Markan Sword

"Egran, what have you seen?" Indelgar pulled his spyglass free.

  "Fenall spotted wagons, Sir." Egran pointed.

  Indelgar focused the spyglass and peered through it at the small caravan and well out to both sides. "Just them I think," said the General.

  "We think so too, Sir," said Egran.

  Indelgar turned to the sylph who had run out with him. "Illard, run back and tell the men to stand down, but remain vigilant."

  "Se bata." The named sylph inclined his head and was gone.

  "Strange to see someone out there, Sir," said Egran, making conversation.

  Indelgar shrugged. "Traders often come this way, though they are usually a lot further south than this, headed for Metton."

  "The sylph spotted it first," continued Egran, deciding fairness was the best policy here.

  Indelgar smiled at Fenall. "These scouts will be indispensable," he told Egran. "Those of us who fought alongside Marcus Vintner these past couple of years were all impressed by the Calcan sylph scouts."

  "Did you come across many, Sir?"

  "Hundreds."

  Egran should ask. So rare for an ordinary soldier to have the opportunity to talk to someone so senior, but he could hardly just ask. Blow it, he would ask. He opened his mouth.

  "Does the name Neptarik mean anything to you?" Surely he hadn't used his real name?

  Indelgar laughed. "Neptarik-y-Balnus? Gimme-battle-stars-Neptarik? He's outstanding, even among other outstanding sylphs. He helped Kelanus clear his name, he helped lift the siege of Marka. Amazing lad. I know him. Surprised you do."

  Egran looked at Fenall concentrating on the wagons. He would be listening, sylphs couldn't help themselves. "Get yourself out of hearing range for two minutes," he told the scout.

  Fenall's earpoints rose before returning to their normal position. He stalked away, clearly offended. Egran would have words later. He turned back to Indelgar.

  "Then you must know that Calcan doesn't just use sylphs as scouts, but also as spies. A Neptarik was in Re Taura last year and compromised certain... plans." He'd actually done a sight more damage than that, but Egran doubted if he could believe it, and he had been there.

  "Probably. All Sandesterans who were involved in Marka have been told to watch out for sylphs they recognize. But thank you for the thought, anyway."

  Egran relaxed. "So long as you are aware, Sir." He raised his voice. "All right, Fenall."

  The sylph looked over his shoulder, but stayed in his new place.

  "Sulking now," grumped Egran.

  Indelgar laughed. "We'll have to teach you how to handle sylphs correctly."

  Egran reflected that he already knew how to handle sylphs correctly. "With respect, but they're the ones wearing collars. We should be teaching them how to fit in around us."

  Sulking or not, Fenall soon rejoined them. "Should I quickly scout around them?" he asked. "Make sure it is just them?"

  "Be careful," said Egran and nodded.

  The sylph touched fist to shoulder but gave no verbal reply.

  Indelgar made another inspection with his spyglass. "They're not even armed," he remarked, surprise lacing his voice. "Either very lucky, or fools."

  Even Egran could now see the wagons clearly. All three were covered, the canvas stretched tightly across the frames. Very tight. It looked unnatural.

  Indelgar saw one man's head whip around, then another stared at the same spot. "Looks like they've seen Fenall," he remarked. "Silly boy."

  Egran felt a little more sympathy. Easy enough to hide in this long grass when staying still, but hard to conceal movement.

  "They've spotted us now," continued Indelgar. "They're carrying on though."

  "Let's stop them, Sir."

  Egran stood in the way of the lead wagon and the driver pulled on the reins to halt the horses. The five men looked at them neutrally until one, a tall man with straight light brown hair jumped off the box of the middle wagon and crossed the short distance to join them.

  "Sandesterans," said the tall man, in an accent neither man could place. "To judge from the uniforms."

  "I'm General Indelgar Manin da Saar," said Indelgar, "and this is Cavalryman Egran del Sevren."

  "Erek Ines Warden." The tall man bowed, then smiled. "A General and a cavalryman with one horse between you. Does your sylph scout carry the other one of you?"

  The men on the wagons began to laugh.

  Indelgar's return smile looked like he thought of drawing his sword. "There are plenty more of us. Where have you come from and headed to where?"

  "I am unused to interrogation when crossing Sandester's lands." Erek's hazel eyes narrowed. "Is there a reason for this heightened security?"

  "A trader with knowledge of politics." Indelgar shrugged. "In case you've not noticed, there have been wars here for, oh, the past two centuries or so."

  "I've come from Frodger and heading for south Frallon," said Erek. "I've made this trip many, many times and never before encountered soldiers here."

  "A first time for all things," said Indelgar, peaceably. "What are you trading, trader?"

  Erek inclined his head again. "A mere pedlar, good sir; nothing so grand as a trader. Small transactions only. My sky metal is highly sought after, with many blades in circulation."

  "A quick check inside your wagons and you'll be on your way."

  "What are you looking for?" Erek looked wary again.

  "Anything out of place." Indelgar smiled. "This will take but moments."

  "What are we looking for?" asked Egran quietly, as they followed the pedlar.

  "To see if they have any more men," Indelgar murmured back. "These men have accents I've never heard before."

  Close up, Egran thought the canvas covers looked even stranger and he rubbed the material. Not canvas, but what? He'd never felt anything like this before. Erek pulled the covers apart and both men peeked inside. Wooden slatted crates with what appeared to be swords and other weapons inside.

  "The blades are much sought after," said Erek. "Perhaps you would like to inspect them?"

  "Thank you, no," replied Indelgar, firmly.

  The middle wagon carried water, though the painted container felt like no metal Egran had ever touched. In fact, it did not even feel like metal. The third was clearly where the men slept at night. Five bunks only.

  As Indelgar peered inside the last wagon, he spoke to Erek. "You are familiar with sylph scouts. From where?"

  "I saw them first when in Marka a couple of years ago," replied Erek. "Then again last year when I happened across some Eldovans. They weren't interested in my sky metal either."

  "The Eldovans have sylph scouts?" Indelgar raised an eyebrow. "I'm grateful to have met you, Erek Warden."

  "More a prisoner I think." Erek shrugged. "Are you going to be much longer?"

  "No, we're done." Indelgar straightened. "Thank you for your cooperation, pedlar. If you head a little further south, you'll avoid the rest of my army."

  "I'll do that," promised Erek. His head turned. "Do you like fruit, boy? Thought so. Catch!"

  Erek's hand shot out and something green streaked through the air. Fenall stood from his concealment and snagged the fruit from the air.

  Indelgar's suspicions grew. "Fenall, here now!" He turned to Erek. "What are you playing at?"

  Erek's hazel eyes were innocently wide. "Nothing. Just a small delicacy for your sylph. He looks unfed. We'll be off now." He strode back to the front of the caravan and stepped up onto the box.

  Fenall joined the two humans as the wagons rumbled away. Egran stared at the fruit in the sylph's hand.

  "A pear," said the sylph, as if the two humans might not recognize it.

  Indelgar looked at the back of the rear wagon. "A pear out of season," he remarked.

  Egran stiffened. How had he failed to notice that?

  Fenall sniffed carefully at the fruit. "Smells all right," he said. "And it feels all right."

  "Yet preserved miraculously from last year," said
Indelgar.

  A soft crunch and the scout spoke around a mouthful of pear. "Tastes good too."

  "If it upsets your digestion, I'll class it as self-inflicted," warned Indelgar.

  Fenall shrugged and quickly finished the fruit.

  Egran watched, concerned. That fruit should not exist, which meant the pedlar must be more than he seemed. So who exactly was Erek Warden?

  ***

  Chapter 22

  Holding Fast

  "So glad you deigned to attend," said Nazvasta, blue gaze boring into Fareen's pale brown eyes.

  The gwerin barely flinched at the sarcasm and her earpoints failed to give even a flicker of embarrassment. "You wanted to meet with me and Kana Santon," she replied.

  "A week ago," said Nazvasta. "Where have you been hiding?"

  Kana hid a smile. Fareen's absence had been deliberate, she never showed signs of absent mindedness.

  The gwerin gave a merest hint of a shrug. "I needed to think," she said. "I am here now."

  Nazvasta grunted. "Alovak, if you please, Kelen. For three."

  The human servant dropped into the smallest curtsy and left Nazvasta's study in his palace quarters. Nowhere near as impressive as the study in the old observatory, but sunshine flooded the room from two windows with views across the city. Plain rugs covered the floor and wooden chairs with tasseled cushions surrounded a polished table. A single bookshelf stood over an empty fireplace, and a pair of rampant lions formed the bookends.

  "We were discussing potential love matches for my oldest daughter," said Kana. "While we were waiting."

  Fareen smiled. "I know little of love," she replied. "Being an infertile."

  "Life would be so much simpler if we were all neuters," said Kana, sitting back in her chair.

  Fareen lowered herself onto the cushioned chair Nazvasta pointed her to. "There would certainly be a lot less of it," she observed. "But I am sure your insistent summons has nothing to do with marrying off your daughter."

  "Perceptive as always," murmured Nazvasta. "If blunt. And what, please tell, needed a whole week for you to think about?"

  "Hingast returning to the bed of a wife he had earlier discarded," replied the gwerin.

  "Perhaps the fires of passion rekindled?" Kana smiled at the gwerin.

  "The man set aside each wife before taking the next," pointed out Fareen. "If he loved all three equally, or even just two of them, then this is easy to understand. But we know such is not the case. Hingast doted on his third wife because he hoped for a son, who has duly arrived. But when the man returns from war, he ignores his third wife and instead lavishes attention on the first, who he has left alone for some years. This is not natural human behavior."

  "An expert on love after all," smiled Kana.

  "Only on rational and logical behavior," retorted Fareen, as Kelen returned with the alovak. "Which this is not."

  "Something may have happened to him while he was away," said Kana.

  "Something permanent and irreversible, maybe." Fareen sounded far from convinced and fell silent as she watched Kelen pour the alovak. She remained silent until the servant left.

  "You reached a conclusion?" prompted Nazvasta.

  "Yes." Fareen's expression firmed. "Remember our discussion last year, when I assured you that the man in Eldova was most likely Hingast?"

  Nazvasta nodded.

  "My mind is changed," said Fareen. "There is only one conclusion. The reason why Hingast has returned to his first wife is because he is not Hingast."

  Everybody, including Kelen, stared in surprise at this announcement.

  Nazvasta eventually shrugged. "He has three wives, and perhaps feels he's neglected the first two unfairly."

  "He lavishes attention on one only," countered Fareen.

  "Cousin Marcus insists the man he killed was Hingast," said Kana.

  Fareen nodded. "That is probably the truth. No normal person acts this way. I have heard of men returning to previous lovers, but usually only after losing a more recent one. This has not happened; all three wives are hale and healthy. We talk here of two men."

  "Ranva's breath!" Nazvasta shook his head. "But it even looks like the man."

  "Yet cannot be him." Fareen smiled. "It is the only logical answer."

  Kana reached for her alovak.

  "Ours is a peculiar world," continued Fareen. "We are surrounded by mystical beings who we claim form part of the godhead. Strange things happen."

  "Sounds like you don't believe they form the godhead," said Kana, before sniffing delicately at her dark drink.

  "Unlikely that they do," said Fareen.

  "Sounds like blasphemy."

  Nazvasta snorted. "Imhoteps would die from shock if they heard some of our discussions," he told Kana.

  "Carefully thought through logic," said Fareen. "Were the Father truly omnipotent and saw all, how could the Malefic Sephiroth exist, let alone operate? How could we have sorcery? Unless we accept duality of the Father's personality, which makes no sense at all."

  Kana stared, speechless, unaware of Nazvasta's sudden smile.

  "And the ilven resemble us so closely, there is barely any difference." Fareen smiled, as if in triumph. "That's because they are creatures, the same as we are."

  Kana took a sip of alovak. "So what are they, if not gods?"

  "Ilven? Or the Father?"

  "All of them. The sephiroths, the ilven."

  "A very good question." Fareen smiled. "I do not claim to have answers, only conclusions reached after much careful deliberation, over many years."

  "And your conclusions are?"

  "That the sephiroths are nothing more than a higher form of life. Much greater than us, but a form of life nonetheless."

  Kana smiled. "A terrifying conclusion."

  "Frankly, yes." Fareen smiled. "Any true god must stand outside of what we understand as creation. Just as a piece of furniture wrought by a craftsman is not the craftsman and does not, in fact, hold any part of him other than his labor and skill."

  "And presumably can be just as easily destroyed?" Kana took another sip of alovak.

  "Or remade. Yes."

  "Quite the philosopher." Kana smiled.

  "When I have time to think." Fareen shrugged and leaned forward to take her own alovak. "Just one of my skills."

  "Of course, we are not here to discuss philosophy, or the nature of the godhead," said Nazvasta. "Interesting as such chats can be, they do have a habit of going around in circles."

  "Only when two incompatible belief systems collide," pointed out Fareen. "Then –"

  "Thank you, Fareen."

  The gwerin subsided.

  "What has this got to do with Hingast?" asked Kana.

  "I am pointing out that the man is – most like – an imposter and uses sorcery to make him look like the real Hingast." Fareen sipped at her alovak. "Not my original conclusion, but fresh facts should always force reevaluation." She grinned mischievously. "And that is a good philosophy to hold fast."

  Kana turned to Nazvasta. "She must drive you insane sometimes."

  "Intellectually, I'm often floundering," admitted Nazvasta.

  Fareen scowled. "I do my best to explain." She looked from one to the other.

  "The reason we wanted you to meet with us has nothing to do with philosophy or politics," said Nazvasta. "You ought to know that, when I lay claim to the throne, I will appoint a new spymaster."

  For the first time, Kana saw uncertainty and surely not fear flicker in the gwerin's eyes. "Enya?"

  Kana almost relented at the plea in Fareen's tone.

  "Instead of me, you will report to Kana," said Nazvasta.

  "No!" Fareen jumped to her feet. "No, no, no. When you take the throne, I will be your advisor. I belong to you!"

  Nazvasta leaned forward. "Fareen, you belong to the throne." He kept his voice gentle.

  "No! I belong to you, to the family." Fareen's earpoints wilted and she pointed at Kana. "She is not a Vintner."

/>   "Fareen! This is about reporting, not belonging."

  Fareen tucked her earpoints away and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. A moment later, Kana heard the outer door to Nazvasta's apartments slam.

  "Well," said Kana, "I don't think she's too impressed."

  "Huh." Nazvasta looked disgruntled. "She's taking it better than when I inherited her."

  ***

  Fareen had several secret places of her own.

  The Vintner Palace, overlooking Sandester City, had been quite a modest affair when she had first come here with Elwan Vintner's children. Built into the hill and facing south, granting the best protection against the winter wind, she had seen every stage of the palace's expansion since.

  Because various parts were added at different times, the palace offered a chaotic jumble of double walls, many hollow with room for a gwerin to walk through, steps up or down to newer extensions and – her favorite – forgotten turrets and walled up rooms.

  As an advisor, Fareen always enjoyed access to keys. The sneaky, underhand part of her had carefully copied those keys and, over two centuries, she had acquired a large collection. Sometimes she now possessed the only key.

  As an advisor with plenty of time on her hands, Fareen had explored every corner of the palace and believed she knew every forgotten room and passageway between double walls. She had climbed every turret and chosen one least likely to be remembered as her own secret place. She knew about the Vintners' hidden skeletons, in two cases literally.

  Her chosen turret lay in what was now almost the exact center of the palace, itself surrounded by other turrets. As all windows faced south, none looked across her secret place, and the roofers who scrambled across the tops repairing any tiles that may come loose, would not know which turrets were unused.

  Now, she slipped behind the tapestry depicting a forest glade and stepped into the alcove. She waited there, but heard no approaching footsteps. The small door, made from the same wood as the surrounding paneling, would not be easy to spot even when servants removed the tapestry for cleaning.

  Though she did ensure a new tapestry replaced the old whenever someone decided it must be cleaned.

  The key turned easily in the oiled lock, emitting a barely audible click. A sylph might have heard it, but this branch of the Vintner family did not own many sylphs. Fareen slipped inside and locked the door, leaving the key in place. A trick she had learned many years before, ensuring no other key could be inserted.

  Just in case someone else had a collection.

  Inside, bare stone walls encased steps thick with dust, except for her footprints, leading up in a steep spiral. Once a princeling's tower, his grieving mother had ordered it shut off when disease claimed the young boy's life. The boy's room must be left intact, as if he were still alive.