Michael Stackpole - At the Queen_s command

Then Owen laughed. It is because you are becoming weaker.

They crested the hill and everything changed again. An east wind blasted them full in the face, driving wet snow. Owen staggered back a step, hoping to return to the winding path's sanctuary, but it no longer existed. Instead of being on the side of a hill, they had just emerged into a meadow.

"I don't understand." Owen shielded his face with a hand. He had to scream above the shrieking wind. "This can't be."

Quarante-neuf laughed. "Where we just were could not be, Captain. This place is. Luckily, I know where we are. Come."

They kept walking. Quarante-neuf, anyway, walked. He dragged Owen through drifts and kept him moving when Owen wanted to stop. "You cannot, Captain, you'll freeze. You will die if you do not keep moving."

"That's better, my friend, than causing what I saw. My wife hating me."

"Is that truly what you saw?"

"The expression on her face. My fault."

"But you can change it. He said that."

Owen collapsed, curling into a ball. "I can't take another step."

"And I can't let you come to harm."

Owen patted the pasmorte' s leg. " That is du Malphias' magick speaking. Save yourself. If you save me, I will kill him."

Quarante-neuf knelt, and gathered Owen into his arms. "What I feel is not his magick. It is the magick of what a friend feels for a friend."

How long he traveled in Quarante-neuf's arms Owen could not say. The blizzard had made the world a timeless, silver-grey tunnel. When night fell it became colder. He would have frozen to death, save for the pasmorte 's warmth.

Finally Quarante-neuf set him down. Owen opened his eyes and found his surroundings vaguely familiar. This place. This is the Frost house. "How did you know?"

Quarante-neuf did not answer. He stood over Owen and pounded on the door. He waited and pounded again, then backed down the steps.

Owen reached out even as he heard footsteps on the other side. "No, you cannot go."

The pasmorte shook his head. "I am dead, but I remember. For this reason, I must go."

The door cracked open, yellow light pouring into the storm. Of Quarante-neuf, Owen could only see a dim silhouette being devoured by the storm. Snow had filled his footsteps and, by the time Owen had been stripped of his clothes, bandaged and lowered to bed, there would be no sign of Quarante-neuf's passing.

May 13, 1764

Government House, Temperance

Temperance Bay, Mystria

P rince Vladimir had always found the long delay in communications with Norisle to be a blessing. The swiftest response he had ever had to a missive had been three months, and that was on a matter of no consequence. In general, the more serious the request, the slower the response. And while that suggested due deliberation at the highest levels of government, the replies most often had an offhand quality that suggested no one read his reports nor did any sober thinking on the problem.

Within a day of Captain Strake's miraculous return, the Prince had interviewed him. Within a week, Owen had come to the estate and helped update the model of du Malphias' fortress. The Prince had written a fully detailed report with all cogent facts included-he left out specifics of Owen's escape since that would have undercut the reliability of his testimony-and sent it with Colonel Langford back to Launston on the tenth of December.

And then he had waited.

And waited.

News trickling in from Norisle had not been good. The war in Tharyngia did not go well. General Ahab Smalling had made Lord Rivendell look very much the master of war. Smalling had managed to squander the few advantages the Laureates had given him. Lord Rivendell had led through neglect; Smalling managed every tiny detail, demanding reports on powder and shot expenditure by soldier-expecting unit survivors to provide that data for their fallen comrades. He wasn't above flogging those who failed to comply. This included the dead sergeant of a squad that had been wiped out in a rearguard action.

The Prince learned those sorts of details through private correspondence. The official records praised the casualty figures. Smalling was given a knighthood and posted to Her Majesty's colony of Xue Vang, on the Han coast, where he would parade local levy troops before races and other events for Norillian expatriates.

The Mystrian winter was not passed unpleasantly. Though the weather was bitterly cold, with more snow than usual, Gisella's presence brought Vlad great pleasure. She purchased a home in Temperance and the Count took up residence nearby. She often entertained and required the Prince to attend her parties. She invited other friends, including Rachel Warren, for they had become quite close.

Watching Owen Strake's progress toward full recovery had been a joy. Owen had looked horrible when the Prince first saw him. A bullet had passed all the way through his flank and doctors thought bleeding him would help drain toxins from the blood. Prince Vlad outraged them when he dismissed them in favor of Chief Msitazi and Altashee medicines.

Of greatest concern was the magick that filled Owen's steps with pain. Msitazi had managed to unweave du Malphias' magick, but doing so had not been easy. The Altashee Chieftain suggested that had du Malphias been closer, or had chosen to fight him, he might not have been able to accomplish the job.

The gunshot wound responded well to poultices and unguents. Kamiskwa and Nathaniel supplied ample amounts of mogiqua. Because they'd had to dig it out from beneath the snow, it wasn't at full potency, but they made a poultice from the leaves and a bitter tea from mashed roots.

Bethany Frost made certain Owen drank the tea, and she changed his dressings. She also barred any visitors she felt would irritate Owen. The Prince credited her presence with much of Owen's recovery. She and the rest of the Frost family watched over him. Doctor Frost opened his library to Owen, and Caleb even came to treat him decently.

Within two weeks Owen had gained enough strength to walk without more than a cane. Now, in mid-May, one had to look to notice his limp, and that came only after a long day's walk. The Prince had seen pain occasionally on the man's face, but a decoction of pussy willow eased it quickly enough. The Prince admired how the man pushed himself, regaining the weight he had lost and refusing to give in to weakness.

The Prince had only seen Kamiskwa and Nathaniel briefly. This was not unusual, since they both wintered with the Altashee at Saint Luke. Vlad assumed that Zachariah Warren's presence in Temperance made meeting Rachel all but impossible. When they did come around the estate, they generally brought useful news, like that of a Tharyngian ship that had tried to sail up the Argent River to Lac Verleau. A blizzard drove it aground on a sandbar near Fort Dufresne on the east end of Salmon Lake. Before they could get it off again, the lake began to freeze over, crushing the ship's hull. Most of the cargo was saved, but if it was meant for du Malphias, it would take a very long time to reach him.

The nasty weather also worked against du Malphias' fortress in the spring. The Argent River took a long time to clear of ice, so any reinforcements from Kebeton or Tharyngia had to wait. Flooding from abnormally high runoff had damaged port facilities in Kebeton and wiped out spring wheat crops. New Tharyngia's year had not started auspiciously.

Had troops and orders come from Norisle by April, an expedition could have been mounted that might well have taken the fortress. The prince had issued a call for militia units, placing Major Robert Forest in charge of them. He was due up from Fairlee with a levy of their famed sharpshooters. The Prince had resolved to head out on his own come the end of May if he heard nothing from Norisle.