Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

The large man's wet beard and clothes made him look like a half-drowned cat, though his smile attested to his good spirits. "I don't reckon you'll have much more than a sheet will fit me, but I would be obliged for a lend of one while these things dry."

"Nonsense. My father was a large man. There is a trunk in the attic. I am Prince Vladimir, by way of introduction, and this is Princess Gisella of Kesse-Saxeburg."

The large man's eyes widened, then he came up on one knee and bowed his head. "Pleased and honored, Your Highnesses."

Nathaniel slapped the man on a soggy shoulder. "This is Makepeace Bone."

"Ah, the man wounded at Anvil Lake."

Makepeace got up again. "T'weren't nothing, Highness. Just got all meat, no bone."

Nathaniel's smile slowly evaporated. "Anvil Lake's where we got the pasmorte."

"Any word of Captain Strake? I sent Jean off to trade for him."

"He'll be a bit late for that, Highness." The woodsman swallowed hard. "Captain Strake ain't coming back."

The Prince took them up to the main house and left Kamiskwa, Makepeace, and Nathaniel to build a roaring fire in the dining room's fireplace. Gisella set herself the task of arranging food and drink. Vlad dispatched Baker to close Mugwump in the wurmrest and watch him, firing up the boiler as the day drew to an end.

He took it upon himself to go to the attic and retrieve clothes. Without too much difficulty he located the wooden chest and opened it. He unfolded a shirt and held it up. It might barely fit. He also found trousers and doubted they could be buttoned closed, but they would have to do. Below them he found a folded blanket, which he also pulled out.

A small packet of letters fell to the floor. They had been tied with a ribbon, which had been sealed with wax. The seal bore the imprint of his mother's signet, and the letter on top had been addressed to his father in her hand. By riffling the corners, however, he saw other letters in his father's hand. The paper looked old and the date on the first letter marked it as being older than he was.

Blushing for reasons he could not fathom, he hid the letters back in the chest and returned to his guests. Makepeace's wet clothes got hauled into the kitchen to dry while the large man sat wrapped in a blanket, his feet perilously close to the fire.

Gisella and a serving girl arrived with mulled cider and stew, bread, and cheese. Vlad offered whiskey, which Nathaniel accepted, but Kamiskwa and Makepeace refused. They chatted pleasantly while the men ate, with Gisella effortlessly playing hostess. Once they had finished their stew, she cleared the bowls, then returned to sit quietly at Vlad's side.

Nathaniel reported on the expedition and confined himself to important facts-or the facts he thought the Prince wanted to hear. He described the battle with the pasmortes in a bit more sanitized detail than he might have in the past, occasionally glancing at the Princess as he did so, but Vlad understood what he was doing and found the information fascinating.

"You say Ilsavont acted as if palsied? Limbs would shake, overall weakness?"

"'Cepting his mouth, which ran just fine."

Vlad stroked his chin. "I had hoped the iron would kill them outright, but debilitating them also works. I wish I'd had a chance to examine him or even this Hisser."

Makepeace shook his head. "Poor little feller. He was scared most all the time. Didn't mind lugging the travois for a piece, though."

"That's interesting. You're saying the pasmorte followed your orders?"

"Just hitched him up, told him to follow."

"Told, or commanded?"

Makepeace tugged on his beard. "Come to think on it, my voice did rise a mite."

"Very good."

Nathaniel frowned. "But now Ilsavont, he didn't take no orders at all."

"No, I gathered that, and this is what I find interesting. We know the pasmortes, some of them at least, can work magick. Ilsavont and his father both maintained some of their personality and could shoot. I would hazard a guess that your Hisser could not have. Logic and reason are critical for doing complex tasks. Following orders, however, only requires obedience. Tell me truthfully, gentlemen, did Hisser exhibit any behavior that would mark him as being more intelligent than, say, a dog?"

"Cain't say as he did."

Makepeace smiled. "I reckon if he'd had fur, I might have even petted him."

"And there was a discernible difference between him and Ilsavont in terms of decay?"

Kamiskwa nodded. "None of the lesser pasmortes had been fresh from the grave. Ilsavont was killed when they took Aodaga."

Vlad's eyebrows knitted together. "Would you have known Ilsavont was pasmorte if he had not mentioned it?"

Nathaniel's eyes narrowed for a bit. "I don't reckon I would have. He was pink and warm, didn't have no bits fallen off."

"Most peculiar, and yet I wonder…"

Gisella squeezed his shoulder. "What is it, my lord?"

"Just a thought. I shall need to do some reading on it." His left hand rose and covered hers. "Your speculation about distance from du Malphias having an affect on his magic is also interesting. Enchantments have been known to diminish over time. Distance, then, would make sense, too-though the implication that he can work magick at range disturbs me."

Vlad sighed. "And to the other matter, there is no doubt Captain Strake is gone?"

"Him, someone who escaped with him, and seven Ryngians near as we can make out." Nathaniel looked down, refusing to meet the Prince's gaze. "Me and Kamiskwa should have gone after him. I was just scared. We lost him to the winding path."

Gisella leaned forward. "Please, what means this 'winding path'?"

"It's a place in the forest, many places, really. You see a path that goes on forever and you get lost in it."

She nodded. "We know these places. The forests of Kesse have them. Die Dunkelheitplatze. Children, they get lost. They say devils live there. There are stories of the children returning later, generations later, thinking they have been gone for no time at all."

"Ain't no returning from the winding path." Nathaniel glanced at Kamiskwa. "Lessen you're Chief Msitazi."

Kamiskwa's eyes tightened. "My friend says he was afraid. This is not so. I told him we could not go. He was brave. I was not."

"Now that ain't so, Kamiskwa."

"You know it is."

Vlad held his hands up. "Gentlemen, your courage is not to be questioned. The three of you killed four times your number in pasmortes and killed at least three Ryngians. Had the trail ended at a deep crevasse, you would not have leaped in. Death on the winding path would be just as certain. The spirits here are not so kind as they are in Kesse-Saxeburg. And your mission was not to rescue Captain Strake, but to gain information, which you have done admirably."

He stood. "Mr. Bone, I shall require from you a complete inventory of what you lost when your canoe was destroyed. I will replace everything. I shall even have Temperance Bay's finest gunsmith make a gun to your specification."

Makepeace smiled. "Well, Highness, if you make that Queensland, I been fancying-not coveting, mind you-fancying that there gun Nathaniel's been toting around."

"Done. Until it is finished, I shall offer you the lend of any piece I own." Vlad smiled. "Though I know it is an imposition, I should ask the three of you to remain here, as my guests, for however long you wish. A week at the minimum. I am certain there are questions I shall have, and details I wish to confirm."

Nathaniel nodded. "I reckon we can do that, though my fancy clothes are in Saint Luke."

"I promise you, gentlemen, you'll have no need for such. We'll not be having other guests any time soon."

"I need to begetting word to the Frosts." Nathaniel sighed. "I done promised them I'd bring Owen home. It's on me to deliver the truth."