Midwinter

since the Queen herein orders you to receive instructions from me personally, and that would have been difficult with the Low Chief's blade in my throat, would it not?'

'Read the letter,' said Mauritane.

'I will,' said Purane-Es. 'But we must clear up something first. You will get your opportunity against me, you have my word, for I've long awaited it myself. Until then, your errand requires that you refrain from assaulting me. Understood?'

'If Her Majesty requires me, I am hers.'

'I'll take that as a yes. Guard,' he said to Crenyllice, who grimaced at the insult, 'remove the prisoner's manacles.'

Crenyllice waved at Jem Alan, who took a heavy ring of keys from his belt and removed the chains from Mauritane's hands and feet. Mauritane spat one last time, then sat up straight, stretching his shoulders and arching his back.

Purane-Es took the letter from its envelope and unfolded it gracefully. He read:

To Mauritane, Erstwhile Captain of Her Majesty's Royal Guard:

Though you languish at Crete Sulace, your Queen is merciful; she has not forgotten your many years in Her Service. She regrets the unfortunate circumstances leading to your imprisonment there and wishes to offer an opportunity wherein you may earn parole.

Your Queen requires that you perform an errand of the utmost importance and of the utmost delicacy. This task can be given to no one in Her Majesty's court yet must be undertaken by one whose trustworthiness is unquestioned. The Queen appreciates your loyalty to her State and to her Person and is certain that you will treat your assigned task with the dedication and discretion that has distinguished your efforts in the past. Upon successful completion of this errand, your imprisonment will cease, and your name shall be restored. You may then pursue any occupation within the realm with the exception of public service, from which you shall be permanently barred. The same offer is made to those whom you choose to assist you in your endeavor.

Time is critical, Mauritane. You must make the City Emerald before the Sun enters the Lamb. Failure is death.

You will receive your assignment from Commander Purane-Es. His instructions are to be obeyed to the letter.

Her Majesty's wishes go with you.

In the name of She whose word is law, She whose breath is the wind, She whose heart is that of Her kingdom, I am

Marcuse, Lord Chamberlain of Faerie

Purane-Es refolded the letter and slid it across the desk to Mauritane, who picked it up and stared at it.

'I am shocked,' he finally said.

'And well you should be, Mauritane. Well you should be. That the Queen should choose you, a traitor and a liar, for such an important assignment proves only that Her ways are mysterious indeed. I trust you accept the assignment?'

Mauritane saluted slowly, deliberately. 'I await your command, sir.'

Purane-Es grinned. 'Prison has eroded none of your natural charm, Mauritane.' He turned to Crenyllice. 'Leave us. What I have to say to Mauritane is for his ears only.'

Crenyllice moved to protest, but Purane-Es stared him down, and the warden allowed himself to be escorted from the room by Purane-Es's guards.

'I haven't forgotten Beleriand or what happened there,' Purane-Es said, when they were alone, his smile vanishing. 'I'll have my vengeance on you, and soon.'

'It's good that you haven't forgotten, only a pity that you take no lesson from it,' Mauritane said. He stretched his arms and stood. 'But that's not relevant right now. Our feud can wait; Her Majesty, apparently, cannot. What is my task?'

Purane-Es rose as well, pacing as he spoke. 'Your task is to retrieve an article of utmost importance to the security of the land and bring it to the City Emerald before the first day of Lamb. You are to form a party of four or five of your fellow inmates. Who you choose is irrelevant, but let it be known that any word breathed of this operation is suicide, swift and painful. You are to receive mounts and supplies from Crere Sulace, with provisions for three days. From Crere Sulace you will leave at sunrise tomorrow and proceed with all due haste to Sylvan, where you will rendezvous with Commander Kallmer in the Rye Grove, at highsun on Fourth Stag. You will travel without papers and without identification. If you are detained by the Seelie Army, or by local constabulary, all knowledge of you and of your mission will be disavowed and you will be eliminated. Are these orders understood?'

'What am I to retrieve?' said Mauritane.

The grin returned. 'I have no idea. None of us knows the whole of it. Presumably Kallmer knows.'

'Does Kallmer know that it is I who will be meeting him?'

'He does,' Purane-Es said. 'One assumes he is as eager to kill you as I am, although he must forswear it until your task is complete.'

'Most important, how am I to make Sylvan in so short a time? Traveling without papers will force us to skirt the border crossings at Obore and Reyns. Even at top speed it would be at least twenty days, and that's without this weather.'

'It should be no trouble for an accomplished strategist such as you. Don't you have the Gift of Leadership? I might remind you that since you will not be an official platoon of the Guard, there is no reason you cannot travel directly west.'

'You expect me to lead a group of untrained prisoners through the Contested Lands and survive? You overestimate my skills.'

'Your group's survival is not a requirement. Only the completion of your objective.'

'I see.'

Purane-Es sat. 'I recommend you begin your preparations. In Midwinter, dawn comes all too quickly.' Purane-Es took a pipe from his leathern satchel and lit it contemplatively. 'I'd wish you luck, but of course I won't shed a tear if you fail.' He smiled.

'Of course you won't,' said Mauritane, turning on him. 'Your predisposition to place personal grudges over matters of state is what brought me here.'

'Spite is a luxury you cannot afford right now, Mauritane. You have work to do.'

'Fine. Tell the warden to give me two men and then get the hell out of my way.'

Mauritane saluted again, turned on his heel, and left the room. PuraneEs smoked his pipe and swore every curse he could think of.

Outside, Mauritane nearly stumbled over Crenyllice and Jem Alan, who hovered by the door. Catching himself, he drew his shoulders high and spoke to Crenyllice for the first time not as a prisoner but as a commander. 'Go inside. Purane-Es has orders for you,' Mauritane told the warden. He took Jem Alan's shoulder. 'You're coming with me. Time is short.' Neither of them questioned him. The Gift of Leadership, he realized, had not fled him.

Within an hour, Mauritane had two guards, as well as a number of prisoners, helping him make preparations. The overnight kitchen detail loaded dried meat and biscuits into folds of waxed paper, then into the saddlebags Mauritane requested. They filled skins with water and hung them alongside. In the prison armory, Jem Alan helped Mauritane select arms, all the while complaining in his rough voice about the breach of protocol it entailed. He did, however, compliment Mauritane's choice of sword: a long, curved saber with no adornments, but a wicked blade.

'What is its lineage?' said Mauritane, swinging the sword gently, thrusting into the air. 'It spoke to me.'

'None as I know of,' said Jem Alan. 'Perhaps you'll give it a start in life.'

'I rode into many battles with my Guard blade,' said Mauritane. 'Purane-Es's father wears it now. Perhaps it's time for a new one.' He handed the sword to Jem Alan. 'Give that to Gray Mave and have him sharpen it.'

Jem Alan took the blade. 'Haven't you heard, Mauritane? Mave's been fired. They sent him packing after you took his sword. Worthless lump of dung, he was, anyway.'

Mauritane took the sword back, his eyes cast downward. 'I'll sharpen it myself,' he said.

He paced the prison stables, asking the head groom about each beast in turn, ordering that his selections be spellwarmed and saddled by dawn.

'Which of these horses is touched?' he asked the groom.