Markan Throne by Nicholas A. Rose

  Petan's eyes widened. "You have reason to fear a sylph beggar?"

  "I have reason to distrust that sylph beggar," corrected Marlen.

  "I'll arrange an accident for him, if you like."

  Marlen's good humor returned. "That might be necessary, but wait for me to give the word."

  "Very well." Petan leaned back and caught the eye of the serving sylph. "Girl! Ale!"

  ***

  The public gallery in the coronation building was really two galleries. The first overlooked the Senate, where most executive decisions affecting Marka were made. Two dividing walls separated it from Coronation Hall, where the Supreme Council met and deliberated on all legislation coming from the Senate; to accept, reject or amend as necessary. A huge stained glass window, depicting the first Mark founding the original Markan Empire, took up one wall of Coronation Hall. The empty warehouse opposite stole much of the light for the window, but it was still an impressive piece. But Sandev had no interest in the Supreme Council while the Senate continued its debate whether or not to recognize the Throne.

  Unlike the Supreme Council, where the seats were arranged in a vague "u" around a gray plinth – presently empty, but where the Throne would stand once recognized – the benches in the Senate were arranged in two rows, facing each other. Those rows were five deep, each higher than the one in front. The Senate leader occupied a chair at one end of the hall.

  "We have no need of the Throne!"

  Sandev didn't know the Senator presently speaking and, like all the younger Senators, he displayed a deeply opinionated view.

  "We have conducted our affairs for two-and-a-half centuries in peace and good order. There is no need for an empty Throne."

  "Which will not stay empty," added another Senator, an older man with iron-gray hair. "Today we debate whether to recognize the Throne; tomorrow we debate who to put on it. Must we rebuild the Empire, knowing it will be reborn in blood, as empires always are?"

  Everybody stared at this Senator.

  "Taylon Xanas still trying for a republic," whispered Sandev.

  "We want to see Marka united and strong again," explained the Senate leader, Lanas Exen. "We all agree on that much. Two Vintners have been invited to Marka and we all agreed it could be allowed, especially as either could take this city, should he wish."

  "We should have invited all the claimants!" The young Senator grew angry, a good thing in Sandev's opinion. It meant the argument was being won, if slowly. "And tell them to drop their claims."

  Lanas shook his head. "It's inevitable that one will force his way to the Throne," he replied. "Best for the Senate to debate the strongest claims, make its recommendation and then support the new monarch in his quest to reunite our lands. Or would you prefer one to fight his way and take what he sees as his right? What future for Senate and Supreme Council then? An Emperor guided by us, or one who is our sworn enemy?"

  At this point, the Senators became aware that Sandev sat in the public gallery. One by one, heads turned and fingers pointed her out to friends. Finally the young Senator looked up and scowled.

  "Do we really run Marka?" he asked, sourly. "Would we really advise any new Emperor? Or will another pull the strings?"

  Sandev remained unruffled. The young man would not dare name her, but his accusation held an element of truth. She wanted the right man to become Emperor and to achieve that, the Throne must be recognized. She continued to sit through the proceedings, outwardly unperturbed. She leaned towards Stanak.

  "What's his name?" she whispered, nodding towards the young Senator.

  "Dlavan Hallend," replied Stanak. "By all accounts, a rising star."

  Sandev reflected that unless Dlavan's parents had a taste for exotic names, he was not from Marka.

  Lanas brought the debate back to its point. "We are not here to debate who should take the Throne, or what to advise any future occupant, but whether or not the Throne should be recognized. You should have polled your constituents; my own favor recognition."

  They should all favor recognition, reflected Sandev. That the people wanted an Emperor should be obvious to all Senators. The only problem was which of the claimants to choose. She felt quietly confident one of the Vintners would fill that Throne. If these windbags ever recognized it.

  "The debate is going well," remarked Stanak, watching for potential danger. Political arenas held more risk to his charge than the street.

  Sandev sniffed. "They've discussed this for days. They may take many more to discuss it. Time we do not have." She turned her head, aware of someone calling to her from the floor.

  "Why doesn't the great Sandev come down here and tell us her view?" demanded Dlavan. "I'm sure we will listen."

  Sandev leaned forward over the balcony. "If I wished to impose my view, I would stand as a Senator myself. I am sure Marka is in good hands today."

  Laughter and applause met her words and the young Senator, with a good-natured grin, turned away.

  "A lucky escape," remarked Sandev. "It is rare for me to address the Senate, but it usually ends in disaster when I do."

  "Too many minds to control at once?"

  She turned to Stanak. "What did you say?"

  The bodyguard smiled. "Nothing important." He changed the subject, bored of the debate dragging on below. "Do you want me to visit the Guildsman? We'd better check Janin's story."

  Sandev nodded. "Yes, but be careful."

  "I am always careful." Stanak's smile broadened. "Very careful."

  ***

  Olista strode from Coronation Hall into the main lobby, pleased to hear that the debate in the Senate was proceeding well. They had taken longer than he thought possible, but felt certain recognition might come today. He smiled as he saw two familiar people stood inside the main entrance.

  "Rare to see you here, Sandev." He managed to include Stanak in his smile.

  "I tire of those who see me as a manipulator or a threat," replied Sandev. Her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled; she had genuine liking for the Supreme Councilor. "I had to see how the debate was going. Yet even in the public gallery, I could see they feared."

  "Better fear than love," Olista retorted. "In politics, nothing good ever comes of love."

  "Unfortunately."

  Olista barked a laugh. "They fear an immortal," he said, pausing outside the doors.

  "Siranva's gift is sometimes a curse," replied Sandev. "And I am not immortal. Stick a knife into me and I'll bleed to death as surely as any other human."

  "Just so." Olista nodded again. "But the knife is unlikely while they believe you are immortal. Your presence may help swing the vote in our favor. Any news of Hingast?"

  Sandev shook her head. "Nothing you don't already know. Incidentally, when will you invite me to dinner? I would love to see how Zenepha is shaping up."

  "Come on Sylvanday," replied the Councilor. "Somewhat apt, don't you think?"

  "Very." Sandev turned to leave, but Olista's next words halted her.

  "He still remembers most of what he read in the Histories. I've tested him several times. He's doing quite well with the Legal Histories, too."

  Sandev nodded. "Excellent."

  The Supreme Councilor inclined his head and left Sandev, returning to the innards of the coronation building.

  Stanak spoke. "I am surprised that a sylph can learn to read, never mind work his way through all seventeen volumes of the History. And you say he is now working his way through the Legal History?"

  Sandev smiled. "Many sylphs can be taught to read," she replied. "I admit that Zenepha is exceptional, which is why I loaned him the books."

  "What are you two planning for him?" pressed Stanak. "High office? He's a slave, by Ranva! A slave, and he's better educated than I am."

  She laughed. "Like sylphs, you see far more than you let on."

  ***

  Zenepha put the book aside with a sigh. Volume Six of the Legal Historie of Precedent and Landmarks almost finished. And only three more volumes to compl
ete after this one. Thankfully, this series of books was much less than the seventeen volumes of the History of the Markan Empire from the First Mark to the Collapse of the Second Empire. One day, he hoped someone would compile books like these with titles that took less time to read than the books themselves.

  The walled garden trapped sunlight and heat all year round and the sylphs usually made the most of sunny days, basking in the heat, even in winter. A couple of outdoor sylphs, under the supervision of the gardener, weeded and dug in the borders, preparing them for the fresh plants soon to be taken out of the glasshouse. Zenepha stretched and yawned, blue tongue protruding briefly as he pushed his arms to their fullest extent.

  "I hate seeing that thing," remarked Selkina, at his side.

  "What? Oh, that." Zenepha regarded the tattoo on the inside of his left biceps with little emotion. The black lines had always been there, but nobody knew what they meant beyond proving Zenepha came from the Key.

  Few sylphs sold from the Key had the tattoo, but all those with it had been sold from there. He remembered little from before; the few memories left to him were hazy and vague. His master believed that he had been drugged to make him forget and only thinking of this ever made Zenepha angry. More than anything else, he wanted his memories back.

  Over the wall of the villa, he could just see the upper part of the giant pyramid. Many claimed that was the Key, but Olista said not. His master became evasive when Zenepha asked to know where he might find the Key. If everyone in Marka knew that the empire came into being to protect the Key, it seemed most, other than those who traded directly with it, had forgotten its location.

  But Zenepha knew Sandev remembered.

  He used to ask questions about the Key, the Ark Star and the strange objects like the pyramid outside the city walls, but Sandev refused to answer. She told him research sharpened the memory and that he should read more. Many ancient books held answers. When he persisted, she said the full truth would frighten humans, never mind over-inquisitive sylphs.

  Selkina watched her husband with concern. She knew mentioning the tattoo made him introspective; she had done it to make him forget those books he was forced to read. She felt Zenepha read too much. For sylphs, knowledge was a dangerous thing. She had even tried to talk him out of pursuing Sandev to learn answers about his past. If humans had somehow stolen her husband's memories, they had done it for good reason. It was sad Zenepha could not remember his family, but he had her.

  "You spend too much time with books," she said. "We should try for children again."

  Zenepha grimaced. "A waste of time." Not that the trying wasn't fun, of course. "They did something to me. Enya says no sylph with the tattoo can breed."

  Selkina winced. He seemed far more comfortable with that fact than she. Without children, her own status suffered, but she tried to ignore that. Zenepha would make a good father. He was good with the younglings here. "Even so, it is a duty to try."

  Zenepha looked at his wife with compassion. "You knew before saying yes," he said.

  Selkina smiled. "You deserve to have children."

  "So do you."

  Silence returned. Zenepha reached for his book again.

  Selkina rose to her feet and dusted herself down. "Shall we walk? Then we must get the chores finished."

  Zenepha pushed the book aside again and nodded. No more reading today.

  ***

  Perhaps the most lavish of all in the coronation building, the Supreme Councilor's outer office contained researchers and advisors, laboring under the careful eye of his secretary, Melda. Strewn with papers and lined with books, an inner office formed his own sanctuary. Only Melda entered uninvited and she talked with Olista now. She had bad news.

  "Molochi and his troop have returned," she told him.

  "Excellent." Olista managed a smile. "What did the sisters say? Are they amenable?"

  Melda held the Supreme Councilor's gaze. "They said nothing and they gave no reaction. The ilvenhome is empty. They are gone."

  "Gone?"

  "They are all gone," repeated Melda.

  "They have moved? We need an ilven."

  Melda held her ground. "They rode straight into the ilvenhome. Molochi says it looks as though they were never there. Completely deserted. No sign of any sister."

  Olista shook his head and forced calm on himself. "We need an ilven to attach herself to the Vintner claimant. It'll help woo the Senate and nudge them towards recognition of the right claim. If the sisters are gone, it makes Marcus Vintner's life harder. I assume that also means no sign of the gwerins?"

  "No gwerins either." Melda looked sympathetic. "They could be anywhere. Or dead."

  "One began advising in the Eleventh Century; she's bound to be dead by now. The other two are much younger. Barring accidents, they should be lurking somewhere."

  Melda scratched her chin. "I heard a tale about a gwerin who came here the same day Emperor Evlander's three left," she said. "No record of her existence, but none of her leaving either."

  "Rono's mythical advisor?"

  "Perhaps no myth. An order penned by Rono has survived: that no record of her presence was to be made. A live myth, I suspect."

  "If we can find her, I'll have her," said Olista.

  Melda gave a quick bow with her head. "No trace so far, but I will continue to search."

  That, thought Olista, was typical of his secretary. She knew of a fourth gwerin and had already begun a hunt. She needed no direction from him. "If the ilven have abandoned another home, their numbers are still dwindling," he said.

  "That is Sandev's worry more than ours," said Melda.

  Practical, and to the point.

  Olista and Melda turned as the office door opened, revealing a messenger.

  "Supreme Councilor!" The boy panted, doubtless rushing around all the offices. "The Senate have agreed to recognize the Throne."

  "I shall come to the Supreme Council immediately."

  The boy dashed out, leaving the door open.

  Olista took time to tug his robe on over his clothes, nodded to his secretary and left his office. He walked in a leisurely way through the corridors back to Coronation Hall. As he entered, the packed Supreme Council fell silent. The stained glass window, depicting the first Mark, dominated the room. Ominously empty, a gray plinth stood at one end of the hall, under the window. Lanas Exen stood beside it.

  Olista swept into his seat. "You have something for us, Senator?" he asked.

  "Supreme Councilor," began the Senate leader. "We are pleased to announce to this Supreme Council that the Senate has agreed to recognize the Throne of Marka again. We request the Supreme Council recommends to us candidates for that Throne."

  "Senator Lanas," began Olista. "Thank you for your information. We are well aware this subject has been debated over several days and are pleased such a contentious issue has finally reached conclusion. We in the Supreme Council have already agreed that, should the Senate again recognize the Throne, we will authorize that decision. Go and announce that the Throne is again recognized; Marka is again an empire."

  Lanas nodded and left.

  Gorfron, the oldest High Councilor, stood. "I suppose we'd best get some strong young men to bring the Throne in here," he said, his voice thin and reedy. "Supreme Councilor, I must warn you that now it is recognized, our troubles are just beginning. Many former Prefectures have grown used to their independence. The way ahead will be tough, difficult and bloody. May Siranva help us all in the centuries to come."

  Olista smiled. "I am sure that Siranva will help us ensure any bloodshed is kept to an absolute minimum."

  "Siranva will leave human affairs to humans," countered Gorfron.

  "The new Emperor will deal with the Prefectures. Many want to see the Empire rise again."

  "And many more do not."

  Olista smiled. Doubtless the councilors feared a time of military conquest and bloodshed. He had read several pamphlets written by Marcus Vintner and knew the
man had a more political than militaristic outlook. He preferred to take reluctant Prefectures by stealth, offering military protection, fiscal aid and possibly even a customs union to bring them into the fold. This method took years but, once they agreed to take the Markan currency, their fate would be sealed and their independence doomed. These men would learn, eventually.

  "Marka already has ten Prefectures under her rule and protection," remarked another Councilor. "More will come with the Vintners and, with an Emperor, still more will return to the fold."

  "If the two Vintners stop fighting each other."

  "To say nothing of the other claimants. Hingast, for example."

  "Councilors!" called Olista, deciding to end this before it got out of hand. "These are problems for another day. For now, let us rejoice that Marka has taken the first step out of the ashes of the Second Empire."

  "There are many things we need to recommend."

  Olista let it all wash over him. The first battle was won.

  ***

  Stanak dropped a small copper coin in front of Janin as he passed. The sylph stared down at it.

  "Is that all?" he squeaked in disbelief.

  "If it displeases you, I'll have it back." Stanak scowled down at the beggar and lowered his voice. "Are they in?"

  Janin scowled right back. "Misers like you usually ask for change," he snarled. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "They have not come out all day."

  "No pleasing some people." Stanak looked at his hand. "Thank you." A silver coin joined the copper one.

  "Better," grumbled Janin, secreting the silver under his blanket. Never show silver to passersby, who would then assume you needed no more. He thrust the copper coin towards Stanak. "Your change."

  "Keep it." Stanak pushed the beggar from his mind and crossed the road to the Guildsman.

  The moment he entered the inn, he knew that everybody would immediately suspect he had something to do with the City Guard. They would be wrong, of course, but he was certainly not their friend. Stanak had no sympathy for Hingast or his supporters at all.

  He pushed the door open and looked around. The main room was as clean as could be expected, ale casks set on trestles, with a couple of serving girls and a sylph with a miserable expression ready to move. Several men sat at tables drinking, but the inn was quiet this time of the day. He glanced towards the man with pale blue eyes sat at the window.