"There won't be much left of the harvest for Hingast to use." Kestan had been ordered to destroy as many crops as possible when it became obvious that the siege would drag on. No point in allowing food to fall into enemy hands.
Marcus turned to the young sylph again. This one's earpoints were not tucked away, a good sign. "Managed to get anyone?" he asked.
"No acknowledgment." The sylph grimaced.
"You tried." He must risk casualties on his own side. "What's your name, boy?"
The scout blinked. "Fhionnen-y-Neffas."
Marcus nodded. "Stay close to me, Fhionnen."
"Se bata."
Marcus turned again and raised a questioning eyebrow at the men working on the rockets.
"Just give the word, sire," one of them growled.
Mikhan shrugged. "May as well get it over."
Marcus turned to Fhionnen. "General command: loose rockets, loose catapults."
The scout nodded and, earpoints twitching wildly in excited pride, whistled the order. Marcus and Mikhan had already agreed that a quarter of the mangonels' wooden balls would be loosed at the enemy soldiers outside the walls, and that half of the available rockets would be fired at the enemy's war machines. The other rockets were aimed at Hingast's camp, to show he was no longer safely out of range. This should be impressive.
Slow-matches were put to the fuses of the rockets and the balls. The mangonels loosed first, set to all ranges. The explosions masked the whooshing of the rockets as they freed themselves from the wooden frameworks that held them prisoner. Sadly, not all reached their targets, but they added to the death, mayhem and confusion among enemy ranks.
Shouts and screams of terrified, injured men filled the air and almost all came from outside Marka's walls. Horns sounded and the enemy fell back, thankful to escape. A lot of corpses littered the ground between Hingast's camp and the walls. Wounded men crawled feebly in the dirt. Even better, the rockets had started many small fires, which more men tried to extinguish.
"Reload with green fire," commanded Mikhan, the message passed on by the sylphs. "Release when ready."
Marcus nodded, a huge grin splitting his face. Press home the attack; make the most of fear and confusion. Attack, attack, attack! He turned to Fhionnen. "Try to get Kestan now."
The sylph, eyes still bright with excitement, nodded and obeyed the command. "I have an acknowledgment, donenya," he called, a moment later.
"Command: operate under own initiative; harry the enemy."
Fhionnen nodded and whistled the order.
Marcus turned back to Mikhan. "I think we should try to coordinate our attacks with Lance Captain Kestan again." He should also promote the man to General; Kestan had performed superbly ever since the siege started. "We can risk opening the gates to launch attacks of our own against Hingast." He grinned. "With more rockets and exploding balls."
The old marshal returned the smile. "His Majesty will be pleased," he said. "Such a move will be good for morale."
***
"What is that?"
Dervra looked up as strange whooshing sounds and the noise of muffled explosions reached his ears.
Grayar shrugged. He stopped feeling for a way to smash through the strands of sorcery that held him prisoner. If he read this situation aright...
Dervra turned back to his captive, eyes ablaze. "You've given them the secret of gunpowder!"
"Nonsense," retorted the other. "They discovered it themselves."
"So you were aware of its presence before now."
The explosions sounded louder, nearer. Men driven back from the walls of Marka by the rockets began to regroup.
"I knew they were tinkering with nitrates." Grayar was aware of rapidly approaching danger, though he heard nothing. A rocket had this tent for its target.
Dervra narrowed his eyes at his enemy. He, too, was aware of imminent danger. "Another time," he hissed. Unable to hold his prisoner and escape, he chose life and freedom.
Thankful for release, Grayar projected himself to Sandev's villa just as the missile tore through the fabric of the tent, setting fire to it.
He stood, aware of the surprised stares of two sylphs, both rubbing their arms. Salu, his own sylph, recovered first and smiled uncertainly.
"Enya?"
"I'm fine," replied Grayar, tersely. His attention turned to Caya. "I would like to speak with your Mistress. Now, please."
***
Janin-y-Sandev looked at his tray in dismay. There had been no announcement, but he knew the rations had been cut yet again. The three vegetables that caused his disappointment looked shriveled and well past their best. The meager scrap of choca – rumored to be a gift from Zenepha, doled out as "reward" for his part in the battle – was already gone. No sylph allowed choca to remain uneaten any longer than necessary. He looked around the scouts' refectory for somewhere to sit.
Unspoken agreement and an invisible wall divided the dining hall. Those scouts who had marched into the city with Marcus Vintner occupied one corner, while sylphs who had joined the corps in Marka used the rest of the hall.
Janin knew that the other sylphs had not fully accepted the newcomers, which included himself. The Calcan scouts regarded them as not even partly trained. He had heard – and was sick of hearing – that it took five years of hard training before a sylph should run with the army. The professional scouts were friendly, but kept their distance.
They called themselves yenakula, or brotherhood, and referred to the newcomers as senakul, or inferior brothers. A few of the city scouts were female, drawn from the ranks of former beggars. This went unremarked by the fully trained sylphs, but several of the Markan males were not quite so happy about it. Janin thought this must be a matter of upbringing, as he had no opinion on female scouts one way or the other. Everybody had to do what they could do best, for the survival of them all, or so the wild sylphs claimed. And he preferred to take a wild cousin's opinion over that of a pampered city boy. Not that any wild sylphs were here; they had all stayed outside the city. To judge from the state of the rations, probably the better side of the walls to be on.
The senakul were keenly aware of this division, so Janin blinked in surprise when he saw one of the Vintner scouts wave to him as he looked up from his meager meal.
"Come and join us," called Bascon.
A moment later Janin stood beside the small table at which three sylphs were sat. Although he had picked his way carefully through the yenakula corner of the hall, the gazes directed his way were friendlier than expected for one trespassing on another's territory. He grinned at Bascon and inclined his head to Belaika. The former was the oldest scout here and the other had the ear of the most powerful human in Marka. Only Zenepha ranked higher than Marcus Vintner.
"This is Tynrasa-y-Fellon." Bascon introduced the third painted scout. "Tynrasa, this scruffy Markan boy is Janin-y-Sandev."
Tynrasa's eyes widened a little and his earpoints gave a twitch. "You have an auspicious owner. Sit, boy. We are impressed by you."
Janin almost fell into his seat. They were impressed by him?
"There are several new scouts we wish to see trained further once this siege is over." Belaika smiled at Janin's grimace as he mentioned training. "You are one of them."
"You are eager," added Bascon. "Not a coward and not lazy."
Belaika nodded his agreement. "When we were dismissed from the walls, many were ready to go back to bed. We still had work to do and you were one of the few who stayed with no need for a reminder."
"I am honored," stammered Janin. Looking around the tables, he now noticed several other Markans dotted among the Vintner scouts. "What will happen to the others?"
"Some will be returned to their owners," replied Bascon. "Without shame. They are eager, but not good enough for us. Others we cannot wait to see the back of. A few are welcome to continue their training, but we think most will fall by the wayside. We like what we see in the rest and that includes you."
Janin
grinned, but his earpoints betrayed uncertainty.
"Until recently you were a street sylph," said Tynrasa. "You are tougher than most Markans, and will be tougher yet when we have finished with you."
"And it helps that we like you as well," grinned Bascon. "You will be one of us, Janin."
The younger sylph grinned and his earpoints twitched with pleasure. For the first time in his short life, he felt as though he truly belonged.
***
Lance Captain Kestan had a headache. He often did these days, with so much to juggle. He had only recently finished burning crops to keep them out of Hingast's hands and he must also continue his increasingly daring raids against the enemy. Sadly, he had lost good men – but thankfully no sylphs – during these attacks, but the number of soldiers killed and war machines destroyed on the other side gratified him.
As usual in the evening, he and Lance Lieutenant Dekran discussed their intelligence – almost all of it supplied by the sylphs – and the day's events.
"We'll have to move our base again," said Dekran. "It looks as though Hingast is moving his tents beyond the range of the rockets."
"That was an impressive demonstration. Shame nobody thought to tell us to get out of it before things got noisy. We were lucky to suffer no injuries. Scared the juices out of most of the lads."
"And the sylphs."
"The scouts claim a command was given, but nobody heard it until later." Kestan shrugged and turned to happier news. "Our numbers grow every time a patrol returns." The patrols Zenepha had sent out before the siege were now returning, met by sylph scouts who redirected them.
"Today might have gone horribly wrong," said Dekran. "I hope we learn from it."
Fully trained scouts now stiffened the wild sylphs, thanks to those already in the field when Hingast arrived. They were spread thinly as half traveled to relieve others or helped train the wild sylph scouts.
"There are only fourteen wild sylphs mature enough to be reliable in the field," continued Dekran. "Most are employed watching for new armies on the move."
"Plenty of reports of that." Kestan sighed.
"The army in Calcan hasn't moved yet. The reports still take days."
"The Sandester mob is moving though," said Kestan. "I suspect one of Mikhan's boys commands it."
"Or Tennen. I wonder what Nazvasta would think if he knew we had sylph scouts spying in his city."
"They won't still be there," pointed out Kestan. "They should be shadowing that army." Nazvasta, brother of the late Branad, was Steward in Sandester. His intentions were unknown, but nobody believed he would side with Hingast. Kestan changed the subject. "Any news of the patrol that delayed Hingast's reinforcements?"
"Nothing yet. Must be one of Branad's mob; no sylphs with it."
Scouts had reported on that attack. One of the patrols had found some of Hingast's reinforcements. The commander waited until nightfall, then fired most of its supplies and killed its horses.
"One of Branad's or not, I want to meet the officer in command. He thinks like we do."
"Rumors from the south are worrying." Dekran had convinced himself this remained the biggest potential threat.
"The trading Prefectures can't decide on a commander," pointed out Kestan.
"It's still a powerful army," countered Dekran. "We don't know its intentions."
"Ean-y-Felis'll learn all we need to know."
"He isn't very experienced either." Dekran's tone was expressionless.
"But the best available," said Kestan. His tone suggested he did not want to go through these arguments again. "He's experienced enough not to make a fool of himself. If or when that army crosses the border with Marka, we'll practically know all we need instantly."
Dekran stood to leave. "We'll give Hingast a rest tonight. Those rockets were every bit as exciting for our boys as they were for his."
Kestan nodded. "See you in the morning."
Juggling tasks was not the only cause of his headache.
Aelfina claimed that the small infertile sylph who served him wanted to share her name. Despite this, she sidestepped every attempt he made to learn it. She'd given a vague promise to share her name when "the time is right."
Worse than courting, what part of sylph ritual was this?
The sylph in question poked her head around the tent divide. "Aelfina-ya," she announced without ceremony, though her eyes were unusually wide.
The wild sylphs had a secret, something that concerned Kestan, but Aelfina refused to share. There were whispered questions and, when he pressed the sylphs' leader about it, received little more than a smile in reply. Aelfina said only that he had something to discuss with every sylph. Kestan still wondered what that might be. Perhaps he and the small infertile were winding him up between them.
"Hello Aelfina." He dropped into his chair. "Come in and sit. Water?"
"Thank you, nothing." Aelfina came all the way into Kestan's quarters, smiled uncertainly and dropped onto his heels. "I have not come to visit."
"No?" The Lance Captain regarded the tall sylph with genuine fondness.
Aelfina's smile broadened. "We wish to see you in the clearing."
"Now?"
"All those who are not about their duties in the field are there." Aelfina's expression hinted that getting the wild sylphs together had been no easy task. "And those about their duties have already given their assent."
"All right." Kestan pulled himself upright and followed the tall male sylph out of his tent, heeled by the small infertile.
The assembled sylphs parted to allow Aelfina and Kestan through. The off-duty soldiers were also here, as even those who had been ignorant of the sylph language were now all but fluent in it. Most wild sylphs were also equally fluent in the human tongue, but rarely practiced it openly.
Aelfina turned and lifted his hands for silence, earpoints twitching. From the moment he opened his mouth, Kestan knew this would be a very special day.
"We have gathered to do what we have agreed. We of the neculya nebonda have not yet chosen a formal leader, nor somewhere to live."
The Free Tribe? wondered Kestan.
Aelfina continued. "It is customary in our father tribes to elect a leader for life, before electing another. Sadly, we may never again find our fathers, so we must begin a new tribe. And who better to have as our leader but the one who found and melded us?"
All eyes turned to Kestan and he shifted, unused to being the center of attention. Those silvery gray eyes were... intent. A murmur ran through the assembly.
"I propose Kestan Taynor-y-nebonda to be our founding leader."
Kestan stared. Until now, he'd never realized the sylphs had granted him a sylphic name. Only the large sylph-owning families indulged themselves this way. He flushed as the chorus of approval swelled. He smiled and nodded his head, moving closer to Aelfina. He waited for silence and cleared his throat, wondering why it felt so constricted. He blinked back tears of pride. Why had they chosen a human leader?
"I accept your great honor," he began, meaning that for name and title.
Their way ahead had got no easier and he knew better than most that some might die before they ever found somewhere to live. He firmed his voice and continued. He would serve these sylphs well, no matter what.
As the Free Tribe applauded his speech, Kestan paused. From behind, the infertile who served him leaned forward.
"My name," she whispered, "is Cian."
***
Nicolfer watched Tangan as he slept. The boy had improved at the killing game, though he could only be compelled when semi-conscious. Unfortunately, he always came fully awake at the moment he killed and his reactions were typically sylph. She could compel the human part of him on one level, but his consciousness was almost purely sylph and overruled everything once awake. In all likelihood, the stress of her manipulations shortened his life expectancy. As an assassin, Tangan would be useful for one kill only. Fortunately, she wanted nothing more from him.
&
nbsp; She had successfully used compulsion without being in the same room only once before and, until very recently, she had to touch him for it to work. She left the room with its sleeping sylph and stood to one side of the corridor. She called with her mind.
Tangan, Tangan! Time to wake, time to kill. Come Tangan, come. The one you must kill is downstairs. Wake Tangan, time to kill.
Eyes blank, earpoints tucked away as if their owner still slept – Nicolfer felt certain the sylph part of him was asleep, or not even this would work – Tangan left the room. He turned left out of the door and headed for the staircase. He did not see Nicolfer. She followed the sylph cautiously, a small smile turning her lips as she watched the boy. He moved slowly, more like a human than a sylph. The human part must be the more primitive. Those who had first wrought the sylphs had done their job well. The trouble she'd had unlocking the boy! She wondered if the old pure sylphs had been killers. Probably not, to judge from Tangan's resistance to her. But she had succeeded. Almost, anyway.
Tangan paused at the door to the room below his own. Slowly, he pushed it open and Nicolfer moved quickly before it closed again. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she smiled as she made out the shape of her prisoner.
Not one of her people, but a potential threat to her security. He would be useful for a few moments only. Soundly asleep, he did not know he would die tonight.
Tangan stepped forward. He could see of course, his eyes had adjusted far more quickly than her own. She saw his arm lift, then drop. A dull thud, a grunt from the target cut short. Nicolfer felt satisfaction. The boy had killed again.
Tangan came fully awake.
"Noooooooo!" The sylph dropped the knife, fell to his knees and repeated his scream. He bowed his head to the ground, and drew breath.
"Enough of that," commanded Nicolfer.
The compulsion did not work this time. Tangan howled, earpoints bolt upright, eyes as wide as they could go. Nicolfer grasped his leather collar and twisted, which at least cut off the air supply to the boy's lungs. The sylph struggled and eventually lay limp. Nicolfer relaxed her grip; she had no wish to kill him.
"Back to the cellar, my boy," she told the semi-conscious sylph. "You can wail all you like down there."