Midwinter

by Matthew Sturges

  Confused, they hurried down the many flights of stairs that led to the middle tier, where the massive stone columns cast shadows in the moonlight.

  "Look," said Silverdun, pointing.

  Raieve looked down the bridge, where Eloquet and his men had built a barricade against the turmoil in the streets below. The barricade had been demolished.

  "Let's go downstairs," said Eloquet, his voice shaking.

  Before they reached the great room, they knew. It was too quiet; the rooms and halls were vacant, devoid of sound and movement.

  In the great room, where the temple's worship services were held, a massive fire had been set in the central fireplace. Surrounding the fire were twisted bodies in pink robes, some of them badly burned, others bathed in blood. The bodies were piled on top of each other, dozens and dozens of them. Raieve had never seen anything like it.

  Looking away, Raieve saw movement from the corner of her eye. On the steps leading up to the dais, a tiny figure sat, cradling someone in her arms.

  "Someone's alive," said Raieve, pointing.

  They approached the figure on the steps. It was a young girl, dressed in the white robe of a novice. She cradled the still form of the abbot Vestar to her, holding his head in her lap. She stroked his bald head gently, kissing his hand, whispering prayers into his ears.

  "Are you Mauritane?" the girl said, not looking up. Her voice was flat.

  "I am," said Mauritane.

  "The man said I should give you this when you came. He took the girl with him, the baron's daughter. He said it was about her." She handed him a rolled note from within her robe, her eyes on the abbot's face.

  Mauritane unrolled the note and read it. It simply said, "I win," and was signed by Purane-Es.

  Chapter 39

  the battle of sylvan

  Many of Eloquet's men had fallen alongside the residents of the Temple Aba-e, their corpses mixed indiscriminately with those of the coenobites. A hasty search revealed no survivors except the girl holding the abbot's lifeless head; the girl herself was deeply in shock and could tell them little else about what had happened.

  During the search, a group of soldiers from Eloquet's cell returned from the city; they walked into a tableau of agonized silence. Satterly paced slowly by the fire; Raieve knelt by the dazed girl. Silverdun sat with his head in his hands, staring forward.

  Mauritane was deep in thought when the soldiers returned, barely noticing them. It would be tempting, he imagined, to chase Purane-Es down and beat him to death slowly with a tree branch. He imagined the scene graphically. But it was no use. There was no punishment for Purane-Es that would compare to the tragedy the fool had evoked. And for what? Revenge? Envy? Simple malice? Mauritane could not understand Purane-Es's mind, and it troubled him.

  Regardless, the destruction of Mab's city had not prevented a war, it had only evened the odds. Seeing the expressions of horror on the faces of Eloquet's men, Mauritane realized that Purane-Es had fouled things up even more than he'd thought.

  "The Royal Guard Commander did this?" said one of the men. "And with our backs turned! They lied! We trusted them and they lied!"

  "I knew we should never have allied with them," cursed another.

  Eloquet attempted to calm them. "The Unseelie are still coming," he said. "If we turn against the Seelie now we will all die, as surely as anything I know to be true."

  "What difference does it make?" said a blond boy, reeling at the sight of the bodies. "We're all dead anyway."

  Eloquet swallowed. "No. When I tell you what I'm about to tell you, I think you'll believe differently." Eloquet related to them the story of Mauritane's fight aboard the city of Mab, how his battle cry had split the city in two.

  Mauritane didn't say anything, although he knew his cry had done nothing to tear the city apart. The great ship, without its Masters of Elements and Motion to hold it together, had flown apart from its own weight.

  "I'm telling you, Mauritane is He Who Clears the Path," Eloquet said. "He is the one who prepares the way for She Who Will Come."

  Mauritane thought back to what the Thule Man had said and shivered, but said nothing for fear of encouraging Eloquet. Whatever mantle was being thrust upon him, he wanted no part of it.

  "And you think," said Silverdun bitterly, "that these murders are the sacrifices spoken of in the Rauad Faehar? `And you will know him by the great surrender that comes around him, when the blood will pool at his feet."'

  "That is what I believe," said Eloquet.

  "If that makes you feel better, then so be it."

  Some of Eloquet's men glared at Silverdun.

  "Don't be so blind, Silverdun," said Eloquet. "When our people hear what's happened here and who caused it, the alliance we worked so hard to create will crumble in an instant. Aba could not have wanted this; the Rauad also says that Aba will redeem for good all that is evil. Aba will take back pain and suffering from the Usurper and the Adversary and sanctify them."

  Silverdun grimaced. He looked at Eloquet for a long time, then nodded. "I suppose anything is possible," he said.

  Mauritane touched Eloquet's shoulder. "Eloquet, you are a good and brave man. I don't believe what you're saying about me, but I respect your belief. I also think if enough of your people believe it, it will sustain our alliance. Will you speak to the other cell leaders on my behalf, telling them what you've just said, even though I don't believe it?"

  "I don't care if you believe it or not; it's the truth." Eloquet forced a smile. "It will be difficult, though. I only know three names. Those three know only three names as well. It will take time."

  "Do what you have to do. Time is not one of the Gifts."

  Eloquet took a number of his men and ran from the great hall, barking orders as he left. He returned a few moments later, though, carrying a set of reins in his hand. He led a tall stallion into the room; the animal shied away from the fire, making a quiet noise in its throat.

  "One of my men found him," said Eloquet. "He's been asking for you all over the city."

  "Streak!" said Mauritane. He ran to the horse and touched its shoulder. "I was afraid I'd lost you."

  "It pleases me to see the Master again," said Streak, his speaking voice as always hoarse yet eager. "Will we ride again soon?"

  "Very soon," said Mauritane, patting the creature's neck.

  "You wanted to see me?" Satterly stepped into the great hall, now appropriated by Mauritane as his command center. The bodies had been removed quickly and with respect; one of Eloquet's men had gone down into the City Center from the long bridge and asked the peasants for help. None of them had complained while they dragged the bodies from the room.

  "Yes," said Mauritane. He lit his pipe and took a quick puff before speaking. "I've decided I don't want you to fight," he said.

  Satterly nodded. "I didn't do very well up there in the city of Mab," he said.

  Mauritane shook his head. "It's not that. I want you to use your scientific education to work on a problem."

  Satterly nodded. "If I can help, I will."

  Satterly listened to Mauritane's concerns and then walked out of the great hall, unsure how to proceed. He wandered for most of an hour, watching his shadow twist and turn in the light of the oil lamps. He stood at a corner and watched the tiny flame move back and forth.

  "Oh my God," said Satterly. "That's it!"

  Eloquet's young blond lieutenant was busy loading supplies onto a wagon when the human Satterly stopped him with a tap on the shoulder.

  "Excuse me," Satterly said. "Can you tell me where you buy your kerosene?"

  Mauritane and Prae-Alan, the leader of the Seelie Army forces in Sylvan, met Eloquet and the leaders of twelve other cells in the Rye Grove just before midnight.

  "What is their answer?" said Mauritane.

  "They will continue to fight," said Eloquet. "Not all of them, but almost all. The ones who will not fight alongside the Seelie will at least do nothing to aid the forces of Mab. They will withho
ld their vengeance until the Unseelie have been repelled."

  "You are all agreed on this?" asked Prae-Alan.

  "We are," said one of the cell leaders, a stocky man with long ears and short braids. "But only if He Who Clears the Path leads us."

  "Fine," said Prae-Alan. The matter had already been discussed, and PraeAlan was simply glad that his own countrymen wouldn't be trying to kill him while he defended their borders. He didn't really care about anything else.

  "But we will not forget this," said another cell leader. "We will not forget, and our reprisal, when it comes, will make you long for the days when Queen Mab was your chief concern."

  Raieve was sharpening her sword on a snakestone when Mauritane came for her. "It's time," he said. "Our scouts tell us the Unseelie will be in place by dawn."

  Raieve nodded, running her thumb along the blade. "There's no way we'll be in the City Emerald by First Lamb, even if we survive. This entire mission has been a waste of time for us." She continued sharpening her blade.

  "No," said Mauritane, "it brought us where we needed to be, when we needed to be there. And it's not First Lamb yet. Anything is yet possible."

  Raieve looked up at him. "I can't say I agree with you," she said.

  The North Valley sat just north of Sylvan; its southern rim was a narrow strip that descended into the city on the far side. To the north, the Unseelie were waiting, hidden by the thick forest and the mist that spilled out from Sylvan. The predawn light glowed blue across the faces of the combined Seelie forces. The entire southern rim was a cacophony of shouted orders, neighing horses, and the chanting of the battle mages preparing their spells. Silver ground against sharpening stones and quarrels clicked into the notches of hundreds of crossbows.

  Finally, the order to stand ready came, and the soldiers fell into place.

  The first line was cavalry; each man on the line had been chosen from his company by the drawing of lots. Men from each division-chosen from the Seelie Army, the Royal Guard, and the rebels-stood at the ready.

  Behind them were the battle mages. They stood slightly higher on the valley's edge, their spellcasting components surrounding them like miniature cities. The defensive mages had already begun chanting their shields, creating waves of purple light above the heads of the front line.

  Next were the ground forces, the infantry. There were not enough swords to go around, so some of the men, mostly the rebels, carried axes, sledgehammers and clubs. Among them stood the crossbow archers, who would charge into battle among the infantry, their weapons effective only at very close range.

  The longbowmen stood at the crest of the hill, the final wave of defense. There were no spell shields above their heads, which gave them room to fire but also left them vulnerable to overhead attack. They did not carry swords; if the battle were ever to reach them, it would already be over.

  Mauritane, riding Streak, faced his army. Prae-Alan was at his left, Eloquet at his right, both on horseback.

  "There are some who will say," Mauritane began, "that our shared desire for survival is all that brings us together here." His voice was loud and strong; it carried all the way back to the archers. "I believe that is only a small part of the truth. Within each of us is the heart of the Seelie; that great soul that gives action to our limbs, quickness to our minds, and the re to our magic. The heart of the Seelie was once pure. It can be pure again. Whether Aba judges us now in his heavenly chariot, or whether a man is alone with his own conscience in this life, we do not all agree. So be it. History will not judge us based on what we believed but rather how we acted when put to the test. So it is with Aba. So it is also with our conscience. This valley is not simply a battlefield; it is a crucible in which the heart of the Seelie will be placed under the pestle and ground beneath a heavy weight. If the Seelie heart is pure, it will not shatter or crumble. Instead, it will shatter the crucible, crumble the pestle that attempts to grind it."

  The men cheered, raising their swords to the sky.

  "We shall take the day, not because we are stronger, though we are. Not because we are faster, or better trained, though those things are true as well. No, we shall take the day because we know that what lies to the south of this valley is worth defending. And what are we defending, exactly? Not the cities, for those will someday fall to the ground! Not the rocks, for those will erode over the centuries! Not even our own children or the children of our neighbors! They too will pass away and become dust. But the Seelie heart shall remain! It is eternal! And woe be unto those who think to squeeze it in their grasp. For what is eternal can never be crushed, can never die!"

  The men cheered again with renewed vigor. Mauritane knew they would follow him into the jaws of death, and he was both infinitely grateful and infinitely sad that it was true.

  "Now I give you your battle cry. The Seelie Heart!"

  "The Seelie Heart!" they shouted back. "The Seelie Heart!"

  Across the valley there came a flash and a dull roar. The battle had begun. The Unseelie forces began to pour out of the woods, making their lines along the northern rim of the valley. Queen Mab rode before them, giving the army her benediction.

  The battle mages cast their long-range missiles and wards, meeting the defenses and the magic-seeking projectiles of the Unseelie. Deafening explosions rocked the valley. Great clouds of green and blue mixed with the milkywhite fog. Bolts of silver lightning flashed back and forth so quickly that none but the mages could comprehend it. As they fought in the skies, the mages also battled in their minds, some of them falling to the ground, clutching their heads or their bellies, some of them bursting into flame.

  The battle in the skies was decided in seconds. The Seelie had taken their first piece of the victory. The remote seers divined fifty Unseelie mages destroyed out of a potential hundred, whereas the Seelie had lost only twenty, and all of their defensive wards remained in place after the altercation.

  Mauritane wheeled Streak and rode to the cavalry commander. "Prepare your men. We ride at my signal!" He rode to the front of the line. In seconds the commander flashed the ready sign at him. Mauritane took a deep breath. "Aba," he whispered. "If you are there, please be on our side."

  Mauritane held his sword aloft. The Seelie army fell silent. For a few seconds all that could be heard were the dying fires from the magic conflagration below and the rustle of impatient hooves.

  Mauritane dropped the sword. "The Seelie Heart!" he cried. They charged.

  The fighting raged through the morning. Mauritane's archers took out fewer of the Unseelie cavalry than he'd hoped, and the mounted Seelie were forced to make up the difference in close combat. Swords flashed and crossbows cracked. As it had done so often before in battle, time disappeared for Mauritane. His mind entered a different place, where all he could see was the field around him. All he could hear were the reports of his subordinates. All he could think was strategy, motion, attack, withdraw, hold, advance. Faces blurred together; motions simplified and became geometric. Mauritane moved through the chaos, applying his blade when necessary, mostly giving orders.

  There would be no retreat. If the Unseelie were to cross the valley into Sylvan, then they could launch their projectile bomb where there were no battle mages to pluck it from the sky. Mauritane had to assume that the weapon had survived the city's destruction-it would be foolish to assume otherwise.

  As the sun moved across the valley, the Seelie forces advanced, inching across the basin's floor. Mauritane brooked no retreat, would not back down from the enemy. He led charge after charge into the thickest wedge of Unseelie troops, striking for the heart of their command. The Unseelie officers of the center column were forced to call continually for reinforcements, preventing their wings from flanking the Seelie either to the east or the west.

  Mauritane fought, slashing and slashing, taking cuts and bruises, and once even a deep bite, forcing out the pain, keeping his thoughts only on forward motion. An Unseelie general fought near him for a while. They eyed each other
over the riot of bodies and horses and blades. Soon they were face to face.

  Mauritane watched the general come at him, placing a barrier of his own men between himself and Mauritane's remaining cavalry. They squared off. Mauritane glared at the man, passion and anger searing his mind.

  The general raised his sword as if to charge. Mauritane steadied himself. Instead, though, the general produced a dagger in his left hand and whipped it not at Mauritane but at Streak. Mauritane felt the beast tense beneath him, then falter and fall to his side, nearly crushing Mauritane's leg. Mauritane rolled off of the animal and looked up, anticipating the general's next attack.

  But the attack never came. The general had sheathed his weapon, laughing at Mauritane, and was now riding back behind the lines.

  Mauritane found himself suddenly behind his own infantry as they rushed forward to take the next hill. The few remaining cavalrymen had mounted another assault on the small rise at the valley's base.

  Mauritane examined Streak's knife wound. The blade had gone in between the shoulders, and the horse appeared to have trouble breathing.

  "I have failed you, master," said Streak, struggling for breath.

  Mauritane stroked the horse's head. "No, Streak. You served me well."

  "I do not wish to leave you."

  "I do not wish for you to go." Mauritane put his arms around Streak's neck and squeezed gently. "You are a good horse," he said. Streak took a final breath and collapsed on the harrowed ground.

  The fighting continued well into the night. Those of the battle mages who were wounded pitched in by sending up fiery balls of witchlight to illuminate the valley. The sky above became a swirling incandescent palette of pinks and blues and greens, casting harsh black shadows on the icy ground as the soldiers continued their struggle.

  While Mauritane's men continued their relentless assault against the central concentration of Unseelie forces, the Seelie cavalry on the valley's western edge began to weaken. Behind the front lines, four divisions of Unseelie infantry peeled off from the main wedge and went for the weak spot.