To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Then it sprang at the entranced Elves.

  Keirasti barely blocked its rush toward the helpless ones, sweeping it back toward the alcove with the shaft of her heavy spear. Then she, too, dropped the spear, sinking to her knees in a daze. The weapon clattered to the ground as she fell beneath the duergar’s spell. Some of the first victims were rousing now, as the creature turned its powers on other prey: Kellen, rushing forward to attack, found his way blocked by Seheimith and Nironoshan. He thrust them aside, but by then the duergar had released them and claimed others.

  Seeing its way blocked only by those who were powerless to hinder it, the duergar bounded forward, away from Kellen and toward the freedom of the deep caves.

  Kellen hefted his spear and threw.

  It did not go in as deeply as he hoped, but it broke the monster’s concentration. The Elves carrying the net rushed forward, flinging the net over the creature and trapping it. Seconds later, it was dead.

  “Not as bad as it could have been,” Kellen said, relieved.

  “At least this time no one died,” Keirasti said tightly. When one of the creatures had bitten Tildaril—one of her command—there had been no time for Kellen to even try to Heal him. Tildaril had died in seconds, screaming in agony as armor and flesh had boiled away from the bite like smoke.

  They left the net and spears where they were. They were useless now that they’d come into contact with duergar blood.

  “Let’s find the next one,” Kellen said.

  As he’d expected, the Crystal Spiders appeared almost immediately. Once the duergar had begun to hide, the Crystal Spiders had needed to lead Kellen and the Elven Knights closer each time.

  Kellen knelt down and removed his gauntlets. As they had each time before, the Crystal Spiders swarmed over him, nestling into his outstretched hands. The long furlike bristles that covered their bodies tickled his hands, as if they were as much cats as spiders.

  Each time they touched his mind, the contact became easier, though Kellen always had the impression that he baffled them as much as they confused him. If Vestakia went ahead with her plan, and tried to get complicated, detailed information from the Crystal Spiders, she wasn’t going to have an easy time of it.

  :Dead. Webs, eggs, babies. All safe now,: came the voice in his mind.

  You need to show us where the next one is, Kellen thought back, forming the silent words carefully.

  :All safe now. All safe.:

  Kellen sighed mentally and tried again. The Crystal Spiders weren’t stupid. They were just … alien. Where is the next Black Mind that we need to kill?

  There was a pause. He felt a riffling through his mind, as he did whenever the creatures were trying especially hard to make him understand something.

  :There are no more. Not here.:

  “Not here,” Kellen said aloud. If the Spiders made a distinction between “here” and “not here,” maybe that meant they were able to sense the other caverns, and the “Black Minds” there.

  There are no more Black Minds in these caverns? We have killed them all? he thought back.

  :All dead. All. Webs, eggs, babies, all safe,: came the reply once more.

  Good, Kellen thought back. That’s good. I want to bring a friend of mine to talk to you—about other Black Minds, in other caverns. Will you talk to her?

  He sensed confusion and uncertainty, then a long pause, as though the Spiders were conferring among themselves. Or perhaps they were simply thinking—in all the times he’d talked with them, Kellen had never decided whether they were one group-mind, or separate creatures.

  :She will kill Black Minds?: the Spiders finally asked.

  She helps us kill Black Minds, Kellen answered. Yes.

  :Then we will speak with her,: the Spiders answered.

  Thank you, Kellen thought at them, as the mass of Spiders flowed off his body and scurried away into the dark.

  He got stiffly to his feet—it was cold in the deep caves, a constant damp chill that made his bones ache—and looked at the others.

  “They say that one was the last,” he said.

  “Good. I am tired of sleeping in a cave,” Keirasti said simply. “And I am tired of wearing a bag over my head. Now we can go back.”

  They gathered their remaining weapons and headed for the surface.

  DESPITE the warmth of the bodies packed around him, Cilarnen was cold, though he knew he was lucky not to be freezing. He was thirsty, and as the bells passed—he still reckoned time by the standards of the City, even if no one around him did—he began to be hungry as well. How long were they going to be trapped here?

  Tarik had told him—the man had eventually introduced himself—that the Elves they’d been riding to meet would probably come looking for them soon. Cilarnen hoped so. It would be a cruel jest on the part of the Light if the people coming to aid the Elves were slain, not by the enemy, but by a storm Called by one of their own people.

  In addition to everything else, being packed in so closely with a bunch of Wildmages was uncomfortable in a way Cilarnen couldn’t quite define, like being forced to listen to an annoying sound, or a ringing in your ears that went on and on and wouldn’t stop. But there was nothing to be done about those things, and so he resigned himself to being miserable. And he hoped—if it came to the unthinkable worst—that at least Kardus would survive, and take his message to Kellen.

  AS it happened, Tarik was quite right. Late the next day, Cilarnen was roused from an uncomfortable half-doze by shouts and the violent shaking of the wagon. The tarpaulin at the back was hauled away, and light, snow, and fresh arctic air streamed into the cramped confines of the wagon.

  “Ah,” Tarik said with satisfaction. “Rescue.”

  The others clambered out of the wagon, and through the snow-tunnel at the foot. Cilarnen simply sprawled where he was, luxuriating in the absence of the Wildmages. It was as if someone had finally stopped banging on a sore tooth. At the moment he didn’t care if he stayed here and froze.

  “Cilarnen? Come.” Kardus was leaning into the wagon, looking worried. “A rescue party has found us. They will take us to their camp. It will be a long cold journey, and we must travel through the night, but better that than to remain here.”

  For a moment Cilarnen thought of telling Kardus to go on without him, that he was fine where he was, but he realized that that was ridiculous. He’d freeze here, and his message would go undelivered. He had to go on, for Armethalieh’s sake, if nothing else.

  Everything hurt as he crawled across the floor of the wagon toward Kardus. The Centaur lifted him down and carried him through the snow as if he were a child, and Cilarnen was too weak to protest.

  It was still snowing heavily, and the wagons were nearly buried. The Centaurs had dug down a large ring of firm ground for themselves and the mules and horses, but outside it the snow was Centaur-shoulder height.

  The snow was still blowing down—not as heavily as when the blizzard had first struck, but it was impossible to see more than a few yards. He could barely make out the forms of their rescuers, blurred by the snow.

  “Can you ride?” Kardus asked.

  “Yes.” He had no idea whether he could stay on Oakleaf’s back or not, but Cilarnen knew he was going to try.

  THEY left the wagons behind, and the heaviest of their gear. Linyesin said that they could come back for it when the weather cleared. Cilarnen wondered when that would be. Spring?

  From the others, he learned that their rescuers were more of the so-called Elven Knights, and a few more men of the High Reaches. The Centaurs were already organizing themselves into marching order, moving slowly along the path the rescue party had broken through the snowdrifts.

  Kardus handed him a wineskin. “Drink this—all of it. It will warm you and strengthen you for the journey.”

  Cilarnen took the wineskin gratefully. To his surprise, it actually contained wine—not the mead the Centaurs preferred—and it was hot wine besides. He gulped it down quickly, for once not c
aring about the taste, and without wondering how it had been heated. When he had finished, Kardus took the wineskin back.

  “Stay with me. This will be no pleasant journey—but far better than remaining here in the open.”

  SEVERAL bells later, Cilarnen decided that Kardus had a great gift for understatement. The sun set, but they did not stop. All through the night they traveled, at a plodding pace little better than a walk. He had thought the journey thus far had been near-unendurable. It had been a mild spring jaunt compared to this.

  Cilarnen hated to think of how long Oakleaf had gone without proper care. At least he understood why this was happening; the poor mule didn’t.

  At dawn they stopped, but only long enough to give the animals a little water and some broken cakes of journey-food. It was simple enough to melt a hole in the snow; the edges turned instantly to ice and formed a natural watering trough—as long as you could keep the water from freezing. Once Cilarnen saw what the Wildmages were doing, he did it as well, and allowed Oakleaf and the mules that were being led along behind him to drink. Though he could usually summon Fire without difficulty, this time the effort left him giddy and breathless, as though he’d run for a long time without stopping. He did his best to conceal his difficulty from Kardus, but he suspected the Centaur Wildmage noticed, all the same.

  But the rest was all-too-brief, and soon they were on their way again.

  They traveled faster with light to see by. Soon they were among the trees, where the snow was not as deep, and the wind did not cut so sharply. The only drawback to that was that at intervals the overburdened boughs would bend and dump a load of thick wet snow on whoever was unfortunate enough to be beneath them at the time.

  He supposed it would be a breathtaking sight, assuming he could actually see it through the veils of snow. He’d read Perulan’s pastoral tales—along with everyone else in the City—with their detailed descriptions of woodland groves and shady glens. But Perulan had been describing the tame forests of the Delfier Valley, not something this … wild. The trees were taller than the masts of the Selken ships, larger than the pillars that lined the Great Temple of the Light. And those were just the ones he could see.

  But even the forest could not distract him from his cold and exhaustion for long. He had never been so tired, and all he really wanted was to lie down in the snow to sleep forever. But of course, even he knew that was the last thing he could possibly do.

  THE sound of horns roused him, and Cilarnen realized he’d been asleep in the saddle—or near to it. He jerked upright, every frozen muscle protesting, and looked around wildly, certain they were being attacked. The light was the dark blue of twilight, and they had moved out of the shelter of the great trees.

  “We’re within sight of the camp,” Kardus told him. “It’s nearly over.”

  Cilarnen didn’t remember the rest of the ride at all. All he knew was that eventually someone lifted him down from Oakleaf’s saddle and carried him into a place filled with light and warmth. He roused enough to drink when a cup was held to his lips.

  “Oakleaf—” he said.

  And that was the last he knew for quite some time.

  IT was day when Kellen and the others reached the surface again—and snowing only lightly, which was a pleasant change. The air was drier and colder here than down in the caverns, but fresh, and Kellen breathed deeply as he walked down the ramp.

  Kharren and a half-dozen Knights were standing guard outside the cavern. Kellen greeted her with a careless wave.

  “I See you, Kharren. The Crystal Spiders tell us the caverns are now free of duergar,” he said.

  “That makes good hearing, Kellen Knight-Mage,” Kharren responded. “I will send Elatar for your horses. Adaerion has news for you, but he will wish to give it himself.”

  SOON Kellen was following Kharren into Adaerion’s pavilion. He wondered what the news was, but if it had been anything truly urgent—and bad—Kharren would surely have delivered it herself.

  “I See you, Kellen,” Adaerion said, motioning for Kellen to sit.

  “I See you, Adaerion,” Kellen said, bowing respectfully before he sat.

  Pircano poured tea for all three of them. Kellen sipped it gratefully; tea had never seemed to get hot down in the caverns.

  “Perhaps you will indulge me by letting me know how your work fared below,” Adaerion said.

  Bad news first. “As you know, we lost Tildaril,” Kellen said quietly. Now the good news. “But other than that, we were lucky, and sustained no real injuries. The Crystal Spiders tell us that we have killed all the duergar. Now Vestakia can go down and see if the caverns are indeed free of Taint. And the Spiders have agreed to talk with her as well, so that she can see whether they are truly able to communicate with others of their kind in other caves. It might take her a while to find out anything useful, though,” he added.

  “That work may have to wait,” Adaerion said. “Four days ago, the Centaurs who came at Andoreniel’s summons reached our camp. Traveling with them was a High Mage of Armethalieh.”

  Kellen stared at Adaerion in disbelief. A High Mage? Here?

  “It would be interesting to know how it was that a High Mage was permitted to cross the border into the Elven Lands,” he said, after a long pause.

  “We did not know, then, that this is what he was. He came in company with a Wildmage, whose price it was to bring him to you.”

  “To me?” Kellen echoed blankly.

  “He—and the Wildmage—were both quite certain of it,” Adaerion said kindly. “There is more. Linyesin—who has heard some of the boy’s story, but not, he thinks, all—says that he was living at Stonehearth, a Centaur village, when it was attacked by one of Them. Fortunately, there were Wildmages there as well, because some of the levy was mustering there, and they managed to kill the creature, with the High Mage’s help. The boy says that It mistook him for you, and when It realized Its mistake, set out to destroy the village.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Kellen said, puzzled. “High Mages don’t leave the City. They just don’t. And the only business any High Mage has with me is to finish what the Council started.” He shook his head, baffled. But … he killed a Demon? I’d certainly like to ask him how he managed that.

  “Nevertheless, Kardus has his price to pay,” Adaerion said.

  And only Kellen could help him pay it. But … a High Mage consorting with a Wildmage? Voluntarily?

  “I will see him,” Kellen said reluctantly. Maybe he isn’t a High Mage, he thought hopefully. Maybe he’s lying.

  He’d thought he was done with Armethalieh forever, and the thought of having to confront it—or one of its emissaries at least—unsettled him in a way that no battle could.

  “But I want to make sure the caverns are clear first,” Kellen added, only partly from a desire to put off the confrontation with this ghost from his past for as long as possible. “If he’s waited this long, certainly he can wait a while longer.”

  “Indeed,” Adaerion said, his voice conveying nothing of his thoughts. “And while you complete that task, we shall begin dismantling this camp, for its purpose is finished.”

  KELLEN collected Isinwen, and told him to ready Idalia’s and Vestakia’s horses. His troop would accompany him back into the cavern to guard Vestakia, while a second troop waited outside to guard the entrance.

  Then he went looking for Idalia and Vestakia.

  He found them in Idalia’s tent, playing xaqiue—or rather, Idalia was playing xaqiue against herself while Vestakia watched with interest, moving the green pieces at Idalia’s direction.

  “Ah,” Idalia said, when Kellen poked his head into the pavilion. “You’re back. And Adaerion’s told you about our wandering Mageborn. Oh, come now, brother dear—what else could make you look like a faun dragged through a bramble bush backwards?”

  “I want to know who he is and what he wants,” Kellen said, between gritted teeth. The anger in his voice surprised him.

  �
�Well, his name is Cilarnen, and he wants you,” Idalia said matter-of-factly. “Leaf and Star know why. I don’t suppose you know him?”

  “Cilarnen … Volpiril?” Kellen asked, stunned. No two living Mageborn bore the same given name, by the custom of the City, and Kellen knew of only one Cilarnen.

  “Well, no one knows his family name; he didn’t give one,” Idalia said.

  “You do know him!” Vestakia said. “I thought you might! Why else would he be asking for you?”

  “I was at school with him.” Hazy memories surfaced, of a time so long ago that the events that occurred then might have happened to someone else. Cilarnen had always been everything Kellen wasn’t—the golden young Mageborn who’d excelled in all his studies and been the Masters’ petted darling. Except for one day, a few sennights before Kellen was Banished, when, for some reason, Master Hendassar had chosen to humiliate Cilarnen in front of the entire History of the City class. “He’s no more a High Mage than—than I am!” Kellen said indignantly.

  “But if he is Cilarnen Volpiril, his father’s a member of the High Council, which makes it even odder that he’s here,” Idalia said, her eyes narrowing.

  “And traveling with a Wildmage, don’t forget.” Kellen laughed bitterly. “I’d certainly like to know how that came about, considering what the High Mages think of the Wild Magic! But the pampered little Mageborn can certainly wait until we’re sure the caverns are clean. The Shadowed Elves have surprised us enough times already. I want to be sure our backtrail is safe this time.”

  And he wasn’t at all averse to having Cilarnen cool his heels. It would do him good to discover he wasn’t the most important creature in this universe.

  KELLEN and Pihrandet rode back to the caverns with their troops. Though no one expected trouble—the caverns were supposed to be empty—both Idalia and Vestakia wore armor, Vestakia, her full suit of scarlet Elven armor, and Idalia, her heavy shirt of Elven chain.