To Light A Candle ou(tom-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  As if that were a summons, they heard the outer door open and close.

  “Ah,” Idalia said. “The Elven Mage has returned.”

  Kellen felt a strange tickle of unfamiliar magic—dragon magic made his nose itch—and knew that Jermayan must have been working with Ancaladar again, practicing sorcery. He set down his half-full mug and went with Idalia to greet his friend.

  “Ah, Kellen,” Jermayan said, seeing that Idalia was not alone. “It is good to find you here.”

  Jermayan looked both cold and exhausted. Perhaps things would be easier in the spring, but now, in the cold of winter, it was hard on him.

  “You look frozen,” Kellen said, with sympathy.

  “I am assured that—with time—I can construct a suitable hall for our work, once I have mastered the appropriate skills,” Jermayan said wryly, noting their concern. “However, by the time I have mastered them, the need for such a hall will have passed.” He sighed, and sat down on one of the long padded benches that lined the sitting room. “Meanwhile, I call fire to burn upon the ice.” He gazed down at his hands broodingly.

  “Fire’s supposed to be easy,” Kellen said tentatively. It was the first spell a Student Apprentice of the High Magick learned back in Armethalieh, the first spell in the Books of the Wild Magic. Light a candle, call flame to tinder…

  But Jermayan was talking about kindling a fire on the ice… How was that possible?

  Idalia returned from the kitchen and set a cup of tea in his hand. “You do what you have to, Jermayan,” she said.

  “And having worked as hard as any apprentice in the House of Sword and Shield,” Jermayan said, smiling faintly, “I have reconciled Ancaladar to necessity. Tomorrow we fly to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns. I would be honored if you would accompany us, Kellen.”

  Who, me? Kellen thought wonderingly.

  “The children will be reassured by your presence, so Vestakia assures me,” Jermayan explained. “And I thought perhaps you would find profit in seeing our greatest fortress.”

  Elves—even Jermayan—rarely did anything directly. Kellen knew that though this was partly meant to reassure him as to the extent of Elven military strength, it was also meant as a subtle rebuke for his criticism of Elven strategy earlier.

  Still, he wasn’t going to turn down the chance to ride a dragon. And he did want to see the Crowned Horns.

  Because they say it can’t be taken by direct assault. And I’m sure they’re right. And I’m just as sure that whatever Shadow Mountain is planning, it isn’t a direct assault…

  “I thank you for this great honor,” Kellen said in his best courtly style. “And I just know that Ancaladar will be thrilled at the thought of having another passenger.”

  “Dress warmly,” Jermayan warned him. “Ancaladar says that the skies are colder than snow.”

  —«♦»—

  THE following day, Ancaladar came to the unicorn meadow to take the children to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns. The day was raw and overcast, but the clouds were high, and no storm beckoned.

  As Kellen had seen in his vision of the Great War, when dragon fought dragon in the skies above an Endarkened battlefield, there was a saddle at the base of Ancaladar’s neck, where Jermayan would ride. Kellen would ride behind him there. But for the others, different arrangements had needed to be made. Straps affixed a series of baskets to Ancaladar’s massive sides: eight of them, for the five children, Lairamo, and two companions. Sand was added to some of the baskets, so that each one weighed exactly the same, because balance—so Ancaladar had explained—was the most important thing.

  The children were all muffled warmly in furs, and then strapped firmly into their baskets, so that even if Ancaladar chose to fly upside-down (which he assured both Kellen and Jermayan he had no intention of doing) there was no possibility of the children falling out. It took ladders to get them into the baskets, but at the other end, Jermayan would simply have to walk down Ancaladar’s back to free them.

  If all went well.

  And a trip that would take sennights on the ground would be compressed into less than a day.

  Though for the children’s—and their parents‘—sake, Kellen behaved as though this were the most ordinary thing in the world, he couldn’t help feeling a sinking sense of apprehension as he climbed up Ancaladar’s side and took his place behind Jermayan. There was a belt there, fastened to Ancaladar’s harness, and he saw that Jermayan already wore a similar belt buckled tightly around him.

  Well, if it was good enough for Jermayan… He strapped himself down, and looked over Ancaladar’s shoulder toward the ground. It was like sitting on the roof of a three-story house… only houses didn’t take flight and soar into the sky.

  He knew he’d done far more dangerous things in his life—and more painful ones, too. But not only did this seem to be unnervingly unnatural, it roused the memories of buried ghosts, ghosts hundreds of generations in the past… but also of one particular ghost, who had also borne the name “Kellen,” and who had fought for the Dark, Bonded to a dragon.

  Before he could follow those bleak thoughts any further, Ancaladar reared up on his hind legs. Kellen heard the children squeal in pleased excitement.

  “Hold on,” Ancaladar said quietly.

  He spread his great wings with a snap like sails filling with wind. He sprang into the air, slashed down—hard—with his wings once, then again.

  It reminded Kellen—almost—of riding Shalkan when the unicorn was running all-out: that bounding gait that involved moments of weightlessness and jarring landings. Only here there were no landings, only moments of weightless falling before the dragon’s great wings bit into the air again. Kellen closed his eyes tightly.

  By the time he could bring himself to open them again, Ancaladar was moving smoothly, and the ground was hundreds of feet below. He looked back over his shoulder, and could barely see the green of the ever-blooming Flower Forest. The individual buildings of Sentarshadeen—well hidden even from the ground—were invisible.

  “Comfortable?” Jermayan asked. Kellen realized after a moment that the question was directed to Ancaladar. “Nothing binding you anywhere, I hope?”

  “Not bad. But don’t make a habit of this,” the dragon replied. He tilted a wingtip slightly, and they began a long curving upward spiral, taking them even higher into the sky.

  Soon they were in the clouds themselves. Wet mist covered Kellen’s face, and he could barely see anything at all. Then they were above the clouds, flying in the sunlight.

  It was just as cold as Ancaladar had promised. The mist-droplets turned to ice crystals on Kellen’s face—his only exposed skin—and the sheer dry cold took his breath away. The clouds below them—below them!—looked as solid as a snowfield, shining whitely in the sun, and the sunlight itself was bright and harsh. There was no sound save the whistling of the wind over Ancaladar’s body, and the occasional squeals and outcries of delight from the children. Kellen was glad they were so firmly strapped in to their carrying-baskets: it would be far too tempting for the more audacious of them to try to climb out and take a closer look at this wonderland of sun and clouds.

  His fear of flying was forgotten. He didn’t even notice the cold. He wished this wonderful experience could last forever. Now—now he envied Jermayan, if this was the sort of thing that the Elven Knight was going to get to experience all the time.

  As they continued north and west he could see the peaks of the higher mountains poking up through the clouds. The only thing that would make it better would be if he could see the ground below. He was Mageborn and had lived with magic all of his life, but this was the most magical moment of his life.

  Too soon Ancaladar began to descend, flying into snow and buffeting winds as they entered the realm of mountain storms. The ride now was much rougher, as the dragon glided from side to side, riding on the winds and tacking from side to side instead of fighting them directly. Now Kellen could see trees below, and had some way to judge the
ir speed, and it was faster than anything he could have ever imagined. No wonder the Elves had wanted to send the children this way.

  “Almost there,” Jermayan said.

  “I am tired of snow,” Ancaladar complained, swerving again in response to a particularly prankish gust of wind. “What it does to the wind and thermals is simply disgusting.”

  “It’s winter,” Jermayan said soothingly. “And a particularly bad one. By next year, the weather patterns should be back to normal.”

  “We’ll hope Andoreniel’s message got through, then, with your weather and all. I have no desire to be shot at,” Ancaladar grumbled, but Kellen could tell his complaining was merely a kind of bantering between the dragon and Jermayan. The Bond between Jermayan and Ancaladar was something he could not even imagine—far closer than his relationship with Shalkan—and words seemed almost unnecessary to it.

  Even through the snow, Kellen could see the fortress up ahead. At first, it seemed merely an unusual outcropping, then he recognized the forms of Elven building—and then they seemed to be rushing at it at such a speed that there was no chance they could avoid hitting it.

  Then the dragon tilted a wing, and suddenly the fortress was passing under them, in a dizzying, exhilarating panorama.

  Ancaladar circled it once, and then landed at the foot of the causeway. A party of defenders was already waiting there for the children. Kellen unbuckled the belt and pushed himself free of the saddle, surprised at how stiff he felt, and immediately slipped off Ancaladar’s back to fall sprawling in the deep densely-packed snow, for Ancaladar’s scales were covered in ice.

  Jermayan, naturally, fared much better—no matter how much and how hard Kellen trained, Jermayan was an Elf, with all the Elves’ natural grace. Jermayan walked neatly down Ancaladar’s back, cutting the straps that buckled the children into the baskets—for unbuckling the straps would take time, and everyone knew that here they were vulnerable if the Enemy wished to strike.

  But Kellen had a hunch They wouldn’t. At least, not today.

  All the Elven children of the Nine Cities were here now—for as he’d heard recently, word of the attack on Sandalon’s caravan had not reached the other Elven cities in time, and the last of the children had been dispatched to the fortress on the original schedule.

  And reached their destination safely.

  More than ever now, Kellen was sure that the whole point of the attack had been to show them the Shadowed Elves, and nothing else.

  Kellen clambered up out of the snow in time to help with the last couple of baskets, and then set to work on the other needful task: cutting away the basket harness from Ancaladar’s body. It had done its work, and was no longer necessary. Now only the saddle on the dragon’s neck would remain, and the riding harness that held it there.

  By the time he looked up from that, the children and those who had waited to greet them were gone. Only one warrior remained.

  “I See you, Shentorris,” Jermayan said.

  “I See you, Jermayan,” Shentorris said, bowing slightly in acknowledgment.

  “I See you, Shentorris,” Kellen said in his turn.

  “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage. I would be honored to make you welcome at the Fortress of the Crowned Horns.”

  “I,” Ancaladar announced, “am going in search of clear air and sunlight. Call me when you need me.”

  The dragon took a few bounding leaps through the snow and was airborne. Jermayan and Kellen followed Shentorris up the causeway into the fortress.

  —«♦»—

  EASILY defensible, Kellen noted on his way up. The removal of a few key blocks of stone would take down a substantial part of the causeway, isolating the fortress completely—assuming this was the only way in. Ancaladar had said that dragons couldn’t land on the top of it—but Kellen suspected that the Deathwings that had destroyed the caravan that had originally been supposed to bring Sandalon here could, and they already knew that the Deathwings could carry a person. So… how many of them were there, and who controlled them?

  And were there caves beneath the fortress that the Shadowed Elves controlled—or could reach?

  He sighed inwardly. There were things he had to say to Shentorris—or whoever was in charge of defense here—that would not make good hearing, as the Elves would say. He hoped that Jermayan would take the lead in that, but if Jermayan wouldn’t, he’d have to.

  They reached the top of the causeway. There were massive bronze gates— crusted with winter’s ice. In fact, the ice was so thick upon them that it was obvious they had not been opened in months. Shentorris led them around the edge—a pathway even narrower than the causeway, with a sheer drop to the rocks below—to a smaller door, also bronze. The walls looked as if they were made of a single piece of stone; there was nothing here that would burn or decay. The smaller door was barely large enough to admit one person at a time. It was closed. Shentorris knocked, and after a pause, it was opened. Kellen entered first, then Jermayan, then last of all Shentorris.

  Kellen was used to Elven architecture being spacious, airy, and open, bringing the outdoors in so artfully that sometimes it was hard to tell where Nature ended and Elven craft began. This was beautiful, too, as all the work of the Elves was, but it was beauty of an entirely different sort. It was as if he’d suddenly stepped back through time, to meet a wholly different race of Elves—a race of warriors, not artisans.

  The corridors were narrow, the ceilings low. Kellen had the sudden sense that this fortress was also a labyrinth, designed to confuse any invaders who got this far. Defenders would hide and attack, knowing the territory well, while their enemies circled about in confusion.

  And the children who lived here now would find it a perfect playground, never realizing, as they played, that they were learning the skills that would keep them alive in the ultimate extremity.

  Leaf and Star, Gods of the Wild Magic, let that day never come, Kellen thought fervently. If the Enemy broached this citadel, then all hope was truly gone.

  There were no windows, of course, though the walls were painted with scenes of cities and forests that had not existed in a thousand years, and depictions of animals that Kellen had no name for. A sort of four-legged eagle, and something that looked more like a two-horned unicorn than it looked like anything else. A horse with wings—now surely that was wholly imaginary? A kind of a Centaur with a cat body instead of a horse body, and wings as well.

  Kellen stopped trying to decide what was real—or might have been real— once—and simply followed the others. He wasn’t lost—no Knight-Mage, as he’d discovered down in the caverns, could actually get lost—but unless he spent enough time here to learn the entire layout of the fortress, the only route he’d be able to take back to the door was the one he was following now.

  “And here we come to what has—in times past—been the dining hall,” Shentorris said, opening a door.

  Kellen quickly understood the reason for Shentorris’s odd phrasing, for it was obvious that the room was no longer a dining hall, and had not been used as one for quite some time.

  It was now filled with children. All the children of the Nine Cities—except, Kellen supposed, for the very youngest, like Kalania, who were off in a nursery somewhere, and some of the oldest, like Alkandoran, who were probably continuing their knightly training.

  But all the rest were here.

  It was the largest room in the fortress. The floor had been marked with the elaborate patterns of children’s games, the walls were lined with large tubs in which green plants grew, scenting the air with the perfume of growing things. High above, hanging from the rafters, were ancient war banners, an incongruous martial note in these surroundings.

  There were fewer than fifty children here, yet Kellen knew that these were all the children of all the Elven Lands. But Elves lived for centuries, and children were rare among them.

  Kellen watched as they ran and played together. Most of them had already been here for sennights. Long enough to g
et used to the idea of seeing so many others near their own ages. He wondered what kind of a difference it would make to them later.

  The newest arrivals weren’t here yet. Still getting settled in—and warmed up, Kellen thought, with a longing glance toward the enormous fireplace that filled one end of the great hall.

  Shentorris caught the direction of his gaze. “But come. We will take tea. You shall meet Tyrvin, who is the Master of the Crowned Horns. He will be eager to hear the news of the outside world.”

  Shentorris conducted his two guests to a smaller room. Like every chamber Kellen had seen so far here in the fortress, it was windowless, but it had the look of a place that someone had tried very hard to make resemble home. Cushioned benches lined the walls, and there were low tables carved and inlaid in colored woods set here and there about the room. A tiled stove in the corner radiated a pleasant heat.

  But the walls were hung with weapons. Not weapons for show, but weapons that could be grabbed at a moment’s notice, and borne in defense of the precious treasure these walls contained.