"If you're referring to the first Unseelie War, from the fortieth year of Hornet in Ram, it is the Unseelie who will claim victory, having defeated the Queen's forces at Selafae and Unel."
Crere Sulace wheeled Mauritane around. "The Unseelie prevail at Selafae? Hardly likely, since the Seelie Army numbers in the thousands there and is well reinforced. You are mad."
Mauritane lifted an eyebrow. "The Unseelie will take Selafae in a sneak attack at midnight on the first of Swan. It will be revealed that a colonel in the Seelie army is a traitor and has given away the position of Seelie forces across the length of the Ebe."
"He speaks well for a madman," said the Princess. "But he begins to bore me. Please escort him away."
"Come along," said Crere Sulace. "I've a rack that's become lonely of late."
Mauritane stood firm. "I appreciate your position, sire, but I am committed to an errand. I must refuse."
"Then I must slay you where you stand."
"If that is your will, you may attempt it."
"I've no wish to kill an unarmed man. Draw your blade and have at you." The Prince lowered his rapier and stepped back, en garde.
Mauritane reached for his sword and drew it in a smooth, silent motion. The two men faced off, but before either could proceed, they heard a scream from elsewhere in the tower.
"No! Father! Help me!" called the now-familiar voice.
"Laura!" shouted Crere Sulace. He shoved Mauritane into a column and ran from the room, his blade drawn and ready. Mauritane followed, sparing a look back for the Princess, who still sat at her knitting, a bemused expression on her face.
Crere Sulace led the way up a flight of stairs and across a wide gallery that overlooked a library. Bright yellow witchlit sconces filled the room with their warm glow. From the gallery, Sulace took another flight of steps and stopped at a narrow landing. Mauritane rounded the curve of the stairs just in time to see the Prince stride through a doorway, shouting, his face red.
"Who goes there?" shouted Crere Sulace. "Unhand my daughter!"
Mauritane hurried up the steps and entered a large bedroom, many floors above the castle grounds. From the windows, Mauritane saw the courtyard and the buildings he'd come to know all too well over the past two years. From here, though, the courtyard appeared as a carefully manicured hedge maze, evenly coated with a pure white glaze of snow. That was all Mauritane could take in from the windows before turning to evaluate the scene before him. Crere Sulace stood with his back to the near wall, to defend against both Mauritane's entrance and the men who occupied the center of the room. There were four of them, dressed in what Mauritane recognized as the uniform of the Royal Guard from the age of the Unseelie Wars, roughly six hundred years before his own time. They were armed and appeared to be in the process of apprehending a teenage girl, clad only in a silk dressing gown. Her long, girlish legs hung kicking beneath her, supported as she was by her elbows. She appeared to have just woken and was only now beginning to struggle.
"Father, what is happening?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Princess Laura of Twin Birch Torn, you are hereby placed under the custody of the Royal Guard by order of Her Majesty Regina Titania," said one of the men, who wore the colors of a lieutenant. The others, two of whom held the Princess, wore the stripes of sergeants-at-arms.
"Leave this place, rogues!" shouted the Prince. "My own guards will be along shortly, and they are loyal to me, not the Queen."
"Our orders are clear, sire," said the lieutenant. He was a seasoned officer, with a craggy face and a deep scar running along his left ear. "We are to take the Princess to the City Emerald."
"Over my corpse shall you take her," said the Prince.
"If necessary, yes," said the lieutenant. "But there's no need for that."
"Are you with them?" the Prince said, pointing his sword at Mauritane.
Mauritane shook his head, baffled.
"Then use your blade on them or begone!" cried the Prince, lunging at the lieutenant.
The trio of sergeants fell back, one of them securing the Princess's hands behind her back, while the others covered him. These two stepped toward Crere Sulace just as his own guards' footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Mauritane, forced into the room by the onslaught of the Prince's men, sidled along the far wall from the Prince, his sword still at the ready.
Crete Sulace turned out to be a fair swordsman. He hacked away at the lieutenant's blade without much success, the military man parrying his blows but making little headway himself. He pressed the Prince back against the wall, leaving his own men to protect his flank against the oncoming guards.
Crere Sulace's men, upon entering the room, appeared as confused as Mauritane felt. Their collective gaze went from the Prince, to the Princess, to Mauritane, apparently unsure whom to attack first.
"Save the Princess," shouted Crere Sulace from behind the lieutenant. His men advanced on the Royal Guardsmen, who leapt at them preemptively. Though Crere Sulace's retainers outnumbered them, they found them selves blocked by the heavy oaken furniture that filled the room, so the rear two stood useless.
The lieutenant twirled around Crete Sulace and struck him with the flat of his blade's forte. The Prince pitched and fell forward, slumping against an ottoman.
The lieutenant turned and regarded Mauritane. "You! What is your role in this? You wear the braids of an officer of the Guard."
Mauritane swallowed. "I… I am no longer with the Guard, sir."
"You're recommissioned. To arms!"
Mauritane shrugged and joined in the fray, slashing at the nearest of Crere Sulace's men. Caught unaware, the man took a deep cut in the shoulder and fell back, leaving the next open to attack from the rear. Quicker than the first, he whirled and caught Mauritane's blade with his own. Mauritane riposted, whipping his blade around his opponent's weak side and catching the man's side with the point of his weapon. The injury caught the man off balance, and Mauritane pulled him down onto his knees and clubbed him with the hilt of his sword.
The lieutenant and his men held their own against the remaining three. When they saw Mauritane coming, they were forced to spread their defense, and the middle one went down with a swift attack from the lieutenant. The other two, seeing their comrade fallen, dropped their swords and surrendered.
Mauritane wiped his blade on his tunic and sheathed it, saluting to the lieutenant out of long practiced habit.
"What is your name?" said the lieutenant, returning Mauritane's salute. "Your help was much appreciated. I'll see that you receive a special commendation from the captain."
"Bersoen," said Mauritane, giving the name of an ancestor from the time of the Unseelie Wars.
"We must go," said the lieutenant. "There will be other guards behind these. Bersoen, will you ride with us?"
Mauritane shook his head. "No sir. I am tasked with an errand as well."
The lieutenant looked him up and down. "There's something odd about you. It is a shame I won't have the opportunity to know what." He nodded to his men, and they dragged the girl out the door and down the stairs, having rapidly secured the remaining of Crete Sulace's men. The Princess made no sound as they carried her off.
Mauritane ran out of the room, retracing his steps through the gallery and back to the sitting room, where the Lady still sat at her knitting.
"What news, future intruder?" she asked. Mauritane did not stop to answer her.
Crossing back into the spellturned hallway, Mauritane caught the stem of a brass sconce and heaved himself up into the skewed portion of the passage. His senses reeled again, and he walked unsteadily back toward the door through which he'd entered. There were two more twists of balance, and Mauritane dropped heavily through the once-boarded door into the dark stair, where his prison guard still waited.
"What happened in there?" said the guard, noticing the blood on Mauritane's tunic.
"I don't know," said Mauritane. "Let's get out of here."
When they emerged from the tower, it was night again, and Silverdun was waiting for them, locked in a heated discussion with Purane-Es about the equipment they'd taken from the stables.
"Where have you been?" said Silverdun, annoyed. "It's almost time to go!"
"Hand me a silver khoum," said Mauritane, holding out his hand.