Markan Empire

  Well, if Mirrin wanted to see her, she had best get it over and done with.

  A lantern sputtered into life as she approached his tent and the guards snapped to attention. Strange, they had never done that for her before.

  "Mistress Sandev," announced one.

  Shashi poked her head out and smiled in recognition. She said nothing, but beckoned.

  Sandev entered the tent.

  "Sit." Mirrin indicated one of the easy chairs. "Shashi, alovak if you please. For two."

  Sandev felt certain that last had been added for her benefit, not Shashi's.

  "Why do you want to see me?" asked Sandev, once the sylph had gone.

  "No need to play the innocent." Mirrin forced a smile. "Sylphs are good at that sort of thing; you are not. We both know the endgame fast approaches."

  "Indeed. Before long, I'm sure you Eldovans will be running for home. With nothing to stop you, this time."

  Mirrin's smile looked forced, but he did not rise to the insult. "Or this time Marka will fall. Most of your armies are in the east, chasing ghosts. Or maybe a real invader. Hingast has arranged diversions to keep them occupied."

  "You still will not find Marka easy," retorted Sandev.

  "Probably not."

  "I'm surprised a man of your talents works with a madman like Hingast. With a dead Hingast."

  Mirrin shrugged. "Eldova is my home; who else do you expect me to fight for? And your other observation is not worth an answer."

  "You mean you refuse to accept you are dupes. Admittedly an excellent imposter, but nevertheless not the real Hingast. You must see that Dervra and Nicolfer are using your homeland for their own ends. They work for their own interests, not those of your home."

  Mirrin shook his head. "I accept that Hingast has chosen uncomfortable allies, but they are powerful."

  "Hingast became unbalanced after his father was murdered," said Sandev, quickly. "About that time Dervra first appeared in the court to whisper in his ear. Dervra arranged his father's death. Dervra manipulated your young prince and encouraged him to destroy Shayleston. Dervra encouraged him to rule by terror. Dervra invented the so-called sport of sylph hunting to hone the boy's bloodlust. Dervra suggested he should press his claim to the Markan Throne."

  "A lot of supposition." Mirrin's dark brown eyes betrayed no emotion. "Hingast had a cruel streak as a child."

  "But he was not evil until after Dervra got hold of him," countered Sandev. "A cruel streak does not in itself make anybody evil. It was Dervra who ensured Aelfrec died."

  "An easy accusation to make. To know that, you must have been there. Which means you're equally likely to be the perpetrator. And equally likely to be the manipulator, also."

  Sandev sighed and sat back. "You only believe what you want to believe."

  Mirrin snorted. "As do you."

  Both human heads turned as Shashi entered with the alovak can.

  "I understand Hingast has given up sylph hunting," said Sandev, quietly.

  Shashi almost spilled alovak as she poured.

  "Just a rumor," said Mirrin.

  Sandev nodded. "Maybe. He's also stopped bullying his senior officers. And begun to communicate more. Did Hingast ever speak to all the men before?"

  Mirrin said nothing.

  Shashi placed a cup of alovak beside each human before she knelt to one side, head down. Though her earpoints showed she listened closely.

  "Traits of a completely different command style," continued Sandev. "A style based on a different personality, in fact. There are no male sylphs with the army."

  The change of tack startled Mirrin. "Hingast finished those off long ago," he replied. "Maybe that's why he has given up hunting. For now."

  "But until very recently you did have one." Sandev smiled. "Your, ah, Hingast-who-isn't-really-Hingast even came for a good look at him. But didn't hunt him."

  "That means nothing in isolation," countered Mirrin.

  "True, but there's more. Each small and unimportant, insignificant alone, but together they add to one inescapable conclusion."

  Mirrin inhaled the aroma of alovak. "Such as?" he murmured.

  "Such as the person who appears to be Hingast using enough sorcery – or perhaps the Gift – to frighten the ears off every sylph here."

  "What?"

  Sandev smiled. "Don't you know? There was me thinking you knew everything about sylphs. All right. Sylphs can sense the Gift and sorcery when it is used. They can even sense humans practiced in its use." She leaned forward. "They can even sense it in me, blocked as I am." Sandev felt Shashi's gaze on her, but didn't turn her head.

  "I've never heard of this," said Mirrin.

  "Most don't know what it is they sense," said Sandev. She still did not turn her head, but she pointed at the infertile. "Ask her."

  Shashi flinched as if struck and her earpoints wilted.

  Mirrin looked at his sylph. "Well?" he asked, gently.

  Shashi nodded and stared unhappily at the rug. "It is true, enya."

  Mirrin's attention returned to Sandev. "I never heard of such a thing before."

  "You are a warrior," replied Sandev. She sipped the alovak; almost as good as Caya's. She felt a twinge of guilt. "Why should you know? And a sylph won't realize what it is unless she or he belongs to a practitioner."

  "How come Shashi knows?"

  "Because I told her."

  Mirrin shook his head. "It comes back to you. Again."

  "Because I am a practitioner. My own sylph makes herself scarce the moment she thinks I'm about to do anything with the Gift. Every sylph here feels deeply uncomfortable whenever the man posing as Hingast is here. So I told them what caused their unease. Is that cruel?"

  "You might be making it up," pointed out Mirrin. "Sylphs are suggestible."

  "Not that suggestible and certainly not from a distance. Do you think I gathered every sylph in the camp and told them all at once? Yet they all sense something wrong with the imposter."

  "Perhaps Hingast has learned sorcery."

  Sandev smiled. "Perhaps he has. However, I would be surprised if Dervra would allow him to develop it too far, certainly not to the level needed for sylphs to feel what he had become. Which means that, whoever he is, he uses sorcery or the Gift whenever he stands before you."

  "But why?"

  Sandev's smile broadened. "So he looks like Hingast."

  Shashi whimpered, an involuntary sound.

  Sandev gave the sylph a sympathetic smile. "It's called shapeshifting." She took a few more sips of alovak. "And I know who your imposter is."

  ***

  Fhionnen, the best of the scouts who were allowed to scout, followed the Eldovans as they moved east. Either Peytor or Deren stayed in close company and that was irritating. Fhionnen suspected the Shadow Riders did not fully trust him or his companions. He should not be bothered by that since few humans believed sylphs were good at this work until shown different.

  The Shadow Riders would learn.

  Fhionnen worried that he had contacted no other Markan scouts. He feared that the March had been left unprotected and unwatched.

  Scouts' positions were always fluid, but Fhionnen still expected contact before now. Why had the scouts all disappeared? There must be trouble somewhere ahead.

  General Mirrin had set a fair pace, whether through genuine hurry or in hope of throwing off his pursuers, Fhionnen did not know.

  If Mirrin hurried, that meant trouble for Marka's enemies.

  If Mirrin hoped to shake off the sylph scouts, he would fail. For one thing, he rarely changed direction and kept on the road. It made for easier traveling, but for easier shadowing, too. All Fhionnen needed to do was keep an eye and ear open for enemy scouts in the forest. He had already bypassed several. So long as he took care, they were easy to spot and he usually heard them long before seeing them.

  Humans were always easy to find.

  He sent another pinger out, intended to tell his brother scouts that he had changed
direction again.

  This time, an answer came back he did not expect.

  ***

  Chapter 27

  The Mametain Makes His Move

  Four candle lanterns threw long shadows around the unfurnished and windowless cell. It contained just a wheeled box, with a few tools arranged on top. There were two in the cell, one a naked man, chained to a wall by a wrist and an ankle.

  And the other... Tektu eyed the prisoner and used a rag to clean the worst of the blood off her hands and forearms.

  The new prisoner had squealed nicely. He begged her to lay off and promised to tell her everything she wanted to hear. He would confess to anything, whatever she needed to make her leave him alone. Breath whistled through the new gaps between his teeth. Having cleaned what she could off her arms, she turned back to the prisoner and smiled.

  "Names. Do not tell me what you think I want to hear. I have no interest in your guilt; that is not important. We already know you are guilty, or you would not be here. Just names." She kept her voice gentle. "Understand?"

  Blood streaked the prisoner's body and one eye-socket gaped sightlessly. The free arm dangled uselessly and only a soft mush replaced other extremities. The prisoner nodded. He had made her work to reach this stage.

  "Who is the man Marka sent to Castle Beren?"

  "Castle Beren? I only know the two in the city!"

  Tektu leaned closer and made her smile less of a snarl. "The name of the man in Castle Beren," she whispered.

  The prisoner had done well to hold out so long.

  The man began to cry. "I... do... not... know!"

  "Who is the spy in Castle Beren?"

  The man sobbed harder and shook his head.

  Tektu's face hardened and she stepped back. "All right. I must report what you have told me. Think very hard on everything you ever heard. When I return, I want names."

  She left the cell. She ignored his cries that he did not know, cries that begged for release, for death.

  His pleas would be granted, but in her time, not his.

  ***

  Balnus Pinton chatted amiably to Rement, the man receiving the boxes from the back of the cart. These vegetables came from last year's crop, carefully stored over the winter and now issued to areas with soil too poor for arable farming. Balnus would return to Taura with the cart laden with fish. Even though they were in the middle of Codden's village square, other people stayed away.

  "You hear things all the time," he said as he worked. "Rumors mostly and who can say how true those are?"

  "There's often truth in rumor," growled Rement.

  Balnus pretended he had not heard and gabbled on. "All those soldiers. Word on the streets is that the Mametain plans to attack the mainland soon."

  "Yeah, that'll keep the beggars away from us."

  Balnus paused in his work and lowered his voice. "They say the Mametain's going to help one of the claimants take Marka's Throne." He straightened and carried on with his work. "Of course, you hear all sorts of nonsense, such as a sylph being on that Throne now. A sylph!"

  "But that's true," protested the other man. "Every ship coming in says the same. Must've been there a year now. Or nearly. Zempha, or something."

  Balnus nodded. "Maybe so. But ask yourself this: if we're going to help a claimant, what's in it for us? Will we be sold out to the Markans?"

  Rement stared. "Shouldn't bother you, with that accent."

  Balnus laughed. Couldn't this man tell the difference between Calcan and Markan accents? He supposed mainlanders were all the same to him. "So folks say. But I'm here for a good reason and I'd rather not wear a Markan yoke, thank you." He passed down the last box. "Where's that fish?"

  Dark blue eyes expressionless, Balnus watched Rement push the vegetable cart aside and beckon two sylphs to take it away. Two barefoot human boys then pulled another cart, laden with fish, towards him.

  Codden's fishing boats used to put in directly to Taura's wharves, but a dispute over landing fees resulted in the present cumbersome arrangements. It had also put the prices up and his employer made a healthy profit when the fish was sold in the market.

  Balnus had planted another seed and more rumors would grow from his words. Rement already mulled them over, the reason why he had gone quiet.

  Rumor had unseated more than one lord in the past. It would unseat any ruler who happened to be – or was made to be – unpopular. There were so few ways for the ordinary man to hit back at the authorities in any society and rumor was the best of them.

  Marka would gain no direct benefit here, but that did not mean Balnus failed to understand his task here. If Re Taura's army reached the mainland, it would cause real trouble. No matter what the Mametain's true aim – or even if he was merely another's puppet – Marka would have little choice but to react to invasion from the east.

  The Re Taurans were fiercely independent islanders, with a healthy suspicion of outsiders and that could be used against them. Re Taurans no more wanted to rule Marka than be ruled by it. Squandering their independence on another's whim would rouse them to anger and neither did they want to steal anyone else's freedom.

  Rumor could prove to be Nijen da Re Taura's undoing.

  ***

  Steppan da Kanpura found Verdin Vintner in the timber market. Crowds swirled around them, which made the meeting all the more miraculous. The smell of freshly cut timber hung heavily in the air.

  Woodworkers of every description filled the square. Timber came into the city once a week, and the sawmills set to work on it immediately. All timber was sold from here, where the Mametain's agents could oversee the sales and collect any taxes due.

  Many woodworkers would have private arrangements with the sawmills and, beyond any doubt at all, most of the agents were paid a cut to overlook some transactions.

  Steppan caught Verdin's eye and wheeled around to meet him.

  "You must move lodgings," said the former Mametain.

  Verdin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  "They arrested Levvin last night and took him to Castle Beren. Once he's been questioned, Nijen will know everything about you and where you are staying. And Balnus, too." The last sounded like an afterthought. Steppan kept his voice low, despite the racket of the crowd. "Assume everything is known to the authorities, just in case Levvin was a traitor and not an unwilling captive."

  Verdin nodded his head, but his heart pounded.

  Steppan changed the subject. "Have we got anywhere with the rumors? Might be too late now, of course."

  "A good number of bites." Verdin managed a grin. "I'd feel happier if those soldiers weren't about to be on the move."

  "How do you know that?" Steppan almost shouted the question.

  Verdin grimaced. The indiscretion worried him. "Summer's drawing to a close and nobody wants to campaign through the winter. If it's left much longer, winter will be here."

  "We're not used to campaigns here; perhaps Nijen doesn't realize that."

  "He'll know," replied Verdin. "I'm no gambler, but I'd wager my life on that."

  Steppan's dark eyes were thoughtful. He glanced across at a ragged male sylph, picking his way across the market, one hand held out for coins. Their eyes met and the sylph changed direction.

  Verdin regarded his companion curiously. "Why is he frightened of you?"

  "He used to belong to me," replied Steppan. "One of the first to ask for release from Nijen's service. He's been a beggar ever since and refuses to have anything to do with me. As if Nijen being Mametain is my fault."

  Verdin looked away. Sylphs always see more than they let on. And sometimes what they don't let on could fill a book. Marcus Vintner told me that and I believe him from what I've seen since. What do you hide, Steppan da Kanpura? Aloud, he said. "Perhaps he has a point."

  Steppan's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. "Why do you say that?"

  "You admitted yourself that if you paid more attention to events around you, Nijen could never have taken yo
ur Throne."

  "You see deeply for one so young." The former Mametain nodded. "Take my advice and change your lodgings. Nijen can move quickly and ruthlessly when he must. As you've just reminded me."

  The two men parted. Verdin picked his way through the streets quickly, pausing now and then as he overheard chatter. Mostly rumors planted by himself and his new friends. Or variants of them.

  Turning the last corner to The Raven, he saw three guardsmen in full uniform go inside. He approached the door and overheard their squadman.

  "Innkeeper!" The soldier had a rough voice; perhaps like Balnus, he smoked too much. "We are here to arrest a renegade calling himself Verdin Vintner. Young man, outlander, blue eyes and..."

  Just keep walking, Verdin told himself. Nothing to do with you.

  He hoped he had nothing in his rooms to incriminate anybody. Though he moved quickly through the crowds, he had to ensure he looked to be in no hurry.

  Fish market. He must catch Balnus before he finished work. Nothing worse than being arrested by the authorities at the end of a hard day's labor.

  Keep your pace down, he told himself. Do not dawdle, but don't rush, either. Draw no attention.

  Reaching the fish market, and with a wary eye open for guardsmen, he asked if the cart from Codden had returned yet. He was grateful to learn it had not. Several sylphs stared hungrily at him, but he ignored them as Balnus and the cart rumbled into the yard. The sylphs crowded in, salivating even as they offered to help. Earpoints slanted forwards and some jostled for position. Verdin decided that sinabra mingled with the smell of fish was not a pleasant mixture.

  Balnus blinked as he saw the younger man readying himself to lend a hand.

  "Get unloaded!" hissed Verdin, even before Balnus halted the cart. "We must move accommodation – guardsmen are already at mine."

  "We will help!" offered the sylphs, several speaking in unison.

  Balnus growled something and the sylphs slunk away. If they'd had tails, they would have been tucked between their legs.

  "Might have been an idea to accept the help," suggested Verdin mildly.

  Balnus shook his head. "Never asked 'em for it before, so why make today stand out?"

  Refusing to hurry, he passed fish boxes to Verdin. The younger man muffled his protests and sweated his way through the sylphs. The beggars looked hopeful that he might fall over something, but the fish reached the market keepers safely.

  Verdin glanced around as he worked, worried that guardsmen would appear to arrest them at any moment. Market boys dashed to help and one threatened the sylph beggars with a stick, which sent them running.