Markan Empire

  "What's going on?" she asked.

  Gajaran scowled at her and earpoints lashed again. She turned and stalked away.

  Surprised, Sandev watched her go. What had got into her?

  After a pause, Rukana answered. "The whistling," she said. "We can hear it. They have found us again."

  Sandev turned away, but only to hide her delighted smile.

  ***

  Chapter 23

  Murder In Marka

  Sajalan's pen scratched furiously across the paper and paused only when dipped into the inkwell. Two light crystals, borrowed from Lieutenant Patisk and set up above the desk, provided light.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap...

  Sajalan vaguely registered an agitated Meylka watching him. She wanted to interrupt, but he must get this report finished. His broth must be ready.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap... Sajalan noticed that his sylph's earpoints twitched in time to the sounds.

  They now resided in small and discreet rooms provided by the City Guard, so that Sajalan could stay close to his task. Used to frequent moves, he and Meylka were happy anywhere, so long as they were together.

  A strange friendship. He supposed they'd bonded so well because Meylka needed him; she gave him a sense of self-worth in a way nothing and nobody else had ever done before.

  He ignored the sylph as she peered into the inkwell, probably hoping it would soon run dry. She would get his attention then.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch...

  Sajalan made no move to stop Meylka from glancing at the report. The angular shapes and squiggles would mean nothing to her. Sajalan muttered as he wrote.

  "All these men report to Petan Unter, Sergeant of the Eldovan Army. The men are at a dwelling in Mercer Street, between the drapery and the tailor Mirken Had Ronar. I have observed these men several times and followed each when he reported to Petan Unter. The sergeant himself lives under the name Necan Lowin Rewen, at a dwelling in Jewelers' Row, the one with a red door between two green doors. To further aid your recognition, Petan has grown a large beard which reaches his chest."

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Tap, tap. Scratch, scratch, scratch...

  Sajalan finally laid down his pen, sprinkled sand over the report to dry the ink, shook the sand off and set the page to one side. He looked up and Meylka smiled.

  "You must eat, enya," she prompted.

  "You've spent far too much time with Markan sylphs," he told her. "I warned you owners here are far too lax."

  Meylka did not even look embarrassed. "Other sylphs tell me our prime duty is to ensure our owners are properly looked after," she retorted.

  Sajalan returned his sylph's smile and raised his hands in surrender. "It's also my duty to get this report finished. Don't worry, last page now. The broth is ready?"

  "Very nearly."

  "Go and eat yours and I'll be ready for mine when you're finished."

  Meylka's silver-gray eyes were large in her face as she looked at him for a long moment, before she nodded. She pattered through to the other room.

  Sajalan returned to his report and lifted the pen between ink-stained fingers. He resumed muttering the words to himself.

  "I also discovered that Petan reports to Councilor Brendin Aulic Jendran, but I leave all further investigations in your capable hands. I remain sir, your obedient servant..."

  Sajalan signed off, reused the sand to dry the ink and threw his pen onto the desk. Obedient servant. Similar to signing off in Eldova, except there people used humble servant. Neither humble nor obedient, Sajalan only did what he must. He worked for the continued existence of Sajalan.

  And Meylka.

  His responsibilities to her were no less important than Meylka's were to him. Always duty somewhere.

  He shuffled the sheets together, folded them and sealed the report with wax. He had a seal to append to the report, but that didn't matter as he intended carrying it personally to Captain Crallin. He looked up and wondered why the other room had gone so quiet.

  "I'm ready for that broth!" he called.

  Silence.

  "Meylka? This is no time for games. Meylka!"

  No quiet giggle from his sylph in mischievous mood.

  Going to the other room, the intended rebuke died on his lips.

  Long silver hair spread around her, Meylka sprawled on the floor with broth splashed everywhere. Sajalan had heard nothing; he never did when writing and he had done more of that today than since learning his letters.

  The subject of that scribing sat at his ease at the table.

  "If you want your broth," said Petan, "you can lick it off the floor, like the dog you are."

  Sajalan looked around. Petan and one other man. A street tough. A hard street tough.

  "Finished the report?" A mocking tone entered Petan's voice. "Perhaps you thought we might not notice you creeping about. Traitor and turncoat. Only one sentence for that, you know."

  Sajalan hid his fear. All the knives were beyond reach. "For my sylph as well? If you've killed her..."

  Petan shrugged. "My record for killing sylphs is poor. I need practice. Must start somewhere."

  "You always were a bastard." A sneer turned Sajalan's lips. "Oh, I am sorry. I forgot."

  Petan's hazel eyes were very cold. He lacked a middle name and carried his mother's family name. Which meant she had not even known the father's name. Birth out of wedlock meant nothing in itself, but a woman who did not even know her child's father spoke volumes.

  Petan nodded to the other man, who stepped forward and backhanded Sajalan. He went down and slid a little way along the tiled floor. Towards his knives.

  Petan nodded again.

  Sajalan groaned as the kick drove the wind from his lungs. Contempt twisted Petan's face. "Better bastard than coward and traitor."

  "Coward?" Sajalan struggled to regain his feet and was sent back to the tiles by another kick. Another slide. Nearer the knives.

  "Yes, coward. You changed sides to save your miserable skin, like the others. We'll get them all yet. You're the first example. I'll take that report of yours now. And you will tell me what you have passed to the City Guard. Every... last... word." Petan smiled. A cold, cold smile.

  ***

  Zandra and Marcus sat alone in their living room. Kaira had received strict instructions to keep the children out of the way for at least the next two hours. Not even Eleka or Jenn were present.

  Busy with her new baby, Eleka happily left her owners alone; Jenn rather less so, as she felt she saw too little of her owner. But even Jenn left, if under protest, once the instructions were given more firmly.

  But this discussion must remain private. Short human ears and long sylph earpoints could not learn what was said here. Sylphs were usually discreet; children rarely so.

  "I have made excellent progress with the Guilds," said Zandra. "They will support you when Zenepha vacates the Throne. They're convinced you are on their side and won't rock too many boats."

  "They know their own areas of expertise best," said Marcus. "Have you mentioned my suggestion of a Guild Council?"

  Zandra smiled. "It received a cautious welcome. They are happy for such an organization to advise you, but they were concerned it might be used to exert control over their traditional freedoms. After all, they already have their own organization."

  "Reassure them. And the political classes?"

  "Not much progress, alas. What I hear from Council and Senate wives is that when Zenepha goes, you have the best chance of succeeding him."

  "But?" Marcus raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Zandra shrugged. "The general feeling is that they want the sylph to remain Emperor until he dies."

  "So long as it can't be traced back to me, that can be arranged."

  "No," cautioned Zandra. "Sylph-murder – and regicide at that – will do us no good. And they would suspect you."

  "They su
spect me even when it isn't me," said Marcus, wryly.

  "Well, unintended consequences are usually bad."

  Marcus smiled. "So long as the Throne does not fall again. Might they support Enthan Vintner?"

  "He's not pressed his claim recently."

  "No surprise there; the man's busy trying to expand the Imperial Republic south and fight off southerners wanting to expand into his lands. I almost pity him."

  Zandra nodded. "We can look closer to home for obstacles to your claim."

  "The Imhotep?"

  "Stood firmly behind Zenepha. Hardly surprising really. He was the hardest to convince that Zenepha could become Emperor and there is nothing more zealous than the converted."

  "Or the coerced."

  Zandra grimaced. "Djerana's appearance finally persuaded him he had done right by crowning Zenepha. His obsession with the ilven is almost unhealthy."

  "Got to hand it to Zenepha, he's done very well."

  "Better than expected in shark-infested seas. He's built our success into his own."

  Marcus's expression hardened. "With a lot of help from our Sandester cousins. That bloody brother of Branad's hasn't even had the courtesy to reply to my letter."

  "I'm surprised Nazvasta has not pressed his own claim."

  "He has refused me and submitted to Zenepha. No doubt Marshal Mikhan aided him in that decision."

  "He's certainly playing his own game." Zandra grimaced. "He'll have plenty of spies here."

  "Tempting to start rumors to singe his ears, but those have a habit of returning to bite you on the backside as well."

  Zandra smiled. "They do. The world of espionage is full of dangerous games. But if the rumors start in Sandester itself... What rumors have you got in mind?"

  "That Nazvasta plans rebellion against the Throne. Which he is, of course."

  Zandra cocked an eyebrow.

  "The moment I replace Zenepha, Sandester will be in revolt. Branad renounced the claim for himself and his descendants, but nothing has been said about other relatives. And Nazvasta is clever enough to spot the loophole."

  "Maybe. Start the rumor anyway, but it might lead to more support for Nazvasta."

  "Really?"

  "Of course really. People in Sandester would support such a move; fighting between the Vintners affected them in ways that hardly endeared them to our cause. Your father's sieges were not exactly calculated to win them to his way of thinking."

  Marcus considered for a few moments. "We should say that Nazvasta wants to keep Sandester independent from any new Markan Empire, thus impoverishing trade."

  Zandra smiled. "Work on that one," she suggested. "More useful I think. And we need to dream up one or two more to go along with it."

  "The Re Taurans are working with Sandester. If they then fall on Sandester, Nazvasta will get the blame."

  "Perhaps."

  "That's two rumors. A third? It must be confirmation of the other two. Let me see..."

  Zandra's mind whirled. Marcus had good ideas; his political mind could be deeply devious. But hers worked faster. "Re Taura wants alliance or union with Sandester," she said, "so that between them they can exert greater control over trade in the Bay of Plenty. And that will hit fairly close to the truth. Even if the Taurans aren't going to invade, they want something. And perhaps they want to consolidate gains if they do come."

  Marcus smiled. "Those three will do very well. That's Nazvasta dealt with for now. Where would I be without you?"

  Zandra laughed. "Still dreaming in Calcan."

  "While we're talking about Re Taura, we must discuss support for Kelanus."

  "Potential advantage over Zenepha on this one," said Zandra. "Though I'm still unsure about the wisdom of the letter you sent."

  Marcus shrugged. "He'll know the letter came from me, but nobody else can prove it did. Besides, I'm not going to abandon him. If he's wrong, the game's over anyway. And if he's right..." He shrugged.

  Zandra rubbed her hands. "If Kelanus is right, Zenepha has erred in your favor."

  "Especially when I give Kelanus my official and public backing." Marcus grinned. "Those letters are already written."

  Zandra smiled. Things were going very well after all.

  ***

  Olista stared out of the window of his office in the coronation building. A perfunctory knock heralded his secretary, Melda.

  "A gwerin to see you," she said, disapproval showing in her eyes. "Without an appointment."

  Olista saw Silmarila behind Melda, earpoints lashing in irritation. He sighed.

  "Show her in," he said.

  Melda's lips thinned, even as she nodded her head.

  "Ten minutes," she told the gwerin. "No more."

  Silmarila smiled at Melda and did not turn to face Olista until the secretary left the room. The Supreme Councilor gave her a polite nod.

  "His Majesty not with you?" he asked.

  Silmarila shook her head and her earpoints slanted forwards. "I have some free time. His Majesty is most generous with that for his property, something I believe he learned from you."

  "So you hastened here."

  "More a slow walk. I am surprised you are not downstairs again with the mundane paperwork." Silmarila looked around the office. "This is smaller than I remember."

  Although the gwerin had done Olista no harm and never tried to usurp his position with the Emperor, he could not completely hide his distaste. He still felt a little pushed aside in her favor, but feared his feelings were born from envy. He had no logical reason to feel jealous of her, but there it was. A selfish reason, rather than one of state. It rankled that she had greater intelligence.

  "Where is Zenepha?" he asked.

  "With Selkina and Djerana."

  Olista inwardly winced at the ilven's name. Grayar had brought Djerana to bolster Marcus Vintner's claim but she had instead latched on to Zenepha. She claimed that the notion of a sylph ruling humans was so fascinating that she could not stay away.

  Worse, events since had done nothing to help Marcus Vintner. There might be trouble when the time came for the sylph to step down.

  "Lucky Selkina and Djerana," he said. "Why are you here?"

  If Silmarila detected anything in the Supreme Councilor's voice, she gave no reaction. "To reassure you that I have not betrayed your secret concerning Sandev. Neither has the Emperor asked questions. However, he is still concerned that Sandev has not been to see him and that the fault is somehow his. Typical sylph, I must say."

  Her dark eyes glittered and Olista could not tell where iris ended and pupil began. If not for her earpoints, Silmarila could pass for human.

  "Well, I'm reassured."

  The gwerin wrinkled her nose at his tone. "However, I would like to know where we stand regarding Sandev. Grayar avoids me."

  I might start avoiding you, reflected Olista. Pain in the proverbial. Aloud, he said, "Still no nearer finding where she is. All I can suggest is that she's acting through choice."

  "Caya is frantic. Janin out in the field, Tangan disappeared... Didn't you know? Tangan, appearing the same day Sandev disappears, has also vanished. Nobody is saying why."

  "News to me," admitted Olista.

  Silmarila looked closely at Olista's face. "You don't like me very much," she said, after a pause. She waved his protest to silence. "Perhaps you don't trust me, or envy blinds you." She glanced quickly away, then back again.

  Olista shrugged, but remained silent. Her words were too close to the truth.

  "I propose an alliance between us," continued the gwerin. "Too many people keep too many secrets. You are the Supreme Councilor and an important advisor to His Majesty. As well as his former owner and somebody Zenepha repeatedly tells me he trusts. And I belong to the Throne; my task is also to advise the Emperor. Is alliance too much to ask?"

  Olista stared. How had she managed to work out his distaste and that he didn't know the reason for it himself? "What can we offer each other?"

  "We both know things
the other does not. If we are to carry out our tasks efficiently, we must know as much as possible." The gwerin's earpoints still slanted forward questioningly.

  "Grayar tells you nothing?"

  "Very little and avoids me. Perhaps it is an oversight."

  "Oversight? Grayar?"

  Silmarila smiled. "My thought also."

  "Grayar is like that with everybody."

  The gwerin shrugged.

  Olista leaned forward, his dark blue eyes serious and cold. He pointed a finger at her. "Part of me wishes you'd return to whatever flea infested hovel of a village you crawled from and other parts wish you had never come here."

  Silmarila gave him a sylph's slow blink, but she said nothing.

  "Those parts of me are very small, but they exist. How much they color my judgment – if at all – I do not know." He sat back in his chair. "If you can live with that, you have your alliance."

  The gwerin's earpoints returned to their normal position. "Since I returned to Marka and resumed my place, I see endemic obstructionism. Factions vie for power and the Emperor, whom we all serve, is kept ignorant because his closest advisors fumble in the dark for scraps. Scraps!"

  "The nature of politics," said Olista, but he got no further.

  Silmarila waggled a finger like it was a weapon. "You mislike me for the same reason other humans hate gwerins; you envy our intelligence. Do not deny it – I have felt it to one degree or another all my life. Gwerins become the property of the Throne because that is our only protection. We learn to live with it because we must." A smile brightened her features again. "Alliance?"

  Olista nodded and stretched out a hand, which Silmarila shook.

  "I hope you come to learn there is no reason to envy me," said the gwerin. "I would like to have at least one human friend not of noble blood."

  "What can we share?" asked the Supreme Councilor.

  "As part of your duty is keeping Marka secure, you must be aware of sylphs all over the city discussing the merits of freedom over slavery."

  "None have demanded their freedom," pointed out Olista.

  "Yet." Silmarila smiled. "Zenepha's manumission helped start it and with all these wild sylphs prepared to talk, ideas reach sylph ears that might prove dangerous. This is what I would like to propose..."

  Olista listened. He would be late for his next meeting, but this was more important. And he had his own information to share. In a moment, he would tell Melda to cancel the rest of today's appointments.

  ***

  Zenepha clasped his hands behind his head and lay back on the grass. He basked in the strong sunshine and reveled in the heat. Summer had always been his favorite season.