Midwinter

"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.

the chamberlain's letter

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, 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: