Once in Crenyllice's office, Purane-Es removed his gloves and brushed snow from his shoulders and hair. He seated himself without being asked.
'May I offer you a drink?' said Crenyllice hopefully.
Purane-Es's face softened. 'Aye, a brandy will do.'
Crenyllice squirmed against the vague insult of 'will do,' but said nothing as he fixed the drink himself, waving the guards back, and handed it to the commander.
'We are a remote outpost of the Queen's Army, sire, doing our best with what we receive,' said Crenyllice. 'I'm afraid this brandy is the best I can offer, you see.'
'Please spare me your homespun attempts at courtesy,' said Purane-Es, bored. 'It embarrasses both of us. In my presence you will simply do as I say and leave the formalities for your betters.'
Crenyllice's face reddened, but he said nothing.
'I come with a letter from the Chamberlain Marcuse,' said Purane-Es, finishing his drink. 'The letter instructs you to release several inmates on my recognizance, to perform an errand for Her Majesty.'
Crenyllice sputtered. 'But sire. Surely the guard…'
Purane-Es waved his hand. 'Even in this darkened corner of the world, I presume things do not always follow the straight path. It is not yours to question. You will do as you are instructed.'
'Which prisoners?' Crenyllice managed.
'There is only one I have in mind: Mauritane. Do you know of him?'
'Aye, sir. He's been mine for two years now.'
'Now he's mine. I want him brought to me, and I will allow him to choose the remainder of his party.'
'What is the task for which he is summoned, sire?'
Purane-Es laughed. 'I'm sure that's none of your concern. Only see that Mauritane is brought to me quickly.'
Gray Mave knocked quietly on the door to Mauritane's cell. Once a grand bedroom, the space had been spellturned so many times that it seemed an echo of itself. Not even Gray Mave, who'd been a guard at Crete Sulace for twenty years, knew how many of it existed in the tower.
'Come,' said Mauritane. He lay on his bunk, fully dressed, as though he were expecting to be disturbed. Around him, the gilt-edged walls angled blankly to the ceiling, the original wall coverings and paintings having been removed ages ago, light shapes on the tattered wallpaper their only legacy.
Gray Mave fitted his key into the lock and opened the door outward. 'You're to come to the warden's office right away.' Mave's fat face heaved as he strained to catch his breath.
'What is it?' Mauritane sat up warily.
'A lord from the City Emerald, sir. Rode in flying royal colors. Wanted to see you personally.'
Mauritane rose and pulled on his fur cloak. 'You don't have to call me sir,' you know,' he said.
Gray Mave bowed his head. 'I know, sir. But considering your history, it doesn't seem right to call you by name.'
'Much lower men than you have called me worse,' Mauritane said. 'I don't see that it matters much these days, anyhow.' He joined Gray Mave in the hall, accepting the manacles Mave placed on him without question.
'I should tell you,' said Mave, as they walked the darkened hallway. 'Since you've given me no trouble during your stay here and all.'
'What?'
'I've had a premonition. Bad omen. The riders that have come.'
'I see,' said Mauritane. 'Is Premonition a Gift of yours?'
'Aye,' said Mave. 'But you're having me on, aren't you? You don't believe that one such as me could have the Gifts. Jem Alan doesn't.'
'I'm built from coarser clay than you, Gray Mave,' said Mauritane. 'And I've got more Gifts than do me any good. I wouldn't put too much stock into what Jem Alan says.'
Gray Mave smiled, then frowned. 'This sign was very dark. I fear for you to be caught in it.'
'If I am,' said Mauritane, 'then at least I've been forewarned.'
Gray Mave led Mauritane, shackled, into Crenyllice's office. The glow from the fire and the lamps in the warden's elaborate wall sconces were bright after the dim hallway, and Mauritane squinted against them briefly.
'Hello, Mauritane,' said a familiar voice. 'I see that imprisonment agrees with you.'
When Mauritane looked up, it was into the eyes of Purane-Es, seated at the warden's desk across the room. For a moment, Mauritane stood completely still. No emotion showed on his face.
With a single fluid movement, Mauritane twisted around Gray Mave and ducked behind him, pulling the larger man down to his knees. Dislodging his arms, he planted his leg on Mave's back and then drew the guard's sword with both hands. 'Your premonition was correct,' he whispered in Mave's ear.
He turned the sword in his hands as he leaped, directing the blade's gleaming point at the throat of Purane- Es.
Chapter 2
Purane-Es flinched and fell backward into his chair, raising his hands to his face. Mauritane's leap was carrying him far enough to compensate, but he was tackled before he reached the desk. The commander's Color Guard, who had flanked Purane-Es silently since Mauritane entered the room, moved with an impressive swiftness. One went for the body while the other went for his sword arm. Their attack was precise, calculated, seemingly rehearsed, though Mauritane had seen no signal pass between them. He wondered about it until his head made contact with the floor, and then he stopped wondering.
It was less a loss of consciousness than a temporary withdrawal of the senses that quickly subsided, leaving Mauritane seated in a wooden chair across the warden's desk from Purane-Es, his still-manacled arms now restrained by means of a ring set into the stone floor. His chains did not allow him length enough to sit up straight, so he was forced into a bow that made his shoulders ache and his ears redden. His head throbbed from its blow, sending bright pulses of pain down into his left eye socket.
Purane-Es was seated calmly at the warden's desk, while the warden himself, Jem Alan, and the Color Guard stood in a rough line behind him.
'Well met, Mauritane,' said Purane-Es, as though nothing had happened. 'It seems I've made an impression on you after all.'
Mauritane spat on the floor. 'I vowed I would kill you the next time we met.'
'And yet, you haven't.'
Mauritane said nothing.
Purane-Es opened an ornate leather satchel, inset with colored metal studs, and withdrew an envelope sealed with bright blue wax. 'But I say, 'He who forgives shall be forgiven.' Isn't that how the Arcadians put it?' He held the envelope aloft for Mauritane's eyes. 'Do you recognize this? It's the seal of the Chamberlain,' he said, breaking it.
Mauritane nodded.
'This is an ironic situation,' said Purane-Es, tapping the letter on the desk. 'You despise me, have even made an attempt on my life, and yet I am here to offer you deliverance from your current downcast state. I, for my part, have no love for you either, but I have been employed as a messenger from Her Majesty to you. I do not claim to understand the mind of Our Sovereign Lady, but I think, and this is merely my opinion you understand, that she appreciates ironies such as these. Perhaps she even orchestrates them. What do you think?'
Mauritane only spat again, running his tongue over a bruised lip.
'Here's what I think,' Purane-Es continued. 'I think you're very fortunate that you did not slay me just now,
