Matthew Sturges - Midwinter

A tall man in distinguished middle age descended the staircase at the far end of the room. A train of scribes and pages followed him.

"Commander Kallmer," said the man. "Is all well?"

"My Lord," said Kallmer, bowing low enough to scrape his fingers on the dirty stone floor. "I had only just begun."

Mauritane recognized the speaker as Baron Geracy of Sylvan Major, the highest titled man in the region. The Palace Laco was his country estate.

"Mauritane," said Geracy, brushing a mane of gray hair from his lined face. "You have disappointed me twice. Once as a traitor and again as a fugitive. I am astonished that I once trusted you with my life."

Mauritane nodded back. "I apologize for that, Lord. I would that you might one day learn my point of view on those matters."

"Hm," said the baron. He turned for the stairs. "Kallmer, carry on. And remember, when Lord Purane shows up, tell him what a favor I've done for you, loaning out my cellar, and invite him for dinner."

Kallmer winced. "My apologies, Baron. Purane is not coming himself. He's sent Purane-Es."

"Oh," said Geracy. "Forget it, then." Geracy started up the stairs, his boots thudding on the old wood. One of the scribes, a waifish girl in an overlarge robe, made eye contact with Mauritane from the base of the staircase. She gazed at him for an instant, waited until Kallmer turned his back, and then mouthed the words "Fear not." She turned and quickly ascended the steps with her fellows.

Mauritane cocked his head to watch her go. He was certain he'd never seen her before.

"Do you know what I think, Mauritane?" said Kallmer. "I think you've got something valuable. I think you're Her Majesty's courier and that whatever it is you're carrying is something she doesn't want anyone to know a thing about. Hence all the secrecy and skullduggery." He stepped toward Mauritane. "Here's a deal: give me what you've got and I'll kill you quickly. Blades across the throat, crossbow quarrels through your eyes, your choice. Don't give me what I want, and we'll see if the baron's old torture machines still work. We'll start with the human, since I know he'll want to talk quickly. The baron has one device, lots of pulleys and levers, I don't even know what it's for. I think it would be fun to find out though, wouldn't it?"

He glanced at Raieve. "Next, I'll take care of your little bit on the side there. I assume the Lady Anne doesn't know about her? Of course not, and more power to you, I say. I almost hope she doesn't talk, because it will be so much fun trying to convince her."

"If you lay a finger on me," said Raieve, "I will depart this life with your balls between my teeth. I swear it."

Kallmer laughed. "That would be a lot of fun," he said. "But before I do any of that, I want you to have dinner with the baron and me. You can enjoy a delicious meal, your last, and ponder the terms of my offer. When dinner is over, I'll expect your decision."

"You can have my decision now," said Mauritane. "I don't have what you want. I don't even know what it is."

Smiling, Kallmer headed for the staircase. "Whatever you say, Captain. I'll see you at dinner."

Mauritane stared at the roasted boar on his plate, unable to eat, a deep sullenness welling within him. Too many things had wrested control from him of late. He was finally out of prison but could not seem to avoid seeing the world through the bars of a cage.

They dined on one of the southern terraces. Geracy sat at the head of the table, drinking too much wine and talking loudly. Kallmer sat next to Mauritane, gnawing on a piece of meat. Across the table sat the Lady Geracy and her daughter Elice, both sitting uncomfortably silent in the presence of a known traitor. A few paces away, four of Kallmer's guardsmen stood with crossbows at the ready.

Mauritane looked up at the daughter, whose attention was fixed on her nearly empty plate. Behind her, the fog-clad summit of Oak and Thorn made a halo around her head, her golden hair glinting in the fading sunlight.

"I think it's important to expose a young girl to many things," Geracy was saying to Kallmer, indicating his daughter with the point of his dinner knife. "The children of today ought to be aware of things. They must grow up too fast nowadays."

"I'm sure you're correct, Baron," said Kallmer. He'd had a few glasses of wine himself and had spent the entire meal making eyes at the girl, who seemed to Mauritane barely out of puberty.

"Given any thought to my deal, Mauritane?" said Kallmer, as though asking about the weather. He leaned in and whispered. "I'd hate for you to have to watch your friends suffer. Especially that tempting half-breed girl. My, my." Kallmer wiped his mouth with a thick cloth napkin.

Mauritane said nothing. He pushed his plate away, inadvertently spilling a glass of wine onto the tablecloth.

"You always were a difficult son of a whore," said Kallmer.

A bell rang somewhere in the house. A few moments later, an armor-clad courier stepped out onto the terrace bearing a tiny parcel. He bowed deeply, his breath heavy beneath his closed helmet.

"I am for Mauritane," he said.

Kallmer twisted in his chair, looking at the baron with surprise. "Since when is his mail being delivered here?" He rose. "I'll take that," he said.

"Apologies, sir," said the courier, his voice tinny behind his faceplate. "I am for Mauritane only."

The baron scowled. "This is most irregular, Kallmer," he said. "No one is supposed to know he's here. Whom have you told?"

"I've told no one!" said Kallmer, defensively. "Who sent you?"

The courier bowed. "I come from the Chamberlain Marcuse himself, sir, in the City Emerald."

Kallmer had no response.

"Get on with it, then," said the baron. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

Mauritane rose slowly and accepted the package. He took a pen from the courier and affixed his signature to a paper receipt.

"What are you waiting for?" said Kallmer, when the courier did not leave. "A gratuity?"

The courier was impassive. "I am to wait until the package is opened by Captain Mauritane."

Mauritane sat at the table, confused. The parcel was small, no wider than the palm of his hand, wrapped in rough paper and tied with twine. He undid the knot and tore the wrapping away, revealing a small wooden box, inlaid with diamonds and painted with a bright blue lacquer. The box had no latch and opened easily. Inside was a smaller velvet box and a note. The note read, "This belonged to a relative of yours. Your Queen now asks that you earn one for yourself, after the same fashion." It was signed and sealed by the Chamberlain Marcuse.

Mauritane opened the tiny velvet box. Inside, nestled on a padded cushion, was a bronze medal, black with age. He recognized it immediately; the blue striped ribbon and bronze star were the hallmarks of a Special Commendation from the Seelie Royal Guard. Mauritane had himself awarded dozens of them. He turned the medal over and read the inscription on the back. It was faded but legible: "To Bersoen, son of Berwan, for distinguished service."

Mauritane raised his head. His eyes caught those of the girl, Elice. Like everyone else at the table, she was gawking at him, only hers was a look of… was it anticipation?

"I saw this in a dream," Elice whispered to Mauritane over the table. "I thought I recognized you…"

"Silence, child!" shouted the baron. "You'll speak when spoken to." He stood and turned on the courier. "Your man has opened his bauble. I suggest that you now be on your way."

The courier nodded and made for the wide double doors, making no reply.

Kallmer tore the box and the medal from Mauritane's hands. "What is this about?" he said. He handed the items to the baron. "What is this about?"

The baron scanned the note and dangled the medal in front of his eyes. "I can make no sense of it." He pursed his lips. "I do not like the looks of this, Kallmer. I fear you may have gone too far…"