The Office of Shadow (63 page)

"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."

"I take it back then," said Ironfoot. "I once kicked a man in the head so
hard that he forgot his name."

"Much better."

"Does anyone feel something strange?" asked Sela.

Silverdun looked back at her. "That implies that there's some part of this
that isn't strange."

"I've got the oddest sensation," said Sela. "As though I'm being pushed
backward, but I can't feel a wind."

Now that she said it, Silverdun could feel it as well. It was slight, but
noticeable. As though a light breeze he couldn't feel was blowing into his
face. Or perhaps more like the heat from a distant fire radiating toward him.
But it was not fire or air that was pushing against them. It was their own re.

"The queen's alabaster ass," said Silverdun. "Do you know what I think?"

"What?" said Faella.

"I think that castle is made of iron."

"What?" said Ironfoot. "That's impossible."

"I've had a few run-ins with iron, friend. Trust me. That's what you're
feeling."

By the time they reached the bottom of the stair, the sensation of being
pushed backward was unmistakable. It was becoming difficult to walk. And
as if that weren't enough, the steps themselves presented a problem. They
were each waist high, and there were easily a hundred of them.

"Stairs for giants, said Silverdun.

"Or gods," said Ironfoot.

"Don't get superstitious, Ironfoot," said Silverdun. "I admire you for
your powers of reason."

"There's nothing reasonable about any of this."

"That inscription is just to scare off visitors," said Silverdun. "Whatever
awaits us up there may be ominous, but it's not divine."

"If you say so," said Ironfoot.

"Well, boys," said Faella. "Are we going to stand here nattering all day,
or are we going to storm yonder castle?" She was smiling. Faella was many
things, but apparently she was no coward.