To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Honor to the Knight-Mage,” Belepheriel said at last, his voice utterly without color. “By the grace of Leaf and Star, good fortune to him and long life, and to his endeavors on behalf of the army as well, which come in a good hour. If there are no further matters that require my attention here, I would see to my command, Redhelwar.”

  “Go,” the Elven General said. It was the most abrupt dismissal that Kellen had ever heard from Elven lips—and as such, very nearly an insult.

  Belepheriel walked stiffly from the tent.

  “Dionan, bring tea,” Redhelwar commanded. “Kellen, show me these weapons.”

  Still feeling a little dazed—he thought he might have just cast a spell, but this was certainly the first time he’d done it without knowing about it in advance, or without any of the tools of the Wild Magic!—Kellen walked over to the jugs, knelt, and lifted the lid of one of them. Picking up one of the arrows, he explained what he’d seen and done with the strange weapon as well as he could.

  While he was talking, Dionan appeared at his shoulder and offered him tea—not just a cup, but a large wooden tankard. Kellen took it gratefully and drained it in a few gulps, even though it was steamingly hot. It was very sweet, and he tasted allheal in the brew. He handed it back with a nod of thanks, still talking.

  “—the white rings burn when they are no longer in the oil. I think they’ll even burn through the iron eventually. Nothing makes them stop burning—not water, anyway, and I think they’d keep burning no matter how much earth you shoveled over them. I don’t know what they are, but they’re not magic.”

  “Perhaps Artenel will know. We shall give these to him and tell him to be careful,” Redhelwar said.

  Dionan brought another tankard of tea. Kellen sipped this one more slowly, getting to his feet. The combination of all-heal and honey was bringing him back to himself.

  “I accept that the Wild Magic told you of the second attack,” Redhelwar said. “But it would make good hearing to know more, if there were more to tell.”

  Kellen frowned, thinking hard. Redhelwar certainly had a right to know, but it was hard to put into words.

  “It seemed to me,” he began hesitantly, “that there was no reason for their attack upon the camp. They were giving up their only advantage—their caves—to attack us in the open. So there had to be a reason that seemed good to them. It came to me—there’s really no other way to explain it, I’m sorry—that the attack must only be to focus our attention upon the camp, and there had to be a reason why they wished us to do that. The only possible reason could be that they had a second target, and there is only one other target nearby worth taking.”

  “Ysterialpoerin,” said Redhelwar gravely.

  Kellen nodded. “Those that the Shadowed Elves serve want to break our hearts. There’s no better way than by destroying what we’re sworn to protect while it’s directly beneath our hand. So I rode after the Shadowed Elves that were heading toward Ysterialpoerin. I didn’t know what they planned, and I wasn’t sure it was Shadowed Elves. I just knew there’d be a strike at Ysterialpoerin, because … because there had to be. I knew it.” He held his hands out, palm upward, and shrugged. “The rest you know.”

  “Magic,” Adaerion said, a note of despairing humor in his voice. “We must become accustomed to it, Redhelwar.”

  “Yes,” Redhelwar said. He studied Kellen for a long moment. “Now come and give counsel in time of peril, Knight-Mage, as it was in the days of my great-grandfather.”

  Redhelwar led him over to the table. The others stood aside, and now Kellen could see there was someone sitting there. He was bloody and battered, though he had obviously already been in the hands of the Healers—one arm was lashed tightly to his body with a sling and a network of bandages, and his head was bandaged as well.

  With an effort, Kellen dredged his name up out of memory. Gairith.

  One of the scouts they’d sent out earlier tonight.

  “The others are all dead,” Gairith said wearily, meeting Kellen’s gaze. “The enemy came upon us as we rode toward the caves. We were not wearing the tarnkappa then. We fled, hoping to give warning, but they cut us down. My lady, Emerna … died.”

  “May her spirit run free in the Fields of Vardirvoshan,” Kellen said softly, finding the proper words. “My own also died this night at their hands.”

  “Yet she saved my life in her death,” Gairith said proudly, “for I lay beneath her, and they did not stop to see if I lived or died. I claimed the tarnkappa of the others, lest they should fall into evil hands, then donned my own and ran back to the camp as fast as I could. Yet I was too late … too late to warn …” His head drooped with exhaustion and pain.

  Kellen glanced at Redhelwar. The Elven General made a small gesture, as if to say he left the matter in Kellen’s hands.

  “I would question you, if you can bear it,” Kellen said gently.

  “Let it be so,” Gairith said wearily, raising his head.

  “Where were you, when you were attacked?”

  “At the stream that runs below the caverns, a mile from the opening of the nearer. It is the last cover of any kind before the caverns, and there is not much, as Ancaladar has said. There we would go our ways, Kolindearil, Alanoresen, and Morwentheas to ride north, I and my comrades to leave our mounts and go ahead. But we did not get the chance.”

  “Was it wholly dark by that time?” Kellen asked, trying to judge the timing of the attack.

  “The sun was behind the mountains, and the light had left the sky, but we could see well enough. We saw them. They saw us. And then the coldwarg came at us from upwind, where the horses could not smell them.”

  “One last question—and I know you may not have an answer for me,” Kellen said after a moment of thought. “Did you see females among them, or pairs of Shadowed Elves carrying large jugs, very heavy?”

  “I saw no jugs as you describe,” Gairith said, his voice a whisper of exhaustion. “For the rest, I do not know. They had bows, and swords, and … clubs. That I saw.”

  “Thank you,” Kellen said. “You have helped me greatly. I honor you.”

  “Dionan, take Gairith back to the Healers,” Redhelwar said.

  Dionan came forward, lifted Gairith from the chair, and half-carried him from the tent.

  “It would please me to know he will be all right,” Kellen said, when the two Elves were gone.

  “He lost a brother tonight—one of the other scouts. As was one of Belepheriel’s sons,” Redhelwar said in expressionless tones.

  Kellen winced inwardly. It did much to explain Belepheriel’s behavior.

  But it didn’t excuse it.

  They had no time for excuses.

  He was laboring under an unpaid price of the Wild Magic: to forgive an enemy. He wondered if—just now—he’d failed to pay it, and searched his heart.

  But no. Belepheriel was not an enemy, no matter how harshly they had treated one another. He was only an obstacle. Kellen was truly sorry that Belepheriel’s grief had caused him to force the issue that lay between them, and not to leave it for some other time. He would make amends for that, if it were possible. Jermayan would know.

  “Your counsel, Knight-Mage,” Redhelwar said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “You see what I have seen, Redhelwar,” Kellen said. “The scouts did not see the second party, the one that went to burn Ysterialpoerin. It may have left earlier, perhaps to lie in wait until the attack on the camp began. Perhaps not We know they can move through the day if they must.”

  Be right. No matter what, you always have to be right. Especially now.

  “The plan to destroy Ysterialpoerin is good in their eyes,” he went on. “The plan to map the caverns before invading is good in ours. They know we’re here. They know what we mean to do, I think.”

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to call up the intuitive understanding of the enemy that he needed.

  “Sit,” Redhelwar said. “I ask too much of you.”
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  Kellen sank into the chair that Gairith had so recently vacated, feeling as if his bones were suddenly made of Artenel’s most fragile glass. “You ask what must be asked,” he replied, knowing, if he knew nothing else, that this was the right thing to say. “And I must give what must be given.” There was an answer here, somewhere, just beyond his reach.

  “If we cannot send scouts in to map the caverns,” Adaerion said reluctantly, into the silence, “we must go in with Vestakia to lead us. And that means we can only attack one enclave at a time. And we do not know how many entrances or exits they may have.”

  “Ancaladar saw only two,” Padredor said. “His eyes are sharp.”

  “So we will guard the one, so that nothing may pass it, and attack the other. Kellen is right: the Enemy would love nothing better than to destroy Ysterialpoerin in the face of our gathered strength, so we must guard it as well. We shall send a third of the army to do that—and all the unicorns, for their senses may discover what ours do not. A third again to the farther cavern, and the Mountainfolk with them, as they are expert in matters of snow and ice, so that no matter what seeks to escape the cavern or through the mountains, nothing shall—and if there are other exits elsewhere in the mountains, there will be sufficient forces to dispatch against what may issue from them. Ancaladar will tell us what he sees, for I think there is no way this time for us to gain his strength beneath the ground.”

  “No!” Kellen burst out, feeling a jolt of warning course through him.

  Everyone stopped and looked at him.

  “Will you speak, Knight-Mage?” Redhelwar said courteously. But this time Kellen sensed impatience and reluctance as well. This time, Redhelwar did not wish to hear him.

  Redhelwar meant to split the army into thirds, and send Vestakia into the nearer cavern with the attack force. It wasn’t the splitting of the army that disturbed Kellen, because they couldn’t get the full force of the army into the caverns anyway. Having to do without Jermayan and Ancaladar was a blow, but the dragon would be useful outside, and it wasn’t impossible that they’d manage to find him a back door once they were inside.

  Intuition had struck with the force of a blow. It still wasn’t clear to Kellen what they should do, but suddenly what they must not do was completely clear to him.

  If Redhelwar sent his forces down into that cavern without scouting ahead, there would be a disaster.

  “Redhelwar, hear me. You asked my counsel, and now I give it. Wait. Guard the city, guard the entrance to the other cavern, yes. But send Idalia and me into the nearer cavern before you send the army in. She can map it. I can protect her. If we can find the village at the cavern’s heart, we won’t need Vestakia when we invade. She can come in afterward to check that the cavern is clear, and we will protect our most valuable asset.”

  “What speaks to me, Knight-Mage,” Redhelwar asked, his voice cool and expressionless. “Your head … or your heart?”

  “Neither,” Kellen answered, honestly confused. He was sure that by now he’d offended everyone here, and he only hoped that truth could make up for that. “The Wild Magic speaks, Redhelwar, and only the Wild Magic. Send me alone if you wish—I am not as good at maps as Idalia, but—”

  Adaerion leaned over to speak into Redhelwar’s ear, saying something too low for Kellen to hear.

  “You say this now, Knight-Mage, yet you did not say it when I asked for your counsel,” Redhelwar said, his voice still neutral.

  Kellen struggled to put what was only a feeling into words, knowing that he must convince Redhelwar, Adaerion—everyone here. How had the Knight-Mage of the past ever managed it?

  “I was listening, Army’s General,” he said. “To … what comes.” He looked past Redhelwar, and his eye fell on a xaqiue board, set up and ready for play. Ready for play—but as yet, no moves had been made on the board.

  He got to his feet and walked over to the board.

  “Redhelwar,” he said, “tell me how this game will play out.”

  The Elven general looked at the board. “No one can say, Kellen. None of the pieces has yet been moved, nor do I know who the players are.”

  “Yet if I were to move a piece, you could begin to say,” Kellen said.

  “Yes,” Redhelwar said. “And were you to be my opponent, I could also say who would win.”

  “At xaqiue, this is indeed true.” Kellen agreed. “I am a poor player. But the game is a fine teacher. Tell me you wish to guard Ysterialpoerin, to seal the far cavern with troops … I see no opening for Their victory. Tell me you mean to send your troops down into unmapped, unscouted caverns … and the Wild Magic shows me an opening They can exploit.”

  “But no more,” Redhelwar said.

  “Not yet,” Kellen said, wishing to shout at them, But it shows me that. And you have to listen!But he did not dare; did not dare offend them, not when they had only just begun to take him seriously.

  “Discussion,” Redhelwar said to his commanders.

  “While we wait for Kellen and Idalia to return—or not—from the caverns, the Shadowed Elves could launch a second attack at Ysterialpoerin. The first force evaded our scouts and our sentries. Perhaps a second one would as well. Then Ysterialpoerin would burn because we had not attacked the Shadowed Elves immediately,” Ninolion said.

  “If the caverns can be mapped, so that we can attack without risking Vestakia in the forefront of an attack, it is the more prudent course,” Adaerion said.

  “But perhaps it is a feint within a feint; perhaps they wish us to commit our strength to the cavern and leave Vestakia at the camp. Then while we are engaged in the caverns, they will attack the camp and take her there,” Arambor suggested.

  “Having somehow moved sufficient strength to do so out of either of the caverns directly beneath our regard,” Adaerion noted dryly.

  Redhelwar raised a hand, stopping what promised to become a long, drawn-out byplay.

  “Whether Vestakia goes or not,” Padredor said slowly, “whether the Shadowed Elves attack us or not, it would be good to know how the caverns lie before we are in them. It seems to me that they worked very hard to turn us from reaching them—and now that we are here, it seems that they wish to distract us from entering them. To discover the reason for that would be a thing worth knowing, I believe.”

  Around the pavilion it went, with each of the commanders giving his opinion—let Kellen go, attack at once, find another plan entirely.

  “Dionan, you have not shared your thoughts,” Redhelwar said, when everyone else had spoken.

  “We cannot attack the caverns tomorrow, not if all the armies of Great Queen Vielissiar Farcarinon, their dragons, and their flying horses, were here to aid us,” Dionan said simply. “We must place three armies into position—one of them around Ysteriatpoerin—and establish them against the weather, which grows no more clement. The day after tomorrow, if Leaf and Star favor us, is the earliest we can descend against the Shadowed Elves. Therefore, my counsel is this: let Kellen move his piece in the game. When he returns, and can tell us more of the enemy’s mind and disposition, we shall be ready as well.”

  There was a silence after everyone had spoken. Kellen could almost feel Redhelwar weighing the possibilities—the opinions of his commanders, the condition of his army, the situation at Ysterialpoerin …

  And more.

  Sending Kellen to scout the caverns would change the balance of power in the Elven army. Kellen couldn’t quite grasp it��not in a way he could put into words—but he could feel it, the way he’d learned to feel changes in the weather.

  And Redhelwar knew it, and was deciding whether that was worth the risk, as well as all the rest.

  At last he spoke, turning to look directly into Kellen’s eyes.

  “I have heard the counsel of my komentaiia, Kellen Knight-Mage, now here is my word to you,” Redhelwar said. “I will not risk your life and that of Idalia Wildmage for so little gain. But neither will I risk Vestakia’s, when experience has shown us that our Ta
inted cousins will attack in force the moment we advance into their lairs. She will remain here, safe, while they expend their strength against us. Now go to your rest. There is much to do on the morrow to prepare for our assault.”

  Kellen stood for a moment, stunned, as Redhelwar’s words sank in. He’d told Redhelwar that a simple assault on the cavern without advance scouting would be a complete disaster.

  And Redhelwar hadn’t listened.

  At last he managed to bow. “I thank the General for his wisdom. I go,” Kellen said.

  He made his way through the camp by instinct alone, still feeling as if he’d been struck. Redhelwar hadn’t listened.

  This was his fault. When Belepheriel had provoked him, he should have ignored it. But no. His Knight-Mage instincts told him he had been right to do what he had done; to remind them all of what he was. Belepheriel’s would have been the loudest voice in favor of a direct assault; he was certain of that.

  But Belepheriel hadn’t been there. And the plan was going forward anyway.

  I saved Ysterialpoerin for them tonight. They know that. And this is how they reward me? Kellen thought bitterly.

  But that wasn’t the right way to think either. He’d saved Ysterialpoerin, yes. But not in order to be paid for it, as if—as if he were a High Mage of Armethalieh!

  Kellen took a deep breath, willing anger and hurt pride away. What mattered was the problem at hand, and he needed time to consider how best to deal with it. There would be answers in his Books, of that he was certain.

  His steps had taken him back to his home tents. It was still early enough that several of his people were gathered around the communal brazier. With a pang of relief, he saw that Ciltesse was there, and Isinwen had returned from the forest. They got to their feet as he approached.

  “I share your sorrow at Mindaerel’s death,” Ciltesse said, bowing. “Many destriers in the horse-lines go without riders now. By your leave and Adaerion’s, I shall select another to share your life”

  “That … makes good hearing,” Kellen said slowly, forcing himself to concentrate on more homely and immediate problems. “You will know what I need better than I do myself, Ciltesse. Mindaerel … I don’t … .”