back behind the lines.
Mauritane found himself suddenly behind his own infantry as they rushed forward to take the next hill. The few remaining cavalrymen had mounted another assault on the small rise at the valley's base.
Mauritane examined Streak's knife wound. The blade had gone in between the shoulders, and the horse appeared to have trouble breathing.
'I have failed you, master,' said Streak, struggling for breath.
Mauritane stroked the horse's head. 'No, Streak. You served me well.'
'I do not wish to leave you.'
'I do not wish for you to go.' Mauritane put his arms around Streak's neck and squeezed gently. 'You are a good horse,' he said. Streak took a final breath and collapsed on the harrowed ground.
The fighting continued well into the night. Those of the battle mages who were wounded pitched in by sending up fiery balls of witchlight to illuminate the valley. The sky above became a swirling incandescent palette of pinks and blues and greens, casting harsh black shadows on the icy ground as the soldiers continued their struggle.
While Mauritane's men continued their relentless assault against the central concentration of Unseelie forces, the Seelie cavalry on the valley's western edge began to weaken. Behind the front lines, four divisions of Unseelie infantry peeled off from the main wedge and went for the weak spot.
It was the mistake that cost them the battle.
The thin cavalry line had been a feint; when they were finally penetrated, two companies of Seelie archers arose behind them. Their arrows felled row after row of Mab's infantrymen until their officers realized the error and tried to withdraw. But it was too late. Mauritane took advantage of the momentary weakness and sent everything he had down the middle of the Unseelie front. They held position, briefly, and Mauritane lost what was left of his cavalry. But they could not hold forever. Finally, the Unseelie line broke. Mauritane's infantry poured through the gap, cutting a wide swath through the no-longer-protected battle mages. The sky above the Unseelie grew dark, and the Royal Guard's mages went to work with a different kind of witchlight, directing beams of intense and focused brightness at the Unseelie soldiers. Blinded, they fell back even farther.
Thus pierced, the invading army was now cut off from its commanders. Their foot soldiers spun, confused, unable to discern where the Seelie attacks were coming from. From there, it was simply a matter of time.
One of the Unseelie generals broke rank and fled, taking his companies with him. The Seelie raced to fill the gap. What remained of Mab's armyconfused, tired, disheartened-turned and fled to the north, bearing Queen Mab to safety on a palanquin of silver and gold.
Mauritane fell back against a stone, his sword arm numb, his senses reeling. Around him the smell of blood and death mingled with that of the frozen earth and old snow. The witchlight began to fade, one by one, until only torches remained to give light. It was time to withdraw, to collect the dead, and to sleep.
Word came that Seelie Army reinforcements were now a day out of Sylvan. It was over. There would be no further attempts at invasion. Lacking surprise, there was little Queen Mab could do now but escape with her life.
Eloquet, staggering across the field, helped Mauritane to his feet.
'We've got a few fresh reserves,' he breathed. 'We're setting up sentries all across the valley's edge. You should go rest.'
Mauritane stood unsteadily, wiping his hands on the front of his tunic. 'Yes, I think you're right.' He took two steps and collapsed to the ground.
When Mauritane awoke, it was late afternoon. He found himself in a plush four-poster bed with satin sheets and more pillows than he could count. Fresh clothes lay on a chair beside him.
He dressed and washed his face in the basin by the bed. Stepping out of the room, he now felt every cut, every scrape, every bruise. He limped down a flight of stairs into a wide hall, where a family of strangers sat eating.
'You're just in time for supper,' said the man at the head of the table. He rose, introducing himself as Thura, an eel importer.
'Taking you in was the least I could do,' the man offered. 'Eloquet is an old friend of mine.'
'An eel trader, eh?' said Mauritane, sitting and filling his plate. 'I used to be one of those.'
There were parades and celebrations planned in Sylvan all night long. Mauritane made himself as scarce as possible, spending most of the evening trying to round up his companions. Finally, near midnight, after a long succession of speeches given by city officials and noblemen, Mauritane was left alone with Silverdun and Raieve in Thura's study.
'How do you fare?' said Mauritane, looking both of them over.
Raieve's leg was immobilized in spellwire. 'I got trampled during the Unseelie retreat,' she said. 'I broke almost every bone in my foot, but I will survive.'
Silverdun's face was badly cut; he wore a bandage that covered his left eye and most of the left side of his face. 'I suppose I can't get much uglier,' he said, shrugging.
'What of Satterly?' said Raieve. 'Where is he?'
Mauritane sighed. 'I was hoping he'd be back by now.'
'We've lost two more days,' said Silverdun. 'First Lamb is four days away. It's at least six days to the City Emerald riding hard, and we don't even have the girl.'
Mauritane nodded. 'That's true,' he said.
'I don't regret it,' said Raieve.
'Thank you,' Mauritane said. He raised his eyes and looked at her. She met his gaze and they sat that way until Silverdun grew uncomfortable and changed the subject.
'Mauritane, wake up.' It was Silverdun, standing over him. Mauritane was in Thura's bed again, although this time he remembered how he got there.
'What's going on?' he said. Looking out the window, he could see that it was still night.
'There's something in front of the house you should see.'
Mauritane stood and followed Silverdun out onto the terrace. There was a low rumbling noise coming from the road below. Mauritane looked down and nodded with approval.
Meyer Schrabe's 1971 Pontiac LeMans sat in front of the house, its engine producing a steady purr. Satterly, behind the wheel, was grinning from ear to ear.
'Time to go,' said Mauritane, walking inside and reaching for his clothes. 'We're not done yet.'
Chapter 40
Mauritane had never dreamed that anything, especially a huge metal.wagon, could go so fast. The speed at which they flew along the Mechesyl road was awe inspiring. Satterly, he noticed, had never looked as comfortable as he did now, guiding the vehicle with his wrist over the steering wheel.
'We could go faster,' Satterly shouted over the rush of wind, 'but if there's ice on the road we'd be in big trouble.'
Mauritane nodded, thankful that this was as fast as it got.
Satterly had thoughtfully provided a number of thick blankets to drape over the steel parts of the car, but even so Silverdun had managed to burn himself on a mirror housing. He'd forgotten the thing was steel and not silver, the former being virtually unknown to him, and had rested his hand on it by mistake. Mauritane had seen steel before, in a demonstration of human swordsmithing at the academy, and had never forgotten the fiery slickness of those polished blades.
'How did you find fuel for this thing?' Mauritane asked. Part of him wished that the moveable covering for the automobile were not broken-the wind at this speed was fierce and relentless-but another part was glad for the distraction and embraced the briskness of it.
