Markan Throne by Nicholas A. Rose
He drove Ranallic back effortlessly, maladi clashing against maladi, his own catching the light, the sound of blade meeting blade distorting in his time-dulled ears. With two gigantic swings, he smashed both of his opponent's maladi without damaging his own.
He brought his two blades back to the ready, prepared to remove Ranallic's head from his shoulders and finish a life that should have ended more than twenty years ago. But the man gave Kelanus a triumphant smile.
Then Ranallic was gone.
Time returned to normal. Kelanus felt pain and fatigue wash back into him. He gasped and fought tears that pricked behind his eyes. A constriction in his throat threatened his breathing.
The crowd stood in shocked silence, unable to believe what they had witnessed. One moment Ranallic stood before them, then gone. Vanished. Kelanus stared into the sky and at the ground, fearing his opponent had shapeshifted into something poisonous. The only thing he could see was a large black beetle, which he crushed underfoot, just in case.
Zenepha stood, eyes wide. "I declare that Ranallic has left the field," he announced. "General Kelanus is the victor and, by right of combat, has cleared his name of all charges!"
Kelanus's supporters cheered and surged forward. The lithe Neptarik, silvery gray eyes dancing with delight, was the first to reach him, tugging at his hand.
Kelanus forced a weak smile for the sylph, but his head hung with exhaustion.
"What trickery is this?" Some of Ranallic's supporters now recovered from their shock. "Sorcery?"
Balnus came not far behind his sylph and congratulated his commander. More people added their voices to the praise and Marcus could be seen smiling benignly from his place beside Zenepha.
"Well," muttered Kelanus, hugging Balnus around his shoulders, "that had better end the rumors."
Balnus smiled and replied with something he failed to understand.
Kelanus gave the scout a puzzled frown. "Why did you shout to me?"
The sylph grinned and bobbed his head. "I just thought you needed a little encouragement, donenya."
"Whatever, it worked." Kelanus switched his attention as Marcus joined them. He bowed to the claimant and a mischievous light entered his eyes. "Sir, I understand you have a fresh vacancy for a field commander."
Marcus nodded. "Congratulations on your appointment, General Kelanus. I trust you're not going to stand around all day. In case you've forgotten, we have work to do."
***
Panting, Sallis ti Ath fell onto all fours, sweat bursting from every pore. It dampened his clothes, ran through his hair and dripped from his brow. The tiny, distant figures flocked around Kelanus like ants.
That had been the hardest thing he had ever done. He had no idea how he'd managed it, only that he had accomplished something every other Gifted said was impossible.
Some would say his actions were unethical. Perhaps so, but the right man had won the duel.
***
Light from the solitary light crystal failed to penetrate the furthest corners of the dank cellar. Darker shadows swallowed Grayar's as he entered. He listened to Stanak clumping about as he checked the upper stories. Grayar already knew they were alone in the villa. He poked at the chain with a foot and grunted.
"All clear upstairs," said Stanak, joining Grayar. He grimaced in distaste. "Sandev was held here?"
"Not with this," replied Grayar, poking the chain with his foot again. He sniffed at the air. "Sinabra."
"There were sylphs here?" Stanak looked incredulous.
"One, very recently. Probably the one we passed on the way in."
"What one we passed?"
Grayar smiled faintly. "Your concern for your employer is commendable, but don't let it blind you to everything else. The sylph sat on the lawn to the right. We'll pick him up when we leave."
Stanak glanced at his companion with increased respect. "How was Sandev held? How could Nicolfer capture her?"
"Dervra managed to hold me with some new way of blocking the Gift, against which I was helpless. I've not since had time to try and work out a counter to it."
Stanak's gray-blue eyes suggested that the respect he held for Grayar had diminished once more. "And Sandev suffered as a result."
"Don't worry too deeply about Sandev," replied Grayar. "She's more than capable of looking after herself. She'll find a way around this block. Both the Gift and sorcery are infinitely malleable for an adept."
"Anything we can do here?"
Grayar shook his head.
As the two men left Nicolfer's recent residence, Grayar nodded to his left. A sylph male, as ragged as a beggar from his general appearance, squatted on the overgrown lawn, hands on knees. He eyed the two men warily and his silvery gray eyes widened as he returned Grayar's apparently casual glance. Both men positioned themselves between the villa and the street.
"Don't let him run," urged Grayar in a whisper. He raised his voice. "Boy!"
The sylph stood, but made no other move. He said nothing.
"What do we need him for?" whispered Stanak.
Grayar ignored the question and stepped forward. Despite being taller than both humans, the sylph looked overawed.
"We won't hurt you," promised Grayar. "I want you to answer a few questions, nothing more."
The sylph looked even warier.
"Do you know who lived here?" asked Grayar, quietly.
The sylph nodded, his eyes even wider.
"I know her as Nicolfer," prompted Grayar. "Did you live with her?"
The sylph's expression was carefully blank. "Cruel woman," he remarked. "Nasty. She hurt me, to –" His mouth snapped shut.
"Go on," urged Stanak, subsiding only as Grayar laid a cautionary hand on his arm.
Grayar's full attention returned to the sylph. "What's your name?"
The sylph looked even more defensive and fear crept into his expression.
"I'm Grayar and this is Stanak. What is your name?"
The sylph visibly struggled with himself before he replied. "Tangan."
Grayar nodded. "Was that name given to you by your mother or your owner?"
"By my mother. More or less."
"Can we get back to Sandev?" demanded Stanak, irritably. "That's why we're here, not to find out if some raggedy sylph's name was given to him by his mother or not. What does that matter?" He worried more for his employer.
The sylph suddenly became animated. "Sandev!" he exclaimed. "Trapped by the one I served! Sandev!"
"What happened to her?" Stanak's voice was bleak. "Where was she taken? The house is empty!"
Tangan's face fell. "I do not know. When I fled, they did not follow." His body tensed, as if expecting punishment.
"Physical projection," said Grayar. "As you say, the house is empty now." He sniffed. "Have you been in sight all the time?"
Tangan nodded.
"They might still be in the city." Hope strengthened Stanak's voice, while the sylph, uncertain now, looked from one to the other.
"Unlikely." Grayar turned back to the sylph. "You come with us."
Tangan nodded again. He obeyed meekly and followed at a respectful distance. Stanak turned back now and then to ensure the sylph was still there, but Grayar seemed completely unconcerned whether he stayed in company or ran away.
"What do you want him for?" Stanak demanded of Grayar, keeping his voice low. "Nicolfer probably left him behind for a reason."
"That is true," replied Grayar, his voice at its normal level. "We'll introduce him to the other sylphs back at the villa."
"Why?"
Grayar smiled, but said nothing.
Three steps behind, Tangan's mind whirled. If you knew, you would not take me with you. I want to tell you, but dare not, cannot! The Father help me, your enemy can control me, like she is inside. He looked at Stanak's back. If I say, you will kill me. His gaze switched to Grayar's back. She used me to lure your friend Sandev to captivity. And now she has aimed me at you.
He followed placidly. H
How can I tell you that she will use me to kill you?
***
Zenepha leaned against the walls, thin shoulders shaking. Fire torches and light crystals lit the area where the prisoners still labored to dig graves for the dead. Not all the corpses were soldiers; many civilians had died in the frequent bombardments. Even sylphs. Three sylph scouts – all Markans – had died when the gates were breached. He had suggested using sylphs from Marka as scouts, so he must be partly responsible for those deaths. His face twisted in anguish. His personal guard knew him well enough to give him space, though the new members were yet to learn as much about him as those they replaced. There were no graves for the dead horses; these were butchered for meat. The city starved and the people must be fed somehow. Even Marcus Vintner's beast, Jablon, who had died so Zenepha could live. He felt a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Majesty, you must care for the living, your people need you," intoned Marshal Mikhan Annada. "Weeping for the dead doesn't help them."
Zenepha turned his tearstained face to his marshal and, he hoped, his friend. "After what they have given, the dead deserve my tears," he replied. "I'll care for the living in the morning."
***
The rendezvous point lay deep in the forest. Most the camp retainers had stayed there during the siege: farriers and fletchers, coopers and cooks, laundresses and sylphs. The multitude of followers and supporters an army needed to function. Tents were set up, waiting for occupants, but many would remain empty. Dervra looked around at the glum faces and steeled himself. These people needed a leader and he had one to give them.
Inside the anteroom of Hingast's tent, Dervra had gathered a few senior officers. Marshal Janost and General Hanan were present, though the latter had only appeared late on, with a handful of survivors. Kelanus had cut most of his men to pieces, or else taken prisoners. One man he would not have been upset to lose – Kanad Tanur – had also managed to flee. Hingast's choice to rule Marka had the siege proved a success, but not Dervra's favorite candidate. Marlen Masser and a few of the men who had infiltrated Marka long ago were there. Despite Hingast's belief that they worked for him, these were Dervra's men. With a stab of pain, he assumed that Petan must be dead, as he had not appeared.
And five hundred soldiers, though more dribbled in as time passed. The pathetic remnant of the grand army Hingast had so confidently predicted would sweep Marka and install him as Emperor.
Dervra hid a grimace as he wondered how many were still to come. He waited now only for Nicolfer; once they were together, those who had not found their way would be abandoned to their fate.
"They will be disappointed in Eldova when we return," muttered Kanad.
"Why is that?" asked Dervra, maintaining politeness.
"Why?" Kanad's eyes bulged. "We are defeated; it is over!"
"It is never over."
"Hingast is dead!"
"You think so." Dervra forced a smile.
"We saw his head cut from his body! He –"
Everybody stared as a man left the inner tent. A man who had kept out of sight, who had taken no part in the discussions. A man with broad shoulders and black hair curling at the nape of his neck. Gray-blue eyes fixed them in a cold, arrogant gaze. He nodded to them and disappeared back to the inner tent.
"As you've just seen," said Dervra, "Hingast is not dead, we have not lost."
Marlen smiled, while the rest of the entourage stared in disbelief.
"What sorcery is this?" whispered Janost.
Dervra laughed. "Call it what you will. Hingast lives. He'll return hope to our people and stiffen their resolve. We fight on. You have your orders gentlemen. I want us ready to move at a moment's notice. Today, you will learn about turning adversity to your advantage."
The commanders stood and left the tent. Dervra waited until they were all gone before pushing his way into the inner tent.
"Shouldn't you knock, or something?" asked the man who now called himself Hingast. "Not just barge in here?"
Dervra forced a smile. "Apologies, Majesty."
"Majesty." The other man savored the word. "I do like the sound of that."
"I'm sure you do. Any problems holding yourself as you are?"
"None."
"We must work on your voice. Manipulate your vocal cords to change tone and pitch, but we must work on that accent. Nobody will know the difference when we're done."
Thankful for the thick tapestries that killed almost all sound against eavesdroppers, the two men worked hard on accent and tone for almost two hours. After Dervra left, the man who now called himself Hingast stepped up to a mirror and inspected himself carefully. He would do.
"I am a claimant to the Throne," he said aloud, his voice a perfect imitation of the real Hingast. "No, I'm the true claimant to the Throne. There is only a sylph between it and me. A sylph Emperor, a sylph boy, who is far too pretty for masculinity."
He threw his head back and laughed.
***
"Enya!"
Recognizing the voice, Sajalan turned. The one person he truly loved trotted toward him, a huge smile splitting her pretty pixie face. Formerly of Hingast's army, which he had joined for loot and pillage, Sajalan found himself unemployed. For now.
"Meylka!"
Infertile sylph and human hugged.
"Thought I had lost you, enya," snuffled the sylph.
Sajalan stroked the small creature's long silver hair. "Not yet," he reassured her. He thought he had lost her, afraid that she might be on her way back to Eldova with the rest of the army not dead or captured. That bothered him a lot more than he cared to admit. He should have known she would not leave without him.
The sylph looked up, her earpoints and eyes showing concern. "What will we do now you work for nobody?"
Sajalan smiled. "The City Guard have interviewed me and they agree I'm no threat to Marka, which is good news."
Meylka waited for her master to explain further.
"They offered land, provided I took a couple of itinerant sylphs, but I'm no farmer. My skills involve swords and pikes, so I applied to join the City Guard. Got an interview tomorrow." He grinned at her.
Meylka could not contain a delighted smile and her earpoints twitched in pleasure. Perhaps she might get some new clothes; the woolen shirt and breeches she wore now were about ready to fall off her.
"A few of the lads have applied to join the City Guard or the Vintner Army." He shook his head. "The Emperor is very forgiving. A sylph."
"A sylph who beat our army." It sounded as if Meylka's loyalties still lay with Eldova. She believed sylphs served humans, not the other way about. She snuggled closer.
"Have you found anywhere for us to sleep yet?" she asked.
Sajalan grimaced. "Not yet," he replied. "Soon."
***
Belaika-y-Marcus cuddled Eleka. Seeing his anakya at Zandra's side had proved one of the proudest moments of his life. His experience told him that the women of Marka had arrived just in time to help throw back the invader. He also knew that, if not for the women, the casualties would have been much higher even after Kelanus appeared. And possibly resulted in Hingast's victory.
He stroked his wife's earpoints gently and felt pleasure as she murmured something unintelligible in appreciation. He and Eleka were not alone in the apartment, but they were left alone. He was grateful for that. Though he had no problem with open expressions of love, like most sylphs he did not approve of open lovemaking. Eleka twisted round to look into his face.
"It does not matter if the next one is not a boy," she whispered. "I promise to find you a second wife."
Belaika smiled. "I do not want a second wife," he replied. "There is no sylph anywhere in the world to compare with you."
Eleka flushed a brighter blue. "Even so, with Salafisa –"
"With the gwerin, you are senior wife no matter what." Belaika smiled at her. In a family, position and rank within
"Yes," came the candid reply.
"If you want me to have a second wife, I will support you," he said after a moment's pause. Sylph wives were fierce about their rank. The senior wife held a higher status than the junior wife or wives. Once there were two breeding females, they could always outvote Belaika on some things. He would have to submit to that, as sylphs were democratic in outlook, but there would always be times when one of the wives would side with him against the other. Little wonder that humans had time to do so many things: they merely dictated to more junior members, while sylphs wasted so much of the day working out who stood where in relation to whom they had no time for much else.
He grunted as Eleka poked him. "What you laughing at?" she demanded. "And do not say 'nothing'."
Belaika changed what he had been about to say. "Just a thought." He looked at his wife, eyes glowing.
Eleka looked back at him, grinned, then rolled over so she looked down at him.
"Let us try again for a son," she whispered.
***
Epilogue
Reward
Kytra stood among the ship's officers and looked around the deck of the brand new Velvet Moon. Her good earpoint stood upright in excitement and twitched in contentment. Frost clung to spars and rigging as yet untouched by the sun and the small sylph shivered. She was unused to northern winters and even the locals claimed this one had been the harshest for many years. She'd spent most of the past season wadded with layers of breeches, shirts and tunics, and even worn soft boots during the coldest snap. Her only consolation was that the southern crew, with sun-darkened faces and slanted eyes, had suffered as badly.
The pleasant warm sunshine hinted at the spring to come and a winter all but spent. Where it touched deck and rope, mast and metalwork, steam rose gently. The ship had not yet tasted salt water, her planks still untested by wind and wave. Kytra had watched the ship, her ship, grow from Builder's Drawing Number 876, through the keel laying ceremony and plank steaming to now, the day of her launch.
She glanced up at the masts and across to the yards resting on the deck. She smiled at the snowy sails, bent on just the day before. The compass and oars had arrived the day before that. Without these things, trials were impossible. Gulls rode the wind overhead, aware this ship was not yet a source of food. The blue sky stretched as far as she could see. A perfect day for launching.