Lying back on the bed, the assassin finally blinked and glanced at the window. The day was coming
***
Chapter 25
Into The City
Neptarik gave the small queue a glum look. The worst of the dawn rush into the city had ended, but the scout had decided to walk alongside one of the carts as if he belonged there. Thanks to his short hair and reasonably smart breeches and shirt, he stood out more than he liked. Glancing at other sylphs, he noted they were much more plainly dressed, wearing woolens more suitable for travel. And all wore their hair long.
He stayed close to the cart as it moved slowly towards the gates and resisted the temptation to jump on the back of it. Guardsmen eyed the cart, watching everything.
"Ho, Lendar!" One the guards called to the cart driver. "Handsome new sylph you've got there? Dressed for a party."
The two guards laughed together.
"What new sylph?" Lendar twisted on his seat and finally spotted Neptarik. "Not mine," he said after a quick look, and cracked the reins.
The guards' laughter ceased. "You, stop."
Neptarik stopped and his earpoints wilted.
"Who do you belong to, boy?" asked one guard, twisting the nametag appended to Neptarik's collar so he could read it.
"I belong to Selhend Accas Elgan," he said.
"Where is he?"
"She."
"All right, where is she?" The guard's hazel eyes hardened.
"Not here."
"Hmm. 'Neptarik-y-Selhend'," the guard read from the nametag. "One hard crack across back of head every time he is cheeky."
"Does that all fit on one small piece of metal?" Neptarik's earpoints stayed wilted. He knew the nametag said nothing of the sort, but he was always wary whenever humans joked about violence. Towards sylphs, they usually meant it.
"No, but if you don't start showing a bit more respect, you'll learn more about my tamer."
"I am tame enough already, thank you," said Neptarik, quickly.
"Good. Where's your Mistress?"
"Over the hills." Neptarik turned and vaguely pointed. "She sent me with a message for Pallun Shand."
"Tell me."
Neptarik reached inside his shirt and pulled the letter free. He handed it over sideways, as if the writing meant nothing to him.
The guard read the letter, his lips twitching into a semblance of a smile. He looked up and passed the letter back.
"Brews good alovak? Could use you in the guardhouse," he remarked. "Bad news for you, Neptarik-y-Selhend. Single travelers are no longer allowed into Turivkan."
Neptarik feared the worst and his earpoints wilted further. "Why?"
The guard leaned forward. "Why is not a question that passes your lips to your superiors."
"I must carry this into the city." Neptarik let his voice tremble. "Se alut batut," he said, almost managing tears.
The guard paused. He looked at Neptarik's face and noted the wilted ears. He sighed and relented. "Go on with you," he said and tapped his forehead. "Your name's in here boy. Even if I never saw you and you come in on the back of a cart."
Neptarik grinned and his earpoints immediately recovered. "Mutydo, donenya," he said, before trotting through the gate.
He had made it into Turivkan.
He jumped as Tektu suddenly appeared beside him.
"Se alut batut?" she asked. "How pathetic. I thought better of you than that."
"Got me through the gates," retorted Neptarik. "How did you get in?"
"Climbed the walls," said Tektu, matter-of-factly.
"Had enough of clambering over walls last year," retorted Neptarik.
"As I remember, you usually fell off," pointed out Tektu.
"Or got catapulted over," grumped Neptarik.
"A bad couple of days for you."
"Yes they were. I ended up with you for baggage."
"Not exactly overjoyed with the situation myself," muttered Tektu.
"Why stay then?"
Tektu sighed and changed the subject. "I found Pallun's place," she said. "He has some interesting visitors."
Neptarik looked around at the crowds that filled the streets, the progress of some rich man's palanquin slowed by the press. The man leaned out of the box, shouting at the crowds to make way. The crowds ignored the man, who only grew redder and redder.
"Not here," cautioned the scout. "Know anywhere quieter?"
Tektu gave him a look. "Nowhere in this city is quiet," she replied. "Only the temple grounds by the palace. And Pallun's place is opposite."
"Let's go there then."
Tektu nodded and led Neptarik through the crowds. They had separated again, in case anybody remembered a male sylph chatting to an infertile like they were old friends. Such relationships happened, but were rare enough to be remarked upon. Not to mention Neptarik's fairly smart appearance that contrasted with Tektu, in her worn traveling woolens. She looked more like a beggar than a genteel sylph. As if Tektu could possibly be described as genteel.
For all his skill, Neptarik quickly discovered Tektu could be discreet when she wanted, and he almost lost sight of her several times. One time he did lose her, only for her to appear beside him a minute later and silently lead him away again.
The scout wondered how she could find him so easily. There must be some sort of sense or bond that tied her to him, although he could sense nothing about her in return. Perhaps she would always be able to find him; his blood chilled at the thought.
But now was not the time to ask.
Neptarik felt very self-conscious as they crossed the first market square. He felt every sylph beggar's gaze on him as he passed through, unfriendly eyes whose owners resented his presence here. He'd felt it before, in Taura City.
But the beggars should leave him alone: he was obviously a sylph on an errand, not an indigent with nowhere to go.
As they neared Turivkan's heart, the crowds began to lessen and, eventually, a locked temple stood before them.
"I slept here last night," said Tektu.
"At least it should be cool inside," remarked Neptarik.
"It is locked," pointed out Tektu.
"And I suppose you would be uncomfortable inside a shrine dedicated to the Father." Neptarik smiled.
"Why? It is just a building, like any other. The graveyard is quietest."
The graveyard looked neglected. Stones were overgrown and grass stood waist high. Tree branches sagged towards the ground and Tektu gestured towards an Andler tree.
"I will just ensure we are private," she said, before crawling under the tree's branches. Moments later, a startled infertile scurried out and ran from the graveyard.
Tektu crawled out after.
"What did you do?" asked Neptarik.
"No need to do anything." Tektu grinned. "She left anyway."
"Just the one under there?"
Tektu nodded.
"Right, tell me about Pallun."
Tektu gestured with a thumb. "That is his place, right behind me."
Neptarik stared across the road. Pallun's workshop, built from the same pink sandstone as almost every other building in Turivkan, was exactly as described. A door in the center, a window on either side, with all the wood painted blue.
"Just him and an infertile living there," said Tektu. "Quite a large yard at the back, with its own entrance. He lives above the shop."
"Does not look much," remarked Neptarik. "And he has weapons for the army?"
"He does not keep them here if that is true," remarked Tektu. "He had several visitors last evening. Most look ordinary, one or two wear uniform."
"City Guard?" asked Neptarik.
"Army," replied Tektu.
"Serifa's lot have probably got people in Turivkan's army."
"Or Pallun cannot be trusted," pointed out Tektu.
"That is your reaction? He is a traitor?"
Tektu shrugged. "No idea. But Dervra is one of the Ten; do you think he might have a good idea what might be
going on?"
"Mayhap." Neptarik shivered. He did not like to think of Dervra being somehow the same as Grayar and Sandev. "Foolish to have that census and take away those boys. How else did he expect people to react?"
Tektu shrugged. "Foolish was he? Think a bit harder about that. The malefic sephiroth is about causing discord and creating chaos for genuine rulers. Everything Dervra does has that end in mind."
Neptarik disliked this line of conversation and avoided Tektu's intent stare. Unlike most others, he now knew more about his "sylph" than he really wanted. "But he rules here," the scout pointed out.
"Perhaps he is about to move on," countered Tektu.
"So we are wasting our time?" Neptarik's voice almost squeaked and his earpoints lashed in irritation.
Tektu shrugged again. "I know how the malefic sephiroth works," she said. "And I have seen many times just how they tunnel within and destroy whatever they leave behind."
"But they have not won anywhere," said Neptarik.
"Not about winning." Tektu shook her head. "All about causing mayhem and confusion. You think the battle is about who takes the throne in Marka. The battle is about control of the ilvenworld. Marka is so much piff compared to that."
"Well, while I go to Pallun, you had better wait out here."
Tektu sniffed. "So I am supposed to beg while you live it up with the plutocrat? Sleep rough and go unwashed?"
"It will do you no harm for a couple of days." Neptarik grinned. "And you will be useful watching out here. Besides, the man only expects one visitor."
Neither sylph paid much attention to the bird circling high above.
***
An infertile opened the door to Neptarik's knock. She eyed him up and down suspiciously, her earpoints slanting forwards in curiosity.
"I am Neptarik-y-Selhend," he said, dropping into his new persona with barely a blink. "Anya has instructed me to bring this letter to Pallun-ya."
The infertile barely glanced at the missive Neptarik clutched. "And your mistress is?"
"Selhend Accas Elgan," the male sylph promptly replied.
Pallun's ruddy face abruptly appeared behind his sylph. "Also known as Serifa," he said, quietly. "Ilina, show the boy in. Alovak for me, water and fruit for him."
The infertile opened the door wider and inclined her head as Neptarik stepped across the threshold. He was aware of Pallun eyeing his collar, probably checking the nametag.
He entered the workshop, full of crates and tapestries slung apparently at random across beams. Pallun held one of the tapestries aside, revealing a cozy den. An easy chair and a couple of wooden stools were within.
"Help yourself to a cushion for a stool." Pallun gestured to some plain cushions that smelled faintly of sinabra.
Neptarik chose a red cushion with yellow tassels and gratefully sank onto it on one of the stools.
"The letter?" Pallun's dark brown eyes twinkled.
The male sylph blinked and handed the missive over.
Pallun scanned the letter quickly, grunting a couple of times. He looked up at his guest once, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. He had probably reached the part about brewing good alovak.
"Has anyone else read this?" asked Pallun.
Neptarik decided to keep his own literacy a secret. "The guard at the gate," he replied.
"I think it is coded well enough not to be too obvious." All traces of humor left Pallun's eyes. "Do you know what it says?"
Neptarik shook his head. "I am just a miserable sylph," he said.
"You look happy enough to me. I'm to look after you until Serifa enters the city; apparently you can brew alovak."
The tapestry was briefly twitched aside again, to give Ilina access. She passed a mug of water and a strange orange fruit to Neptarik, then poured alovak for her owner.
Neptarik stared at the fruit.
"You need to peel it before eating," said Ilina, helpfully. She took one of the cushions – blue with a red trim – and sat on the other stool.
Neptarik nodded thanks and split the orange fruit's skin. He froze in shock for a moment as Pallun passed the letter across to his sylph. Ilina could read!
"Looks like they did not bring the powder you expected," remarked the sylph.
"But they will buy the weapons," replied Pallun. "Better than nothing." He turned his attention to Neptarik. "From that accent, you hail from the east. How many Markans are with you?"
Neptarik blinked. "Two," he replied.
"And they have come without firepowder?"
This time, Neptarik gave a sylph's slow blink.
"All right, I'm sure your real owner has you sworn to secrecy." Pallun sipped at his alovak.
"And they have one of Adelbard's boys," continued Ilina.
We do not, reflected Neptarik.
"So it seems." Pallun folded his hands and tapped his thumbs together.
The infertile regarded Neptarik with a frosty expression. "And why has he got to stay here?"
"It won't be for long," promised Pallun. "Now, there are some people I must go to see. Neptarik, will you help Ilina tidy up?"
The scout inclined his head. "Se bata."
The infertile looked even less pleased, but Neptarik ignored her ill temper. He hoped Tektu would cause no trouble, while left to her own devices.
***
Tektu had not stopped watching the door since Neptarik had gone inside. She sat crosslegged on the ground, leaning her back against the sandstone wall of the temple. People swirled around, one or two almost treading on her. Most completely ignored what they assumed was a beggar.
Some copper coins were dropped in front of her, and someone even passed her half a pastry. She welcomed the food and wolfed it down, hoping the spicy vegetables would cause no upset stomachs. Tektu had to walk a strange dietary path. Some foods she enjoyed caused no end of digestive upsets, and other foods the sylph body loved made the real her feel ill.
She murmured thanks as appropriate, but watched nobody in the crowd, almost all her attention fixed on the blue door. She even ignored patrolling guardsmen, one of whom remarked to his companion that things must be getting really bad when sylphs dared beg so close to the palace.
Tektu ignored them, because the blue door opposite opened.
As Pallun stepped into the full glare of the sun, Tektu hastily snatched up the coppers and rose smoothly to her feet. A moment of panic as Pallun turned towards the palace, but he turned again down a connecting street.
Tektu followed cautiously.
Pallun's movements might be completely innocent: the man must have other contacts in the city to help the fledgling rebellion, but Tektu had her reservations. She had lived too long and seen too much to ever fully trust a human unknown to her.
The man paused frequently, usually to exchange a word or pleasantry and Tektu marveled at the number of people clearly involved in the conspiracy against Dervra.
Then, he turned into the doorway of a drinking den.
Tektu decided that this place had no idea how to be discreet. A huge sign covered part of the front wall, complete with the human lettering she had never bothered to learn. Most of the mural consisted of a painted hawk, complete with a hood buckled in place. The tavern clearly enjoyed a brisk trade and she suspected it must be hard to keep any conspiracy quiet if the participants met here. She could not see in and she dared not enter. Perhaps sylphs were welcome there and perhaps not, but nobody welcomed beggars. With her mussed hair and clothes already beginning to look well worn, she could hardly be mistaken for anything else.
Instead, she leaned her back against a wall opposite, lowered herself until sat on the ground, and drew her knees up under her chin. She'd deliberately chosen a different begging posture, in the hope people would not remember her from outside the temple. To complete the appearance, she held a hand out in front of her.
Perhaps all the people entering or leaving the tavern were involved somehow, but Tektu knew that would be unlikely. She had no way
of telling which of them might be of interest to her and which not, but she had a keen eye for detail.
One man caught her attention almost immediately. He swept along the street, cloak wrapped securely about his body, though she saw polished boots and a distinctly southern appearance, if tempered with features she associated with humans further north.
He entered the tavern and Tektu strained to see, muttering gratitude to someone who dropped a silver coin into her hand. She immediately secreted that away; the golden rule was to never show silver, only coppers.
Turning her head, she saw someone else watched the tavern.
There was little to remark him, neither dressed well, nor poorly. Average height, average build, dark hair and piercing pale blue eyes. Those eyes made him stand out more than anything else.
Her nose twitched, though she smelled nothing. However, other... senses... told her this man was either Gifted, or else practiced sorcery. She ached to reach out and snatch it from him, but they had blocked her from the power that should be hers to use. All part of the punishment she had been forced to endure for so long. Cut off and cast out.
She turned her head away before he became aware of her stare. She had no wish to draw attention to herself.
People, mostly men, came and went, but the other watcher did not follow Pallun when he eventually left the tavern. When the man with the polished boots eventually stepped back out onto the street, the human watcher turned to follow him.
Deciding this might be a new lead, Tektu trailed after the man with his distinctive pale blue eyes.
***
Neptarik decided that Pallun's infertile sylph would never rank among his favorites. Ilina made it perfectly clear she resented his presence, criticizing almost everything he did and, in one or two cases, taking the chore out of his hands altogether.
"You may as well go into the yard," she said eventually. "You are not much use in here."
The scout gave the infertile a tight smile and stalked outside, closing the door quietly behind him. He poked around in the yard, but it seemed to mostly contain stacked timber, presumably waiting to be sold on. He would be very surprised if Pallun was foolish enough to store weapons here. Bolts secured the back gate top, middle and bottom, so any thought of crossing the road to join Tektu must be abandoned.
It was still only morning and he already knew staying under the same roof as Ilina would be testing at best. Little wonder that infertiles were abandoned by their parents; they all seemed to be a royal pain in the –