“Well?” Idalia said, swinging into the saddle. “Are you ready?” Quite as if they were going off for a snow-picnic.
Kellen nodded, taking off Petariel’s cloak and exchanging it for his own now-dry one. He swung into Shalkan’s saddle.
“Don’t worry about the pickets,” Gesade said. She’d backed away when Idalia entered the camp, but her voice was quite audible. “We’ll take care of them.”
“Thank you,” Kellen said meekly.
“Fare well and safe journey,” Petariel said. “And return to us in a good hour.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Idalia said.
Shalkan took off at a brisk trot, and Cella followed.
FOR a long time they rode in silence, wary of their voices carrying back to the camp. The trees were few and far apart, not thick enough to blunt the force of the wind, and it was so cold that the snow was more like powdered ice. Finally the wind shifted, and then dropped altogether. Kellen could tell that the clouds would probably start to break up soon. That meant it would get colder. There were two kinds of weather in winter, he’d learned—bad and worse.
“You didn’t have to come,” he said, now that the wind had slacked enough to make conversation easy. They were riding side by side—though far enough apart to be comfortable for Shalkan.
“You’re welcome,” Idalia said. “You may be deserting your command, but I am a Wildmage, and if I want to go wandering off into the Shadowed Elf caverns on a whim, that’s my business.”
“Oh.” Well, at least there was one person who wasn’t risking Redhelwar’s displeasure tonight.
“Kellen, what did you See?” Idalia asked.
“Nothing. I don’t know.” He shook his head, wishing desperately that he had something more concrete to tell her. “I really … I couldn’t tell Redhelwar either. But we—I have to go look.”
She gave him a long look, her face hidden in the shadows of her hood. “Petariel said you told Redhelwar you wanted me along.”
“You’re better at maps than I am,” he told her honestly. “But he said he couldn’t risk us.”
She coughed politely. “That’s not all that got said in Redhelwar’s tent tonight, from what I hear.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry about Mindaerel, by the way.”
“Belepheriel’s son was one of the scouts who died out here tonight And then, later, in Redhelwar’s pavilion, I called him a fool,” Kellen said, half answering.
Kellen could feel Idalia’s gaze even though he wasn’t looking at her. “They said he challenged you to a Circle, and you refused, but I’m sure that’s wrong. Redhelwar wouldn’t permit it.”
“Redhelwar would permit it,” Kellen said wearily. “And I challenged him. He called me … well, he said the warnings I gave were conveniently useless.”
“Let’s go back,” Idalia said after a pause, and now her voice had an edge to it that could cut the wind. “I’ll challenge him myself.”
“No,” Kellen said, feeling tired of it all. “It’s all right. Well, it isn’t. I’ll have to make it right later. But he apologized.”
“Storytelling is obviously not a Knight-Magely gift,” Shalkan said. “I heard that after he apologized to Kellen, and wished him all honor and long life, Belepheriel left Redhelwar’s pavilion, and so did not take part in further discussion of the planning and strategy.”
“Did he?” said Idalia in an odd voice. “What did you say to him after he’d apologized, Kellen?”
Kellen thought back. “He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. I challenged him, nobody said anything, Redhelwar demanded his answer, he gave it and asked to be excused, Redhelwar said ‘go,’ and everybody started acting as if he’d never been there.”
“Elves,” Idalia sighed. “Well, what else?”
Once more Kellen summarized what he’d told Petariel, and the others about Redhelwar’s change of plan.
“And it’s all … reasonable, I suppose,” he concluded. “We didn’t know before tonight that they’d try something like attacking Ysterialpoerin. So it makes sense to defend it. And blockading the farther cavern and taking the two enclaves one at a time … the Mountainfolk will be put to good use guarding the farther cavern. But attacking the nearer cavern without scouting ahead, even without Vestakia there …” Kellen shook his head.
“A Finding Spell might locate the village. We haven’t tried that yet,” Idalia suggested. “Let’s see if we can find it on our own, first. I brought the tarnkappa, but I have lanterns, too. You can decide which we’ll use.”
“Thanks,” he replied, touched beyond words that she was delegating the decision to him.
“Knight-Mage’s privilege,” Idalia told him. “And I brought food, tea, and a brazier—all items that I’m sure you forgot. Nothing I like better than spending a night in a cozy snowdrift, followed by a day sneaking around a cave filled with murderous monsters.” She made her voice sound light, though Kellen was very certain she felt nothing humorous in the situation. “And it’s actually a relief to get away from the camp for a while. All those people! When this is over with, I’m going to find myself a nice high mountaintop and sit on it—alone!—for about ten years, I think.”
“You and Vestakia,” Kellen said, grinning to himself. Idalia’s matter-of-fact confidence in his judgment and abilities lightened his spirits. They could do this. And they would.
They were over halfway to the nearer cavern now, and Kellen was automatically sensing rather than seeing to find his way through the dark. He looked up, suddenly startled, as six pale ghosts rode past.
Oh.
The Elven scouts, who’d ridden this way earlier in the day. Kellen watched them, fascinated.
But why was he seeing them? He’d “read” the site of a past battle before, but he’d done it deliberately.
Ah, but sometimes the Wild Magic showed him things of its own accord, when there was need. Was this one of those times?
“Idalia—” he said softly, “I’m seeing our scouts.”
She knew exactly what he meant. “Tell me. Show me.”
He kept looking.
And saw, moving through the scattered trees, the Shadowed Elves as they moved toward the camp. And beyond them, off in the distance, a second, smaller party.
“Ah,” he said. “There.” He pointed off to the right. “That’s where the party going toward Ysterialpoerin went. I was right. They circled wide around the army, but they were on the move at the same time as the party the scouts ran into. I think they might have come from the upper cavern. No wonder the scouts didn’t see them.”
“That’s another reason you wanted me to come along, isn’t it?”. Idalia said, quietly. “In case there were still more of them.”
“If there was a third force in hiding, waiting to attack the army just when things started to quiet down, someone would have to ride back and warn them,” Kellen agreed. “And that would have been you. But I don’t see one. And Vestakia and Ancaladar can warn them of most things now as well as I can.”
No matter how untrue it was, Belepheriel’s accusation still rankled. Couldn’t Belepheriel see that Kellen wanted desperately to be able to give better warning than he did—that every time someone died because of something he didn’t see, he felt as if it were his fault?
“I somehow think the Elven army in full array, with a dragon, an Elven Mage, and a woman who can sense Demon-taint to help them, can muddle along without us for a few hours,” Idalia said. “Plus—oh, yes—a full score of High Reaches Wildmages to lend their poor powers to the fight.”
“No,” Shalkan drawled, “Kellen’s right. They absolutely can’t get along without him. We’d better turn back now.”
“Thanks a lot, both of you,” Kellen grumbled, without rancor. He took a deep breath, feeling more of the tension ease. They were both right. He couldn’t do everything himself. And trying to was a sort of trap. No one was indispensable. Even if they lost Vestakia, they’d find another way—somehow—to discover which of the caverns held S
hadowed Elves.
Even if he died in the caverns, somewhere there was another Knight-Mage. He was sure of it. And now the Wildmages knew to look for the signs of Knight-Magery in those called to the Wild Magic. They would find him—or her, Kellen realized with a pang of realization—and send them to Master Belesharon for training. And the fight would go on. The Wild Magic itself would see to it that he was replaced, just as the Wild Magic had seen to it that he had come into his power.
They’d nearly reached the stream, but he didn’t want to spend the few remaining hours of the night among the Elven dead, and he doubted Idalia did either.
“Let’s—” he began.
“We’d better check for survivors,” Idalia interrupted. “Gairith said they were all dead, I know, and he stopped to take their tarnkappa—but he was wounded himself, and if they were only badly hurt, he might have missed vital signs.”
So they rode on.
They found the bodies of the horses—six of them. Kellen dismounted, drawing his sword and motioning to Idalia to stay in the saddle. Something was not right here.
No bodies.
The Elves had not come to carry away their dead—not this soon. And the coldwarg had not eaten them, for they would not have stopped with the Elven bodies, and save for attack-bites, the horses had not been touched.
He paced around, moving back and forth across the area. He found Emerna, her throat and belly torn open. There was still a hollow in the snow beneath her where Gairith had lain. He scratched at the fresh snow with the tip of his sword, uncovering Gairith’s frozen blood.
At last he opened himself, reluctantly, to See the battle.
He watched the shadows of the Elven scouts ride silently down through the falling snow in two files. Saw them stop, and see the Shadowed Elves advance. He turned and watched the Shadowed Elves come toward them over the snow, the forward ranks of the horde breaking into a run.
Saw the Elves rein in and turn to run, only to be met by the fury of the waiting coldwarg. Three of the horses went down in that first instant, and by then it was too late. The Shadowed Elves overwhelmed the scouts, leaping onto the horses’ backs, clawing at the riders’ armor. It was like watching something eaten alive by maggots, if that were possible. Kellen watched as one of the Shadowed Elves stabbed one of the scouts to death with his own dagger, slamming the narrow deadly blade home over and over again. Saw others, their armor stripped from them, bludgeoned to death with clubs.
It was over in a handful of minutes.
The Shadowed Elves moved on, like the horde of plague rats they so much resembled. A few moments passed, and he saw Gairith work his way painfully from beneath Emerna’s body. One arm hung useless at his side, and his face was covered with blood. The Elven scout staggered, regained his balance, and after checking the others, moved off into the forest, following the Shadowed Elves.
KELLEN waited, but nothing changed. The bodies were still there. He blinked, shook his head. Let me See what happened to them! he demanded silently.
He had the sense that time passed—hours. And then, moving over the snow, came a band of now-familiar cloaked figures. Shadowed Elves. Not warriors, but a hunting party; one had a brace of hares hanging from his belt, another carried the body of some animal Kellen couldn’t identify.
When they saw the Elven dead, they grew excited, gesturing to one another. Then they quickly gathered up the bodies—and all the weapons and pieces of armor—stowing them in the curious slings that Lairamo had described from her captivity in their hands.
And they were gone.
Kellen blinked, banishing the vision. He shuddered. There was no doubt what the Shadowed Elves meant to do with the bodies.
“They’re all dead,” he said. “And Shadowed Elves came and took away the bodies.”
“Why?” Idalia said, dumbfounded.
“To eat,” Kellen said. There was no doubt in his mind.
“Kellen … are you sure … ?”
“I saw them die,” Kellen said gently. “None of them were alive by the time the Shadowed Elves came. They died … very quickly.”
“Good,” Idalia said resolutely. “And we can tell Redhelwar and the others what happened to their bodies. They’ll want to know. Now let’s find a safe place to camp and wait for dawn.”
THEY found shelter behind a granite outcropping a few hundred yards uphill from the stream, spread a blanket on the snow, and huddled in their cloaks while Idalia unpacked the tea-things from Cella’s saddlebags, lit the brazier, and prepared to brew tea. The quiet night, and the simple, everyday preparations helped to still Idalia’s mind, and keep her from thinking too much about what might lie ahead of them.
Now and then, over the years since she’d left Armethalieh, Idalia had wondered about what had happened to the brother she’d left behind. She hadn’t thought about him very often, for thinking about the life she’d left behind held pain, and her scrying-visions had never shown him to her. She’d always imagined him safe and happy—Lycaelon had wanted a son as much as he’d been indifferent to a daughter—probably growing up to be the next Arch-Mage of Armethalieh, if Lycaelon had his way, and never wondering what lay beyond the walls of the City. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined she would see him again, much less that their lives would intertwine so intimately.
When Shalkan had staggered into her clearing in the Wild Lands half a year ago, she’d realized the Wild Magic had possessed other plans for Kellen all along—even before she’d found the three Books in his pack. She’d been happy to be able to train him—and more frustrated than she’d ever let him suspect when the Wild Magic didn’t come as easily to him as it had to her.
But all had been explained once Jermayan discovered that Kellen wasn’t a Wildmage, but a Knight-Mage. Since Kellen had come into his true power, he’d grown up frighteningly fast. She didn’t think the Elves could see it—everything that humans did was fast, to them—but she could. He was nothing like the boy who’d been pitched out of the gates of the City so short a time ago. That boy would have never, ever have been able to face down an Elven general.
She knew much more of the story of what had happened in Redhelwar’s pavilion than she’d let on when she’d been questioning Kellen. She’d been the Healer to treat Gairith after he left there, and Gairith had been a silent witness to the entire confrontation between Belepheriel and Kellen. And as a scout, no matter what his condition, his memory was sharp, and near-perfect as to details.
She did not doubt that the Wild Magic had been involved in what had happened. She had told Kellen many times that healing was such a simple matter for her because so often all she needed to do was “step aside” and let the Wild Magic do as it wished. Apparently there was something similar that operated to assist a Knight-Mage, and Kellen had done it—or been possessed by it—when he’d shamed Belepheriel. And now that they were heading for the caverns in such haste, it was obvious to Idalia that the Wild Magic wasn’t done with Kellen yet.
But it was equally true that Kellen didn’t understand what he’d done, nor did Redhelwar wish him to understand it. Though it had not, in fact, come to a Circle, Belepheriel had lost his Challenge, and all that was once Belepheriel’s was now Kellen’s, by Elven custom.
Including his rank.
It was an ancient custom, and there were many good reasons to ignore it in this instance. Belepheriel was one of the most semor commanders. Kellen was a very junior sub-commander.
But Kellen was also a Knight-Mage, honored and well liked, and there had been far too many witnesses to what had happened for the truth to remain hidden for very long.
The Elves liked ritual, custom, order, and tradition—as she knew to her cost. They had long since given up their share in the Greater Magics, but had always welcomed the Wildmages among them, since the Wild Magic was a magic of, when all was said and done, “setting things right.” It worked in small quiet ways, and the Elves liked that, and found it … suitable.
But Kellen’s form
of Wild Magic … didn’t operate in small ways, nor in quiet ways. He was a Knight-Mage. As he’d told Belepheriel, his Magery was the Art of War, and that was hardly small and quiet at the best of times. At times like these, when the need was so great, he was a weapon that the Wild Magic would use in ways that were not what the Elves were used to.
And he won’t stop pushing. He can’t. Even if it were in his nature—which it isn’t—I don’t think the Wild Magic will let him. Not until Shadow Mountain is destroyed.
“Ah … I think the water’s boiling,” Kellen said. “Unless you want me to make the tea?”
“Gods forbid,” Idalia said with an absent smile. “I’ve been told your tea is poisonous.”
“So they say,” Kellen said, holding out the pot.
Is that why Redhelwar forbid him to go to the caverns? Because he knew Kellen well enough to know he’d go anyway? And that would give Redhelwar some sort of pretext to leave Belepheriel in command? All he had to do was explain it, and Kellen would have done whatever was needed. Or Redhelwar could have forbidden the Challenge in the first place. But to dismiss a Knight-Mage’s warning …
Idalia poured the water into the pot, swirling it between her hands to mix the water and the leaves. She could not read Redhelwar’s mind, or know what had been in his thoughts. Perhaps it had truly been as simple as him not wishing to risk Kellen’s life. Perhaps tomorrow—if Kellen had stayed—he would have been invested as a commander, supplanting Belepheriel. Perhaps Redhelwar would have had second thoughts.
They’d never know now. The Wild Magic wanted Kellen to act, and act he would, and they would deal with what came of it.
Idalia poured the tea, and they drank it quickly before it cooled—or froze solid.
“Dawn’s coming,” Shalkan said.
Idalia looked at the sky. The clouds were starting to break up, and the stars she could see were faint.
“We might as well go,” Kellen said, rising to his feet. “Let’s wear the tarnkappa, but take lanterns, too. Either the tarnkappa will shield us or they won’t. And there doesn’t seem to be anything out here.” He furrowed his brows. “And you know, now that I think about it, that’s just … strange. They know we’re here. But there aren’t even sentries at the cave entrance.”
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