"You still find it amusing that I once outranked you."
"Only in the military sense, Captain."
"You heard that a party of riders came tonight, flying royal colors? They delivered this." Mauritane held out the letter.
Silverdun scanned the page quickly, its charmed ink already fading from exposure to light. "Fascinating," he said after a moment's reflection. "What instructions were you given?"
Mauritane recounted his conversation with Purane-Es and Silverdun listened intently. His ears perked at the name of the commander.
"Purane-Es. That bastard," said Silverdun.
"You know him?"
"I know of him. I flirted briefly with his sister when she was at court a dozen years ago. Pretentious brat, from what I gathered, deeply buried in the combined shadows of his father and elder brother."
"You know that his father now commands the Royal Guard, and that he is the likely replacement?"
"Yes. The Elder Purane and my father had business with each other on occasion. But what became of the elder brother? Surely he would be in direct succession for the captaincy?"
"No. He's dead."
"You're certain of this?"
"I killed him."
Silverdun nodded. "Well, then, I suppose you're certain. Hardly a trustworthy messenger, this Purane-Es, it seems."
"The Chamberlain's seal was genuine. And I recognize the handwriting."
Silverdun shrugged. "I don't doubt the veracity of the letter. But if what you've told me is true, and not even Purane-Es knows the full extent of the Queen's plan, you can be sure that you won't survive to tell the tale once this game is complete."
Mauritane leaned back in the leather chair and sighed, the creases in his forehead darkening. "It would appear so, though I have doubts of that. If the Crown simply needed a patsy, why travel so great a distance to find one? There are any number of able soldiers in the City Emerald who earn the Queen's disfavor on a given day. And the Chamberlain's word, even printed in invisible ink, still carries with it some honor."
"You're a dangerous optimist," said Silverdun.
"I have to be. I have no choice in the matter." Mauritane held up his hands.
Silverdun clucked his tongue. "Well," he said, looking around the room. "I wish you luck, then."
Mauritane's eyes narrowed. "Wish yourself luck. You're coming with me."
"I? I'm no soldier. And I value my life."
"I need you, Silverdun. You possess valuable Gifts. I know you have Glamour and Elements, and I suspect you have Insight as well. And…"
"Yes?" Silverdun leaned forward.
"You're the only person I trust."
Silverdun bit his lip, then burst out laughing. "Ah, dear Mauritane. If that's the case, then you haven't a chance."
Mauritane smiled, but the smile was brief. "I'm serious, Silverdun."
"Even if your optimism is well founded, there is a reason that the Queen hasn't bothered to conquer the Contested Lands. There are shifting places there, and vast untamed fields of wild essence, not to mention Unseelie excur- sionary forces. It's a death march, Mauritane."
"Would you rather die here?"
Silverdun stared into the fire.
"Silverdun, I know you think I'm naive, but consider this: what if this task is as crucial to the Kingdom as it purports to be? Would you rather die in defense of the Crown or cowering in a cell on a frozen mountain?"
Silverclun gripped the arms of his chair and leaned farther forward. "Don't talk to me about loyalty, Mauritane. I'm stuck here because of my own misguided loyalties. If it's love for Queen and country you're trying to inspire, you can forget it. I've none to spare."
Mauritane looked away. They both watched the fire dance for a time.
"Who manages Oarsbridge and Connaugh in your absence?" Mauritane finally asked.
Silverdun sat back. "An uncle of mine, a fatuous cretin with a tenuous claim and deep pockets."
"Your estates are near the border with Beleriand, aren't they?"
"What are you getting at, Mauritane?"
"I am owed favors in Beleriand," Mauritane said. "I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions as to what that might mean."
Silverdun's eyes widened. "You know, Mauritane, you may not be as naive as I thought."
"Then you're with me?"
"I… I suppose."
"That's a relief," said Mauritane, returning to his charts. "Because I would have been forced to kill you otherwise."
"Very funny," said Silverdun.
Mauritane caught his eye again, and there was no trace of mirth there.
"Damn you, Mauritane. You are a bizarre creature."
Mauritane consulted the hourglass on the desk. "Summon the guard," he said. "I want to start interviewing the others."
sciencel spiders
After Silverdun, Mauritane's next two choices were deemed unsuitable.,Dol was a mixed breed of elf, troll, and something neither of them could identify. He was strong but evasive, uncommunicative. Mauritane and Silverdun agreed that he could not be trusted. The second choice, Gerraca, was a wiry elf with fighting experience, but he and Silverdun had dueled indeterminately a few months prior, and he was avowed to slay Silverdun in a second duel to which Silverdun had never agreed.
As they waited for the next prisoner, Mauritane leaned back in Jem Alan's leather chair, perusing the files of his fellow inmates. They were hastily scribbled, barely literate documents, written in poor hand, some accompanied by judicial decisions from Royal Courts, others nearly blank. Prison recordkeepers had attempted to make notes on the status of inmates as addenda, but these were spare, not uniform, and probably not very reliable. Mauritane found his own file in the stack, a loose sheaf of documents bound in a large paper envelope. One was from the Areopagus in the City Emerald, whose verdict was stamped in red ink above his name: Traitor. The word stung him as though he were seeing it for the first time.