When Darkness Falls

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Okay,” Kellen said. Shalkan snorted in amusement.

  Cilarnen seemed so surprised by things that Kellen took for granted—that the Shining Folk were real, for example—but then, Kellen and Cilarnen had learned about magic and the world in two entirely different ways.

  He supposed that meant that they saw the world in two entirely different ways, too.

  “Now imagine I’m looking into that pond on Midwinter night, talking to some of the Powers—fish—and doing my best not to be seen by others, when suddenly, from nowhere I can see, a giant fish, bigger than all the other fish, appears in the pond.”

  “Is it a good fish?” Kellen asked dubiously.

  Cilarnen snorted. “A very good fish, I think, as it immediately started eating some of the fish I’d been trying to hide from. But still a very scary fish.”

  Midwinter would have been when Idalia had done her spell.

  “So where did this, er, ‘fish’ come from?” Kellen asked.

  “I don’t know!” Cilarnen said in exasperation. “Somewhere that isn’t here. Where that is, and why it’s showed up just now, the Light only knows.”

  “What else can you tell me about it?” Kellen asked.

  “Is that what you came to ask me?” Cilarnen asked, sounding incredulous. “Do you want me to summon it up and ask it? Kellen, I’d rather summon up one of Them, believe me! It’s destroying our enemies, but that doesn’t mean … look. A candle is a good thing to have inside your house, right? A forest fire isn’t. But they’re both flame.”

  “I guess,” Kellen said doubtfully. Any time Cilarnen tried to explain something to him about magic—or magick—he only confused Kellen further.

  “You’re saying it’s one of the Old Powers,” Shalkan said helpfully.

  “I have no idea,” Cilarnen answered fervently. “I don’t even know what an ‘Old Power’ is.”

  “You know I went to Sentarshadeen a few days ago,” Kellen said. “Jermayan, well, needed help with a spell. We needed to figure out a way to keep He Who Is out of the world.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Cilarnen said sarcastically.

  “Well, Idalia—and Jermayan, and Ancaladar—figured out among them that Great Queen Vielassar Farcarinon had done it once before, so it ought to be possible to do it again. And apparently it involved something called a Greater Summoning.”

  Cilarnen went very still.

  “And she … did this… Greater Summoning. At Midwinter.”

  It was not a question.

  “She was supposed to. If she could gain the consent of all the land. I haven’t heard from her since I left Sentarshadeen, but since you say this ‘Big Fish’ has appeared, I suppose she managed to gain what she needed and did the spell. Redhelwar says it was something that threw Them into confusion.”

  Cilarnen laughed shakily. “A Greater Power of the Light! Kellen, there are times when it’s a good thing that you have no idea of what you’re talking about! And to think I worried about calling up a mere Elemental! Yes, I would say that Idalia’s Summoning worked. But as for telling you precisely what it was she called … that I cannot do, save that it is old, and powerful, and on our side. But how could you have heard from Redhelwar so quickly?” Cilarnen asked. “Some new spell?”

  Cilarnen’s innocent question reminded Kellen that despite their cause for rejoicing, there was also new cause for grief.

  “Riasen was at Ancaladar’s Grove this morning. The army is at Ondoladesh-iron. Jermayan … brought them south through some kind of portal. He and Ancaladar died doing it.”

  “Dear Light,” Cilarnen said quietly. “Kellen, I am so sorry. I know he was your friend. And Idalia’s.”

  “We needed the army here,” Kellen said simply.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Kellen,” Cilarnen said. “Your Wild Magic—it’s all about balancing things, isn’t it? So everything has an opposite?”

  “I suppose so,” Kellen said. He’d never really thought about it. The Wild Magic was about doing, not about thinking about doing.

  “So He Who Is has an opposite too?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So this Greater Power that Idalia has summoned must be that opposite. Or at least a part of it. Because if everything were really back in balance, we’d already have won.”

  Kellen thought about it. It seemed right. If there was one thing he knew for sure about the Wild Magic, it was that it didn’t solve your problems for you. It helped, but you had to help yourself as well.

  “Then Redhelwar’s right,” Kellen said at last. “They’re as weak now as They’re going to be. And if the Greater Power can keep He Who Is from getting through for at least a while, this is our best chance.”

  “To do what?” Cilarnen asked.

  “To deny Them Armethalieh,” Kellen said. “And—if possible—to convince the High Mages to fight on our side.”

  Cilarnen laughed bitterly.

  “Well, so long as you’re not planning to do that today, I’m going to bed. Unless there’s something else you need right now?”

  “Not today,” Kellen assured him.

  THAT had been almost a sennight ago.

  Today…

  Today he’d discovered that Jermayan was alive after all.

  “I just thought you’d like to know,” Shalkan said casually, when Kellen came to the Grove that morning, “that when I was out for my morning canter, I saw a dragon in the sky.”

  Kellen simply stared at him.

  “A dragon,” Shalkan repeated patiently. “A black dragon. In the sky. Flying.”

  “An-Ancaladar?” Kellen stammered.

  “Do you know of any other dragons?” the unicorn answered. “They’re flying with the army. It should be here in a sennight or so.”

  “I—But—How—? I mean … Jermayan couldn’t have been wrong about his spell. Could he?”

  “No,” Shalkan said. “I think, when you talk to him, you may find him just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. But it’s just possible—with one of the Great Powers afoot in the world again after so long—that we should not expect everything to go as we have been used to. Just a thought.”

  “Huh,” Kellen said. “Well, if they aren’t going to, we could use a few more of them going this way. I’m going to go find Keirasti. We’ll tell Vestakia.”

  “And I suppose you’ll want me to tell Cilarnen,” Shalkan said, trying to sound cross, and failing.

  “You know he’ll feed you honey-disks.”

  “Honey-cakes,” Shalkan corrected eagerly, turning and trotting off.

  KEIRASTI’S troop had made their way to the encampment a few days before. Kellen walked back down into the camp to share the good news with her.

  She did not answer at her tent, and the flap was pinned back, indicating that she was not there. Maredhiel told him that Keirasti had gone down to the An-garussa, as she frequently did on her early morning rides. He saddled Firareth and found the Elven Knight, as he so often did, standing in the snow gazing out at the new bridge, Orata’s reins in her hand.

  “I See you, Keirasti,” he said.

  “I See you, Kellen,” she said, without turning around. “I promise you, if I see another four centuries, and spend all of them standing here, I shall never get used to this bridge, useful though it is.”

  Was that how old she was? He’d never asked, of course. He didn’t know whether it was rude or not to ask Elves their ages. It had simply never come up.

  Well, Idalia had once said that Keirasti was old enough to be his grandmother… .

  And apparently more, by several hundred years.

  “I have good news,” he said. “I’ve just spoken to Shalkan. He tells me that Jermayan is alive.”

  “Alive!” She turned around. “Leaf and Star! This news comes in a good hour! It… would be good to know how such a thing can be, of course.”

  “I’m not really sure, and neither is Shalkan. But he and Ancaladar are with the army, and they�
�ll be here soon. We can ask them then. I was hoping that you’d accompany me to let Vestakia know.”

  “Now this is a duty I shall be happy to discharge,” Keirasti said, grinning broadly. She swung up into Orata’s saddle and the two of them turned back toward the camp.

  VESTAKIA simply burst into tears when she heard, flinging herself into Keirasti’s arms.

  It was one of the reasons Kellen hadn’t wanted to be alone with her when he gave her the news.

  He knew that every night now, when she slept, Vestakia’s dreams took her to Shadow Mountain, into the mind of the Prince of Shadow Mountain. Closer, each night, to his innermost thoughts and plans.

  It was a place nothing of the Light should have to go.

  But the images—the impressions—Vestakia was able to relay to him were important than even Vestakia’s life.

  They were changing Their tactics.

  Vestakia wasn’t completely sure, but she had the idea that Shadow Mountain was calling its Allies back to it, out of the Elven Lands and the High Reaches. The Ice Trolls and the Frost Giants. Something They called Dwerro. Others she wasn’t quite sure of.

  Every creature that owed fealty to Them, and could withstand sunlight, was being massed together.

  I think They’re finally going to meet us on the battlefield, Kellen thought.

  But by now Kellen was wise enough to know that the traditional battle the Elves had always hoped for could only end in disaster for the Allies. Even if their numbers were evenly matched—something he had no way of knowing—the En-darkened would have more powerful Mages at their beck, and far more of them, than the Allies could possibly hope to put into the field. Even with this new Ally that Idalia had summoned.

  Unless they could take Armethalieh before the battle and turn it to their side.

  He made up his mind.

  When he left Vestakia in her tent, he sought out Isinwen.

  EVEN in a camp with no prospect of imminent battle, there was much to do. Those who were not on patrol were hunting, or felling trees to feed Artenel’s seemingly-endless need of lumber. And anyone who was not doing that had armor and tack and weapons to care for, sword-drill to perform—for the army could not be allowed to grow slack in its temporary leisure—or the thousand small housekeeping tasks of an army in the field. In addition to all this, everything must be kept organized and running smoothly, and as Kellen’s Second, much of the work of seeing that everyone knew where they should be and what tasks fell to them in the particular hours of each particular day fell to Isinwen.

  He rose to his feet as Kellen stepped into the large tent—made from three others—that had been designated the command center. It would be nice to have a more permanent structure, Kellen supposed—even six braziers were not enough to truly warm it—but it was only temporary. Most of the army would be moving onward soon, and with it the need for such a place would end. Only Artenel’s artificers, and a few hundred Knights left to guard them, would remain to continue the work on Fortress Halacira. It was one of the reasons Artenel was doing his best to get so much of the work done now, while he still had so many hands to aid him.

  “I See you, Kellen. There is fresh tea made.”

  “I See you, Isinwen. I come to begin the day with good news, lately received. The army marches south from Ondoladeshiron, and should join us in a sennight or so. And better: Jermayan and Ancaladar march—or rather, fly—with them.”

  “I do not ask how such a miracle occurred,” Isinwen said firmly. “It is magic, and this is something I have never understood. But I am grateful for it.”

  “So am I,” Kellen said. “And since this is so, I find I must go to Sentarshadeen after all, and that immediately. I shall leave Halacira in your charge, unless you counsel me against it.”

  Isinwen paused to consider.

  “I believe we are secure here. Vestakia can warn us of Their approach, and the caverns make a more secure fortress by the day. The forest—what there is left of it—is free both of any Tainted enemy and any merely mortal foe. The camp runs smoothly, and riding Shalkan, your journey will be a swift one. Besides, should there be grave need, I believe Cilarnen will be able to send word to Shalkan over a distance, if not to you.”

  “You’re probably right.” While it was true that the Wild Magic seemed to be incompatible with the High Magick in some mysterious way—and so Cilarnen could not reach Kellen directly—no such difficulty existed between Cilarnen and Shalkan. Not only would Cilarnen be able to locate Shalkan by magick, he should also be able to talk to him.

  “I’ll be back in a day, then. Two, perhaps.”

  “And all will be just as you have left it. Leaf and Star go with you, Kellen.”

  “And abide with you, Isinwen.”

  SOON Kellen was riding over the snow on Shalkan’s back. Except for the snow, and the fact that he was riding to Sentarshadeen instead of away from it, the previous several moonturns could almost not have happened. He and Shalkan were off on their own, upon an adventure.

  And what would happen when he reached his goal was as much a mystery as it had been on that other occasion.

  Very soon they reached the edge of the area where his army had been logging, and the forest once more resumed its serene beauty. There had been several snows since the last time the supply sledges had traversed the road between Halacira and Sentarshadeen, and the road was only discernible as a wide space where the trees were not. But that didn’t matter to Shalkan. The unicorn ran across the top of the snow, not even leaving footprints behind.

  “And may your humble steed ask what you’re going to do in Sentarshadeen?” Shalkan asked, as he covered the distance to the city in a ground-eating lope.

  “If Firareth were here, I’m sure he wouldn’t be interested,” Kellen answered.

  Shalkan bucked warningly.

  “All right! I’m going to ask Morusil for the army. He’s the one who’s been signing the dispatches in Andoreniel’s name,” Kellen said quickly. He had no desire to end up on his back in the snow, and no doubt of Shalkan’s ability to put him there, Knight-Mage or not.

  “So you’re going to take command?” Shalkan asked.

  “I don’t want to. Maybe there’s another way. But we have to take Armethalieh now. Before They figure out just what’s going on with that ‘Big Fish’ Cilarnen told me about. And that means taking the army over the Border. Into the Wild Lands. All the way to Armethalieh.”

  “It’s a long way,” Shalkan said.

  “You did it in—what? A day and a half?”

  “I took us from Armethalieh to Idalia’s cabin,” Shalkan corrected. “And I’m a unicorn, if you’ll kindly remember. It’s at least a moonturn from Idalia’s cabin to Sentarshadeen—in summer. So perhaps two, in winter, from Sentarshadeen to Armethalieh, if nothing goes wrong, and your army makes very good time.”

  “At least most of it will be downhill,” Kellen said, remembering the terrain he and Shalkan—and, later, he and Shalkan and Idalia—had crossed.

  “So you can slide all the way there,” the unicorn agreed, picking up his pace.

  SENTARSHADEEN looked peaceful and untouched, though Kellen knew from the dispatches that the Shadow’s Kiss had struck here at least as hard as in any of the surviving Nine Cities. But plague was a quiet assault, and at least he had seen nothing of the forest blight that was ravaging the Wild Lands on his ride here. So far this part of the Elven Lands had been spared that, at least.

  When Kellen reached the Unicorn Meadow, he unsaddled Shalkan—he knew that Shalkan would be eager to exchange gossip with the unicorn herd here, and he’d be sure to hear the choice bits of it later—and carried Shalkan’s saddle down to the House of Leaf and Star.

  The door opened as he reached it.

  “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage.”

  Kellen regarded the woman standing there. “I See you,” he said politely. “I greet you in the name of Leaf and Star.”

  “My name is Taranarya. Be welcome at our home and at our h
earth.”

  SHE conducted him to a room he’d never seen before—though Kellen suspected he’d have to be a great deal older than he was now before he saw all the rooms of the House of Leaf and Star—and asked that he accept the hospitality of the house. Kellen was resigned to a certain amount of formality; if someone didn’t come along in a reasonable time to ask him his business, well, he’d just go looking for them.

  Meanwhile, there was plenty to look at here.

  The waiting room Taranarya had conducted him to was designed to resemble a birch forest in autumn—without, however, slavishly copying it. Kellen wasn’t quite sure how the Elves managed to convey such a powerful suggestion of autumn forest, because whenever he looked directly at something—the pale cream wood paneling of the walls, the intricate geometric pattern of the black and yellow carpet, the four cylindrical stoves at the corners of the room—it didn’t look particularly sylvan. But when he looked at the room out of the corner of his eye, the forest was there: the tumble of yellow leaves underfoot; the tall slender birch trunks against a backdrop of more yellow leaves; it almost seemed as if he could hear the wind through the branches.

  He was always amazed by what you could do without magic.

  HE hadn’t been there very long before two more Elves appeared, bringing tea and a selection of pastries. He recognized one of them from one of his first visits to the House of Leaf and Star.

  “I See you, Lamarethiel,” he said.

  “I See you, Kellen,” Lamarethiel replied.

  “It would please me greatly should you and your companion desire to stay and drink tea with me,” Kellen said cannily. “I have been long away from Sen-tarshadeen, and would know how the city fares.”

  He had counted on the fact that Elves were constantly curious, and always willing to gossip—and that someone who served in the House of Leaf and Star would probably know almost as much about what was going on as, well, a unicorn.

  Lamarethiel and his companion, Javondir, did not disappoint him. Kellen heard—after a discussion of the weather, which, since he was going to be taking an army through here soon, was actually something that interested him for a change—all the details of the arrival of the Wildmages Catreg, Tadolad, and Kannert and their strange ways—butter in their tea!—of the wonderful recovery of the Shadow-kissed over the last sennight—and particularly since Midwinter—of the fact that Dargainon was expected to recover fully, that Tyendimarquen still showed no signs of plague—by the grace of Leaf and Star, and that Morusil was still well. In fact, since Midwinter, there had been no new cases at all.