"But very disrespectful," countered Samrita. "Can you tell me when the Prefect will return? I prefer to deal with him directly."
Kanad's eyes hardened at the snub. "The Prefect might return at any time. Today or next month; he controls that, not I."
"Neglecting other duties?"
Muscles twitched in Kanad's cheeks. "Prefect Dervra is a very busy man. He – are you all right?"
Samrita stared, eyes wide. "You said Dervra?"
"I did."
For a moment, the gwerin floundered. "Then I must wait for his return."
"Indeed." Kanad smiled. "Shall I call for Delnor to show you out?"
Samrita knew she had been snubbed – a gwerin should be offered rooms in the palace – but she was glad to get out onto the street again.
"What's wrong?" asked Charel, once they were outside.
"We must leave this city," replied Samrita, already starting to walk toward the main gates. "Now."
***
"We must leave," Samrita told Fared, earpoints wilted and eyes wide. "Quickly, before the gates close."
"Why?" Fared looked from gwerin to human and back again.
"The Prefect here is a man named Dervra," explained Samrita. The children's eyes widened at the obvious fear in the gwerin's voice. "And the moment he learns who we are and what we are about, it will be dangerous for us here."
"The name sounds familiar," said Fared.
"So it should." Samrita looked no less terrified. "Dervra is partly responsible for the collapse of the last Markan Empire." Nynra's earpoints wilted to match Samrita's.
"That's impossible!" protested Peytor. "Nobody lives that long."
He became aware of Samrita's patient stare.
Peytor's protest faded.
"Dervra," explained Samrita, "was one of the Ten. He turned against the Father." She patted Nynra's shoulder absently. "When he discovers we are headed for Marka, the Father only knows what will happen."
"He still has the power of one of the Ten," added Fared.
"What's wrong with one of the Ten?" demanded Peytor. "Aren't they supposed to be good? And how do you mean, he 'turned against the Father'?"
"Questions later," said Fared. "If Samrita says move, we move. Come on lad, jump to it."
***
Chapter 12
Flight From Turivkan
Peytor moved closer to Samrita's wagon. Since leaving Turivkan, this was the first full night they had stopped, the city now two days behind them.
The gwerin sat on the wagon front, ink bottle beside her and a book open on her lap. She dipped her steel-nibbed pen into the ink now and again, then recommenced writing unhurriedly. A solitary light crystal over her head provided the light, one of only two crystals in the camp. The other belonged to Fared's secretary. Nynra sat at the gwerin's feet; the sylph's head nodded and her eyes were closed.
Peytor paused and wondered whether to step forward or melt back into the darkness. Even if the gwerin answered his question, could he trust her to answer truthfully? Sylphs rarely lied, but Samrita had more human than sylph in her and Peytor knew his own race lied as a matter of course.
Nynra's eyes opened and her earpoints twitched in his direction. She lifted her head and looked directly at him. Thanks to the light crystal, there was no way she could see Peytor, though he had come close enough to see her eyes glow. Samrita's head came up a moment later.
"Hello, Peytor," said the gwerin, looking more or less in his direction. "Join me if you wish. Gwerins don't bite, even if you want us to."
Peytor grunted in surprise. As he stepped into the pool of light, Nynra stood and he saw that her nearly white eyes no longer glowed. Perhaps he had imagined that.
"Your hearing is good," he remarked.
Samrita gave a small smile, wiped the nib of her pen on a small piece of cloth and stoppered the ink bottle. She closed her book carefully and passed it to Nynra.
"Having long ears helps," she replied. "Come and sit. Alovak?"
"Not for me, thanks."
Nynra waited for Samrita's nod before taking book and ink into the wagon.
"You have a question? Perhaps unsure whether or not I will answer." Again, that small smile. "I reserve that right, of course."
Peytor nodded. "It's a question."
"Ask." Samrita waited patiently while the boy gathered his thoughts. Nynra returned from inside the wagon and gave him a neutral look. Her earpoints twitched.
Peytor wondered what it must be like to be the only sylph here. With Samrita the only gwerin, perhaps it was small wonder they stayed together. He remembered his question.
"Turivkan."
The gwerin waited, even though Nynra stared at the boy as if he had taken leave of his senses.
"Such a well run city, with no crime. At least, only a little. Yet you say we would be in danger if the Prefect found out about us."
"That is true. No doubt the papers we filled in when we entered the city were on his desk before nightfall."
"You said he was one of the Ten. I was taught that they were good."
The small smile again. "Everybody wants to believe the Ten are good, and nobody wants to learn that the Father makes mistakes."
Nynra twisted around to stare at her mistress and her earpoints wilted.
Peytor's eyes widened. "Siranva makes mistakes?"
Although Samrita did not react, Nynra's mouth twisted. Sylphs believed it blasphemous to speak the Father's name aloud.
"Ten humans were chosen to receive a Gift, The Gift." Samrita kept her voice gentle. "But the Father overlooked that all humans are flawed. One of those was a man called Dervra. The Ten used to have other names, but now answer only to those they adopted."
"What gift?"
"The Gift. Power to do things."
"Things?"
"Things." Samrita nodded. "Special, magickal things. More were born with The Gift from then on. And still are. Most are good people, but not all."
"So Dervra has a gift given him by Siran –" He paused and glanced at Nynra. "By the Father."
"Indeed. But he made a mistake, or perhaps we should say an oversight." Samrita's eyes were sad. "He never insisted that humans worship him, for he is not the humans' god or creator. His attention concentrated on the ilven, his daughters. Everything else was secondary. He had made the rules, so he ignored humans from then on. He trusted too fully, or perhaps never fully understood creatures who are a mixture of both sephiroths."
Nynra's earpoints tucked into her ears and she stared at the wooden planking.
Peytor's eyes grew wider. "He does not fully understand us? Then who does?"
Samrita smiled. "Now there is a question. There are two sephiroths: benefic and malefic. The hierarchies within each are perfectly balanced in strength and number. Nobody on this world actually knows our god, or even who is supposed to be our god."
"Surely the Father knows? Si – the Father is the Father."
"And is but one among many." Samrita's smile faded. "Few can handle the truth that Siranva is not our god."
Nynra whimpered.
Samrita touched the sylph's shoulder. "Go inside," she said.
A grateful Nynra scrambled away.
Samrita sighed as she watched the sylph leave. "The poor child cannot understand. I'm not sure that I understand."
"So there are a number of gods? I thought there was but one." Peytor looked almost as deeply disturbed by Samrita's words as Nynra. "There is only one god, can be only one god."
"There is only one creator." Samrita tried to be gentle. "Who smashed the cosmic egg, and brought everything into existence. Everything, boy: the stars and world and, well everything. The Benefic Sephiroth born by the act of creation. The Malefic Sephiroth brought into being by the act of destruction."
"What act of destruction?" Peytor's brown eyes were troubled.
"By smashing the cosmic egg, the Creator wrought creation from destruction; the ultimate paradox." The gwerin nodded to herself. "Good and evil
created simultaneously. Could we have one without the other? Can one exist without the other? Universe created from destruction; might it be destroyed from a new creation?" She leaned forward. "Surely that is the Malefic Sephiroth's aim?"
Peytor felt the conversation had slipped. "What has this got to do with Prefect Dervra?"
"Everything. Dervra believed he had discovered a new way of using the Gift. Nicolfer – another of the Ten – worked with him. Nobody knows – except the two concerned, of course – if they had already turned to the Malefic Sephiroth, or whether that betrayal came later, a result of his discovery." Samrita's eyes looked even sadder and her own earpoints sagged. "Even the best of humans can be corrupted and evil often lurks behind the best intentions."
"What happened?"
"Dervra discovered sorcery. Anybody can learn its secrets, but it originates from the Malefic Sephiroth and, without exception, taints its practitioners. Dervra and Nicolfer destroyed the civilization the rest of the Ten had built."
"And now he is Prefect of Turivkan." Peytor shook his head.
"Dervra and Nicolfer were responsible for the collapse of the Second Markan Empire," said Samrita. "If they learn I still live, they will do their best to kill me. If they learn we travel to Marka to help reestablish what is lost, they will do their very best to kill all of us."
"I see." Peytor did not; he had never heard of this before. And he still did not fully trust the people he traveled with. And gwerins could lie. "Why are you such a threat?"
"Because whatever is happening in Marka, there are forces working to prevent the Empire from ever rising again. To disrupt the rule of law and order, to deny justice and peace to the people of this continent and perhaps even beyond."
"So?" A small frown furrowed Peytor's brow.
The gwerin smiled again. "The struggle Dervra and Nicolfer are engaged in is about more than just Marka. Ultimately, it is about who controls this ilvenworld. Whether it remains with the Father, or falls to the Malefic Sephiroth."
Peytor stared. Certainly not the answer he had expected to his question.
Samrita continued. "I – perhaps more correctly, we – are a threat because we have learned where Dervra and probably Nicolfer are based. They will know any experienced gwerin has heard of Marka's new Emperor and will travel there to enter his service. We are a threat to them because of our knowledge and experience."
"They fear that?"
"They fear advice we might give the Emperor. My presence here tells Dervra and Nicolfer our destination, and now they have learned of us, they will try to kill us."
Peytor shook his head. "I came here hoping for reassurance," he said.
Samrita's smile broadened. "Then accept my apologies for disappointing you."
***
Marlen Masser listened as Kanad outlined Samrita's visit.
"A gwerin?" Marlen's eyebrows rose. His pale blue eyes remained unchanged, however. "Certain she's with the Shadow Riders?"
"That's what she called them. And men have seen the army: certainly more than three hundred strong."
"Then the rumors have reached the far west," mused Marlen. "The old gwerins return home and the Imperial Guard has reformed."
"That's the Shadow Riders, is it?" asked Kanad.
"Their descendants, perhaps. Did the Boss give any hint how long he'd be gone?"
"Nothing." Kanad scowled. "He never says."
"Have you done anything about the Riders and this... Samrita?"
"Only sent some troops to make sure our uninvited visitors leave Turivkan."
"To attack them?"
Kanad sighed. "I gave orders to follow as far as the border and fight only if attacked."
Marlen was tempted to find these soldiers and amend their orders, then almost immediately decided against. Foolishness to cause potential confusion by interfering with lines of command. A golden rule his so-called superiors often forgot.
A better idea came to him.
"That'll do," said Marlen, and smiled. "I'll go see if I can stir up trouble for our gallant Shadow Riders between here and Marka. If local lords believe that they are no more then raiders..."
"If they are really traveling to Marka," added Kanad.
Marlen remembered that this man always had a negative outlook on life. He had believed the fight ended with Hingast's death. Dervra only tolerated the man for his administrative skills.
Marlen must remember that.
***
Fared rode alongside Samrita. Presently wrapped in silence, they usually shared easy conversation. He knew the gwerin did not always confide in him, that there were secrets she was determined to keep. But he trusted her enough to inform him of anything he must know to keep the Shadow Riders out of danger. He found her counsel invaluable.
They had left the arable land behind, lush green crops giving way to small copses and rough pasture. They passed the occasional farm, but even these thinned to nothing as the road wound uphill. The type of tree changed from large pines to stunted and twisted sharpthorns or wash trees.
As the road degenerated to little more than a rutted track, the ground grew ever more swampy, with rocks poking everywhere through the thin soil.
Samrita glanced nervously over her shoulder from time to time and asked regularly if the scouts had seen or heard anything out of place. Fared waited for her to share her fear, but so far she had said nothing. Yet she feared something.
She drew her horse closer.
"I am concerned about Peytor," she said.
"What about him?" Not quite the subject he expected, but it might lead to an opening.
Samrita paused for a moment. "He's seen how cruel anarchy can be. He lost his family and home through it."
Fared nodded. "Everybody knows that."
"He has seen that Turivkan is peaceful and well ordered."
"So it is," agreed Fared.
Samrita continued. "He has already compared the lawless countryside with an orderly city and drawn conclusions. Time for him to choose his path."
"A choice we all face at some point."
"But not under such extreme conditions. A murdered family who were free, set against a protected people who are not. Is it best for evil to rule harshly, or for the anarchy that stole his first life to be allowed free rein? Most of us get guidance from those we trust or love when we face the choice, but Peytor does not enjoy that luxury."
Fared considered. "I will speak with Deren. He's closest to the boy."
"A pity we cannot take Peytor to Kelthane. There he would see fair and just rulers keeping order on their streets without fear or oppression."
"Trouble is, we don't know that Dervra rules Turivkan using fear and oppression," countered Fared. "If Peytor could see that, he might reconsider."
"Perhaps." Samrita shrugged. "The only people who should fear the authorities are lawbreakers. Criminals ruin life for the law-abiding majority, but true justice cannot flourish when oppressive rulers restrict the freedoms of their people. I hope Peytor is old enough to recognize the difference."
"Not so subtle a difference at that."
Samrita laughed. "More than you realize," she countered. "Men like Dervra are capable of amazing subtleties. They steal freedom from people without them ever realizing. So many lands fall into the trap of handing over ancient freedoms in the name of something else. Greater security. Need of the greater good. Many other excuses."
"It's not only Peytor bothering you." Fared decided it was time to take back the initiative. The gwerin might never tell him otherwise.
Samrita looked over her shoulder again.
"And before you ask, the scouts have reported nothing. If you told me what troubles you, I'll tell them what to look for."
The gwerin smiled and her earpoints slanted forwards. "The scouts already know what to look for; neither of us need tell them their job. They will know the moment they see it."
"You believe Dervra's administrator has sent someone after us?"
"Yes. Unless
the Administrator is deeply stupid – which I doubt – he will know by now that Shadow Riders accompany me, and that some entered the city. He'll want to ensure we leave as quickly as possible."
"That he and I agree on," said Fared. "Will he send an army after us?"
"Probably not an army. Certainly some men."
"The scouts will report any they see."
Samrita's smile was warm. "I know. Where is Peytor now?"
"Running with the scouts," replied Fared. "Never far from Deren."
"Losing Telisa and Kwenby in Turivkan shook him some. It is unlike him to be subdued."
Fared nodded. "A little humiliation is good for the soul, so long as he doesn't make mistakes like that twice."
Samrita's earpoints wilted. "We cannot let him decide in favor of men like Dervra."
She did not add that, had Dervra realized who was walking around his city, it would not have really mattered. She changed the subject. "Have you given this banner sylph we are supposed to find any more thought?"
Fared blinked and turned his head. "I've never heard of a flag carrier who was anything but a soldier. Sylphs don't become soldiers, so they don't become bannermen. Did we hear the Wise One aright?"
"She definitely told us to look for a banner sylph."
Fared shrugged and almost spread his hands, before remembering this would stop his horse. "Then we heard her right. It doesn't make sense. Sylphs and armies don't mix."
"Certainly not in battles," added Samrita. "They carry banners for nobody. Plenty become camp followers, or used to anyway."
"The only time a banner is carried is into battle. Otherwise they fly from poles or hang from windows. She said sylph bannerman."
Fared turned in his saddle to look at their own banner. Two silver dragonheads faced each other on a black field. Absurd to think of a sylph carrying it into battle.
A shout from behind distracted them. A small cloud of dust approached, which they guessed was a horseman. He must bear an important message to be riding so hard. The scouts had seen something.
Fared used his spyglass and recognized the rider, despite the dust. A veteran of several campaigns when an expansionist neighbor threatened Kelthane, Qatan was among the more experienced Riders here. The older man halted beside Fared and bowed respectfully to Samrita.
"Lady Gwerin, Captain Fared."
"Rider Qatan." Samrita returned the bow.