Markan Sword

by Nicholas A. Rose

  "A man who loses interest in a woman only returns to her if she is absent from his life and there is no replacement," she muttered. "Or if the replacement is no good." She chewed on a finger. "And one of the replacements gave him what he wanted. So why would he return to the oldest and first wife?"

  She mulled over the reports given to her concerning Hingast in the past few months.

  More knowledgeable about military matters. No longer hunted sylphs for sport. Somehow more approachable and friendlier than before.

  And yet.

  Fareen stopped chewing her finger before she drew blood and tapped it against her teeth instead. The answer stared her in the face, no matter how uncomfortable that answer might be.

  And since she had demolished a similar argument for Nazvasta's benefit not too long ago. But the available information had changed. Not only did Hingast behave like a changed man, but like a different man.

  Fareen crossed her legs and the finger tapped faster against her teeth.

  The man now ruling Eldova was not Hingast. A ridiculous conclusion... until she remembered the Gift.

  And sorcery.

  ***

  Chapter 15

  Sunsinger

  Kestan and his wife Zillan followed the Free Tribe to the forest's edge. Almost everybody else in the Free Tribe had followed Nedilen, eager to listen to his singing. Only some of the wild sylph scouts were missing, though their duties kept them elsewhere.

  Aelfina and Damaran stood at the forefront of the tribe, alongside Kestan and his wife. Mell, Zillan's infertile, clung to her mistress' hand and looked around wide-eyed, overawed by all these wild sylphs. From the way her earpoints had wilted, she wanted to be someplace else.

  Kestan gave her a reassuring smile.

  Cian, the wild sylph who served Kestan, stood the other side of him, earpoints twitching in contentment, rising onto the balls of her feet before dropping down again. Apart from her tunic, she wore a piece of twine tied loosely around her neck, and a small polished stone, a gift from Kestan, dangled from it.

  Mell and Cian pointedly ignored each other.

  The morning gloom brightened as everybody faced east. Only the giant ruby atop the huge pyramid glowed. Nedilen half closed his eyes and turned his face up, earpoints twitching forward. When the first edge of the sun rose above the eastern hills, he began to sing.

  His voice soared as the sun rose higher and everybody pressed closer, their earpoints bolt upright. The wild sylphs made not a sound, open-mouthed at this wonder. None had heard a sunsinger since they were stolen from their tribes and others had forgotten this important sylph ritual. Kestan tried to follow the song's words, but failed to understand most, probably because the singer used a different dialect for his song.

  Nedilen sang to the sun.

  He wished him a safe journey across the sky and promised to return later to sing again at sunset. He sang in praise of the sun's life-giving properties and thanked him for his warmth.

  And the moment all the sun could be seen, the song stopped.

  The tribe collectively exhaled, perhaps their first breath since before the song had begun.

  Nedilen opened his eyes and looked around. "Not the same when there is only one," he said.

  Aelfina nodded. "There are younglings here with promising voices," he said. "You could quickly build a choir."

  Nedilen glanced at Tilipha before his gaze settled on Aelfina's face. "I am here to take my son home, not train sunsingers." He managed to avoid sounding grumpy, though his earpoints twitched forwards almost aggressively.

  "We cannot be a proper tribe without them," pointed out Aelfina.

  Nedilen nodded and glanced at Kestan. "Nor can you be a proper tribe with a human leading you," he replied. He ignored the disgusted glance Cian gave him. "You should all go home."

  "Which is where, exactly?" Aelfina's earpoints lashed in irritation. "We all discussed this years ago. We do not know where home is. Without seeing where we have already traveled, we cannot find the way."

  Kestan listened, a small smile fixed in place.

  "I might not be the only sylph determined to find his child," retorted Nedilen.

  "And how many will make it?" retorted Aelfina. "How many will fall to other slavers? How many will even know where to begin their search? Perhaps you and Tilipha will fall to slavers if you leave."

  "We have assurances," said Nedilen. "We –"

  "Those assurances are worthless," retorted Aelfina, standing his ground. Kestan thought he looked every inca the leader. "If they had value, none of us would be here."

  Nedilen blinked. "There is an Emperor now."

  Aelfina shrugged. "His writ does not extend far beyond Marka." He pointed to one of the infertiles. "Besides, who will come for them? Do you suggest we abandon them?"

  The infertile he pointed to shrank away and her earpoints wilted. Cian moved closer to Kestan and looked up at him, whether to seek reassurance or offer it he could not tell. She did not reach for his hand.

  "You should all go home," insisted Nedilen.

  "This is home," countered an anonymous voice.

  "You'll all end up collared!" Nedilen tried to make that sound a threat, but too many sylphs here wore the twine necklaces, some with decoration, others without.

  "If such is the price for staying with Janin, then I will pay it." Loran glared at Nedilen, as if daring him to speak. Her neck bore no adornment.

  "You have fallen for a slave?" asked Nedilen, surprised.

  "I am with a good sylph," retorted Loran, before her earpoints wilted a little in respect to Nedilen's greater age.

  "You are all mad," said Nedilen. "The sooner I leave with my son, the better."

  "What if he will not go?" Tilipha's gaze locked with his father's. "I am happy here."

  Nedilen blinked, then turned to Kestan. "What have you done to them?" he asked.

  "Nothing," replied Kestan, truthfully. His smile widened, now genuine rather than polite. "These sylphs have decided everything for themselves."

  "He has done nothing to us," interrupted Tilipha. "He rescued us and looked after us. He and others like him encouraged us to either go home or found a new tribe. We have begun a new tribe."

  "You have enslaved yourselves." Disgust thickened the older sylph's voice. "Demeaned yourselves."

  Aelfina sighed. "Perhaps we have," he replied. "All the more reason for you to teach us customs. Such as training sunsingers." He bowed his head. "Acawibsalla-ya."

  Kestan patted Nedilen's shoulder. "Looks like he's got you there," he said. "Have fun teaching them."

  Cian blinked at the male sylph, but the set of her shoulders and earpoints hinted at satisfaction.

  Kestan watched as Nedilen's mouth moved silently for a few moments. He pulled himself together and looked at Aelfina with considerably more respect than before.

  "How many of you show promise?" he asked.

  ***

  Zandra restrained a sigh as Jenn showed the girl into her receiving room.

  "Alovak for two please, Jenn."

  The infertile bobbed her head and disappeared at a near run.

  In truth, Zandra could do without this, and wished that Marcus might have involved himself in choosing a new governess for the children. For whatever reason, Kaira had been gone for a week. Zandra wished she knew why.

  Had she run away, been abducted, eloped with a boyfriend Zandra had never heard of? Had an even worse fate befallen her?

  Whatever the reason, Zandra needed a replacement. She smiled at the shy girl sat opposite and restrained another sigh. The applicant stared at the table, a fringe of dark brown hair falling across her dark blue eyes. She pushed it aside with long delicate fingers and looked up as Zandra spoke.

  "And what is your name?" she asked, gently. She suspected that her oldest daughter Caralin would run rings around this girl.

  "Um, I'm called Galenna," replied the applicant.

  Zandra kept her polite smile in place. "Just Galenna?" s
he prompted.

  The girl looked up again. "Galenna Sheram Mannis," she replied, with an air of giving away all her secrets.

  "From Marka?"

  Galenna nodded. "Now, yes. I am from Istwan, originally."

  "Local girl then. Have you worked with children before?"

  "Two years as a teacher, I have references."

  Galenna pushed some much-folded sheets across the table.

  Zandra spread them out and glanced at them. Like many other things, anybody might have written them. Their contents could be true, or be a work of fiction.

  "Are you familiar with Anclose's Theorem?" asked Zandra.

  "First Theorem is that the interior angles of a triangle are always equal to two right angles," replied Galenna.

  "Except?"

  "When the triangle is used to plot a course along a curved surface, when they are always equal to three right angles."

  "What is the importance of the Treaty of Settlement, 800?" Zandra changed subject.

  Galenna's blue eyes flashed, perhaps because she felt her intelligence insulted. It was the first sign she possessed a backbone. "It paved the way for Enthan Vintner to take the throne and found the Second Empire."

  "Mark the Eleventh is important why?"

  Galenna smiled and shook her head. "The Second Empire expanded beyond the boundaries of the first, pushed forward by his son, Staflan, who died at the Battle of Pelirno Bridge, 960."

  Zandra glanced at the references again.

  Galenna shot around on her seat as the door opened, admitting Jenn. The sylph almost dropped the alovak in surprise as the girl stared at her, before recovering some of her composure.

  "Sorry," muttered Galenna.

  Jenn stared for a long moment. She eventually padded across to the table and poured the alovak, though she kept a wary air whenever she looked at the applicant.

  "What is used to predict the planets' positions?" asked Zandra, watching delicate fingers curl around the alovak mug.

  "Bansinger's Tables," replied Galenna.

  "And the exceptions to his predictions?"

  "Moon and Ark Star," said Galenna. "Neither of which are properly planets."

  "Oh?"

  "As noted by several astronomers, notably and most recently, Staflan Vintner."

  "Staflan Vintner of Sandester?"

  Galenna nodded.

  "And if one was to say that name should never cross your lips?"

  Galenna stared at the table again and blushed. "Politics cannot replace observed data," she whispered.

  Zandra smiled. "Good girl."

  Galenna looked up in surprise. "That is the required answer?"

  "It is."

  The girl looked relieved.

  "You seem desperate to get this job," remarked Zandra. "Are there reasons for your urgency?"

  Galenna nodded. "I have to leave my lodgings before the end of this week," she replied. "If I cannot get a position here, I must return home."

  "Well, I have a couple more to interview," lied Zandra. "If you return at this time tomorrow, I'll have an answer for you."

  Galenna smiled. She finished her alovak and stood, permitting Jenn to show her the way out.

  "Well Jenn," said Zandra, as the sylph returned, "that is the only applicant for the position. She is not the only one who is desperate."

  Jenn scowled. "I would extend the closing date," she suggested.

  Zandra restrained a sigh. First Galenna, now Jenn. "What's wrong with her?" she demanded. "I'll send someone to check a couple of these references, but she clearly has knowledge."

  "I do not like her," replied the sylph.

  This time, Zandra did sigh. "Jenn," she said, in her firmest no-nonsense voice, "you are too old for these petty jealousies. No, don't interrupt me! There is a world of difference between speaking your mind and running the household. Who I employ as governess is up to me. If your owner was here, he could take a part in deciding that but, as he chose to leave this task to me, then it is my task. Not yours."

  "I did not feel this way about Kaira." Pouting, Jenn collected the empty alovak mugs, set them on the tray beside the can and flounced out of the room, eyes and earpoints betraying hurt feelings.

  Zandra shook her head. She would not feel guilty over the sylph's bruised ego – why should she? Not for the first time, she wished Jenn had never been encouraged to speak her mind so freely.

  And yet, the sylph had a point. Jenn had never said anything about employing Kaira. Had never displayed any jealousy towards her. Had treated the governess with more respect than she ever showed to Zandra, truth to tell. And the suggestion that she ought to extend the closing date said that Jenn had no objection to a new governess for the Vintner children.

  So why might she feel different about Galenna?

  ***

  Basren sat on a simple wooden chair, his arms resting on a plain wooden table. Papers were piled in front of the chair opposite. Captain Crallin, commander of Marka's City Guard, walked around that table. Basren had come to the guard voluntarily and had not been arrested. Yet.

  He already regretted his decision.

  "As far as we can tell," Crallin told him, "you are the last person to see Kaira alive."

  Basren squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "I saw her to the door of the library, but I did not leave the building."

  "I think you arranged to meet later and you had a disagreement."

  "No!" Basren wrung his hands. "I love her!"

  "You came here because you feel guilty."

  "I came here because I want your help to find her!"

  Crallin shook his head. "She's been gone a week," he said. "We have searched this city wherever we can. Many people have opened their doors to us, checked their cellars for us, looked in every corner they can find. She isn't here. Her employers have not seen her."

  Had Kaira's employers been anyone else, Basren suspected he would be facing someone other than the Captain of the Guard. Anybody else.

  Crallin abruptly sat in the chair opposite. "That leaves two options, Basren." He kept his voice low and gentle. Basren stared, but felt like a trapped animal. "She has either run away –"

  "Why would she do that? She loves her job. She loves me."

  "– or she is held against her will somewhere."

  "Who would do that?"

  Crallin smiled, though it did not touch his dark blue eyes. "Someone who wants to get at the Vintners, or someone who got spurned and doesn't want to let go."

  "Where could I keep her?" Basren fought to control tears. "I live in a room beside the library!"

  "There is a third alternative. A horrible alternative."

  "No! I do not believe she is dead."

  Crallin kept his voice gentle. "You arranged to meet. You disagreed and you fought. It happens all the time, Basren. Some men do not know their own strength. So many killers refuse to accept what they've done, and try to deny it to themselves, even if caught in the act."

  "It wasn't like that!"

  "So you did meet."

  "No!" Basren shook his head. "The last time I saw her was when I waved to her as she walked down the library steps." He remembered the dress she wore, he remembered the headscarf to help keep the sun off her head, he remembered her loving smile...

  Crallin kept a polite smile on his face. "Did you lash out, Basren? Or did she move against you first?"

  "That did not happen." A solitary tear leaked free.

  "It happens all the time."

  "I came here for help, to help." Basren stood, almost knocking his chair over. "Not be insulted."

  Crallin waved a dismissive hand. "You are free to leave," he said. "But remember that we're watching. Your name and description has been circulated to the gates; please do not try to leave Marka, or you will be arrested."

  At the door, Basren looked over his shoulder, face cold and collected. "I did not harm her."

  Crallin gave no response whatsoever.

  Outside, in the glaring suns
hine, Basren weighed his options. His heart pounded in fear. He had not killed Kaira, but what if everybody believed he had? He imagined he could hear the jury pronouncing him guilty, see the judge's pitiless eyes as he passed sentence. Basren did not want to hang, his family permanently shamed with the taint of a murderer.

  He imagined the jeers from the crowds and the huge cheer that would erupt as he dangled and choked. Or would his family leap forward to hang from his legs and hasten his death?

  No. He would not hang. Kaira was not dead.

  And he knew the very person who could help.

  He had no idea how he could pay, but the idea gave him fresh hope. And the threat of a noose gave him impetus.

  Basren knew the man he wanted to see liked alovak. Except when working, he spent a lot of time in Marka's alovak houses. Though in a city Marka's size, there were hundreds of alovak houses, to meet the huge demand. People drank alovak for pleasure, when socializing, when conducting business, when visiting.

  Basren had researched the man and read everything recorded about his exploits. Mostly by reading between the lines in court records. He had hoped to visit the man at home, but every case recorded a different lodging.

  He clearly liked to move a lot.

  Basren supposed this man must have lots of enemies, all wanting to see their nemesis at least seriously hurt, if not dead. But he could not find him by using court records alone. Even the most recent might be unreliable.

  And the man often accepted commissions that did not result in court cases. Basren decided not to dwell too deeply on any hidden meanings there.

  So he asked questions. He should have started at work because surprisingly, Irard the Head Librarian knew the alovak house Basren wanted.

  He'd spent half the morning so far walking past this alovak house, its front opened up so customers could make the most of the late spring sunshine. Shades were draped over the tables for those who enjoyed the heat, but not direct sun.

  Finally, Basren made a pass and noticed a tall, thin man, dressed in brown shirt and breeches, brown cloak draped over a chair to one side, sword seemingly tossed carelessly aside.

  The description fit.

  Fighting sudden nervousness, Basren mounted the two steps that led to the alovak house and crossed to the corner where the man sat. A dark brown gaze bored relentlessly into him as he approached, and Basren sensed anticipation in the other man.

  Worryingly, the man's hand rested on his swordhilt, so perhaps the weapon had not been casually tossed aside after all.

  "Are you Sallis ti Ath?"

  "Yes."