Markan Sword

  Basren paused, heart thundering. He faced a legend! This man had caught murderers, recovered lost property, unmasked traitors and, in the process, made himself very wealthy.

  He hesitated, overawed.

  "You seem unsure boy," said Sallis. "Do you think I would claim the name? Dangerous for people to try. I have many enemies, most of them unpleasant people."

  Basren pulled himself together. He glanced at the man's short hair, also dark.

  "I have no idea how to pay you," he said, "but I really, really want someone to find my girlfriend."

  "You scared her off?" A hint of a smile played about Sallis's mouth.

  "The City Guard think I murdered her."

  All traces of humor vanished and Sallis gestured with a hand. "Take a seat. Alovak?"

  Basren shook his head, but Sallis had already called one of the servers over.

  "Usual, donenya?"

  "For two," replied Sallis.

  "Se bata." The sylph disappeared inside with a jingle of ankle bells.

  "Is it true you use the Gift to find criminals?" asked Basren.

  "An unusual line in small talk before alovak." Sallis smiled again. "Yes, it is true."

  "You can tell a criminal just by looking at them?" pressed Basren.

  "I can tell potential criminals just by looking at them," replied Sallis. "Because everybody is a potential criminal."

  Basren felt a stab of disappointment. "I had hoped you could tell I am innocent of everything the guard think I've done."

  "I'll get a feel about that as our conversation continues." Sallis's gaze flickered quickly aside. "Here's our alovak."

  The sylph set the tray down and bowed. Sallis efficiently set out the two cups, inspected the contents of the alovak can, and poured.

  Basren inhaled the aroma, then took a small sip.

  "Now, why not tell me who's missing?" prompted Sallis.

  "My girlfriend," replied Basren.

  Sallis sipped his alovak. "Has she got a name?"

  "Kaira. She is the Vintner's governess."

  Sallis placed his cup down precisely, but otherwise sat quite still. "I see."

  "We want to get married. I love her!"

  "Usually a good start if you want to marry, despite what nobles claim." Sallis frowned. "Why would she run away?"

  "I don't know."

  "Have you got anything that belongs to her?" pressed Sallis.

  Basren had read about this peculiarity of the man sat opposite. He had originally thought it must be some sort of gimmick, now he would discover the truth.

  "Yes," he replied. He took a small piece of folded linen from his pocket and put it on the table.

  Sallis held out his hand and shook his head. "Not on the table," he said. "Give it to me."

  Basren wondered why Sallis didn't just pick the favor up, but did as he was told. He watched as Sallis closed his eyes. Then as Sallis frowned.

  "Is it working?"

  Sallis opened his eyes, sniffed, then passed the linen square back. "I won't be able to find her for you," he said.

  Basren's eyes widened and his mouth worked silently.

  Sallis kept his voice gentle. "I hope you're ready for this," he said, "but Kaira is dead."

  Basren found his voice. "She can't be!"

  "She can be and she is." Sallis sighed. "I cannot follow the dead."

  Basren held his head in his hands and his shoulders shook. People glanced across and Sallis shook his head at them.

  Basren looked up, eyes bloodshot and cheeks wet. "You can find her body," he said.

  "I can try."

  "And when you do, that will lead you to her killer."

  "If anything belonging to the killer is with her, then yes. Otherwise, no."

  More tears leaked free. "Then find her," Basren begged. "Please?"

  Sallis refilled the cups.

  "They will think I killed her. I did not."

  Sallis pushed Basren's cup nearer. "I believe you."

  The server, at the far side of the alovak house glanced Sallis's way, but he shook his head at her.

  "Why her?" Basren angrily wiped at his face. "She never did anyone any harm, so why her?"

  Sallis said nothing to that.

  Basren stared at the dark-eyed man. "Why is it always the innocent people who get hurt?"

  Sallis's lips twitched upward, but not in a smile. "Believe me," he said, voice little more than a whisper, "sometimes it's the guilty who get hurt."

  Basren fought for control.

  "Some advice for you," continued Sallis. "Drink your alovak, return to wherever it is you live, and release all that pent-up emotion. Get all your grief out, then return here tomorrow and we shall talk again."

  "What would you know about it?" Basren almost wished the words back. Not only did he bandy angry words with a fighting man, but why was he angry at all?

  Sallis gave Basren a tolerant look. "More than you might ever realize," he replied. "I'll see you tomorrow. Drink your alovak, and go."

  ***

  Basren had been gone for only moments before Sallis ti Ath had another visitor. He spotted Oston, Captain Crallin's stocky secretary, hurrying towards him. Sallis smiled to himself; typical for commissions to come his way two or three at a time.

  Sallis turned to the server and nodded his head for fresh alovak. The sylph crossed to him and cleared away the used alovak cups and tray.

  Oston glanced at it. "Another friend?" he asked.

  "You might be surprised to learn I've got more than one," replied Sallis. "I've ordered fresh alovak."

  "That'll be welcome," replied Oston. "The day is warmer than expected."

  The sylph returned quickly with clean mugs and a can of fresh alovak. Oston thanked the infertile when he received his.

  "I'm sure you're here on business," said Sallis.

  "Good guess." Oston grinned.

  "Let me see." Sallis's brown eyes twinkled as he stroked his chin. An old game: guess the commission. "You want me to find a missing librarian, a visitor from Sandester."

  "How do you know about that?" Oston smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  "More than one secretary feeds me tidbits of information now and again," replied Sallis.

  "I doubt if an unpaid lodgings bill is your line of work," said Oston.

  "Perhaps not." Sallis shrugged. "If it's not the librarian, you must want me to find the Vintners' missing governess."

  "Close." Oston did not smile now.

  "That's fortunate. I might have a hunt around for her myself, but you do realize I'm looking for a dead woman?"

  "We suspect as much. Suspected. How do you know she's dead?"

  Sallis gave an offhand gesture. "We Gifted have our ways."

  "We want you to keep an eye on the boyfriend," said Oston. "His name –"

  "– is Basren Kellit Anerin," completed Sallis. "I know."

  Oston's dark eyes blinked. "One step ahead of me I see. Basren is our prime suspect for the murder."

  "So he told me." Sallis inhaled the aroma of his alovak before sipping at it, eyes closed.

  "Basren told you?"

  Sallis opened his eyes. "Basren did indeed. In fact, he's commissioned me to find the killer."

  "Has he?" Oston schooled his face to stillness.

  "He came to me believing her to be alive and gave me a scrap of cloth that had belonged to her. I got nothing off it, so that's how I know Kaira's dead."

  "I suppose that was his alovak the sylph took as I arrived?"

  "Yes."

  "And I suppose the guard have got the wrong man as suspect?"

  Sallis smiled. "Ah, I can't give you a definite answer there. But I suggest it would take a very foolish killer to commission me to find the murderer." He arched an eyebrow.

  Oston's smile returned. "We need to review our procedures," he said. "We do seem to have developed a habit of hunting the wrong people."

  Sallis shrugged. "Thankfully, not all crimes are straightforward," he said.


  "We prefer the easy ones."

  "No we don't." Sallis drained his alovak. "If there were no crimes too difficult for you to crack, I'd have no work."

  ***

  Nedilen winced and grimaced as the final notes faded to silence. More than twenty young sylphs surrounded him and, while the song had not been bad, it hardly counted as good either.

  He glanced at the hills and winced again as he saw no hint of sunlight.

  "If he does not return in the morning, I know who to blame," he said, eventually.

  The youngsters laughed, if uncertainly. Thankfully, Nedilen knew enough sylphs would sing – and had sung – to wish the sun a good night, that he might overlook a few strangled notes, or voices not quite as pure as they ought to be.

  "We can try the song again," said Nedilen, looking at the six males and fourteen females. Infertiles were excluded – very few had good singing voices and none ever good enough to be sunsingers. The sun only appreciated the very best sylphs had to offer.

  The younglings shifted on their feet. Nedilen thought of them all as youngsters, even the adults. "Vendigar, you must take deep breaths at the end of your lines. Teleran, keep your head up; that helps keep your air passages clear. And how many times, Erian, must I tell you to open your mouth wide to sing? We sing to the sun to wish him well on his night's journey, not give him a dirge to mourn over."

  Jaclan sniffed disparagingly and her earpoints slanted forward. "In our tribe, the sun is a she," she said.

  "Well in my tribe, he is a he," retorted Nedilen, "and as I am your teacher, we will call him a him."

  Jaclan sniffed again and glanced at Vendigar. Nedilen suspected she only joined in this because he desperately wanted to be a sunsinger. So long as she joined in properly, he would not pass comment about her romantic entanglements.

  "Right," continued Nedilen, pleased all opposition had collapsed, "we will try again. And... sing!"

  Twenty sylph voices soared through the notes, wishing the now-departed sun a great and glorious night and hoping that she, he, whatever, would return to give life to the world tomorrow.

  "Better!" Nedilen shouted with pleasure. "Much, much better. We'll make sunsingers of you all yet."

  Evening's gloom deepened over Marka and its lush valley.

  ***

  Chapter 16

  The Sword

  Olista held a light crystal lantern high as he led Marcus deep underground. Two purple-cloaked guardsmen from Marcus's personal guard brought up the rear, one of them holding a second lantern. Both lights threw looming shadows across the walls and ceiling.

  The underground labyrinth lay beneath the coronation building and Marcus stared all around. Bare rock, with patches of brickwork in places, and all surprisingly dry, given how far down they had come. Where Marcus saw bare rock, he wondered how the builders had managed to keep the sides of their tunnel so smooth. As they came deeper, the lanterns' light reflected off metal walls.

  "Is that steel?" asked Marcus.

  Olista glanced over his shoulder. "We're not sure," he replied. "Certainly metal of some sort. These tunnels were built during or shortly after the First Civilization."

  "Older than the city," remarked the claimant.

  Olista nodded. "Much older."

  In contrast with the lining covering walls and ceiling, the brick wall ahead with a heavy oak door appeared primitive. The Supreme Councilor halted before the door and turned a key in a well oiled lock. With barely a click, the door swung open.

  "Wait here, please." Olista spoke quietly to the guardsmen, but his voice boomed from the walls.

  Marcus and Olista stepped through into an anteroom and walked towards a second wall and door. The same strange metal covered the walls here, and the floor showed remnants of tiling to either side. And there was still no sign of damp.

  Marcus's mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. "I never knew this existed."

  "Few do," replied Olista. "Not exactly secret, but we don't shout about its existence, either."

  Olista unlocked the second door, which opened outwards. Stepping through, he beckoned Marcus to follow.

  Within, the claimant stared.

  "Have you brought me here to mock me?" demanded Marcus, eyes wide.

  The crown jewels were all here, on their purple cushions: crown, scepter, orb and, hilt poking from its plain scabbard, the sword that had belonged to the First Mark, the near legendary figure who had founded Marka.

  "Many of Marka's most precious possessions are kept here, in the dark except for important occasions of State." Olista's voice sounded more normal in here. "The treasury is in another tunnel, which I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear is full. You're not here to be mocked, but because this is the only place in Marka where I'm certain we can speak privately. Sylphs have very long ears and are not always discreet."

  "Meaning Zenepha?"

  "Perhaps." Shadows hid Olista's face, but he might have smiled. "The boy certainly picked up statecraft very quickly."

  Marcus drew the Founding Mark's sword. It slid smoothly from the scabbard. "Someone comes here to keep this clean," he remarked.

  "Once a week." Olista nodded. "But not today."

  Marcus slammed the sword home and replaced it on its long cushion. "Why the need to meet here?"

  "I hope it is never again necessary," replied Olista. "But this news must be kept secret as long as possible."

  "What news?"

  "A bird came from Sandester."

  "Nazvasta has declared for the throne?" Marcus's eyes gleamed in the semidarkness.

  Olista snorted. "Not exactly. He claims that your descent from Rono the Second is illegitimate."

  "He what?"

  "Rono's marriage to Maudla has been called into question."

  Marcus waved a dismissive hand. "There will be records."

  "That's the problem," said Olista. "We have hunted through those records and we can find no sign of the manuscript affirming the marriage between Emperor Rono and Maudla. We have found Kylist's marriage certificate and the records pertaining to that, but not for Rono."

  "Does it matter?" Marcus shrugged. "It hardly debars the claim."

  Olista grimaced and tugged at an earlobe. "Actually, it does," he said, apologetically. "Well, could do."

  A dangerous note crept into Marcus's voice. "Care to explain?"

  "Senator Aelfrec has already demanded the Senate be reminded of the Secret Concord of 705."

  "Never heard of it," replied Marcus.

  "You will soon enough. It is how the Vintners came to prominence in the first place."

  "Meaning?" Marcus stared.

  "Meaning that the surviving lines of the Goldeagle family were all illegitimate," replied Olista. "Almost a century of turmoil followed the Year of Three Emperors, and few lines of descent of the Blood Royal remained legal. An illegitimate line from Branad the Third, another from Staflan the Second, and again from Mark the Ninth... All squabbled and fought against each other."

  "Much like us Vintners now," put in Marcus.

  Olista shook his head. "Much, much worse," he replied. "Far bloodier, until someone new stepped forward."

  "Wurlan," breathed Marcus.

  "Wurlan Vintner." Olista nodded. "But he restored peace at a price. While lands belonging to the Goldeagles could certainly be inherited by the old royal family, the Markan Throne must be occupied by descendants legitimized in the eyes of the Father."

  "Born of marriage," said Marcus.

  "The Vintners had a hard struggle over that," continued Olista. "Took another century before they were strong enough to take the throne for themselves, but your family is certainly aggressive and persistent."

  "We were taught that our descent came from the Goldeagles," said Marcus.

  Olista barked a laugh. "Not even related," he replied. "Though after a thousand years, we have no idea who now are Goldeagles. Your ancestors saw to that. Being successful rarely includes being nice. It would not surprise me if the old famil
y was forced to marry into yours until only the Vintners were left."

  "Vintners and Goldeagles always marched side by side," said Marcus.

  "Until the empire fell through corruption, when they marched against each other." Olista sighed. "It is all recorded; most librarians know. But we digress. If we cannot prove your legitimacy, your claim is over."

  "I'd like to see this Secret Concord. Today."

  Olista smiled. "Thought you might, which is why I've already made an appointment. Today."

  Marcus reached out to the sword again and touched the scabbard. "That throne is mine, Olista," he said, before turning away.

  ***

  "I don't know how I can afford to pay you."

  Basren sipped at his alovak and watched for the other man's reaction.

  Sallis ti Ath savored the aroma of his alovak, eyes closed. When he opened them again, those eyes were already focused on Basren.

  "The City Guard are paying me to keep an eye on you," he replied, a faint smile on his face.

  Basren blinked. "You often take two commissions at the same time?"

  "Fairly often yes." Sallis's smile widened. "Though rarely from opposite sides. They are convinced you're their man, which gives us the advantage."

  "How?"

  "Because we know you're not. And the coin the guard pay me can be used to offset some of your costs."

  "Isn't that dishonest?"

  Sallis pursed his lips. "I prefer the word creative," he murmured. He sniffed. "Not really. I'm keeping an eye on you, just as commanded. And I'm helping you recover Kaira, just as commanded. And then finding the true murderer, as commanded by both of you. Nothing dishonest in that. But if I took the money and didn't do as commanded... Now that's dishonesty. How much I charge to whom for whichever services I provide is entirely my business."

  Basren shrugged. "If it keeps my bill smaller, then I won't complain," he said.

  "Sensible lad." Sallis smiled again, but those dark eyes remained devoid of all expression.

  "The guard say they have failed to find... her." Basren hoped he wouldn't start crying again.

  "Do you know her route between palace and library?" asked Sallis.

  "I only walked with her once," replied Basren, "so I assume the most direct."

  "Did she ever divert?" pressed Sallis. "Have anyone else to see while she had the opportunity?"

  "Not as far as I know. She kept busy either at the palace or at the library. She prepared lessons for the Vintner children there. She –"

  "Did she have any friends outside the palace? Relatives who visited?"

  Basren shook his head. "Nobody she ever mentioned."

  "Shall we walk that route now?" asked Sallis. "The guard may have missed something."