Midwinter 02: The Office of Shadow

by Matthew Sturges

  Still no Einswrath.

  The cavalry and infantry met on the outskirts of the village. Bowmen attempted to clear a path through the Unseelie line, but the force was too large. Mounted soldiers clashed, their swords glinting in the sunlight. Men on the ground fought with sword and pike. There were screams, shouted orders, the thunder of hooves, the endless scrape of metal on metal. And Mauritane was at the center of it all, urging his commanders onward, calling out his own orders.

  He, of course, could not fight. He wore a blade, the one he'd taken from the prison at Crete Sulace, but hadn't swung it in months. Command was fine, but watching his men advance, he dearly wished to be in the middle of it, a cavalry officer on a clever touched mount, leading the charge.

  They took Claret after two hours, but there were casualties. Scouts reported Unseelie reinforcements approaching by the hundreds.

  Mauritane's strategy depended on the taking of Elenth on the fourth day of the campaign. If the city could be taken and supply lines fortified, they might stand a chance of repelling the direct onslaught of the main Unseelie force, which was even now coming at a forced march from the border crossing at Selafae, where a half-regiment of Mauritane's Fifth Battalion waited, both as a lure and a hedge, in case Mab decided to try for Sylvan anyway.

  Soon there would be Mab's battle fliers, hurling balls of flame and arrows down from above. There would be a flag city bearing down on them, its civilian population offloaded to other cities. The ground war was only the beginning.

  The problem with the flying cities, the reason Mab was cautious with them, was that it was not impossible to bring them down, as Mauritane and his friends had proven prior to the Battle of Sylvan. He'd done it by infiltrating the city and slaughtering the strange hybrid creatures that manned the Chambers of Elements and Motion, which provided the force that kept the cities aloft. But Mauritane had developed missiles of Elements that could be fired at the underbellies of these cities. He knew the location of the Chambers of Elements and Motion in most of the flag cities now, thanks to Paet and the Shadows. If a city appeared, he might be able to down it with a single shot.

  They pushed forward. They fought. Men and women fell. Too many of them. At this rate it wasn't certain they would even reach Elenth, let alone take it.

  The second day they mostly marched, meeting only a few lost companies of Unseelie who'd gotten separated from their battalions in the confusion. These were taken down with relative ease, but even in these skirmishes Mauritane lost soldiers.

  There was another battle at Downvalley, a day's march south of Elenth. Again Mauritane took the day, but at a substantial cost. Reports from his generals across the front reported similar losses.

  Had he stretched his force too wide? Had he underestimated the flexibility of the Unseelie?

  And there was still no word from Silverdun. According to Paet's latest report, they'd vanished in a flash of Folding three days earlier and hadn't been heard from since. No one wanted to say it, but it seemed certain that they wouldn't be coming back. If Hy Pezho had new Einswrath weapons, there would be no stopping him. And nothing Mauritane was doing would matter at all.

  On the fourth day they reached Elenth, only to find it guarded by the entire Eagle Regiment of the Unseelie Army, with five battalions. And three battalions of Annwni.

  Mauritane had only six battalions, and had already taken heavy casualties.

  This was going to be difficult. This was going to be a serious battle. Time to invoke a bit of Fae propriety.

  Mauritane rode out under a flag of parley and met with the Unseelie commanding general. They bowed deeply and made all the appropriate noises to one another, and agreed that they would join battle at dawn. All very civilized.

  When Mauritane rode back, his troops were already setting up camp on the southern slope of the valley. Mauritane's aide, Colonel Nyet, found him and took him aside, scowling.

  "Someone to see you," said Nyet, pointing.

  Baron Glennet had arrived with a delegation from Corpus, including Lord Everess. But Glennet was the ranking nobleman here, and it was clearly his show. This was a time-honored ritual on the eve of a great battle; a ranking member of the nobility could secure the right from the queen to lead the charge. It was a pure formality, of course. Glennet would review the troops, make a grandiose speech, and offer homilies and platitudes. The troops would love it, and Glennet would have his ego boosted. On the morning of the actual battle, he would graciously yield command of the army back to Mauritane, and then go home to his cozy bed and be saluted by the court for his bravery. In the official history, Baron Glennet would be reported as the commander of the assault on Elenth, not Mauritane. This was nothing new, and most commanders accepted it as a matter of course.

  Mauritane greeted Glennet and Everess with full propriety. His propriety with Glennet was exactly as sincere as it had been with the Unseelie general minutes earlier. The difference was that Mauritane had actually respected the general. Their meeting was done in full view of Glennet's staff and Mauritane's officers. As a commoner and a military man, Mauritane was required to take the lower bow, which probably pleased Glennet no end.

  Mauritane knelt and presented Glennet with his sword. "I offer you command of my troops, and defer to Your Lordship in all things."

  Glennet raised the blade high above his head and the men cheered.

  Once the formal greetings were concluded, Mauritane, Everess, and Glennet spoke privately in front of Mauritane's tent.

  "I must say we were all surprised by your sudden change of stratagem," said Glennet.

  "That was the idea," said Mauritane.

  "You could have informed as what you were doing," said Everess, clearly annoyed.

  "The best way to keep a secret is not to tell anyone," said Mauritane. "That's what my mother taught me."

  "Just so, just so," said Everess. "But still."

  After mess, Glennet made his inspirational speech to the troops. The parts of it Mauritane paid attention to were genuinely stirring, and it did the frightened troops some good. These were Seelie soldiers, brave and true, but it had been a difficult campaign so far.

  Once the speech was over, Mauritane shook Glennet's hand and thanked him profusely and sincerely. Before he could get back to work, Lord Everess corralled him. Everess was holding a valise.

  "I've got a few things to show you, General," said Everess, patting the valise.

  "I don't need any military advice," said Mauritane.

  "Oh, these aren't military documents. And I think you'll be very interested in the story that goes along with them."

  Dawn came, and Mauritane was ready. He'd slept briefly during the evening, and had been up making preparations since midnight. He'd done his best. He was probably riding to his death this morning, but there was no turning back now. If he retreated, the Unseelie forces to the southwest would simply divert from their present course and cut them off at the rear. They'd be caught between two massive bodies of Unseelie troops. The only way to survive was to take Elenth.

  When the sun appeared over the plains to the east, Mauritane stood mounted before his troops, with Glennet on a great white stallion on one side, and Everess on a slightly less impressive mount on the other. Glennet still held Mauritane's sword, ready to yield it back to him.

  "On this day, we have a special honor," said Mauritane. "We are gratified indeed."

  Glennet raised the sword, and the troops cheered again.

  "A lesser nobleman would have accepted command of you in name only, and then yielded it back to me. A lesser nobleman would have taken the credit for the battle without actually fighting."

  Glennet looked at Mauritane, confused.

  "But not our illustrious Baron Glennet! No, this great man has boldly chosen to retain command, and to lead you all into battle against the Unseelie at Elenth!"

  The troops roared their approval. This was unheard-of in the modern day, a historic event.

  Glennet shifted in his saddle but
said nothing. What could he say? If he contradicted Mauritane, he would be reviled as a coward who had changed his mind at the last moment. He'd be laughed out of Corpus. He looked at Everess for assistance, but Everess only smiled.

  Glennet was trapped, and knew it. "I could not stand by," he said, "and watch you ride out today knowing that I had not done everything I could to bring a victory!"

  The troops went wild with approval.

  Mauritane smiled. "Then take your position at the front of the line, as is your ancient right," said Mauritane. "And call the charge!"

  The infantry and cavalrymen took their positions along the wide line. The drums sounded. At the bottom of the hill, the Unseelie were in formation, awaiting the charge. This was going to be a bloody, terrible battle.

  As Mauritane and Glennet rode out to the front of the line, Glennet dropped his facade. "What is the meaning of this?" he growled.

  "You wanted a war," said Everess. "Here you have it."

  Mauritane turned his horse and cried out to his troops. "I give you your battle cry!" he called. "For Glennet!"

  "For Glennet!" the troops answered.

  Mauritane and Everess rode back behind the lines, leaving Glennet alone before the army.

  Glennet paused, and then raised Mauritane's sword. If anyone saw Glennet's hands shake, they never mentioned it afterward.

  Glennet dropped the sword and kicked his stallion. With a crash of drums and incendiaries and hooves, the charge was begun.

  Mauritane watched as the mages streaked the sky, the archers filled it with arrows. Watched the cavalry cloud the valley with dust and the infantry charge. He would have given anything to have been in Glennet's place.

  Everess rode toward him. "I believe this is our cue to be leaving," he said. "We fancy folk don't want to get in your way any more than we've already done."

  "Good," said Mauritane. "Go."

  "I appreciate your help with Glennet," said Everess.

  "Don't thank me. I didn't do it to help you. I did it because he was a filthy traitor who tried to have my best friend killed."

  "Such loyalty!"

  "And don't forget," said Mauritane, "now I've got something to blackmail you with if I ever need to." He kicked his horse and rode off toward his tent.

  The two lines met outside the city walls and things swiftly turned ugly. Whatever grim satisfaction Mauritane might have had at sending Glennet to his doom swiftly vanished into the frenzy of command. The Unseelie regiment was engaging Mauritane directly, and the Annwni battalions were positioning themselves for a flanking maneuver. Mauritane knew his soldiers were the best in Faerie, but these were unbeatable odds and he knew it. Even if his troops killed two for every one lost, they'd still be behind in sheer numbers, and the Unseelie had a strong position to fall back to, behind the walls of Elenth. Everess should be grateful that he and his friends were already on their way back to the City Emerald.

  But this was a day that every commander knew he might someday face. Leading his men into death, praying for a miracle. Knowing that he had done everything he could do, Mauritane nearly resigned himself to loss. If the tide did not turn soon, he might actually consider surrender. The war would end then, and there would be nothing to stop the Unseelie incursion across the border. But his troops would survive the day. And an Unseelie occupation would meet with strong resistance. Even in the darkest hour the Seelie would find a way to hope. They would bend, but they would not crack.

  As the morning progressed, things grew worse. The Annwni were nearly in position now, and once they joined, the Seelie would be finished. Mauritane was determined to announce his surrender before that happened, before any more lives could be lost. He mounted his horse, feeling lower than he had ever felt, even worse than the day he'd arrived at Crere Sulace after being branded a traitor. He'd thought that there could be no worse feeling than that. He'd been wrong.

  An aide approached, somber. "Shall I fetch the flag, sir?"

  Mauritane took a last look down the hill. The Annwni battalions had taken formation, but not where they ought to have. They were in no position to flank the Seelie. In fact, they were far better suited to-

  A horn sounded and the Annwni charged. But not at Mauritane's troops. Instead, they rushed the Unseelie at its exposed right flank. Caught utterly off guard, the Unseelie force crumbled; chaos rippled through the army from right to left as the Annwni plowed into them.

  Mauritane reached down from the saddle and grabbed his aide by the neck. "Get word to the commanders in the field," he shouted. "Move left and block the Unseelie retreat!" The aide looked at him, wide-eyed.

  "Move!" shouted Mauritane, kicking the man in his shoulder.

  "Wait!" he cried. "Come back!" The harried aide circled back around. "Give me your sword," said Mauritane, holding out his hand."

  "But sir!" the aide said.

  "If you don't give me that sword this second, I will take it from you and remove your head with it, boy!"

  The aide gave him the sword. Mauritane tested it in his hand, flicked it in the air. It wasn't his sword, but it would do.

  "Sir, you can't just-"

  "My officers know what to do," said Mauritane. "Give them the order and tell them to get to work!"

  Mauritane dug in his heels and sprinted out of camp, nearly knocking over the aide. He waved his sword, felt the air rushing past him. This was good.

  When the first soldiers spied him approaching, they raised up Mauritane's famous battle cry. "The Seelie Heart!" they shouted. The cry was taken up across the front. Mauritane rode up through the lines, toward the battle.

  There was a chance.

  A flier came in low from the north, its sails luffing in a crosswind. It had traveled at speed all the way from the City of Mab without stopping and had nearly used up its entire supply of Motion. The pilot fought the tiller, trimmed the sails as much as he could, trying to catch as much air as possible.

  It was a near thing, but the flier managed a safe landing just outside the north gate of Elenth. The pilot leapt out of the flier, carrying a wooden box. He was met by a lieutenant at the gate, who took the box from him and lashed it to his saddle, then mounted and raced into the city, knocking down a frightened fruit seller as he passed.

  The lieutenant whipped around a corner and rode directly up the outside stairs to the rooftop garden of a townhouse in the middle of the city. When he reached the top, his comrades were still setting up the catapult.

  "What's wrong with you?" shouted the lieutenant. "This should have been set up last night!"

  "It only just arrived," grumbled the sergeant in charge of the assembly. "We've been having trouble with the supply lanes. Saboteurs everywhere."

  "What saboteurs?" said the lieutenant, dismounting and untying the box.

  "Arcadians, if you can believe it," said the sergeant, pulling hard on a rope threaded through the catapult. "Damndest thing," he said. "Suddenly seem to be everywhere."

  "Well, that doesn't matter. Once we've annihilated the Seelie, there'll be plenty of time to deal with them."

  The lieutenant placed the box carefully on the ground and unlatched it. Inside were two dark objects, not much bigger than oranges. They were rough globules, and they pulsed to the touch.

  "That's it, then?" said the sergeant, breathing heavily, afraid to touch them.

  "That's the Einswrath," said the lieutenant. "You may fire when ready."

  The sergeant gingerly reached out and picked one up. It was heavy.

  "Hurry!" he shouted to his men.

  "This should be quite a show," said the lieutenant.

  We await and fear your release.

  -Chthonic prayer

  ilverdun led the way along the road. To either side there was only the unsettling emptiness. Before them was the great black castle, imposing and-frankly-terrifying. Silverdun kept his eyes on the road.

  Ironfoot caught up to him and they walked in step, with Sela and Faella just behind. Silverdun looked down at Ironfoot'
s boots; they kicked up small clouds of dust from the road.

  "Why do they call you Ironfoot, anyway?" Silverdun asked.

  Ironfoot looked at him. "When I was a boy I used to trip a lot."

  "Ah," said Silverdun. "I was hoping it was something more menacing than that."