Midwinter

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.

It was the mistake that cost them the battle.

The thin cavalry line had been a feint; when they were finally penetrated, two companies of Seelie archers arose behind them. Their arrows felled row after row of Mab's infantrymen until their officers realized the error and tried to withdraw. But it was too late. Mauritane took advantage of the momentary weakness and sent everything he had down the middle of the Unseelie front. They held position, briefly, and Mauritane lost what was left of his cavalry. But they could not hold forever. Finally, the Unseelie line broke. Mauritane's infantry poured through the gap, cutting a wide swath through the no-longer-protected battle mages. The sky above the Unseelie grew dark, and the Royal Guard's mages went to work with a different kind of witchlight, directing beams of intense and focused brightness at the Unseelie soldiers. Blinded, they fell back even farther.

Thus pierced, the invading army was now cut off from its commanders. Their foot soldiers spun, confused, unable to discern where the Seelie attacks were coming from. From there, it was simply a matter of time.

One of the Unseelie generals broke rank and fled, taking his companies with him. The Seelie raced to fill the gap. What remained of Mab's armyconfused, tired, disheartened-turned and fled to the north, bearing Queen Mab to safety on a palanquin of silver and gold.

Mauritane fell back against a stone, his sword arm numb, his senses reeling. Around him the smell of blood and death mingled with that of the frozen earth and old snow. The witchlight began to fade, one by one, until only torches remained to give light. It was time to withdraw, to collect the dead, and to sleep.

Word came that Seelie Army reinforcements were now a day out of Sylvan. It was over. There would be no further attempts at invasion. Lacking surprise, there was little Queen Mab could do now but escape with her life.

Eloquet, staggering across the field, helped Mauritane to his feet.

"We've got a few fresh reserves," he breathed. "We're setting up sentries all across the valley's edge. You should go rest."