Markan Sword

  The three men laughed.

  Teven stood, nodded, and left.

  ***

  Teven had a small, but select, number of soldiers loyal to him personally. He had his ways of earning their loyalty, which included extortion, bullying, threats and blackmail. These men were always discreet and very effective.

  Right now, three of them played cards against the guardsmen in charge of the cells. And playing very badly indeed.

  Soldier Lemble, one of Teven's men, had chosen soldiery over mutilation after being caught cheating at cards. The man's hands were quick, his cheating almost impossible to see. Lemble had continued his previous career while soldiering, until Teven had found out.

  Lemble's instructions had been specific: seek and befriend the senior guard working afternoons. He'd been given a lot of information, such as the target's name – Fulson – and even the card games the three duty guards liked to play.

  And, after a couple of morning ales, passing time before the inconvenience of working afternoons, Lemble had thrown down his challenge. The three of them against him and two mates, at cards, winner takes all. Fulson, with his morning ale already having a slight effect, probably thanks to the neat alcohol Lemble had used to fortify the man's drink, accepted the challenge.

  Even so, in Lemble's view, Teven's instructions seemed strange. He and his companions must lose the challenge, make it look convincing, and offer to stand the shift for the guardsmen.

  Ranva's breath, but they were soldiers, not guards!

  Lemble had made it convincing. All six sat around the lone table, four light crystal lanterns in the center, and gambled. Coins passed to and fro, laughter filled the small room.

  The corridor beyond led to the cells.

  Two of the guardsmen were eliminated from the card school first, wild cards popping up at random, slipped into the deck by Lemble's quick hands. Then two of the soldiers surrendered all their coin.

  Now just Lemble and Fulson remained.

  "You'll be losing next month's money," chortled one of the guards, a skinny beanpole with a scraggly mustache. Called Dwilt, he had been the first out.

  Lemble grinned. When you finally find out what we're about, you'll be losing more than that, chum. Aloud, he said: "All in from me."

  Grinning, Fulson pushed an equal quantity of coins into the middle.

  Lemble glanced at his cards. Not a single named card, thankfully no wild card (though because those were all up his sleeve, thankfully was perhaps the wrong word), but a good run of six, seven and eight, if of different suits. A good flush, but that would be beaten by...

  "Nine, ten and eleven of Trades," chortled Fulson, reaching out for the coin.

  Lemble swore. "Another round," he said. "Another."

  "You've not got the money!" Fulson shook his head.

  "All right," said Lemble, "here's the deal. If I win, we three get all our money back and walk away; if we lose, you can disappear the rest of the day and we stand your shift here."

  The guardsmen were instantly wary.

  "That would be irregular," said Dwilt, still young enough to believe in rules and regulations.

  "If anything went wrong, we'd be in deep trouble," said Alew, almost as bad a card player as Dwilt.

  Lemble shrugged and exchanged looks with his fellow soldiers. "What could go wrong?" he asked. "You've only got one prisoner."

  "Don't offer them that," protested Clyfe, as arranged. "I bloody hate afternoons. Would rather work nights."

  "I want my money back," said Lemble. "And you two owe me favors anyway." He continued to shuffle the cards and stared at Fulson. "What do you say, Fulson? A free afternoon, or stuck in this stinking dinge-hole?"

  The guards held a muttered conversation. Unsurprisingly, Dwilt proved the most reluctant, but the other two slowly won him around.

  Lemble watched, shuffling the pack over and over.

  Fulson eventually turned back. "All right, we accept. If you lose, we keep your money and you stand our shift."

  Lemble winked. "That's the deal."

  "Cheers Lemble," muttered Clyfe, the sarcasm again prearranged.

  Lemble dealt quickly. He had no idea what cards Fulson received, it didn't matter. He dealt himself an eliminating wild card, the Zeutian of Wands.

  The guards would get their free afternoon.

  Moments later, Fulson chortled in triumphant pleasure. Lemble smiled and congratulated the man warmly. Clyfe looked like he wanted to punch the card sharp.

  "Right," said the winner, still grinning from ear to ear. "We're off then."

  Lemble and his companions waited until the guardsmen had left before he turned to the youngest.

  "Go get the boss, Vin."

  Vin left, returning in minutes.

  With Teven. "Any problems?"

  "As hard as stealing choca off of a sylph," replied Lemble, "but we managed it in the end."

  A smile ghosted across Teven's face. "So I see. Wait here, the three of you. I've arranged witnesses on the far side of the city, so you don't get caught up in the lies those three are bound to spread when they're caught, but wait for me before you leave."

  "Will do, Boss," replied Lemble and passed the keys over.

  Teven took the keys and one of the light crystal lanterns. He ambled along the corridor until he reached the only locked cell. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside with lantern held high.

  These cells were not meant to be comfortable, but a heap of blankets in one corner must hold Yaan. A smell from the slop bucket hung in the air, but Teven paid that no mind. The blankets moved and the prisoner sat up.

  Teven waited for the man's eyes to adjust to the light.

  "What do you want?" demanded Yaan.

  "I'm your guardian angel," promised Teven. At least the prisoner did not sound broken.

  "You're one of them, General Teven," replied Yaan. "Certainly unworthy of any trust."

  "Really? After all the arrangements I made to free you? I hope your hand gets better soon; I've even arranged for a touch healer to sort it out for you."

  "How do you know about that?"

  "I have spies in low places everywhere."

  Yaan grunted.

  "I met with some, ah, colleagues of yours last night," continued Teven. "Seems they really, really want you dead. You ought to be more careful who you choose for friends."

  "They believe I betrayed them?"

  Teven smiled. "They believe you might, sooner rather than later and, despite all you've done for them, they would rather see you dead than take the risk."

  "I can put them right about that," said Yaan.

  "So glad to hear it." Teven smiled. "Well, I meant what I said; you're free to go. You've got about three hours before the farmers start to leave the city and seven hours before the guards are due to change in here. Take the chance, Yaan."

  "How can I trust you?"

  Teven laughed. "Perhaps you can't. Perhaps this is a trick. Stay, if you wish."

  "No." Yaan stood and extended his left hand. "Thank you. And if there is anything I can do for you, let me know."

  Teven looked apologetic. "Actually," he said, "there is something you can do for me."

  Yaan waited. "I hope it won't take you an hour to tell me," he grumped.

  Teven's smile returned. "About three minutes. Would you like to sit for a few moments? I'll explain what you can do for me. In Turivkan's name, of course."

  ***

  Teven smiled to himself after attending Dervra's evening conference. Captain Shais was understandably incensed by his prisoner's escape, and threatened dire consequences for his erring guardsmen.

  Teven had done something there, so he might end up with three more spies and another organization infiltrated.

  He had told Dervra nothing. No mention of a brand new spy placed high in the rebel camp, and one who mistrusted his former companions. A man who believed those fellow rebels wanted him dead and that Teven was now his only protector.

  And Teven wo
uld decide what, if anything, he passed on.

  He had always played every side, waiting until it became clear which would prevail. Everybody believed he stood with them.

  Teven had betrayed Prefect Adelbard, but also arranged escape for his children. One of the sylphs had been foolish enough to return to the palace, though that small problem had been quickly – and for the sylph fatally – resolved.

  Yet Teven had betrayed the location of two of Adelbard's descendants, though not to Dervra. Everybody had forgotten or discounted the third. Despite this betrayal, he knew the blame would land on others' heads for the resulting census. He knew some wanted to claim credit in the hope of gaining Dervra's favor; Teven did not need such advantage, he played his own game.

  Which now grew interesting again.

  Dervra looked and sounded like a man preparing to move on. Perhaps he was one of the Gifted, or some sort of sorcerer, but Teven remained unconvinced. And to claim to be one of the Ten must be nothing short of suicidal, if such a gang of humans truly existed.

  For now, Teven backed every side, as he always had, and waited to see what might happen. If Dervra stiffened, Teven would loyally hand the rebels to him; if not, then Teven would back the rebels against Dervra.

  Until one side or the other moved, Teven remained safe – and uncommitted.

  ***

  Chapter 11

  Scouts Meet

  The man who now called himself Hingast was still surprised whenever he saw Thur Ran Racken's infertile sylph. Not the fact he owned a sylph, but how ordinary she looked. He always expected, for some totally irrational reason, that his sylph would be darker than other sylphs.

  His ordinary-looking infertile had nothing obvious to mark her as different, though he had read somewhere the tradition in Pelirno had been to tattoo infertiles as proof of ownership. Quite when, or even if, the custom had died out, he did not know.

  But he and his companions were not here to look at infertiles.

  The male sylphs Thur had lined up bowed nervously as the visitors approached. Hingast smiled to himself. They looked very like the scouts he had first met two years ago: painted gray, green and brown, with black slashes of paint across their faces and chests, and wearing short worsted breeches painted in the same colors.

  But these sylphs displayed a lack of confidence that Hingast knew must change. Earpoints were at various stages of wilting as the scouts saw the humans looking their way, and a couple trembled. They could not be overcome with nerves whenever a human looked at them, whatever his rank.

  "These ten," Thur explained, "have been training for six weeks. They are still fresh and still learning. They are not the best – not yet."

  Not even close to good, reflected Hingast.

  "They do seem very nervous," said Gusor.

  Thur nodded. "That has something to do with the way Eldovan sylphs are raised," he countered. "It takes time to remove that early conditioning and replace it with something more useful."

  "You've dragged us out here to watch ten nervy sylphs make fools of themselves?" continued Gusor.

  Hingast waited.

  "No, I've dragged you out here so you can see these ten hide." Thur smiled and gestured to the open grassland before them. "You can watch them go and hide, which means they will disappear from your view."

  Unimpressed, Gusor sniffed. "All sylphs can do this," he muttered.

  Thur ignored the comment and nodded to the less experienced sylphs who darted away. He pulled a spyglass from his pocket and opened it out. "This," he said, "comes from Sandester, where the best spyglasses are found."

  Hingast nodded. He knew that, he still had one of his own. He decided not to ask how Thur had acquired his; as far as he knew the man had neither served nor fought against Sandester.

  The ten sylphs found a hiding place and stood beside it, in full view of the watchers. Giving no warning, Thur gave a sharp blast on his whistle, and the trainees dropped out of sight.

  "Now," said Thur, offering the spyglass to Gusor, the most vociferous doubter. "Try to see them. Any of them. If you can, I'll give you a gold pand per sylph you spot."

  "Those boys are good, part trained or not," said Lowst, clearly impressed.

  The man who called himself Hingast smiled to himself. Trust Lowst to be the first to understand the sylphs' potential. He himself had been deeply impressed the first time he had met a sylph scout, a wonderful specimen named Belaika.

  The man who called himself Hingast felt something within stir. No. Not that. He had suppressed this urge for so long that it could not strike now. It would ruin everything, again.

  "I hope you don't expect a pand from me," Gusor was saying. "My eyes aren't what they were."

  "You only get one from me." Thur's deep chuckle resonated in Hingast's chest. "And only if you spot them."

  Gusor looked and looked. His eyes narrowed, he inspected the spyglass several times and looked again. "You using sorcery?" he demanded, eventually.

  Thur gave his rich chuckle again before inviting Lowst to take the syglass.

  "Well, I'll be..." Lowst took less time, but smiled as he inspected the field. "Are there any ready for me to take when I leave? Ranva's balls no, I'll have this ten, if we ever see them again."

  Thur retrieved his spyglass and gave Lowst a gentle thump on the shoulder. "You can take another ten," he promised. "I have plenty who are better."

  Thur gave another short blast on his whistle, and the sylphs stood again. They remained in place.

  "Are there any fully trained?" asked Lowst. "Can I see them?"

  Thur smiled. "There are another ten out there," he said.

  Gusor and Lowst exchanged a look.

  Thur turned to face the field and clapped his hands sharply together. Ten more sylphs sprang to their feet and Thur's companions, Hingast included, started.

  These scouts rose from the ground within easy hearing distance. Lowst inspected them, realizing these held themselves with a lot more confidence than he had seen from the others. He stepped down and began speaking with the scouts, asking questions and receiving calm answers.

  "These," said Thur, "were out there, but have drawn closer while you were watching. And you never noticed their movement."

  This time, even Gusor looked won over. "When we leave," he said, "can I take some of them too?"

  "Of course." Thur nodded in approval. "I trust you can see that these look a lot more capable than the first ten you met."

  They also looked tough and disciplined, Hingast thought.

  The less experienced sylphs now rejoined Thur as a soldier handed a small leather bag to his commander. The scouts clustered around the General and Hingast watched as Thur doled out slivers of dark choca.

  "Any more questions for the sylphs, gentlemen?" asked Thur.

  Gusor and Lowst shook their heads.

  Thur nodded to the sylphs, and the less experienced trotted away, choca already gone. The other ten stayed back and tried to look unobtrusive. Perhaps not all the Eldovan conditioning had been removed after all. Hingast restrained a smile as he spotted the infertile gently nudge her owner.

  She received a small sliver of choca, handed out almost absently.

  "General Thur," said Hingast, "you have done very well. Congratulations."

  Thur inclined his head. "Congratulate the sylphs, Majesty. They have worked hard. Now some of them can learn how things out in the field really are."

  Hingast turned to the remaining sylphs, and ten pairs of silver-gray eyes looked back neutrally. "Well? Are you ready to try the work for real?"

  Ten sudden smiles, ten pairs of twitching earpoints, ten pairs of excited eyes. The answer came from ten throats.

  "Se bata!"

  ***

  While he remained in the city, another of Thur's duties was that of spymaster. He felt certain another man probably filled the real role, and that his official appointment served to mask the real intelligence gatherer. Even so, plenty of, and possibly even all, information pa
ssed through his hands.

  His office – really a collection of offices with twelve secretaries – sat beneath the palace, between the servants' quarters and the wine cellar. It had its own stairway, accessed from an office above. A door – always kept locked – led into the servants' living spaces, but it had never been used in Thur's memory.

  Descending the stair after returning from showing off the new scouts, Thur entered the outer office and the two secretaries working there looked up. One of them, a retired soldier named Vabon immediately stood and crossed the floor to join Thur.

  "A pigeon came with this, Sir," he said, proffering a small sheet.

  "Thank you." Thur glanced at the paper. That had never been attached to a pigeon's leg, but had been translated from cipher, presumably by Vabon. "Groups of soldiers traveling along the Markan Road. Who did this come from?"

  "One of the farms in Mpopa," replied Vabon. "We have also received this. And this. All from different farms."

  And all told the same tale, Thur realized. He smiled at Vabon.

  "Thank you again," he said. "I'll see that His Majesty is informed."

  "Of course, Sir." Vabon paused, head cocked to one side. "Ah, these are our soldiers? Just that my son marched with the army, Sir, and I'd like to see he's all right."

  Thur gave the secretary a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he's with one of the groups," he said.

  Vabon smiled and returned to his own duties.

  Thur watched the man go. He hoped Hingast had told the truth about his own return from the field. The hardest thing to deal with in these backward northern countries was the way in which everybody seemed to lie as a matter of course.

  How had Eldova managed to breed so many cowards? He would pass the messages on. And he hoped nobody innocent died as a result. Because another suspicion had surfaced.

  Were these men marching along the Marka Road cowards who had fled the field of battle, or were the cowards those who had already returned with Hingast?

  With this uncomfortable thought uppermost, he took the stairs three at a time as he went to report.

  ***

  Mpopa was a rich Prefecture. Rolling hills with fertile valleys between, there were few towns of note, but plenty of hamlets and villages. There were even a few large lakes and plenty of rushing rivers. The land alternated between pasture and arable, with areas left fallow for this growing season.

  The road kept to the valleys, rising to the occasional pass, but nobody batted an eyelid at the small groups of soldiers passing through. Some people rushed children inside, but most just continued with their everyday tasks.