Markan Sword

  "No!" Marcus was vehement. "Branad renounced his claim before the Senate. That one is over. Verdin recognizes that."

  Unimpressed, Aelfrec sniffed. "It is up to the Senate to decide that," he retorted.

  "Actually, no it isn't," said Olista.

  Aelfrec blinked. "The Supreme Council makes its recommendations, but the Senate decides."

  Olista smiled. "Only to end an interregnum. Which is not the case right now. We have an Emperor." He gestured vaguely in Zenepha's direction.

  Aelfrec wore a disgruntled expression.

  Rogort spoke up. "When the Emperor dies, the crown passes to his eldest son, automatically."

  "Zenepha has no sons," muttered Aelfrec.

  Rogort ignored him. "When an Emperor abdicates, he may do so in favor of whoever he wishes."

  Aelfrec twisted to stare at Zenepha. "Are you about to abdicate?"

  "I think about it every day."

  Aelfrec's mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments. "I trust you will listen to proper advice and choose your successor wisely."

  "He has the wisest advice," said Samrita, quietly. Her gaze flickered briefly to Marcus and away again. "When the time comes, he knows who to ask."

  Aelfrec had not missed that flicker. He pointed at Marcus without looking at him. "A significant proportion of this empire will not accept that man on the throne."

  Samrita smiled. "That is their choice. But Branad renounced his claim, before the Senate, in his own name and that of his descendants."

  "Nazvasta is not a descendant." Aelfrec sounded sulky.

  Marcus sighed. "Actually, yes he is," he said. "If Branad had died without a son, the claim would have passed to his older daughter. If Branad had died without daughters as well, then the claim would pass to Nazvasta. So from the point of view of inheritance, Nazvasta is a descendant. The claim is renounced."

  "Branad's aunts and uncles have descendants to press the claim," protested Aelfrec.

  Marcus snorted. "Even further removed from Branad than Nazvasta. They are still – legally – descendants with regards to inheritance. Accept it, Aelfrec, the Sandesteran claim is over, finished, ended. I will be the next Emperor, or there will be no Emperor."

  "Is that a threat?"

  Marcus laughed. "A statement of fact only. The only threats I hear come from the faction you still support, Aelfrec." He turned to Zenepha. "Never have I raised this subject to you but, should you decide to step down, I wish to be considered for my rightful place, through blood and battle, which is to replace you on Marka's throne."

  The gwerins stared at him wide-eyed. Samrita eventually gave a sylph's blink.

  "Very bluntly put," murmured Olista.

  "Yes," agreed Aelfrec.

  "Bluntness be damned," retorted Marcus. "You invited Branad and myself here in the first place. You knew we would meet and that there would be a battle. He lost, I won. My support to Zenepha remains but, should he abdicate, that large, heavy chair in the council chamber is mine."

  "More alovak?" asked Eleka, as the silence stretched.

  "Let me pour." Samrita leapt to her feet.

  "And the Father has blessed me with a sylph who produces gwerins," added Marcus, pointing to Eleka. "How many more signs can you possibly want?"

  Olista leaned back and steepled his fingers, watching Zenepha closely.

  "The throne," continued Marcus, "is mine. Only a question of when, not if." He turned to Aelfrec. "And even you know that."

  ***

  The Chief Cashier of the Royal Mint had been summoned to see Olista, so his wife called on Zandra. Among the first of Zandra's recruits, Arran Sacla had proven herself a loyal ally and a reliable source of information. Always pleased to receive her to catch up on guild gossip, Zandra waited patiently for alovak. The niceties must be observed always, even for social visits.

  Zandra almost sent Jenn to bring the alovak, but one of the kitchen girls eventually arrived with the alovak. She entered the apartments without knocking. "Sorry about that," she panted, "but one of the boys let the fire die out."

  "It happens." Zandra smiled at the girl, taking in the dark brown hair and dark blue eyes so common in Marka. "Are you new here?"

  "Yes, Miss." The girl smiled, showing sparkling teeth. She moved delicately, with a hint of hesitation, as if expecting a blow. "I'm Weyna Hilltop."

  "Well thank you, Weyna. I hope your association here is a long and happy one."

  Weyna smiled again. "Me too, Miss." She all but fled from the room.

  Jenn poured alovak, watched by Arran's own sylph, Cetlyn.

  "A local bean," announced Arran, after taking a long sniff of the alovak.

  Zandra gestured with a hand. "My own stock of Calcan bean ran out during the winter," she replied. "I hope to replenish it soon."

  Arran smiled. "I hope so, too."

  Both women relaxed in upholstered chairs, facing a cold fireplace. The small receiving room had the sun on it most of the morning, making a fire unnecessary. A serving table stood between them. Jenn now sat on her heels beside Zandra's chair.

  Arran smiled. "Will you try some hard wheat?" she asked. "Apparently these are fashionable in the city at the moment."

  "Hard wheat?" Zandra raised an eyebrow. "I must say it does not sound appetizing."

  "The wheat is mixed with sugar, then compacted to drive the water out. They are very sweet."

  "They look a lot like oatcakes to me." Zandra looked at the honey-colored objects offered to her.

  "They call them biscuits," offered Arran. "Why not try one?"

  Cetlyn carried the plate to Zandra, her ankle bells jingling as she moved.

  Zandra accepted a biscuit and nibbled delicately at one edge, before nodding appreciatively and taking a full bite. "Delicious," she announced, brushing crumbs away from her mouth.

  "We hope to export them," said Arran. "They should raise considerable funds."

  "Until they learn to make them in other places," remarked Zandra.

  "Even sylphs enjoy them. I... Oh."

  Silently and unbidden, Jenn came to stand beside Arran and the infertile stared at the plate with suspicion.

  "I'm sorry." Zandra apologized for Arran's surprise. "Jenn always moves silently."

  "This is why we usually bell our domestic sylphs," said Arran. "They are too quiet, else. Have you considered belling her?"

  The look Jenn directed at Arran should have warned the woman she walked on dangerous ground.

  "Will you see if the snacks I ordered are ready yet?" Zandra caught Jenn's attention and the infertile inclined her head before leaving.

  "Probably gone to startle a cook or two." Arran laughed.

  "I went as far as buying an anklet of bells for Jenn," said Zandra. "Could I try another of those? Thank you."

  "She will not wear them?" asked Arran. "I am told some sylphs dislike them."

  Zenepha for one, thought Zandra. "Jenn manages to hide whenever I'm thinking of bringing them out for her to try." That was not quite the truth. Jenn had thrown a tantrum when Zandra had tried to put the bells on her and complained to Marcus. And he suggested bells were not a good idea for his sylph. Zandra had never heard of an infertile making such a fuss over something so unimportant. If anything, Jenn stood out as an exception by not wearing them.

  "Such a pity," replied Arran. "Catlyn never removes hers except to bathe."

  "I can see the advantage of bells, but Jenn is reluctant to wear anything unless Marcus insists on it."

  "She only serves him?"

  "She only obeys him," retorted Zandra.

  Arran laughed. "Of course, she was given to Marcus before you were married." She nodded as if that explained everything.

  "Sadly, yes." Zandra knew more about Jenn than the small infertile realized.

  The runt of her litter, nobody had expected Jenn to survive long. But what she lacked physically, she made up for through sheer determination and stubbornness, traits she still displayed in wainloads. Not had she survived, b
ut quickly established herself the most dominant of her siblings. All her siblings, and not just her littersisters.

  "She is very small," said Arran. "Even for an infertile."

  "She makes up for it by being so forward," said Zandra. "And she displayed that forwardness long before Marcus encouraged her to speak her mind. But she's utterly devoted to him. When we arrived here, her clothes were little better than rags, but she sulked when I gave her new ones, until Marcus told her how pretty she looked. And ever since, she's been fine with them."

  "So she bonded well with Marcus."

  "But not to me." Zandra shrugged. "She's fine with the children, and that's the important thing. It's a pity she was given to Marcus when both were so young, but quite frankly I can't see him with any other sylph."

  "She is jealous of you?"

  "Only of the time I spend with Marcus. Or time he spends away from her. Like today."

  "How sweet."

  You might not think so if you ever see her throwing a tantrum. Zandra smiled. That was none of Arran's business anyway. She glanced across as the door opened and Jenn returned, bearing a tray laden with sweetmeats and pots of honey dips.

  With a jingle of bells, Cetlyn dashed to help the other infertile, but was ignored. Jenn insisted that she put the tray on the table and once done, she stood back.

  Zandra gestured with a hand. "Please, help yourself."

  Arran leaned forward. Once done, she snapped one of the hard wheat biscuits in two and offered half to Cetlyn and half to Jenn. The sylphs accepted this treat eagerly – Jenn only a little slower because she waited for Zandra's nod before taking the biscuit.

  Zandra watched a look of delight cross Jenn's features.

  "I think you're right," said Zandra, "this new treat will be popular with sylphs. The choca makers will be going out of business."

  Jenn looked up and shook her head. "Melt the choca and spread it on this," she said, flourishing her half-eaten biscuit.

  Arran stared open-mouthed at the infertile. Zandra blinked. Cetlyn giggled.

  "Let me get my pencil," said Arran, after a long moment. "That is a brilliant idea, Jenn. Brilliant."

  Zandra sat back and failed to hide her proud smile.

  For her part, the infertile seemed unconcerned by the buzz she had just caused. She shrugged at Arran's excitement and eyed the last biscuit greedily.

  "If I can have that," she said, "then you can have my idea."

  "Jenn!" Zandra's voice held a warning tone.

  Arran waved away the sylph's insolence with a hand. "Take it," she said, vacantly, while scribbling with her other hand. "It's yours."

  ***

  "Where are we going?" Nedilen demanded of Janin. "The guard said free sylphs were here." He hoped nobody had lied to him. Humans lied as a matter of course and he would not be surprised if that trait had rubbed off on their sylphs.

  Janin had led the older sylph back through the gates and now walked alongside one of the walls. "Our cousins have chosen to live outside the city," he replied, turning his head to look over his shoulder. "They visit sometimes and those who are scouts must take their turns at duties within the walls." He shrugged. "They prefer the forest."

  "Scouts?" asked Nedilen, increasing his pace to walk alongside his guide.

  "They were interested," replied Janin. "So they asked if they could help."

  Nedilen eyed the younger sylph, though his gaze flinched away from the leather collar. The thing looked as though the other sylph could remove it should he wish. How could he wear it at all? "What is a scout?"

  "We send messages and watch out for enemies," replied Janin. He gestured to himself. "I'm learning to be a scout."

  "For an army." Nedilen's voice was flat. He shook his head. "I suppose you have no choice, but for one of us to join in the foolishness is not good."

  "It is not foolish," protested Janin. "But very important work."

  "All fighting is foolish," replied Nedilen.

  "Of course." Janin eyed the older sylph's walking staff. "Which is why you carry a weapon."

  "That is what I like predatory humans to think," replied Nedilen. "And I must say you think like a human. That saddens me."

  Janin fell silent at the quiet contempt in the older sylph's voice. Nedilen followed the painted sylph into the forest, where his earpoints twitched this way and that, though he said nothing. He also sniffed at the air before nodding in satisfaction. Familiar smells that reminded him of home.

  "We are almost there," promised Janin.

  "I know."

  Almost before Nedilen finished speaking, they were there.

  Neither sprawling nor small, the colony consisted of thatched huts, low to the ground. Sylphs of all three sexes were sat about working on one thing or another, while others checked thatch or cleaned their huts. A low hum of conversation filled the air. Everything appeared neat and orderly, if rather too close to the city for Nedilen's comfort.

  Trees swayed gently overhead, and dappled sunshine reached the forest floor. The colony spilled out from a central clearing, and Nedilen heard running water, though he could not see any streams from here. To judge from the inhabitants he had already seen, a bathing pool must also lie nearby.

  At least they had the sense to understand what they needed to make their colony succeed as somewhere to live.

  Very few sylphs he saw were properly adult, and he guessed slavers preferred to take younger specimens. Even if populated by youngsters, the colony seemed properly run.

  As more and more sylphs became aware of the newcomers, all conversation ceased and heads turned, silver-gray eyes staring in wonder.

  Nedilen's head and earpoints turned this way and that. His lips thinned whenever he spotted a sylph wearing what looked like a necklace decoration. Those twine necklaces did not fool Nedilen and he hoped his disgust did not show too obviously. These sylphs had spent too long too close to humans.

  "Who leads here?" asked Nedilen.

  A male and female sylph stepped forward. He guessed they might be the oldest here, yet barely fully grown.

  "We do," replied the male. "While he is in the city."

  "Nedilen Awibsalla-y-Hriptuven," said the older sylph, introducing himself. He liked what he saw of the two sylphs who led the colony, even if they were far too young for their roles. He hoped there had been a proper election.

  "Acawibsalla." A whisper of awed respect rippled through the sylphs and they instinctively drew closer to him.

  Aelfina blinked in surprise. "Aelfina-y-Nebonda," he replied.

  Nedilen turned patient eyes to Aelfina's wife.

  "Damaran-y-Nebonda."

  "And who," continued Nedilen, "is 'he'?"

  Aelfina and Damaran exchanged a quick look, while a sense of confused anticipation emanated from the other sylphs.

  Aelfina's earpoints wilted slightly and he began to look out of countenance. "He is Kestan Taynor-y-nebonda, General of Lances and Field Commander in Marka."

  "A human leads you?"

  "Yes." Aelfina straightened and looked the older sylph straight in the eye. "He led the men who freed us. He made sure we were clothed, fed and cared for until such time as we could establish our own colony."

  "And made you his thralls?"

  "It is not like that," protested Aelfina.

  "Yet." Nedilen pointed to an infertile, then to a breeder, then to a young male. "Those neck decorations are obscene," he said. "They emulate... this." He touched Janin's collar.

  The sylphs he pointed to had the decency to blush a brighter blue and wilt their earpoints. They ought to be thoroughly ashamed of themselves, betraying their heritage by copying enslaved sylphs.

  "We began an argument about freedom," protested Aelfina. "Many of the city sylphs may ask for their freedom."

  "You think?" Nedilen shook his head. "Slavery is engrained in them, they know nothing else and fear anything else. Do you want freedom, boy?"

  This last was aimed at Janin and, startled, the scout quickl
y shook his head.

  Nedilen gave Aelfina a look that suggested end of discussion. "And you even work for the humans. As scouts."

  "Some of us." Aelfina's earpoints wilted further.

  "And more are nurses," interrupted Damaran. "These humans are our friends, we are happy to help out. It is not the same as being their slaves."

  "How many generations before you are?" Nedilen sniffed. "None of you are Hriptuven," he continued. "What you do is your problem. But where is my son, Tilipha?"

  A sylph painted in scouting colors of gray, green and brown, complete with black slashes of paint across face and chest, stepped forward. Nedilen's eyes widened further and further, and his earpoints rose to their fullest extent. He saw kneelength breeches but, thankfully, none of that foolish twine so many others had adopted.

  "Tilipha, son."

  Tilipha stepped forward and embraced his father. "Enya," he said, fighting tears. "I have missed you, Father."

  ***

  Grayar read quietly in his easychair, a forefinger tucked under one corner of the page about to be turned. Clatterings from his small kitchen betrayed Salu's movements as she brewed alovak, an especially loud noise suggesting she might have dropped the tin that held crushed beans.

  Grayar had company in his study.

  The ilven Djerana wrapped brunette hair around one finger before releasing it again, and wandered along the shelves of books. Grayar knew the ilven could not read, but she patted some books like old friends.

  When she turned, Grayar's blue eyes met Djerana's emerald green.

  The ilven blinked and stopped pacing.

  Grayar smiled. "All right, I give up," he said, folding a papermark into his place and setting the book aside. "Why are you eager to see me?"

  "I've not seen you for a while," said Djerana.

  "Not since before winter. I'm only two floors below you." Grayar knew a guilty conscience had not driven her here, but ilven often went around the outbuildings before getting to the point. Djerana was no exception. "Something is clearly troubling you."

  "I thought you might have returned home by now."

  Grayar chuckled. "Somebody must keep a careful watch on you. And sometimes more than one somebody is needed."

  Djerana's eyes narrowed; ilven did not seem to fully understand banter. "I know Sandev would tell you if I needed your help."

  "Such as returning home yourself?" Grayar arched an eyebrow.

  "Not yet." The ilven blinked. "The short visits you allow me home are sufficient."

  "You mean the short visits when you ask me to take you home and give strict instructions when I must return to fetch you back?"