Matthew Sturges - Midwinter

In the light of the burning city, Raieve saw troopships on the ground, ranks of Unseelie soldiers still filing out of them. There were hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands. As she watched, the soldiers began rushing toward the city's wreckage, fighting the heat of the blast to reach it.

"No," said Mauritane. "And we failed to achieve our primary purpose. See the barge there in the center of the ships? With the gold and purple banners?"

Raieve nodded. The barge was surrounded by soldiers; a curtained palanquin was just visible on its decks.

"That," said Mauritane, "is Queen Mab's."

Hours later, when the damaged flyer finally returned to the temple's roof, it was dark. The round disk of moon bathed the world in a rich indigo glow. No one was waiting to greet them.

Confused, they hurried down the many flights of stairs that led to the middle tier, where the massive stone columns cast shadows in the moonlight.

"Look," said Silverdun, pointing.

Raieve looked down the bridge, where Eloquet and his men had built a barricade against the turmoil in the streets below. The barricade had been demolished.

"Let's go downstairs," said Eloquet, his voice shaking.

Before they reached the great room, they knew. It was too quiet; the rooms and halls were vacant, devoid of sound and movement.

In the great room, where the temple's worship services were held, a massive fire had been set in the central fireplace. Surrounding the fire were twisted bodies in pink robes, some of them badly burned, others bathed in blood. The bodies were piled on top of each other, dozens and dozens of them. Raieve had never seen anything like it.

Looking away, Raieve saw movement from the corner of her eye. On the steps leading up to the dais, a tiny figure sat, cradling someone in her arms.

"Someone's alive," said Raieve, pointing.

They approached the figure on the steps. It was a young girl, dressed in the white robe of a novice. She cradled the still form of the abbot Vestar to her, holding his head in her lap. She stroked his bald head gently, kissing his hand, whispering prayers into his ears.

"Are you Mauritane?" the girl said, not looking up. Her voice was flat.

"I am," said Mauritane.

"The man said I should give you this when you came. He took the girl with him, the baron's daughter. He said it was about her." She handed him a rolled note from within her robe, her eyes on the abbot's face.

Mauritane unrolled the note and read it. It simply said, "I win," and was signed by Purane-Es.

Many of Eloquet's men had fallen alongside the residents of the Temple Aba-e, their corpses mixed indiscriminately with those of the coenobites. A hasty search revealed no survivors except the girl holding the abbot's lifeless head; the girl herself was deeply in shock and could tell them little else about what had happened.

During the search, a group of soldiers from Eloquet's cell returned from the city; they walked into a tableau of agonized silence. Satterly paced slowly by the fire; Raieve knelt by the dazed girl. Silverdun sat with his head in his hands, staring forward.

Mauritane was deep in thought when the soldiers returned, barely noticing them. It would be tempting, he imagined, to chase Purane-Es down and beat him to death slowly with a tree branch. He imagined the scene graphically. But it was no use. There was no punishment for Purane-Es that would compare to the tragedy the fool had evoked. And for what? Revenge? Envy? Simple malice? Mauritane could not understand Purane-Es's mind, and it troubled him.

Regardless, the destruction of Mab's city had not prevented a war, it had only evened the odds. Seeing the expressions of horror on the faces of Eloquet's men, Mauritane realized that Purane-Es had fouled things up even more than he'd thought.

"The Royal Guard Commander did this?" said one of the men. "And with our backs turned! They lied! We trusted them and they lied!"

"I knew we should never have allied with them," cursed another.

Eloquet attempted to calm them. "The Unseelie are still coming," he said. "If we turn against the Seelie now we will all die, as surely as anything I know to be true."

"What difference does it make?" said a blond boy, reeling at the sight of the bodies. "We're all dead anyway."

Eloquet swallowed. "No. When I tell you what I'm about to tell you, I think you'll believe differently." Eloquet related to them the story of Mauritane's fight aboard the city of Mab, how his battle cry had split the city in two.

Mauritane didn't say anything, although he knew his cry had done nothing to tear the city apart. The great ship, without its Masters of Elements and Motion to hold it together, had flown apart from its own weight.

"I'm telling you, Mauritane is He Who Clears the Path," Eloquet said. "He is the one who prepares the way for She Who Will Come."

Mauritane thought back to what the Thule Man had said and shivered, but said nothing for fear of encouraging Eloquet. Whatever mantle was being thrust upon him, he wanted no part of it.

"And you think," said Silverdun bitterly, "that these murders are the sacrifices spoken of in the Rauad Faehar? `And you will know him by the great surrender that comes around him, when the blood will pool at his feet."'

"That is what I believe," said Eloquet.

"If that makes you feel better, then so be it."

Some of Eloquet's men glared at Silverdun.

"Don't be so blind, Silverdun," said Eloquet. "When our people hear what's happened here and who caused it, the alliance we worked so hard to create will crumble in an instant. Aba could not have wanted this; the Rauad also says that Aba will redeem for good all that is evil. Aba will take back pain and suffering from the Usurper and the Adversary and sanctify them."

Silverdun grimaced. He looked at Eloquet for a long time, then nodded. "I suppose anything is possible," he said.

Mauritane touched Eloquet's shoulder. "Eloquet, you are a good and brave man. I don't believe what you're saying about me, but I respect your belief. I also think if enough of your people believe it, it will sustain our alliance. Will you speak to the other cell leaders on my behalf, telling them what you've just said, even though I don't believe it?"

"I don't care if you believe it or not; it's the truth." Eloquet forced a smile. "It will be difficult, though. I only know three names. Those three know only three names as well. It will take time."

"Do what you have to do. Time is not one of the Gifts."

Eloquet took a number of his men and ran from the great hall, barking orders as he left. He returned a few moments later, though, carrying a set of reins in his hand. He led a tall stallion into the room; the animal shied away from the fire, making a quiet noise in its throat.

"One of my men found him," said Eloquet. "He's been asking for you all over the city."

"Streak!" said Mauritane. He ran to the horse and touched its shoulder. "I was afraid I'd lost you."

"It pleases me to see the Master again," said Streak, his speaking voice as always hoarse yet eager. "Will we ride again soon?"

"Very soon," said Mauritane, patting the creature's neck.

"You wanted to see me?" Satterly stepped into the great hall, now appropriated by Mauritane as his command center. The bodies had been removed quickly and with respect; one of Eloquet's men had gone down into the City Center from the long bridge and asked the peasants for help. None of them had complained while they dragged the bodies from the room.

"Yes," said Mauritane. He lit his pipe and took a quick puff before speaking. "I've decided I don't want you to fight," he said.

Satterly nodded. "I didn't do very well up there in the city of Mab," he said.