Chapter One from Markan Throne, issued as a sample for Sample Sunday. Hope everybody enjoys reading it!
(A longer free sample of about 60 thousand words is available from Smashwords,
here.)
Chapter One
Marching to Marka
Belaika shivered in the predawn gloom and stared up at the heavens, mouth open with wonder at the display of shooting stars. While his silvery gray eyes were turned upward, his earpoints twitched as he waited for the whistle that must come, informing him of the intentions of his master's enemies.
Other sounds came from behind, where the army readied itself for battle. He shivered again, this time not from cold. Although he was an army scout, subject to the same discipline as all other soldiers, he did not like battles. He and his kind were scouts and messengers; they were not expected to fight.
Pitched too high for human hearing, the sharp whistle reached Belaika and he stiffened, stretching up to his full height to acknowledge it with his own whistle. He trotted through the outer row of wooden stakes, twisting his way through the defenses and heard the whistle repeated as the message was relayed to the flank camps.
Most soldiers acknowledged him as he passed. He returned their greetings with nods and smiles. Infantrymen formed up before the earth bank and small detachments of mounted cavalry were behind them, all in full view of the approaching enemy. Behind the earth bank stood the war machines: ballistas and huge mangonels.
He reached the yeoman. "
Donenya, I heard," he said.
"How far?" asked the yeoman.
"Five milas, closing." He gave the rest of the message.
The yeoman nodded. "Go and tell the boss," he said.
"
Se bata."
As he turned away, soldiers lifted a hopper full of spears and positioned it on the ballista. Along the rank of ballistas, more men did the same. The green fire was prepared, but the huge cauldrons were not yet lit. The bombardiers hated green fire: they said the only thing worse than handling it was having it land on you. The throwing arm of the last mangonel was now being hauled down, so it would not be seen until it was too late. These war machines - although in one line - were three ranks, each with a corresponding row of marker posts in the field, masquerading as advance stakes. All the mangonels had been ranged the previous day, pins locking the throwing arms into their respective ranges and colored boards attached to each machine to tell the bombardiers which was in which rank. Red for the first - or furthest - markers, white for the second and blue for the third. The men already positioned at the advance stakes had orders to turn and run, lulling the enemy into a false sense of security. They wanted him to believe this was only a small force, not the full army.
Joining the paved road on which the army was camped, Belaika began to run, only slowing as he approached his master's large tent. Orders were shouted, repeated over and over as the yeoman did his work. He was challenged at this tent, though he was well known to the guardsmen.
"Akram," he said.
"Pass." The guard nodded and relaxed the spear that had been leveled against Belaika's chest, more for show than real threat. The guard winked at the scout. "He's awake."
Belaika nodded and pushed through the tent flap. He doubted if many had slept well.
"
Enya," he began, "they are five milas away, coming fast. They move one mila every fifteen minutes, but their war machines are five milas further back, moving one mila every twenty-five minutes. The yeoman knows."
Marcus Vintner, allegedly descended from the first Mark and claimant to the vacant Markan Throne, looked up from his map. Light-crystals provided plenty of light in the center of the otherwise dim tent. As the canvas partition that normally screened off a sleeping area was tied back, Belaika glimpsed untouched bedding, for Marcus had slept with his head on his arm at the map table. Belaika was a little taller than his owner, his appearance more striking thanks to the gray, green and brown skin paint that covered his body, with vivid slashes of black across face and chest. Despite this, Marcus was the one with real presence. Belaika's silvery gray eyes, cat-slit black pupils narrowed against the brightness of the tent's interior, and his pointed ears, betrayed his race and hence his status.
The smile Marcus directed at his sylph was, however, genuine and warm. "Good." He pushed dark hair away from dark-blue eyes. "Ask Kelanus to join me."
The sylph paused, toying with the black leather collar about his neck. "They come as you predicted."
Marcus' smile broadened and his eyes sparkled. "This is the only road to Marka from the north." He stroked his chin, thinking aloud. "Even so, Branad won't expect us to be waiting for him here. What about the rest of them?"
Belaika shook his head. "Too far away still." A thought struck him and his earpoints twitched. "The shooting stars. Did you see?"
"I have seen them before. Go to Kelanus. I need him here."
"
Se bata." Belaika bobbed a quick bow and ducked back out of the tent.
Marcus reached for the still steaming cup of alovak and savored its distinctive odor before sipping the black liquid. It might be his last. His personal sylph - Jenn - had served breakfast hours before. She should now be with the nurses, ready to help with bandages and equipment.
Today would decide who reached Marka first. Shivering, he fancied destiny walked beside him. Today should be decisive. Before he could restore Marka to her rightful place he must end the civil war between the various claimants.
He looked up as his general, Kelanus Butros, heeled by Belaika, entered the tent. The real military leader had just walked in; Marcus was just the claimant to the throne and a figurehead. He was not ignorant of military tactics, but Kelanus knew war. The general had been with him for two years, after being dismissed by Branad. A decision his rival might rue today.
Kelanus stood beside the map. "Too late for looking at that now," he remarked, bass rumble resonating in Marcus' chest. "Word should have already reached the other camps."
Marcus grinned, knowing how that had been achieved. The sylphs had suggested that they could be used as scouts even before he had taken over from his father and, together with professional military scouts, he had begun a training program fifteen years ago. That program had changed beyond all recognition since.
The original intention was to use the sylphs as messengers, as their hearing range was better than that of any human, so they could whistle messages to each other without threat of interception. Nobody initially realized that these sylphs would replace humans in the role of scout. There were now in excess of three hundred sylph scouts who had proved their worth over and over. Many were here, but a few were scattered throughout his lands, serving the small detachments of the army dotted about.
Kelanus had at first doubted the sylphs' value, but misgivings soon evaporated and he proved an enthusiastic convert. Now he would never think of using any but sylphs for scouting. Not only a sylph's hearing, but also his eyesight was far superior to a human's. They could see as well as cats in the dark. Kelanus' only regret was that sylphs were too pacific to be warriors as well. But this would have broken ancient precepts concerning sylphs and warfare.
Marcus' thoughts turned back to the plan. His opposite number and distant cousin, Branad, marched on Marka from the north and, as both men knew the other was invited to Marka, he doubtless expected a delaying attack somewhere along the way. What game Marka's Supreme Council played was anyone's guess, but it was obvious the two rival claimants would meet sooner or later and that the outcome would be bloody.
"He's coming to meet you," said Kelanus, "and leaving his war machines further and further behind. Branad will launch straight into the attack when he makes contact."
"Just cavalry and mounted archers?"
"And some infantry. Branad is not so big a fool as to believe only cavalry wins battles."
Marcus wondered who had taught Branad that; he rather suspected that man stood in the tent with him right now.
Kelanus continued. "So long as we appear to fight defensively, he'll swallow the bait. He always does. When he realizes war machines are here, he'll push forward even faster to avoid the worst they can offer. That's common sense and gives us a further advantage: he'll leave his infantry behind."
"Makes life easier for the snatch squads." Marcus could not restrain a shiver at the mention of the new snatch squads: men trained to dart through a battle and capture the enemy leader directly.
"You wanted Branad captured rather than killed outright." The inventor of those snatch squads narrowed his eyes. His tone hinted that "killed outright" was the wiser option. "Snatching him is the only way I can think of. Even then, there is no guarantee of success."
"What
I want," retorted Marcus, "is minimum bloodshed. This so-called civil war has dragged on long enough." He fumbled for his gold necklace and stared lovingly at the miniature of his wife painted and enameled on it. The less killing the better. Like his own, Branad's army had always acted honorably. It had never pillaged its way across the countryside, nor had it caused any more damage than could be avoided. Both Branad and Marcus had embarked on charm offensives to win people to their point of view. Marcus wanted to win both armies and both sets of people. The plan was a good one.
However, Marcus had seen enough battles to know that few ever went to plan. Once the fighting started, anything could wreck the best battle plan. And there was a further complication.
"Why has Branad divided his army?"
Kelanus smiled. "Ranallic's idea, I suspect." The general tapped the map. "Perhaps part of his plan for when he reaches Marka. Or search for the rest of our army. No doubt there are hundreds of little known ways to Marka through the forest, where we might be hidden."
"We are all here."
"Let's hope Branad doesn't know that. At least, not until it's too late."
"And if he has a Gifted one in his ranks?"
Kelanus shrugged. "The sylphs have given no warning of sudden changes in direction. I assume they
are still in contact?"
Belaika narrowed his eyes and his earpoints slanted forward.
A scowl briefly crossed Marcus' brow. "Once they find something the size of an army, they don't lose it again. Belaika assures me they are headed the other way."
"All right, I trust the scouts; I learned my lesson about that some time ago."
Belaika wore a satisfied expression, while giving the impression he was not really eavesdropping. He settled back on his heels again.
Marcus continued. "We can't risk having that army swing round to cut us off, or join with Branad."
"They cannot reach us today. If they change course, the sylphs will give warning. Concentrate on what is in front of us for now; worry about the rest another time. It is the only way a soldier can deal with these things."
Marcus wished this war was over; he was a politician, not a warrior. He stared glumly at the map table.
"You'd better get ready," suggested Kelanus. "It'll begin sooner than you think."
Marcus nodded and turned away. Once again, he pulled his gold necklace free to stare at the image of his wife. He took strength from it, imagined he could breathe her scent.
Whatever happens, fight with honor. He recalled his father's words, those Zandra repeated whenever he left her for the field. He brushed his lips gently across the miniature before tucking it under his shirt again. As he left the tent, Belaika drew himself upright and heeled his master.
As usual when not scouting, Belaika felt underfoot as he scurried after Marcus, the claimant strapping on his sword and what little was left to don of his armor. Stablehands had already prepared Jablon, Marcus' warhorse, and the animal stamped a foot in greeting. The sylph regarded the horse warily. Sylphs did not feel happy around large animals at the best of times, and this one was trained to hurt. Jablon liked to go in with his head and shoulder, both of which were armored accordingly, complete with lethal spikes.
The Imperial Bannerman - Adrewa - waited while Marcus mounted. He carried the Vintner Standard: a gold dragon's head on a dark-blue field. Belaika shivered as Marcus and the bannerman joined the rest of the army and a cheer went up.
Marcus acknowledged it with a wave of his gauntleted hand. Kelanus joined them and the army formed up. The reserve units remained behind, while the rest moved slowly downhill along the road. They gave the appearance of reinforcing the forward units, where Belaika had earlier waited for the signal. Those manning the mangonels and ballistas added their voices to the cheers; pikemen and archers looked up from their work, but remained silent.
As the army came to a halt amid the jingling of harness and armor, the cheering stopped and an eerie silence descended. Even the birds were quiet. Saddles and leather creaked as the waiting began.
Belaika's breath came in short gasps as he fought fear. His earpoints already lay back in his hair and felt as though they were about to tuck themselves away. There were a few sylph scouts within the barricades, but none this far forward, this exposed. Most were beyond the barricades, eyes and ears open for any surprise moves. They would be as afraid as he was.
He glanced quickly into his master's face. The dark-blue eyes were calm, face still and relaxed, exuding confidence and optimism. No fear to be seen there, nor in any of the human faces. Yet Belaika knew the humans were frightened, that they feared death as surely as any other animal. They were just so much better than sylphs at hiding feelings and emotions. Their faces hid fear as war helmets hid hair.
"Stand close, Belaika."
The sylph nodded, though he needed no reminders of his duty. It felt safe behind the stockade, beyond the range of enemy arrows and missiles. Belaika was experienced enough to see the enemy would be unable to get his war machines within range before Marcus deployed all three ranks of his own. For those who managed to get closer after the bombardment, there were archers with arrows of fire and pikemen with their bristling weapons. Belaika knew the enemy would be forced to close the range as quickly as possible, which would also play into his owner's hands.
Behind the stockade, light cavalry prepared their lances and armored cavalry readied their horses. Behind them stood infantry with short swords and shields. All were ready to leap out from behind the stockade, both to help defend the retreating squads of men intended to draw Branad ever further forward and to maintain the illusion of being the real reserve. Beyond the stockade, to either side on small hills, were small detachments of cavalry, to give the impression of waiting to fall on the enemy's flanks.
But, beyond the war machines Branad would not see before it was too late, beyond the small detachments of men, stood the real army. Belaika scanned the hillsides and beyond the war machines. Thousands of men were hidden there and not even he could see a sign of them. They would push behind Branad's men, cut off their retreat and capture the opposing war machines. If everything went to plan.
Belaika sighed. All living creatures died eventually; he supposed this was as good a day to die as any other.
Without further warning, it began.
Belaika shivered at the rhythmic thrumming of spears and swords against shields.
Someone bawled "First marker!" The ballistas launched their first salvo and the mangonels hurled rocks and green fire against the foe. He heard the first screams.
"They come exactly as we hoped."
The sylph stared up at his master. How could his voice be so calm? Was his heart hammering against his chest? Did he want to flee, to run and hide somewhere safe?
The light cavalry readied themselves, making final adjustments to their snowy pennons. Those strips of cloth at the lance ends would not remain pristine for long.
Behind, the ballistas and a few of the mangonels managed a second dispensation of death and destruction, or perhaps some of the throwing arms had not released properly. Such things happened often.
"Second marker!"
Jablon snorted, as did many of the other horses. A moment later, Belaika also smelled the coppery stench of fresh blood. He kept his head down, knowing that the enemy was close now. He sensed, rather than heard, the missiles of the second rank of war machines pass overhead. The screams and cries were louder, nearer.
He dreaded the touch of his master, knowing he would want a message carried. He would take it if he must, but he was fully aware of the risks. His earpoints tucked away as screams and howls continued. Men and possibly even sylphs were dying out there and he didn't want to hear.
"Third marker!"
Belaika never heard the third rank of war machines launch their missiles, but he did hear the results of the salvo, pots containing green death bursting to shower men and animals with fire that could not be extinguished, flames that could not be escaped. Most men from the war machines now took up pikes, as did most archers. Yelling and shouting, light and heavy cavalry joined the fight. Time for hand-to-hand fighting: difficult, dangerous and bloody.
Still the reserve remained steady. Belaika glanced up every now and again, watching lines of wounded and groaning men headed towards the rear. Some had to be carried.
Since his master had taken over the army, there had been many changes to its organization. Now, laundresses, seamstresses, buyers, carters and officers' sylphs were all expected to help the nurses during a battle. Before Marcus, sylphs were never used by the military, except as servants for senior officers.
Belaika knew Jenn was somewhere back there. She always resented being more than two pacas away from Marcus, but even she had the sense to stay away from a battle. She would play her part with the nurses, well out of harm's way. Belaika was protective of the small infertile, although she was much older.
Marcus drew his sword.
The sylph shivered and very much wanted to be with Jenn.
From behind the hill, the reserve of infantry and cavalry drove forward, carrying with them the snatch squads, intended to capture the enemy commanders and - hopefully - Branad. Marcus touched his sylph's shoulder.
"We'll move forward with the banner to a new command post. Stand ready for messages."
"Se bata." Belaika prayed there would be no messages
.
Now that battle was joined, it was unlikely that he would hear whistles from his brother scouts and equally unlikely that they could hear his properly. Knowing this, messages were kept to a minimum during a battle, but one that must be communicated had to be passed by physically moving from one place to another and whistling from there. Which might mean picking a way through the battle. He shivered.
The new command post stood between the original stockade and the third marker. Marcus stood in his stirrups and tried to see what Kelanus could see of the battlefield. His general's small army of messengers - these carried messages through battles all the time - did not contain a single sylph. Kelanus knew the blue-skinned creatures were of little use in a fight. Excellent scouts and nurses yes, but unable to defend themselves properly when weapons were used against them.
Marcus also ignored the spyglass that Kelanus used to survey the field. It was a sore point with the claimant that Sandester made the best lenses in the known world. All of Branad's officers had a spyglass; Kelanus had brought his with him when forced to change his allegiance. A useful tool, but Marcus avoided using it whenever possible.
The battle went much better than expected, as they were still following the original plan, itself a small miracle. Branad's advance was exactly as Kelanus had predicted: an advantage of employing his enemy's former commander. The reserve still thundered out, a terrifying sight for an army that had expected to fight only a small contingent. Branad's men were hemmed in.
Beyond, large detachments of Marcus' men battled for - if they had not already won - the enemy's war machines, left far behind as the rest of Branad's army advanced at speed. He glanced skywards, surprised to see the sun already approached its meridian: time always passed quickly when the blood ran hot.
Marcus stared at the battlefield again, grudging respect for his enemy turning to admiration as he saw how well the field was still held, despite being outnumbered and encircled. The opposing army was as well trained and disciplined as his own. Training and discipline kept men alive in battle and he hoped today would not be as bad a slaughter as feared. He had plans for both Branad and his army. Kelanus would like to see the false claimant dead, but Marcus had a use for him yet. He certainly had a use for the lands he controlled, to say nothing of his army.
Marcus stiffened. Was that a sylph, darting through the struggling men? The news he carried must be pretty dire to take such a risk. Had they failed to take the enemy war machines? Had Branad sprung reinforcements that the sylphs had somehow failed to see before now?
The camouflaged scout headed directly for the command post and was quickly beside Kelanus, the general bending his head to listen to the report. A thin line of blue, smudged at one end, betrayed the presence of a wound. It stood out against the sylph's painted skin.
Marcus restrained his impatience and tapped Belaika on the shoulder. "Who is that?"
"Neptarik-y-Balnus," replied Belaika, able to recognize every scout, even under paint.
Marcus nodded. Neptarik was one of the first sylph scouts and had run with the army for ten years. Experienced, skilled and reputedly fearless. He loved adventure and gambling, traits no doubt copied from his owner. He was the first sylph to use ebatela, the nonviolent method of personal self-defense adopted even by some of the soldiers. And a rarity: a scout who belonged to a common soldier. Marcus recalled that magistrates had sent him to the scout training. Neptarik had not always been honestly employed. The moment the sylph had gone, thankfully towards the rearguard, a messenger crossed to Marcus.
"Sire," began the messenger, "we have news of the rest of Branad's army. They have turned and are headed straight for us. If they keep on, they are little more than a day away."
"Probably the plan all along," muttered Marcus. He raised his voice. "Thank you, Felis. Anything else?"
Felis nodded. "There was more resistance than expected at the war machines. Their soldiers fought hard and well. We lost more men than expected, but we have the machines."
Marcus grimaced and dismissed the messenger. A large number of casualties - on either side - was precisely what he wanted to avoid. He swung out of his saddle as Felis hurried away. "Come, Belaika."
Kelanus turned as the claimant joined him and saw the unasked question in his eyes.
"We should have Branad defeated long before they can reach us," the general reassured his superior. "Unless they move faster than the sylphs say."
Belaika stiffened. This, he knew, was highly unlikely; the scouts knew their work and took great pride in getting their part right.
"The sylph who brought the news," said Marcus. "Neptarik. He is to be commended."
Kelanus nodded. "I will speak with his owner."
A huge cheer went up from the battlefield and the two commanders strained forward. Shouts from Marcus' men, repeated all over the battlefield. "Surrender and you will not be harmed. Surrender!" The shouts were gradually replaced by a growing yell, one word repeated over and over.
"Marcus! Marcus! Marcus!"
"It seems the snatch squads are successful." said Marcus; he and Kelanus exchanged a look.
The battle was over.
In accordance with their orders, Marcus' soldiers took prisoners and did not slaughter the defeated foe out of hand, the murderous practice followed by so many other claimants and thugs wishing to carve empires for themselves. Marcus knew that had the positions been reversed, Branad would act in the same honorable manner. The defeated claimant's army had never been accused of committing atrocities, but had always behaved professionally. As professionally as Marcus always insisted his own army behaved, even against those who would show no mercy had they won. This was why Marcus wanted Branad and his army. But even had he not needed them, he would still treat them army with the respect they deserved.
Marcus could barely restrain himself as he saw a detachment of his best men, led by two sylph scouts, bring a prisoner. A man who even now held himself regally, despite dented and stained armor, with burnished overlapping plates at shoulder, elbow and knee. Although his surcoat flapped in the breeze, the Vintner Arms were clearly visible. The same as those worn by Marcus, except the dragon's head was on a pale-blue field. The small coterie halted before Marcus and Kelanus.
"Now I know how my own tactics were used against me," said Branad Vintner, defeated claimant to the Imperial Throne of Marka. A small smile twisted his mouth as he stared at Kelanus.
Kelanus bowed. "Highness. Perhaps it was an error to dispense with my services? Is Ranallic with you, or were we fortunate to see him killed this morning?"
The smile broadened. "Unless he has fallen off his horse, he is alive, but not here."
"Pity." Kelanus could not hide the bitterness in his voice.
Branad's attention switched to Marcus.
"Greetings, cousin," he said.
***
Belaika crouched at the entrance to Marcus' tent. He glanced over his shoulder and masked a quick yawn. While his master bathed and changed his clothes, the scout nibbled on spring greens the thoughtful Jenn had provided. The soldiers who had earlier tidied the tent were now gone and only the guard remained outside. The tent's main room was ready for what might be the most important meeting of the civil war.
The sylph peered outside and shook his head. Captured soldiers were usually stripped of weapons and armor, but several prisoners openly cleaned their swords and axes. Admittedly, Branad's men were split into small groups and a large number of Marcus' men supervised them. Discreetly, of course. And there were no sounds of celebration, most unusual after a battle. It was turning into a strange day.
He rose to his feet as Marcus joined him and laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Pining for Eleka?"
"Missing her, yes," replied the sylph. Eleka was his first - and so far only - wife.
"Still hoping for a son?"
"She says she carries one child." Belaika's eyes sparkled. Sylph males were always born individually, not in pairs or litters like the female and infertile sylphs.
"Good." Marcus smiled. "Then she will allow you another wife."
All of Belaika's children would belong to Marcus, but he allowed his sylphs a large degree of freedom, short of manumission.
"We'll reach Marka within the week and can send for our loved ones." He did not add that his own family had already left Calcan and the caravan would include Eleka.
"Another wife." Belaika nodded. He would gain more status when he had more than one wife, just as female sylphs gained more status by birthing a son. Eleka had given him twin girls and a litter of infertiles, but no son. As the first wife chose all subsequent wives - or at least had more say about them than her husband - he knew there was little chance of a second until Eleka had given him a son, cementing forever her position as senior wife.
Outside, the tent guard banged the butt of his spear on the ground.
"Ready, Belaika?"
They hurried further into the tent. Marcus lounged arrogantly in the largest seat and casually draped one leg across the chair arm. Belaika was ready to serve alovak, already brewed.
Much to her disgust, and after a tantrum that wilted Belaika's earpoints, Jenn had gone to the back of the tent. She was to remain there until called, to serve sweetmeats if all went well. Sulking, she retreated to the small section that was her own private space. There was a small smile for the scout, to show she harbored no ill feeling towards him.
Jenn was always mindful of her position within the strictly hierarchical sylph society, treating everyone else as her superior. All other sylphs referred to her as an equal, for this was how Marcus spoke to her. Nobody wished to intimate that he was of lower status. Jenn had served Marcus faithfully for a quarter of a century and clearly resented being pushed aside now.
Kelanus' voice came from outside the tent and he spoke as if Marcus already held the Throne. "Majesty, I present Branad Ulvic Vintner." No title was given to the defeated claimant. Kelanus pushed the tent flaps apart and escorted Marcus' rival inside.
"Very impressive, cousin," remarked Branad, as he glanced around the tent. Belaika earned a small, puzzled frown.
"Come and sit down," invited Marcus.
Three scribes followed Kelanus into the tent and they took their seats down one side, the map table now serving as their desk. Branad took a smaller chair opposite Marcus and Kelanus sat opposite the scribes.
This was Belaika's cue. He hefted the can of alovak and moved around the tent slowly and gracefully. He offered the dark drink first to Branad, then Marcus and finally Kelanus. As he poured the last cup, Branad spoke.
"I heard rumors, but could not believe that you would break the precepts concerning warfare and sylphs." He inspected the contents of his cup before gesturing towards Belaika. "I assume the paint covering this sylph is a mark of his work?"
"He's a scout," replied Marcus. "The precepts are not broken. As you can see, he bears no arms, neither is he - or any other sylph - expected to fight. I use sylphs as scouts or messengers, and as nurses. Thanks to them, I know the other half of your army cannot reach me today, which gives me time to consider what to do with you, never mind them."
Kelanus grinned at his former employer's discomfort.
Branad sipped at his alovak, hand and arm steady. "And what do you plan for me and my men?"
"My aims are simple." Marcus smiled. "I want to see Marka reunited and strong; true justice and the rule of law once more prevail; a stable throne, with me as its first occupant."
"Ah. Well, with that last, you and I must disagree-"
Marcus put both feet on the ground and leaned forward angrily. "With that last, you and I will agree before sundown, or I will see you dead."
Apparently unconcerned, Branad took another sip of alovak. "My men might not be quite so docile if you kill me."
"If I decide to kill you," countered the other, "your men may choose to serve me in this life, or join you in the next."
Branad arched an eyebrow. "Really? The man who pardoned Pilwm when he surrendered. The same Marcus who allowed the Prefecture of Metton to continue its own way after defying your instructions."
"Trenvera would never tolerate either of us swallowing Metton."
"Perhaps."
Marcus' eyes narrowed. "The reason this discussion is taking place at all is that alone of the various claimants, you and I share two things: the same ancestry and an innate sense that defeated enemies do not deserve to be slain out of hand. Your men - like mine - do not pillage and despoil the lands they pass through or conquer. Like myself, you have built up a reasonable power base, the size of which has not been seen since Hingast changed his battle tactics and decided to destroy everything instead of consolidating his gains."
"Hingast has lost his mind," grunted Branad, sourly. He sniffed and changed the subject. "I still believe my claim is stronger than yours."
"Only two claimants received a summons from the Supreme Council of Marka." Marcus took a sip of his own alovak. "You and me."
"Perhaps the summons will not go as you wish, cousin."
"My claim is stronger than yours," insisted Marcus. "I'm a direct descendant of Kylist, the younger brother of the last Emperor. You're a descendant of the last Emperor's father." He took another sip of his alovak. "The laws of succession are quite clear: if the Emperor dies without issue, the throne passes to his younger brother and thence to his descendants. More important than that, you're defeated in battle. That counts far more than bloodlines. You still have your honor and you may yet salvage much of what you've lost, but your claim to the Throne is over."
"Marka's Senate and Supreme Council may not see it that way." Branad downed the rest of his drink.
"I'm sure they will."
"What is it you want of me? Let me hear your terms."
"Your recognition of my claim," replied Marcus, smoothly. "Your army and prefectures will join with mine under my command. We'll march to Marka together."
Branad waved Belaika away, refusing more alovak for the moment. "My army will join yours, but I'll only recognize your leadership until we reach Marka. There I will submit to the decision of the Senate and Supreme Council. If they choose you, our armies and prefectures are joined. Likewise if they choose me."
Kelanus looked at Marcus in consternation. This was not going as planned.
Belaika's mouth dropped open, the alovak can forgotten in his hand.
"You will recognize my claim."
"Or what?" retorted Branad. "Kill me? You'll have a bloodbath on your hands if you do, as well as losing your reputation in Marka and elsewhere. I acknowledge your leadership until we reach Marka. You may command my men, but my claim will only be ended at the will of the Supreme Council."
Kelanus shook his head. "I told you we should have made sure he died," he said.
"If you had, the claim would pass to my son." Branad's smile was not reflected in his eyes.
The look Marcus directed at Branad was exasperated rather than angry. "Now you've been captured, I'm well within my rights to take your head and end your claim. You know it, your commanders know it and your men know it."
Branad blinked. "We can compromise," he said. "We can tell everyone that I have rejected my claim."
"You
will reject your claim."
"I need time to consider."
Kelanus laughed and shook his head. "You're wasting time in the hope the other half of your army will rescue you. We'll deal with them tomorrow; they cannot save you today. You have no time left, Branad. Choose now and choose wisely."
Branad's blue eyes stared coldly at Kelanus. "You would love to see me dead." It was not a question.
"Ranallic is the man I want to see dead."
Belaika tugged absently at his black collar and straightened it. Finally, Branad sat back and held out his cup for more alovak. The sylph scurried to top him up.
"When we reach Marka," began Branad, "What is it you would have us do?"
The atmosphere in the tent suddenly grew much lighter and Belaika relaxed. Everything would be all right now.
Marcus grinned. "Jenn! Sweetmeats, please."
As the infertile entered to offer the sweetmeats - glaring at all the humans as if they threatened her owner - Marcus began to outline some of his plans.
Belaika, who had no interest in human politics unless they affected him directly, sat on his heels and concentrated all thoughts on his pregnant wife. He would try hard not to fall asleep.
***
Neptarik-
y-Balnus had a scarf tied around his head, to stop his earpoints from betraying his emotions and feelings. He sorted the five cards into order quickly, before glancing surreptitiously at his companions. He hummed a few bars from
Into the Dance before falling silent again.
His owner was already out of the card school, his copper partas shared out between the surviving four members. The sylph was a little disappointed they gambled for copper: he much preferred to fatten his purse with silver. He laid his cards facedown - one from each of the five suits: crowns, swords, trades, coins and wands - on the wooden table and folded his hands. He hoped his eyes hid his excitement as well as the scarf stilled his ears.
"Card," grunted Erras, a lancer from Branad's army.
Ean - the youngest sylph on active service - acted as banker, but was not playing. He pushed another card across the table.
They played with just the numbered cards - two to eleven - but one of the pictured wild cards had been sneaked into the two packs they were using. Whoever drew it immediately lost that round.
"Twenty-four partas," said Callen. He had been among the pikemen who were furthest forward this morning. The fresh slash across his face was already beginning to heal, but he would boast yet another scar when the scabbing was gone.
"Twenty-four," agreed Nazan, a dark-skinned outlander mercenary who fought for Marcus. He pushed a small pile of coppers nearer the middle of the table.
Callen twisted his mouth, but pushed another small pile of coins out to join the first.
Erras pushed out the same number of coins.
Neptarik glanced around again, before pushing twenty-four partas out to join the rest. The bets had been put on the table before the cards were dealt; now the pile of coins beckoned. He stared at it greedily and almost hummed again.
"Eighteen," Erras said, turning his cards over.
"Seventeen." Nazan looked disgusted.
"Seventeen." Callen sat back, hands behind his head. "I'm done."
Neptarik said nothing, but turned his cards over.
"Twenty-one!" Erras turned to Ean. "Are you fixing this?"
Ean's eyes betrayed outrage and his earpoints quivered in anger.
"All right, you're not fixing it." Erras held out his hands in mock surrender. He watched Neptarik scoop the coins gleefully. "Where did you learn to play cards like this?"
Balnus grinned. "He was a quick study."
Neptarik carefully placed twenty-four partas on the table; it was for him to start the betting as he had won the previous hand. Nazan and Erras followed the sylph's lead, but neither tried to up the bet. Neptarik nodded to the other sylph, who immediately dealt.
"Should be interesting tomorrow," remarked Erras. "Branad will ride out to meet the rest of our army. I wonder if they'll believe that they follow Marcus now. I can scarce believe it myself." He inspected his cards.
"It does not matter who you follow," said Nazan. "So long as the pay is the same."
Erras eyed the other human sideways, but it was not clear if his distaste was for the color of Nazan's skin, or because he was a mercenary.
"Card," said Nazan.
Neptarik eyed his cards. They were not as good this time. He could risk another card, but that might take him over the magic twenty-three maximum.
Nazan tossed his cards onto the table. "I'm out," he said. He had the wild card, which busted him. The emperor. Strangely, it was Branad's features painted on it. Doubtless Ean's sense of humor: Branad was busted, too.
Erras stared at the sylph, his expression not exactly friendly. He pushed his twenty-four coins further to the centre. "Twenty," he said, triumphantly.
Neptarik pushed all the coins across the table before turning his cards.
"Nineteen!" exclaimed Erras. "It seems as though your luck is turning, sylph."
Neptarik shrugged.
"We'll stake everything on this one." Erras grinned and pushed all his coins to the centre of the table. "Playing, sylph?"
Neptarik pushed an equal number of coins forward.
"I said everything, sylph."
"He has met your bet," interrupted Balnus, protectively. "You cannot match him if he raises it now."
Erras shrugged. "Deal. Three cards."
Neptarik stared at his cards in disbelief. Thirteen? A measly thirteen? He nodded to Ean, who pushed another card across. One from every suit except the wands, not that it mattered for this game.
"Don't you sylphs ever speak?" demanded Erras. "I hate silence."
Neptarik turned silvery gray eyes to the human. What was there to say? His attention returned to the cards. This was better. He only just prevented a hum.
Human and sylph turned their cards over together.
Erras cursed before he stood to leave the card school.
"Well done, lad." Balnus thumped his sylph on the back. "Well done."
Neptarik grinned and unwound the scarf from his head, restoring freedom to his earpoints. They twitched a few times in pleasure.
Yeomen came running through the camp. "General muster!" they shouted. "General muster!"
"No time off for any of us," grumbled Balnus.
Marcus and Branad gathered their armies to explain the new situation. That the rival claimants had reached agreement surprised both sets of men. The two armies would remain in their own units, with their own commanders, but overall command rested with Marcus, and Kelanus was the senior field officer. Mutters rose from the gathered men when Branad announced that his claim was "in abeyance" until they reached Marka and that he would afterwards "submit to the will of the Supreme Council".
"That could mean anything," said Balnus.
Neptarik stared at Belaika. His friend stood a little behind his owner and looked anything but happy with the arrangements. It was soon obvious why. When Marcus and Branad had finished, Belaika heeled the defeated claimant back to his tent. Neptarik blinked in surprise. Whatever was going on there was not to Belaika's liking.
***
"Alovak?"
Branad eased himself into a chair and nodded thanks.
Belaika had left the alovak to brew while the men were addressed. He poured it for the man who now commanded him in the evenings. The scout was furious that his owner had granted Branad's request for a sylph servant, especially as that servant was him.
Branad's tent only had two rooms: a living space with two easy chairs, a table and the wood burner, and a sleeping area screened off by tapestries. There was no special area for Belaika, so the sylph had piled his blankets close to the burner, where it would be warmest.
Branad detected the sylph's mood. After taking a sip of the strong liquid, he spoke. "You are wondering why I asked your owner for you to serve me?"
The sylph stared balefully back.
"I've never owned sylphs," continued Branad, when it was obvious no verbal reply was forthcoming. "I'm curious to learn more about you. No doubt you'll report back to your master now and then, so I hope you can lay his fears to rest. I'll not turn on him, even if the Supreme Council backs my claim. Of course, they may back Marcus's claim, but I'll worry about that then."
The sylph sniffed and glanced away.
Branad chuckled. "You were more talkative in Marcus' tent. What's wrong? Tongue fallen out?"
"May I go eat?" asked Belaika. "It is time." It had been a long day.
"Remember to come straight back and bring my meal with you."
In the large mess tent where the sylphs ate, Belaika found Jenn sat alone at one of the tables. The infertile glanced up at the larger scout and gave him a small smile. For a moment, he thought she might banter with him, but she seemed content to eat in silence. Perhaps she sensed he was in no mood for talking. She mopped up the last of her vegetable broth with a hunk of bread, inclined her head to him and left, headed for the officers' tent, presumably to collect Marcus' meal.
Recalling that Branad also waited to eat, Belaika pitched his food in, stuffing two pieces of unleavened bread into the waistband of his breeches before hurrying outside again. He collected Branad's meal and toiled back with it, the can swinging easily in his grasp.
Once the meal was laid out, Branad indicated that the sylph should take the seat opposite him. "Your master may be interested to hear what I have to say," he remarked. "Sit and listen."
Belaika realized that he would have little chance to reply once the man began speaking. Not that he would have replied to most of it. A sylph only spoke when necessary, except to owner or family, and Belaika was no exception.
"When I meet with Ranallic tomorrow," continued Branad, "he'll follow my orders. An ambitious man, but he does obey a command once given. I'm most amenable to Marcus's suggestion that we all travel to Marka together; much easier than fighting each other all the way, what? Ranallic will agree. Who's Ranallic? Make sure you mention him to Kelanus, they're old friends. What I don't know, of course, is what Marcus plans once he has us all in Marka."
Belaika blinked.
"No, I suppose he doesn't take a sylph into his confidence. No matter. I'm sure we'll continue to Marka, but it is there that the problems begin. Never been there myself, but I prefer the battlefield to the intrigues of Markan politics."
The sylph remained silent.
Branad lowered his voice. "Your master is politically astute." He turned his head to one side as he finished his meal. "What's that noise?"
Belaika, who slipped from his seat to collect the dirty dish and cutlery, grimaced. Was this man tone deaf? Outside, sylvan voices rose and fell in a harmonious choir. "My brothers," he said, finally breaking his silence. "They sing to the dead, to speed them to the afterlife."
"Yes, that racket would speed me along too."
Belaika hid a snarl, turned on his heel and stalked out of the tent.
Branad chuckled to himself and picked up a book. He watched Belaika return, brew alovak and serve a cup of it. Done, he left the can with the human and wrapped himself in his blankets in sulky silence. The sylph settled down beside the burner and curled up. His eyes closed and his earpoints tucked themselves away. Fascinated, Branad watched him before putting the book aside. He covered most of the light-crystals before following the sylph's example.
Tomorrow, he thought,
I bring in the rest of the army. Then, we march to Marka. Together.
***
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