the number of interpretations!

a relative's commendation.

The Castle Laco straddled the rim of Sylvan's valley. From its southern terraces, the Temple Aba-e and the mountains beyond created a lavish backdrop to the city below. To the north, at the edge of vision, was the outpost of Selafae. Beyond it lay the Unseelie lands. Mauritane glimpsed both views as they were marched through the palace and into its cellars.

In centuries past, the palace had served for a time as headquarters for the Seelie Army's western division. An ancient wine cellar had been converted into a stockade and it was here that Kallmer's men led Mauritane, Raieve, Silverdun, and Satterly, prodding them into a wide cell with the tips of their lances. The far wall was packed earth, the bars narrowly set and of polished hardened silver.

Kallmer stood outside the cell clucking his tongue while a pair of soldiers removed the prisoners' manacles and withdrew, locking the door behind them.

"Who would have believed this tableau three years ago, eh, Captain?" said Kallmer. He laced his fingers behind his back and began to pace. "I, the-how did you put it in your review?-the undisciplined and unreliable lieutenant, now promoted to Commander of the Sylvan region, standing watch over you, now fugitive and traitor. The Arcadians say that Aba's will is rarely what we predict, and I am tempted to believe them."

Mauritane strode forward and took the bars in his hands, furious at being thus imprisoned twice in a week. "Are these your orders, Kallmer? Or are you writing your own?"

Kallmer smiled. "As one's distance from the City Emerald increases, so does the number of interpretations one may discover in his orders. I believe I may have been instructed simply to send you on your merry way, but there was no provision against detaining you briefly for a chat, was there?" He stopped pacing. "Anyway, my position is a self-auditing one, so if I feel I have made a breach of conduct, you can be certain that I will chastise myself appropriately once all is said and done."

Mauritane loosened his grip on the bars with some effort. "What do you want?" he said. "I have orders as well, and mine are less open to interpretation."

Kallmer nodded slowly. "Yes, I've been told as much. And that's exactly why we're here, dear Captain. You see, I can't help but feel a bit left out of this happy business. My orders were cryptic and brief, though they came from the Chamberlain himself. It's a failing on my part, I'll be the first to admit, but I detest being used as a pawn in someone else's game. If there is an advantage I can press, why, I will press it."

"What do you want?" repeated Mauritane.

Kallmer continued, ignoring him. "All I've been told is that I was to meet you in the Rye Grove, ensure that you were properly provisioned, and then send you on your way to the City Emerald. Now imagine my surprise upon receiving such orders! My former captain, convicted of treason and imprisoned, is to show up at my door with his band of companions, and I am to kiss him on the cheek and cheer him southward. Odd, no? I think there's more to it than that." He spun on his heel. "I did a bit of investigation. I had a brief chat with a mutual friend: Purane-Es. Remember him? He's not the brightest star in the sky, Aba bless him, and he came to me, trying to find out what I knew. He managed to let slip that you might be conveying something of great value to Our Beloved Lady." He picked up a scabbarded sword from a simple wooden table in the corner and rapped it on the bars in time with his words. I. Just. Had. To. Know. More!"

A tall man in distinguished middle age descended the staircase at the far end of the room. A train of scribes and pages followed him.

"Commander Kallmer," said the man. "Is all well?"

"My Lord," said Kallmer, bowing low enough to scrape his fingers on the dirty stone floor. "I had only just begun."

Mauritane recognized the speaker as Baron Geracy of Sylvan Major, the highest titled man in the region. The Palace Laco was his country estate.

"Mauritane," said Geracy, brushing a mane of gray hair from his lined face. "You have disappointed me twice. Once as a traitor and again as a fugitive. I am astonished that I once trusted you with my life."

Mauritane nodded back. "I apologize for that, Lord. I would that you might one day learn my point of view on those matters."

"Hm," said the baron. He turned for the stairs. "Kallmer, carry on. And remember, when Lord Purane shows up, tell him what a favor I've done for you, loaning out my cellar, and invite him for dinner."

Kallmer winced. "My apologies, Baron. Purane is not coming himself. He's sent Purane-Es."

"Oh," said Geracy. "Forget it, then." Geracy started up the stairs, his boots thudding on the old wood. One of the scribes, a waifish girl in an overlarge robe, made eye contact with Mauritane from the base of the staircase. She gazed at him for an instant, waited until Kallmer turned his back, and then mouthed the words "Fear not." She turned and quickly ascended the steps with her fellows.

Mauritane cocked his head to watch her go. He was certain he'd never seen her before.

"Do you know what I think, Mauritane?" said Kallmer. "I think you've got something valuable. I think you're Her Majesty's courier and that whatever it is you're carrying is something she doesn't want anyone to know a thing about. Hence all the secrecy and skullduggery." He stepped toward Mauritane. "Here's a deal: give me what you've got and I'll kill you quickly. Blades across the throat, crossbow quarrels through your eyes, your choice. Don't give me what I want, and we'll see if the baron's old torture machines still work. We'll start with the human, since I know he'll want to talk quickly. The baron has one device, lots of pulleys and levers, I don't even know what it's for. I think it would be fun to find out though, wouldn't it?"

He glanced at Raieve. "Next, I'll take care of your little bit on the side there. I assume the Lady Anne doesn't know about her? Of course not, and more power to you, I say. I almost hope she doesn't talk, because it will be so much fun trying to convince her."

"If you lay a finger on me," said Raieve, "I will depart this life with your balls between my teeth. I swear it."

Kallmer laughed. "That would be a lot of fun," he said. "But before I do any of that, I want you to have dinner with the baron and me. You can enjoy a delicious meal, your last, and ponder the terms of my offer. When dinner is over, I'll expect your decision."

"You can have my decision now," said Mauritane. "I don't have what you want. I don't even know what it is."

Smiling, Kallmer headed for the staircase. "Whatever you say, Captain. I'll see you at dinner."

Mauritane stared at the roasted boar on his plate, unable to eat, a deep sullenness welling within him. Too many things had wrested control from him of late. He was finally out of prison but could not seem to avoid seeing the world through the bars of a cage.

They dined on one of the southern terraces. Geracy sat at the head of the table, drinking too much wine and talking loudly. Kallmer sat next to Mauritane, gnawing on a piece of meat. Across the table sat the Lady Geracy and her daughter Elice, both sitting uncomfortably silent in the presence of a known traitor. A few paces away, four of Kallmer's guardsmen stood with crossbows at the ready.

Mauritane looked up at the daughter, whose attention was fixed on her nearly empty plate. Behind her, the fog-clad summit of Oak and Thorn made a halo around her head, her golden hair glinting in the fading sunlight.

"I think it's important to expose a young girl to many things," Geracy was saying to Kallmer, indicating his daughter with the point of his dinner knife. "The children of today ought to be aware of things. They must grow up too fast nowadays."

"I'm sure you're correct, Baron," said Kallmer. He'd had a few glasses of wine himself and had spent the entire meal making eyes at the girl, who seemed to Mauritane barely out of puberty.

"Given any thought to my deal, Mauritane?" said Kallmer, as though asking about the weather. He leaned in and whispered. "I'd hate for you to have to watch your friends suffer. Especially that tempting half-breed girl. My, my." Kallmer wiped his mouth with a thick cloth napkin.

Mauritane said nothing. He pushed his plate away, inadvertently spilling a glass of wine onto the tablecloth.

"You always were a difficult son of a whore," said Kallmer.

A bell rang somewhere in the house. A few moments later, an armor-clad courier stepped out onto the terrace bearing a tiny parcel. He bowed deeply, his breath heavy beneath his closed helmet.

"I am for Mauritane," he said.

Kallmer twisted in his chair, looking at the baron with surprise. "Since when is his mail being delivered here?" He rose. "I'll take that," he said.

"Apologies, sir," said the courier, his voice tinny behind his faceplate. "I am for Mauritane only."

The baron scowled. "This is most irregular, Kallmer," he said. "No one is supposed to know he's here. Whom have you told?"

"I've told no one!" said Kallmer, defensively. "Who sent you?"

The courier bowed. "I come from the Chamberlain Marcuse himself, sir, in the City Emerald."

Kallmer had no response.

"Get on with it, then," said the baron. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

Mauritane rose slowly and accepted the package. He took a pen from the courier and affixed his signature to a paper receipt.

"What are you waiting for?" said Kallmer, when the courier did not leave. "A gratuity?"

The courier was impassive. "I am to wait until the package is opened by Captain Mauritane."

Mauritane sat at the table, confused. The parcel was small, no wider than the palm of his hand, wrapped in rough paper and tied with twine. He undid the knot and tore the wrapping away, revealing a small wooden box, inlaid with diamonds and painted with a bright blue lacquer. The box had no latch and opened easily. Inside was a smaller velvet box and a note. The note read, "This belonged to a relative of yours. Your Queen now asks that you earn one for yourself, after the same fashion." It was signed and sealed by the Chamberlain Marcuse.

Mauritane opened the tiny velvet box. Inside, nestled on a padded cushion, was a bronze medal, black with age. He recognized it immediately; the blue striped ribbon and bronze star were the hallmarks of a Special Commendation from the Seelie Royal Guard. Mauritane had himself awarded dozens of them. He turned the medal over and read the inscription on the back. It was faded but legible: "To Bersoen, son of Berwan, for distinguished service."

Mauritane raised his head. His eyes caught those of the girl, Elice. Like everyone else at the table, she was gawking at him, only hers was a look of ... was it anticipation?

"I saw this in a dream," Elice whispered to Mauritane over the table. "I thought I recognized you ..."

"Silence, child!" shouted the baron. "You'll speak when spoken to." He stood and turned on the courier. "Your man has opened his bauble. I suggest that you now be on your way."

The courier nodded and made for the wide double doors, making no reply.

Kallmer tore the box and the medal from Mauritane's hands. "What is this about?" he said. He handed the items to the baron. "What is this about?"

The baron scanned the note and dangled the medal in front of his eyes. "I can make no sense of it." He pursed his lips. "I do not like the looks of this, Kallmer. I fear you may have gone too far ..."

The baron's words were cut short by a cry from inside the palace. A moment later, the courier staggered back onto the terrace, a knife's hilt protruding from his belly just beneath the chest plate of his armor.

"You are under attack," the courier groaned. He sank to one knee, clutching his stomach, then fell face forward onto the tiles.

Five men, dressed in thin gray cloaks, raced out of the house with long knives in hand. They overwhelmed the already-surprised guards, subduing all four of them in a matter of seconds.

Kallmer drew his sword and stood. The baron clutched his dinner knife like a dagger. "How dare you!" shouted Kallmer.

One of the cloaked men stepped forward, lowering the hood of his cloak. He was a young man; a wisp of a beard stood out from his chin. "I would not recommend that, Commander," he said. Twelve more men stepped onto the terrace wearing similar cloaks, dragging the bodies of Kallmer's personal guard with them.

"What is the meaning of this?" said the baron, his face purple. He crossed the table to stand behind his wife and daughter, both of whom where shaking with fright.

"I mean you no harm, Baron," said the man. His hair was cut close, no braids, and his eyes were the color of slate. "At least, no more than usual. I am here to liberate Captain Mauritane."

"You'll do no such thing," said Kallmer. He leapt at the man, his sword flashing.

"Ko ve anan," the man said, making a circular gesture with his hands. Kallmer sat down hard on the ground, his face twitching, then slumped sideways, leaning against a table leg.

"Who are you?" said Mauritane. He felt instinctively for his own sword and cursed silently when he remembered it had been taken.

"My name is Eloquet," the man said. "I am a cell leader in the Beleriand Resistance. We've been watching you since you entered Sylvan."

"Why did you come for me?" Mauritane asked.

"You are a hero to my people for slaying the butcher Purane-La. You have suffered much for that sacrifice. Now Aba has brought you to us and it is our duty to aid you."

Mauritane shook his head. "I don't believe in Aba."

Eloquet shrugged. "I do not think He minds."

Suddenly Mauritane understood. "The page in the cellar. She was one of you."

"Our eyes are many," said Eloquet, nodding. "We must go. More troops will come."

"What of my companions?" said Mauritane. He reached for Kallmer's sword, fastening it to his own belt. "And Kallmer. Is he dead?"

"No, the commander's time has not yet come. Your companions have already been freed. Now come quickly."

"Wait," said Mauritane. "We need to take her as well." He pointed at Elice.

"Absolutely not!" said the baron. "You'll take my daughter over my corpse!"

"Will you come willingly?" said Eloquet, pointing his blade at Elice.

The girl nodded, her face unreadable. She stood from the table, dropping her napkin. The Lady Geracy fainted.

"Come back here with my daughter!" shouted the baron, but Eloquet had already whisked her off the terrace.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Baron Geracy," Mauritane said without a hint of sarcasm. "The meal was delicious."

black art, black artist.

Mab sat in Her throne room, surrounded by butterflies. The tinkling music of chimes, the smoke of glowing braziers, the steady hum of the city flowing through the Unseelie sky.

"Bring me Wennet," she said, to no one in particular. A pair of servants hurried from the room.

One of them returned a moment later. "On his way, Majesty."

Mab leaned back on her throne, consulting a map of the Seelie lands in her head. First she would have Selafae, then Sylvan. From that well-fortified spot, she could take her time, moving slowly southward until the City Emerald lay in her grasp and she set her dogs loose in the Seelie Grove to piss all over Regina Titania's potted plants. She had only to find the man named Mauritane and all else would fall into place.

Wennet, Master of the Chambers of Elements and Motion, stepped quietly into the throne room, squeezing his cloth skullcap tightly in his fists. Beads of sweat stood out from his red forehead.

"What is your status?" said Mab.

"Majesty, we have redoubled our efforts in order to accede to thy orders. We are at full sail and pushing the limits of the load-bearing struts and the plinth courses, according to the Chamber of Structure."

"Ignore Fulgan," said Mab. "He is always complaining about his precious structures. We'll break more than one plank by the time this has ended."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Are you fully staffed? Is your supply of understudies ample?"

"Yes, Majesty."

"Be sure you have enough. This journey will take a toll on them. Don't spare your men, Wenner. Push them until they drop and then replace them. Make heroes."