Markan Empire

  The skin around Qatan's eyes crinkled for a moment, then he grew serious again. "We are being followed."

  Fared's eyebrows lifted. "From the city?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Armed men? A caravan?"

  "Both, sir."

  "Are they catching up with us?"

  "It's a small caravan and moving quite quickly. But we estimate two days before they draw level. There are about two hundred men with the caravan and a couple of hundred more flank it, at a distance."

  "A special escort for the caravan?" asked Fared.

  Samrita sat perfectly still on her horse.

  "No sir," replied Qatan. "The outriders are following our trail, so we have hidden it as best we can."

  Fared smiled. "Excellent."

  "But they have professional trackers; it will do no more than slow them."

  "Tell the scouts to continue covering the trail. Tell the yeoman to detail men to make sure we leave nothing behind. And send the yeoman's messenger to me."

  Qatan bobbed a quick bow, and was gone.

  "We must try and avoid bloodshed if possible," cautioned Samrita. "Fighting our way to Marka will see us dead long before we reach our destination."

  Fared bared his teeth. "I seem to remember saying something like that to Peytor. But neither can we survive if we fail to defend ourselves when attacked."

  "They might be here to ensure we leave Dervra' s lands."

  "Four hundred men," mused Fared. "Three hundred of us. Unfair odds for them, but you never know."

  "They are probably unaware of the Riders' prowess." Samrita smiled to himself. "That means that Dervra has still not returned; he would never assume the Riders have lost their skills. You sure these people are hostile?"

  "No caravan needs four hundred guards," countered Fared. "And the scouts report these men follow our trail. They are hostile."

  Samrita fell silent as the yeoman's messenger approached.

  "Pass the word to everyone," commanded Fared. "We are being followed, so be ready for battle."

  Fared knew he should take no risks. Nothing could stop them from reaching Marka.

  ***

  "The borderstones."

  Samrita pointed them out and Fared focused his spyglass on them. Large rocks, all arranged in a line, some partly submerged in the mires dotted about. The Shadow Riders easily outpaced the soldiers following them and the scouts had long since reported there was little danger of being caught. It was as if the soldiers wanted to let them go, a sensible choice if they knew anything about the Riders.

  Samrita assured Fared that the following soldiers only wanted to be certain that the Riders had left Turivkan. Dervra's administrator gave the impression that their destination was unimportant; he just wanted them out of his master's lands.

  The caravan that the soldiers had escorted now turned south along one of the old roads. It had picked up a better road and increased speed.

  "Headed for Eldova," said Samrita. "South of here."

  The Turivkans lined up, watching the Riders. Fared had his banners flying, but the other troops displayed nothing.

  Fared reached the borderstones first and turned his horse. Samrita waited with him as the Riders and their families passed. The carts traveled quite easily along the rutted track. The families had ensured the weight was distributed evenly among the carts, so none was unduly heavy for the swampy roads. There was no sign of the rear scout, which did not surprise him, but Fared waited.

  "Why are they letting us go?" he wondered aloud. "They might have at least tried."

  "Making sure we leave Turivkan," said Samrita. "A show of force."

  "Your friendly administrator must know we're heading for Marka. We might return with an army to displace him."

  This thought had also troubled the gwerin. "Perhaps there is a difficulty between here and there."

  "Meaning?"

  "Impassable roads perhaps. Military weakness in Marka."

  "Even so." Fared pondered the problem.

  "An army friendly to Dervra between here and there," added Samrita. Her eyes widened and her earpoints sagged. "That's all we need. I wish we had stayed in Turivkan long enough to get news of anything going on further east."

  "I seem to remember you were in a hurry to leave."

  Samrita gave Fared a forced smile.

  Deren joined his commander at the borderstones. "They'll not be troubling us," said the scout. "They didn't even try to catch up."

  "They turn away now," said Fared. "Look!"

  Now clear that the Shadow Riders had passed the stones, the soldiers lost interest in them. Already they wheeled their horses and headed home.

  "Stay in the rear," Fared commanded Deren. "Let me know if that mob changes direction."

  "Very good, sir."

  As Fared rode to catch up with his men, his mind was troubled. The Riders had avoided trouble today, but what lay ahead?

  ***

  Marlen swung the borrowed spyglass this way and that, viewing the small boggy plain below. Almost twenty wagons were down there in three caravans. Perhaps a hundred people all told, including thirty guards.

  Done, he passed the glass back to his companion.

  "Leave plenty of survivors," he commanded. "Let as many escape as possible without making it look like you allow any such thing."

  Gerfal smiled, showing perfect teeth. "As you command, so shall it be done."

  "Remember to leave at least one banner behind," urged Marlen.

  Gerfal nodded and jerked his head at his men. All wore unfamiliar black armor, and all were mounted. At least they were used to horses. Six men carried banners. Silver dragons' heads on a black field, the banner of the Shadow Riders.

  "Also," continued Marlen, "you may take food and valuables from the wagons. Not their goods, just coins, gold and silver. Jewels too, if they have any."

  Gerfal nodded.

  "Be ruthless. Be hard. Strike terror into them."

  Gerfal wheeled his horse with no further acknowledgment.

  Marlen knew the man disapproved of some of the actions he had suggested, but he had no care for his objections. So long as he obeyed, nothing else mattered.

  Marlen settled on the ridge to watch the raiders thunder downhill and onto the plain. The merchant guards already reacted, unlimbering bows while others drew their swords.

  Marlen smiled. He intended to enjoy this spectacle to the full.

  The Shadow Riders would be blamed for this raid. It might force them to increase their speed as they headed east. They might even grow careless. They would know turning back was now out of the question. They would earn the enmity of every lord along the way; Gerfal would see to that.

  And with luck, they would blunder into Mirrin's army. No matter how good the Riders were, or even if they had earned every scrap of their reputation, thousands of men would always overwhelm a few hundred.

  As the first blood was spilled below, Marlen began to laugh.

  ***

  Chapter 13

  Planning

  Tangan stabbed down with all the force he could muster. He stopped himself from yelling at Grayar's sleeping form and even managed to restrain a grunt of effort. His slash slowed the nearer the knife came to his intended victim until, less than an inca from Grayar's chest, something unseen forced the knife away and the sylph was thrown backwards.

  Tangan shook his head and scrambled to his feet as Grayar swung out of bed. He lurched forward, but Grayar sidestepped away from the sylph and caught his knife hand. The suddenly nerveless hand opened and the knife thunked point down into the floorboards.

  Tangan stared at the gently swaying knife and shivered as the light crystal covers mysteriously turned. Every time before, his bloodlust drained away the moment he killed. This time, it still raged. Every time before, he got his full control back. He grunted and growled, but was held firm.

  So close to success and freedom, yet he had failed.

  Control returned and his earpoints
sprang free. "No!" he shouted and buried his face in his hands. Those earpoints wilted again. "No!"

  Anger sparked in Grayar's blue eyes. "Did you think I would sleep unwarded? That I'm unaware of the slyness of your masters?"

  "No choice!" Tangan struggled against Grayar's grip, but he could not escape. "Was forced!"

  "I'm sure." Grayar's anger evaporated as he regarded the sylph. Tangan shivered under that weighing look.

  Caya and Salu tumbled into the room, and thudding footsteps heralded Stanak's arrival. All three newcomers stared at the male sylph in disbelief.

  "Enya!" Salu crossed the floor and grasped Grayar's free hand. She gave Tangan a look of part terror and part loathing.

  Stanak took Tangan from Grayar and secured the sylph's wrists with a length of rope. "This one's for the City Guard," he said.

  "No." Grayar shook his head. His heart pounded; the sylph had almost achieved his objective. Grayar must improve the wards he set around himself – yet again.

  "Why not?"

  Tangan looked from one man to the other and tried to stifle his fear. Human eyes looked menacing in the light crystals' glare.

  "Imagine the effect of a public trial. Attempted murder... by a sylph. Think of the consequences when people believe they can no longer trust their sylphs. At the very least, an increase in violence against them. Perhaps even a massacre."

  Stanak subsided and nodded. "All right, I'll take him to the stable. I don't enjoy harming sylphs, but this one deserves to die. Quick or slow, Grayar?"

  Tangan's eyes widened and his earpoints slanted backwards in terror.

  Caya and Salu stared at the bodyguard as if seeing him for the first time. Their earpoints wilted.

  Grayar leaned forward and his gaze bored into Tangan.

  "Well?" pressed Stanak.

  "We must learn what made him act this way." Grayar's tone sounded almost conversational.

  "Enya, you cannot!" burst out Salu.

  Tangan's eyes barely flickered.

  Grayar's expression softened as he looked at his sylph. "You know I will do what I must." His expression hardened as he turned back to Tangan. "What are you, boy? If not a sylph, then it's time to show your true self."

  "I am a sylph." Tangan flinched as Grayar laid a hand on his head.

  Caya and Salu rubbed their arms and threw Grayar accusing looks.

  Grayar's eyes widened in surprise. "So you are. Not what I expected. Looks like we'll have to find out the hard way what makes you tick."

  "Sylphs don't act like that," said Stanak, gesturing to the knife.

  "They do not," agreed Salu.

  "Either Nicolfer or Dervra has been at this one. There's a strong residue of compulsion, which might never completely fade." Grayar grimaced. "They tried to stimulate the human part of him... and failed. Fools. The ancients knew what they were about."

  Tangan flinched as Stanak and the sylphs exchanged a confused look.

  "Care to translate that?" asked Stanak.

  Grayar looked up. "Just thinking aloud."

  Tangan regained his composure, though his stomach throbbed with barely suppressed fear. "Do what you will."

  "You even tried to warn us." Grayar shook his head. "When I asked if your mother had given you that name, you replied more-or-less. What is your real name?"

  Tangan's lips quivered.

  Grayar turned to Stanak. "We must find out what they did to him," he said. Grayar's voice was so cold that even Stanak looked twice.

  "All right," said the bodyguard, "I'll secure him in the stable. Alive."

  Tangan gritted his teeth as Stanak pulled him away.

  ***

  Kelanus pretended to watch the sylph serving alovak at the defense meeting. He used her movement to mask his observation of the others in the room.

  Marshal Mikhan leaned on the large map table, in reality two old dining tables temporarily merged, and looked around at everybody across the large-scale map. The flags marking known and suspected positions had moved around, but only a little.

  The marshal's expression suggested he had recently won an argument. Weights held his notes in place atop the map and they also hid them from casual observers, such as over-inquisitive sylphs. Zenepha might not be the only literate sylph in the world, but Kelanus would be astounded if the one serving alovak belonged to that select group.

  Lance General Kestan clutched his own notes, possibly questions to ask. Unless his orders were about to change, which would not surprise Kelanus, this would be his last meeting before heading north to harry Eldovan detachments.

  The sylph moved around the table, earpoints upright in concentration, and Kelanus's gaze followed her.

  Commandant Treylfor from the Trading Council looked quite at ease, chatting amiably with Captain Crallin of the City Guard. Both men thanked the sylph for the alovak.

  Only Captain Indelgar appeared as thoughtful as Kelanus. He had been a Lieutenant when serving under Kelanus's command in Sandester, and an able officer.

  Once everybody had received their alovak, the guards escorted the sylph from the room and shut the doors with themselves on the outside to prevent eavesdroppers.

  Kelanus firmed himself. He expected arguments today.

  Mikhan looked around the table and smiled. "Good morning, gentlemen."

  A rumble from the men present returned the greeting.

  Mikhan continued. "What I have to say comes from His Majesty. Orders."

  "Sounds ominous." Indelgar's words matched Kelanus's thoughts. The Sandesteran drew contentedly on his pipe and sent clouds of bacca smoke upwards. "There have been disagreements?" Although his green eyes sparkled with hidden laughter, the question showed a shrewd mind. Kelanus had always trusted him in the field.

  Indelgar must have been deeply mischievous as a child. Kelanus knew he had joined Sandester's army so his parents could see the back of him. Or so the tales said.

  Mikhan ignored the banter. "Disagreements or not, His Majesty requires us to guarantee Trenvera's safety."

  Kelanus sat up straighter. Had everybody in Marka taken leave of their military senses? Zenepha's military advisors were Mikhan – with a vested interest in protecting Sandester – and Marcus. Kelanus expected better from Marcus. Or was Marcus the cause of the disagreement? Nobody else batted an eyelid.

  Mikhan paused, probably expecting protests, and continued when none came. "Received information suggests that an invasion of Trenvera by Re Taura is imminent. The Emperor insists we act now, to prevent more bloodshed later."

  "Has anybody bothered to tell Trenvera we're coming?" asked Kelanus. "Else they might think we've come to invade from the west and that we are allied with Re Taura."

  "Diplomatic advances have been made; your assessment has been considered and concluded to be an acceptable risk."

  "Really? Don't you think we've already got enough wars to contend with?"

  Mikhan's deepset eyes glittered. "Re Taura is about to act, General."

  Kelanus pursed his lips. "Does this information come from our people on the ground, or from Nazvasta Vintner?"

  A mutter swept around the table.

  "The source is unimportant," replied Mikhan. "You will command the force going east to Trenvera."

  "Very good, but you know my views, Mikhan. Anything Re Taura does is no more than a diversion. Who covers the north?"

  Mikhan continued as if Kelanus had not spoken. "Lance General Kestan. You will unite the detachments already in the field into one large force. Your task: root out and destroy the enemy wherever you find him."

  Kestan nodded.

  "And the west?" pressed Kelanus.

  "Lance Captain Dekran is out of range and we've heard nothing from the men between him and here. We will give the Eldovans the appearance that we have left the west flank open. Perhaps that will tempt them further south."

  And away from Sandester, reflected Kelanus. "The Eldovans know leaving an entire flank open is never an acceptable risk. It's an open door with a s
ign saying 'Please come this way for easy victory'. They will see through the trick."

  Mikhan's face hardened. "Perhaps. Either way, Commandant Treylfor has command of the west and south. With Captain Indelgar his Second."

  Both men nodded.

  Kelanus shook his head. "Re Taura and Trenvera are a diversion. Why can't you see it? Trenvera is not Marka. Marka is our charge and Marka is the target."

  "What we do is in all our best interests, General." Mikhan's tone suggested Kelanus now walked close to the edge of acceptability.

  "Marka's best interests, or Sandester's?" Kelanus's blue eyes were cold.

  "Or Calcan's?" Indelgar murmured around his pipestem.

  Mikhan ignored Kelanus. "Treylfor and Indelgar will remain in reserve for the south and west, just in case the Eldovans take our bait."

  Kelanus gritted his teeth and sat back. These plans were foolish. Marka was the target, not Trenvera. Everybody involved squabbled over who should sit on the damned Throne! Even Marcus appeared more concerned about his own lands, rather than the Throne he coveted.

  He passed no more comments for the rest of the meeting. Surprised he was not asked to stay behind afterwards, he ignored everybody else and stalked out of the room the moment they were dismissed.

  He returned to his rooms in the palace, unsure if he ought to be pleased to find them empty. Again he stood alone, convinced he was right and everybody else wrong. One day, he knew, he would be wrong and everybody else would be proved right.

  That day would see the end of his career.

  One of the palace sylphs ensured that a fire always burned in his living room, though the need for it would soon pass.

  Once more, he pulled the letter from Saran from his pocket. He had pondered this long enough. The letter went onto the fire; the past was past and he must start anew.

  Tahena.

  Thinking of her brought a smile to his lips. Time for him to propose. Assuming he survived this mission, they would marry on his return.

  His expression hardened. Given his plans, surviving the mission might prove hazardous. He must go and speak with Tahena, but not just yet.

  Soon.

  ***

  Zandra Caralin Ems, wife to the claimant Marcus Marcus Vintner, smiled at the small assembly in her rooms.

  "Alovak?" she asked. "Jenn will serve."

  Small even for her gender, the infertile stepped forward and flourished the alovak can. She wore gray knee-length breeches and a work tunic emblazoned with a gold dragon's head on the left breast. She also wore a leather collar, but no anklet of bells as Markan fashion demanded for domestic slaves.