Markan Sword

  "And Jinsla?" asked Belaika.

  "I have waited to meet you for some time, Belaika," continued the woman, ignoring his question. "I knew when you eventually came here, you would herald great change for the better. And when I heard of Markans in the city... Well, let's say I had a strong suspicion you might be with them."

  "I will herald great change?" The scout took a step back. "I am just a sylph."

  The woman glanced his painted skin and nodded. "Of course you are."

  "You are Gifted?"

  "Indeed I am. My name is Berlya. Would you like to hear my full name?"

  Belaika shook his head. "Where can I find Jinsla?"

  "Nowhere this side of the grave," replied Berlya.

  The scout gave a sylph's slow blink. "He is dead?"

  "Nicolfer never leaves loose ends, I'm afraid. Spring last year they found him. Nobody's seen his sylph since."

  As Haema had believed, right from when he first met her. "She is also dead, killed during a battle." A lump in his throat at the memory of Haema in the mass grave, but the news about Jinsla brought release too. "They are together again," he said.

  "Now you can move on," said Berlya. She sensed his sorrow, or else saw it on his face and by the set of his earpoints. She gave his arm a reassuring pat.

  The scout nodded.

  "We'd better get you to the palace." Berlya smiled at him. "History is being made this very day."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You won't find that out standing here, young sylph. Now come along, and escort us both to the palace."

  Belaika glanced back at the shop. Gajaran's words still echoed, but their power was gone.

  As promised, Haema had rejoined her owner.

  ***

  It took four men to hold Kelanus in place on the floor and even then he tried to escape. After retrieving his dagger, General Mirrin calmly wiped Hingast's blood from its steel blade and watched as the men struggled to keep Marka's General in a kneeling position, his head pushed forward.

  "No!" Tahena tried to interfere and was pushed aside.

  "You told me he would change!" Kelanus hissed at her.

  "You told us he was an imposter!" said Janost. "You lied to us."

  Mirrin laid a cautionary hand on Tahena's arm. "Don't even think it," he warned. "Not here. Not the Gift."

  Hingast's three widows watched in varying states of shock. Blood pooled under and around the body, soaking into the torn clothes. The chest no longer moved and the twitching of legs and arms had ceased.

  One of the four men hefted his sword and Thur nodded.

  "Proceed," he commanded.

  "Stop!"

  All heads turned as Janost held up a hand, staring at the corpse. Helen, the eldest of the three wives stood, hands covering her mouth. She screamed again.

  "Look!" urged Janost.

  All heads craned for a better view.

  "See... raan... vaa," breathed Thur. "What sorcery is this?"

  The corpse's features slowly changed. The black hair retained its color, if straighter than before; the skin darkened slightly and the sightless gray-blue eyes changed to black.

  "That is a southerner," breathed Mirrin.

  "That's Ranallic Eydren," said Kelanus, voice muffled as he spoke directly to the floor. "As I told you. And told you."

  "Ellas Panir," breathed Tahena.

  "Release him." Thur stepped around the body to take a good look. "How is such a thing possible?"

  "Shapeshifting," explained Tahena. "The real Hingast died in Marka two years ago."

  "An imposter," said Helen, still aghast. "He... He..." She shook her head, unable to continue.

  "He tricked everybody," said Tahena gently, after embracing Kelanus, who had scrambled back to his feet.

  "Any apology, Janost?" he asked. "You just named me liar."

  Thur gestured towards Kelanus. "You think to claim our throne?" he asked. "Three of you and a handful of sylphs."

  "And me," murmured Tahena.

  Kelanus shook his head. "Never my intention to claim that throne," he said. "I serve Marcus Vintner and no other."

  "So why did you come?"

  "Unfinished business," replied Kelanus. He nodded towards Ranallic. "Now complete. And as you're going to let me keep my head, I'll thank you for safe passage out from Eldova again."

  "You came here just to kill an imposter?" Thur almost smiled.

  "I came here to secure Marka's western border." Kelanus shrugged. "And settle an old score, true."

  "You've deliberately engineered a succession crisis in Eldova," said Janost angrily. "We will not be ruled by an outlander."

  "Nor shall you be." Kelanus smiled and gestured towards the widows. "Hingast has a son, Meneda."

  "Hardly eighteen months old," retorted Janost.

  "But still Hingast's rightful heir," pointed out Kelanus. "Even if he was born after the real Hingast died. You can even claim the real Hingast has only just died if you like. Just don't go hunting more shapeshifters to imitate a dead man."

  "Meneda cannot rule; he will need a regent," pointed out Thur.

  "More than one ideally. The oldest of Hingast's wives." Kelanus smiled at the still shocked Helen. "And a military man, to keep a steady hand on the government."

  "We have the same problem," said Thur. "I'm an outsider."

  "And I'm an outlandsman," added Mirrin. "Still Eldovan, but almost as bad as being an outsider from the City's point of view."

  Janost smiled and opened his mouth to speak.

  "The pair of you should do well," laughed Kelanus. "Eldova needs careful rule and good governance. I know General Mirrin is admirably suited to the task."

  "What about me?" demanded Janost. "After all, I'm Marshal of Eldova."

  "And you still are I expect," said Kelanus. "You need to take the army in hand and look after the men returning home after years away. How many have died to hide that man's cowardice?" He gestured contemptuously towards Ranallic's body.

  Thur nodded. "You've not demanded we bend knee to your new Emperor."

  "That's right, I haven't."

  "Why not?"

  "It will be decades, perhaps centuries, before Marka's writ can reach this far," replied Kelanus. "But whether in ten years or a hundred, one day we will come."

  Thur laughed. "And we'll be waiting for you," he promised.

  ***

  "Don't you ever do that to me again," chided Tahena, as they returned to the stable. Thur had promised them better accommodation, but they wanted to return to their companions and the sylphs first. "You were about two seconds from losing your head."

  Kelanus rubbed the back of his neck and considered. "Good job I struggled," he said. "Else I'd've died before Ranallic changed."

  "Before Ellas changed."

  "Whoever. When you said shapeshifters changed back, I thought you meant straight away. Almost thought I'd killed the wrong man."

  "Well that's the first shapeshifter I've ever seen die," protested Tahena. "So how am I supposed to know how long it takes?"

  They fell silent as they reached the stable. Hanmer and Felis waited outside, Ean stood with his owner.

  "What happened, Sir?" asked Hanmer.

  "Ranallic died," replied Kelanus. "They believe I'm telling the truth now." No need to tell the man anything more.

  "Good," said Felis.

  Ean nodded, but said nothing.

  Four sylphs stood as the humans entered the barn. Three scouts and Tula.

  "Still no Belaika?" asked Kelanus.

  The scouts exchanged looks and finally Shyamon shook his head.

  "Good lad that," said Hanmer. "Saw his chance and took it. Probably taking in the sights even as we speak."

  The sylph scouts laughed.

  "So they've not caught him," said Tahena. She turned to Tula. "Thought you were supposed to stay with the other Eldovans."

  "We followed you into the city," said Tula. "And I came here when they told me you were here."

&nb
sp; "Why did you follow us?" asked Kelanus.

  Tula crossed to Kelanus and shyly took hold of one of his hands. "You will return home now?" she asked, silver eyes glowing in the gloom.

  Kelanus looked down at her. "Soon. There are still things we need to sort out. And we must wait for Belaika; Marcus will never forgive me if I leave him behind."

  Tula took a breath. "I might be useful," she said.

  Kelanus laughed and ruffled her hair. "Come, and welcome," he said and looked over his shoulder at Tahena. "Looks like we've got our first sylph."

  He looked back and saw Ean speak to Felis.

  "We must talk," said the sylph.

  ***

  Nervousness almost overcame Ean as he and his owner crossed the stableyard to a quiet corner. Born and raised within Felis's family, he felt rightly proud of the association between his ancestors and Felis's.

  Selection for scout training and, more importantly, passing through all that training, had brought much honor to him, his family and his human owners. Yet, the argument raging between wild and civilized sylphs, together with a lady friend among the Free Tribe, had affected Ean's outlook on life. As the first sylph scout to spot the slave caravan, Ean knew he would always be welcome among the wild sylphs he had helped liberate.

  Felis spoke first.

  "You've made your decision," he said, not asking. "Whatever it is, whichever way you've chosen, know that I'll respect it and stand by you."

  Ean's earpoints slanted forwards and he smiled in gratitude. "Not an easy one to make," he admitted. "Maybe I am not doing the right thing."

  Felis smiled and nodded. "I understand. Before you tell me, you should know that once your manumission has been read, there's no coming back. That is the law. You're welcome to keep your association with our family, but you'll never again wear a collar. Mine or anyone else's. Either you are free, or you are not."

  Ean almost changed his mind. His mouth felt dry now the moment had arrived. He could put it off no longer and, if he tried, he knew he would never remove his collar.

  "Enya, I would like you to have my manumission read to the Senate," he said, stammering over half his words.

  Felis hugged his sylph. "When we return, I'll see to it," he promised.

  And with those words, the world again changed. But Felis doubted if the change could ever be undone.

  For the first time in history, an enslaved sylph asked for his freedom, and the world shifted on its axis a little more.

  ***

  Chapter 34

  New Beginnings

  Marcus Marcus Vintner, stood beside his wife Zandra Caralin Ems, waited outside the door leading to Coronation Hall. High Councilors and Senators were packed within, together with representatives from the old noble houses, a collection of priests and imhoteps, dignitaries from around the continent with offices in Marka, and the various leaders of the guilds.

  He could see the thrones, the Imperial Throne together with a consort beside it for Zandra. The back of the throne was higher now, with an additional board painted with the gold dragon's head of the Vintner family, set on a black background. The flags, one either side of the throne, hung listlessly. The golden eagle on its black field stood on one side, and the gold-over-green-over-gold flag of Marka's people on the other.

  The flags were a visual reminder that the Emperor was servant to City and People.

  Behind and above the thrones, a new stained glass window let in plenty of light and Marcus gave it a quiet smile. The new window showed a rider on his horse, bursting in through that very space to save a sylph Emperor from a madman.

  People stood in front of Marcus. The imhotep, for once with Djerana, stood beside him. The ilven had at least agreed to attend the coronation, which would legitimize it in some eyes. Supreme Councilor Olista, bearing his sunburst staff with its steel cube for knocking on the ground. Four shadow riders, including Captain Fared, surrounded him, the only people with swords bared in his presence.

  And sylphs lined the way to the throne.

  Marcus knew most of those sylphs would be his precious scouts. He had expected them to be scrubbed clean and dressed in their white shirts and charcoal-colored breeches. He had also expected to see them in silver collars and wearing the purple sashes that hung from shoulder to hip and displayed the silver battle stars the scouts had earned.

  More sylphs belonged to one or another of the temple choirs scattered throughout the city. These usually wore white. And Marcus also knew that, among all these sylphs, twenty were wild sylphs, who usually wore green tunics and leggings made from the misnamed yellowflax. More importantly than their presence, the wild sylphs were sunsingers.

  But none of them wore what he expected.

  The scouts had been busy with their paint. Not that they were camouflaged, not exactly, but they were also unrecognizable as sylphs. Painted so skillfully that the paintings looked real, the sylphs represented dragons. Gold dragons, copper dragons, red dragons and white dragons; dragons in flight and dragons breathing fire.

  The sylphs had been converted to living artwork.

  Supreme Councilor Olista deliberately banged his staff on the ground. Once, twice, thrice... Silence fell and Olista's voice resounded around the hall.

  "There comes one to be anointed, with the Father as witness, to rule over and guide us, to protect and succor us, to govern and administer us. Stand!" The sunburst staff crashed on the floor and the clang reverberated through the chamber. Bowing, Olista turned aside.

  Flanked by two priests and an ilven, the imhotep started forward, movements slow and graceful. Marcus and Zandra, purple robes over their clothes, followed. As the imhotep stepped into the hall, the sylphs began to sing.

  The sunsingers began it, mouths pouring pure and clear music, voices soaring through the notes without accompaniment. No human voice could hope to match it. The temple sylphs joined in, adding their voices to the wild sylphs, mouths opening and closing in unison. And then the scouts followed.

  Marcus glanced at the back of Djerana's head and regretted his failure to persuade the ilven to provide him with an ilven choir. One had sung at the Founding Mark's coronation and nothing like that had been heard since.

  The imhotep and his priests turned aside, leaving Marcus and Zandra to mount the two steps leading to the thrones. They turned, and sat. The choir reached a crescendo, then ceased.

  The imhopter broke the short silence.

  "We are here today, gathered as witnesses with the Father, to anoint Marcus Marcus Vintner and Zandra Caralin Ems Emperor and Empress of Marka. We pray to the Father."

  Only those used to the religious ceremonies spoke the prayer aloud and properly, Marcus heard only mumbles from the crowd beyond. He didn't care, it didn't matter. Today he would finally realize his lifelong ambition.

  He looked up at the imhotep and smiled as the religious leader used a finger to rub oil onto his forehead.

  "With the Father and these as witnesses, I anoint you Emperor of Marka." He moved on to Zandra. "And you, Empress of Marka."

  The imhotep took the scepter from one of the priests and placed it in Marcus's hand. Encrusted with sapphires and rubies, diamonds and opals, emeralds and amethysts, Marcus sat with one end of it propped against his leg.

  "You are to rule over and guide us. The scepter symbolizes your rule and guidance."

  Turning to the other priest, he placed the orb into Marcus's other hand. Also gold, it too had its share of gemstones.

  "You are to protect and succor us; the orb symbolizes your protection and relief."

  Marcus watched as the imhotep drew the sword. Plain and simple, it had remained in its stained leather scabbard for Zenepha's coronation. But Marka now crowned her real Emperor and the sword's blade was bare to the world. The Founder's weapon, it was a priceless artifact, ancient and well used.

  The imhotep laid it across his lap.

  "You govern and administer us," he said. "The sword symbolizes your government and administration."


  The imhotep took the Emperor's crown from Olista, while an assistant priest took the consort's crown from another Councilor. Stepping forward, both crowns were slipped into place at the same time. Marcus took a deep breath. Now for the controversial part. He should really be crowned Mark the Fifteenth, but he had insisted on something different...

  "I crown you Emperor Mark the First of Marka; Dominator of the World, Guardian of the Key, Commander of the Shadow Riders and Lord Protector of Gwerins."

  Nobody seemed to have noticed. Marcus insisted that the numbers must begin anew, as if all of history before today had never happened. He had his reasons for it, yet nobody had questioned it. Yet.

  Stepping back, the imhotep turned to the assembly. "Behold your Emperor and Empress!"

  The cheering filled the hall. Marcus sat on the throne, on his throne and smiled around the hall. He had announcements to make, granting the sylph scouts the much-coveted imperial title, rewarding Sallis ti Ath for saving his children, granting him his new title of Imperial Bounty Hunter. He had orders of chivalry to found and service awards to create.

  The cheering only came to an end as the sylphs began to sing again. Marcus wished they would get on with it.

  He had an empire to rule.

  ***

  Elsin halted her horse and stared at the borderstones marking the end of Sandesteran territory. The Prefecture of Pelentar lay behind her and ahead a line of twenty Metton soldiers waited patiently. Metton retained her independence for now, but Elsin wondered if the soldiers were truly an honor escort, or just there to ensure she passed into Markan lands.

  After all, she had no need for protection from lawless bandits, who did not infest Metton.

  "Ready to press on, Ma'am?"

  Elsin turned in her saddle and smiled at Sergeant Argrofan, commander of her small bodyguard. Six rather old Sandesteran soldiers to see her safely to Marka. Perhaps to make sure she really got there. Waiting patiently, Fineas and Vesten sat atop the same armored carriage used the last time she traveled to Marka.

  Inside the carriage, Tanna probably kept both Beanna and Reanna under tight control, but she spotted Millan peering at her through the slits in the carriage sides.

  Her sylph had proved a poor traveler. Staying in the carriage shook up her insides and made her ill for the first few days. Riding outside the carriage made no difference. Sitting the sylph on Elsin's horse made her worse, and after a lifetime kept inside buildings, she weakened too quickly to walk alongside the carriage for long.