Queen of the Sylphs Read online

  “Come on,” he told the battler. “Come home with me. We’ll talk.”

  He ruffled Heyou’s hair and started walking, dragging the boy along behind him. Heyou sighed, but he came along obediently enough. Galway felt a spark of hope flare through the battler and that was good enough for now.

  Ril yawned as he and Leon walked down the wide, well-lit corridor that formed the main throughway of the hive’s underground complex. The ambient light came from a lattice of crystals in the ceiling and walls, lit by a single fire sylph in a central location who illuminated the entire network of corridors and rooms.

  The corridors were all clean and easy to navigate, but there were still few humans to be seen. Most still found the idea of living here too alien, and they stayed aboveground when they could. Sylphs liked it more. There were a lot of those in the halls, and at night, while their masters slept, there were hundreds enjoying the camaraderie of a proper hive.

  Leon looked over appraisingly at his battler. “Do you want to go to the nest?” he asked. “I can do this without you.”

  Ril shook his head and yawned again. “No. I can manage.”

  Leon just nodded. Once this was done, Ril was going to the nest, the chamber by the main audience and throne room that the battlers had taken as their own. They congregated there in their natural form, relaxing, and Ril slept in it, the other battlers necessary to hold him in his original shape. He’d fall to specks of light anywhere else. He still sometimes needed to take that shape and rest that way, but it was usually his choice about when.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do?” Leon asked. They headed down narrower corridors that led deeper into the hive, and then down more stairs.

  “Do?”

  “With Lizzy.”

  He saw Ril’s puzzled look and felt the battler’s uncertainty. Ril was apparently still afraid of his reaction about his daughter. The battler had made Lizzy his master long ago, secretly, and Leon’s discovery had been an accident. He knew Leon could still change his mind and not allow Lizzy to be with him. Leon could order him away and Ril would have to obey.

  Leon had no intention of doing that. The situation couldn’t go on the way it was, though.

  “In every way that matters, you’re married to Lizzy,” he told the battler. “Usually when two people get together, they move into a home of their own.”

  Ril frowned, blinked, and frowned again. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  Leon smiled. He didn’t particularly want Ril to leave, either, even if they’d still work together. The battler hadn’t been too keen on the idea of becoming Solie’s majordomo and social secretary, taking Devon’s place, but the job would be good for him. Thanks to his injuries, Ril couldn’t fulfil the usual duties of a battle sylph, but he was still immortal. If he was going to survive the centuries to come, he needed a purpose. Leon intended to give him one.

  He also wanted to make it easier for Ril to keep all of his masters close. At least until he outlived them.

  “You don’t have to move out,” he suggested to Ril, “but I think it’s a good idea to give Lizzy a place that she knows is her own. It’s good for both of you.” When the battler looked suspicious, Leon added, “We have that barn at the end of the garden we use for the horses. The neighbors down the road have said we can put those in their pasture. They won’t even charge us except for feed. That means we can replace the barn with a cottage. That way you’ll both be near the family but able to get away and be together.”

  Ril tilted his head to one side, pondering. “That sounds all right.”

  “Good.” Leon grinned. “I’ll see if I can get an earth sylph to change the barn. It’s all stone anyway.”

  Ril nodded and yawned again, but Leon felt happier. His battler’s emotions were content and relaxed.

  Ahead, doors were spaced along the corridor. Claw slouched outside one, staring at his hands. He glanced up as they approached, and the battler, who had blue hair for some strange reason, looked almost frightened. Not that Leon doubted his ability to act as guard; the sylph would destroy whomever he had to. Still, Leon spoke gently to him, knowing how long Rachel had been working to build up his shattered confidence.

  “Good morning, Claw. I need to see the prisoners, please.”

  The battler shivered, glancing from Leon to Ril. Ril stared back with understanding. The two were unique among sylphs: Ril was crippled in body, Claw in spirit.

  Claw nodded shakily. “Okay.” He turned and pulled a key out of his pocket, using it to unlock the door.

  “Thank you,” Leon said, and passing the battler started down another set of stairs.

  Ril paused, eyeing Claw. “How’s the reading coming?”

  “Um, good,” the other battler said. “I read a story to Rachel last night.”

  “Nice,” Ril said.

  Claw sagged. “The math is hard, though.”

  Ril clapped him on the shoulder. “I hate math,” he confessed. Then, without another word, he followed his master down the stairs.

  Claw locked the door behind them, and quietly Leon and Ril descended. The stairs opened onto a section of the hive that had been intended for storage, though, like much of the rest of the complex, it wasn’t actually in use. Not yet. The earth sylphs just liked to create things, even far beyond the needs of the population.

  The light was much dimmer here, the reflective crystals transmitting illumination from the on-duty fire sylph more sporadically placed. Leon and Ril moved without concern through the shadows, coming at last to another door, one of many, that was guarded by a large, prone mountain lion. The beast lay right before them, tail flicking.

  “Good morning, Dillon,” Leon said.

  The transformed battle sylph looked up and yawned, showing a massive array of teeth. Most battlers stayed in one preferred human shape when they weren’t in their natural form, but Dillon liked to experiment. The big cat rose and revealed a key. He padded out of the way, moving to the other side of the corridor where he sat down again, shifting into the shape of a large brown bear. He didn’t say anything, not bothering to form vocal cords, but watched placidly as Leon bent to pick up the key.

  Leon unlocked the door. Ril stepped up beside him, just in case the men inside were stupid enough to try and attack. Inside was a single storage room, lit by a lone oil lamp suspended from the ceiling. Cots had been brought in, and there was a pitcher of water and some towels beside a large basin. There was even a curtain covering one corner where the captives could relieve themselves. The room smelled of sweat and fear, but at least it was clean.

  Five men sat on the floor or on cots. Each glanced up as Ril and Leon entered. They all had been taken easily, which was hardly a surprise. There were ways to get by a battler, but not many men knew them. Leon had learned them by observing Ril over the years and he’d used several of those tricks in Meridal. Battlers reacted to emotion, and if a man didn’t feel the emotions they were seeking, they ignored him.

  The five assassins stared at him, their faces impassive. They looked as calm as a group of men sitting around a tavern, but he had no doubt their emotions were revealing themselves to his battler. He felt Ril’s amusement.

  Leon crossed his arms, not really needing his battler’s perceptions. “Borash,” he said, nodding to the closest. “Mikel, Deel, Randel, Erry.” All were soldiers, men he’d known in King Alcor’s army. They returned his look with expressions not of surprise, since his betrayal was already known, but disgust.

  “Traitor,” Randel hissed. He was the first captured, Leon had heard, though he hadn’t given his identity to anyone. He matched Solie’s description.

  “Mmmm.” Leon regarded him for a moment. “I suppose I’ll dispense with the questioning. The reasons why you’re here are plain. If it wasn’t Alcor’s idea to send you all, it was Umut’s.”

  Umut Taggart was Leon’s replacement, and this felt like something he would try. He likely wouldn’t be surprised by his assassins’ failure, either.
Nor would he be regretful.

  “I need to decide what to do with you,” Leon announced.

  “You don’t have the right to do anything,” snapped Deel. “Just surrender yourself and come back to Eferem for your trial.”

  “I . . . don’t think so.” Leon glanced at Ril. The battler looked bored. “My fate isn’t in question here.”

  “Are you going to kill us?” Erry asked. He was the youngest of the five, and he looked the most uncertain. Leon didn’t have any sympathy, not considering his intended crime.

  Still, there was no reason not to be honest. In the long run, compassion would also work better than violence.

  “No. If the battlers didn’t kill you already, I certainly won’t. But I have to decide whether to let you go or keep you here. Or, rather, you need to decide that. All of you.”

  “What do you mean?” Erry asked.

  “If you carry a message to Alcor and swear never to come back, we’ll take you to the border and let you go.” It was Solie’s decision, but Leon had seen its merit.

  “That’s all?” Randel looked dubious.

  “That’s all. We know why you came, and we know we caught all of you.”

  Leon turned and headed back out into the hall, Ril beside him. He had only needed to confirm where these men had come from, and he’d done that. Now they could carry a message back to Alcor, hopefully dissuading Eferem’s king from sending assassins or spies ever again. He’d be a fool to try. At least, they had to convince him of that. No matter how paranoid he was.

  None of the people in the Valley wanted to go to war, Solie especially, but they wouldn’t risk her life either. Solie was a good queen, but even if he weren’t fond of her, Leon wouldn’t have wanted to see her hurt. If Solie died, the Valley battlers would go mad until another queen was chosen, and it would be far too easy to end up with the wrong one. The first battler to have sex with his female master after Solie passed would make her the new queen. There were women here Leon could see as queens, but others only had a battler through necessity.

  He walked out past Dillon, Ril still following. “Wait!” one of the prisoners shouted, but Leon didn’t look back. These men could stew for a while. He had other work to catch up on.

  Claw stood guard, not moving. He wasn’t bored; he could stand forever just waiting and watching. He felt the emotions of the prisoners below, and he sensed Dillon, too, shifting from one form to another and just enjoying himself. Back in the hive, Claw could have stayed an eternity wherever he was put, watching a single spot for what in this place would be years. Here, though, the masters became unhappy if they didn’t see their battlers for too long, so his shifts were amazingly short. In only a few hours he’d be relieved. Then he would see Rachel again.

  He thought of her, of the woman’s soft skin and her wonderful emotions, of how kind she was and how incredible she felt; about the classes she’d been giving him, and of the comfort she gave. He loved her so much that he thought he’d go mad if she left him.

  There were older memories: the girl he’d seen for only an instant and come through the gate for, only to watch her killed. His mind had fractured in that moment, and the man who’d held him, Boradel, only laughed. The agony of his amusement, the horror of his taunts and mastery, it all came back to Claw again, just as it always did. Claw flinched, hands clutched defensively to his chest as though he was about to be struck. Just as he’d been struck so many times before.

  Rachel. She always told him to think of happy things when these memories came, to remind himself of all the good in his life. He tried to think of her now, but Boradel was laughing again, ordering him to cut himself so that he could watch, to throw himself off cliffs or onto swords. To feel the master’s pleasure at his battler’s pain. Claw whimpered, not knowing how to get past this no matter what Rachel said or did.

  “Hello?”

  Claw started, his form shimmering into the hideous, fanged creature that was the shape he’d worn when he belonged to Boradel. He spun, hissing, and saw a woman standing only a few dozen feet away. She watched him down the corridor.

  She certainly didn’t seem afraid. Her emotions were placidly calm instead. He stared back, resuming his human form, not understanding how she’d managed to get so close.

  “You’re a battle sylph, aren’t you?” she asked. “Gabby said you wear blue and gold all of the time.”

  Claw blinked, not sure what to do as she came closer. He was supposed to guard this door, but she didn’t feel dangerous to him. Women were calming instead, and he took a deep breath as the memories of Boradel faded.

  She didn’t even look at the door, instead focusing on him with that endless, soothing calm. She was much younger than Rachel, her soft brown hair bound back in a long braid. She wore simple clothes and a plain shawl, though Claw was no judge of fashion. Like all battlers, he just liked women, and the urge to violence didn’t exist in him near her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked. She was only a few feet away.

  “C-Claw,” he stammered.

  “I’m Sala. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She smiled and glanced up at his wild blue hair. He’d made it that way, not remembering at first that humans didn’t have blue hair, but Rachel had told him it was all right. If he liked it, she liked it, she’d said, and it didn’t matter what everyone else thought, even if he knew they thought him crazy.

  “I like your hair,” she told him.

  “Oh,” he whispered, shivering. “Thank you.”

  She smiled. Her emotions never flickered.

  Galway’s household was a huge, sprawling manor created by an overly energetic earth sylph named Stria, who was a friend of the family. Having been restricted to simple, ordinary houses for most of her work, she’d been given free rein here and turned the dwelling into a melange of stylistic elements, rooms, and hallways that reached as far underground as they did into the air. Embossed on every wall were images of whatever interested Stria at the time she’d shaped the rock; the furniture was part of the floor and there were windows everywhere. It was strange, but the family had grown used to it, and here everyone had their own room. Before the Valley they’d been crowded into a single cottage.

  Heyou and Galway walked up the front path, making their way through the hazards of wooden children’s toys and tools left scattered everywhere. The grass was long and the garden unkempt. The family wasn’t the neatest, but none of the neighbors complained, not with the thick hedge of lilacs that had been encouraged to grow during the last six years to hide the mess, and especially not with the frequent visits of a battle sylph who considered himself one of them.

  The two arrived just before lunch, entering a foyer with a ceiling thirty feet high and made from a kaleidoscope of colored glass. A massive, curving staircase led to the second and third floors, while others passages split off as well. It was completely silent, Stria having managed to design the dwelling so that sound didn’t travel. That sometimes made it hard to find whomever you were seeking, and it definitely made it hard to get everyone to the dinner table.

  Right now, however, most of the family was gathered in the dining room at the center of the house. It had a stream flowing down one side, filling a deep channel in the stone floor before it vanished again on its way to the bathrooms where it fed the tub with continuously fresh, if cool, water. A huge harvest table made of solid malachite rose out of the floor. Five people ranged around it, all of them talking at the same time they grabbed the food Iyala had prepared. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, eyeing her husband and Heyou as she brought in some potatoes.

  “I didn’t expect you,” she said, setting the bowl down and opening her arms.

  Heyou immediately launched himself at her. She was a large, immensely broad woman, and he wrapped himself in her hug, his head nearly vanishing between ponderous breasts.

  “Ah now, you I can hug without worrying, my duck!” she exclaimed, squeezing him with a strength that probably would have broken a human b
oy’s ribs. Heyou just made a happy exclamation, lost to the depths of her bosom. Galway laughed and headed to the table.

  Several of the young people sitting there had been born to the couple, but there were others that he and Iyala acquired over the years. They ranged in age from twelve to twenty-two, and Galway never bothered to remember which were biologically his; he’d picked up the rest from the towns and hamlets he visited during his travels. Iyala called him a soft touch, but he wouldn’t leave an abandoned child to suffer. She’d never turned down any of the boys or girls he’d brought, and she hadn’t turned down Heyou either. Her only comment had been about not having to feed him.

  It had taken the rest of the family longer to adapt. The fights between the boys had been, as Heyou put it, “Wonderful.” No one got seriously hurt, and once all of the boys’ courage and status was established, Heyou had become family.

  Right now, he was content to be hugged to death by his adopted mother and the rest of the children were happy to let the battler take the brunt of her affections. Galway used the opportunity to fill his plate, and he settled down like everyone else to eat. Usually he took a cold meal to work with him, and he was glad of the opportunity for something better.

  Nelson, his oldest son, sat right across from him. “Why are you here, Pop?” Nelson asked. “You never come to lunch.”

  “I had some business in the area.”

  Galway saw Nelson look at Heyou. He was not a foolish young man. He’d first met Nelson in an alley in the Eferem capital. An eight-year-old at the time, the boy had tried to mug him. But that was long ago.

  “You’re not working?” he asked.

  Nelson shook his head. “Cal and I brought in all the cattle this morning. We’ll start gelding the calves this afternoon. I wanted a full belly for that.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Galway said. Cal’s herd was up to a hundred animals, which at least kept him in the Valley instead of driving carts all over the place and babbling things he shouldn’t to anyone who might listen. Galway liked Cal, but the man had no concept of discretion. “Did his son help out?”