Markan Throne

  The bodyguard smiled. "No, I'm looking after Caya."

  Zenepha looked into the shop, where he saw Sandev's slave waiting her turn in a queue. He heaved a mental sigh of relief. A couple of years ago there had been suggestions that he marry Caya, but Sandev had decided against. Zenepha had liked the idea and felt certain Caya had shown equal interest. Sandev gave no reason, but Zenepha now had a wife. Selkina was his only love.

  "Some would say your owner is careless, letting you out by yourself," said Stanak.

  Zenepha shrugged. "The city is safe," he said. "Who bothers sylphs? Besides, Guardsmen are everywhere."

  "There are still dangerous areas where even the City Guard treads with caution," countered Stanak. "And there are those who would strike at the Supreme Councilor through you."

  The sylph shivered and his earpoints wilted a little. "I know where all the bad places are. And avoid them."

  "As you wish. Ah. Caya."

  Sandev's slave left the shop, carrying purchases for her mistress. She smiled at Zenepha, her earpoints slanting ahead and twitching. She remained unmarried, and her interest had clearly not diminished. The two sylphs inclined their heads, but said nothing. At least he had not run into Sandev.

  ***

  Janin muttered in his sleep, baring his teeth in a grimace of fear.

  He'd left his begging spot late, with darkness shrouding even the Guildsman. He picked his way carefully through the streets, hoping to see the night beggars about their business. Someone followed. Not someone, but something. More than anything, he wanted to see more of his own kind. Why was he alone? There were always scavengers about. Just him and whatever followed.

  He began to run and almost screamed as the something poked him in the back…

  Janin opened his eyes and stared at the blank whitewashed wall in front of him. Safe in his blanket, he blinked. Abandoned by humans, beggars had long since colonized the old warehouse. Another poke in the back.

  "You going to lie there all day, lazy one?" came Saxin's voice.

  He groaned and rolled over to look into the infertile's sparkling eyes. Sunlight already streamed into the building and he blinked again.

  "Us night scroungers need beauty sleep as well." Saxin sat on her heels as she spoke, offering old vegetables as breakfast. Probably collected from a rubbish heap somewhere. Some places night scavengers visited were truly disgusting; Janin no longer asked. "Most of the day boys have gone. Only idlers like you left. Wind has finally dropped; looks like spring is here at last."

  He lifted his hands in mock surrender and rolled free from the blanket. "I came back late."

  "I noticed." The other sylph nodded. "Something bothers you as well; you cannot hide it from me."

  "Someone followed me from the Guildsman. Probably one of those you saw come into the city."

  "You be careful." Saxin eyed him with genuine concern. Only a handful of years older than he, they had spent a lot of time together when younger. She always looked after him with an almost motherly eye; maternal feelings where there should be none. She still treated him like a child, though he now stood taller.

  "I am always careful. Thanks for breakfast, enjoy your sleep."

  Saxin grinned before wrapping herself in her blanket in the same spot Janin had just vacated. "Happy begging." Moments later, she fell asleep.

  Despite being one of the last to leave the old warehouse, Janin still had Senate Square pretty much to himself. As Saxin had said, the thin winter wind had dropped, but he still carried his blanket. The pavement chilled his feet; the blanket would be better to sit on than cold stone. He had not gone very far before last night's shivery feeling crept over him again.

  All his instincts warned that somebody watched him and, worse, followed him. He looked over his shoulder.

  Nothing. A couple of citizens chatting in the square, one throwing glances his way, and a Guardsman slowly patrolling. The uniformed man also had an eye on Janin, but the sylph suspected this was not the watcher. Guardsmen were bound to watch a sylph beggar crossing Senate Square.

  He turned onto the main street and greeted the first beggar from a rival gang he had seen today. They were woken and sent out early by their gang masters; he pitied them. Like them, Janin craved the security of a good owner, but the human boys who controlled the gangs did not really own those sylphs they bullied and cajoled. They were users who took what they could and gave little back. Sylphs from the warehouse were usually left alone, but he would prefer to work on a farm. Anything but the indignity of begging.

  He had never known anything but an itinerant's life. He did not know if he was a rejected sylph, one who once belonged to a farmer who had surrendered his farm, or a survivor from a raid. The older sylphs only told him that he had been found as an infant, wrapped against the cold in the depths of winter, abandoned by either his parents or a surrogate. He never felt bad about this: plenty of sylphs had worse tales.

  This time Janin noticed something wrong when he glanced over his shoulder. A large man, ducking out of sight. His mental hackles rose. He definitely had a follower and now he knew who. The large man was one of the newcomers staying in the Guildsman.

  "Seen you," he murmured to himself.

  His fear abated now he had seen the follower. Should he return to his usual begging spot? Was he in danger? These people could not possibly know Sandev had tasked him to spy, but they followed him for a reason. They might suspect – or even worse, know! – that Sandev used him as a spy. He decided to carry on as normal, but if anyone from the Guildsman approached, he would run.

  "I am no easy target," he growled under his breath.

  Maintaining his pace, Janin turned another corner and risked another glance over his shoulder. This time, the big man was caught in the open and looked away from the sylph far too quickly to be innocent. A human might have missed it, but he did not. This man had caused his unease and probably also his nightmare.

  Reaching the Guildsman, he spread his blanket opposite the tavern and dropped onto his heels. Lucky no other sylph had beaten him here. Perhaps he was not that late after all. Moments later, the large man appeared, glanced quickly at the beggar and disappeared inside.

  Janin determined to watch and wait, while he continued with the serious business of begging for his living. The sylph smiled to himself: the men at the Guildsman had something to hide, or why would they worry about an insignificant sylph beggar?

  ***

  Zenepha realized he had entered Marka's industrial quarter.

  He had come here unconsciously. Nestled against the west wall, the industrial quarter had its own gate for importing raw materials, and almost all the important manufactories of Marka were here. Iron tools, weapons and ornamental goods were made here, and the Imperial Mint discreetly tucked away along an alley without even a sign to announce its presence... Wainwrights, carpenters, coopers, fletchers, wheelwrights, stonemasons, potters, metal workers... Every skill or process known to humans and sylphs was here somewhere. Most jewelers were scattered through the city, but their raw materials came from here: precious stones were cut here before being sold on, and ingots of precious metals were cast in the foundries. Bolts of cloth and wool were prepared here before being sold on to clothiers. The busiest blacksmiths were found in this part of the city.

  The industrial quarter spilled outside the walls. Four tanneries and two soap makers were sited out there, presumably to keep the worst of their stink from wafting into the city proper. From his studies, Zenepha knew three-quarters of the population – human and sylph – worked here.

  "Stop gawping and move aside!"

  Zenepha stepped smartly off the road and flattened himself against the nearest wall as three men with handcarts bustled past. Apart from the rather abrupt call, the men ignored him once he moved out of their way and they hurried on. Once they were gone, he relaxed, but did not step back into the road.

  Dark, windowless buildings oppressed his sight in every direction. There were too many sounds
to concentrate on at once: hammering, sawing, shouting, screeching wheels, whinnies from horses, and whistles all beat in his ears. He wanted to tuck his earpoints away so he could no longer hear. Smells assaulted his nose: tar, pitch, wood smoke, burned stone, fresh timber, paint, horse dung, straw and stray stinks from over the wall. Some smells were so strong he could taste them. Polluted air caressed his skin and his bare feet threatened to skid on the greasy cobbles.

  Thankful to be a domestic slave and not belong to an industrial owner, Zenepha found this an unpleasant place. Conditions could be terrible here for humans and sylphs alike. Most workers he saw looked happy enough, but many of the sylphs were ragged and all hurried about their tasks. Zenepha knew wages were not good, even by human standards. A goodly number of sylph slaves belonged to human workers, used to bring in extra cash for their owners.

  Many sylphs here never saw their owners at all, as a few humans bought many sylphs, living off their wages as their own income. Such people annoyed Olista, but Zenepha could see no wrong in it. Were slaves not supposed to work for their owners? What difference between using a slave you saw every day and using one you did not?

  As carts hurtled past, traveling much more quickly than they did through the rest of the city, Zenepha kept out of the way. The drivers didn't much care who got in the way in the more genteel areas, so he supposed they would be even more dangerous here.

  Despite the bustle, knots of people gathered here and there, talking in low voices. As Zenepha watched, the noise lessened a little as humans left their work, pausing to speak with colleagues. There was a slow drift towards the main part of the city, and an expectant buzz filled the air. He failed to discover the cause.

  Swept along in this new movement of people, he gratefully escaped the industrial quarter. He supposed workers grew used to the racket and stench here, but he could not. Soon back in the main part of the city, he took deep lungfuls of purer air.

  He had only been in the industrial quarter for a few minutes, but the streets crackled with anticipation. Something was going on and he wanted to know what. At last, he could overhear conversations.

  "They were seen yesterday, coming down from the Candin Plain."

  "They're setting up camp outside the northern gate."

  "Forestside?"

  "Are they laying siege?"

  "Have they surrounded the city?"

  Humans and sylphs alike swapped rumors.

  "Who is it?" Zenepha asked a human woman.

  "An army, a big one. They've come down from the plain and are camping outside the walls."

  Zenepha drew in a breath. Only the arrival of the Vintners could cause this much excitement. He picked his way toward the North Gate, but the closer he came, the denser the crush of people and the louder the hum of wondering voices. He reached Senate Square and realized he could get no closer.

  People hung flags wherever they found room: both the gold and green of Marka, and the gold dragon's head of the Vintner family. He looked around at the sea of pleased faces. Sylph earpoints twitched everywhere he looked and human eyes shone. The sylphs were numerous, but Zenepha saw that humans were leaving their places of work to catch a glimpse of the man who wanted to be their Emperor. History was being made this very morning.

  "What's going on? Anything happening?"

  Zenepha hid a smile. There were always those who followed a crowd without ever knowing why it had gathered. The speaker earned some strange looks, but nobody enlightened him.

  The crowd surged and a collective sigh boomed in his ears. He strained to see, aware that someone – several someones – headed towards the coronation building. He thought he glimpsed his owner among them, but a knot of taller Senators and Supreme Councilors hid Olista from view as they dashed up the steps. Moments later, human and sylph girls left the building, lining the steps to give welcome.

  A cheer rose from the direction of the North Gate, spreading like fire in a dry summer. Zenepha remained silent, wanting to see rather than shout. Nobody would notice if he stayed quiet.

  "It's them! The Vintners!"

  Zenepha rose up on his toes, then able to see over the heads of most people.

  City Guardsmen led the way, keeping back the more adventurous who tried to push forward. They were followed by a detachment of mounted men, obviously from the army outside the gates. Their armor and weapons were different enough to show they were not from Marka. Two large horses followed, decked out in the colors of the Vintner family, their riders similarly armored and wearing surcoats boasting the Vintner Arms. Both men boasted dark brown hair curling over their ears. Immediately behind rode a bannerman, carrying the Vintner Banner. Everything was gold on dark blue, with the exception of one of the riders. One surcoat boasted the gold dragon's head on a pale blue field.

  An infertile sylph walked, quite at her ease, beside the stirrup of the leading horse. Zenepha stared briefly at her, thinking she appeared scruffily dressed for one who served someone important, then remembered that the army had been traveling for some time. The men weren't the most pristine he had ever seen, either.

  All his thoughts were banished as another collective sigh rose from the crowd.

  Zenepha wondered if the apparitions were sylphs at all. Both were gray and green and brown, instead of blue. Some sort of paint covered their skin. Vivid black slashes stood out across the face and chest of one, and both wore short breeches also painted gray, green and brown. Both had very short hair, unusual for sylphs. Silvery gray eyes, pointed ears and black collars about their necks were the only normal things about them. They were sylphs, they must be.

  He continued to stare as the strangers passed him, carrying themselves with considerably more self-confidence than Zenepha expected from his race.

  "What's been done to those sylphs?" he overheard a small child ask.

  What indeed? He wondered what part those two played in the Vintner Army.

  ***

  Olista looked around the Senate. His heart beat much faster than normal as excitement coursed through him. Senators and High Councilors were packed into the Senate, with only just enough chairs. Even though not in the Coronation Hall, as Supreme Councilor he presided. Two of the many claimants to the Markan Throne stood to one side. Marcus Vintner's personal sylph stood with her owner. He gave the sylph a neutral expression; sylphs never entered the Senate except to clean it. But he could not simply shoo her out, despite her somewhat threadbare appearance. If Lanas tolerated her presence, that was the end of the matter. Olista doubted if many even noticed her.

  Sandev had assured Olista that one of these two men would be defeated in battle, which he understood to be true. Marcus had bested Branad Vintner, but the older man looked anything but beaten. The Senate and Supreme Council, sitting in the same place for the first time in two-and-a-half centuries, were silent. The leader of the Senate stood.

  "We have assembled to welcome two of the claimants to the newly recognized Throne," intoned Lanas, formally. "I introduce to you all, Marcus Marcus Vintner –"

  Marcus, his dark blue eyes thoughtful as he glanced at his fellow claimant, smiled at the polite applause that met the Senate leader's words.

  "– and Branad Ulvic Vintner."

  Branad, his blue eyes equally thoughtful, inclined his head, but did not smile at his applause.

  Olista now spoke. "We on the Supreme Council invited to the city those we believe to have the strongest claims to the Throne. We on the Supreme Council recommend to the Senate that they debate the merits of each of these candidates and make their views known to us. One of these men will be Emperor of Marka."

  A stunned hush met his words. An elderly Senator, a supporter of Enthan of the Imperial Republic, finally broke the silence.

  "We cannot make our views known if only two of the claimants are here," he complained. "There at least two other candidates who should have been invited."

  "Senator Cleran, it is not the task of the Senate to recommend the claimants; that is the Supreme Cou
ncil's remit, and we have recommended these men." Olista looked displeased at the interruption.

  "Also," added another Senator, "it must be noted that Marcus Marcus Vintner is the son of the true claimant of his side of the family. His father is still alive."

  "My father renounced his claim to the Throne six years ago." Marcus Vintner's self-assured voice carried well. "He is now sixty and says that he is too old to reunite our lands."

  "The laws of Succession are quite clear," retorted the same Senator.

  "Senator Aelfrec, I again remind you that it is within the remit of the Supreme Council –"

  Olista was cut short as Aelfrec held up a hand and continued to speak in a firmer voice. "The law cannot be ignored or pushed aside on the say-so of anyone," he insisted.

  "The laws of Succession allow any man to renounce his claim to the Throne," replied Olista.

  "Provided he does so before the Senate," argued Aelfrec. "In person."

  "Until yesterday there was no Throne!" shouted a Senator from the back of the mass of politicians. "These are the two claimants put before us."

  "One of whom is defeated in battle," pointed out Marcus, after a sideways glance at Branad.

  "We shall decide the merits of defeat in battle," smiled Senator Lanas.

  Marcus bowed his head again.

  "This may take some time." Branad sniffed. "We should all sit."

  Olista nodded acceptance and everybody took their seats. Once comfortable, the debate began to rage again.

  "We cannot accept a recommendation when it is the son of a claimant and not the claimant himself."

  "Only two claimants are here; we should have invited them all."

  "All of them? Imagine the bloodbath!"

  "Think of Hingast within the walls."

  "I dream of Hingast within the walls. He will be an excellent Emperor."

  Both Olista and Lanas tried and failed to restore some order. Marcus Vintner silenced them.

  "I have long wondered how Marka allowed herself to slip into barbarism, collapse and decline," he began. Because he spoke quietly, those nearest struggled to hear; soon, everyone strained their ears to catch his words. "Marka, jewel of the world, seat of civilization, protector of the Key." He looked around before continuing.