Matthew Sturges - Midwinter

"Okay," said Satterly. "Take a look."

Mauritane peered into the top of the microscope, at first seeing nothing. Then his eye adjusted, and he discovered a circle of light. There, beneath his eye, was the visage of a hideous creature, with eight stalked eyes and pinching mouthparts, like something out of the Mere Swamps.

"What is this?" he asked.

"That's the spider, only much, much larger. This magnification is fifty times how it appears with the naked eye."

Silverdun looked down into the eyepiece, frowning. "Does the spider itself actually become extremely large at some point? Because I could see where that would be useful."

"Well, no. It's just how you're seeing it that changes. The lenses inside the microscope refract the light coming from the spider to make it appear much larger than it is."

"Hm," said Silverdun, reaching for a jug of watered wine, "You're right, Satterly. Science is boring."

Satterly smiled, whether at Silverdun or at some internal joke it was difficult to tell.

"Silverdun," said Mauritane, dismissing him, "if you knew how much of our existing war magic was based on human scientific knowledge, you'd be less glib. The development of explosives, field glasses, and some others I can't mention have their base in the science of his people."

"You think his knowledge will be useful on our journey."

"I do."

Satterly raised his hand. "I'm still not sure exactly what you're asking," he said.

"I will tell you what I have been told," said Mauritane. He recounted the contents of the Chamberlain's letter, the original having already faded to white. He explained as best he could the dangers of the Contested Lands and even reiterated Silverdun's concerns about the legitimacy of the deal the Chamberlain offered.

"Now you know as much as we know," said Mauritane. "If I'm going to ask you to risk your neck, you should understand the danger as well as the potential reward."

"Thank you, and I'm sold, if you'll have me. I've always wanted to visit the Contested Lands. If half of what I've heard of them is true, it should be quite an adventure."

Silverdun snorted. "What a bizarre race of creatures you come from!"

"A few more questions," said Mauritane. "Are you a skilled rider?"

"I don't know how skilled I am, but I've ridden before."

"Can you defend yourself? If we engage a threat, every soldier fights."

"I'm a pretty good shot with a rifle, but I don't guess that's what you mean. If you're talking blades, I'm useless."

"Let's see," said Mauritane. "Take this." He took a scabbarded cavalry sword from its place on the desk and pushed it over to Satterly.

Satterly pulled the blade from its cloth sheath and eyed it warily. "What do you want me to do?"

"We'll be on horseback, so I'll be training everyone in mounted swordplay over the next few days. First, though, I want to see how fast you learn at basic engagement. Stand over there."

Satterly stood where Mauritane pointed and held the blade loosely in his grasp.

"Hold it like this," said Mauritane, drawing his own blade. "Put your thumb on the hilt and your next finger out toward the blade. Now lower your arm and hold the blade upright."

Satterly did as he was instructed, following Mauritane's lead.

"Keep your left foot back," said Mauritane, crossing behind him and tapping his hamstring with the flat of his sword. "All of your weight goes here. When you thrust, thrust with your right arm and foot in concordance."

"Okay," said Satterly, positioning himself.

Mauritane came around and faced him, nodding. "Come at me," he said.

"I'll try." Satterly lunged with his right arm and leg extended outward, thrusting the point of his sword at Mauritane's chest. With a flick of his wrist, Mauritane disarmed him, sending the blade clattering across the floor.

"Let me try it again," said Satterly. "I think I see what you're doing there."

Mauritane nodded. "I've definitely seen worse."

"I have one last question for you," said Silverdun. "How did you come to be here?"

Satterly frowned. "In Crete Sulace? Or in Faerie?"

"Either."

"I came here with some others of my world. There's an organization that finds and rescues human changelings. I came with them."

Silverdun winced. "A dangerous occupation," he said. "I assume you 'rescued' the wrong human."

"Something like that." Satterly looked away.

Mauritane stood. "We leave at dawn. Find Orrel at the main guardhouse. He'll fit you for clothes and a mount. Then report back here."

Satterly turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. "Wait a minute. How do you guys know that I won't just desert you a mile from the prison and go on my merry way?"

Mauritane smiled. "If you try to desert, I'll find you and kill you."

"Ah."

Satterly left the room, closing the doors behind him.

"Can we trust him?" said Silverdun.

"I don't know. His manners are so different from ours; he's extremely difficult to read. He'd be a fool to ride off by himself in the Contested Lands, which is where I believe his skills will be useful. If he deserts later, I won't feel as bad about slaying him."

"Will you stop talking about killing people?" said Silverdun. "I'm beginning to wonder if it's all you think about."

"If you want to survive out there," said Mauritane, "you should think of it more."

Silverdun grunted.

In the walls, between the blocks, floating in the chipped mortar, something stirred and flitted away. A cool breeze passed through the chamber then, and Mauritane shivered. He stopped short, thinking for a moment that he detected a young girl's scream at the edge of his hearing. But when he motioned Silverdun for silence, there was nothing more.

The remaining candidates were each called in and had the situation °xplained to them. During the second or third of them, snow began to fall outside, illuminated from above by witchlit security lamps around the walls of the castle. The monotonous pattern of flakes, angling sharply to the southeast, refused to admit any alteration while Mauritane watched. He and Silverdun dismissed Caeona, Adfelae, and Sybaic Id after brief discussions.

"There are only three names left," said Silverdun, his fatigue beginning to show around his eyes. "I hope you saved the best for last."

"We can be certain of Honeywell," said Mauritane, surveying the remaining names on the list. "Ce'Thabar I included because I believe he possesses Resistance. Raieve is a mystery, but an intriguing one."

"Not bad to look at, either," observed Silverdun.

"Not even a hint of impropriety, Silverdun. In the Guard we had strict rules about such things."

"Who is more proper than I?" asked Silverdun. "Besides, I freely admit that she intimidates me."

The doors opened, but rather than Ce'Thabar, it was Purane-Es who entered.

"Your time grows near," he said, striding to the desk and peering over the documents spread out there.

"Yes, we have a clock in this room as well," said Mauritane, not looking up.

"Will you be ready? I'm not to leave this place until you do. And I'd like to be in the City Emerald by Stag."

"`It is often better to want than to have,"' quoted Silverdun gaily.

Purane-Es ignored him. "See that you are prepared to leave by sunup."

"As you wish," Mauritane said. He held up his provision list. "The prison is not stocked with the supplies I need. I'll require several hundred silvers to purchase these things in Hawthorne."

Purane-Es laughed. "You're enjoying this, aren't you Mauritane? I know how you love barking orders at your troops; you must have missed that these past two years."

Mauritane looked him in the eye and said nothing.