Matthew Sturges - Midwinter

"And the other," said Raieve, "is that Her Majesty needed a courier who wouldn't be missed."

"I don't believe so," said Silverdun. "I've been thinking about your experience at Crete Sulace, Mauritane."

"In the South Tower?" said Mauritane.

"Surely it was no coincidence that you had such an odd encounter on the eve of our adventure. The two must be related somehow."

Mauritane narrowed his eyes. "You think that the Queen is after me personally?"

"I don't know. You were Guard Captain for years. Certainly that puts you well within her sphere."

Mauritane shook his head. "I've never met Her Majesty personally, if that's what you mean."

"You were the Captain of her Guard and you never met her?"

"I'm not of noble blood. All of my instructions and briefings came through the Chamberlain."

"Could the Chamberlain be involved somehow?" said Silverdun. "Perhaps he's blamed something on you and this is his method of eliminating the evidence."

Mauritane stiffened. "I've never met a more loyal man than Marcuse. He is above reproach."

Silverdun nodded. "But is he above bribery? Is he above fault?"

"He is not involved. He would never be so bold."

"Enough of this," said Raieve, annoyed. "How are we to approach this Kallmer? What do we do if he's arranged an ambush?"

"You'll retreat. I'll remain and parlay with him. I am obligated to do so, regardless of the circumstances. You are not."

"I'm not leaving you," said Raieve.

"Nor I," said Silverdun.

Mauritane looked at Satterly, who was listening with his mouth drawn down in a deep frown.

"It's time to discuss what happened among the humans," said Mauritane.

Satterly nodded.

"You tried to escape. I told you I would kill you if you did."

Satterly nodded again. He looked at Mauritane, a tear forming in his left eye. "I know that's what you said. You have to do what you have to do. But I didn't leave. I could have, and I didn't. I stayed because I knew you all would have rotted in that cell if I hadn't. That has to count for something."

"You were, however, prepared to abandon our mission, when it was convenient for you to do so."

Satterly sighed. "I suppose I was."

Raieve cleared her throat. "If you're going to kill him, you should kill me as well. I would have done the same thing in his place."

Mauritane slammed his fist on the table. "Does a man's word mean nothing anywhere but here?" he shouted.

"I don't know," said Raieve. "I'm not a man."

"You know what I mean," said Mauritane.

"I do," said Raieve. "But I also know that there are some things that mean more than a promise. A promise, at its heart, is only words, Mauritane. Some things, like home, are far more powerful than any words."

"The question is academic," said Mauritane. "I'm not going to kill Satterly. We need him. Though it seems more foolish with each passing day, I still think he is going to prove his value before this task is complete. We each have a point of view on the matter of his guilt. When we are sipping brandies around a fire someday, we can debate the subject. For now, let us move on."

They entered the Rye Grove from the south, just as the blurred sun reached its zenith in the sky. The grove was in the northwest quadrant of the city, in the shadow of the Temple Aba-e. The air was cold here, the icicles long and thick on the eaves of gazebos and the branches of trees. The great stones around which the grove was built were obsidian, ancient and rough. They stood in a circle at the grove's center, each the height of two men, the Sylvan altar in their center.

A man in the uniform of a Royal Guard Commander stood at the altar, making an offering of wheat. He stood and brushed his gloved hands on his trousers.

"Ho, Mauritane!" he called. His voice was strong and deep.

"Kallmer," said Mauritane.

"Welcome to Sylvan." Kallmer made a sweeping motion with his arm.

At the signal, dozens of soldiers stepped from their hiding places behind the stones, the trees, even the grove's gates. Each one held a crossbow leveled at Mauritane's head.

"They tell me you can catch crossbow bolts with your bare hands," called Kallmer, approaching him. "But I do not think you can catch sixty."

He looked at Mauritane. "You can't, can you?"

Purane-Es embraced the Lady Anne at his father's gate. Puorry Lane was a swirl of snow, tiny dry flakes that moved in random directions and dusted their hair and shoulders. He kissed Anne and her lips were cold, but her mouth was warm.

"Be strong," she said. "Do not falter, love."

"I won't falter. There's nothing he can say to change my mind."

"Then let us go in," she said. "It's so cold out today."

A servant opened the door and led them to Purane's sitting room, where a merry fire burned in the grate. Drinks were waiting on a silver tray next to the settee. Lord Purane and his wife sat in matching chairs by the fire.

"Welcome!" said Purane, rising. "A toast to the newly married couple!" He smiled broadly.

Purane-Es drank the toast and put the glass down a bit too hard. He was neither accustomed nor inclined to defying his father, and he had no doubt it would be unpleasant.

After a few more formalities, Purane-Es interrupted. "Sir, there is an urgent matter I would discuss with you."

Purane regarded his son, taking his measure. "Yes, I was about to say the same thing."

Purane-Es swallowed hard and followed his father into the study, leaving the ladies to make polite conversation. Where the sitting room had been warm and inviting, the study was large, oppressive. The floor here was hard stone.

"There's been a development in the northwest," began Purane, drawing a map from a set of tall slots in the study wall. "It could not fit our plans more perfectly."

Purane-Es winced. "Our plans are the reason for my visit, sir."

Purane took a long look at his son, his eyes cool. "Speak, then."

"You know, father, that I did not choose a martial life for myself. That was Purane-La's goal, not mine."

"Go on."

"Anne is a revelation to me. She reminds me of what I have always wanted. She encourages me. I've sung for her some of my poems and ballads and she believes…"

Purane laughed out loud. "Poems? Ballads? What nonsense is this?"

"Perhaps you hadn't noticed that before Purane-La's death I was one of the most highly regarded balladeers at court. Given time I could be the best."

"Rubbish."

"It's not rubbish. It's what I want."

Purane laughed even louder. "What you want? What you want?" He sat at his desk and placed his hands carefully on the dark surface. "Son, I see that I have not communicated clearly. Your desires do not enter into my thoughts at all."

"Father!"

"Quiet, boy! Do you think I've worked all of these years building up the name Purane just so you could piss it away with your fancy new bride? If so, you're an even greater fool than I thought. I'd sooner see you dead than waste everything I've built."

"And you don't care that it means nothing to me?"

"I believe I've made myself clear on that point. We have a great opportunity here, to ensure our position at court, in the military, with the Queen Herself. When you arrive at the palace with the object of Her Majesty's desires, whatever in hell it may be, and Mauritane's traitorous head on a stake, our places will be secure. Secure, perhaps, for all time."

Purane-Es sat in a high-backed wooden chair. "And if I refuse?"

His father reached into a desk drawer and laid a sealed letter on the desk. "This comes from the Chamberlain," he said. "It's for you."

Purane-Es took the letter warily and opened it. "This is a set of orders," he said. "I've been called to Sylvan."