Markan Sword, Page 3

  "Why?"

  "You ask me that?" Neptarik's eyebrows and earpoints rose in unison. "A mere sylph."

  Reshiad eyed the sylph's paint. "That word does not begin to describe you," he admitted.

  Both turned as Tektu rejoined them, carrying a bundle. "Damp here and there," she said, "but wearable."

  Neptarik looked Reshiad straight in the eye. "We will give you privacy to dress," he said, before leading Tektu back outside.

  Reshiad's shirt and breeches smelled faintly of smoke, but "damp here and there" proved something of an understatement. Thanks to the fire, his clothes were warm and wet, instead of cold and wet. His boots felt worse, but he stamped his feet into them anyway and cheered up. His jerkin went on next, followed by his belt; he blinked in surprise to find his knife still in place.

  He crawled from the dugout and eyed the two metal trowels. Surely the sylphs hadn't dug this using just those? He felt grudging respect as he saw no other tools anywhere. Once outside, he took deep breaths of clear air. He could tolerate sylph sinabra in small doses, but it had almost overwhelmed him inside the dugout.

  From beside the fire, Tektu stared at him with barely concealed hostility.

  "Where is Neptarik?" asked Reshiad.

  For a moment, he thought the infertile might ignore him, but she shrugged her shoulders.

  "Looking around," she replied. "Making sure the soldiers are not coming here."

  Reshiad glanced at the fire; the lack of visible smoke meant the sylphs had found very dry wood. "Do you think they might?"

  Another shrug. "If I start to run, it might be a good idea for you to keep up," she replied.

  "Why are you helping me?"

  Tektu looked him directly in the eyes. No infertile would dare hold a human's gaze this way! Why was she different? "Now that is a question," she said, after a long moment, "to which I have no answer."

  Reshiad did not believe her. Something about Tektu bothered him, and not just because she acted nothing like an ordinary infertile. Or like any other sylph. She did not quite fit.

  He jumped as Neptarik abruptly materialized and pretended he had not noticed Tektu's smile. He masked irritation as the sylphs conversed in their own language and wished he had taken the time to learn more of it. He only caught one or two words, not enough to follow the conversation.

  "I'd like to know what you want with me," he told them, "when you've finished jabbering away."

  Both sylphs looked at him.

  "You are both from further east," continued Reshiad. He pointed to Neptarik. "Marka?"

  "Calcan."

  He turned to Tektu. "From Calcan too?"

  "I am from everywhere." The infertile shrugged. "And nowhere."

  Reshiad ignored the cryptic reply and his attention returned to Neptarik. "Why are you here?"

  "Told you. Looking for the boy who should rightfully be Prefect. Sixteen years old. Hazel eyes. Dark hair." Neptarik paused.

  "Lots of boys have hazel eyes and dark hair," countered Reshiad. "Especially around here."

  "You were five when evacuated from the palace," said Neptarik.

  Reshiad laughed. "You have the wrong boy. I cannot remember much from age five, but I remember my sister being born and she is four years younger. Before the time you say I was taken from the palace."

  The painted sylph shrugged. "Perhaps."

  "And I would remember having my name changed." Reshiad gave the sylphs a level look. "You know your name from very young, maybe even before you can speak."

  "Awen," said Neptarik.

  "Reshiad," insisted Reshiad. "I'm not the boy you seek."

  "Put him back where you found him," interrupted Tektu. "Or hand him over to the soldiers. There might be a reward. Choca."

  Neptarik subconsciously licked his lips.

  "I'm not a commodity to be traded," snarled Reshiad.

  "If choca is involved you are," said Tektu.

  "Enough, Tektu." Neptarik did not raise his voice, but the infertile immediately subsided. The male sylph regarded the human boy for a few moments. "Very well," he said with a shrug, "wait a little longer and I will take you home. Tektu, get ready to move on. Reshiad's home is on our way."

  Tektu disappeared into the dugout.

  "Why are you looking for the real Prefect's son?" asked Reshiad. "Why now?"

  "My owner wants the real Prefect's son," replied Neptarik. "We want him alive because Dervra wants him dead."

  "To cause trouble?"

  "More for true justice. Boys your age disappear and we think that what happens spoils their day."

  Reshiad looked away. "I'm glad it's not me."

  "It could be."

  "So your owner sent you out here to look for someone who might be him. Anybody could claim to be... whatever his name is."

  "Awen Adelbard Haist." Neptarik shrugged. "Until we find him and get people behind him, these killings will continue. All very cruel."

  "He might already be dead," said Reshiad. He saw Neptarik's earpoints suddenly twitch up, sag down and jerk upright again. The human boy leaned forward. "You know more than you're telling."

  Tektu saved Neptarik from answering. She left the dugout carrying blankets and the leaves from the ceiling. The sylphs quickly divided the blankets and leaves into two bundles, securing a trowel in the middle of each.

  "Neptarik." Reshiad used his firm no-nonsense voice. It usually worked well with his father's sylphs. "Tell me about Awen."

  Neptarik ignored him. "We should leave now," he said. He looked at the dugout. "We might need it again."

  Reshiad sat back and watched the two sylphs maneuver branches across the entrance. When they finished, nothing looked out of place. If not for his anger at being ignored, he would admire the sylphs' skill at concealing the small cave.

  "Tell me about Awen," insisted Reshiad.

  "Want me to put him back in the river?" asked Tektu.

  "Shut. Up." Reshiad scowled at the infertile.

  Tektu glared back. "No."

  Reshiad lifted his hand...

  ...and flew through the air until he crashed back to the ground. Tektu stood over him.

  "If you ever lift a hand to me again, I will break every bone in it," she threatened, voice calm.

  "Enough, Tektu." Neptarik turned to Reshiad. "It might be wise if you try not to attack her. She can get irritable now and then."

  Reshiad surreptitiously rubbed his hip and avoided Tektu's eyes.

  Neptarik turned back to Tektu. "I will lead, you follow."

  "You should discipline your sylph more often," said Reshiad. "Sylphs do not act like that."

  Neptarik smiled. "Leave the when and how to me. Keep your hands to yourself; we are not on your father's farm."

  They left the small camp in silence.

  Reshiad followed Neptarik, marveling as the sylph appeared and disappeared, thanks to his paint. Without the sylph's movement, he would be unable to see him at all. He felt less happy with Tektu bringing up the rear. What was she? That throw had hurt, but she couldn't be strong enough to hurl him into the air.

  "We must cross the river," he pointed out.

  "We know," growled Tektu from behind. "Keep moving."

  Neptarik dodged this way and that, pausing occasionally to listen. The sound of the river grew gradually to a roar. The sylph scrambled over rocks, keeping his footing easily, unlike the unfortunate Reshiad, who slipped a few times.

  "You don't mean to cross here?" squeaked the human boy.

  He stared wide-eyed at ragged rocks with water foaming between them. Wet, green and black with growth, those rocks looked very, very slippery.

  Neptarik leaned close. "Put all your weight on one foot at a time. Think and look before you move."

  "I'll be in the water," protested Reshiad.

  Neptarik shrugged and pointed upriver. "There's a road through the forest fifteen milas that way, and a bridge, if you prefer to go around. Perhaps soldiers are there too." He pointed across the river, roughly
in the direction of Reshiad's home. "My owner is that way and the way we go from here."

  Reshiad tried and failed to see exactly where Neptarik placed his feet, for the sylph moved like a dancer, crossing the river in moments.

  "You moving today?" Tektu grumbled from behind.

  Reshiad glanced over his shoulder, then looked back to where Neptarik waited impatiently on the other bank. He stared at the water and rocks.

  "If you do not start moving farmboy, I will leave you here and you can walk around."

  "What are you?" Reshiad's gaze searched the sylph's face.

  Tektu sniffed. "If I charged for that question, I might get rich. Now get over that river."

  All weight on one foot at a time. Reshiad picked a likely looking spot on the nearest rock and stepped onto it. His boots protected him from the rock's sharp edges and he wondered how the barefoot Neptarik coped.

  He looked for his next foothold and tried to ignore the water foaming between his rock and the next. He stepped across the torrent and imagined the river rose up to take him. Momentum carried his other foot forward to the next rock, but he only leaned against that one; his weight still on the rock behind, as Neptarik had suggested.

  He glanced over his shoulder to see Tektu watching impatiently. Those silver-gray eyes glittered at him, perhaps willing him to fall in.

  The infertile wasn't his problem right now, but he must cross this river. He put pressure on his forward foot. Slippery, this rock would not hold him. He shifted position and tried again.

  "Go on, farmboy," urged Tektu.

  Reshiad resisted the urge to snarl or swear at her, but one good kick from behind and he would be in.

  No turning back.

  That last thought almost froze him to the spot, but he fought sudden panic. He shifted position again as he chose where might be a good spot. He transferred his weight by moving his body forward...

  ...and slipped.

  For a moment he dangled, aware of something holding on to the back of his jerkin, pulling him back onto the safe rock. He panted and looked over his shoulder.

  "You are strong," he told her. "Thank you."

  Tektu shrugged, but her expression was neutral, an improvement on disapproval. "Careful," she cautioned. "Try that rock instead."

  Two more steps and Reshiad was faced with something more than a step wide. Though not whipped to foam here, the water still moved swiftly. More than a pace wide, the gap was wide enough to make any jump to the next rock something of a leap of faith.

  "Is that one slippery?" he called to the waiting Neptarik.

  "Yes," came the morale-sapping answer.

  Reshiad paused. "I'll have to jump it," he called.

  "Fine. I did too."

  Reshiad blinked. "I'll be off the other side," he pointed out. "I'm probably twice as heavy as you. More."

  "Too well fed," came from the doom monger behind.

  The nimble Neptarik jumped back to the last rock and moved to one side. He tapped a spot immediately in front of him with a foot. "Aim for that," he suggested.

  "And?"

  "Keep your eyes open and get ready to hang onto the far bank."

  "What?" Reshiad shook his head.

  "Keep your weight forward as you jump," continued Neptarik, "so no backward slips."

  "Go on," urged Tektu.

  Reshiad took a deep breath, and flung himself forward. Hitting the rock, his leading foot immediately slipped from beneath him and his upper body leaned forward. So near, yet he would still end up in the river.

  Abruptly, vaguely aware of a hand somewhere on his lower back, his speed increased and he flew across the last step to crash into the far bank. Remembering Neptarik's urging, he clung on.

  "Now climb!" shouted Neptarik.

  Reshiad obeyed and finally pulled himself to relative safety. He lay panting on his back and stared up at the gently swaying treetops, vaguely aware of the two sylphs following.

  "Well," he said, "thank you for getting me across."

  Neptarik grunted something before slinging his small pack across his back.

  Tektu rearranged her pack and stared down at him. "Might have been quicker to let you walk round." The familiar glower had returned.

  "Why are you resting?" asked Neptarik. "The hard part is done now. Thought you wanted to go home."

  Pulling himself to his feet, Reshiad resisted a growl.

  ***

  Reaching the edge of the forest, Neptarik pointed.

  "Over that way," he said.

  Reshiad nodded, but said nothing. He left the sylphs and trudged towards his home in silence. The late afternoon sunshine bathed everything in a warm, pink glow and he hurried ahead.

  When the buildings came into sight, he heaved a sigh of relief. For some strange reason, he imagined that they might have been burned. He had feared that the soldiers would vent their frustration at his escape on his family.

  He glanced back at the forest, but saw nothing of his two rescuers. At least Neptarik would be invisible with his paint, but he should still be able to see Tektu.

  Clearly, they had not waited.

  When he saw the sheep, his relief evaporated.

  That one might be resting was normal enough, but woolly mounds dotted the gentle pasture and not one raised its head as he approached.

  Crimson stained every fleece. Even the lambs, still very young and barely able to keep their footing, had been slaughtered, together with their mothers.

  Reshiad gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

  No smoke rose from the chimneys, where his mother should be cooking a meal by now, or the sylphs heating water for baths. None of the sheepdogs raced out to greet him, as normal.

  Nothing but silence.

  Entering the farmyard, Reshiad took one look and began to scream.

  ***

  Revulsion shone in Neptarik's silver-gray eyes as he looked around the farmyard. Tektu wore a bored expression as she looked at each human and sylph corpse in turn, ignoring the clouds of flies.

  "Why?" Tears streamed down Reshiad's cheeks, but anger shone in his hazel eyes.

  Neptarik shrugged. "Maybe because they resisted. Maybe because you got away."

  "So it's my fault?"

  The male sylph eyed the boy. He had seen this sort of reaction before, even suffered from it himself. "The fault lies with the men who did this," he replied. "And with the man who sent them."

  "Because they think I might be this... what's-his-name."

  "Awen Adelbard Haist," said Neptarik. "Yes, they think you might be."

  Muscles in Reshiad's cheeks twitched. "You knew, didn't you?"

  "No." Neptarik kept his voice quiet. Beside him, Tektu tensed.

  "You knew they killed people who resisted!" shouted Reshiad.

  Neptarik spread his arms. "I did not know they would come here to kill your family," he protested. "Once they saw you, I believed they would carry on hunting you."

  "While we were yapping, soldiers were murdering my family!"

  "Shouting at Neptarik will change that?" Tektu stared at the human boy, more than a hint of aggression in her eyes. "The soldiers killed your family, not us. Soldiers sent by the Prefect."

  Reshiad stepped forward.

  "You have my sympathy," continued Tektu, expression and earpoints hinting her words were a lie, "but lift your hand any higher, remember what I said the last time you tried that. Lift your hand to the Prefect, not me or Neptarik."

  Reshiad gave a bitter laugh, almost a sob. "The Prefect? How can I lift my hand to him? I'm just a peasant boy."

  "You are a human," answered Neptarik. "You can be anything you want."

  Tektu looked at Neptarik.

  "Come and speak to my owner," said the painted sylph. "He might help." His earpoints wilted and he inspected a fingernail, as if embarrassed.

  "Might?"

  Neptarik shrugged.

  Reshiad looked from one sylph to the other. "Where is your owner?" he asked.


  "A day or so away, if we move fast," replied Neptarik.

  Reshiad looked at the sky. "It will be dark soon. And we must bury the dead."

  "We?" whispered Tektu.

  "Yes," said Neptarik, giving the strange infertile a furious look. "We will help you do that."

  ***

  "Thought you said you could run."

  Reshiad grimaced at the near contempt in Tektu's voice. "I didn't realize you meant all night," he grumbled.

  He had not taken much from his home, just a couple of blankets and a change of clothes, all wrapped around a firebow and the bundle in turn wrapped inside his oilskin. His knife hung from his belt, and he'd tucked a sling into a pocket. A flexible saw – a narrow strip of metal – acted like a second belt. It looked like a shiny length of string, but could cut through wood as easily as a sharp knife through cheese.

  "Lucky those soldiers are not still here," replied Tektu. "They would catch you otherwise. Annoying after all the effort we have put into you."

  Reshiad almost squealed when a shadow transformed into Neptarik.

  "The way is clear for milas," said the painted sylph, using the human tongue for Reshiad's benefit. "But keep quiet; you never know if I missed anything."

  Although he heard sincerity in the sylph's voice, Reshiad doubted if Neptarik missed a thing.

  "We will carry on to the next byawta," continued Neptarik, "and rest there."

  "Next what?" asked Reshiad.

  Neptarik shrugged, ignorant of the human word he wanted.

  "Means a cave we made ourselves," said Tektu. "Now run."

  Reshiad feared he might die before they reached the dugout. They ran beside the road, ready to jump into the ditch at the side to hide from any soldiers. From anyone at all, he suspected.

  When the road led them into forest again, the sylphs turned aside, Tektu now having to fully guide the night-blind human. Not even starlight penetrated here. Soon, the sylphs pulled branches clear from the next dugout.

  "How many are there around here?" asked Reshiad. He addressed his question to the air, for there was not even a glow from sylph eyes to show him where they stood. "The, ah, byawtas."

  "Byawtula," corrected Neptarik, absently. "One is byawta, more than one –"

  "All right, I'm not altogether ignorant." Reshiad failed to keep irritation out of his voice.

  "Mind your head as you go in," said Tektu, helping the boy to the entrance. "You can crawl into the right. Do your best with your blankets."

  Reshiad fumbled with his blankets in the dark, grateful that breeder sylphs were more or less the same height as humans. If they were all infertile-sized, he might not be able to straighten out properly. Even so, once comfortable, he turned his face to the wall and hoped Tektu would not overhear him weeping for his dead family.