Midwinter

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 these 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.