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?"
Chapter 31
what there was of commitment
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."
Purane nodded.
"Why is the Queen sending me where you want me to go? It makes no sense."
"If you'd been paying attention to current events instead of mooning over your new love, you might know why." He leaned back in his chair. "Our spies have sent word that Mab is moving south at her top speed. We believe she's massing forces at the border."
Purane-Es stared. "But it's been years since the last engagement at Midalel. Anyway, what's that to do with me? Is the Seelie Army no longer charged with protecting our borders?"
Purane shook his head. "You have no military sense, boy. Think! When the Seelie Army begins to concentrate along the border, they will quarter in Sylvan. And what will happen then?"
"The Beleriand rebels. They'll go mad."
"Exactly. Any concentration of force there will be construed as an offensive by the rebels. You're being sent to Sylvan to maintain the peace."
"But the rebels know my face. They despise me because of Mauritane. My presence will only incite them further."
Purane nodded.
"And that's exactly what you want, isn't it? You want to start a civil war! "
"The Beleriands and their Gossamer Rebellion are the only thing that stands between us and total control of the Kingdom. Mab is no threat during Midwinter. Her forces wouldn't make it to Midalel now, even if the border troops let them walk past. What better time to take care of the rebel problem?"
"And if the rebels attack first, then the Queen is not the aggressor and Her hands are clean in the eyes of the Arcadians."
"Precisely. Maybe you aren't as stupid as I thought." Purane paused while his son rolled his eyes. "And while all of this is going on, you will `discover' Mauritane at large in Sylvan, wrest his prize from him, and present it to the Queen along with the heads of every Beleriand leader you can muster."
"And you will have orchestrated everything, behind the scenes, no doubt taking full credit for all. I won't do it."
"How childish you are! You are not my only remaining son. If you care not for your reputation, think of your younger brothers."
"I'm sorry, father. I won't do it."
"You won't do it."
"No."
Purane leaned back as far as his chair would allow and gazed at the ceiling. "Son, who sent the order for Purane-La to reduce the town of Stilbel to ashes
?"
Purane-Es moved backward as if he'd been slapped. "What kind of question is that?"
"An important one. Who sent the order?"
"Mauritane sent the order."
Purane stood and edged around the table. "Mauritane sent no such order, and you know it. I was there, Purane-Es. I saw the look on Mauritane's face when he came upon the two of you. Had I been him, I might have slain your brother myself. He was enjoying himself a bit much for such a loathsome task."
"What are you suggesting, Father?"
"Only one person could have forged those orders. Only one person was in a position to do so."
Purane-Es lowered his head. "How long have you known it was l?"
Purane's lips pursed. He leaned close into his son's face, and Purane-Es could smell the wine on his breath. "I did not know it for certain until this very moment."
"I only wanted to cause trouble for Purane-La. I wanted everyone… you, to see how cruel he'd become. If I had known how much trouble it would have caused I would never have done it."
With a speed that belied his age, the Elder Purane lashed out at PuraneEs with the back of his hand, sending the younger man sprawling backward onto the floor. "Why would you go out of your way to shame your own brother?"
Purane-Es pulled himself up onto his elbows. "I hated Purane-La. With every bit of me, I despised him. I wanted to hurt him. I regret it now. Not a day goes by that I do not think of it."
"How nice," said Purane. "And all it cost was the life of your brother and the career of one of our finest Guard Captains."
Purane-Es stood, shaking with rage. "I see that you have not suffered overmuch as a result," he sneered.
"I made the best of an ugly situation. As I am doing now. If you are not in Sylvan in four days, I will go to the Queen Herself and tell her what I know about you and our dear Mauritane."
"You wouldn't! You'd be ruined along with me."
"Anything less than complete success is ruin, son. Your brother knew that, if nothing else. Before you had him killed." Purane stood and adjusted his long coat. "Now, will you go break the news to your lovely new wife, or shall l?"
Purane-Es swiped a tear away with his sleeve. "I'm glad Purane-La is dead," he snapped.
Purane brushed past him to open the door. "I can't tell you, boy," he whispered, "how many times I've wished it had been you instead."
Chapter 32
the number of interpretations! a relative's commendation
The Castle Laco straddled the rim of Sylvan's valley. From its southern terraces, the Temple Aba-e and the mountains beyond created a lavish backdrop to the city below. To the north, at the edge of vision, was the outpost of Selafae. Beyond it lay the Unseelie lands. Mauritane glimpsed both views as they were marched through the palace and into its cellars.
In centuries past, the palace had served for a time as headquarters for the Seelie Army's western division. An ancient wine cellar had been converted into a stockade and it was here that Kallmer's men led Mauritane, Raieve, Silverdun, and Satterly, prodding them into a wide cell with the tips of their lances. The far wall was packed earth, the bars narrowly set and of polished hardened silver.
Kallmer stood outside the cell clucking his tongue while a pair of soldiers removed the prisoners' manacles and withdrew, locking the door behind them.
"Who would have believed this tableau three years ago, eh, Captain?" said Kallmer. He laced his fingers behind his back and began to pace. "I, the-how did you put it in your review? — the undisciplined and unreliable lieutenant, now promoted to Commander of the Sylvan region, standing watch over you, now fugitive and traitor. The Arcadians say that Aba's will is rarely what we predict, and I am tempted to believe them."
Mauritane strode forward and took the bars in his hands, furious at being thus imprisoned twice in a week. "Are these your orders, Kallmer? Or are you writing your own?"
Kallmer smiled. "As one's distance from the City Emerald increases, so does the number of interpretations one may discover in his orders. I believe I may have been instructed simply to send you on your merry way, but there was no provision against detaining you briefly for a chat, was there?" He stopped pacing. "Anyway, my position is a self-auditing one, so if I feel I have made a breach of conduct, you can be certain that I will chastise myself appropriately once all is said and done."
Mauritane loosened his grip on the bars with some effort. "What do you want?" he said. "I have orders as well, and mine are less open to interpretation."
Kallmer nodded slowly. "Yes, I've been told as much. And that's exactly why we're here, dear Captain. You see, I can't help but feel a bit left out of this happy business. My orders were cryptic and brief, though they came from the Chamberlain himself. It's a failing on my part, I'll be the first to admit, but I detest being used as a pawn in someone else's game. If there is an advantage I can press, why, I will press it."
"What do you want?" repeated Mauritane.
Kallmer continued, ignoring him. "All I've been told is that I was to meet you in the Rye Grove, ensure that you were properly provisioned, and then send you on your way to the City Emerald. Now imagine my surprise upon receiving such orders! My former captain, convicted of treason and imprisoned, is to show up at my door with his band of companions, and I am to kiss him on the cheek and cheer him southward. Odd, no? I think there's more to it than that." He spun on his heel. "I did a bit of investigation. I had a brief chat with a mutual friend: Purane-Es. Remember him? He's not the brightest star in the sky, Aba bless him, and he came to me, trying to find out what I knew. He managed to let slip that you might be conveying something of great value to Our Beloved Lady." He picked up a scabbarded sword from a simple wooden table in the corner and rapped it on the bars in time with his words. °I. Just. Had. To. Know. More!"
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 o
ut 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.
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