"You can return to the kitchens when we get back," he promised.
"Why are we still here? You brought Djerana to Zenepha. Why not go home?"
"You know why." Grayar's voice firmed. "Sandev needs help and we are going to give her that help."
Salu restrained a sigh. She suddenly looked up, staring at one of the three celestial objects visible from the world's surface in daylight. The Ark Star passed overhead, directly above the pyramid.
"You and she must fight Dervra."
Grayar wished he had never explained about the Ten to Salu. He glanced up at the Ark Star. "I hope not. Outwit him yes, but not fight."
His sylph walked on a few steps, staring at the pavement, her earpoints wilted.
"And Dervra has probably got Nicolfer working with him," continued Grayar. "They usually work together to bring us trouble."
Salu muttered something under her breath.
"Marka's civilization has collapsed twice since its foundation," said Grayar. "Dervra and Nicolfer were behind both events. Now they want to stop Marka from growing again."
"Why?"
"Probably because the Malefic Sephiroth works its will best when humans are divided against themselves."
"The Ten were supposed to stop the Malefic Sephiroth from using humans." Salu remembered her lessons well.
"And we failed. We had to stand apart, but we stood too far apart. We're also supposed to protect ilven, and not making a very good job of that, either. Their numbers still dwindle."
Salu changed the subject, a habit she had picked up from those ilven. "Now Marka is ruled by a sylph."
Grayar grunted a half laugh. "A sylph. An impressive one, but still only a sylph."
"Djerana likes him."
"Which will help protect him. I'm not surprised he was sold from the Key: something about that boy commands respect. However, I don't think even he can hold Marka together for long. It depends how he handles himself during the siege. But people will still see 'only' a sylph."
Turning a corner, they met the full glare of the sun.
"Can we walk in the shade? If I must exercise, I do not want to cook at the same time."
Grayar chuckled. "There is much to be said for living in a maritime climate," he said, as they crossed the road. He had forgotten how hot Marka could get in summer. And this was only early summer. "Missing home?"
"Yes," admitted Salu. "I will never grumble about the rain again."
Grayar and Salu suddenly stopped and looked at each other. The sylph rubbed her arms and her earpoints wilted.
"Sorcery," she whispered.
Or perhaps the Gift, reflected Grayar. That seemed unlikely. He sensed something not quite right, a dissonance he usually associated with sorcery. And wielded by an adept.
Just one thing marked the difference between the Gift and sorcery. Siranva granted the power randomly and seemingly without reason, a gift in the true sense. Practitioners of sorcery always began by actively seeking the power, and often by those who lusted after power for power's sake. Even if they believed they sought it for altruistic reasons. And the Malefic Sephiroth always inspired it. Normally, Grayar would need to be face to face with someone using the Gift or sorcery to sense it.
Here, he could almost smell it.
"Nicolfer," he whispered.
"Not Dervra?" Salu's voice held more than a hint of wishful thinking.
Grayar looked at his sylph and patted her shoulder. "Enough exercise for one day."
"Oh good," said Salu.
***
He watched the sylphs training to be scouts. Now the wild ones had left the city, these were former beggars and a few bored with domestic service. The beggars had been swept from the streets, so even that potential source of relief was closed to him.
Being surrounded by so many lithe sylphs set his heart pounding. Even under the camouflage paint, he could tell these "boys" were far too pretty for masculinity. Perhaps one would fail soon and he could pounce, disguising his act as an apparent suicide. It would not be the first and he doubted if it would be the last. Unless someone caught him. That risk added yet more excitement, but he always took care. He had been caught once and escaped, but he was not infallible. Or immortal.
The way that one's muscles rippled under his skin to catch his attention. Thigh muscles tensioning and relaxing, causing a wiggle in those private places where no man should look at another male. The shame of it! Those places were covered with short breeches of course, but he knew what lay underneath. Perhaps that one would fail next; he must be by far the prettiest of them.
He gritted his teeth. Too pretty for masculinity. He would sort that out, he knew he could. As he caressed his knife, a small smile turned his lips.
***
"Around the walls again."
The sylphs hid groans as the human Sergeant issued his command. Most were tired of running around the inside of the city walls, staying below the walls proper and keeping out of the soldiers' way. The Sergeant alternated between sending the trainee scouts around handwise and counterhandwise. Many were already sluggish though the day had hardly begun.
Thankfully, the paint granted anonymity among the other sylphs. Janin heeded Sandev's warning that Marlen or Petan might catch him and this time ensure he died. Worryingly, the dull black collar around his neck told all those who were literate his name and that of his owner.
"Come on, let's move!" called the Sergeant, tapping his stick against a thigh.
At this dark hint, all thirty of the trainee scouts broke into a run, pounding grimly along the alleyway between the walls and the nearest buildings.
Janin had never been so fit, but he wondered if it was really necessary. For the moment, nobody entered or left the city. He doubted if there would be much running before the siege ended. Admittedly, he felt lean and gratefully accepted the extra food his new duties brought, but he doubted if he would get much scouting done outside the city in the immediate future.
As he ran at the head of the group of sylphs, he reminded himself of the whistles he must learn by heart. How the scouts communicated impressed him.
Many of the more experienced scouts helped teach the raw recruits the whistles. The sylph language had been broken down into twenty-one basic sounds and each sound had its own whistle. Janin suspected humans used something like this to trap knowledge on paper. He knew letters formed their mysterious writing, but nothing more than that. A string of these sounds made the messages easy to translate back into speech. All the trainee scouts could pass whistles on, though few could yet compose anything more than very basic messages.
Some complained about the tough training, but Janin found it easier than his previous life. Plenty of physical exercise, lots of food and his own pallet for sleeping. Camaraderie between the trainees made him feel right at home, being similar to that found on the streets. Perhaps more a feeling of unity against a harsh world.
Even penned in the city, Janin's days were full. All trainee scouts were up at daybreak for a run before breakfast. After eating they cleaned their dormitories and communal areas, then a lesson in the art of scouting. Followed by another run, this time in the day's full heat. The Sergeants ensured every sylph drank plenty of water, so nobody had an excuse for not running in the heat.
As Bascon had explained, sometimes a sylph must run to his objective before learning that it had been moved several milas further away. Which meant pushing himself even harder to reach the new objective.
Janin would not let his owner down. He could not fail her again. Ninety-seven sylphs had begun training days before, now only thirty were left. Most failures were too wary of open spaces, a fear common in sylphs.
But Janin stiffened himself with resolve.
According to the Sergeants, this was the easy part of the training. The trained scouts who had arrived with Marcus Vintner never hesitated to point out that normal circumstances dictated five years' training before a sylph should run with the army. But they no longer had time.
Janin had overheard Bascon and the Sergeant talking about this. The sylph expressed his concern that most of the scouts outside the city were barely trained. He feared this inexperience might be dangerous to both scouts and soldiers.
Janin blinked as he heard the human Sergeant – speaking in sylph, of course – address Bascon as an equal. The sylph spoke in the same manner, as if natural for him to do so, suggesting he had some status among the soldiers. These Sergeants had arrived with Marcus Vintner and Janin wondered where their first loyalty lay. He would bet that Marka did not rank highly.
He pounded along the line of the walls, grimly determined to let nothing get through. He was tough enough, he knew it.
***
Belaika followed Marcus from the new command headquarters to the palace in characteristic silence. That the Markans had become dependent on his master's army and deferred to its undisputed leader, pleased the sylph. But Marshal Mikhan seemed not to understand Branad Vintner had been defeated and that he should follow Marcus now. The marshal looked more to Zenepha for leadership.
This bothered Belaika a lot more than it did his owner. He wondered how Marcus could tolerate this insult, even allowing for human oddities.
Like every other sylph scout, he kept his paint fresh. Even with no chance of leaving the city in the immediate future, he wore his camouflage as if in the field. Like almost all the younger scouts, Belaika had added black slashes to the normal gray, green and brown. Many of the older scouts frowned upon the practice, claiming correctly that black paint added effect rather than practical use. But no human ever said they could not use black slashes.
The older scouts had a point; females always looked more favorably at scouts with the black slashes.
His new gold collar was carefully stored away, replaced by the traditional scout's black leather collar. His only clothing was a pair of short breeches, painted the same colors as his skin, except for the black. Short breeches were suitable in the increasing heat of the city, as spring gave way to burning summer.
He glanced at his owner as they entered the palace, but remained silent. Marcus acknowledged the guards' salutes with a nod of his head.
Jenn waited at the entrance to Marcus's quarters. Belaika wondered if the small infertile had an extra sense that alerted her whenever her owner's return was imminent. She had already brewed alovak, which she happily served.
"Where's Zandra?" asked Marcus.
Jenn shrugged. "She went into the city with the children and Kaira."
"Very good. All right Belaika, I'm finished with you."
Dismissed, Belaika pattered along the corridor and pushed the door open to his own quarters.
He hugged and kissed Eleka, noses and earpoints touching briefly. He then kissed each of his children, including the newborn Salafisa. The gwerin grew well; her eyes already focused and her limbs moved in more than two directions. And permanently hungry, which was natural. Callie and Sallie, his two daughters, crowded around.
Belaika smiled at them all and looked at the small plate of vegetables. The food looked like it had seen better days.
"We have already eaten," Eleka told him. "Jenn held this back for you."
"Nice of her; she said nothing when I came in."
"Probably knew you would find it."
"And so I have." Belaika thanked his wife and ate quickly. A bland meal, but he knew hardships lay ahead.
"Jenn is worried things will not go as planned," said Eleka.
Belaika's earpoints gave a twitch and he grimaced. "Impossible to tell," he replied. "Enya says the Markans are soft. They have good soldiers, but are unused to war. They believe confidence and faith in the Father is enough to save them." He inspected the last vegetable before eating it.
"That is not enough," completed Eleka. She sniffed.
"Enya is certain we can beat off an attack. It depends on how organized Hingast is, and how well Lance Captain Kestan does his work."
"Kestan-ya." Eleka cuddled up to her husband, both lapsing into comfortable silence for a few moments. "Jenn worries too much," she whispered. Uninvited, Callie and Sallie, together with their new sister Salafisa, joined their parents.
Belaika, watching his wife's face, nodded.
The heads of the four sylphs – Salafisa did not move – came up at a knock on the outer door.
"Anya?" wondered Eleka.
Belaika listened for voices. A rumble of the visitor's voice, then nothing. He heard the door close.
A few moments passed before Jenn poked her head around their door.
"Enya wants to see you." She looked apologetic for interrupting their private moment.
Belaika glanced at his wife, shrugged, then extricated himself from the tangle of arms and legs.
Jenn gave him a sympathetic look, but offered no explanation as she led him into Marcus's receiving room. The moment he entered, she withdrew and looked happy to go. Belaika glanced at the guest.
"Grayar-ya." The sylph inclined his head. This man had arrived the night of Salafisa's birth. And was as unsettling as Sandev.
Marcus sat with his hands steepled before him. "Grayar has a small task for you."
Belaika nodded. "I stand ready."
Grayar's blue eyes regarded the sylph. "You might like to hear what the task is before you agree to it."
That sounded ominous. The scout blinked and his earpoints wilted a little.
Grayar nodded at the sylph's reaction. "A rogue sorcerer is in the city."
The sylph remained impassive. He already knew that; a rogue sorcerer had murdered Branad Vintner.
Grayar spoke as if he had read Belaika's mind. "Not him. This one is infinitely more powerful and a lot nastier, I can assure you. I'm asking you to find her. Nothing more."
Belaika looked at his owner. "You don't have to do this," said Marcus. "Purely voluntary. You can say no."
"I ask you," continued Grayar, "because you already know how sorcery feels."
The sylph managed a nod, but his earpoints wilted and his mouth immediately dried. He felt almost as bad as at the beginning of a battle.
"You are afraid. No shame in that."
"I will do it." Though his earpoints betrayed his inner emotions, Belaika's voice remained calm. "You want me to find her."
"Don't think it's any easier because I ask you to find a woman. She is very dangerous."
"All humans are dangerous." Belaika's silvery gray eyes were steady and his earpoints recovered.
Grayar nodded. "Very true. Sadly this duty must be in addition to all your other work, else you might arouse her suspicion."
The sylph nodded.
"When you find her, tell your owner or myself. Nobody else. Do you understand?"
"Se bata."
Grayar smiled.
***
Without Zenepha and Selkina for company, Djerana felt lonely, so she played her flute to herself. Her emerald eyes closed as she swayed to her music. The two sylphs were due to return at any time, so when she heard the door to the chamber open and close quietly, a small smile turned the corners of her mouth. She allowed the last note to fade to nothing.
She looked over her shoulder and expectation turned to disappointment.
"Lady ilven." The Imhotep of Marka raised a hand in greeting. "I am pleased to have caught you at last. A less charitable man might suspect you try your best to avoid me."
Djerana remembered there were times humans did not appreciate total honesty and gestured half apologetically with her hands. She glanced out of the fifth-story window and wondered if the risk of broken legs might not be preferable to this man's company. He would doubtless visit her in the spital every day, for hours at a time. The window no longer seemed an attractive option.
"I had hoped to catch His Majesty –"
"He is out."
"– but I am pleased to have run into you."
That feeling's not mutual, reflected the ilven. She managed to force a smile, hoping this would be a brief visit.
> "Some questions trouble my conscience. Concerning Siran – Ah, the Father."
The questions worried her. The Imhotep naming the Father had no relevance. "You need not fear naming Him," she said, cautiously. "It is only overfamiliar for ilven to name Him." Burn it, from the expression on his face, she'd given the man an opening!
He leaned forward, brown eyes staring directly into her green. "They say to do this is to look upon the features of the godhead Himself."
Djerana blinked. "Sounds like nonsense."
"You are Siranva's daughters." He did not stumble over the Father's name now! "Daughters of gods must surely be goddesses?"
The ilven sighed. "We are part of the Benefic Sephiroth. So are Grayar and Sandev; they are not gods. Ilven are not gods." A frown briefly furrowed her brow. "I think. Certainly not while we are here and we do not know what happens after we are called."
"There are many who say the Father is not our god, that He merely tolerates our presence here."
"I've not seen Him recently to ask."
The Imhotep laughed. "Ilven telling jokes?"
"Sarcasm learned from Grayar."
"I am surprised the Father would allow this to happen."
"Sarcasm?"
"The siege."
"Oh, that. Yes." The man trampled over ground ilven usually avoided. Gather food. Eat. Sleep. Stare at the beauty of the world and admire it. Deep theological questions were not her thing. Not any ilven's thing. Not yet, anyway.
"Will the Father help?"
Djerana stared. "The Father's dealings with humans are between Him and you. They are none of my concern."
"So He is not looking after Marka?"
"Marka has an Emperor looking after Marka." Who hopefully would walk through that door at any moment and save her.
"He would be very unhappy should anything happen to you."
Djerana shrugged her shoulders. "What troubles you?"
Now the Imhotep glanced out of the window. "Many are beginning to question the Father's... right... to dictate to us."
"He does not dictate. He gave instructions to humans in exchange for allowing you to remain on the ilvenworld. Human affairs are human affairs and He will not interfere unless humans interfere with ilven."