Markan Empire

  She followed Liffen down the double companion ladder and entered the main cabin that stretched from one side of the ship to the other.

  "The Emperor wants a speedy response to his question." Jeckon's eyes were uncaring, hinting that if Cloudy refused the commission, he would go elsewhere. Somehow, Cloudy doubted that; she suspected Jeckon was eager she took the commission. "One hundred crowns, the old gold standards, is a lot of money to turn away."

  "The ship wants to know the names of the agents."

  The other's eyes went even flatter. Perhaps he did not believe ship sylphs were more than they seemed. Few people did; even some of the crew doubted.

  "Or the answer is no." Cloudy turned on her heel and made her way back to the door. "Take your commission elsewhere."

  "Two men and one sylph." Bluff called, Jeckon spoke quickly. "The sylph is named Neptarik. That will have to do, I can tell you no more than that."

  She stopped walking. The ship was silent, but Cloudy knew she had changed her mind. Another thought came and she smiled. "In Re Taura, do they drink red tea?"

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Re Taura

  Mya shifted on her heels. She might only have to spend time here during the market's business hours, but a cage was a cage. A straw-strewn floor and a wooden stool were her only furnishings. She replaced the straw each morning, knowing many humans found the fresh smell inviting. She could sit on the floor or the stool and she came out in the middle of the day to freshen up for the afternoon.

  Light crystals brightened the indoor market, which had no natural light. Sinabra competed with straw as the dominant odor, but she barely noticed either.

  She dreamed of a kind owner, but potential buyers always passed by, attention caught by a prettier or younger sylph, or one who might be more compliant. As if sylphs were anything but compliant.

  She was not badly treated here, but the longer she remained unsold, the more her care cost the market's owner. She shared the market's chores as one way to earn her keep, but as she aged, she despaired of ever getting out. The proprietor, no matter how kindly, still had all the sylphs he could need.

  More than anything, she yearned for a proper owner.

  She stirred, sensing a customer's presence. The sylph opposite also moved to the front of her cage and pushed a hand from between the bars in supplication. Always hopeful, Mya's earpoints twitched forward as she pressed her forehead against the cage bars. The market owner showed the customer his wares.

  "I have many sylphs. If none match your requirements, I will find one who does." She glimpsed a hand gesturing in her general direction. "Here, we have a –"

  "I need a breeder," interrupted the customer. "An infertile will not do because she must have some independence."

  "Must be a breeder, sir? Males have independence aplenty."

  "No. Males are too expensive and are needed for breeding." The customer sounded insistent. "There is no need for the sylph I take on to actually breed, but neither will an infertile suffice for the duties."

  She strained to see the customer.

  "She cannot stand out in a crowd," continued the customer. "And not too pretty. Bright enough to remember details of anything she's told, or sees, or hears. Also, she must be companionable and friendly."

  "Quite a list, sir. Though I must point out that all sylphs remember everything they see or hear. I think just the sylph for you is right here." The proprietor gestured towards her cage.

  Then, the customer stood before her. She smiled and her heart pounded. He inspected her quickly, and moved on.

  Her earpoints wilted in disappointment. She knew she faced plenty of competition for his attention. Younger sylphs, extrovert sylphs, highly intelligent sylphs... Her hands gripped the bars and she gently banged her forehead against them. Eyes shut, she rocked her head from side to side in frustration and despaired of ever having an owner. About to turn away from the bars, she became aware of a presence. She looked up into the customer's dark eyes. He had returned.

  For the first time, a potential buyer gave her more than a cursory inspection.

  Suddenly shy, she smiled.

  "My name is Talnan," he told her. The smile she would come to love widened. "Would you like to tell me yours?"

  ***

  Mya-y-Talnan, in true sylph fashion, finished her allotted tasks as quickly as possible and disappeared before an overseer could find her more chores. She now stood at the window of the barest room in Castle Beren. She watched a ferry from the mainland as it prepared to negotiate the narrows into Taura Harbor.

  She admired the beautiful spring day, and imagined she could feel the fresh breeze that whipped the wavetops white and deepened the troughs between. Waves that broke as they crashed onto the castle's rocky foundation.

  The sun strengthened every day and already heated the stone walls; soon the only fires would be in the kitchens. Mya blinked as the ferry passed out of sight, already taking off sail and readying oars. She stared at the sea with unseeing eyes.

  Never opulently furnished, several wooden stools and a couple of benches dotted the room. Once – perhaps still – admonished servants came here to reflect on their misdemeanors. It was called the Sulking Room, but Mya had never seen anyone else in here. She did not come here to sulk.

  One of the few places in the castle she had to herself, here she could pray for her dead owner. And openly mourn him.

  "Zhenya, fatil enya; enewa," she prayed, eyes turned upwards. "Great Father, care for my owner; he is a good man."

  Talnan had been dead for weeks. Should she ask to leave the Mametain's service, or wait for the next spy? Trenvera's king might refuse to send more and leaving the castle meant working at some menial or unrewarding task. Then again, the next spy might be on the ferry she had just seen.

  If another spy was sent, would he be told about her? Enya denied knowing his predecessors sent to Re Taura. Mya would feel happier if she knew what, if anything, her owner had told Tektu before he died. Nothing might happen if she asked for release, or perhaps Tektu waited for that request before she pounced.

  She chewed her underlip and wondered what best to do.

  "Yonacen, abmerin tena," she prayed. "His soul, guard always."

  She spent her waking moments thinking of Talnan. They had shared a lot of adventures in fifteen years. She served him with pride, and he served Trenvera as fervently. Ironically, she might now spend the rest of her life serving Trenvera's enemy.

  She fought the tears that always lurked. Did she cry more for him, or for herself?

  "Abenya, ewnin tena," she said. "Grant him eternal peace."

  Tektu had murdered Talnan. Mya shivered.

  Tektu terrified her. The Mametain's faithful servant, rarely far from his side. She had the appearance of a sylph, despite a personality no sylph could or should have. Nobody knew exactly how old she was, but any sylph could see she had great age and the wisdom those years bestowed. Even sylphs in denial sensed that.

  When Tektu looked at Mya with those too-knowing eyes...

  She whimpered and shifted on her heels.

  Talnan was dead. Fifteen years of spying for Trenvera and, in the end, that job cost him – and his sylph – dear. Halfway through her life, Mya knew she did not want to spend the second half stuck on Re Taura.

  But she was trapped here as surely as if chained.

  "Se, granicen suniba," she said. "Let him remember me."

  Mya leaned her head against the lintel and prayed for herself. Some said the Father was everywhere at once. Whether he could see her, or hear her thoughts, she did not know. Was it wrong to pray for herself? Screwing her eyes shut, a solitary tear leaked free.

  "Zhenya, abse acacfa," she begged. "Great Father, send me a savior."

  ***

  Neptarik-y-Balnus swung his legs in the free space between the back of the cart and the ground as his transport trundled into the city. He winked at one of the gate guards, but the soldier ignored him. Thankfully, they
were different guards from two days before, when he and his human companions had left the city.

  The scout wore nondescript woolen breeches and a shirt under his tunic, a simple leather collar about his neck. Only short hair distinguished him from any other farm sylph. He wished he'd grown his hair before coming to Re Taura, as short hair on sylphs stood out, but he would wear a wig for nobody.

  Safely inside the city walls, he grabbed two carrots from under the tarpaulin, stuffed one inside his shirt and chewed the other as he slipped off the cart. With luck, the farmer would never realize he had carried a passenger. The carrots must have been carefully stored over the winter, for they tasted fresh, as if harvested only yesterday.

  A sylph beggar saw him, or perhaps she was more aware of the food Neptarik clutched. It had better be the food, and not short hair marking him out. He intended to be done here quickly and, if he got his timing right, hitch a ride back out with the same unsuspecting farmer. Until then, he had a job to do. He hummed something tuneless as he looked back and to.

  The city Taura felt pretty much like every other he had visited. The inhabitants might prefer to paint their buildings in gaudy reds, blues and yellows, but their gray and white clothing was a lot less colorful. Though the streets were laid out to a different plan, the bustle and hum on the streets sounded the same everywhere. Shops sold near enough the same goods as other places he had seen: food, cloth, clothes, precious metals, gemstones, tack. People and sylphs went about their business, with soldiers dotted among them.

  Neptarik looked for beggars. Every city always had some. Even so, they were not quite as common as he expected. If this Mametain was an enemy, Neptarik wanted to find evidence of a bad reign, but from first impressions, the city looked well run. Even the streets were clean. Horse manure lay everywhere of course, but the streets looked as if even this was cleared away regularly.

  There were sylph beggars – mostly, but not exclusively, infertiles – and the occasional stick-thin human urchin moved about furtively. Nothing for it but to discover what people thought. At least, what the sylphs thought. Beggars were usually a good source for information, but they were also competitive souls who jealously guarded their pitches. Not that sylphs were violent, but they could squabble in loud voices and Neptarik wanted to draw no attention to himself.

  "Work?" The first beggar he asked was incredulous. "Being a boy, they will come to you. All right for some." Her earpoints twitched and her silver-gray eyes flashed briefly.

  "Who will come?"

  "Mametain always wants sylphs. Lots leave. Run away. They –" Abruptly, she grew defensive. "You want work, they come looking. They will ask." The beggar's eyes now held an unusual amount of fear. "Move on. Please?"

  "What is wrong?" Neptarik was concerned, wondering why the sudden change of attitude, but the infertile refused to be drawn. He moved on.

  "Work?" The next sylph he asked looked aghast at the prospect. "Lose freedom? You are mad! If you cannot beg, go to the City Elders and they will work you for food. Cleaning horse dung maybe. Emptying human cesspits likely." The beggar shuddered. "Madness!"

  "What about the Mametain?"

  The other's mouth moved soundlessly and her earpoints wilted away. She looked him up and down; this one was no infertile. "He always wants sylphs, but lots leave. Perhaps you should ask why they do so."

  "Why do they leave?" There was more than a hint of wild sylph about this one; Neptarik thought she would not be out of place with Aelfina and his fledgling Free Tribe.

  "They will not say." The other sylph looked in control of herself once more. "You dance or sing? Maybe you can beg along with me. If not, go elsewhere."

  Neptarik grinned. "Another time," he replied. He stood and moved on again.

  Most beggars refused to say anything at all about the Mametain or his household. Those who did told him that lots of sylphs left his service and preferred to clean cesspits than work at Castle Beren any longer than they must. He asked them all why working for the Mametain should be so bad, but nobody would explain.

  Before much longer, he realized someone followed him.

  Neptarik began looking as he turned corners. At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but after a few more turnings, he saw the same man time after time. The shadow was an average looking fellow, with a round pink face and outwardly unassuming manner. He watched everything the sylph did. He stopped every time the scout stopped and, if he spoke to a beggar, the man copied him as soon as he moved on. Did this man cause the beggars' unease? It was the first odd thing he had seen in the city.

  He hummed a quick snatch from 'My Shadow's Never Far Away'.

  Neptarik turned another corner, stepped into a convenient doorway and waited.

  The pink-faced man followed moments later and his pace increased when he realized the sylph was nowhere to be seen. Looking the wrong way when he passed Neptarik, the scout detected a hint of panic. When he stepped from his hiding place, he was now the follower.

  More people filled the streets now and this helped keep Neptarik undiscovered longer than he deserved. Eventually, the man stopped, turned and immediately spotted the sylph behind him.

  Neptarik pretended he had no idea that the man had been shadowing him.

  Relief chased momentary consternation from the man's face. He turned and approached the sylph. Neptarik readied himself for flight or ebatela, whichever might be required. There was no hint of imminent violence on the man's part, but the sylph almost jumped when he spoke.

  "They tell me you're looking for work," he said, in an ordinary voice.

  Neptarik nodded.

  "Day after tomorrow. Sylphs' Hall." The man handed a green card to the surprised scout. "Show that on the door and they'll help you find work."

  "How did you know to find me?" asked Neptarik.

  The pink-faced man ignored the question. "Your choice. Go and find work, or else try your luck on the streets. But they tell me work is what you want. Your choice." He turned and strode away.

  Neptarik scowled and his earpoints lashed. He hated rudeness from humans, such as ignoring his questions. Were people paid to follow other people around in this city? The notion seemed rather silly.

  He hummed the opening bars of 'Foolish Humans' before he could stop himself.

  He glanced at the card surreptitiously, remembering few sylphs could read or write. There was little to read. A simple green card with black ink scrawled over it.

  "Probably good enough for the castle." He inspected it carefully to ensure he had not misunderstood any words. The castle must be the Mametain's home, which he had seen from the Calcan ferry as it entered the harbor. Smiling to himself, he tucked the small card inside his tunic.

  He decided to try and discover what people thought of the Mametain's rule. People were often more careless when sylphs were about, but he heard nothing to grab his attention. He meandered slowly to the harbor.

  On arrival in Taura two days before, he had been amazed. The harbor still impressed him.

  An incredible amount of activity was squeezed into such a small place. There were only six long berths and these were crammed with ships, some three or even four deep along the wooden quays. At least forty ships loaded or discharged cargo.

  Yet there were lots of ships in the harbor doing nothing, and all were crewed. Some lay alongside and others moored in open water. Everywhere, Neptarik saw rather more soldiers than he expected. Beyond the quays, the natural harbor opened out. In the distance, almost a mila away, Castle Beren dominated the entrance. The channel that ships must follow passed almost directly beneath the fortress perching like an eagle on its eyrie.

  From here, Neptarik could appreciate the military thinking that had gone into Taura.

  Whoever sited the city had given his choice much thought. Taura was built on a plain, so any approaching army would be seen long before it became a danger. And to reach the city by sea, any invader must first negotiate The Narrows, guarded by Castle Beren.

 
"If a beggar's life is too hard, do not drown yourself here," said a sylph's voice immediately behind him. "There are too many people about for privacy."

  Neptarik turned to look at the infertile who now stood beside him. Humor glinted in her silvery eyes and she tugged unconsciously at a wooden button on the cuff of her wool tunic. A silver collar, white linen shirt and canvas trousers completed her attire.

  "I am not a beggar," replied Neptarik. "And I am not about to drown myself, with or without an audience."

  "Glad to hear it." The infertile smiled.

  Neptarik turned to look out across the harbor again. "You are a ship sylph?" he asked.

  "Degan, of the Sea Dragon," she answered.

  "My name is Neptarik. I hope to get employment in there." He nodded towards the fortress.

  "To work for the Mametain," said Degan. "I work for him too, though he has never heard of me. My ship belongs to him."

  "A trader?" Neptarik turned to look at the infertile again.

  Degan laughed. "Not exactly."

  "Why are there no fortresses opposite the castle?" asked Neptarik. "A ship could easily avoid the channel."

  Degan smiled. "You won't get anything much larger than a rowboat in or out, even at the highest tides. If you wait until low water, you will see the flats."

  "Flats?"

  "Stone ledges that come almost completely across The Narrows," explained Degan. "Every ship that comes in or goes out must pass the castle."

  Neptarik nodded. If he and his companions needed to escape, he hoped they would flee from another port. Nobody could pass Castle Beren without the Mametain knowing.

  "Impressive," he said.

  "Well, I wish you luck with finding employment, Neptarik." Degan pushed out a hand in the human fashion.

  Neptarik looked at it for a moment before shaking it. His eyes widened and he shuddered. "What did you just do?" He took a few quick paces away.

  Degan looked at him as if she had been burned. "You are familiar with ships," she said, her own eyes still wide.

  "You keep your ship out of my head," snapped Neptarik. "Keep her out!"

  "I must return." Degan still looked shocked. She bobbed her head in a quick bow. "Pleased to have met you."

  Neptarik stared after the ship sylph and then at his hand. What had just happened?