Markan Sword

  The gwerin had retreated, but returned within the hour, this time armed with several large purple-cloaked Guardsmen and an edict from Zenepha. Intimidation carried the day and Silmarila successfully reclaimed her books. The Guardsmen took several trips to load the carriage and the gwerin had to walk back to the palace.

  Kaira and Basren had found the entire episode hilarious, and this shared humor had brought them together. Kaira had never thanked the gwerin, but she doubted if Silmarila would understand anyway.

  They shared a similar sense of humor, and Basren always found a way to make her laugh. Kaira liked the slim young man straight away, and their relationship flowered from that moment. She was headed for the library now, and hoped for a long chat with him before returning to her duties at the palace.

  She dodged an urchin running as fast as he could from a stallholder with a stick, turned a corner, and the library stood before her.

  She would never understand why she felt so nervous before meeting Basren; even knowing he felt the same way made her no better.

  As Kaira mounted the steps to the studded oak doors, calm yet pitiless eyes watched her every move.

  ***

  "Zenepha is wavering, which is no good for the city."

  Sandev watched Marcus Vintner, claimant to the Markan Throne, push dark brown hair away from his eyes. His infertile sylph, Jenn, stood patiently beside him. She stared around the room, finding Sandev's study interesting. Her own sylph Caya stood to one side, waiting for orders.

  "Zenepha receives the very best advice," she replied carefully. "He will step aside when the time is right. Everybody knows he is only a caretaker. We made that clear even before his coronation."

  Marcus stared into his empty alovak mug. "The Senate still stands against me. That is obvious by the maneuvering to keep Zenepha where he is."

  Sandev must remember that this man was no fool. And whatever he missed from Marka's political pulse, his wife Zandra caught.

  "You are popular in the city," replied Sandev. "The Supreme Council want you on the throne, the guilds are prepared to support you once Zenepha steps aside and even the Imhotep is ready to see you in your rightful place."

  Marcus glanced at the shelves of books rising behind the desk at one side of the room. Sandev had received him in the study because decorators and painters worked in the main living room. Even so, her study offered as many comforts.

  His gaze met hers and held firmly. "My victory is assured if even the Imhotep is on my side."

  "Though you must realize that he pretty much respects whatever Djerana has to say on the subject."

  "Djerana, yes." Marcus shook his head. "Ilven do not usually hold so much power over human decisions."

  Sandev laughed. "I think Djerana would be horrified if she knew. Sadly, the Imhotep is obsessed with our resident ilven; thankfully that feeling is not reciprocated. You are empty."

  Marcus raised a hand and began to say he needed no more, but Sandev had already turned.

  "More alovak please, Caya."

  The sylph stood slightly to one side inclined her head. "At once, anya."

  Sandev sighed when the sylph had gone. "She has hardly left my sight since my return."

  Marcus glanced at the door and subconsciously ruffled Jenn's hair, before resting his hand protectively on the infertile's shoulder. "She missed you."

  "I know. She's not exactly climbed into bed with me, but she sleeps immediately outside my door. Worse than an infertile, now." Sandev peered across the table. "No insult intended, Jenn."

  Marcus's own sylph smiled, but she gave no reply, awed by the woman's great age, if not her power.

  "She even stays in the room when I use the Gift," continued Sandev.

  "Rare in a sylph, that," remarked Marcus.

  "Non existent, in fact," replied Sandev. "Before now."

  The clepsydra chose that moment to gurgle, which caught Jenn's wide-eyed attention, her earpoints slanted sharply forward. Marcus patted her arm absently and the infertile soon relaxed again.

  Sandev noted the speed of the sylph's reaction, but said nothing.

  "Zenepha," said Marcus.

  "He won't go until he's ready." Sandev shrugged. "We never realized how seriously he would take his duties."

  "The gwerins have taken to him."

  "It's the gwerins' task to serve the throne," replied Sandev. "No matter who sits there. And before you complain about that again, remember that you do have considerable influence with them."

  Marcus nodded. "Thanks to Eleka."

  Sandev smiled. "Thanks to Belaika too; it was perhaps unwise to let him out of the city."

  "Belaika begged to go into the field; he has reasons of his own." Marcus had no intention of telling Sandev why his sylph had insisted on traveling to Eldova with Kelanus.

  As Belaika and Eleka were Salafisa's parents, the older two gwerins in the palace gave them the same respect they would their own parents. Apparently all gwerins behaved in this way. Compared with sylphs, gwerins lived long, and the pair belonging to the throne behaved like children towards Eleka. Despite their great age, Eleka seemed to take their attention well.

  And Marcus understood why Sandev voiced her regret that Belaika had left the city. Silmarila was close to Eleka, but Samrita regarded Belaika with a shade more warmth. Perhaps because she had met him first, or because he had earned the shadow riders' respect over the banner.

  "Then you must use the available tools," said Sandev. "Eleka can increase your influence over Samrita and Silmarila."

  "A strange weakness in gwerins." Marcus smiled.

  Sandev shrugged. "Exploit it. But remember that the weakness is there when you take the throne, in case another sylph produces a gwerin."

  "How common is it?"

  "Not likely in Marka," replied Sandev. "But someone else might have a gwerin and her parents out there somewhere."

  She had the answer, but was not about to enlighten him; such replies usually raised even more questions, concerning how she came by her information. Besides, her sources were thousands of years old and sylphs might have adapted since then.

  "Then I'd better take Eleka to the next meeting." Marcus smiled and looked down at his infertile. "Hope you understand, Jenn."

  "You might take both of us, enya," replied the infertile.

  Sandev laughed.

  The door opened and Caya came through, carrying a tray. She set it down and stood back, waiting for the alovak to brew a little more.

  Sandev looked at Jenn and suddenly found her unwavering silver stare unsettling. He abandons me too much now, it seemed to say, do not make my task harder than it is already. She blinked and almost asked aloud what task Jenn already found difficult. Foolishness, but Sandev averted her eyes first.

  A moment later and Jenn was just Jenn again, an amiable infertile who liked to stay close to her owner. One who thought of little beyond her immediate task and when she might be petted again.

  Sandev covered coming second in the battle of the eyes by turning to Marcus.

  "Alovak?" she asked.

  ***

  Nedilen walked towards Marka's gates, staff tapping on the ground, green hood of his yellowflax cloak pushed back from his head.

  His earpoints, freed from the constraints of the hood, twitched forward in curiosity. He had seen towns on his travels, but nothing so grand as this city. Buildings loomed over the patrolled walls and he shivered as a primeval instinct warned him to stay away.

  And he pretended he could not see the huge black pyramid, stretching to the clouds. How could humans build such things?

  But he must press forward. He had waited three years for this moment.

  Nobody paid him much attention and travelers were much more tolerant of his presence than expected. Many gave him surprised glances, perhaps wondering why he wasn't with a human, until they saw his uncollared neck.

  Other sylphs were the worst: they stared as if he had grown an extra head or something. They usually watched wa
rily, and pity often shone in their silver-gray eyes, but none ignored him. They could not possibly know his reason for coming here, so why did they pity him?

  For his own part, his gaze slid away from collars. How could they bear the things and the low status they represented? Yet these sylphs all wore them with obvious pride. Nedilen would never understand why they did not hang their heads in shame.

  He had nearly reached the gates, where two guards stood in the portal, nodding people through after a cursory glance. Would they let him in, or refuse entry because he was a so-called wild sylph?

  He warranted no more than a quick glance. Not even challenged. He paused and the guards, one with brown eyes and the other with blue, looked back at him.

  Nedilen decided the one with gentle brown eyes was probably the more intelligent of the pair.

  "Do you sing my tongue?" he asked.

  "He can't even sing in his own tongue," replied the blue-eyed guard, speaking in what sounded like fluent sylph.

  Nedilen should have guessed the dialect would be different here. His attention switched to the sylph speaking guard.

  "I look for my son," said Nedilen. "He was taken and I think he is here."

  "This is a large city." The sylph speaker shrugged. "Have you his name? There are certainly wild sylphs here."

  Nedilen's heart leapt. Wild sylphs would not be in Marka unless forced to be here. "His name is Tilipha."

  The guards were suddenly wary and exchanged looks. Even the one with brown eyes recognized the name! This father's hope strengthened.

  The blue-eyed guard nodded towards a door. "Go through there and ask for Janin. He should be able to help."

  The sylph nodded thanks and pushed the door open.

  Another guard sat behind a desk, checking paperwork. The mysterious gift of reading, Nedilen supposed. The room smelled of human and paint. He sniffed the air carefully. Nothing seemed wrong. He spotted an infertile polishing metal in an adjoining room.

  The guard lifted his head and burbled something quickly in his strange language.

  "I look for Janin," he said.

  A new voice came from behind him. "That's me."

  Nedilen spun on his heel and blinked.

  To judge from the silver-gray eyes and long earpoints, the apparition was a sylph. The creature's hair and skin were painted gray, green and brown, and vivid black slashes crossed face and chest. The paint left no hint of blue skin anywhere. The paint smell completely masked the natural sylph odor, or sinabra.

  Nedilen's gaze flinched away from the leather collar.

  "I am Janin," said the strange sylph, speaking slowly.

  "The guards sent me here. I look for my son and they said you can help. His name is Tilipha."

  Janin smiled. "Can do better than that," he replied. "I will take you to him."

  Renewed hope flared stronger.

  He would see his son again.

  ***

  Chapter 8

  Reunion

  Marcus took Sandev's advice when he next met Zenepha.

  Today's meeting should only be small, without most of the advisors. With any luck, only Supreme Councilor Olista and Senate Leader Rogort would attend. Neither of those politicians usually brought a sylph, but Zenepha would definitely have his gwerins.

  So Marcus brought Eleka.

  She had proven herself versatile and adaptable, quietly useful without being demanding on her owner's time. She also held a high status among sylphs, and not just because she belonged to Marcus. Born on the Vintner stud in Calcan, since involving herself with Belaika she had produced everything a sylph could birth. A litter of infertiles; female twins Callie and Sallie; and most recently a son, Halen.

  But before him, the year she had acted as scout to Zandra, she produced a gwerin daughter, Salafisa. As the parent of a gwerin, Eleka was Marcus's secret weapon.

  He had left Jenn behind today. She usually accompanied him to these meetings and failed to hide disappointment at her exclusion. The small infertile had served him well for many years – more than he cared to remember, truth to tell – and she resented every separation.

  As Marcus had quarters in the Royal Palace, he and Eleka did not have far to travel. He remembered the small dining hall well; it had served as a map room for planning battles when armies still surrounded the city. Marka still had enemies, but none threatened at the moment, so all military planning took place elsewhere.

  The dining hall had returned to its original purpose. The maps were gone, replaced by rustic paintings, and a polished wooden table sat in the exact center of the room, surrounded by chairs. One of Zenepha's better ideas – and one Marcus would emulate once he had the throne – was that nobody sat at the head of the table. All could speak freely here.

  "Good morning, gentlemen." Marcus smiled at Olista and Rogort, before he noticed Senator Aelfrec, with his graying hair and hard, dark blue eyes, stood in one corner and inspecting a painting.

  Olista and Rogort returned the greeting, but Aelfrec managed only a cool nod of the head as he turned to face Marcus. This man had once promoted Branad's claim to the throne, and Marcus knew this Senator had not surrendered support for that branch of the family.

  "Zenepha is late again?" Marcus crossed to the table and sat on one of the chairs. "It's becoming a habit."

  Olista laughed. In his early sixties, the Supreme Councilor managed to look many years younger. Clearly able to withstand the pressures of high office, he was the youngest to hold his office for three centuries. "The greatest art of princes is to make others wait," he said.

  Rogort took a chair facing the door.

  Marcus twisted around to look at Aelfrec. "Zenepha has invited you today?"

  Aelfrec sniffed. "His Majesty wants a diplomat here," he replied, eyes and face cold.

  Silence fell as Zenepha swept into the room, his silver-gray eyes sparkling and earpoints twitching in contentment. The two adult gwerins in the palace almost trod on his heels, hazel and dark brown eyes smiling. Their earpoints betrayed the same contentment as their ruler's.

  "Sorry I am late," said Zenepha. "Please sit."

  Samrita and Silmarila smiled at Eleka, who happily smiled back. The gwerins' earpoints slanted towards the sylph and they inclined their heads to her.

  That's right, reflected Marcus, you distract them. Good girl.

  "Shall I fetch alovak?" asked Eleka.

  "Thank you." Zenepha inclined his head. "Nata is brewing it in the kitchens."

  "I will help you," offered Silmarila, just as Samrita opened her mouth.

  The older gwerin looked unimpressed and gave her companion a cool look.

  Eleka and Silmarila left the room, the gwerin already wearing a part eager, part foolish expression. Marcus hid his pleased smile. Any sylph parent of a gwerin was treated by all gwerins as a parent. Such sylphs turned gwerins' brains into mush and regressed the throwbacks to some form of childhood.

  And that appeared to be happening right now.

  Zenepha smiled around at the humans.

  "I invited Aelfrec here today because I wish to discuss reasons why so few Prefectures have returned and, of those who have pledged to return, only one or two actually have."

  "Well Majesty," began Aelfrec, "this may be because –"

  Zenepha lifted a hand. "We will wait for the alovak," he interrupted.

  Marcus hid a smile. Zenepha had come a long way from the timid, half-terrified sylph he had first met two years before. He doubted if the sylph would ever squeeze back into a collar. Then remembered that those manumitted by the Senate could never be enslaved again.

  The alovak came soon enough, with Silmarila doing most of the carrying. Trays were set down and the large cups arranged.

  "Shall I pour?" suggested Silmarila.

  "I'll do it," insisted Samrita. "After all, you helped bring it here."

  Eleka did her best to hide her surprise, but even then stared open-mouthed at the gwerins.

  Marcus hid a smile. As usual,
Sandev was right. Samrita and Silmarila looked about to squabble over who poured the alovak, eager to help Eleka.

  "Eleka will pour," said Marcus. "That is why she is here."

  Shock painted the gwerins' faces.

  "Of course." Samrita recovered first and stepped back.

  Eleka poured the alovak, watched closely by both gwerins.

  "Now," said Zenepha, after the men had stopped inhaling alovak aroma, "to the reason I asked you here."

  Olista spoke up, before Aelfrec could speak. "Many Prefectures will wait before returning to us, I warned you of that. But you have done well to extend Marka's influence as far as you have." He gestured towards Marcus. "Sandester and the Trading Council, together with Marcus's Calcan, are already back in the fold, and many of those who have pledged to return cannot while they still share no border with us."

  "Is Sandester truly ours?" Zenepha wondered aloud. "The rumors I hear all concern rebellion."

  "There is no rebellion in Sandester," barked Aelfrec.

  "Yet," murmured Marcus. He noticed that the humans failed to overhear him and if the gwerins had, they gave no sign of it as they smiled at Eleka. Only Zenepha's earpoints twitched in his direction.

  "Might not another reason be because Marka is not ruled by a human?" asked the Emperor, quietly.

  Samrita and Silmarila took notice of that.

  "Perhaps," said Marcus.

  "Unlikely," interrupted Samrita. "That you are only a caretaker might be one reason, but that you are a sylph should make no difference."

  Marcus and Olista exchanged a look.

  "Caretaker," said Zenepha. "It looks like I am here for life."

  "You can abdicate any time you wish," said Marcus. "But remember who has the strongest claim. And that this man has cleared his name of all wrongdoing."

  Zenepha's earpoints wilted a little and his smile was wistful. "Marcus, you won a battle against Branad to prove your claim. We fought off Hingast to end his. Enthan sends letters explaining why he ought to be Emperor, but I am certain he will be surprised if he is ever offered the throne."

  "The Sandester branch of the family still has the strongest claim, Majesty," pointed out Aelfrec. "If Verdin persists in his foolishness, then offer the crown to Nazvasta Vintner."