Midwinter

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.

Silverdun, on the other hand, had no file that Mauritane could find, nor even a proper cell assignment. "My imprisonment is of a solely political nature," was all he'd said, shrugging. "It amounts to the same thing. I'm guilty of enough sins to deserve this fate regardless."

While waiting for the fourth choice, Mauritane happened to look down at his feet. A spider was crawling beneath the desk, its legs moving fluidly over the coarse rug that covered the obsidian floor. He watched the spider traverse the rough surface of the rug to Silverdun's feet, wondering at its natural elegance. Silverdun looked down, noticed the spider, and stepped casually on it.

"Who's next?" he said. Mauritane handed him the file as the door opened and Brian Satterly was led into the room.

"Beriane Sattarelay?" said Silverdun. "What sort of name is…" he looked up and saw the man in front of him. "What in the world are you?"

Satterly shrugged, nervous. "Human," he said.

"Really?" Silverdun said, leaning forward. "I've never seen one before. Do all of you have ears like that?"

"Yes, round at the tops," said Satterly, smiling weakly.

"Fascinating," Silverdun said. "Why is he here? Do we need a squire or a stableboy?"

"Actually," said Satterly. "I'd like to know as well." He nodded at Mauritane and Silverdun.

Mauritane said, "I've been charged with a task for the Queen, and my orders are to recruit a unit from among the prisoners here. Upon successful completion of this assignment, you are to be paroled."

Satterly looked between them. "I don't get it. Why prisoners? Is this a fancy way of saying work detail?"

Silverdun shook his head. "No, although it occurs to me that that would make an excellent cover story for the other inmates, after we've left."