Mauritane sat next to her and looked out over the valley, following her gaze. "You fight well," he said, for lack of anything better.

Raieve turned her head slowly and eyed him sharply. Years in the sun had dusted freckles over the bridge of her nose and drawn thin lines from the corners of her crystalline blue eyes. Her hair moved in the morning breeze, wanting to take flight but refraining.

"For a woman?" she countered, eyebrow cocked, daring him.

Mauritane shrugged. "A dead man isn't any less dead if it was a woman who ran him through," he said.

Raieve thought this over, then laughed out loud, a short husky laugh. "True," she said.

"How many women, then, do you have in the Royal Guard?" she asked.

"None."

There was the eyebrow again. "Aha. Why not?"

"None have applied. It's considered unladylike."

Raieve gestured to herself with mock courtliness. "Am I not the very picture of a noble lady?"

Mauritane grinned, the first time he could remember doing so in months. "Would you want to be?"

Raieve leaned in toward him but kept her eyes fixed on the valley below. "I do not think you are a man who has much truck with noble ladies."

Mauritane winced. His wife the Lady Anne-a noble lady if ever there was one-waited for him back in the City Emerald while he sat flirting with a woman he barely knew. It was wrong.

He stood, clapping his hands together against the cold. Raieve stood as well, sensing something amiss but saying nothing.

"How did you come to be at Crete Sulace?" Mauritane asked, regarding her with what he hoped was a professional distance.

"You read my file, certainly," she said, glaring. "You know why."

"Reports contain facts, not motivations. I know what you did, but I don't know why you did it."

Raieve picked up a handful of rocks and hurled one over the edge of the bluff. "I was chosen by my clan as an emissary to your government. In the wake of the Unseelie invasion, the Concordat crumbled, leaving the clans to fend for themselves. Many of the clans were left with nothing after the war and turned to raiding for survival. Others have taken advantage of the chaos to settle old grievances."

She hurled another stone, watching it fall before she continued. "The Heavy Sky Clan wishes to reform the Concordat, but without weapons and battle thaumatics we don't stand much of a chance. We believed," she paused to chuckle ruefully, "that the Seelie government would see the value in supporting a unified Avalon. Trade between the two worlds has slowed to a trickle, and more than one Fae merchant has been slaughtered within a day's ride of the Gates."

"Did you speak to the Fae ambassador at Tiripali?"

Raieve laughed. "Oh, yes. In one of his rare moments of sobriety. He intimated that the Seelie government did not take sides in foreign disputes but that I was free to discuss the matter with the Foreign Office in the City Emerald. But only after taking any number of bribes.

"The Travel Office, however, refuses to take Avalona currency as payment; they require their fee in gold. I sold a portion of my ancestral lands in order to raise the money.

"In the City Emerald I waited for three weeks for an appointment with an Assistant Minister of the Foreign Office, a conniving bastard named Olifen. That appointment required even further bribes."

Mauritane sighed. "I knew Olifen, though not very well. He is a political appointee, a nephew of some lord or another. A nobleman's son dallying in governance. A fool."

"You don't seem to think much of noblemen."

"Not the incompetent ones. What transpired between you and Olifen?"

"He sympathized. He made a show of raising money for arms and claimed to have contacted the Seelie Army for the loan of a detachment of battle mages. Then one evening he invited me to his private apartments. There was a bright red dress laid out, a bottle of rose wine. He told me that all would be arranged, but that I-how did he put it-might "show my gratitude" first."

"And you refused."

Raieve bristled. "Of course! Politely, at first, with all the decorum I could muster. I was the emissary of my people. Lives were at stake. For a moment I even considered it. Given a bit more time to consider his proposal I might even have accepted it. But he forced himself on me and I ... reacted."

"You slit his throat," said Mauritane, without emotion.

"I did," she said, hurling the last of her stones, this one farther than the others. "A detachment of the guard arrested me. I was tried in the Aeropagus, if you can call it a trial, and within two days I was in Crete Sulace, sentenced to live out my natural life there."

"It could have been worse. Had you not been a foreign emissary they would have had you drawn and quartered."

"Small comfort," she said.

She looked at Mauritane, her eyes searching him. "You're a queer one," she said. "Not much like the other Seelie I've met."

"Yes," he said, looking back. "And you see where it's gotten me."

They stood there, silently, for a long moment. Mauritane felt a sudden, unexpected desire to reach out for her and draw her close to him.

"It's getting light," she said, finally breaking the spell that was of an older kind of magic than is taught in universities. "We should be on our way."

Silverdun was stirring, not yet awake. The others were still asleep, huddled beneath the thick cloaks they'd purchased in Hawthorne. Streak stood tied near the tiny stream, nodding and chuffing at Mauritane urgently.

Mauritane took a handful of oats from a saddlebag and held them beneath the horse's nose. Streak's thick tongue darted expertly and took the entire handful in a swallow.

"Many thanks, master. Oats are delicious."

"You're welcome." Mauritane patted the horse's neck.

"Master, a man came to me last night. He put his forelegs in my saddlebag. It was not you, master. His smell was not yours."

Mauritane stopped cold. "Was it one of the men traveling with me?"

"Master, there are many smells. I do not know them all. It was not the female smell."

Mauritane looked at the two bags on Streak's left side, casting a glance at the camp, where no one had yet to rise. He quickly inventoried their contents. Everything was in place: fish hooks, whetstone, flint, and silver. The extra dagger remained in its sheath.

He crossed in front of the horse to the right side, realizing there was only one thing he had that the others did not, only one thing worth taking. He opened the front leather pouch and counted his message sprite jars. One of them was missing.

Quietly, Mauritane circled the camp, searching for the empty jar. He whispered an old finding spell his mother had taught him, a little rhyming cantrip in Elvish that would have made him chuckle under other circumstances. After a few moments he felt a slight tug that drew him across the stream and down a steep slope to one of the strange rock formations, this one vaguely shaped like a woman's body, her arms stretched above her. At the foot of the formation was the missing sprite jar, its lid lying on the ground near it, the sprite long gone, its message and recipient unknown. Mauritane collected the jar and screwed on the lid, placing it in the pocket of his cloak.

He made his way back to camp to find Silverdun awake and washing his face in the stream. "Where did you get off to?" he said, stretching and groaning from a night's sleep on cold ground.

Mauritane looked up and saw Raieve still perched above the camp, her face like chiseled stone.

"Just getting some air," said Mauritane.

It was not a pleasant morning. Neither Mauritane nor anyone else had slept well and the cold which had at first been a nuisance was now becoming a serious problem for all but Gray Mave, who seemed immune to it. The horses were slow to move and stubborn, reacting against their exposure to the elements and their rationed foodstuffs. Keeping enough food on hand for six working horses traveling over frozen soil was an irritating reminder of troop movement tactics from Mauritane and Honeywell's Academy days. Little was said as they mounted and began their descent into the Ebe River valley.

The river always seemed near to hand, but through some trick of geographical perspective, it appeared to grow no nearer, even after a full morning's ride. Regardless, Mauritane's spirits began to lift as the sun rose, taking some of the chill from the air. The wind shifted to their backs. Mauritane began to relax in his saddle, letting Streak find his own way, and the others fell in line behind him. For several hours they simply rode, without speaking, letting Streak guide them toward the ever-distant Ebe.

Honeywell was the first to hear the trees. As the road descended into the valley, groves of pine and spruce became more and more frequent, until eventually the path was lined on both sides by dusty green branches, some tall enough to block out the sun.

"Did you say something?" asked Honeywell, pulling forward to pose the question to Mauritane.

"No," said Mauritane.

Honeywell pricked his long, pointed ears. "That. Do you hear it?"

Mauritane cocked his head to the side and listened. There were soft voices speaking, but they were coming from the side of the road and not any of the travelers. Mauritane squinted into the trees and frowned. "It's just the trees," he said.

Satterly rode up alongside them. "What are those voices?" he said. "It sounds like there's a whole crowd out there, but I can't see anyone."

"It's the trees," said Honeywell. "They're talking."

"Are you serious?" said Satterly, a wide grin appearing on his face.

"Yes," said Mauritane, "but don't talk to them."

Satterly slowed his horse to a walk and peered at some branches that hung over the road.

"Hello," said the tree. "Isn't it a nice day?"

"It is a nice day, isn't it?" said Satterly. "What's your name?"

He felt Mauritane's hand on his wrist. "Didn't I just say not to speak to the trees?"

"Yes, but they're ... trees. What's the problem?"

Mauritane sighed. "You'll see."

"My name is Tree!" said the tree. "Isn't that a nice name? Isn't the sun pretty?"

"Good morning!" said another tree. "So nice to see you!"

"Have a wonderful day!" the first tree said, waving a branch. "Lovely to meet you!"

"The air is fantastic this morning," observed a third.

Other trees joined in, wishing Satterly well, offering kind words of support, inquiring after his family. Soon the entire forest was a cacophony of arboreal babbling and branch fluttering, loud enough to drown out any conversation the travelers might have had. Their one-sided conversations followed the six riders the full length of the forest, their volume never decreasing until the pines and spruce gave way to more rocks and the voices faded into the wind.

"See you another time!" offered a fir on the tree line. "It was so nice to meet you!"

"I am so sorry," muttered Satterly once they were out of range.

"You should be sorry," said Mauritane. "When I give an order, you follow it. The next time you blithely disregard a direct order from me, I'll drag you the rest of the way to the City Emerald. Are we clear?"

"Yes," said Satterly. "Understood. I just ... I mean, they're talking trees!"

"I loathe talking trees," said Silverdun. "I absolutely loathe them. I should call you out for doing that." He scowled at Satterly and rode ahead.

"You ought to be more kind to the human," Raieve said. "He finally got the opportunity to interact with his peers."

Even Mauritane smiled at that.

"Very funny," said Satterly. "But I have to ask. Why are there talking trees?"

"What do you mean?" said Mauritane.

"What possible biological justification could there be for talking trees? They have no need to communicate with each other; they don't eat, so they don't need mouths, or tongues, or teeth, or any of the other body parts involved in speech. They never go anywhere or do anything, so they couldn't have anything worthwhile to talk about. So why do they talk at all? It doesn't make any sense."

"The trees do not talk in your world?" said Gray Mave, joining the discussion. "How strange!"

"No. We don't have sentient wildlife in my world hanging around making small talk. That would be considered extremely unusual where I come from."

"Have you done much traveling in Faerie?" said Mauritane.

"No," said Satterly. "Most of my time here's been spent at Crete Sulace."

Mauritane nodded. "Faerie is an old place," he said. "A very old place that was once overflowing with magical essence. There's still magic today, of course, but in the earliest times, the essence was everywhere, freely available.

"The earliest of the Seelie Fae were a capricious race. Once they mastered the art of shaping, anything they could imagine was theirs for the having. They had banquets at every meal, the finest wine, the fairest slave girls, everything they could possibly dream of. There are volumes and volumes written about them in the City Emerald; their histories would take a lifetime to read.

"These exploits sufficed for centuries, but eventually they became bored. Simply living well was not enough. They began experimenting, making changes in the fabric of the world itself; it was called the Great Reshaping. It went on for years, and over time fads and fashions came and went. One year it might be changing the color of the sky, the next year might be building islands in the clouds, the year after that might be creating talking trees."

"What they didn't realize, though," said Raieve, joining in, "was that their creations drained the source essence of the land. They were the stewards of the most powerful magic the universe has ever known, and they squandered it on talking trees."

"It was a more innocent time," said Mauritane.

"It was a stupid time," said Raieve. "It's legends like that that make me glad I'm not from this foolish world."

Mauritane fell silent, letting the others continue to bicker genially, as long as it kept their spirits up. He rode silently, his eyes focused on the Ebe, thinking about the empty spirit jar in his cloak and what it might represent.

Part Two.

Once, at the dawn of memory, the two great Faerie kingdoms were one: a massive empire that stretched from the Northern Islands to the desert wastes of the south, from the Eastern Sea to the mountains in the West where the great dragons ruled from their rocky keeps. The emperor Uvenchaud united the wild Fae clans under his iron rule, ushering in the Rauane Envedun-e, the Age of Purest Silver. It was during the Rauane that the Fae philosopher Alpaurle wrote his Magus, the first book of magic. It was during the Rauane that the Great Reshaping took place, when the mountains spoke and the sky rained wine and the flowers sang odes of tender longing to the morning sun. And it was during the Rauane that the Stone Queen, Regina Titania, was born, and it was she that brought that thousand-year reign of peace to an end.

Now Titania was the daughter of a simple farmer from the high country, in a small town called Nyera. Beautiful and poised, wise beyond her years, she brought suitors from all over the Faerie lands to bid for her hand, and she would have none of them.