At the Queen_s command

Another shiver shook him. He wanted to put it down to a damp vest and the coming dusk, but a profound wave of isolation washed over him. His wife, his beloved Catherine, had always said that he could find a way around all obstacles. She'd intone the words with reverence, and smile at him in a way that made him feel like a god striding the earth.

He shook his head, smiling. I so hope you are right, darling, for the sake of our future.

The sense of isolation bled into caution as the world darkened. He drew the horse pistol and weighed it in his hand. Heavy dark wood, brass fittings binding the steel barrel to stock and brass for the stonelock, the pistol was standard issue for cavalry soldiers. Owen's thumb fell naturally to the blue firestone at the barrel's base.

While Owen was considered a very good shot among his peers, the pistol would avail him little against the hazards of Mystria. He could easily bring the pistol to bear on an enemy, invoke the spell that would ignite the brimstone and thereby propel the lead ball at his target. But that horned creature, or the jeopard, would shrug off such a shot.

And so his mission loomed before him, gigantic and possibly insurmountable, just like Mystrian fauna. If he failed, many would expect him to use the pistol to blow his own brains out. It would be the honorable thing to do, after all. Wouldn't be proper to have the family's name besmirched by his failure.

They'd expect me to take a gentleman's way out. Owen laughed to himself. And then would claim I'd never been a gentleman at all. In fact, if his uncle had the means to do it, the story would be changed so that a Ryngian assassin had killed Owen. The tale would ennoble his death, allowing Owen to enhance the reputation of a family that had little earthly use for him.

No matter what I do, the Duke will find a way to make it serve his purpose.

Owen laughed again, the sound disappearing into the forest. Since his uncle would turn anything to his advantage, Owen needed to make sure he succeeded well enough that it benefited him and Catherine as well. Only then could he escape his uncle's influence and find true happiness.

He slid the pistol back into the saddle scabbard and looked over Temperance from the hill above it. It struck him that perhaps this new world-so far away from and alien to his uncle-would give him the chance he'd not ever had before. Catherine was certain of it. He chose to believe in her dream, and that had him smiling all the way back into town.

Night had fallen by the time he reached the Guards' headquarters. He slid out of the saddle, surprised. The building was shut up tight with no sign of life. There wasn't even a guard stationed nearby.

A young man detached himself from the shadows. "You'd be Cap'n Strake?"

Owen nodded. "And you are?"

"I'm to take you to your billet. Colonel Langford had your things delivered." The young man shrugged and began walking off along Generosity.

Owen ran after him and caught his arm. "Wait. Where is Colonel Lang-ford?"

"Don't know. Home, I imagine."

"And the guards?"

The man turned. Clean shaven, tow-headed, tall, a bit on the gangly side, he gave Owen a lop-sided grin. "Don't do things here quite as they might across the water."

"Meaning."

"Likely they's down to the Queen and Crown slaking a thirst." He turned again and started walking. "You'll be wanting to come along. Mother's got some supper for you."

Owen ran back, grabbed his horse's reins, but didn't climb into the saddle. He sensed this was what the man expected him to do. First rule of winning any fight was not to do what the enemy expected. He caught up with the young man after a short run.

"I've been billeted at your house?"

"Were it my house, you'd not be staying." The man slowed a bit so Owen could pull even. "It's my father's house."

"And your father is?"

"My father is the smartest and the most honest man in this here whole colony. You'll not be treating him like a servant. And you'll not be rude to my mother, you won't beat the young ones, and if you so much as look at my sister…"

"Sir, I am a most happily married man."

"Didn't seem to make no nevermind to t'others."

"So, if I look at your sister, you'll leave me for some jeopard?"

"No, I like jeopards." Despite the adamancy of the man's clipped reply, the hint of a smile crossed his face.

"I shall take it, sir, that I am not the first Queen's officer who has been a guest in your home."

"My father is thinking it's his duty to host officers."

"This guest, he was a noble who was arrogant and rude?"

"The last one, the one before that, and the two before that."

Owen chuckled.

"Being as how you think this is funny…"

"No, sir, I take your warning seriously." Owen forced his smile to broaden. "Those noble officers purchased their commissions. I earned mine on the battlefield. And I've seen Mystrians fight. I was impressed."

"Was you?" The man's eyes tightened, but he nodded.

"My name is Owen." He offered the man his hand.