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Authors: Matthew Sturges

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Epic, #Fantasy, #Fantasy fiction, #Traitors, #Prisoners

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BOOK: The Office of Shadow
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"I disagree. I'm quite content where I am."

"Really?" said Everess. "Look around you, man. From where I'm
standing, all you've done is trade one cell for another."

No witty response from Silverdun's typically bottomless well of them
was forthcoming, so he simply stood and began to turn away.

"Come into the city, Silverdun," Everess called after him. "Hear what I
have to say. And then if you don't like it, you can come back here and keep
rotting for all I care."

That stung.

A messenger on a sturdy mare watched Lord Everess's carriage vanish into the
rain from the hilltop overlooking the temple. Once he was certain that
Everess's departure was assured, he gingerly walked the horse down the
grassy slope to the temple's stable.

He handed the reins to a passing monk, assuring the man that he'd be
back momentarily. Good to his word, a few minutes later, he returned from
the monastery, mounted, and rode off without another word.

Silverdun left the calefactory feeling warm, but also a bit dizzy. He and
Everess had never been friends-they'd known each other in passing in the
halls of Corpus, and Silverdun's second cousin had married a nephew of
Everess's, but Silverdun hadn't even attended the wedding. So why was
Everess coming for him now?

Silverdun sneaked carefully through the refectory and back into the dotter.
All of the monks' rooms were empty now-rest period was over, and afternoon
prayers had already begun. Silverdun couldn't have cared less. He sunk onto his
cot and leaned against the wall, letting the cool stones calm him.

On a shelf above the bed was a duffel bag that contained the day suit he'd
worn when he'd entered the place ten months earlier. It had been washed and
pressed. His boots, polished and supple, were lined carefully next to the bag,
and beneath them both was the sword that Mauritane had presented him at
the celebration following the Battle of Sylvan. Engraved in the blade was the
Silverdun crest surrounded by five stars: one for each of his companions on
the journey that had led him out from exile at Crete Sulace and back into life.

Of those five, two were dead: Honeywell had given up his own life to save them at the beginning of their journey. Gray Mave had betrayed them, and
died for his sins. Brian Satterly was off somewhere rescuing human babies
from Changeling traders, and good riddance. Raieve, now Mauritane's wife,
had returned to Avalon to help win the peace there. Mauritane was on leave
from his post as captain of the Royal Guard, no doubt fighting alongside her.

Or so he believed. He hadn't seen anyone from his former life in months.
He missed them. He even missed the foolish human Satterly. That was
depressing.

There was a knock at the door and Silverdun braced for another assault
by Tebrit, but instead it was Estiane who stepped into the cell. The abbot
shut the door quietly, an odd expression on his face. He held an envelope in
his hand, and Silverdun recognized the broken seal as that of Marcuse, the
queen's chamberlain. Estiane sat at the edge of Silverdun's cot, turning the
envelope in his fingers. He held it delicately, as if it were a dried flower or a
piece of fine china.

"Let us be perfectly honest with one another, shall we?" said Estiane. "No
banter, no gamesmanship. No hidden agendas. We are both men of Aba, who
do our best to serve the Good, and often fail miserably along the way.
Agreed?"

Silverdun sat up. A witticism reared up in his mind and he choked it
down. "Fine," he grunted.

"I know why Everess came to see you today," said Estiane. "He and I have
had a number of rather serious conversations over the past few months."

"Really?" said Silverdun. "Is Everess an Arcadian? He never struck me as
the type."

"No, no," said Estiane. "These conversations were of a purely political
nature. We don't like to advertise it, of course, but the Church is as immersed
in the world of politics as any other large organization. We have power and
influence and knowledge, and it has to be wielded."

Estiane tapped the envelope gently against his fingers. "As you may
know, the Church has a rather sizable network of believers among the
Unseelie. Not even we know exactly how many of us there are across Mab's
empire because the Bel Zheret enjoy torturing names out of Arcadians, and
we like to offer them as few as possible.

"Much of the useful information our queen possesses regarding the
Unseelie comes from us. We have believers at almost every level of government and at every rank in the military. Sometimes their consciences guide
them to reveal certain things."

Silverdun smiled. "And you barter that knowledge for influence at
Corpus and with the queen's court."

"Of course we do," said Estiane, his voice rough. "We'd be fools not to.
This all has very little to do with serving Aba, but the Church is not itself
holy. The Church is an organization that exists in space and time, and it must
do what it must in order to survive and thrive. If you'll recall, when you were
a boy, Arcadianism was practically illegal." Estiane unsuccessfully attempted
to hide the guilt he clearly felt. "And that brings us to you, Perrin Alt. Lord
Silverdun."

Silverdun sighed. "I was wondering when something would bring us to
me. What's this about?"

"I'm not exactly sure, to be honest," said Estiane. "I know that Everess is
very keen to bring you back to the capital, but I don't know why. Something
to do with the Foreign Ministry, I should imagine."

"Honestly, Abbot!" said Silverdun. "Where's the holiness in that?"

"Holiness?" Estiane hissed the word. "Holiness is a privilege granted to
blessed souls like Tebrit, your tormentor. Tebrit doesn't have to make decisions about how the Church's influence is used to direct affairs, or whether
those affairs ought to be directed, or what the dire outcome for the Church
and its followers will be if those affairs are ignored. Tebrit will not have any
blood on his hands if a new war begins because there is nothing he could do
to help prevent it.

"I, however, am required to make those decisions. There is no way for me
to do this without getting blood on my hands. I don't have the luxury of
being spotless."

Silverdun leaned back again, nodding. "I understand now. Everess needs
your information, and you've decided to exact payment. He agrees to take me
on in whatever role he's dreamed up for me, knowing that I'll be acting as
your proxy, and in return you'll provide information."

"Not just information," said Estiane.

"Money as well?" Silverdun was shocked.

"We're being honest, are we not? Silverdun, you don't read the reports
that I read, the list of martyrs' names that come across my desk day in and
day out. The Unseelie take perverse joy in hunting down and murdering
Arcadians. What do you think would happen if they were to take down
Regina Titania? The Church would cease to exist. Aba's work in Faerie would
be finished."

Estiane leaned in, and Silverdun could detect the faintest trace of brandy
on his breath. "I will not allow that to happen."

Silverdun stood and pulled his sword down from the shelf above the bed.
He unsheathed it and flicked it back and forth in frustration. "And what if I
refuse? What if I just want to be a monk?"

Estiane stood and smoothed his robes. "You never wanted to be a monk,
Perrin. You just needed a place to hide for a while. Your hiding time is
over-I'm kicking you out."

"You can't do that!"

"I'm the abbot. I can do whatever I want."

Silverdun swung the sword harder in the air, striking at an intangible
foe.

"Fine," said Silverdun. "Kick me out. I'll go back to Oarsbridge and live
out my days as an eccentric country gentleman. Find a pretty, dumb daughter
of a nearby baron to marry to keep me warm at night. How's that?"

Estiane smiled. He walked to the door. "It's not that simple, Perrin. Life
never is."

"It can be."

"Here," said Estiane, holding out the envelope. "This was delivered just
after Everess left. There were two notes inside. One was addressed to me, the
other to you. My note simply asked me to pass yours along to you before I
allowed you to leave here.

Silverdun took the envelope, again noting the chamberlain's seal. Inside
was a single sheet, printed in a flowing, beautiful hand. It was not the script
of Chamberlain Marcuse. Silverdun knew whose script it was, though. He
knew it without needing to be told.

Perrin Alt. Lord Silverdun:

When last we met, I warned you that there would come a time when I would call on
you by name. That time has come. Consider well what has been asked of you. You
are one who, like a prize racehorse, thrives only when placed upon the track. Go
where you will thrive.

The note was not signed, but it didn't need to be. It had been penned by
the queen herself.

"Shit," said Silverdun. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

He reached up to the shelf and pulled down his boots.

The difficulty, which has yet to be resolved, is as follows.
For an Elemental unbinding at a distance, the standard
formulation requires the spoken trigger (i.e., the
unbinding word) to interact physically with the binding.
Given a distance, d, and the speed of sound, r, the effects
of an unbinding word should require time t, where t =
d/r. It has been demonstrated in controlled circumstances,
however, that the unbinding occurs simultaneously with the
trigger.Thaumaturges have debated this question for centuries, but no satisfactory explanation has ever been
offered. Since reitic force decreases exponentially over
distance, this is rarely a problem in practice. Students are
encouraged to use the standard release-chain formulation in most circumstances.

-Dynamics, Chapter 7:
''Indirect Mechanisms of Release in Distributed Systems'

L was dawn, and Ironfoot was still awake, his head throbbing, poring over
the map. The thing was so big that he'd had a local craftsman create a table
for the sole purpose of holding it unrolled. It was a topological map, commissioned some number of years ago by a local governor with a penchant for
geography and dreams of wealth from silver mining. The map had been of no
use whatever to the governor, save perhaps feeding his ego. But to Ironfoot it
had become invaluable.

BOOK: The Office of Shadow
7.5Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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