***
Tearful sylphs lined the way, some breaking ranks to hug an owner. Neptarik led the column, even if he was quickly out of sight. Reshiad watched the displays from the other sylphs and wondered how many would decide following their owners might be the best idea. Such behavior could give the army's location away to the enemy.
He must have said something aloud, because Verdin spoke.
"They've been given strict instructions to stay behind," he said. "Given the way you sometimes treat sylphs, I'm certain they will obey."
"Perhaps," replied Serifa. "But many sylphs know their own mind and their loyalty is unquestioned. Usually."
More and more left the old mine, immediately breaking up into small groups.
"Everybody will make their way to Turivkan," said Serifa. "Smaller parties are safer than one large group. With any luck, Dervra won't know what's coming until we're there."
Reshiad sniffed. "The man's Gifted, isn't he?"
"Whether Gifted or a sorcerer, he isn't omnipotent," replied Verdin.
Reshiad said nothing, but he hoped they weren't riding into a trap.
***
Chapter 10
In Turivkan
Marlen Masser looked around the conference table, his pale blue eyes expressionless. Just short of his fortieth year, Marlen could take some satisfaction from his achievements, even if all the important ones had been gained in Dervra's shadow. Even now, he sat at the man's right.
The administrator droned on, boring everybody to death with his lists. Marlen had always despised Kanad, from the very first moment they met. An Eldovan, Kanad had marched with the now dead Hingast, the intention being to install him as Governor of Marka. Kanad had arranged people displacements before, but he was also a skilled administrator. As he had proved in Turivkan.
But.
Marlen could not care less about people displacements, a quaint euphemism for mass enslavement and murder; those had all been arranged under the beady eye of the insane Hingast. He despised Kanad because of the man's cowardice.
General Teven Vorbert looked to be asleep. The man's eyes were shut, though he still sat straight. His stature, lank black hair and slightly slanted eyes showed a southern inheritance. The man had served under the old Prefect and, true to his undoubted mercenary origins, had proved more than willing to serve under the new.
A General, yet the man had never been tested in battle.
Beside him sat Captain Shais, commander of Turivkan's City Guard. A stout man with a jovial expression, though his green eyes gave lie to the demeanor. A dangerous man, with a cruel streak. Marlen respected this man, though there was little to like. He now sat to Dervra's left.
And Delnor.
A servant, if a high one. Marlen had nothing against the man, but he resented the private chats he enjoyed with Dervra. That suggested some sort of reserve plan, one that excluded Marlen. He knew from others' experience that exclusion from any of Dervra's plans could prove fatal.
A lesson Hingast had learned to his cost.
"Thank you, Kanad," said Dervra. "You have been very thorough."
Too bloody thorough, reflected Marlen, as the administrator bobbed his head.
Dervra turned to his left. "Captain Shais; have you learned any more about this... rebellion?"
Shais pursed his lips. "There is little to glean from peasants who know nothing other than how to use a stick and that you are the enemy."
"Peasants with sticks have brought down empires," muttered Marlen, whose humble birth still rankled.
"Thank you, Marlen." Dervra's deep blue eyes glittered. "Continue, Captain."
"As well as Turivkan, I have learned about cells in Alban, Reyas, Salkis..."
"I think we can assume there are cells in every town and city," interrupted Dervra. "If they are aware of each other, they are organized. If there is organization, there are leaders. Try to capture one of those."
Shais ran a hand through blond hair. "Already thought of that one, boss," he said. "Even better, I've got one."
"Excellent." Dervra showed no surprise; Marlen suspected the man already knew. "And?"
"They only brought him in this morning," replied Shais. "Will go and speak with him after this meeting."
"I will accompany you," said Marlen.
Shais opened his mouth to deny the request, but Dervra broke in first.
"Please do, Marlen," he said.
Shais closed his mouth and glowered.
"How many cells have we infiltrated?" asked Marlen.
"All of them," replied Shais. "Well, all the ones we're aware of. The problem isn't getting men in, the problem is getting messages out."
"And is Turivkan ready for any assault from peasants with sticks?" Dervra turned to Teven, whose eyes were certainly open now.
"We are," he barked. "They come here, we'll squash 'em."
"I'm glad to hear it." Dervra smiled.
Marlen doubted if there would be any direct assault. Left to him, he would...
"Well thank you, gentlemen," said Dervra. "You all have your duties to attend."
Marlen had no choice but to follow the others out of the room.
"Not you, Delnor," said Dervra. "I'd like a word with you."
Marlen grimaced. Again, Delnor. He hoped this word had nothing to do with a reserve plan. He so hated feeling surplus to requirements. He caught up with Shais and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Let's go take a look at this prisoner of yours," he said.
***
Marlen looked at the prisoner. He felt distinctly unimpressed at the man's appearance, with stubble and unbrushed brown hair. The rough woolens the man wore had seen better days, though nothing marked him as anything out of the ordinary.
Marlen had always wished that something would mark rebels and traitors. Life could be made so much easier if sorcery – or in his case, even the hated Gift – had some talent for spotting malefactors.
A guard stood just inside the door, while Marlen and Shais faced the entry, the prisoner forced to sit with his back to the open door.
"You have a name," said Shais.
Calm hazel eyes calm regarded the Captain with a hint of mocking laughter. "Everybody has a name," replied the prisoner.
Marlen hoped his exasperation didn't show. Of course the man had a name! Everybody except young infertile sylphs had names and this man was obviously no sylph. Now the idiot had asked the man for his name, they must now win the battle. The effort would be better expended on learning answers to more important questions.
"I am Marlen Masser and this is Captain Shais of the –"
"I know."
Marlen's pale blue eyes hardened at the interruption. "You are involved with a group of rebels causing trouble throughout the Prefecture," he said.
The prisoner looked back. "Got no idea what you're talking about. Just a farmer, me."
"With the accents of Turivkan's merchant class?" Marlen raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you own several farms, but if you're a farmer, I've got earpoints and silver eyes."
The man shrugged.
Marlen's eyes flickered to the doorway. "Guard, join us please."
The guard crossed the floor.
Marlen continued. "I doubt if this man will tell me if he is right- or left-handed, so please break the little fingers on both hands."
The prisoner's hazel eyes widened. "You'd break my fingers because I won't tell you my name?"
Marlen felt Shais's gaze. "No, I'll break your fingers for your rudeness. You have our names, yet will not supply your own." Marlen's pale blue eyes flickered to the guard. "Continue."
"I am Yaan Erkin," said the prisoner, quickly, as the guard leaned forward.
Marlen sat back and smiled. He nodded to the guard, who returned to his post. "Thank you, Yaan." No doubt the man had supplied a false name, underlining the pointlessness of Shais's initial question.
Shais opened his mouth to speak, but Marlen forestalled him.
"We know you're a me
mber of the rebel group," he continued, "we are not interested in hearing your denials, only in names."
This time, Yaan's smile was mocking. "Or you'll break my fingers?"
Marlen returned the smile. "No. I'll remove every extremity from your body and throw you naked into the streets to beg. Or starve."
Yaan shook his head. "Don't believe you," he replied. "You already backed away from breaking my fingers."
Marlen assumed a surprised expression. "So I did; perhaps that was an oversight. Guard, please bring that hammer and hold Master Yaan's hands flat on the table."
***
Marlen forced his face to stillness as he waited outside the closed door to Dervra's small study. Too much had gone on behind that door without his inclusion for Marlen to feel fully comfortable here.
He showed no emotion as Delnor opened the door.
"His Excellency will see you now," said the servant.
Marlen nodded and marched straight in.
Two chairs, one either side of a plain desk. A single rug covered part of the stone-flagged floor, a row of books on the mantel above a cold fireplace. And above the row of books, a lone painting of a snow-capped mountain.
Dervra looked up from behind the desk. His deep blue eyes twinkled.
"You have learned something?"
Marlen turned to stare at Delnor, the servant bristling at the unspoken command.
"Leave us please, Delnor." Dervra gestured with a hand.
Delnor bowed and stalked out of the study.
Marlen remained expressionless, though he felt petty witnessing the servant's small humiliation. He stared at the mismatched bookends until the door had closed again.
"We have indeed learned something." Marlen smiled. "Quite a few somethings. The most important of which is that the rebellion believes it is led by the oldest son of Adelbard."
Dervra's hand, resting on the desk, clenched. "They told us both boys are dead."
"They did tell us and the boys are dead." Marlen smiled. "The boy they claim is really Awen now calls himself Deshad."
"And if it is Awen?"
"It isn't, but if the rebels believe different, then he may as well be."
Dervra laughed. "Dangerous."
"Especially for the imposter when the rebels learn they've been played." Marlen grimaced. "He's probably some youngster with delusions of grandeur. Perhaps he's one who escaped our soldiers."
"There have been too many of those," remarked Dervra.
"We've caught up with most of them now," replied Marlen. "There aren't many boys with dark hair, hazel eyes and the required age left alive in Turivkan."
"Good."
Marlen had failed to grasp quite why Dervra feared his predecessor's boys and supposed that Seeing was somehow involved. The only thing he had in common with Dervra was being able to use both the Gift and sorcery, even if Marlen's Gift had not developed far before he discovered the easier, better way.
"The important thing we've learned is that this rebellion is organized, and probably with outside help," said Marlen. "They have a command structure and cells in every major town and city."
"We had already guessed as much," pointed out Dervra.
Marlen nodded. "Always good to have confirmation though. Every cell has been activated and I believe they are all headed here." He smiled. "It will not come to a siege."
"You seem certain."
"This is no trained army," pointed out Marlen. "Even if, as I suspect, Marka is involved with this rebellion, we are still talking about people who must assume different tactics to achieve their ambition."
"Why should Marka be involved?" asked Dervra.
"Surely you have not forgotten?" Marlen's eyebrows rose in surprise.
"Remind me," prompted Dervra.
"The shadow riders passed through last year. We know they successfully joined with Kelanus and defeated, ah, Hingast." Marlen must remember he had never been party to the knowledge that the man who called himself Hingast, was not actually Hingast.
"Yes," Dervra smiled and nodded. "The gwerin who remembers the old empire and to whom Kanad so foolishly supplied my name."
Marlen smiled and inclined his head. "I am certain Sandev would have been fully appraised of the situation here the moment that gwerin reached Marka."
"I still doubt if Marka is directly involved," said Dervra. "They are too busy elsewhere."
Marlen inclined his head. "I've informed you of everything I learned from the prisoner," he lied. "May I be excused?"
"Of course. Please continue questioning the prisoner and try and get more."
Marlen inclined his head again and left.
Outside, he caught Delnor's arm to stop him from returning inside.
"I'd like a word with you," he said. "Walk this way."
Delnor tried and failed to break free from Marlen's grip. "What do you want with me?"
"I want you to tell me what plots and plans you are involved with."
"Don't you give me that nonsense!" protested the servant. "You don't frighten me with your bullying."
"You are involved in the rebellion and I want to know why."
"You're insane! Let go of me."
Marlen released the man's arm, but quickly wrapped his hand in Delnor's long brown hair and exposed his windpipe.
"You'd better start squealing," growled Marlen.
"Or what?" croaked Delnor.
"One son, two lovely little daughters and lots and lots of cute nephews and nieces," replied Marlen. "You've been seen, whispering in corners and spreading your vile lies."
"That's got nothing to do with the rebellion!" protested Delnor.
"Then you had better tell me, or your family is going to start dying off very, very quickly."
"You are a bastard."
"If you don't start talking, you're about to find out how much of one I really am," Marlen promised, then pushed the servant aside.
Delnor caught himself before he fell and stared at his companion with a mixture of contempt and fear.
"I'll start with Eyvid," Marlen promised. "He won't know what has hit him, but you will."
Delnor looked like he had rejected any idea of punching Marlen. He blinked a few times and looked around. "We can't talk here," he said.
Marlen nodded. "You lead on," he said. "And give me the answers I need." He watched the servant's back as he walked briskly along the corridors. Marlen smiled to himself. He would find out exactly what Dervra had planned without involving him.
A question of survival.
***
General Teven Vorbert, cloaked and looking suitably anonymous, glanced both ways along the street before entering the drinking establishment. Few taverns had a better reputation than the Buckled Hawk, despite the lack of choice when it came to ales.
Smoke from pipes hung heavily in the air and his feet threatened to slip on the freshly washed stone-flagged floor. Many of the men in here were outlanders, mostly from the south. Teven was fully aware that his slanted eyes marked him as an outlander, and outlanders tended to drink together.
While nobody had ever banned outlanders from mingling – Teven's own wife was native Turivkani – but some inner instinct always kept like with like. Plenty of northerners also drank here, but Teven silently thanked Siranva that he did not stand out.
Sylphs twisted through the throng, carrying mugs of cellar-cool ale to customers. Teven caught the eye of one young infertile and she nodded a silent acknowledgment of his unspoken order.
This establishment only had one ale, rather than the selection most others offered, an outlander recipe brewed locally. It couldn't possibly taste the same as the real thing, made with local water, so Teven was never disappointed.
He waited for his ale, thanked and paid the sylph (including extra, to ensure quick service from her next time), then looked for those he intended to meet.
Teven spotted them almost immediately: three plainly dressed northern men in a small huddle around a table. Despite their cloth
es, these three failed to blend with the other drinkers.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, crossing the short distance to the table.
One of the men waved a languid hand, but Teven knew nothing else about this man was weak or sluggish. And he most definitely was not drunk.
"We have a problem," muttered Teven.
"We do?" asked another, a pigeon trainer named Roddard.
"Yaan." Teven grimaced. "He has been captured and, even though I'm not involved in his interrogation, so far he's managed to avoid betraying anything or anyone. But it's only a matter of time."
"When did this happen?" The first man sat up straighter. Named Pallun, he coordinated supplies for the rebellion.
"Yesterday."
The three men looked at each other and then all around, though nobody had any chance of eavesdropping against the din of drunken conversation. These men had always lived in Turivkan and so were forced to use their proper names, and not the pseudonyms adopted by others in the rebellion in an attempt to keep their families safe.
"We must get him back before he says anything," remarked the first speaker, the leader. This man rarely mentioned his name, but Teven knew he sat on the Council and ranked highly. He also knew the man's name: Hevred.
"I've tried to convince the usurper that the rebels will try a direct assault," continued Teven. "But Marlen suspects different."
"Perhaps Marlen ought to die," suggested Roddard.
"You can try and kill him if you like," retorted Teven. "For myself, I prefer to avoid the Gifted. Or whatever he is."
"If he's one of Dervra's men, then a sorcerer," said Hevred.
"Either way, I'm not even going to try." Teven's black eyes glittered. "We should be more interested in Yaan; the man must be saved before he becomes a liability. Do you want him back?"
Hevred pursed his lips, considering. "Can you get him back?"
"I can try," promised Teven.
The leader considered a few moments longer and finally nodded. "Then get him out; he's of far greater use to us than he is to you." He turned to his companions. "Best if the others never find out Yaan has been a prisoner."
The other two nodded.
Teven smiled. "Remember that Marlen's been at him and Marlen likes to have his fun."
"If so, you will need to arrange an accident for him," said Hevred. "I'm not sure we can fully trust you though, General Teven. You've changed sides before."
"I've only ever been on one side." Teven grunted and drained his tankard. "I'd best get back before I'm missed," he said. "You've no idea what these people are like, forever passing summonses and suchlike. Man can't even have a couple of jugs in peace."