Markan Empire

Markan Empire

  by

  Nicholas A. Rose

  Copyright 2011 Nicholas A. Rose

  Cover: Joleene Naylor

  Editor: Stephanie Dagg

  Book Two of the Markan Empire Trilogy

  Novel Length

  Also in the Markan Empire Trilogy:

  Markan Throne

  Markan Sword

  Novella Length

  The Gifted Trilogy:

  Gifted Apprentice

  Gifted Hunter

  Gifted Avenger

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – Hunting

  Chapter 2 – Marka

  Chapter 3 – Re Taura

  Chapter 4 – Castle Beren

  Chapter 5 – Shadow Riders

  Chapter 6 – Prisoner

  Chapter 7 – Hingast

  Chapter 8 – Rumor

  Chapter 9 – Memories

  Chapter 10 – Plans And Plots

  Chapter 11 – Turivkan

  Chapter 12 – Flight From Turivkan

  Chapter 13 – Planning

  Chapter 14 – Marching North

  Chapter 15 – Escape

  Chapter 16 – Trapped

  Chapter 17 – Evening Chores With Tektu

  Chapter 18 – Tektu's Evil

  Chapter 19 – Enemy Contact

  Chapter 20 – The Banner

  Chapter 21 – Shadow Riders Join Battle

  Chapter 22 – To Marka

  Chapter 23 – Murder In Marka

  Chapter 24 – Sallis ti Ath Hunts

  Chapter 25 – In Marka

  Chapter 26 – Familiar Lands

  Chapter 27 – The Mametain Makes His Move

  Chapter 28 – Neptarik: Spy

  Chapter 29 – Old Enemies

  Chapter 30 – Captives

  Chapter 31 – Avenging Angel

  Chapter 32 – Husband And Wife

  Epilogue

  ***

  Prologue

  I: The Pledge

  One hundred men – thirty of them mounted lancers – and five sylph scouts formed up in the square before the newly reopened West Gate. Husbands and wives had said their final goodbyes; the small army now ready to leave.

  The worst of the ice had been cleared away, but here and there, a sylph earpoint gave an irritated flicker as stray snowflakes settled on an eartip.

  Lance Captain Dekran and Banner Sergeant Yochan made their final checks, ensuring all was as it should be. As senior scout, Belaika glanced at his companions. The other scouts were Markans and at best only part trained. Which meant he would have to carry them most of the way out and back. Only Fhionnen could be regarded as reliable for formulating messages. The rest could pass messages between each other, but would be of little use either as Dekran's messenger or as furthest scout. Belaika knew which of those dangerous jobs he and Fhionnen must shoulder.

  The only married sylph of the five scouts, he felt a stab of loss as he looked across the square at his wife. Pregnant again, this time Eleka insisted she would birth a son. No sylph had ever produced two gwerins and she knew she carried only one child.

  Lance Captain Dekran mounted.

  Banner Sergeant Yochan looked from Belaika to Eleka.

  "You didn't drag her out in this?" he demanded.

  Belaika shrugged. "She insisted."

  Yochan shook his head. "Foolish sylphs. Selinde is expecting too. We said our goodbyes before I came out. Best for her to keep warm. Best for pregnant sylphs, too."

  "We hope for a son." The scout's earpoints twitched before sagging a little.

  Yochan nodded. "So do we, but after five daughters maybe Siranva has other ideas."

  "I will likely miss the birth." Belaika's earpoints sagged further.

  Yochan gripped the sylph's shoulder. "Us married men must look out for each other. If anything happens, I promise to tell Eleka."

  Belaika blinked and bowed his head. "Should you fall, Selinde will know what to tell your son when he is older."

  Yochan's hand left the sylph's shoulder and he smiled. "We are pledged," he said.

  "Pledged," agreed Belaika. He looked away, silently praying that nothing happened to either of them.

  Yochan mounted and hefted the Vintner Standard: a gold dragon's head on a dark blue field. He nodded to Dekran.

  The Captain lifted an arm and motioned ahead. The gate swung open and the small army passed out of the city.

  Belaika turned to smile at his wife and held her gaze as long as possible until the city walls hid her from view.

  His head turned to the front and his expression hardened. He had a job to get on with; he would meet his son when it was done.

  ***

  II: Homecoming

  Even snug in the folds of her cloak, Silmarila wished the late winter wind would ease its chill blast. Carts and sedans queued, patiently waiting their turn to enter Marka. She waited with them on the narrow road into the city, wanting to draw no attention to herself. Many less patient than she walked past the line and ignored choice comments thrown their way by those less mobile than themselves.

  She smiled wistfully at the huge pyramid dwarfing the city, a giant ruby light crystal at its apex. Those seeing Marka for the first time stared more at this feature than at any other and she overheard their awed murmurs. She could remember her own reaction the first time she saw that pyramid. Marka must rank highly in the list of impressive cities, but the pyramid overwhelmed it, dating from a time when much knowledge, now lost, abounded.

  Mounted guardsmen rode along the line to break up a fight. One glanced at Silmarila, eyeing her walking staff and trying to see into the cowl of her cloak. She hoped his memory of her lasted as long as his appraisal.

  Many fighting men eyed that long rod with respect. They knew a quarterstaff when they saw one. She'd had no call for it on her journey, but these were troubled times.

  "All right, that's enough!" One of the guardsmen told the brawlers. "Enough, or you'll spend your time in Marka in a cell."

  The line surged forward before halting again after a few steps. Many waiting to enter the city were travel-worn family groups, drawn by the offer of free land. Some might even be farmers and their families.

  Silmarila wondered how much "free" land was left and of what quality. Although for very different reasons, the rumors that lured these people were the same that brought her to Marka. But she had no need of free land. She looked towards the city gates.

  Marka had an Emperor again.

  The rumor that Marka's Senate had called two claimants to the vacant Throne had caught her attention the year before. Stirred to action, she left her comfortable village to return home and hopefully reclaim her rightful place at the new Emperor's side.

  More rumors followed hard on the shirt tails of the first. One claimant had defeated the other; one had murdered the other after a battle; a general had gone berserk and murdered both claimants... Silmarila could hardly wait to learn the truth.

  There were always rumors, but these were many and too fast to be other than truth, even if embellished.

  "Break it up, I'm telling you!" The scuffle had broken out again. "Any more and you're arrested. All of you!"

  She was already on the road when the whisper of a no longer vacant Throne reached her ears. She had initially discounted what the rumor said; she had laughed at such a ridiculous notion. A sylph on the Throne? A sylph, ruling humans? But the nearer she came to Marka, the more persistent the tale and, now she had arrived, she had no alternative but to accept it as truth.

  When stories of the siege reached her, she almost turned back. She had never flinched from advising it when necessary, but she hated war. All that suffering and pain and hunger and grief.
<
br />   She had halted in a village, wondering whether or not she should turn back, return to advising a village council that appreciated her contribution. And Councilors who had begged her not to travel to Marka.

  Then other stories came.

  An ilven was in Marka. She hadn't seen one of the sisters for, for... Well for longer than she cared to remember. But not only the ilven pulled her onward. A young gwerin had been born in the city. A baby gwerin with no idea what was expected of her, alone and in need of schooling.

  Through the winter, she wished several times that she had listened to those Councilors, but now she could see Marka's gates, Silmarila felt the thrill of homecoming after so long an absence.

  She shivered as the wind chewed through her cloak.

  The city walls were more or less as she remembered them, with repairs needed here and there after last year's siege. Most buildings poking their upper levels above the walls were different, but some familiar edifices loomed benignly toward her.

  The only constant in life is change. She smiled while recalling her tutor's words. Sometimes change came slowly and sometimes it seemed like change had ground to a halt, only to rush forward like an avalanche in winter. Inexorable and blind, not all things changed for the better. But she wished change would affect this damned wind. In early spring, the Markan winter clung tenaciously to its empire, spiting nature's attempts to drive it away.

  She grimaced at the human remains hung in a cage above the gate, picked white by carrion and weather. The placard dangling underneath announced to the literate that these were some of the remains of Hingast, failed invader of Marka. He was not the first to be broken by the Jewel of the World and she doubted if he would be the last. Some rumors claimed Hingast still lived.

  She pushed the cowl of her cloak back just far enough to show her face to the guard at the gate. He gave her a once-over before nodding her through. He had no reason to deny her entry, even if he knew who and what she was. Especially if he knew. She passed through the gate and into the city.

  She took a deep breath; she was home.

  Though the trees lining the center of the main road were new, the streets followed a familiar layout. The bustle of Marka at work was unchanged and she could remember the way to the Imperial Palace.

  As numerous as ever, sylphs thronged the crowd. If any realized what walked among them, they gave no sign of it, but Silmarila increased her pace anyway. Sylphs always saw more than they let on. She drank in Marka's sounds and scents, all so painfully familiar she knew she had missed them. She had reached the end of her journey.

  She turned another corner and smiled in pleasure.

  The Coronation Building looked the same; she would have been shocked if that had changed. She grimaced at the ugly warehouse, built a good time ago to judge from the state of it. That would never have been allowed in Emperor Evlander's day. She left Senate Square and the Imperial Palace stood before her.

  Silmarila mounted the stone steps, ready for the guard's challenge.

  "Halt!"

  She obeyed instantly. This guard wore the uniform of a Markan soldier, which might be an advantage. She kept her voice calm. "Please send a messenger to inform His Majesty of my arrival."

  A small smile played around the guard's mouth as he weighed her up, taking in her dusty cloak and somewhat worn appearance. "You are expected, young lady?"

  Silmarila masked her irritation, but her grip on the quarterstaff tightened. This... this boy dared address her as young lady? She almost told him that she had been born in the first year of Emperor Evlander's reign and was only three years short of completing her third century. She mentally cursed the color of her eyes; the dark brown irises made it almost impossible for humans (and many sylphs) to tell where the pupils began and ended. Or the shape of those pupils. Instead, she pushed her cowl all the way back and set her earpoints free. They now twitched irritably as the guard's eyes widened in recognition of what stood before him.

  "My name is Silmarila-y-Marka," she told him. "Gwerin Advisor to the Throne of Mark and I believe that my presence is demanded by bonds of duty stronger and older than yours."

  The guard nodded and called for a messenger. When he arrived, the young boy stared popeyed at her before dashing back inside. Silmarila smiled at the guard to show she meant him no harm. No matter how exalted her status, she belonged to the Throne. She was property, as surely as the sylphs dotted about.

  The messenger returned moments later.

  "His Majesty will see you now," he squeaked, breathlessly.

  Silmarila's smile widened. Sylph or no, this Emperor at least knew not to keep gwerins waiting.

  "Thank you," she said. "After you."

  She followed the messenger through corridors and up two flights of stairs. Servants and guards looked at her, but hurried about their business. Those who noticed her earpoints stared.

  The messenger stopped and knocked at a door. He opened it, but did not enter. "In here, um, Miss."

  The boy was forgotten as Silmarila swept past. Two sylphs and a human stared at her.

  The tall human male had dark brown hair that curled over his ears. His dark blue eyes were expressionless and he studied her as closely as she studied him.

  An infertile stood behind the human's chair, and her silver-gray eyes held a mixture of awe and fear as she stared at Silmarila. Her tunic had a dragon's head emblazoned on one breast, symbol of the Vintner family. The other sylph in the room must be Zenepha, Emperor of Marka.

  Silmarila dropped into a deep curtsey. "Your Majesty. I am Silmarila-y-Marka, Gw –"

  "Silmarila," said Zenepha, "come and sit." He indicated a vacant chair at which the gwerin stared in surprise. She was allowed to sit in his presence? The sylph made hasty introductions. "This is Marcus Marcus Vintner and Jenn-y-Marcus and I am Zenepha."

  She inclined her head toward Marcus and Jenn as they were named, but no more. Her attention fixed on Zenepha. "Your Majesty, I hurried back as quickly as I could. Have... have any others returned? Samrita or Marasil?"

  Zenepha's silver eyes were grave and his earpoints twitched once. "If you ask after gwerins, you are the only one to make herself known."

  Silmarila's earpoints sagged. "I hoped others might have arrived. Even though I am the youngest, I should not be the only one." Her eyes flickered briefly to Zenepha again. "Was the youngest. I hear there is a young one here?"

  "There is," replied Marcus, before Zenepha could speak.

  "She will need schooling," the gwerin said. "I am happy to offer my services."

  A smile played around Zenepha's mouth and his earpoints twitched in amusement. "Part of your duties as I understand them. Salafisa belongs to Marcus Vintner, but you may teach her."

  "Surprised she does not belong to the Emperor?" asked Marcus, his gaze fixed on the gwerin's face.

  Silmarila was not surprised at all and she shrugged. "His Majesty is only protector of gwerins. If one is no longer needed or wanted by her old owners, the Throne gets first refusal. We needed such protection. And still do, I don't doubt."

  Marcus nodded.

  "The Emperor never laid claim to gwerins born to wild tribes," continued Silmarila. "They usually end up leading their tribe, as wild sylphs elect the oldest as chieftain. Given our longevity, it is inevitable gwerins come to lead such tribes."

  "There are wild sylphs here, if you tire of serving Zenepha." Marcus smiled.

  "I am pleased you have come, Silmarila," interrupted Zenepha. "The gwerin rooms have been kept ready for your return."

  Jenn came around the chair and, eyes still wide, bowed to Silmarila. "I will show you the way."

  Silmarila smiled at the small infertile. Provided the correct rooms had been prepared, she already knew the way, but she wouldn't deflate the sylph. Jenn looked nervous; infertiles usually were around adult gwerins. She had never learned why. "Please lead on. I trust the bathwater is hot? I have come a long way and..."

  Jenn led her out and away.

 
Outside the palace, the late winter wind chilled everything in its path.

  ***

  III: Sandester

  The Aboras, the freezing north wind that scoured everything between the polar ice and Sandester, rattled windows and doors at the observatory. Only a few scruffy villages, soil poor but mineral rich, stood between city and icecap. Sandesterans were used to wrapping up against the Aboras, which often blew until mid-spring. Even so, the wind found its way through most things meant to keep it out.

  Built into a hill and facing south, the Vintner Palace had good protection against the wind. Few buildings in Sandester had north facing doors or windows for the same reason. A century before, Staflan Vintner built the observatory on top of the hill, even if nobody still used it as one. It could be reached by means of a covered stair without leaving the palace. Most of Staflan's notes were still here, though the telescope was long gone. What had turned him away from stargazing remained a mystery and why he had destroyed his telescope equally unknown. The best lensmakers in the known world had gathered in Sandester, thanks to Staflan's pastime.

  Staflan's grandson, Nazvasta Ulvic Vintner – brother of Branad Ulvic Vintner, late claimant to the no-longer vacant Markan Throne – used the observatory as his study. Here he kept his most troubling correspondence. Troubling, ever since his brother had left Sandester for Marka a year before.

  He kept his library here, row upon row of books lining every wall bar one, shelved as high as he could stretch with his arms. A couple of reading desks, three chairs and eight light crystals completed the furniture. One wall held an impressive fireplace, the stone surround shaped into every animal the sculptor's imagination could conjure up. Above that, a lone painting of a ship battering her way through heavy seas provided decoration.

  Nobody but the servants knew he came here; in truth only a few of them were supposed to know, but when one servant knew a thing, they all did. In his experience, they knew more about what went on in palaces and grand houses than the owners. Even here, his spies included servants.

  Spying had always been part of Nazvasta's duties, learned from his uncle. As the potential claimant to the Throne, he had no intention of relinquishing his role of spymaster. Not yet. Siranva knew there were problems enough to keep him busy if he lived to be ninety. His hand hovered over the wooden box where he kept the most important letters.

  "Will you lay your claim?"

  Nazvasta glanced at his companion: Fareen, Sandester's best kept secret. His father and brother had ignored her and most had forgotten the gwerin even existed. She moved through the palace at night and was sometimes not seen even when someone looked directly at her. Useful to his uncle, now she was useful to him.