At the Queen's Command Read Free Page B

sir, this suggestion is a test to see if I will follow orders; and suitable disciplinary actions would have been taken if I agreed to it.”
    Langford’s hand started toward his quill, then he thought better of it. “Yes, a test. Very good, Captain, you passed. Cannot be too careful.”
    Owen nodded. “I will prepare a list of the things I need. I would appreciate your supplementing it with supplies that would facilitate my mission.”
    Langford nodded and took his quill up again. “Gladly, sir.”
    The sooner I am out of here, the sooner you imagine the wilderness will kill me. “There is also the matter, Colonel, of a packet I have for the Prince.”
    Langford looked up. “You will wish to deliver this to him directly, I assume.”
    “Those were my orders.”
    “Very well.” Langford scribbled a note on a piece of paper, handed it to Owen. “Sergeant Major Hilliard will send you on your way. I will have your things sent around to your billet.”
    “Very good, sir, thank you.” Owen came to attention and saluted.
    Langford slowly rose and returned the salute. “Your mission is futile. Your determination will get you killed.”
    Owen smiled. “I’ve no intention to make my wife a widow, sir, but I will fulfill my orders.”
    The Guards’ stable master gave him a bay gelding and directions. Owen followed Blessedness Road around to Justice and out through Westgate, heading west on the Bounty Trail. The route roughly paralleled the Benjamin River for several miles, then diverged as the river dipped toward the south.
    The trail deserved the name, since it was little more than a set of wagon ruts flanked by grasses trampled beneath foot and hoof. Most commercial traffic, Owen guessed, came down the river. He passed a number of estates with their own docks; very few of them had a drive connecting to the trail. The river, clearly, served as the primary transportation route.
    Owen did not ride as swiftly as he might, despite his urgency to deliver the sealed packet to the Prince. The land’s breadth and lack of development surprised him. Back in Norisle there might be great expanses of fields, but walls divided them. All of them lay under cultivation. Forests dotted the land but more as private hunting preserves for nobility than places where no man had yet set ax to tree. Cresting hills and riding down into valleys, he expected to see small villages astride the trail, but none existed. A mile or two outside Temperance and he could have been the last man alive.
    Were I slain here, no one would ever know . That thought sent a shiver down his spine and a brief glimpse of his wife in mourning. The black clothes would suit her, her brown eyes glistening with tears. She would dab at them with delicate hands, her brown hair gathered back, her flesh pale, beautiful in her grief.
    Owen felt no overt threat, but Langford’s comment came back to him. He checked the horse pistol holstered on the saddle. Its presence reassured him, but the realization that he really didn’t know Mystria nibbled away at him.
    Langford had described infernal beasts and hostile natives. In the capital, Owen had visited displays of stuffed creatures from Mystria, and of drawings revealing the Twilight People in all their savage glory. Many early colonists had perished on these shores because of poor harvests and brutal winters.
    His horse pistol would do little to save him from either, or many of the monsters. But if he did his work quickly and well, he’d be back in Norisle before the first snow fell, safe again with Catherine, beginning his new life.
    He half-smiled. Most people seeking to begin a new life did so by moving to the colonies. He wanted only to explore, then return home. With enough money, he and Catherine could escape his family and know true happiness.
    Owen allowed the bright sun and play of butterflies amid fields of red and gold wildflowers to distract him from darker thoughts. His mission would provide enough information that