Markan Sword

by Nicholas A. Rose

  The reply came almost immediately, so the boy had not fallen asleep, another of the good things about him.

  "Mirrin's Eldovans," said Fhionnen, silvery eyes glowing faintly as his companion returned. He had passed the message on, of course.

  "They will make contact tomorrow," replied Belaika. He stood, the better to hear Shyamon's faint acknowledgment. He turned back to Fhionnen. "You have improved. You saw me before I arrived."

  Fhionnen grinned. "Three more years and I might be as good as you," he replied, referring to the length of time the Calcan scouts claimed it took to train. Five years to reach the required standard, and Fhionnen had joined the corps two years earlier.

  Shyamon's whistle reached their ears.

  "Kelanus-ya is pleased," said Fhionnen.

  "I heard," replied Belaika. "You had better go back to sleep; it's still my watch."

  ***

  Belaika and Fhionnen paralleled the Eldovans as they continued along the road. The two scouts sent no messages between each other, just in case any camp sylphs were listening. As a further precaution, they stayed beyond the range of the human scouts with the army.

  In daylight, Belaika saw more familiar faces.

  Lieutenant Kadyah must be the senior officer, riding ahead of the long column on a white stallion. A patch of blue showed where his sylph – Wenna, if Belaika's memory served – walked at his stirrup.

  The fat quartermaster Jurabim rode on the lead wagon, also surrounded by sylphs, most walking, but one sat beside him. Belaika knew without looking there were four, all without owners. There had been six, but two had decided to stay with the Markans for their own reasons.

  Belaika grimaced, pleased that Gajaran had chosen to stay behind in Marka with her new owner. The only infertile who had ever made him feel uncomfortable, she blamed sylph scouts for her previous owner's death. He hoped she and Sandev had bonded well. And he hoped he never saw her again.

  He glimpsed Cavalry Sergeant Somersen on his horse and shuddered. The man had not been pleasant to the scout during his captivity. The man had never given any hint of an apology; did he hate all sylphs, or just scouts? It must be only scouts; Somersen had never displayed cruelty to any other sylph.

  So many faces he remembered and he could put names to most. Once the enemy, but now a defeated and disarmed – if still disciplined – group of men with their camp followers.

  Men Kelanus hoped to use.

  Belaika shivered. He had his own reasons for coming here, but part of him felt Kelanus's plan was either madness, or perhaps bold and daring. The best plans always appeared insane in the sylph's view.

  Belaika grimaced again when he spotted a couple of Eldovan scouts. He remembered his chats with Nalred and Vaul. The Eldovan scouts had adapted, wearing drab clothes, and now painted exposed skin brown and green for better camouflage.

  Perhaps he would be in trouble for showing the humans the way.

  Nearing the borderstones, Belaika stiffened, watching General Mirrin and Yeoman Taved ride forward to meet their old comrades.

  Kadyah held up an arm, and the column halted. Eventually. More men rode or walked to the head of the army to huddle with Mirrin and his yeoman.

  Belaika sat back in the grass, so he could just see the wagons and keep an eye on Mirrin. Now everybody else had stopped, movement from him might be seen by the wrong people.

  Would the returning Eldovans see things Kelanus's way, or want revenge for last year's defeat? Apart from the sylph scouts, only Kelanus, Hanmer and Felis were Markan, though Tahena might be able to use the Gift to help them all escape.

  Kelanus had taken a huge gamble and Belaika hoped it worked in the Markans' favor.

  ***

  "Ranva's breath, it's good to see you again, Sir!" exclaimed Lieutenant Kadyar. "How did you get here before us?"

  "Long story," replied Mirrin. "Let's just say ours wasn't the only defeat last year. Hingast got routed, but he fled and left the rest of his men to sink."

  Kadyar's blue eyes hardened. "Those rumors, about Hingast being not what he seems."

  Mirrin nodded. "That's why we're here. The real Hingast has a son and if Eldova is ruled by an imposter, we will put him on Eldova's throne."

  "How can we prove it?"

  "We'll prove it, Kadyar. Tell me, how was the journey home?"

  "Not good." Kadyar's lips thinned before he continued. "We armed ourselves with staffs but still got attacked several times. We also lost a lot of men who've turned mercenary and sold their services to petty lords along the way."

  Mirrin grimaced. "How many are left?"

  "Just over half, Sir."

  Mirrin growled an oath. "Half?"

  "If all had come, we'd have starved before now. The Barren is aptly named."

  Mirrin glanced along the column. About two thousand men, plus whatever might return from the northern group, who were the Eldovans he didn't trust. The men here might have to be enough.

  "Janost is with me," said Mirrin.

  Kadyar, not yet as politically minded as Mirrin, nodded.

  "And a Markan general. Kelanus."

  Kadyar nodded again. "Has he brought any abominations with him?"

  "Five." Mirrin forced a smile. "Two will be around here somewhere; they reported your approach late yesterday."

  Kadyar scowled. "I suppose we could use them."

  "Come meet Kelanus and listen to what he has to say."

  "We'll come," promised Kadyar, "and we'll listen. But beyond that, we'll make our own decisions."

  Mirrin smiled. "Of course." He hoped his men would make the right choice.

  ***

  Kelanus had expected a rough ride and he wasn't disappointed. Understandably, the Eldovans refused to trust a word he said, even if respect tempered their opinion of him. After all, he had defeated Hingast not once, but twice.

  But they were reluctant to believe that Hingast was an imposter.

  Only officers and sergeants were present, their weapons still locked away in the wagon. Should they decide to take matters into their own hands, there was little anybody would do to stop them. Perhaps why they had not, so far, made any demands concerning their arms.

  "You expect us to infiltrate our own city?" demanded Sergeant Somersen.

  "No," replied Kelanus, "I expect you to exercise discretion until we learn what the man who calls himself Hingast has said or done about you. He fled the field last year and returned home. He and those with him do not want to see you ever again. You fought honorably, but he fled home, so politically, you are all potentially embarrassing. He will have worked out a story to explain his presence and your absence."

  "How do you know he fled the field?" demanded an anonymous Sergeant.

  "He fled the field," said Janost. "I was there."

  Silence met that.

  "He ran," insisted Kelanus. "He saw an opportunity to go and abandoned everybody with him. Should any appear, his position is weakened. The man I suspect who is really Hingast will realize that and will have done something about it. You will be the ones accused of treason and cowardice."

  A growl of disgust met that.

  "Exactly. This is the sort of man you're dealing with," said Kelanus.

  "Sounds nothing like the Hingast I know," said Nalred, Sergeant of Scouts.

  Kelanus smiled. "That's because he isn't the Hingast you know."

  "Then who? And how can he pass as Hingast?"

  "His name is Ranallic Eydren and he is a sorcerer of some considerable ability. I've seen him at work, when he fled a field of contest, again as a coward." Kelanus's mouth twisted with the memory. He'd had him and still the man managed to escape!

  "Ranallic Eydren is a southerner," said a doubting voice. "No way could he pass as Hingast."

  Kelanus stared. "You know him?"

  Quartermaster Jurabim stepped forward. "Sure I do. And I won't be alone in that. Anyone in the army more'n ten years will remember Ranallic. Ended up a Lieutenant and deserted at the turn of the cent
ury."

  Kelanus exchanged a look with Mirrin. "Do you know the man?"

  Mirrin shook his head. "I've always been posted south of Eldova."

  Jurabim warmed to his theme. "He was well in with Hingast. And his advisor, ah, Dervra."

  Kelanus stared.

  "He used to find sylphs for Hingast to hunt," continued the quartermaster. "Some of 'em were already half dead for some reason."

  Kelanus turned to Tahena. "Everything fits," he whispered. "It explains the gap between leaving Pensdren and surfacing in Sandester. He must have learned sorcery from Dervra. Even how he manages to pass as Hingast; he must know him better than almost anybody else."

  "But what do you intend to do?" asked Kadyar, quietly.

  "My plan is simple." Kelanus smiled. "I intend to kill Ranallic Eydren."

  He continued to smile throughout the uproar now surrounding him.

  ***

  Chapter 4

  Eldova

  As usual, Eldova bustled. The crowd consisted mostly of women; the few men were either very old or very young, and the exceptions either wore army uniform or were crippled beggars. The usual heady stink of packed humanity hung in the still air, mixed with the rather less unpleasant sinabra from the numerous sylphs in the crowd.

  Helen Micha Arroch, first wife to Hingast, believed every city possessed the same vibrancy.

  She had always enjoyed moving around the city. The city walls and gatehouses were all limewashed, gleaming as they reflected the strengthening sunlight and heat. Most buildings were built from red and yellow bricks or pale stone, but wooden structures were painted all colors. They stood out against the stone buildings and gave most streets a somewhat chaotic look.

  Plainly dressed, so she did not stand out too much, she had left the palace without her husband's blessing. Not that Hingast ever restricted her movements, but she doubted he would approve her wandering around Eldova's streets without even a single bodyguard. As if anyone would recognize her!

  No, always best to keep some secrets. Her three daughters were with their tutor (strangely, Hingast's second wife had also borne three daughters before he moved on to his third wife), and her two sylphs were always discreet. Both respected her wishes enough to keep their mouths shut.

  Shops enjoyed a steady trade and hawkers – again almost all women – shouted to make themselves heard. Taynors squatted disconsolately in corners, unable to perform until the crowds thinned. They refused all offers of coin, they were here to entertain and delight, not beg. They had their professional pride to consider.

  Helen turned off the street. Unlike most alleys in the city, this one appeared respectable, without the usual detritus usually found dumped out of sight of the main thoroughfares. A solitary male sylph, long silvery hair tied back in a long tail, and somewhat garishly dressed by the creatures' standards, waited outside a door.

  "Hello, Cerant," she greeted him.

  Cerant's earpoints slanted her way and he inclined his head as he smiled. "Greetings, Mistress," he replied. "You are expected."

  Helen raised her eyebrows. "Really? I made no appointment."

  "Anya sees many things," replied the sylph.

  Helen kept a tight rein on her irritation. She had hoped to catch Cerant's owner unawares, without giving her a chance to prepare herself.

  The male sylph followed her inside and closed the door. Helen made her way up the bare wooden stair and waited for Cerant to open the inner door for her.

  She swept within without offering a word of thanks. "Hello Berlya," she said.

  "Good morning, Helen." Two chairs flanked a cold fireplace, and the hazel-eyed woman she had come to visit rose from one of them. She smiled. "Please, come and join me."

  Helen took the available chair, and the other woman sat down again.

  "Alovak, if you please, Cerant," said Berlya.

  The sylph bowed to his mistress. "Se bata, anya."

  Helen watched him pad out of the room.

  "So Helen, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

  "I've been putting it off for months," said Helen, "but Hingast seems... different."

  "Oh?" The woman's blue eyes held interested enquiry. "Tell Berlya, perhaps I can help."

  Helen looked at her companion, unsure whether to trust her or not. "He is looking at me again," she said. "As a man looks at a woman he wants. He's not done that for years."

  "Interesting." Berlya clasped her hands in her lap. "What about Ansin and Prella?"

  Helen's lips thinned. "Ansin gave him a son so he still lies with her, but you can see his heart isn't in it. And Prella..." She sniffed in disapproval. "At least I am loyal to my vows."

  Berlya gave a small smile as Cerant returned with a tray. "Be a good boy and pour," she told the sylph. "Then take a break for a few minutes."

  "Se bata." The sylph's silver-gray eyes flickered towards the visitor a brief moment before his attention turned to his task.

  Two cups, each on a saucer to contain spillage, were set out side by side. The sylph lifted the can and carefully poured the dark, almost black, alovak into the cups. His head bowed as he offered the first cup to Helen, before passing the second to Berlya.

  "Excuse me, please." Cerant bowed his head again and left the room.

  Helen smiled. "Your sylph is very well behaved," she remarked.

  "Very well trained," replied Berlya. "But I am interested to learn why Hingast is suddenly filled with renewed lust for you."

  Helen laughed. "So am I."

  Berlya gave a small smile. "You said he seems different. How?"

  The laughter was cut short. "More considerate. More thoughtful. And somehow more serious." She tapped a lacquered fingernail against her cup. "And he no longer indulges in the disgusting 'sport' of sylph hunting."

  "Cerant will be pleased," murmured Berlya. She closed her eyes and inhaled the aroma of her alovak. "He can sleep easier at night knowing that."

  "I wasn't aware sylphs were kidnapped for Hingast's hunts."

  Berlya fixed her visitor with a steely blue gaze. "The men Hingast used to find him suitable victims would seize any male sylph who happened to be in the wrong place."

  "I'm sorry, I never knew."

  Berlya nodded. "No longer a problem," she said. "So Hingast is behaving differently. Is he ill?"

  "Perhaps," replied Helen. "Two years, two defeats. But most men's behavior grows worse when they descend to madness, not better."

  "True," murmured Berlya, cup incas from her mouth. "What else causes a man to change?"

  "A new woman. But it is not that, or Hingast has also learned amazing discretion. Never one of his traits."

  Berlya's considering expression firmed. "There will be a reason," she said. "What of the men who returned with him?"

  "They say the same thing. A rout and slaughter of most of their companions. All of Mirrin's men are dead. It will take generations to recover the population."

  Berlya shrugged. "Encourage the men who are left to take more wives and the population will recover in one generation," she said. "Perhaps Hingast is depressed. That might explain his new attitude."

  Helen stared. "Depressed? If anything euphoric!"

  Berlya laughed. "Another sign of depression," she pointed out.

  Helen shook her head. "It's almost as if he's a different man. But that's impossible."

  No it isn't, thought Berlya. You're not thinking. Aloud, she said "If I were you I would entice him back to your arms. Try lying in wait for him in a quiet corridor."

  A smile bloomed. "Oh yes, I have been pushed aside for so long. It's time to start thinking like an adventurous young girl again."

  Berlya nodded. Their meeting was at an end, but the niceties must be observed. A second cup of alovak was offered, and politely declined. They talked about the weather and Helen's daughters' education, before Berlya rang the small handbell beside her chair.

  A few moments later, Cerant returned.

  "The Lady Helen wishes to leave," announced Berly
a.

  The sylph inclined his head and escorted Helen downstairs and outside. Berlya stared at the empty fireplace until Cerant rejoined her.

  "Any Markan pigeons in the cote?" she asked the sylph, as he quietly closed the inner door against intruders.

  "Two, anya."

  Berlya smiled. "Excellent. Bring pen, ink and my cipher book, please."

  Cerant bowed. "Se bata, anya."

  ***

  The man who now called himself Hingast scowled around the table. Maps of Eldova were spread across it and light crystals suspended from the ceiling provided plenty of light.

  The planning room was quite low in the palace, so the windows were set high in the only external wall. That this room faced east also meant that after an hour of daylight, the sun had moved on.

  "Are you sure they can make it across the Barren?" asked one man.

  "Yes, General Lowst, they can." Hingast wondered about the men he had promoted. Even allowing for the extra learning, he doubted their competence, but he must be careful. There were other promising young officers, but they might prove equally useless, promoted too early or beyond their latent ability.

  Lowst was one such. A senior Captain, which meant passed over a few times, he had waited years for a generalship. A good officer and a competent leader, popular with his men without being overfamiliar, but the man had no political skills at all. And had a tendency to speak his mind at the wrong time. Political ineptitude meant nothing in the field, but was essential when walking along the heights. But Lowst would be good in the field, and demonstrated good intelligence. He would stay.

  "We created the Barren to prevent large numbers of men crossing," added Gusor.

  Lowst gestured. "Stock up on food before crossing, break the group up into smaller chunks..."

  Hingast nodded in approval. Lowst would always get there in the end. Unlike Gusor who, despite clear intelligence, had proved himself deeply stupid. And as subtle as a brick through a glass window.

  The third man might make it to Marshal.

  Thur Ran Racken, as his name suggested, was not Eldovan. He came from Pelirno, a powerful land with an enviable reputation for producing fighting men of quality.

  Thur's early military career centered on mercenary campaigns and the man had amassed considerable wealth by various means. When he and his family settled in Eldova, he quickly moved up through the ranks.

  Intelligent and astute, Thur rarely spoke at these meetings.

  Now though, his pitch eyes held an unusual amount of excitement.