Raieve looked up. Something was climbing over the precipice at the valley's edge. It was shaped like a man, but much, much larger. In the darkness it was difficult to tell how large. Its hands clawed fingerholds into the solid rock of the cliff face as it descended. It looked over its shoulder and its eyes seemed to lock with hers. The eyes were like twin red suns.
Satterly grabbed Silverdun's arm. "Is that… is that the Thule Man?"
Silverdun cleared his throat. "It certainly looks that way."
"You said it was a fairy tale!" Satterly shouted.
"I said it was probably a fairy tale."
Chapter 19
thule man
The Thule Man locked eyes with Mauritane. He hung there, fingers dug into the cliff face, then his face twisted into a smile and he let himself drop to the ground. The sound of the impact was like the concussion of a spellbomb, and the ground shook in its wake.
The Thule Man was not forty feet tall, as the story promised, but still taller and stronger than any man Mauritane had ever seen, and from the sound of his landing, he seemed to be made of stone. His skin certainly looked like stone, rough and pocked. He was covered in dust, the gray hair that sprouted from his head and ears was long and matted with filth, and he was dressed only in a loincloth made of crudely stitched buggane skins. Up close, his eyes blazed bright enough to sting Mauritane's eyes.
"I have come to the appointed time," the Thule Man said. "And I am met." His voice was deep and gravelly, but he spoke in a dialect of High Fae that reminded Mauritane of the oldest historical documents he'd read in the archives at the City Emerald. Mauritane strained to understand him.
"Which of you is Mauritane?"
Mauritane stepped forward. "I am," he answered, also in High Fae. Mauritane chanced a look around. The Unseelie soldiers remained on their knees; Ma Denha was looking desperately at his men's weapons, which lay in a pile out of reach. Satterly stood by Silverdun and Mave, his mouth hanging open. Only Raieve stood at the ready, sword out, ready to do battle.
"This is the instant!" said the Thule Man. "Beyond this I know nothing. I cannot see it. I am at the water's edge." He stared at Mauritane in wonder and fell silent. As the seconds passed, his smile faded and he appeared to grow uneasy.
"What is your business with me?" said Mauritane. "I do not know you."
The Thule Man's jaw clenched and his teeth ground together like stones. Sparks flew from between his lips.
"What's he doing?" Satterly asked.
"What is your business with me?" Mauritane repeated. "Are you indeed the Thule Man?"
"Yes," the Thule Man finally said, through gritted teeth.
"I know you only from a child's story."
The Thule Man's jaw unclenched. "Tell me that story," he said.
Mauritane looked to Silverdun, who shrugged, and to Raieve, who said, "I don't speak his tongue."
The Thule Man slammed a heavy fist into the rock wall behind him. "I have waited long enough for you. If I want the story, you will at least have the courtesy to give it to me."
Mauritane sighed, his mind working furiously. What was this creature after? Was it truly the Thule Man from the book on his father's mantel?
"As I recall," said Mauritane, annoyed at his own confusion, "it was during the Rauane Envedun-e, before the Great Reshaping, before Titania united the kingdom. The Thule Man was a High Magus from the city of… Renat, I believe. One of the last true Magi of the Thule Fae."
"No. It was the City Emerald," the Thule Man growled. "Renat was but a village in those days."
"The City Emerald, then," Mauritane continued. "He was an old man who feared death and devoted his studies to the pursuit of immortality. To that end he pushed beyond the boundaries of accepted thaumatics and began to experiment with forbidden things: the Black Arts, Blood Magic, that sort of thing.
"His colleagues cautioned him against that dangerous path, but he ignored them. Then they warned him sternly, but he threatened them. Then one day a serving girl discovered the bodies in his cellar; the victims of his diabolical experiments."
"The story does not mention," the Thule Man interrupted, "that I was by no means the only Magus in those days with bodies in his cellar, nor that the serving girl was directed there by a jealous colleague. But no matter. Pray, continue."
One of the Unseelie soldiers, one who hadn't yet spoken a word in Mauritane's presence, started up from his place by the fire. He ran naked to the stack of weapons and shook a sword from the pile. He shouted his battle cry and ran at the Thule Man, swinging his arm in a powerful arc, aiming for the tendons at the Thule Man's heel.
"Eben, stop!" shouted Ma Denha, but the soldier ignored him.
The blade, however, only struck the skin and recoiled. Eben began hacking furiously at the giant creature, but to no avail.
The Thule Man looked down, irritated, and plucked Eben from the ground. He wrapped his fists around the man's head and squeezed. Mauritane heard an ugly popping crunch and then Eben's body went limp. Blood flecked with gray trickled from the Thule Man's fingers.
"Hold!" shouted Mauritane, mainly to Raieve, who seemed ready to rush the giant herself. "This… man has made no move against us, and we are not in battle until I say so."
The Thule Man nodded. "Pray, continue," he said again, wiping his bloody hand upon his thigh.
Mauritane met his gaze for as long as he was able. When he was finally forced to look away, twin spots of red hung in his vision. "When his deeds were made public, the Magi exiled him from their city. From every city he visited thereafter, he was likewise turned away. Finally he came to the Contested Lands and went among the creatures and villains who lived there."
"True enough," muttered the Thule Man.
"Though exiled, however, the Thule Man did not give up his quest for immortality. In desperation, he found one of the shifting places and ate it, hoping it would confer upon him the secrets of time and space.
"But he was wrong. The shifting place proved too powerful for his depraved mind and his perverted re. It warped his body, turning him into a giant, and it unhinged his mind.
"And now he lives like a wild thing in the Contested Lands to this day. He finally discovered the secret of immortality, but he paid for it with his soul."
"Is that all?" said the Thule Man.
"No," answered Mauritane. "When I was a child, my mother often added that if I were to misbehave, the Thule Man would come and carry me off to the Contested Lands, where he would eat me."
The Thule Man roared with laughter at this. "It is not enough that I am become a cautionary tale about hubris, but now I am a bogeyman as well." He clapped his hands together in mirth and the shock from it pressed against Mauritane's eardrums.
"What is it that you want with me?" said Mauritane.
"Why do you ask me? Are you not Mauritane? Are you not He Who Clears the Path? Have I not awaited you these many thousands of years?"
Mauritane was baffled. What was he talking about?
"Ah, Mauritane," said Silverdun. "How much do you know about Arcadian mythology?"
"Nothing," said Mauritane.
"He Who Clears the Path is a phrase used in the Vircest Ana; it's one of those prophetic works that theologians dither over."
"Then you are mistaken," said Mauritane. "I am no Arcadian. Why do you say it?"
The Thule Man's eyes blazed white hot. "Because that is what I say now. The time quick approaches when my long-held instant ceases. My dying breath is nigh and you must not toy with me, not when I have remembered it for so long. You are the instrument, now give me the reason!"
Mauritane took a step forward. "You speak as if this meeting is preordained, but if that is so then I have no knowledge of it. I am afraid I have no reason to give. And if it is death you expect at my hands, I will not give it unless forced."
"In the dark days," said the Thule Man, his fists clenching and unclenching in a slow rhythm, "during the Unseelie Wars of the Great Reshaping, I did come to the
se lands, fleeing for my life! I was not afraid but neither would I gladly accept death's embrace. Not then and not ever. The shifting places were fresh then; they were the aftershocks of the most powerful offensive spells ever created. I discovered one that spread across millennia. I took it, shaped it into me. I became it. As you can see, I am quite changed.
"I see those millennia as you look across this mountain range, each season a pinnacle in a view from which I cannot avert my gaze. I have studied their contours, traced their minute gradations. I have found meaning in every hour, signs in the valleys between seconds. This Midwinter is the final peak, this day the foothill, this hour the shore of a dark sea. And at the shore of that sea I have seen you, Mauritane, for years beyond measure, waiting for me with that blade in your hand."
The Thule Man smashed his fist again, this time into the ground at Mauritane's feet. "And you dare to tell me you that you know me not! The past points to you! The years fall at your feet! Now you will tell me the reason for this moment, because I cannot see past it! I cannot see past the water's edge to the land beyond that will point backward and explain these signs! Tell me this and I will lie before you and you may thrust your saber into my eye and finish me!"
"I know nothing of this," Mauritane said, his voice flat.
The Thule Man rushed him then. Mauritane leapt aside, flinging himself to the earth. The creature was strong, but his movements were slow and whatever else he was, he was not a fighter. The Thule Man fell to his knees, then turned in an exaggerated motion and found Mauritane. He lashed out again and missed.
Raieve did not hesitate. She shouted, "Attack!" and ran toward Mauritane.
Silverdun drew his sword, but before he could run, a voice behind him shouted, "Wait!" He turned.
Ma Denha was standing, pointing at his weapons. "Let us fight! That thing killed one of my men and I will have my vengeance!"
Silverdun waved the tip of his sword at the man. "Nobody's stopping you," he answered.
"Can we have our clothes back first?"
Silverdun winced. "I don't think so," and ran at the Thule Man.
Mauritane dodged and stabbed, pushing the point of his saber as deeply into the creature's skin as he could, which wasn't very far. Drops of black blood oozed from the wounds, but not enough to cause any serious damage. His vision narrowed as the Thule Man swung wildly at him. From the corner of his eye, he saw first Raieve, then Silverdun, and then a few of the Unseelie soldiers arraying themselves around the thing, advancing and withdrawing with the Thule Man's movement and stabbing as Mauritane was doing.
Then Mauritane felt something odd. His re was slowly ebbing from him. He could almost see it draining into his opponent. The Thule Man inhaled sharply and moaned.
Clearly Mauritane was not alone in the sensation; Silverdun's blade drooped and he stumbled to his knees, just as the Thule Man's leg shot out, catching one of the Unseelie soldiers in the chest, a blow meant for Silverdun.
Mauritane thrust and thrust at the creature's midsection, looking for an opening in the neck or head but not finding one. The Thule Man's heavy fists never caught him full on, but he was kept constantly in motion in order to dodge them. Those fists only made contact once, glancing off Mauritane's shoulder, and the blow was enough to spin Mauritane fully around. And all the while, the re continued to drain out of him.
Once full of his adversaries' essence, the Thule Man raised his hands and began the words of a spell, ignoring the blades that plunged into his body all around him. Even as he spoke the first word, the sides of the valley trembled; a low humming sound filled the air. Mauritane felt his skin prickle. Whatever the spell was, it was powerful beyond measure. The Thule Man leaned down to look Mauritane in the eye and Mauritane's vision began to blur with the intensity. He continued speaking the spell, the words spoken in the ancient Thule tongue, so heavily accented that Mauritane could not understand a word. He had no idea what to expect.
But Mauritane never learned what the spell would have been, because before its wording was complete, Mauritane thrust out with his saber, lodging it firmly in the Thule Man's violently flaming right eye. "I can give you no reasons, but I will give you your release," he said.
The creature crumpled and flopped down onto the ground, causing noise but no more thunder. His eyes went orange, then red, then faded to black.
Mauritane shook his head, waiting for his vision to clear. Then he approached the body warily, pulling his sword from the Thule Man's eye socket. It shone a preternatural red in the darkness. He looked around and realized that night had fallen.
Winded, Mauritane staggered back to the fire. The Unseelie lieutenant joined him, still armed, sinking down beside him.
"You're not planning on using that against me, are you?"
"I prefer to fight better armored," said Ma Denha.
Mauritane looked and saw that Ma Denha was, of course, still naked. He stifled a laugh that bubbled up from deep inside him.
"You could have run," said Mauritane. "I appreciate that."
Ma Denha spat. "I wasn't helping you," he said. "I was avenging my man. You're but a Seelie who threatened us with torture and made one of my soldiers dishonor himself." He sneered at Mauritane. "Now it falls to me to slit his throat."
Mauritane nodded. "For what it's worth, I apologize."
Ma Denha stood up. "I'm sure you had your reasons. You appear to be an otherwise honorable man, and I'm not blind enough to think that all Seelie are dogs on sight. But if I weren't sure it would leave my men without a lieutenant, I'd offer you a challenge right here and now."
Mauritane stood as well, his knees shaking with fatigue. "Go then; I have had enough of fighting today as well. If you hurry, you'll probably find your horses a few miles ahead."
"I'm taking my boots with me."
"Whatever you like." Mauritane said.
As the Unseelie soldiers walked away into the night, dragging their dead along with them, Mauritane sat next to Raieve by the fire. Silverdun, Gray Mave, and Satterly were already eating supper from the rations they'd picked up in Estacana. Raieve said, "You're really just going to let them walk away?"
Mauritane looked down. His cloak and his leather chestpiece were covered in dust and blood. "I'm tired," he said.
Chapter 20
the vagaries of fair
First Stag dawned gray and misty over the City Emerald, but by evening the clouds dispersed and it was a crystalline sky that Purane-Es beheld as his carriage crossed the Old Bridge into Puorry Lane. From here, looking out over the Emerald Bay from which the city took its name, the sky was the ceiling of a great domed hall, painted black with the tiny flames of witchlit candelabras flickering high overhead.
It was a relief to be back in the city and to be wearing fresh clothes-soft leather boots, silk breeches, and a heavenly cashmere cloak-instead of the all-weather uniform he'd worn to Crete Sulace. Purane-Es ran clean fingers through freshly washed and brushed hair and sighed with pleasure. Facing him in the carriage was a pair of bodyguards and Stilad, his aide. Stilad wore a pair of spectacles high on his nose, and the way the nose protruded from beneath his bald head gave him the mien of a hawk or an eagle. He leaned uncomfortably away from the pair of guards, his small frame comical next to theirs, studying a sheaf of documents he'd produced from a pocket of his voluminous overcoat.
"Does my father know I'm coming?" asked Purane-Es, still peering out the window.
"Yes sir," said Stilad, looking up. "You're expected. I'm told his staff has purchased a case of Eb Elen, twenty years old. He'll probably serve it with dinner."
Purane-Es nodded.
The home of Purane occupied most of a block in an ancient and renowned quarter of the city, where the cobblestones were worn sheer and even the lampposts and sidewalks seemed immutable, eternal. Puorry Lane was the scene of dozens of famous paintings and mestinas; it was the renowned birthplace of a hundred famous lords.
"Welcome, child," said Purane, meeting him at the door. "We have mu
ch to discuss."
Standing silhouetted in the doorway, Purane might have been a statue of himself. Still wearing his dress uniform from a troop review earlier in the day, he cut a perfectly clean line, his epaulets glistening gold from the hall lights. Seen in profile, his wide-set eyes and straight edge of a nose might have been a sculptor's gift to a lesser man. The only thing that belied that stony impression was the thick fluid coil of the Century Braid that spilled over his shoulder. The braid was a sign that he'd taken enough lives throughout his career that he no longer bothered to count them.
"Good evening, father," Purane-Es said, pulling off his gloves. "It's good to be back."
Once the proper filial courtesies had been disposed of, Purane ordered supper to be brought and they fell to a sumptuous meal of venison steaks in rose broth, seared stuffed hens, and poppy flowers. They ate in silence.
Finally, Purane pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, eyeing his son with a thoughtful frown.
"I trust your mission was a success," he said.
Purane-Es smiled. "As much as it could have been. I delivered my message."
"Don't put on that air of hurt, boy," said Purane. "I still believe this is part of something greater."
"As does Kallmer," Purane-Es said. "He's convinced that he'll get promoted to lieutenant captain once he figures out what that something is."
Purane waved the thought away. "Kallmer is nothing," he said. "You are far more secure than he." He wiped his chin with a silk napkin. "And what of poor Mauritane? How did he appear?"
"With sword in hand, is how he appeared," said Purane-Es. "He disarmed a guard and rushed me when he saw who I was."
Purane laughed out loud. "Incorrigible bastard, that Mauritane. I see you survived. What happened?"
"He's not the swordsman they claim he is. I disarmed him without much of a fight."
The Elder Purane raised an eyebrow. "Really? Prison must not have treated him well."
Purane-Es sat up straight. "Oh, and I suppose it's not possible that I could have bested him unless he were beaten down?"
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