The Outstretched Shadow ou(tom-1

by Mercedes Lackey

"I know," Kellen said miserably. He lifted the cup to his lips and drank, savoring the heat and the unfamiliar spicy flavor. They might be forced to exist on Elven trail-rations, but Jermayan had still packed a dozen different kinds of tea, suitable for every occasion. And the "small magics" of the Elves ensured you could get a hot cup of tea on short notice, even in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere.

  "It just… I know it probably didn't even happen, and if it did, it's just some kind of coincidence. But I feel… betrayed. It's stupid, but there just isn't any other way to describe it," Kellen said.

  "Yes," Jermayan said softly. "And so were the great dragons of the earth betrayed in those days, who bound their immortality to a span of mortal years in a bond of love and more than love such as even we Elves can only dimly guess at, and found that love profaned in unimaginable ways when their Wildmage mates were corrupted by the blandishments of the Endarkened. It was in many ways the worst of all of the betrayals of the War, for the dragons could do nothing but what their mates willed, and so they found themselves fighting friends, battling their own kindred, and could not stop themselves, though their great hearts were breaking. Perhaps it is that sorrow you sense here, Kellen."

  "This just gets better, doesn't it?" Kellen said bitterly. It wasn't bad enough that Darkmages were creatures of cruelty and evil—no, they had to ruin the lives of creatures who had even given up immortality for them. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Look. It won't be dawn for hours yet, and I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep, but why don't you at least try to? No sense in everybody sitting up just because I'm seeing ghosts."

  "Fair words, Wildmage," Jermayan said gravely.

  Kellen had thought Jermayan might argue with him, but apparently Jermayan did him the courtesy of assuming he knew what he was talking about. Without further discussion, the Elven Knight took the empty cup back from Kellen and banked the fire again before returning to his bedroll.

  Kellen pulled his blankets up around his shoulders more firmly. It was cold out here.

  "You can use me for a backrest," Shalkan invited, kneeling down behind him. "Warmer that way."

  "Thanks," Kellen said, leaning back cautiously into the unicorn's muscular softness. Soon the small camp was utterly still once more, save for the blowing of the wind and the faint rustling of the grass. The stars were very bright overhead.

  He'd wondered if Jermayan might have put sleeping herbs into his tea, but apparently the Elven Knight trusted him to make his own decisions and take their consequences, for Kellen remained wide awake. The memory of the dream-landscape overlaid the real one he now saw—a thousand years ago the land here had been more even. Forested, as Jermayan had said. Now the terrain was all blasted away to almost bare rock, the gentle slopes he remembered from the dream entirely gone.

  And it really didn't matter whose magic had done it, Allied or Endarkened, because the end result was the same. What used to be the Forest of Tilinaparanwira was a wasteland, and even another thousand years wouldn't be enough time to make it the way it had been before the Great War. All the survivors of that war could try to do was hold on to what they had left, because even as hard as they'd fought, they hadn't foug hard enough to defeat their enemy once and for all. Shadow Mountai had survived, and the Endarkened were ready to go to war again—

  And if there was another war, no matter who won it, would there be anything left at all this time?

  If? In the cold hour before dawn, Kellen had the depressing certainty that it wasn't an if. It was a when. And that when wasn't far off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Allies and Enemies

  HE DOZED OFF finally just as the sky was beginning to lighten, to be awakened as Shalkan moved out from under him.

  "Rise and shine," the unicorn said, looking down at him. "It's the start of a beautiful new day."

  "I'll rise," muttered Kellen, rolling over on his stomach and hugging the blankets to him, "but I refuse to shine."

  And in fact the day was hardly beautiful. Though the night had been clear and icy cold, clouds had rolled in toward morning, and the day had dawned—if you could call it that—cold, grey, damp, and overcast. Kellen gave thanks for the thousandth time that Elven armor didn't rust, but there was no power on earth that could make it warm and inviting on a day like this. Even a mug of hot tea and a bowl of soup did little to cut the biting chill.

  He'd been going to do a Finding Spell to seek their path this morning, but after his experiences of the night before, Kellen hesitated to work any magic, still feeling off-balance and out of sorts. If they didn't find any clear sign that they were on the right road by the time they stopped for their midday rest, he'd do one then, but he hoped he wouldn't have to. The thought of the mounting cycle of debt and obligation that was a necessary part of a Wildmage's life still bothered him. In the normal course of things, he wouldn't mind—or not much—but right now, when any Mageprice might take him away from the vitally necessary task of placing the keystone at the Barrier, Kellen grudged any spell he needed to work, for fear its obligation would lead him astray.

  You'll know what to do when the time comes… All very well when you were not surrounded by enemies, with Demons sniffing for you, when you were in, say, Merryvale or the Wildwood and the most dangerous creature in the forest was Cormo. And it was easy enough to try and tell himself that since the Wild Magic "wanted" the Barrier broken, it wouldn't put an obligation on him that interfered with that.

  Easy to tell himself that, but hard to convince himself. It was a matter of faith, he supposed, and he just didn't have a lot of faith in anything or anyone, when it came right down to it.

  Not even in himself.

  And the consequences of refusing to pay for his magic were not to be considered…

  IT was a relief, coming down off the hillside, to strike a real road at last. It wasn't what Kellen would have considered a road at the start of their journey, but after so long traveling through the Lost Lands, even this narrow beaten track—obviously going from Somewhere to Somewhere, and frequently used by someone—was a welcome change, providing sure footing for horse and mule. The only thing that marred Kellen's relief was that he still hadn't seen any more clear signs of Endarkened Taint in their surroundings—although that wasn't altogether surprising, since there wasn't much around them to see besides rocks and a little sparse grass. It was hard for either grass or rocks to go awry in any noticeable way. How warped would grass have to get before he'd notice the Taint?

  I suppose it would have to be purple, or something.

  There hadn't even been birds in the sky.

  Up ahead the trail forked. One branch led down, into a broad valley, while the other curved off and away around the side of a rocky hillside. Either could have been the right road.

  But there was a third path, almost invisible, a narrow goat track leading up over the crest of the hill at right angles to their present course.

  You will know what to do when the time comes.

  Certainty descended over Kellen like an invisible cloak. This was the moment the Wild Magic had prepared him for. Now was the time to pay his Price.

  "Which way?" Jermayan said, reining Valdien to a stop.

  "This way," Kellen said, pointing toward the hill.

  "Don't be ridiculous," Jermayan scoffed. "It goes almost straight up— and probably back the way we came, besides. The animals will never make it, and—Kellen! Come back here!"

  But Kellen wasn't listening. There. There! Something—someone — needs me. Is in trouble! He couldn't have turned aside from the path now if he'd wanted to. And he didn't want to. "Come on," he said to Shalkan. "We've got to hurry."

  He didn't know where the sudden sense of urgency came from, but the unicorn accepted it without question. Shalkan bounded up the goat track and lunged along it, as surefooted as the goats it was meant for. Kellen clung to the saddle, ignoring Jermayan's frustrated shouting somewhere behind him.

  They reached the top of the hill,
and Shalkan broke into a bounding run. Kellen didn't know where they were going, but the demand of his obligation drew him onward, and he followed it without hesitation.

  In the valley ahead, there was actually some healthy-looking vegetation, trees, a stream—not lush, by any standards, but far more livable than the country they'd been passing through. Shalkan bounded over the stream, and headed up the hillside, following that goat track around the curve of the hill, and a small stone hut appeared up ahead, just under the crest of the hill, on the lee side—a shepherd's croft, undoubtedly, the sort of crude construction of stone, mud, and thatch that the natives of the Lost Lands might build.

  It was the first he'd seen—after their encounter with the Centaur-shepherd, he and Jermayan had steered well clear of any possible locals— but it didn't take any great act of imagination to figure out what the hut represented, and what sort of inhabitant it had, especially with the small herd of agitated goats milling and bleating in the stone pen beside the door. The only question was, why had the magic drawn him here?

  Who was it that was in trouble?

  Shalkan slowed from his bounding gallop to a fast trot as they drew closer, caution overtaking urgency.

  Then, shattering the silence, ringing out across the valley, came screams. A woman's screams, coming from inside the hut.

  Kellen didn't have to think twice. He kicked free of the stirrups and vaulted from Shalkan's back, running toward the door of the hut.

  The hut was small and dark, but enough light came in through the tiny windows to allow Kellen to see that someone large had someone else—the woman who had screamed, almost certainly—trapped in a corner of the hut, savagely beating her with a short club. That was enough for him. He crammed himself inside—there wasn't a lot of room, and three people seriously crowded the tiny hut—and grabbed the man's arm before he could land another blow.

  If the shepherd was surprised to have his beating interrupted by a knight in full armor, he wasn't surprised enough to keep from attacking Kellen. He swung his club savagely at Kellen's head, and only Kellen's helmet saved him from a nasty concussion. The club was thick wood, wrapped in bands of black lead. It was a deadly weapon, meant for killing, and the blow rattled Kellen's teeth and left his ears ringing.

  There wasn't enough room here for Kellen to draw or use his sword, but he had his fists, and his armored gauntlets, and plenty of muscles from Jermayan's sword-training and his time in the Wildwood. And he'd taken—and given—enough beatings growing up back in the City to know what to do in a fight.

  But this wasn't the place to try.

  He wrestled the man around, then rammed his shoulder into the bully's gut and shoved, carrying them both outside. They tumbled over together, but the man was swift, strong, and agile, and scrambled to his feet as quickly as Kellen did.

  Now Kellen had room to pull his sword—

  No.

  Blade against club, however deadly the club—no.

  He waded in with his armored fists. He took a good pounding—and he added several new dents to his armor, with corresponding bruises beneath—but at last Kellen was able to finish the fight with a solid blow to the gut, followed by a cracking—and heartfelt—punch to the shepherd's jaw.

  The man toppled over like a felled tree, measuring his full length on the ground. He was unconscious, and would stay that way for some time, Kellen hoped uncharitably. But he was alive. Which he would not have been if Kellen had pulled his sword.

  Kellen turned back to the hut, to the shepherd's victim. He had to bend down a little to get in through the door, and in the dimness, all he could see was a huddled female shape in the corner. She was completely muffled in a long dark cloak of homespun with a deep hood. Kellen lifted her gently, hoping she didn't have any broken bones. At least she was alive as well. A few moments later, and she wouldn't have been.

  He carried her out of the hut, seeing without any particular surprise that Jermayan had finally elected to follow him. The Elven Knight dismounted and came hurrying forward just as Kellen lay the woman gently on the ground and looked up toward him, about to explain what he'd found when he reached the shepherd's hut.

  But to his shock, Jermayan's face contorted with horror and anger, and the Elven Knight drew his sword and lunged forward, intent upon attacking the woman Kellen had just rescued.

  "No!" Ignoring his aches and bruises, Kellen jumped into Jermayan's path, grappling with him. A quick glance over his shoulder showed him that the woman was awake and moving, crawling weakly away. There was something not quite right about her face, but Kellen didn't have time to figure out what. Jermayan was far stronger than he was, and determined to free himself from Kellen in order to reach her.

  He held tight to the wrist of Jermayan's sword-hand, and held him like a wrestler trying to force his opponent out of the ring.

  "Don't you see what she is?" Jermayan shouted in his ear. "She's a Demon! I've got to kill her!"

  No. If he was sure of anything at the moment, Kellen was sure of that. The Wild Magic had brought him here. The Wild Magic was Anathema to anything Demonic, if Jermayan and Idalia were to be believed. So whatever this looked like, the woman couldn't be a Demon.

  He had to believe that…

  "Think!" he urged Jermayan, holding the struggling Elf's sword-arm in a vise-grip. "If she's a Demon, why was she letting that lout in there beat her to death?"

  "To trap us, you fool!" Jermayan shouted in exasperation.

  Kellen finally managed to get the leverage he'd been seeking, twisting Jermayan's sword-hand so that he had to let go of the blade or—even in armor—end up with a broken wrist, and with a well-placed shove, sent Jermayan sprawling. When Jermayan hit the ground, he lost his grip on his sword, and it went slithering away over the wiry grass.

  But Jermayan didn't give up. He struggled to his feet once more, obviously deciding that Kellen had to be dealt with before the Demon.

  Kellen risked another wary backward glance. The woman was sitting with her back to the hut now, watching both of them with an expression of terror on her face. Her skin was the rosy-red of ripe cherries; her short curly hair a darker shade of the same red, and her ears were as pointed as an Elf's. Pale gold horns sprouted from just above her slanting eyebrows and curved back over her head. Her eyes were the same yellow-gold as a cat's, with the same narrow slitted pupils.

  He looked back barely in time to block Jermayan's attack. He knew Jermayan didn't actually want to kill him, and unfortunately there were few things you could do to a man in a full suit of Elven plate armor short of that. But suppose Jermayan managed to knock him unconscious, or tie him up somehow? What would happen to the woman then?

  Then Jermayan slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. As the two men rolled noisily over and over, Jermayan's fingers scrabbled for the straps of Kellen's helmet. Kellen gritted his teeth. If Jermayan could manage to get his helmet off, it would be fairly easy for the Elven Knight to knock him senseless.

  "Stop it. This has gone on long enough." Shalkan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried, and there was a power in that command that shocked both of them into quiet. For a moment Kellen and Jermayan stopped fighting to stare at the unicorn.

  Shalkan paced over to where the woman huddled against the side of the hut and lowered his horn until it touched the side of her face.

  Nothing happened.

  "But the touch of a unicorn's horn will slay a Demon!" Jermayan gasped in shock. He got to his knees, releasing Kellen.

  Shalkan knelt down and placed his head in the woman's lap. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his fur. Great wracking sobs shook her.

  Kellen glanced back at Jermayan—if there was one thing all Jermayan's lessons had taught him, it was never to take your attention off your enemy until that enemy was unconscious or dead. Preferably dead, though of course he had absolutely no desire to kill Jermayan.

  But Jermayan no longer seemed interested in fighting. He was staring at Shalkan and the
woman with an expression as close to utter shock and dismay as Kellen had ever seen on his face, as if everything Jermayan had believed in had been brutally overturned, all in a single moment.

  "Still so sure of yourself?" Kellen muttered crossly, rolling to his knees and getting to his feet.

  "Apparently," Shalkan said caustically, keeping an eye on them both, "things are not what they seem. And we need to be gone from here before that brute that was trying to kill this child wakes up. Gentlemen, shall we:

  "Go on," Kellen said to Jermayan, still not really willing to trust him too near the woman he'd just rescued. While Jermayan seemed to have had a change of heart—or at least a profound shock—Kellen didn't really trust what he didn't understand. He never would have thought that Jermayan would attack him, after all, and a moment ago, he had. "We'll be right behind you."

  As Jermayan silently went in search of his dropped sword, Kellen shook himself like a dog, that being the quickest way to set his armor and surcoat straight.