Markan Throne
Marcus Vintner led the introductions, Zenepha nodding and repeating the name of each person, adding a respectful "ya" to the end of each one.
Zandra smiled to herself. Quite endearing, this behavior showed Zenepha still had not come to terms with his new status. He obviously regarded himself as an ordinary sylph, despite the lack of collar, and not as the most powerful person in all of Marka. She wondered how well he might manage his new responsibility. And how long he would last.
She noted that Selkina also wore no collar, but Zandra knew only Zenepha had been manumitted. His wife's precise legal status remained something of a mystery.
"I am pleased to meet you all." Zenepha nodded to one of the servants and tucked his napkin into his shirt.
The servant disappeared and, moments later, the first course was being served.
Zandra took the time to take in and measure her companions, starting with the other ladies. Crallin's wife, Helice, displayed a stern countenance, sharp eyes watching everything and everyone. But the infertile sylph behind her chair gave lie to that facade. Zandra had never seen an infertile look so relaxed, her eyes sparkling with the joy of life. She looked like she might spend more time at play than at work. So Captain and wife, despite appearances, were not stern with their sylph, and perhaps even spoiled her a little.
Olista's wives intrigued her. Tamsin was clearly the senior, but the sylph with them stood behind Menta's seat. This infertile looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here and her earpoints were slightly wilted. Dragged out against her will, perhaps?
The other infertiles were spotless and immaculately dressed. Zandra, despite mutterings and protests, had insisted Jenn scrub and dress in her best. She had spent far too much time in the field and some bad habits had taken root. The smallest sylph present, Jenn had put her hair into a ponytail, and donned breeches and shirt the same color and style as the scouts. Her only clothes that did not look like they had been laundered in a swamp. The other sylphs wore silver collars, Jenn a leather one.
Well, Zandra would sort Jenn's wardrobe soon.
Belaika stood behind Marcus, and for once Jenn did not seem to resent the intrusion. She stood docilely behind Zandra, who hoped the sylph looked a little more interested than Menta's. Whatever Jenn did would reflect on her.
Kelecan was Zandra's aunt, so already well known to her and, more importantly, well trusted. Elsin, the late Branad's second wife, was another proposition. That she had come with Verdin instead of the younger man's own mother, showed that Kana still harbored hard feelings over her husband's death. Zandra understood if Elsin still mourned, but she had given few signs of that after the first day. Elsin seemed relaxed about the matter; perhaps she already hunted for a new husband. If so, Zandra would help her find the right one.
She turned her attention to the men, already chatting happily with each other across the table. Every bit as talkative as the ladies.
She had already met Captain Crallin of the City Guard. His zealousness impressed her when it came to dealing with malefactors, even if his manner did not. Probably an excellent constable and a good soldier, but not the most polite she had ever met. She wondered how politically able he might be, if at all. What did he expect to gain from having an Emperor?
Emperor-to-be Zenepha, if only a caretaker, and clearly unused to his new status. He did not even try to be regal and deferred to almost everyone else by habit. A habit he must lose to survive the jungle of human politics. Partly pleased and partly relieved that the sylph showed his normality, she knew he must prove himself as ruthless as his opponents to gain any respect. If he didn't toughen up, she could see a way to gain advantage for Marcus.
If anyone could teach Zenepha to be a monarch, his former owner Olista must rank high on the list. Outwardly jovial, the Supreme Councilor was a master politician beyond doubt. This man could manipulate others without them realizing it and she knew she must warn her husband to be on his guard around him. Marcus believed Olista backed his claim, but he had not convinced Zandra. Clearly not out for himself, perhaps the Supreme Councilor cared most about Marka. However he reckoned himself, she knew he would use Zenepha as a tool, a means to an end.
Was her husband's claim that end? Or was he also a mere tool, to be used up and then discarded as part of some great game? She must find out.
Serving girls stepped forward to clear away one set of dishes and replace them with another. The guests chatted amiably enough, though some verbal fencing went on under the surface. Crallin seemed suspicious of Marcus; perhaps Branad's murder remained fresh in the Captain's mind. The accusations against her husband pained her far more than Marcus.
Jenn leaned forward. "Nobody wants to talk to you," she whispered, a hint of outrage in her voice.
"After the meal," replied Zandra, "I'll go and talk to them." Things must be bad for Jenn to take her side!
The infertile stood back as the next course was served. The other ladies around the table had noted her exchange with Jenn. The infertile stood behind Menta stared, earpoints bolt upright. Obviously this sylph didn't speak so freely to humans, at least during formal occasions.
Zandra filed the observation away.
Her attention turned to her own companions.
Marcus she trusted absolutely, of course. He had never pestered for a second wife and always treated her with the same respect he expected from her. That respect had been earned; she trusted his had also. Either way, many men of rank or position sadly lacked this quality. She would willingly die for her husband and if possible give more, knowing he would do the same for her.
She and Mansard were old friends and she loved the Guard Commander. Her uncle by marriage to Kelecan, he seemed more like a close brother, or friend. The only other human male she trusted fully. He had taught her swordplay and how to fight using hands and feet.
Zandra found it difficult to gauge Verdin, son of the murdered Branad. He claimed to be perfectly happy to surrender all the power the Throne would bring, a position she found hard to believe. Quite naturally, he wanted to be part of Marka's renaissance. He wanted to be the man remembered for bringing Prefectures back into the fold. As diplomat or warrior didn't seem to bother him one bit. This young man might cause more harm than good. That any harm would be unintentional only made matters worse. She must keep a careful eye on him. He needed a wife to settle him down and round off all remaining youthful exuberance. Or might that be zealousness?
Perhaps he played a secret game of his own, but he had confirmed his father's renunciation in the Senate. Any claim to the Throne from that branch of the Vintner family had ended.
Branad's old marshal fascinated her.
There was much in Mikhan Annada that reminded her of other men she respected or admired. He carried himself with a quiet authority few men possessed, knowing his place in life and that he excelled in his chosen career. Of those around the table, he was the only one who made her nervous. Despite Verdin's renunciation, Mikhan showed no inclination to transfer his support to Marcus. His eyes held a considering light every time he looked Zenepha's way and disappointment when he glanced at Verdin. He all but ignored Marcus, but the looks he directed at Ranallic held dislike at best.
General Ranallic, twice a replacement for Kelanus, did not feature among her favorite people. She had never met or even heard of him before arriving here, but something about him annoyed her. Or perhaps she just could not take to him. His origins were irrelevant; she knew many outlanders and never even thought about where they came from, or looked like. That had nothing to do with it. Ranallic had a swagger beyond any he might have earned. She must learn more about him. She understood why Kelanus detested Ranallic, but she must more thoroughly investigate Mikhan's not quite hidden distaste for the southerner.
With a start, she realized she stared down at the final course. Had she been so deeply engrossed? She glanced around at the other women and at the sylphs. Had anybody noticed? Even if the other women had missed it, their sylphs had not. What had s
he eaten? She ought not be surprised that the last part of the meal contained a lot of choca. All sylphs shared the same weakness, even if they became Emperors.
She hoped Jenn was not drooling. For that matter, she hoped the scouts were not drooling. She glanced at Bascon and Belaika quickly. Both behaved themselves, though covetous gazes flickered to the table more than once.
Servants stepped forward to pour fresh red wine, and Zenepha and Olista exchanged a glance.
The Emperor-to-be smiled nervously around the table. "I am certain you are wondering why I asked you here. There are several reasons, but the most important is that I have no wish to see enmity between us. You already know that I am to be caretaker Emperor; my position is not permanent. You also know Hingast is coming and that Marka is unable to defend herself against an attack should you decide to leave."
Verbosity from a sylph? wondered Zandra. Different.
"We have not considered leaving," put in Marcus, quickly.
This time, the smile held gratitude. "My advisors tell me that is most unlikely. There are vacant positions that need filling."
"Such as?" Clasping his hands in front of him, Marcus leaned forward.
"Captain Crallin will remain in command of the City Guard," continued Zenepha. "However, I also wish to form an Imperial Guard, defunct since the Shadow Riders disappeared with the gwerins. May Guard Commander Mansard be released from his duties with you and assume command of my Imperial Guard? If he wishes."
"I see." Well aware of Olista's stare, Marcus gave no hint of his thoughts.
Mansard looked at Marcus and the latter nodded. Zandra pursed her lips. An outlander in charge of the Emperor's personal guard? She hoped the guardsmen themselves would be Markans, or the wrong message would go out. She wondered if Olista's hand truly controlled this game.
"General Ranallic will retain command of the field army," continued Zenepha, "if it merges under Markan command."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You've already admitted Marka is unable to defend herself against a concerted attack, yet now you want me to place my army and commanders under your direction?"
"Not my direction." Zenepha smiled again. "You have with you a man well versed in defending cities and who is already a marshal."
Mikhan remained impassive.
"I would like to see Marshal Mikhan Annada become Marshal of Marka," completed Zenepha. "He will command the army, with General Ranallic as field commander."
Mikhan did not even glance at Marcus. "I am delighted to accept your offer, Majesty."
Zandra noted Mikhan did not seek Marcus's approval before accepting his post. It irritated her that both senior officers of the army were Branad's men, which seemed to have stood her husband's recent victory on its head. Yet he remained in overall command. With Kelanus out of the way, no Calcan generals were senior enough to take precedence.
Zenepha's smile broadened. "I want you as one of my advisors, Marcus-ya. I have no intention of allowing my other advisors attempt to use your army unless you have given your own input."
Zandra's eyes narrowed. She wondered if this input included a veto.
Despite her misgivings, she felt grudging admiration for Zenepha. Only a sylph, yet he used his intelligence well. He knew of the skills the two Vintner armies had brought with them. She doubted if the sylph had made many organizational changes in Marka, leaving most people in office. He had pretty much grasped Marcus's own organization and, while turning it to his own advantage, left it more or less alone.
She suspected Olista's hand, but she had a feeling this sylph was no puppet. On one hand, he must be allowed his independence, free from interference, or he would fall quickly. Too quickly. But on the other, if the Zenepha proved to be too good, that would make Marcus's way to the Throne even more difficult.
"And Verdin Vintner?" asked Mikhan.
"Once we have defeated Hingast," began Zenepha, "I want to see Marka expand once again, preferably through peaceful means. Being sylph, I have no taste for war and conquest. I need an ambassador, to help Prefects make their decisions the right way."
Somebody, thought Zandra, has definitely done his homework.
Verdin smiled.
Mikhan gave the younger man a disgruntled look.
Zenepha again showed he had good information. "You have two hundred sylph scouts with you," he said. "Is it enough to keep a net extended all around Marka?"
"Plenty," replied Marcus, "so long as your net doesn't extend too far."
"We need to expand the scout force by three times before Hingast gets here." Zenepha's silvery gray eyes held no hint of mockery. "Sylphs, not humans."
Belaika and Bascon exchanged a glance, earpoints upright in surprise. Mikhan stroked his chin and listened.
"The training might not be quite as thorough as usual," warned Marcus. "We usually need five years to train a sylph properly."
Zenepha nodded. "Years we do not have. Can you do it?"
Marcus glanced over his shoulder. "Well?" he demanded of the scouts.
Bascon replied. "Yes, donenya. With a stiffening of more experienced scouts, we can do it." His earpoints twitched. "We are already doing it with the wild sylphs."
"Wild sylphs?" echoed Zenepha. "You train them as scouts?"
"They are volunteers," pointed out Marcus.
Zandra blinked. Training wild sylphs must come close to breaking more than one Markan law.
Perhaps Zenepha was not so well informed after all.
Crallin and Olista looked unimpressed at the revelation.
Belaika quickly hid his scowl. "They asked, we did not say no. The wild ones are quick learners."
Zenepha looked pleased. "May I be so bold as to set a target of four hundred scouts in total in two weeks from now and a further two hundred another two weeks after that?"
Bascon pursed his lips. "We will try," he promised.
Suddenly, Zenepha looked every inch a ruler. "Do you all accept my proposition?" he asked.
Marcus looked around the table, seeing satisfied nods and quick smiles. "Your Majesty," he said, surprising Zenepha by using his title, "I think we are all with you."
The sylph's smile held more than a hint of relief. "We shall begin work tomorrow morning," he declared.
"It is dark," pointed out Marcus. "The gates are locked and we are on the wrong side of them. As one of your advisors, I strongly recommend that we begin work immediately."
Zenepha did not even look at Olista. "I accept your recommendation. Let us begin work now."
***
Chapter 12
Ilven And Gwerin
Sixty sylphs – half borrowed from Marcus Vintner and the rest from Marka's temples – lined the route in Coronation Hall from door to Throne. Sunlight streamed into the hall, even through the huge stained glass window behind and above the Throne, depicting the first Emperor receiving his crown. Many wondered what the Founding Mark would make of today.
The black royal flag with its gold eagle, and the gold-green-gold striped flag of the people, flanked the freshly reupholstered Throne, still missing its back extension. A reminder to the occupant that he served City and People. The flags hung listlessly, but everybody knew what they were.
The Hall was packed with the Supreme Council and Senate, the latter summoned from the lower chamber to witness the most important event in Marka for a quarter of a millennium.
Senators and High Councilors wore their formal clothes, soldiers their best uniforms and the sylphs were decked out in their finest. The scouts wore white shirts and gray breeches, silver or black collars, purple sashes and silver decorations. Those borrowed from the temples wore white breeches and shirts.
All around the hall, City Guardsmen and officers from Marcus's personal guard kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, ready to move should anything go wrong.
Supreme Councilor Olista appeared in the doorway, clad in his purest robes, bearing a staff topped with a sunburst and having a steel cube at the bottom. He knocked on the grou
nd three times and brought silence to the Hall. His voice resonated.
"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!" With the last word he brought the staff crashing down and the force reverberated through the chamber. Bowing, Olista turned aside.
Flanked by two of his priests, the Imhotep of Marka waited immediately behind Olista. Everybody stood as the Imhotep started forward, his movements slow and graceful, headed directly for the Throne. Zenepha followed, a purple robe over his red and purple clothing. A tight cap hid his earpoints and most of his long silvery gray hair. He kept his head up and met the eye of many politicians. He smiled and nodded at a few.
Unlike Selkina, who kept her head down and showed insecurity by her wilted earpoints. No coronation for her today; Marka would gain an Emperor, but a caretaker needed no official consort.
There were more in the procession. Representatives from the old noble houses of Marka, Marcus and his family, Verdin and his family, Mansard and Mikhan, Ranallic and Crallin.
As the Imhotep passed over the threshold, Zenepha discovered another reason for the vaulted roof in Coronation Hall. The sylphs began to sing.
Their voices rose and fell without accompaniment, soaring through the notes, effortless music so pure and clear that no human voice could ever hope to match it. Legend said a choir of ilven sang for the Founder and the human ear had never heard anything like since. If the story was true, many already reckoned this must come close. As Zenepha reached the Throne, the choir reached a crescendo and ceased.
Moments of complete silence in Coronation Hall, only broken by the Imhotep.
"We are here today, gathered as witnesses with the Father, to anoint Zenepha as Caretaker Emperor of Marka."
Zenepha resisted an urge to tell the Imhotep to get on with it. But humans needed rituals as much as sylphs needed security. From the sharp intake of breath from Selkina, he guessed she felt anything but secure. He must make it up to her later.
"We pray to the Father."
Zenepha remained silent as the humans mumbled the prayer, with only the Imhotep and his priests speaking it aloud properly. The religious leader took from his gold edged robe a vial of oil and rubbed some onto the sylph's forehead.