Markan Sword

by Nicholas A. Rose

  "Thought you might have an advantage in spotting them," grunted Janost.

  "Only if they move," replied Belaika. "Movement is what gives a position away."

  Janost grunted again. "I suppose they move more, working in pairs."

  "They do not have whistles," pointed out Belaika, "so one acts as messenger. But now we must move after reporting, so perhaps we move the same."

  "Your whistles might be your weak point," said Janost.

  "Only if there are sylphs to hear them," countered Belaika.

  "Which there are," pointed out Janost.

  "We number four," said Belaika. "You can have two pairs, or four scouts. Against ten, who must work as five pairs."

  "Continue as you've been trained," Mirrin told Belaika. He turned his attention to Janost. "And we stay here today."

  ***

  Ean lurked somewhere between the two armies, hiding easily in the long grass, feet dangling into the reverse slope while he faced the enemy Eldovans. With more Eldovans behind, allegedly not the enemy. He'd asked for the detail early that morning and hurried eagerly into place when it became obvious that neither army would move today. He'd watched Mirrin and Lowst ride toward each other and watched them ride away again.

  It felt strange to follow orders given by Eldovans, now Kelanus and his Markan companions had been taken prisoner.

  Before arriving at his station, he sent a pinger to Shyamon, a captive with his owner. He'd received no reply. Even so, he whistled a question, asking after his owner Felis, and he still waited for an answer.

  He felt a flush of embarrassment. He had asked Felis if he would consider manumitting his scout. But Ean had not actually asked for manumission yet. And he now pined for his owner, still thought of him as his owner. No, not pining. Felis had been part of his life for almost all of it, he should feel no shame in asking after the man's welfare. And besides, he could hardly ask for manumission while his owner remained a prisoner, let alone receive it.

  Felis had promised Ean a wife, but nothing had happened. Always open minded, Ean had listened to the wild sylphs argue against slavery. He had considered the arguments, yet felt unpersuaded by them.

  Until Tensan tangled his feelings and loyalties into knots.

  A wild sylph female, Tensan had willingly volunteered for scout training, among the first wild sylphs to do so. She had as many seasons as he did, and showed herself very keen to spend time with the sylph responsible for spotting and reporting the slavers' caravan that had held her prisoner. If not for Ean, all the wild sylphs now in Marka would have gone to the sales block.

  But Tensan had a price for her hand. Ean must ask for manumission. Ean must put aside his collar.

  A difficult choice, but Ean spent hours talking with his owner and now his mind was set. When Felis regained his freedom, Ean would ask for his manumission. He could put it off no longer. The world was changing and even sylphs must change with it. Adapt or die, as Tensan said.

  He made no secret of his decision and the other sylphs in the camp had given mixed reactions.

  Belaika had congratulated him, but shook his head when Ean asked if he might not also like to ask for freedom. Shyamon shrank back from the suggestion, earpoints wilted, and Samel had laughed while shaking his head in refusal. Of the scouts, only Fhionnen considered Ean's plea, earpoints slanted forwards in interest, but he refused to say a word on the subject.

  The infertiles in the camp had refused as one. Divyan, one of the orphaned Eldovan sylphs, had gripped the nametag on her collar and burst into tears. But then, Ean knew all infertiles were strange.

  Ean concentrated on the grassland, lifting his head just enough to see. He hoped to catch one of the scouts on the opposing side. They had lost Shyamon and Ean desperately wanted to restore some balance. He had to admit that he had no idea how to go about capturing an enemy sylph. The thought of inflicting violence brought a shudder, so he supposed that method was out. And no doubt any enemy sylph who felt threatened would just run away.

  His earpoints pricked up as he heard a very faint whistle.

  Still there, Ean?

  At last, Shyamon!

  Yes, he whistled back.

  All well here. Felis says hello.

  Ean swallowed a lump. Stupid sylph! He'd be sobbing like an infertile next. Please say hello back. Hope to see you all soon.

  A quick acknowledgment, then silence again.

  About to drop back out of sight, Ean paused. Could he see movement down there? He squinted and a slow smile spread across his face. Perhaps it would be his lucky day, after all.

  ***

  Thur Ran Racken scanned the report three times before he sighed and leaned back in his chair, a solitary cushion his only concession to comfort.

  "Alovak, enya?" Sensing her owner's tiredness, the sylph stood patiently beside his chair.

  "Thank you Heba, alovak will be most welcome. Before you brew that, will you please send Ederin to me?"

  The infertile flashed him a quick grin, bobbed her head in acknowledgment, grabbed the empty alovak can and all but skipped out of the room. Moments later, Ederin entered.

  "Anything I can help with?" Even though properly deferential, the gray-haired secretary was no soldier.

  He had accompanied Thur on many campaigns and had been with him more than twenty years. Captured on a slave raid, he had proved so useful, that Thur manumitted him a few years later.

  "Gusor has done well to avoid killing men returning from the east," said Thur. "But eventually, he'll meet a commander who will insist on returning all the way to Eldova. His orders are to massacre all those who persist."

  Ederin barely blinked. Of course, he would have read all the messages.

  "We need those men," insisted Thur. "How can we possibly defend ourselves without them? At some point, the Markans will follow."

  "Perhaps His Majesty will have to buy or hire several companies of mercenaries," suggested Ederin.

  "Who are not always reliable. Homegrown men are always better for defending their own homeland."

  "Of course." Ederin inclined his head and looked over his shoulder as Heba returned with the alovak.

  Thur sat back again and massaged the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to have to change Gusor's orders," he said, eventually. "Perhaps without Hingast's knowledge."

  Heba gave her owner a concerned look and her earpoints wilted.

  "A dangerous course to steer, Sir," said Ederin.

  "I know that." Thur forced irritation away. "Everything is dangerous with Hingast, though admittedly he's not as bad these days."

  "To save those men, you must move quickly," continued Ederin. "A fast rider must be sent with the amended orders you suggest."

  "Do you think Hingast'll change his mind?"

  Ederin pursed his lips. "If we were told the truth about these men, that they are cowards and traitors, then he might see the logic in keeping these men alive, especially if Marka is stamping on their heels. They can act as a buffer, and at least slow any Markan advance."

  "I'm waiting for the but."

  Ederin shrugged and spread his hands. Heba poured two mugs of alovak and stood back, though she paid close attention to everything Ederin had to say.

  "If we turn the accusations around, and it is Hingast and those few returning with him who are the cowards, then he will never agree to sparing their lives."

  "That is just rumor," said Thur.

  "Just so." Ederin inclined his head again. "You should petition His Majesty, state your case and listen to his answer. That should tell you which scenario is likely correct."

  "I should send the rider even if Hingast's answer is no?"

  "With caution Sir, yes." Ederin smiled. "I can forge His Majesty's signature if required. If these men are as His Majesty says, you are effectively joining in their treason."

  Thur nodded. "Find me a reliable man," he commanded. "I shall go and see Hingast. If he says yes, we are safe."

  "If he says no, we are all likely
to be dead," pointed out Ederin. "And your family, Sir."

  Heba's eyes widened.

  Thur sipped at his alovak. "It must be done," he said, eventually. "For Eldova's good. Heba?"

  "Though I am frightened to die, I stand with you, enya," replied the sylph.

  "You won't be dying," Thur assured her. "Not before your proper time, anyway." He drained his alovak and turned his attention to his secretary. "Get me an appointment with Hingast."

  Ederin nodded. "As you command, so do I obey."

  As the door closed quietly behind Ederin, Thur patted Heba's shoulder. "You'll be safe," he promised.

  ***

  Ean jumped in front of the enemy sylph scout, facing away from him.

  "Do not fire, lads!" he called out, in the human tongue. "We will capture him instead."

  Before the startled Eldovan sylph had time to react, Ean had turned back to face him. "Do not run for the Father's sake," he said. "They will put four feathers through you before you can take two steps."

  The other sylph's mouth dropped open and his earpoints shot bolt upright in shock.

  Ean turned away again. "Vaul, Burred, do not shoot him! Look, he has surrendered."

  The enemy sylph had his arms spead and looked about him with frightened eyes, earpoints now wilting. "I cannot see these archers," he protested.

  Ean shrugged. "Run, then." He folded his arms.

  "All right!" The sylph kept his arms wide. "I surrender."

  "Hold your hands out in front of you," said Ean. He stepped forward as the other obeyed and tied his hands together. "I am Ean-y-Felis."

  "Aiten," replied the enemy sylph. "Aiten-y-Hingast."

  "Auspicious owner," said Ean.

  Aiten shrugged. "All scouts belong to His Majesty."

  "Where is your mate?" pressed Ean. "We know you work in pairs."

  "Carrying a message," replied Aiten.

  Ean knew it must be something like that, because he had seen only one scout moving. "You walk in front of me," he commanded. "Remember: run and you die." He raised his voice. "Stay out at the side lads."

  Aiten looked around, eyes still fearful. "I do not see them," he said.

  "They have learned well from us," replied Ean. "Less noise and walk that way."

  Aiten obeyed in frightened silence.

  Before long, one of the scouts met them – the real Vaul. The human had painted himself in the same camouflage as that used by the sylphs.

  "How did you catch this fish?" he demanded of Ean. He smiled at Aiten's obvious discomfort.

  Ean shrugged. "A bit of bluff. Like playing cards."

  Aiten turned on his captor. "You lied: there were no archers!"

  Ean smiled. "You had no way of knowing that."

  "You lied," repeated Aiten. "You –"

  "You are a prisoner," said Vaul. "And if I were you I'd keep quiet, else I'll demonstrate to Ean how Eldovans deal with insubordinate sylphs."

  Ean restrained a laugh as Aiten fell silent, earpoints quivering in outrage and humiliation.

  "Good work, Ean." Vaul smiled. He gave Aiten a firm look. "C'mon you, let's go and see the Boss."

  Aiten looked over his shoulder at Ean and disgust shone in his silver eyes. Ean shrugged his shoulders and turned away. He had captured an enemy scout! Somehow, it made up for his owner's capture and he felt some honor had been restored.

  Perhaps there might even be some choca for him.

  ***

  General Lowst again entertained Kelanus and Tahena in his tent. The same infertile sylph sat crosslegged in her corner, the same stringed instrument on her knee. She played different tunes, all probably learned by rote.

  Kelanus hoped the music had all been learned by rote; if this sylph could write musical notation, they risked losing the secret of the sylphs' whistles. He now suspected there might be another reason why she sat in at mealtimes.

  "I strongly suspect today's little discussion with General Mirrin is also a good result for you?" Lowst arched an eyebrow.

  "We are all going to Eldova, which makes me very happy."

  "That emotion may change once Hingast gets his hands on you."

  Kelanus smiled. "Perhaps."

  "Let's talk about Shyamon." Lowst took a sip of alovak. "A fine example of the sylph race, I would say."

  "The scouts have to be physically fit specimens," said Kelanus. "As I'm sure you know. Weaklings are no use, nor those with a fear of wide open spaces."

  "Very true." Lowst gestured towards Tahena. "It would be a very great pity to damage such a fine specimen, especially after Tahena's efforts Healing him."

  Kelanus narrowed his eyes and ignored the discordant plunk that came from the sylph in the corner. She bent her head over her instrument, adjusting a string, before the pleasant music continued. "Why would you damage him?"

  Lowst smiled. "Surely you know he has been whistling messages out from this camp? Presumably to General Mirrin. You must of course understand that such actions violate the spirit of our agreement, if not the letter. Perhaps you did not impress upon him the nature of our discussion."

  "Whistling has nothing to do with our agreement," said Kelanus. "If the boy wants to whistle –"

  "If the boy does not stop his clandestine whistling, I will be forced to do something about it." Lowst leaned forward. "I have no wish to take any such action, but that does not mean I'll shrink from it."

  Tahena stared at Lowst as if seeing him for the first time.

  "I'll tell him." Kelanus assumed the air of the wronged party. It probably no longer mattered: everything important had already been communicated.

  Lowst smiled and relaxed. "I'm so pleased," he said. "There really is no need for any unpleasantness, particularly towards sylphs."

  Everybody turned as a messenger entered the tent. He leaned over Lowst and spoke directly into his ear. Again, the sylph in the corner gave out a couple of discordant notes, clearly overhearing whatever message the man brought, and this time she did not start playing again. She stared wide-eyed at Lowst, her earpoints partly wilted.

  "Bad news, General?" Kelanus managed to avoid smiling.

  Lowst waited until the messenger had left. He turned his attention to the infertile. "Keep playing, girl."

  The sylph's earpoints jerked upright and she nodded. Moments later, soothing music again filled the tent.

  "One of our scouts has failed to report." Lowst's dark blue eyes glittered.

  "Lost him? That seems careless." Kelanus gave Lowst a quick grin and ignored the glare Tahena directed his way. "Perhaps he deserted."

  "More likely captured."

  "I can ask Shyamon to find out whether or not your sylph is a prisoner," offered Kelanus. "Of course, he'll have to whistle to ask the question." And it also meant Shyamon could get the rest of the information out.

  This time, Kelanus smiled in pure pleasure.

  ***

  Chapter 21

  Prepared For War

  General Paul Ulvic Tennan reined in his horse and dismounted. He now stood on the North Horn of Ramte, with all of Maturia stretching behind him. He looked across the green water of the Eastern Ocean where it met the Bay of Plenty, with nothing to show where one ended and the other began. If he traveled east across the sea, Re Taura would be the first land he reached and if he went south, the next lands he touched belonged to Marcus Vintner of Calcan.

  The next land south, imaginatively enough, men called the South Horn of Ramte. Whoever controlled the horns, controlled trade entering and leaving the Bay of Plenty. Up until thirty years ago, Sandester owned both horns but, thanks to the ongoing war between the claimants to the throne, had never managed to capitalize on their possessions.

  Thirty years before, Marcus Vintner Senior of Calcan had seized both horns, a stunning diversionary tactic that stung Sandester into a response. The bulk of Sandester's army had hurried south to reclaim their lost property, while the majority of the Calcans sailed north and landed in Vertia. They passed through abandoned t
erritory unopposed, fell on Sandester and deepened a feud into enduring hatred.

  Old man Marcus withdrew from the north horn, leaving Sandester's flowering youth rotting in the ground. The remnants had staggered north to relieve the siege of their capital city and were slaughtered in sight of home.

  Never again.

  They had recovered the North Horn, but had lost the South Horn forever. And the Calcans were well able to enforce their dues from much of the trade passing through. Sandester had driven off the invader, but Calcan had benefited best, at least in wealth terms.

  While traveling south, Paul had wondered if he might see remnants of that invasion, more than thirty years in the past. But other than sea-washed pebbles and the usual flotsam brought ashore by wind and tide, there was nothing here.

  Paul knew any landing here from Calcan would be a feint; it would suggest that Marcus Junior attempted to duplicate his father's tactics. If Nazvasta raised the dragon's head banner, Paul suspected a pincer move on Sandester from Marka in the west and Calcan in the east. The Markan army would hurry through the Northern March and Calcan would send theirs by sea to land in, or to the north of, Vertia.

  Paul also feared a Markan diplomatic offensive on Trenvera. If that large kingdom capitulated to Marka, Sandester would find survival difficult. He hoped Nazvasta had begun his own diplomacy to ensure Trenvera retained her independence. Or threw her lot in with Sandester.

  He watched a trading vessel pass. Probably headed for Re Taura, the two-masted trader made the most of the fresh breeze, both her lateen sails drawing well.

  Paul knew nothing of ships, but he understood war and the part trade could play in it. Trade built wealth and wealth paid soldiers. And the trade in the aptly named Bay of Plenty generated huge wealth. With Calcan lands and Trenvera in Markan hands, most of that wealth would go to the fledgling Markan Empire.

  He turned away from the sea.

  "Lance Sergeant Erras," he called.

  "Sir." The recently promoted Erras joined his commander.

  "We'll pitch our tents here. Ensure two rows of latrines are dug well downhill from the spring, and a palisade erected."

  "Yessir!" Erras paused, pale blue eyes thoughtful. "And a practice ground, Sir?"

  Paul nodded. "For everybody," he said. "Not just the new lads."

  Erras touched fist to shoulder in acknowledgment and turned away.

  Paul's small army had gathered recruits on its journey from the north. Older boys for the most part, bored of farm life and seeking excitement elsewhere. Paul had only turned away those too weak or infirm to fight, deflecting protests from mothers and, in a few cases, wives.