Markan Empire

  The Mametain's study lay at the end of the corridor.

  He heard a low rumble of voices and paused outside the study door. Anyone inside would bring his venture to an end. But the voices came from another room and one belonged to the Mametain. What if Tektu was cleaning in there?

  He pushed the study door open and poked his head inside. He found the room deserted, so the rest of his body followed and he shut the door silently.

  Neptarik was in.

  The study looked exactly as he had seen it last. He could smell the polish on the floor and paneling, together with a hint of pipesmoke. A glance at the window showed darkness outside.

  The two high-backed leather chairs and small tables were still arranged before a cold fireplace. As before, the huge desk sat on the strangely patterned rug; papers piled high on it, and maps spread out for easy viewing. Pens, inkwells and rulers were scattered across it.

  And the small bottle that bothered him so much. His skin itched.

  Neptarik stared at it, head cocked to one side. Why would a bottle bother him like this? No label told him what it held. He stretched out a hand, but instinct stopped him touching it.

  It felt wrong.

  Not being here for bottles, his attention turned to the maps.

  One was a large-scale map of Re Taura and the mainland. Using a pencil, someone had marked the shortest route from Taura to Trenvera. It was as Marcus suspected. The Mametain intended to drive a wedge between the two Vintners by invading their buffer state.

  But when?

  Other maps showed likely routes from Trenvera north into Sandester, and south into Calcan. Lists of likely armies and where they were stationed. Annotated maps, names of senior officers.

  And of traitors.

  Neptarik stiffened. He had nothing but contempt for men and women who betrayed their own lands, usually for gold, and who caused unnecessary deaths. Traitors deserved the hanging their actions merited, though as a sylph, perhaps he ought not think so.

  When would the invasion begin? Without a date, the rest was worthless.

  Should he steal the maps, or commit the details to memory? He prevaricated. He lifted the corners to see what, if anything, lay underneath, but found little of interest. Only a list of the ships that he presumed still choked the city's harbor.

  Hearing voices outside the study door, his head came up.

  Neptarik's heart plummeted. The owners of those voices were about to come into the study, and through his only way out.

  ***

  "The Mametain wants them in yellow."

  Kurgan sighed. "Yellow." He eyed the remaining rolls of blue cloth regretfully. "It's not long since he wanted them in blue."

  Melsa, Castle Beren's administrator, who had assumed many of the late Siaba's duties, shrugged. "He says blue makes them look naked."

  Kurgan, who looked after most of the stores and clothing, glanced at the two sylphs working with him. "No it doesn't," he replied. "It's obvious they're wearing something."

  Melsa's lips thinned. "If the Mametain wants them in yellow, then he wants them in yellow," she insisted.

  "All right. I'll order the necessary cloth tomorrow and get the tailors onto it straight away." He gestured towards the blue cloth. "What about that lot?"

  Melsa shrugged. "Sell it back."

  As the administrator left, the two sylphs looked at Kurgan. He managed a small smile for them.

  "Nothing we can do tonight," he told them. He eyed the full rolls. "We can sell those, but that one is useless now." He prodded a mostly-used roll with a foot. "Can you manage it between you? Take it to the catapult for tomorrow's throw, then I'm finished with you for today."

  The two sylphs looked at the roll and nodded. They found, after unrolling it, that just one could carry it easily. They asked Kurgan to toss a coin and the loser took the cloth to the catapult.

  When the infertile threw the cloth into the cup of the catapult, she nearly missed. Wanting her bed, she left the cloth hanging half out. The infertile silently vowed she would return after breakfast tomorrow and sort it out properly, before the daily hurl of waste into the sea.

  The cloth rippled in the fresh breeze, as if waiting for something.

  Or someone.

  ***

  "Alovak? Or would you prefer red tea?"

  Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast blinked in unison.

  "Red tea?" asked Dervra.

  Nijen smiled and nodded, while Tektu glowered at the guests. "A mainland ship has made a couple of trips with it," replied the Mametain. "It's in demand everywhere in the city."

  "Alovak for me," grunted the man who called himself Hingast.

  "I will try the tea," said Dervra.

  Tektu narrowed her eyes, probably at the prospect of having to do twice the work. She glanced away quickly from Dervra's searching gaze. That one, even older than she, saw too deeply.

  "Off you go, Tektu," prompted Nijen. "We haven't got all night. Red tea for me too."

  Tektu gave a bob of her head and left.

  The man who called himself Hingast chuckled. "A little discipline needed for that one," he remarked.

  "Perhaps." Nijen changed the subject. "We'll go to my study soon. I want to tell you that Admiral Iklaus assures me he will sail at high water tomorrow. Everything is ready."

  The guests were all smiles.

  "Excellent news," said Dervra. "Marka has all but emptied her city of soldiers and sent them towards Trenvera. They have obviously decided you are the greatest threat. We have already clashed with part of their army, but their forces in the west are small."

  "Good, but I can still decide which target to attack?"

  The man who called himself Hingast shrugged. "So long as you choose further north. Go south, and those soldiers can be switched south again, which is too close to Marka."

  "I thought you had no interest in Marka."

  The man who called himself Hingast gave the Mametain a cold look. "We must take it to end Marka's dream of establishing herself as a powerful land again," he replied. "When I – we – are done, what you decide to do in the east no longer concerns us." He suddenly gave a humorless smile. "Just do not choose to replace Marka's dream of a continental empire with one of your own. Or we shall come to blows."

  Dervra smiled. "Gentlemen please. Hingast, we have already agreed that Re Taura is no threat to our plans and that the Bay of Plenty trade is theirs."

  Tektu, returning with two cans and three large mugs, ended the uncomfortable silence. "Red tea," she said as she put one can down. "Alovak."

  The sylph poured, then stood aside.

  The man who called himself Hingast gave her a strange look.

  He feels it too, reflected Nijen. He had heard that Hingast was unhinged and, indeed, his initial meetings had confirmed those rumors. But this man seemed more in control of himself. And knew a lot more about military matters.

  "How is the sylph-hunting?" he asked. "I can arrange a run here, if you like. I have several strong candidates."

  Tektu almost gawked, but caught herself just in time.

  The man who called himself Hingast frowned. "I've given that up," he replied. He visibly struggled with himself. "I try to ignore sylphs these days, especially males."

  "The candidates do not know how lucky they are," smiled Nijen. There were no sylphs waiting to be hunted down; Nijen found the idea of hunting sylphs for sport repellent, but he had his suspicions about the man who called himself Hingast. Just as people could sense something not right about Tektu, he knew there was something wrong with Hingast.

  "This is excellent tea." Dervra smiled at Tektu.

  "Everybody in Taura is drinking it," replied Nijen. "If it continues, I'll have to put an import duty on it. So popular."

  "You might suffer riots when it runs out." Dervra's smile widened.

  Nijen shrugged. "Not very likely. Markans were trying to foment rebellion against me, but we have apprehended the rumormongers and my predecessor. I've decap
itated their plot and soon will decapitate its leaders in actuality."

  The man who called himself Hingast nodded in appreciation. He viewed Nijen in a new, more respectful light.

  With Steppan da Kanpura safely locked in his dungeons, Nijen felt safer. Tektu had been right: he should have apprehended the man long ago. "If you are staying for a while, I'll bring him out for you to look at."

  ***

  Steppan da Kanpura stretched out on his stone bed. He was getting too old to lie on stone. Both hips ached and his back felt like a horse had trodden on it. A faint smell from the slop bucket tickled his nostrils. So far, he had not kicked it over. But that would only be a matter of time in this gloom.

  The cell was almost completely dark, the only light leaking from around the solid door. Not enough for him to see; there were no windows here.

  They held him deep inside the south tower of Castle Beren. Somewhere below was the sea and somewhere above the sulking room. Admonished slaves were always sent there to reflect on their misdemeanors and as a reminder that they were only a few steps above the dungeons.

  These dungeons were never intended for normal prisoners, only to punish the most recalcitrant of slaves and then only for a night or possibly two.

  He now understood how being left alone in pitch darkness might break even the most indomitable spirit. He realized just what slaves he used to send here as punishment had gone through.

  He did not want to be remembered for cruelty, not even to slaves.

  If ever he regained his Throne, the sulking room would become a recreation room and these cells would be filled in, or converted to stores. From now on, the worst punishment a slave could face would be...

  He shook his head. If ever he regained his Throne. He snorted at himself in derision. He needed a miracle to get out of here alive. His compatriots were in the adjoining cells, but he had no idea how many had already been interrogated.

  Perhaps some were already dead.

  No. He must not think like this. He had not been harmed yet. Perhaps Nijen did not intend him harm.

  But if not that, then what?

  Steppan knew there were things worse than death. Humiliation. Paraded through the streets to prove the old Mametain was not mighty. How far he had fallen.

  A dangerous precedent to set.

  He did not fear death. He feared pain before death, as did all animals, and he feared what might – or might not – happen afterwards. The bit in between was easy enough; every fool did that sooner or later.

  But he had hoped that this fool might avoid it for a few more years, at least.

  ***

  Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast stared in surprise as Tektu led them along the corridor towards the Mametain's study. Nijen was clearly not bothered by what his guests saw as a serious breach of protocol.

  "When is high water tomorrow?" asked Dervra.

  "Mid-morning," replied Nijen. "No point in sailing against the tide when you can sail with it."

  Dervra shrugged. "Move soon, for tomorrow we will have to fight Markans."

  "Here we are," continued Nijen. "My study."

  Tektu pushed the door open and entered first, another breach of protocol in the guests' eyes. Again, Nijen passed no comment.

  Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast exchanged a look.

  Tektu entered the study far enough to let the men join her. She sniffed at the air and looked at her owner in consternation. The window at the far side of the study stood open and the drape billowed in the breeze.

  "Did you leave that open?" asked Nijen.

  "No." Tektu crossed the floor to the window.

  "Anything wrong?" asked Dervra. He was ignored.

  Tektu sprang onto the sill and poked her head out. She looked left, right and down. Satisfied, she withdrew and closed the window behind her.

  "At least the open window makes it smell fresher," remarked Dervra.

  "Probably an oversight," replied Nijen.

  ***

  Outside and above the window, Neptarik shivered in the fresh breeze. The fingers of both hands curled around small protuberances; he had pushed the toes of one foot into a putlog and turned the other sideways atop one of the stone blocks.

  In his panic to escape, he could not remember quite how he managed to get here.

  The wind tugged at his clothing and threatened to tear him away from the stone. He must move about fifteen pacas to the right before he reached the walls and safety. It might as well be fifteen milas.

  He looked at the moat far below and, beyond that, the long drop into the channel leading from the sea into Taura Harbor. He had no fear of falling, but he did have a healthy respect for heights. The moat was a possibility, but if he missed, certain death waited. Perhaps even if he landed in the channel. Better to try and make the walls.

  Neptarik froze as Tektu's head poked out from the study. If she looked up...

  Tektu did not look up. She looked left and right and down. Then she withdrew and he heard the window close.

  No way back into the study.

  He must reach the walls. He stretched out a tentative hand...

  ...and slipped.

  ***

  Aware that something had just plummeted past, Tektu looked back at the window. Perhaps she had not turned fully away, so she caught the movement in her excellent peripheral vision, or else she sensed a slight change in air pressure.

  Something was not right.

  She leapt onto the sill and reopened the window. Her head poked into the night just in time to see the splash as someone plunged into the moat. Her eyes narrowed as the sound eventually reached her ears.

  A head broke the surface and not even Tektu had any idea who that might belong to.

  She pulled the window shut before dashing to the study door, ignoring the surprised humans. She stuck her head into the corridor.

  "Guard!"

  Moments later, one of the red-tabbed guardsmen joined her.

  "Muster the guard," she snapped. "Search all quarters and report anybody missing."

  The guard saluted and turned to leave.

  "And raise the drawbridge!" Tektu added this last as an afterthought. Just in case the lunatic had survived his fall.

  Tektu retreated to the study. Dervra and the man who called himself Hingast still stared in surprise. Nijen looked rather more collected.

  "We have a spy," said Tektu, calmly, "who has just fallen into the moat."

  "From up here?" Dervra looked disbelieving. "Impossible!"

  "Unlikely," agreed Tektu. She shrugged. "But I know what I saw."

  ***

  The four seconds it took Neptarik to reach the water passed like four hours. His brain kicked into top speed as he weighed his options. He had already turned to be as flat as possible. Birds flew this way and some vague instinct told him this was the best way to fall.

  He must avoid collision with the building, as that would spin him out of control. The tower walls thickened lower down, to keep the structure stable. He hoped he could push away from it without breaking anything, then realized he was far enough out to avoid it.

  The moat would be deep enough to stop attackers from fording it, but he had no idea if it was deep enough for a sylph hurtling into it at speed. He must not hit the water flat, but enter feet or head first. The moat might be too shallow, so going in headfirst would grant a quicker and less painful death.

  At the last moment, he turned his body and tensed.

  The water was cold and salt. Driven up his nose and into his mouth with great force, he resisted the urge to choke. His arms brushed against feathery fronds and he opened his eyes.

  He did not touch bottom, but it was a close thing. He could feel plant growth but saw nothing in the pitch darkness. Momentarily disoriented, he waited for his downward momentum to end and let his lungs act as floats. His body would naturally find up. He must restrain his panic.

  Being a sylph, immersion was almost as natural as breathing air.
Five or six seconds after hitting the moat, Neptarik's head broke surface. He looked up and took deep lungfuls of beautiful air.

  Far above, a head poked from the study window. Tektu, he knew it. As he watched, the head withdrew. He swam to the side of the moat and pulled himself out. He looked up again and shuddered.

  He had been luckier than he deserved.

  Neptarik wandered around the corner of the moat, wondering how to explain to the guards how he managed to get outside. He was halfway along the curtain wall when a new sound reached his ears.

  He continued to walk, head cocked to one side, earpoints questing. A grinding groaning together with chains clanking. Realization dawned.

  The drawbridge!

  He broke into a run. If he wanted to get back into Castle Beren, he had to move. Sprinting, he turned the final corner and stared.

  Free of the ground, the wooden drawbridge rose steadily. He increased speed. At worst, he faced another wetting and he was already wet.

  Pushing himself even harder, he turned and leapt...

  Neptarik's fingers closed on one of the crossbars and he dug them into the hard wood. Only friction prevented another fall. His legs swung in space, before the drawbridge came vertical enough for him to grip with his feet.

  One arm caught the end – now the top – of the drawbridge and he pulled himself up.

  A dark hole above was the window where he and Mya had rested when cleaning the gurds' tower. He remembered guessing where the drawbridge would come to rest when raised. And on the other side of that window was a walkway. With just a few pacas to go, the sylph stood.

  As the drawbridge slammed home, inertia catapulted the sylph through the space and into the corridor beyond. Lying on the ground, he silently offered gratitude to the Father that the walkway was deserted.

  Hearing shouted orders, he looked into the courtyard. There, soldiers were getting detailed to search areas of the castle. Presumably looking for him. He wasn't safe yet.

  He must reach his dormitory without being seen. He glanced at the laundry lines, then across at the sylphs' tower, where the doors to the laundry still stood open.

  Neptarik smiled. He knew how to get back now.

  ***

  Mya finally finished her chores, sat back on her heels and wiped sweat out of her eyes. The laundry room was always hot, thanks to several steaming baths for the tablecloths, bed linen and dirty washing from a garrison three hundred strong. Her earpoints twitched with pleasure because she had finally finished and everything hung to dry.