When Darkness Falls

by Mercedes Lackey

  Obviously they’d been told to somehow—possibly even by something as obvious (to Elven eyes) as the message-wands Elven scouts used to mark trails and leave messages. But compared to Elves, humans were nearly color-blind, and there were a number of things that Elves saw that Kellen simply couldn’t see.

  Yes, that was the simplest explanation. After all, it couldn’t be magic.

  And, if that was how it had to be, there was no point in complaining. But it only underscored the fact that Kellen had no idea of how the Ysterialpoerin Elves’ minds worked. And he’d been counting on Isinwen to smooth things over, if need be.

  THE last time they had come this way, the “clearing” had been filled with what Kellen had assumed then was the Viceregal Court—or at least Kindolhinadetil’s Council. This time it was empty except for the Viceroy of Ysterialpoerin and his Lady. They were seated upon the same ornately-carved chairs in the center of the clearing, but to Kellen’s faint surprise, three more chairs stood empty facing the others, obviously meant for him, Cilarnen, and Redhelwar. The inevitable teaservice was also there, set beside Nishandellazel’s chair.

  I will never understand the Elves, Kellen thought ruefully. This was all a great deal more … informal … than what he’d been led to expect from his last visit to the House of Bough and Wind.

  Arquelle led them to their chairs and then knelt beside the teaservice, beginning the protracted preparation of tea. Apparently this was to be conducted entirely in silence. Maybe Kindolhinadetil and Nishanellazel wanted to see how long the two humans could go without saying anything.

  But as Kellen sat there in the warm silence, listening to distant drone of in sects and the sleepy calling of birds—all illusion, but how did they manage it?—he felt himself begin to relax in a way he had not in a very long time. Even his toes started to warm up. If they wanted to sit here for the next three hours and not say a word, fine. He’d just watch the butterflies. He wondered if they were real butterflies. Idalia would probably know if there were any way to keep butter flies alive in winter. Maybe the Elves kept them as pets, the way some people kept birds. And the forest truly seemed to go on for miles, though it couldn’t possibly, even if this were the only room in the entire House of Bough and Wind. He’d seen the outside of the House. It was big, of course, but not that big… .

  Arquelle handed him a cup of tea and Kellen took it, lost in thoughts that, for the moment, had nothing to do with the war or his problems.

  “NOW, perhaps, if it were to find answering agreement in your hearts, would be a good time to begin,” Kindolhinadetil said a while later, setting aside his cup. “In repose is found the best of all beginnings.”

  “Your words are indeed wise,” Redhelwar said. “And so it is with a glad heart that I turn to the Voice of Andoreniel for wise counsel.”

  It all sounded to Kellen—who’d heard hours of similar exchanges in his time with the Elves—like meaningless interchanges of empty flattering phrases, made doubly ridiculous by the fact that he strongly suspected that Kindolhinadetil already knew every single detail of why they were here and what they’d come to ask, and, further, had known them a sennight ago.

  But you did not rush Elves. Not unless somebody was actually about to die.

  He slanted his glance sideways to see how Cilarnen was taking all this. To his relief, Cilarnen looked calm, even faintly detached. Well, Kellen supposed that good High-Mages-in-training got used to being bored. And good at concealing their boredom.

  “… then perhaps it would be well did the High Mage speak upon his own behalf,” Kindolhinadetil said eventually.

  Cilarnen rose to his feet and bowed deeply, first to Nishandellazel, then to Kindolhinadetil.

  “Lady Nishandellazel; Kindolhinadetil, Voice of Andoreniel, it is my honor to speak before you. Hear my words, though I am but a poor speaker, unused to your ways. I am Cilarnen, son of Setarion, of the House of Volpiril, of Armethalieh, called among many names the City of Mages. The secrets of the High Mages are many, but here is one: that the power that we use to fuel our spells is present in every person, though it can only be turned to magick by those with the Magegift. For centuries the High Mages of Armethalieh have harvested and stored that power without their citizen-subjects’ knowledge, and thus have become powerful and feared. Without access to such a store they—we—are nearly powerless, yet there is another way to fuel the Magegift. In ancient days, at the dawn of the City and perhaps even before, the High Magick was given strength by Elemental energy, just as your Elven land-wards are now. It would be dangerous, I believe, to an Elemental Creature were I to attempt to use its power, nor do I know how to speak with one to make such an arrangement. Yet I believe I could draw on the power of the land-wards without harm to the creatures that power them, did I have permission of those in whose keeping such wards are. And so I come before you in petition. With the power to cast the Greater Spells of my Art, I could learn more, and faster, of the ways of the High Magick than I could ever learn without. And I could be of aid to Redhelwar as well. The High Magick holds spells for speaking over distance, for augury, and for war that are … different in inclination from those of the Wild Magic. It has other powers as well. Some I know now, some I can only learn once I have the full powers of a High Mage.

  “I know such a request should properly be put before the King, but… I do not think we have time to wait.”

  Cilarnen bowed again and stood silently, waiting.

  Despite himself, Kellen was impressed. Cilarnen’s speech had taken careful planning.

  He knew, of course, that Cilarnen’s speech would certainly be considered almost offensively concise just about anywhere in the Elven Lands, doubly so in Ysterialpoerin. But he also knew that Andoreniel did not choose fools to reign over the rest of the Nine—now Eight—Cities. Kindolhinadetil might never have seen a human in all his long life before he’d seen Kellen, but before he’d come to today’s meeting, he had undoubtedly studied their ways as thoroughly as Cilarnen had been studying those books. The wise did not take offense casually; Cilarnen had made a great effort to be polite, and that was what Kindolhinadetil would see.

  The silence lengthened, and both humans waited, betraying no sign of apprehension. Kellen had been trained in the House of Sword and Shield not to waste his energy in anticipating an encounter, but simply to respond to it when it came; Cilarnen, he was coming to realize, had skills honed equally sharp, though for a different battlefield.

  At last Kindolhinadetil spoke.

  “You speak of what will be gained, not what may be lost. Speak now of these things, of the harm that might come to the land-wards … and to yourself.”

  Kellen saw Cilarnen hesitate, then take a deep breath.

  “Viceroy, I do not know. The Elementals’ first duty is to the land-wards, and all that I have read tells me that such creatures have a sort of consciousness. I believe they would know if what I intend would harm the land-wards, and either stop it before it began, or break the link afterward. I am told they are a sort of living creature, with the power to act in their own interests, or in the interests of those they serve, which implies to me that they would choose to preserve the land-wards at their traditional strength rather than aid me, if they had to choose between the two. Further, once I have the power to do so, if I do indeed gain such power, I shall do a divination to be quite certain that the link is harmless to the land-wards, so that even if the Elemental Creatures are incapable of making such an assessment, the High Magick will make the determination, and if it is wrong to continue, I shall stop immediately.

  “As for harm to me …” Cilarnen hesitated again. “Attempting this may kill me outright. Using my Magegift in this fashion will certainly cause it to be Burned from me over time, and perhaps I will die then. Beyond that, I do not know.”

  Again there was silence, save for the sound of the wind through the trees. It made Kellen think, with regret and something oddly like homesickness, of the only true summer he’d ever known, the one
he’d spent with Idalia in the Wild-wood, and wonder if he, if anyone, would live to see another one.

  “A fair answer, human child,” Kindolhinadetil said at last. “If you had lied to me about any part of it, even the danger to yourself, I would have forbidden it outright. But as you have trusted me, may Leaf and Star guide us all to true wisdom.”

  He and Nishandellazel rose to their feet. Apparently the audience was over.

  ARQUELLE conducted the three of them back through the “forest” to the front door of the House of Bough and Wind. Though Kellen could have managed to find the way himself—no Knight-Mage could truly be “lost,” since the Wild Magic gave him the innate ability to exactly retrace his steps—it would have taken quite a bit of effort on his part.

  He wasn’t at all surprised to see their horses waiting for them, with Adaerion, Dionan, and Isinwen already mounted. The other three looked very much as if they had just awakened from a dream—even Isinwen, who must be used to things like this.

  Pleasant as it had been (in an odd way), Kellen didn’t really think he wanted to come back to the House of Bough and Wind any time soon. If ever. What he thought of as “normal” Elves were hard enough to deal with for a simple roundear. The Elves of Ysterialpoerin were downright spooky.

  “SO was that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” Cilarnen asked once they’d left the city and were riding through the Heart-Forest in the direction of camp.

  Kellen glanced sideways at Isinwen. His Second gave no indication that he had heard anything at all.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Kellen said with a deep sigh. “It would be good to know how to find out—without, of course, offending anyone,” he said, gazing pointedly at Isinwen.

  The Elven Knight abandoned his pretense of polite deafness.

  “The Lady Arquelle will have made clear to Kindolhinadetil, as a member of the Council, the most desirable way to phrase things to avoid misunderstandings when one is conversing with humans,” Isinwen began. “Certainly since the attack on the Heart of the Forest, Kindolhinadetil as much as anyone knows that there is a need for decisiveness and speed in making decisions related to the conduct of the war. But this is not a decision he should be asked to make, and he knows it. He will certainly consult his Council before proceeding.

  “I still have family here,” Isinwen said. “Kindolhinadetil, of course, is aware of this. It is possible he will pass word of his decision to me privately, knowing I will pass it on to you. That way he may render a judgment without making it a matter for—too public—comment.”

  “If that’s what he intends, he’ll have to be quick about it,” Kellen said. “We leave in four days.”

  BUT the days leading up to Kellen’s departure passed without any word from Kindolhinadetil, through official or unofficial channels. Nor did word come from Sentarshadeen, or from Jermayan.

  Kellen could not delay his departure, no matter how much he wanted to know what Kindolhinadetil’s decision would be. No matter how important Cilarnen’s work, the young High Mage was still only one xaique-piece on the board, and the winning play—if it could be made—involved many others. With the continuing silence from the south, Kellen’s mission took on added importance. Once he had reached Halacira and established a presence there, Redhelwar told him he was to take a force on into Sentarshadeen to discover the reason for the continuing silence from Andoreniel.

  For without word from Andoreniel, the army could not move.

  Six

  The Stars and the Light

  THE MORNING OF Kellen’s departure was much like any other; light snow and bitter cold. The Wildmages traveling with his convoy predicted a sennight of calm weather, with snow no heavier than could be expected at this season, but there was a mountain range to cross between Ysterialpoerin and Ondoladeshiron, and they could be certain of heavy weather in the higher altitudes. If they were not unreasonably delayed by the weather, they should be at Ondoladeshiron within the moonturn, and from there, the rest of the journey should be somewhat easier. The trek between Sentarshadeen and Ondoladeshiron had only taken ten days when he’d come up from Sentarshadeen to the Gathering Plain with the army the first time—but Kellen suspected that there’d been a great deal less snow on the ground then. Not to mention the fact that he’d been traveling with a smaller—and more lightly-burdened—force.

  They’d just have to do their best, though. Even if Redhelwar hadn’t impressed upon him the need for haste—and an Elf counseling hurry was impressive enough—it didn’t take a Knight-Mage’s special senses to know that they had no time to spare. Anigrel wasn’t going to be wasting any time in bringing Armethalieh’s wards down—and once the Demons could actually get into the City … well, Kellen knew from bitter experience how persuasive the Endarkened could be. They’d be able to convince the High Council of anything they chose—and have the Mageborn to feed off of as an added bonus. The sooner he got to Sentarshadeen and found out why Andoreniel had fallen silent, the better.

  Amid the last-minute bustle as troops, horses, mules, oxen, and sledges found their places in line, his friends had come to bid him a private farewell. Idalia was there, of course, and Vestakia had come down to the main camp from the caverns to be there at his departure as well.

  Kellen had not seen her for nearly a moonturn, and only the self-discipline he had learned over the sennights of this long hard winter war kept him from showing how shocked he was to see her. She looked thin and worn, almost haggard, drained by the twin struggles to understand the Crystal Spiders’ Otherworldly minds and to withstand the growing sense of Demontaint in the Elvenlands. Vestakia looked a little more than Otherworldly herself, despite the bright red and gold velvets she wore.

  “Take care of yourself,” Idalia said, giving Kellen a quick fierce hug. “Don’t make me regret staying here instead of going with you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll see you soon enough—just as soon as the Crystal Spiders manage to tell us where the last Enclave of the Shadowed Elves is. And besides, I’ll feel much better knowing that you’re here to keep an eye on Cilarnen,” Kellen said.

  He kept his eyes on his sister, not looking at Vestakia. He would give Vestakia a warrior’s courtesy of ignoring her wounds—for they were wounds, as much as any sword-cut taken in battle—but it was hard to see her this way.

  It was harder still to know that he could stop all her pain with a simple request to Redhelwar to remove her from the caverns, and that he wouldn’t. Vestakia wouldn’t thank him for saving her life when there was a chance her sacrifice could save others—in fact, she’d despise him for even suggesting it—but it was more than that. He knew, down in a part of himself he didn’t like to look at too often, that even if she asked, no, even if she begged, to be sent away to safety, he’d do his very best to find some way to keep her here where her talents could be used. Because winning this war was more important than preserving any single life, and he knew it. He’d learned that about himself, and the knowledge wasn’t a very pleasant thing.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t love his friends. Kellen hadn’t had many friends—any friends, he corrected himself—until he’d been Banished from Armethalieh. Somehow the war—knowing when you got up in the morning that they—or you—might not be there by nightfall—made friendships forge faster and burn brighter. Leaf and Star, he was willing to call Cilarnen a friend, something he would once have sworn would never happen!

  But he would use them all ruthlessly when the opportunity came, if it would grant the Allies a chance of victory. He, and the Wild Magic that worked through him.

  He only hoped he could live with himself afterward if it worked. If it didn’t work, living with himself wasn’t something he’d have to worry about.

  “I’m far too old for nursemaids,” Cilarnen said firmly, startling Kellen out of his grim thoughts. What had they just been talking about? Oh, yes—he’d said Idalia should keep an eye on Cilarnen. As if any of the Mageborn would tolerate that for an instant! Kellen smiled to himself. Cilarnen
had Centaurs for friends and had made great strides in learning to deal suitably with the Elves, but compared to the brainwashing the Mageborn received about women, what they were told about the Other Races and the Wild Magic was just a mild suggestion, really. Kellen was a little surprised Idalia hadn’t poisoned Cilarnen by now for his unconscious attitude toward her.

  “But I wish I were going with you,” Cilarnen added with a touch of wistfulness.

  “Leaf and Star—why?” Kellen demanded, honestly surprised. “There won’t be time to open a book—or wave a wand—between here and Sentarshadeen. And I’m sure you’d freeze, besides. I know I’m going to.”

  “I don’t know,” Cilarnen said pensively. “I just wish I were.”

  Idalia shot Cilarnen an odd look. “Well, you can at least ride a little way with him. Anganil will enjoy the exercise.”

  “And you’d meant to do that anyway,” Vestakia pointed out, with a small smile.

  It was inarguably true, as Anganil stood tacked-out and ready beside Firareth, his breath steaming in the cold shadows of morning.

  “If you’re going, go,” Idalia said. “The day isn’t getting any younger.”

  “I’ll see you all soon,” Kellen said, swinging up into Firareth’s saddle. Whenever that will be. If we’re all still alive.

  He waved, and Isinwen lifted a horn to his lips and blew a complicated series of notes. It echoed up and down the line as the horses and the baggage-train began slowly to move.

  CILARNEN turned Anganil back an hour later—even though they had seen no sign of Tainted predators anywhere near camp since the Battle for the Heart of the Forest, there was no sense in exposing a lone rider to danger. Cilarnen was in high spirits, looking forward to the prospect of a good fast gallop over the cleared and trampled trail that Kellen’s people had left.