Markan Throne

  "Shush!" warned Balnus. "Let's get out of here alive, huh? It's Verdin's mob at this end and you're not very popular with them at the moment."

  Marcus had only established a small camp on the southern road, so they reached the guard at the end quickly enough.

  Neptarik stiffened as they approached the outer guard, then tried to look unobtrusive. The guard, one of Verdin's men who expected three religious travelers, had a sylph scout with him, eyes glowing in the faint light.

  Both Balnus and Kelanus drew the cowls of their robes as far forward as they could. With any luck, the sylph would see nothing of their faces.

  The scout paid them little attention, though he glanced at Neptarik a couple of times and sniffed at the air. He tried to peer into his hood, but Neptarik kept his head down and hoped his earpoints would not twitch the wool.

  "At last," grumbled the guard. He scanned their passes before waving them on. "Thought you'd decided to wait till daybreak."

  "That was Bascon," whispered Neptarik, as if his human companions had not recognized the scout. "He suspects something."

  "The lad had sense enough to keep his mouth shut," growled Balnus. "What in Ranva's name is he doing down this end anyway? He should be snuggled up with his wives."

  "Just keep walking," added Kelanus. "There might be more scouts about. Unless you told them everything, Neptarik?"

  The sylph shook his head inside his cowl. "I follow orders."

  They walked in silence for a few paces.

  "There's the hillock." Neptarik pointed.

  "Kill the pace!" hissed Kelanus. "They'll get suspicious if we start running now. At least Bascon can still see us."

  The sylph immediately slowed. They continued on slowly, following the paved road until they reached the hillock, when they headed up it.

  "Hold."

  The voice was steady, if a trifle higher pitched than expected.

  Kelanus stepped forward. "I am Kelanus and my companions are Balnus and his sylph, Neptarik. You must be Tahena."

  "And I have three horses." She turned to Neptarik. "Sandev says you are fearless, boy. Can you ride a horse with your master?"

  Neptarik stared at Tahena with a touch of awe. He said nothing, but nodded.

  "Then we ride," said Tahena. "We must put a few milas between Marka and ourselves before we dare rest."

  "Why don't you just magick us further away?" demanded Balnus.

  Tahena frowned, her slanted eyes glinting in the starlight. "My talents lie in other directions," she replied. "You will learn some of my skills soon enough; others I hope you never have a need for. Do we ride tonight, or will the City Guard find us here at dawn?"

  Balnus vaulted into his horse's saddle and offered a hand to help Neptarik up, as the sylph had never ridden before. Kelanus mounted his steed more sedately.

  "Take us south, Tahena," he commanded.

  ***

  Lance Captain Kestan surveyed the field beyond his tent and masked a sigh. An infertile hovered at the edge of his peripheral vision. One of the wild sylphs, she seemed eager to fetch and carry for him, clean his boots and keep his tent tidy. But she refused to divulge her name. If she had one at all; no matter how benign, sylphs tended to neglect infertiles and he didn't know the wild sylphs' customs when it came to naming them.

  The task of naming domestic infertile offspring usually fell to humans, ignored by the sylph's parents. One reason why the bond between human owner and owned infertile tended to be so strong. It would not surprise him if wild sylphs were the same, unless they had private names they shared among themselves. It made no sense for them to live their lives unnamed, as they were the most numerous of the three sexes. Except among these sylphs, thanks to the slavers preferring to capture breeders.

  The wild sylphs were up and either eating breakfast or busying themselves. The sun was yet to be seen this morning, but pink tinged the upper hills and the top of the black pyramid that dwarfed the city.

  "Good morning."

  Kestan smiled and nodded to those passing his tent. They pulled their weight and took on their fair share of chores, yet their continued presence troubled him. They were still to make any move to find a new home and he suspected that they never would.

  "Hello, Aelfina."

  The oldest of the wild sylphs, smiled at Kestan and glanced at the small infertile. She disappeared inside the tent.

  "I believe congratulations are called for," continued Kestan.

  Aelfina smiled, but did not respond.

  There were few adults among the wild sylphs, but the males had elected Aelfina as their leader. The females had chosen out their own eldest, Damaran. She and Aelfina had wandered away from the rest on the third night of their freedom. Both returned soaking wet to the cheers of the others.

  Neither humans nor the enslaved sylphs had any idea of what had happened, but the two leaders now acted like husband and wife. In some things, Damaran was still in charge; in others Aelfina took the lead.

  In itself, that did not bother Kestan.

  But everything else going on with those sylphs worried him.

  Many of the wild ones wandered to Kestan, or any other human who had helped release them from their captivity, and offered to help, or asked questions, or even watched everything they did. They were still shy of all other humans, but they had considerably eased their stance towards the enslaved sylphs.

  "You've not volunteered to become a scout?"

  "Too many new faces will swamp the teachers," said Aelfina. "They have our best."

  "The female scouts shocked them more than your numbers might swamp them." Kestan smiled.

  "Each must do what each can do best for the tribe," replied Aelfina. "Your sylph scouts are impressive, we can learn much from them. And they from us."

  It was the "they from us" that caused no little concern among those who owned sylphs. "I thought Ean might have a fit when he saw half of yours were girls."

  Aelfina smiled, though he obviously did not understand.

  Kestan changed the subject. "I also want to thank you."

  The sylph raised his eyebrows and his earpoints slanted forwards.

  "For giving your gratitude to those sylphs who helped free you."

  "We would have done that sooner, only we were shy of them."

  Kestan thought he understood why. The wild sylphs were wary of and possibly feared humans, but they often looked at collared sylphs as if the unfortunates had sprouted a second head. It had taken days for that fear to dissipate. It wasn't the sylphs that frightened them, but the collars.

  "Even so, the thanks were deeply appreciated."

  Aelfina made a casual gesture with a hand. "Their due."

  "And we are grateful for your help."

  "Our help?"

  "Don't be so modest." Kestan smiled.

  Again, that casual gesture with a hand.

  "We all know you collect more food than any other group." He lowered his voice and leaned forward. "And thank you for the fish." He had dined on fish more often in the past week than he usually managed in a year. Fish caught by the wild sylphs were for their own consumption only – and for their liberators.

  Aelfina's earpoints twitched in pleasure.

  Kestan had grown up with the implicit belief that no sylph could survive without human guidance. Every sylph he had known before the wild ones believed it without question. The simple compact between the two races had always been service for security. Since meeting these sylphs, he had modified his belief somewhat.

  All the wild sylphs were perfectly capable of survival without interference. But the infertiles obviously felt something was missing from their lives, and watched their counterparts among the civilized sylphs with envious eyes. Kestan held his silence on the subject, for there were already enough rows over the differences.

  The rows were between the two groups of sylphs. The wild ones wasted no time pointing out the advantages of freedom to their enslaved cousins. Some of the civilized sylphs listene
d politely and went away to think the argument over. Others stated their own case with equal force, with inevitable squabbles over the merits of freedom versus security.

  This was the "they from us" bothering so many who owned sylphs. They would be displeased if the wild sylphs' views began to take root among the scouts and sylph nurses.

  And that was just among Marcus's army.

  The arguments would eventually reach sylphs in Marka, if they had not already. Wild sylphs entered the city daily, even if they rarely stayed long.

  The sound of an alarm bell, quickly muffled, reached his ears and he looked around.

  "Where's that coming from?" he wondered, aloud.

  "The city," replied Aelfina. He glimpsed Damaran, made his excuses and crossed to her.

  "Something is happening in the city," said a scout, who now joined Kestan.

  "Any idea what, Ean?"

  The sylph shrugged. "The gates opened early," he replied, "and some of the City Guard came out. I know no more than that."

  Kestan focused properly on the young scout and realized he was fully painted. "Already your turn for the field?"

  Ean grinned and shook his head. "I help train some of your sylphs."

  "I see." Kestan could barely keep the growl from his voice. He did not really like the rescued sylphs being referred to as his. "How are they doing?"

  Ean's earpoints twitched. "They are eager to learn."

  Kestan relaxed. "They've told me. It is good to learn new things. How are the lady sylphs coming along?"

  The scout gave a long deliberate blink and shrugged.

  Kestan smiled. "I think they will do well," he said.

  Ean nodded, but his silvery gray eyes regarded Kestan solemnly. The soldier suspected that the sylph knew something that he did not.

  "What are you not telling me, Ean-y-Felis?"

  "Something it is not my place to tell, donenya." The scout excused himself and trotted away.

  ***

  Captain Crallin never lost his temper, but he had come close this morning. He and his secretary sat together for their usual informal morning discussion. Both men sipped alovak while settling into the two comfortable chairs Crallin kept in his office. Secretary Oston, a short, powerfully built man, had served in the Guard with Crallin, and they had often stood watches together. Not in awe of his boss, Oston would speak his mind. A good thing that ensured Crallin heard everything he needed, instead of what his secretary thought he might like to hear.

  Oston glanced quickly at his neatly written notes.

  "The good news is that crime continues to fall," he said. He shook his head. "I've no idea why, but assaults and killings are down, and even petty theft has fallen."

  "Partly due to all the soldiers now walking the streets, or because our resident criminals believe Marka is about to gain an Emperor." Crallin sniffed. "The same thing happens when we get a new Supreme Councilor. Sadly, only temporary."

  Oston passed no comment about that. "The bad news is that the men holed up in the Guildsman appear to be doing nothing. They are probably responsible for half the rumors floating around the city – all the bad ones, anyway – but they seem to be waiting for something."

  "And this man Gestlin?" Crallin's voice was quiet. "Any progress there?"

  Oston's mouth thinned to a tight line. He liked failure about as much as Crallin did. "Nothing; it's as if the man is mist. A shame he did not let these men into the city using one of the main gates."

  "Probably not foolish enough." Crallin changed the subject again. "What of the bandits roaming outside the walls?"

  "We've increased our patrols and they kill all those they find. Marcus Vintner has helpfully provided extra men and even sylph scouts to help hunt them down."

  Crallin's turn to thin his mouth. Today, the name Marcus Vintner did not rank on his list of favorites. It raised the issue of the most embarrassing thing to happen to the City Guard in years.

  Oston waited patiently.

  "Which guard let Kelanus leave the city?"

  A small smile ghosted across the secretary's lips and not because of the shame of losing a prisoner. "Guardsman Maric."

  "Assign him to lesser duties." If Crallin recalled Maric correctly, the man was arrogant and a bit of a bully. "Slopping out prison pails may teach him humility."

  "Three, um, religious wanderers left the South Gate during his watch. The search of the city has not given us Kelanus, so we must assume that he and his rescuers are those who left."

  "The roll call?"

  Oston smiled. "Is happening as we speak. We'll soon discover which of Marcus Vintner's men helped Kelanus to escape. As for recapture, may I –"

  "How did they get passes to leave the city?" interrupted Crallin.

  "Marcus Vintner probably. Or one of his senior men. We need to –"

  "How did he manage to forge my signature?" Crallin knew he was stalling.

  Oston spread his hands. "How many of the men would recognize your signature anyway?"

  "Good point."

  A longer pause. Where could Kelanus go? Where might the man hide?

  "I can have Sallis ti Ath here in less than an hour," continued the secretary. "I know where he has lodgings."

  Crallin steepled his fingers. The subject he had tried to avoid, now mentioned. One of the Gifted, yet even Sandev shied away from Sallis ti Ath. He'd never known exactly what the man's gifts were, but did know that he was a superb bounty hunter. A decent man, perhaps too decent, but cold with it. He respected a good opponent, and had never failed. He would kill in cold blood if he must, but never harmed the innocent. But still ruthless. Crallin knew he could trust him to return Kelanus, even if he must travel to the ends of the earth.

  "You know I do not approve of bounty hunters," he said, eventually. "Too many get the wrong man because they chase bounties rather than criminals."

  "You know Sallis ti Ath is not one of those." Oston's dark eyes glittered. "If Kelanus has left Marka, only a bounty hunter can return him for trial."

  Crallin sighed. He could prevaricate no more.

  "All I need is for you to give the word." Oston stared expectantly at his commander.

  Crallin reached a decision. "All right," he said. "Bring him to me."

  ***

  "Ayes one hundred and forty-six; nays eighty-six."

  Lanas Exen, Leader of the Senate, stared around the hall and shook his head.

  A cheer met the results of the vote. The Senate had quite comprehensively decided to deny both contenders for the vacant Throne any right to it and effectively rejected Marcus Vintner's claim. Convinced that he had tried to gain advantage from his rival's death, but nobody quite accused him of responsibility for the murder.

  "One does not need to be responsible for a situation to profit from it," Senator Cleran had said during the debate. As a supporter of Enthan of the Imperial Republic, he seemed unaware of doing precisely that right now. His preferred candidate had not even been invited to Marka.

  "We can no longer trust the unsupported word of Marcus Vintner. Hearsay and rumor is not evidence of innocence," came from another Senator.

  "A man who helps a suspected criminal to escape is unfit for high office," said yet another.

  From the numbers, Lanas surmised supporters of the dead Branad Vintner had joined the Enthan and Hingast factions to push the vote through. Those supporting Marcus stayed together, but they could not stand against all the other factions.

  He had no idea what Hingast's supporters hoped to gain; the Supreme Council would rather the Throne be ended for ever before they offered it to him.

  The Supreme Council must now reconsider to whom they offered the Throne, and since recognition, offer it they must. They needed an Emperor, or the Throne would again fall into abeyance. Lanas realized he faced something of a political crisis and he hoped an escape route could be found. Senate leaders had fallen for less than this.

  He looked up from the voting sheet and firmed his voice. "From the resolut
ion proposed this afternoon, that neither branch of the Vintner family should be considered for election to the vacant Throne of Marka, I now announce that the resolution is carried by a majority vote."

  The Senate Leader waited for renewed cheers to subside. He passed the result to the Supreme Council's messenger, so they could make fresh recommendations. He knew the Supreme Council could reject the vote, but such stand offs between Council and Senate were rare. One had precipitated the collapse of the Second Empire.

  Noise filled the Senate. They had concluded their business for today and they remained only until they heard the Supreme Council's reaction, which might take an hour or more. Though Senators were free to leave, not one did, for this had been a vote of some importance.

  However, the reaction came quickly; within minutes, the messenger returned.

  Lanas scanned the Supreme Council's reply. He sighed and sat back in his seat. Silence fell.

  "Senators," he said, quietly, "the Supreme Council has agreed to reconsider their recommendation."

  The cheer that echoed around the hall drowned out those who shouted in denial. Lanas wondered what the Supreme Council had up its sleeve. They never gave in this easily.

  ***

  Sallis ti Ath savored the alovak's aroma before sipping at the black liquid. He avoided alcohol whenever possible, but alovak was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself. Alcohol fuddled the brain and slowed reactions, which could prove fatal if any of his numerous enemies managed to catch up with him today and have the courage to take him on. Enemies had a habit of enlivening some days at the most surprising moments.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the pyramid. He could not understand why Marka's builders had not incorporated it into at least part of the city walls. The pyramid's polished black material could not be climbed and no tool would mar its smooth surface. Nobody knew why the pyramid existed at all and only speculate about the reason for the huge red light crystal at its highest point. Some said gods, perhaps even the Father himself, had built the pyramid.

  Sallis doubted that.

  He relaxed a little more, though he remained watchful of both the other customers and the people bustling along the street. The man three tables down, for example, whose armor and surcoat showed he belonged to the Vintner army. Few in the city yet realized the purple linings of his cloak marked him as part of Marcus's elite guard.