Midwinter

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.

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 much to discuss."