Markan Sword
by
Nicholas A. Rose
Copyright 2011 Nicholas A. Rose
Cover by Joleene Naylor
Book Three of the Markan Empire Trilogy
Novel Length
Also in the Markan Empire Trilogy:
Markan Throne
Markan Empire
Novella Length
The Gifted Trilogy:
Gifted Apprentice
Gifted Hunter
Gifted Avenger
***
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Lucky Escape
Chapter 2 – The Commander
Chapter 3 – In The West
Chapter 4 – Eldova
Chapter 5 – Plots And Plans
Chapter 6 – To Marry Again Or Not
Chapter 7 – Marka
Chapter 8 – Reunion
Chapter 9 – Decision
Chapter 10 – In Turivkan
Chapter 11 – Scouts Meet
Chapter 12 – Clashes
Chapter 13 – Pride And Desire
Chapter 14 – Kana's Gambit
Chapter 15 – Sunsinger
Chapter 16 – The Sword
Chapter 17 – March To Turivkan
Chapter 18 – Preparations
Chapter 19 – Reversal Of Fortune
Chapter 20 – Marching To Eldova
Chapter 21 – Prepared For War
Chapter 22 – Holding Fast
Chapter 23 – Politics
Chapter 24 – Sallis Begins Work
Chapter 25 – Into The City
Chapter 26 – New Plan Of Action
Chapter 27 – Dragon's Head Banner
Chapter 28 – Zenepha's Decision
Chapter 29 – Rebellion
Chapter 30 – Inside Eldova City
Chapter 31 – Dead Girl Talks
Chapter 32 – Settling Dust
Chapter 33 – New Direction
Chapter 34 – New Beginnings
Prologue
I: A New Task
Neptarik-y-Balnus, one hand resting on a full purse, walked cheerfully along the street. Light crystals set at regular intervals along the main roads in Marka helped night-blind humans to see, though few other streets and no alleys were lit. Light crystals, no matter how long lasting, were expensive.
Thanks to Mya staying in, his night had been all the more successful. One of the few who could outgamble him, she had dented his pride in public several times over the winter. Since their marriage, he supposed that didn't matter too much.
Married. A small smile ghosted across his lips. The best thing to come out of Re Taura had been his marriage. At long last, he had a wife. The smile faded when his thoughts turned to the least expected thing that also hailed from his time on Re Taura.
Tektu.
Neptarik had thought her dead, until the creature turned up on the ferry from Taura City to Calcan, unwanted and unwelcome. Unable to pay her fare, Tektu had managed to bully her way aboard and intimidated the ferry's ancient sylph into allowing her passage to Calcan.
And then the vile creature explained to Neptarik what happened when someone killed her owner.
He hadn't wanted to believe it then, and he didn't want to believe it now. Sat on the sidelines tonight, Tektu had quickly grown bored and wandered away from the gambling. Neptarik thought she might do well, glowering and intimidating people into losing. But she had never shown any interest in cards.
She had only come out because she felt uncomfortable in Mya's company. Mya had stayed in because she hated being anywhere near Tektu. Only after he and Mya had agreed to marry did they learn Neptarik was stuck with Tektu. She had lost her previous owner, Nijen da Re Taura, and lost him under specific circumstances.
No matter how indirectly, Neptarik had caused Nijen's death, so Tektu's allegiance shifted to him. And neither of them – meaning Neptarik and Tektu – could do anything about it. With terrifying honesty, Tektu assured her new owner that she would far rather have torn his throat out while she still had the chance. But far too late for that now, even if she still harbored a wish to see him hurt.
The astounded Neptarik had acquired an unwilling and angry slave. Tektu had never during her long life belonged to a sylph and she still fought the new strictures. But more than that complicated matters.
Tektu might be bonded to Neptarik, however reluctantly, but Mya had married him. Mya hated Tektu, because Tektu had killed her previous owner. The pair stayed far apart when possible, Mya horrified that her husband had somehow won Tektu through some weird automatic lottery she did not understand. Caught in the middle of the mess, Neptarik could see no way out.
Passing an alley, he suddenly had something else to worry about.
A pair of strong human hands grabbed Neptarik and pulled him into the alley. Before he had chance to react, the sylph was thrown to the ground.
Rolling, he assessed his situation, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the sudden lack of light.
Three men, two of them night-blind after staring along the lit street. One was clearly a bad loser, because he had gambled with the sylph earlier. And among the first to lose his money.
The bad loser seemed able to see better than the others in the gloom. "Grab that purse," he demanded.
"Grab the sylph first!" exclaimed another man.
Tektu had once surprised Neptarik, but the scout learned lessons well and adapted his skill. Jumping to his feet between two of the men as they moved to grab him, he twisted away. The two clashed against each other, grabbing for a sylph who had moved.
Their leader drew a knife.
Neptarik contorted again to avoid the slashing blade. One of the men came too close to his leader and screamed as he was cut. Another twist dodged a punch that instead landed on a human.
He began to enjoy himself.
So often the way with fights, it was over almost as suddenly as it had begun. Two men groaned and writhed feebly on the ground, while the third man's screams had reduced to whimpers and sobs as he clutched his slashed midriff.
Certain someone would have heard the man's screams, which meant the City Guard would soon turn up, Neptarik checked his purse and dusted himself down. He hoped he hadn't rolled in anything nasty, alleys were not usually the cleanest places in Marka. Nobody would believe a lone sylph had bested three humans and if these were stupid enough to claim it, they would be a laughing stock. The Guard would suspect the three men had been fighting each other, which up to a point was true.
He bowed to the three men. "Thank you for the ebatela practice," he said in his light sylvan voice, and left the alley.
"Impressive," said a new voice, speaking in sylph.
Neptarik turned, relaxing only when he recognized Smudge, leaning back against a building, one foot casually tucked back against the stonework. The eponymous dark birthmark spread like an ink stain across her right cheek from nose to ear. Spots were visible on the earpoint itself.
He shrugged. "How long have you been there?"
"Only just got here," she replied. She pushed off the wall and came fully upright. "Enya wants to see you."
"I might be busy."
"Perhaps. But I checked."
Neptarik's earpoints slanted forwards and he frowned. "You should know that a smart sylph is soon a smarting sylph," he said.
Smudge humored him with a smile, but her earpoints barely twitched. She clearly did not respond to threats.
"What is it this time?" asked Neptarik.
"Enya will explain," replied Smudge, as she led the male sylph back towards the palace.
Neptarik knew he would get no other answer.
Smudge left after depositing Neptarik in the room he recalled from last year. Visitors still
had to sit with their backs facing the fire, and with Fynn's large desk between them and him. The scout nodded to his owner Balnus, and to Verdin, both looking impatient after waiting for his arrival.
"Now Neptarik's finally here," said Balnus, after giving his sylph an exasperated glance, "will you please explain why you called us at this time of night?"
"I apologize for the lateness of the hour." Morran Fynn's smile did not touch his pale blue eyes. "But the news is fresh."
"Anything to so with the Sandesterans being recalled?" asked Balnus.
"No."
Balnus turned his attention to Verdin. "Do you know what that's about? I thought the claim was renounced."
"Me too." Verdin shrugged. "Nazvasta is responsible for the recall."
"But it's not why you are here," interrupted Fynn.
"Enlighten us," suggested Balnus.
"The shadow riders warn me that Dervra rules in Turivkan."
"Old news," murmured Verdin.
Fynn gave the young man a level look. "Dervra has also announced a census," he continued.
"And this causes you sleepless nights?" Verdin arched an eyebrow.
"Something like that." Fynn clasped his hands together. "This census is causing some unrest among Turivkan's people. Boys a certain age are being taken away and not being returned."
"Perhaps Dervra needs more soldiers."
"Maybe." Morran's eyes were calm. "But boys born in just two years are being taken away. Ah, sixteen ninety-six and sixteen ninety-eight."
"Very specific," muttered Balnus.
"Significant too," added Fynn. "The old Prefect's sons were born in those years, which suggests they are still alive. I doubt if Dervra's overlooked the daughter, but she might already be dead."
"Why is Dervra moving against them now?" asked Verdin.
Fynn spread his hands. "Who knows why the Gifted act at the time they do?"
Not only Neptarik shuddered. Nobody liked to be reminded that Dervra was Gifted as well as a sorcerer.
Fynn continued. "I suspect that the boys are quietly disposed of, but the people do not know that yet."
"They soon will," said Verdin.
"Yes they will, and no need for you to tell them. When the inevitable happens, we will need one or both of those boys at the head of the rebellion, ready to take their rightful place."
Verdin laughed. "If Dervra cannot isolate them, what chance have we got?"
Fynn smiled. "Both boys are dark haired and hazel eyed. Names are Awen and Warlon."
"Like they use those names. I doubt if they're even aware of who they are." Verdin's eyes flashed.
"You are quite right," replied Fynn. "But unlike Dervra, we have contacts in Turivkan who do know. What's the matter, Neptarik?"
The sylph had been scowling at the floor and now looked up. "I'll be falling behind on battle stars," he complained. "Missed one for last year, and from the siege, mine's the only silver one."
"Battle stars." Fynn blinked. "You don't get paid any more for them."
"Not the point." Neptarik's earpoints twitched violently. "The loss of honor alone..."
Fynn's were not the only eyes to glaze over as the sylph warmed to his theme. After all, he was a scout, not a diplomat.
***
Moments after Neptarik had been taken out of the room, still complaining about his bloody battle stars, Smudge returned carrying an alovak can and two large mugs. She placed them on Fynn's desk before eyeing the rug before the fireplace.
"All right, Smudge, you've had a long day," laughed Fynn. "I'll pour when he gets here."
Smudge nodded thanks and quickly made herself comfortable in front of the fire, which had been allowed to burn down. Already long past her usual bedtime, she quickly fell genuinely asleep.
A quiet tap at Fynn's door brought her head up again though.
"Come!" called Fynn.
General Kelanus of Marcus Vintner's army, surely favorite to replace Mikhan as Marshal of Marka, entered the study. He glanced at Smudge before taking one of the chairs before Fynn's desk.
"Alovak?"
Kelanus nodded thanks.
"Are the captive Eldovans amenable to our suggestion?" asked Fynn, as he poured the dark liquid.
Kelanus leaned forward to take his mug. "Very," he replied.
"Grasping power for themselves, do you think?" Fynn closed his eyes to savor the alovak's scent. He heard, rather than saw, the other man's shrug.
"Mirrin doesn't strike me as that kind of man."
Fynn reopened his eyes. "They never do, until it's too late."
Kelanus shrugged.
"What about Janost?" pressed Fynn.
"There are some honorable men, but Janost works to his own morality."
Fynn changed the subject. "The difficult part is finding one of the Gifted with the skills you require and who is willing to help. Tahena does not have the necessary skills?"
"Alas, no." Kelanus grimaced. "But she insists on coming along anyway."
Fynn smiled. "I doubt if she would be happy left to rot on your estate."
"What estate?"
"Another problem." Again, that quick smile. Fynn changed the subject again. "Many of those returning to Eldova will be killed. My feeling is that Hingast... ah, Ranallic... will not be eager to see them return. After all, they were abandoned."
"Who would believe them?" asked Kelanus.
"Many, I'm sure. Their leader returns with so few and then large numbers of other survivors suddenly appear. And all telling a tale very different from the official line. I am certain there would be some unrest."
"All the more reason to find a Gifted willing to help."
Fynn nodded. "Agreed. But will Sandev?"
"No. Why not ask Grayar?" suggested Kelanus. "It will be nearly next winter if we must walk to Eldova."
"There has been a development in Sandester," replied Fynn. "I suspect Zenepha will want you to take over as Marka's Marshal."
"Sandester?" Kelanus scowled. "Nazvasta causing trouble?"
"Potentially. He's recalled the Sandesterans."
Kelanus shook his head. "All the more reason to take Ranallic down now. The army stays here; you only lose me and then only for a short time."
Fynn pursed his lips. "We must resolve the Sandesteran problem quickly. You might still be in Eldova this time next year. It is something else for you to consider."
"You don't need me for that. I doubt if I'd leave Sandester alive if I ever returned there."
"Maybe not."
"There's another thing. Tahena's not the only insistent one." Kelanus paused. "Belaika knows. How..." He shrugged. "That's sylphs. But he's told me that he will be one of the scouts."
Fynn tapped his fingers together. "Good idea. Take him."
***
II: Nightmares
Belaika-y-Marcus sat up in his blankets and wiped sweat off his face.
Eleka's arms snaked around her husband and held him close. "Again?" she asked, voice soft.
Fighting tears, Belaika nodded. "Always the same. Haema dead, Gajaran whispering that I am evil."
Eleka stroked his earpoints, hands so gentle that at first he barely felt their touch. Slowly, he calmed and arched his neck so she could get a better hold. "Never evil, not you."
"Kelanus is going to Eldova," said Belaika. "I must go too."
"I know." Eleka did not stop her gentle stroking. Just to soothe, not enough to... She blushed.
"It is the only way," he insisted.
"Yes, Icca." Eleka smiled and continued with slow, deliberate strokes. His earpoint muscles relaxed and stiffened as they twitched. He grew more content with every stroke.
The nightmare had plagued him ever since his return from the Western March. If not for him, Haema would still live. If not for his foolish hope for a second wife, Haema would not have been with him that fateful day. If –
So many ifs. But he refused to believe he had no fault for her death.
And this other nonsense,
about the scouts being evil. Eleka almost tensed, before realizing that Belaika would pick up on it. Sandev should stop that Gajaran from spreading her nonsense.
But even Eleka conceded Gajaran had reason to feel this way about the scouts. A dead owner, possibly thanks to sylph scouts giving directions.
Such an event would color her own view. What if Belaika died? Would she blame Marcus Vintner for allowing sylph scouts to exist in the first place?
No. Even had Belaika personally directed the soldiers who killed Gajaran's owner, they had killed him, not her husband. At least, he was not evil. And Gajaran had a new, better, owner.
To ease his mind, Belaika must go to Eldova.
***
III: Eldova
The man who called himself Hingast looked down at the sleeping baby supposedly his and smiled. He must treat this child as he would any real son. The result of a real union between Ansin and himself – or any of the dead Hingast's three wives for that matter – would look nothing like this. The sleeping babe was the real Hingast's get.
After each had given him three daughters, the real Hingast had ignored his older two wives, concentrating on the third, in the now-realized hope of a son. The man who now called himself Hingast had been forced to emulate that. For the time being.
After almost two years, he now almost believed himself to be Hingast, permanently living his new role. He had been an officer in Eldova's army years before and, when the real Hingast had come early to his throne, he had been there to whisper in the man's ear.
Before he moved on to new pastures and new challenges.
This time, he had returned as the most powerful man in Eldova, a definite advance over his previous position. Even if he must wear another man's face as his own.
"They always look so peaceful when asleep," said Ansin, stepping forward.
The man who called himself Hingast snaked his arm around the girl's middle. And she was a girl, not yet twenty. He must be careful. Any slip, and he would be unmasked.
Never again. He had been uncovered many years before, when people discovered a... predilection and he felt obliged to murder his way out of trouble. He'd only just managed to save his own life.
He took much more care now. People grew ever more sophisticated and he knew some already suspected the truth about him.
Fortunately, they did not want to believe logic and their own senses.
"Peaceful and beautiful," he replied. He hated treating the older wives so badly. In fact, Hingast's first wife would be his preference out of the three; she had filled out very nicely. Sooner rather than later, he would make it so.
"What will happen now?" asked Ansin. "We have lost so many men, it will be hard to replace them."
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