"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…"
The baron's words were cut short by a cry from inside the palace. A moment later, the courier staggered back onto the terrace, a knife's hilt protruding from his belly just beneath the chest plate of his armor.
"You are under attack," the courier groaned. He sank to one knee, clutching his stomach, then fell face forward onto the tiles.
Five men, dressed in thin gray cloaks, raced out of the house with long knives in hand. They overwhelmed the already-surprised guards, subduing all four of them in a matter of seconds.
Kallmer drew his sword and stood. The baron clutched his dinner knife like a dagger. "How dare you!" shouted Kallmer.
One of the cloaked men stepped forward, lowering the hood of his cloak. He was a young man; a wisp of a beard stood out from his chin. "I would not recommend that, Commander," he said. Twelve more men stepped onto the terrace wearing similar cloaks, dragging the bodies of Kallmer's personal guard with them.
"What is the meaning of this?" said the baron, his face purple. He crossed the table to stand behind his wife and daughter, both of whom where shaking with fright.
"I mean you no harm, Baron," said the man. His hair was cut close, no braids, and his eyes were the color of slate. "At least, no more than usual. I am here to liberate Captain Mauritane."
"You'll do no such thing," said Kallmer. He leapt at the man, his sword flashing.
"Ko ve anan," the man said, making a circular gesture with his hands. Kallmer sat down hard on the ground, his face twitching, then slumped sideways, leaning against a table leg.
"Who are you?" said Mauritane. He felt instinctively for his own sword and cursed silently when he remembered it had been taken.
"My name is Eloquet," the man said. "I am a cell leader in the Beleriand Resistance. We've been watching you since you entered Sylvan."
"Why did you come for me?" Mauritane asked.
"You are a hero to my people for slaying the butcher Purane-La. You have suffered much for that sacrifice. Now Aba has brought you to us and it is our duty to aid you."
Mauritane shook his head. "I don't believe in Aba."
Eloquet shrugged. "I do not think He minds."
Suddenly Mauritane understood. "The page in the cellar. She was one of you."
"Our eyes are many," said Eloquet, nodding. "We must go. More troops will come."
"What of my companions?" said Mauritane. He reached for Kallmer's sword, fastening it to his own belt. "And Kallmer. Is he dead?"
"No, the commander's time has not yet come. Your companions have already been freed. Now come quickly."
"Wait," said Mauritane. "We need to take her as well." He pointed at Elice.
"Absolutely not!" said the baron. "You'll take my daughter over my corpse!"
"Will you come willingly?" said Eloquet, pointing his blade at Elice.
The girl nodded, her face unreadable. She stood from the table, dropping her napkin. The Lady Geracy fainted.
"Come back here with my daughter!" shouted the baron, but Eloquet had already whisked her off the terrace.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Baron Geracy," Mauritane said without a hint of sarcasm. "The meal was delicious."
Chapter 33
black art, black artist
Mab sat in Her throne room, surrounded by butterflies. The tinkling music of chimes, the smoke of glowing braziers, the steady hum of the city flowing through the Unseelie sky.
"Bring me Wennet," she said, to no one in particular. A pair of servants hurried from the room.
One of them returned a moment later. "On his way, Majesty."
Mab leaned back on her throne, consulting a map of the Seelie lands in her head. First she would have Selafae, then Sylvan. From that well-fortified spot, she could take her time, moving slowly southward until the City Emerald lay in her grasp and she set her dogs loose in the Seelie Grove to piss all over Regina Titania's potted plants. She had only to find the man named Mauritane and all else would fall into place.
Wennet, Master of the Chambers of Elements and Motion, stepped quietly into the throne room, squeezing his cloth skullcap tightly in his fists. Beads of sweat stood out from his red forehead.
"What is your status?" said Mab.
"Majesty, we have redoubled our efforts in order to accede to thy orders. We are at full sail and pushing the limits of the load-bearing struts and the plinth courses, according to the Chamber of Structure."
"Ignore Fulgan," said Mab. "He is always complaining about his precious structures. We'll break more than one plank
by the time this has ended."
"Yes, Majesty."
"Are you fully staffed? Is your supply of understudies ample?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Be sure you have enough. This journey will take a toll on them. Don't spare your men, Wenner. Push them until they drop and then replace them. Make heroes."
"Yes, Majesty."
"We are to be on top of Selafae by dawn. You are dismissed."
Wennet backed slowly from the throne room, nearly walking into a column in the process. One of the servants took him by the elbow and guided him out.
Mab waved her fingers in the air and slinked into a glamour that made her appear as she had when she was very young and very beautiful. The butterflies shimmered and changed colors to match her dress. She took one of them on her finger and brushed it against her nose. "Come, darlings," she whispered. "We have an appointment with a gentleman."
At the forward end of the Royal Complex was a small pleasure garden that Mab tended with her own hands, in the few idle moments she allowed herself during the day. Servants, ladies-in-waiting, and members of the Prefecture were strictly forbidden. Only one other held a key to the place, and as she entered the garden he was there, lying in the grass, his head propped on a pillow.
"Good afternoon, Hy Pezho," said Mab.
"Majesty," he said, rising to his knees. "Thy glamour is radiant."
"Do you like it?" she said. "Is it what you might call… attractive?"
"Only if the petals of the rose are but attractive. Only if the flight of the dove is merely pretty."
Mab let out a gay laugh and sat beside him. "You are clever, Hy Pezho. We enjoy cleverness at times."
"Whatever pleases thee," said Pezho, pouring her a glass of wine from a bottle at his knee.
"Do not stand on ceremony here, darling. Save the proper forms of address for out there." She waved her hand toward the towering spires of the Royal Complex.
"I am honored to speak to… you thus." Hy Pezho smiled lazily.
"Come, kiss me," she said.
"First, drink a toast." He touched his glass to hers. "To the Unseelie."
"I will drink to that," she said. She lifted her glass and drank.
Once she had drunk, Hy Pezho stood, tossing his glass on the ground. He began to chant in ancient Thule Fae, his throat growling with the gutturals of the language.
"Whatever are you doing, love?" said Mab, unconcerned.
"I am exacting my revenge," said Hy Pezho, breaking his chant. He spat on the ground and made a sweeping motion with his arms. "A fel-ala!" he cried.
There was a deep croaking sound beneath the floor as thick beams beneath their feet began to move. A whisper grew, rising in pitch and volume, like a fierce wind through a forest of trees. It became a rush, then a howl.
The garden soil split wide in an ugly crack, dirt spilling into the darkness. Beneath the imported earth, the city's lumber cracked and separated, creating a dark chasm that stretched along the length of the garden.
Mab did not move.
"A fel-ala em!" shouted Hy Pezho. He glared at Mab, goading her. She refused to move.
"Will you not even put up a fight?" he called over the noise.
Mab only smiled.
Inky tentacles appeared from the dark rift, spilling out into the verdant space. They were wet and irregular, like black sausages. One of them reached toward Mab and licked across her exposed ankle.
Something began to hoist itself from the abyss. It was black and misshapen, covered about its body with stiff red hairs that waved in the breeze. A single orifice masticated slowly, revealing uneven lines of sharp teeth.
The tentacles were everywhere, upending planters, splashing in the fishpond, crawling up the rose trellises. Soon the garden was full of them. They surrounded Mab like fingers and tightened against her flesh.
"I assume you have a speech prepared," said Mab. She flattened her long skirt as much as she was able.
Hy Pezho was unnerved by her calm. He stuttered. "I… I have come as the instrument of my father's vengeance," he said. "You had him murdered in his sleep. I have been waiting for this day for a very long time."
Mab sighed. "It's a shame you didn't know your father as well as I did. Perhaps you would not have bothered. Still, vengeance is an act with which I have a passing familiarity. Proceed."
Hy Pezho stamped his foot. "Must you always be so damnably composed? Can you never show a hint of fear, even as you are moments away from eternal torment in the belly of the fel-ala?"
"No, I would not give you that pleasure, even if it were the case." Mab stood, and the tentacles fell away from her.
"How… the fel-ala is my personal wraith, my creation!" Hy Pezho called upon it again, but the creature refused to budge. Its glassy eyes moved back and forth between Mab and Hy Pezho.
"A bit of advice," said Mab, closing the distance between them. She stood before him as though she were about to kiss his lips. "When you seek to lure your enemy down a dark alley, it's best to inquire who owns the buildings on either side."
With a wordless command, she set the fel-ala upon Hy Pezho. She watched as the tentacles embraced him, digging their tiny, sharp spines into his flesh and drawing out the blood and the animating spirit within.
"Bacamar!" called Hy Pezho, with the last of his breath. "Save me!"
Bacamar floated down and alighted on Mab's shoulder.
"I have but one thing to say to you," hissed Bacamar.
"Please," gasped Hy Pezho. "I cannot… the pain." The color leached from his face and hands, turning them a dull gray.
Bacamar whispered, "It is never wise to keep a lady waiting."
They watched until he was dragged beneath the ground, through the chasm and into the nameless place where the wraiths make their home. Mab spoke a few words of Motion and the garden floor healed itself, coming together into a rough seam.
"Boys," said Mab.
Chapter 34
beneath sylvan
Mauritane was reunited with Raieve, Satterly, and Silverdun at the rear gate of Geracy's palace, but the renewal of their acquaintance was a brief one.
"Get in," said Eloquet, pointing at a covered delivery wagon parked at an angle in the alley. Mauritane helped Elice into the rear of the vehicle and the others followed him, including several of Eloquet's men. The remainder faded into the lush greenery that surrounded all of the homes at the valley's rim. Eloquet ordered one of his followers into the driver's seat, then hopped in the back himself. The wagon began to move with a lurch.
"There are Seelie Army posts everywhere," said Eloquet. "We can only assume that the Queen has prepared another offensive against us."
Mauritane shook his head. "Unless Her Majesty's opinion has changed on the subject, I doubt it. During my tenure as Captain of the Guard, she avoided the issue entirely."
Eloquet nodded. "She does not wish to anger those among the nobility who support our cause."
Mauritane shrugged. "In my experience, the Queen does not care whom she angers."
"He's right, Mauritane." It was Silverdun who had spoken. Mauritane looked at him, wondering when he had last heard the man speak. The cart jolted unsteadily with its heavy burden of Fae.
"He's right," Silverdun repeated. "Sympathy for the Arcadians and those in the Western Valley has grown steadily over the years as they find more and more converts among the highborn. My mother was one of them."
"And you believe Her Majesty bows before their influence?"
Silverdun shrugged. "I believe She wishes to avoid a conflict, that is all."
"Through all this, I remain a servant of my Queen, Silverdun." Mauritane scowled. "It does us no good to speculate. Large enough numbers of the nobility, especially in this region, despise the Arcadians. And, as Kallmer implied, they have a great deal of leeway at such a distance from the capital."
Raieve, pressed tight against the baron's daughter, brushed a strand of the girl's golden hair from her mouth and said, "Pardon me for int
errupting, but what's going on here? And who is she?" She nodded in Elice's direction.
"They are of the Beleriand rebels," said Mauritane, indicating the men squeezed into the cart. "Apparently, the Seelie Army is preparing another offensive against them."
Raieve nodded. "And why have they rescued us from Geracy?"
"While I was Captain of the Queen's Guard I made no secret of my distaste for these offensives. Even to the point of slaying a man I should perhaps not have slain."
"The butcher Purane-La?" barked Eloquet. "If ever a man deserved to die it was he. He burned the town of Stilbel to the ground. He… he trapped the townspeople in their homes and laughed as they were consumed. They say it was you, Mauritane, who gave the order and that he was only following you, but we know that it is not true."
Mauritane's face fell. "The Aeropagus determined otherwise."
"But you did not give the order!" shouted Eloquet.
"No," said Mauritane. "I did not."
"But if you did not give the order," said Raieve, "who did?"
"You've met him," said Mauritane. "He was the man I tried to kill that evening at Crete Sulace."
"Purane-Es."
Mauritane nodded. "The very same. It was he who sent the order, forging my name on the documents. He was one of my personal lieutenants. PuraneLa was his elder brother. Whether Purane-Es was out to ruin me or only his brother, I do not know. He got both for the price of one."
"Were there ever harsh words between you and Purane-Es?" said Raieve. Now that the subject had finally been broached, she was ready for an explanation, regardless of its poor timing.
"Many," said Mauritane, sighing. He peered out the wagon's flap. "Are we near our destination?" he asked Eloquet.
"A few more minutes," Eloquet said.
"Purane-Es was fervently opposed to my policies regarding the Beleriand rebels and to Arcadianism in general. He often insisted that we ought to bring to bear all of our forces against them and wipe them out entirely."
Eloquet laughed ruefully. "He is, unfortunately, not alone in that sentiment."
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