Captain Dekran is out of range and we've heard nothing from the men between him and here. We will give the Eldovans the appearance that we have left the west flank open. Perhaps that will tempt them further south."

_And away from Sandester,_ reflected Kelanus. "The Eldovans know leaving an entire flank open is never an acceptable risk. It's an open door with a sign saying 'Please come this way for easy victory'. They will see through the trick."

Mikhan's face hardened. "Perhaps. Either way, Commandant Treylfor has command of the west and south. With Captain Indelgar his Second."

Both men nodded.

Kelanus shook his head. "Re Taura and Trenvera are a diversion. Why can't you see it? Trenvera is not Marka. Marka is our charge and Marka is the target."

"What we do is in all our best interests, General." Mikhan's tone suggested Kelanus now walked close to the edge of acceptability.

"Marka's best interests, or Sandester's?" Kelanus's blue eyes were cold.

"Or Calcan's?" Indelgar murmured around his pipestem.

Mikhan ignored Kelanus. "Treylfor and Indelgar will remain in reserve for the south and west, just in case the Eldovans take our bait."

Kelanus gritted his teeth and sat back. These plans were foolish. Marka was the target, not Trenvera. Everybody involved squabbled over who should sit on the damned Throne! Even Marcus appeared more concerned about his own lands, rather than the Throne he coveted.

He passed no more comments for the rest of the meeting. Surprised he was not asked to stay behind afterwards, he ignored everybody else and stalked out of the room the moment they were dismissed.

He returned to his rooms in the palace, unsure if he ought to be pleased to find them empty. Again he stood alone, convinced he was right and everybody else wrong. One day, he knew, he would be wrong and everybody else would be proved right.

That day would see the end of his career.

One of the palace sylphs ensured that a fire always burned in his living room, though the need for it would soon pass.

Once more, he pulled the letter from Saran from his pocket. He had pondered this long enough. The letter went onto the fire; the past was past and he must start anew.

Tahena.

Thinking of her brought a smile to his lips. Time for him to propose. Assuming he survived this mission, they would marry on his return.

His expression hardened. Given his plans, surviving the mission might prove hazardous. He must go and speak with Tahena, but not just yet.

Soon.

***

Zandra Caralin Ems, wife to the claimant Marcus Marcus Vintner, smiled at the small assembly in her rooms.

"Alovak?" she asked. "Jenn will serve."

Small even for her gender, the infertile stepped forward and flourished the alovak can. She wore gray knee-length breeches and a work tunic emblazoned with a gold dragon's head on the left breast. She also wore a leather collar, but no anklet of bells as Markan fashion demanded for domestic slaves.

She glared at all the women and poured the dark liquid as requested. One of the older ladies asked for water, which Jenn scampered away to fetch.

"What do you do to that poor sylph?" asked one woman. Her dark blue eyes twinkled. "Looks like she's been chewing nettles."

Somewhere on the older side of her middle years, Welna Reven was the younger wife of the oldest Councilor, Gorfron. Being his favorite, she wielded considerable influence over her husband. His other wife never attended Zandra's gatherings.

"She belongs to Marcus," replied Zandra with a small smile, "and always sulks when they're apart."

"How endearing." Welna smiled at Jenn on the sylph's return. The sylph glowered back and said nothing.

"Marcus has always insisted his sylphs be allowed to speak their minds and show their feelings." Zandra shrugged. "Jenn has always taken full advantage of this privilege."

The ladies present laughed.

Zandra watched them. She hoped Jenn continued to play her part. She was doing fine so far. The sylph glanced at her, expression suggesting that the choca reward for this humiliation had better be worth it.

"My husband also says it is best to allow sylphs to speak freely." This woman was Jayen Kellen, wife of the new Senate leader, Rogort Mannan. Zandra recalled this Senator had never wanted to see the Throne recognized, but now Marka had an Emperor, his loyalty to Zenepha was unquestioned. "One always gets the best from sylphs if they feel valued." Jayen smiled at Jenn and got a twitch of earpoints in return.

Zandra looked at the twelve ladies. These were, perhaps, the matriarchs of Marka. Wealthy in their own right, they came from influential families and all had married powerful men. High Councilors, Senators, and one was married to the Imhotep. Marriage to these men granted more influence.

Tamsin Mochna was the Supreme Councilor's senior wife, and most of the ladies here deferred to her almost instinctively. Even better, Tamsin worked with Zandra. Her husband wanted Zandra's husband to take the Throne.

But nowhere near as much as Zandra wanted her husband to take it. The problem now was a sylph-Emperor, who had proved surprisingly good at his role.

"Jenn has served Marcus since both were very young," continued Zandra. "Sometimes it's difficult to tell which of us stands higher in his affections."

Again, the laughter. As always, these meetings were informal, but Zandra knew they were essential to keep her husband noticed by the rulers of the city. One short year since Marcus had proved his claim in battle, and everybody needed repeated reminders who had won that battle.

All done gently, but a reminder was a reminder, no matter how she put it across. The need for it showed how far her husband had fallen, thanks to the actions of a third party.

Jenn looked at the gathering through narrowed eyes and her earpoints lashed irritably. Zandra decided Jenn had been baited enough; it was only a matter of time before she spoke her mind.

"Thank you, Jenn," said Zandra. "You may leave us now, please."

The sylph inclined her head to Zandra and looked pleased to leave, but she closed the door behind her gently.

"Will she eavesdrop?" asked one of the wives.

"Why don't we shout and ask?" replied Tamsin, sarcastically.

There was more laughter.

Zandra kept a polite smile in place. She needed these women for her beloved Marcus to make any headway against Council and Senate. This afternoon, she would entertain guildswomen, and plant yet more seeds.

"Jenn always rests on her blankets when she has free time," she said. "Something she picked up being around soldiers all the while."

"I never realized soldiers were so lazy," said another wife.

Zandra did not believe this one was as dim as she made herself out to be. Everybody knew soldiers slept whenever they could, to be ready when needed, no matter the time of day or night.

Zandra would apologize to Jenn later; she had not intended the sylph to be the butt of jokes. Not that the ribbing was cruel, or intended to hurt her feelings, but the infertile could be surprisingly sensitive when not with Marcus.

"I understand there is some excitement among the soldiers," said Jayen. "As usual, the Senate has not been informed. Marcus sits on the inner circle that advises His Majesty on these matters, I wondered if you have anything to tell us."

Zandra masked irritation with another smile. Over familiar to refer to her husband as Marcus, and to call Zenepha "His Majesty" in the same breath was downright insulting! "Zenepha has had enough of the Eldovans lurking to the north and wants to push them further west. They might take the hint and go home."

"Too easy for them to merge into one large army again," said Jayen.

"Too close for comfort," added Welna.

"Will your husband take one of the commands?" asked Tamsin.

"Much to Jenn's disappointment, he can leave that to others now. He always was more politician than warrior. Like Olista, his role is advisory for the moment."

Tamsin nodded and smiled. She, like Zandra, realized that these women would mull over every word uttered and look for hidden meanings. Zandra intended to leave as many meanings open to interpretation as she could. She happily played this game; she had been raised on it. At least half the women here still needed winning over to Marcus's cause. Once she achieved that, their husbands would follow.

If gentle persuasion failed, then there were more rigorous methods. Zandra would not employ those herself, but she would delegate that unpleasant task to people better suited to ruining lives and marriages. She hoped she never needed such methods; the very thought of employing them brought an unpleasant feeling. But politics was sometimes a dirty business.

"I thought that, with the defeat of Hingast, the Eldovans would have gone home." Idelea, wife of the Imhotep, came from a religious background, but she was anything but pious – underneath her smiling exterior, anyway – and far more streetwise than she let on. "It is distressing that these people are still lurking; don't they know they are defeated?"

Zandra smiled. This one would prove dangerous; she could hardly wait to get her on side. Better on side than against. "They are still being rallied. This is why Zenepha is sending someone north to sort them out."

She hoped it would sort them out. Idelea had one thing right: it _was_ distressing to have this army ready to pounce again. It prevented the Calcanese caravans from leaving for Marka; at least half of her household was still stuck there.

"What about all the soldiers being sent east?" asked Welna.

"They should keep the army here," said Jayen, "to protect Marka."

"They should."

Dead silence met Zandra's words. These women listened to her only because she had led a sizeable number of them through the streets of Marka when it looked as if all was lost at the end of the siege. They respected her, though not everybody agreed with her, or even necessarily liked her.

"You disagree with the Emperor," said Idelea, her voice flat.

"Zenepha has given his commands, which even Marcus must respect," continued Zandra. Time to gamble; she hoped Kelanus was right. "But Marcus recognizes that anything done by Re Taura is intended only as a diversion. Re Taura might attack, but they cannot retain any gains. Marka is where the real battle will be fought."

Marcus would not dare say that in public and not for fear of Zenepha's reaction. People in Calcan would not appreciate being left to fend for themselves, no matter how necessary. Marcus must be hard in this, but neither could he afford to alienate his own people.

But now, these women would tell their husbands all about Marcus's true, if unofficial, view. Kelanus had better be right!

"The Eldovans'll soon be sorted," barked Tamsin. "They are not a rabble, alas, but we gave them a bloody nose."

Zandra nodded. "Perhaps we should travel with General Kestan – that should scare them away again!"

This time, the laughter was spontaneous; everybody here disliked Eldovans on Markan territory. Everybody had lost friends due to the siege. Wars were always harder to bear when personal and close. With few exceptions, they had not particularly cared in the days when the civil war stayed far from Marka's borders.

"I'm sure they would run all the way back home if they thought we followed!"

"They should have run home the last time, if their leaders had any sense."

"That's why they lurk; they fear another drubbing from their own women if they return with tails between their legs."

Smiles and laughter, a fond memory tempered only when they remembered how many friends had died that day and thought of children who would never again see their mother's smile.

Again Zandra looked around the room. Intelligent and astute women surrounded her at these gatherings, all of whom wielded far more power than most generally realized. None were empty-headed, even if a couple sometimes affected it at gatherings. Even so, all were sharp-eyed right now; they watched, listened and filed everything away.

Nothing she said could be construed as treason, but they were clever enough to read between the lines. They were intelligent enough to recognize hidden meanings. Time to gamble.

"Of course," she began, "we were lucky with Zenepha's leadership, but people already ask how long he will be caretaker for. When you have a plan, it is always best to have a second, just in case the first fails."

Eyes several shades of blue regarded her expressionlessly. Tamsin was the exception; she watched the other women thoughtfully. They were on their collective guard now, but she did have their attention.

Zandra began to plant her seeds.

***

Kana Santon and her sister-wife, Elsin Handra, widows to the late Branad Vintner, watched the women leave the meeting. It did not take very long.

Their receiving room was not the largest, though Kana quite liked the seascape paintings lining the walls. The table could seat eight, and their visitors all fitted in. Six women, whose husbands supported – or had supported – Branad's claim.

"There are fewer every time we meet," remarked Elsin.

Kana sniffed in disapproval. "We can thank Verdin for that," she said. "Why won't the boy press his claim?"

Elsin shook her head. "Looks like we'll have to wait for Nazvasta to make the claim instead." Elsin had her own plans there, which she wisely kept to herself.

Kana kept her hands still. "He won't move until Zenepha steps down."

Noise from outside drifted in through the open windows. The heat was building for summer; soon these rooms would need sylphs with fans to keep the air moving around.

"Or is pushed aside." Elsin paused before broaching the really dangerous subject. "Zandra seems to catch more attention with every meeting."

A sylph poked her head around the door, wanting to clear away the used cups and alovak can. Elsin mouthed "Five more minutes" at the sylph, who then withdrew.

Kana's eyes narrowed. "That is because Calcan's claimant is here," she said. "And ours refuses to play along with his ancestors."

Elsin gave the older woman a sideways look. When it came to building friendships and gathering support, Zandra seemed to have a definite edge. But Elsin did not believe Marcus's presence made any difference.

Zandra happened to be very good at what she did. Unlike Kana, who expected immediate compliance because of who she was, Zandra built friendships and relationships with her followers.

"Has Nazvasta written to you yet?" asked Elsin. She hoped Kana never discovered the correspondence between Sandester and herself. Elsin knew a lot more about Nazvasta's intentions than did her sister-wife.

"One letter," replied Kana. "He wants our army back in Sandester once the summer campaigning is over."

Elsin smiled. "Oh good, it means we can go home." She hoped the older woman took her smile for homesickness. She had her own plans.

***

Petan opened the door to a man carrying a sack. Something inside kicked and struggled.

"Stable is around the back." Petan jerked his head. "The one with red rope for door handles."

The man understood, nodded and disappeared around the side of the row of cottages. Petan took his time going through the house and into the yard. He glanced at the neighboring cottages, but all was dark there. Most people would be sleeping. It would take the thief a little time to walk to the end of the row and along the alley to the stable.

Petan entered the stable just in time to see the paid thief tip a spluttering sylph out of the sack. The single light crystal set into one of the beams threw shadows in all directions.

"Not seen by anyone from the Guard?"

The thief shook his head. "Nobody."

"Good." Petan smiled.

That sylph sat up and rubbed dust-laden eyes, earpoints lashing in anger. Petan almost smiled when that anger turned to uncertainty and fear. He nodded to himself.

"You've done well," he told the thief. "Difficult to get?"

The thief smiled. "Very easy. They had him locked and chained in their stable. Just waited for dark and made my move. Got no idea why they moved him there from inside."

Petan nodded. "Maybe a better place to keep him. After all, some of 'em smell. Here." He thrust a leather purse at the thief and the man weighed it carefully in his hands. He finally nodded acceptance.

The man should be happy, the purse held more than had been promised. Petan's hazel eyes were very cold. "I suppose there's no need to remind you that this never happened."

The thief blinked. "What ever happened? I never saw you before in my life."

Petan smiled. "You take care. Happy hunting."

The thief nodded and was gone.

Petan dropped a lockbar against the stable door and then turned to Tangan, who stared back at him.

"I don't know what you did, but those higher than me wanted you recovered from Grayar. They wanted you alive, but did suggest I might need to kill you. Are you going to give me a reason for that?"

Tangan quickly shook his head. "Am I going to Nicolfer?" he asked, fear writ large across his face now, earpoints wilted completely away. His eyes glowed faintly.

"No idea. Come inside the house. Keep quiet and speak only when spoken to."

Tangan blinked. " _Se bata_." He followed the large man out of the stables, across the yard and into the cottage.

"Sit there." Petan pointed to a scrap of rug before the empty fireplace.

Tangan immediately dropped onto his haunches and hugged his knees. He watched Petan finish a drink before pulling a cloak around his shoulders.

The human gave the sylph a hard look. "If you've moved when I return, you'll find out that not all humans are kind to sylphs."

Tangan reflected he had already found this out for himself and watched Petan leave the house. His earpoints twitched upright the moment the human was gone.

Despite fearing the motive behind it, he welcomed his sudden abduction from Sandev's stables. Stanak had been anything but gentle when putting him in those stables. Nothing had been broken, but Tangan would feel some of those bruises for weeks.

Grayar's questioning had been gentle but persistent, and obfuscation on Tangan's part resulted in pain. A cloth wadded and stuffed into his mouth meant he could not even scream.

And Grayar was supposed to be on the Father's side!

Tangan did not know Petan, but squatting here was more fun than being chained by an ankle in a stinking stable. But he suspected Petan had not freed him from the stable for the pleasure of his company.

Should he take the risk and run now? He had no wish to meet Nicolfer again; her almost total lack of concern for him had shown a terrifying cruel streak, even by human standards. Leaving had been the only good thing about his time with her.

He considered his failed assassination attempt. Not that he'd had any choice, but he regretted trying to kill Grayar. He had failed. It was not his fault that the man used the Gift to protect himself. He might have succeeded, but his chance to kill Grayar had gone forever. Someone else would have to try now.

Tangan wondered how much of Nicolfer remained with him. In the past, she had compelled him to kill and he felt that compulsion leave the moment he killed. A terrible feeling: elation to depression in a splitsecond. But not this time. His failure meant the compulsion stayed in place.

How could he get rid of it? He had no intention of being a killer for the rest of his life. Did it fade? Or must he kill before it went completely? He wanted to be himself again.

He glanced at the door. Too many people knew who he was and he knew too much about them. Corpses never carried tales. He had no illusions.

If he stayed, he would die. Tangan was neither a fool nor brave.

He had no idea for whom the man living here worked, but he felt certain Nicolfer would be involved somewhere. This might be the only opportunity to escape. He was not ready to die yet.

He looked across the living room. Did anyone else live in the house or was he alone? A cloak hung from a peg behind the door, which suggested someone else might be here. Or that Petan had a spare cloak. Looking at the door again, he hoped it was unlocked.

Rising smoothly to his feet, he padded across the flagged floor to try the handle. The door swung open. Tangan smiled. Not even locked.

Moments later he stood outside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the starlight. He must find somewhere to hide and sleep until the city gates opened. Then he would be free. His smile broadened. It would be good to feel fresh air on his face again.

Time to run.

***

"Gone?"

Grayar stared at Stanak.

"Empty chain, stable door still locked. The boy must be very good."

Grayar sighed. "I probably could not do what was necessary anyway."

Stanak's gray-blue eyes were expressionless. "I would have helped out there."

Grayar's mouth twisted in distaste. "Better to preserve life than take it. Not to mention my soft spot for sylphs; someone knows enough to exploit that... trait." He had almost said weakness. Some would see it so.

Stanak smiled. "Not one for vengeance then."

Grayar grimaced. "Revenge is a base motive, and should only be employed after due process, such as a trial. But this is not about punishment. I wanted to learn more of what makes Tangan tick. Ending his life would be irrevocable."

"We cannot leave a murderous sylph running free," countered Stanak. "He might be a danger to others."

"Do you think he escaped, or was stolen?"

"Rescued. That stable door cannot unlock from the inside." Stanak snorted. "Sallis ti Ath is between jobs at the moment. We should employ his services."

"Very tempting." Grayar considered for a moment. "But better in this instance to let events run their course. We have enough on our minds; Tangan is comparatively unimportant."

"Sandev?" asked Stanak.

Grayar nodded.

"All right," said Stanak, "if we don't start doing more to get her back, or even to locate her, I think Caya will have a breakdown. She's walking the edge as it is. Now, I suggest we..."

***

Faint shouts reached Marcus's ears as soldiers drilled. His hand gripped the balcony rail and guilt rippled through him. Zandra stood beside him and he wondered if she felt the same way. He had refused an audience with his general, the man who had won so many battles on his behalf.

"I cannot like what I just did," said Marcus.

Zandra stroked his arm. "But necessary," she said. "People in Calcan must believe you put them first, else you will lose their support."

"Even so, Kelanus deserves to know I agree with him."

"Remember what doing the right thing got you last time."

Marcus turned. "You suggest I should have let him hang for a crime he did not commit?"

Zandra shook her head and gave no verbal answer. "If Kelanus is wrong and acts because he believes you back him, it's the end of your claim. Finished."

"But if he is right and he doesn't act because he fears a treason charge –"

"Then it is over for all of us," completed Zandra. "But you know Kelanus. You know what will happen. You have neither backed him nor spoken against him. If he acts under his own initiative and he's _right_ , then Zenepha is seen as being in the wrong."

"I know." Marcus smiled. "I recognize the political advantage. That's not my complaint. It is right that Kelanus should know."

"Not a course of action I recommend, my husband."

Marcus and Zandra exchanged a long look.

***

Preparations for the armies to ride out were now stepped up, to almost indecent haste. Horses, weapons, armor, tack, wagons, rockets, exploding balls, firepowder, victuals, camp followers, scouts, men...

Once one thing was sorted, another needed to be dealt with and, sometimes, the first thing needed sorting again. Soldiers sent to the wrong camp had to be transferred back and there were squabbles over who got the scarcest resources, such as rockets or firepowder. Headache after headache after headache.

Marcus Vintner looked in now and then, but fobbed Kelanus off. He ignored the General's complaints and told him these things were no longer under his control.

Kelanus grew more suspicious that the Vintner family was more concerned about the lands they owned than they were for Marka. Zenepha, in the early days with Silmarila or Djerana – and sometimes both – in tow, also looked in. And a far more regular visitor than Marcus.

Zenepha also avoided debates with Kelanus. The General even tried to take Djerana to one side, to ask her to apply pressure, to ask Zenepha to listen to what Kelanus had to say, but that plan quickly failed.

The ilven listened to Kelanus, emerald eyes solemn. Confusion clouded her expression and she eventually interrupted.

"I am sorry, General Kelanus, but human military strategy is beyond me." A quick smile, a blink and she had almost run away.

"Thought you were the warriors of the Benefic Sephiroth," muttered Kelanus.

Djerana heard, paused and turned back. "For me, not yet," she replied enigmatically. Moments later, she had disappeared from view.

Silmarila reacted no differently, though she grasped better what Kelanus tried to tell her. She considered his argument for a whole day before returning with her answer.

"What you say may be right," she told him, "but there are at least two assumptions in your reasoning. From what we know as fact, the course set out for you by Marshal Mikhan is the correct one."

"Thought you people were supposed to be intelligent," growled Kelanus before stalking away.

Silmarila was so upset by this comment that she refused to speak any further to Kelanus and avoided him whenever he tried to corner her. Every time she saw him, her earpoints went bolt upright.

Soon, the Emperor was alone when he visited the army.

There was only one bright point.

Two days before the armies were due to leave, Bannerman Adrewa delivered a letter to Kelanus. No seal was impressed to the white wax and no name was written on it.

"Sworn to secrecy, sir," explained Adrewa. "But my orders are to inform you that this letter cannot be opened until you are two days out of Marka."

Kelanus smiled. "Thank you." He would keep the confidence, as requested. He flourished the missive. He had no need to open the letter to know who had sent it. "Has the Boss relented and let you go?"

A scowl furrowed Adrewa's brow. "He wants me to stay in Marka."

Kelanus nodded. "Bad luck." As he turned away, he caught a glimpse of Lance General Kestan.

The junior man knew Kelanus had planned something that went against orders. He said nothing, but knew Kelanus well enough to know the senior officer did not agree with the plan.

Kelanus and Kestan met every morning.

"We must take every sylph we can lay hands on," insisted Kelanus.

"Especially the wild ones." Kestan smiled. "They all insist on coming with me anyway."

"How loyal of them," smiled Kelanus. Kestan's leadership of the so called "Free Tribe" of sylphs brought him some good-natured ribbing. The free sylphs clearly adored him, and those with interest and aptitude had proved themselves good scouts.

"I'm emptying the school of every sylph with promise I can requisition," said Kelanus. "Even so, the only way we will have enough to maintain communication with each other is to use human scouts close to the main armies. That way, more sylphs can scout at a distance."

"Why do we need that?" Kestan was already wary. He had enough men to deal with the smaller detachments of the Eldovan army, but not enough if the enemy decided to band together. And those soldiers who were trained scouts would deplete numbers still further.

"Mikhan's plan is good, but I believe doomed."

Kestan looked around, but he was still wary. "Go on."

"The first rule of battle is that no plan is any good once battle begins. If you only have one plan, you cannot react if the situation changes."

"True."

Kelanus smiled. "I have another plan," he said.

***
Chapter 14

**Marching North**

"I think summer has descended with a vengeance."

Kelanus looked across at the speaker and smiled. Yeoman Hanmer had moved up to ride alongside him. Marka lay six days behind. Despite gaining a thousand or more pacas in altitude and traveling eighty milas further north, the weather baked them.

Mornings and evenings were delightfully cool. Even during the height of summer that would be the way of it up here, but the sun strengthened quickly and remained so for almost six hours of every day before the air gradually cooled again.

The hot weather made the march harder, but Kelanus insisted plenty of water was made available and the cart-borne water tanks were topped up at every opportunity.

Kelanus looked around. The scouts reported a city lay over the small range of hills to the west, but he had deliberately avoided it. According to Hanmer, the city was Eman and Kelanus saw no need to terrify the inhabitants of a friendly city.

Kelanus's hand touched his breast pocket. A letter – _the_ letter – was in there. As commanded – and despite sore temptation – he had waited two days before opening it. Despite the lack of salutation and signature, he recognized Marcus's handwriting immediately. The letter's contents were so sensitive that the man had written it himself, not even entrusting the task to a scribe.

Ultimately, the man on the ground must be free to make his decisions.

Kelanus intended to do just that, letter or no letter.

But I cannot be seen to abandon my people to an enemy.

So if you get it wrong, you're on your own, chum. Kelanus knew the language of politics. It even held a vague promise to protect him if things did go wrong. His expression hardened. Nothing would go wrong, though his chances of survival if it did were slim.

Lance General Kestan's army would officially remain in company for another week. Few yet knew they would stay in company a lot longer than that.

He was still to inform the captains and lieutenants about the change of plan. He had taken precautions to ensure that he alone would take the blame if everything went wrong. He would likely be dead, but that meant his junior officers needed protection even more.

Another six, possibly seven, days until the Prefecture of Vivod was left behind. Then he would leave lands controlled by Marka and pass into Metton.

But Kelanus had no intention of taking his command there.

Many northern lands had made promising noises about returning to the fold, but as yet none had. It might be interesting to see how warm a welcome they would get. He could not afford to fight them as well as the Eldovans.

Officers had expressed surprise at the number of sylph scouts. If anyone guessed why he had brought so many, they passed no comment. And using humans as near scouts also raised eyebrows. The more experienced sylph scouts questioned why they had so little work, if secretly pleased by light duties.

Everybody would learn soon enough and the sylphs had best make the most of their easy work.

"Never thought I would miss winter, sir," continued Hanmer.

"Too hot for me, also," replied Kelanus. "It's never this warm in Frodger." Not that he remembered anyway. When _had_ he last been home?

"Should be cooler on the coast, sir. More to our taste anyway."

Kelanus smiled. "Better fishing, too."

"Fishing, sir?" Hanmer frowned.

Kelanus decided to change the subject. The man knew very well what he meant. "Have the captains and lieutenants in my tent when we stop, Hanmer. Bring Lance General Kestan and root out Tynrasa for the scouts."

The yeoman smiled and nodded, as if a doubt had been settled. Kelanus knew the rumor mill had fed speculation for days. Everybody wanted to know why Kelanus spent his nights writing letters.

Not even Shyamon – the sylph scout assigned as his servant when the army stopped – knew what those letters contained. For the first time, Kelanus was thankful most sylphs were illiterate. Had Neptarik been assigned to him, that would be a different story. The contents of the letters would be all around the army before the ink even dried.

He hoped Neptarik was well and keeping out of trouble, wherever he might be.

"Before eating, or after, sir?"

Kelanus considered. "They can eat as we meet."

"Very good, sir." The yeoman fell back, keeping a discreet distance, if still close enough to overhear everything the General said.

Kelanus glanced down at the sylph scout who strode easily at his stirrup. "Anything, Bascon?"

The scout looked up and shook his head. "Only pingers. Nothing out of the ordinary, _donenya_."

"Pleased to be back in the field?"

Bascon blinked. "I am, _donenya_."

Kelanus nodded. "Missing your wives yet?"

Bascon almost stumbled and stared at Kelanus with unblinking eyes. "What good husband could do otherwise?"

Kelanus tried not to laugh at the evasion. As sylphs measured these things, Bascon's wives were rather domineering and always took the same side against him. Sylphs were naturally democratic, so he had little choice but to concede to their wishes.

"With any luck, we'll be home long before summer's end," promised Kelanus.

Bascon shrugged and his earpoints twitched violently. "Winter festival after next is fine with me."

Kelanus laughed and straightened in his saddle. "Keep your ears open."

Bascon looked at the General as if he had been told the obvious, but held his tongue. Most of his race did, but Kelanus had grown used to the company of more forward sylphs, such as Belaika or Neptarik.

He was alone again with his thoughts.

Though mostly drawn from the armies of the two Vintner claimants, his command held a smattering of Markan volunteers and foreign mercenaries. Most officers had served with him before. Some when he still generaled for Branad Vintner; most from after he changed his allegiance to Marcus Vintner.

Not all these officers liked him, particularly those who had served under Branad. Sometimes it seemed that no matter what a man did to clear his name, some dirt would never clean away. And others hated him for going over to Marcus Vintner. He knew that when he explained his plan, some of these men would start looking for him to fall, ready to take his place and pleased to see him gone.

Kelanus smiled. They would be sorely disappointed.

He was always most creative as a tactician when allowed a completely free rein. If he failed and survived to return to Marka, his head would probably be separated from his body. Disobeying orders, as he planned to do, stood half a step below treason in military circles. But he would not fail.

No ifs. He _was_ right; his instincts were good. Yes, some men here would love to see him in disgrace again, but everybody happily followed a successful commander.

He had always been successful, eventually.

He mulled over his plans again and tried to find out where he might have gone wrong. Most people believed weapons were the tools of warfare, but Kelanus knew using the field to best advantage and knowledge of your enemy were better tools. Many generals believed the former meant always choosing where to fight, but Kelanus knew sometimes it meant running away.

Weapons and even tactics were only part of the story. The most important tools of warfare were determined and disciplined men. They won the battles. A commander could site his army perfectly and equip it with the best weapons available but, if the men were no good, or were a rabble, it counted for nothing.

Such captains lost their battles.

Kelanus knew his enemy was crafty. They loved misinformation and diversionary tactics. Kelanus must think the same way. He had to try and read the mind of whoever really led the Eldovans.

"Water, sir?"

Kelanus surfaced from his thoughts as the yeoman brought his horse alongside him again, on the other side from Bascon.

"Thank you, Hanmer." He accepted the waterskin, drank deeply and passed it to the scout.

If seeing a sylph share water with a free man shocked Hanmer, he hid it well. Then again, he'd had plenty of time to get used to Kelanus's ways, so very different from those most men used.

Kelanus would share food and water with any of his men, and he included the scouts as part of the army. They might not fight directly, but what they did was of incalculable value.

" _Mutydo_." Bascon passed the waterskin back to Kelanus, who handed it to Hanmer.

The yeoman discreetly cleaned the nozzle before taking a draft himself. Hanmer gave Bascon an unreadable look, which the sylph ignored so pointedly he may as well have returned it.

Not everybody was used to Marcus Vintner's bright idea of sylph scouts, though most by now understood their importance, and those who harbored reservations wisely kept their mouths shut.

After crossing to Marcus Vintner's side, Kelanus had ranked among the doubters. Most cultures proscribed the use of sylphs for warfare; the creatures themselves were mostly pacific and violence unheard of, even from irritable examples. Not that he had met many irritable sylphs. He doubted their efficiency in any battle.

One by one, those reservations were demolished. Within months of joining Marcus Vintner's army, he became an enthusiastic convert. Now, he would not think of using any but sylphs for scouting.

The only problem was that they could not be used in any fighting. He felt sure they would prove themselves if it ever happened. They had _ebatela_ , but that was purely defensive fighting and did not involve physical contact.

But the sylphs' presence granted another advantage, albeit an unforeseen one. The men performed better because they didn't want to be shown up by sylphs, who displayed courage and discipline like badges.

Three years on and he was still as impressed by the sylphs' skills as the day he first learned the scouting corps existed. In the future, all armies would use sylphs as scouts. Even if they never completely replaced humans.

But that was a worry for the future.

As he rode, the sylph scouts were pushed into the background and he concentrated his mind on the task at hand. On what he planned to do.

***

Pleased to be away from the training school, Janin- _y_ -Sandev took deep breaths of fresh air.

Officially, he still continued his training, the school far from finished with him. All students with promise had been dragged onto this mission, simply because there were not enough trained sylph scouts available. Not that he had any complaints, glad for the run out.

As a beggar he had never left Marka and now he was far from the city. Since his adoption by Sandev, he had enjoyed several forays outside the city walls, but never before been out of sight of them.

Six days from the city and he loved every moment. He certainly had far less to do than at the scout training school. So many scouts were here that there was not enough work to go around. How could Kelanus and Kestan justify bringing so many? For the moment, Janin rested on the back of a cart, lying on sacking, legs trailing over the end. His eyes were half-closed as he basked in the sunshine.

Although all the far scouts were sylphs, most of the near scouts were human, with a smattering of sylphs for passing messages. None to pass on yet, as they did not report the pingers used by scouts to keep position.

But there must be a reason for so many scouts.

Janin's cart rumbled along near the rear of the army, and he worked opposite Hepheta. One of the wild sylphs, Hepheta aroused the former beggar's curiosity. A lot of the wild ones scouted with the army.

As he rested, letting his mind drift, Janin kept his ears open. Even off duty, he would miss little; sylphs could concentrate on more than one thing at once.

He thought on how he had managed to escape the city.

"I want a word with you," said Sergeant Ryen, smiling at Janin. Though a strict overseer, the sergeant still tolerated failure. Provided one didn't fail too much or too often. He clearly had a deep concern for those under his command, and understood what made a sylph work well. "They want scouts to go into the field."

Janin looked at Ryen and blinked. No need to say anything, so he remained silent.

Ryen continued. "I know your owner has still not been found. I've been asked to compile a list and have no hesitation in recommending you, but you must be worried for Sandev." The sergeant was one of the few who knew the truth.

_"It is all right for me to go." Janin gave the sergeant an almost defiant stare. "I have not belonged to Sandev-_ ya _long enough to have bonded. I worry about Caya, but there are others to look after her."_

Pleased, Ryen nodded. "Your name can go forward. You speak with Caya this evening and make sure that she'll be all right without you."

He had obeyed, of course. Happy to see him go, Cayta had been rather warmer than expected with her hug and wish for him to return safely. He intended to do just that and half-wished he could sort out his feelings about Sandev's personal sylph.

One day she made it clear she did not want to be his wife, and the next she hugged him warmly and said how much she would miss him. Though certainly friendlier toward him now than when they first met, he wished she would be more constant. One way or the other.

Janin sat up with a small squeak as something poked him in the ribs. He looked into the laughing face of Loran, one of the female wild sylphs.

"I thought scouts took pride in never being surprised," she said.

Janin grinned back. He felt unsure of Loran, who had spent a lot of time with him since leaving Marka. Would _every_ female sylph confuse him from now on?

"I hope being outside a city does not frighten you," she continued. "Six days and not a sign of a town. Is the world larger than you imagined?"

"This is no different from living rough in a city," he countered. "Sleeping outdoors and wearing little but paint. Except then I wore grime."

"You will survive." Loran looked serious. "You are tougher than most of these city sylphs."

Janin opened his mouth to protest, but the other sylph forestalled him.

"I mean it," she insisted. "You could be a wild sylph."

"I am a Markan sylph." Janin spoke cautiously. Loran had hinted several times that she wanted to keep him away from the city. Or that he should consider himself as something more.

"You are tougher than many of the scouts from Calcan. The ones who belong to Marcus Vintner." She wrinkled her nose and her earpoints twitched. "The fully trained ones."

Janin almost told her that only one Calcan scout belonged to Marcus, but perhaps wild sylphs could not tell the difference. Or would not.

Loran's paint scheme was almost identical to his own. There were slight differences between them of course, but she had black slashes, the same as every other wild sylph. Older scouts scorned the black paint, claiming it unnecessary.

But Loran wore no collar, the most important difference.

All the wild sylphs here had been caught up in last year's events. Yet to find a new home, Janin suspected now they never would. All had pledged themselves to Kestan- _ya_ , yet remained steadfastly independent from the other humans.

And they were free.

Loran's hand reached towards his leather collar but she snatched it away at the last moment. "Hepheta says you refuse to consider freedom."

Hepheta openly championed the merits of freedom over slavery, unafraid to speak his mind. He had sparked the debate among most breeding sylphs who wore collars.

"He is wrong," replied Janin. "I did consider it. And rejected it. As a beggar, freedom meant hunger and dirt."

"Other sylphs are still to make up their minds," she said, though disappointment had flared in her eyes at his response.

"That is their choice." Janin smiled. "Your freedom did not protect you from being snatched as a potential slave."

Strangely, Loran showed no upset to be reminded of her brief captivity. She gave him an odd look, earpoints slanted forwards. Most wild sylphs recoiled in horror whenever someone raised that particular subject.

"Not just city sylphs have this argument," she said, after a long pause.

Janin's earpoints twitched. "Your infertiles argue too," he said. "We know, we have noticed their new jewelry."

Loran reached toward Janin's collar and again she pulled back. "Some of us feel that it is... natural... for us to be like you."

Janin tensed. Loran had not gone so far as to tie twine around her neck, as many of the wild infertiles had done. He had no idea this argument raged among the Free Tribe's breeders as well. Another thought came. He suspected the real reason why some wild sylphs were desperate for their collared cousins to demand freedom.

"Some might ask for manumission," he admitted, "but not many."

Ean- _y_ -Felis, the scout who had first seen the caravan that held the wild sylphs prisoner, was one candidate.

"You do not want it?" pressed Loran.

"It brings problems. No."

She looked relieved to hear him confirm it. "The others think we are strange."

"Who are 'we'?"

Loran shrugged. "Those who want a collar."

Janin winced. "It depends on how we were raised. To me, being uncollared is strange; for you strange to wear one."

"Can you try it?"

Janin laughed and, after a moment, Loran laughed with him. "It is something," he said, "that you either are, or you are not."

"Oh."

The short silence lengthened. Janin glanced at Hepheta and the wild sylph bared his teeth in a smile.

"You do not seem bothered that females have become scouts," said Loran.

"Should I be?"

Loran smiled again. "No, but many Markan scouts say it is wrong."

"It is no stranger to have female sylph scouts than to have male sylph scouts. Most humans think it strange for any sylph to do this."

"Might your owner want another sylph?" asked Loran, suddenly.

"You must ask her," replied Janin. If they ever saw her again.

Disappointment flared in Loran's silvery eyes again, but she stayed with him. Confusing.

The army now passed through rich agricultural land. No longer deserted land, but a plateau with a couple of rivers meandering across it, perhaps pausing for breath before continuing a headlong dash to the distant ocean.

Buildings clustered together and crops grew in fields closest to the river, with pasture and meadow beyond.

"Many farms here," remarked Loran, in a chatty mood.

"Some are still abandoned," replied Janin. He pointed to one without a roof.

"Most are not."

This was true. The regular patrols Zenepha insisted upon kept raiders and bandits away. Some repairs to farms and their buildings looked very recent. Other still derelict houses stood on land clearly tilled.

People were coming home.

"The land fills again," said Janin. "That is good."

Livestock wandered without concern. Animals eyed the army curiously, but not with fear. That attitude might change quickly if the army ever got hungry.

"Means less room for sylphs." Loran looked around in interest.

"There is always room for sylphs."

"The raiders are gone," said Loran.

"Thanks to the extra patrols. We have passed three since leaving Marka."

Loran giggled. "Those were patrols? The humans stared at _us_ in awe."

"Unused to sylph scouts," said Janin.

If they knew those scouts had spotted them long before, their reaction might have been more fun to see.

If nothing else, the patrols passed on some useful information. No Eldovans had been seen here.

"The forest looks like a better place for us," said Loran.

Janin twisted around. "More hiding places," he agreed. "But I suspect that forest is used to supply timber for building. Wild sylphs would be disturbed there often."

He looked at the cultivated fields and saw that several crops were well on the way to ripeness. The soil truly must be rich.

"There might be two crops this year."

"So?"

"Lots of food to stock up Marka. These farmers will sell their crops."

"The river will help," pointed out Loran. "Plenty of water is good."

"We must cross this river." Janin scowled. "Higher up, where it gets narrower."

"If you have never left Marka, how do you know it narrows?"

Janin grinned. "Because humans talk and I listen."

"What are those?" Loran pointed to a large building beside the river and a conical affair that stood alone, large wooden sails turning in a circle.

"Mills," replied Janin. "The one beside the river is a watermill and the other a windmill. They grind corn to make flour and humans make bread from the flour."

"Why do they dig stone out of the ground?" A nearby quarry now caught the wild sylph's attention.

"To build or repair roads."

Loran nodded.

"People are here from all over," continued Janin. "Look how some buildings have thatch for a roof and others have tiles. They come to claim the land offered by Zenepha- _ya_."

The road led directly into the forest and the fertile river plain was soon left behind. Janin shivered. Almost like they had crossed a border into unknown territory. As though they were trespassing.

On the other hand, Loran visibly relaxed.

Janin stiffened. A faint report, but quickly repeated. Loran looked at him.

"Hepheta will pass it on," said Janin. He sat up straight and saw the assistant yeoman.

Hepheta came closer and caught the assistant yeoman's attention.

"Layavin," he called. "Message."

"What is it, Hepheta?" asked Layavin.

"Thirty soldiers wheeling around to our rear," reported the sylph.

There was no more to the message, but Janin knew this suggested an attempted snatch at the back of the column. These men had waited under the cover of trees before making their move.

The assistant yeoman rode ahead to Kelanus.

Lancers peeled away from the main column and forced their horses through dense undergrowth. Shyamon ran with them, acting as messenger.

Janin watched Hepheta. The wild sylph gave a small shrug, as if it did not matter that he had been forced to pass the message on. That he must condescend to speak to a human not involved in his rescue.

The Father knew the wild sylphs were a touchy lot at the best of times and they all seemed to have a taboo about speaking to other humans. Only those who trained them, or were involved in their rescue. They ignored everybody else as far as possible.

That had originally included the collared sylphs, but the wild ones' attitude had changed somewhat. Even Janin used to feel intimidated by their lack of communication. But now wild and collared sylphs chatted happily with each other, if not always comfortably.

Perhaps the taboo was finally breaking down with regard to humans as well. And not before time, in Janin's humble opinion.

His attention returned to his surroundings.

Shyamon sent a pinger and Janin eavesdropped while Bascon sent a stream of questions from Kelanus. Probably wondering how this platoon had got so close undetected.

Shyamon replied that the group had nothing to do with the enemy, but were guardsmen from Eman.

Janin and Loran exchanged a look. This might have turned into an embarrassing and messy mistake. Somebody might be in a spot of trouble for not double-checking before sending the sighting report.

Before long, the "enemy" came into sight. They paralleled the army, as its commander spurred on to the head of the column to converse with Kelanus and Kestan.

The scout responsible for the erroneous report had not been recalled, so perhaps the correct procedure had been followed after all.

Hepheta broke into Janin's thoughts.

"You two staying there all day?" he asked.

Janin grinned. "We might."

"Get off it." Hepheta returned the smile. "Your turn to scout. Stay there too long, you will get unfit."

***

Captains and lieutenants packed into Kelanus's tent; so many that one wall had to be lifted to accommodate them. The two infertiles there had just enough room to squeeze through and serve alovak. The one who gravitated more towards Kestan than anyone else wore no collar, and the other belonged to one of the camp followers.

"Best to say that the guardsmen were unaware of our presence," said Kelanus. "We cannot have scouts frightened of punishment or they will not report. Nobody got hurt and the same scout quickly rectified his error."

Kestan nodded agreement. "With so many part trained scouts, there are bound to be mistakes. But you have not called us here to talk about mistakes. You've not even told us the scout's name."

"And will not."

Apart from Kestan, who stood beside Kelanus, the officers were seated to face their commander. Kelanus saw more than one personal enemy, but also a few friends. Not even his enemies deserved the blame for his imminent actions.

There were only two sylph scouts present: the senior scout Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon, and Shyamon- _y_ -Pulista, who held sticks of sealing wax and a large candle.

"Gentlemen, to the reason I called you here." Kelanus looked at the small assembly. "Everybody received his orders from the Emperor himself. Ostensibly, anyway. In a moment, I will show you a copy of a letter absolving you from blame or complicity in what we are about to do."

A few mutters and raised eyebrows met his words.

"When you have read the letter – all are identical – I will seal each one before you. Keep it with you at all times." Kelanus smiled. "It might save your life."

"Dramatic," muttered an anonymous someone.

Kelanus passed along the seats and handed out the letters. Thankfully, there were only fourteen officers, so he had not spent too many nights writing.

The officers scanned the letter in disbelief. Surprise turned to incredulity as captains and lieutenants turned to each other, perhaps unsure every letter was an exact copy. Bar a smudge or two, the letters were identical, as Kelanus had said.

"Now," continued Kelanus, "I will read the letter, which is for the benefit of that tiny minority of you unable to read – I know you won't admit to it, so I'll read it anyway."

A small laugh met these words.

Kelanus cleared his throat. "Your Majesty. Although your instructions are perfectly clear, I as commander of this Grand Army cannot agree that there is any threat to Trenvera, or those prefectures under your rule from the east. All talk and information of such a threat is, sire, intended as a distraction, to enable our enemies to fall on Marka from north and west.

"For this reason, my decision is to keep the army together, first to engage and defeat our enemies to the north; then to wheel around and trap our enemies to the west. This decision is mine alone; my officers are not to share the blame for my failure, should I be wrong.

"Majesty, I remain your humble subject... signed me."

A long pause followed.

"Why not just throw yourself off a cliff, General?" asked one captain, finally breaking the silence.

"Complete disobedience of orders. Ax or rope for you when we return," chortled another, as he read the letter again.

Other voices rose, proclaiming support for Kelanus's action, still more against.

"This is treason."

"I hope not cowardice?"

"Orders are there to be obeyed, not amended at will."

Kelanus raised his voice to be heard. "These letters are enough to save you if I'm wrong. Orders aren't worth dung if the facts don't support them. And the facts do not."

"The facts _do_ support the orders." This speaker was a young Markan lieutenant, clearly horrified. "If we decided to change a plan after it was given, there would be hell to pay."

"It is our duty to remove an insane commander," said another.

"I am not insane," said Kelanus.

"You cannot change orders," protested another lieutenant.

"Yes, you can," countered Kelanus. "Commanding officers are empowered to adapt any plan as circumstances suggest. As the senior officer, I'm doing just that." He barked a quick laugh. "If _you_ find yourself the senior officer, my plan has gone seriously wrong."

A guffaw met that one.

"Do you say that Re Taura is not about to attack the eastern lands?" demanded another lieutenant. Once again, silence fell.

"I tell you no such thing," replied Kelanus. "In fact, I expect Re Taura _will_ launch an assault against Calcan, Sandester or Trenvera. Probably Trenvera. But I cannot say that in the letter. Neither Calcan nor Sandester is helpless and they do not need extra troops. Trenvera has maintained an armed neutrality and our army is unlikely to be welcome. They would get nervous with us just on their border."

Several experienced heads nodded. Sandwiched between two warring factions, Trenvera had always been careful militarily and diplomatically. The presence of a Markan force on her border would make matters worse. Only the Markans in the tent failed to understand that.

Kelanus continued. "Just in case, a detachment will go to the border of Trenvera. Which is why I insisted on so many scouts. Captain Tomane."

"Sir." Tomane sat a little straighter.

"You will take one hundred men and thirty scouts towards the border. Place the scouts so they can send messages to us. Open a dialogue with Trenveran officials. If they ask, and I stress _ask_ , for our help, you can send the message along."

"Very good, sir."

"The rest of us will split, my force three milas further north from Lance General Kestan. With luck, Kestan will contact the Eldovans first and they will look no further. We will parallel the border with Metton, where we wheel west, wrap up whichever of Hingast's forces stand in our way, and sweep down the Western March to trap the second army."

"What if Trenvera needs help?" asked Tomane, who had a nightmare vision of leading his hundred to annihilation.

"We will know by then if they need any," replied Kelanus. "If they haven't needed help before we fly down the Western March, they won't."

"How do you know Re Taura isn't acting in its own interests?"

"We all act in our own interests." Kelanus gave a mirthless smile. "That is the way of the world. Re Taura probably hopes to snatch territory on the mainland while the Eldovans grab Marka. But I doubt if the Re Taurans can hold that land while Marka remains free. Perhaps they want a new treaty regarding trade in the Bay of Plenty. However you want to look at it, if we lose lands to the east, we can recapture them; if we lose Marka to the Eldovans, the game is over."

The stunned officers considered Kelanus's words in silence. The two infertiles continued to offer alovak. More than one man accepted that offer.

Kelanus and Kestan exchanged a look, expecting more questions.

"If you are prepared to disobey orders, others may see that as an excuse to do likewise." The young lieutenant from Marka was still to be won over. Perhaps he never would be.

"Lieutenant Yulman." Kelanus gave that mirthless smile again. "If I am wrong, my neck gets stretched. That letter ensures yours won't be. Disobeying orders is fine if you are shown to be correct and if you are prepared to face the consequences if you are wrong. Until we turn west, we have time to aid Trenvera – or whoever is attacked – before they are overrun. Personally, I doubt it will come to that."

Yulman had still not finished. "Another thing concerns me. If the Re Taura mob are merely a diversion, how do they communicate with the Eldovans?"

"I would love to learn that secret." Kelanus nodded. "After all, I doubt if they use sylph scouts. I suspect a great deal of collusion between the Eldovans and Re Taurans."

"How then?" pressed Yulman.

"Somebody is holding the Eldovans together over a large area. After Hingast died, they should have broken and scattered for home."

"Janost and Hanan are skilled commanders," pointed out Yulman. "I'm sure they could hold the army together."

"In one place, yes. But scattered? _And_ communicate with Re Taura? _And_ keep contact with Mirrin in the west? He lurks there because he has been told to lurk there. The lines of communication between these discrete parts of the Eldovan army are in fine fettle." Kelanus smiled.

"How?" Yulman looked unimpressed that his question remained unanswered. He glanced at Tynrasa and Shyamon. "We know they don't use sylphs."

Kelanus reflected that this man was intelligent and curious. A good mixture. He would keep his eye on this youngster; if he survived he deserved to go far.

"Not sylphs, and human messengers run the risk of interception. And too slow for effective control. They do not stay in one place long enough to train up birds." Kelanus paused. "I'm afraid that only leaves sorcery or the Gifted."

Another mutter met his words. These men deserved to know the full truth: that one, probably two, of the Ten marched with the Eldovans. Both had gone over to evil. Yet he could not, dare not, inform them of this. Morale was always fragile and if _that_ little snippet made its way out of the tent, panic could follow.

"When you leave this tent, gentlemen, you will inform your men of _everything_ we discussed here."

A mutter of assent met his words. He watched Tynrasa, and the sylph scout nodded.

"Those of you who have fought alongside me before know the routine. That has not changed.

One or two of the older officers nodded their heads.

Kelanus looked around the tent. Not every man had been won over, but he knew they would obey. They would fall on him like a pack of starving dogs and tear him to pieces if he'd guessed wrong, and proclaim him a hero if he'd got it right. It was ever thus.

Kelanus gave them all a warm smile. "Gentlemen," he said, "I will now seal the letters."

Shyamon lit the candle from one of the lanterns and moved forward.

Tynrasa watched, face expressionless, earpoints in their normal erect position. What he thought of Kelanus's plan did not show, but, as a scout, tactics and strategy were not his problem.

Kelanus dripped wax onto the first of the letters and pressed his ring into it. He moved on to the next officer, who had a question. This might take an hour or so, but it was necessary.

***
Chapter 15

**Escape**

When, despite her orders, Nicolfer saw Belaika drinking from a stream during a rest stop, Sandev saw her first dissension within the army. Nicolfer stormed to Mirrin and interrupted a meeting between the general and his officers.

Sandev hovered.

"General," began Nicolfer, "I left instructions that the sylph prisoner is _not_ to be watered."

Sandev hoped she saw disgust twisting Mirrin's face as he regarded Nicolfer, and trusted her attitude appalled him. "Too late," he told her. "During your latest jaunt, I gave orders to water him. Sylphs die fast when thirsty; even I know that. What value is he dead?"

Sandev suspected Mirrin had aimed the "even I know that" her way. He'd not even glanced at her, but he must know she loitered within earshot.

"I need answers and he is unwilling to give them." Nicolfer's jet eyes glittered dangerously.

"You'll get no answers from him dead." Mirrin glared back. "The boy gets his share of rations and that includes water. Prisoners under my command are not abused. If you want answers, employ other tactics. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the Supreme Commander and let him decide. Until then, I'm in charge. End of discussion."

Sandev shifted on her feet. "Other tactics" sounded ominous.

Jet eyes locked with dark brown, but Nicolfer eventually subsided. "You have already forbidden the use of torture," she complained.

Sandev relaxed.

"Not the best way of getting answers from a sylph anyway," replied Mirrin, peaceably. "Thought you already knew that."

Sandev suspected Nicolfer had begun to pout.

"I am reluctant to damage my prize," complained Nicolfer. "Only compulsion is left to me."

" _Your_ prize?" Mirrin's eyebrows lifted. "Camanda captured the scout. Any ransom money is his."

When the army moved on again, Sandev mulled over the exchange. Pleased to learn Nicolfer was not in charge, she still wondered what tactics the woman might try next to lever answers out of the scout.

Despite Mirrin proving himself to be more sylphitarian than she had given credit for, she still worried for Belaika's immediate future. Nicolfer would find a way to learn what she wanted, and only follow the letter of Mirrin's orders. She might even ignore them, given the chance.

Sandev hovered near Belaika's cage that evening, ready to intervene should Nicolfer's interrogation of the prisoner turn nasty. Haema sat ready with paper and pencil but, as so often before, Nicolfer left frustrated.

Sandev hurried ahead, reaching Nicolfer's tent first. The woman glared at her, before a sudden flash of light from the inner compartment heralded a new arrival.

Dervra stepped into the living compartment.

"You should take more care," hissed Nicolfer. "Somebody might have been there."

Dervra ignored Nicolfer and his icy eyes glittered at Sandev. "You. Out."

Sandev obeyed with pleasure. Despite her short time in Nicolfer's tent, it had already grown darker outside. She looked towards Belaika's cage, tempted to visit him, but she must also consider Gajaran's feelings. Sandev could hardly win the infertile over if the sylph thought she always colluded with Belaika.

Though the other five ownerless sylphs had some sympathy for the captured scout, Gajaran's views had hardly changed at all. To her, he was a demon.

When she glanced again at Belaika's cage, she saw Shashi conversing with the inmate. Sandev could not shake off the suspicion that Mirrin's sylph spied on behalf of her owner. Did Mirrin have tactics of his own to pry information about the whistles out of the scout?

Sandev considered. Mirrin was certainly clever and subtle enough to use another sylph to trick Belaika. But she doubted if he would succeed. Male sylphs usually ignored infertiles and their flattery. Surely Shashi did not fancy the lad? Infertiles weren't supposed to have such feelings. Just as well, since male sylphs also rejected overly curious infertiles. Sandev decided Belaika must look after himself a little longer.

"Keep walking and do not turn around."

Sandev started, but obeyed. The low voice had spoken in the sylph language. Male and female sylph voices were often hard to tell apart, but she felt certain this one belonged to a male.

"You are Sandev?"

"Yes." She kept walking, if a little more slowly. "Taking me anywhere in particular?" She felt a flash of irritation that the boy had not added the customary " _ya_ " to her name.

"Sylphs' latrines."

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Not important. Is your escape planned?"

"Why should I tell you? An insolent sylph I have never before met?"

She heard muttering and doubted it was complimentary.

"If you have a plan, I do not need to work one out. If not, I must reconsider."

"Reconsider what?" Sandev almost turned around.

"Belaika's escape."

Sandev stiffened. "You have orders? A scout?"

A low chuckle. "You already know those answers."

Sandev made up her mind. She must smash the block to her gift before she could contemplate escape. "I'm not ready to leave," she said. "Implement your plan without me."

"Very well."

"You must take great care with whatever it is you're planning to –"

"Talking to yourself, Sandev- _ya_?" A fresh voice broke in and this one definitely belonged to a female.

Sandev spun around and found she was alone with the newcomer. The mysterious sylph had melted away.

"Heard you talking," said Haema.

"Just practicing." Sandev smiled. "All my little speeches are carefully rehearsed so I always sound my best."

Haema gave her a doubting look and her earpoints lashed a couple of times before settling again.

"What are you up to anyway?" Sandev hoped she did not sound too defensive.

Haema's earpoints went bolt upright. "The latrines are this way," she replied. "Should I not be here?"

Sandev smiled. "Of course. You startled me, that's all." As she turned away, her mind was troubled. How had the other sylph managed to disappear so easily?

***

Velisar- _y_ -Denran looked across the camp towards Belaika's cage. These people were disgusting; a cage was no way to keep a sylph, no matter what he represented or had done. He pitied Belaika; the shame of being the first – and so far only – captured scout must weigh heavily. But at least he had not lost his spirit.

The guards had been changed for two new men. The old ones had grown less vigilant since the early days of Belaika's captivity, probably because he had not attempted escape. The new guards made Velisar's task harder, as visitors were less tolerated than before, and these guards felt less comfortable about their prisoner chatting.

Had their orders changed?

Velisar thought of the sylph girl who had clearly fallen in love with the young scout, and felt a quick flash of anxiety. A complication he could do without. She seemed determined to escape with Belaika.

But the girl was not – so far as he knew – Velisar's problem. That unfortunate distinction fell to Belaika.

If the scout reciprocated the girl's feelings, leaving her behind would be difficult. Only one way to find out.

Anxiety flared again as he decided to speak with the captured scout. If the answers were those he dreaded, then he must take an additional risk and speak with the sylph girl.

Silently, he moved closer.

These Eldovans were not lax. Their perimeter guards were vigilant and patrolled in a random pattern. He'd had no problems getting in, but it might not be quite so easy to get out with three, and when one was untrained, that made life harder still.

The most important thing was to release Belaika from his imprisonment.

He had almost given up his plans when he learned Sandev was captive here as well. How did one of the _Ten_ get trapped? Why was she here? Did she have a plan of her own?

She did not want rescuing, so she must have something planned. Sandev must look after herself however. He would have enough trouble for him escorting one, and likely two, sylphs to safety.

***

Sandev approached Nicolfer's tent and wondered if she was still closeted with Dervra. She had tried and failed to discover what they were plotting, but their plans were bound to be unfriendly.

She hoped the tent might even be empty, as both could physically project themselves. If they were away, she could continue to work a way around her block. She knew how it was made and put in place; now she must puzzle out how to break it.

She had a few ideas, but feared Nicolfer would detect her struggle. But if Nicolfer was not here...

She carefully poked her head into the tent and, as suspected, found it deserted of even ownerless sylphs. Sandev could deal with the block unhindered.

She only wanted to discover how to deal with the block, not actually break it. Now Mirrin's army headed east, it paralleled more detachments who, as time passed, would gradually merge into one large force.

Once she knew her precise location, she would break free and deal with her captors. She had worked out the second part of her plan, but the breaking free part gave her trouble.

She felt along the edge of the block until she found what she expected. It felt like a ragged edge, where the Gift merged with the part made with sorcery. Difficult to believe that Gift and sorcery were the same power; the practitioner of one could rarely understand how the other worked.

Unless that practitioner was born with the Gift _and_ had learned sorcery. Nicolfer practiced both and had used both to make the block. Grayar often displayed a talent for working through these things, but of course he wasn't here.

So, if she...

Sandev tutted. She had almost broken the block. Once it had gone, she would never be able to put it back and the second part of her plan would be useless. She tried to reach the Gift and then knew how to destroy the block. She smiled to herself.

When ready, she could break out of Nicolfer's trap.

But for now, she must bide her time.

Moments later, something flashed in the other part of the tent. She was pleased she had not decided to break the block now. Nicolfer had returned.

Nicolfer's jet eyes were pitiless as she poked her head into the living area of the tent. "Alovak," she demanded.

"As you command." Sandev left the tent.

Nicolfer seemed to delight in sending her on sylphs' errands. Perhaps she thought giving Sandev such menial work might demoralize her. But such things did not bother her in the slightest. These menial tasks said more about her captor than the woman realized.

Nicolfer would hate to be treated this way. She filed the snippet away; one day it might be useful.

As Sandev left the tent, she sensed Nicolfer watching her go.

***

Belaika dreamed first of Eleka. He missed her and hoped to see her again soon. Then he dreamed of flying; all sylphs dreamed of flying. Well, male and female sylphs dreamed of it, infertiles claimed they never did, despite having no fear of falling, in common with the other sexes.

He woke and lifted his head.

Something had disturbed him. His night vision was far superior to anything humans managed, so when he looked around, he could see. The guard had not woken him. Belaika looked the guard's way for a few moments.

Myrad and Girran, doubtless pleased to enjoy full nights' sleep again, had been moved to new duties. The two new guards – Jaegar and Hynan – were not as tolerant of their prisoner. Belaika was sure the men had been changed at Nicolfer's insistence.

This guard – Hynan tonight – looked to be asleep.

Only two of the tents visible to Belaika glowed, where candle lanterns were lit within. The solitary campfire still burning flared like the sun to his eyes, theatening to spoil his night vision.

Outside the cage, as far away from Hynan as possible, a gray shape lurked. Belaika's breath caught before he realized he looked at a sylph, gray thanks to his scout paint. The other's eyes glowed faintly when he glanced towards the fire, which showed he too could see in the dark. Belaika glanced warily at the guard before scrambling across the cage.

"Velisar?"

"Keep your voice down." Velisar's kept his voice so low that the other could barely hear. "Have you promised help to another sylph?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Haema. She sleeps alone not far from Nicolfer's tent."

"I know where. Can she be trusted?"

"No idea." Belaika grimaced.

"She had better not be a mistake."

"What about Sandev?"

Velisar's voice dropped even lower. "Has her own plan. Be ready. Tomorrow."

"What about Haema?"

"I will speak with her. Sleep. Save energy."

Belaika blinked, but the scout had gone. Sylphs were good at disappearing from view, and Velisar was the best. One moment he stood beside the cage, the next gone.

He looked back towards Hynan. The guard looked his way.

"Why are you wandering about?" demanded the human. "Settle down; there's nowhere for you to go."

Belaika shrugged and returned to his blanket.

"That's better. Remember I'm watching you."

_Not as well as you think_ , reflected the scout.

Belaika wished Mirrin's force might display more slack, but he was aware this efficient and disciplined army knew its work much better than the force Hingast had thrown at Marka the previous year. Escaping might not be as easy as he hoped.

Tomorrow.

His heart skipped a beat as he thought of freedom. To again feel the wind in his hair without being tethered like a goat.

And Haema was coming with him.

***

Haema- _y_ -Jinsla turned in her blankets. Unsure what had woken her, she slumbered, trying to remember more than the barest details of her dream. She had been flying with Belaika on one side of her and – bizarrely – her owner Jinsla on the other.

She felt a pang of grief, certain of Jinsla's fate.

The nights were still cold, so she felt grateful the tent granted to her was among the smallest. Though unused to tents, she suspected the heat in this one might be stifling in full summer, but it kept out the worst of the chill now. She stirred again, vaguely aware of the tent flaps moving as if in a breeze. Had she not secured the ties properly?

She was no longer alone in the tent.

Fear flared momentarily. Had Nicolfer come to force her into betraying Belaika's secrets? But she faced something a lot more frightening than Nicolfer: the unknown.

A gray ghost with glowing eyes loomed over her.

As she opened her mouth to scream, a hand smelling of forest and earth and sinabra clamped over her nose and mouth. She couldn't breathe. Her blankets contained her struggles.

Her mewling quickly faded as realization of imminent death grew. She had minutes – longer than a human – but she would still die.

"Shut up!" hissed a voice. " _Sunut, sunut!_ "

She lay quiet, but still feared to die. The hand released her and she drew in a shuddering breath.

"What –"

" _Sunut_."

She obeyed and fell silent.

"Tomorrow I release Belaika. Do you want freedom with him?"

Eyes wide, Haema nodded and her earpoints twitched.

"Visit him tomorrow, after the perimeter guards change. Wait until all others sleep. Take the guard alovak."

"Alovak? In the night?"

Her visitor sighed. "When the guard changes, they brew alovak. One takes some to the cage guard. _You_ will offer to take it."

"Why?"

Her visitor ignored the question. "Put this in it."

Haema took what felt like a leaf. "What is this?"

"Just obey. Once free, you must do exactly as Belaika or myself say. Understand?"

Haema nodded.

"Bring warm clothes. Disobey, fall or fail and I will leave you."

She nodded again.

"I will be watching. Any betrayal..." The ghost's voice trailed off, a threat left unspoken.

She reached up to clutch at the other sylph, but he stepped back.

"Sleep; you will need your strength."

Haema stared as the tent flap twitched again and her mysterious visitor left.

She assumed he must be another scout, perhaps one commanded to set Belaika free. And he was... interesting. She twisted around and resecured the ties, to stop all the heat escaping. She lay awake for a short while, blinking in the darkness and, she admitted to herself, feeling excited. Nervous excited.

She sincerely hoped Belaika was as interesting.

She touched her lips and nose where the visitor's hand had held them shut. She remembered his strength and hoped no bruising showed tomorrow.

Who _was_ he?

Her heart leapt again. If he knew that she wanted to leave, then Belaika had told him. A smile spread across her features and, for the first time since losing her owner, a glow of happiness warmed her.

She got no more sleep that night.

***

Haema was having one of those days. Not that anything went wrong, or at least no more than normal, but just a day when she knew a big change was coming. Something she wanted and dreaded at the same time. No matter what happened tonight, whether it went well or badly, her life would change forever.

She feared Nicolfer would detect her mood. Forced to walk beside her, Haema knew she must be careful. She would have felt better these past months, much better, if Nicolfer told her what had happened to her owner, even if he still lived.

She dared not ask.

Sandev rode on the far side of Nicolfer while Haema walked. The sylph was not bothered by this privilege; she feared horses. If Sandev knew what the sylphs planned, she gave no sign.

Then she recalled Sandev talking to herself the previous evening. Given her mysterious sylph visitor and the almost magickal way he moved, Haema now wondered. Had she really been talking to herself? A new suspicion dawned.

Sandev _did_ know. Perhaps she knew everything going on in the camp. And humans had the effrontery to claim sylphs never let on more than they must!

She glanced over her shoulder. Though Nicolfer had insisted Mirrin change Belaika's guards, they still secured the sylph to Somersen's horse. The man's dark eyes regarded Haema expressionlessly. She did not know if the sergeant hated all sylphs, or just enemy sylphs.

She could just see Belaika's feet and part of his body from here. He had clearly recovered from his bruised leg; at least he had no hint of a limp now.

Haema touched her face, still feeling the stranger's hand over her nose and mouth. Some soreness, but a comment would have been passed by now if she had any visible bruising.

"No whistling for some time," said Nicolfer. "Perhaps they have lost us."

Haema looked up, but Nicolfer spoke to Sandev.

"Perhaps," replied Sandev.

Haema looked down again. She doubted if the sylph scouts had lost them. They realized the camp sylphs pointed them out and now whistled from further away. They had adapted. No matter how ragged and long-haired her mysterious visitor, he was definitely a sylph scout who had not lost contact.

Mirrin's scouts had failed to discover the Markan army, which Haema felt was another testament to the sylph scouts, who must be guiding the Markans away from danger. But there were other small armies on the move. Detachments of the Eldovan army, coalescing as it marched east.

Nicolfer especially seemed keen to make sure that all other armies were tracked. Haema was sure she had shared her worries with Mirrin – if the two were talking again – but she said nothing to anybody else.

Haema hoped to be out of the way soon. The more this army grew, the harder it would be to escape.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Belaika, who had swung out of line. He gave her a reassuring wink and fell back into place behind the horse. Somersen looked over his shoulder.

"Quit that," he growled.

Haema did not hear Belaika's reply.

"Keep station," continued Somersen. "Do that again and you'll have something to wriggle over."

If Belaika was eager to obey, he gave no sign of it. Haema respected his courage, something these sylph scouts seemed to have to excess. Certainly far more than she had been raised to believe her race was capable of. Then again, she could read and write musical notation and she knew other sylphs who had the secret of trapping words on paper.

Sylphs were not supposed to be able to learn those skills, either.

A halt was finally called for a light meal and a welcome drink of water. For Haema, the day dragged. At least the sun had passed its meridian, but it still baked the ground. Which in turn burned the soles of her feet.

Until recently, she had spent most of her life indoors, copying music. Her feet were unaccustomed to the outdoors, though they had toughened up during her time here. She noted enviously that no other camp sylph had this problem.

She watched Belaika drink using both hands; he had little choice in that as his hands were still bound. Once he finished slaking his thirst, Somersen shuffled the sylph to one side. Haema turned away, in case someone detected any unspoken communication. Humans were often perceptive.

"You look happy today." Nicolfer looked down from her horse.

"It is a beautiful day. Not cold." Haema looked up and smiled. That seemed a good excuse for happiness. And every word true: she had never been a good liar. She wished for darkness; why must time drag today?

***

The army halted an hour before nightfall.

They made camp quickly and the cooks had the evening meal ready almost before soldiers finished erecting the last tent. Haema thought her heart might burst. Excitement fought terror for control and her food tasted dry in her mouth. She went over and over what she was supposed to do.

Again, she felt for and found the leaf intended for the guard's alovak. A horrible thought struck her: did the strange sylph scout expect her to feed poison to the guard? She had no desire to kill anybody.

But another sylph had handed the leaf to her, so it must be unlikely to kill. She hoped it only made the guard sleep and that he would not be too severely punished.

Another thought. What about the key for the cage lock?

The chain that kept the cage door shut had a sturdy lock, but she had no idea who held the key. She should have paid more attention whenever Belaika was locked up or released. She worried about that key and hoped the mysterious scout had paid more attention to goings-on in the camp than she had.

She had little doubt that he had.

She began to respect more and more what was expected from these sylph scouts. She retired to her small tent at the usual time.

She lay awake on her blankets and dared not sleep or doze, just in case she missed the rescue and escape. The interesting scout said he would leave her behind and she believed him.

Nicolfer had brought her here to decipher the scouts' whistles. Haema was certain that she had murdered her owner. Nicolfer had promised her she could rejoin her owner once the scouts' whistles were sorted.

That meant Nicolfer must intend to kill her, too.

Haema could not take the risk of being left behind, she did not want to die. She would travel to Marka and try to start a new life. Somehow.

And if Belaika's wife – Eleka? – would accept her, then she might be his wife too. So many ifs.

Vague, but it was _a_ plan.

That last blink had lasted several seconds. She must be careful! The interesting scout had come to rescue Belaika, not collect every sylph in need. Her earpoints wilted. It was chastening to realize how unimportant you were in others' grand schemes. Quite unfair.

She would soon prove her worth, to Belaika if to nobody else. There would be something to show for her life, after all.

***

"Alovak, _donenya_?"

Jaegar looked up at Haema and blinked.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the cup of steaming black liquid. "It is a cold night. Would never know it was late spring. You're up late. Or early."

"Cannot sleep," she muttered, "so I offered to bring it."

"Thank you anyway."

Haema nodded, but she did not want to fall into conversation with him.

"I suppose you want to chat with him?" Jaegar jerked his head towards Belaika as he cupped his hands around the hot drink. "Nicolfer said no more visitors. But you go ahead." He sipped at the liquid and moved away.

Haema watched with concerned eyes and wondered how long before the leaf began to work.

She looked around, but saw no sign of the mystery sylph. Belaika moved to the door of the cage and gripped the bars with his hands. She gestured helplessly at the lock and chain.

Belaika grinned. "Not a worry."

"Faugh!" The guard had reached the leaf. "What in Ranva's na –" There was a soft thud.

Haema looked his way with concerned eyes. "Hope he is all right," she muttered.

"Only sleeping."

She almost squeaked at the new voice, only a paca away.

"Velisar!" Belaika grinned.

"Relax little sister," Velisar told Haema. "The guard is fine."

The sylph scout turned his attention to the lock. Haema could not see exactly what happened, but moments later, Velisar unwrapped the chain from the door.

"How did you do that?" she demanded.

Velisar smiled and held a finger to his lips.

Belaika swung the door open and stepped out. He stretched his arms and grinned at his freedom.

"No questions!" warned Velisar.

Haema closed her mouth.

"We must pass the guards at the perimeter," continued Velisar. "Silence now."

Haema was sandwiched between the scouts as they crept past the tents. Velisar motioned her to keep low. When she could see him at all, that was.

He seemed able to move without being seen and Haema kept bumping into him. The mixed smell of earth, forest and sinabra rolled off him when she came close. To judge from his appearance and from what little Belaika had said about him, she guessed he was more than half-wild.

She could not deny he was intriguing.

Velisar stopped and Belaika dropped lower. He helped Haema press herself into the dirt and only her twitching earpoints poked up. A sentry passed, thankfully staring beyond the camp rather than into it. He moved almost as silently as the sylphs; little wonder she had not seen him.

"Do not look up," whispered Belaika, his breath hot against her ear. That felt nice, too. "He might see your eyes."

She remembered that sylph eyes glowed at night whenever there was plenty of light.

" _Sunut_!" came from Velisar, again little more than a breath.

With the sentry safely out of the way, Velisar wriggled across the short distance to the forest. Belaika helped Haema follow.

"The sylph is gone!" boomed a voice from within the camp. "Jaegar is poisoned!"

" _Durcoc!_ " swore Velisar. "Up and run!"

They ran. Belaika and Velisar took Haema by her arms and forced her into a run. Despite his threats to leave her behind, Velisar proved willing to help.

The scouts were fit and very used to running. Despite his recent injury, Belaika kept up easily. Haema had grown used to walking, but she had never run far. Her work had always kept her indoors so, unsurprisingly, she tired first.

Shouting from the camp faded now, but all three sylphs knew a hunt would be mustered.

"Will they catch us?" asked Haema, gasping as she ran.

"They have no dogs," replied Velisar, barely breathing heavily.

"There are horses." Haema wished she could hold a conversation as easily as Velisar when running.

"Sylphs outrun horses." Velisar gave Haema a neutral look.

Haema threw Belaika a questioning look and he nodded confirmation.

" _You_ might," retorted Haema. " _I_ cannot."

"Just keep going," commanded Velisar.

They ran for almost an hour – which felt like three to Haema – before Velisar allowed a quick rest.

They drank from a merrily tumbling stream, but the experienced sylphs stopped Haema drinking too much.

"You will be ill," warned Belaika. "We have more running to do yet."

"Will they find us?" Haema worried what might happen if Nicolfer caught her.

"Not without sylph scouts," replied Velisar. "No dogs and no Gifted."

Belaika looked thoughtful. "Nicolfer might know a way. She is like the Gifted."

Velisar gave the younger scout a warning look. "Do not worry. Dekran- _ya_ 's outer scout will not be much further."

Belaika nodded.

Haema stared as Velisar sent a pinging whistle into the darkness. Very faintly, a reply reached their ears.

"Can only just hear that," muttered Haema.

"That is Samel. He is some way away." Belaika sounded surprised. "Almost too far for Captain Dekran to maintain contact."

"A good lad, but his training is incomplete." Velisar shook his head. "Certainly not ready to run with the army."

Haema stared in amazement. "It is clever that you send whistles to each other that humans cannot hear," she told Belaika. "I am glad you never gave anything away to Nicolfer."

"Sylph scouts were all Velisar's idea," said Belaika. "And the whistles."

Velisar shushed Belaika with his hands and his earpoints wilted a little in embarrassment. "Not all my idea," he said, when Haema turned adoring eyes onto him. "Time to move." He caught Haema's expression. "Not far now," he promised.

Velisar was true to his word. Before they had run much longer, he finally indicated a small hollow. Samel crouched there and stared as if he saw ghosts. Velisar overawed him and, for some reason, Belaika only a little less so.

He deferred to Haema and politely offered her his blanket.

Velisar smiled at Belaika. "Sleep and let Samel do his job. Dekran- _ya_ can wait one more day for his happy reunion."

Belaika nodded. He curled up on the ground and was aware of Haema curling up beside him for extra warmth. He took several deep breaths.

Freedom had never felt so good.

***
Chapter 16

**Trapped**

Dervra sipped his wine and listened to Kanad's report. Even for a local vintage the wine tasted excellent. His attention varied; some of what Kanad had to say sounded very interesting.

Dervra suddenly paid full attention. "Sure it was a gwerin?" he asked.

"Very." Kanad nodded. "Name of Samrita. Escorted by a large-ish armed group calling themselves Shadow Riders."

Dervra almost spilled his wine. "What happened?"

"They left in something of a hurry. I sent soldiers to ensure they left our lands."

"When?" Dervra's voice was quiet.

"Just over a week ago."

"And Marlen? Where is he?"

"Arranging unpleasant things for these riders."

Dervra smiled. "Excellent. You may go."

Kanad bowed and left.

Nicolfer stepped out from a side-chamber. She looked nothing like the image she liked to project. Not at all like an unwashed, offensive beggar, crippled by an old injury. That was all for show, to humiliate those who believed they were of a higher station.

Not only could she walk, but true beauty shone through the hard planes of her face. That hardness had been carefully cultivated, not easily set aside now. Some found it attractive. Her clothes were carefully chosen to best set off her complexion and natural colors.

"The same Samrita, do you think?" she asked.

"Showing up with the Shadow Riders? Almost certainly." Dervra nodded. "Samrita was young enough then to still be alive now."

"You should have killed all three when you had the chance. The throwbacks are dangerous." Nicolfer's face twisted, but she quickly recovered her composure. "Time to rectify the mistake you made then."

"And I thought you liked sylphs."

"They are not sylphs." Nicolfer's eyes hardened. "Just dangerous. They see too deeply and too clearly."

Dervra shrugged. "They didn't see deeply or clearly enough when Marka collapsed."

Nicolfer grimaced. "They warned Evlander something was going on. They knew. History says that Evlander sent them away, but I suspect they abandoned him."

"They were sent. I was there."

Nicolfer changed the subject. "If they're headed for Marka now, they will run into one or another of our armies."

"They're traveling to Marka. If the men with Samrita _are_ the Shadow Riders, or rather their descendants, then that's where they're going. They've finally crawled out of Kelthane. As for Samrita... well, news of an Emperor in Marka will draw gwerins like moths to flames."

"We should warn our armies of their presence," said Nicolfer. "The Shadow Riders were always dangerous."

"Indeed. Certainly advantageous for us if they never reach Marka." Dervra nodded. "I have tasks of state that must be settled. If you're returning to Mirrin, then warn him. After all, he's closer to the Riders than anyone else."

Nicolfer scowled, although she nodded agreement. "If they are gone from here more than a week, then they are dangerously close to Mirrin. That is wise counsel."

She stood, swept out of Dervra's hall to the side-chamber and, moments later, only a quick flash of light told Dervra she had left.

Dervra sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. Samrita and the Shadow Riders did not particularly bother him but if they reached Marka, the new Emperor would learn where he was based.

He and Nicolfer had worked together a long time, yet they often had differences of opinion. Even once established, Nicolfer was always quick to abandon a base if she thought it compromised. He preferred to wait until his position was no longer tenable.

The Riders were no more than an irritant, an insignificant itch and barely worth scratching. To reach Marka, they must first avoid the Eldovan armies – all much larger than the Riders' pathetic show of force – and then persuade the Markans they had no hostile intent. Difficult, without sylph scouts.

With what was about to happen, Marka would be in no position to send an army to Turivkan.

But, the fact that a gwerin had been here forced him to make contingency plans.

He strode to the door.

"Delnor!"

The messenger hurried up. "Your Majesty?"

"Bring me Kanad."

Delnor bowed and hurried away.

Dervra waited until a tap at the door heralded Kanad.

"Come!"

Kanad entered the room. The man's blue-gray eyes were concerned. Once an administrator for Hingast, he had been involved in last year's disastrous siege. Now, he worked for Dervra.

"I want you to arrange a census," said Dervra.

"Of course, sir." Kanad dry-washed his hands, a sure sign of nerves.

"When I succeeded here, two of the old Prefect's sons were smuggled to freedom. They will now be sixteen and fourteen years of age."

Kanad blinked.

"Every boy found of that age – without exception – is to be killed."

Kanad had a talent for arranging massacres and was even better at concealing large numbers of killings. Now he was no longer a hindrance, but an asset.

"It shall be as you command, Majesty." A faint smile played on his lips.

"Good." Dervra dismissed Kanad, his orders already buried under other priorities.

The time had come to try and destroy Marka again.

***

Sandev could not hide her satisfaction.

The poisoned guard was still suffering from extreme drowsiness. She suspected what had been used to put him under and knew less than a whole leaf would usually suffice. But somebody wanted to guarantee Jaegar had no chance of waking up at the wrong moment.

Much to Sandev's surprise, Mirrin dragged her into his questioning.

"Why do you need me?" she asked. "I'm not sorry he's gone."

"Were you involved?" Mirrin's dark eyes were searching.

"Wish I was." Sandev laughed. "I can imagine Nicolfer's reaction when she returns. Looking forward to it, in fact."

Mirrin gave her a neutral look. "She'll make everybody else's life a misery," he said. "Did you know Haema's gone too?"

Jaegar opened his eyes. "Haema," he managed to say, "brought me the alovak." He lapsed into unconsciousness again.

"Sounds like she was involved." Sandev smiled again. "That'll please Nicolfer even more."

Mirrin held up the broken lock. It hung from the cage door that now swung open. "How did she manage to get the key?"

Jurabim hurried up. "Must have been picked, sir," he said. "I've still got the only key."

"Unlikely to be your quartermaster creeping around during the middle of the night," said Sandev, reasonably. "When did you last see the middle of the night, Jurabim?"

The quartermaster gave her a tolerant look. "More recently than you might believe," he replied, "but not last night."

"The lock was picked then," said Mirrin. "Interesting skills you teach these scouts."

Sandev shrugged. "Who knows what skills a sylph might learn in a lifetime? Looks to me as though your hope of prize money has run off with the sylphs."

Mirrin turned away. "Somersen! Organize men to search for tracks. They can't have got far."

"A sylph scout can cover a surprising amount of ground when he must," Sandev pointed out.

"They've got Haema with them," countered Mirrin. "She'll slow them down."

Sandev looked unconvinced, but she shrugged anyway.

"General, sir."

Mirrin turned. "What is it, Taved?"

"The scouts have a report, sir."

"Excellent. Tell me as we walk." Mirrin looked at Sandev. "Nicolfer should return this morning," he told her. "Expect trouble."

Sandev smiled and inclined her head.

***

General Mirrin looked around at his officers before the morning meeting. They stood in the center of the living space of his tent. All around, he heard preparations as the other tents were struck and animals readied for their move. He was resigned to having lost Belaika, but the sylph scout did not rank highly in his list of priorities. Though Sandev had a point; any prize money from the sylph's ransom would have been welcome.

He glanced at Yeoman Taved and away again.

"Gentlemen," said Mirrin, "our scouts have discovered the location of the Markans following us."

Several officers grinned.

"There are about a hundred men, no more than two days behind. As we expected the group to be larger, it's little wonder we didn't find it earlier. This small army shadows us to report our movements if we threaten Marka." He managed a small smile. "They may as well report now, as that is precisely our intention."

A small laugh rippled around the group. In many cases, he and these men had fought alongside each other for years. He could rely on those present now. He'd transferred unreliable people away from his command, or else war itself had weeded them out. Sadly war's weeding was blind and cold graves held many good men alongside the bad and useless.

"Captain Jediyah, you will await our shadows. When we leave, you and five hundred men will stay behind. I'll also leave you a couple of scouts. That should prove sufficient to deal with a mere hundred. I recommend you prepare this area to make it look deserted. I doubt if you'll locate any sylph scouts, but avoid them if you can.

"Take care to conceal the men until it is too late. These sylph scouts are excellent and I'm sure they'll realize something is up. You might not have the element of surprise, which is why you have superior numbers to deal with these men."

"Prisoners, sir?" asked Jediyah.

"Sadly, we cannot afford them sending a message to Marka to betray our presence. Use your initiative, Captain Jediyah."

"And our missing sylphs?"

"If you catch them, bring them back. But that's not important." Mirrin smiled. "No need for unnecessary bloodshed."

The named captain inclined his head. "As you command, sir."

"The rest of us," continued Mirrin, "will continue eastwards as if nothing has happened. We will merge the groups and fall on Marka from the west. Another force under Janost and Hanan will move south. And our allies will move from the east, with a narrow corridor to allow our defeated enemies to flee." Mirrin's smile grew cold. "We shall round those up at our leisure and the false claimants' time will be at an end."

No cheer went around the tent. These men fought for their own reasons, but he knew of none with much love for Hingast or his claim. Not being Markan, they had no particular interest in seeing the Markan Empire rise from the ashes.

Mirrin nodded. "Gentlemen, everybody knows what you must do. Strength and victory!"

"Strength and victory."

The officers filed out of the tent.

***

Mirrin's army had halted for the midday meal when Nicolfer finally returned. She waved everybody away and took Mirrin to one side.

"I bring warning, General Mirrin." She explained about the Shadow Riders and why they were dangerous.

"The scouts will tell us if they come near," Mirrin told her. "They know the work."

"Good." Nicolfer gave a small frown. "What is wrong, General?"

He took a deep breath. "Belaika has escaped. Worse, he took Haema with him."

Mirrin braced himself for the explosion.

***

Sandev felt even happier now Nicolfer had returned and causing no end of trouble.

She had heard loud screeching not long after her captor had entered Mirrin's tent and guessed the general had told her about Belaika.

The Eldovan commander was white-faced with rage when Sandev showed up, so she guessed a few insults had been aired.

"You!" snarled Nicolfer, pointing at Sandev. "Why did you let him go?"

"I had nothing to do with it. Been nowhere near him since his capture."

Nicolfer swung back to Mirrin. "And you? No idea that it would happen, either?"

"Of course not." Anger tightened Mirrin's voice. "The only other person involved is Haema."

Nicolfer threw back her head and laughed. "Ridiculous. The scout has abducted her."

"But why?" asked Sandev. "Her running away with him makes more sense. If she'd been abducted, the sentries would have heard something."

"Haema does not know how to pick locks," retorted Nicolfer.

"How do you know what skills she has other than writing musical notation?" demanded Sandev. "You never showed much interest in her."

"The scout must have done it," said Nicolfer.

"If he knew how," sighed Sandev, "don't you think he would have been gone the moment his leg got better?"

"Mark my words, he had help."

Sandev fell silent. She would not tell Nicolfer what sort of help.

Nicolfer spotted Shashi. "What about you? Colluding with your owner against me. I expect you poisoned the alovak."

Shashi drew herself fully upright and her earpoints stood erect in anger. "If that had been me, _all_ the sentries and guards would have been asleep."

Sandev smiled to herself. Mirrin's sylph displayed sterner stuff than usual.

At this moment, Somersen returned.

"Not a sign, sir, not in any direction."

"Another incompetent," snarled Nicolfer. "Haema would slow them down; she is no hardy sylph scout."

Sandev shook her head. Sylphs weren't hardy because they were scouts, but because they were sylphs. Which meant even Haema was much tougher than she looked.

Somersen turned his back on Nicolfer, which made him stupid as well as brave.

"There is no sign of them, sir." He stalked away.

"What was in the alovak?" asked Nicolfer.

"A leaf of some sort," replied Mirrin. "Jaegar has not fully recovered yet."

Nicolfer now turned her attention to the six ownerless sylphs, reducing three of them to tears with the savagery of her interrogation. She demanded to know which of them had put the leaf into the alovak.

"It must have been Haema," said Jaegar. "She brought me the alovak."

Sandev smiled as she realized that Nicolfer causing so much dissension might lead to mutiny. She had not seen her enemy look so out of countenance for centuries.

Sandev intended to enjoy the moment to the full.

Nicolfer turned to Sandev. "Get me alovak," she commanded.

"With or without the leaf?" asked Sandev.

Nicolfer glared.

***

Now Nicolfer's attention had switched elsewhere, Shashi crept to her owner's side while ignoring his horse.

" _Enya_ , you should not allow her to treat us so." She turned her face up and put a hand on her owner's knee.

Mirrin leaned down and stroked Shashi's hair; oddly, it soothed his temper. "We have little choice," he answered. "For the moment."

Shashi turned her head so an earpoint caught between his fingers. "Be careful, _enya_ ," she begged. "I do not want to join the other orphans."

***

Haema was still in the hollow when she woke. She blinked and wondered how long she had been asleep. The sun had climbed high, so she guessed it must be about noon. She smiled to herself while remembering the previous night. Now she felt refreshed.

She sat up.

"Thought you might sleep all day," said Belaika.

She looked around to see no sign of Samel or Velisar.

"Why are we still here?" she asked.

"Waiting for Dekran- _ya_ to bring the army to us. He commanded me to wait here for him; the scouts will tell me when he stops for the night."

"Where are the others?"

"Scouting." Belaika smiled. "A sylph must earn his keep."

"I am glad you are here."

Belaika shrugged. "At least you are rested."

"Are you in touch with the others?"

The smile widened. "Of course. Pingers are flying about all the time. Here, this should take the edge off your hunger and there is a stream that way."

Haema nodded her thanks for the handful of foragings. She thought about leaving to begin her long journey home and immediately reconsidered. One more day could do no harm.

***

Lance Captain Dekran looked from Belaika to Haema and his dark blue eyes grew thoughtful. Only the tent canvas afforded any privacy. Banner Sergeant Yochan was in the tent with them.

His attention returned to Belaika. "Glad to see you back," he said, eventually. "I've been reduced to using humans as scouts again."

Belaika smiled. "No wonder things are going wrong."

"At least you managed to escape before we rescued you. I might have lost half of my men in the attempt."

"Velisar did most of it," said Belaika.

"Yes. He and Yochan planned it between them."

Belaika's earpoints twitched in Yochan's direction. " _Mutydo, donenya_."

"You're welcome." The Banner Sergeant smiled.

Dekran pointed to Haema. "You brought a passenger?"

"She helped me escape. They used her to write down our whistles, so Nicolfer could question me about them."

"Did you answer her questions?"

"He answered no questions," interrupted Haema. "I wrote everything wrong so code breakers could not work on them. He refused to help."

Dekran nodded. So that was the way the land lay. He must keep an eye on the pair of them. "Good. Did they make life a little uncomfortable for you, Belaika?"

The sylph shuddered. "They tried humiliation, they tried thirst and they tried threats. She threatened Eleka and my daughters!"

"I'm sure they are safe." Dekran smiled, he hoped reassuringly. "Nicolfer is Gifted. Are you _sure_ you told her nothing?"

"I swear it," Belaika insisted, earpoints slanted forwards.

"You didn't just sit back and enjoy yourself. What did you learn about them?" Dekran and Yochan leaned forward.

"Better than they were last year. They have learned and adapted. Sylphs point towards any whistle and they send horsemen out to run the scout down."

"We noticed," said Yochan. "Scouts now move once they've whistled. Not only Eldovans adapt."

"Thought you might have changed the rules," grinned Belaika. "They plan to meet up with other groups of Eldovans and fall on Marka from the east."

Dekran nodded.

"And there is someone who looks like Hingast. He visited the camp. I know who it is."

"Really." Dekran raised an eyebrow.

"Someone visited the camp. Looked like Hingast, talked like Hingast, was not Hingast."

A fleeting smile from the Lance Captain. "Not again, Belaika?"

"Exactly." The sylph remembered a lesson from his training. "There is no such thing as coincidence, only intentions. It is Ranallic."

Yochan interrupted. "The point is that the Eldovans believe it is Hingast. Last year's victory now looks less important."

"All victories look less important as time passes," said Dekran. "If it _is_ Ranallic – all right, Belaika, no ifs, it is Ranallic – then the Eldovans now have a military tactician running their army, instead of a butcher."

"Sandev is a prisoner too," added Belaika.

"We know."

"She did not escape with us; I do not know what she plans."

"She might be helping them." Dekran shook his head.

Haema laughed. "If anything, she works against Nicolfer."

"Sandev is Sandev." Dekran smiled at Haema. "She will look after herself, either way."

"When can I return to duties, _donenya_?"

Dekran regarded Belaika for a long moment. "Immediately. But you will stay with me for the foreseeable future. Until we can be certain that injured leg is better."

"It is better."

"Put your stubbornness aside, Belaika. You've been injured and I'll not risk you until certain you're fully fit again. You stay with me for now."

" _Se bata_." Belaika's expression suggested he had more to say, but he held his tongue.

Dekran turned to Haema. "As you are here, you can stay with us."

"I hoped to return to Eldova, General."

"Captain, girl. Just a captain, not a general." Dekran's face hardened. "You stay with us until I'm sure it's safe to release you. Nicolfer will want you back, so you're sealed to us for now."

"So I am a prisoner," sulked Haema.

"Hardly. A guest, until it is safe for you to leave." Dekran's expression firmed. "Nicolfer might want to get you back, or she might want to kill you. Any more arguments?"

"None, General," she muttered.

"Captain."

Yochan laughed.

"It will be dark soon," continued Dekran. "Belaika, you and Haema should get something to eat. Then see the yeoman for somewhere to sleep."

Belaika touched his heart. " _Se bata_."

Dekran and Yochan watched the two sylphs leave.

"Good to see him back, sir," said Yochan.

"Certainly good to have another experienced scout," agreed Dekran. "And there will be no awkward explanations now we've got him. Thank Ranva for Velisar."

Yochan nodded.

"Fortunate for us that Nicolfer has no imagination," continued Dekran. "Think what might happen if she had tried to turn Belaika instead of interrogating him."

"I don't think it works that way with sylphs, sir. Once they are bonded, that is it."

"I hope so, Sergeant. I really do hope so."

***

Belaika walked alongside Dekran's horse. Haema rode on one of the supply wagons, safe.

He was unused to marching within the column itself, his task being to relay all messages from the field. A far cry from before his capture, when he spent almost all his time away from the army, being the only experienced scout.

Velisar had allegedly replaced him in the field, but Belaika had heard no messages from him all day. He would whistle in when he had something to say and not before.

Fhionnen, the furthest scout ahead, had just reported passing Mirrin's deserted encampment. Relayed through Samel and Mezhen, it was received without errors. The city scouts had improved, probably through necessity. Or Velisar's impatience.

As rear scout, Kadhen kept silence, except for position pingers. Velisar could be anywhere, although he should be somewhere near Kadhen. Ever since losing his owner, Velisar had always pleased himself. At least, he gave that impression.

A whistle from Samel told him to keep an eye open for early rosehips. He didn't bother to pass it on. Sylphs liked the hips, but humans found them too bitter for their taste at this time of year.

Everything seemed normal and even the most vigilant soldier enjoyed the warm sun. Blue skies and sunshine; bliss if only they weren't working.

"We will reach that camp soon," said Belaika and shivered. The camp he had escaped from.

"Very good." Dekran's voice held no emotion, as usual for routine messages.

Belaika stiffened as Fhionnen sent another report. He stared at Dekran.

"What's wrong?" asked the Lance Captain.

"Fhionnen says there are only twenty-five hundred men with Mirrin. It should be three thousand."

"Five hundred missing." He raised his voice. "Sergeant Yochan!"

Yochan moved closer.

"Scouts report that Mirrin's mob is five hundred men down."

"Ambush, sir?"

Belaika blinked. Yochan knew the work, but the sylph always marveled how humans sometimes seemed able to read minds.

Dekran nodded. "Mirrin's discovered where we are." He stood in his stirrups and looked around at the land. He pointed to a small tor. "Make for that and prepare defenses."

Yochan touched fist to heart and wheeled his horse. He passed the orders on.

"Belaika, warn the scouts."

" _Se bata_."

Belaika whistled Dekran's intentions to the scouts. He warned them that the army was about to halt and commanded them to wait for further instructions.

The small army swung towards the tor and the men immediately began to prepare rudimentary defenses. The wagons were hauled into a circle and shallow ditches dug.

Dekran conferred with his sergeants.

"The army ahead is missing five hundred men," he explained, quickly. "I suspect they know we're here and have laid an ambush, probably in their camp. We wait here and see what happens."

Belaika stiffened as Haema made her way towards him. He wanted her to move away from the army and find a scout. Five to one were poor odds. Would their escape be for nothing?

As another whistle reached him, his earpoints wilted. Velisar reported through Kadhen. The news was not good.

" _Donenya_ ," he began, formally. "Another small army several milas behind us, about three hundred fighting men, most mounted. They are not with Mirrin's mob, and they have families or camp followers with them. But they have come from the west."

Dekran almost snarled aloud. "Might they have something to do with our missing five hundred?"

"It has come from behind."

"Query it. Ask if they are Eldovan."

" _Se bata_." He quickly whistled the message back out. The confirmation was almost as quick. "These are soldiers we have not seen before," said Belaika. "Confirmed."

Dekran drew his sword. Yochan carried the Vintner Banner, slung from a cross-spear and not streaming free as was traditional with lancers. The dragon's head banner on its dark-blue field filled well in the breeze. The Banner Sergeant reined in alongside Dekran. Haema, eyes frightened, joined Belaika.

The soldiers formed their defensive circle and waited.

Yochan winked at the sylph. "Probably nothing much," he mouthed.

"You two stay between us," Dekran commanded the sylphs. "Report all messages."

"Keep low," Belaika told Haema.

"Form up!" called Dekran. "Form up!"

Pikemen surrounded the small tor and the lancers waited on their horses behind them. Dekran looked down at the scout.

"Anything?"

Belaika shook his head.

He wished he did not feel so frightened, but noted with some pride that his earpoints were not wilted. Yet. He glanced at Haema.

"Never seen a battle," she whispered. "And I do not want to."

Belaika said nothing. He had no wish to see a battle either. And certainly not from his present position. Despite her wish, she would see bloodshed today. His head came upright.

"What is it?" Dekran had been around sylph scouts long enough to recognize the signs of an incoming message.

Belaika met Dekran's gaze and ignored Haema's shivers. "Samel has found the missing five hundred." He pointed to the old encampment. "There."

As the Eldovans rose from their concealment, Dekran cursed. The enemy already ran to encircle him.

Belaika knew their only advantage was holding the best available defensive position. He realized the Eldovans' plan had been to ambush the Markans as they entered the old camp. But they had planned without the sylph scouts.

Human scouts might have missed it, but fortunately the sylphs had noticed something wrong and warned Dekran in time. That report had decided him on a course change. The sylph scouts had proved their worth yet again.

Unfortunately for Dekran, the Eldovan commander was astute enough to improvise when he knew his original plan had been compromised.

"Belaika."

" _Donenya?_ "

"Stay close and pass on all messages. _All_ messages."

" _Se bata_."

"Stand ready, men!"

Belaika joined Haema's shivers and his earpoints wilted. It seemed he had not grown used to battles after all.

***

Captain Jediyah was unsurprised when his quarry suddenly changed course and headed for the small hill. Despite precautions, a sylph scout must have seen and reported his men.

The enemy immediately headed for the most obvious defensive position. Good tactics and just as he had expected. It didn't matter; he had enough men to encircle and then grind this small detachment down. Always sensible to have at least two plans.

General Mirrin was right, this should be easy.

"They are all to be killed, Captain?"

Jediyah looked down at his sergeant. "Our orders were explicit."

"Very good, Captain."

Jediyah wished he could be as happy as his sergeant. He had been told to use his initiative and that meant he could not leave too many of these men to regroup and threaten them again. That tor would become a slaughter ground. Could he really expect his men to kill in cold blood? Except it would not really be cold blood. There would be casualties on his side and men who saw friends die were rarely magnanimous towards their killers.

He quickly redeployed his troops and sent half around the far side of the hill. Most were archers and not even armored cavalry could stand up to archers. There was little armor to be seen on the tor, which suggested lancers and not heavy cavalry.

Even easier to kill.

There were no archers with the enemy force, an oversight they would not live to regret. That lack enabled Jediyah to close the range to his own advantage, rather than the enemy forcing the range from their height advantage. A line of pikemen and the mounted lancers were waiting within. And two officers on horseback at the summit, one the bannerman. Another target.

This would be a killing field. Once done, he could rejoin General Mirrin sometime tomorrow.

He wondered where the enemy scouts were now. Would they maintain position once their commanders were slain? Sylphs were usually good only while someone gave orders. But he knew these were not ordinary sylphs. Alone, sylphs should be easy prey, but these scouts would probably be different.

Ordinary sylphs would run home once their human controllers were dead. Jediyah suspected that these would hold station, reporting to each other, until they made contact with Markans again. But would they go home, or continue to shadow the Eldovans?

Useless conjecture. He had his orders and it was time to execute them.

As he drew his sword, he and his men moved forward. He smiled and pointed his sword forward.

"Strength and victory!" he called.

The answer came from five hundred throats. "Strength and victory!"

***
Chapter 17

**Evening Chores With Tektu**

"Do you ever think about marriage and children?"

Neptarik straightened and gave Mya a startled look as his earpoints rose to their fullest extent. They twitched as he considered her question.

"Yes," he answered. "You?"

Mya nodded and moved a little closer.

Long past his probation, Neptarik wondered why they had not been separated. He had spent most of last night's free time sewing the red crown onto the breast of his tunics. Perhaps somebody had noticed they worked well together. Neither of them had been tasked with showing newcomers around and teaching them their duties, although more sylphs had entered the Mametain's service.

"I think of that all the time," she said, voice low. "Your children will be strong and brave, like their father. I also dream of a farm. With plenty of chickens."

Neptarik grinned. "And a fish lake. And the secret of choca."

Mya giggled. "Too much choca will make you sick."

"Be good to get the chance to try," he retorted. "There is never enough choca."

"No?"

"Everywhere, not enough choca. Life is so unfair."

"Bad for teeth and digestion." Mya's eyes sparkled.

"Yours goes quick on the rare days we get any."

Mya moved closer still. "Are you happy here?"

Her eyes were wide, earpoints erect and twitching in a manner Neptarik knew well from other female sylphs.

"We must live," he replied. "Are any of us truly happy?"

"We can be," she whispered. Her head moved closer and closer, earpoints sloping forwards.

Neptarik's earpoints slanted ahead to meet hers. Brows and noses all but touched and his arms snaked around her middle. They touched and pulled slightly apart again. He lifted his head so mouth could meet mouth. Both pairs of eyes closed and –

"What _are_ you two up to?"

With a squeak, they sprang apart and turned to face the newcomer. Neptarik's rebuke died unuttered as Tektu strode toward them.

"This," she continued, unimpressed, "is a place of work. If we want to hear small sylphic feet pattering, we will arrange a transfer to stud farms." She gave them a humorless grin. " _Separate_ stud farms."

Mya twitched her earpoints in an uncomplimentary manner. She looked away.

Neptarik looked at Tektu and refused to be intimidated. It needed a lot of effort. She made up for her lack of height with sheer personality. Her presence almost overwhelmed him. Despite appearances, knowing that Tektu was _not_ a sylph made it harder to stare at her, even with her attention fixed on Mya. Even humans were terrified of Tektu. Neptarik refused to play along.

Tektu decided Mya was sufficiently contrite and turned her full attention to Neptarik.

Perhaps he might play along some.

"Done staring?" she asked him, mildly.

Neptarik took the hint, shrugged and averted his eyes a little. No more than enough to be respectful.

Tektu nodded. "Good. After the evening meal, meet me on the walls beside the northeast tower, north side. If you are unsure where that is, your girlfriend will tell you."

With a final sneer, Tektu turned on her heel and walked away.

Mya looked at her companion with a mixture of pity and fear. "Hope you are strong enough for this," she said. "Most sent to work for Tektu, or summoned by her, leave the Mametain's service soon after."

Neptarik forced a smile, angered at how much force he needed. How could Tektu intimidate him so? _Armies_ had failed to do that.

"I am strong enough," he assured her. He hoped he told the truth. "I might find out what Tektu is. Nobody else wants to tell me."

Mya threw her hands in the air and waggled her earpoints. "You will not leave that alone."

Now Tektu had gone, Neptarik's smile came more easily and he shook his head. "I want to know, so I will not leave it alone."

Mya gave him an unreadable look. "For the likes of us, knowledge is dangerous."

"Knowledge is never dangerous," retorted Neptarik. He snorted and changed the subject. "This floor will not clean itself," he said, and indicated the bucket. "Children and farm must wait."

Mya laughed.

The male sylph smiled. "Hearing you laugh makes me feel better."

They mopped and dried and cleaned. Mya muttered that tomorrow she would be working in the kitchens, which would be uncomfortably hot and sweaty. At least she would be fed first and best.

"What about me?" asked Neptarik.

Mya looked at him and her eyes grew solemn. "Those who work with Tektu usually enjoy the following day free."

A smile slowly spread across Neptarik's features. "It gets better and better," he announced. "There is advantage in everything."

Mya stared in disbelief. "Wait until you've worked with her."

***

Tektu watched Neptarik and Mya discreetly, certain they could not see her.

Those two were definitely getting too close and their budding romance might threaten their work. She had not lied when threatening them with separate stud farms; she would arrange exactly that. Though the Mametain had a soft spot for sylphs, Tektu envied them any enjoyment.

Worse, Neptarik persistently asked the wrong questions. She must be careful not to reveal any answers. She had lost owners before whenever someone revealed her true identity, and acquiring a new owner could be painful.

Whoever managed to kill Nijen would become her new owner and quickly discover that he or she – Tektu had had female as well as male owners – would then be the center of all that negative attention. If her owner died naturally, she passed to that owner's nearest relative. She had served Nijen's ancestors for five generations and served them well. To save herself from pain, she must keep her secrets close and exercise discretion.

As owners went, Nijen was fair and even-handed. She'd had worse. Now, she must take more care than ever before.

She glanced again at the two sylphs. They worked hard now; perhaps these two were too useful to lose to stud farms. A slow smile spread across her face. If she separated them and gave them chores at opposite ends of the castle...

Her smile broadened. Now _that_ could be a suitable punishment. Having seen enough, she turned and hurried back to the Mametain's quarters.

***

Neptarik grew less and less confident about that evening's work as the afternoon wore on. He tried to hide his growing unease from Mya, but sylphs usually struggled to hide their emotions. She could sense his apprehension and he knew it.

"Why," he suddenly asked, after they finished a particularly long corridor, "do so many sylphs leave after working with Tektu?"

Mya glanced at him. "They never say," she replied. "Some of us have got enough sense to never come to her attention. We know working with her is not worth the day off." Concern shone in her eyes. "Most of us say only fools consider that a fair bargain."

"Thanks for that," muttered Neptarik.

"One girl ran screaming from the Mametain's rooms and had to be restrained in the cells until they could let her go the next day. Others go sullen and ask to be released from their collars." Mya shuddered. "I do not know which is worse; working with her, or asking to be free from the collar."

Neptarik's earpoints twitched and sagged, then recovered. If nothing else, he could finally progress the task that had brought him to Castle Beren in the first place. "She cannot be all bad," he muttered, a touch defensively. "Siaba likes her."

"Well," said Mya, brightly, "you keep asking what Tektu is. Perhaps you will find an answer tonight."

The male sylph grinned. "Now there is a thought."

Mya grew serious again and stepped closer. "Be very careful," she whispered.

Neptarik patted one of her hands and gave her his most reassuring smile, though his earpoints failed to match it. "I intend to be," he promised.

***

Later, from above the sylphs' dining room, Mya watched Neptarik slowly saunter along the wall to the northeast tower. He walked with an assurance bordering on arrogance, and she wondered why it seemed so familiar.

The answer came after a moment. He walked like a soldier.

The days had drawn out enough for her to watch and she hoped she stood far enough back to be out of sight. The arrowslit gave good cover, but sharp sylph eyes might be able to penetrate it.

Neptarik never glanced back and Mya admired his apparent nonchalance. Most sylphs – herself included – dreaded a summons from Tektu. Better him than her.

Yet she still felt concern.

Standing up for the stableboy had brought Neptarik to Tektu's attention; she hoped he would not end up like most of the others. A small, forlorn hope. She trusted he had the strength to last one night, at least.

Her breath caught as Neptarik reached the northeast tower.

A shape detached from the tower's shadow. Tektu. The smaller, yet more powerful sylph greeted Neptarik and ushered him inside.

Before entering it herself, Tektu glanced up at the sylphs' tower.

Suddenly terrified, Mya dropped her eyes, afraid that even here she was in danger from the Mametain's personal sylph. When she looked up again, she and Neptarik had gone. Surely Tektu had not seen her? She _couldn't_ have!

Mya wondered why she felt so bad now Neptarik had disappeared with Tektu. Was she falling for him? She could do without the entanglement, especially as she still hoped for rescue.

She still prevaricated over staying in the Mametain's service or not. Perhaps release might be easier. Could she make her own way to Trenvera? Or had Mikel sent someone to return her there?

But she suspected she was on her own.

She looked at the northeast tower again and thought of Neptarik. She had seen his reactions; he returned her interest.

Would he be happy returning to a traveler's life? For all Mya knew, it was incredibly hard, and sonething she could not compare with any of her own experiences. Perhaps she should stay.

After all, there were worse owners than the Mametain. At least he seemed to have a soft spot, if not a genuine liking, for sylphs. If not for Tektu, Castle Beren would be a paradise for sylphs. They were certainly well cared for.

Mya winced. She should not think about Tektu. Thoughts were dangerous when they touched on her. She seemed to know everything a sylph was thinking, especially when she looked directly at one.

Mya had been like Neptarik when she first came here and publicly wondered what Tektu was. She had since learned such questions were best locked in the depths of her mind and never allowed to touch her lips. Perhaps Neptarik would learn tonight.

Mya hoped he would be all right as she turned away from the arrowslit. She made for the sulking room and her daily prayers for her dead owner.

***

Neptarik followed Tektu up the spiral stair, higher than Mya had taken him on his tour. Tektu moved quickly and never looked to see if he was still with her. Perhaps she had no need to check.

They reached a wide corridor, brilliantly lit by light crystals. A huge tapestry filled one wall. Small tables in front of it to either side obscured a portion. A hunting scene, with humans on horseback and a couple of sylphs stood to one side. Large enough to be life size and Neptarik marveled at the realistic depictions. Sylphs and humans looked real. The tapestry must have taken a long time to complete.

"Done staring?" Tektu glowered.

Neptarik nodded. He saw a couple of soldiers with the red flashes, but much to his relief, neither was his friend from the stable. There were doors on both sides as they walked along the corridor, probably leading to sleeping chambers and the like. Tektu led him to the door facing them at the end of the corridor.

"This," she informed him, "is the Mametain's study."

Neptarik nodded.

"We clean in here tonight."

Neptarik wondered why they were still standing outside.

Tektu continued. "What you lift up, you put back exactly where you found it. Be very careful, things in here might harm you. Understand?"

Neptarik nodded again. Some things in there might harm him? What sort of place was this?

Tektu tapped gently on the door and, when no answer came, pushed it open. Neptarik assumed the study must be empty, and so it was.

A fire had been laid in the huge fireplace, but remained unlit. It would provide plenty of heat on cold winter nights. Two leather chairs with high backs faced the fire, with small tables beside each one. A huge desk filled the center of the room. It sat on a rug of reds and oranges mixed together in some peculiar pattern. Papers and what looked like maps were piled high on the desk.

Neptarik itched to inspect the maps but, as he was supposed to be illiterate, he kept still. There was a bottle of something he could not identify among the usual pens and inkwells.

Something about that small bottle brought a shiver.

Though the wooden floor looked like pine, dark oak paneling lined the walls to almost one-third of their height.

"You clean the floor while I polish the wood," said Tektu. Her eyes were intent and burned into him. As if she might be reading his mind.

_Tektu is a fool,_ he thought and concentrated on it as hard as he could.

The other sylph barely blinked, so he felt confident she could not read minds.

Tektu rummaged in a side cupboard. "Well? You going to stand there all night? It will take at least two hours to get finished and I am not doing it all myself." She passed a small brush and pan for the dust. Neptarik's eyes narrowed at the brush.

"Nothing bigger in there?" he asked.

Tektu sneered at him. "Get on your hands and knees to do it," she commanded. "And stop whinging."

Neptarik went to the floor with as much bad grace as he could muster.

"If your attitude doesn't improve," Tektu continued, in a conversational tone, "I might send you to Egran. He enjoys inflicting pain, especially on sylphs. I once saw him take a sylph and..."

Neptarik let it wash over him. Tektu's descriptions were graphic and horrifying – and likely invented for his benefit – but he had seen so much gore on battlefields that mere verbal descriptions could no longer make him feel ill. But nausea washed over him at the look in the other sylph's eyes. She was enjoying herself.

"I just had to recruit him after that," Tektu finished, with a gleam in her eye. "If you are sick on that carpet, there will be trouble."

Neptarik resisted an urge to snarl at her and began to brush furiously, raising small clouds of dust.

"Slow up," prompted Tektu. "If that dust gets in the polish, it makes the work harder."

Irritation flared. "You wanted me to stop whinging," he said. "You have done nothing but since." His eyes sparkled with anger.

Tektu went very still and silent. Her gaze locked with his for what seemed a very long time.

_Now you have done it, idiot!_ he scolded himself.

Still on hands and knees, Neptarik was transfixed, but he refused to look away or release the fear that threatened to surface. He would not be intimidated by this... thing.

"The moment I saw you I knew you were no ordinary sylph." Tektu spoke quietly, her tone considering. "Impressive. Most of your race cower and whimper when I look at them."

"You are not ordinary either." Neptarik had pushed his luck once and now he pushed it a little further. "What are you?"

Tektu's expression did not change. A small muscle tensed in her jaw, the only sign of hidden emotion. "Get on with cleaning the floor," she said.

Compliance gave Neptarik the only honorable way to break eye contact with the other sylph, though he hoped he did not look too eager to obey.

He began to understand why so many sylphs were reluctant to work with the strange creature with him in the study. A sense of wrongness rolled off Tektu that would leave no sylph unaffected. Not the same as sensing sorcery or the Gift, but similar.

Neptarik did not frighten easily, but he certainly felt something like it now. He had long since given up fearing the unknown; there were plenty of known things to fear without adding unknowns to the list. But Tektu was different. Neptarik felt no shame admitting to himself that she was someone to fear.

He finished cleaning the floor before Tektu had done the walls, and he sat on his haunches to watch the other sylph polish the paneling.

"Don't just loll around," snapped Tektu. "Start on this and meet me in the middle."

Neptarik accepted some of the polish – soft red stuff that smelled odd – and used a cloth to rub it into the wood. Indeed, the panel looked better afterwards and he lost himself in concentration. Apply the polish and work it in with the cloth.

As they started on the last paneled wall, Neptarik risked quick glances at Tektu. She certainly looked normal enough, her earpoints upright in concentration and just tall enough to reach the full height of the panels.

But the feeling of something not quite right persisted. Tektu glowered at the panels as she polished them, as if resenting the chore, but she worked quickly and diligently.

Neptarik felt fatalistic.

"Why do so many leave after working with you?" he asked.

Tektu turned her head and fixed him with that gaze again. It hadn't worked earlier and it didn't work now. Neptarik refused to be intimidated.

"They fear what I might do," she replied. A quick grin followed. "With good reason."

Neptarik's attention returned to his work. She wasn't even ashamed of herself! Tektu might wear the same clothes as all other sylphs in Castle Beren, but the absence of a collar and a special breast badge were not the only differences.

"Unfortunately for me, my master has forbidden me from harming sylphs, except to save my life. That does leave a lot of wriggle room, but usually I must ask others to do my dirty work for me." Tektu smiled again. "Such as Egran."

Neptarik judged that the panel he polished now would be the last, as Tektu had already started the one beside him.

Thanks to the light crystals in the study, he had not noticed the darkness outside; at least, the deepset window in the study was dark.

"You have a lot of anger in you," he said. "Why?"

Tektu laughed aloud. "You are the first sylph to try and work me out. What are _you_? Redeeming angel? Conscience? Sent by Salamil?"

"Sent by who?" Neptarik had no idea why, but he did not like the sound of that name.

"Obviously not, or you would know Him." Tektu replaced the smile with her more familiar glower. "The Mametain will want his study soon. It is time to put this stuff away and move to the next task."

Neptarik blinked. "Next task? It grows late now."

Tektu's smile returned. "Did you think working with me was easy? Perhaps all those sylphs left because they were frightened of hard work."

***

Mya left the sulking room and sat on the wall beside the sylphs' tower. It was still too early for sleeping, and she had not wish to gossip with the other female sylphs in their large dormitory, so she stared towards the northeast tower. Darkness had come, but she waited for Neptarik.

She more than half feared he would return screaming, or a whimpering wreck, as other sylphs had before. Male, female or infertile, it made no difference. They all felt a certain... something... working with Tektu. Something unpleasant.

Like Neptarik, Mya had no idea exactly what Tektu was, nor why she looked like a sylph, but she was definitely not a sylph. Unlike Neptarik, she neither needed nor wanted to know more.

The Mametain genuinely liked sylphs, but she doubted if any order from him would stay Tektu's hand if she took it into her head to hurt one. She had never heard of Tektu harming a sylph, but she had no wish to learn the truth the hard way. She knew already that Tektu's reticence to harm sylphs did not extend to humans.

Tektu had been involved in the interrogation and death of her owner, Talnan. Mya would never forget that early spring day on the walls, when Tektu had begged permission to interrogate the spy again.

Definitely not a sylph.

Mya screwed her eyes shut. And thought of Neptarik who, in his own way, unsettled her as much as Tektu. He kept secrets too.

He _knew_ things. No matter what he claimed, "just a sylph" failed to describe him, too. Though at least he was _a_ sylph, a step better than Tektu.

She wished she could sort out her feelings. Part of her wanted to get much closer to Neptarik. Tektu's threats to send them to separate stud farms were probably hollow. She hoped.

Another part wanted to distance herself. Was she really falling in love, or merely trying to find a shred of security after her owner's death? She wished she could give herself an honest answer.

Mya's breath caught. What was that on the walls? She only relaxed when she recognized a trick of Neptarik's walk. She flew along the wall to the north tower to meet him. As they met, he grinned and his eyes glowed faintly in the dark.

"Well?" she demanded.

Neptarik's smile broadened. "The easiest free day I ever earned," he said. "Hope you enjoy your time in the kitchens tomorrow. I feel a nice lie-in coming up."

"What about _her_?"

"I did ask what she was," replied Neptarik, matter-of-factly, "but she would not tell me."

Mya almost fell over in surprise and her voice squeaked. "You _asked_ her?"

"Nobody else is giving me an answer, so it seemed a good idea."

"You are mad! Insane!"

Neptarik laughed. "What is the fuss about? Just a little pussycat. Almost eating out of my hands before we finished."

"I do not believe you." Mya stared at him. "Come on, the truth."

"Well, there is a sense of something wrong, but that is all. She likes to talk about some pretty disgusting things, but nothing to scare me."

Mya looked solemn.

"You might be terrified of her soon," she muttered.

"Change of subject." Neptarik snaked an arm around Mya's shoulders. "Let us find a place where we will not be disturbed."

Mya giggled.

***

From the top of the turret atop the northeast tower, Tektu watched them go. Though the words had been faint, she had heard the sylphs as if she stood with them. So her warning about separate stud farms had gone unheeded. Eating out of his hands? A little _pussycat_?

A snarl turned her lips. So Neptarik believed he was in for a free day tomorrow? Well, she would show him something that would have him whimpering in his sleep for months to come. Her lips twitched in anticipation. That one displayed far too much stroppiness. He must be brought into line.

Subconsciously, she rubbed at the itch on her hand.

Now she had reached a decision about Neptarik, a happy smile spread across her pixie features.

***

Nijen da Re Taura looked at the map spread across the table. He barely registered the smell of freshly polished wood that suggested Tektu had done exactly as asked, for once.

Dervra and Marshal Janost looked at the map with him. It showed much of the coastline between Re Taura and the mainland, as well as Marka and approximate positions of the Eldovan troops.

Dervra tapped the map. "Marka already assumes that you're headed for Trenvera and they've sent their army to counter you there. We have regrouped and are marching east to take Marka. When we have the city and assured our victory, we'll send soldiers to Trenvera and trap the enemy fighting you. Then, we will have what we want and you are free to negotiate more preferential trading terms. _And_ have a buffer state to protect Re Taura from absorption into any future Markan Empire that may rise on the continent."

Nijen looked at Dervra. "You do not want Marka for yourself?"

"No." Dervra's voice shook with laughter. "We wish only to destroy the city; it is against our interests for a resurgent Marka to reclaim lands it once ruled." He gave a thin smile. "In this our interests and yours coincide."

Nijen nodded. "Do you still want our ships to blockade Cadister and the other ports of the Trading Council?"

"Once you have landed your troops," said Dervra.

"Indeed, yes." Janost nodded. "Eldova is landlocked, so we cannot ourselves enforce a blockade."

Nijen nodded again. "Very well. It is sealed then."

Dervra was all smiles. "Excellent. Eldova will not forget your invaluable help and will ensure you are well rewarded. Re Taura will always hold a fond place in our hearts."

Nijen shook hands with both men. "If I knew where Tektu had disappeared to, we could celebrate with alovak. Are you sure you cannot stay for even one night? I am a poor host without giving alovak."

Dervra inclined his head and Janost shook his. "You must understand that this is a fleeting visit. It is right that you know we are moving now. The sooner you put to sea the better."

"As you wish."

Dervra smiled again. Nijen caught a quick glimpse of a tent interior and again looked into the startled eyes of a servant, before he was alone.

***

Back on the mainland, Dervra and Janost exchanged a quick look. There had never been any love lost between the two men, but Janost gave Dervra a more respectful look this time. Dervra glared at Sandev.

"Alovak," he snapped. "Now."

Sandev left the tent at a near run.

"Well, you juggle better than any taynor I ever saw," remarked Janost, once they were alone. "After alovak, I'd best rejoin my part of the army."

"Indeed, although it's a pity Nicolfer isn't here. She has her part to play in this, also." Dervra's smile broadened. "With luck, we'll have no need to send troops to relieve Nijen in Trenvera. With more luck, Re Taura will be the wedge between the two Vintner clans and take the brunt of the casualties. They are useful allies... and dupes."

Janost managed a smile. Best he remembered that Dervra liked to double-cross. The man thought himself clever; yet, for one of the Ten, he could be surprisingly stupid at times. Or perhaps he did not understand people. "The men grow restless. I suspect they are eager to avenge their defeat from last year."

Dervra nodded and gave a secret smile. "Good. Let us hope they perform better this time."

Outside the tent, alovak brewing in the can beside her, a horrified Sandev eavesdropped. How could she get a message out? Could she get one out at all?

Like almost everybody else, she had always discounted the islands off the east coast. Collectively powerful perhaps, but all highly individualistic and no threat whatsoever to Marka. Though sadly, the reverse was not always true.

What could she do?

***

Tektu had a restless night.

She turned and turned as the itch grew. It spread from her hand, up her arm, across her chest. It felt as if something wanted to burst out through the skin. Not painful – at least, not yet – but extremely uncomfortable.

"Not now," she grumbled. "Not now!"

The itch took no notice.

She must refresh herself. The body she inhabited needed renewal; if she ignored the urge, her body would rot around her. If that had not already started.

There was only one way to stop it. She needed a sylph. A strong, healthy sylph whose death would renew her life.

"No!" she almost screamed as a stronger spasm took her.

She kept turning in her cot, throwing her blankets this way and that, walking up and down her small chamber. She even kicked the chamberpot until it smashed.

Outside, night surrendered to the coming day.

Another, stronger, spasm shook her and she fell to her knees. She hugged herself as discomfort grew into pain.

As the birds sang outside, Siaba pushed open Tektu's door.

"Breakfast, mistress," she said, a smile splitting her face.

As Tektu looked up, Siaba pushed a fist into her mouth to muffle her scream.

"Make yourself useful," hissed Tektu. Even her voice had changed. "Find Neptarik and bring him here. Speak to nobody else. Now!"

" _Se bata_ ," squeaked Siaba, and fled.

Tektu doubled over in pain again. A pity about Neptarik. Perhaps she grew soft as she aged; what she must do always wasted a healthy sylph, but one already dying would not suffice.

It always came down to a question of survival. And her prime directive was... to survive.

***
Chapter 18

**Tektu's Evil**

Neptarik intended to make the most of his free day. He slipped from the dormitory before dawn, ensuring he disturbed nobody. He dressed in the corridor and went to the kitchens to scrounge an early breakfast. Thankfully, someone always manned the kitchens.

"Up early," remarked one of the human scullions.

"Day off," replied the sylph, pitching porridge into his mouth. Finishing, he grinned at the scullion and patted his stomach. He pushed the bowl away.

"You can wash that yourself," said the scullion, tapping his own unadorned neck.

Neptarik gave the lad a good-natured grin, scrubbed the bowl and wooden spoon in the large earthenware sink and left the kitchen. He wandered to the gate and stared at the clouds scudding past, their undersides stained pink and orange by the rising sun.

"Early bird," remarked Brinyard, leaning on his halberd. "Hardly light yet."

"Free day, Neptarik?" asked Sergeant Jillar, leaving the guardhouse.

The sylph nodded.

"If you're headed for Taura, there's at least an hour to wait," said Jillar. "The first cart won't leave before then. Why not take a walk around the walls? The watch is about to change and you don't want to be here, or the Officer of the Day will give you something to do."

The sylph agreed that getting work on his day off amounted to a catastrophe and he glanced at the banners standing proudly in the fresh breeze. "All right."

He swept through the barracks on his way to the walls, in case any card schools were active, but the men who were up readied themselves for their watch. Those off duty until the afternoon were more interested in sleep. Either way, they were not in the most welcoming of moods. And when those already on watch were relieved, they would only want to sleep after their long night.

He stepped onto the walls and shielded his eyes from the strong sunshine for a moment. When his pupils had narrowed almost to vertical slits, he looked about with more interest. With the sun now up, the pink tinge to the clouds had gone, but they moved with no less speed than earlier.

With less to impede it, the fresh breeze curled strongly over the walls and ruffled his lengthening hair. The banners on the turret tops stood proudly, flat as wooden boards.

One banner was the Royal Flag, red-white-red stripes, with a red crown in the center of the white stripe. The other banners were white, with the Royal Flag on one corner and crossed swords in the fly. The Mametain's personal flag – a brown fox on a yellow field – flew from the northeast tower. The gate towers flew the regimental flags of the soldiers guarding the castle: blue and gold checks with a barred letter in black in one corner.

Out of the wind, the sun warmed the air and already felt strong, though it only just stood above the horizon.

Siaba might be going into the city on the first cart, as she often went into Taura on errands. Why would he be thinking of her? He saw little of her in the castle, except when running some errand or other. Rarely hurrying and never at menial chores.

Clearly not in the lowest rank of sylphs, unlike Neptarik, who stood with the lowest of the low. The red crown sewn onto the breast of his tunic could not be newer.

He must remember why he had infiltrated Castle Beren.

How could he reach the Mametain's study undetected? He needed a closer look at those intriguing maps and the notes with them. And time to copy them. There must be a way to smuggle copies out of the castle.

With luck he might meet his owner today, his first free day since entering Castle Beren. His conscience nagged for giving Balnus no thought for a few days, but someone else had dominated his thoughts.

Mya.

Stupid he knew, but he had gotten emotionally involved and had no intention of stopping. These things sometimes happened and he knew he wanted Mya's company more than he wanted to steal the information Marka so desperately needed.

Mya could not hide her interest, so might she leave the Mametain's service when he did? Leaving might mean goodbye to Mya.

Would she carry tales if she learned why he was here? He dared not confide in her, in case her loyalty lay with the Mametain.

He detected her sorrow, a bone-deep melancholy that only lifted in his company. She liked him, but for all she knew Nijen offered greater security.

A complication he did not need.

When he asked to leave the Mametain's service, it would only be after a successful mission. The Mametain would probably know that someone had been into his study uninvited, so he might be careful about letting anybody go until they caught the spy.

Captured spies had an unfortunate habit of dying here and Neptarik had no wish to be next. Nobody could learn he was a spy.

"You be careful up here."

The sylph jumped as a patrolling guard touched his shoulder.

"Blustery wind," continued the guard. "It's nearly had me off the walls twice this morning. You'd better be very careful."

"Thank you, _donenya_." Neptarik bobbed his head.

Strong winds lifted sylphs all too easily and a fall into the courtyard, or even onto one of the roofs, would at least bruise him and end his hope for an enjoyable day off.

Neptarik shuddered. He might get worse than bruising, as he was high enough for a fall to break something. Broken bones splintered and, if a sylph broke something like an arm or leg, the shock and internal bleeding was usually fatal.

Sheltering behind the parapet, he stared at the sea. Deep breaths of refreshing sea air were partly driven into his lungs by the wind. Waves looked like deep wrinkles in the blue-green water and white foam crested almost all of them.

The moat brooded below, and cliffs that rose almost vertically from the sea bordered a strip of land. Unclimbable cliffs, or as good as. Anybody desperate to escape could only die jumping from here. It would hurt enough just to the moat.

Something tugged at his memory, but he failed to catch it.

How could he measure the passing of an hour?

The wind strengthened enough to increase his discomfort; he must take care when he moved. And this was a sheltered spot!

He watched a sail in the distance and wondered if the ship headed for Re Taura. Or were there more islands to the east? Another port perhaps. He hoped the ship's sylph knew her way.

His thoughts turned to Cloudy and Kytra, ship sylphs he knew. Were they enjoying a good trading season? _Velvet Moon_ must be sailing and trading now, a new ship earning her keep with the older _Flying Cloud_.

The wind gusted again and he crouched lower in the lee of the parapet. He basked in the strengthening sunshine that warmed even the stone. Instead of the sea, he now looked across the castle and glimpsed Siaba crossing the inner bailey. She looked uncharacteristically urgent.

He ignored the infertile and stared across the harbor to the sprawling city of Taura, his intended destination.

City and harbor glistened in the sunshine. A forest of masts crammed the wharves and few of those ships had moved since Neptarik's arrival. Somewhere over there, either in the city or just outside it, his owner and Verdin worked. He hoped they had got further with their tasks than he had managed. But he had no idea exactly what they were up to and they could hardly keep in touch while he slaved in the castle.

What if they were grinding their teeth, wondering why he took so long to complete his part?

Hugging his knees, he basked in the sun and listened to the wind that sometimes curled over the top of the parapet to ruffle his hair. Perhaps being a sylph here wasn't so bad after all. He closed his eyes.

Life was rarely so good.

***

Siaba shuddered as she dashed from place to place, seeking Neptarik. Of all the sylphs in Castle Beren, only she had served the old Mametain and only she had adapted when the ruler changed. And the only one who could stomach working with Tektu. But now she was unsure.

Thanks to her literacy, Siaba had enjoyed privileges under old Mametain Steppan, and the new ruler still made use of her letters. But she served Tektu in ways no other sylph would. Even though the strange sylph hardly forced onerous tasks on her. Fetching Tektu her breakfast in the morning was hardly difficult.

And now this. Her breath quickened and she forced away the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. How could Tektu have changed so much overnight and how could _Neptarik_ put it right?

And where _was_ Neptarik?

She went to the male dormitory first and, after shy taps produced no response, went in. The only sylph still in bed was not Neptarik.

No sign of him in the sylphs' dining hall.

"Had his breakfast ages ago," said a scullion. "Long before you turned up the first time. In a big hurry, he was."

Siaba left before the boy finished speaking. If Neptarik had hurried a meal, he must be going into the city. She dashed to the gates.

"Anyone seen Neptarik?" she demanded. "Has he gone?"

Fasal leaned nonchalantly on his halberd and looked down at her. "And who wants to know, little one?"

Siaba narrowed her eyes. "Tektu."

"First cart's not left yet," replied Fasal. "Not seen the lad you're after either. Though if he's walking in, he might have left before the night lads went to bed."

"He's still in Beren?"

"I expect so." The guard nodded. "Big job broke out?"

Siaba hardly heard him as she turned away.

She grew more frantic. She searched the sylphs' tower top to bottom, where she found Mya in the kitchens.

"Neptarik?" she asked.

"Not seen him all day," said Mya. "He said something about Taura."

Having run out of places Neptarik might be, Siaba returned to each one. The male dormitory was now deserted. Not in the dining hall. He hadn't returned to the gate. He wasn't in the stables. Not in a workshop. She stretched her neck and looked around the walls, seeing nothing. She considered going up, but the fresh breeze discouraged her and she hoped other sylphs would give the walls a miss.

Had she been a few incas taller, or looked at the walls from a different place, she would have seen him. But as Neptarik sat with his back to one of the parapets, her gaze swept past.

Defeated and frustrated, she returned to Tektu's chamber. She must be wondering what took so long. Reluctantly, she pushed the door open.

"Apologies, Tektu- _ya_ , but I cannot find Neptarik."

Tektu shuffled nearer.

Siaba flinched. Tektu's skin had aged and cracked, showing blue muscle and sinew beneath. Worse, the stench of putrefaction emanated from her. Why was she crying?

"Siaba." Tektu shook her head. "I am sorry. I wish there was another way."

Siaba did not even have time to scream.

***

The sound of the catapult releasing woke Neptarik from his doze. Blinking, he shook his head and looked at the shadows that now crept around the walls. He sat up in a small panic; had he missed the first cart?

He remembered what had woken him and shouts of confusion reached his ears as soldiers realized the catapult had prematurely released its load. He woke up properly and started as he looked into Tektu's eyes.

They were swollen and shot through with blue. He glanced away and thought she looked more... youthful. Her skin almost glowed with health and vitality.

"You been crying?" he asked.

Tektu glowered. "Just the wind."

For some reason, she looked disgusted to see him, almost as if she preferred to see him dead.

"I have been looking for you," she continued. "We have work."

"Thought it was my day off."

Tektu's pixie face tightened. "If that collar is getting heavy, you can have the rest of your life off. All you need do is ask."

Neptarik sensed there would be trouble if took her up on the offer.

Rising to his feet, he grumbled and rubbed his bottom, numbed from unaccustomed sitting. He followed Tektu to the room just inside the south tower. The infertile sylph pointed to a black bag.

"Carry that."

The bag clinked with tools as Neptarik hefted it.

"Through here."

Neptarik shivered; he found the atmosphere here distasteful. Tektu pointed up.

"Your friend Mya goes up there quite a lot," she told him. "Never found out why. It's called the sulking room." She bared her teeth to resemble a smile.

Neptarik must warn Mya later. The less Tektu knew of her comings and goings, the better. "We are going up?"

"Down. To the dungeons."

"Dungeons?" Neptarik blinked and concern flickered before he composed himself. Did she know?

"We have work here," she replied.

"What sort of work?" Neptarik's concern grew.

"Sometimes we find a traitor or spy. Part of my duties is to learn what they know. See who else might be involved in any conspiracy."

The brightness faded from Neptarik's day. Something horrible lay ahead and he wanted no part of it. Panic flared momentarily as he thought of Balnus and Verdin. Had either been captured?

"Problem?" asked Tektu, with another forced smile.

"I must ask to be released. Sylphs do not do things like this."

Tektu turned, face expressionless.

Neptarik suspected tears lurked somewhere beneath those calm features. He could not think why. Surely nothing to do with a captured spy?

"Please?" Father, but he hated having to plead!

Tektu's earpoints twitched. "You keep asking what I am. Today Neptarik, you get an answer."

***

Mya spent a happy day in the kitchens.

Sylphs always had plenty of hard work here and she helped at most of it. Her first task found her in the bakery where she watched an hourglass and opened the oven door when the sand finished trickling through. The night workers had prepared the dough and put the loaves into the oven, but it fell to the morning shift to over see it. Smells from the hot bread brought water to her mouth; any small pieces of crust that had broken away from the loaves were fair game and ended up in her stomach.

After the baking, she turned spits and tried to ignore what was being roasted over the flames. Infertiles performed this chore naked. Being shyer than those she worked alongside, and having a more developed sense of personal dignity, Mya did not strip off, but tried to keep as far away from the fires as she could.

Even so, she sweated. When finished, her tunic and breeches were covered in dust and grime. In many ways, kitchens were even dirtier than the stables, though the dirt was different.

The kitchens were hot, noisy and crowded, but very well organized. She blinked at Siaba, as she crossed the kitchens to her.

"Seen Neptarik?" asked the infertile. "Tektu wants him urgently."

Mya did not particularly like Siaba. She sucked up to Tektu and got privileges she had not earned. She had served the old Mametain, and yet adapted to new ownership. That smacked of disloyalty in Mya's opinion.

Even so, she sensed an undercurrent of fear she had never noticed before.

"Not seen him all day," she replied. She hoped he was enjoying his day off. "Said something about going into the city."

Siaba firmed her expression and turned away to leave.

"And thank you, too," muttered Mya.

"Break time," said one of the infertiles, pulling her tunic back on over her head. She grinned at Mya. "We have earned it."

Though not even midmorning, there was rather more food at break time than Mya usually received with her main meal. She smiled at the choca on her plate, a rare treat in Castle Beren. The choca-obsessed Neptarik would be jealous if he ever found out.

She had no intention of saving him any.

Two cooks began to squabble and Mya looked up. The argument began over nothing much – how little could trigger an argument between humans always surprised Mya – and the Master of the Kitchens appeared in moments to calm them down.

"The Master" was a friendly-faced lady of middle years who insisted on the honorific master. She needed to know everything that went on in her kitchens, know every task in detail. She had to be firm with sylphs and human slaves, diplomatic towards the free, and able to keep peace in a place with so many argumentative people. She kept everybody busy and organized.

Unlike the sylphs, most humans working in the kitchens – and definitely all the cooks – were free. The master kept her manner easy-going, just as well as most of the cooks turned into screaming harridans at the slightest excuse. The few human slaves, mostly former street children or debtors, worked here. They were collared in exactly the same way as sylphs, a peculiar custom Mya believed unique to Re Taura.

She finished her bread rolls quickly, ready to work again. Her turn to clean the huge cauldrons and pans. Dishes came back to the kitchens for washing all the time, but scullions got those. Slaves got the dirtier tasks, and even slaves had a hierarchy. With sylphs at the bottom.

Scraping out grease and fat was only a little less disgusting than some of the stuff they used to get the utensils gleaming again. And gleam they must, as everything must pass the Master's inspection.

Except when one or other of the cooks threw a strop, the kitchens were a happy place to work, if busy. Humans commanded and sylphs obeyed, everybody working together almost in harmony.

Sylphs came into the kitchens all the time, mostly for alovak, but sometimes to collect meals for their owners. Officers' sylphs were dressed according to their owner's whim and certainly differently from the castle sylphs. Many boasted rich dresses and jeweled collars.

They were properly deferential; clothes never made a sylph anything but a slave. But many looked at the castle sylphs with sad eyes and Mya did not know if they envied or pitied their lowly position. She did not know which, because castle sylphs did not mix socially with the officers' sylphs, who spent most of their waking lives a few steps from their lord and master.

As the morning drew to an end, the Mametain came into the kitchens.

The master hurried across and everybody immediately worked harder. Close enough to overhear their conversation, Mya eavesdropped.

"Anybody seen Siaba?" Nijen asked. "She's supposed to be copying for me and hasn't turned up."

"She's been down twice," replied the Master. "For Tektu's breakfast and then to speak to Mya."

Mya squeaked when Nijen looked at her.

"What did she want?" the Mametain asked.

"Neptarik. She said Tektu wanted to see him."

Nijen nodded thoughtfully, turned on his heel and left.

Everybody relaxed.

"Siaba is missing?" asked Mya.

"She'll turn up somewhere," replied the master. "Probably sulking over something unimportant."

Mya doubted if Siaba ever had cause to sulk.

Nijen came into the kitchens twice more during the afternoon, again looking for Siaba. Speculative chatter spread. Sylphs coming for food or alovak stopped to whisper the latest rumor concerning the only known literate sylph in Castle Beren.

"She has run away," said one.

"Why would she?" asked someone else. "Ask and release is granted. She can read and write, she can get work anywhere."

"She is hiding," suggested another.

"Found a good place," replied the kitchen doubter. "They have searched the castle three times."

"Perhaps she is in the city."

"And the guards did not notice? Someone will be in trouble if that is true."

Mya just listened. An exciting mystery, or at least different, but something felt wrong.

Kitchen chores always took the entire day and Mya felt relief when the necessary washing up after the evening meal came to an end. She had barely an hour of free time left before bed.

She must find Neptarik.

It always surprised Mya how difficult it could be to find someone in the castle. There were bigger fortresses back home in Trenvera, but people and sylphs could disappear for hours here if they wished. Siaba must know all the best hiding places. Nobody had seen her since that morning and repeated searches turned up nothing.

Now Neptarik had followed her example.

Mya tapped on the door to the male dormitory. Receiving no answer, she poked her head around the door, before the rest of her followed.

Nobody there.

The few beds – there were rarely many male sylphs in Castle Beren – were neatly made, spare clothes and kit boxes laid out precisely, as if for inspection. Most unlike the female dormitory which, though clean and tended, was far less exact. Typical males, she thought.

She made her way to the sylphs' dining hall, where a couple of sylphs played games. Pedden tied weights to his cloak and floated it down, timing its descent with weights and without. He squeaked when Mya spoke.

"Seen Neptarik?"

Pedden shook his head, wide-eyed. "He disappeared too?"

"Has he eaten?" she pressed.

Pedden shook his head again. "Maybe he went to the city?" he suggested. "If so, he should be back now."

Mya thanked him and left the dining hall. Engrossed in his experiment, Pedden had already forgotten her.

Mya left the sylphs' tower and crossed the courtyard to the main gate. One of the guards eyed her curiously. Her earpoints slanted determinedly forward as she stopped in front of him.

"Has Neptarik gone into the city?" she asked.

"Not another missing sylph," groaned the guard. "They're still asking after Siaba. Who wants to know?"

"Me. And I am only interested in Neptarik."

"So I've heard." The guard grinned. "Ah, well then, let me see." He rubbed his nose with a finger. "There have been five carts in and four out. There were sylphs on a couple, but none was Neptarik. Or Siaba. So, no."

Mya did not wait to hear the rest of it, but dashed away. Where _was_ he? He had not been to eat, he was not in bed and he had not left the castle.

Why did people desert her just as she got used to them? Where else might he be? Had Tektu given him extra chores?

Had he upset Tektu? The Father alone knew what might happen then.

She glanced skywards, where the setting sun turned the clouds gray, red and pink. Little time left before bed. And still her daily prayers to offer; she must get a move on. She would think things through in the sulking room.

She returned to the sylph tower, climbed onto the curtain wall and made her way into the south tower. She climbed the spiral stair that led to her hideaway. The sulking room was not empty, as expected.

"Neptarik!"

He had drawn his knees up under his chin and hugged them with his arms. His head sagged, earpoints tucked away, though he was not asleep. He shook his head from side to side, but kept silent. She came closer.

"Neptarik?"

He looked up, eyes barely focused. His earpoints managed a small twitch upwards, but quickly wilted back. At least they did not tuck away, a good sign that he wanted company. Or needed it.

She crouched before him and put a hand on one of his. Her earpoints slanted forward in concern. She said nothing; if he wanted to talk, he would.

Their silence stretched.

"I have seen many things a sylph should not," he said, eventually.

"We all have," said Mya.

Neptarik shook his head. "I know what weapons and battle do to people. I have seen wounds, pain and death. Things a sylph should not, ought not, see."

Anguish crossed his face.

"It is all right." Mya patted his hand, an attempt to soothe him.

He looked anything but soothed. "I understand why humans fight. For good or for evil. To get something they want or need. For women, food, better land. There is a _reason_. Perhaps often weak, but always a reason. Some justification."

"What has she done?"

He shook his head again. "A prisoner was here."

Mya's heart sank. Surely Tektu had not involved him?

"She made me watch." Neptarik sounded on the brink of tears. "I had to know what she was; asked you, Siaba, everybody." His voice rose and he looked at her again. A curious mix of anger and terror glittered in his eyes. "Nobody told me, so I asked her. She told me she would show me... I bloody well know what she is now!"

"Shush, shush."

Tektu had forced Neptarik to watch her do the things she had done to Talnan.

Neptarik screwed his eyes shut and a tear leaked free. "Mya, she _enjoyed_ herself! How can anyone stay with that... that _thing_ living here?"

Mya said nothing. This explained the large turnover of sylphs who worked with Tektu. Why they were allowed to go so easily? Why weren't they silenced? Perhaps they _were_ silenced somehow, especially if they had seen something.

Neptarik glanced up again. "She knows you come here."

"Tektu knows?"

He nodded.

Mya felt sudden terror. Her earpoints twitched wildly. "Does she know why?"

"She knows you want to be alone." Neptarik looked at his companion. "I will ask for release from service soon. Will you come with me?"

A smile blossomed on Mya's face and joy overcame momentary fear. "Yes," she replied. "We can ask tomorrow."

"There is a duty I must perform. When that is done, we will go."

The two sylphs hugged and their noses, foreheads and earpoints met. A bond, of sorts.

***

After enjoying her evening meal, Tektu returned to the dungeon. She picked at the small pieces of beef stuck between her teeth. Her sylph body could not digest red meat properly, so she would pay later for her indulgence. But the real Tektu missed proper food; she allowed herself some as a rare treat.

She reviewed her handiwork in the dungeon.

The traitor hung limp and blood streaked what was left of his body. Tektu freed some trapped beef and began to chew, unconcerned by what dangled before her. She wondered if she had gone too far this time.

Not with the traitor – she never worried when one of those died – but with Neptarik.

The boy had not been ill, he had that much to his credit. But he had certainly been sickened. His screams were almost as loud as the traitor's as he begged to be released from the duty. Tektu had refused.

The boy wanted to know what she was; he'd had the temerity to demand she told him. So she let him learn. He knew part of the answer now and if the knowledge troubled, he should have done as all other sylphs did – pretend that Tektu was nothing out of the ordinary. What now for him?

She had renewed herself, so he had escaped that fate. Her heart lurched as memories of her beloved Siaba intruded. It should have been Neptarik, but Siaba had failed to bring him, leaving Tektu with no choice. It should have been him.

He might ask to be released from service but, now Siaba was gone, she needed a replacement. Tektu dared not push too far. And Neptarik had something about him she rarely saw in sylphs.

Others would run screaming after witnessing Tektu's work, Siaba included. Neptarik had asked and begged to leave, but he had not run away. He had tried to hide his face and clearly in distress. But he stayed. It puzzled her that the sight of the dead traitor caused him no upset, but her work did.

So it was not her, but what she did that frightened the boy. That he had stayed in place showed he had courage, but did he have the moral fiber to continue in service? Might he prove a valuable replacement for Siaba, or would he tell the others what Tektu was really like, in a way no other sylph had dared do before?

If it came to that, she would arrange an accident, such as a suicidal leap from the walls. But she had done that already – had it only been that morning? – and she was not the only one who looked for patterns. She had overstepped herself, but she must survive.

Nijen da Re Taura entered the cell and she blinked. He had never come here before, preferring to wait for her report. The corpse earned one dispassionate glance.

"A word with you," he said.

"Steppan da Kanpura is still in the city," she said quickly.

She knew this was not what he wanted to have his word about. Had the tide betrayed her? Corpses were never easy to dispose of when thinking on the hoof and in need of secrecy in a castle stuffed full of people with eyes.

Nijen sighed. "We already knew that. I want to talk about –"

"He is gathering people and spreading rumors. Some true, many not."

Nijen nodded. "Tell me what ha –"

"He meets with a man from Marka." Tektu's eyes glittered.

"That is new – and important."

Tektu smiled. "Thought you might like it. And our new man from Marka has planted a spy here."

"We've taken nobody on since the last one." Nijen frowned. "Talnan was it?"

"Maybe a sleeper. Or more than one."

The Mametain's frown deepened. "Identified and eliminated those years ago."

"Only those working for Steppan. Many men are here who served him." Tektu's silver-gray eyes glittered and her earpoints twitched in anticipation.

Nijen shook his head. "You're getting paranoid. Those men serve for one reason; they want to feed themselves and their families. That is all they care about. Defending Re Taura is part of the price, but they do not really care _who_ they serve."

The sylph's eyes narrowed. "We should question them."

Nijen nodded. "I will arrange it, but a far... gentler questioner than you will conduct the interrogations."

No flicker of emotion crossed Tektu's face. She would get her chance at any unmasked traitors.

"As you wish, _henyi_. There is one more thing."

"There is." Nijen's voice was grim.

"About the traitors. I have another name."

"I will arrange someone to investigate that, too." Nijen managed a smile. "But there is something _I_ must discuss."

"Yes?"

"Siaba."

"Not seen her since breakfast."

" _Nobody_ has seen her since breakfast. You have been told _not_ to harm sylphs."

Tektu managed to look affronted. "I asked her to bring Neptarik to me which she never did." All true. Lucky that she could lie by omission and still obey her oath to him. She would never make promises to future owners again.

"The guard has just pulled what's left of her out of the sea. We identified her by her collar."

Tears glittered in Tektu's eyes. Genuine tears. "You must remember, _henyi_ , that I loved her too." This was also true. She should have taken that collar off somehow, but the rivets had held firm. Never enough time to get everything done.

Nijen gave her a long, level look and finally relented. "Very well," he said. "Give me the name and we'll have him brought here when arrested. You can question him when we've got him."

Tektu smiled. The danger had passed. He believed her; there would be no more awkward questions. In time, she would find a scapegoat for Siaba's death.

***

The spacious great cabin managed to look half-full.

Admiral Iklaus, Captain Naeppin and First Lieutenant Erran sat along one side of the table, opposite Lieutenant Captain Galbert of the Northern Foot Regiment, flanked by two junior officers. A regimental secretary sat at one end of the polished table and Degan sat at the other. Three members of the ship's company stood ready with alovak and wine, and one had left a jug of water in front of Degan.

The ship's sylph kept throwing glances out of the stern windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the open water in the harbor. She wanted to be out there and not stuck in here.

After introductions, the soldiers looked more relaxed about a sylph sharing the table with them. Degan was unsure whether to be pleased their attitude had changed, or still annoyed over their original opinion.

_They believed we were a servant,_ she silently told the ship.

_Not their fault, they don't understand,_ replied the ship.

"We still wait for orders," said Galbert, "but expect to receive them soon."

"Good." Iklaus smiled. "Degan is not the only one eager to be back at sea."

All eyes turned to the sylph, who fiddled with one of her wooden buttons and tried to keep her expression neutral.

"There will be sylph company for you when we embark," Galbert told her. "A new experience for you."

"Hardly," replied Degan. "I see other ship sylphs all the time. Might be a new one for them, though."

Among the soldiers, only Galbert appeared unfazed by the answer. Few Taurans were used to sylphs answering back.

"If your sylphs are frightened of open spaces," continued Degan, "there is no space like the open sea. There is a reason why so few make good ship sylphs."

Galbert shrugged. "They should be fine."

Degan smiled. These sylphs probably belonged to the officers; she would be astonished if any felt even remotely comfortable when they stared at an unbroken horizon.

Feeling that the conversation had slipped, Iklaus seized control of the meeting. "Despite onboard speculation, we still do not know our destination. Assuming we take the shortest distance to the continent, your men will be aboard for two days. And Siranva only knows what sort of reception we will get."

Galbert gave a quick grin. "We won't be welcomed with open arms," he replied. "We know a little more than you about the destination."

Iklaus gave an offhand gesture.

Degan leaned forward. "Care to share?"

The soldier's smile widened. "We have no ideas about when, but we will land in Trenvera. The Mametain means to annex the coast there."

Degan exchanged a look with Iklaus.

"So," said the admiral, "we are to be the wedge."

"Forerunners," corrected Galbert. "The Mametain wants to build an empire of our own."

Degan, who had no interest in invasions, let the words wash over her. "When do we sail? The ship has been stuck in harbor far too long."

Iklaus and Naeppin gave the sylph tolerant smiles, but the soldiers again looked shocked.

"We still don't know." Iklaus kept his tone gentle. "But I'm sure it will be soon."

***

Sweating, Neptarik turned on his bed. He tried not to whimper as he kicked the blankets aside.

Would he ever fully recover from the day's events? The interrogation had been bad enough, but the information the traitor had given Tektu terrified him. Names and places.

Tektu – and presumably now the Mametain – knew an agent from Marka was in the city. The traitor did not know the Markan's name – nor, apparently, that there were two – but he did know that a Markan spy had infiltrated Castle Beren.

Neptarik hoped that Tektu's efforts would concentrate on human spies, as the traitor knew few details. But it would not take her long to exhaust the possibilities. Then, she would either look for something else – such as a sylph – or dismiss the information given to her as useless.

He had won some trust from Tektu, so nobody would be surprised to see him in the Mametain's tower. To succeed at his task, he must go to the Mametain's study. Everything relevant to his mission was kept there. He had caught only a small glimpse and even that had been difficult with Tektu looking over his shoulder.

He must make his move. Soon.

***
Chapter 19

**Enemy Contact**

"Impressive. Just short of seven hours."

Hanmer wrapped a cloth around the hourglass to protect against accidental damage and tucked it away.

Tynrasa smiled and his earpoints slanted forwards in contentment.

Kelanus nodded. "Useful to send messages to Marka and get the reply back in so short a time. I trust your scouts maintained absolute secrecy?

Tynrasa's earpoints wilted at the hint of doubt. "We pass on only messages we are given. So yes."

Kelanus masked a smile. The lack of an honorific showed Tynrasa's annoyance at hearing the scouts' integrity questioned, even obliquely. "Good. And no sign of strain now scouts are being detailed to move further away?"

Tynrasa shook his head.

Kelanus had spread his net of scouts so he could react quickly to any eventuality. Even though he had brought so many, they now had to work harder. In about three hours he could have Treylfor and Indelgar on the move from Marka. In much less time, he could swing east to Trenvera and comply with his original orders. Though he doubted he would ever need to.

"Once again, the sylphs prove their worth as scouts. Excellent." Kelanus gave Tynrasa a warm smile. "Pass on my congratulations to all concerned."

Hanmer glanced over his shoulder. "They are still mouths we must feed, sir."

"When they split away from us Hanmer, they are mouths who will feed themselves," countered Kelanus. "Besides, they collect most of what they eat. Unlike your good self, of course." He laughed as the yeoman turned away, muttering.

Tynrasa also made to leave, but Kelanus stopped him. He glanced at Bascon, who moved a little further away.

"I understand romance is blossoming between two of the scouts," said Kelanus.

Tynrasa looked surprised. "It is between a male and female scout," he replied, defensively.

Kelanus gave a quick smile. "I understand that. What are you doing about it?"

Tynrasa's eyes widened a little more and his earpoints slanted forwards. "What _can_ I do? These things happen."

"Ensure they never patrol together. Whatever they get up to in their own time is between them, but they patrol apart. And _no_ pregnancies."

Tynrasa nodded. "You want me to send one of them towards Trenvera and keep the other here?"

Kelanus allowed a shocked expression to cross his face. "What do you think I am?" he demanded. "That would give me two useless scouts. I'm merely concerned about the safety of all if they patrol together and get distracted."

Tynrasa looked at the floor, but could not hide his smile. His earpoints twitched with barely suppressed amusement. "They already patrol apart, _donenya_ ," he assured the general.

Kelanus gave the senior scout a level look and finally relented. "All right; that will be all."

" _Se bata_." Tynrasa withdrew and Bascon came forward to take his place at Kelanus's stirrup again.

***

Loran plumped herself beside Janin in the large dining tent. Sitting, instead of the more natural squat, still felt strange. She ignored the rain pattering steadily on the tent roof and dripping to the ground.

Janin looked up from his bowl of beans and pulses to smile at her. "This is good," he said, waving his wooden spoon at the bowl.

Loran grinned. "Of course. All the sylph cooks are from the Free Tribe."

"Never tasted anything like it before," added Janin.

Tilipha, one of the collarless sylphs from the Free Tribe, looked up.

"It is the spices we add to the food," he explained. "Brings out the flavor."

Janin nodded. "I like it."

"Better than when you were a beggar?" asked Loran.

"Anything is better than then," replied Janin.

Loran and Tilipha exchanged a look.

"Thought the army might have split by now," continued Tilipha.

"Soon." Janin scowled. If commanding officers wanted to ignore their orders, that was their problem. "We do not question."

"We have no right to know when?" Tilipha's earpoints twitched. "Imagine the chaos if scouts are not told."

"Knowing and questioning are different," Janin pointed out.

"Questions are good," replied Tilipha. "As you would know, if you were fr –"

"I am what I am," interrupted Janin.

Loran watched him turn his head and wince at the rain dripping from the dining tent's flysheet. The paint all scouts wore was their only protection from the elements. She knew that the short scouting breeches would be soaked in minutes, to then cling unpleasantly to the skin until they dried out again.

"And I must go out there," he muttered.

Loran laughed. "Many of these soft city dwellers cannot cope with the weather." She licked her spoon clean and watched the other sylph with her clear silver-gray eyes. "Most already want to go home. But not you."

Janin shrugged. "I can endure," he replied. "Duty."

"Markan city boys complain," remarked Tilipha.

"It is only water," added Loran.

"Used to it," muttered Janin. "The Calcan boys are also city dwellers."

"They are fully trained; we are not." If Tilipha had any concerns about that, he gave no sign. "Perhaps not all are as trustworthy as they should be."

Janin twitched his earpoints. "The weaklings have been weeded out."

"They are unused to the privations of the countryside." Tilipha smiled.

"Of rain, anyway."

A smile flickered across Loran's face. "One of them has discovered what weeds can do. Charab made too intimate a contact with poison ivy."

Janin suppressed a giggle. Sylphs were taught to use a dockleaf or broadleaf plant for such "intimate contacts". Charab had mistaken the ivy for another. An easy mistake to make when you grow up in a city.

"It is easy to laugh," said Tilipha, restraining his own mirth, "but such mistakes should not be made by scouts."

"True." Janin turned his head to regard the dripping rainwater again. "But they need every scout they can get."

"They say it takes five years to train to the full standard," said Loran.

"We are tired of hearing that," said Janin.

"They have taken shortcuts with our training," added Tilipha. "Which means the standard is compromised, no matter how talented we are."

Janin shrugged.

"You know why they want so many scouts." Tilipha lowered his voice.

Janin shrugged. "Obedient sylphs are safe."

"Of course." Tilipha's earpoints lay back in his hair to show his uncertainty. "But if Kelanus- _ya_ is wrong, there will be trouble. Possibly also for Kestan- _ya_."

Janin almost laughed. He knew the cause of Tilipha's concern. Lance General Kestan also led the Free Tribe, the only human known to lead a tribe of free sylphs.

Janin suspected most of that tribe had come out here with Kestan.

Many camp followers were wild sylphs: cooks and laundresses and those skilled in the multitude of non-military tasks an army needed. There were domestic sylphs too, officers' servants and working sylphs. There were also human camp followers, but there were plenty of wild sylphs marching with the army. More accurately, marching with Kestan.

Janin knew that when the army split, no wild sylphs would stay with Kelanus. He did not even need to be told to know it.

Tilipha turned his head to look at Loran. "A pity you will not ask for manumission," he said.

The words were aimed at Janin, who shrugged. "I know what is best for me."

Tilipha sighed. "Pity."

"Why?"

Tilipha stood. "I must go."

Janin watched him go. "Why is he so concerned about me asking for manumission? He never plagues anyone else about it."

Loran smiled and put a hand on his arm. "He would rather gain a sylph than lose one."

The other sylph blinked.

"Because only one sylph here has had one of the Free Tribe fall in love with him."

Janin's eyes went wide and his earpoints went as upright as they could go.

Loran leaned forward and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I will ask your owner for an arrangement. If her scout likes me too."

Janin took her hand in both of his. "Ask for that arrangement," he said.

***

Lance General Kestan looked at his superior officer.

"You want to take this risk?" he asked. "Dangerous to go against orders."

Kelanus smiled. "Thank you for the concern. Your sylphs worry that I'm getting _you_ into trouble."

Kestan winced. He disapproved of people referring to the wild sylphs as being his, even if effectively true. "You still intend to split the army?"

"No change to my plan. The Eldovan scouts will report the first army they see and look no harder for a second."

"Certain?"

Kelanus smiled. "Very. The Eldovans very carefully foisted their decption on Zenepha and they now expect us to lurk near the Trenveran border. When they see you or me here, they'll not be looking for more."

Shyamon dripped rainwater as he carried the alovak can into the tent and set it down on the small table beside Kelanus. He padded through almost silently, and his earpoints twitched in curiosity. A trained scout from Calcan, he had been fully briefed on his new duties.

Kelanus turned to the sylph. "Pour, then make yourself scarce for the rest of the evening."

" _Se bata_." Shyamon wasted no time pouring and the officers waited patiently until the scout left.

"Right," began Kestan, "the split. How will we do it?"

Kelanus leaned forward eagerly. "Half and half," he replied. "If Janost and Hanan have learned anything about me, they'll expect me to send more soldiers after them and fewer to Trenvera."

Kestan smiled. "Let's hope they haven't learned too much about you." He sipped at his alovak.

"Three scouts between us should be enough to pass messages, so we can merge quickly when needed. But we must agree on basics. Whichever of us is not seen should split his force again and move onto the far flanks of the other. Then, once the Eldovans have committed to battle..."

Kestan sat and listened. He even made suggestions. Tactics very similar to those he would use himself. Kelanus outlined a plan very similar to the one he'd used to defeat Branad last year, with adaptations. No war machines, except for the rockets.

Kestan felt certain that the people about to get a nasty shock would all be Eldovan.

***

Tynrasa ran ahead of the other scouts. He sent pingers now and then, making sure he did not run too far ahead and lose contact with his army. That would be embarrassing.

As Shyamon had suggested, after listening to Kelanus's plans, the army had split. Kestan sent Tynrasa ahead to ensure no nasty surprises waited ahead.

Tynrasa did not approve of using the road for travel while in enemy territory. True, the army moved faster, but roads were more susceptible to ambush, especially when traveling through forest. Generals should know this basic stuff.

He did not use the road, for even a sylph would stand out there, especially one moving at his pace. He preferred the trees and undergrowth of the forest and, apart from an occasional startled bird, he disturbed nothing. Yesterday's rain still soaked the ground and he avoided splashes, which might give him away.

He partly concentrated on his running, watching for tree roots or other obstacles he might trip over, but most of his mind focused on the job. He stopped now and then, taking care not to blunder into any enemy scouts. He would see those before an army. But you never knew with foreigners.

Whenever he stopped, he crouched to listen for anything out of place.

Humans tended to thunder through undergrowth and their labored breathing could be heard from some distance. So far as he could tell, the forest to either side of the road held no nasty surprises.

He was alone.

He hoped it would always be so, but they would run into Eldovans sooner or later. There were so many wandering around, waiting to fall on Marka.

Other sylphs, sent out the previous fall to shadow the Eldovans, answered some of his pingers. These scouts were added to the army as they were found, some more reluctantly than others.

So before long, he would find Eldovans, make his reports and there would be a battle. People would die.

He paused, eyes and ears questing. He sniffed at the air.

Tynrasa dropped even lower into the undergrowth and remained perfectly still. His breathing and heartrate slowed almost to nothing. He became part of the woods and trusted his paint to keep him invisible to human eyes.

Tynrasa had to give the man respect, for his stealth and near silence as he moved. Drab clothes made him harder to see and he placed his feet with caref.

He moved almost like a sylph, looking every way before moving on. He sprinted between pauses, so he probably knew Markans were on the road, which he watched more than anything else. Not that he neglected the forest, but he never saw the sylph.

Tynrasa held his breath; only his earpoints moved. Once the man had passed, Tynrasa formulated a report before standing to whistle.

They had made contact.

***

"Message."

Tilipha added no honorific; no need as Lance General Kestan knew the sylph's words were intended for his ears.

"Go ahead."

"From Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon. Force of twenty hundreds men that includes ten hundreds horses. No war machines."

Kestan smiled. Two thousand, half cavalry. A snack.

Tilipha continued. "The Eldovans march along the road, but their scouts do not. Minimum of three scouts."

Kestan nodded. Sylphs were careful with their language: Tynrasa had seen three scouts, but suspected more.

"Thank you, Tilipha. Copy Kelanus."

The sylph nodded. " _E bata_ ," he replied, before whistling the message on.

Kestan smiled to himself. Tilipha's choice of _e_ instead of _se_ showed the wild sylphs still kept their pride, even if they had surrendered the greater part of their independence without realizing. He turned his mind to the task at hand.

***

Kelanus's fingers tapped against his pommel. The succinct message left him with just one question: should he leave a measly two thousand men to Kestan alone, or help him out? Bascon waited patiently.

He sensed an opportunity here and not just for whittling down the Eldovan army. Kelanus would split his men and move even further away.

"Message to Lance General Kestan."

Bascon moved forward and repeated Kelanus's words.

"Operate under own initiative. Honors all yours. Allow escape."

Bascon passed the message on.

Kelanus smiled to himself while waiting for the acknowledgment. Provided none of the Eldovan scouts found him, they would assume Kestan commanded all the Markans out here. And when survivors reached the rest of their comrades, they would ride ahead to meet an army suddenly twice the size they expected.

Or, if everything went to plan, it would be Candin Plain all over again.

By the time he finished with them, Kelanus intended that the Eldovans would never dare leave home again.

***

Lance General Kestan surveyed the field.

He had obeyed his orders and allowed many Eldovans to escape. That made sense anyway; men always fought harder when they saw no way out. And these men did not believe they would be taken prisoner.

Kestan had always fought in the belief that defeated men who surrendered should be looked after, Marcus Vintner's way. Kelanus remained ominously silent on the subject of prisoners but, as they had captured nobody, the subject did not matter for now.

All the dead, friend and foe alike, were buried in one large grave. The scouts sang their dirge for the dead before men shoveled the earth over the corpses.

He spotted his yeoman.

"What was the final tally, Gensan?" he asked.

The yeoman grimaced. "Thirty dead and sixteen wounded. No sylphs harmed."

Kestan nodded. Forty-six casualties. It could have been worse. No surprise that the sylphs were unhurt. Scouts mostly kept well out of the way during a battle, except for messengers, or those who listened for more warnings.

He bent his head to Tilipha. "Do the Eldovans realize Kelanus is here as well?"

The sylph shook his head. "They continue as before and the scouts have reported nothing. If they saw him, our scouts would have seen theirs. Perhaps they assume we are all there is to fight."

"What Kelanus planned for, but still a dangerous assumption."

Tilipha stiffened. "From Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon," he said. "More Eldovan scouts and he asks permission to push forward."

"Granted. Tell him no unnecessary risks."

Tilipha gave his chief a look suggesting that Tynrasa needed no warnings about risks, but he passed the message on.

"There will be more fighting?" asked the sylph.

Kestan smiled. "Not tonight."

He turned to look at the grave, as soldiers finished shoveling earth. He hoped soon there would be no more fighting and no more mass graves.

***

"They should issue choca." Janin sounded disgusted.

"Why?" Loran looked at him curiously.

Janin suspected a lot of the reason why the wild sylphs stayed with Kestan had something to do with choca. They had grown as addicted as any enslaved cousin.

"Because we won. Without us to keep an eye on things, Kestan- _ya_ might have lost. We played our part."

Loran stared. "You want to celebrate when people are dead?"

"No, to celebrate our victory. The humans get ale for winning; we should have choca."

Loran's eyes widened. "You civilized sylphs are hard to understand."

Janin grinned. "Good, it keeps wild sylphs on their toetips."

"You are not saddened by those you will never see again?"

"Of course." Janin looked affronted. "We sing to speed their passing. But we also celebrate with choca. Or should. We live today, but tomorrow we might die."

"Now you sound like a human." Loran sniffed in disdain.

"Change of heart?" asked Janin.

Loran gave him a long look before dropping onto her heels beside him. "No. But your ways are hard to learn."

"Sorry."

"All I want is to be with you." Loran shrugged. "Many of the others think I am strange."

"But not all?"

Loran shook her head.

Janin rested a hand atop hers. "It is not only civilized sylphs who are hard to understand," he said.

Loran laughed. As she whispered into his ear, Janin blushed a brighter blue with every word.

***

"Message."

Kestan nodded to Tilipha.

"Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon reports enemy scouts in fixed positions near the edge of the forest. He says they wait."

Kestan flung up a hand and, slowly, the army halted its forward march.

"Gensan!"

"Sir?" The yeoman hurried to his commander's side.

"Push a few scouts forward. Detail troops to run the Eldovan scouts down and kill or capture them."

"Yessir!"

Gensan was gone.

"Tilipha, copy Kelanus."

"Done," replied the sylph.

Kestan sensed Tilipha's question. "When scouts are in fixed positions, it means their army has halted. The men we let escape have told their boss and he's waiting for us."

"What will happen?" Tilipha looked like he now regretted leaving Marka.

"No idea. Let's hear what your brother scouts have to say." Kestan watched the morning mist drift through the trees and looked up to pale blue skies. They had not been moving for long.

"Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon says he has found eight scouts," said Tilipha, after a short pause.

"Suggesting a force of about six thousand, give or take a few hundred." Kestan smiled. "He might find more yet."

Tilipha looked even less happy. "Kelanus has acknowledged your report," he said.

Kestan nodded and turned to Lieutenant Yulman. "Get some defenses rigged up," he said. "Let's not get caught out, eh?"

"We will stop here, sir?" Yulman looked around incredulously. "Not the best place, if I may say so."

"We'll only be here until we receive orders from Kelanus and learn exactly how many are ahead of us." Kestan gave the junior officer a reassuring wink. "Just as the men finish readying themselves, we'll be away again."

Yulman grinned. "That's bound to go down well with them, sir." He trotted away, snapping orders.

Gensan had detailed his troops and a scout stood beside the commander of each detail. Kestan wandered down to speak with the men.

"We need to eliminate those scouts. Capture or kill, but let none escape."

The grim-faced men nodded.

"Be careful as we still don't know how many there are. The sylphs will lead and give you fresh information as they learn it." Kestan looked at his men. "Be swift, and return."

The soldiers nodded again and some even gave a verbal promise.

Kestan turned to the sylphs. "Keep your ears open. Things will change very quickly." At least Gensan had detailed experienced scouts.

" _Se bata_." Used to this sort of work, the sylphs grinned.

"Now go."

The soldiers mounted and brandished weapons in salute. They left with no further ceremony, the scouts disappearing from view first.

"What is it, Tilipha?" Kestan spoke without turning.

"Message from Kelanus. Halt army, report when you have further information."

Kestan smiled. "Acknowledge it," he said.

***

Tynrasa ignored the sighting whistles coming from his brother scouts somewhere behind. He moved carefully and only added to the cacophony of whistles when he saw more enemy scouts. Those scouts were not motionless, but circled around a point, which effectively fixed their position.

Tynrasa knew he would be the first to discover the army that occupied that theoretical point, just ahead of him. Probably beyond the trees; he already sensed the forest thinning out.

Kestan had sent men to kill the scouts Tynrasa had discovered, which would save lives later. Sylphs always found it hard to justify violence, but he preferred to think his reports saved lives, rather than caused deaths for which he was at least partly responsible. Even so, he didn't always sleep well.

He moved silently, taking care over every step. Sunlight streaked through the morning mist and a gentle breeze ruffled the treetops. He could be alone.

To believe that would be a dangerous delusion. He did not scout through some wooded idyll; there were two armies intent on slaughtering each other here. And the breeze meant the mist would not last.

He scorned the road. Even the enemy scouts ignored it, another sign these men were much better than other Eldovans he had seen. Had they learned lessons from last year, or were these just better trained?

The trees were suddenly behind him. He crouched on his heels and stared at the scrub, looking for cover and places for a sylph to hide. The enemy would not be much further away.

***

Kelanus briefed his junior officers as they rode in the brilliant sunshine. Bascon paid little attention while the general outlined his plans, as always keeping his men informed. Bascon's attention focused further away, listening for messages. Even so, a lot of the humans' conversation reached his long ears.

"Kestan will punch a hole through the center," Kelanus was saying, "and we will fall on them from the flanks. Do not let yourselves get bogged down. Hit and run all the time. Let them regroup, then hit 'em again from a different place. Keep them guessing."

"We do not even know how many there are," complained one captain.

"We will soon enough." Kelanus gestured towards Bascon. "The scouts will tell us."

Bascon pretended to be elsewhere as all attention briefly focused on him. Some of those looks held disbelief. Not everybody was sure sylph scouts were up to the task.

As always, the doubters would be proven wrong.

"We know the local population may have exaggerated Eldovan numbers," continued Kelanus. "That is natural when you are unarmed."

"And when they want a higher price for any food you want to buy," chortled another of the captains.

The others joined in the laughter.

Kelanus waited for silence. "I estimate perhaps fifteen thousand Eldovans in total."

That killed the merriment.

"Which is why we must think like Kestan did last year." Only Kelanus smiled now. "Different, cunning tactics are what will win us this battle."

"Is that all of them?"

"There is a group unaccounted for," replied Kelanus. "General Mirrin's mob. How many men are under his command remains unknown. Any number is guesswork."

"But unlikely to be insignificant."

"Correct. So remember, hit and run. Hit him where he least expects and run when he thinks we will fight."

Bascon's attention turned outwards again. He hoped this would not turn into a melee. He happened to be in the wrong place if it did.

He stiffened and his earpoints came bolt upright. A message, _the_ message, was finally coming through.

***

As always before a battle, a couple of things bothered Kestan. The scouts consistently reported that the men they had run down were a lot better than other Eldovans they had encountered. What lay ahead was not just the tattered remnant of Hingast's besiegers, but a fully reinforced army. Had the fresh soldiers come from Eldova throughout the winter or had they always been held in reserve?

And why had Hingast not deployed his full strength against Marka last year, assuming these men were available to him? A number of things lurked at the back of his mind, not least the fact that they were outnumbered. So long as they were not outmaneuvered.

He glanced at Tilipha. The wild sylph walked in silence and looked to be half-asleep. His earpoints were relaxed, so no messages had come yet.

After the siege, Kestan doubted if more than half a thousand Eldovans had fled north, yet now they had fought two thousand and that was clearly not the main force.

Where had they all come from?

"Probably from other armies already on their way to Marka when we defeated them," said Lieutenant Yulman.

Kestan started, unaware he had asked his question aloud.

"They are not General Mirrin's men," he replied.

Yulman nodded. "Mirrin, the man with reinforcements. After sending men forward, he probably got more from Eldova. After all, had Hingast won, he'd need a garrison for the city."

Kestan grimaced. "So many men under arms. What damage will that do to Eldova? Still rather a large force for a city garrison."

Yulman shrugged. "Who said Hingast would stop at Marka? He might keep going."

"Perhaps. Certainly makes more sense."

Kestan felt a chill. Given how Hingast had behaved towards other defeated cities and peoples, the large number of men might have been needed for something a lot more frightening than a garrison.

Yulman managed a small smile.

"They had all winter to call up soldiers from Eldova," continued Kestan. "he winter further west was not the harshest in memory."

Yulman nodded. "If I may say so, sir, it is a pity Kelanus was not allowed to go and hunt them down while they were still a rabble." He shrugged. "I suppose that's easy to say with hindsight."

Kestan nodded. "Wonderful thing, hindsight. But so too is foresight. We were warned the Eldovans weren't heading home. Too late to worry about what might have been now."

"Yes sir, we just have to deal with the problem."

"That's right."

Tilipha stiffened and his earpoints came bolt upright. When he looked at Kestan, his silver-gray eyes held fear.

"Message from Tynrasa- _y_ -Fallon," he said.

***

Tynrasa made the most of all available cover. He made for the skyline, where he expected more Eldovan scouts. They might even have seen him; he certainly moved enough for a blind man to know he was there. At least he had the sun behind him.

Clumps of bushes provided cover, but the open spaces between made hiding impossible. Despite what so many people believed, sylphs were not invisible.

He made dash after dash, waiting for a shout, or men riding down the slope to catch him, anything that might suggest he'd been seen.

Nothing.

Surely the Eldovans didn't rely just on the men in the forest? How could they pass messages? Or did they expect threats to come along the road? Tynrasa had stayed well away from that.

He sent a quick pinger and felt reassured when an answer returned almost immediately, if faintly. He sent a caution, which should keep the rest of the scouts in the forest. Bad enough risking himself.

He reached the skyline. Sure enough, there were lookouts, but not scouts. The Eldovans weren't looking for a lone sylph, but a large army. Which meant that, unless he did something stupid, he was safe for the moment.

Beyond, the rest of the Eldovans waited.

Tynrasa's eyes widened and his earpoints came upright in shock.

He dropped back into cover and formed his sighting report. He sent it quickly and prepared to dash back to cover.

He paused. Another report reached his ears; not from the scouts behind, but from somewhere further south. Another sighting, more information. Smiling now, he passed this on to Kestan as well.

Mixed news, but at least there was hope.

***
Chapter 20

**The Banner**

Belaika tried to give Haema a reassuring smile.

As commanded, the sylphs were sandwiched between Dekran and Yochan on the hilltop. They were in turn surrounded by the defensive square of pikemen and supply carts. Belaika knew enemy archers would send their arrows up here once in range, the reason why Dekran insisted the sylphs kept hidden between the horses.

Hidden or not, Belaika still had a job to do and his ears strained for whistles from the other scouts. He would hear little once the fighting began, but he could not change position now. Even if Lance Captain Dekran allowed it.

Belaika had enough experience to know they had no chance of victory. In the distance, he heard ranging whistles and pingers from the other scouts, hoping more Markans were nearby. But nothing reassuring came back and Belaika began to despair.

Assuming he survived the battle, he had no wish to fall into Nicolfer's hands again. Eldovans had a poor record for taking prisoners and there were no guarantees that being a sylph would save him from slaughter. He remembered three dead sylphs from last year's siege, shot down or run through simply because they were in the way.

The pikemen formed their traditional defensive square and behind them the light cavalry waited. One hundred men, against five hundred. And the Eldovans had archers. If the Markans had archers, they might have had a chance.

Haema crouched on the ground, earpoints wilted. When she looked up, Belaika saw terror lurking in her eyes. He understood, because battles terrified him too.

The idea that they should follow General Mirrin beyond the range of reinforcements now looked rash. But all good ideas were foolish if things went wrong. When Dekran led them so far west they lost contact with Marka, it had seemed the right thing to do. Nobody had expected Mirrin to stay out here so long.

They had not brought archers because nobody expected this to be anything more than a mission to seek and follow. The lack of archers troubled the scout more than being surrounded. The enemy could pick them off at leisure, and do so without suffering casualties.

Good for the Eldovans, bad for the Markans.

Fhionnen sent a report.

"Dekran- _ya_ , from Fhionnen," said Belaika.

"Yes?" Hope was palpable in the Lance Captain's voice.

"Mirrin continues east, towards Marka. No sign of him wheeling back to support this detachment."

"Thank you."

Belaika looked up. No hint of anything wrong. Dekran looked calm.

Another whistle came from Kadhen, far behind.

"Dekran- _ya_ , from Kadhen," continued Belaika.

"Go on."

"The new arrivals have moved forward into the forest, but have left their camp followers behind. All those who have moved forward are armed, except for one female."

"Thank you, Belaika." Dekran managed a smile that even looked genuine. "Are they with the Eldovans, or a separate mob altogether?"

"They do not move to support the Eldovans," said Belaika. He almost added a "yet" to that, but Kadhen would have said if he suspected the newcomers were hostile. Assuming he had the experience to work it out.

Perhaps all armies should be assumed to be hostile out here.

He looked down as Haema touched his leg.

"Is it all right?" she whispered.

Belaika smiled and nodded. He said nothing, in case she heard the lie.

Haema gave a weak smile in return, but her earpoints were still tucked away. She looked as Belaika felt and he was more accustomed to battles.

"Don't let Nicolfer take us back," she begged.

Infantry and cavalry waited. Below the small tor, Belaika watched the Eldovans form up.

Soon the dying would begin.

He felt his own earpoints wilt.

At the bottom of the tor, groups of Eldovan archers moved forward and unslung their bows. Eldovan horsemen accompanied each group of archers and all halted together.

Dekran looked around to work out where best to send his lancers and what their chances of survival might be.

Belaika knew that the lancers would attempt a breakout. That was better than waiting for the archers' slaughter to begin. One enemy horseman continued forward until he was almost within sling range. He must expect something like slings, or he might have come closer still.

"Captain, general, or whoever commands you," he called. As he had come from the windward side, his voice carried. "I am Captain Jediyah. Surrender and you will be spared. Prisoners, but alive. You have no choice. You are without archers and you are surrounded."

Yochan spat. "Taken prisoner. Remember what happened to the Jarlyens at Voyel Marr. Every manjack who gave himself up was slaughtered after watching those who fought on die."

"I have no intention of surrendering, Banner Sergeant Yochan." Dekran's voice was quiet and determined.

"Course not, sir."

Dekran turned to Belaika. "Make sure the other scouts carry on sending pingers and ranging whistles, just in case. Quickly before you cannot hear."

" _Se bata_."

"What about the mysterious three hundred riders?"

Belaika's silver-gray eyes locked with Dekran's dark blue. The Lance Captain looked outwardly calm, but the sylph knew the man must be in turmoil within. He saw death in the human's eyes.

He whistled Dekran's commands and waited for the answer.

"The newcomers have not moved, Dekran- _ya_. They stay in the forest."

"Thank you."

Belaika looked around again and received a reassuring wink from Yochan.

Dekran continued to give orders.

"Villim, take half the lancers and attack the weakest batch of archers. Detail Lance Sergeant Toman to attack the strongest batch with the other half. Break off engagement, regroup, then attack the others. Hit and run, Villim, hit and run."

Sergeant Villim nodded and wheeled his horse, barking orders. Toman joined him and the lancers split into two groups.

Among the pikemen, shields went up to protect against plunging arrows when the shooting started.

Captain Jediyah shouted to them. "Your time is running out. Listen to reason, Captain. Surrender and live!"

Belaika shook his head. This man did not understand his enemy.

"Anybody got a rock we can throw at that cockgob?" asked Yochan, conversationally.

Riders and pikemen within earshot burst into laughter. Men who had not heard the insult joined in, because laughing was better than crying. It helped them forget what they faced, no matter how temporarily. Everybody knew what would come; that they were unlikely to see the sun set.

Belaika wanted to offer his sylph companion comfort, but he had nothing to say. Haema curled up into a ball and screwed her eyes shut. She waited for the inevitable, but did not want to see it coming for her.

He looked at Dekran. "No change from the newcomers, _donenya_."

"Thank you, Scout Belaika."

Captain Jediyah had clearly given up on talking them into surrender, for he rode leisurely back to his archers and drew his sword.

"Stand ready!" cautioned Yochan, unnecessarily.

A deadly flight of arrows momentarily turned the sky black. Most bounced harmlessly off the shields, or buried themselves in the ground. But not all missed.

There was a short silence.

Worse than the screams from the wounded was silence from those now lying still. Belaika's nose twitched and some of the horses whickered uneasily as the coppery stench of fresh blood filled the air. The smell that drove some men insane with a lust for more. Yochan cursed as a second flight of arrows filled the air. Thankfully, those on the tor were still out of range. For now.

Sergeants Villim and Toman had worked out where the strongest and weakest groups of archers were. The two groups of mounted lancers leapt from behind the pikemen and carts. They galloped downhill to try and cut down as many Eldovans as possible.

Eldovan lancers rode forward to defend their archers. Belaika sensed they had not expected an attack.

In moments that seemed like hours, the lancers broke away to reform. They wheeled aside and attacked the next two groups of enemy archers.

The pikemen took more casualties now, yet still no gaps showed. Soon, the only way to fill gaps would be to retreat uphill.

Belaika flinched. He should be out there in the field and not stuck here in the square. But a sylph scout had always been with the commander, to pass on incoming messages and communicate orders. But today, this was not a happy place to be.

The other scouts were helpless to intervene. They would watch for new threats and surprise moves from the enemy. They would see that Dekran and his men were pressed hard. Even the slowest would recognize victory was unlikely and that Belaika would be unable to hear any whistles. Therefore, they could get no messengers through to Dekran.

Belaika hoped they had their eyes open for potential escape routes. He doubted if there would be reinforcements.

The enemy archers advanced the same distance the pikemen had retreated. Only a matter of time before the hilltop came into range. The safe zone shrank rapidly.

Dekran continued to snap orders, rallying his men and urging Villim and Toman to greater effort.

Belaika did not look at Haema again, fearing he might see accusation in her eyes. If she had split from him last night, she would be safe now. Probably.

They were all going to die here.

Villim and Toman rallied their lancers yet again. There were fewer now, but they had considerably reduced the archers' numbers.

Eldovan lancers reached them and light cavalry fought light cavalry. Now free from interference, the archers returned their full attention to the defensive square, sending in barrage after barrage of arrows.

Markan pikemen fell back and Eldovan archers advanced. Their arrows reached nearer the tor top.

Still curled up, Haema quivered.

Belaika kept his ears open and looked downhill. He flinched as the arrows came ever closer, presumably aimed at Dekran and Yochan, although it was impossible to tell with Eldovans.

The archers should be out of arrows soon, if not for that steady retreat by the Markan pikes. Even as the sylph watched, the surviving archers pulled arrows free from the ground, ready for use again. More men pulled arrows free from corpses, but most of those were useless, damaged by armor or bone.

Soon, Eldovan pikemen and cavalry would enter the fray and try to storm their position. Belaika wanted to cry when he saw how many bodies there were. The wounded added their cries to the racket.

Like most sylphs, he was wary of horses as they had hooves and teeth, as well as being rather large, but he found their screams heart-rending. No animal deserved such levels of pain, no matter how intimidating that creature might be to a sylph.

Now he knew the end must be close, he thought of Eleka. She would have had her child now – he had missed the birthing! – and he hoped the newborn was a son.

A boy to carry on his line.

He looked outwards again and fought tears. Death waited for him here and he must face his fate bravely.

That was the soldier's way: take what comes with as good a grace as you can muster. Grumbles were one thing, cowardice another. No coward, Belaika steeled himself.

Dekran's horse went down with a shrill scream that cut short. The archers had found the range at last. Now nowhere was safe from their arrows.

The Lance Captain pulled himself upright and paced around the tor top, still trying to direct a battle that had long since slipped from his control. The enemy commanded the situation now.

Bitter experience had taught most other armies that the Eldovans rarely allowed surrender from their enemies. Annihilation was usually their aim.

But despite everything, Dekran had not given up.

Again, the remnants of the lancers formed up and again, they charged. Eldovan cavalry now fought Markan pikemen at the hastily assembled defenses. The archers were still there, but for some reason held their fire.

Belaika looked at Haema.

Crouched beside Dekran's dead horse, she had stopped quaking. Perhaps she had finally come to terms with her inevitable fate.

Would the Eldovans kill her as well, or return her to Nicolfer? What might happen then?

Forgiveness for her escape? Or something a little more entertaining? His face twisted with concern and his earpoints sagged.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. She even managed a small smile.

Belaika looked around again. There could not be much time left now.

He gave Haema a sad smile and glanced away. "They say the pain does not last long," he said. He hoped his earpoints didn't betray the lie. Death was sometimes mercifully quick, but could often take hours.

Haema nodded, acceptance in her eyes. "At least I am with you," she whispered.

***

Captain Jediyah looked around the field of battle. Everything was going as planned. Which meant very well indeed.

He had taken more casualties than expected – the Markans were far too professional to simply roll over and surrender – and he knew that if the enemy had archers, he would have a much bloodier nose.

He glanced at the hill. There his cavalry and archers made increasing headway against the Markans. His eyes narrowed as he looked across to the infantry and reserve archers, where the Markan lancers had carved their bloody mark.

He looked back up at the tor. A pity that whoever commanded up there was not on his side. The courage and... well, the _balls_ to send out an attack when outnumbered and outmaneuvered commanded respect. If the man lived, Jediyah had decided to spare his life – and of all the other survivors – and hang standing orders.

Screams filled the air, they always did. Jediyah could never tell which were worse: human or horse screams. Later, with the battle over, those who could not walk would be abandoned or killed. If dying anyway, the final swordstroke was a mercy. That was the way of it. If steel took you, best to die outright than be badly wounded. Minor wounds did not matter. The rule to abandon the non-walking wounded prevented malingerers from shirking. At the very least, it ensured no repeat performance.

His signalman staggered to him. He staggered not because of a wound, but from fatigue; the man did a lot of running about during a battle.

"What is it, Dajan?" Jediyah knew the man's news would be important.

"Our messenger to the strangers has returned, sir."

"And?" The moment Jediyah became aware of another army approaching the battle, he had sent a messenger to discover this new force's intentions.

"They refused to speak with him, sir."

Jediyah nodded. He had feared as much. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst. The most important thing he had learned in almost twenty years of soldiering. "Assume it to be hostile."

"Very good, sir."

Jediyah had hoped they might be reinforcements from Eldova, but these riders did not wear Eldovan armor, neither did they fly the Eldovan banner. Three hundred riders, together with carts and what might be their families, probably passing through. To where was none of his concern.

Perhaps they followed another claimant.

"Have they made any move towards us?" he asked.

Dajan shook his head. "Nothing. They've halted in the forest, so they must have scouts out. Just sitting there."

"A problem for later."

Jediyah's attention returned to the melee in front of him. The archers closed up on the enemy nicely; it could be only moments before that command post at the tor top was blooded. What would happen then? Did command move down through the ranks, as in the Eldovan Army? Or would they break and try to flee the field?

Impossible to tell. If these were Markans, they might be relatively inexperienced, and the flee option might look attractive. But if these men were from Sandester or Calcan...

They knew that discipline kept men alive in battle. Flight meant more losses; to stand and fight meant more enemy casualties. And there was always the hope of a reversal of fortune when men stood to fight. He wondered if they knew about the riders in the forest. He remembered the sylph scouts and stopped wondering. Of course they knew.

"Sir!" cautioned Dajan.

Jediyah looked and this time he _did_ curse. The strangers had left the forest and now lined up at the edge of the trees. Time to end it. Now.

Jediyah swept his gaze around the battleground again. An unfriendly move in his view and he must assume that the army behind might even take an active role against him. There was only one thing to do in these circumstances: he must secure one of his flanks by eliminating one of his enemies.

"Signalman! Cavalry, infantry and archers to advance on the hill."

Dajan gave an acknowledgement that was probably the required answer, but Jediyah was already thinking of other things.

The presence of this new, probably hostile, army had changed his mind about sometihng else.

"One more thing, signalman."

Dajan turned back. "Yes sir?"

"No prisoners."

***

Dekran knew the endgame fast approached. The few lancers still alive were thrown back and the pikemen were relentlessly pushed uphill. The melee had been brief but bloody. Most of his men had been hacked to death, but they had inflicted a heavy toll on the enemy.

Except the enemy could afford to pay the bill a lot more easily.

Unless he missed his guess, archers were behind that push, even if the sky was still free from their deadly showers.

He glanced up at Banner Sergeant Yochan.

"Sure you don't want the horse, sir?" asked Yochan, cheerfully.

The man must think they still had a chance. Dekran thought briefly of his wife Aralyn and his twin daughters. He would never see the girls grow up. Never have a chance of a son.

Dekran shook his head. "You stay there, Banner Sergeant."

He looked at Belaika.

"Anything new?" he asked.

"Want me to ask? They might hear." Despite his words, Belaika looked doubtful. Even if his brother scouts heard anything, he was unlikely to hear their replies.

Dekran shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said, sadly. He saw the look on the sylph's face and forced a smile. "Belaika, I expect they will leave you and Haema unharmed. Pass on this command to the other scouts. They might hear."

Belaika nodded. He doubted the reassurance about himself and Haema.

Silence fell across the battle as Eldovans prepared for one last push and the Markans for a last, desperate defense.

"You have all done well. Congratulations. Command: when battle is over, scouts are to scatter. Regroup beyond enemy army and return to Marka."

Belaika nodded again. He bent his head back and sent out the last orders from Lance Captain Dekran Aluffa Mantin. Almost immediately, those orders were queried and questioned.

We must return home?

What about shadowing the army?

Our enemies must be guarded until we reach our humans again.

We will carry our commiseration to Eleka, brother.

Belaika screwed his eyes shut and fought sudden tears. Eleka. Sallie, Callie. Salafisa.

Haema.

The brief silence was over.

He heard, rather than saw, arrows in the air. He screamed as pain exploded in his side, at the same moment Yochan's horse screamed. As the animal crashed to the ground, Yochan grasped at something projecting from his throat, death rattle already sounding. Dekran spun, pierced by several arrows, a sudden shower of death from the sky.

Pikemen looked up at the hilltop and their courage wavered. Ignoring the pain shooting from one side of his chest, Belaika pushed himself upright, earpoints slanted forward in determination.

Everything slowed.

Lance Captain Dekran and his yeoman were already dead. The banner fell from Yochan's dead grasp and the surviving Markans paused as it settled on the ground.

Belaika's hands grasped the banner-staff and ignored the pain from what must be a wound. Straightening, he pulled it vertical again and sudden pride forced his earpoints up. He turned to face the enemy and make sure everybody knew the banner was still held.

The few Markan survivors cheered.

For the first time in history, a sylph held a battle banner, and his fear was gone.

***
Chapter 21

**Shadow Riders Join Battle**

Captain Fared, with Samrita and Nynra in tow, made a quick round of the camp. The Shadow Riders were on defense watches, so half were on duty and the rest sleeping beside their weapons. All fires were shielded and doused early. Their hasty meal had been a cold one. Nobody more than ten pacas away from the camp would notice it; at least, not until too late.

The Turivkan soldiers had left them alone the moment they crossed into Dzigain, but Fared insisted the Riders stay on defense watches, just in case. The Riders now headed east and the past couple of days had so far proved uneventful.

The scouts kept their eyes open, but reported nothing out of the ordinary. There were more farmers around, who watched with wary eyes. Fared deliberately avoided towns and cities, where trouble was most likely.

"I do not think they would send men this far to trap us," said Samrita, as she hurried after the captain. "Not without causing trouble."

"I'd rather not find out the hard way what they might do," countered Fared. "For all we know, Dervra rules Dzigain as well and you say there are other means to bring soldiers."

"There are," agreed the gwerin, "but not only must Dervra have returned to Turivkan to find out we even exist, he must also know exactly where we are now to act. The scouts report nobody following."

"Unless the farmers are his allies," said Fared.

Samrita shrugged. "Unlikely."

Fared didn't really want to think along those lines either. He had traded with several farmers, as five hundred people needed regular supplies of food. Unpleasant to think that a man you traded with in the morning might sell you to your enemy that afternoon. He could get paranoid, thinking like that.

"Highly unlikely," repeated Samrita.

The Riders on duty were especially vigilant and revolved their tasks. They took turns at the outer and inner rings of defenses. Further away, scouts watched and waited. Riders not on duty slumbered.

Fared's attention turned from the gwerin. "How are you feeling?" he asked Nynra. "You have been quiet lately."

Nynra blinked, those too-white eyes large in her face. "I am well, Fared- _ya_ ," she replied.

Despite the sylph's words, she heeled Samrita everywhere, perhaps in anticipation of instructions, or simply for company. Fared did not know which. The small infertile was unhappy with, or perhaps frightened by, the Riders' situation.

Or she picked up on Samrita's worry. Sylphs were perceptive, and sensitive to the feelings of those they served.

"Glad to hear it," he said.

Perhaps she feared there might be fighting. He did not know what else the sylph expected, traveling with a band of soldiers. They were bound to attract trouble sooner or later; Fared was surprised that they had made it this far without involvement in more.

He stared into the darkness, beyond the hastily constructed defenses. Peytor scouted somewhere out there.

The boy had proved his worth since his failure in Turivkan. With some reservations, Telisa had forgiven him, but only time would tell if she had changed her mind concerning the lad's worth. For now, Fared would leave things lie.

The families were almost as disciplined as the soldiers. Children kept quiet, even when playing. Most were old enough to understand the danger. Death was sometimes the kindest result when enemies won.

"All seems well," said Fared eventually.

Samrita nodded. "I feared we would be hounded between Turivkan and Marka," she replied. "We still have some way to go and attrition of the Riders would leave us defenseless very quickly."

"You _are_ cheerful," chuckled Fared.

The gwerin shrugged. "I know what the power at Dervra's disposal can do and I hope never to see it again."

"What can we expect in Marka?" Fared changed the subject.

"No idea, yet. Most cities change over two centuries. At least the place has not collapsed." Samrita smiled.

"I'm thinking more of the sylph-Emperor."

"Him. Yes." Samrita grimaced and shook her head. "No idea what the story is there. Sylphs don't rule humans; even gwerins only advise."

Nynra looked at her employer.

Samrita smiled back at her. "Sylphs in Marka serve. They do not rule. I do not mean to cause offence, but humans are difficult to rule in the best of times. To fully understand them one must be human. Not even gwerins are human enough for that."

"Oh, I don't know," protested Fared.

"Spare me your flattery," laughed the gwerin. "I still wonder if the tales are just rumor after all."

"They're outrageous enough to be true," said Fared. "And we've heard them in several places."

"Only that village Woodend, where we heard it first, knows his name though."

"Everywhere we go, we hear the same thing," continued Fared.

Samrita nodded. "Zenepha. If nothing else, it will be interesting to meet him. How did he manage to outwit all the other claimants? And the Supreme Council? _And_ the Senate?"

"He may have had help," pointed out Fared.

"In turn, that throws up even more worrying conclusions. Dissension between Council and Senate, or even within Council and Senate. That possibility worries me."

"It's certainly different."

"Without proper counsel," said Samrita, "the sylph will soon slip and outrage his human subjects." She laughed and shook her head again. "How can a human _ever_ be subject to a sylph?"

Nynra gave a sylph's slow blink, but her earpoints slanted forward in confusion.

"If – when – he does slip," continued Samrita, "his head will decorate a spike in a prominent place. If this Zenepha does not realize how unforgiving humans are, he will not hold the Throne for long. And then Marka returns to chaos. Again."

"Whoever thought of putting him forward knows how to stir things up," said Fared. "Assuming the rumor is true, it's the talk of the continent."

"Dissension is the most likely reason. There would always be debate – perhaps even bloodshed – over which claimant should take the Throne, but if they have chosen a sylph... The world is a strange place and throws up surprises, even for gwerins."

Fared laughed. "If there is an attack, it will come the hour before dawn."

The gwerin nodded. "Better for us to get some sleep now."

Fared realized the sense of this and made for his tent. He gave instructions to the guard: "Wake me one hour before dawn." He looked around. "I hope we have a quiet night."

The guard touched his left shoulder with his fist in acknowledgment. "I hope so too, sir," he replied.

***

Fared watched the Riders break camp at daybreak and reflected on the wasted hour he could instead have spent in his blankets. The scouts made a quick round of the camp the moment they had enough light to see and Qatan signaled that they were alone.

Fared did not know whether to be disappointed or pleased.

He gave orders for the scouts to remain further from the Riders than usual, to give maximum warning of any attack.

"You still expect one?" asked Samrita.

"Just a feeling." Fared grimaced. "At a certain level of experience you begin to trust feelings."

The gwerin gave him a concerned look. "Not the jitters, I hope?"

"If Dervra is half as determined as you say, then he has let us off too easily."

"He might not be back in Turivkan yet," Samrita pointed out, "or perhaps he wants to avoid battle as much as you do."

"I hope so," grinned Fared. "Perhaps his men exaggerated our numbers."

"I doubt that. Dervra was never stupid and neither does he employ stupid people."

"As you say, he might not be home yet. Or content we're gone. But something feels wrong." Fared looked closely into her face. "You think I've lost my senses?"

Samrita smiled. "I have rather more experience of Dervra than I would like. I do not know exactly how he will react to this situation."

Charel approached. "Captain, the Riders are ready. Still nothing from the scouts. The way ahead is clear, so far as we can tell."

"Thank you." Fared turned back to Samrita. "The road leads further south and east. Will we leave Dzigain today?"

Samrita nodded. "I expect we are already on the effective border, but Dzigain's lands traditionally extend to those mountains."

After a last check, to ensure all fires were extinguished and nothing had been left behind, the Shadow Riders remounted and rode out. As before, families stayed with their wagons and children were kept close, just in case. Most were happy to trust Captain Fared's senses.

The sun climbed rapidly, as it did this time of year. The days had drawn out and the land baked for hours at a time. There would be rains soon, then the long, hot continental summer.

Nynra handed a pink parasol to Samrita. The gwerin's skin burned easily. Once she hid in its shade, spotting her in the column became easy. Samrita was not the only one to suffer in sunlight, though Nynra had a white parasol.

"Those animals do not look domesticated," said Fared.

Goats and sheep nibbled at the plants growing in the fertile soil. They watched the humans with curiosity and wariness, so were at least used to seeing people.

"This used to be farmland," said Samrita, "but those sheep have never seen shears."

One of the men scooped up a wild plant that certainly looked like a descendant from familiar agricultural plants.

"This lot should give the foragers an easy time, sir," he said.

They sometimes passed the remains of a boundary wall or the foundations of a farmhouse.

"Empty land," muttered Fared. "A waste."

"The people probably moved further west for security," said Samrita. "When civilization collapses, there is often trouble for those with no weapons to defend themselves." She looked angry and sad.

Here and there, trees pushed skywards and Fared knew the land would soon revert to forest. Nature quickly reclaimed land humans had failed to keep for themselves.

"Nobody has been here for decades," said Samrita, just to break the silence.

"Except for merchants' caravans," said Fared. "Look at those ruts. Was this ever a paved road?"

"Not one of the main roads," replied Samrita, "so I doubt it. They only paved the vital routes."

"Which were always patrolled," added Fared. "In the days when people could carry a thousand gold marks from end to end of the Markan Empire in perfect safety."

Samrita laughed. "A myth. There were always those who prefer to rob people, rather than make money for themselves. The difference is that they were far more likely to be caught and punished than today. These days, thieving is a viable proposition. For now."

"When we reach those hills, do we turn more to the east? I suspect we've strayed too far south."

"We're all right at the moment," replied Samrita.

Fared nodded. "Many cities along the way?"

"Nothing for us to avoid." A small grimace flashed across the gwerin's face. "I expect the villages are all gone, too."

The sun climbed higher and Samrita's parasol came more upright. She even slung a thin blanket around her shoulders. When Fared suggested she might like to travel in one of the wagons for the shade, she refused.

Nynra also avoided the sun. Most sylphs enjoyed sunlight and by now might have stripped off some of their clothes. But Nynra's pale complexion and strong sunshine did not mix.

She walked or trotted beside Samrita's horse, but refused to climb up and ride. When they halted for a rest, she skulked in the nearest shade and drank as much water as she could hold. Despite her sun avoidance, she still tanned a deeper blue.

"Scouts report, Captain! Merchant caravan in a panic."

Fared stood in his stirrups and saw dust kicked up by cartwheels. "Certainly moving a lot quicker than normal," he said.

"No sign of trouble, sir."

"How many guards?"

"Three, sir."

Fared saw the pink parasol before Samrita. "This may be trouble," he told her.

"From three men?"

"Not the caravan, but they're moving at speed for a reason."

The caravan soon saw the Shadow Riders and halted. Fared saw men standing for a better view. They looked to be arguing among themselves.

"Now what are they doing?" asked Fared. "Why are they moving off the road?"

"Avoiding us," said Samrita, quietly.

"Sensible if they are wary of large groups of armed men." Fared gestured. "Signal the scouts to let them pass."

The Shadow Riders and the caravan passed with a large gap between them.

"They'll lose wheels if they're not careful," said Charel. "Why didn't they stay on the road?"

After they passed, Fared looked back where the caravan had rejoined the road and again picked up pace. Men still watched the small army, fearing it might turn and give chase.

"Strange," he said. "Charel, tell the scouts to keep their eyes open. Something upset that caravan and I'd rather not find out what that might be at the last moment."

"Done, sir." Charel grinned.

The hills seemed no closer when the advance scouts reported the next oddity. A sylph, running alone along the road.

"Going to be one of those days," Fared reflected aloud.

The sylph came into sight and Nynra watched in interest. She half-climbed onto Samrita's horse for a better look.

The newcomer skidded to a halt when she realized she had company. A normal looking sylph, with silver-gray eyes and hair. One tanned by the sun. She stared in horror at the army and its banner. She looked to either side of the road, paused briefly, then cut across country.

"What's the matter with everybody today?" Fared frowned.

"They are all frightened of armed men," said Samrita. "We might find something unpleasant ahead."

They watched the sylph go. She ran even faster and changed course several times whenever she glimpsed a scout. She was soon gone.

"If anything is wrong, we can expect an ambush in the pass," said Fared. "Charel, tell the advance scouts to push ahead and check everything."

"Will do, sir. Want me to send more horsemen?"

"Do."

Before Charel could pass on the orders, a messenger called out. "Heliograph, Captain!"

"The hills are clear," said Charel, "but there's something they want you to see, sir. They haven't said what."

As the Riders reached the hills, carrion birds circled above thin smoke that reached lazily into the sky. The sun stood high, but halfway from its meridian.

"A raided caravan," Fared told Samrita. "Very recent, perhaps today."

The gwerin nodded. "I do not think Nynra wants to see this," she announced. She looked at the sylph until the latter inclined her head and stalked to the wagons.

"Neither do you," said Fared, quietly.

"I have probably seen worse." The gwerin's earpoints were slanted forwards in determination.

"Very well." Fared detailed several men to investigate the remains of the caravan with him.

They rode downhill, where Deren and Peytor joined them.

"Raiders, Captain," announced Deren. "Not been gone long, either."

"Scum," added Peytor, under his breath.

"Where are the rest of the scouts?" asked Fared.

"In the pass," replied Deren. "Where the tracks from whoever did this appear out of nowhere, and disappear back into nowhere."

Fared frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

Samrita nodded; she understood. "We shall look at the tracks later," she said. "I expected something, but not this."

"You should take a look, Captain," insisted Deren. "Here."

Carrion crows already feasted and flew away on lazy wings as the humans approached. Once they had passed, the birds landed again. Bodies sprawled in the dust among looted wagons. Four wagons and only one burned.

"Doesn't look like they took much," remarked Fared.

"Food and valuables," said Deren. "We think."

"There were twenty wagons here, to judge from the tracks," said Peytor. "Most escaped."

Fared's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Did they now?" He exchanged a look with Samrita. "Careless for raiders to lose so many."

Four arrow-riddled corpses looked like guards. They might have stared in surprise at the attack, if they still had eyes. Carrion always went for those first.

"You should see this, sir." Deren's voice was quiet.

Merchants usually traveled with their families; some of those bodies were small and others lay in pools of blue blood. Even the horses had been slaughtered.

Deren held up a battered helmet.

"Looks like one of ours," said Fared.

"And this." The lancepoint Deren now held up, with perhaps a few incas of broken shaft, looked familiar.

"Poor quality," said Fared. "But the shape we use."

"And this, sir."

Fared's breath caught. The black banner had two white dragon's heads facing each other. The dragons were painted onto black canvas, instead of silver thread on silk, but the design was clear.

Samrita nodded. "Somebody has sent us a message," she said. She glanced at the bodies, but seemed unaffected by them.

"Looks like they hit the wrong people," said Fared. "Did any caravans flee east?"

Peytor shook his head. "West, north and south."

"Probably the ones trying to avoid us," mused Fared.

"They were allowed to go," said Samrita. "They will spread what happened here. I doubt if it will be safe for men with dragon's head banners further west from now on. And perhaps not to the east, either. Few local lords like to share their lands with lawless bandits."

"You think Dervra had something to do with this?"

"Not precisely his style, but I wouldn't be surprised. He wants to make sure we stay out of his lands and never return."

"If we had time, I would hunt the men who impersonate us and hang the lot." Fared's eyes flashed, but he raged impotently.

"If they'd left tracks beyond the pass, I would gladly hunt them for you." Peytor shook his head. "But the tracks disappear. The Gift?" He looked at Samrita.

"More likely sorcery." Samrita shook her head and returned her attention to Fared. "What will you do?"

"Bury the dead and continue east," replied Fared. "The pass is clear?"

"Yes sir," nodded Deren. "Whole way through."

Fared looked at Peytor. "Still an admirer of Turivkan's Prefect?"

The boy gave him a level look in return. "Not if he's responsible for this."

"Good. If not for him, these people would still be alive."

***

After passing the mountains, they turned east again.

Fared increased the pace and they covered more milas each day, as if Marka exerted a stronger pull the nearer he came. Or else he wanted to leave the attacked caravan further behind.

Samrita looked for landmarks and noted each as they passed. Many were strange things, remnants from the past. Weird spires, dishes and smooth pyramids made from some black material no tool could mar. Gray plinths, some cracking at the edges and others intact. Metallic objects glinted in the ground. Nobody knew what any of these things were for. Nobody recognized the metal they were made from.

"I remember these," said Samrita. "Those pyramids are dwarves compared with the one outside Marka." She smiled in fond memory.

"Where are they from? What are they for?" asked Peytor, not scouting ahead today.

"The world is a stranger place than we know," replied Samrita. "These are relics from the first civilization."

"You don't know what they are for?" Peytor sounded incredulous.

"I am long-lived, not immortal." Samrita's lack of knowledge irritated her more than Peytor's persistent questions. "The first civilization was dust thousands of years before my birth."

The land changed too.

Once past the ancient relics, they came to a plain, high and yet fertile. Green pasture and farmland, much with growing crops. There were even hamlets and villages.

"There is a town further south," said Samrita. "The farmers here supply it."

"Looks safe from raiders," said Peytor, who looked around in interest.

"Looking safe and being safe are different things," countered Fared, as always the pragmatist.

The few people they saw eyed the army with curiosity and poorly masked fear. Taller mountains reared at the far end of the plain. Despite the season, they were snow-capped.

"Those must be high," said Fared.

"There is a pass," said Samrita. "No snow there."

"Good."

"Somewhere in those mountains is the greatest relic of all that dates from the first civilization," continued Samrita. "And nobody can reach it today."

Most of those within earshot stared up at the mountains.

"Have you been there?"

Samrita's eyes focused on Fared. "No, but I would love to, however unlikely."

"What is it?"

"Magiere."

"The fabled city of the Gifted," explained Fared, when he saw the mystified look on Peytor's face. He glanced at Samrita. "With emphasis on fabled."

Samrita laughed and shook her head.

"How can a city survive up there?" demanded Fared. "Nowhere to grow crops. No roads leading to it."

Samrita's smile widened. "Believe what you will, but ilven do not lie."

Fared winked at Peytor. "More fables."

Samrita looked at him. "You will discover the truth behind my _fables_ when you reach Marka, Captain Fared. I spent many days with Siranva's daughters before the end came."

After a night spent in the winter-cold open, with only Nynra feeling at home, they reached the end of the pass. There, a road – some of it paved – led them out of the mountains. They stared at it, a twisting road in the middle of nowhere. Most sections were little more than compacted dirt, but the line was clear.

And the paving!

Built with an obvious camber, the surfaced parts of the road were paved with white stone, now rutted and stained. The drainage ditches to either side were mostly silted up, but everybody could see what they were.

"Are we close to Marka now?" asked Fared.

Samrita had not forgiven him for his earlier disbelief.

"Closer than yesterday," she replied.

The Riders passed through more forests, which thickened again as they left civilization behind. The scouts were even more vigilant as forests could hide many dangers but, fortunately, these scouts trained in some of the densest forests in the world. Samrita pointed out that they should avoid wild sylphs, assuming these forests sheltered their colonies. The existence of feral sylphs caught Nynra's interest, and she looked around eagerly for evidence of their presence.

They found no sign of wild sylphs, but remains of human camps were everywhere. Some were huge, with cookfires for thousands, and others small, perhaps for a handful of men.

"Seems there are a lot of soldiers milling about," remarked Fared. "But why?"

"Hiding from something?" suggested Samrita.

"Or waiting," replied Fared. "I just hope they're not waiting for _us_."

A day later, Nynra and Samrita, earpoints twitching, realized something _very_ strange was going on.

"Whistling?" Fared raised an eyebrow. "Sure it's not one of ours?"

"It's not human whistling." Samrita gave Fared one of her level looks. "Pitched too high for your ears. The cadences are wrong for tunes."

Fared became serious. "Which of you heard it first?"

"Nynra," replied Samrita. "Being younger her hearing is sharper. We can hear it, but humans cannot, so this comes from sylphs."

"Wild or domestic?"

"Good question. If armies pass through here regularly, I doubt if wild sylphs would stay around. And we have seen no hint of them here. And the lack of farmland makes domestic sylphs unlikely as well. But this is definitely coming from sylphs."

"Whistling sylphs aren't likely to be a threat," said Fared. "If not wild or domestic, then what?"

"Depends why they are whistling." Samrita gave a small smile. "Some sort of warning? I could chase it down with one of the Riders. There are at least two out there, because one whistle is strong and the other faint."

Fared's instincts tingled and he reached a decision. "We'll all go."

"All of us?" Samrita blinked.

"This is strange so we should investigate. Armies moving, yet going nowhere and sylphs who are neither wild nor domestic whistling non-tunes to each other." Fared nodded. "They are _communicating_ with each other."

Nynra nodded. "There is a pattern to them," she agreed. "It could be that."

Samrita gave the pale sylph a pat on the shoulder. "Good girl," she said. "I should have realized that myself."

Fared turned to Charel and, moments later, the wagons pulled off the road and formed a defensive circle. Twenty Riders were left with the families.

"You ride with me," Fared said to Samrita. "Nynra, if we must ride fast, you might be left behind. Better if you stay here, please."

The infertile looked for Samrita's nod before inclining her head. " _Se bata._ "

Fared suppressed a momentary flash of irritation. The sylph followed Samrita, not him, and she was not a Rider under his command.

The Riders followed Fared and Samrita at a reasonable distance, so the thunder of their passage did not disrupt the gwerin's hearing. She led them deeper into the forest.

The few tracks quickly faded to nothing. They pushed their horses through the undergrowth as best they could. The scouts ranged to either side and not ahead, because Samrita effectively led the way.

As they neared the forest edge, Fared halted and stopped Samrita from riding further.

"It grows stronger," whispered the gwerin.

"Deren, Peytor!" Fared waited until the two scouts were before him. "Proceed on foot and see what lies beyond the trees." He turned back to Samrita. "The whistling?"

"Stronger; we are close now."

Fared sent a messenger back to bring half the women and older children forward to join the Riders.

Samrita gave him a puzzled look.

Fared smiled. "So others think we have more fighting men. Just in case."

The gwerin shook her head. "Gut instinct again," she muttered. "Seen it before, never understood it, but you were right last time."

"Just experience," retorted Fared.

Deren returned a few minutes later, while Peytor remained at the forest edge.

"A strange one, sir," Deren reported. "Two armies, one smaller than ours, the other larger. The smaller one has a dragon's head banner." He nodded to their own banner, two silver dragonheads on a black field, the old imperial army's colors. "Theirs is gold on blue, sir."

"Let's take a look. Samrita?" Fared was pleased he had left Nynra behind. Two armies probably meant fighting.

The gwerin nodded and, together with Deren and Charel, picked her way to the edge of the forest to join Peytor. She still heard whistles, clearer now the rest of the horsemen had fallen silent. They all expected an order to join battle at any moment.

Fared halted his horse and lifted his ancient spyglass to an eye. The smaller army held a small hill, wagons and pikemen formed in a defensive square. Just as Deren had said, they held a dragonhead banner, gold on dark blue. He saw lancers and a few cavalry, but no archers.

"Long odds," he murmured. "Five to one, or thereabouts."

The larger group had surrounded the hill, waiting. They had archers, which would prove an advantage.

Silence.

Shouting, from hundreds of throats.

"Strength and victory!"

Fared exchanged a look with Samrita.

"Going to help them?" asked the gwerin.

"Help who? Looks like a spat between two rivals." Fared smiled. "Marka has an Emperor and we serve him."

Samrita said nothing.

Fared swung his spyglass up to the top of the tor once again. He stiffened. "So Shiorj wasn't lying about sylphs wearing paint," he said. "Two sylphs are up there, and one of them's painted. Wonder if they're your whistlers."

Samrita held out her hand for the spyglass.

"One is female and looks normal enough," she said. "The painted one is a he, I think. What are they doing there? Well, he's one of the whistlers."

Fared stared as Samrita cocked her head, listening. She looked surprised.

"Four more out here somewhere," she said. "There are _five_ sylphs whistling, off and on."

Fared watched as one of the men from the larger army – an officer unless he missed his guess – appeared to negotiate with his enemy. Another pause, longer.

"Still lots of whistling," said Samrita. "Definitely five whistlers."

Fared shook his head; this was quite unlike any battle he had ever seen.

"They've stopped." Samrita handed the spyglass back to Fared.

"Stopped what?"

"The whistling."

Fared just had time to turn back to face the battlefield, when the first flight of arrows was released. He patted his horse reassuringly. A second flight.

"Brave lads," murmured Charel. "They attack."

As he spoke, mounted lancers burst from the hilltop and rode downhill to attack the archers. Lancers on the other side tried to thwart them.

Fared nodded in approval. Reduce and remove the enemy's advantage whenever possible. The archers reformed the moment light cavalry engaged light cavalry, sending flight after flight of arrows into the defensive square. Up there, pikemen fell and the square began to shrink. Samrita turned away, but Fared continued to watch the battle through his spyglass.

"Man approaching, sir!" cautioned Deren.

"Probably a messenger," said Fared. "Send him away; there is nothing to discuss."

Fared could see that the defenders were going to lose. He turned as Rider Qatan joined their small group.

"Qatan, just in time to take a message. Let's have the Riders out here. Archers and lancers, half and half."

Qatan touched fist to shoulder and slipped away. Moments later, the Shadow Riders began to form up in full view. They appraised the situation quickly and efficiently. Samrita stared.

"Thought you weren't going to get involved," she muttered.

"Those armies know we're here," retorted Fared. "The moment they're finished with each other, the victor will try his luck against us."

"Perhaps you should not have been so hasty with the messenger."

Fared scowled. "If both armies had sent a man, I might have been a little more accommodating."

The defenders suffered now their opponents advanced; archers, infantry and cavalry moved steadily uphill.

Yet that initial, daring attack had reduced the odds.

"Another bout of whistling," warned Samrita. "Quiet again."

The attacking archers loosed and Fared, watching through his spyglass, saw men fall. The arrows reached nearer and nearer the summit; it could only be a matter of time. A lucky arrow killed the horse from under the mounted man he assumed to be the defenders' commander.

Another push, and the archers had the hilltop in range. The defending pikemen looked back, clearly about to break. The next volley turned the hilltop into a death pit.

Their bannerman died, dragonhead banner falling to the ground.

Fared stiffened.

The painted sylph leapt up and grasped the stave onto which the banner was secured. And Fared remembered the aged Wise One's words.

_"Sylph as bannerman. A sylph with a warrior's fire._ _Seek him. Seek the banner sylph."_

Fared snapped the spyglass shut, tucked it away and calmly drew his sword. He turned to Samrita. "We have found the banner sylph."

Samrita stared.

He raised his voice. "Those who defend the banner on the summit are our allies. Those who attack them, the enemy."

As one, almost three hundred visors were snapped down, leaving only the eyes visible.

"Honor! Service! Glory!"

Fared swung his sword right and left, then pointed it ahead.

In deadly silence, the Shadow Riders rode to battle.

***
Chapter 22

**To Marka**

The horsebow, favored by the Shadow Riders, has a rapid rate of fire. Though lacking the power and range of the larger longbow, a man needed nowhere near the same strength or years of practice to draw one. At relatively short ranges, the horsebow was lethal and accurate.

So, as the Riders closed the range with their new enemy, seventy archers managed to loose four or five arrows each before joining battle. Men who never expected an attack from behind were mown down.

Fared almost felt sorry for the commander of these men; he had suffered two costly surprises. If nothing else, the Riders fought with almost equal numbers. Which meant that they held the advantage. Though Fared doubted the enemy commander realized that.

His sword slashed and cut as the Riders narrowed their spread, reducing the number of men they must fight at any one time.

The beleaguered men on the hilltop sensed sudden confusion below and redoubled their efforts when they saw Riders fighting their enemy.

"Stay with me!" bellowed Fared. "With me!"

Slash. Stab. Kill.

Meeting men who fought with the ferocity of devils and seeing certain victory snatched from their grasp, Eldovan morale sagged.

***

Captain Jediyah cursed. From where had these men in dark armor come? They fought like seasoned troops, like an elite. They had already cut two holes in his reserves and closed up on themselves.

Arrows took still more of his men from within the melee. His own archers dare not return fire, in case they killed their own comrades.

The newcomers had fought battles this way before.

Because Jediyah had attacked the Markans, he had no defensive square, and no time to form one now. Because the Riders had sat and watched for so long, he had ignored them. Events had overtaken his decision to finish the Markans before dealing with the new threat.

Whoever led the newcomers knew the work. Jediyah had made the wrong choice, and now he must pay for the mistake.

But why had they joined the battle so late?

As the Markans rallied, their courage stiffened with fresh hope, Jediyah prepared to die.

***

The arrows stopped falling. Surrounded by death, Belaika grasped the banner and stood proudly. His ribs felt like fire and one hand explored tentatively.

No blood.

Breathing hurt, but he could not surrender to the pain now. He looked around, but Haema did not stand to join him.

He wavered.

Later. Not now.

Cheers erupted.

Belaika watched as Eldovans dropped their weapons and surrendered, fear on their faces. They probably expected the same death Eldovans usually granted their own prisoners.

Belaika clung to the banner as men wearing strange black armor approached. One, the leader, stopped a little distance away and dismounted. He left his weapons on his horse and removed his helmet. He halted within talking distance.

"My name is Fared Amel Granton, Captain of the Shadow Riders," he said.

The sylph bowed. "Belaika- _y_ -Marcus. Scout."

Pale gray-blue eyes regarded the sylph with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Dirt and shadows helped mask the strain in Fared's face. His light brown hair ruffled in the wind. He touched fist to shoulder.

"I salute your courage, bannerman," he said.

"Is the battle over?"

Fared nodded. His eyes widened as Belaika thrust the Vintner Standard into his hands and turned.

Belaika crossed to Haema.

"It is finished," he said. "We –"

Haema stared sightlessly at him. As he lifted her head, her earpoints sagged behind and hung limp. His hand, smeared with blue blood, came away from the arrow standing out from her chest.

"No!" Belaika cradled Haema's head and tears streamed down his face. "No!"

Fared gripped the banner and gritted his teeth. Shadow Riders and the remnants of Belaika's comrades ran uphill.

Belaika stroked Haema's hair and his tears fell into her eyes. Unbidden, Gajaran's words surfaced.

"You direct men to death. Your enemies, your friends. Maybe even sylphs. You are an aberration, a devil. Evil."

Evil.

He cried out again, alone in grief. Never had victory tasted so bitter.

***

Gajaran tugged absently at an earpoint, apparently unaware of the soapsud she left behind. She and Sandev were scrubbing pots from the evening meal, while the soldiers had gathered on one side of the camp for a pep talk.

"Nobody has heard a whistle all day," Gajaran remarked in a low voice. Her earpoints wilted at the talk of the scouts. "But there is no sign of Captain Jediyah either." The earpoint she had tugged twitched violently and the sud went sailing through the air.

"You already know the scouts now send their whistles from further away," replied Sandev.

Gajaran shrugged and returned her full attention to her work.

Two days had passed since Jediyah had left to meet the Markans. Since then, they had heard nothing. Mirrin and his officers were unconcerned, even though it was already obvious things had not gone quite according to plan. Jediyah and his men – or the survivors – should have rejoined by now.

Unless... unless Dekran's men had won the day. In which case, the scouts would be back in contact. So Sandev hoped.

Again she tested the block that kept her from the Gift. She could break it when she chose, but now was not the time.

A careless Nicolfer had not checked the shield for days. Soon, Sandev would smash the block and regain her full power. Too much time had passed, but now they headed for Marka. She just hoped Caya was not in mourning.

A stab of guilt.

Sandev had not given Caya a second thought in weeks! The opposite would not be true. Her sylph might be sick with worry, or worse.

Sylphs sometimes died from grief.

The guilt returned. Sandev felt certain nothing untoward had happened to Caya. Well, she would be worried. But deaths from grief affected infertiles rather than breeders. Gajaran was more likely to die from grief than Caya.

Though Gajaran knew the how and when of her owner's death, Caya had no such comfort. No matter how cold that comfort might be.

"You are thoughtful," said Gajaran.

Sandev blinked in surprise. It was rare for any of the infertiles to speak unless she first spoke to them. She smiled.

"I often am," she replied. "When I return home, there is a wrong to put right."

Gajaran said nothing, but her earpoints slanted forwards questioningly.

Sandev began to explain about Caya.

***

Despite the missing Jediyah, Mirrin's army continued towards Marka. Several groups nominally under Mirrin's command slowly converged and merged into one large army of almost ten thousand men.

Sandev knew the army would make its move soon; such a large number of soldiers would gradually strip the countryside. They could not be supported indefinitely, so they must move on their objective or go home.

She had her own plans to make.

Sandev gave Gajaran a quick glance and hoped the sylph did not notice. What was she to do about the six sylphs under her wing? Of the six, Gajaran stood highest as her favorite. She had no idea what Caya would think. First Janin, now Gajaran. When had she begun to collect strays? At least Caya had been purchased honestly. Janin must have melted her brain.

The blame for Belaika and Haema's escape had fallen on Sandev, though Nicolfer regarded Haema's disappearance more as abduction. Sandev had walked away from Nicolfer's self-righteous wrath.

"Why Haema?" demanded Nicolfer. "Why would he take her?"

Sandev had never answered. She doubted if Nicolfer any longer understood love.

She looked up as Rukana and Tula approached her.

"You might want to see this," said Tula.

Rukana nodded.

Sandev glanced at Gajaran, who shrugged. "I am not finished," she said. "You go."

Sandev followed the two sylphs through the camp, to where she now heard a familiar voice. Her hackles rose. Rukana and Tula came to a halt on the edge of the gathering, and Sandev stared.

A small dais had been hastily erected, on which stood Dervra, General Mirrin and the man who now called himself Hingast.

Tall and broad shouldered, his oiled black hair glinted in the torchlight. She had no need to go any closer to know that those eyes were gray-blue and steely. He talked, almost preaching, to his men.

She held her breath. She strained and then she could sense it. She tried not to smile. Definitely not Hingast, but the same imposter as before.

Rukana and Tula looked at her.

"It's not Hingast," she told them. "Can't you sense unease? All sylphs should feel it."

The two infertiles stared at her, then Rukana slowly nodded.

"Can feel something," she admitted.

Sandev looked at Tula, who shrugged.

"What you sense is sorcery," continued Sandev. "A lot of sorcery, so much I can almost smell it."

"Looks and smells like Hingast," muttered Tula.

"You know it isn't," insisted Sandev.

The two sylphs wilted under the intensity of her gaze. They shrugged, but still looked as if they were humoring her.

Dervra looked across the crowd and his gaze swept in Sandev's direction. She refused to look away, so his deep blue eyes locked with her speedwell.

He gave her a triumphant smile, meant for her alone. The man thought he still held the advantage. His gaze swept on. Sandev turned to her two companions.

"Can you hear what he is saying?"

"That we will take Marka this time, that there are more men and machines. They cannot stand against us." Tula looked at Sandev, well aware of her links to Marka.

Sandev nodded. "Thanks for showing me this," she said. "I've seen enough."

The two sylphs gave quick grins and watched her go, before they looked at each other.

Sandev hurried back to the pots, mind in turmoil. Gajaran had not lied; all the pots were clean and dry. There was no sign of the sylph, so Sandev assumed the infertile had sought her blankets while every other back was turned.

Dervra needed a replacement Hingast for this to work.

The man himself had masqueraded as Hingast from time to time, but the more intelligent among the Eldovans would quickly realize that if they no longer saw Hingast and Dervra together, then one must be acting as the other.

How many Eldovans had escaped from Marka who had seen Hingast's corpse? How many knew or suspected the truth? Or had they shared the real Hingast's fate?

Belaika seemed certain that he knew the identity of the man who now called himself Hingast, and Sandev prayed he was right. If not, then Dervra must have found another sorcerer. Not renowned for trust, the Malefic Sephiroth ensured few sorcerers amassed too much strength, but there were still too many running loose in the world. The Father never seemed to bother with them.

There must be a reason.

Sandev had long suspected that Dervra and Nicolfer had a master plan, one that stood beyond their other machinations. Something greater than their plots to destroy the civilizations dotted around the world.

She must learn more about that plan. Dervra and Nicolfer chased bigger prizes than Marka or Grayar's more recent creation, Skorin. She restrained a sudden giggle. Almost six centuries old and she regarded it as recent. As more recent!

She wished she knew more of sorcery, but even investigating it held dangers and temptation. She suspected both Dervra and Nicolfer had been snared by sorcery, rather than deliberately turning away from Siranva. She was only human – despite what people believed – and every human could be bought. Yet she needed to know more.

Sorcery granted no more power than the Gift, except perhaps for Dervra and Nicolfer, who had both Gift _and_ sorcery. What difference that made, she had no idea, but she would be naive to believe it had no effect at all.

Somebody prodded her.

Sandev almost launched skywards and glared at the perpetrator.

Pleased to have caught her unawares, the youngest of the ownerless infertiles Sandev had recruited dropped onto her haunches and grinned at Sandev's surprise. Ojasan was the only one who had not bonded with her now-dead owner, and who actively sought a replacement.

Sandev smiled at the joke. "Where have you been hiding? Not seen you all day."

Ojasan's earpoints twitched uncertainly. "I was told to clear Haema's tent," she replied.

Haema's disappearance had given the other sylphs cause for concern, the ownerless ones rather more than the rest. Especially since Nicolfer insisted that she had been abducted.

"Find anything interesting?" asked Sandev.

The sylph shook her head. "We going to Marka now?"

Sandev tried and failed to give the youngster a reassuring smile. "I hope so."

***

It took some time to dig a grave for the dead. Even the scouts helped; apart from Belaika, whose ribs were too bruised for him to wield a spade.

The prisoners also helped. There were not many, and most still waited for the slaughter to begin. They also believed they were digging their own grave. Their commander, Jediyah, dug alongside his men. He eyed the scouts with open curiosity, though his mouth firmed whenever he saw Belaika.

Nynra tended the hurt scout, hands gentle as she wrapped cloth tightly around him, restricting movement and protecting his chest from further injury.

"You can run around again soon," she promised, while eyeing his collar with a mixture of curiosity and distaste. "But until then, light duties!"

" _Se bata, necinya_."

Nynra's eyes narrowed and she searched for hints of mockery. Satisfied she saw none, she looked away again.

Belaika looked across to his brother scouts sweating as they worked. Only Fhionnen and Samel were out to keep an eye open and ensure they were not surprised. For once, Velisar worked within the group, instead of standing apart as usual.

Fared took charge of their reduced force, and directed that all the bodies would be interred together.

"All are equal in death," he said. "I saw no cowards fall."

Once the hole was dug, Belaika did not want to watch the bodies laid in place, but he stayed. Of the Markans, only eight survived; Lance Sergeant Toman and Scout Felnar the most senior.

Too many friends went into that hole.

Lance Captain Dekran.

Sergeant Villim.

Scout Udan.

Yeoman Zandar.

His breath caught when he saw Banner Sergeant Yochan laid beside Dekran. Belaika had an obligation there.

Haema.

He screwed his eyes shut and a tear leaked free.

Sylphs were not supposed to die in battles. She had only wanted freedom from Nicolfer. To see if her owner was still alive and if not, then to join with Belaika and perhaps meet Eleka. And if she had agreed, Haema might have become Belaika's second wife.

Instead she was dead.

He had led her to her doom. He pushed away the echo of Gajaran's words. He was not evil.

"You all right?"

Belaika opened his eyes again and looked into Fared's face. "Yes," he replied.

"Samrita would like to meet you," continued Fared.

Belaika looked at his companion. At first glance, he thought her another human, then he saw the cat-slit hazel eyes and twitching earpoints. Those eyes glinted now brown, now green, as sunlight played over her face.

"My daughter was born with violet eyes," he said, "but they are hazel like yours now."

Samrita blinked and her mouth dropped open. "You have a gwerin daughter?" she asked.

Belaika nodded.

Samrita's mouth moved soundlessly before she pulled herself together. She clasped her hands at her waist and bowed formally to him. " _Enya_ ," she said.

It was Belaika's turn to be surprised. "Why do you call me Father?"

"A gwerin's parents live such short lives compared to ours. We extend the same courtesy to any gwerin parent that we would to our own. _Enya_ , I am at your service."

Belaika nodded. "My daughter is named Salafisa."

"A lovely name." Samrita smiled. "Well, I came to meet the fabled banner sylph, and found a new parent instead."

"I am no banner sylph," protested Belaika. "I just lifted it out from the dirt, that is all."

Samrita laughed and even Fared managed a smile.

"You are a banner sylph," said the Shadow Riders' captain. "Any man who picks up the banner in battle, who turns himself into the rallying point and a target, is a bannerman. You had the courage to pick it up, Belaika- _y_ -Marcus, so you are a banner sylph."

"Why did you join the battle?" asked the sylph.

"Because we were looking for you."

"For me?"

Fared explained that the Shadow Riders were returning to Marka and that he had been advised to seek the banner sylph.

"And here you are. Gave us quite a turn, seeing you up there."

"Not half the turn it gave me."

Fared smiled.

Belaika saw the other scouts gathering as men readied themselves to bury the dead. He struggled upright to join them.

"Where are you going?" asked Fared.

"You should rest," added Samrita.

"Something I must do," said Belaika.

Velisar crossed and touched him on the shoulder in sympathy.

They stood together at the graveside and took several breaths. His ribs would let him do this. They were only bruised, not broken.

Toman stopped the Shadow Riders from shoveling earth over the corpses.

"Not yet," he said. "This is important for us as well as the sylphs."

Markans, Eldovans and the nine Shadow Riders who had died were laid out in the grave. Belaika's heart lurched as he glimpsed Haema's blue skin. He took a breath, and began to sing.

Other scouts joined in the dirge, wishing the souls of the dead a speedy journey to the afterlife and beseeching the Father to ensure they reached paradise quickly.

They sang for all the dead. Belaika sang for Haema.

Never having heard this before, the Shadow Riders stared while listening to the sylphs' light voices soar through the notes.

Everybody allowed a short silence after the song. Tomad finally nodded.

"Cover them over," commanded Fared.

Belaika turned away from the grave and refused to look at it again. Haema was gone.

"When do we move?" he asked Fared.

"First thing in the morning," replied the captain. "And you continue carrying that banner."

Belaika nodded. A great honor. He hoped to do as good a job as Yochan.

Yet again, he forced away Gajaran's words.

***

Sat in his tent, alone with his sylph, General Mirrin hid his concern.

Three days since he had detailed Captain Jediyah to deal with the Markans, and still nothing. He was tempted to send riders back to discover what had happened, but that might result in needless deaths.

His scouts reported nothing and the camp sylphs had heard no whistling from the Markan scouts. Perhaps Jediyah rode hard to catch up with the rest of the army, or perhaps the Markans had not met him the way he thought.

But Mirrin had been a soldier long enough to listen to his instincts.

And those instincts told him something had gone horribly wrong. Had the mysterious riders Nicolfer warned him about suddenly caught up and joined with the Markans? Perhaps there were enough to defeat Jediyah, but they would be too weak to attack him. Especially as more detachments of his army joined every day.

A pity if he had lost Jediyah; the man was among the more promising young officers.

"Alovak, _enya_?"

"Thank you, Shashi."

Mirrin took the cup of steaming black liquid and inhaled the aroma before taking the first taste. Shashi knew exactly how he liked his alovak and so she should, after serving him for so long. He could cope without her, but she made life a lot easier.

He sensed her glancing at him; she always knew when troubles lay heavily on his shoulders. She waited expectantly for him to share his concern.

He almost laughed aloud. He could not share worries with his officers, in case they thought him weak. One or more might even possibly conspire to transplant him as Hingast sometimes encouraged such frivolities. But he would never have believed he could confide in a sylph slave.

Not that he indulged very often. But Shashi had the intelligence to work out what bothered him.

"Jediyah- _ya_?" she asked.

"Nothing. He should have rejoined by now. It's as if he's disappeared."

Shashi blinked. "So have the others."

Mirrin assumed she referred to the Markans. "Heard nothing about them, either. Unless a sylph is holding out on us?"

Shashi shook her head. "I would hear any whistles and there has been nothing."

"Of course." Mirrin forced a smile and ruffled his sylph's hair. Shashi turned her head, trying to get him to touch her earpoints. He did his best to avoid them; this was an old game. "I know you wouldn't keep that from me."

Shashi smiled and pushed her head against his hand, wanting more attention.

He changed the subject. "Were there any hints that Haema would run away? Did she run away?"

His sylph sighed. "Haema was unhappy serving Nicolfer- _ya_. She ran away."

"With the scout." Mirrin shook his head. "No accounting for taste. Did Sandev help?"

"I do not know."

"Are you sure?" Mirrin rarely doubted Shashi's answers, but Sandev was Gifted. Perhaps she could hide truth.

Shashi's earpoints came erect and twitched twice. Quickly suppressed irritation flared in her silver-gray eyes. "Very sure, _enya_."

"Sandev tried to hide it and pretended otherwise, but I know she and the scout spoke with each other," he said. "Did she know that the captive scout and Haema planned to escape?"

"Probably." A small furrow marked her brow. "We never spoke of these things when I took him choca or water."

"Of course, do not be foolish. Why would he chat about escape to you?"

Shashi giggled. "We never spoke of anything important. He was another sylph to talk to, that is all." She thrust her head towards his hand again, wanting more attention.

Mirrin nodded. Whoever trained the scouts doubtless also taught them discretion, in case of capture. Who knew what useful snippets of information innocent conversation might give an enemy?

"You did not approve of keeping him in a cage."

Shashi's head came up again and a hint of defiance shone in her eyes.

"The masters do as they will," she said, "it is our place only to obey."

"Well evaded, Shashi." Mirrin smiled. "You obey only in the ways you choose."

He ruffled her hair again, to show he only teased her. This time, he caught her long earpoints, one after the other, and let them slip through his hands. He felt the muscles try to twitch.

He never understood why breeding sylphs hated having their earpoints touched by their owners, while infertiles reveled in the attention. He used to ask, but Shashi only evaded the question, clearly embarrassed by it. It seemed all sylphs had their secrets.

He pushed his worries aside while he played their old game of teasing his sylph.

***

Shashi rinsed out the alovak can and cleaned the cup her owner had used.

Her owner's questions turned slowly in her mind. She was certain Mirrin had asked them to take her mind off Captain Jediyah. He worried about the men he had sent to destroy the Markans, but the two escaped sylphs concerned her. She had no interest in the Markan humans; they were the enemy.

She admired Belaika: he was an interesting sylph and she wished him well. And Haema deserved better than Nicolfer.

Naturally she disapproved of caging Belaika! Mirrin gave the impression he was no happier with the situation, even if he had little love for the scout.

Even so, he had defied Nicolfer's instructions and stood up to her when she learned he had given orders that the sylph should be watered. Because Shashi's owner must sometimes be hard, it did not mean he was heartless.

Shashi had known that Belaika planned – or hoped for – escape and she had ignored the signs. She had not told her owner, yet he knew. The conversations Sandev shared with Belaika, after she had ignored him for weeks. Another warning sign she never passed on.

Shashi had suspected Haema – whom she pitied while tied to the hag Nicolfer – planned escape with Belaika. Who could blame her for falling toe over ear in love with the scout?

Not that she, a mere infertile, understood such things.

"Troubled thoughts, Shashi- _y_ -Mirrin?"

The sylph spun on her heel and almost dropped the cup she was drying. And drying and drying, she realized.

She inclined her head. "Sandev- _ya_."

Wariness mingled with her respect for Sandev. Wary because of the Gift, despite assurances that she was somehow blocked from using it, and respectful because of her great age and wisdom.

All the camp sylphs believed that she remained a prisoner because she had a deeper plan of her own; that she would use her power when it suited.

"You are distracted, Shashi." Sandev smiled. "What worries you? Perhaps I can help."

Shashi's wariness increased. She was friendly – no reason for her to be otherwise – but she knew the woman had managed to make the ownerless sylphs more devoted to her than to the army. And caused half of the officers' sylphs to question their own loyalties. Shashi must remember that Sandev did not wish the best for her homeland or her owner.

"In trouble? Unfairly punished?"

Shashi's earpoints twitched. "Good sylphs do not get punished."

"Of course not." Sandev smiled again. "But owners are sometimes unfair."

The sylph tossed her head and her earpoints slanted forwards in determination. "He is a good man, Sandev- _ya_. He might be _your_ enemy, but he is not cruel."

"Yet you are troubled. Why?"

Shashi gestured. "Everybody is on edge since the scout escaped." She did not mention Haema. Nor Captain Jediyah.

"I'm surprised he didn't escape sooner. Perhaps because of his injury. Did you know Nicolfer helped?"

"How?"

"She forced him to walk all day. He could build up his strength once he recovered from his bad leg," explained Sandev. "Nicolfer seems to forget that sylphs are resourceful when left to their own devices."

"He had help. He did not pick that lock."

"You know he was not the only scout involved." Sandev's eyes glittered at the unspoken allegation. "They were never very far away."

Shashi shuddered. Thinking the enemy could creep into their camp unseen and unchallenged worried her.

"Some can probably pick locks," continued Sandev. "No need for keys."

"What about Haema?"

"Love. As I think you already know. You're troubled, Shashi and it's nothing to do with runaway sylphs. A problem shared is halved."

Shashi blinked. "Is this how you got the other sylphs on your side?"

"Kind words and comfort go a long way with bereaved sylphs, don't you think?" Sandev arched an eyebrow. "Your quartermaster is not cruel and he makes sure the sylphs' physical requirements are met, yet he seems ignorant of their emotional needs. A surprising oversight I feel."

Shashi smiled. "A friend to fallen sylphs?"

"Their treatment is not as good as it should be. I fill that gap and they respond... Hardly my fault, is it? Now, what troubles you?"

"Nicolfer will blame _enya_ for Belaika's escape." The sylph's earpoints sagged for a brief moment. "She questions everybody."

"It is easier to believe he had inside help than that your sentries were so easily bypassed. Just imagine what it would be like if sylphs were violent." Sandev gave a savage grin. "Believe me, Marka has men who are almost as good at scouting as the sylphs." _There, one nicely planted seed, to judge from those widened eyes and bolt upright earpoints_.

"She might try and get at me. I took him choca and drinking water. I even offered washwater, though he didn't want it." Shashi wrinkled her nose.

"He wanted to preserve his camouflage. Or did you offer fresh paint, too?"

"I pitied him, he was hurt."

"I'm sure he was very grateful."

"But he will do his best to bring our enemies down on us." Shashi looked worried again.

"Of course, that's his job. If the positions were reversed, you would do the same. You're sylphs, you must obey."

Shashi blinked again and changed the subject. "I will think on what you said, about problems halved." She walked away quickly, swinging the alovak can and her owner's cup.

Gajaran moved from one side. "She does not like what sylph scouts do either."

Sandev noted her words. She had tried to bring Gajaran around, but the small infertile would not be moved.

She hated sylph scouts because sylph scouts had caused her owner's death.

"Whether she likes it or not," retorted Sandev, "they are very good at what they do."

Gajaran snorted. "Devils," she replied. "Just devils."

***

The following day lived up to the description of summer. The sun baked the ground almost before it finished rising over a range of small mountains to the east. The lead scouts and riders were dazzled by it and Mirrin hoped that anybody following might be blinded by it.

Four days had now passed since they parted company with Captain Jediyah.

Sandev walked alongside one of the wagons and hid a yawn. As usual, the army avoided main roads, hamlets and cities, but did pass several farms.

Wide-eyed children stared at the soldiers, until hustled away by wary mothers. Sylphs and men working in the fields also made themselves scarce, but Mirrin had no interest in giving farmers a hard time. He wanted to pass through quickly and quietly. The nearer they came to Marka, the more civilization they saw.

Sandev was secretly elated.

Undetected, she had used the Gift to warm the water for her morning wash. Though only a small triumph with Nicolfer away. Sandev had left much of the block in place and hoped Nicolfer never realized that it was effectively broken. Not until too late anyway. Soon she would remove the block altogether.

Nicolfer had grown careless.

Most of the sylphs walked, the only exceptions a couple of the officers' sylphs who sat on the back of a wagon. Shashi walked alongside her owner's horse, enjoying the sunshine. Sandev's small group clustered beside the quartermaster's wagon.

Gajaran sometimes jogged ahead to join Sandev, presumably for company as she never said a word. Sandev also enjoyed the exercise, quite content to walk rather than chat.

She looked at the mountains. Unless she missed her guess, this was the last range to cross before reaching the western Prefectures of Marka, known as the Western March.

The March marked the boundary after the collapse, unless Marka had expanded since she went missing. With any luck, a Markan detachment would happen across them at any time.

She worried for those Markans behind, afraid they were all dead. Had Belaika's escape been in vain?

But why had Jediyah not rejoined? Something very strange had happened back there and Sandev itched to learn the truth.

Her attention returned to the mountains.

Perhaps two days, if they avoided the roads. Longer, if Mirrin decided to head north or south of the mountains, which seemed to be a favorite trick. The last range.

The March, then Marka. Sandev worried Mirrin's army might slip through undetected.

She looked north and south at clouds of dust, similar to those this army threw up behind it.

Not rescue and not Markans. More Eldovans.

The detachments were coming together: soon, this army would be ready to fall on Marka.

She hoped the Markans were aware.

Marcus Vintner was far from stupid, and surrounded by able, experienced soldiers who would fill any gaps in his knowledge.

So long as they realized what happened beyond the city. The small detachment that had shadowed Mirrin for so long had strayed far from home and beyond communication. If they were still alive.

Dervra and Nicolfer had plans greater than Marka. Once they had the city, what was their next target?

The Key? Magiere? The Ark itself?

The possibilities were frightening.

Did they plan to destroy these things, or subvert them to the other Sephiroth?

She must take care.

Being ignorant of their long-term plans, she could only speculate.

A sylph dashed past, calling for her owner. Sandev watched the sylph skid to a halt before a group of officers.

Sandev looked around for her sylphs and saw them almost immediately. They too seemed distressed. Gajaran gesticulated and her earpoints lashed before settling in an upright position.

No voices were raised, for sylphs didn't behave that way, but Gajaran looked unhappy. Sandev could not decide whether to join the officers or the ownerless sylphs.

The sylph who had dashed past her returned, her earpoints slightly wilted.

"Wenna!" called Sandev. "Wenna- _y_ -Kadyah!"

The sylph ignored her completely, so Sandev joined the ownerless.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Gajaran scowled at her and earpoints lashed again. She turned and stalked away.

Surprised, Sandev watched her go. What had got into her?

After a pause, Rukana answered. "The whistling," she said. "We can hear it. They have found us again."

Sandev turned away, but only to hide her delighted smile.

***
Chapter 23

**Murder In Marka**

Sajalan's pen scratched furiously across the paper and paused only when dipped into the inkwell. Two light crystals, borrowed from Lieutenant Patisk and set up above the desk, provided light.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap...

Sajalan vaguely registered an agitated Meylka watching him. She wanted to interrupt, but he must get this report finished. His broth must be ready.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap... Sajalan noticed that his sylph's earpoints twitched in time to the sounds.

They now resided in small and discreet rooms provided by the City Guard, so that Sajalan could stay close to his task. Used to frequent moves, he and Meylka were happy anywhere, so long as they were together.

A strange friendship. He supposed they'd bonded so well because Meylka _needed_ him; she gave him a sense of self-worth in a way nothing and nobody else had ever done before.

He ignored the sylph as she peered into the inkwell, probably hoping it would soon run dry. She would get his attention then.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch...

Sajalan made no move to stop Meylka from glancing at the report. The angular shapes and squiggles would mean nothing to her. Sajalan muttered as he wrote.

"All these men report to Petan Unter, Sergeant of the Eldovan Army. The men are at a dwelling in Mercer Street, between the drapery and the tailor Mirken Had Ronar. I have observed these men several times and followed each when he reported to Petan Unter. The sergeant himself lives under the name Necan Lowin Rewen, at a dwelling in Jewelers' Row, the one with a red door between two green doors. To further aid your recognition, Petan has grown a large beard which reaches his chest."

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch...

Sajalan finally laid down his pen, sprinkled sand over the report to dry the ink, shook the sand off and set the page to one side. He looked up and Meylka smiled.

"You must eat, _enya_ ," she prompted.

"You've spent far too much time with Markan sylphs," he told her. "I warned you owners here are far too lax."

Meylka did not even look embarrassed. "Other sylphs tell me our prime duty is to ensure our owners are properly looked after," she retorted.

Sajalan returned his sylph's smile and raised his hands in surrender. "It's also my duty to get this report finished. Don't worry, last page now. The broth is ready?"

"Very nearly."

"Go and eat yours and I'll be ready for mine when you're finished."

Meylka's silver-gray eyes were large in her face as she looked at him for a long moment, before she nodded. She pattered through to the other room.

Sajalan returned to his report and lifted the pen between ink-stained fingers. He resumed muttering the words to himself.

"I also discovered that Petan reports to Councilor Brendin Aulic Jendran, but I leave all further investigations in your capable hands. I remain sir, your obedient servant..."

Sajalan signed off, reused the sand to dry the ink and threw his pen onto the desk. _Obedient servant_. Similar to signing off in Eldova, except there people used _humble servant_. Neither humble nor obedient, Sajalan only did what he must. He worked for the continued existence of Sajalan.

And Meylka.

His responsibilities to her were no less important than Meylka's were to him. Always duty somewhere.

He shuffled the sheets together, folded them and sealed the report with wax. He had a seal to append to the report, but that didn't matter as he intended carrying it personally to Captain Crallin. He looked up and wondered why the other room had gone so quiet.

"I'm ready for that broth!" he called.

Silence.

"Meylka? This is no time for games. Meylka!"

No quiet giggle from his sylph in mischievous mood.

Going to the other room, the intended rebuke died on his lips.

Long silver hair spread around her, Meylka sprawled on the floor with broth splashed everywhere. Sajalan had heard nothing; he never did when writing and he had done more of that today than since learning his letters.

The subject of that scribing sat at his ease at the table.

"If you want your broth," said Petan, "you can lick it off the floor, like the dog you are."

Sajalan looked around. Petan and one other man. A street tough. A _hard_ street tough.

"Finished the report?" A mocking tone entered Petan's voice. "Perhaps you thought we might not notice you creeping about. Traitor and turncoat. Only one sentence for that, you know."

Sajalan hid his fear. All the knives were beyond reach. "For my sylph as well? If you've killed her..."

Petan shrugged. "My record for killing sylphs is poor. I need practice. Must start somewhere."

"You always were a bastard." A sneer turned Sajalan's lips. "Oh, I _am_ sorry. I forgot."

Petan's hazel eyes were very cold. He lacked a middle name and carried his mother's family name. Which meant she had not even known the father's name. Birth out of wedlock meant nothing in itself, but a woman who did not even _know_ her child's father spoke volumes.

Petan nodded to the other man, who stepped forward and backhanded Sajalan. He went down and slid a little way along the tiled floor. Towards his knives.

Petan nodded again.

Sajalan groaned as the kick drove the wind from his lungs. Contempt twisted Petan's face. "Better bastard than coward and traitor."

"Coward?" Sajalan struggled to regain his feet and was sent back to the tiles by another kick. Another slide. Nearer the knives.

"Yes, coward. You changed sides to save your miserable skin, like the others. We'll get them all yet. You're the first example. I'll take that report of yours now. And you will tell me what you have passed to the City Guard. Every... last... word." Petan smiled. A cold, cold smile.

***

Zandra and Marcus sat alone in their living room. Kaira had received strict instructions to keep the children out of the way for at least the next two hours. Not even Eleka or Jenn were present.

Busy with her new baby, Eleka happily left her owners alone; Jenn rather less so, as she felt she saw too little of her owner. But even Jenn left, if under protest, once the instructions were given more firmly.

But this discussion must remain private. Short human ears and long sylph earpoints could not learn what was said here. Sylphs were usually discreet; children rarely so.

"I have made excellent progress with the Guilds," said Zandra. "They will support you when Zenepha vacates the Throne. They're convinced you are on their side and won't rock too many boats."

"They know their own areas of expertise best," said Marcus. "Have you mentioned my suggestion of a Guild Council?"

Zandra smiled. "It received a cautious welcome. They are happy for such an organization to advise you, but they were concerned it might be used to exert control over their traditional freedoms. After all, they already have their own organization."

"Reassure them. And the political classes?"

"Not much progress, alas. What I hear from Council and Senate wives is that when Zenepha goes, you have the best chance of succeeding him."

"But?" Marcus raised a questioning eyebrow.

Zandra shrugged. "The general feeling is that they want the sylph to remain Emperor until he dies."

"So long as it can't be traced back to me, that can be arranged."

"No," cautioned Zandra. "Sylph-murder – and regicide at that – will do us no good. And they would suspect you."

"They suspect me even when it isn't me," said Marcus, wryly.

"Well, unintended consequences are usually bad."

Marcus smiled. "So long as the Throne does not fall again. Might they support Enthan Vintner?"

"He's not pressed his claim recently."

"No surprise there; the man's busy trying to expand the Imperial Republic south _and_ fight off southerners wanting to expand into his lands. I almost pity him."

Zandra nodded. "We can look closer to home for obstacles to your claim."

"The Imhotep?"

"Stood firmly behind Zenepha. Hardly surprising really. He was the hardest to convince that Zenepha could become Emperor and there is nothing more zealous than the converted."

"Or the coerced."

Zandra grimaced. "Djerana's appearance finally persuaded him he had done right by crowning Zenepha. His obsession with the ilven is almost unhealthy."

"Got to hand it to Zenepha, he's done very well."

"Better than expected in shark-infested seas. He's built our success into his own."

Marcus's expression hardened. "With a lot of help from our _Sandester_ cousins. That bloody brother of Branad's hasn't even had the courtesy to reply to my letter."

"I'm surprised Nazvasta has not pressed his own claim."

"He has refused me and submitted to Zenepha. No doubt Marshal Mikhan aided him in _that_ decision."

"He's certainly playing his own game." Zandra grimaced. "He'll have plenty of spies here."

"Tempting to start rumors to singe his ears, but those have a habit of returning to bite you on the backside as well."

Zandra smiled. "They do. The world of espionage is full of dangerous games. But if the rumors start in Sandester itself... What rumors have you got in mind?"

"That Nazvasta plans rebellion against the Throne. Which he is, of course."

Zandra cocked an eyebrow.

"The moment I replace Zenepha, Sandester will be in revolt. Branad renounced the claim for himself and his descendants, but nothing has been said about other relatives. And Nazvasta is clever enough to spot the loophole."

"Maybe. Start the rumor anyway, but it might lead to more support for Nazvasta."

"Really?"

"Of course really. People in Sandester would support such a move; fighting between the Vintners affected them in ways that hardly endeared them to our cause. Your father's sieges were not exactly calculated to win them to his way of thinking."

Marcus considered for a few moments. "We should say that Nazvasta wants to keep Sandester independent from any new Markan Empire, thus impoverishing trade."

Zandra smiled. "Work on that one," she suggested. "More useful I think. And we need to dream up one or two more to go along with it."

"The Re Taurans are working with Sandester. If they then fall on Sandester, Nazvasta will get the blame."

"Perhaps."

"That's two rumors. A third? It must be confirmation of the other two. Let me see..."

Zandra's mind whirled. Marcus had good ideas; his political mind could be deeply devious. But hers worked faster. "Re Taura wants alliance or union with Sandester," she said, "so that between them they can exert greater control over trade in the Bay of Plenty. And that will hit fairly close to the truth. Even if the Taurans aren't going to invade, they want _some_ thing. And perhaps they want to consolidate gains if they do come."

Marcus smiled. "Those three will do very well. That's Nazvasta dealt with for now. Where would I be without you?"

Zandra laughed. "Still dreaming in Calcan."

"While we're talking about Re Taura, we must discuss support for Kelanus."

"Potential advantage over Zenepha on this one," said Zandra. "Though I'm still unsure about the wisdom of the letter you sent."

Marcus shrugged. "He'll know the letter came from me, but nobody else can prove it did. Besides, I'm not going to abandon him. If he's wrong, the game's over anyway. And if he's right..." He shrugged.

Zandra rubbed her hands. "If Kelanus is right, Zenepha has erred in your favor."

"Especially when I give Kelanus my official and public backing." Marcus grinned. " _Those_ letters are already written."

Zandra smiled. Things were going very well after all.

***

Olista stared out of the window of his office in the coronation building. A perfunctory knock heralded his secretary, Melda.

"A gwerin to see you," she said, disapproval showing in her eyes. "Without an appointment."

Olista saw Silmarila behind Melda, earpoints lashing in irritation. He sighed.

"Show her in," he said.

Melda's lips thinned, even as she nodded her head.

"Ten minutes," she told the gwerin. "No more."

Silmarila smiled at Melda and did not turn to face Olista until the secretary left the room. The Supreme Councilor gave her a polite nod.

"His Majesty not with you?" he asked.

Silmarila shook her head and her earpoints slanted forwards. "I have some free time. His Majesty is most generous with that for his property, something I believe he learned from you."

"So you hastened here."

"More a slow walk. I am surprised you are not downstairs again with the mundane paperwork." Silmarila looked around the office. "This is smaller than I remember."

Although the gwerin had done Olista no harm and never tried to usurp his position with the Emperor, he could not completely hide his distaste. He still felt a little pushed aside in her favor, but feared his feelings were born from envy. He had no logical reason to feel jealous of her, but there it was. A selfish reason, rather than one of state. It rankled that she had greater intelligence.

"Where is Zenepha?" he asked.

"With Selkina and Djerana."

Olista inwardly winced at the ilven's name. Grayar had brought Djerana to bolster Marcus Vintner's claim but she had instead latched on to Zenepha. She claimed that the notion of a sylph ruling humans was so fascinating that she could not stay away.

Worse, events since had done nothing to help Marcus Vintner. There might be trouble when the time came for the sylph to step down.

"Lucky Selkina and Djerana," he said. "Why _are_ you here?"

If Silmarila detected anything in the Supreme Councilor's voice, she gave no reaction. "To reassure you that I have not betrayed your secret concerning Sandev. Neither has the Emperor asked questions. However, he is still concerned that Sandev has not been to see him and that the fault is somehow his. Typical sylph, I must say."

Her dark eyes glittered and Olista could not tell where iris ended and pupil began. If not for her earpoints, Silmarila could pass for human.

"Well, I'm reassured."

The gwerin wrinkled her nose at his tone. "However, I would like to know where we stand regarding Sandev. Grayar avoids me."

_I might start avoiding you,_ reflected Olista. _Pain in the proverbial._ Aloud, he said, "Still no nearer finding where she is. All I can suggest is that she's acting through choice."

"Caya is frantic. Janin out in the field, Tangan disappeared... Didn't you know? Tangan, appearing the same day Sandev disappears, has also vanished. Nobody is saying why."

"News to me," admitted Olista.

Silmarila looked closely at Olista's face. "You don't like me very much," she said, after a pause. She waved his protest to silence. "Perhaps you don't trust me, or envy blinds you." She glanced quickly away, then back again.

Olista shrugged, but remained silent. Her words were too close to the truth.

"I propose an alliance between us," continued the gwerin. "Too many people keep too many secrets. You are the Supreme Councilor and an important advisor to His Majesty. As well as his former owner and somebody Zenepha repeatedly tells me he trusts. And I belong to the Throne; my task is also to advise the Emperor. Is alliance too much to ask?"

Olista stared. How had she managed to work out his distaste _and_ that he didn't know the reason for it himself? "What can we offer each other?"

"We both know things the other does not. If we are to carry out our tasks efficiently, we must know as much as possible." The gwerin's earpoints still slanted forward questioningly.

"Grayar tells you nothing?"

"Very little and avoids me. Perhaps it is an oversight."

"Oversight? Grayar?"

Silmarila smiled. "My thought also."

"Grayar is like that with everybody."

The gwerin shrugged.

Olista leaned forward, his dark blue eyes serious and cold. He pointed a finger at her. "Part of me wishes you'd return to whatever flea infested hovel of a village you crawled from and other parts wish you had never come here."

Silmarila gave him a sylph's slow blink, but she said nothing.

"Those parts of me are very small, but they exist. How much they color my judgment – if at all – I do not know." He sat back in his chair. "If you can live with that, you have your alliance."

The gwerin's earpoints returned to their normal position. "Since I returned to Marka and resumed my place, I see endemic obstructionism. Factions vie for power and the Emperor, whom we _all_ serve, is kept _ignorant_ because his closest advisors fumble in the dark for scraps. Scraps!"

"The nature of politics," said Olista, but he got no further.

Silmarila waggled a finger like it was a weapon. "You mislike me for the same reason other humans hate gwerins; you envy our intelligence. Do not deny it – I have felt it to one degree or another all my life. Gwerins become the property of the Throne because that is our only protection. We learn to live with it because we must." A smile brightened her features again. "Alliance?"

Olista nodded and stretched out a hand, which Silmarila shook.

"I hope you come to learn there is no reason to envy me," said the gwerin. "I would like to have at least one human friend not of noble blood."

"What can we share?" asked the Supreme Councilor.

"As part of your duty is keeping Marka secure, you must be aware of sylphs all over the city discussing the merits of freedom over slavery."

"None have demanded their freedom," pointed out Olista.

"Yet." Silmarila smiled. "Zenepha's manumission helped start it and with all these wild sylphs prepared to talk, ideas reach sylph ears that might prove dangerous. This is what I would like to propose..."

Olista listened. He would be late for his next meeting, but this was more important. And he had his own information to share. In a moment, he would tell Melda to cancel the rest of today's appointments.

***

Zenepha clasped his hands behind his head and lay back on the grass. He basked in the strong sunshine and reveled in the heat. Summer had always been his favorite season.

Selkina sat beside him, and the ilven Djerana lay on her stomach, idly kicking a leg in the air. She was watching insects fly from flower to flower and trying to see exactly what they got out of the task.

Zenepha rarely felt so contented these days, as somebody or other usually needed to see him, or wanted his signature on something, or must be chivvied into doing a thing the way it should be done.

There were always worries, but he could push those to the back of his mind for now. All these demands on his mind made relaxation more precious and he appreciated every chance to indulge. Having Selkina and Djerana with him was an added bonus.

Given how little of her he saw, Selkina remained loyal. Sylph couples never enjoyed separation, but to be kept apart when they slept in the same room was cruel, especially as his wife had no official function at all. Not even empress.

He glanced at Djerana who had made a small sound of frustration. The insects had flown away.

The ilven had been in Marka for a year and was growing fractious.

Djerana wanted to see Grayar, so she could visit her sisters, particularly Djeni, her friend and bathing partner. Zenepha knew Djerana needed a break with her sisters; there were no others of her kind here to mingle with and being an ilven alone brought its own pressure.

He empathized with that, for even other sylphs regarded him as something more than just a sylph. Except for Selkina, they all stepped warily around him. Some of the infertiles employed in the palace now regarded him almost as a god.

Nata, a sylph befriended when she lived on the streets and he was no more than an ordinary domestic slave, all but worshipped him. He had ensured her employment in the palace, so he had at least one friend here.

But every time they met, he now saw the light that appeared in her eyes. It felt uncomfortable.

Even Silmarila had Salafisa, though the baby gwerin could barely be counted as company yet. And he could not understand what happened to Silmarila whenever she saw Eleka.

The gwerin did not precisely regress, but treated Eleka with the same respect she might her own mother. It seemed as though the sylph had become a surrogate mother to the older gwerin, which was ridiculous. Eleka was barely eighteen years old, whereas Silmarila had been alive for almost three centuries. Embarrassed at first, the female sylph now took it in her stride.

Zenepha put it down to the strangeness of gwerins.

He had seen her name on documents dating from Emperor Evlander's reign. Silmarila claimed that he had been the last proper Emperor of Marka, before the troubles began. Zenepha wished he did not have the impression that she continually compared him to a man she clearly admired.

Zenepha's thoughts returned to Djerana. She would eventually return to her sisters; Grayar had already warned him that ilven always did. He would miss her when she went. For that matter, so would Nata, who served the ilven and kept her rooms clean.

Djerana had been brought here to attach herself to Marcus Vintner, but the best laid plans of even the great Grayar and Sandev could go awry. Ilven were proudly independent and Djerana found him more interesting than Marcus. She had been with him ever since.

As Olista had said more than once, it was a funny old world.

He and Selkina sat up a moment before Djerana turned her head. Guardsman Lieutenant Gior, helmet under his arm, approached and bowed.

"Your Majesty, the delegation from the Jewelers' Guild is here. And Aylos Janan seeks an audience."

A smile chased the grimace from Zenepha's face. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, sitting up. "I will come through now."

Affairs of state intruded again.

***

Under Oston's watchful eye, Captain Crallin scratched his signature at the bottom of the document. He carefully scattered sand over the ink and blew it away. He dripped wax before impressing his ring.

"Lieutenant Patisk is here to see you, sir," said Oston.

The man's tone held respect, but he was never servile. Hard to impress, he certainly knew his own value. He had not always been a secretary and his physique, though short, hinted at powerful strength.

"Has he got an appointment?" asked Crallin.

"I recommend you see him now."

"What?"

Oston took this as affirmation and smiled. "I'll send him in."

Moments after the secretary left Crallin's study, Lieutenant Patisk walked in, helmet tucked under an arm.

"My news is not good, sir."

Crallin steepled his fingers and leaned forward.

"Sergeant Sajalan is dead, sir. Murdered at the safe house."

"Have you got anything from his sylph?"

"She's dead too." Patisk grimaced.

"His sylph?" Crallin lifted both eyebrows, the most surprise he ever showed. Sylphs were not always kept as well as they should be and were sometimes punished in ways they ought not to be, but people usually didn't kill them. "Any thoughts?"

Patisk's dark, curly hair waved as he nodded. Crallin felt the Lieutenant should think about getting it cut. "It can only be the man or men we hunt. We found spilled ink everywhere, but no sign of Sajalan's report."

"Had he reported to you, as commanded?" Crallin hoped so, because if he had passed the information on, then he had served his purpose. A cold assessment but, in light of the man's death, the only practical one.

From the look on Patisk's face, bad news here, too.

"I told him to put it in writing, sir."

Crallin's face remained impassive and gave no hint of the turmoil inside. "You couldn't know he was about to be murdered. It's not that common an occurrence. You're not to blame for either the deaths or the missing report."

Patisk bobbed his head, but did not look mollified. Concern for underlings marked a good officer, but he must learn to hide guilt when something went wrong. Blame must be apportioned correctly. Whoever murdered Sajalan was the guilty party, not the man's commander.

"Thank you for reporting this to me. So we are no closer to learning the whereabouts of Petan and his cohorts?"

"No sir; sorry sir."

"Very well. Return to your duties. Will you send in Oston please?"

"Very good, sir." Patisk turned on his heel and left. The door had only just closed on the younger man when Crallin's secretary entered, suitably solemn.

"I assume you heard the news before me."

Oston nodded. "Of course; I had to hear it to send him in so quickly."

"We have no idea where this Sergeant Petan and his assistants might be?"

"No."

Crallin sighed and shook his head. "You know what to do."

Oston could hardly hide the pleased expression on his face. "I shall make all the necessary arrangements."

Crallin watched the door close behind Oston.

Sajalan's death did not particularly sadden him, but murdering sylphs was unforgivable. And murdering an _infertile_ sylph disgusted all decent people. As bad as killing a child.

Crallin wanted the perpetrator caught.

The man Oston employed would arrange that.

***

Sallis ti Ath inhaled the alovak's aroma, eyes half-closed, one hand resting lightly on the sealed parchment he'd just received. It contained descriptions and a warrant.

Ti Ath savored the alovak, one of his few pleasures. Unlike alcohol, which confused the brain and slowed reactions, alovak helped keep him alert. He had so many enemies in his line of work, slowed reactions could prove fatal.

Dark eyes and the style of his name marked him as an outlander, not that anybody in Marka would notice or, if they did, care. Always plenty of outlanders in a city like Marka. Sallis hailed from Re Annan, an island that lay east of the mainland, even further away than Re Taura.

Elvallon, one of the Gifted, had cured Sallis of an illness when he was still very small, realized the youngster shared the Gift, and persuaded his parents to let him train the boy.

The Gift had been slow to manifest and Sallis doubted his ability. Elvallon had more determination and, slowly at first but with gathering pace, dragged the power from him and set it free. Something many had cause to regret ever since.

Most with the Gift had several skills, always within certain areas. Many could project themselves ethereally or even physically. Others could heal injuries, influence people to their will, draw on impossible strength and there were even those who could shapeshift into any creature they wanted. There were other skills as well, but these were the important ones.

But Sallis ti Ath was different and his skills were unlike anything Elvallon had encountered before.

Once he had the scent of a person, he could see where they had been and follow their trail. Not by smell – he only needed to sniff at or touch something they had touched to trigger the skill – but by a niggle in the back of his mind, telling him which way they had traveled. It stopped only when he touched the person he hunted.

If that had been the only oddity, he knew Elvallon would have continued his training, instead of reacting in fear to him. It was not the only difference.

His ability to slow time terrified his tutor. Not that he slowed it down, only that he could move faster within it. A tiring skill, if useful in fights, whether with weapons or fists.

He only wished he could manipulate time for longer periods. And it usually only worked for him. He had only managed to slow time for someone else once. And the effort had almost killed him.

His teacher knew of only one other with this skill; one of the Ten.

But manipulating time was not why Elvallon decided he could no longer teach him. Nor why even the great Sandev stepped warily around him.

When Elvallon dropped his training and sent him back home, Sallis was only eleven years old.

Sallis came to Marka aged fifteen, following his father's suggestion that his skills might be put to good use catching criminals. He had lived here ever since, except for short visits home. Welcomed – eventually – by the City Guard, Sallis had served the city well for more than twenty years.

And the man now sat opposite was instrumental in ensuring Sallis ti Ath got the work he deserved.

"Are you going to drink that, or sniff it all day?" demanded Oston, who had already drained his cup.

Ti Ath smiled. "If you want more, the girls know you're with me. Just raise your hand, they'll refill you." Even so, ti Ath began to sip at the dark liquid.

"I've had enough for one day. Are you going to open that?"

Ti Ath liked to try and guess what his assignment might be. His fingers tapped the parchment. "You want me to find Sandev."

"No." Oston smiled with more than a hint of smugness. Rare for ti Ath to be wrong, so Oston always savored the times the bounty hunter could not guess his assignment. "Grayar's on that one."

"And not making a very good job of it so far." Those dark eyes still held surprise.

"Perhaps not. We want you to hunt some killers we hope are still in the city. Not innocent men, I assure you."

Ti Ath stiffened. "Very well." He broke the seal on the parchment and quickly scanned the contents. "Is there enough evidence to convict in a trial?"

"Afraid not." Oston's face showed no emotion. "Come and take a look at the place, everything is as we found it."

"That will be helpful."

Oston took a breath. "There is something else you should know."

"I'm listening."

"They killed a sylph, an infertile."

Ti Ath nodded, but did not smile. "Let's go take a look," he said. "And then, I'll sort it out for you."

***
Chapter 24

**Sallis ti Ath Hunts**

Sallis ti Ath looked around the small dwelling used as a safe house by the City Guard. Oston had not lied: everything, even the spilled broth, had been left exactly as found, though the spilled liquid had now dried, leaving a brown stain on the floor. Sallis glanced at the human corpse, its features battered almost beyond recognition. The second body received more attention and he knelt beside the dead sylph.

"Anybody know her name?"

Guardsmen gave him a surprised look.

"He was Sajalan, one of our sergeants," answered one.

Ti Ath waited. He already knew that. He had no interest in Sajalan; humans made their own decisions. But their sylphs had no choice but to follow.

Oston, who knew Sallis ti Ath best, eventually replied. "Meylka."

A small muscle twitched in ti Ath's cheek, the only sign of emotion raging within. He ignored the ugly bruise that marked the sylph's broken neck and instead looked into her face. Eyes closed, she looked to be asleep.

_At least you are together,_ he reflected.

He stood and looked around the room.

"Two men," he said.

He left the death room for the other. Not a lot in here either. A bed, blankets for the sylph in one corner, a desk, oddments. He looked around the desk.

"They took the report," said Oston.

"I'm not looking for the report," retorted ti Ath. "But something that might belong to the attackers."

Oston nodded.

Ti Ath looked at the cold fireplace and smiled. A piece of cloth used to wipe someone's hands. He reached for it.

The blood belonged to Sajalan, but ti Ath got nothing from that. The dead could not be followed. But the man who had wiped his hands...

The images formed almost immediately.

Oston looked at ti Ath. "Anything?"

Ti Ath's smile widened. "Oh yes."

Oston took a couple of paces back. "Remember," he said, "we haven't got enough evidence to convict."

Ti Ath's smile faded. His dark eyes grew cold and he nodded in acknowledgment. He suppressed the civilized Sallis and hid him away.

The hunter was in charge now.

***

"It appears this man is very thorough."

Councilor Brendin Jendran closed Sajalan's report and rested his hand on the cover, pleased it did not shake. That his name appeared within terrified him.

Though unnecessary for heat, a small fire warmed Brendin's back. It burned in near silence, though a piece of wood shifted on the grate now and then. The sun had warmed Brendin's book-lined study for most of the day.

"Was very thorough," corrected Petan.

Brendin managed a smile. "Perhaps he talked to others."

"We can worry about possibilities for ever, but I don't think so. The City Guard would have called by now if he had."

Brendin felt reassured. He had spent ten years in the City Guard and knew how they operated, but that was more than a quarter of a century ago. Procedures changed and Captain Crallin had proved himself the most efficient commander of the City Guard in decades. Where had the time gone?

"Only the one copy exists?"

"Sajalan was still writing it when we called."

Brendin nodded again. "I trust there were no witnesses?"

"None we left alive."

Brendin's dark blue eyes were neutral. "I won't ask."

Petan showed his teeth. "Let's just say my sylph killing skills have improved."

"I do hope so."

Petan nodded. "If you're finished?"

"Of course."

After the Eldovan had left, Brendin smiled. There had been no visit from Nicolfer or Dervra in some time. That meant they were pleased with him. He had done well. Soon, the Eldovans would return and he might finally have the chance to be Supreme Councilor.

He turned and dropped Sajalan's report onto the fire. The flames from the burning report reflected in his eyes. He was safe.

***

Silmarila- _y_ -Marka sat alone in her small study, an annex to the bedchamber. She had spent a couple of months rebuilding her library, struggling to reclaim volumes rightfully hers from recalcitrant librarians.

She glanced out of the window, pleased her rooms were on the shady side of the palace in summer. Though a fire always burned here in winter, the stone walls kept the heat down and ensured her rooms were delightfully cool in summer. Good for the books, too.

She wondered about her former companions and tutors, Marasil and Samrita. Their rooms stood empty, silent witnesses to her solitude.

Such was a gwerin's lot.

Envied by humans for her intelligence, Silmarila had spent most of her life alone, surrounded by people. Though she had been tolerated in her small village for her wisdom and knowledge, most people eventually tired of a gwerin who never aged and never seemed to die.

That was untrue. Middle-aged – some would say past middle-aged – she would die one day.

Sylphs went in awe of gwerins and respected, rather than envied, them. Among wild sylphs, gwerins usually achieved great rank. Unlike other infertiles, they were not excluded from important posts. The best piece of wisdom wild sylphs possessed was their attitude that each must do what she could do best for the good of all. Blind prejudice always caused more problems in the long run.

Sylphs in the palace were more than just respectful of her. Those who cleaned were appalled that Silmarila preferred to clean her own room; sylphs did not always treat books with proper respect. Illiteracy was a terrible curse.

Her thoughts turned to her alliance with the Supreme Councilor. She understood the reasons why Zenepha had become Emperor. A caretaker. Zenepha held the Throne not for who he was, but for who he was not.

Eventually, he must step down. Silmarila grimaced. There were those – particularly from the faction that supported the late Branad Vintner's claim – who wanted Zenepha to remain Emperor.

But Silmarila knew that was impossible.

No matter how personable the sylph, he could not remain on the Throne. Humans must be ruled by humans; they would never accept rule from a non-human permanently.

But she could not choose who sat on the Throne, only serve whoever did.

She looked again at her books. Tomes on history, law, politics, philosophy, natural history. Every scrap of knowledge she could find about the first civilization. So much had been lost.

A book about the Key, which had terrified her the first time she read it, almost three hundred years ago. That humans could control so much, and harness such great power for their own ends, humbled her. Not that individual humans were usually spectacularly intelligent, but they were very good at building on knowledge gained by previous generations.

Unless they destroyed their civilization.

She knew that creatures capable of such creativity must have a reverse side. Creation and destruction were ever lovers, who had danced together for eternity, all part of the cosmic balance. Or so she had been taught.

The universe came into being when the Creator destroyed the cosmic egg and ended the eternal equilibrium. And the universe had tried to regain that stability ever since. All of life strived and struggled for a return to that equilibrium.

Such ideas sent sylphs running. So how much of _her_ was really sylph? Worse, how much of a sylph could be regarded as natural? These questions had troubled her for almost three centuries.

But these questions had no practical application to her problem right now. How could she best ensure a smooth transition from a caretaker sylph to a permanent human Emperor?

She wished she had another experienced gwerin to talk to.

***

Sallis ti Ath always planned ahead. Even after putting a plan into motion, he still prepared, ready to make alterations or even abort an action as the situation demanded. The unexpected always cropped up at the most inconvenient times, else it would not be the unexpected. And a lack of preparation often killed.

Ti Ath had not quite worked out how to deal with Petan, the Eldovan criminal he'd been paid to catch.

He expected the man to have associates. He more than half expected that Petan reported to a higher authority, rather than operating under his own initiative.

The unexpected part was that he reported to a respected Councilor. Ti Ath now needed to learn whether Brendin was the head of the traitors, or whether there were more associates. Or even if he reported to someone with more authority than himself.

As always when Oston gave him a commission, it had a lot more to it than expected. Ti Ath didn't know if that was a talent, or merely coincidence.

Of course, he could just hand Brendin's name to Captain Crallin and let him discover where his information led. Even though technically illegal, the City Guard was not above using certain... methods... to get information. Nor were they stupid enough to break a man so he would tell his captors anything, just to stop the pain.

As the man fell outside the terms of his contract, ti Ath finally decided to turn Brendin in to the City Guard. Ti Ath had spent too many years working for free in the hope of better rewards in the future.

Exploitation lay down that road.

He would concentrate on Petan.

Ti Ath had already followed Petan and one companion to Mercer Street, but the man didn't live there. Several streets away, in the middle of Jewelers' Row, Petan had taken a small cottage.

Inconspicuous and easily overlooked, but for one thing.

Ti Ath stood outside Jewelers' Row, watching the only house with a red door. A foolish choice in his opinion. Most cottages had green doors and Petan should have chosen one of those.

Ti Ath considered breaking in, but he would be overheard; these small workers' cottages were rarely soundproof. Before turning Brendin over to the Guard, he must deal with Petan, or he would melt away.

Petan spent a lot of time in the cottage, probably lying low. People came and went. Though passing humans ignored Sallis, sylphs eyed him curiously, aware of his presence and wary of his motives.

Thankfully, Petan despised sylphs, so Sallis doubted the man used them for spying or information. Even so, discretion suggested he should move on.

Ti Ath walked away, making small amendments to his plan.

***

Petan could not shake off the shivery feeling that somebody watched him. It felt like an itch or a dirty touch. He could not settle.

The aftermath of killing bothered some people this way, but these things no longer bothered him. In his younger days, sleepless nights and guilt wracked him after an assassination, when he believed his victims were watching him. Now, he no longer cared if a target deserved to die or not.

Life and death were so _random_.

"The City Guard are running around with their heads stuck where the sun never shines," said his companion.

Petan smiled. Little more than a street tough, Shar enjoyed watching the authorities struggle. His dead eyes hid a surprising level of intelligence and the man was no fool.

"Good. If they feel the killings are random, they have no chance of finding out who did it."

Shar shrugged. "Perhaps. They will notice the missing report. Somebody told him to write it."

"No way they can tell if he even began it."

Shar shrugged. "Either way, they look pretty clueless to me."

"Just the way we like them."

"What's next?" Shar grinned. "More to die?"

"We wait, that's what's next," answered Petan. "We'll get more instructions in a day or so. More traitors, I hope."

Shar's eyes regarded Petan cautiously. The Markan knew his presence here could be construed as treason. Petan must choose his words carefully. Bright enough to recognize expediency, Shar could be dangerous if he decided to turn to the authorities for help...

Petan did not want to feel those large hands around his own throat. Shar had proved his worth, being one of the few who never batted an eyelid over a dead sylph. Most Markans were far too sentimental when it came to sylphs.

He wouldn't mind betting that the City Guard was angrier over the dead sylph than their dead sergeant or missing report.

A strange people.

***

Ti Ath spotted Shar walking alone. Once he shared the same street as the man, he was not hard to see, for most people gave the tough a very wide berth. That did not bother ti Ath; he could move faster, much faster, if needed.

Shar's pale blue Markan eyes flickered in ti Ath's direction when he fell into step with him.

"What do you want?" he growled. The man clearly did not know him.

"I've been told to warn you that the City Guard are hunting you. They have no names, so far as we know."

"Who told you to find me?" Shar made no effort to hide his suspicion, which helped men like him stay alive.

"Ask for no names; we all live longer that way."

"Brendin was it?"

Ti Ath looked all around. "Careful, man! If the wrong ears hear that name..."

"Well, I doubt if the City Guard have got much evidence to string us up," said Shar. "To string anyone up."

Ti Ath nodded. "Maybe. But they want to lynch whoever killed the sylph."

Shar raised an eyebrow. "So long as they get the right one of us," he said. "I killed the man, not the sylph."

Ti Ath nodded again and hid his elation. He had the information he wanted and, much as it pained him, he could leave Shar alone. "Safer if you make sure Petan gets the blame for both of them," he said.

Shar nodded. "All right. You've given me your message, now go."

Ti Ath melted back into the crowd and put two streets between them.

Now he had everything he needed.

***

Marcus stood in the window and looked across the city. Zandra stood a little behind him, but Jenn was between him and the window, arching her back against him as he ruffled her hair. Though her back faced him, Marcus saw her smile of pleasure reflected in the window glass.

"Still no news from Kelanus," said Zandra. "Sure there are enough sylphs to relay messages?"

"Plenty. What news Kelanus has instructed them to pass on, however..." Marcus shrugged. "For now, the less the better. We don't want to learn that he's disobeyed orders too soon."

"If he's disobeyed them at all," returned Zandra. "The rumors from Re Taura may be right, so he might have gone there."

"He took enough scouts to warn of that, too."

"Not if he runs down the Western March."

Jenn turned her head and sighed in pleasure as Marcus caught an earpoint. Her owner looked down and smiled, tickling the eartip. It twitched and flickered in return.

"Marcus?" Zandra did not approve of what his ministrations were doing to the sylph and pretended not to see.

"Hmm? If he runs down the entire March, then there is a reason. More likely that Treylfor and Indelgar will run up the March than Kelanus will run down it. He knows what he's about."

Zandra admitted that was probably true.

Jenn made a small sound of protest as the ear tickling came to an end.

"We're ready for alovak," Zandra told the sylph with a smile. "Nicely brewed, please."

Jenn failed to hide a hurt look, before padding out of the room.

Marcus laughed. "What's wrong with Jenn's alovak?"

"Nothing." Zandra sniffed. "But you shouldn't carry on like that with her."

"Like what?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I'm talking about. Earpoint tickling." Zandra gave him a level look. "It's immoral."

"Nonsense." Marcus waved a dismissive hand. "She's not a breeder. She works hard and deserves some pleasure now and then."

"There's pleasure and pleasure."

Marcus raised his hands in surrender. "All right. Next time I'll send her to you and you can do it instead."

"That's not funny." Despite herself, the corners of her mouth turned upwards.

"Jenn deserves some relaxation."

"You speak as if I drive her to the edge." It was Zandra's turn to be defensive. "I'm hardly pushing her."

"Of course not. But you know how she is when I spend time with you and the children."

Zandra pursed her lips. She knew all too well. Jenn had worked out ways to monopolize time with her owner and was a very good sulker when those plans went wrong. The small sylph obeyed Zandra's commands to the letter, if not always the spirit.

Jenn resented the time her owner spent with Zandra, but she never showed jealousy towards the children, or of the time Marcus spent in their company. But she had learned ways to out-child them. Very sweet, if irritating.

Although much too late to worry now, Zandra felt it would have been so much better if Jenn had not been given to Marcus until after he had married, the usual custom in Calcan. Even though that would mean a different sylph belonging to Marcus.

Well, what had happened had happened. Marcus got his sylph way too young and, when Zandra had married him, she had to accept Jenn as part of the package.

But Zandra should not feel that she was the interloper.

"Jenn must realize that your first duty is to your family," she continued. "We all recognize she's part of the family, but she cannot have you all to herself."

"She knows that." Marcus smiled. "But she's not the only one who is jealous. Tickling her ears does no harm. She's not a breeder, it's different."

Zandra sighed. She would never win this argument. Jenn returning with the alovak ended it anyway.

***

Alone with Marshal Mikhan Annada, Zenepha scrubbed a hand across his face as he took his seat. The old human laid several letters in front of him.

"The latest intelligence from Sandester," said the Marshal.

The sylph scanned the letters as quickly as he could. Three were from agents in Taura, the fourth a letter from Nazvasta.

"So an invasion _is_ imminent," said Zenepha.

"Certainly looks that way."

"So you were right to ignore Kelanus."

"Everybody makes mistakes." Mikhan smiled. "Kelanus does not know everything. And Marcus's agents have never sent a word."

"So far as we know."

"All right, let me put it this way. If they have sent word, Marcus has kept the information to himself. Which suggests that my scenario is correct."

"Where is Kelanus now?"

"Hopefully lurking close to the Trenveran border." Mikhan shrugged. "We can expect squawks of protest from them any day now."

"So long as the squawks do not turn into stabs and piercings of protest," remarked Zenepha. "We have got enough to do as it is, without adding more enemies to the mix."

"Trenvera are very aware of the threat. After all, they're the ones who brought our attention to it in the first place." A twinkle entered Mikhan's blue eyes. "They might be so grateful for Markan help that an accommodation might be reached with them."

Zenepha barked a laugh. "I think we have pulled in all the prefectures that are easy to get," he replied. "The rest will be hard work from here on."

Mikhan nodded. "Perhaps."

"And few will be happy to see a sylph ruling them."

"Your Majesty should stop thinking like that." Mikhan moderated his tone. He had no wish to be sharp. "You have done an excellent job so far. There has been hardly any trouble and certainly no agitation against you. Not from Sandester, anyway."

Zenepha gritted his teeth. There it was again. A not-so-subtle political statement.

_Look how Sandester supports you_ , with the implication that Calcan did not.

He suspected only his presence on the Throne kept one Vintner faction from the other's throat.

He changed the subject. "Now, do you know where Treylfor and Indelgar have marched off to? It's time to put them on a shorter leash and..."

When the time came, Zenepha hoped this Markan Empire would not collapse when he abdicated.

***

While waiting for Petan, Brendin Jendran glanced out of his window. He wondered why he had not seen the guardsman who usually passed his house at this time. Delayed, or was there a more sinister reason?

He remembered from his time in the City Guard that the patrol routes were amended on a fairly regular basis. Perhaps another reason for the delay?

Before long, Petan tapped at the back door and a wary Brendin let him in.

"Something is wrong?" Petan was if nothing perceptive.

Brendin nodded. "The guardsman hasn't passed the house yet. Didn't happen to see him on your way here?"

Petan shook his head. "Is it important? The man may be getting disciplined or something. He might be ill, beaten up or otherwise inconvenienced."

"They would send someone else."

"Well, keep an eye open while you say if there's anything for me."

Brendin kept throwing glances out of the window. "Neither Dervra nor Nicolfer have been in touch. So nothing new."

"Another wasted journey." Petan smiled to take the edge of his words. "Want me to keep laying low?"

"Yes. Wait, make your regular contact. It can't be too long before the Eldovan army tries again. They can't be far away now."

Petan inclined his head.

"Now you are here, can I offer alovak?"

***

Guardsman Lieutenant Patisk watched Councilor Brendin's house and waited for dusk.

"You sure the information is good, sir?" pressed his sergeant.

"Certain." Few knew of ti Ath's existence and what he did for the City Guard. Patisk had joined that small group.

"That's a Councilor's house after all, sir."

"I _know_ that, Sergeant Kayen. He's a suspected traitor, remember?"

"I hope so; if the information's dud, it's your balls that get cut off. Sir."

Patisk ground his teeth. If the information was wrong, it would certainly be the end of his career. Brendin would never forget such a slight, nor the officer who commanded the men who arrested him.

Though he did think his anatomy would remain complete.

"Like to say that any louder, sergeant? I don't think he heard you."

Kayen chuckled. He glanced over his shoulder at the four men with them. "We should send two around the back, sir. Stop anyone fleeing that way. "Specially if he's got a visitor."

"We're going in through the front, Sergeant. The briefing was quite specific."

Kayen sucked in air noisily. "Sounds like we want one of them to get away, sir."

"Captain Crallin has a reason, Sergeant."

"Even so, sir, I reckon we should –"

"Shush!"

Both men pressed themselves deeper into the shadows as Brendin's front door opened. The guardsmen behind tensed.

A man with a large beard fanning across his chest left the Councilor's home and walked away. He looked suspiciously in all directions, but did not see the guardsmen hidden in shadow.

"That's the one the captain wanted to get away," whispered Kayen. "Now can we send two men around the back?"

Patisk paused, then decided it was worth the gamble. "Very well, Sergeant. One minute, and we bring him in."

***

Captain Crallin's reason waited two streets away.

Sallis ti Ath knew Petan would not go straight home. He always called into several establishments on his way to sample the local brews.

A mistake, in ti Ath's opinion. Alcohol dulled the brain and slowed reactions, which always gave the advantage to a sober adversary. Petan's over-confidence in his own abilities bordered on stupidity.

Ti Ath skulked in an alley opposite the first alehouse, The Royal Scepter. He watched Petan leaning against the bar, where he enjoyed two tankards before leaving.

Avoiding everybody else, Sallis followed at a discreet distance. At least there were no more sylph beggars; they were always a problem when he wanted to be unnoticed. He never could hide from them.

Petan's stride was unaffected by the ale he had just drunk, but ti Ath knew more would come. The man enjoyed liquid refreshment, even when he should be more vigilant than usual.

Petan rather sensibly avoided two men brawling in the street – the Guard would be along soon to sort them out – and ti Ath also walked wide. He kept well back from Petan, just in case the man decided to be aware of his surroundings.

Not once did he look over his shoulder. Arrogance. Just because there had been no tail from Brendin's home, it did not mean that there was no tail now.

Ti Ath kept a wary eye open behind. He doubted if Shar was out this evening, but he kept glancing around, just in case. It would be embarrassing if he got caught the same way he planned to catch Petan. Such things were bad for reputation and business.

The next establishment was The Pick and Plough, where Petan spent yet another half-hour and consumed two more tankards. More of his senses would be dulled by now, despite the man's size. He might even look sober when he left, but he would not be. Not for long, anyway.

After The Pick and Plough, came The Forester. Then The Pearl Queen. Followed by The Farrier's Hammer, which sounded more like one of the brews than a drinking establishment.

Ti Ath was quietly impressed by the amount Petan could hold. He still looked sober, despite all he'd had to drink.

Finally, minutes before curfew, Petan drained his last mug at The Drayman's Arms. He caught the edge of a table as he left and apologized to the men sat there. They glared, but said nothing after one look at Petan's shoulders.

As his target staggered from the Drayman's, the hunter followed discreetly. Petan obviously looked for a quiet corner or dark alley and ti Ath smiled to himself.

It was time.

***

Patisk had to admit that Councilor Brendin personified calm when under pressure. From the moment his men burst into the Councilor's home, he managed to keep up a facade of outrage.

"How dare you burst in on me like this!" he protested.

Patisk ignored him. "Search the house, Sergeant."

"Very good, sir."

Kayen led two men upstairs, while the others searched the ground floor.

Brendin took a good look at Patisk. "You'd better have a good reason for this intrusion, Lieutenant," he said.

No threats, not yet.

"We have an excellent reason, Councilor," replied Patisk.

"And I have a right to know what that reason is," continued Brendin.

Patisk's smile was cold. "When I arrest you," he said.

Brendin's face went purple with rage.

The men downstairs found nothing of interest, but Kayen sounded as if he and his men were taking their time on the upper floor.

"Your men can be putting anything up there," said Brendin. "Anything!"

Patisk did not even bother replying to that.

"I've done no wrong. I even served in the Guard myself. And never conducted myself in such a disgraceful way."

Patisk let it all wash over him.

Kayen finally returned, clasping several books.

"We found these, sir."

"Never seen them before in my life!" protested Brendin. "You brought them with you."

Patisk flicked through the pages and finally nodded to himself. He looked up.

"Councilor Brendin Aulic Jendran," he began, "I am arresting you on suspicion of treason against Marka. Of plotting rebellion against the Emperor. Of complicity to murder, incitement to murder, incitement to rebellion, of endangering Marka's citizens."

Brendin folded his arms, calm and collected. "This is nonsense."

"You may come with us to the guardhouse," continued Patisk. "Either escorted, or dragged by us. Your choice."

Brendin's eyes narrowed. "You may escort me," he hissed.

"Very good, sir." Patisk smiled. "Guardsmen! Escort the prisoner outside."

***

Captain Crallin rested his hands on the notebooks. He smiled at the list of names contained within as he flicked through the pages.

"This should wrap everything up nicely," he said. "You've done well, Lieutenant Patisk."

"Thank you, sir."

"Some of these men are targets and others contacts." Crallin raised an eyebrow. "Enough to hang Brendin."

"Only you don't want to hang Brendin, do you sir? You're going to turn him."

"You're a quick lad, Patisk." Crallin grinned again. "He'll be more useful to us alive than dead."

"Shall I bring the questioner?"

Crallin nodded. "Let's give our naughty Councilor a scare. We'll get what we want then."

"I shall see to it immediately, sir."

***

Sallis ti Ath followed Petan into the alleyway and waited a few moments, partly to let his sight adjust to the increased gloom. He waited until the man turned away from the wall, then stepped forward.

"I have a message for you," he said.

Petan grunted. "Now? Who from?"

Sallis rested a hand on Petan's arm. A gentle touch, like that of a healer. Touch healing: such an important part of the Gift. Only it didn't work that way with ti Ath.

"From Meylka."

"Who?" Petan frowned.

When it came to the Gift, he had always been different. He prepared the correct weave.

The ability to heal supposedly also burned in him. He learned the skill assiduously and methodically. Unfortunately, when he came to put the talent into practice, the power that in others wrought miraculous recovery, brought only death. He was a killer, with the Father's Gift coursing through his veins.

"A sylph," replied ti Ath.

"Sylph?"

"Named Meylka. The one you murdered."

Sallis ti Ath weaved and stilled Petan's heart. This talent was why Elvallon had refused to continue his training and returned him home. The man grunted once and keeled over. He deserved something worse than a quick death, but that didn't matter.

Justice had been done.

***
Chapter 25

**In Marka**

Marshal Mikhan Annada strode along the palace corridor, eyes staring ahead and lips thinned. He acknowledged salutes and greetings politely, if perfunctorily. Those who knew trouble when they saw it wisely kept out of his way.

Since receiving the written report from his adjutant, Mikhan had tried and failed to find Marcus Vintner. The man had turned into smoke, absent from all his usual haunts.

Even the man's apartments were deserted, except for a lone palace sylph cleaning. She answered Mikhan's question with a whinge that Marcus Vintner's own sylph should be there to clean.

Mikhan had no interest in sylphs' complaints.

Treylfor and Indelgar were out of the city exercising their men. And had just happened to take all their sylph scouts with them. Mikhan wondered how much those two commanders knew of what had happened. If the scouts had reported to Marka, they had reported to those two also. At least Indelgar should know better.

He would speak with the scouts later.

Mikhan had heard only by chance the information that commanders in the field already knew. He had overall command of the army by the Emperor's order, and keeping him ignorant of information rightfully his had roused his anger.

The guards outside the Emperor's door came to attention as he approached.

Mikhan nodded to both of them. "Is His Majesty within?" he asked.

"Yes, Marshal."

"Ask if I can see him."

One of the guardsmen disappeared inside, while the other eyed Mikhan neutrally. The man would know he was no threat. Mikhan wore his sword, but the guard said nothing about it. His companion returned in moments.

"His Majesty will see you now, Marshal."

Mikhan managed a small smile.

As the aged Marshal walked in, Silmarila met and escorted him to Zenepha.

Mikhan bowed again. "Majesty."

"What can I do for you, Marshal Mikhan?" Zenepha gave Marka's Marshal a welcoming smile.

"You should know that there has been a battle – more a skirmish – between our men and Eldovans."

"That reached us quickly."

Mikhan nodded. "Yes, sir. We can thank the scouts for that. Kelanus left a string of scouts between there and here."

"Who won the battle?"

"We did, sir. Though for once that's unimportant."

Zenepha's earpoints twitched and even Silmarila looked surprised.

Mikhan shook the report in his hand. "The battle involved not only Lance General Kestan, but also General Kelanus. Kelanus stood in reserve, but both men are now heading _west_."

Silmarila looked shocked and Zenepha nodded.

"Perhaps we should have given Kestan the command for Trenvera," said the sylph.

"I doubt if it would have made any difference," replied Mikhan. "Kelanus was determined all along to take the entire army west. I'd hoped giving him the eastern command might temper his view some."

"So Trenvera stands unprotected," said Silmarila. "I did not think Kelanus a stupid man."

"The report says he sent a detachment of men to the Trenveran border to report any invasion," admitted Mikhan. "The only good thing he has done. And there are plenty of scouts to pass messages in good time. But if he heads too far west, there's nothing he can do if the Re Taurans land."

"Any news of that?" asked Silmarila, quietly.

"Nothing," admitted Mikhan. "No more reports from Taura either. And nothing from the men we sent there. We must assume that they are captured or dead."

Zenepha's earpoints wilted. "I hope not. Neptarik is a friend."

Mikhan refrained from pointing out that even friends died in war. He did not particularly care for sylph scouts, no matter how impressive their skills. Their sighting reports and directions had caused deaths in Branad Vintner's army, which included many of _his_ friends.

"I cannot get hold of Marcus," added Mikhan. "He is probably behind this disregard for orders."

Silmarila shook her head as Zenepha glanced at her. "Why would he?" she asked. "Calcan is as much at risk as Sandester and Trenvera from an invasion."

"Perhaps because Marcus is very open and Kelanus very persuasive," replied Mikhan.

"We'll have to interview him." Silmarila shrugged, but she looked unconvinced.

Mikhan stared at her. "Of the eastern lands, Calcan is the least likely to be invaded," he said.

The gwerin's earpoints rose as her eyes widened. "You think? Logically, Calcan is equally likely to be the target as Trenvera. Sandester is well inland with plenty of time to react to any invasion. Also, the southernmost prefecture – Maturia – is the only one with a coastline on the Bay of Plenty. Calcan stands on the Bay of Plenty and, while not itself a port, it is certainly surrounded by ports. Trenvera and Calcan are the easiest cities to capture; Sandester the most difficult."

Mikhan's eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth, but the gwerin spoke over him.

"Re Taura wants to attack the mainland either to seize a greater share of the Bay of Plenty trade, or build her own empire along the coast. Both actions are against Marka's interests, but either way Calcan faces an equal danger." She smiled. "Which means Marcus has a greater interest than you that Kelanus obeys his original orders."

"Marcus's greatest interest is taking the Throne," countered Mikhan. "Everything he does has that aim in mind. Everything. I'm surprised you don't see that for yourself."

Silmarila nodded. "He still would not sacrifice his own lands," she replied. "Kelanus is the man who wants to put Marka first."

"A strange way to put Marka first," countered Mikhan. "Disregarding orders smacks of slack discipline." He turned back to Zenepha. "Majesty, there is worse."

Zenepha and Silmarila stared.

"I sent orders to Treylfor and Indelgar and it took three hours for an answer to return."

"So?" Zenepha looked puzzled.

"It means they are further away from Marka than they ought to be," replied Mikhan. "I asked for their location."

"And?" Silmarila's voice was quiet.

"They are well out on the Western March," said Mikhan. "Almost to the border."

"So the south is unprotected," breathed Zenepha.

"That's right, Majesty."

"What has gone wrong?" asked Silmarila.

Mikhan's attention switched to the gwerin. "Kelanus has sent orders through the sylphs," he replied. "Which means he intended all along to ignore your orders."

"Kelanus has always said the Eldovans were the main threat," said Zenepha.

Mikhan shook his head. "What will you do about him? At the very least, he should be removed from command."

Zenepha did not even glance at Silmarila. That alone should have worried Mikhan, but he barely noticed. "If Kelanus is right, he will be rewarded."

"He has disobeyed his orders. That might be treason," said Mikhan.

"If he is wrong, he will be executed." Zenepha sighed. "That is if any of us survive his error."

"Assuming it is an error," murmured Silmarila.

***

As always happens, word crept out that Kelanus had refused to follow orders. Mikhan wanted to discover who had spread the rumor, but as his adjutant pointed out, so many had handled the message it would be impossible to establish the leak's precise source. Though the fully trained sylph scouts were discreet, the partly trained might have spoken out of turn.

But Mikhan had his suspicions concerning the leak and it did not involve sylph scouts, part trained or otherwise.

Zenepha summoned Marcus Vintner, meeting him together with Mikhan Annada and Silmarila. A small group, an informal meeting, with only one sylph present to serve alovak. Jenn sulked as she had to wait for her owner outside the room.

Mikhan laid the message before Marcus. The claimant scanned it quickly, face impassive. He had already seen it for the scouts copied every message to him as standard procedure.

"Well?" demanded Mikhan.

"Well what?" Marcus's dark blue eyes flashed with irritation.

"Care to explain why your general decided to disobey orders?"

"My general?" Marcus snorted. "He served you for longer than me. I suggest you're in a better position to explain his actions. You know him best."

The small infertile passed around the table and poured alovak. Her earpoints were slightly wilted; she knew she should not be hearing this conversation.

Zenepha smiled at her. "Thank you, Nata, you may go. Return in ten minutes."

The sylph dropped a quick curtsey. She mumbled something and fled.

"What I – we – want to know," continued Mikhan, "is whether Kelanus follows our orders, or only yours."

"Is that an accusation?" It took some effort for Marcus to keep his hand away from his sword hilt.

"Yes," replied Mikhan, "it is."

Silmarila made a shushing motion with her hands. "Gentlemen, calm please. We want to establish the truth, not cause duels."

The two humans glared at each other.

"What Kelanus does on the ground is up to him," said Marcus. "Remember that I agreed with his orders when he received them."

"Pah." Mikhan made a pushing movement with both his hands.

"You doubt my word?" Marcus grew angrier.

"You agreed with the man all along. We had a hard struggle getting you to agree with our assessment. You would sacrifice your own lands if it gained you the thrice-damned Throne." Mikhan refused to be diverted.

Marcus leaned forward. "The Throne is mine by right of battle," he countered. "It wasn't me who wrecked everything by committing murder. And if you think I would abandon my people in Calcan, or my people in Trenvera, or my people in _Sandester_ , then think again."

"You might think of Sandesterans as yours, but they do not," said Mikhan.

"I could not care less what they _think_ ," snarled Marcus. "Only about what they _are_. Whatever you and Nazvasta are plotting between you, Branad ceded Sandester to me."

"Until the Senate decided different," countered Mikhan.

Marcus noted that his comment about plots went ignored by the Marshal. A confirmation of sorts.

Zenepha made to speak, but sat back at a warning glance from Silmarila.

"The Throne is mine. So why risk it? Why would I tell Kelanus to ignore orders?"

Mikhan shrugged. "The Senate's decision is what's important, not your claim. _My_ task is to see that Marka is safe."

"And mine. And Kelanus sees it the same way, no matter how misguided he may or may not be concerning his orders. But I assure you of this: if Kelanus has disregarded orders, it is for his own reasons, not for any I've given him." Marcus shook his head. "No matter what he does, he can do no right as far as you people are concerned."

Silmarila's dark brown eyes were expressionless as she watched the humans. Mikhan drained his alovak. Finally, she nodded and sat back. "Kelanus insisted even before he left Marka that his orders were wrong. He told anybody he could get hold of. You must be aware of that."

"Of course I'm aware of it," replied Marcus. "He lobbied me to have them changed. But he didn't just put that pressure on me. Did he, Marshal Mikhan?"

Mikhan shrugged. "I'm also concerned about the rumors flying about. It is common knowledge in the city that Kelanus has flouted his orders."

"And naturally you immediately suspected me." Marcus's eyes flashed. "Every sylph in the city probably heard the whistle when it came in and every sylph scout will know what it meant. There are several hundred potential sources for rumors."

"Nobody has forgotten that you are more politician than warrior," Mikhan pointed out. "You play your own game here."

"I don't have to listen to this from you." Marcus turned to Zenepha and Silmarila. "Unless you can think of other reasons where I gain by Kelanus ignoring his orders, is this meeting at an end?"

"You may go, Marcus Vintner," replied Zenepha.

***

Councilor Brendin Jendran saw the end of his ambitions looming. Very likely the end of his life, too. Captain Crallin and Lieutenant Patisk sat opposite. He looked the commander of the City Guard in the eye and hoped no hint of fear showed on his face.

"So you see, Captain, I have been on a secret mission to root out the treason that has infested our city for so long. I am no traitor."

"Really." Crallin managed to smile. "Only two people in Marka dole out secret missions and you're looking at one of them. And I talk to the other. I'm afraid the time for games is over. We can prove your treason in court."

Brendin filed away the snippet of a second person in Marka who set secret missions. Who might he be? "The courts might not agree with you, Captain."

Crallin shrugged. "We might be unable to guarantee a hanging perhaps, but there is plenty here to embarrass you and your family. But I suppose that doesn't bother you in the slightest."

"If you're trying to shame me, then save your breath." Brendin smiled.

Crallin clasped his hands together, pursed his lips and nodded. "Yes, that's often the way with traitors. Not only do they not care for their homeland, but they do not care much for family or personal honor, either. The courts might not sentence you to death, but your own family or that of your wife might decide to take matters into their own hands."

Brendin's smile stayed in place, but he said nothing.

"They might decide to bribe your guards and slip something into your food." Crallin spread his hands. "Of course, I cannot condone such corruption and seek to eradicate it wherever found, but people's feelings do run high with traitors. And who can forget those who opened the gates during the siege?"

Brendin's smile slipped. "That had nothing to do with me."

"Of course not." It was Crallin's turn to smile. "But people do have a terrible, terrible habit of believing rumor. After being found guilty, I guess your life expectancy would be, oh, perhaps a week. And some poisons take _so_ long to take effect and leave their victim in agony for hours, if not days. So unlike a quick hanging or beheading. Not that you're likely to face the rope or headsman's sword, of course. We haven't got enough on you for that, as you keep reminding me. Did I mention that some poisons are messy too? So humiliating to end your life that way."

Brendin's eyes narrowed.

"Few wealthy families can stand the stain on their honor of a traitor allowed to live. They will act. Your wife's family certainly."

"What is it you want?"

Crallin sat back and steepled his fingers before him. He glanced at Patisk and back to Brendin again. "We want you to continue as if nothing has happened."

"What?" For the first time, Brendin looked startled.

Crallin smiled. "We want you to carry on in the Supreme Council and continue to run your network of agents as before."

Brendin blinked.

"You can even recruit more."

Brendin's mouth dropped open.

"But." Crallin's eyes held a predatory gleam.

Brendin recovered his composure and nodded. "There is always one of those," he said.

"Any new recruits must already be in favor of your treason. No turning loyal people. No blackmailing or threats. If that means no more new recruits, then so be it."

Brendin nodded acceptance.

"All your reports come to me, before you report to whoever your superior is."

Brendin nodded again. "She might guess. That will be a death sentence for me once she finds out."

Crallin give a sideways nod of his head that might even have been sympathetic. "Perhaps you should have thought of that before turning traitor in the first place," he countered. "Who is she?"

Brendin sighed and looked away for a moment. "She calls herself Nicolfer," he said. "Though I doubt if she's the Nicolfer."

"Perhaps not." Crallin's face gave nothing away. "Either way, you report to me first."

"All right."

"Before you leave here, you will furnish me with a list of all your existing agents. Before you recruit a new one, you bring me the name."

"Understood." Brendin had the grace to look embarrassed for a moment. "There is the, ah, question of remuneration."

Crallin smiled. Greed was often a motivator for these people. "Your _remuneration_ is that you keep your miserable skin."

"At considerable risk," pointed out Brendin.

"Then be very careful. Any hint of further wrongdoing and I'll burn you myself. Is that clear, Councilor?"

Brendin sighed. "Perfectly clear, Captain."

***

"I do hope this will not be a repeat of last year," said Zandra. "Ever since we arrived in Marka, Kelanus has brought nothing but trouble."

Marcus chuckled. "Don't forget he won the war for us. All our problems are thanks to the Sandesterans and their mistrust of him."

"They were quick to blame you again."

Marcus and Zandra relaxed in their sitting room, discussing the events Kelanus had triggered. For once not trying to grab all his attention, Jenn sat on the floor at Marcus's feet. Her head leaned against one of his legs, but she made no attempt to seize attention. She had served alovak, now she waited further orders.

"If they find that letter," continued Zandra, "you'll be blamed."

Marcus shrugged. "If everything goes right – assuming Kelanus is right – it will be irrelevant. We'll have scored the points. Despite everything, it looks like Kelanus modified his own plan."

"How?"

"He's sent a detachment with scouts to Trenvera's border and ensured there are enough for him to send messages quickly. It's how Mikhan learned of the battle in the first place." Marcus shook his head. "Kelanus was right; the Sandesterans are more concerned about Sandester than Marka. They'll be trouble when we gain the Throne."

"What will you do?"

"Ignore them as far as possible. Young Verdin is the key to Sandester."

Zandra smiled. She must remember that her husband rarely needed to have everything pointed out. "Then you'd better make sure he stays on board."

Marcus laughed. "I know what he wants and he knows who is best placed to grant it."

Zandra nodded and pulled the subject back. "I doubt if Kelanus's disobedience will be shouted from the rooftops to the people," she said, "but those rumors will not be stopped easily."

She looked at Jenn, but the sylph's eyes were half-closed. That meant she pretended to pay no attention. Zandra knew better.

"All we can do now is wait and see," sighed Marcus. "Let us pray that Kelanus is right."

Zandra smiled. "Assuming he is, we gain a huge advantage, but keep an eye open for unintended consequences."

Marcus grimaced. "There are always those," he agreed, "and not all of them good." He patted Jenn's head, more to comfort himself than the sylph. He considered his words. "Almost never good," he added.

***

Marcus Vintner entered Morran Fynn's office. The spacious chamber looked very lived in, despite the lack of beds.

"Good morning to you, Majesty." Morran stood behind his desk and bowed his head.

As Marcus stood in the doorway, Morran's desk crouched on his right, while to his left an imposing fireplace took up almost the entire wall. No fire burned there now spring had turned to summer, but a sylph lay curled up on the rug before it.

He felt certain that sylph was not asleep. The chairs arrayed before the desk were arranged so anyone sat there had his back to the fire. Where he could be observed unseen by the sylph.

Morran smiled and folded his hands. "To what do we owe this honor?"

Marcus cut his eyes toward the sylph and back to Morran again.

The spymaster took the hint. "Smudge!"

The sylph immediately sat up and her earpoints twitched. In this light, the dark birthmark on her face looked like a shadow.

"Alovak, if you please," said Morran.

Smudge stood. " _Se bata_." She inclined her head to Marcus and waited for him to move aside. She closed the door as she left.

"What troubles Your Majesty?" Morran smiled and waited for Marcus to take a chair. The men sat at the same time.

"Our people in Re Taura are ominously silent," said Marcus. "Kelanus assumes there will be no invasion and has taken most of the army further west than perhaps he should. I grow concerned."

Morran steepled his fingers and leaned on his elbows. "No news is good news. We've received no protest from the Re Tauran authorities. As for Kelanus... well, my understanding is that he believes an invasion from the east is a diversion."

"What do you believe?"

Morran smiled. "That our people are working diligently and making every effort to discover the truth."

"They might be dead," said Marcus. "That would add to my problems if so."

"All were volunteers," pointed out Morran. "Your view is bleak."

"Have you heard anything?"

Morran shook his head.

Marcus looked into the other man's pale blue eyes for a long moment. He would not be surprised if the man had other spies in Re Taura.

The silence ended as Smudge returned with the alovak. The sylph poured for the two men and glanced at her rug before the fireplace.

"A question for you, Smudge," said Morran.

The infertile waited.

"His Majesty fears our spies in Re Taura might be dead. Care to add your impressions?"

Amusement flickered across Smudge's face as she saw the look on Marcus's face.

"You involve Smudge?" he asked.

"Your sylphs speak freely," countered Morran, "as does mine."

Smudge gave Marcus a tolerant look.

Marcus waved a dismissive hand. "Of course. Continue."

"Unlikely they are dead," said Smudge. "Either winding up their work, or traveling back to Marka with information."

"You seem certain," said Marcus. He sipped at his alovak.

Smudge nodded. "Verdin- _ya_ and Balnus- _ya_ are tough, capable men. And Neptarik is... impressive." The sylph smiled. "All three have exercised caution, which is why it has taken longer for them to report than others might like."

_And that's_ me _told off,_ reflected Marcus.

"Even so, I need answers," he insisted. "Zenepha and Mikhan Annada grow suspicious of my motives. If Kelanus has gambled wrong, not even I can save his neck."

Morran grimaced. "Kelanus must look after himself, but I believe the invasion will happen, or at least be attempted. It _is_ intended as a diversion, but that makes it no less dangerous. Marka cannot afford to have powerful enemies west _and_ east."

"Then we had better trust our people report or return soon," said Marcus. He drained his alovak. "Or we are all in trouble."

***

Olista inhaled the alovak's aroma, eyes half-closed. Silmarila sipped at her water and watched silently. Since her alliance with Olista, they now shared all their information.

"Something is going on between Marcus and Kelanus," she said. "Marcus knows more than he's letting on, though I doubt he is actually lying."

"Marcus is a man of integrity," said Olista. "He cannot openly abandon his prefectures to an enemy, but neither will he sacrifice Marka for them. Perhaps he feels only Marka is the true target."

"A very risky strategy," countered the gwerin. "If the coastal prefectures fall to Re Taura, Marka is threatened."

"Perhaps Kelanus feels he must secure the Western March before he can deal with the Re Taurans." Olista smiled. "Eldovans are experienced in warfare, the Re Taurans less so. Therefore the Eldovans are the greater threat to our security."

Silmarila grimaced. Having no wish to display her ignorance of military matters, she said nothing to that. "Why didn't they return home after losing their leader?"

"They don't believe they've lost him," replied Olista. "As far as I know, the Eldovans with Hingast when he died were all captured or killed. None are still with the army out west."

"What do you believe?"

Olista shrugged. "This is a strange world. I don't know what to make of it. Without information, everything is guesswork. Do the Re Taurans really intend to invade the mainland? How much of the anger directed at Kelanus is a leftover from last year? The man remains unpopular with the Sandesterans. After all, they lost their claim thanks to Kelanus."

"After they had dispensed with his services," murmured Silmarila. "People often blame others for their own failures."

Olista smiled. "The Sandesterans recognize it was a mistake to dismiss him, and blame him for that dismissal. He even cleared his name, but that counts for so little in some quarters."

Silmarila shrugged. "The Eldovans and Re Taurans are working in concert. Kelanus is right about that."

"Then we had best hope he takes the battle to them, rather than wait for an attack," countered Olista. "If there _is_ an invasion from the sea, we must meet it."

"Still, the problem of Trenvera remains. They're not under Marka's protection. They might suspect _we_ are in league with Re Taura."

Olista nodded. "If Trenvera is the target. It makes the most sense. If the Calcans move to support Trenvera, the Sandesterans will mistrust their motives; if the Sandesterans move to protect Trenvera, the Calcans will think the same. If _we_ help Trenvera, all three suspect our motives."

"A conundrum to which there is no answer," smiled Silmarila. "Despite what Zenepha thinks." She abruptly changed tack. "Who do you think commands the Eldovans?"

"The rumors say Hingast, but he is dead. I saw him killed."

The gwerin nodded acceptance. "But can we be really sure the man Marcus Vintner killed was Hingast?"

"Don't start down that road. It's bad enough that the _Eldovans_ believe he lives, without us starting to believe it too!"

Silmarila managed a humorless smile. "You must admit the possibility. It explains why the Eldovans didn't break and head for home."

"They were broken all right when they fled the city," countered Olista. "They couldn't make their minds up whether to face us inside the walls, or Kelanus outside. It turned into a rout once Hingast was dead."

"If it was Hingast."

Olista fixed the gwerin in a steely gaze. "It was Hingast."

Silmarila spread her hands. "All right. Did you ever meet Hingast before he besieged Marka?"

"Only met him the night he died," admitted Olista.

"Then we must consider the possibility that the remains outside the gates are _not_ those of Hingast. It is possible. Far more likely that the man still commands his armies than some strange magick, sorcery or gift is at work." Silmarila gave her companion a strong look. "We must consider it."

A hint of a smile flickered around Olista's mouth. "I begin to understand why gwerins see so deeply," he said. "You even consider things you don't want to believe."

"An advisor cannot have wishes," she replied. "An advisor must use cold logic to look at every problem and deal only with facts. She must be dispassionate."

Olista nodded.

"Fact: the Eldovan Army believes it is led by Hingast. They recognize the man as being Hingast.

"Fact: the Eldovans have not broken and run for home. That means their command structure remains intact. The head was _not_ cut from the chicken.

"Fact: the Eldovans remain disciplined and coherent. They are massing and ready for a fresh attack.

"Fact: they have an ally in Re Taura. This relationship did not come into being in twelve months, so must have been nurtured even before the Eldovans besieged Marka. So the Re Taurans _also_ believe they deal with Hingast.

"Fact: nobody here had met Hingast _before_ the siege, so nobody here can definitively say that they saw Hingast's body.

"Conclusion: the man commanding the Eldovans is, most likely, Hingast."

Olista stared, mouth open.

"We will work on that assumption." Silmarila smiled. "We may still be wrong. A very good imposter might actually be in charge. But for a man's double to also possess all the same skills is remote."

"What about sorcery?"

"Possible," admitted Silmarila. "But which do you think is more likely?"

Olista finally nodded acceptance.

***

Councilor Brendin Jendran sorted through his papers. Most could go. He stared regretfully at the letters-of-right. Potentially a lot of gold, but he'd be tracked if he used them, so they went onto the fire. Correspondence with other traitors followed. The study grew hotter, and he began to sweat.

He'd been snared in a trap of his own making, so it was up to him to smash it. He looked around and sighed in regret. Such a pity to leave everything behind. Not that he had much choice.

If – when! – Nicolfer caught up with him, that would be his doom. He had no idea how she might kill him, but knew she would be very imaginative. If he did not report to his new employers, they would ensure his shame and, as threatened, see him disposed of by his wife's family.

Damned both ways.

Everything he owned must burn. He knew what would happen the moment Crallin learned he had fled. A price on his head and bounty hunters on his trail. One of whom was renowned. For a successful escape, he must evade Sallis ti Ath, assuming Captain Crallin sent him. Brendin knew he might spend the rest of his life fearing a phantom.

Where to go and how to escape?

The villa and everything in it must burn. Quite how Sallis ti Ath tracked his prey Brendin did not understand, but suspected it was related in some way to scent. Everything he owned, everything he had touched or worn, must go.

He must get all his possessions out of Coronation Hall. Wife and children must be out of the villa when it burned. It could not burn until he was gone, which meant someone he trusted must torch it.

How to get out of Marka? New clothes, a disguise. A farmer's cart, something like that.

How to pay for it all? No doubt Crallin or one of his people watched his depository, or else it had received instructions to inform the authorities if he withdrew gold.

Which meant he must use his other bank, the one his wife and – hopefully – the Markan authorities knew nothing about. But would he arouse the suspicion of the other people he worked for by suddenly withdrawing all that gold? Nothing like an empty vault to show a man intended running.

Frequent small withdrawals were the obvious answer, but Brendin did not have time for that. He must take the risk. But such a shame to leave all his honestly earned money behind.

Where to go? He must start with that and work backwards. South looked good. The Imperial Republic, or beyond? That should be far enough to escape Crallin's clutches and there was little chance Enthan Vintner would capitulate to the new Markan Empire any time soon.

He regretted his lack of contacts so far south, but he could begin again. A fresh start was usually best.

An overland journey, or take a ship? The obvious place to take a ship was Cadister, and Crallin's agents there would be watching for him.

So a ship from one of the smaller ports. Or perhaps from the Bay of Plenty.

But the overland journey sounded better and if he had problems getting his gold, the cheaper option, too. It would take longer and he ran a higher risk of a hunter catching up with him, but there were more escape routes overland.

So long as he avoided clashes between the armies milling around Marka. But they would also delay any hunt.

A disguise to get out of the city. And a way to get to his honest gold. After all, he had earned that too. But greed had cost more than one man his freedom and life. Such a pity he had no contacts in the bank he could use. An oversight he would correct when he rebuilt his life anew.

Brendin paced up and down his study, thinking and planning.

To stay in Marka meant death.

***
Chapter 26

**Familiar Lands**

Belaika shifted his grip on the banner pole. The dragon's head banner hung limply from the cross-spear, with insufficient wind to fill it. He glanced at the Shadow Riders' banner, the black silk hiding two silver dragon's heads facing each other. Theirs was allowed to swim free, rather than suspended from a spear, and in the still air it only showed hints of silver on the otherwise unrelieved black.

Fared had offered a horse, but the sylph preferred to walk. Refusing it, he told Fared that his legs were good enough. Belaika often surrendered the banner to Lance Sergeant Toman, the senior survivor of Dekran's men. He even tried to hand the banner to Toman permanently, but the older campaigner shook his head.

"You have the right," he protested.

"You had the courage to pick it up," added Fared. "Now, _you_ are the bannerman."

Belaika scowled, but stopped trying to surrender this duty. An honor yes, but the bannerman was also a target.

He attracted plenty of visitors at rest stops.

Belaika's elevated status among the humans meant nothing to his brother scouts and they treated him no differently. The near scout – usually Fhionnen or Samel – always came to chat. They often had questions; after all, he had been the most experienced scout until his capture.

Had been. Velisar still ran with them, though he shunned the camps. He sent reports, but avoided human contact and moved away once he completed his whistles.

The handful of surviving Calcans and Markans clustered around Belaika, ensuring he had everything they could get him. They rarely stayed long, shooed away by Fared, who wanted to learn more about Marka. He only asked questions about the city and never the army organization.

Nynra inspected him at every stop. Gentle fingers unwound the bandage from his chest and probed the bruised area.

"Still nothing broken?" asked Belaika, with a grin. He barely felt the other sylph's gentle touch.

Nynra shook her head and rewound the bandage. Her hand brushed against the scout's leather collar and she snatched it away as if burned.

"What is wrong?" Belaika asked.

Revulsion shone in the other sylph's strange near-white eyes.

"It is only a collar," continued the scout. "See? It comes off. You want me to take it off?"

Nynra blinked. "That is not necessary," she replied. "Wear it if you wish."

Samrita replaced Nynra. The gwerin enjoyed his company and behaved in a peculiar childish way whenever with him. She exhibited this behavior only to Belaika and the scout saw Fared's puzzled expression more than once. But she grew serious enough once they settled to chat.

Today, before Samrita began acting as if she was his daughter, the scout asked about Nynra.

"Why is she bothered by my collar?"

Samrita smiled. "She wonders whether to wear one or not," answered the gwerin. "In Kelthane, they do not practice ownership the same way as Markans. It is not even called ownership by humans, though many sylphs see it differently."

Belaika blinked.

"Life is harder in the north." The gwerin shrugged. "Everybody must work hard to survive, so all are equal. Up to a point."

"So she is free," remarked Belaika.

"Hardly. But not owned."

"A cross between a wild and civilized sylph."

Samrita laughed. "Something like that. She asks many questions about sylph customs in Marka and she is curious about collars."

"What did you tell her?"

Samrita's expression grew serious. "The truth. She is uncertain. Part wants the collar, yet her upbringing suggests she should not."

Belaika nodded. He had grown used to Nynra's sylph dialect, but the gwerin now used Markan sylph, with only one or two borrowings from Kelthane. It made for easier conversation.

"She is confused," he remarked.

"Even more so when I wear my collar again," sighed Samrita. "She might not want to continue serving me."

Belaika shot the gwerin a concerned look. "She probably will."

When Samrita left, Fared returned. "Will the scouts tell me the moment they find Mirrin's army?" he asked.

Belaika stared, before he remembered Fared was dealing with sylph scouts for the first time. He would learn.

"When it is found, we will know," he replied. He nodded towards Samel, who sat to one side. "He will pass the message when received."

"How does the whistling work?" continued Fared. "Why can we not hear it?"

"Only sylphs can hear it." Belaika shrugged. "I do not know why."

"How can the whistles so accurately duplicate speech?"

"A whistle for each sound," answered Belaika. "Beyond that, I cannot explain." He shrugged again. "I am just a sylph."

Fared chuckled. "That does not even begin to describe you." He jerked a thumb towards Samel. "Or them."

"I have no other explanation," insisted Belaika.

"An excellent idea," smiled Fared. "Wish we'd thought of it. Did you know we were coming?"

"We knew you were there," said Belaika. "But not your intentions."

"And now you scout with our scouts." Fared frowned a little. "And show them for fools."

"Not our aim." Belaika shook his head. "We do what we can."

"And do it well."

Belaika changed the subject. "Someone else should carry the banner. I am better used scouting."

Fared smiled again. "Nynra ordered rest and light duties."

"The banner is heavy," pointed out the sylph.

"In a fresh breeze." Fared stared pointedly at the still trees. "You're fine carrying it. Don't pout; girls pout."

Belaika's earpoints wilted.

Fared gripped the sylph's shoulder – on his uninjured side – and smiled. "You earned the honor," he said. "Come, time to move on, or we'll never catch up."

"What happens when we do?" Belaika blinked, perhaps at his own forwardness.

Fared did not seem bothered; perhaps he understood forward sylphs. "Until we catch up, no idea. But I'll think of something."

***

Peytor crept forward, head and eyes moving all the time. Though the casual observer might believe he scouted alone, a sylph scout moved with him only a handful of steps away.

These sylphs impressed Peytor. He knew they were not cowards – his parents' sylphs had not met their doom cowering in corners – but he never thought they might run with an army.

And they were very good, as scouts at least. They could hide in plain sight, and betray hardly a hint of their passing.

Something beside a tree moved and he stared at it. Nothing. Just imagination. The something detached from the tree trunk and stepped towards him.

Peytor shook his head. "That paint is very good."

The shape put a finger to its lips. The scout moved closer and leaned forward. "We have caught them," he whispered. "Move with care, in silence."

Peytor eyed the apparition with its gray, green and brown paint, slashes of black across its face, chest and upper legs. "Which one are you?"

"Fhionnen- _y_ -Neffas."

"Peytor."

"Come. Silent!"

Peytor decided the scout did not mangle his words as badly as some easterners. He followed Fhionnen for some distance – and almost lost sight of him more than once, despite fixing his gaze on the creature's back – before the sylph raised a hand.

Fhionnen nodded towards a clearing.

Not as many as he expected, but Peytor estimated perhaps five hundred men there. He followed the sylph's pointing finger and saw movement in one of the trees. An archer. A gray and green finger pointed to more trees; if not for the scout, Peytor would not have spotted them.

Fhionnen and Peytor slowly moved back.

"Where are the rest?" whispered Peytor.

"Just the afterguard. Come."

Three times, Fhionnen dropped to the ground; three times Peytor followed the sylph's lead, only to see patrolling enemy scouts moments later. Peytor had the sense to keep quiet, despite being full of questions. The sylph held a finger to his lips every time he thought his human companion might speak.

Peytor felt almost amateurish in comparison.

They waited and moved at Fhionnen's direction. When they finally reached the rest of Mirrin's army, silence became unnecessary.

"Is this the same army?" asked Peytor, eyes wide.

Fhionnen's earpoints twitched and the sylph nodded in reply. He held a finger to his lips again, though Peytor suspected that could shout over the noise of the army below. The sylph motioned they should withdraw. He took as much care in retreat as in advance and ensured Peytor followed his lead.

When he felt safe, Fhionnen put his head back to whistle his report.

Unable to hear anything, Peytor stared. "I don't understand how that lot managed to capture one of you."

Fhionnen blinked. "It happened because Belaika got trodden on. We must move!"

"Why?" asked Peytor, as Fhionnen led him to a different part of the forest, setting a fast pace.

"They have sylphs who point when they hear whistles and soldiers come to run us down. We move, or they catch us."

Peytor nodded his head. These lads had every angle covered.

"Are we safe yet?"

A smile flashed across the sylph's features. "We are never safe," he replied. "Wait for orders. I must go. If you move, I will find you."

Before Fhionnen had taken a dozen paces, Peytor could no longer see him. He marveled at the sylph's fieldcraft. Not even a hint of movement in the undergrowth. What an advantage for the Markan army!

Drab clothing was not enough for good scouting. The paint these scouts used made excellent camouflage. Even without it, a sylph stood still could make himself impossible to see, as if they all possessed the Gift.

The way they passed messages to each other and to their army also impressed. With their whistles – silent to humans – they could pass intelligence almost instantly, without sending messengers back to their commanders.

But how had the Markans managed to persuade sylphs to become soldiers at all?

He almost yelled in surprise when Fhionnen suddenly reappeared. Peytor had heard nothing. And this was only a _partly_ trained scout? Belaika must have been careless to end up a prisoner.

"If your captain wants to attack," began the sylph, "you will only die. They number many thousands."

"I thought we traveled to meet more Markans," retorted Peytor.

Fhionnen nodded. "We have not made contact yet," he replied.

"Does Captain Fared know?"

The sylph nodded impatiently and his earpoints flickered in irritation. "Unless he does not listen."

"What are we going to do now?"

"We wait." The sylph scout smiled. "In silence."

***

Not long after their previous rest, Fared called a halt. He had no wish to get too close to the Eldovans. Riders had already deflected or killed several enemy scouts, so General Mirrin should be aware of their presence.

Fared wished the prisoners were no longer with him. Unfortunately, the only other option was to kill them, and that went against his instincts.

Although Captain Jediyah ate with Fared, he kept his conversation minimal. That did not bother Fared, who needed no intelligence. Thanks to the sylph scouts, interrogating captives was unnecessary.

After checking with Gorst to ensure the prisoners were secure and guarded, Fared returned to his tent. Belaika accosted him before he reached it.

"I am more use in the field than with that banner," began the sylph. "There are not many trained scouts here, so you need every sylph who knows what he is doing."

"A long speech from you." Fared resisted the urge to grin. Despite the sylph nagging him on this subject, he had decided he rather liked Belaika. "Do you only speak so eloquently when you want something?"

Belaika's earpoints wilted a little, but he did not back down.

"Let us see what Nynra has to say."

"She is only an infertile," protested the scout. "I cannot –"

"She's the one looking after your health," countered Fared. Used to sylphs speaking their mind, he drew the line at interruptions. "If she says you are fit, then you take your turn scouting. But if not, you stay with the banner."

Belaika muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately for the male sylph, Nynra was not very far away and happy to check Belaika.

"Wave your arms like this," she suggested and demonstrated by moving her arms in large circles in front of her, then to one side.

Belaika groaned as he tried it.

"Still not ready," said Nynra. She turned to Fared. "No scouting."

"But you need trained scouts." Belaika went unheeded.

The infertile turned back to the scout. " _Na alut batut._ "

Earpoints bolt upright in shock, Belaika stared at Nynra for a long moment.

"Keep carrying the banner, lad," said Fared. "And sulking is as bad as pouting, so stop it."

Nynra smiled peaceably despite Belaika's displeasure. She watched as the scout smoothed his expression for Fared and touched a fist to shoulder, before stalking away. She sighed.

"He'll do as he's told," said Fared and gripped the infertile's shoulder. "You're doing good work."

Nynra merely nodded. "His frustration grows," she said.

With the infertile still following, Fared joined Samrita. The gwerin sat on her heels, staring into the middle distance.

"Thinking?"

Samrita's eyes focused and her earpoints twitched. "A lot of men ahead," she said, "and we have a few more of their friends here, as prisoners. The situation is delicate, if not dangerous."

"Very astute."

The gwerin smiled at the irony and continued as if he had not spoken.

"There are just enough prisoners to become a nuisance if they wish. Is Jediyah's word trustworthy? The Markans speak of Eldovans as if they cannot be trusted in anything."

"Just good old-fashioned mistrust of foreigners," remarked Fared.

Samrita smiled. "Perhaps, but that was never a Markan characteristic."

"These are from Calcan," pointed out Fared. "Not Marka."

The gwerin nodded. "Experience teaches that human promises are only good as long as expedient. You are all opportunists." She did not turn her head, but her earpoints twitched in the direction of the prisoners. "Jediyah may still be young enough to believe that honor and honesty are always bedfellows."

"Felnar has been speaking of how Dekran used to conduct lightning raids against a superior enemy. Should we raid the army ahead?"

Samrita considered, then shook her head. "Those raids were conducted by a small force _unknown_ to the Eldovans. According to the sylphs, General Mirrin knows how many of us there are and probably where we are. Enemy scouts and raiders have failed to reach us so we should wait. And move regularly. Something else the scouts recommend we do."

Fared nodded impatiently; he would have moved his small army in any case. He needed no advice concerning that.

"The sylphs are sending out whistles to see if they can contact more Markans," continued Samrita. "They've heard nothing yet."

"Belaika says Dekran led them too far west, chasing after Mirrin. They did not expect to stay so far west this long."

"Mirrin's army stayed in contact with the rest of the Eldovans." Samrita grimaced. "Thanks to Belaika, we know how they managed that without their own sylph scouts."

Fared shook his head. He'd rather not think about it. "Not just Dervra, but Nicolfer. What are we getting ourselves into? And is Sandev _really_ on our side? Will she help?"

"Sandev fights against everything Dervra and Nicolfer believe in," replied Samrita. "I do not think she will help us directly, but that does leave a lot of wriggle room."

"Which makes no sense at all." Fared shrugged. "Sorry, just a little jest."

Samrita's glare faded. "Neither Dervra nor Nicolfer understand military strategy and tactics," she said. "Sorcery is a very selfish discipline and sorcerers tend to acquire knowledge for themselves only. These armies exist to make Marka feel uncomfortable. There are bigger plans of which we are unaware."

"That's always the path warfare takes," muttered Fared. "There is always more."

"I say that the sylph scouts are quite capable. If they advise we do not attack, we should heed them."

"They're only scouts," protested Fared. "Belaika is the only fully trained one here since Velisar disappeared. They are good at scouting, but they know almost nothing of tactics."

Samrita raised a finger. "They have experience of an army's composition." She raised a second finger. "They have experience of Eldovan tactics." A third finger joined the first two. "They know how the Eldovan commanders react to situations, so they will also have noticed any mistakes." A fourth finger. "They know where the Eldovans' weak points lie."

Fared sighed. "All right, so we won't attack. Yet." His expression firmed. "Now we know why Dervra didn't bother about us at Turivkan."

"If he was ever there," replied Samrita.

About to leave, Fared paused. "When you are with Belaika," he began.

"What about it?" Samrita looked defensive.

"This foolishness, treating him like he's your father... Just an act, right?"

Something flickered in Samrita's eyes, but her earpoints remained upright. "Concentrate on keeping us safe, Captain Fared."

***

Sandev was always grateful to hitch a lift whenever Mirrin pushed his column hard. The sylphs trotted easily alongside the wagons and never seemed to tire. Their light weight probably helped.

Mirrin pressed all the time for greater speed and ignored the grumbles this brought. Rests between running spurts grew less and less. Whatever message Nicolfer had brought spurred him onward, but he never said anything about it.

For Sandev, these were familiar lands and she could escape whenever she wished. Now she knew where she was. A couple of the ownerless sylphs under her care came into sight and smiled at her.

She felt some responsibility toward them. No matter how strong the temptation to break free and reclaim her rightful place in Marka, she could not abandon the ownerless now. They might never fully trust a human again.

Sylphs still pointed whenever they heard a whistle, so Sandev knew the Markans were still in contact. Soon, they would hear new whistles from scouts posted to listen for fresh armies coming from the west.

Or so Sandev hoped.

Finally, Mirrin called a rest for the night.

Given recent events, Sandev was surprised there were no more orphans for her to look after. Five hundred men under Captain Jediyah, lost. Thirty scouts and horsemen sent to run down sylph scouts and whatever was left of the Markans, lost. The attrition rate had become so high that Mirrin had stopped sending men out, except to run down the whistlers.

Officers' sylphs looked increasingly worried and dashed about their tasks. Sandev felt sorry for any who received the rough side of their owner's tongue, but she had little sympathy for the officers themselves.

Only Shashi appeared unaffected and remained cheerful. At least General Mirrin understood what made sylphs tick. As Sandev had learned.

"You are free from chores tonight?"

Sandev looked down. Of the six sylphs she looked after, Gajaran had become a firm favorite. She was the one she wanted to take with her, the one who didn't care if she returned to Eldova or not. If only Sandev could explain that one of the scouts Gajaran detested so much belonged to her. She nodded.

"Mirrin wants to see me," she replied.

"Mirrin- _ya_ ," corrected Gajaran, absently. "It is not right that you do chores," she continued. "Chores are for us." She looked about to say more, but her silver-gray eyes focused properly on Sandev. She smiled and wandered across to the mess tent.

Sandev watched her go. What was that about? Gajaran rarely displayed her intelligence and, like all sylphs, saw far more deeply than she would ever admit.

Well, if Mirrin wanted to see her, she had best get it over and done with.

A lantern sputtered into life as she approached his tent and the guards snapped to attention. Strange, they had never done that for her before.

"Mistress Sandev," announced one.

Shashi poked her head out and smiled in recognition. She said nothing, but beckoned.

Sandev entered the tent.

"Sit." Mirrin indicated one of the easy chairs. "Shashi, alovak if you please. For two."

Sandev felt certain that last had been added for her benefit, not Shashi's.

"Why do you want to see me?" asked Sandev, once the sylph had gone.

"No need to play the innocent." Mirrin forced a smile. "Sylphs are good at that sort of thing; you are not. We both know the endgame fast approaches."

"Indeed. Before long, I'm sure you Eldovans will be running for home. With nothing to stop you, this time."

Mirrin's smile looked forced, but he did not rise to the insult. "Or this time Marka will fall. Most of your armies are in the east, chasing ghosts. Or maybe a real invader. Hingast has arranged diversions to keep them occupied."

"You still will not find Marka easy," retorted Sandev.

"Probably not."

"I'm surprised a man of your talents works with a madman like Hingast. With a _dead_ Hingast."

Mirrin shrugged. "Eldova is my home; who else do you expect me to fight for? And your other observation is not worth an answer."

"You mean you refuse to accept you are dupes. Admittedly an excellent imposter, but nevertheless not the real Hingast. You _must_ see that Dervra and Nicolfer are using your homeland for their own ends. _They_ work for their own interests, not those of your home."

Mirrin shook his head. "I accept that Hingast has chosen uncomfortable allies, but they are powerful."

"Hingast became unbalanced after his father was murdered," said Sandev, quickly. "About that time Dervra first appeared in the court to whisper in his ear. Dervra arranged his father's death. Dervra manipulated your young prince and encouraged him to destroy Shayleston. Dervra encouraged him to rule by terror. Dervra invented the so-called sport of sylph hunting to hone the boy's bloodlust. Dervra suggested he should press his claim to the Markan Throne."

"A lot of supposition." Mirrin's dark brown eyes betrayed no emotion. "Hingast had a cruel streak as a child."

"But he was not evil until after Dervra got hold of him," countered Sandev. "A cruel streak does not in itself make anybody evil. It was _Dervra_ who ensured Aelfrec died."

"An easy accusation to make. To know that, you must have been there. Which means you're equally likely to be the perpetrator. And equally likely to be the manipulator, also."

Sandev sighed and sat back. "You only believe what you want to believe."

Mirrin snorted. "As do you."

Both human heads turned as Shashi entered with the alovak can.

"I understand Hingast has given up sylph hunting," said Sandev, quietly.

Shashi almost spilled alovak as she poured.

"Just a rumor," said Mirrin.

Sandev nodded. "Maybe. He's also stopped bullying his senior officers. And begun to communicate more. Did Hingast ever speak to all the men before?"

Mirrin said nothing.

Shashi placed a cup of alovak beside each human before she knelt to one side, head down. Though her earpoints showed she listened closely.

"Traits of a completely different command style," continued Sandev. "A style based on a different personality, in fact. There are no male sylphs with the army."

The change of tack startled Mirrin. "Hingast finished those off long ago," he replied. "Maybe that's why he has given up hunting. For now."

"But until very recently you did have one." Sandev smiled. "Your, ah, Hingast-who-isn't-really-Hingast even came for a good look at him. But didn't hunt him."

"That means nothing in isolation," countered Mirrin.

"True, but there's more. Each small and unimportant, insignificant alone, but together they add to one inescapable conclusion."

Mirrin inhaled the aroma of alovak. "Such as?" he murmured.

"Such as the person who appears to be Hingast using enough sorcery – or perhaps the Gift – to frighten the ears off every sylph here."

"What?"

Sandev smiled. "Don't you know? There was me thinking you knew everything about sylphs. All right. Sylphs can sense the Gift and sorcery when it is used. They can even sense humans practiced in its use." She leaned forward. "They can even sense it in me, blocked as I am." Sandev felt Shashi's gaze on her, but didn't turn her head.

"I've never heard of this," said Mirrin.

"Most don't know what it is they sense," said Sandev. She still did not turn her head, but she pointed at the infertile. "Ask her."

Shashi flinched as if struck and her earpoints wilted.

Mirrin looked at his sylph. "Well?" he asked, gently.

Shashi nodded and stared unhappily at the rug. "It is true, _enya_."

Mirrin's attention returned to Sandev. "I never heard of such a thing before."

"You are a warrior," replied Sandev. She sipped the alovak; almost as good as Caya's. She felt a twinge of guilt. "Why should you know? And a sylph won't realize what it is unless she or he belongs to a practitioner."

"How come Shashi knows?"

"Because I told her."

Mirrin shook his head. "It comes back to you. _Again_."

"Because I am a practitioner. My own sylph makes herself scarce the moment she thinks I'm about to do anything with the Gift. Every sylph here feels deeply uncomfortable whenever the man posing as Hingast is here. So I told them what caused their unease. Is that cruel?"

"You might be making it up," pointed out Mirrin. "Sylphs are suggestible."

"Not that suggestible and certainly not from a distance. Do you think I gathered every sylph in the camp and told them all at once? Yet they all sense something wrong with the imposter."

"Perhaps Hingast has learned sorcery."

Sandev smiled. "Perhaps he has. However, I would be surprised if Dervra would allow him to develop it too far, certainly not to the level needed for sylphs to feel what he had become. Which means that, whoever he is, he uses sorcery or the Gift whenever he stands before you."

"But why?"

Sandev's smile broadened. "So he looks like Hingast."

Shashi whimpered, an involuntary sound.

Sandev gave the sylph a sympathetic smile. "It's called shapeshifting." She took a few more sips of alovak. "And I know who your imposter is."

***

Fhionnen, the best of the scouts who were allowed to scout, followed the Eldovans as they moved east. Either Peytor or Deren stayed in close company and that was irritating. Fhionnen suspected the Shadow Riders did not fully trust him or his companions. He should not be bothered by that since few humans believed sylphs were good at this work until shown different.

The Shadow Riders would learn.

Fhionnen worried that he had contacted no other Markan scouts. He feared that the March had been left unprotected and unwatched.

Scouts' positions were always fluid, but Fhionnen still expected contact before now. Why had the scouts all disappeared? There must be trouble somewhere ahead.

General Mirrin had set a fair pace, whether through genuine hurry or in hope of throwing off his pursuers, Fhionnen did not know.

If Mirrin hurried, that meant trouble for Marka's enemies.

If Mirrin hoped to shake off the sylph scouts, he would fail. For one thing, he rarely changed direction and kept on the road. It made for easier traveling, but for easier shadowing, too. All Fhionnen needed to do was keep an eye and ear open for enemy scouts in the forest. He had already bypassed several. So long as he took care, they were easy to spot and he usually heard them long before seeing them.

Humans were always easy to find.

He sent another pinger out, intended to tell his brother scouts that he had changed direction again.

This time, an answer came back he did not expect.

***
Chapter 27

**The Mametain Makes His Move**

Four candle lanterns threw long shadows around the unfurnished and windowless cell. It contained just a wheeled box, with a few tools arranged on top. There were two in the cell, one a naked man, chained to a wall by a wrist and an ankle.

And the other... Tektu eyed the prisoner and used a rag to clean the worst of the blood off her hands and forearms.

The new prisoner had squealed nicely. He begged her to lay off and promised to tell her everything she wanted to hear. He would confess to anything, whatever she needed to make her leave him alone. Breath whistled through the new gaps between his teeth. Having cleaned what she could off her arms, she turned back to the prisoner and smiled.

"Names. Do not tell me what you think I want to hear. I have no interest in your guilt; that is not important. We already know you are guilty, or you would not be here. Just names." She kept her voice gentle. "Understand?"

Blood streaked the prisoner's body and one eye-socket gaped sightlessly. The free arm dangled uselessly and only a soft mush replaced other extremities. The prisoner nodded. He had made her work to reach this stage.

"Who is the man Marka sent to Castle Beren?"

"Castle Beren? I only know the two in the city!"

Tektu leaned closer and made her smile less of a snarl. "The name of the man in Castle Beren," she whispered.

The prisoner had done well to hold out so long.

The man began to cry. "I... do... not... know!"

"Who is the spy in Castle Beren?"

The man sobbed harder and shook his head.

Tektu's face hardened and she stepped back. "All right. I must report what you have told me. Think very hard on everything you ever heard. When I return, I want names."

She left the cell. She ignored his cries that he did not know, cries that begged for release, for death.

His pleas would be granted, but in her time, not his.

***

Balnus Pinton chatted amiably to Rement, the man receiving the boxes from the back of the cart. These vegetables came from last year's crop, carefully stored over the winter and now issued to areas with soil too poor for arable farming. Balnus would return to Taura with the cart laden with fish. Even though they were in the middle of Codden's village square, other people stayed away.

"You hear things all the time," he said as he worked. "Rumors mostly and who can say how true those are?"

"There's often truth in rumor," growled Rement.

Balnus pretended he had not heard and gabbled on. "All those soldiers. Word on the streets is that the Mametain plans to attack the mainland soon."

"Yeah, that'll keep the beggars away from us."

Balnus paused in his work and lowered his voice. "They say the Mametain's going to help one of the claimants take Marka's Throne." He straightened and carried on with his work. "Of course, you hear all sorts of nonsense, such as a sylph being on that Throne now. A sylph!"

"But that's true," protested the other man. "Every ship coming in says the same. Must've been there a year now. Or nearly. Zempha, or something."

Balnus nodded. "Maybe so. But ask yourself this: if we're going to help a claimant, what's in it for us? Will we be sold out to the Markans?"

Rement stared. "Shouldn't bother you, with that accent."

Balnus laughed. Couldn't this man tell the difference between Calcan and Markan accents? He supposed mainlanders were all the same to him. "So folks say. But I'm here for a good reason and I'd rather not wear a Markan yoke, thank you." He passed down the last box. "Where's that fish?"

Dark blue eyes expressionless, Balnus watched Rement push the vegetable cart aside and beckon two sylphs to take it away. Two barefoot human boys then pulled another cart, laden with fish, towards him.

Codden's fishing boats used to put in directly to Taura's wharves, but a dispute over landing fees resulted in the present cumbersome arrangements. It had also put the prices up and his employer made a healthy profit when the fish was sold in the market.

Balnus had planted another seed and more rumors would grow from his words. Rement already mulled them over, the reason why he had gone quiet.

Rumor had unseated more than one lord in the past. It would unseat any ruler who happened to be – or was made to be – unpopular. There were so few ways for the ordinary man to hit back at the authorities in any society and rumor was the best of them.

Marka would gain no direct benefit here, but that did not mean Balnus failed to understand his task here. If Re Taura's army reached the mainland, it would cause real trouble. No matter what the Mametain's true aim – or even if he was merely another's puppet – Marka would have little choice but to react to invasion from the east.

The Re Taurans were fiercely independent islanders, with a healthy suspicion of outsiders and that could be used against them. Re Taurans no more wanted to rule Marka than be ruled by it. Squandering their independence on another's whim would rouse them to anger and neither did they want to steal anyone else's freedom.

Rumor could prove to be Nijen da Re Taura's undoing.

***

Steppan da Kanpura found Verdin Vintner in the timber market. Crowds swirled around them, which made the meeting all the more miraculous. The smell of freshly cut timber hung heavily in the air.

Woodworkers of every description filled the square. Timber came into the city once a week, and the sawmills set to work on it immediately. All timber was sold from here, where the Mametain's agents could oversee the sales and collect any taxes due.

Many woodworkers would have private arrangements with the sawmills and, beyond any doubt at all, most of the agents were paid a cut to overlook some transactions.

Steppan caught Verdin's eye and wheeled around to meet him.

"You must move lodgings," said the former Mametain.

Verdin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"They arrested Levvin last night and took him to Castle Beren. Once he's been questioned, Nijen will know everything about you and where you are staying. And Balnus, too." The last sounded like an afterthought. Steppan kept his voice low, despite the racket of the crowd. "Assume everything is known to the authorities, just in case Levvin was a traitor and not an unwilling captive."

Verdin nodded his head, but his heart pounded.

Steppan changed the subject. "Have we got anywhere with the rumors? Might be too late now, of course."

"A good number of bites." Verdin managed a grin. "I'd feel happier if those soldiers weren't about to be on the move."

"How do you know that?" Steppan almost shouted the question.

Verdin grimaced. The indiscretion worried him. "Summer's drawing to a close and nobody wants to campaign through the winter. If it's left much longer, winter will be here."

"We're not used to campaigns here; perhaps Nijen doesn't realize that."

"He'll know," replied Verdin. "I'm no gambler, but I'd wager my life on that."

Steppan's dark eyes were thoughtful. He glanced across at a ragged male sylph, picking his way across the market, one hand held out for coins. Their eyes met and the sylph changed direction.

Verdin regarded his companion curiously. "Why is he frightened of you?"

"He used to belong to me," replied Steppan. "One of the first to ask for release from Nijen's service. He's been a beggar ever since and refuses to have anything to do with me. As if Nijen being Mametain is my fault."

Verdin looked away. _Sylphs always see more than they let on. And sometimes what they don't let on could fill a book. Marcus Vintner told me that and I believe him from what I've seen since. What do_ you _hide, Steppan da Kanpura?_ Aloud, he said. "Perhaps he has a point."

Steppan's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. "Why do you say that?"

"You admitted yourself that if you paid more attention to events around you, Nijen could never have taken your Throne."

"You see deeply for one so young." The former Mametain nodded. "Take my advice and change your lodgings. Nijen can move quickly and ruthlessly when he must. As you've just reminded me."

The two men parted. Verdin picked his way through the streets quickly, pausing now and then as he overheard chatter. Mostly rumors planted by himself and his new friends. Or variants of them.

Turning the last corner to The Raven, he saw three guardsmen in full uniform go inside. He approached the door and overheard their squadman.

"Innkeeper!" The soldier had a rough voice; perhaps like Balnus, he smoked too much. "We are here to arrest a renegade calling himself Verdin Vintner. Young man, outlander, blue eyes and..."

_Just keep walking_ , Verdin told himself _. Nothing to do with you._

He hoped he had nothing in his rooms to incriminate anybody. Though he moved quickly through the crowds, he had to ensure he looked to be in no hurry.

Fish market. He must catch Balnus before he finished work. Nothing worse than being arrested by the authorities at the end of a hard day's labor.

_Keep your pace down,_ he told himself. _Do not dawdle, but don't rush, either. Draw no attention._

Reaching the fish market, and with a wary eye open for guardsmen, he asked if the cart from Codden had returned yet. He was grateful to learn it had not. Several sylphs stared hungrily at him, but he ignored them as Balnus and the cart rumbled into the yard. The sylphs crowded in, salivating even as they offered to help. Earpoints slanted forwards and some jostled for position. Verdin decided that sinabra mingled with the smell of fish was not a pleasant mixture.

Balnus blinked as he saw the younger man readying himself to lend a hand.

"Get unloaded!" hissed Verdin, even before Balnus halted the cart. "We must move accommodation – guardsmen are already at mine."

"We will help!" offered the sylphs, several speaking in unison.

Balnus growled something and the sylphs slunk away. If they'd had tails, they would have been tucked between their legs.

"Might have been an idea to accept the help," suggested Verdin mildly.

Balnus shook his head. "Never asked 'em for it before, so why make today stand out?"

Refusing to hurry, he passed fish boxes to Verdin. The younger man muffled his protests and sweated his way through the sylphs. The beggars looked hopeful that he might fall over something, but the fish reached the market keepers safely.

Verdin glanced around as he worked, worried that guardsmen would appear to arrest them at any moment. Market boys dashed to help and one threatened the sylph beggars with a stick, which sent them running.

Before long, Balnus received his money and the two men hopped onto the cart.

Verdin made to speak.

"Not yet," murmured Balnus.

He cracked the reins, and the cart forced a slow route through the throng. Without fish, the beggars now ignored the cart. Once out on the street, where the noise was great enough to prevent anybody from overhearing, Balnus turned to Verdin.

"Take it we're burned."

"Looks that way. Steppan himself came to warn me. As it turns out just in time to stop me from getting caught. I hope they find nothing useful at The Raven."

"The owner of this cart will have his skin to worry about." Balnus grinned. "We'll use it to shift our gear."

Verdin shrugged. "I'm left with only the clothes I'm wearing."

"We'll sort something out," promised Balnus. "I've got the fish money." He jingled the purse.

They left the cart outside the lodging house where Balnus had made his home. A humble place, but clean. Verdin had never been here before, but he nodded in approval as he entered.

"Balnus! You are back early. Who is your friend?"

Verdin blinked as a short, round woman in an apron bustled up. Her graying hair was tied back.

"Peyen, this is Verdin, a colleague of mine. Peyen, I must leave, or there will be trouble."

For some reason, the woman looked disappointed.

"There is something else," continued Balnus, before the woman could answer. "Soldiers will come looking for me."

"Soldiers!" Peyen looked concerned. "What have you done?"

"Nothing to worry you," Balnus assured her, but his landlady looked unconvinced. He quickly counted out gold, doubtless more than was actually owed. "I don't know what they want with me, but when they come, don't resist. Promise me that. I would hate to see you hurt."

"Where are you going? Surely not onto the streets?"

"Somewhere safe," answered Balnus.

"Let's get our gear," said Verdin. "Or they'll catch us."

Packing Balnus's things took little time and they hurried back downstairs in minutes, delayed only while Peyen hugged her erstwhile tenant.

She followed Balnus outside, while the two men threw everything on the back of the cart. Balnus gave Peyen one last, regretful look before they left and were back among the crowds.

"So that's where Neptarik gets his womanizing ways," grinned Verdin.

"You're just jealous." Under the banter, Balnus worried in case Neptarik had also been betrayed. He gritted his teeth.

They managed two streets.

The soldiers marched down the middle of the road and their presence forced everything else to halt. The troops looked neither left nor right, marching proudly, their officers and sergeants marshaling them. Guardsmen kept the crowds well back. Hundred after hundred after hundred. People stopped to stare at the soldiers pouring along the street.

"All this just for us?" Verdin wondered aloud.

"Typical noble," chuckled Balnus, though he did not feel like laughing. "Thinking the world revolves around him. The harbor is that way. Looks like the Mametain has decided it's time to attack the mainland."

Verdin felt something close to despair. Balnus was right.

"We're too late to make any difference," he said.

"We must leave the city," said Balnus. "Find Neptarik and get off this miserable island."

"How can we get Neptarik?"

Balnus shrugged. "We won't find him here," he pointed out. "We must move, or we'll be dead."

Verdin nodded. At least he recognized the sense of this.

***

After passing on his warning, Steppan da Kanpura rushed to The Green Knight. He headed for the rooms he and his associates used, pausing only to warn the innkeeper.

"Mirten."

The innkeeper smiled. "A little early for your drink, sir?"

Steppan spotted a sylph peering shyly around a barrel. Not that he ever paid much attention to these things, but he thought the creature's name was Spruce.

"If you value your life and those of your family, you must leave."

Mirten blinked. "Leave, sir? This is my home."

"You and yours are in great danger," said Steppan. "Nijen knows I am here and using your inn. If you want to live, leave now."

"But this is my livelihood, sir," protested Mirten.

"You can start over with that," retorted Steppan. He pointed to Spruce. "But not that."

Earpoints wilted, the sylph shrank back and looked at her owner with frightened eyes. Eventually, Mirten nodded.

Steppan dashed upstairs to his rooms. They were deserted, but he must destroy so much before Nijen's men got here. So much that would incriminate many people and most of them innocent.

That innocence would not matter to those he knew were coming. If Nijen da Re Taura had decided to move against Steppan now, he would prefer to eliminate everybody associated with the group and consolidate his hold on the Throne for ever. Once the arrests were made, there would be no rescue and no escape.

Steppan could not understand why he was making his move now. What had changed? Had the man heard the rumors and knew who was responsible for them?

Crouching at the fireplace, he blew on still-glowing embers from the morning's fire and, once burning again, fed it papers. He watched each folio dispassionately as it browned before bursting into flame.

Paper after paper followed, until a blaze roared up the chimney. He hoped everything burned and that any pieces of documents whirling up the chimney in the updraught were ash before they came to rest again.

Nijen had skilled codebreakers and the cipher Steppan used could probably be translated into plain language rather more quickly than he would like.

He jumped to his feet as the door flew open, relaxing only when he recognized Khelim, who obviously had the same thoughts: destroy all incriminating evidence.

"You should go, Majesty," said Khelim. "They will know everything."

Steppan shook his head. "We cannot let innocents get caught in this. My sons will continue the fight if necessary."

Khelim said nothing more, but began to sort papers. He passed those he deemed most important first. The heat grew, but that was not the only reason both men were sweating.

"Was Levvin a traitor?" asked Khelim.

"No idea." The other man continued to feed papers to the fire. "We may never find out, so we'll assume not. Better for his family that way."

Khelim nodded. Re Taura had always prided itself on its legal system, because everybody was assumed to be innocent until proven otherwise. Nijen may have corrupted it, but the basic principle remained in place. Nobody could now prove whether or not Levvin had betrayed them.

Shouted orders in the street below made Khelim risk a glance out of the window.

"Not for us," he said, quietly. "They're marching to the harbor."

Steppan grimaced. "Then we're too late," he said. "If they embark now, it must mean they sail soon. Within the next few days." The papers went onto the fire faster as he hurled each into the flames.

The last document finally joined the rest and the two men looked at each other.

"If we were still safe, the others would be here by now," said Khelim.

Steppan paused. "The longer we linger, the more likely we will be caught."

"Time to leave," said the other man.

They abandoned The Green Knight by the back way, through the stables, Steppan pleased to see the innkeeper and his family frenziedly packing. The sylph Spruce alternated between helping and wringing her hands in distress, earpoints still wilted.

Steppan and Khelim wound through the crowds, keeping a weather eye on the soldiers still marching stolidly towards the harbor.

So far so good.

"We should leave the city," said Khelim.

"They will have our descriptions," replied Steppan, "but let's take a look."

At the gates, the guards were especially vigilant and checked those leaving the city with more care than those who entered.

Steppan and Khelim looked at each other.

"We won't get out," said Steppan.

"Might not be us they're looking for."

"Want to take the risk?"

Khelim paused and shook his head.

"We'll find somewhere to hide in the city for a couple of days. The hue and cry will have died down by then."

"Perhaps," replied Khelim.

"Another safe house."

Khelim shook his head. "Nijen probably knows about all of them now."

"There must be _somewhere_ we can go."

Even as Steppan spoke, he realized it was too late. The six men who now stepped out from behind them formed a ring. They were not soldiers, but guardsmen. The crowds melted away as nobody wanted to get involved.

A sergeant stepped forward.

"Steppan da Kanpura and Khelim ti Aswar, it is my duty to place you under the Mametain's arrest. You must come with us and, if you resist, our orders are to execute you, without trial."

Steppan's eyes narrowed. This wording of arrest was only used in cases of treason. He sensibly kept his peace; he would get his chance soon.

Beside him, Khelim shook his head in disbelief.

The captives were led to a cart that stood close beside the gates. The crowds stared, but made no move to intervene. More guardsmen waited beside the cart, which had a prison cage on the back. Steppan's heart sank as he viewed the occupants.

Levvin's confession – or treason – was complete.

The cage held everybody from Steppan's inner circle. The City Guard must have all the names, which meant his fire would not save innocent people.

The cage door swung open and the guardsmen stood ready with pikes and swords.

"In you go."

The sergeant indicated with his hand that they were to climb in. The gate slammed shut and the latch locked behind them.

Once seated, he exchanged looks with the men in the cage, but nobody spoke. They looked more or less resigned to their fate. Steppan looked out of the cage as it trundled through the gate and out of the city.

Which meant they would not be imprisoned in the city, but were being taken to Castle Beren.

Steppan had never believed his homecoming would be in a prison cart.

***

Verdin and Balnus had not got far on their cart.

The movement of so many soldiers through the streets forced the civilians aside and halted all other traffic on the road. The exodus of this many troops might take all afternoon. They exchanged a look.

"This isn't working," said Balnus. "Let's chuck it and carry what we can."

Verdin grimaced. "We'll stand out if we look like refugees," he countered. "We won't be bothered if we look like we belong."

Balnus shrugged. "It's a huge risk." He looked around. "We should hoof it for the gates."

"Will we get out of the city?" Verdin wondered aloud. "If this lot's coming in through them, we won't get out."

"Farmers have still got to return to their farms before the gates close," Balnus pointed out. "And they'll want to be home before dark."

Almost as abruptly as it had begun, the flow of troops eased and came to an end. The crowds could move again.

A smile crossed Verdin's face. "Excellent timing. Now, do we find somewhere to stay in the city, or leave?"

"Leave. And quick. We can catch up with the true Mametain another time." Balnus's expression suggested he would hear no argument.

Verdin gave his companion a concerned look. He suspected Balnus wanted to leave Taura mostly so he could ensure Neptarik's safety. He had never seen the man look so concerned for his sylph.

Verdin nodded agreement. "Very well," he said, "leave is what we will do."

Now the soldiers had passed, they reached the gates easily. All they had to do was avoid crushing careless pedestrians.

Another queue brought them to a halt again.

"Now what?" Balnus spoke through gritted teeth.

They could see the gates. And even Balnus saw that leaving the city was not a good idea. Guards searched every cart and carefully inspected every driver, comparing what they saw against the notes each guardsman held.

Checking descriptions.

Balnus cursed under his breath.

"They are looking to make arrests," said Verdin. "Look at that cage!"

The cart that stood to one side of the gate had a barred cage on the back. It was empty, so they had caught nobody trying to leave by this gate – yet.

"How come you didn't notice when you came back in?" asked Verdin.

Balnus shrugged. "Who looks at the out-goers when you're coming in?" Even so, he sounded a little guilty. He should have noticed, even though the prison cart would not have been in sight as he came into the city.

"Too late to worry about that now," muttered Verdin. "We should have used Neptarik as the carter; he would have seen."

"More guards than usual," pointed out Balnus, who had come through most gates often enough to know the normal manning levels. "Leaving looks less optimistic."

"They might not have our descriptions."

"We're outlanders," replied Balnus. "We'll be inspected even more closely. Time to try your idea."

"So somewhere in the city after all."

"Could have done with leaving." Balnus's hands tightened on the reins.

"He'll be all right," said Verdin.

"He'd better be. I should have refused to let Morran have him in the first place. Bloody deskbound warriors."

"Whoa!" Verdin smiled. "Nothing has happened yet and probably nothing will. Are you going to try and turn this cart around or sit here all night?"

Balnus nodded and began to ease the cart out of the queue. More than one driver, forced to execute a tricky maneuver to let them turn the cart, cursed him in a loud voice.

"We're attracting too much attention," muttered Verdin. "Ranva's balls, look over there."

Seeing and hearing the commotion, four guardsmen strolled along the line of carts. No doubt wanting to know why a driver had changed his mind.

Balnus muttered again.

"Ho, driver!" One of the guards hailed them. "Why do you turn around?"

Balnus and Verdin exchanged another look.

"Which of us is doing the talking?" growled Balnus. "Can you do their accent yet?"

Verdin shook his head. "Do I look like a taynor?" he retorted. "If either of us speaks they will know we're foreigners."

The guardsmen had drawn level with them now.

"Well?" demanded the same man. "What's the problem?"

"The queue is too long," replied Verdin, after a pause. "We will leave tomorrow."

As they had feared, the guardsmen remained suspicious.

"Outlanders?" The four guardsmen formed a loose circle around the cart. The squadman pointed to a patch of ground beside the gate. "Park up over there, please."

Balnus thought about reaching for his sword on the back of the cart, but almost as quickly decided against.

Yet _more_ guardsmen stood at a discreet distance, all with arrows nocked and bows pointed in their general direction. He and Verdin would resemble hedgepigs long before either could do a thing.

More guardsmen joined their companions as Balnus parked the cart where directed.

The original guardsmen searched the cart, while the newcomers referred to their written descriptions. And all were suspicious.

"This cart belongs to Aleyn da Tinturg," said a sergeant. "Arrested this afternoon for treason."

"I bought the cart just this morning. It –"

The sergeant continued as if Balnus had not spoken. "And here it is, with two outlanders. We've had a bit of a purge on traitors in the past couple of days. Two outlanders, wanted for sedition, are also sought."

"Sergeant!"

One of the guards held Balnus's sword aloft.

The sergeant smiled. "Here are two outlanders, riding a traitor's cart, and concealing a weapon. I assume trying to look like something they are not." He spat the smile away. "You are both under arrest. You can explain your actions to the Mametain's men, when they get here to interrogate you. Tomorrow or the day after. Guards!"

Verdin and Balnus exchanged yet another look. They had failed.

***

Neptarik leaned against the wall just outside the sylphs' tower, thinking. He stared at the Mametain's personal tower, eyes unfocused.

More prisoners had been brought to the castle and he had no doubt Tektu would interrogate them. His day had passed polishing furniture in the Mametain's quarters. He hoped that, ordinary domestic chores apart, he never shared Tektu's work again.

He looked again at the sylphs' tower. In there, Mya sweated over laundry and he half thought he should join her. They could discuss what they must do to escape the castle.

He glanced behind, where laundry bags slid down the lines leading to the sylphs' tower from the guards' barracks. Used for the first time that he had noticed.

He hoped there were no more alarm tests today. He had forgotten how loud they sounded when nearby. The things had nearly taken his ears off.

He turned back to stare at the Mametain's tower again. More prisoners to interrogate, and only a matter of time before one betrayed him. What if his owner or Verdin- _ya_ were captured? Nobody could withstand Tektu's torture for long.

He hoped his owner would not tell Tektu about him, but what about Verdin? Humans under duress would say anything to escape extreme pain.

Neptarik stared at the tower.

The Mametain's study was up there.

The plans for the invasion were in that study.

He must act and steal those plans.

Now or never.

***
Chapter 28

**Neptarik: Spy**

Two soldiers, red flashes sewn onto their uniform shoulders to show they belonged to the Mametain's personal guard, walked along the corridor and turned the corner in front of the tapestry covering one wall. They had passed this tapestry hundreds of times and, had they paid it closer attention, might have noticed something different.

One of the sylphs on the left now cast a shadow.

But the unobservant men walked past, turned the corner and began to descend the stairs.

Neptarik looked over his right shoulder and grinned. His earpoints twitched in amusement and he glanced again at the two sylphs depicted on the tapestry.

He bobbed his head and gave them silent thanks.

He felt foolish – after all, the sylphs did not really exist – but shrugged it off.

The Mametain's study lay at the end of the corridor.

He heard a low rumble of voices and paused outside the study door. Anyone inside would bring his venture to an end. But the voices came from another room and one belonged to the Mametain. What if Tektu was cleaning in there?

He pushed the study door open and poked his head inside. He found the room deserted, so the rest of his body followed and he shut the door silently.

Neptarik was in.

The study looked exactly as he had seen it last. He could smell the polish on the floor and paneling, together with a hint of pipesmoke. A glance at the window showed darkness outside.

The two high-backed leather chairs and small tables were still arranged before a cold fireplace. As before, the huge desk sat on the strangely patterned rug; papers piled high on it, and maps spread out for easy viewing. Pens, inkwells and rulers were scattered across it.

And the small bottle that bothered him so much. His skin itched.

Neptarik stared at it, head cocked to one side. Why would a _bottle_ bother him like this? No label told him what it held. He stretched out a hand, but instinct stopped him touching it.

It felt wrong.

Not being here for bottles, his attention turned to the maps.

One was a large-scale map of Re Taura and the mainland. Using a pencil, someone had marked the shortest route from Taura to Trenvera. It was as Marcus suspected. The Mametain intended to drive a wedge between the two Vintners by invading their buffer state.

But when?

Other maps showed likely routes from Trenvera north into Sandester, and south into Calcan. Lists of likely armies and where they were stationed. Annotated maps, names of senior officers.

And of traitors.

Neptarik stiffened. He had nothing but contempt for men and women who betrayed their own lands, usually for gold, and who caused unnecessary deaths. Traitors deserved the hanging their actions merited, though as a sylph, perhaps he ought not think so.

When would the invasion begin? Without a date, the rest was worthless.

Should he steal the maps, or commit the details to memory? He prevaricated. He lifted the corners to see what, if anything, lay underneath, but found little of interest. Only a list of the ships that he presumed still choked the city's harbor.

Hearing voices outside the study door, his head came up.

Neptarik's heart plummeted. The owners of those voices were about to come into the study, and through his only way out.

***

"The Mametain wants them in yellow."

Kurgan sighed. "Yellow." He eyed the remaining rolls of blue cloth regretfully. "It's not long since he wanted them in blue."

Melsa, Castle Beren's administrator, who had assumed many of the late Siaba's duties, shrugged. "He says blue makes them look naked."

Kurgan, who looked after most of the stores and clothing, glanced at the two sylphs working with him. "No it doesn't," he replied. "It's obvious they're wearing something."

Melsa's lips thinned. "If the Mametain wants them in yellow, then he wants them in yellow," she insisted.

"All right. I'll order the necessary cloth tomorrow and get the tailors onto it straight away." He gestured towards the blue cloth. "What about that lot?"

Melsa shrugged. "Sell it back."

As the administrator left, the two sylphs looked at Kurgan. He managed a small smile for them.

"Nothing we can do tonight," he told them. He eyed the full rolls. "We can sell those, but that one is useless now." He prodded a mostly-used roll with a foot. "Can you manage it between you? Take it to the catapult for tomorrow's throw, then I'm finished with you for today."

The two sylphs looked at the roll and nodded. They found, after unrolling it, that just one could carry it easily. They asked Kurgan to toss a coin and the loser took the cloth to the catapult.

When the infertile threw the cloth into the cup of the catapult, she nearly missed. Wanting her bed, she left the cloth hanging half out. The infertile silently vowed she would return after breakfast tomorrow and sort it out properly, before the daily hurl of waste into the sea.

The cloth rippled in the fresh breeze, as if waiting for something.

Or someone.

***

"Alovak? Or would you prefer red tea?"

Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast blinked in unison.

"Red tea?" asked Dervra.

Nijen smiled and nodded, while Tektu glowered at the guests. "A mainland ship has made a couple of trips with it," replied the Mametain. "It's in demand everywhere in the city."

"Alovak for me," grunted the man who called himself Hingast.

"I will try the tea," said Dervra.

Tektu narrowed her eyes, probably at the prospect of having to do twice the work. She glanced away quickly from Dervra's searching gaze. That one, even older than she, saw too deeply.

"Off you go, Tektu," prompted Nijen. "We haven't got all night. Red tea for me too."

Tektu gave a bob of her head and left.

The man who called himself Hingast chuckled. "A little discipline needed for that one," he remarked.

"Perhaps." Nijen changed the subject. "We'll go to my study soon. I want to tell you that Admiral Iklaus assures me he will sail at high water tomorrow. Everything is ready."

The guests were all smiles.

"Excellent news," said Dervra. "Marka has all but emptied her city of soldiers and sent them towards Trenvera. They have obviously decided you are the greatest threat. We have already clashed with part of their army, but their forces in the west are small."

"Good, but I can still decide which target to attack?"

The man who called himself Hingast shrugged. "So long as you choose further north. Go south, and those soldiers can be switched south again, which is too close to Marka."

"I thought you had no interest in Marka."

The man who called himself Hingast gave the Mametain a cold look. "We must take it to end Marka's dream of establishing herself as a powerful land again," he replied. "When I – we – are done, what you decide to do in the east no longer concerns us." He suddenly gave a humorless smile. "Just do not choose to replace Marka's dream of a continental empire with one of your own. Or we shall come to blows."

Dervra smiled. "Gentlemen please. Hingast, we have already agreed that Re Taura is no threat to our plans and that the Bay of Plenty trade is theirs."

Tektu, returning with two cans and three large mugs, ended the uncomfortable silence. "Red tea," she said as she put one can down. "Alovak."

The sylph poured, then stood aside.

The man who called himself Hingast gave her a strange look.

_He feels it too,_ reflected Nijen. He had heard that Hingast was unhinged and, indeed, his initial meetings had confirmed those rumors. But this man seemed more in control of himself. And knew a lot more about military matters.

"How is the sylph-hunting?" he asked. "I can arrange a run here, if you like. I have several strong candidates."

Tektu almost gawked, but caught herself just in time.

The man who called himself Hingast frowned. "I've given that up," he replied. He visibly struggled with himself. "I try to ignore sylphs these days, especially males."

"The candidates do not know how lucky they are," smiled Nijen. There were no sylphs waiting to be hunted down; Nijen found the idea of hunting sylphs for sport repellent, but he had his suspicions about the man who called himself Hingast. Just as people could sense something not right about Tektu, he knew there was something wrong with Hingast.

"This is excellent tea." Dervra smiled at Tektu.

"Everybody in Taura is drinking it," replied Nijen. "If it continues, I'll have to put an import duty on it. So popular."

"You might suffer riots when it runs out." Dervra's smile widened.

Nijen shrugged. "Not very likely. Markans were trying to foment rebellion against me, but we have apprehended the rumormongers _and_ my predecessor. I've decapitated their plot and soon will decapitate its leaders in actuality."

The man who called himself Hingast nodded in appreciation. He viewed Nijen in a new, more respectful light.

With Steppan da Kanpura safely locked in his dungeons, Nijen felt safer. Tektu had been right: he should have apprehended the man long ago. "If you are staying for a while, I'll bring him out for you to look at."

***

Steppan da Kanpura stretched out on his stone bed. He was getting too old to lie on stone. Both hips ached and his back felt like a horse had trodden on it. A faint smell from the slop bucket tickled his nostrils. So far, he had not kicked it over. But that would only be a matter of time in this gloom.

The cell was almost completely dark, the only light leaking from around the solid door. Not enough for him to see; there were no windows here.

They held him deep inside the south tower of Castle Beren. Somewhere below was the sea and somewhere above the sulking room. Admonished slaves were always sent there to reflect on their misdemeanors and as a reminder that they were only a few steps above the dungeons.

These dungeons were never intended for normal prisoners, only to punish the most recalcitrant of slaves and then only for a night or possibly two.

He now understood how being left alone in pitch darkness might break even the most indomitable spirit. He realized just what slaves he used to send here as punishment had gone through.

He did not want to be remembered for cruelty, not even to slaves.

If ever he regained his Throne, the sulking room would become a recreation room and these cells would be filled in, or converted to stores. From now on, the worst punishment a slave could face would be...

He shook his head. If ever he regained his Throne. He snorted at himself in derision. He needed a miracle to get out of here alive. His compatriots were in the adjoining cells, but he had no idea how many had already been interrogated.

Perhaps some were already dead.

No. He must not think like this. He had not been harmed yet. Perhaps Nijen did not intend him harm.

But if not that, then what?

Steppan knew there were things worse than death. Humiliation. Paraded through the streets to prove the old Mametain was not mighty. How far he had fallen.

A dangerous precedent to set.

He did not fear death. He feared pain before death, as did all animals, and he feared what might – or might not – happen afterwards. The bit in between was easy enough; every fool did that sooner or later.

But he had hoped that this fool might avoid it for a few more years, at least.

***

Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast stared in surprise as Tektu led them along the corridor towards the Mametain's study. Nijen was clearly not bothered by what his guests saw as a serious breach of protocol.

"When is high water tomorrow?" asked Dervra.

"Mid-morning," replied Nijen. "No point in sailing against the tide when you can sail with it."

Dervra shrugged. "Move soon, for tomorrow we will have to fight Markans."

"Here we are," continued Nijen. "My study."

Tektu pushed the door open and entered first, another breach of protocol in the guests' eyes. Again, Nijen passed no comment.

Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast exchanged a look.

Tektu entered the study far enough to let the men join her. She sniffed at the air and looked at her owner in consternation. The window at the far side of the study stood open and the drape billowed in the breeze.

"Did you leave that open?" asked Nijen.

"No." Tektu crossed the floor to the window.

"Anything wrong?" asked Dervra. He was ignored.

Tektu sprang onto the sill and poked her head out. She looked left, right and down. Satisfied, she withdrew and closed the window behind her.

"At least the open window makes it smell fresher," remarked Dervra.

"Probably an oversight," replied Nijen.

***

Outside and above the window, Neptarik shivered in the fresh breeze. The fingers of both hands curled around small protuberances; he had pushed the toes of one foot into a putlog and turned the other sideways atop one of the stone blocks.

In his panic to escape, he could not remember quite how he managed to get here.

The wind tugged at his clothing and threatened to tear him away from the stone. He must move about fifteen pacas to the right before he reached the walls and safety. It might as well be fifteen milas.

He looked at the moat far below and, beyond that, the long drop into the channel leading from the sea into Taura Harbor. He had no fear of falling, but he did have a healthy respect for heights. The moat was a possibility, but if he missed, certain death waited. Perhaps even if he landed in the channel. Better to try and make the walls.

Neptarik froze as Tektu's head poked out from the study. If she looked up...

Tektu did not look up. She looked left and right and down. Then she withdrew and he heard the window close.

No way back into the study.

He must reach the walls. He stretched out a tentative hand...

...and slipped.

***

Aware that _something_ had just plummeted past, Tektu looked back at the window. Perhaps she had not turned fully away, so she caught the movement in her excellent peripheral vision, or else she sensed a slight change in air pressure.

Something was not right.

She leapt onto the sill and reopened the window. Her head poked into the night just in time to see the splash as someone plunged into the moat. Her eyes narrowed as the sound eventually reached her ears.

A head broke the surface and not even Tektu had any idea who that might belong to.

She pulled the window shut before dashing to the study door, ignoring the surprised humans. She stuck her head into the corridor.

"Guard!"

Moments later, one of the red-tabbed guardsmen joined her.

"Muster the guard," she snapped. "Search all quarters and report anybody missing."

The guard saluted and turned to leave.

"And raise the drawbridge!" Tektu added this last as an afterthought. Just in case the lunatic had survived his fall.

Tektu retreated to the study. Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast still stared in surprise. Nijen looked rather more collected.

"We have a spy," said Tektu, calmly, "who has just fallen into the moat."

"From up here?" Dervra looked disbelieving. "Impossible!"

"Unlikely," agreed Tektu. She shrugged. "But I know what I saw."

***

The four seconds it took Neptarik to reach the water passed like four hours. His brain kicked into top speed as he weighed his options. He had already turned to be as flat as possible. Birds flew this way and some vague instinct told him this was the best way to fall.

He must avoid collision with the building, as that would spin him out of control. The tower walls thickened lower down, to keep the structure stable. He hoped he could push away from it without breaking anything, then realized he was far enough out to avoid it.

The moat would be deep enough to stop attackers from fording it, but he had no idea if it was deep enough for a sylph hurtling into it at speed. He must not hit the water flat, but enter feet or head first. The moat might be too shallow, so going in headfirst would grant a quicker and less painful death.

At the last moment, he turned his body and tensed.

The water was cold and salt. Driven up his nose and into his mouth with great force, he resisted the urge to choke. His arms brushed against feathery fronds and he opened his eyes.

He did not touch bottom, but it was a close thing. He could feel plant growth but saw nothing in the pitch darkness. Momentarily disoriented, he waited for his downward momentum to end and let his lungs act as floats. His body would naturally find up. He must restrain his panic.

Being a sylph, immersion was almost as natural as breathing air. Five or six seconds after hitting the moat, Neptarik's head broke surface. He looked up and took deep lungfuls of beautiful air.

Far above, a head poked from the study window. Tektu, he knew it. As he watched, the head withdrew. He swam to the side of the moat and pulled himself out. He looked up again and shuddered.

He had been luckier than he deserved.

Neptarik wandered around the corner of the moat, wondering how to explain to the guards how he managed to get outside. He was halfway along the curtain wall when a new sound reached his ears.

He continued to walk, head cocked to one side, earpoints questing. A grinding groaning together with chains clanking. Realization dawned.

The drawbridge!

He broke into a run. If he wanted to get back into Castle Beren, he had to move. Sprinting, he turned the final corner and stared.

Free of the ground, the wooden drawbridge rose steadily. He increased speed. At worst, he faced another wetting and he was already wet.

Pushing himself even harder, he turned and leapt...

Neptarik's fingers closed on one of the crossbars and he dug them into the hard wood. Only friction prevented another fall. His legs swung in space, before the drawbridge came vertical enough for him to grip with his feet.

One arm caught the end – now the top – of the drawbridge and he pulled himself up.

A dark hole above was the window where he and Mya had rested when cleaning the gurds' tower. He remembered guessing where the drawbridge would come to rest when raised. And on the other side of that window was a walkway. With just a few pacas to go, the sylph stood.

As the drawbridge slammed home, inertia catapulted the sylph through the space and into the corridor beyond. Lying on the ground, he silently offered gratitude to the Father that the walkway was deserted.

Hearing shouted orders, he looked into the courtyard. There, soldiers were getting detailed to search areas of the castle. Presumably looking for him. He wasn't safe yet.

He must reach his dormitory without being seen. He glanced at the laundry lines, then across at the sylphs' tower, where the doors to the laundry still stood open.

Neptarik smiled. He knew how to get back now.

***

Mya finally finished her chores, sat back on her heels and wiped sweat out of her eyes. The laundry room was always hot, thanks to several steaming baths for the tablecloths, bed linen and dirty washing from a garrison three hundred strong. Her earpoints twitched with pleasure because she had finally finished and everything hung to dry.

She glanced out of the window, where the laundry lines all came together. It was a large window, designed to accommodate the laundry bags.

She looked at, but could not see, the inner curtain wall of Castle Beren, nor could she properly see the yard below. Thanks to the number of light crystals in the laundry, all emitting their harsh glow, outside appeared even darker. She moved closer to the window for a better view of the yard and her thoughts turned, as always when she had a quiet moment, to her now-dead owner, Talnan.

She thought she might never get past tears, not that she could weep openly for him. She must tough it out here until Neptarik asked to be released from service, as he said he would, or rescue came.

She doubted if rescue would come; they probably assumed in Trenvera that she had been caught and murdered at the same time as her late owner.

Talnan had come to Castle Beren to spy and discover the Mametain's intentions toward his homeland. Mya had some of that information, but nobody to share it with. She had no idea where Neptarik would take her, but he was better than nothing.

She couldn't just run away. Being a sylph, she would not get far before an inevitable arrest as a suspected runaway, her official owner traced, and a swift return.

Talnan had been tortured before Tektu killed him; Mya did not know what he had told them. Or, as importantly, what he had _not_.

She knew – how she wished she did not! – that nobody could resist torture indefinitely. The interrogators always discovered what they wanted to learn; sadly they also discovered what they wanted to hear.

But had Talnan compromised his sylph? She might still be safe. Though fear of discovery pervaded every waking moment, months had passed and she had been left alone. Perhaps she was still safe.

Or did Tektu wait for the right moment?

Mya stiffened. What was happening now? Shouted orders echoed around the castle yard. Was that rumbling the _drawbridge_? That had never been closed in her time here. Her suspicion was confirmed when she heard it bang against the wall and the giant bolts drop into place. She imagined she felt the castle shake as it did.

More shouting, and booted feet pounded across the castle yard. The garrison was awake and locking the castle down. They didn't do that for fun either, and not at this time of night. It must mean _another_ spy. Mya stayed put, listening and watching.

The garrison soldiers lined up. Below, the door to the sylphs' tower banged open and she heard guards on the stair. So, a general muster.

But in this tower? Did they suspect a sylph? Her heart picked up pace. So long as they didn't suspect this sylph.

She stared as one of the laundry lines began to vibrate. Who in the Father's name played with laundry at this time of night, while panic gripped the garrison?

Voices, outside.

"Only two unaccounted for. Eight missing, but six are with the Mametain's family."

"Search the tower. Top to bottom."

This last came from Tektu and Mya fought sudden terror. She rested a hand on the laundry line and felt it vibrate again. The line from above the gatehouse which served the garrison.

She returned to the window. Something definitely moved up there. Then the laundry bag began to slide along the rope line. Only it was somehow the wrong shape...

The bag arrived seconds later, the stops on the rope slowing and halting its progress. From where he had clung to the bag, a sylph dropped onto the floor.

Mya's mouth fell open. This was the spy?

"Quick," panted Neptarik, "we must hide!"

Mya took in the other sylph's disheveled appearance: dripping wet from eartip to toe, smears of blue blood on his lower arms and hands. At the same time the door to the corridor was opening. She pulled Neptarik across the room and threw him into the nearest bath, following him into the water. She twined around him, kissing and hugging him. Cool air swept into the laundry and laughter came from the doorway.

"What have we here? A lovers' tryst?"

Mya feigned surprise and Neptarik's earpoints twitched bolt upright in embarrassment as the two sylphs sat up in the bath.

The soldiers smirked and watched the sylphs clamber out. Tektu came in almost on their heels.

"Found the missing two." The men chortled.

Tektu glanced at the bath, then the hapless sylphs. "Bathing in your clothes?" Her mouth turned almost into a sneer as she watched puddles of bathwater form around their feet. She shook her head. "Well, you decided to ignore my warnings. Fraternization is frowned upon. Neptarik, you have not been here long; Mya, you should know better."

"Sorry." Mya hung her head, but Neptarik said nothing.

Tektu leaned across the bath and flipped the plug. She watched as the water drained away. "To your dormitories, both of you."

" _Se bata_."

The chastened sylphs hurried away.

"Well," said the same guard who had spoken earlier. "Everyone accounted for." He turned to leave.

Tektu nodded, but paid the soldier no attention. Her earpoints twitched and slanted forward as the last of the water drained from the bath in a sucking, gurgling squelch. She flung out a hand. "Wait!"

The soldier gave the sylph an odd look, but complied.

"Look in here and tell me what you see."

The man glanced inside. "Dirt. What about it?"

"Soil maybe? Certainly not the kind of dirt you expect from bedding." Tektu did not even bother to look at it.

The soldier shrugged. "Maybe they've been playing in the garden too. With respect, but sylphs have some –"

"Look at that weed," continued Tektu, conversationally. "Only one place here where that grows."

More used to soldiering than horticulture, the guard shrugged. "No idea."

Tektu's gaze augured the hapless man and she only just kept exasperation from her voice.

"It is found in the moat," she said.

"So?"

"One of those two has been in the moat. Recently." She pulled at her lip. "Go back to bed; you are still half-asleep."

The soldier bowed, and left.

Tektu glanced at the small pieces of weed, mind whirling. Both Neptarik and Mya were fairly recent starters, Neptarik the newest of the pair. Of the two, the male sylph appeared more athletic, but Tektu knew appearances could be deceptive. Mya might have it in her, too.

She pulled at her lip again.

And remembered Talnan.

A spy from the mainland.

Both Neptarik and Mya had mainland accents. Nothing odd in itself; lots of mainlanders came to the islands to escape the turmoil engulfing the continent. It had happened for centuries. And they brought their sylphs with them.

But Castle Beren had been plagued by spies.

One had fallen into the moat tonight.

Bits of weed found only in the moat were here. The conclusion was inescapable. One of those sylphs must be the spy she had seen fall. A _sylph_?

Tektu shook her head, finding it hard to believe that sylphs had such talents.

Talnan. A spy from Trenvera, who had started at Castle Beren the same time as a cartload of sylphs. Only three of those sylphs were still here as the rest had opted to leave the Mametain's service.

Two were Re Taurans.

The third Mya.

Both Mya and Neptarik must be interrogated, but she would bring the female in first. She might be the easiest of the pair to crack.

Tektu would have answers.

***
Chapter 29

**Old Enemies**

Fared knew the sylph scouts had heard something new when Belaika's earpoints shot upright and then twitched with barely suppressed excitement. Moments later Samel came directly to him.

"Message from Fhionnen, _donenya_ ," said the newcomer.

Fared glanced at Belaika who fidgeted with the Vintner Banner, while his ears suggested he was listening to the conversation as well.

"Yes, Samel?"

"Fhionnen has contacted Jeldren, lead scout for an army coming west out of Marka," said Samel. "The commander is Commandant Treylfor and he has almost eight thousand men. His sylphs are also in contact with General Kelanus." Samel's earpoints gave a contented twitch.

Fared smiled. "Have you told Fhionnen to pass on our details?" he asked.

"No need." Samel looked surprised. "That is already done, _donenya_."

"Then tell him _not_ to make contact with Mirrin. If Mirrin starts to hear more scouts whistling, he'll know another army has caught him."

Samel gave Fared a slow blink. "That is already done also, _donenya_ ," he said.

From the banner, Belaika laughed. "You still have a lot to learn about us, Fared- _ya_ ," said the sylph. "A lot."

***

"Kelanus- _ya_!"

The general's fork paused briefly before he closed his mouth around the meat. He gestured towards Bascon with the now-empty fork.

"Speak," he said, voice muffled by the food.

As Shyamon was out in the field, Kelanus had collected his own meal. Such small hardships were no problem. Thanks to the short stop, his tent had not been set up, so he had to make do with a crate for a table. At least it wasn't raining.

"Eldovan scouts in the forest," reported Bascon. "Too far away from Kestan- _ya_ to be looking for him."

Kelanus smiled. "They're looking for me."

Though it wasn't a question, Bascon nodded. "Or a way past Kestan without engaging," added the scout.

Kelanus's smile widened. Trust a sylph to understand already. He almost asked for his yeoman, but Bascon continued.

"General Mirrin's contingent has moved into range," he said. "Tynrasa passed it on from Kestan. They are south. Nine and a half thousand men."

"How far?" asked Kelanus.

"Far enough not to trouble us for several days." Bascon stared briefly into Kelanus's eyes, before the sylph's gaze flickered aside. "Six, perhaps five if they push."

"And Treylfor?"

"Should meet Mirrin tomorrow. And they have made contact with Dekran- _ya_ 's detachment."

"And?"

Bascon's earpoints wilted. "Eight survivors, plus the five scouts. Lance Sergeant Toman is the senior."

Kelanus grimaced and felt a pang of sadness. Dekran had been a promising officer and he had taken many good men to their doom. He looked again at Bascon. "You have more?"

The scout nodded. "A force of three hundred light cavalry saved the survivors from being wiped out," he continued. "Shadow Riders. They seem willing to fight Mirrin."

"Hmm." Kelanus thought for a moment. "Tell Treylfor to be careful with these strangers."

"We already have," said Bascon.

"Good initiative." Kelanus nodded in appreciation. "Send Hanmer to me, please."

" _Se bata_."

Hanmer joined him in moments, which suggested the yeoman already knew what was going on. Bascon returned with him, in case of any more messages.

"You have heard?" Kelanus raised an eyebrow.

Hanmer almost denied it, then grinned. "Yessir." He glanced at Bascon, who shrugged.

"Saves me from having to explain."

Kelanus gave Bascon a quick look and the sylph's earpoints wilted before he inspected the ground at his feet.

"First things first," continued Kelanus. "The Eldovans have either sussed out how I think, and are looking for me, or they want to avoid Kestan. We need a diversion: a handful of men to let our enemy think they've found all of us."

"The Eldovans know we are here, sir?"

"No, but I suspect they're looking for someone other than Kestan. Give them something to report. Kill one or two and let the others escape."

"And the rest of it, sir?"

"Mirrin's too far away to affect us," replied Kelanus. "Unless the battle here drags out. Concentrate on those scouts. Oh, and prepare the rockets: we'll be needing them soon."

"Very good, sir."

Yeoman and sylph turned to leave.

"Not you, Bascon."

Yeoman and sylph exchanged a quick look before Hanmer ducked away to obey his orders. Bascon looked resentful.

Kelanus held out his used plate and cutlery. "As Shyamon isn't here, take these back to the scullions please, there's a good lad."

Bascon gave the dirty crockery in his hands a slow blink and his earpoints twitched.

"Thank you, Bascon."

Kelanus resisted an urge to laugh as the scout left. That should be sufficient punishment for giving the message to the yeoman first.

He sat on the crate. So the Eldovans had finally pulled General Mirrin forward. Three generals against three, assuming Treylfor reached the scene in time. This should be very interesting. A fitting climax to his career, perhaps.

***

Lance General Kestan listened to his scouts' reports. Tynrasa had discovered Eldovan scouts further afield than expected, but Kestan would leave them to Kelanus.

Those enemy scouts troubled Kestan. Somebody in the Eldovan camp had definitely done some homework, and learned from prior mistakes. Kelanus was using the same tactics he had last used on Candin Plain and the Eldovans could not possibly be aware of those.

Yet someone had realized the same tactics were being used again.

That, or the Eldovans were trying to avoid contact. But why?

Tilipha had already survived one battle and looked terrified at the prospect of another. His leader's stirrup was perhaps not the safest place for a peacable sylph, but he made no complaint and never suggested another might like to take his turn in the danger area.

Overcoming fear was always the hallmark of courage.

Kestan knew his orders were intended to confuse the enemy. Split his army, give the appearance that flanking attacks were already set up, and deflect all attention away from Kelanus.

He hoped to have the battle done tomorrow.

Take punishment, break off the engagement, regroup and attack again. Kestan was used to fighting a numerically superior enemy and, this time, he would be the bait.

Time now for courage.

***

The man who now called himself Hingast looked around the table at his senior commanders and the man allegedly his advisor.

Marshal Janost, a skilled and experienced warrior, hair gray now, but deep blue eyes as piercing as ever. General Hanan, cold, pale blue eyes and graying hair, but still slim, unlike his rather more portly superior.

And Dervra, the supposed advisor. The man who called himself Hingast knew rather more about him than Dervra would like, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Dervra's eyes were the same color as Janost's, but his hair was a darker gray.

"We can crush the Markans easily," insisted Marshal Janost. "They only have half our numbers."

General Hanan nodded agreement. "We do not know if the Re Taurans will ever sail," he said. "No need to wait for them and hand our enemies the advantage."

The man who called himself Hingast nodded towards his advisor. "Dervra is taking me to meet Re Taura's Mametain once we're done here. We will know before nightfall when they will sail; the crossing to Trenvera only takes two days."

Hanan shrugged, pale blue eyes expressionless. "We do not know whether Kelanus has taken the Re Taura bait," he countered. "We should sort out the Markans who are in front of us."

The man who called himself Hingast gestured. "Out there somewhere is the military genius of our time," he said. "He _wants_ us to take on the people in front of us. Kelanus wants to finish us before he turns east to aid Trenvera. Push the scouts further afield and try to find a way through without fighting."

Both Janost and Hanan wore surprised expressions.

"I suspect Kelanus is already in Trenvera," said Janost. "We fear phantoms."

The man who called himself Hingast wished he had sylph scouts. When this was over, he would remedy the lack. Eldova had no sylph scouts. He sighed. "We cannot make the assumption that the force before us is all the Markans we face. Branad made exactly this mistake last year."

Once again, the two military commanders raised eyebrows in unison. The man who called himself Hingast knew they were unused to their monarch displaying so much tactical knowledge. Not to mention tolerating their dissent. Wisely, they chose to ignore their observations.

Dervra gave a quiet cough to catch their attention. "If the men ahead are all that we face, then we can justify the risk of sending the scouts further. But should they discover more men, then avoiding battle is the wisest option."

Janost shrugged. "Do the Markans have this many men?"

The man who called himself Hingast came to Dervra's rescue. "Markans, Calcans, Sandesterans, the Trading Council... A good few thousand men are wandering about out there. And commanded by able men who know what they're doing."

"We should call Mirrin north," suggested Janost.

"Mirrin will punch east to Marka, as already instructed." Hingast's gray-blue eyes were determined. "Once Kelanus learns from his sylphs that Re Taurans really have landed in Trenvera, he will turn east as _he_ was commanded to do. Then, both Marches will be free for us."

"You seem to know exactly how Kelanus will react." Janost glanced quickly at the man who called himself Hingast and away again.

"Always learn what you can of your enemies," said Dervra.

Hanan nodded thoughtfully. "Kelanus – if he's here – may refuse the bait even so. Or stand and fight before turning east. My understanding of the man is that he is hardly predictable."

"All men are predictable once you know them." Dervra's voice was soft.

Neither Janost nor Hanan looked convinced.

"Not sure how you got to know Kelanus," said Hanan, his expression daring his monarch to contradict him. "Sure, he arrived in time to trap our men against Marka's walls, but in truth they were already broken."

_By women,_ reflected the man who called himself Hingast. "I did not say I learned about him through personal experience."

The guard's voice interrupted from outside.

"Messenger, Majesty!"

"Send him in," commanded the man who called himself Hingast.

Helmet tucked under one arm, the dusty messenger entered and stood stiffly, eyes focused on a patch of canvas.

"Speak freely," said Hingast.

The messenger inclined his head. "Majesty, sirs. The only Markans we can find are the five thousand in front of us. They have divided: half are camped in front of us and the rest have set up two flanking camps. The only way to avoid them is to turn around."

"Thank you."

The messenger bowed and left.

The man who called himself Hingast turned to his commanders. "Our choice is to turn around, or take on the enemy."

"We should crush them, Majesty," urged Janost. "Now, while Kelanus is obviously out of range. Move quickly, sort this lot out, then fall on Marka."

Hingast glanced at Dervra, who nodded. The man who called himself Hingast suspected he was a pawn in a much larger plot under Dervra's control. He turned back to his commanders.

"Very well; rest the men tonight and prepare for battle. But hold some men back – Kelanus is out there. Someplace."

Both men bowed before leaving.

"You are the only one convinced that Kelanus is anywhere but Trenvera," said Dervra.

"If you helped in the search, we would know for sure," snapped Hingast. "We're forever jumping around, but you won't help us look."

"Because there's nothing to find," lied Dervra. He changed the subject. "They suspect you are not the real Hingast."

The man who called himself Hingast shrugged. "So long as they keep silent. I'm more interested to learn _your_ plans. You could easily find Kelanus for me, yet you refuse. Why?"

"Perhaps because I cannot." Dervra smiled over his untruth. "My skills lie in different areas. You ought to know that much by now."

The man who called himself Hingast relented. However implausible, it was possibly the truth.

"Besides, if Kelanus _is_ here, he'll be moving fast, often and erratically. Even if I had the skill, I might never find him." Another lie, but a more believable one.

"Very well. It is time for us to go prod Nijen da Re Taura into action."

Dervra smiled. "Nearly," he replied.

***

Commandant Treylfor listened to the rain spattering on the ground. A steady drip splashed from a tree onto his tent. He blanked most of the sounds out.

"We'd better be doing the right thing," he said.

Captain Indelgar sipped his alovak and leaned back in his chair. "We are," he replied.

"Easy for you," retorted Treylfor. "You can just claim you were following orders."

"As can you." Indelgar's green eyes glittered with amusement. "The sylphs follow Kelanus's orders and we go where they point."

Treylfor shook his head. "A risk to ignore the Marshal's orders."

"A bigger risk to leave the March entirely unprotected," replied Indelgar. "Dekran's men have shadowed that army for months and until now it stayed outside the sylphs' patrol areas. They move east for a reason."

"And if the Re Taurans attack from the south?"

Indelgar shrugged. "We'll hear of landings in the east first." His eyes cut towards Ean- _y_ -Felis, the scout ready to serve alovak. "The sylphs will tell us."

"What if they never intend landing in the east, but the south?" Treylfor's eyes glittered: the Trading Council's lands were home.

"Why would they land there? Re Taura wants greater influence over trade in the Bay of Plenty and Cadister is well away from that. Besides, the Trading Council has another army for defense."

Treylfor nodded. He knew that.

"Any invasion from the south will take weeks to reach Marka. Don't forget the sylphs."

Treylfor shook his head. "Sylph scouts. Lucky they have proved themselves, else I would never trust their reports. Sylphs!"

Ean gave Treylfor a cool look and a slow blink.

Indelgar nodded. "They've not let us down yet. We can trust them."

Treylfor grunted. "Well, it looks like we won't meet Mirrin today. This rain's set in."

"A day's rest will do no harm," agreed Indelgar. "So long as there aren't too many of them."

"What about these Shadow Riders? Can we trust them?"

Indelgar pursed his lips and shook his head from side to side. "We have no idea how well they can fight, only what the sylphs have told us."

"The report from Belaika seemed very complete. He is impressed by their cavalry skills."

"We have no idea what they look like," countered Indelgar. "I hope the sylphs keep us apart, in case we end up fighting them as well as Mirrin. Even if there aren't very many."

"And the Eldovans have got no idea we are here." Treylfor grinned. "Despite outnumbering us, we'll have surprise on our side."

Indelgar raised an eyebrow. "Ten thousand men against eight thousand. With surprise, the odds are more or less even."

Treylfor laughed. "You and Kestan certainly gained invaluable experience against the Eldovans last year. Using your unorthodox tactics, we can gain an advantage. Trouble is, Belaika claims that Mirrin has studied you."

"Perhaps Sandev can help since she is with Mirrin." Indelgar shrugged. "And not on his side, according to Belaika."

Treylfor shook his head. "Grayar moved us to Marka, but he refused to use his Gift to help in any fighting. What makes you think Sandev is different?"

"There are lots of ways to help, short of fighting," smiled Indelgar. "And Sandev is not Grayar."

"She is one of the Ten," countered Treylfor. "They must follow the same rules."

"I'm not convinced there _are_ any rules. Dervra and Nicolfer are also of the Ten and they follow a _very_ different path."

Treylfor returned his attention to the pattering rain. "Tomorrow, and our speculation will be over."

Indelgar grinned. He already looked forward to it.

***

"Bloody rain."

Fared glanced up at the dark clouds and blinked raindrops out of his eyes. He had hoped for a break in the weather, but if anything, the clouds were thickening. His gaze softened as he watched Nynra inspect Belaika's bruises. The scout was speaking and gesturing with his hands and she shook her head in reply. No doubt begging to be allowed to run with the scouts.

Belaika must be the most reluctant bannerman Fared had ever met.

"Any sign Mirrin knows we're here?" asked Fared.

"Nothing," replied Deren. "But they know the sylphs are back in contact."

"Have they guessed about, ah, Treylfor?"

"The sylphs say not. Fhionnen says Treylfor has kept his own sylphs well out of hearing range, except for the one already in touch. Ah, Jeldren. And he's only in hearing range of us."

"The Eldovans must have their own scouts out."

Deren nodded. "We kill those we find. With any luck, Mirrin still believes only a hundred – or less – men are behind him. An army of thousands would ignore a mere hundred."

"Only if they were commanded by an idiot," retorted Fared. "Especially if they'd just lost five hundred men against that 'mere hundred'."

Deren shrugged.

"The man ahead of us is no idiot." Fared glanced behind again. "Belaika knows him best."

"We've got everything Belaika knows about Mirrin," said Deren. "Even sylph scouts have limits."

Fared laughed. "I'm beginning to doubt that," he replied. "Scouts, nurses, spies, messengers... They're good at whatever they turn their hand to."

Deren grunted, unwilling to verbally contradict his commander.

Nynra finished with Belaika, and Fared watched the sylph cross his legs. He strongly suspected the scout was sulking again. His eyes narrowed as Samrita replaced Nynra.

"Our gwerin spends a lot of time with the sylph bannerman," he said.

Deren laughed. "He's got a gwerin daughter. She wants to teach her."

"Samrita acts like _she's_ the daughter." Fared shook his head. "Incredible. She must be thirty times his age. More."

After speaking with Belaika, Samrita joined Fared and Deren.

"Belaika says the rain will ease overnight," announced the gwerin. She glanced at the thickening clouds. "How he knows that..." she shrugged.

Fared and Deren exchanged a look.

"Sylphs have their ways," said Deren, with a smile.

"We'll camp here," said Fared. "Get something hot into the men before tomorrow. Nobody wants to die with an empty stomach."

"Nobody wants to die at all." Samrita nodded. "I'll ask Samel to whistle the message to the other scouts. Else, they'll keep on."

The scouts would know immediately when the Shadow Riders stopped, but Fared held his peace. "Ask Samel to see if Mirrin keeps moving when we stop," he said. "We don't want to lose him."

Samrita smiled. " _You_ don't want to lose him," she corrected. "I'll ask him to pass it on."

"And ask him for instructions from this Commandant Treylfor. We want no fatal mistakes about who's fighting on what side."

Samrita nodded again.

"I will be a dutiful messenger," the gwerin said. "I suppose everybody else has stopped too."

Fared laughed. "According to the sylphs, yes."

"Then it is pleasing to hear I am not the only one with a brain," retorted Samrita.

Fared and Deren laughed.

***

Sandev smiled to herself. Plans sometimes turned out better than expected.

The rain helped.

Mirrin called a halt early because of it and before his army churned the mud road into an impassable morass. Men readied tents and sylphs dashed everywhere on errands. Every single one looked at Sandev as she passed.

What she had told General Mirrin – in front of Shashi – about the man who called himself Hingast had spread through the army. Shashi had told every other sylph in the camp.

Now they knew what caused their unease but the knowledge made the sylphs even less comfortable.

A steady stream of officers asked Sandev to confirm her words, as if their own sylph's word could not be trusted. She happily complied and every officer left wearing a thoughtful expression.

Thanks to the sylphs – perhaps saying thanks to the power of the sylphs was stretching it some – Sandev had begun to wrest control of Mirrin's army from Dervra and Nicolfer.

Eldova, though not quite as bad as the Imperial Republic, had always treated their sylphs strictly. So when one articulated her fears and _all_ the others said the same things...

Her smile widened. If the officers believed their sylphs – and hence Sandev – that belief would communicate itself to their men. Nobody liked to be tricked. They might even have believed in Hingast, or at least be prepared to follow their own land's ruler, but they were less likely to follow an imposter.

Or the people who set up that imposter.

She almost laughed aloud. Who wanted the Gift? She only needed an understanding of human nature, willing sylph ears and a way of making herself useful. Experience helped, too.

Aware of another presence, she turned.

Gajaran shifted on her heels and her earpoints flickered uncertainly.

"No chores?" Sandev smiled to take any unintended sting from her words.

"They can wait." The sylph's earpoints slanted forward in a show of determination that quickly faded.

"You should know by now that you can speak freely to me," said Sandev.

"Depends what I want to say."

Sandev arched an eyebrow. "Well, in your own time, Gajaran. You must feel ready to speak, or you wouldn't have followed me across the camp."

"You will leave soon."

Gajaran knew. How she'd learned Sandev's intentions was one of those sylph mysteries; Sandev had certainly not taken anyone into her confidence. In the light of Belaika's escape, perhaps her intentions were now clear.

"Yes. I have work to do and my own sylphs will be missing me."

Gajaran cocked her head to one side. "How many do you have?"

"Two."

Again, the infertile struggled with what she wanted to say.

"Caya works in my villa," continued Sandev. "She's been with me sixteen years."

"A long time. And the other?"

It was Sandev's turn to be cautious. Her admission might drive Gajaran away and, given what she had already worked out of Sandev's plans, perhaps dangerously so.

"His name is Janin."

Gajaran waited patiently.

Sandev took a breath. "He used to be a beggar, but now he's learning to be a scout."

Gajaran's eyes glittered and her earpoints wilted before recovering almost immediately. "Thought he might be."

Sandev blinked. Equanimity was not quite the expected reaction. "Oh?" she managed.

The sylph almost smiled. "You always defended the devils," she replied. She shrugged. "I guessed."

"Does that make me a devil too?"

Gajaran looked quickly away and back again.

_Not decided yet_ , reflected Sandev.

"I am still young and do not want to be alone," said the sylph. " _Enya_ has no family and my litter was divided years ago. I trust you, Sandev- _ya_."

Sandev dropped onto her heels and put a hand on the infertile's arm.

Gajaran blinked. "When you go, take me with you?" She bowed her head almost to the ground. "Please?"

"Sit up, Gajaran, there is no need for this."

The sylph obeyed instantly.

Sandev rubbed her hand along the sylph's arm and leaned forward. "Of course I'll take you," she whispered.

***

Thanks to the scouts, good intelligence reached Commandant Treylfor. He knew the size and composition of the Eldovan army ahead, how many sylphs were in contact, everything about Mirrin's countermeasures against the sylphs' whistles, and how many of these mysterious Shadow Riders were available.

Even better, the Riders were happy to be used as light cavalry against the enemy; their commander made suggestions and Treylfor had decided the unknown warriors were worth using.

The exchange of information, even as they closed on Mirrin and his Eldovans, was constant.

According to the scouts, Mirrin still had no idea of Treylfor's proximity. His own sylphs had not made contact, so their whistles were never overheard.

The Shadow Riders had killed or captured all the Eldovan scouts they could find and, as far as the sylphs shadowing Mirrin's army could tell, the man still believed Treylfor to be several days away.

He was in for a shock.

Captain Indelgar should be in position to Mirrin's east, and Treylfor waited for the Eldovans to meet him in the west. Mirrin should send flanking attacks north and south, and assume that Treylfor intended to fight a defensive battle. After all, Mirrin had the advantage of numbers, so it made sense for his enemy to be defensive.

Once Indelgar and Fared had fallen on and destroyed the flanking attacks, all three forces would then merge and attack Mirrin's main army. The numbers should then be more equal.

But, like all battles, the plan involved an element of gambling. It relied on surprise, and on Mirrin's scouts failing to forward all the information they collected.

Even if Treylfor did not succeed, the Eldovans would still suffer losses, and that might make a difference when the final battle for Marka began.

He prayed for luck and fortune to smile upon Kelanus and Kestan, far to the north.

His servant poked his head around the corner. "Sir?"

Treylfor nodded. "Coming now." Time to armor up. Time to fight. Time to die, but hopefully live.

He wished he had appropriated some of those rockets, but it was too late for regrets now.

The plan was good. It must be.

***

Kelanus watched the battle unfold below. Kestan had committed his men to a three-pronged attack. However, Hingast – or rather the man who claimed to be Hingast – held a substantial number in reserve. Whoever or whatever Hingast really was, he remained suspicious. The man's counterflanking attacks were further away than necessary.

With admirable caution, Hingast suspected there were more enemy soldiers ready to fall on and trap him. This Hingast was a far more dangerous opponent than Kelanus had expected.

Hanmer stood beside him.

"Seems to be going well, sir," he said.

Kelanus grunted. "Well enough," he replied. "What about those rockets?"

"Just about got 'em within range of the frontline sir, but not close enough to get the commanders."

"Pity." Kelanus sniffed. "With any luck, the Eldovans will advance a bit." He turned to the sylph. "Any more news from the other lot?"

"Nothing, _donenya_." Bascon looked disgruntled for some reason. "They are far from us for now."

Kelanus returned his attention to the battle.

"Orders, sir?" asked Hanmer.

"We wait," replied Kelanus. "And watch."

***

Lance General Kestan knew he no longer controlled the battle. Now, each commander must do his bit. The moment they made contact, events would have to run their course.

He turned to Tilipha.

"You all right?" he asked. As the only sylph anywhere near the battle, Kestan knew he must keep a close eye on Tilipha. The wild sylph might be unable to cope with repeated battle stress, a common problem when the pacific creatures were forced to sit through the middle of one. The other scouts were further afield and would send a runner if anything happened Kestan needed to know about. Tilipha would hear no whistles now.

The sylph nodded, though his earpoints gave lie to the answer.

Kestan decided to say no more on the matter. Sylphs were touchy enough at the best of times and, in some ways, wild sylphs were even touchier. "Prepare yourself; we'll be using rockets soon."

Tilipha nodded again. He remembered the rockets from last year and glanced back to where the rocketeers readied the weapons.

The scout moved forward with Kestan as the general snapped orders to one of the junior commanders, committing more cavalry to one flank.

A human messenger hurried forward. "Sir, rockets are ready to launch!"

Kestan nodded and turned to Gensan. "Encourage a retreat," he said. "Just far enough to lure them forward."

The yeoman nodded.

"Ensure they make it look natural."

Gensan nodded again.

Kestan turned back to the messenger. "Wait for the range to close, then fire when ready," he commanded.

***

The man who called himself Hingast turned to Marshal Janost.

"Kelanus is out there somewhere, I know it."

"The scouts report nothing out of the ordinary," replied the Marshal. "Except one small patrol, who turned and ran when we sent men after them."

"They did not chase?"

"No sir." Janost made it sound like _of course they didn't_. "We learned that particular lesson last year. But I do not see how you can be so certain Kelanus is here, or has another army to magick out of his pocket."

"He's here. I know how his mind works."

_How?_ wondered Janost. _Only I have fought him and then only briefly. When we were already broken._ "I recommend we concentrate on what is in front of us," he said aloud. "If you would permit me to push the reserve forward we can mop these up now."

"You can advance, Marshal Janost. But advance with caution; more of the enemy are here."

Janost gave his monarch a neutral look before calling for the yeoman, who arrived rather more quickly than expected.

"The enemy is falling back!" he announced.

"Then advance," commanded Janost. "Cautiously!"

The man who called himself Hingast hid a smile. As the army advanced, so the command position advanced.

"Be careful, Janost," he warned. "These are classic Kelanus tactics."

Janost made a noncommittal sound.

The man who called himself Hingast ignored the implicit insult. This part of the army was expendable, if it came to it. Mirrin on one side, and the Re Taurans on the other would see the end of the war, if need be.

Dervra, who had been missing for a few hours, abruptly reappeared from one of the wagons. He bowed to the man who called himself Hingast.

"You should be pleased to hear that the Re Taurans have sailed as promised, Majesty," he said. "May I have a word in private, Majesty?"

"Of course." The man who called himself Hingast stepped into the command wagon. "What is it, Dervra?"

Dervra smiled. "Your friends here have rockets, and they are about to use them."

"I knew Kelanus was here!"

"I recommend you move. You might be killed here."

"You run if you want to," retorted Hingast. "If I am defeated here, I must lead the survivors home." He leaned forward. "I do hope Mirrin is more intelligent than Janost and Hanan."

"Oh yes." Dervra gave a small laugh. "Much more intelligent."

"Good. If I manage to lose these two, I'll promote him. I might promote him anyway."

Dervra's smile was thin.

Hingast nodded. "See you back in Eldova, if we fail to take Marka."

Dervra's smile grew even weaker. _I doubt if you'll see me in Eldova,_ he reflected. He said nothing.

The man who called himself Hingast left the wagon.

"That bloody sorcerer makes me nervous," Janost was saying.

"Don't worry," said Hingast. "He's run off again." He looked around him and sniffed. "Prepare for a rocket attack."

"Now?" Janost looked surprised. "Did Dervra warn you? Why doesn't he –"

The man who called himself Hingast raised a hand. "Just do it. Now."

***
Chapter 30

**Captives**

Rockets exploding among the Eldovans nearly destroyed their discipline. As the man who called himself Hingast knew, most contained small pieces of metal that scattered at high speed in the explosions.

Only the handful of survivors from last year's siege had experienced this weapon. The sudden, loud bangs terrified men and scattered horses, but the real danger lay with the metal nails and balls stuffed inside each rocket. These scythed into man and horse, ripping flesh and maiming limbs.

Those unfortunate, or perhaps lucky, enough to be close to the explosion were torn apart. Men further away suffered appalling injuries that would later kill them.

Wood and metal splinters added to the dead and injured. Few men had ever experienced carnage on such a scale. Those who feared sorcery broke and ran.

"Hold!" bawled Hingast.

"Hold!" bawled Janost.

Most obeyed. Company commanders and even senior officers milled about, if not from fear, then certainly in confusion.

Men held hands to ears and fluid ran between their fingers. Those missing an arm or hand ran about, hunting the missing limb. Others tried to pull metal from their eyes without bringing the eyeball with it. Horses struggled to stand with shattered legs. Men and steeds screamed in agony, while others coughed away their lifeblood.

And those were the obvious ones.

So many lay still, never to move again. Grotesque foliage festooned trees and plants; nobody wanted to look too closely at _that_. Men clutched their middles, where splinters had opened them up like cheeses. Terror swam in their eyes as they tried desperately to hold their insides in.

Despite confusion and terror, discipline held.

Uninjured soldiers filled gaps and commanders slowly restored order. Men stared after those who had fled, expressions suggesting revenge against the cowards later.

"Take the right flank," Hingast commanded Janost. "Hanan can take the left. Where is Hanan?"

Janost nodded towards a bundle of bloodied rags. "Over there."

The man who called himself Hingast firmed his mouth. "I'll take the left flank," he said. The command wagon lay in ruins. "We must withdraw and regroup," he said, voice low for Janost's ears alone.

The marshal nodded agreement.

Fresh screams layered atop the old as a horribly familiar whooshing filled the air.

Hingast drew his sword. He hoped Mirrin was having better luck.

***

Kelanus watched the apparent chaos below through his spyglass. He grunted in admiration, marveling at the organization of whoever was in charge down there.

The Eldovans had already regrouped. Shaken and doubtless terrified, discipline had held them together. So unlike the rout of the previous year, when that discipline had broken and Eldova's proud army fled city and field.

Somebody down there had learned.

Beside him, Bascon stirred.

The sound of battle did not quite reach up here, so the scout could still hear the whistling. Soon, not even his sylph scout would be able to hear whistles, which meant hsving to send messengers.

Time to concentrate on the matter at hand.

"Rockets are ready for launch," said Hanmer, at his side.

Bascon's silver eyes flickered between yeoman and his commander.

"Give the Eldovans time to finish regrouping and think they are through the worst," replied Kelanus. "They might break this time."

Kelanus knew the soldiers would eventually grow used to rockets and learn to resist the fear they brought. But for the moment... It must be unpleasant down there; carrion crows already circled above, waiting for the live humans to go away so they could begin their feeding frenzy.

If Kelanus did not frighten them all away in the next few minutes.

"They might not break," said Hanmer. "They might stand and fight."

Kelanus was unconvinced. "Hingast knows when he has been defeated."

"Sounds like you know him personal, sir." Hanmer grinned at the foolishness of the notion.

Bascon gave the yeoman a wide-eyed look.

Kelanus smiled back. "Perhaps," he murmured. He turned to Bascon. "Once those rockets have released, whistle this to Kestan: advance and press advantage. Engage enemy with dispatch."

" _Se bata_." Bascon repeated the message and waited.

Kelanus nodded to Hanmer. "The Eldovans are ready for their medicine now."

Hanmer nodded and melted into the rear.

Kelanus looked around at his officers. "Stand ready," he ordered.

Below, the Eldovans had regrouped. Commanders' heads turned to look uphill as more rockets launched and brought their unique brand of death to the enemy.

Even before they landed, Bascon whistled his message. With the scout busy, Kelanus drew his sword and held it above his head. He paused for a moment, then swung the sword forward.

His men moved forward silently, cavalry remaining behind the infantry. Below, Kestan's small army ran forward, yelling to take all the attention.

Kelanus and his men increased their pace. Time to end this.

***

"We are surrounded."

Mirrin nodded. His soldiers surrounded the army's supply; all non-military people and their wagons were inside the perimeter.

He would still love to know from where this army had appeared. He did not dispute that they were Markans, but his intelligence suggested most Markans were further north, dealing with Hingast.

He wished Nicolfer was here right now.

"Any idea of numbers?" he asked.

"Anything between seven and ten thousand," replied Taved, Mirrin's yeoman. "Plus whatever is left of those shadowing us."

Mirrin grimaced. "Can't be too many of them," he said. "How they managed to defeat Jediyah is beyond me." Unless the mysterious group Nicolfer had warned him about had joined the battle.

Taved said nothing.

"Right." Mirrin's eyes hardened. "Form line of battle."

Taved touched fist to heart in salute.

Surrounded by Mirrin's army, Sandev stepped forward, giving herself a little distance between the wagons and the sylphs. She would not take any direct part in the battle, but she could help the Markans by using the Gift.

Gajaran took half a step forwards too and stared with concerned eyes. Sandev shook her head and motioned the sylph to stay back. She would not like this.

The Markans began it. Showers of arrows fell among the Eldovan ranks, and the screaming began. Retaliation was immediate, though the Eldovans fired blindly.

Sandev realized sylphs must be spotting for the Markans, giving range and direction to the archers. The Markan commander might not be breaking precepts concerning sylphs and warfare, but he skirted perilously close to the line.

She opened herself to the Gift, became its conduit. The last thing she wanted was a slaughter, just confusion.

She picked the places she needed and released.

Bangs sounded above the Eldovans' heads. Men screamed and searched for the source of the sounds. Some had heard of rockets and feared that they now faced this terrible weapon.

Sandev increased intensity and volume. Those at the wagons screamed and dived for cover, the sylphs trying to scrape holes in the ground to escape. The feelings were worse among the soldiers.

The level of discipline these men showed impressed Sandev. They were deafened, so could not hear orders, and terrified, yet the line held.

Sandev closed her eyes and projected an image of thousands of soldiers advancing towards the Eldovans. Still, the line held.

She opened her eyes and saw real soldiers advancing, backed by more arrows. Still deafened, the Eldovans made their first mistake. They assumed these men were also apparitions.

It saved lives among the Markans and cost them among the Eldovans, not precisely Sandev's intention. Encouraged by their officers, Mirrin's men recovered and fought, but they were pushed further back.

More arrows rained down and even clattered on the wagons. The non-combatants scurried inside for greater safety.

"Sandev- _ya_!" Gajaran beckoned from under a wagon's steps.

"I'm fine," replied Sandev. "You stay where you are."

Gajaran nodded, but watched to ensure Sandev still stood. Ojasan crouched beside her.

Black-cloaked men broke through the Eldovan line, followed by scores of Markans. More and more poured through.

They hacked at the archers, they pulled Mirrin's bannerman to the ground and stomped the black and gold war flag into the mud before taking it as a prize.

Sandev stared only at the black-clad men. Shadow Riders? _Here?_

"Quarter!"

The cry was taken up as weapons were thrown to the ground.

"Quarter! Quarter!"

Sandev smiled to herself.

"Is it over?"

Sandev started, she had not seen Gajaran leave safety. "I told you to stay under cover," she said.

Gajaran shrugged. "Maybe I am safer here than there."

Sandev smiled. "Safer than you can ever realize."

"Is that man their leader?" asked Ojasan, pointing to one of the Shadow Riders. "Has he got a sylph to serve him?"

Sandev smiled. "You might get the chance to ask later," she replied.

Where _had_ the Shadow Riders come from? She saw Captain Indelgar and hurried across to join him.

He blinked at her in surprise. "Last place we expected to find you," he grunted.

"Good thing I was here to distract them," she retorted. "You'd still be fighting, else." Her voice trailed off as a bannerman followed more soldiers into the Eldovan camp.

He carried the Vintner Standard, but that was not what surprised her. The bannerman respectfully inclined his head to her.

"Sandev- _ya_ ," said Belaika.

The sylphs beside her stared at him.

One of the Shadow Riders crossed to join him. "A sylph bannerman," he said. "One who had the courage to hold the banner in the middle of a battle."

Thanks to the paint covering Belaika's skin, Sandev could not tell if he blushed at the praise or not. He looked aside and abruptly hurried away.

Sandev saw where the sylph was off to and followed.

Commandant Treylfor stood before Mirrin, and two men held the Eldovan.

"Give me one reason why I should not kill you all," Treylfor was saying. He held his sword ready, but not yet threatening anybody with it. Another soldier held a distressed Shashi apart from her owner.

Belaika planted the Vintner Standard into the ground and placed himself between Mirrin and Treylfor, arms outstretched.

"Move out of the way, Belaika."

"No," replied the sylph.

Treylfor blinked. For that matter, so did everybody else in earshot.

"This is a good man," continued Belaika. "This man ensured I got fair treatment when I was their prisonor. He could have left me to suffer."

Everybody stared at the sylph. Even Gajaran looked at him with something other than distaste.

"They came to invade our homeland, Belaika. Why should we waste scarce food on them? They destroyed how many crops? They did what to people who opposed them?"

"This is a good man," repeated Belaika.

Treylfor glared at Mirrin. "You have found a strange ally," he said.

Mirrin gave Belaika a considering look. "So it seems."

Treylfor nodded to his men. "Very well, release them."

A relieved Shashi threw herself into Mirrin's arms. She looked over her shoulder at Belaika and bent her head.

"Sandev." Treylfor smiled. "Were you also treated well by this man?"

Sandev managed a smile. "I stand with Belaika," she replied. "Read into that what you will. There is no need for a massacre."

Treylfor nodded. "Fared said his prisoners have given no trouble. He thinks we can trust them to go home."

A small frown creased Sandev's forehead. "Who?"

"Fared Amel Granton," said a voice behind her. "Captain of the Shadow Riders."

Sandev spun around on her heel. "I thought the Shadow Riders had disappeared for good."

"Well, their descendants have returned. You are addressed as Sandev. Happenstance or are you _the_ Sandev?"

"I'll let you make up your own mind about that," she replied.

Fared smiled. "I'm sure I shall." He nodded towards Belaika. "We were told to seek a banner sylph. And it seems we found our way home. Most of us, anyway."

Sandev glanced across to Belaika. Shashi was hugging him, probably in thanks for saving her owner. For his part, the scout tried to fend her off, for some reason careful about her touching his ribs.

Fared shifted his helmet from one hand to the other.

"I can hold that," said Ojasan, materializing beside him. "Unless you already have a sylph?"

Fared looked down at the smaller sylph. "Thank you." He handed the helmet across.

Sandev hid a small smile. The man had no idea what he was letting himself in for. She returned to Commandant Treylfor.

"I do not think there are any armies to the south or west of us to worry about," she said.

"There aren't," replied Treylfor. "The sylphs have reported nothing there though they _have_ reported trouble further north."

"Are you going north?" pressed Sandev.

"Once I've dealt with the prisoner issue."

Sandev put a hand on his arm. "No massacres. We are not short of food."

Treylfor looked at her. "We shall see," he answered. "Depends on what they have to say for themselves."

***

There weren't many at the council held in Treylfor's tent. Commandant Treylfor and Captain Indelgar sat on one side of the tent for Marka. Belaika and Ean were messengers. They had asked for instructions from Kelanus, whistling the request and passing on the good news of a victory. They eventually received an "act on own initiative before coming north" reply.

Captain Fared of the Shadow Riders took a neutral seat between Markans and Eldovans, despite the side he had fought on. As he pointed out, he had come here searching for the banner sylph, not to take sides in a war. He produced the surprise of the meeting: Samrita.

Samrita knew Sandev, who also took a neutral seat, and the two conferred in quiet whispers. From what was overheard, they said little about the subject in hand.

General Mirrin and Captain Jediyah represented Eldova. Perhaps they wondered if they would survive the day.

Shashi, Gajaran and Ojasan supplied alovak for all and acted as messengers for the Eldovans. Gajaran watched the two scouts opposite warily.

As the victorious commander, Treylfor chaired the meeting. He knew he held every advantage and that the rules of war allowed him to pretty much act as he pleased. However, he knew something of how Marcus treated prisoners.

"General Mirrin," Treylfor said, after completing introductions, "your men have three options. Escort to Marka for internment, or to a point from where they can return to Eldova, or enlisting in the Markan army. I cannot guarantee that they will never be used against their compatriots, only that they will not be used in any offensive operations against Eldova or any of her prefectures."

Mirrin made to speak, but Treylfor stalled him by holding up a hand.

Treylfor continued. "I march north from here, to help Kelanus. There is a risk the fighting will not be done when I reach him. If your men are not prepared to fight their countrymen, I would rather they exercised one of the other options."

Mirrin paused and nodded. "Will they be allowed their weapons?"

Treylfor shook his head. "Out of the question."

Mirrin nodded as if he expected no less.

"I cannot risk them reforming to attack us again," said Treylfor.

"And my officers?"

"You will detail four junior officers to accompany your men home," Treylfor told him. "The rest remain prisoners until you are either ransomed, or this war is ended."

"If my men choose to go home, how do I know they will not be massacred the moment they are out of sight?"

Treylfor smiled. "A risk you must take. You will have to trust my word of honor."

Mirrin glanced at Sandev.

"They will not be harmed, General Mirrin," said Sandev. "Provided they do not attack their escort, of course."

"Very well, I will put your proposition to my men. Your terms are acceptable."

Treylfor sat back and smiled. "I am glad, general."

***

Kelanus and his men ploughed into the right flank of Hingast's army. With Kestan pushing his advantage from the front, Kelanus's arrival came at the worst possible moment for the man who called himself Hingast.

"Press home!" bawled Kelanus. "Press!"

Bascon still stood at his stirrup and Kelanus mentally cursed the stupidity of the sylph. Then again, he had not given the lad orders to stay back. The scout was only doing his job, though he must be terrified to suddenly find himself in the middle of a melee. He had sense enough to stay between Kelanus and Hanmer.

For now, Kelanus concentrated on staying alive. Bascon must have hitched a lift with Hanmer, but scouts rarely rode.

Swords flashed and rather more men went down than Kelanus would have liked. There were always casualties, but he took more than expected.

He saw Lieutenant Yulman somewhere to his left and realized he and his men had pushed deep into the enemy ranks. If that was Yulman, then he and Kestan had joined forces again.

"Janost is dead!" somebody shouted.

The cry was taken up.

"Janost is dead! Janost is dead!"

Kelanus stared as men threw down their weapons and ran for the forest. Markans, fired with blood lust, chased until sergeants restored discipline.

Troops without weapons were not much of a threat, but those still holding them were.

"Let them run!" yelled Kelanus. "Reform. Press advantage!"

Kelanus began to cut a way towards the gold-over-black standard. Whether Janost was dead or not, the standard marked the command post.

Somewhere to one side, cheering erupted from Kestan's men. At least, Kelanus hoped it was cheering. More and more Eldovans broke discipline, but a good few closed in on the one remaining standard.

Kelanus now saw Kestan.

Another sylph joined Bascon.

"Shouldn't you be in the field?" he demanded. "Instead of in harm's way?"

Shyamon gave Kelanus a hurt look. "Been trying to give you a message for the past half hour," he said. "Commandant Treylfor has captured Mirrin and defeated his army. He requests instructions."

Kelanus nodded. More good news. "Tell him to operate under his own initiative and then move north to join me."

" _Se bata_."

Shyamon returned to the other scouts to whistle the message.

There was a brief lull in the fighting. Perhaps the Markans respected the few who remained to fight to the last. At least nobody had chased after those who had run.

"Are they ready to surrender?" mused Kelanus. He took his spyglass from its case and viewed the remnant of the Eldovan Army. "Marshal Janost is _not_ dead. No sign of Hanan or Hingast though." He put the spyglass away and tensed to spur his horse forward.

Hanmer restrained his commander with a hand to his arm. "Not going alone sir?" asked the yeoman. "Still archers down there, sir."

"I'm going," insisted Kelanus.

"Then I'm coming too, sir," insisted Hanmer.

Kelanus shrugged. "Let's hope they don't kill us, or they'll have signed their own death warrants."

Hanmer smiled. "I'm sure Lance General Kestan will see to that, sir."

Kelanus touched spurs to his horse and the animal sprang forward, with Hanmer riding to his left, the gold dragon's head on its dark blue field standing proud as he rode. Bascon _had_ hitched a ride earlier; he was at it again now, on the far side of Hanmer's horse. Foolish boy; he should have been sent away with Shyamon.

He halted far enough away so they should see any arrows before they had chance to land.

"Marshal Janost!" he called. "Soldiers of Eldova! I salute your courage and respect your loyalty, but there is no need to die today. Enough men have spilled their blood and you are defeated. I offer mercy, but it is your choice to take it. Know it is not our way to murder prisoners. You all have loved ones. Must you be among those who will never see theirs again after today?

"Men of Eldova! Your battle is done. You have fought like lions and you few have kept your honor as have the dead. Consider my words; I will return in one hour to accept your surrender with honor or to end this business."

"No need for you to return." Marshal Janost rode out from his men, his bannerman beside him.

Kelanus paused and waited.

"He is armed, sir!" cautioned Hanmer.

"So am I," replied Kelanus.

Janost halted a short distance away. "What will happen to my men?"

Kelanus bared his teeth in a mirthless smile. "You are my prisoners. In due time, you and your men will be repatriated, my word on it."

"But they will be disarmed."

"Of course."

Janost nodded and viewed the abandoned weapons on the battlefield. "What of those who ran?"

"I'm sure they will return home, but if they instead terrorize the countryside, they will be dealt with."

"The cowards broke and ran." Something glinted in Janost's deep blue eyes. Surely not fanaticism? "They deserve the sword."

"All men break when punishment grows too much," replied Kelanus. "And most are young, too long away from home."

Janost grunted. "I accept your offer of mercy," he said. Left-handed, he drew his sword, rode forward and offered it, hilt first, to Kelanus.

Kelanus took it and bowed in his saddle. "Where is the man who calls himself Hingast?" he asked.

"He left," replied Janost. "Part of the reason why discipline broke."

"Ran?"

"Not exactly. Just gone."

"Sorcery." Kelanus nodded. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You must suspect the truth about him. Not the real metal."

Janost shrugged. "Perhaps. What now?"

"We have the dead to bury," answered Kelanus. "Then, after a night's rest, we head for Trenvera."

Janost grimaced. "You are too late," he replied. "Trenvera is weeks away from here, but the Re Taurans will be there the day after tomorrow."

***

"Well, if that is battle, I hope never to see another one."

Janin smiled at Loran. "Same here," he admitted. "But the war might not be over."

The two sylphs, still painted, rested on the bed of an empty cart, well away from the revelry already spreading through the sprawling camp. They had already eaten the choca given out as reward for their part in the battle.

"That was a long whistle you sent," remarked Loran. "Asking for your owner."

"Just a chance," he replied. "She might have been a prisoner with the other Eldovan army."

"No answer yet," said Loran.

"Any time now," he said.

Just then, a loud clattering broke out from the kitchens, where somebody had knocked over a stack of pots.

When the racket came to an end, Janin caught the tail of a whistle: "... _is with Treylfor._ "

He and Loran looked at each other. Janin whistled a query to the nearest scout and the answer came back almost immediately.

" _You come deaf? Sandev is with Treylfor_."

Janin whistled his thanks and smiled at Loran. "Want me to ask her about you?"

Loran suddenly turned shy. "Not yet," she replied. "Where are you going?"

"To ask permission to send a message to Marka. Not just me waiting for that news."

***

A shy knock at the outer door caused Grayar and Stanak to look at each other. It was almost full dark in Marka and both men hovered by the study door while waiting for Caya to answer it.

Perhaps Tangan had been found. Grayar itched to learn what had been done to him to act in such an unsylphlike manner.

Caya looked much happier than for many months, her earpoints erect and twitching in contentment. A sylph scout came with her.

Looking shy, he bobbed a quick bow to them all.

"Enabsil- _y_ -Feron," he introduced himself. "We received a message from the field for you. It reports that Sandev is with Commandant Treylfor."

Caya smiled and her earpoints showed ecstasy, but tears streamed down her face.

Grayar returned the scout's bow. "Thank you, Enabsil."

Despite Caya's sudden happiness, it was Salu who showed the scout out.

Grayar rested a hand on Caya's shoulder as Sandev's sylph shook with relieved sobs.

"I told you she'd be found," he said, gently.

***

The man who called himself Hingast looked at the few hundred men he had managed to gather. There were several officers and a few sergeants. These were the lucky ones who escaped. The man who called himself Hingast knew they were among those who had broken and fled. He knew what should happen to them and what would happen in most armies.

But he needed them.

"When we reach Eldova," he told them, "this is the story you will tell."

He settled down to spin them the yarn they must believe if they were to stay alive. And if he was to hold on to the Throne.

He could salvage something from the mess. But where was Dervra?

***
Chapter 31

**Avenging Angel**

The moment he walked into the dining hall, Neptarik knew something was wrong. The other sylphs were less talkative than usual and all heads turned his way. Earpoints wilted, if not already in the position and all conversation ceased.

They knew something he did not.

He collected his stodgy breakfast – an oaty something nowhere near as tasty as the scouts' porridge – in silence and claimed a place on the long bench between Pedden and a breeder whose name he did not know.

Sympathy filled Pedden's silver-gray eyes. His earpoints were completely wilted.

"What is wrong?" asked Neptarik.

"Tektu arrested Mya." The other male sounded close to tears. "They came for her before she was even out of bed."

Neptarik's mouth fell open. _Mya_ had been arrested?

"Why?" He hoped he did not sound too strangled.

"Tektu says she is a spy," replied Pedden. Something in his expression hinted he knew that Neptarik and Mya were close. And both were outlanders.

No wonder everybody stared at him!

Now she had been arrested, there was little chance Mya would hold back for long. Unlike humans, sylphs would not even try to resist torture. The moment Tektu began work, Mya would squeal. And who could blame her? He would, were the positions reversed.

Neptarik felt terror for her. And, he admitted with shame, for himself. Unlike Mya, he had seen Tektu's handiwork.

He ate breakfast mechanically, mind whirling. He felt Pedden's hand on his arm.

"We know you were fond of each other. We are sorry," he said. The other sylphs nodded, all solemn.

Neptarik blinked back welling tears, angry that he had no idea what to do next.

"We still _are_ close," he replied, only just restraining a snarl. Think!

He finished his tasteless breakfast quickly.

He all but fled the dining hall and sylphs' tower, hoping no sympathetic souls wanted to follow. He headed towards the sulking room and, despite feeling in need of that room, instead turned down the steep winding staircase. The stink of the dungeon – a hideous mixture of straw, vomit and worse – almost turned him back.

He did not turn away, but instead wriggled into a recess to wait. He grew more used to the smell and soon barely noticed it. Sure enough, a guard mounted the stone steps and left a tray for collection. Neptarik's nose and ears twitched at the sight of a bowl with remnants of the stodgy sylphs' breakfast.

There was definitely a sylph prisoner.

He must get Mya out before Tektu questioned her.

But how?

So little time to act. The sylphs would soon muster for their daily work detail and he expected Tektu would be waiting to catch him, too. She knew about their relationship and probably suspected his involvement. Except she had it the wrong way around.

Think fool, think!

This wasn't fair; sylphs shouldn't have to consider these things. A sylph's lot in life was to obey...

He pushed these thoughts away. Scouts were _supposed_ to think on their feet.

Returning to the sulking room, he glanced towards the Mametain's towers, tempted to go and confess everything, provided Tektu released Mya. Would that work?

Might they hang a sylph? He'd put nothing past Tektu and believed none of the guff that she was not allowed to harm sylphs. If the Mametain thought he and Mya were a threat, he would encourage his own sylph – thing, whatever she might be – to do her worst.

His gaze slid to the southeast tower, with the laboratory. Where, so Mya told him, the old Mametain had conducted dangerous experiments. So dangerous, that an elaborate alarm system had been installed. One they still tested every week.

An alarm system that worked.

A bell to warn of attack. One for fire. And one to...

A smile bloomed on Neptarik's face and his earpoints lifted.

***

Mya crouched at one side of her cell, hugging her knees and wrapped in misery. Last night's realization that she was not alone had been a high. Today a definite low. The guard pulling her from bed, the touch of Tektu's hand on her shoulder and the familiar glower. Given time to scramble into her clothes, then down here.

Alone in the dark.

Tektu would come soon. Doing to her the things she had done to Mya's owner. Did she have Neptarik held in another cell? Had she already begun work on him? Mya wondered if she was cursed to bring misfortune to everybody she loved.

Other than a quick flash of light when they gave her breakfast, she spent the time in darkness. Thankfully, she could see more than would human eyes. A sturdy door and the stone bed beside which she crouched. A foul-smelling bucket sylph instincts would not permit her to use, because a human had already used it.

Mya knew she would talk. What she might say barely worried her, but she hoped to hold a lot back. Neptarik? Just a friend, a dupe used for her own plans. Certainly not a sylph she had fallen in love with. Not a sylph who had proved himself an excellent spy. Yes, she enjoyed diving out of windows in the night and swinging from laundry lines to get back for bedtime.

With Talnan's death, hope died in Mya. She had wanted to follow her owner to whatever came next. And lost her way.

Then Neptarik rekindled her zest for life. He offered to take her away; she could be with one of her own kind. They would live together safely, free from fear. Part of her would always belong to Talnan, but instinctive lust encouraged her to share her heart with Neptarik.

Now this.

Torture and inevitable death waited.

***

Neptarik stared at the three levers. All were clearly marked and, not for the first time, he silently thanked Tahena for teaching him his letters. Of course, had she not, he would be scouting elsewhere and not in this mess. A battle star had better be forthcoming for this task, or he would be falling behind the others. The quicker he was done here, the sooner he could return to scouting.

He reached for the required lever, and pulled it.

For whatever reason, the water cascade powering the alarms was in a contrary mood. Moments passed while nothing happened. He heard water pouring into the bucket, but the bell remained stubbornly silent. Gravity eventually asserted itself and tilted the bucket as usually happened during tests. The bucket filled the next bucket and the chain that controlled the hammer began to turn. The movement pulled the hammer back, until the links passed over the slip.

The noise almost deafened Neptarik and made him jump, even though he was used to hearing the bell.

Now gravity had taken over, the water cascade settled to behave normally and hammer strikes on the tocsin increased in intensity.

***

Guard Eleric heard the evacuation bell. Stunned, he stood and stared as the bell clanged away. It was not testing time, or even testing day. Which meant...

He grasped the cord that led to his own evacuation bell and paused. False alarm or not? Should he wait for someone else to start? Well, whoever had pulled the lever had started it: safe for him to copy their lead. He moved the cord quickly and forcefully.

As the evacuation bell rang out across the baileys, he knew it was too late to worry. If he'd made a mistake, everybody could return later. Always best to err on the side of caution, and after all, his instructions were specific.

Guardsmen in the other towers copied his lead and, soon, evacuation bells echoed throughout Castle Beren.

***

The Master of the Kitchens turned the dampers to block the flames. She opened the ovens to pull out the loaves and pies baking inside. Two sylphs in various stages of terror helped. The Master felt certain this must be a false alarm, but if she did not pull everything out and shut down the ovens, there would be a real emergency.

"Is the castle falling down?" wailed one of the sylphs.

The Master tried to soothe the frightened infertile by rubbing her shoulder, despite the temptation to slap her for foolishness.

"Not with us inside," she said, before realizing that sounded like an admission something seriously bad _was_ happening. "Out we go!"

***

Nijen da Re Taura and Tektu watched the pandemonium below. Humans and sylphs ran everywhere, some in completely the wrong direction as they panicked.

Neither said a word until the inner bailey had emptied and the castle's inhabitants jammed the outer gates, fighting to leave.

"You've done well," said Nijen. "You've flushed out our spy and forced him to make his move."

Tektu, earpoints slanted forwards in determination and excitement, nodded agreement.

"I'll wait in the study," continued Nijen. "You in the laboratory."

Tektu nodded again. She must go somewhere else first, but she would end up in, or nearby, the laboratory sooner or later.

***

Mya heard the alarms' clamor. Difficult to miss when the bells were supposed to be heard by half-deaf humans everywhere in the castle. The guards' standing orders were to release prisoners whenever fire or evacuation alarms were sounded for real. This Mametain did not conduct dangerous experiments and the bells weren't due to be tested today, but the general evacuation alarm kept ringing.

Her thoughts turned to Neptarik and she smiled.

She raised a hand to protect her eyes as the bolts on the cell door were drawn back. The door swung open.

"C'mon you; out!"

A hand grasped her shoulder and helped her out of the cell. The guard then pushed her towards the stairs. She paid no mind to the other prisoners – not that she recognized any – and obeyed the order. Up the steps, turn right, follow everybody else.

Suddenly, Neptarik was beside her.

"Get to safety," he said in a low voice. "I will grab the plans and catch up with you later. Wait near or just inside the city." He gave her a roguish smile and his earpoints twitched. He was enjoying himself! "I will find you."

He melted into the crowd and was gone.

Mya stopped and ignored curses thrown her way by frightened people on the verge of panic.

" _You_ will?" she muttered to the now-absent sylph. "Blow you Neptarik, but _my_ owner died for them; _I_ will get them."

The quickest way to reach the Mametain's study from here led through the laboratory. She turned and fought her way deeper into Castle Beren.

***

Sergeant Jillar waved people through the gates while his guardsmen broke up all panic-induced fighting, using spear-butts if necessary. Some of the fighters wore red tabs on their uniforms, so some old scores were settled on the sly.

"Make for the mainland," he told the evacuees. "Keep moving, head for the mainland."

The flood of humans and sylphs slowed to a trickle and finally ceased. Even the tocsins fell silent now, the guardsmen ringing them abandoning their posts in compliance with their standing orders. The water-driven bell only emitted a feeble clank now and then; it always ran down eventually.

Jillar turned to his companions. "Just us now. Time to leave."

Nobody argued and nobody wondered if people were left inside. Now it was every man for himself.

"Sergeant Jillar!"

"Sir!"

Jillar halted and snapped to attention at the familiar voice.

Steppan da Kanpura eyed the sergeant up and down. "Remember me, Sergeant?"

"How could I forget, sir?" Jillar reconsidered his words. "I mean to say sir, of course I do sir."

"Has Nijen passed through these gates, Sergeant?"

"Can't say I've seen him, sir." Jillar did not add that he had no intention of mounting a search. Just in case it wasn't a false alarm.

"Good. Then I consider myself returned."

"Yessir!"

"Detail somebody with a fast horse to ride to the city. They are to ensure that all alleged traitors and spies are released immediately."

"Consider it done, sir. Er, you aren't thinking of going back in there, are you?"

Steppan smiled. "I'll wait here for the usurper," he replied. "I'm not about to disregard my own standing orders."

"Course not, sir."

"Hurry Sergeant, or you'll be running to town yourself."

"I'm gone sir, gone."

Jillar wasted no more time. If the old Mametain wanted to hang around, he could do it without a guard. Besides, he had been given orders to leave. He began to run and trying to catch up with anyone riding a horse.

Even though he hoped that nothing terrible was about to happen.

***

"Slack water, sir!"

Admiral Iklaus nodded to the messenger. "Convey my compliments to Captain Naeppin. Hoist command: make sail with all dispatch."

"Aye aye, sir."

Iklaus waited a decent interval before making his slow way topside, ensuring the boys had time to scamper ahead to warn the captain. Reaching the deck, he saw the side lined with soldiers. Lieutenant Captain Galbert looked keen and Iklaus hoped he would maintain that eagerness. He would need it in the days ahead.

Naeppin turned to face the admiral. "All ships making sail, sir," he reported.

"Very good." As if he could not see for himself. He glanced at Degan, who watched the helmsmen.

Unlike himself, Degan had hardly aged. A bit taller than their first meeting, when he took command of _Sea Dragon._ The ship had been brand new then, still with sawdust on her decks, and among the most revolutionary of her day. The sail rig was still astonishing, though few ships had copied it.

Degan crossed the deck to join him and he patted her head affectionately, just like in the old days. Also like the old days, he ignored her attempts to push her earpoints into his hand. This was not the place for such displays, though decorum had never bothered this sylph.

The ships made a proud sight as pristine sails filled. Eighty ships, carrying thousands of soldiers to overwhelm Trenvera. Once the soldiers were landed, he would take his armada south and blockade Cadister.

Re Taura must increase her trade and share of spoils in the continental chaos to come. The new Mametain was far more assertive on this point than any of his predecessors.

Iklaus, a man of action as well as diplomacy, could not agree more with the Mametain's sentiments. Re Taura's time to dominate the coastline had come. And there was nothing the continent could do about it.

Slack water changed to an ebbing tide, weak for the first couple of hours. Even so, it would help his ships reach the sea. Castle Beren loomed larger and larger.

He wondered if he would ever see it again.

The Narrows appeared wide here, but rocky shelves protruded some way into the channel. They weren't visible at high water, but deep water was found closest to the castle, although only one ship could navigate the channel at a time. That was the reason why they sited the castle here.

The inflated bladders that marked the narrow channel seemed too close together for safe sailing, but the wind was abaft the beam. Iklaus knew all the ships could get out without resorting to oars or gybing.

Looking at the distant horizon, he began to relax, feeling almost as impatient as Degan to be at sea again.

***

Neptarik entered the Mametain's study on the balls of his feet, ready to flee. The alarm had fallen silent and Castle Beren should now be deserted. Except for himself.

The study was exactly as he remembered – no reason why it shouldn't be – and he crossed to the large desk. As before, maps and plans were spread across its surface. He began to gather and roll them up; his owner would be pleased. There might even be choca in it for him. In fact, there had better be.

Then, he noticed something _was_ different. Perhaps insignificant, but different.

On previous visits, a small bottle of... something also stood on the desk. That bottle had made him uneasy and, on one level, frightened him.

And now gone.

A chair scraped back from the empty fireplace and its occupant stood.

"I suspected a spy must be responsible for the alarm," said Nijen da Re Taura, almost conversationally.

Neptarik's eyes widened as he saw the missing bottle in the Mametain's hand. Nijen poured a _something_ out and smeared it over his hands.

Nijen smiled, or perhaps grimaced. "I did not expect that spy to be you."

Neptarik said nothing. He decided to forget about the maps and tried to edge around the Mametain. He planned to escape through the door this time, rather than the window.

"That's right." Nijen smiled. "Run, if you want to live."

The sylph needed no further urging; the moment he left the study he broke into a sprint. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Nijen following, still smearing whatever it was over his hands.

Neptarik tried to take the stairs three at a time, but only tripped over in his eagerness to escape. In a heap at the bottom of the stair, he gasped for breath and fought to regain his feet.

Nijen descended after him, taking his time. Neptarik scrabbled backwards and finally clambered upright again. It still took several steps before he regained his breath properly.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the Mametain make a throwing motion with his hands. Flame leapt outwards and expanded into a ball. Neptarik saw shock on Nijen's face in the brief moment before the fireball expanded to fill the corridor.

A fireball with the sylph as its target.

Neptarik fled. Now where did this corridor lead? What looked like a large chamber lay ahead; the fire would dissipate there.

He broke through a wooden barrier and fell...

The air was driven from his lungs again as he bounced off a table and crashed to the floor, glass apparatus smashing and tinkling around him. Winded, he watched the fireball expand, filling the upper part of the old Mametain's laboratory before disappearing. Something metallic crashed to the ground from the far wall.

Neptarik groaned as he sat up and broken glass fell from his clothes. More crunched under his body as he moved.

Nijen's dark eyes looked down from the observation area, where Neptarik had broken through the barrier. No doubt the sylph would boast fine bruises on his legs later.

He heard the Mametain's footsteps, descending.

He groaned again, struggling and failing to get upright. As he fought for breath, he checked to ensure he'd not broken anything. Any bones, that was; he couldn't care less about the glass.

"Move fool, move!" he snarled.

Trying to escape, he scrabbled backwards, away from the door Nijen would come through any moment...

...now.

Nijen entered the laboratory and dry-washed his hands again, the bottle tucked into his belt.

"Neptarik!"

The sylph turned his head just as Nijen began his throwing motion. Mya – beautiful, disobedient Mya – was framed in the doorway and she grasped the cause of the earlier metallic crash. With all her strength, she threw the shield.

A new fireball sprang into life and left Nijen's hands. Twisting, Neptarik launched himself up, arm outstretched. Catching the shield, he pulled it toward him, cowering on the floor beneath.

The fireball struck the shield.

It halted, reversed... and inverted.

Nijen's terrified yell hung in the air briefly after the man disappeared.

Neptarik scrabbled to his feet.

"We must get out of here," Mya urged, from the doorway.

Neptarik ran for the door and wondered why everything in the laboratory had begun rattling. Loose stuff started to slide towards where the Mametain had been standing.

An unseen force brought Neptarik to the ground and he slid backwards inexorably. A sucking wind rose, howling through the doorway where Mya now clung to the doorframe.

Neptarik vaguely heard her screams as more and more stuff hurtled past, disappearing where Nijen had been. He slid further back and crashed into a desk, thankfully fixed down, and instinctively wrapped his arms around an upright. Denied prey for the moment, the wind howled in his ears and tried to tear him away.

If he let go, he faced oblivion.

Debris whizzed past. Equipment, glass, weapons, shields... Everything not fixed down – and some things that had been – passed by, only to disappear soundlessly. The sylph feared his arms were being torn out of their sockets as the force lifted his feet and tried to suck him in.

The stained glass windows shattered; the glass, nests and some very surprised seagulls disappearing into whatever Nijen had become.

The door to the laboratory, where Mya clung to its frame, was ripped from its hinges and cartwheeled along the floor.

Neptarik screamed. The door missed, but that had not caused his terror. The desk that had kept him alive so far had begun to shift, its fixings pulling from the floor. The wind tore his grip away and the sylph flew towards his doom.

This was the end.

The tempest ceased and Neptarik was winded for a third time as he smacked into the floor. Fear drove him to his feet this time and he stared at the doorway.

"Thank you, Siranva," he whispered, for once unconcerned about the familiar use of the deity's name. His thanks were not for himself.

Mya was still there, looking frightened and relieved at the same time. Part of the doorframe hung loose and he suspected she'd also had a lucky escape.

"So close," she whispered, as Neptarik reached her.

"Time to leave," he said. "When something bad stops happening for no reason, it usually means something worse is about to begin."

Mya glanced at him and nodded. They ran out of the laboratory together...

... and thudded into Tektu.

She carried a loaded and cranked crossbow, but the other two sylphs fixed their attention on her face. She stared wild-eyed at Neptarik with a peculiar mixture of hatred, panic, consternation and... surely not _respect_? Hope mingled with the other emotions on her face.

"What have you done, boy?" snarled Tektu, leveling the crossbow.

Neptarik hugged Mya close, meaning to shield her.

"Nothing except defend myself," he replied. His gaze now flickered everywhere and he tensed as Tektu's finger tightened on the crossbow trigger.

Normal sylphs would freeze and wait for the inevitable, but Neptarik was not a normal sylph. She did not aim at Mya, but at him. That finger squeezed a little more and Neptarik shoved Mya to one side, while he dived the other way. A chip of stone flicked a cheek and he felt blood welling. The bolt clattered to the ground.

Neptarik readied himself to use _ebatela_ , but Tektu screamed something and threw the crossbow at him. As he ducked out of the way, she stepped forward and grabbed him by an earpoint.

Shame and anger rolled through Neptarik and Mya danced impotently around them.

"Let him go, let him go," she panted.

Tektu ignored her. She looked around and her gaze settled on the catapult.

Neptarik yowled and tried to lash out at Tektu, but the strange infertile only twisted his ear harder, giving the male sylph a strange sensation of simultaneous agony and ecstasy. He had no choice but to go where she wanted.

"To the catapult." Tektu dragged Neptarik across, with Mya following and still begging her to release him.

Neptarik, bent almost double, glanced at the catapult's basket and spotted four corners from a bolt of blue cloth. He blinked... and remembered.

"Get in," snarled Tektu, almost ripping the hapless sylph's ear off as she forced him into the catapult's basket. She kept throwing glances at the doorway leading to the laboratory. "You too. Now."

Mya was almost thrown in alongside Neptarik, who rubbed his ear, now burning bright blue.

He leaned closer to Mya.

"If you want to stay with me in this life, hang on to me. Do not let go!"

Mya stared as if he had gone insane.

"Enough whispering," commanded Tektu, but her voice held no heat. "I should have sent you to the stud farms." She threw a concerned look over shoulder towards the laboratory and motioned with a hand. "Goodbye."

Neptarik remembered something more recent. "Was this how you murdered Siaba?"

Tektu ignored him and turned to the release lever.

Neptarik kept his voice low for Mya. "Hold onto me and do _not_ let go!" He turned his attention back to Tektu.

"Why did you kill Siaba?" he pressed.

"It was supposed to be you," replied Tektu, pausing for a moment. Grief flickered across her face.

"That makes me feel much better," retorted Neptarik. "For the Father's love, why?" As he spoke he grasped the corners of the blue cloth.

Tektu shook her head. "That won't save you. When you hit the sea, you will die as surely as hitting stone."

"Why did Siaba have to die?" demanded Neptarik.

Tektu snarled in response and she pulled the lever that operated the catapult.

***
Chapter 32

**Husband And Wife**

Mya – clearly not eager to be reunited with her owner just yet – clung to Neptarik as the sylphs tumbled end over end. The bolt of blue cloth Neptarik grasped had managed to wrap itself into a rope as they fell.

Castle Beren, sea, horizon, sky, Castle Beren, sea, horizon, sky... With every revolution, the castle got higher and the sea nearer.

A stray gust of wind caught the cloth and, with a snap, it filled and acted like Pedden's cloak during the demonstration Neptarik remembered. Both sylphs were almost jerked free in the unexpected jolt and now dangled underneath the cloth.

Neptarik looked at the sea and then at Mya. Her eyes were large and round as she looked about, wonder filling her face.

"We are flying," she breathed.

The sensation certainly felt right, but Neptarik knew they were not flying. The sea still drew closer – well, really they were the ones getting closer, but it did look as if the sea was rising up – and they would meet it harder than he would like, but at least the fall would not kill them.

Mya shifted her grip and he liked feeling her hands on him. He bent his head towards her.

"Will you be my wife?"

The female sylph stared and gave a slow, deliberate blink. She smiled. "Oh Neptarik, I would lo –"

The rest of her words were lost as the sea swallowed them.

***

Tektu almost howled as the blue cloth filled and slowed the sylphs' fall. She contented herself with a thump and kick against the stonework, which gave her two bruises. She snarled as the two sylphs landed safely in the sea and silently prayed that sharks would take them.

Something inside shifted. Soon, she would no longer belong to Nijen. Dead already, or as good as, but her allegiance had not yet transferred away. She still had time.

She felt the shift again and looked towards the laboratory.

" _Henyi?_ " She wished that had not come out as a mixture of whine and sob.

Abandoning the catapult, she entered the doorless laboratory. The mess inside looked like a whirlwind had rushed through.

Tektu immediately spotted where the event had occurred, though ordinary eyes would see nothing. She saw nothing either, only sensed something not quite right at that spot.

The event had failed to punch a way through reality's fabric. Which in turn meant instability and that everything in it would come back out.

Quickly and with a lot of force.

Tektu grinned. She had found her escape. The weak body she inhabited could not survive what was about to happen. Arms spread wide and head tilted back, she closed her eyes.

"Great Master!" she shouted. "Welcome me home!"

As if waiting for those words, Nijen da Re Taura's remains, together with everything else sucked in and crushed by the vortex, exploded.

***

Humans and sylphs, getting as far from Castle Beren as they could, sensed rather than saw the bright light that obscured even the sun. Soldiers and sailors in the ships of the invasion fleet stared, and some would be blinded for days.

People going about their business in Re Taura saw it, many wondering why their shadows now pointed in a different direction. The sylphs waiting patiently for the tide to ebb before they could resume gathering seaweed, saw it and sensibly turned their faces away. People in the fishing villages saw it and puzzled over the cause.

As quickly as it had appeared, the light was gone.

Nobody saw that a whole section of the southeast tower and part of the curtain wall of Castle Beren had disappeared, nor that the rest of that tower and wall hung suspended over nothing.

For less than a moment.

Thousands of tons of stone crashed down, bringing more with it. The hollow boom echoed around Taura's natural harbor and beyond. As it fell, much was caught in a collapsing maelstrom of air and thrown far in all directions.

Most fell harmlessly into the sea. Some landed across the twin peninsulas, but missed the ships of the invasion fleet and spared everybody on land now running as hard as they could.

One corner of Castle Beren had completely gone.

But it was still not over.

Cracks appeared across Re Beren itself, as small faults in the rock strata, stimulated by the explosion and collapse, widened and weakened the rock. More cracks appeared in the curtain walls around the northeast tower as the land on which it stood began to slide, imperceptibly at first, towards the sea.

As the land cracked, the moat burst free to cascade in a waterfall that lasted less than a minute.

A low rumble, together with tremors, built in intensity, then part of Re Beren broke free and tilted, dragging the northeast tower with it.

Whole, and still proudly displaying the Mametain's brown fox from both flagpoles, the tower plunged into the sea to settle across the channel.

***

Admiral Iklaus, who had not looked at the earlier bright light, stared as the castle tower slid towards the water. The others who could still see were stunned to stillness.

Degan recovered first.

"Get the sail off!" screeched the ship's sylph, snatching the wheel from the stunned helmsman. She spun it to port, luffing into the wind. "Sails down. Down! Oars..."

Turning _Sea Dragon_ into the wind, she had also turned the ship back towards Taura and this saved them.

The tower crashed into the water and spray from the huge splash spattered across the _Sea Dragon_ 's deck.

Men lowered the sails, leaving them in disarray and dashed for the oars, in case more of the castle or island might fall.

Captain Naeppin reasserted control and soon restored order. The other ships in the invasion fleet followed _Sea Dragon_ 's lead. Not that they had much choice.

All around the harbor, chaos reigned as a wave raced across quays and battered sea walls. The seaweed gatherers raced uphill to safety. They looked at each other and silently decided to give the gathering a miss today.

"I hope everybody is all right back there," muttered Degan. She glanced at the ruined castle.

_Told you that boy was dangerous,_ said the ship, directly into her sylph's mind.

How can you tell he had anything to do with it?

_It was him. I just know._ The ship refused to elaborate.

Iklaus stared at the remains of Castle Beren. The stricken tower lay across the channel. Nothing bigger than a small fishing boat could now get in or out of the harbor. Worse, when the tide ebbed and exposed more of the wrecked tower, it would probably collapse under its own weight and block the channel more effectively.

It might take weeks to clear.

"Siranva's plans run against ours," muttered Naeppin.

Iklaus ignored him. Everybody knew Siranva had no interest in human affairs. He turned his attention to Degan, now relieved from the wheel.

"Good reaction," he said. "You and the ship are to be commended. A little further and that would have smashed us into kindling."

Decorum be hanged. He tickled the ship sylph's earpoints and she murmured in pleasure.

"Tonight, you can eat as much choca as you can hold." Iklaus wished the words back the moment he uttered them. Too much choca often had unfortunate consequences.

Degan murmured something without words and arched her back.

"How will we reach the mainland now, sir?" asked Naeppin.

Iklaus wondered how this man ever made it as far as he had. "Captain Naeppin, I think we are staying in Taura for the foreseeable future."

***

Balnus sat on his stone bed and stared at the opposite wall. The door had a grille set into it, letting in light. He had no idea what had happened to Verdin, but assumed he was in another cell.

He must hold on to his courage as he waited. Waiting always encouraged people to talk.

A jangle of keys and a face at the grille was all the warning he had before the door swung open. He tensed.

"All right," said the jailer, "you are free to leave."

Balnus stared at the man with incomprehension.

"If you're waiting for me to carry you out and kiss you goodbye, you'll be there when the world ends."

Balnus still stared. Was this a joke? "Why?" he asked.

The jailer shrugged. "Mametain's orders," he said. "All prisoners arrested for treason and sedition to be released."

"All of us?" asked Balnus, scrambling to his feet.

"All of you."

"Why would he order that?"

The jailer managed a hint of a smile. "Take a look at Castle Beren when you leave," he replied.

Balnus left the cell and saw one or two other co-conspirators emerge, blinking uncertainly. They had not expected this.

"Get out of my jail!" roared the jailer. "Up the stairs and go home!"

Balnus stumbled into daylight and fresh air. He found Verdin sitting on a wall nearby, staring towards the sea.

The younger man turned and smiled at Balnus. "Look at that."

Balnus was vaguely aware of other released prisoners also staring across the harbor.

"Ranva's globes," he breathed. "Half of it's gone."

He stared at the missing part of the castle and saw the ships milling about before the blocked channel.

"Looks like the invasion's off," said Verdin. "No way around that."

"One of the castle turrets?" asked Balnus.

"Looks like it came down whole," replied Verdin. "Won't stay that way for long though."

"But how?" Another thought came to Balnus and he gripped his companion's arm. "Neptarik!" he exclaimed. "People must have been hurt. What if...?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

"We're going to find out now." Determination firmed Balnus's voice. "He is my sylph and we must make sure he's all right."

"This is Neptarik we're talking about," said Verdin. "Of course he's all right."

"What if he was in that tower when it came down? How many are dead or missing? What if...?"

Verdin gripped the other man's shoulder. "He's fine, I swear. He probably caused the mess."

Balnus stared. It was getting to be a habit. "He's a sylph, not a demolition expert."

"Well, if you insist, let's go for a look-see."

Balnus nodded and stood to leave. Being free felt good, but he would never forgive himself if anything had happened to Neptarik.

***

The sea outside Taura's harbor was eerily quiet. Refuse from Castle Beren's catapult dotted the sea, riding the passing waves. Growing steadily more waterlogged, most sank. Air trapped beneath a bolt of blue cloth finally escaped and it slipped beneath the waves forever.

Two sylph heads abruptly broke the surface. Neptarik and Mya took deep lungfuls of fresh air and stared at the ruined stump of Castle Beren in amazement.

"You still have not answered my question," said Neptarik.

He grinned to himself as he espied the turret blocking the channel. There would be no invasion now.

"Did we make this mess?" asked Mya. "And I answered, yes."

Their arms twined around each other and earpoints met. Slowly, those earpoints locked as the sylphs kissed.

Neither noticed a ship heave to behind them, nor heard its seaboat smack into the sea the moment that ship came to a stop.

"Want picking up, love-birds?" asked a voice that sounded like it was resisting laughter.

The sylphs sprang apart and stared at the faces looking down at them. Neptarik's mouth fell open as he recognized them.

"How did you get here?" he squeaked. "Is _Flying Cloud_ here?"

Strong arms reached out and deposited both sylphs in the bottom of the boat, seawater streaming from their clothes.

"We got here by sailing," replied the boat's coxswain, "which is how ships usually move about. And yes, _Flying Cloud_ is here."

Neptarik remembered the man: Master's Mate Grenard. He looked over the side and laughed as he saw _Flying Cloud_. Half her sails pushed against the rest and the ship rode the waves easily. Black and gold streamers flew from every mast and he recognized Marka's black and gold Imperial ensign.

As the boat drew nearer the falls, he looked up into the smiling eyes of a sylph.

He had never been so glad to see her.

Still dripping seawater, Neptarik and Mya were the first onto the ship's decks.

Cloudy smiled and managed a small bow.

"Welcome aboard, Neptarik," she said. "And welcome back."

Mya stared. "You know her?" she asked.

Neptarik smiled. "Cloudy, meet Mya; Mya, this is Cloudy."

The ship's sylph inclined her head again. "Welcome aboard _Flying Cloud_ , Mya."

Captain Liffen smiled at his guests. "We'll have to put in at Safeford," he told Cloudy. "That channel is completely blocked."

"But how come you are here at all?" asked Neptarik. "I am very glad to see you, of course."

"We are here making a fortune selling red tea," Cloudy replied. She flashed her lopsided smile. "And waiting for old friends to drop in."

Neptarik managed a smug smile. He put an arm around Mya's shoulders. His wife.

All was well with his world.

***

Men from the fishing hamlets trawled across the rubble, which was all that remained of half of Castle Beren. They avoided the fresh cliff and ignored where curtain walls ended in jagged lines.

They also pretended not to notice those blocks cut more smoothly than any mason could manage.

More men joined them as boats that had put off from the other villages, and even from Taura itself, reached the castle and found somewhere to land.

All wanted to help find survivors and, as an added bonus, there was always the chance of loot. For the ghoulish, perhaps a corpse or two.

Nobody paid much attention to the impressive ship hove-to below. Now unable to enter Taura's harbor, this trader could not profit from another's disaster.

Mostly sailors themselves, a few paused to admire the lines of that ship; the black and gold bunting on each mast a striking sight as the freshening breeze helped it stream proudly.

But they went back to hunting for survivors and loot, and ignoring the too-straight lines among the rubble.

"Here's one!" shouted someone and a small crowd instantly gathered.

A sylph lay amid the rubble, some partly covering her. Her exposed skin was gray with dust and dirt. No soul could possibly have survived that explosion, yet her body held heat.

"Still alive!" someone else exclaimed.

The men redoubled their efforts and cleared what little rubble covered the sylph. Blood oozed from injuries. Pulling a survivor from the wreckage was more important than loot. A miracle that the sylph had survived at all.

One man carefully felt for broken bones.

"Not bust a thing," he called up.

The crowd gave a small cheer.

The sylph opened her eyes.

She glowered at her rescuers before brushing dust and small stones off herself. As she climbed out of the hole, she shook off all offers of help and stared around.

"I am still here," she announced in a flat voice.

"You are," said one of the men. "We –"

The sylph screamed. A scream of rage and grief and frustration.

"What's that for?" another man demanded. "You're lucky. An ilven must be looking after you."

The survivor fixed him with a steely glance. "I doubt that," she replied. "At least, not the sort of ilven you mean."

With every word, the men looked less and less sure of themselves.

The sylph glared at them, snorted disparagingly and stalked away.

"Well, there's gratitude for you," commented one.

"Probably shock," said another. "We should sit her down."

But the sylph had passed through the arched doorway leading to the outer bailey. She was gone.

"Serves her right if she drops dead. What a carry on."

They soon pushed the strange sylph from conscious thought as the men continued to hunt for survivors and booty.

Tektu patted herself as she crossed the causeway and joined the road heading to Taura City. Her clothes and skin were almost back to their original color.

As she gained height, the ship came into view. He was there; she could point directly to him now, from wherever she might be in the world. She had failed to free herself during the limited time available, while her allegiance switched away from her old master. Her loyalties had changed.

Despite her efforts with crossbow and catapult, Nijen's killer lived, and now she was trapped again. The change marked her failure to escape. Gritting her teeth against the pain wracking the weak body she was forced to inhabit, she limped along the road.

The curse that had imprisoned her for generations now compelled her to seek him who had won her in combat.

A snarl turned her lips as she stared at the ship.

She had a new master now.

***
Epilogue

**I: The Road South**

Brendin hunched over the reins and kept his eyes on the road ahead. He was far more watchful than impressions suggested, but there were still no signs of pursuit.

He had done what he could in Marka before abandoning wife and family. He had destroyed everything he owned, even the bedding he shared with his wife. Every scrap of clothing was either with him, or burned. The villa so beloved of his wife lay in ashes.

He'd left nothing for a bounty hunter such as Sallis ti Ath to work with, so the City Guard could not send him.

This road eventually led to the Imperial Republic, where he should be safe. He did not fear capture by the City Guard, but he didn't want Dervra or Nicolfer to catch up with him. Ever.

Except for a lone figure ahead, Brendin had the road to himself.

His fellow traveler was wrapped in a ragged cloak and carried a gnarled walking staff, probably pulled from a dead tree. Brendin slowed the cart as he caught up.

"Lo, fellow traveler," he said. "Headed where?"

When the walker turned his face up, Brendin was surprised to see sylph features only partly concealed by the hood.

"I aim for the Imperial Republic," continued Brendin, "and riding is better than walking."

Why would a sylph be walking alone here? An outcast from one of the tribes? He had heard male sylphs sometimes traveled between wild sylph colonies to find a wife. Perhaps he had run away, whether wild or civilized. Sylphs did not usually run away; a strong sense of duty kept them loyal. Bereaved maybe.

The sylph nodded and passed up his staff before joining Brendin. He pushed his cowl back and Brendin glimpsed a leather collar. Not a wild sylph.

"How far are you going?" asked Brendin.

The sylph shrugged. "As far as you are."

Brendin blinked, surprised to hear a Markan accent so far south. Bereaved or a runaway. He said nothing, but nodded, flicked the reins to encourage the horse to increase speed and offered a hand to his new companion.

"I'm Brendin," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

The sylph nodded, paused, then shook the offered hand. "My name is Tangan," he replied.

The name tickled Brendin's memory and he smiled. Funny how the world turned.

"That the one given to you by your mother?"

"More or less," replied Tangan.

They continued south in silence.

II: A Spy Is Born

Neptarik allowed his gaze to wander around the room, while Morran Fynn scanned the report. He certainly read it quicker than Verdin and Balnus had written it, before Balnus and Neptarik left Re Taura.

Despite standing beside his owner, the scout felt intimidated. Something he could not quite call to mind. The room looked unchanged, except that no fire burned in the hearth and no light crystals were uncovered.

The window stood open, unlike his last visit, when the late winter winds had rattled it, trying to find a way around or through this unnatural barrier.

Clutches of papers that all but obscured Fynn's desk might even be the same papers from their last visit. The infertile curled up and apparently asleep before the empty hearth was definitely the same.

Neptarik wondered if she had lain there all summer. If not for small movements caused by breathing, and the occasional twitch of an earpoint, he might be forgiven for thinking she had died and been left there as decoration.

He frowned at the back of that sylph's head, certain she was not decoration. Neither did she sleep; sylphs slept with their earpoints tucked away, not twitching as if they were eavesdropping...

"So Verdin Vintner is in Re Taura until our ambassador arrives?" Fynn's deep voice precisely enunciated every word.

Balnus nodded. "That's the plan. An independent lot, those Re Taurans."

A smile ghosted across Fynn's features. "We know." A forefinger marked a place on the report. "Quite a summer you had there. And Neptarik successfully infiltrated Castle Beren."

Although not a question, the sylph looked up at the mention of his name, twitched his earpoints and nodded.

"Good. Remind me of your instructions." Fynn leaned forward and steepled his fingers to hide his mouth.

"Gather information, learn the Mametain's plans, steal or copy them and get them to _enya_." A defensive note crept into the sylph's voice, as if he anticipated what was coming.

"So, instead of following those simple instructions, you decided to assassinate Mametain Nijen and destroy half of Castle Beren? You might have triggered a war."

"It was not precisely my fault." Neptarik sounded more than a touch defensive. "I... you are teasing me?" His eyes narrowed.

Fynn smiled. "I'm sure everything is as you say in the report." He closed the thin volume and rested a hand upon it. "I will speak to Marcus Vintner this evening about your excellent work. You may both go."

Eager to leave the room, Balnus and Neptarik turned and headed for the door. Neptarik reached it first but, before he opened it, Fynn spoke again.

"Do not go too far, I may have need of your services again."

"That is up to the Emperor," replied Balnus, "but we stand ready."

Fynn nodded as the door closed behind them. "Impressive," he said. A murmur reached his ears from in front of the fireplace. "What was that, Smudge?"

The infertile sat up, earpoints twitching as if proud of something. One day, she might be genuinely asleep when Fynn had visitors.

"Told you that boy is good," she repeated, before settling down again.

Morran Barr Fynn, spymaster for Marcus Marcus Vintner nodded to himself. He spoke again.

"Very impressive."

III: An Apology

Silmarila paused outside General Kelanus's door. The next few minutes were potentially shaming, but the man inside deserved an apology. She raised a hand to knock, but then let it fall. She could not put this off any longer: cowardice was definitely shaming.

Firming herself, despite her earpoints betraying rare uncertainty, she rapped on the door.

"Come!"

Kelanus did not need to raise his voice; she felt the bass rumble even outside. Opening the door, she stepped inside.

The general regarded her for a brief moment. "Hello," he managed, eventually. "What can I do for you?"

The gwerin cleared her throat. Now she stood face to face with him, her task seemed even harder. She tugged at her collar for a moment. She thought about looking at something neutral, but then decided to look him in the eye.

"I owe you an apology," she said. "For not listening to you."

She thought she saw a hint of a smile flit across the the man's face, but it might have been her imagination.

"Thank you for coming," said Kelanus, "but it seems we were both wrong, at least in details. Only good luck prevented the invasion fleet from leaving Re Taura. Had they landed, we might have had a job to dig them out again."

Silmarila inclined her head to acknowledge this frank admission. "You spread the scouts thinly enough so word would reach you in plenty of time had it arrived."

"Risk and probability," said Kelanus. "It's a balance, instead of allowing fear to rule everything. Or even trying to hold onto lands no longer important. Had the Taurans landed and conquered territory, they would have been dealt with. The greatest risk to Marka came from the Eldovans."

Silmarila nodded. "Even so, there is a gap in my knowledge. I would consider it a privilege if you educated me and filled that gap."

Kelanus raised his eyebrows; this time he _did_ smile.

"Very well," he said. "I will do what I can. Perhaps you can help me plan our next move."

"Next move?" echoed Silmarila. "The Eldovans are defeated and the old Mametain rules in Re Taura again."

"Our next move," confirmed Kelanus. "For the good of Marka, of course."

"Of course." Silmarila considered for a moment. "Very well, I shall help you."

Smiling, Kelanus and Silmarila, human and gwerin, shook hands.

IV: Pledge Fulfilled

A small infertile answered the door to Belaika's knock. The scout gave her a small bow, though it was not strictly necessary.

"Belaika- _y_ -Marcus," he said. "Come to visit Selinde- _ya_."

Surprised at the formality, the infertile bowed back. "Esnasin- _y_ -Selinde," she replied. She looked the scout up and down, noting his spotless white shirt and clean dark gray breeches. Only a simple leather collar adorned his neck, but she finally decided the sylph was respectable enough to be allowed inside. She swung the door wider.

"If you will wait here, Belaika- _ya_ ," said Esnasin. "I will ask _anya_ if she will see you."

Belaika watched her go. As instructed, he waited in the hallway and looked around. Yochan had done well to afford to live here. He must have inherited money, or else Selinde had, for he could never have bought this on a sergeant's salary.

Seeing a charcoal picture of Yochan and Selinde above a doorway, he winced. Bright and airy, the hall smelled fresh, with a hint of roses. Perhaps a window had been left open above a rosebush and the roses flowered late this year.

Esnasin was not gone long.

" _Anya_ will see you now," she said. "Please follow me."

Though she guided, Esnasin took care to walk alongside Belaika and not in front of him. Her respect touched him, even if unnecessary, and he almost told her to lead.

The infertile took him to a garden. Roses surrounded the grass and at least half the bushes were still in bloom. And as he had suspected, some were planted under the windows. South facing, this garden enjoyed plenty of sunshine.

Selinde Duvochya sat on a stool, leaning over a cot. A toddler played on the grass, watched by an older sister who might have been all of five. Or less.

Selinde looked up, but did not rise.

"Do you drink alovak, Master Belaika?" she asked.

The sylph's bow was deeper than for the infertile. "Thank you, _donanya_ , but I am not thirsty."

"Fruit? The pears have just come into season."

"Thank you, nothing at all."

"As you wish. Leave us, Esnasin." She raised her voice. "Meharra! Take your sister indoors, please."

The older girl nodded and gathered the toddler in her arms.

Esnasin left with her. The babe in the cot remained.

"What do you want, Belaika- _y_ -Marcus?" asked Selinde. "Your owner has already been to see me." For a brief moment, she looked on the edge of tears, but forced them away.

Belaika looked down until certain she had recovered her composure. Calcans always preferred to keep grief hidden until they were alone and he respected the custom, even if he found it strange.

The sylph craned his neck and peered into the cot. The child was chubby, as human babies often were. For a moment, he thought he looked into Yochan's gray-blue eyes.

"A son." Belaika smiled. Yochan had hoped for a son.

"He is Delchad Yochan," replied Selinde.

"My wife, Eleka, has had a son too," replied Belaika, softly. He smiled at the child and let fat pink fingers grasp his blue forefinger.

"You have not answered my question," said Selinde. "Why are you here? It is not to talk about babes."

Belaika inclined his head again. "Yochan- _ya_ made an agreement with me," he replied. "We promised that if something happened to one, the other would tell his wife the manner of his death."

A shadow flickered across Selinde's face. "I don't want to know," she said.

The scout shrugged and his earpoints briefly wilted for a moment before recovering. He looked at Yochan's son with a wistful expression.

"One day," said Belaika, "he will ask about his father and want to know how he died." He looked into Selinde's eyes. His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Do you think he deserves to know, when he asks, that few faced many and would not surrender?"

Tears glistened in Selinde's eyes and on her cheeks. She held Belaika's gaze for a long, long moment and finally nodded.

"All right," she said. "Tell me."

***

The End of _Markan Empire_.

***

**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.

