When Darkness Falls

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Probably not,” Cilarnen said lightly. He looked at their faces. “As you knew,” he added doubtfully.

  There was a long moment of silence, and then Cilarnen spoke again, in the tone of one repeating a much-given speech.

  “Kellen is a sort of Wildmage. The High Magick is innately incompatible with Wildmagery. I can bespell a Wildmage, assuming I use a large destructive spell, like Lightning, but something subtle, like speaking over a distance, or Far-Seeing … no. And I have tried. Redhelwar wanted me to send messages to you, Jermayan, and that didn’t work at all. Look how hard Kellen had to work to hold your power and mine together in the mirror spell, and it took Shalkan to help. Whoever designed the High Magick did not design it to be compatible with the Wild Magic, the Eternal Light knows why.”

  Idalia’s shoulders drooped. Jermayan put a comforting arm around her.

  “Then he’ll have to manage on his own,” she said bleakly.

  “Wait,” Cilarnen said. “There’s something else I can try. The Glyph of Far-Seeing can find things I have seen, and I have seen Kellen’s army. I can’t see him, but I can see them. I don’t know if anyone without some sort of Gift could hear me through the Glyph, but I could try. Would that help?”

  An angry retort sprang to Idalia’s lips, but she bit it back. Cilarnen was already exhausted to the point of foolishness, yet he was still offering to help.

  “Yes,” she said gently. “That would help, Cilarnen.”

  He sighed and nodded, eyelids drooping before he caught himself. “Then give me the exact message you need to send. And then go away. I don’t wish to be rude, but it’s a delicate spell, and you’re both powerful Wildmages. If I discover anything urgent, I’ll send one of my ice-golems to the camp. Come to me then.”

  Idalia nodded. “Tell Kellen the Shadowed Elves are in Halacira. He’ll know what to do.”

  “HE has changed a great deal,” Jermayan said to Idalia, as they rode back to the camp to pick up a few things before heading up to Ancaladar’s pavilion for the night.

  “He’s trying to do in sennights what takes years,” Idalia said. “I think he’s trying to make up for the fact that Armethalieh is refusing to honor the ancient treaties. All by himself.”

  IT was near dawn when Ancaladar awakened Jermayan.

  The Elven Knight came instantly awake.

  “Cilarnen is coming, Bonded,” the dragon said softly.

  “Coming? Here?” Jermayan reached for his sword and began to dress, tucking the furs around Idalia again in a futile attempt to keep from waking her, though he knew from experience that she slept as lightly as he.

  “He seems very upset,” the dragon said mildly, peering out through the doorway of the tent. “Shall I go and see why?”

  “Better not,” Idalia said, sitting up. “I don’t think he’s slept in days, and the last thing we want is for Anganil to pitch him off into the snow.”

  “The news can’t be good if he’s come himself—and come here,” Jermayan said grimly, continuing to dress.

  “I’ll make tea,” Idalia said pragmatically.

  By the time they were both dressed—and the water had approached the boil—Cilarnen was in sight. He had not bothered with either saddle or bridle, riding Anganil tackless and bareback over the snow, lighting his way with a great globe of Magelight that followed him like a captive moon. It turned the snow azure in the predawn gloom. He looked like something out of one of the ancient story-songs; almost like an Elemental creature himself.

  He slid from Anganil’s back as he reached the pavilion, and staggered a couple of steps before sinking to his knees in the snow. Jermayan caught him and steadied him on his feet.

  “There’s news,” Cilarnen gasped. “I didn’t see Kellen. It’s bad, though.”

  “Come in and get warm,” Idalia demanded. “It will wait a second or two.”

  “It won’t,” Cilarnen insisted, trying without success to shrug Jermayan off. “I Saw—I Saw some of Kellen’s people—only a few hundred—heading back across the Mystrals. Toward Ysterialpoerin. I don’t know who they were, and I couldn’t talk to them, but I recognized the horses. I’m sure they were with Kellen’s people when they left.”

  Without a word Jermayan passed Cilarnen to Idalia, and strode into the tent. Cilarnen leaned against her heavily; she could feel him shaking with cold and exhaustion.

  “Cilarnen, are you sure?”

  “Idalia, who else would be crossing the Mystrals at this time of year? I can’t tell one Elf from another, especially in armor, but I do know horses. Those horses went out with Kellen’s party. I’m sure of it. And Kardus and I came through those mountains to get here; it’s not as if I’d forget what they look like.”

  The speech had drained the last of his strength; she nearly carried him into the pavilion. There, Jermayan had finished putting on his armor and had picked up Ancaladar’s saddle.

  “I must go and see,” he said simply.

  Idalia nodded. There was nothing else to say.

  “I’m sorry,” Cilarnen whispered.

  “‘Sorry’?” Idalia demanded, lowering him to the floor of the pavilion and wrapping him in the heaviest of the discarded sleeping furs. “Sorry for bringing us what might be vital warning? It’s true, then, what the Wildlanders have always said—that they are all mad in the City. Now, you will drink a cup of tea, and eat something, and then you will sleep—here—or I promise you, by the Gods of the Wild Magic, I shall Heal the abuses you have heaped on your body myself!”

  “Anything … but that…” Cilarnen said faintly.

  Outside the ice-pavilion, Idalia heard the booming sound of Ancaladar taking flight.

  IT had been six days since she had left the Gathering Plain and Kellen, and Keirasti had pushed her people mercilessly into the mountains.

  If the weather favored them beyond all reason, it would be four sennights, perhaps five, before they saw Ysterialpoerin again.

  Too long, with the urgency of the news she carried.

  There was no way to go any faster. Horses were not unicorns, to outrun the wind, and they could not travel without the supplies the carts carried. And even if the mirror-relays were reliable, Kellen was right: The message she carried was not one that could be trusted to the mirrors. It was one she wished she did not know herself.

  Once they reached the far side of the mountains, however, they would abandon the wagons and the heavy equipment, and go on with just what they could carry themselves, using their remounts as pack-horses. They would make better time that way. A sennight outside of Ysterialpoerin she would leave most of her command behind and take a small force, with several remounts for each Knight, and ride as fast as she could for the camp.

  And pray to Leaf and Star that they met nothing to oppose them along the way. Her command was already suffering, from frost-burn, snow-glare, and the persistent cough that settled in the chest in the High Cold. Rest and warmth would soothe these ills, but there was no time for either. Each morning she had begged the gods that no horse would fall lame from the punishing pace she set, for they could not spare even an hour to stop to tend it, and Keirasti would leave no animal behind to starve and die, or be killed by predators.

  “Keirasti! In the sky! Something comes!” Reyezeyt called, pointing eastward.

  Keirasti looked, but could see nothing. Her heart sank in her chest. The Deathwings had found them, and as Kellen had warned her, she must leave her people to die, so that his message might get through.

  “Archers!” she shouted. “Prepare for attack!”

  JERMAYAN and Ancaladar flew westward, following the route Kellen’s army had taken nearly two moonturns before. The dragon’s sharp eyes picked out the ice-cairns and clusters of trail-wands that marked their path, though all other trace of their passage was erased by wind and fresh snow.

  What can have happened? I have been through the Southern Triad not a fortnight ago, and seen no sign of the Enemy. I cannot believe they have destroyed all but a few hundred
of those Redhelwar sent.

  I cannot believe that Kellen is dead.

  Idalia said she would know.

  “Do not anticipate the day, Beloved,” Ancaladar said softly. “Soon we will find what Cilarnen has Seen, and we may ask them ourselves. Have patience.”

  Jermayan smothered a curse. He knew his Bonded was right, but…

  But Kellen had said, over and over, that to split their forces was arrant folly. He would never divide a force under his command.

  Unless he faced a disaster beyond Jermayan’s ability to imagine.

  As they reached the mountains, the winds grew more turbulent, and Ancaladar fought and strained to follow the army’s course. Again and again Jermayan was flung against the straps of the riding-harness, until he was as bruised as if he were still a novice Knight standing in the practice-Circle. He barely noticed, straining his eyes to pierce the blowing snow that covered the ground below.

  “There,” Ancaladar said.

  In one of the narrow mountain valleys at the western side of the Mystrals, Jermayan saw what Cilarnen had undoubtedly Seen: a small party of Knights—a scant handful in comparison to what had been sent—with only half-a-dozen wagons accompanying them.

  “Land,” he said tersely.

  SHE would not give the order to desert her command until the last moment. Her people would obey her without question—that much she knew—but she would carry the shame and horror of it to her grave, for she did not know if the reason for what she did would ever be known.

  And she did not even know if abandoning her comrades would work, or if the skyborne enemy would simply kill them all.

  “Keirasti! It is Ancaladar!” Reyezeyt said.

  They must stop. Gods send that they will stop.

  “Archers, light arrows and loose,” she ordered.

  The first rank of archers set fire to their arrows and loosed them into the sky, signaling the oncoming dragon and his rider. Even as Ancaladar circled to land, Keirasti had vaulted from Orata’s back.

  “Maredhiel,” she said over her shoulder to her Second, “it would please me greatly if you were to make camp here until I return.”

  “It would please me greatly as well,” Maredhiel said, relief in her voice. She raised her horn to her lips and blew the signal to make camp.

  ANCALADAR had barely settled into the snow by the time Keirasti reached him.

  “Jermayan, I know not where you fly, but you must take me to Redhelwar at once. Kellen has ordered this, and it is more vital than any other purpose you may have that I reach him at once.”

  “He is riding into a Shadowed Elf trap at Halacira,” Jermayan said. “When did you leave him—and where?”

  “On the Gathering Plain, six days past,” Keirasti said promptly. “He will not reach Halacira for another four days yet, by my judgment; we would have reached it a fortnight ago, save that weather delayed us on the road. But my message will not wait even an hour.”

  “Then come,” Jermayan said. “We will talk upon the wing.”

  As soon as Keirasti had strapped herself into place, Ancaladar began his larruping run upslope to gain the necessary speed for takeoff. After a few moments he had gained the necessary momentum, and bounded into the sky.

  THIS time there was no need to fly close to the ground to try to track a warband that might be lost or injured, and Ancaladar was able to take advantage of every current in the high sky to ease their flight. It also meant that they flew very high, and Keirasti’s teeth were quickly chattering, even with the heat the dragon’s body radiated to warm her.

  “Of what I carry I may not speak,” she said. “But Kellen and all who travel with him were well when I left him. We have had no casualties and few injuries—more than I can say for the Shadewalker we encountered in the pass, which Kellen slew. No more messengers will find their deaths trying to reach Sentarshadeen, I think.”

  “So much makes good hearing,” Jermayan said. But why Kellen felt it so vital to send Keirasti back from Ondoladeshiron with a message for Redhelwar—and apparently a message of such terrible urgency—was a puzzle of grave importance. “Yet I would hear more.”

  “And I would tell it to you,” Keirasti said, her voice tight with frustration. “Yet Kellen swore me to silence, that the information I carried, and that which I know, be given to the hand and ear of none but the Army’s General.”

  “Now that is disturbing,” Ancaladar said mildly. “I really do think we’d better go ask Kellen about this ourselves.”

  “So do I,” Jermayan said. He gritted his teeth, duty warring with the inclination of his heart. “Unfortunately, there is one thing we must do first.”

  “I would be grateful, if it is possible, if you were able to return me to my people on your way to speak to Kellen, of course,” Keirasti said. “Maredhiel will wait there until spring, otherwise, and once I have delivered my message, there is no reason my troops should not return to Kellen.”

  “That I may promise with a full certainty of accomplishment,” Jermayan said with relief. “Once I have delivered you to Redhelwar, I must make my last flight to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns, to discharge the last of my duty to Andoreniel. Then I shall return you to your people, and join Kellen by sunset, long before he has reached Halacira.”

  JERMAYAN landed as near the horse-lines as he dared. He helped Keirasti unbuckle the unfamiliar straps, and as soon as she was safely clear, Ancaladar began his takeoff run again. It was only a short flight to Ysterialpoerin, but he would have to choose his landing-place carefully.

  Jermayan only wished he could afford the time to stop and speak to Idalia, but now he grudged every hour that must elapse until he could fly to Kellen. If he knew his heart’s twin, she would already have brought Cilarnen down to Healer’s Row, where he could be tended more efficiently, and news of his and Keirasti’s arrival would already be spreading through the camp. Soon Idalia would know that Kellen was alive and well.

  Or had been six days ago, at least.

  Keirasti must have pushed her small band like Maiden Winter Herself to have gotten so far into the Mystrals in only six days; whatever message Kellen had entrusted her with must be of a terrible urgency.

  And you will know what it is soon enough. B;y this evening’s sunset, if fortune favors you.

  KEIRASTI presented herself at Ninolion’s pavilion shaking with cold and weariness. Redhelwar’s adjutant shot to his feet, looking as if he beheld a spirit risen out of the earth itself.

  “I come from Kellen Knight-Mage with urgent information for Redhelwar Army’s General,” Keirasti said, holding herself upright with great effort.

  She’d thought she’d been cold, crossing the Mystrals, but the flight back to Ysterialpoerin on Ancaladar’s back had introduced her to realms of cold she had never before imagined—and unnatural conditions of height and speed, as well. If that was what being an Elven Mage entailed, she was thankful that the Gods of Leaf and Star had seen fit to make her a simple Elven Knight.

  Ninolion rose to his feet and bowed. “I will inform Redhelwar. And I will bring tea.”

  LESS than half an hour later she was seated in Redhelwar’s scarlet pavilion, drinking yet another mug of tea. The potent liquid was rich with Allheal and honey, the brewing nicely judged to her weary state.

  “I know already how you have come here, for all saw Ancaladar overfly the camp,” Redhelwar said. “And you have said that Kellen sent you.”

  “He wished me to give this dispatch into your hand as fast as possible, and at all costs,” Keirasti said, untying the scroll-case from where it lay against her armor and placing it into Redhelwar’s hand. As she did, she felt a great burden ease. “In case it was lost, or had to be destroyed, he told me what it contains, but I am sworn never to speak of it, save to you.”

  Redhelwar broke the seal and began to read. As he read, a greater stillness descended over the tent, as if the air itself grew heavier.

  At last Redhelwar finished reading.

  “When
you left Kellen, where was he?” Redhelwar asked bluntly.

  Keirasti had been expecting this. If there were ever a time for War Manners, it was now.

  “He continues on to Halacira. I left him six days ago; it will be four days more at least, I judge, before he reaches there. This is good, as Jermayan tells me that the Shadowed Elves lair there, and he flies to bring Kellen warning as soon as he returns from the Crowned Horns.”

  “As I too have heard,” Redhelwar said. He sighed, shaking his head. “I am grateful that our passage through the Mystrals will be peaceful, at least. You will wish to return to your command, and I believe Jermayan will wish to accommodate you. I will ask that you inform Rochinuviel to expect us.”

  Redhelwar would do as Kellen wished, and bring the army to Ondoladeshiron. Keirasti’s emotions were in turmoil. She was certain that Kellen had been sent by the Wild Magic to aid them in this time of their greatest need, but part of her felt a strange disquiet that the orderly arrangement of things that had stood unchanged for uncounted centuries was being blown away as abruptly as blossoms in a sudden storm. If things could change so suddenly, who could say what the future might hold?

  “It shall be as you say, Redhelwar,” she said, bowing her head.

  “Now go. Rest and eat. There is much to do to prepare the army to move, and for the sake of Kellen’s warning, it must be done with speed. I will send someone to you when Jermayan returns.”

  Keirasti stood. “I thank you for that kindness.”

  Redhelwar smiled. “Some would say it is no kindness, to send you back out into the cold and the snow. But I know it is what you would wish.”

  Ten

  The Xaique Board Underground

  THE FOREST LOOKED different in winter. Or it might only be he who’d changed, Kellen thought. The first time he’d ridden through these trees, searching for the Black Cairn, he’d had no idea of who he really was. Now, he was … whole.