Markan Throne

  Kestan inspected the caravan. Eight armed men surrounded three covered horse-drawn wagons. Each had a driver except the lead wagon, which had two. Twelve men. Nobody at the caravan seemed to have noticed the newcomers, so Kestan waited. Their direction of travel almost paralleled that of Marcus and his army.

  The gap had narrowed since Belaika's report; Kestan estimated two and a half stridas lay between the wagons and him. This caravan headed directly for Marka.

  "You sure he's a slaver?" he asked.

  The scout who had discovered the caravan stared up at the human, revulsion showing in his silvery gray eyes. "When you get close you will smell their cargo," he said.

  "Not easy for humans," added Belaika. "They carry sylphs, who do not smell as bad when dirty."

  Kestan glared at the sylph, who smiled back. "Are you this forward with your master?" he asked.

  No reply was forthcoming and the sylph's grin widened. The smile said it all, really.

  "I am not completely sure, donenya," continued the scout who had first seen the caravan, "but I think the slaver has wild sylphs."

  Kestan nodded. He doubted the sylph could produce any evidence to back his claim, or explain how he could tell a wild sylph from any other, but he knew enough about the blue skinned creatures to trust their instincts.

  Wild sylphs sometimes traded infertiles to humans, but only rarely were the breeding sexes sold. Overpopulation might encourage a cull of misfits or malcontents the rest of the tribe wanted to see the back of. Such sylphs were in demand for use as fresh breeding stock and always brought high prices. Wild sylphs had special rights enshrined in law, which specifically forbade the taking of them by any means except fair trade, but the rewards were high. He would soon discover whether or not this was an illegal slaver.

  "With me, Ean and Belaika," he commanded.

  Finally recognizing the danger, the small caravan came to an abrupt halt and the eight guards formed a defensive square. Kestan doubted if these men had much military training. He slowed a little, while half of his men rode harder, putting themselves on the other side of the caravan. The two scouts sniffed at the air as they drew closer and exchanged glances. Both pairs of earpoints lay back in their hair.

  "Can you smell it?" asked Belaika, keeping pace with Kestan's horse.

  Kestan shook his head. "Both of you stay close." He raised his voice, shouting to the men. "Put your weapons aside, in the name of the Emperor!"

  Lancers surrounded the caravan and the armed guards hastily assumed a less aggressive posture. They recognized that these new arrivals were no brigands, easily frightened away with a show of strength, but fully trained soldiers. A short stocky man stood up on the box of the leading wagon.

  "What do you want?" he demanded. "We have no part in your civil war."

  "You in charge?" asked Kestan.

  The man nodded, wariness shining in his blue eyes.

  "What goods do you carry?"

  The man smiled, showing perfect teeth. "Slaves," he replied, turning to gesture at the other two wagons.

  "Sylph or human?"

  "Sylph." The trader stared warily at the two scouts.

  "Tell your men to stand down. Then you may show me your, ah, wares."

  The man drew himself up. "I will not be plundered!" he all but screamed. "We are honest traders. We pay our taxes. I will not –"

  "Tell your men to stand down," repeated Kestan. "And show me."

  The trader gestured. The drivers laid down their reins and climbed off the wagons. The trader jumped from his own wagon, bringing a ring of keys with him. "I will not be plundered," he muttered, darkly.

  Belaika moved closer to Kestan. "The man is dson," he whispered, disgust thickening his voice. "You cannot smell it?"

  "Be calm." Kestan smiled reassuringly at the scout.

  Two lancers followed their Captain as he followed the trader to the first wagon. Now Kestan smelled the not-quite-pleasant, not-quite-unpleasant sinabra of sylphs, much stronger than normal, mixed with a rather more unpleasant smell. As the man unlocked and swung open the door of the wagon, that smell grew worse. Sickened, Belaika and Ean took a couple of involuntary paces backwards.

  Stepping inside the gloomy wagon, Kestan fought off a curse. He guessed there were fifty or more sylph males in here, all young. The silvery gray eyes of the nearest glowed, but were devoid of all usual expression. These younglings had lost the spirit Kestan associated with sylphs.

  That was no surprise, nor that they were naked and chained. But he felt disgust at the trader for leaving these sylphs in their ordure, glad it was not summer, when this wagon would be full of flies and quite likely corpses.

  "Ranva's eyes, trader, don't you let them out?" He made no attempt to mask his disgust. "There's no excuse for keeping them like this."

  "And have them escape?"

  Belaika and Ean exchanged glances, before staring at the trader in disbelief.

  That, thought Kestan, is your first mistake. Sylphs bred into slavery do not attempt escape. Aloud, he said: "Show me the other wagon."

  This wagon was longer and higher and Kestan expected to see more males, who usually fetched higher prices. When the door finally swung open, he winced. He estimated some two hundred sylph females were within, again mostly youngsters or infertiles. This wagon boasted a two tier arrangement, presumably to cram in more souls. There was just as little care for personal hygiene here, with filth finding its way from the upper level to the lower. The same dull, spiritless glow from the nearest sylph eyes met his entrance.

  "You travel south, trader," said Kestan, fighting to keep his voice level. He had no time for unnecessary cruelty to sylphs, wild or civilized. "To Marka?"

  The trader nodded.

  "From where did you buy this stock? No cities in the north trade fertile sylphs with Marka."

  The trader's eyes flickered, but he had obviously not dreamed up any cover story, which suggested he usually had no need for one.

  "These," continued Kestan, "are wild sylphs."

  The trader did not try to deny it. "All bartered and traded for."

  "Do you or any of your men speak sylph?" demanded Kestan. "I am happy to test their knowledge of the language."

  The trader's mouth worked soundlessly. "Their chieftain spoke our tongue," he finally managed to splutter.

  "Wild sylphs have as little as possible to do with humans," retorted Kestan. "They do not learn our language." He turned to the sylphs and raised his voice, so all could hear him. "Nul awa salu sallit dondon?"

  "Le newu," replied an anonymous sylph, after a few moments of stunned silence.

  Kestan turned to the trader. "They don't speak our language. You must explain to me how you successfully trade with creatures whose tongue you do not speak and who do not speak ours. Outside, away from this disgusting stench."

  The trader began to protest even before he relocked the door. "I am an honest man. I..."

  Kestan ignored him. "Sergeant! Disarm these men and place them all under arrest."

  "Arrest?" The trader's eyes widened.

  Kestan turned back to him. "These are wild sylphs who I believe have been abducted against the will of their tribe or tribes. When I rejoin the rest of my army and we have time to get these unfortunates cleaned up and clothed, we will question them and you. I am sure we will then hear the truth."

  "You cannot do this to me!" howled the trader as Kestan returned to his men.

  Wrapped in pleased silence, Belaika and Ean followed.

  Surrounded by lancers, the caravan had no choice but to go in the direction they were commanded to travel. Ean whistled a message, warning the main body of the army that prisoners were on their way. The trader and his men stared at the sylph as he gave the appearance of whistling, but none of the humans heard a sound. Kestan had never fully understood the sylphs' explanation of noises that humans could not hear, but he had learned to let it pass.

  Late in the day, they rejoined the rest of the army. Most of the sc
outs and all the armed detachments were back. Even better, the camp was already set up, so they had successfully evaded that task. Belaika glimpsed Jenn at the mess tent, where she collected Marcus's meal and he crossed to join her.

  "One is for Branad-ya," said the smaller sylph, hefting two plates. "I suggest you do your duty and take it." She sniffed. "I brewed his alovak while you were out enjoying yourself in the field."

  Belaika grinned and his earpoints twitched in amusement. Jenn was in a bantering mood. "Thank you for caring for him I did not ask to care for."

  Unimpressed, Jenn sniffed, although her eyes glinted mischievously. Her face was stern, but her earpoints betrayed inner laughter. "None of us chooses our owner," she retorted. "It is enough that enya has commanded you do this."

  "All right," laughed the male sylph, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I will tell Branad-ya who he must thank for his alovak. He might send me back to enya and ask for you instead."

  The look of horror on Jenn's face made Belaika laugh harder. He gave her a small bow. This time her earpoints and facial expression matched exactly.

  "Thank you for covering my duty." Taking the mounded plate of meat and vegetables, Belaika trotted towards Marcus's tent, knowing Branad's would be pitched beside it. The guards waved him inside without a second glance.

  Branad turned at his entrance.

  "A good day's scouting?" he asked. "An illegal slave caravan, I hear."

  Belaika inclined his head and placed the meal down carefully. As Jenn had said, the alovak was already brewed, so he poured a large cup and put it at Branad's elbow.

  "May I go eat?"

  Branad glanced up and nodded.

  The sylphs' mess tent was set up beside a small lake, not far from the impounded caravan. Sitting among yenakula – brother scouts – and a few sylph nurses, Belaika turned as he heard a growing noise from the small collection of wagons. Lance Captain Kestan, together with a few men and several nurses – both human and sylph – sorted the inmates of the wagons. If further proof concerning the released prisoners' origin was required, the contempt that shone in their eyes for the sylph nurses should have been enough. For their part, the pity in the nurses' eyes had nothing to do with filth streaking naked bodies. Wild sylphs held civilized sylphs in contempt, while civilized sylphs viewed their wild cousins with pity, as they would never know the security of good owners.

  The wild sylphs viewed the humans with wariness and fear, except those who had been involved in their rescue. Belaika knew hero worship when he saw it: these sylphs were more than grateful to Kestan and his men.

  "They're being washed," someone said, as more of the scouts and nurses finished their meal and began to gravitate towards the caravan, curious to learn more about the newcomers. For most, this was the first time they had encountered sylphs from the wild tribes. Finishing his meal, Belaika followed the general drift towards the wagons, pushing aside his duty.

  He watched everything.

  The captive slave traders were set to work scrubbing the wagons, while human and sylph nurses checked the freshly washed sylphs for disease, rubbing salves into all fetter-sores. Kestan and his men made a tally of the sylphs, counting sixty-one males, including eight fully grown, if young; one hundred and sixty-eight females, including twenty-four adults; and thirty-three infertiles, who seemed even shyer than any other sylphs. Two hundred and sixty-two sylph souls crammed into the vilest conditions possible.

  Belaika listened as questions were asked of the sylphs. Kestan looked pleased to have arrested this caravan. The sylphs were from more than one tribe and none knew the way back home. They were from the north, from various Prefectures. Snatched in ones and twos, some had been in the wagons for only weeks, whereas others had suffered far longer.

  The scout itched to help, but he noted the wild sylphs would only speak to the humans involved in their rescue. They viewed the other sylphs with contempt, and that changed to fear when they saw a collar.

  "I'll have a word with them," said Marcus, from beside the sylph.

  Belaika blushed under his paint; he had not heard his owner approach. "If they listen," he said.

  "We'll soon find out."

  Marcus spoke, using the sylph language. He quickly assured the newcomers that they had not exchanged one set of masters for another and that they were free to leave when they wished. He warned that where there was one slaver, there would be others and, for the time being at least, the wild sylphs would be safer marching with the army. If they found a piece of land they felt should and could be colonized, then they were free to set up their own tribe. Entirely their choice.

  Two hundred and sixty-two pairs of silvery gray eyes swiveled to Kestan. Belaika’s lip turned. How dare they treat his owner so? He recognized the light shining in those eyes, replacing the dull and listless impression given earlier. They waited for Kestan to speak.

  "I recommend you stay," said Kestan, before realizing he had just used a language they did not understand. He translated hastily.

  The larger sylph males nodded and the group of wild sylphs, seeing food laid out for them on nearby tables, drifted away.

  Kestan turned to Marcus. "Will we hold a trial for the slavers here?" he asked.

  "No. We'll hand them over to the Markan authorities where they will doubtless escape with only the mildest of admonitions. Until then, we must hold them securely." Marcus nodded towards the wagons, his dark blue eyes shining with laughter. "Strip them and chain them in one of the wagons in the same way they chained the sylphs. Give them food and water, but do not let them out. At least some justice will be done."

  Kestan grinned. "As you command, so do I obey."

  Marcus turned to the listening Belaika. "Aren't you supposed to be with Branad?" he asked.

  Belaika bowed his head. "Se bata," he replied.

  ***

  "Belaika! I was beginning to think you'd deserted for the night."

  Branad turned as the sylph pushed the inner tapestries aside to enter the tent. The defeated rival for the Throne took a sip from the glass in his hand.

  Again, the scout's paint hid his blush. "I am sorry," he apologized. "After eating, I went to see the wild sylphs. Time flew."

  Branad nodded and turned again. Belaika had already seen they were not alone. General Ranallic lounged in one of the easy chairs, one booted foot arrogantly propped atop the other and a glass of wine in his hand.

  "You are Belaika," said Ranallic. "One of the much vaunted sylph scouts. We met the other day but have not spoken. Come closer, boy."

  The sylph nodded, trying to avoid the General's cold stare, finding his slanted eyes fascinating. He wondered why the other southerners did not associate with Ranallic. Obeying the command, he moved forward.

  "My parents used to keep sylphs," continued Ranallic. "Timid creatures, of whichever sex, inclined to run away from everything, yet always submissive to the point of sacrificing themselves. And too pretty for masculinity." His feet abruptly hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud as he swung himself upright and shot out an arm to grip Belaika by the shoulder. The sylph tensed. "I'm impressed by your scouting colleagues. How did Marcus manage to invent sylph scouts?"

  "We invented ourselves," replied Belaika, recalling his master's command to be open. He wondered why Branad took no part in the discussion, but instead fiddled with something behind him. "We can do this task, so offered our services."

  Ranallic nodded, but his cold eyes did not change. He leaned back and waved his hand, indicating that the sylph might sit. Belaika sat cross-legged on the rug. As it grew dark and cold outside, he welcomed the warmth from the stove in the tent. The southern General stared into space for a few seconds.

  "Tell me," he said, eventually, "if there has ever been trouble between General Kelanus and sylphs. I would not ask, but these new arrivals force the question."

  Belaika blinked. "Trouble?" he echoed. "I know of none."

  Branad joined in the conversation. "Ranallic, we have no wish
to stir anything up from his past. Perhaps he has begun afresh."

  "And perhaps not," countered Ranallic.

  Belaika sat and thought, hoping not too many emotions flashed across his face. What was going on here? He already knew that Kelanus and Ranallic hated each other, but what trouble could there be between Marcus's General and the sylphs? "Kelanus-ya is kind to us," he said, slowly. "When there is choca, he is quick to share it."

  "Ah yes, choca." Ranallic looked and sounded amused. "A weakness shared by all sylphs."

  Branad could see that a change of subject was called for. "Tell me everything you know about this caravan. How did you know they were illegal slavers?"

  The sylph nodded. "When Ean ran it down, he knew that, despite outward appearances..."

  ***

  Belaika forced his breathing to slow. He estimated two hours had passed since the guard changed. He'd almost missed that, as the tapestries forming the inner wall of Branad's tent masked almost all sound, even for him.

  Branad's slow gentle snore came from beyond the partition, again muted thanks to tapestries screening it off. The sylph wanted to see his master, but what he wanted to communicate must be done privately. He could not just walk out of this tent without arousing the suspicion of the guard – one of Branad's men – especially when he immediately went into Marcus's tent. If Marcus's guard would even let him in, unlikely this time of night. So he must find a way out of this tent, break into that of his master, say what he must, ask his question, leave stealthily and break back into this one. All without seeing anyone other than Marcus.

  He slipped from his blankets and shouldered through the tapestries to find the tent wall proper. It was almost too dark even for him, but he could see enough for his purpose. Crouching at one of the joins in the outer canvas wall, he loosened the bottom two ties. As the temperature suddenly plummeted, he tried not to shiver or draw a sharp breath. He rolled out from the tent and became still, taking stock of his surroundings.

  No moon, but plenty of stars, which gave him enough light. Silence filled the camp, for even the hardiest soldiers were asleep. Only the tent and perimeter guards were awake and they would not have heard him. Dodging guy ropes and tent pegs, Belaika wriggled across the short distance between the two tents.