To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  UNLIKE the last two Shadowed Elf caverns Kellen had been in, this one was a honeycomb of tunnels and chambers, and after the second turn, he sent someone back to mark their path, for without clear signs, they might never find their way out again. Still they saw no sign of the enemy, and Kellen began to believe that, once again, the rest of the Shadowed Elves meant to make a stand at the village.

  Surely they know that’s useless? Kellen thought. There was something disturbing about the idea that this part of the battle would repeat the previous one. Everything they’d seen so far told them that the Shadowed Elves had learned from the first battle. They would know that hiding wouldn’t save them.

  “There’s something wrong here,” he said to Isinwen.

  “Tell me,” Isinwen said instantly.

  “Nothing clear.” Of course. “It just doesn’t feel as if things are quite as they should be here. I can’t tell more than that.”

  Behind him, Vestakia choked out a laugh, then gagged and began to cough.

  “Let me make this known to Redhelwar. Any information is better than none,” Isinwen said.

  “Yes.” Kellen stopped while Isinwen moved back through the line to find a runner to carry the message. “Vestakia, are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Vestakia said, sounding breathless and a bit irritated. “I don’t know what you mean about things being not quite right here. They certainly feel normal to me—all wrong!”

  Isinwen returned, and they continued.

  Vestakia grew weaker the deeper they went into the mountain, until Kellen wondered if she would actually be able to lead them the entire way to the village. Her breathing now was punctuated by strangled whimpers of pain, and Idalia was all-but-carrying her.

  But she never faltered, giving them their directions in a clear—though shaking—whisper each time the path became confused. Her courage was as true as a sword blade. If there was a single Elf in the entire army who still doubted her—after today, that doubt would be gone.

  “There,” she said at last, in a voice so faint Kellen had to strain to hear it. “Look … ahead … to the left …”

  “Wait here,” Kellen said to Isinwen.

  They stood at the entrance to a huge cavern. By now Kellen had lost all sense of time; without Vestakia’s guidance, he would have been certain they’d been wandering in circles. He left the others and crossed the cavern, senses alert, looking for any exit to the left.

  He nearly missed it. The opening was small and narrow, as Shadowed Elf passageways tended to be, but when he looked cautiously through it he could see—at the bottom of a short series of shallow terraces—the glowing firepit that marked a Shadowed Elf village. And though it was too dark to see clearly, in the cavern beyond, he sensed Life in abundance.

  And the sense of wrongness he’d felt before came back again, stronger.

  But still no clearer.

  He saw no traps.

  For a moment Kellen considered retreating. Adaerion was in charge of the assault, but he was certain Adaerion would listen to him if he said they should leave.

  But no. There was something down there. Even if it didn’t turn out to be Shadowed Elves, they needed to either kill it, rescue it, or talk to it. Their job was to find out which—just as soon as Vestakia was safe.

  He returned quickly to the others.

  “That’s it. Get her out of here,” he said to Idalia. “Go with her. Tell Redhelwar … something’s not the way it’s supposed to be. I can’t figure out anything more.”

  “I’ll tell Jermayan, too,” Idalia said. “Maybe he can help.”

  THE cavern outside the entrance was large enough for them to gather a good portion of their assault force there as they waited for the others to get back to the surface. Kellen tried to bring his sense of foreboding into sharper focus, but could not. Something was not right. That was all he knew.

  “Kellen, you must go first,” Adaerion said. “If it is an ambush, you will be able to tell us at once. After you, all those with Artenel’s shields. We shall surround the village if we can, and … do what we must.”

  Kellen and the others nodded. None of them liked the necessity that lay before them but it had to be done.

  And what other terrible things will have to be done, before the power of Shadow Mountain is broken? Kellen wondered uneasily.

  AT last it was time. Kellen hefted his shield and stepped through the doorway.

  He quickly slipped to one side, keeping the rock at his back. His battle-sight showed no threat. There was utter silence in the cavern, save for the faint sound of water dripping steadily somewhere far away.

  The Elves followed him quickly, each crowned with Coldfire. The more that came through, the brighter the cavern became. They spread out along the terraces—five shallow broad steps, Kellen now saw, something the cave itself had created, smoothed and evened by the passing of countless generations of Shadowed Elf footsteps.

  The cavern itself was a beautiful thing. The stone ceiling dripped with eternal icicles of stone, some of which, at the edges of the cavern, had grown long enough to touch the floor. The cavern had obviously once been filled with them, and—just as obviously—those in the center had been cut away and used to build the village huts, giving many of them an odd resemblance to the log house Kellen had shared with Idalia in the Wildwood.

  This village was larger than the last one they’d seen, the structures more elaborate, indicating longer habitation. But all the life Kellen sensed here was concealed within those huts—though this cavern had many exits, Kellen could not perceive a single Shadowed Elf lurking in ambush.

  Soon the attack force had moved into position. And still there was no sound, no movement, from the Shadowed Elves everyone knew were there.

  Adaerion indicated the nearest hut, and pointed to Keirasti, communicating solely by gesture. She pointed to five of her command, and moved toward it.

  Then everything began to happen at once.

  They can’t possibly all fit into these huts! Kellen realized belatedly. A dozen yelping children swarmed from the hut just as Keirasti and her troops reached it.

  As if their screams had been a signal—or perhaps because they could not bear to lie concealed a moment longer—the door of every hut burst open, and barking, yelping Shadowed Elf young burst forth, running at the Elves. They were every size from those barely able to walk on their own to those half-grown, and they attacked the Elves in the manner of starving rats.

  There was not one full-grown Shadowed Elf among them.

  “Children,” Kellen whispered in horror. “Nothing but children.”

  He ran into the first hut, the one Keirasti had approached. Lying on the floor, pushed into a corner, he saw half-a-dozen Shadowed Elf infants. A couple were still moving feebly. The others were already dead.

  They starved to death. There was no one here to care for them, and they starved to death.

  Because their mothers were elsewhere …

  He ran back outside and grabbed the nearest Elf he could pull from the fighting. “Go—run—tell Redhelwar. All the adult females are somewhere else. They aren’t in the caverns.”

  He saw the Elven Knight turn away to carry his message, and raised his sword, covering the warrior’s retreat.

  THE Winged Gods had warned them centuries ago that this day would come, and so, against the Time of Testing, they had prepared, digging their long tunnels deep into the rock, preparing weapons, making all ready.

  When the day came that the Hated Ones summoned the Brothers into the night to die, the Sisters were ready. They gave their last orders to their young. They went to the tunnels. And there they waited, knowing they must not dig their own way to the surface until they knew all was lost.

  But all was not lost.

  The last of the Brothers came for them, just as the Winged Gods had promised that they would. They brought them into the terrible cold bright world of the upper air, promising them blood and meat enough to atone for the death o
f every cub. With weapons in hand and death in their hearts, the Sisters and the Brothers hurried toward the place where the Hated Ones made their home.

  THE Unicorn Knights were working a wide circle through the heart-forest, carefully searching for anything out of place, while the regular cavalry patrolled the city just outside its boundaries. Despite the fact that there had been no attack—nor was likely to be one—neither group was less than alert. Elves were a patient people.

  “Centaurs coming,” Gesade said, sniffing the wind. “A day or two, I think.”

  “It will be good to have the reinforcements,” Petariel said. “And good of them to travel so far from their farms in winter. We must make them welcome.”

  Gesade sniffed again. “The wind’s wrong, but … Something. Let’s go look.”

  Unicorn and rider trotted off along their assigned path through the snowy forest.

  VANDELT and Merchan had been partners rather longer than the usual pairing among the Unicorn Knights; a little over a century now. Vandelt had never found the Elf to whom his soul could bond, and Merchan simply said that Vandelt was incapable of managing without him. Vandelt might have been Captain of the Unicorns if he’d chosen—he’d certainly been a Unicorn Knight longer than anyone else currently serving among them—but he was far more interested in his garden, and he was quite willing to admit that he had no interest in command. Let Petariel have that honor, with Vandelt’s great goodwill.

  But he had seen his fragile and delicate garden at Deskethomaynel turn to dust in the Great Drought, and he was as willing as anyone to strike out at the servants of those who had killed his beloved plants. And he was by no means stupid, merely unambitious.

  So when Merchan warned that someone was approaching from the direction they had been set to watch, Vandelt blew a warning immediately, even before he rode out to investigate further.

  It did not save them.

  The arrow took Merchan squarely in the chest. It did not penetrate his armor, but it clung, and it burned. Vandelt could smell the stench of burning fur, see the shimmer of heat, and see wisps of smoke as the padding beneath Merchan’s collet began to kindle.

  But of their attackers, he saw nothing.

  “Run, Merchan!”

  The unicorn turned, heading back toward their own lines. Vandelt raised his horn to blow a second, more urgent warning, but it was too late. Merchan had only gone a few yards before a net fell over them from above, tangling them in its meshes and sending Merchan crashing to the forest floor.

  Before Vandelt could cut them free, the Shadowed Elves dropped from the trees, long knives flashing in the weak sunlight. Merchan and his rider died within seconds of each other.

  The Shadowed Elves cut the ring of burning metal carefully from the unicorn’s body, handling it with tongs, and spiked it to the nearest tree.

  Then they moved on.

  “KELLEN says that something’s wrong.”

  Idalia passed Vestakia into the hands of the waiting Healers, who would take her back to the temporary camp a mile away as quickly as possible—distance was truly the best remedy for what ailed her, that, and a great deal of rest—and turned back to the Elven general.

  “He will have given you all the information he had, of course,” Redhelwar said imperturbably.

  “Well, his precise words were ‘tell Redhelwar something’s not the way it’s supposed to be,’ if that helps. He couldn’t tell me more than that. He did try.”

  “I know Kellen. He will have—” Redhelwar broke off, looking past her. He’d looked grim a moment before. Now he looked appalled.

  Idalia followed the direction of his gaze. A single Elven Knight was running toward them from the cavern mouth, running as if more than his life depended upon it.

  He slid to his knees at the feet of Redhelwar’s bay destrier.

  “A feint,” he gasped. “The females are not there. Kellen said—the females are not in the caverns.”

  “But the children were,” Idalia said with sudden bleak understanding. “They left them behind, so Vestakia would have something to follow.”

  Redhelwar barely moved. His voice did not waver.

  “Dionan, tell Jermayan what Tildaril has said. Request him, if it is possible, to find where the females have gone.”

  Dionan rode away immediately to where Jermayan and Ancaladar waited on the cliff above the cavern entrance.

  “Padredor, I leave this secondary camp in your keeping. Guard it—and Vestakia—well. When the others return from the caverns, tell them we proceed as planned,” Redhelwar continued.

  “Yes, Redhelwar,” Padredor said. Whatever might be happening elsewhere, the caverns must still be scoured.

  “Tildaril, Idalia, I thank you both for your warnings. When you see Kellen next, tell him he did all that anyone could ask of him. I must return to camp. If the females are gone, we must look to the location of the next attack.”

  He turned and rode away.

  Yes, Kellen has done all that anyone could ask of him—not that he’ll believe that, Idalia thought with a resigned sigh. She went to fetch Cella for the ride back to the nearer camp. Her tools were there, including her favorite scrying bowl. Perhaps she could see something useful.

  VANDELT’S warning had not been in vain, for it was heard and relayed across the forest by a dozen horns even before he was struck down. But it had been a warning only: the Unicorn Knights were still not sure what they faced as they rode toward Vandelt’s patrol area.

  “I smell blood—and smoke,” Gesade said, alarmed.

  Suddenly she leaped forward. A net fell to the snow in the place where she’d been.

  “Above!” Petariel cried.

  Unicorn Knights fired into the trees as their mounts dodged madly, evading nets, spears, and deadly fragile bottles of acid. A few bodies fell, but not enough—and from their concealment in the trees, Shadowed Elf archers were returning fire, with the terrible poisoned arrows that the Elves had learned to fear.

  In the rear of the vanguard, Menerchel blew the Call to Battle, loudly enough to wake the forest itself.

  Leaf and Star, guard and guide us this day! Petariel thought. Their ambush having failed, the enemy revealed themselves plainly now: not the two-score refugees from the battle that Kellen had warned them of—hundreds of Shadowed Elves swarmed through the trees and over the forest floor. They attacked where the army was weakest: Ysterialpoerin.

  And Gesade had been right. Now he smelled it too.

  The forest was burning.

  ALMOST before Dionan had finished speaking, Ancaladar took to the air. The oncoming storm made the air currents turbulent and hard to predict; higher altitude would have made flight easier, but to seek greater height was the one thing they could not do. He and Jermayan must find the vanished Shadowed Elf females that Kellen had warned them of, and to do that they must fly low enough to see the ground.

  Ancaladar saw nothing moving below, save for Redhelwar and his troops making their way back toward the main camp. He swept past the camp, in a long curve—east, then north. The ground was harder to see here—there were fewer patches of open land, and more forest—but Ancaladar had hunted his own food for over a millennium. He was an expert tracker, and his eyes were sharp. He studied the ground closely, searching for signs of their prey.

  “Ancaladar—look.”

  His Bonded’s voice was tight with fear.

  Ancaladar raised his eyes to the horizon.

  In the distance, near the Elven city—smoke.

  Fire.

  THERE was no thought of containment, no possibility of a careful battle plan. Even being near these creatures was utterly painful to the unicorns—a disastrous miscalculation that their enemy was quick to capitalize upon.

  The Unicorn Knights fought on foot at Petariel’s command. They’d ordered their mounts to run, but the unicorns couldn’t—or wouldn’t—leave their partners.

  The cavalry units fought on foot as well, for they had all learned quickly that a mou
nted warrior was at a disadvantage against this foe. Even Kindolhinadetil’s Guard had come at the sound of the warhorns to lend its strength to the fight.

  The Shadowed Elves died—but taking far too many of the Elves with them.

  And the forest was burning.

  NOW Jermayan saw tracks where no tracks should be—looking down through the trees, he could see places where the snow had been trampled by the passing of hundreds of feet.

  And ahead, curls of smoke rising from Ysterialpoerin’s forest in a score of places. Smoldering still, but about to burst into true flame. And when they did …

  The fire would take The Heart of the Forest with it.

  Once before, Kellen had stopped the Shadowed Elves from bringing disks of ever-burning metal to the trees. This time they must have succeeded. He could call those pieces of metal forth from their hiding places, but it would take time—time to find them, time to bespell them—and meanwhile the forest would catch, and kindle …

  And his comrades would die, while he spent himself on this, instead of coming to their aid.

  “You know how to stop this,” Ancaladar said quietly. “The snow is near. Bring it now.”

  Yes. Jermayan took a deep breath as Ancaladar made a wide sweep around the heart-forest. He forced himself to set aside his fury and uncertainty to become an untroubled vessel of magic. The snow would keep the fires from spreading, buy him time to come to the aid of the army.

  He could feel the patterns of the weather through Ancaladar’s senses. Now he reached out with his magic to the coming storm, bringing what would have been here by tomorrow’s dawn immediately.

  The sky darkened. Wind lashed the trees below, forced into the valley by storm clouds wrenched from their proper places. The air currents boiled like an icy broth, and Ancaladar battled to stay skyborne.

  The blizzard came, as inexorable and deadly as a breaking wave. An updraft sucked dragon and rider suddenly high into the clouds; instantly Jermayan was blinded by wet icy mist; deafened by the crash of air colliding with air as solidly and loudly as boulders in a flood-tossed streambed. Jermayan felt his skin begin to prickle, and barely threw a shield around both of them in time. Lightning chained across the sky, striking against his shields again and again, as if the weather itself were angry about its mishandling.