“They’re aware of that,” Jermayan said broodingly. “And they understand it is a grave threat, especially since the… Shadowed Elves… can grant safe passage into the heart of our realm to creatures who are truly of the Shadow, as we have learned to our cost. Though the land-wards detect such as they once they walk upon the surface of the land, our borders are not secure. We must return to the enclave Vestakia discovered, and destroy it.”
“You can’t assume it’s the only one, either,” Kellen said. It was the first truth of war that Master Belesharon had taught him: never underestimate an enemy’s strength and resources.
“No,” Jermayan agreed. “With Vestakia’s help, we must search out and destroy them all.”
Time. That will take time. Time to find each enclave of the Shadowed Elves, time to fight the battles, time to search the whole of the Elven Lands… and we only have Vestakia to help us do it.
And what will the Demons be doing while we do that?
“And what then?” Kellen asked. “When it’s all done?”
Both Idalia and Jermayan were looking at him as if they didn’t understand, but to Kellen, it was as if a story were unfurling itself in his mind, almost as if he were remembering one of Master Belesharon’s old Teaching Tales. But this wasn’t something old. This was something new, something yet to happen.
“When all the Shadowed Elves are gone,” Kellen repeated patiently. “What then?” He only realized then that he’d asked a question—bad manners here— and rephrased it: “Tell me what will happen next—and what the true Enemy will be doing while we destroy the Shadowed Elves.”
Idalia smiled faintly. “Kellen, it will probably take a very long time to be sure we’ve gotten all of them. Maybe years.”
“But we don’t have years,” Kellen said. He gestured at the xaqiue board. “The Council thinks we do. Shadow Mountain puts up a barrier to starve the Elven Lands of water. We knock it down. We expect them to attack, then—though maybe after a very long time. But they don’t. They show us something we have to attack: the Shadowed Elves. I’m not saying we don’t: they’re a threat, and if we don’t destroy them, they will be used against us. But can’t you see it? We didn’t find out about them by accident. They were shown to us. It’s like a xaqiue game. We’ll commit our forces, we’ll go after them… we’ll probably destroy them. And then there will be something else.”
“Their main attack,” Jermayan said. “But we will have already gathered our army together. We will defeat them once again, just as we did before, though I do not deny that the cost will be high.”
“No,” Kellen said. He wasn’t sure where the sense of certainty came from, but he’d never been surer of anything in his life. “Don’t you get it, Jermayan? They’re never going to attack—not this time. That’s what you expect, because that’s what they did the last time. That’s what Andoreniel and Ashaniel are going to wait for—a big massing of Enemy troops; a formal declaration of war. And it won’t happen.”
For a moment he almost thought he’d convinced Jermayan. More than anyone else in Sentarshadeen, Jermayan knew him as a Knight-Mage, and knew what he was capable of—this instinctive understanding of War and how it worked. The more he trained with Master Belesharon—the more actual fighting he saw—the more Kellen realized just how his particular Wild Magic gifts worked.
But then Jermayan shook his head.
“Kellen… I do not say that you are wrong. But no matter what They plan, we must eliminate the Shadowed Elves first. Even now, Andoreniel sends word— not only to the Nine Cities, but to our allies as well, invoking ancient treaties. As soon as the children are safe—once I have persuaded Ancaladar to take them to the Crowned Horns—we go to muster at Ondoladeshiron. To fight in winter is hard, but he thought it best not to wait for spring.”
Well, at least he’d convinced the Council of that much, Kellen thought. But it wasn’t enough. He knew that, even though he didn’t know—yet—what was enough.
“I’m going with you,” Idalia said, a dangerous note in her voice.
“Such an army cannot be gathered overnight,” Jermayan said reassuringly. “I am certain that the Healers will release you by the time we are ready to depart. And I will be grateful for the counsel of a… fellow Mage.”
Idalia reached out and clasped his hand. “I know that Bonding with Ancaladar wasn’t exactly what you expected,” she said gently.
“Nothing about my life has been as I expected it would be,” Jermayan said fervently. “Yet I would change nothing,” he said, gazing deeply into her eyes.
“I think I’ll see you both later,” Kellen said, getting quickly to his feet. He set his empty cup down on the nearest flat surface, and backed hastily out of the room.
He doubted either of them noticed.
—«♦»—
THE first person he ran into on his way out was Vestakia, and to his surprise she was also wearing a green Healer’s robe.
“Apparently there are things I can do besides herd goats,” she said cheerfully, noticing his startled expression. “How’s Idalia?”
“She and Jermayan are fine,” Kellen said, surprised at how disgruntled he sounded.
“And Ancaladar?” Vestakia asked, apparently not noticing Kellen’s mood at all.
“Fine, I suppose. I haven’t seen him at all, since, well… you know.”
“Oh, he’s found a nice place to live up in the meadows back beyond the House of Sword and Shield. Very private, so he isn’t bothered too much by people who just want to stare at him. And much happier, he says, not having to spend all his time hunting his dinner. He says he much prefers the nice fat sheep and cows Jermayan is providing for him. Are you terribly busy right now, by any chance?”
“I ought to be at the House of Sword and Shield myself, catching up on all the lessons I’ve missed,” Kellen said cautiously, “but… no.”
“Then come and see Sandalon,” Vestakia said, as briskly as as any nurse. “All the children would like to see you, come to that—and to hear about Ancaladar.”
The children were gathered together in a bright light-filled room filled with toys and books. Sitting quietly in one corner was an Elven Healer, her hair the silvery-blue of great age.
Even Alkandoran was there. The Elven boy greeted Kellen with a wary smile. He looked hollow-eyed and unhappy, and Kellen felt a deep pang of sympathy. Alkandoran was still a child by Elven standards, but old enough to think of himself as an adult. He’d known better than any of the other children the true extent of the horrors they’d faced, but from what Lairamo had said, without his calm steadiness during their captivity, things might have gone much worse.
Kellen smiled back, and reached out and touched him lightly on the shoulder. “You did well,” he said quietly. “You did all there was to do, and you did it well.”
The boy’s troubled expression eased just a little.
“Kellen!” Sandalon launched himself at Kellen. “Did you see the dragon? Is Jermayan—I mean, one hears that—”
“One hears that a dragon—his name is Ancaladar—has come to live in Sentarshadeen, and has Bonded to Jermayan, and so now Jermayan is going to become an Elven Mage, just like Great Queen Vielissiar Farcarinon.”
“Perhaps Father will not mind if he is not King any longer,” Sandalon said with a small frown.
“What… ? Oh. No, Sandalon. Andoreniel will still be King. Jermayan will just be a Mage. I don’t think Jermayan would like to be King.” I don’t think Jermayan wants to be a Mage, either, but he doesn’t have much choice there.
“Oh.” Sandalon’s frown cleared. “That’s all right then.”
“Perhaps you have come to tell us stories,” Vendalton said hopefully, sidling closer. “About Jermayan and the dragon.”
“Of course he has,” Merisashendiel said firmly. “Nobody tells us anything here.” She dragged over a low stool for Kellen to sit on, and the other children all picked up cushions and arranged them so that they were all sitting in a circle at Kel
len’s feet. They all regarded him expectantly.
For a moment he had no idea what to say, but then all the teaching stories he had heard so many times at the House of Sword and Shield came back to him.
“I will begin by describing dragons and their natures,” he said, feeling for one odd moment as if he were back at the Mage College of Armethalieh—as a teacher this time, instead of as a student. “And then I will tell you how I met Ancaladar.”
He spent most of the afternoon telling the children tales, letting them guide him in what they wanted to hear. He was surprised to find that what they wanted to hear about most was the story of their rescue—who had come for them, and how they had been tracked, who had actually found them, and what it had been like down in the caverns. Since the Healer in the room did nothing to interfere, though Kellen watched her closely, he answered all their questions as well as he could—though always keeping in mind the ages of his audience.
“But the evil creatures are far away, and can never find this place,” Tredianala said.
“No,” Kellen said firmly. “And soon you are going to the fortress—in a safe way, a way that nothing bad can possibly happen to you.” He had no doubt of Jermayan’s ability to eventually persuade Ancaladar to carry the children to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns—if “stubborn as an Elf” wasn’t a proverb, it ought to be.
“But not by caravan,” Merisashendiel said. She looked up at him with pleading in her gaze, and a hint of a shiver.
“How you will go,” Kellen said firmly, “is a surprise—and a nice one, so I’m not going to spoil it.”
Eventually Vestakia came in, announcing it was time for the children to take their medicine and their naps. Kellen, feeling quite as tired as if he’d spent the last several hours in practice bouts at the House of Sword and Shield, got to his feet and headed for the front door.
The aged Elven Healer followed him out.
“That was well done of you, Knight-Mage,” she said simply.
“Huh? Me?” Kellen said, surprised, turning to look at her.
She smiled faintly.
“There is nothing children fear so much as the unknown. But now there is no longer anything mysterious to them about their ordeal. Now all their terrors can become nothing more than a strange adventure—a frightening one, perhaps, but the fear will fade with time. Fare you well, Kellen Knight-Mage.”
“Um… thanks.”
He’d helped.
It felt very odd. Almost as if he’d done a healing, but… not quite. He’d gone through so much of his life trying not to be noticed—and trying not to notice everything around him. Finding the three Books had forced him to change. It had hurt at first. It had driven him out of the City. But here, it didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it felt good.
—«♦»—
“IT would make things so much easier,” Jermayan said, reasonably. Reason, however, did not seem to make as much impression on a dragon as he might have hoped.
“I am not a horse.”
The land beyond the House of Sword and Shield was a series of pocket canyons, similar to those that made up the city of Sentarshadeen itself, though these had been allowed to remain in their natural state. The horses had adjusted to the intruder in their pasturage easily enough. Ancaladar had agreed not to bother them—his tastes, he assured Jermayan, ran to fat cattle and tasty sheep; even pigs and goats in sufficient quantity. Fortunately, Jermayan was wealthy enough to provide for Ancaladar’s needs—though the dragon did not need to eat every day, he enjoyed doing so when the opportunity was provided, so each morning Jermayan led (or herded) Ancaladar’s breakfast up to his new home.
Ancaladar had found a canyon that suited him—a relatively small one— and—with Jermayan’s help—roofed it over, using those trees from the forest that had not survived the Great Drought. It was a crude shelter, but effective, and the dragon said it was comfortable enough. Come spring—assuming the time and labor were available—a more permanent and pleasing roof could be added to the canyon, and perhaps even a doorway of sorts constructed.
“A new caravan would take a sennight—perhaps two, in this weather—to reach the Fortress of the Crowned Horns. It would be vulnerable to another attack. Idalia is still recovering from her injuries, and tracking the creatures last time took a great toll on Vestakia. She is still not fully recovered. And each time she ventures forth from Sentarshadeen, she is at risk. She is a great prize for Them,” Jermayan said.
“I am still not a horse,” Ancaladar said, stretching his head out so that Jermayan could rub the sensitive places just behind the eye sockets on the massive head. Jermayan had already learned that Ancaladar liked that.
“The children would be frightened,” Jermayan said, after several minutes of silence. “To go again the way they did before, spending days upon the road, wondering each day if they are to be attacked again, to see their friends and companions slain before their eyes by monsters out of nightmare. I am afraid that such a journey would only undo what little healing has been accomplished.” Jermayan thought he knew Ancaladar’s weak point—that he had been slowly deprived of nest-mates and companions until he found himself alone. “Those poor children—to know that their friends and their own kin were slain, and they were helpless to prevent it! And then, to wake in the darkness, and discover that they were all alone—”
“You can be truly annoying sometimes,” Ancaladar grumbled. He thought for a while, while Jermayan walked forward a few steps and transferred his attentions to the soft skin just behind the armored plates at the hinge of Ancaladar’s jaw. “If I did not know better, I would say this was an attempt to distract me from your lessons in Magery.”
“I would say that I dislike them nearly as much as you dislike my plan,” Jermayan said with a sigh.
What he learned from Ancaladar didn’t seem to be very much like the Wild Magic as Kellen and Idalia knew it. He knew about the obligations and Mageprices involved there, but in Bonding with a dragon, all prices were paid by the Bond. The dragon surrendered its immortality, and all prices were paid in full, forever.
Nor was it anything like the High Magick practiced in Armethalieh. The Elves knew something of that: There had been hints gathered over the centuries that the Elves had traded with the Golden City, and Jermayan had pieced together a little more from the few disparaging comments he’d heard Kellen make. Elaborate incantations, complicated equipment… no.
To use Ancaladar’s magic, all Jermayan needed was his Will. Each spell had a specific shape and color and taste—there was no better way to describe it. He had to hold the proper one in his mind and let Ancaladar’s power pour through him, like sunlight through a crystal.
Spells for fire, for ice, for darkness, for invisibility, for flight. Thousands upon thousands of them, like trays of jewels.
And all he had to do, Jermayan thought wearily, was remember each unnameable colorshape perfectly, and always select the right one. At least Ancaladar was only putting a few of them into his mind at a time, though the dragon insisted he was only helping Jermayan remember them. According to Ancaladar, if Jermayan hadn’t known them already, they never could have Bonded.
It was something Jermayan preferred not to think about. Elves were not Mages. Humans were Mages. Demons—Leaf and Star wither and blast them— were Mages.
Elves were not. Elves had given up their magic long ago, in the childhood of the world. They had done so in order to save the world, and the Light—but that was something that was not spoken of outside of the Sanctuary of the Star. Humans and other races were not to know of this… he was not certain that even a dragon should be told.
Then again, he was not certain that a dragon didn’t already know.
“Then if you will practice, I will take your children to the fortress,” Ancaladar said, sounding both resigned and amused. “But you know I cannot land there. It was built when your kind had… reason to fear dragons.”
“Andoreniel will send a message. We will land at the foot o
f the causeway. I think the children will be safe there for as long as it takes to get them inside.”
“With what you have learned, certainly,” Andoreniel said. “And now… practice. Make a flower.”
Jermayan stared at the snow doubtfully.
“The canes are there, beneath the snow. They slumber. Wake one,” Ancaladar said.
“It will freeze and die,” Jermayan said, shaking his head.
“Then change them,” Ancaladar said implacably. “Make flowers for the cold.”
As clearly as if a voice had spoken inside his head, Jermayan could see what to do. He reached, and out of the snow beneath his feet, tender green rose-canes began to shoot up out of the snow, growing with unnatural speed.
But that wasn’t enough. Roses were flowers for summer. They would die in the cold. He reached into them again and began to change them, even as they reached out toward the ice-covered walls of the canyon and began to twine and climb.
To Light A Candle ou(tom-2 Page 39