Markan Empire

  As Neptarik had long known, and many humans needed to learn, sometimes you must waste time to gain time.

  The guards never noticed Neptarik on the back of the cart and no beggars saw him drop to the ground. The mischievous part of him had thought of waiting for Verdin to gloat at his misfortune, but the sensible part dismissed the idea. If the wrong someone saw them together, it could be dangerous. They must be careful: Verdin and Neptarik were risking their lives, even if everything – so far – seemed normal. Nobody liked spies.

  He paused before a beggar. "I seek Sylphs' Hall," he said, flourishing his green card.

  The beggar glanced at the card as if it might bite. Her earpoints wilted and she shook her head. "Do not go," she said. "Throw that away."

  Neptarik's earpoints rose in surprise.

  "Do not go." The sylph turned her head away; he was dismissed.

  Neptarik went a little further into the city and next asked a female how to find Sylphs' Hall.

  She looked at him and her earpoints slanted backwards. Envy shone in her silvery eyes. She shook her head without saying a word and hurried away.

  Neptarik asked no more sylphs.

  "Donanya, I seek Sylph's Hall?"

  The human woman looked him up and down. "Never heard of it," she replied.

  "A few streets further east," said a soldier, who also gave Neptarik a strange look. "Four or five, I think."

  "Next left, third right," said another woman. She inspected him intently. "Handsome lad like you should work for me. Got a couple of nice young female sylphs who get lonely sometimes."

  Neptarik grinned and flourished his card. "If they refuse me at Sylphs' Hall, I will come looking," he promised.

  The woman laughed.

  The directions were good and he soon stood before the door to a rather large building. A few horses grazed the grass surrounding the building and carts were lined along one side. The letters carved above the door announced to all able to read that this was Sylphs' Hall.

  Neptarik grasped his green card and steeled himself. He would do his duty.

  Inside was not quite what he expected. The hall had a huge main room, the roof supported by stone arches, with some smaller chambers at the back. Tables were set up along both walls with men and women sitting on the far side. Rows of sylphs stood before each table. Some were clean and smartly dressed, others ragged and a few dusty from hard travels.

  More milled in the middle of the floor, waiting to be directed to a queue. Humans circulated around this mass of unemployed sylphs.

  "Have you got a card?" A human fixed Neptarik with a stare.

  The scout said nothing but showed his green card.

  The man took it from the sylph and turned it the right way up. His lips twitched. "That table." He pointed.

  "Thank you." Neptarik gave no honorific.

  This table had only ten sylphs standing before it, easily the shortest queue. A human male and a sylph infertile were sitting on the other side. Both wore spotless tunics with a sigil on the breast. The human's tunic was wool, but he could not tell what material the sylph wore. It was only just sufficiently darker blue to show she wore clothes. As he came closer, Neptarik saw the sigil was a red crown on the right breast. He stared at the sylph as she wrote on a parchment, the first literate sylph he had seen since Zenepha. And she was only an infertile, another surprise.

  The sylph at the head of the queue turned away, her earpoints wilted and a despondent look crossing her face. Neptarik waited patiently.

  Successful candidates were directed outside, the rest ignored. Not many were rejected.

  His turn came quickly.

  "Name?" The human barely glanced up.

  "Neptarik," replied the sylph.

  "Neptarik-y...?"

  "Neptarik," he repeated.

  "Sex, male," intoned the man as the infertile scribbled away.

  "You're not from Re Taura," continued the human.

  Neptarik shook his head.

  "Far too many outlanders come here these days," he continued.

  Neptarik stared. Was the man fishing? What did he want to hear? Yes sir, I am here to spy on your Mametain. My masters believe he is planning to invade, so they sent me here to stop him. Something about this man troubled him. He said nothing.

  "Ever been owned?" he demanded.

  "Yes. Rather not talk about it."

  There was no sign of any compassion or even empathy in the man's expression as he looked up to inspect him. Finally satisfied, he nodded. "How did you get here from the mainland?"

  "Stowed away on a ship."

  The infertile glanced at him before resuming her scribing.

  "Physically fit?"

  "She seems to be," quipped Neptarik. He grinned at the sylph.

  "You I mean." The human did not smile. Neither did the sylph; her expression was neutral.

  The scout restrained a sigh. Scribes seemed to come from one mold and the Father missed out "sense of humor" when He made it. "Very. I lift and carry and work long hours. Good work as well."

  "Wait on?"

  Neptarik nodded.

  "Follow orders?"

  Another nod.

  "Obey to both letter and spirit of said orders?"

  He nodded yet again.

  The human scribe leaned forward. "It is required that you wear a collar. The Mametain releases those who wish to leave, but in Castle Beren, you are collared at all times. Understood?"

  "Of course."

  "Where are you sleeping?"

  "Doorways, convenient bushes."

  The scribe nodded. "Not tonight. If you'd got here much later, you would have missed us. Siaba."

  The infertile inclined her head and stood. "This way, please."

  Neptarik followed Siaba from the hall. That had been rather easy, the Mametain must be desperate for sylphs. The only mystery was why some in the queue had been rejected. He glanced at Siaba's metal collar and saw she could not remove it. He was used to removable collars.

  "Is the Mametain a good owner?" he asked.

  Siaba's eyes regarded him solemnly. Perhaps she had not forgiven his quip. "Good enough," she replied, cautiously. "You should have asked that question before you were accepted, no?"

  They walked towards a knot of sylphs sitting on their heels beside a cart. More waited beside other carts.

  "Never seen a literate sylph before." Neptarik made conversation.

  "I cannot speak for the mainland," replied Siaba, "but there are a few of us on Re Taura."

  "Who taught you? You are an infertile."

  Siaba shrugged. "The old Mametain said I could learn, so he had me taught with the human children. Jealous?"

  "It must increase your value to the Mametain."

  Siaba nodded. "It means work in the warm with no heavy lifting. Or mucking out stables. Or cleaning privies." She smiled at him. "Unlike some."

  So much for no sense of humor, reflected Neptarik.

  "Wait here, please." Siaba indicated the group beside the cart. Twenty sylphs, bound for the Mametain's service. She raised her voice. "It is not too late for you to leave, if you wish. Wait here, please." She walked back into the hall.

  Neptarik dropped onto his heels and glanced at his new companions. There was no conversation, though earpoints flickered here and there. There was one other male sylph and four females. The rest were infertiles, though one or two might be young breeders. Not always easy to tell when a sylph was young. If nothing else, the Mametain liked to employ his race in the correct ratio.

  He regarded the females with open interest, though he noticed the other male kept his eyes lowered. Perhaps ashamed of something. The females ignored Neptarik completely, though one or two infertiles grinned at him. If anything, the females looked shocked that he dared stare at them. Tauran sylphs must have strange customs.

  As the sun reached its meridian, Siaba and the human scribe returned.

  The human spoke. "If anybody has had a change of heart, now is the time to w
alk away." He looked around, but nobody moved. "If anybody needs easement, get it over with now, or else wait until you reach the castle."

  Again, nobody moved.

  "All right, in the cart with you."

  Neptarik leapt to obey with the rest of the sylphs. He made himself comfortable on the hard wooden cart bed. He noticed Siaba was allowed on the bench beside the human. Privileged indeed. He pretended to sleep as the cart jerked into motion. Still no conversation from the other sylphs. There would be time later. He hoped to have answers soon, then he could leave Re Taura and go home.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Castle Beren

  Neptarik stared as hard as his newbie companions as the cart began to wind its way down the steep path. The cliffs were too smooth to be natural, and the way down looked as though it had been made. Artificial or not, the narrow path demanded skillful driving and Neptarik hoped the man at the reins knew what he was about. Having no fear of heights or falling did not mean sylphs could not appreciate danger.

  Castle Beren disappeared from view long before the cart reached the bottom of the path. It then rumbled across the causeway linking the small island of Re Beren to the Re Taura mainland. Long and narrow, water washed both sides of it. On the seaward side, a row of stakes poked above the waves, acting as a breakwater. The cliffs ahead also looked too smooth to be natural.

  Siaba looked over her shoulder.

  "Until a hundred years ago, we would need a boat to cross," she explained to the sylphs. "They built the causeway by filling the way with stone dug from the cliffs behind us. They built the castle by digging out the cliffs we are about to climb."

  Neptarik filed the information away. The military thinking behind this was obvious. The causeway reduced the defensive capabilities of the castle, but digging out the cliffs increased them again. Attackers must clamber down almost five hundred pacas before crossing exposed ground to traverse a narrow causeway half a dozen men could defend. They then faced more exposed ground before clambering up another five hundred pacas, presumably with more defenders on the top waiting to make life hard for the invaders.

  Or an enemy might come by sea. Try to pass the castle through the channel, or make a landing on the seaward side. But everywhere down here lay within easy mangonel range and mangonels could catapult fire, burning any ships that might stray too close.

  A direct assault on Castle Beren would be very difficult to accomplish.

  Not that Neptarik said anything. He was nothing more than a sylph starting new employment, and certainly not one who understood anything so complicated as military tactics. Cresting the next set of artificial cliffs, Castle Beren came into sight again.

  The sylphs stared, some with mouths agape. Neptarik copied them, without needing to pretend.

  Siaba looked over her shoulder and grinned at the others' reactions. "Castle Beren," she said.

  The fortress impressed Neptarik even more in proximity. Two huge towers framed a gateway and dominated the view. The limewashed stone bulk glistened in the sunshine like a giant bone. A glimmering moat surrounded it, though Castle Beren was not far from the cliff edge that dropped into the Eastern Ocean.

  The strip of land between moat and cliff edge was too narrow for any besieging army to hold it comfortably. And everything up here lay within mangonel range.

  "How do they get the water up here for the moat?" asked Neptarik, before he could restrain himself. He ignored the surprised stares of the other sylphs.

  "There are springs," replied Siaba. "The moat is salt water and very deep. At least part is natural."

  Neptarik nodded. Salt water, so no enemy could drink it, though he had never heard of salt water springs. A lot of thought had gone into siting this castle.

  The cartwheels sounded louder as they crossed a wooden drawbridge. Neptarik looked at everything. The sun was blocked as they passed through a squarish arch between the gate towers. He craned his neck and noted that the drawbridge, if lifted, would slot into place just below a window above. He glimpsed the portcullis bottom, which would drop in front of the iron-studded oak gates. Inside the curtain wall, slate-roofed buildings hemmed in a cobbled courtyard on three sides, where the cart finally halted.

  Behind the buildings, Neptarik saw the curtain wall looming over the roofs. Another curtain wall with a short tower in its center faced him. An inner bailey must lie beyond as a smaller gateway stood to the right of the tower. And more towers rose beyond that.

  Every tower had a small turret rising higher, presumably serving as lookouts. Flagpoles pushed higher still, each proudly displaying a white flag, with two red stripes in one corner and some motif between them in red. As the wind snapped the flags straight out, Neptarik glimpsed the motif was a crown and saw two red crossed swords decorated the flag's fly.

  Wheeled war machines, a type of catapult Neptarik had never seen before, were stationed at regular intervals along the curtain walls, each with a supporting buttress of stone behind, to give extra width to prevent a machine recoiling off the walls.

  Soldiers patrolled the curtain walls, and more were dotted about, not just in the gatehouse. Strange rope lines led from the two gatehouse towers to a large aperture in the central tower.

  Sylphs scurried everywhere and some paused to give the newcomers curious glances. All wore sky blue breeches and tunic, each with a dull metal collar. Some wore capes and most also had the red crown motif on the right breast. Others did not. The motif must be a mark of rank.

  An infertile waited for them in the courtyard. She glowered at the newcomers, her eyes neutral and earpoints slanted forwards. She waited until Siaba and the human scribe had climbed off the cart.

  "My name is Tektu," she said. "Welcome to Castle Beren."

  Neptarik blinked, and not at the empty tone or insincere welcome. This infertile wore no collar. Her tunic and breeches were the same color as the other sylphs, but she wore a brown fox on a yellow field motif on her right breast.

  "This is as far as you ride," continued Tektu. "You get time to gawp later."

  Neptarik waited his turn to climb off the back of the cart and took his place in the straggly line of sylphs. He began to wonder what lay ahead now. From the silent shifting of his companions, Tektu caused them all some unease.

  The human scribe took the cart to the stable, off to one side.

  "One or two rules you must be aware of," said Tektu, standing in front of the newcomers. "Here, discipline is maintained at all times. When commanded, you obey; when summoned, you come; when dismissed, you go. You do not leave the castle except on a free day, or under escort. You may speak to each other, but not to the free unless spoken to first. To you, human slaves count as free. You may fraternize, but – and this is important – closer relationships are not permitted except with the Mametain's blessing. Castle Beren is a workplace, not a stud and you are employed to work, not rut."

  Several pairs of earpoints rose in indignation at Tektu's tone and Neptarik resisted the urge to tell this insulting infertile that even studs were workplaces, but held his tongue. He wanted to learn what it was about this strange sylph before upsetting her.

  Unsurprisingly, the other sylphs noticed it too, though perhaps they understood it even less than he did. He watched as Siaba gave Tektu sideways glances; admiration mixed with attention. Neptarik wondered what the story might be there. Did Siaba not sense something wrong about Tektu? Or perhaps she was used to her.

  He suddenly realized that Tektu had not spoken in the sylph language, preferring to use the human tongue. He filed the snippet away to mull over later.

  Tektu glowered at them all again and nodded to Siaba, before disappearing through the inner gateway.

  Once alone with the new sylphs, Siaba relaxed. "Follow me please. This is the sylphs' tower. The kitchens and laundries are here, as well as your dormitories. This is where you will be cleaned and collared."

  Despite the tower's name, Neptarik saw plenty of humans dotted about. Scribes and kitch
en boys, maids and housekeepers all worked alongside the sylphs. Some, he saw with a shock, also wore collars. He had never seen this before; sylphs wore collars, not humans.

  "This way, please." Siaba chivvied the awestruck sylphs like a mother hen, ensuring none were left behind. "Stay with me until you have a guide. Castle Beren is large and you can easily get lost here."

  That, thought Neptarik, must be the understatement of the year.

  Castle Beren impressed even him and fortresses were familiar to him. They were led down flights of steps until they reached a steam-filled room, brilliantly lit by dozens of light crystals. No shortage of money here, reflected Neptarik. Siaba spoke again.

  "There are two hot springs in the castle. One rises in the outer bailey and supplies hot water to the garrison and our quarters; the other supplies the inner bailey. There is also a large cold water spring that feeds the well. Here, you must strip and bathe."

  The infertiles were quick to obey, but the breeding sylphs stared at each other in silence. Neptarik shrugged and wondered why they were so reticent. Must be something in the upbringing here.

  "You will not be bare for long," promised an apologetic Siaba, embarrassed for them. "But you must get clean for the Mametain."

  Seeing Neptarik stripping off, the others reluctantly followed his example. Siaba stuffed the old clothes into a bag. Neptarik resisted her when she tried to take his scarf.

  "Old clothes must be burned," said the infertile, her eyes showing sympathy. "You will get new."

  "Not this." Neptarik held the smaller sylph's gaze until her eyes flickered away and her earpoints wilted. Siaba gave it up and turned away.

  Neptarik eased into the water and accepted the piece of soap. He kept one eye on his scarf, even while washing his hair and giving himself a thorough soaping. Unused to bathing in warm water, he reveled in the new sensation. When Siaba had said hot water, she meant it.

  He grinned as he saw how shy the native female sylphs were, keeping their backs turned to him and the other male in the large communal bath. The infertiles never noticed the females' discomfort, but few things ever bothered them.

  "Hurry along, please," prompted Siaba. "Towels are here."