When he heard the key sound in the lock of his door, he bolted upright, smoothing his tunic and running his hands through the waves of black hair that fell around his face as he stood.

"Do you require something of me?" Silverdun asked, referring to the guard who stood in the doorway, a bright lamp in hand. The lamp cast long flickering shadows across the floor that evaporated the pools of moonlight there.

"You're wanted in Jem Alan's office."

Silverdun studiously avoided meeting the guard's gaze. "I didn't hear a milord' in there anywhere," he corrected. "You are not permitted to speak evenly with me."

"Fine," said the guard. "You lordship is wanted. Now move your lordship's ass or I'll move it for you."

Silverdun locked eyes with the guard. "Much better," he said.

The guard frowned.

"What does the old fool want with me at this hour? Am I about to be engaged in one of his drunken reveries? How much has he had to drink?"

"I'm to say nothing about it."

"Ah, intrigue! And here I was just moaning about how dull my life has become."

The guard's frown intensified. "This way, milord."

Silverdun followed the guard across the empty courtyard to the North Tower, wind from the sea catching his braids and lashing his face with them. The night air had a frozen tang to it that Silverdun could taste. It was not a wholesome flavor.

"This is the last night I will spend at Crete Sulace," he suddenly said, and knew that he meant it, although he had no idea why. It was not uncommon, however, for his mouth to know things before his mind could consider them.

When they reached Jem Alan's rooms in the North Tower, Silverdun pushed ahead and flung the double doors open with a shove.

"By the Queen's tits, Jem Alan, do you never sleep?" he shouted. "One drink and one drink only." Silverdun drew up short when he realized it was Mauritane and not the Vice Warden, at the desk in Jem Alan's sitting room.

"Promoted from prisoner to Vice Warden all of an evening? I'd say you've been busy tonight, Mauritane. Tell me, is it really all about who you know?"

Mauritane waved the guard away. "Sit down," he said to Silverdun. "I'll be with you in a moment." Before him on the desk was a set of charts and maps and a compass, arranged neatly over the surface of the desk. In the center, Mauritane took notes with a long, black quill on a wide sheet of paper.

Silverdun dropped into a chair opposite Mauritane and took a cigarette from the carved wooden box on the table, lighting it with a bit of witchlight from his fingertips. He glanced around the room with a disconcerting sense of finality still lingering from his moment of lightheadedness in the courtyard.

Jem Alan's rooms were once those of the Prince himself, or at least a spellturned version of those rooms; it was impossible to tell. The fire burning in the enormous stone hearth seemed solid enough. The same moonlight that had quietly played in Silverdun's cell erupted here through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall, their arched tops casting looming, rounded shadows on the double doors through which Silverdun had entered. The only other light came from the lamps Mauritane had on the desk, serving the dual purpose of illumination and of weighing down the scrolling maps.

Mauritane circled a sum with his quill and looked up, catching Silverdun's eye for the first time.

"I need your help," said Mauritane.

Silverdun leaned in. "Any assistance I can render, sir." He saluted.

"You still find it amusing that I once outranked you."

"Only in the military sense, Captain."

"You heard that a party of riders came tonight, flying royal colors? They delivered this." Mauritane held out the letter.

Silverdun scanned the page quickly, its charmed ink already fading from exposure to light. "Fascinating," he said after a moment's reflection. "What instructions were you given?"

Mauritane recounted his conversation with Purane-Es and Silverdun listened intently. His ears perked at the name of the commander.

"Purane-Es. That bastard," said Silverdun.

"You know him?"

"I know of him. I flirted briefly with his sister when she was at court a dozen years ago. Pretentious brat, from what I gathered, deeply buried in the combined shadows of his father and elder brother."

"You know that his father now commands the Royal Guard, and that he is the likely replacement?"

"Yes. The Elder Purane and my father had business with each other on occasion. But what became of the elder brother? Surely he would be in direct succession for the captaincy?"

"No. He's dead."

"You're certain of this?"

"I killed him."

Silverdun nodded. "Well, then, I suppose you're certain. Hardly a trustworthy messenger, this Purane-Es, it seems."

"The Chamberlain's seal was genuine. And I recognize the handwriting."

Silverdun shrugged. "I don't doubt the veracity of the letter. But if what you've told me is true, and not even Purane-Es knows the full extent of the Queen's plan, you can be sure that you won't survive to tell the tale once this game is complete."

Mauritane leaned back in the leather chair and sighed, the creases in his forehead darkening. "It would appear so, though I have doubts of that. If the Crown simply needed a patsy, why travel so great a distance to find one? There are any number of able soldiers in the City Emerald who earn the Queen's disfavor on a given day. And the Chamberlain's word, even printed in invisible ink, still carries with it some honor."

"You're a dangerous optimist," said Silverdun.

"I have to be. I have no choice in the matter." Mauritane held up his hands.

Silverdun clucked his tongue. "Well," he said, looking around the room. "I wish you luck, then."

Mauritane's eyes narrowed. "Wish yourself luck. You're coming with me."

"I? I'm no soldier. And I value my life."

"I need you, Silverdun. You possess valuable Gifts. I know you have Glamour and Elements, and I suspect you have Insight as well. And ..."

"Yes?" Silverdun leaned forward.

"You're the only person I trust."

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."

"Yes, we'll have the guards spread the rumor that we've been sent down the Ebe to plow roads or something," said Mauritane.

"What is this, then?" said Satterly "It is the means by which you may achieve parole," said Mauritane. "According to your file, you're here for the remainder of your life. Is it true that humans live only sixty or seventy years?"

"Some longer than that," said Satterly. "But that's about right."

"Sparse time to be wasting it here," said Silverdun.

"What would I have to do?" said Satterly.

"Yes, Mauritane," said Silverdun. "What is he for?"

"He," said Mauritane, "is a scientist."

"Really?" said Silverdun, eyebrow raised. "That is interesting."

Satterly chuckled. "Well, I am a scientist, but I'm afraid we don't really deserve the reputation we've developed in Faerie."

"Don't be shy. Do some science for us!" said Silverdun, raising his glass.

Mauritane leaned forward, mirroring Silverdun. "I'm not sure if one can simply 'do' science, at least not without the proper equipment. Perhaps Satterly can explain this."

Satterly pursed his lips. "Mauritane is at least partly right. Many scientific displays require equipment of one kind or another. But it's not the sorcery that the Fae seem to think it is; it's really just a method of inquiry. To the layman, it's often fairly uninteresting."

Silverdun shook his head. "That's not what I've heard. I once met a man who'd been to your world; he said you have houses that fly and boxes that transmit images and sounds from place to place. If that's uninteresting, I'd love to know what intrigues you."

"I may have one thing to show you," said Satterly. "If you'll let me return to my cell, I can get it."