Markan Empire

  "A sylph." Fared shook his head. His mirth faded under Nynra's level gaze.

  Shiorj shrugged. "They say his council is made up of wild sylphs, who wear green and brown paint, but nothing else."

  Samrita and Fared exchanged a look, and Nynra gave them both a sylph's slow blink. Samrita pulled herself together.

  "Your news is surprising," she said, eventually. "But that does not change the reason we are here. We would very much like to purchase from you five weeks' supply of salted meat for one hundred mouths."

  They had learned some time ago that it was easier to ask for several weeks' worth of food for a smaller number of people. Asking for a week of food for five hundred people frightened most folk off. Perhaps they feared unfair terms. Asking for only a hundred over a longer period made them happier.

  "Five weeks." Shiorj's tone was carefully neutral. "Meat only or do you also require wheat and oats?"

  Fared watched everything as Samrita and Shiorj bartered. The village sylph kept them supplied with alovak. The world had just grown a new dimension of strangeness.

  A sylph, ruling humans?

  ***

  With a lighter gold chest and fuller food wagon, the Shadow Riders continued their journey southeast, hoping to reach a home none bar Samrita had ever seen.

  Fared rode with the gwerin on one side of him and his wife, Telisa, on the other. Nynra walked behind Samrita's horse.

  "If a sylph sits on Mark's Throne," Fared said, "then a banner sylph no longer seems so strange. There might be hundreds of them."

  Samrita smiled. "Assuming it is not rumor. News gets twisted as it travels."

  "What do you think?" Telisa's voice was quiet, as she pushed dark hair out of her eyes.

  The gwerin considered. She had never seen the Shadow Riders' Captain so off balance. "It is so ludicrous that it must be true."

  "Might even make a better job of it than most humans," added Nynra, from behind.

  Fared glanced quickly at Nynra and chose to ignore the comment. Telisa scowled, though the sylph was as free as anyone else to speak her mind. Samrita readied herself to defend that right.

  Fared changed the subject. "The villagers did not try to swindle us."

  "Woodend is clearly inhabited by honest folk." Samrita smiled. "That seems a rarity these days, everywhere."

  "Indeed," replied Fared. "Especially in lands where a stranger could easily be bandit or other lawbreaker."

  "There is something you have not told me." Samrita's earpoints twitched. "Are you going to enlighten me?"

  Telisa looked at the gwerin, her gray eyes looked thoughtful.

  Fared shrugged. "Our scouts report we're being followed. We don't know who yet, but he – or they – is too good to be one of the villagers. We assume hostile intentions."

  "Probably wise." Despite herself, Samrita felt nervous and her earpoints lay back in her hair. Nynra also looked around fearfully and her earpoints mirrored the gwerin's.

  Telisa looked unconcerned.

  Fared gave a tight smile. "We won't draw blood until absolutely sure."

  Samrita nodded. "Have you seen anything?"

  "Only plants moving that should be still. They are good, very good."

  Coming from Fared, Samrita supposed this was high praise. There were few to equal or better the Riders, not that she had heard tell of. "I suppose you have put more scouts further out?"

  "Ahead and behind." Fared made it sound like of course. If having his professional judgment called into question annoyed him, he gave no other sign of it. "We'll soon find out who it is."

  Samrita nodded. With nothing more to say, she turned to Nynra and tried to reassure her. The sylph's earpoints remained wilted and she clung to the gwerin. Samrita had forgotten how nervy infertiles could be, that they demanded protection in return for their service.

  Telisa watched the display, her face expressionless.

  Only after the Shadow Riders halted for the night did their shadow make a mistake. One of the scouts, dagger drawn, forced a young man into the camp ahead of him.

  "Captain, sir!" called the scout. "We've caught him."

  "Just a boy," remarked Telisa, at her husband's side.

  Overhearing the voices, Samrita hurried out of her tent to see. Even Nynra peeked out, until she saw the cause of her earlier fear. She then withdrew, presumably to sleep.

  "Well done, Deren," said Fared.

  Samrita eyed the newcomer up and down. He had reached that difficult age when he believed himself a man, though really still a boy. He wore clothes little better than rags, if clean and tended to. But still more patch than original cloth. Deren carried the boy's weapons: a short bow, a long knife and a sling.

  "Why do you follow us?" asked Fared, calmly.

  "Thieves!" Rage twisted the boy's face. "You murdered my family, took everything you could carry and burned the rest! You –"

  Fared held up a hand. His gray-blue eyes locked with the boy's brown. "We ride to Marka from Kelthane. We rob and harm nobody who does not first try to harm us. You are from a nearby farm?"

  "You should know," snarled the boy, righteous anger overriding any fear he might also feel. "You pillaged and burned it!" He struggled against Deren's steady grip.

  Samrita blinked while Fared and Telisa exchanged a look. The gwerin looked over her shoulder in time to see Nynra withdrawing her head back into her tent again. Perhaps curiosity overcame her need for sleep.

  "Have you got a name, boy?" asked the Captain, more gently than deserved.

  The boy stared and Fared sighed.

  "I am Fared Granton. This is my wife, Telisa. The gwerin is Samrita. The shy one who keeps sticking her head out of the tent is Nynra and the scout here is Deren. We have nothing to do with your tragic loss."

  "No?" The boy was still defiant. "You think I don't recognize those casks of salted meat you carry?"

  Fared looked at Samrita and mouthed honest folk? silently at her, before turning back to the boy. "We bought them from a village named Woodend. We cannot know where they came from before that."

  "Or even if your claim is true or not," added Samrita.

  "You doubt my word?" The boy's hands balled into fists. "My parents, brother and sisters died before you took it from us! Our animals driven away or killed, even the farmhands and their families murdered. Don't deny it!"

  "We had nothing to do with it," insisted Fared. "Your loss pains me."

  "If not you then those people in the village would know."

  "They may have traded for it fairly, also." Fared fixed the boy with an auguring gaze. "Are you going to tell me your name or not? You have the courtesy of ours."

  "Peytor." He spoke reluctantly, as if he feared giving away something precious.

  Fared nodded to Deren. "Escort Peytor from our camp, return his weapons and send him on his way."

  "Is that wise, husband?" asked Telisa, in little more than a whisper.

  The boy stared at Fared in surprise. "Why aren't you killing me?"

  "You have done me no harm and, whatever you think, neither myself nor my men have harmed you or yours." Fared nodded to Deren. "If you are thinking of going down to Woodend, remember that they are many and you are one. Siranva loves a trier, but He will not aid you in this. And the villagers might not be aware they traded with bandits."

  Peytor looked even more amazed that his thoughts had been read. "You will not help me?"

  "No." Fared was abrupt and emphatic. He gestured toward the cart that held the casks of meat. "We paid for that honestly and my conscience is clear." His eyes were uncharacteristically cold. "Go as you will Peytor. May the Father cradle and shelter you. Escort him from the camp, Deren."

  As Deren and Peytor left, Telisa rounded on Fared.

  "Do you think it is wise to send a boy out there at night?" she asked.

  "You handled that well," said Samrita, quietly.

  Fared grunted. "The lad seems more than capable of looking after himself. Looks like he's done all right for
himself so far."

  "Such an angry young man; I wouldn't put it past him to go to Woodend and get himself killed," said Telisa.

  "Perhaps." Fared nodded. "They'll deal with him if he gets there. Personally, I think he'll stick around us for a few days, until he's sure we mean no harm."

  Telisa gave a disapproving sniff.

  Samrita laughed. "Going to try and recruit him?"

  "Maybe; from what I've seen, he'd make an excellent scout."

  Telisa shook her head. "We don't need recruits until after we reach Marka," she countered. She stared into the darkness. "Even so, I am not happy about you sending him out there alone."

  Samrita followed Deren at a distance. She watched the boy walk out of their camp, staring down anybody who dared meet his gaze. His expression softened only for the children, who watched the stranger in open curiosity.

  She heard Deren laugh. "Arrogant young pup," he chortled. "You could teach our lads a few things 'bout scouting!"

  A group of Riders playing Knife In caught Peytor's attention, one man throwing a piece of wood into the air while the others took turns to throw a knife into it.

  The boy had fallen silent and Deren seemed happy to let the silence grow. Samrita knew the scout kept a careful eye on his younger companion, ready for foolish moves. He kept hold of the boy's weapons, but Samrita wondered why Fared had decided to let this obviously skilled youngster leave.

  They finally reached the camp perimeter, but Deren kept walking until they were well clear of the camp. Samrita saw him hand the bow, knife and sling back to their rightful owner.

  "On your own from here, lad."

  Peytor looked back at the scout and his eyes glittered in the gathering darkness. He looked across to Samrita, and the gwerin knew he was memorizing her face. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the forest. Deren remained still for a moment until the noise of the boy faded.

  Only when all was quiet again – apart from usual nocturnal noises – did he move. The boy knew where he stood and Deren had no intention of feeling that knife, or sensing an arrow or rock heading his way at the last moment.

  "And what do you think of this Peytor?" Samrita asked Deren, as she joined him.

  Deren's blue eyes were thoughtful. "Impressive," he replied. "But dangerous. What d'you make of him?"

  Samrita smiled. "I doubt we have seen the last of him," she replied. "Good night, Scout Deren."

  Deren bent his head in acknowledgment, but gave no other reply. He made a quick round of the perimeter and warned the sentries about Peytor. Deren hoped the boy would leave them alone; he was a problem they could do without.

  ***

  Back in her tent, Samrita stared into her small chest. Never opened in Nynra's presence, as the contents might disturb the small infertile, it held very little. A sheet of parchment identifying the gwerin and her role. A bracelet gifted by a grateful monarch.

  And something she'd had no right to remove from Marka. This would probably distress Nynra, if she knew.

  Samrita lifted the collar out.

  Made from gold, jewels of every hue studded it. Worth a small fortune, she knew that if Fared ever learned of its presence, he would appropriate it to buy supplies. But it was not hers to give.

  Like her, it belonged to the Markan Throne.

  When worn, it marked the gwerin as property.

  She sighed and shook her head. She could not square this circle. Nynra was free, yet in Marka she would serve a slave. Samrita had been gifted infertiles before, but they were themselves slaves and she did not think Markan Law permitted free sylphs to serve slaves.

  On the other hand, Samrita could not let Nynra go, as the sylph had served her all her adult life. Or what passed as adult life for infertiles, anyway. Ever since her wound – this happened when parents stopped caring for their infertile offspring – she had served Samrita.

  Nynra had bonded with Samrita and her ties were impossible to break. She would never bond with another and the gwerin was still young enough to outlive the sylph.

  Under Markan Law, no free sylph could be enslaved, a protection for the many tribes living within the old Markan Empire. But even if Nynra wanted slavery – which Samrita very much doubted since they both knew the difference between a bond and outright ownership – she could not belong to Samrita.

  Even in Kelthane, sylphs certainly served humans – or infertiles did, anyway – but they were not property. As a Kelthanian, Nynra could never tolerate a collar like her eastern cousins.

  And she would never understand why Samrita would be collared in Marka.

  She dropped the collar into her chest, snapped the lid down and locked it again.

  Samrita must find a solution to the problem before they arrived home.

  Anything else would be unfair to Nynra.

  ***

  Over the next few days, the Shadow Riders moved slowly southeast. They passed heavy merchant trains traveling between villages and towns, guards eyeing the Shadow Riders with suspicion. Fared had three hundred fighting men with him and almost that number again in camp followers. From a distance even women and children might be mistaken for more soldiers. And five hundred was a sizeable army in these turbulent times.

  However other people viewed them, the Riders were left alone, and Fared happily returned the favor.

  Gathering parties were sent out every day to supplement their food stocks. Birds or animals too slow to recognize danger ended up in cooking pots before sunset, often with plants gathered during the day.

  The Shadow Riders remained alert, but there was little to interest Fared and less to threaten his Riders. Even the relative excitement of Peytor's sudden appearance had been forgotten before many days passed.

  They passed signs of old trouble. Wagons burned out and pushed off the road; others left to weather away. Scattered bones of horses and people, slaughtered and then left to rot where they had died.

  No longer maintained, the roads sometimes disappeared altogether, with only deep, muddy ruts showing the way ahead. At irregular intervals, they passed clusters of farms that had come together for mutual protection. There were buildings around a central green, where the livestock could be herded in case of trouble. The Riders recognized defensive measures against potential enemies.

  Fared avoided the hamlets, except when he must buy supplies. He wanted no trouble and had no intention of fighting these people, all clearly wary of armed men. If they were wary, they were afraid, and frightened people could turn violent very quickly if they felt threatened.

  If not already burned out, other buildings were long abandoned to the elements. Few were still complete. Livestock, gone feral over the years, was much in evidence and treated in exactly the same way as most wild animals the Riders encountered: killed for food.

  There were no inhabited farmhouses out here. The abandoned homes provided some shelter at night for his men, particularly when the Riders found whole villages, deserted long ago. It was better than terrorizing the countryside merely by their presence. Apart from the occasional merchant caravan, the Riders might well have been alone in the world.

  Even the land showed signs of abandonment. Native forest and scrubland reclaimed pastureland and once-cultivated fields. Without repair or reconstruction, boundary walls tumbled down.

  Sad-eyed, Samrita looked around her. "To think it has come to this," she muttered. "Gone, deserted. Nobody caring for the land."

  Nynra looked at everything with innocent curiosity. Though she shuddered at signs of past violence, she did not shrink from them. And coming from the icy north, wildernesses were no shock to her.

  "Even the bandits have moved on," Fared said to Samrita one morning, as they passed the remains of a wagon. Only rusty metal parts showed. "That is at least a decade old."

  "Nothing left to steal," replied the gwerin. "Easier pickings can be had elsewhere."

  "Some may wait to ambush caravans." Fared sounded hopeful that they might appear at any moment.

&nbs
p; "Where have they all gone?" asked Nynra. "They cannot all be dead."

  "To the nearest village or town," replied Samrita. "Which means fewer people are farming, so less food and more hunger."

  Thinking of his full food wagons, Fared felt a twinge of guilt.

  Occasionally, the scouts showed themselves to the Riders. Cover was sparse, but none were foolish enough to stand against the skyline. Had anyone else been about, they would have been more circumspect.

  "Highly unlikely that we'll find a sylph bannerman here," said Fared.

  "Still a long way to Marka," replied Samrita and her earpoints twitched. "Plenty of time yet. The nearer we come, the more people and sylphs we will see."

  "It's getting late," said Fared. He nodded towards some abandoned buildings. "Those'll do for tonight."

  After sending a couple of scouts ahead to ensure the buildings really were empty, the Shadow Riders halted to make camp for the night. Downhill – and downwind – men dug latrines, while others hunted through the old buildings, in case anything useful could be salvaged.

  Other men, watched by some of the wives, began to play Knife In. They had taken their turn scavenging or digging privies before. Fared always insisted every man – officers included – took their turn at the dirty work. Thanks to their late stop, the light was already fading.

  A shout from one of the diggers caught Fared's attention and he headed downhill to see what the problem was.

  "Captain, sir! Look at this!"

  A knot of men had gathered around something on the ground, while more erected screens around the latrines for privacy. Fared looked over the shoulders of the nearest men to see the cause of the excitement. A box, almost rotted away to expose lead lining that showed green through what was left of the wood.

  "Leyen found it."

  "Open it," said Fared.

  A spade was pushed against the rusty hasp of the box and twisted. With a snap, the lid flew open. The same man used the spade to break open the leather bags contained within.

  "Silver!"

  "And gold!"

  In good condition thanks to the lead lining, old coins spilled free from the small bags. Coins, but no jewels. The owner of the farm must have sold his animals and crops, buried the proceeds here and left. He doubtless intended to return at a later date. That he had not was the Riders' gain.