His contact in the Guard – Gestlin – claimed to be unaware of any such organization, but that did not rule out its existence. Marlen had never asked, as Gestlin should volunteer the information if he knew. He'd been a fool not to think of it before now. Especially when beggars in this city were a sight better fed than in any other city Marlen had visited.
He and his companions might be in danger.
He could handle most threats from the City Guard, but he feared Sandev's intervention. He knew she rarely moved openly, as respect for her power could turn to fear, and fear changed to hate in the blink of an eye. People did not like others to have a lot more power than themselves. Such fears had caused the collapse of the first civilization.
Marlen suspected Sandev's involvement in Kelanus's escape, which in turn suggested she believed in his innocence. That meant she would be looking for the real killer. As he'd had nothing to do with Branad's murder, investigations should keep her well away from him.
Another advantage of the unasked-for killing.
The news that both Vintners' claims to the Throne had been rejected warmed him. Sandev showed no sign of countering the rumors linking Marcus to Branad's murder and that suggested her grip on the city had either slipped, or had never been very strong to begin with. Anxious to learn his former tutor's next move, he expected something ingenious. After all, Sandev had always been unpredictable. He wondered how much of his planning she already knew about. He was not so naive as to believe she remained ignorant of either his presence or his plans.
Reaching the safe house, he tapped on the door, giving the required signal. Seconds later, he was inside.
Gestlin stared at Marlen like the beggars outside before he gestured to a seat. He looked everywhere, gaze settling on nothing for long.
"I'm glad you're here," he began. "They know I'm a spy." His voice trembled.
"Are you sure?" Marlen tried a reassuring smile, which failed. His mind whirled. If someone had blown Gestlin's cover, Marlen must move before the City Guard did. A matter of survival.
Agitated, the other man squirmed in his seat. "They've not left me alone for days," he replied. "There's always someone with me on duty. They check to see I turn in, they check when I leave. They watch my home, follow me..." He saw concern blossom on Marlen's face. "I left before dawn this morning and I had no shadow. As far as I know, they're still waiting outside my digs."
Marlen relaxed, though not by much.
Gestlin continued. "It's the way people look at me, all of a sudden. The other Guardsmen, I mean. As if they know something I don't. As for Captain Crallin, he looks at me as if he's just waiting for an excuse to kill me. Get me out of the city."
Marlen took in Gestlin's panicky movements, nervous twitching and his obvious fear. It would not take much to make him talk. The man was a danger. He forced a smile.
"Soon, you won't have to worry about a thing," he promised, soothingly. He stood, crossed the short space to the other man and placed a hand on either cheek. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "There is no need to fear." The other man stared up at him, eyes like those of a caught rabbit.
This docile, the man had definitely become a liability. A matter of survival.
With one movement, Marlen turned his hands, forcing the other man's head around, breaking his neck with a clean snap. Gestlin twitched, then lay still.
"I won't bore you with an apology." Marlen stood straight. "I know you can still hear me, but everything must be fading fast. You're lucky, Gestlin. No more pain, no more worry. Good fortune with the afterlife."
He left the house and closed the door carefully behind him. He could never return here. With luck, it would be days before they found the body.
***
Hingast and Dervra rode together, voices pitched low so those nearest could not eavesdrop. Snatches of conversation drifted back, but were swallowed by the noise of the army on the move. Although not quite at the head of the column, the army stretched for milas behind them, carrying everything it needed and leaving markers for the reinforcements to follow.
"I'm glad you decided to press ahead, Majesty," Dervra was saying. "Wise, if I may say so."
"The Markans will be terrified when they discover I'm coming for them." Hingast bared his teeth in an almost-smile.
If they do not already know, reflected Dervra.
"We shall see Marka destroyed, its ground salted and people slaughtered." Bloodlust shone in Hingast's eyes. "I shall rebuild the Markan Empire as the Eldovan Empire. It will last ten thousand years and dwarf all that has gone before. It will celebrate the strong and despise the weak. It..."
"Yes, Majesty." Dervra let the other man's blather wash over him. It will be built on the natural order, blah, blah… He tried not to laugh in the idiot's face.
"When the city falls, will we have time to destroy it before the Vintners can regroup and send reinforcements?"
"We will, Majesty. Re Taura will have its army ready by next summer and rumors of its size will soon spread in Trenvera, Sandester and Calcan. Fear of invasion from the east will keep those reinforcements small, if they come at all."
"Re Taura." Hingast's voice went flat. "I do not want to destroy one power in the east to see it replaced by another."
"The Mametain's interests do not lie in empire building, Majesty." Dervra resisted telling the fool that sooner or later new powers always filled vacuums.
"Good. Any thoughts about countering these sylph scouts Marcus Vintner is using?"
Dervra raised an eyebrow. "Potential meat for your sport."
"Is that a rebuke? I seem to recall you suggested sylph hunting."
"I realize Your Majesty feels frustration that we have encountered no wild sylphs to hunt."
"I expect they stay away from the army. But the scouts. There must be some way of countering them. Aren't they supposed to be timid creatures? Are they trained to overcome their fear? What does frighten them?"
"Hunters, I imagine." Dervra smiled. Better not goad too much.
"Enough have managed to escape me. They are clearly cunning and resourceful, traits I have no doubt Marcus Vintner has exploited to the full in his sylphs."
Movement caught Hingast's attention and he watched a small infertile, probably with a message, veering in a wider than necessary arc to avoid one of the warhorses. She pattered past him, quite deliberately refusing to meet his gaze, her earpoints wilted. Realization brought a grunt.
"Dervra!" he hissed. "The sylphs are wary of the horses."
"What of it?"
"I think we have found a counter to sylph scouts."
Dervra masked a sigh. "I am sure any sylph running with the Vintners is trained to overcome fear of horses. As far as I'm aware, they only refuse to come close to large animals, rather than actually being frightened of them."
"So what if large, or largish, animals came to them? Chased them, in fact. Such as dogs."
"Dogs." Dervra considered. "Hunting dogs, excellent sense of smell, trained to hunt and flush out sylphs. Even if they're not scared of the dogs, having their whereabouts highlighted will definitely be of use."
Hingast nodded. "I thought so too. When we pass through the next place, try and acquire some dogs."
"I think we may be too late for that," countered Dervra. "We'll reach Marka in weeks."
Hingast sighed. He hated people who became troublesome or obstructionist. "Just do it, Dervra," he commanded.
***
He did not like coming to this place. He much preferred the boisterousness of the Senate, where sycophants and minions were prepared to do his bidding. For many years, he had represented the Malefic Sephiroth's interests in Marka and had been left in peace to get on with it. Over the last year, much had changed for the worse. The risks he took were calculated and well-rehearsed, with plenty of escape routes should anything go wrong.
Until now.
For the past few months he had been the pawn, moved according to others' wishes and – he hop
ed! – their well-thought-out plans. He was now expendable, just as those who served him were expendable. Disposable assets were sometimes sacrificed for the greater good of the majority. He now feared sudden arrest and execution instead of being the one pulling the strings. He could not get used to it. And he did not like it.
His situation began to change when a man came seeking a reference to enable him to join the City Guard. He carried a letter commanding him to do everything requested. The keywords used in the letter marked the stranger as one who obeyed the orders of one very high among the Malefic Sephiroth's servants, possibly even Dervra himself. He'd directed one of his underlings to provide the necessary reference. Once Gestlin had established himself, he had lost control over who came into or left the city.
Now the City Guard watched Gestlin and if they put him to the question, who might be betrayed? Questioners were allegedly forbidden from using physical torture in Marka, but the City Guard's interrogators had far more subtle methods at their disposal.
Ten days ago, the summonings to this place began. The crippled woman inside, arrogant and demanding, forced him to her will. Worse, she seemed to be some sort of sorcerer and used her power to prove he stood far beneath her. That he was nothing more than a piece of dirt. Quite ironic, considering every time he came here, the smell had grown worse. The sorcerer stank and she didn't even seem to care.
He wanted his control back.
He tapped on the door quietly; as always, it swung open silently and closed behind him. To think what caused the door to move at all without anyone there brought a small shiver.
The woman, dressed in the same filthy rags, focused her jet eyes on him. Those eyes were bright and sharp, even if she reclined on a stained, rancid bed. Her long brown hair flowed around her. If she ever took a bath, she would be pretty and, if not for her affliction, could easily attract a husband. He had only seen her crawl once, when she had proved her power to him. He tried not to choke in the stench of the room. The sun heated the building, yet no window stood open. His shoes stuck to the scrap of floor covering and he tried not to look down. How could anyone live like this?
"You are here. Good." The melodious voice washed over him.
"Yes, lady."
A small smile turned her mouth for a brief moment; doubtless she enjoyed hearing one with power and breeding grovel to her. "I have work for you."
He didn't groan, though he wanted to. Work for him usually brought with it great risk. He had fallen far in a short space of time.
"We are pleased with your success in turning the Senate against both Vintners," she continued.
We? he wondered.
"There is still much to do." The woman's jet eyes bored into him. "The recognition of the Throne must be overturned."
"But it is again recognized," he spluttered. "Such decisions cannot be overturned."
The woman struggled more upright and anger danced in her eyes. "Article Twelve of the Ascension of Ethwar Vintner to the Markan Throne in Eight-oh-One."
He stared and searched his memory for the relevant law. "That the Throne must be occupied for it to be recognized; that an occupant takes it within one calendar month of recognition after an interregnum."
A smile touched the woman's lips as she settled back again. "Good boy."
It was all he could do not to grind his teeth in frustration. How did she know about the Law, and be able to recall it so easily? He was surprised she could read, let alone study books and laws. And how could he turn against the recognition of the Throne after fighting so hard to get it recognized?
"I do not think we need to overturn the recognition," he said. "The claims of both Vintners have been rejected. Unless the Supreme Council decides to summon Hingast or Enthan, the Throne will fall void."
The woman leaned forward again after short pause.
"Best that it does. The Supreme Councilor is wily and cunning. He has more tricks up his sleeve; you may be forced to question his intentions when he makes his next move."
"Which is what, exactly?"
"You question me." Again, her eyes blazed with anger.
He inclined his head. "Forgive me, lady, if I offend. However, for me to counter what the Supreme Councilor plans, I need to know what that is." If she knew, how did she come by her intelligence?
The anger subsided. "I do not know what he plans."
"Hingast?"
"Do not be foolish. The Senate would never accept him."
"Have you no thoughts on what his plan might be?"
"We will find out tomorrow, along with everybody else. However, you must be prepared to stop any new contenders and, if necessary, remove them altogether."
He shuddered. Removal meant elimination. "As you command, lady, so do I obey."
The sorcerer's eyes bored into his own. "Ensure that you do," she hissed.
***
The moment the visitor left, Nicolfer ensured the room returned to normal and her appearance improved beyond recognition. Those who knew of her believed that they knew her well. She would argue that they knew her not at all. She had never been credited with some of the talents bestowed by the Gift and her detractors conveniently overlooked that sorcery allowed anyone to plug gaps in their knowledge.
She needed no concentration to replace dirt with cleanliness, gloom with light, threadbare furnishings with opulence. A delightful, airy room, scented with spring blossoms and a delicate breeze invited within by the open windows.
Most important of all, it took no concentration to show her true self: a young woman with considerable beauty. Certainly no dirt. Most importantly, she could stand and walk.
The fools truly believed that she had no way of repairing the damage done to her so long ago, that she could no longer walk. She only needed concentrate to hold the false images in place, such as the appearance of squalor and dirt.
She left her living room and made her way to the cellar. Dirt and gloom and dinginess were found here in equal measure. The sinabra she could normally tolerate had grown stronger. She must get this cellar cleaned out. From one corner, the sylph looked up from his ragged blanket, misery painting his face. The restraining chain clinked as he shifted, his earpoints wilted.
"Hello Tangan," she greeted him. "Are you ready for your next lesson?"
As she came closer, his misery changed to fear. He wasn't learning; she might have to find a different way.
Or a different sylph.
***
Sandev rolled the small stones around the palm of her hand. Almost perfectly spherical, she kept hundreds of them a small box. To the uninitiated, they looked innocuous, perhaps even pretty. Each could hold as much power by itself as Sandev. They had been used to increase strength when the first civilization collapsed. Known as foci, they had proved a nasty surprise to more than one practitioner. By agreement, the Ten – even Dervra and Nicolfer – hunted down and destroyed every focus they could find. The things were too dangerous to leave lying around. Fortunately, the knowledge of making them had died with Theret.
Whereas others of the Ten destroyed foci they discovered, Sandev collected them. Each stone would hold enough power to help her physically project a thousand people from one place to another. If Hingast was heading here, Sandev would far rather move the population of Marka than leave them to his not-so-tender mercies. The man's reputation preceded him.
Hingast had made it difficult for a large army to reach Eldova by laying waste to all lands surrounding his own. The people were carried off as slave farmers or slave soldiers, or murdered. The destroyed lands were littered with the bones of thousands of people. None were now cultivated, so any approaching army had nothing to forage.
She would not allow such massacres in Marka. Neither could she simply destroy these small stones, potential saviors of her people. She needed almost two hundred foci and she could charge perhaps two a day if she pushed herself. At the moment, she managed one a day. And that assumed the last census – almost a century past – remained accurate.
>
The man she would visit tonight, the man whose alliance she sought, would not approve of her keeping the foci. She risked losing his support forever if he learned she had broken that compact.
Again, Caya had chosen to sleep elsewhere. Sandev understood why the sylph wanted to stay away.
This man would not be as easy to deal with as Sernan. He had vowed never to return to Marka, but she needed his assistance. Two of the Ten were needed against two and she had nobody else to help.
It would be daybreak at his home. Smiling, she pictured his cottage, a pretty limewashed stone dwelling, surrounded by forest and flowers and peace and... and ilven.
He had always intrigued the sisters, so a couple were usually with him. The Father knew how much she needed an ilven now! Olista had failed to acquire one and Sandev knew an ilven must attach herself to Marcus Vintner to help press his claim. Her presence would carry much weight with doubters, it always did. With luck, one of the sisters would be there.
How long since she had last seen him? A hundred years? More? Probably more. The years passed quickly, or so it seemed.
Sandev closed her eyes and concentrated on the garden outside his cottage.
Dew immediately began to soak her slippers and she wished she had changed into sturdier footwear. She opened her eyes as she heard something thud to the ground and a sharp increase of breath, a yelp of fear cut short.
A sylph bent hastily to gather her foragings and push them back into the wooden bucket she had dropped. Her earpoints were bolt upright and her silvery gray eyes almost completely round in terror. Sandev could see the whites and the minuscule blue blood vessels that fed the eye.
She'd forgotten that he also liked the company of sylphs.
"Don't be frightened." Sandev tried to smile, but she only managed a twist of her mouth, which doubtless terrified the sylph further. "I won't hurt you. What's your name, little one?" She hoped speaking in sylph would help calm the creature down.
"I... I am Salu." The sylph smiled. "Donanya."
"I am Sandev."
The sylph looked more surprised. "Sandev-ya?" Her fear eased visibly, though wariness still shone in her eyes.