From some strange innate sense, sylphs immediately knew an ilven and most bowed, or stared wide-eyed. Once recognized, a small crowd gathered to see this exotic creature most believed existed only in legend.
Djerana did not think the humans intended to harm her, but she retreated to the palace anyway. The whole way, people offered water and alovak; sweetmeats, bread and dried fruit, small gemstones and spring flowers. Refusing everything, she all but fled.
The next morning, a group of barren women and sylphs gathered outside the palace. They hoped that an ilven's touch would bestow the gift of creating life they believed should be theirs. Too polite to set them right, Djerana submissively obliged, before she decided to stay in.
After that, the population got used to her.
Sylphs still stared at her with a strange mixture of awe and terror. She looked at sylph scouts with a similar attitude. Human children ran after her, asking if the lady ilven would like water, or something to eat. But generally, she was left alone.
After three days, she had seen everything she wanted of the city and instead stared wistfully north, towards the forests. If not for the danger of an approaching enemy, she would be outside the walls, exploring.
She had been brought here to attach herself to Marcus Vintner. Being independently minded, she made her own decisions and, if Grayar suggested one course of action, she often liked to spite him by following another.
Marcus, as interesting as any human who wanted to put himself into history, paled to insignificance compared with the intriguing notion of a sylph Emperor. A fascinating study in his own right, Zenepha was the only sylph she had heard of to rule humans. She wanted to see how good a job he made of it. She wanted him to make a good job of it. Humans could be a touch... arrogant.
But she suspected that Grayar knew how she would react.
He had brought her here but, after the first night, he had left her completely alone. If not for Olista, she would have nowhere to sleep! The Supreme Councilor had ensured she had a comfortable room in the palace and offered a couple of sylphs to serve during her stay.
With no need of servants, Djerana had refused the sylphs. A battle she lost.
"Going into the city, alvanya?" asked Nata, the sylph who had come with the room. Olista's compromise: one servant, not two.
Djerana changed her mind about going into the city for the twelfth or fourteenth time that morning. "I'll stay in today, thank you."
Nata bobbed her head before she scurried out of the room, carrying the cup and plate the ilven had used.
Djerana made her way to Zenepha's briefing room. Without knocking, she pushed the door open and padded barefoot within. She ignored the few glares directed her way, but acknowledged smiles and nods. Zenepha looked up, flashed her a quick grin and wound up his meeting. As the politicians filed out, leaving only Marcus, Zenepha crossed to join the ilven.
"Thought you were going into the city," he said.
"Changed my mind," replied Djerana, emerald eyes sparkling. She sat on the rug in the center of the floor, folding her long legs beneath her. Zenepha sat opposite.
"Settling in all right?" asked the Emperor. "The nearest forest is not too far away. That is, if you're feeling homesick."
Djerana tilted her head back. "An enemy is coming so it is safer to stay inside the city. And being in a forest would not stop homesickness."
"You do not miss your sisters?"
"No. I can sense they are all still alive, so there's no need to worry about them, or miss them. Well, perhaps Djeni, my bathing partner."
"You can sense your sisters?" interrupted Marcus.
Ilven and sylph turned together; both had forgotten he'd stayed behind.
"All ilven can sense each other," replied Djerana.
Zenepha and Marcus stared at her.
"It's like... oh, like a buzz inside. We're only aware of it if we concentrate. Grayar tells me that humans and sylphs do not have this sense. It must be very lonely inside your heads."
Marcus chuckled. "Don't worry about us," he replied. "We fill our heads with plenty of junk to stop them from feeling lonely."
Djerana smiled politely, wondering if the human sported with her.
"Who is Djeni?" asked Zenepha. "Bathing partner?"
"She arrived a moon after me," replied the ilven. "We are close friends, which is why we are bathing partners. To clean where we cannot reach ourselves, such as the middle of the back."
"She might be cross that you have left her to come here."
Djerana grinned again. "She's used to my wandering off to satisfy my curiosity about humans."
"No curiosity about sylphs?" Zenepha's earpoints wilted a little.
"A tribe of sylphs lives within the ilvenhome. We know all about your race. It is humans that fascinate me. And you."
"Me?"
"Nata tells me you personally ensured she got work here; before that she begged and lived on the street."
"Just helping a friend find her feet."
"And there are other reasons why you fascinate me. You rule humans. A sylph Emperor." A trace of jealousy entered the ilven's voice. "You can read and write human letters. There is much about you to interest me."
"I don't know if I can rule humans," began Zenepha, but Marcus interrupted.
"His Majesty has made an excellent beginning in righting the neglect that has plagued Marka for years," said Marcus, speaking to the ilven, but for the sylph's benefit. "He is a superb Emperor."
"Glowing words from one who wants the Throne." Djerana took the edge from her comment with a smile. "A human rarely puts another's interest before his own."
"Believe me, what Zenepha does is in my interest." With that, Marcus nodded to them both and left the room.
"A powerful human is always a joy to me," remarked the ilven. She stared as the door shut behind Marcus. "And he is a particularly interesting one. I wonder... Perhaps, if I was a little younger."
"You look young now."
Djerana's attention returned to the sylph and she smiled. "I'm more than middle-aged for an ilven. I have thirty-five summers."
***
Mikhan Annada – Marshal of Sandester and now also of Marka – inspected the work intended to protect the city in case of siege. In the likely event of siege. Mikhan held no illusions concerning Hingast's intentions. The people of this city hid behind a fool's mask of complacency, believing the fiction that, as Marka had not suffered a siege in centuries, it would never happen. Unlike most of the men under his command, Mikhan knew what Hingast sometimes did to cities that fell into his hands. If he were a Markan, he would be very worried.
Mikhan knew what it was to be in a besieged city.
"That building." He pointed to it with his baton.
"Sir?" Lieutenant Patisk of the City Guard waited for the Marshal to continue.
"It is a depository, yes? It must be faced with stone or brick. Wooden buildings burn when catapults send in fire. And put a ranging mangonel here for extra defense. Nothing like scaring the crap out of enemy bombardiers with a dose of their own medicine!"
This old boy's enjoying himself, thought Patisk, before passing the orders on. He followed his new commander.
"There are a lot more essential buildings of wood than I expected," said Mikhan, making conversation. "Ensure they are faced properly."
"And the rest, Sir? The non-essential buildings?"
"We'll destroy those ourselves. Unless you know of a way to increase the supply of brick overnight? Thought not."
"A shame to destroy perfectly good buildings, Sir."
"When Hingast gets here, he'll catapult fire into the city. We want no uncontrolled fires, it's a waste of precious water supplies to bring 'em under control. What of the granaries?"
"They'll all be within the walls before the end of the week," replied Patisk.
"Good." Mikhan knew the food depositories were originally inside the city, as in Sandester, but the Markans had grown slack. The civil war had bypassed t
he old capital for far too long and many had forgotten that war still raged.
They reached the industrial quarter, where the marshal again pointed with his baton. "No sign of activity here."
Patisk sighed. "Some of the Guilds are reluctant to move, Sir."
"We cannot risk all of Marka's industries in one place. We've told them this! Marka has enemies within the walls and they know where the industrial quarter is. All Hingast need do is concentrate his fire here and Marka loses them all."
"We've told them, Sir. Captain Crallin has told them, Sir."
"And?"
Patisk looked pointedly at the marshal's baton.
"Oh, speak freely man!"
"It was, ah, suggested that you do not know their business, Sir."
Mikhan sniffed. "Tell 'em they don't know mine. I'm not suggesting how they run their businesses, only where they run them. If they've got better ideas how to conduct the defense of a city under siege, tell 'em I'll be delighted to meet 'em." His blue eyes twinkled in sudden humor. "The guild leaders have got three days to get themselves sorted, or I'll use their city villas for stables."
"We'll tell them, Sir."
"Good."
"Is all this really necessary, Sir?" asked Patisk. "Aren't we overdoing it a bit?"
Mikhan regarded the younger officer. "How many sieges have you withstood, Lieutenant?"
"None, Sir."
"Thought not." He continued to walk along the walls and nodded to the men he passed.
"What are they like, Sir?"
The older man stopped and gestured outside the walls. "See all that?" he asked.
Patisk stared at the land, where men from the army were clearing all the trees within a mila of the city. "Empty land, where there should be farms and forest."
Mikhan ignored the comment. Lots of Markans complained about the loss of "their" forest. Fools to let the trees grow so damned close to the walls. Guilds – again! – complained about the loss of valuable crops. "Men and war machines filling that land, as far as your eye can see. Knowing there are more in the forest beyond, knowing that they'll pillage your farms and your food and next year's reserves. Drinking all the water, trying to find where yours comes from and either dam or poison it. Look at that land and try to see it black with men, all wanting to see you dead and quite capable of sitting it out for years."
Patisk swallowed. He could imagine it.
"There is nowhere to run during a siege, nowhere to hide. Your enemy runs out of stones or green fire and he sends for fresh supplies. You run out and you're dead."
"I see." The younger officer swallowed again. "This is why you're sending down new bores to increase water supplies?"
"Yes. And we'd better hope Hingast never realizes our water comes from an underground river."
"As far as we know, the surface rivers and streams do not filter down to it."
"Better hope they don't."
"What about the families following on from Sandester and Calcan?" Patisk decided to change the subject.
"They'll be here before Hingast." Mikhan smiled. "There are experienced soldiers with both groups."
Patisk stared out across the land again. "Hingast can fill all that land with soldiers and machines?"
"Certainly enough to surround the city." Mikhan smiled and tapped his nose. "I have plans of how to deal with him when he gets here."
As the marshal spoke, Patisk began to feel better.
***
Petan had kept close watch on the sylph beggar ever since Marlen first suggested the boy might be a threat. He knew every moment of the sylph's daily routine. People would notice if he simply crossed over the road to snatch the creature, so he must be circumspect. Occasionally during the day, the sylph tended to disappear down an alleyway further along the street. He had inspected that alleyway and laid his plans. Like most alleyways in most cities, this one served as a rubbish dump and emergency latrine. Even better, it was a dead end with no obvious escape routes. Petan had put an old rug on a ledge last night, ready for today. The sylph usually made his first alley visit midmorning.
Right on cue, the sylph stood, draped his blanket around his shoulders and disappeared into the alley. A few moments later, Petan followed and collected his rug. Luckily, the engrossed sylph never realized he had company until too late.
With a squeal of indignation and fright mixed together, the beggar hastily adjusted his breeches and turned to flee. For his size, Petan could move when needed and quickly wrapped the sylph in the rug. The boy struggled like the girls Petan had enjoyed in his raiding days. He reacted no differently now. He slapped the sylph on the head and told him to lie still on pain of death.
Easier than hunting rabbits.
***
Once his captors freed him from the rug, Janin sat up and rubbed his eyes. He gasped for breath as his earpoints lashed. His anger dissipated as he looked around. A dank stone floor chilled him and he guessed he sat in the Guildsman's ale cellar. Or perhaps an annex to the cellar proper, as there were no casks here. He opened his mouth to say something, saw who sat opposite, and closed it again.
He instantly recognized the man with pale blue eyes and dark hair: the leader of Marka's enemies in the city. He and his men obviously knew he was spying, but what else did they know? This man's questions would betray his ignorance. Janin's earpoints leaned back into his hair as anger turned to fear.
"My name is Marlen Ulan Masser. What's yours?"
The sylph saw no harm in answering. "Janin."
"Janin-y...?"
The sylph scowled. "No owner," he replied. "I am a beggar."
"We noticed." Marlen almost smiled. "But most beggars in this city have an owner, do they not? Gangs own you, control where you beg and take the money you collect. Others belong to the rulers of this city, spying on foreigners in exchange for somewhere to sleep and protection from the nasty people who beat sylphs who cannot beg for enough coin."
Janin blinked but said nothing.
"You don't appear to suffer from frequent beatings," continued Marlen, conversationally, "so I'm forced to assume you belong to the second group. Who do you spy for? Supreme Council? This... sylph pretend-Emperor?"
"I always get plenty of coin," said Janin, quickly. "I am a good sylph."
Marlen touched a small pile of coins, mostly copper. "Not enough for a human controller," he said. "Not in a major city."
Janin stared. If nothing else, this man didn't know he worked for Sandev.
"Well, Janin-allegedly-no-owner, you might be very good at avoiding beatings from your owner, perhaps because you offer something else?"
Janin began to hate the man before him.
"I have a deal for you, boy." Marlen's voice and expression hardened. "You tell me who you work for, or I will beat you."
"I am a beggar," replied Janin. His fear strengthened.
Marlen steepled his fingers before interlacing them. "Very well. Petan."
The sylph's eyes widened as Petan stepped forward and grabbed him. He drew his breath sharply as both arms were twisted behind his back.
"Last chance, boy. Who do you work for?"
"I beg."
Marlen drove his fist into the sylph's midriff as hard as he could.
***
Belaika watched the scouts stream out of the gate. The recent birth had granted him the privilege of extra time in the reserve, so he could look after his wife. A larger child than normal for sylphs, the gwerin's birth had proved a strain and Eleka still felt its after-effects.
Thankfully, his owner agreed that the best person to offer comfort and support must be Belaika. Not all owners were so understanding.
Salafisa did very well: she gurgled happily enough and demanded milk in a loud voice at too-regular intervals. Belaika had always wondered why infants weren't born with weaker lungs; these always reached maturity first. Probably the same throughout the animal kingdom.
Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He started and looked down to meet Grayar's
auguring gaze. He muttered a greeting.
"Wish you were with them?" asked the human, as he watched the scouts.
"Partly," replied the sylph.
"Only partly?" A bushy eyebrow arched at the taller sylph.
"My wife has a new child."
"The gwerin." Grayar nodded. "First gwerin birth I've heard of in many years."
"Many years?" Belaika knew this meant more than a handful. There were too many people with this "Gift" about for comfort.
"Many," affirmed Grayar. "There are perhaps twelve other gwerins I'm aware of on this continent, and about the same where I come from. I'm sure there are many more among the wild tribes, which they usually come to lead. Sylphs do not treat them the same as the full-blood infertiles." His voice held a tone of disapproval.
"Those infertiles are common," said Belaika. "Humans hold them in low status as well, but gwerins are different. Humans heap honors onto parents who produce them. Gwerins are intelligent and valuable."
"Most humans are foolish some of the time and some are foolish most of the time," sniffed Grayar. "Gwerins are also feared by many; by those who are fools."
"Why?"
"Because gwerins are intelligent and eventually seen as a threat. Because age brings wisdom and the longer you live, the wiser you become - and gwerins live a long time. Because people cannot always see a gift is also a curse. Because sometimes their advice leads to hardship, even if a lesser hardship than if that advice is ignored. Because they are impartial and fair minded. And because they're not infallible; sometimes they get it wrong. The Emperor does not boast the title 'Lord Protector of Gwerins' for no reason at all."
"Sound like excuses."
"Exactly what they are. The main reason people come to fear them is because there is more human than sylph in gwerins."
"How can that be so?" Belaika blinked and his earpoints slanted forward.
Grayar stared directly at the scout. "You'd hate us all if you knew what humans did to sylphs. Once a completely separate species, you've been mongrelized and scaled down in value and importance. Left with few of your true sylph's features, and those only to make you appear... exotic."
Belaika started. "How can this be true? Everyone knows sylphs and humans cannot breed together."
The human snorted. "Very few people understand how humans mixed themselves with true sylphs to produce the hybrid we now call sylphs. It happened even before humans arrived on the ilvenworld."
Belaika glanced skywards. "The Ark Star?" he asked.