Markan Empire

  "Any news of Neptarik?"

  "Not precisely," replied Verdin.

  Balnus smiled around his pipestem. "What do you know?"

  "I've told you all you need to know about Steppan da Kanpura. I've shared everything about what's going on and how we might help."

  "What have you heard about Neptarik?"

  Verdin gritted his teeth. "I think we made a mistake."

  "How?" Balnus kept his voice quiet. A mistake?

  Verdin sighed. "Steppan told me the present Mametain is skilled at sniffing out spies. When he found out we had someone inside the castle – I didn't tell him who, of course – he told me to mourn for him."

  "I see." Balnus took the pipe out of his mouth and looked away for a moment. His mind whirled. It was impossible to be overprotective of someone like Neptarik. Surprisingly independent by any standard, the lad was often away from his owner for considerable periods. Even so, he cared deeply for his sylph. "We'd better hope that it doesn't come to that."

  "I do."

  "Can we trust this lot you've attached us to?"

  Verdin spread his hands and shrugged. "Perhaps not fully. For as long as our interests coincide, then yes. Beyond that, Ranva knows."

  "Is Kanpura's organization tight? What if the Mametain has spies in it?"

  "A chance we are forced to take."

  "Sounds to me we're taking too many risks." Balnus drew deeply on his pipe.

  Verdin took a deep breath and glared at his companion. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "We're more likely to find ourselves turned in if Steppan believes we are about to become a threat to him."

  "Sounds a good reason not to trust him at all."

  "We don't have a choice."

  "So you say." Balnus continued. "Steppan is the deposed Mametain, so why might we be more of a threat to him?"

  "He may fear we're here to turn him over to the new Mametain."

  "Would you like me to check them all out? Discreetly, of course."

  Verdin considered and nodded. "Good idea, but don't get caught. And if you do find a traitor to Steppan, make sure you have good evidence before making accusations."

  Balnus raised an eyebrow. "Do I look stupid to you?"

  ***

  Nijen da Re Taura, Mametain of Re Taura and Steward of Castle Beren was outwardly relaxed in his study. Opposite sat a man he did not and could not like. Dervra's deep blue eyes regarded the Mametain calmly. Dervra knew too much about Nijen, particularly his beginnings. Nijen did not like it, but he must trust this man.

  Alovak steamed beside them, served by a now-banished Tektu. Nijen had no doubt she listened outside the door. He would never mention it and neither would she, but he knew she was there.

  Nijen sensed Dervra's uncertainty of Tektu, though he always looked easy around other sylphs. Of course, there was a very good reason for that, but Nijen would not dwell on why a human sensed something usually only sylphs could.

  "Not long and we move to the next stage of our plan," said Dervra. "Any more spies?"

  "Not to my knowledge," replied Nijen. "They might have switched their attention from the castle to elsewhere."

  "Perhaps. My own spies in Trenvera have learned nothing new. Perhaps they have given up. Though Prince Mikel is not that sort of man." Dervra smiled. "Determined certainly, but not especially imaginative, so it's anybody's guess."

  "I assume the basic plan is unchanged?"

  "A good assumption." Dervra smiled again and this time showed his teeth. "The next time we meet, I will bring one of the military commanders to brief you."

  Nijen nodded. As he listened to Dervra's outline, he grew more and more excited. Not only would he go down in history as the man who saved Re Taura from a resurgent Markan Empire, but he might even be remembered as the man who developed an Empire of Re Taura's own.

  ***

  Tektu grew bored of eavesdropping. She wandered to the inner bailey, where she stalked up and down one of the paths. That it was almost completely dark didn't bother her. Sylph eyes were good enough, she supposed. There were plenty of light crystals and even old-fashioned candle lanterns, but Tektu ignored them all.

  She hated what now troubled her. Like an itch, only it would soon grow into pain. She looked at her hands, where the physical symptoms always showed first, but could see nothing wrong. Her real self again tried to reject the body they had forced her to inhabit so long ago.

  She dreaded having to do the only thing that would stop the itch, but the instinct to survive overcame even her owner's orders. She must kill again.

  Nijen had forbidden her from harming sylphs, except to preserve her life. That small qualification gave her a way out. The only way she could maintain her present appearance – forced upon her by powers infinitely greater than her owner – was to...

  No! She must resist as long as she could.

  She lashed out irritably with a foot and kicked one of the shrubs planted alongside the path. She almost snarled, but forced herself to silence. It would never do to attract attention.

  She must act as nearly as possible like a normal infertile. Her small hands clenched into fists and her mouth twisted as her earpoints lashed furiously. She wanted to bang her head against a wall, she wanted to cut out the heart of this weak and pathetic body, she wanted –

  As abruptly as the feeling had come upon her, it was gone.

  She almost fell onto a bench, glad for the respite. She looked at her hands again. Nothing wrong. A false alarm perhaps? Even as she thought it, she knew she'd received a warning. She must renew herself; the body she inhabited was far older than anything intended for a sylph and it must be refreshed periodically.

  How could she explain to Nijen? The last time this happened, Nijen's grandfather – at that time her owner – had been disgusted beyond belief at Tektu's instinctive and unavoidable actions. And Nijen liked sylphs.

  Come to that, so did she. It was impossible to be imprisoned inside the body of one for so long and not feel some affinity, if not sympathy, for the creatures.

  But soon, very soon, she must put that affinity aside and disobey her owner.

  But who would be the victim?

  ***

  Chapter 11

  Turivkan

  "Something wrong?" asked Fared.

  Samrita stared at the city from their vantage below the ridge. The Shadow Riders had come through the only pass along that ridge, following a surprisingly well-maintained road. They had passed unmanned watchtowers at the far end of the narrow route through the mountains as well as in the middle, with more high on the ridge to either side. After a full day and night in the pass, the plain below was a welcome sight.

  "The First Markan Empire collapsed because of external enemies," said Samrita, ignoring Fared's concerned question. "As the Second Empire expanded, border cities were built close to ridges, wide rivers and mountain ranges for extra defense."

  "Very sensible," remarked Fared.

  Samrita turned her attention to the Captain, her hazel eyes intent. "The Second Empire collapsed from within, not because of external enemies."

  "Your point being?" asked Fared, gently.

  Below, farms were set out at regular intervals and stone walls marked field boundaries. Cereal crops already turned the arable fields green. Sheep and cattle grazed in peace. Towers and fortified barricades dotted the plain.

  "The land down there is rich," said Samrita.

  "Looks that way," agreed Fared.

  "Which always attracts the worst sort of people," continued Samrita.

  "They look ready to defend themselves against violence," Fared pointed out. "Those pastures are all close to barricades."

  "Indeed." Samrita's eyes were focused on the large city, with a distinct pinkish hue she remembered well, that dominated the entire plain. Beyond, stood thick forest. "But does violence come from out here, or in there?"

  "From the city?"

  "It is called Turivkan," said the gwerin. "I passed through on my way to K
elthane. Some years ago."

  "Painful memories?"

  Samrita's earpoints twitched. "A friend died there."

  Fared steered the conversation away from memories. "Will they tolerate our presence? Those forts tell me these people are troubled by bandits and outlaws."

  "Yes," said Samrita. "But are the bandits enemies of Turivkan, or do they rule it? If we are welcome, they will try to recruit us; if not, they will try to drive us away. Or kill us."

  "We'll do the same as at Woodend," suggested Fared. "Or take a couple of the families so we seem like travelers and not an army."

  "I thought we had enough food."

  Fared's gray-blue eyes sparkled. "Enough to bypass Turivkan if you wish," he said. "There will be other chances now we've reached a more populated part of the world."

  "We'll go." Her old teacher was down there somewhere. She remembered the funeral as if it were yesterday. "What are your plans for Peytor?"

  The abrupt change of subject – a trick learned from the ilven long ago – almost confused Fared.

  "He claims sixteen summers, which means he is old enough to be trained. His fieldcraft is excellent and he could teach us a few things. He's good with the bow and deadly accurate with his knife. I suspect that was made for him, the balance is too good to be otherwise."

  "He carries his weight," remarked Samrita. "That sling brings in a good number of rabbits and squirrels."

  Fared laughed. "And small deer."

  "He taught us how to catch trout with our hands."

  "That boy could guddle trout all day."

  "So can Nynra. Now." Samrita's maid had proved more eager than most to learn. Now she caught three fish to anyone else's two and was even better at it than Peytor.

  "If he wants to stay, he can. I'm not about to send a child away."

  "Just so." Samrita nodded. "But if he's seen sixteen summers, I'll eat that hat Kwenby made for him."

  "Fourteen at most, I suspect." Fared felt sorry for Peytor. There were boys the age he claimed and boys younger than the age he probably was, but none his likely age.

  Deren took care of Peytor and Kwenby had made new clothes for him. She had knitted a cap, which the boy wore with some pride, though heaven knew why a cap, of all things, would please him so.

  "If Peytor agrees, Deren and Kwenby will adopt him." Samrita smiled. "He claims he is too old to be adopted, yet his voice only now shows any sign of breaking. And he won't tell us his full name."

  "He doesn't trust us yet." Fared shrugged. "If half what he says about his family is true, then I understand his reticence."

  "You will train him to kill?" Samrita's earpoints gave a sad twitch, yet the gwerin regarded killing and warfare with greater pragmatism than she cared to admit.

  "No more than he already is," replied Fared. "If we can develop his sense of justice, rather than revenge, he has the maturity to make an excellent soldier. Or whatever else he wants to be. I'll add the quarterstaff to what he already knows; that's an excellent defensive weapon."

  "It is." Samrita nodded. Though nobody believed her, she once saw a man with a quarterstaff take on and defeat two swordsmen. "I have given your suggestion some thought."

  "Which one?"

  "About Turivkan. We'll take two families, a couple of armed men, and a scout. We'll take Peytor as well, because he's probably never seen a city and it might help broaden his mind."

  "I'll go and detail the men we want." Fared looked at the gwerin as if about to say more, but changed his mind and walked away.

  Samrita's attention returned to the city. Seeing it again reopened the wound she had thought long healed.

  Looking at Turikvan stripped the years away when, full of sorrow, she was just leaving the city. She reminded herself that even gwerins died eventually. Her old tutor had told her that, as she lay dying.

  "Age is killing me, nothing more." Marasil's old, wise eyes were still sharp, and still augured Samrita when needed. "Even gwerins die, eventually. We are not immortal, we are not gods. We are not of the Ten."

  "But, acsaluv-ya, we still need you. I still need you." Samrita was aware of tears pricking at her eyes as she held the hand of her old tutor. "I… I do not know what to do without you."

  Marasil laughed, but the laugh turned to a cough and a wheeze, until she caught her breath. "You know what must be done, Samrita. Keep the Shadow Riders safe until the time is right for them to return. Guard your knowledge carefully, teach only those who will not abuse it. Carry the faith, child; keep the faith. Marka will rise again."

  "But when?" Samrita sobbed openly now, aware of gentle hands supporting her, trying to move her away. "When?"

  "Hush," a voice whispered in her ear. "The last thing she hears should not be lamentation and sorrow, but rejoicing and happiness. Still your tears and respect what she has given you. Still your tears and celebrate her life."

  Samrita returned to the here and now. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes and cheeks. The pain had not gone, only lain dormant.

  "You know what must be done, Samrita. Keep the Shadow Riders safe until the time is right for them to return."

  She hoped the time was right to return and as for the other... Well, she had done her best.

  Marasil had been right: she had known what must be done. She turned her eyes skywards. "If you are listening, I hope you are proud."

  "Talking to yourself?"

  Samrita turned to see Fared had returned.

  "More like arguing with myself. Gathered the men you need?"

  "Just waiting for you." Fared smiled. "I hope you're not losing your mind now, of all times."

  Samrita shrugged. "Think I lost that a long time ago. Let's go take a look at Turivkan."

  ***

  Fared again acted his role as a merchant's guard, joined by a younger Rider named Charel. Deren and Peytor ranged ahead as they approached the city, eyes open for anything out of place. Samrita acted as the merchant of the caravan, with Nynra again her maid. Officially, they had come to buy food, rather than trade.

  Two families came with them. Fared's wife Telisa drove the leading cart, the smallest of the three. Fared's daughters flanked her: Heleen, already sixteen and with her eyes open for a potential husband, and eight-year-old Nena, eager to see a large city for the first time.

  Sion, Fared's son, rode alongside the cart. Barely twelve, he was too young to begin military training. Deren's son Niyel rode with him, a similar height despite being the older boy.

  Kwenby and her three daughters were in the second cart. A little larger than the leading cart, but only part was boxed in for the family to sleep in. It also had sleeping partitions for Charel and Peytor. The rest was intended for Samrita and Nynra's use.

  Samrita followed in the empty third cart, with Nynra sitting beside her and looking around in interest.

  Fared and Charel rode either side of the small convoy, while Deren and Peytor ran ahead. Everybody, including the scouts, remained in full sight as they approached the city gates, which stood open.

  The oak gates were banded with steel, but the towers and walls were built from the pink sandstone that gave the city its coloring from afar. A single guardsman stood in the gateway and waved them through. A second guard directed them to a small area beside the guardhouse, where another merchant wagon already waited.

  "Somewhere to stay, or a holding area?" muttered Fared, as he rode alongside Samrita's wagon. He glanced around at the buildings, most built from the same stone as the walls.

  "Both I expect," replied Samrita. "To keep us under their eye. Unless things have changed seriously for the worse since my last visit, Turivkan is a reasonably honest city. And it respects the rule of law. But that was more years ago than I care to remember."

  Fared smiled and nodded. He stayed close even so, ready for the inevitable questions from the guardsmen.

  They parked the wagons and unhitched the horses. As they worked, a man with flashes of silver on his coat sleeves hurried toward them.

&nb
sp; "Good morrow to all, masters and mistresses," he said, a little breathlessly. "Before we get comfortable, please note that this area carries a charge of eight scyats a night or fifty for seven nights." He rattled on, explaining the charges for fodder, where they could deposit their night soil, and the protection offered to their wagons while under the eye of the City Guard. He eventually enquired if anybody present was able to write. If so, would she or he care to fill out the gate forms?

  "A mere formality, good masters and mistresses," he said. "To keep the Prefect happy."

  "So he knows the comings and goings of strangers," added Fared. "A sensible precaution." He hoped the others understood his tacit warning.

  Samrita took the forms. If the official recognized a gwerin, he gave no sign. He showed more surprise at seeing Nynra. Pale-skinned sylphs were obviously rare and Fared wondered if anybody knew of a plant that might darken the sylph's coloring. But he could do nothing about the infertile's eyes, so pallid they were almost white compared with most sylphs here.

  Nynra watched the official staring at her.

  He became aware of her scrutiny and smiled. "Beautiful," he told her.

  Nynra's earpoints twitched in irritation.

  The official's attention returned to Samrita as she filled the forms. Fared inspected them and made suggestions as Samrita's pen filled in all the relevant sections.

  Even the younger children waited patiently while this was done. All were eager to explore Turivkan, barely able to contain their excitement.

  Peytor added his own surprise when he spotted a spelling mistake.

  Samrita and Fared both looked sideways at the boy.

  "You kept your literacy quiet," said Fared.

  Peytor shrugged. "You never asked."

  "Any more little surprises to come from you?"

  The boy grinned. "I expect so."

  Once the forms were done, the official with the silver flashes on his sleeves gave Fared and Samrita a small bow. "Welcome to Turivkan." With that, he hurried away.

  The younger ones wanted to go and explore immediately, but Fared, Deren and Charel ensured that the horses were looked after first and the wagons laid up properly. Fared volunteered to stay and keep his eye on the wagons, to free up everybody else to have a look around the city. This made sense; an armed man to look after the wagons, and a second to accompany the "trader" Samrita while she hunted for her bargains.

  Telisa and Kwenby promised to keep an eye on the children while exploring, while Deren and Peytor swore to guard the ladies. Charel was to escort Samrita, who would conduct their business in the city.