Midwinter

And they were Unseelie, she could see that clearly now. There were seven of them, light cavalry, in a loose circle around the fire. They'd propped their long lances against a nearby rock. Their mounts stood too far from the fire, too much in the darkness, the reins looped haphazardly over the branches of a tree. In Avalon, Raieve and her friends had regularly stolen horses such as these. The men's boots were off, and they drank and laughed without caution.

One of them stood a desultory watch, but he spent as much time looking over his shoulder at his companions as he did watching the valley. If she timed it right, she could walk right up to him and cut his throat before he even noticed that she was there. Oh, they were Unseelie, all right. Their manner and their accents were proof enough; the markings on their uniforms were simply a confirmation of the obvious.

As she watched, they passed a bottle back and forth, telling jokes whose words she couldn't quite make out. Drunken. Sloppy. Easy prey.

The fingers of her right hand danced along the hilt of her sword. Part of her wanted to draw the blade and run at them, see how many of them she could take before they brought her down. It would be a fine way to die, dragging Unseelie soldiers to hell with her. It would be a death she understood, a death worth dying. Whatever lay at the end of Mauritane's mission was nothing she understood or particularly cared about. So why was she following? She'd given her word, yes, but was it dishonorable to break an oath to a non-Avalona? Or was there more to it than her word?

Grudgingly she let go of the sword and turned back.

* * * *

"We go in on foot," said Mauritane, kneeling on the ground, drawing in the dust with a stick. "We don't have any ranged weapons, so we'll have to use a simple, direct attack. Raieve, can you move into position behind them without being spotted?"

"Aye," she said. "Easily."

"Good. We'll come within a hundred yards as a group, then you'll come around to the rear and wait. Silverdun, Mave, and I will move quickly, and with any luck we'll take them without a struggle."

"Uh," said Satterly, "what about me?"

"You'll stay behind us," said Mauritane, "twenty-five yards. If any of them flee past us, I'll expect you to make an attempt to stop them."

"Seriously?" said Satterly.

"Now is the time to test your mettle, human," said Mauritane, clapping him on the shoulder. "A man never knows if he can kill until the time comes. Pray to your god that you're able."

"I don't think my god answers prayers like that."

Raieve snorted. "Then what good is he?"

Mauritane ignored her. "Our intent is to capture, not kill. I have no wish to take lives wantonly, and these men may well possess useful information."

Ten minutes later, Raieve was in position. She waited, sword in hand, ready, the welcome rush of adrenaline brightening her senses. Some remnant of sunlight remained in the valley, but the already ubiquitous shadows were slowly spreading everywhere. The sentry, fool that he was, kept turning to his companions to comment on their conversation, looking at their fire each time, apparently unaware that he compromised his night vision every time he did so.

Mauritane leapt from the darkness so quickly it scarcely mattered. He clubbed the sentry viciously on the forehead with the hilt of his saber and the man fell without a sound. Silverdun and Gray Mave appeared in the firelight a moment later, flanking Mauritane.

"Hold!" shouted Mauritane, and even though the order was not directed at her, Raieve could sense the Leadership in his voice, focused into a command that nearly kept her rooted to the spot herself.

To her surprise, one of the Unseelie around the fire immediately sprang to his feet, a long, straight cavalry sword in hand. The insignia on his breast showed him to be a lieutenant. "To arms!" he shouted, and his men rose with admirable speed, each of them flashing hardened silver. Raieve was impressed; at least it would be a fair fight. She ran toward them.

But before the lieutenant could mount a defense, Silverdun made a snapping motion past him and the campfire erupted, spewing flame in every direction. Caught off guard, the Unseelie soldiers lurched away from the fire, and that was all it took. Mauritane managed to disarm two of them before Raieve reached the fight. His blade moved so quickly that it was scarcely visible in the firelight.

The Unseelie lieutenant, however, did not go down as easily. Mauritane engaged him, and the two men began to circle. Raieve's man was small but quick, and she secretly hoped it would become necessary to relieve him of his life before the thing was over. But then Silverdun's man went down, and a moment later the lieutenant called out his surrender.

Raieve took her opponent's sword brusquely and pushed him back toward the fire, which had resumed its former size. Soon all six men were kneeling before it.