Markan Sword

  Suddenly, guards burst into the room, two or three taking hold of the man who had saved Jenn's life. Who had saved all their lives.

  "No!" Jenn pulled herself upright again. "Good man," she managed and pointed to Weyna's body. "She was bad."

  "All right," said a Sergeant. "But we'll hold him for now."

  Abruptly, Jenn sat down in her regurgitated breakfast as shock kicked her hard. All she could do was hold her head and cry.

  ***

  Sallis ti Ath did not even struggle in the guards' grip. One of them retrieved the sword Sallis had stolen from him. He looked around at the carnage in the room.

  The injured governess held all the children, still using her body to try and protect them. Kaira's killer – an assassin of some sort – lay the middle of the floor in a pool of blood, dead eyes still open. The sylph cried her eyes out, smearing blue blood from her injured hands onto everything she touched and apparently unaware of what she sat in.

  "One of you send for a healer," he snapped. "A Gifted one."

  "Already done," replied one of his captors.

  Sallis could have easily pulled free, but knew he had nothing to fear. "Kaira's killer," he said.

  "What about it?"

  Sallis nodded to the body. "That's her."

  "Sure."

  "Ask the City Guard," added Sallis. "They know me and what I do."

  "In good time." The man nodded.

  The healer arrived two steps ahead of Marcus and Zandra. Zandra crossed to her children immediately, followed a moment later by Marcus.

  "The children are unharmed," breathed Zandra. "Thank the Father."

  The healer turned to Jenn. "Close your eyes," she whispered.

  Jenn obeyed and cried out as she felt the Gift. She opened them again. The wounds on her hands had gone and her throat felt better, though she still had blood smeared everywhere, and the remains of her breakfast soaking into her clothes.

  The healer crossed to Galenna and, a moment later, all the governess' stiffness had gone. Air flowed through her nose properly again and, most importantly, the hole in her cheek had gone.

  "Nasty had that got infected," said the healer. "All gone now, though you will be left with a scar on your face. Any stiffness while eating will go as the muscles repair themselves."

  Jenn tugged at her owner's hand and pointed to Sallis. "He saved us," she said. "All of us."

  "Who are you?" demanded Marcus.

  "I'm Sallis ti Ath," he replied. "I was asked to investigate the disappearance of your last governess, Kaira."

  "A bounty hunter." Marcus's tone held no hint of what he thought of bounty hunters.

  Sallis nodded.

  Marcus gestured to the guards. "Let him go."

  "Sire –"

  "Let him go."

  Sallis rubbed his arms.

  "Sallis ti Ath, from this moment, you are the Imperial Bounty Hunter, and you'll receive a retainer from the coffers in case we ever have need of your services again."

  Sallis stared into Marcus Vintner's dark blue eyes, so common in Marka. "Thank you, Majesty, but I prefer my own freedom to operate."

  Marcus smiled, then barked a quick laugh. "And you shall have it. But we'll pay you that retainer, just in case."

  ***

  Later, much later, after the children were tucked in bed to sleep off the day's excitement, and the cured wounded had bathed and dressed in clean clothes, they finally heard how Sallis had discovered poor Kaira's body and the all-important button grasped in her fist.

  Sallis spoke how he had picked up the killer's trail immediately he returned to the city and his dash through the streets.

  Though everybody else sat enthralled by Sallis's tale, Jenn crept across the floor and put a hand on Galenna's knee.

  "I am sorry for doubting you," she whispered.

  Smiling, Galenna leaned forward and tickled the back of an earpoint. She tapped her knee and, recognizing the signal, Jenn scrambled up to sit there. She wrapped her arms around the governess.

  "You're forgiven," Galenna whispered back.

  "I feared I was too late," Sallis was saying. "But Galenna and Jenn had held her off long enough."

  "How did you manage that?" asked Marcus, turning his head. "This Weyna was a trained assassin."

  Still holding Jenn, Galenna smiled. "One of the skills I learned was how to defend my charges," she explained, "though I am out of practice, as today showed. I certainly did not expect Weyna to be an assassin." She jiggled her knees to emphasize Jenn's presence. "Being a trained fighter is what I think caused your sylph so much unease when we first met."

  Zandra smiled. "Looks like you'll get along just fine now, though," she said.

  Galenna stroked an earpoint to an appreciative murmur. "I do hope so," she said.

  Sallis stood. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "but I must report to the man who commissioned me."

  "Who's that?"

  "Basren."

  "Basren." Marcus managed a smile. "Not the killer then."

  "No." Sallis shrugged. "I must go and tell the City Guard. As far as I know, they're still following him about."

  Once Sallis had left, Marcus turned to Galenna. "Welcome to the family," he told her.

  "Welcome," added Jenn, with feeling.

  ***

  Chapter 32

  Settling Dust

  Neptarik felt pain, as if something tried to rip part of him away, a rending sensation inside his head that went on and on. His lips turned as he fought the pain and willed himself to hold in his scream. All around, soldiers and civilians alike were flung to the floor, some bouncing down the stone steps.

  A soundless roar echoed inside the scout's head as the pressure wave passed by, though he managed to stay upright. The throne room, its bronze door open, blazed with incandescent light, Tektu a black shadow at its center.

  Then, nothing.

  Men groaned as they pulled themselves upright, rubbing elbows and knees, or wiping their heads, hoping the hand came away clean. The only injuries seemed to have been caused as men fell against stone.

  Tektu and Neptarik stared at each other, the infertile wearing a disgusted look.

  "That worked out well for you," said Neptarik, eventually. Why had he ever thought this creature might be trustworthy?

  "I'll kill that sylph for you," growled Ozbon, patting dust off his clothes. "What in Ranva's name did you think you were doing?"

  "Breaking whatever it was," replied Tektu.

  "And you'll leave her alone," said Balnus. "She does not belong to you."

  Ozbon subsided, but his silver-flecked green eyes regarded Tektu with hate.

  Beyond, the throne room looked intact.

  "Intended to kill our new Prefect as he passed through," said Tektu. "Had he rushed forward unthinking."

  Neptarik looked at his sylph. She seemed to be preening herself, asking for adulation as she had saved Reshiad's life. But she had triggered that spell, or whatever, for her own selfish reasons. She'd done it in the hope that Neptarik would die and she could free herself.

  He could never trust her again.

  Neptarik followed as Reshiad swept into the throne room, bringing his men with him. He stood before the twin thrones before turning to face the hall, the scout stood to one side, Balnus to the other.

  "Bring everyone in!" he called.

  Gradually, the throne room and the courtyard filled, some arriving more eagerly than others. More than once, Ozbon motioned him to sit, but he only smiled and shook his head.

  "Not yet," he said.

  The palace staff were brought in, and more of Reshiad's soldiers crammed in behind them. A youngish man approached.

  "Your Majesty," he said, inclining his head. "My name is Delnor Selad Rylin and I command the servants. The palace is yours."

  Reshiad nodded. "Who was responsible for the census?"

  "Prefect Dervra ordered it, Majesty," replied Delnor. "But Administrator Kanad drafted the detailed orders and oversaw its
operation."

  "Did Marlen Masser involve himself in any way?"

  Delnor's mouth thinned and his hazel eyes flashed. "I would love to say yes, Majesty, for I have no love for Marlen. But honesty compels me. He had no involvement in the census."

  Reshiad nodded. "So the man didn't lie to us after all," he told Balnus, before returning his attention to Delnor. "And where is Kanad now?"

  Delnor smiled. "A very good question. He did not leave with Dervra and he's certainly not left the palace. Hiding somewhere, perhaps."

  "Once found, he is to be brought to me so I can pronounce his sentence," continued Reshiad.

  "No trial?" whispered Ozbon, at his side.

  "We could hang all of them," Reshiad whispered back, "but Kanad will have to do. We want to rebuild Turivkan, remember?"

  "Are you going to take that throne? What are you waiting for?" Ozbon's eyes glittered.

  Reshiad smiled. "Soon."

  A man with more than a hint of the south in his appearance, and under guard, now approached. "Majesty." He bowed low. "I am General Teven Vorbert, commander of Turivkan's army. It is my pleasure to inform Your Majesty that the army is yours."

  Reshiad smiled. "Decided to choose the winning side, General?"

  Teven arched an eyebrow. "Majesty, I am always on the winning side."

  "A survivalist. I respect that."

  "More a pragmatist," replied Teven.

  A small commotion by the door caught Reshiad's attention and he stared across the room, a smile finally spreading across his face. "Let them through!" he called.

  Moments later, Serifa had joined him, with Erard and Verdin right behind her.

  "You smell like a horse," he told her.

  Serifa's hazel eyes gleamed in joy. "You've got the throne then. We near rode our horses to death getting here."

  "Not yet." Reshiad raised his voice. "People of Turivkan! By right of conquest, the reign of Prefect Dervra is over. My name is Reshiad Wajrun Helzar and I claim the title of Joint Prefect."

  "Joint?" murmured Balnus, eyes widening in surprise.

  "My rule will be shared with this young lady here." He leaned towards Serifa. "Announce yourself," he murmured.

  "People of Turivkan," she began, "I am known to many of you as Serifa. Like so many in the movement dedicated to liberating us from Dervra's tyranny, I have been forced to live under a false identity." She looked around the hall. "My name is Steffir, daughter of Cler Elyse Mirlen."

  A small gasp ran around the hall.

  "And I am daughter of Adelbard Glayen Haist, murdered Prefect of Turivkan!"

  Neptarik gaped for a moment, before recovering his composure.

  Muttering grew.

  "So you are the true Prefect," said Reshiad. "It seems my reign was very short."

  Serifa – Steffir – shook her head. "We will rule jointly as you announced, and we will be husband and wife."

  Reshiad smiled and stepped forward. To cheering, he leaned forward and kissed his wife-to-be. Hats were thrown into the air and the room trembled from the noise.

  "How sweet," remarked Tektu, from somewhere beside Neptarik.

  The scout looked around. "You," he said, "can stay as far away from me as you can get."

  Tektu shook her head. "I wish it was that simple," she replied. "I really do."

  ***

  Verdin Vintner secured the last straps before he turned to shake Reshiad's hand and give Serifa – Steffir – a hug. He had always known her as Serifa and found the change of name difficult. Even if that change was to her real given name.

  They waited just inside the main gates to Turivkan.

  "The air itself smells different," remarked Verdin, giving the air a token sniff.

  Reshiad waved a dismissive hand. "That's only because the dung carts haven't arrived yet."

  Verdin and Balnus laughed, while even Neptarik managed a tight smile. That smile grew fonder as he felt Mya's grip tighten on his hand. He didn't even glance at Tektu.

  "Remember," cautioned Verdin, "to leave as much of the city's existing organization intact as possible."

  Reshiad smiled "We will, though we are calling elections for the Senate."

  "You'll be hard pushed to find a supporter for Dervra now," continued Verdin. "And I hope there won't be too many more of those."

  He nodded towards the central square, where Kanad's lifeless body dangled from a gibbet, hastily erected the previous day.

  "We'll have to make do with Kanad for our revenge," said Reshiad. "And even he received an easier death than he deserved."

  "Such is the nature of justice," replied Verdin, "unless you want to become the new oppressor."

  Reshiad laughed. "Are you sure you won't stay? We could certainly use your advice."

  "Thank you for the thought." Verdin inclined his head. "Unfortunately, there is work for us elsewhere. Are you sure you want to do this?" He flourished the parchment, passed to him only that morning.

  "Yes." Reshiad's hazel eyes sparkled. "It might be decades before Marka can reach us, but we stand ready to welcome our Emperor when he comes."

  "Then everybody shall be happy."

  Reshiad had turned away from Verdin to grasp both of Neptarik's hands in his own.

  "And Neptarik," he sighed. "There will always be a place for you here."

  The scout blushed.

  "You saved my life," continued Reshiad. "And you showed me the way."

  "I made suggestions," said the sylph, modestly. "You chose to follow them."

  Reshiad pumped Neptarik's hands. "I chose to listen," he said. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Make your peace with Tektu."

  He straightened and smiled around at them all. "My invitation goes for all of you," he said. "Human or sylph. You will always be welcome in Turivkan." His gaze lingered a little longer on Neptarik. "A pity I cannot have you as an advisor. A shame you are not human."

  Neptarik blinked. "Am I not?" he asked.

  After final goodbyes, Balnus led the small procession of Markans out through the gates.

  "Stop dawdling, Neptarik," he cautioned, without looking over his shoulder. "We want to be in Marka before winter, not year after next."

  "Who is dawdling?" retorted the scout, from immediately behind. "You have almost tripped over my feet twice."

  "Less backtalk," cautioned the sylph's owner. "There's time for me to buy a tamer yet. Get ahead and do your job."

  "Se bata." Grinning, Neptarik ran forward and was quickly out of sight, scouting the way home.

  ***

  Delnor waited in his small office for the new Prefects to return. Once certain the Markans were out of Turivkan territory, he could begin to follow the instructions Dervra left for him.

  For once, it appeared events ran in his favor. Dervra gone, the bully Marlen fled, the creepy Kanad dangling from a rope.

  He had his instructions and he would obey. But he knew high office awaited him, once the usurpers had been pushed aside – if necessary, fatally.

  Clasping his hands behind his head, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and smiled as he daydreamed of the Prefect's throne.

  ***

  Chapter 33

  New Direction

  Belaika slowed his pace the moment he turned the corner. He kept looking around, keeping a sharp eye for patrolling soldiers. He would surrender in his own time, when he completed his self-imposed task.

  He collected more than his fair share of puzzled stares while pushing his way through Eldova's capital city. Lots of people – human and sylph – stared at him, an apparition painted gray, green, brown and black. But, he noted, not everybody looked at him in surprise; they clearly recognized sylph scouts. With luck, any soldiers he saw would mistake him for an Eldovan.

  Once safely away and certain nobody pursued him, he began to ask after Jinsla and Haema. He asked again and again, repeatedly receiving blank looks and shaken heads.

  Gajaran's words echoed through his mind. "You do what no sylph sho
uld. You direct men to death. Your enemies, your friends. Maybe even sylphs. You are an aberration, a devil. Evil." Over and over.

  "Jinsla Martan Renkra," he asked, in near desperation. "Makes musical instruments. His sylph copies musical notation."

  "Take your paw off me, filthy sylph," growled the man he had touched.

  You do what no sylph should.

  "Haema-y-Jinsla," he asked a human woman. "Where might I find her owner?"

  You direct men to death.

  "Jinsla, a musician and instrument maker," Belaika begged another woman. "I need to find him."

  Maybe even sylphs.

  "Where might such a man take residence?" A new thought struck him; Eldova's sheer size might mean he would never learn where Haema had lived.

  You are an aberration.

  "Please tell me where I can find Jinsla Martan Renkra."

  A devil.

  "Might it be somewhere close? Do you know anybody I can ask?"

  Evil.

  Belaika blinked. "Where did you say?"

  The male sylph, somewhat garishly dressed in colorful shirt and breeches, smiled and inclined his head. "Jinsla Renkra had a workshop three streets over," he said.

  Belaika noted the sylph's long silver hair, tied back into a single ponytail, dangling between his shoulder blades. The breeches were red, his shirt yellow. He certainly stood out.

  "Thank you," said the scout.

  "I will take you there," offered the sylph.

  "Thank you, but unnecessary."

  "I will take you," repeated the sylph. "My owner awaits you there, Belaika-y-Marcus."

  "How do you know my name?" Belaika grew very wary.

  "My owner knows many things," replied the sylph. "Many. Forgive my rudeness. My name is Cerant."

  "Yes?" Belaika cocked his head to one side, expecting more.

  The smile returned. "Just Cerant."

  Belaika, senses alert to a trap and ready to run again, followed the strange sylph at a distance. For his part, Cerant walked apparently without a concern, perhaps indifferent whether the scout followed him or not.

  Or perhaps he knew Belaika would. And that possibility bothered him even more. He felt no better as they turned into a quiet street and halted before a small shop, sandwiched between two warehouses.

  "This is no music shop!" he protested, when Cerant nodded towards it.

  The single window displayed cloth of various colors, draped to best show off its quality.

  "And hasn't been for almost a year," said a woman's voice.

  Belaika turned to look down at a pleasant face, hazel eyes smiling back at him, mouth turned upwards. Brown hair was brushed back from her face.