When Darkness Falls

by Mercedes Lackey

  THE army reached the edge of the Unicorn Meadow at noon.

  Kellen and his troop were escorting Redhelwar, riding at the front of the column. Cilarnen, Idalia, and Vestakia rode with Redhelwar as well; Cilarnen had pointed out cheerfully that there was no point in having a destrier if you weren’t going to ride him, and it was perfectly true that Anganil sulked if he didn’t get what the black stallion believed was his proper due.

  Behind them, the army was spread in a wide column. They’d left the forest that morning and changed formation to one more suited to open country; the unicorns moving off to the left and ahead; the Knights organizing in ranks behind their Commanders and Sub-Commanders; the Centaurs and Mountainfolk behind them behind their own commanders; then the Healers and Wildmages, the supply wagons, the herds, and the rear guard.

  All very impressive.

  When they reached the edge of the Unicorn Meadow—it still managed to look manicured, even covered in well-trampled snow—Kellen could see there was a pavilion set up in the middle of the meadow.

  It looked very much like the one he’d been greeted by when he’d returned from the Black Cairn, except for the fact that this one was green and silver instead of yellow and red.

  Redhelwar gave the order for the army to halt.

  Dionan raised his horn to his lips and blew the signal. In seconds it passed back down the line, echoing and doubling through the crisp winter air.

  “It would please me if you accompanied me, Kellen,” Redhelwar said.

  “It would give me great joy,” Kellen answered politely.

  Side by side, they rode forward toward the pavilion.

  THE interior of the pavilion was set up in what Kellen considered to be pretty much traditional style by now for this sort of thing—a wooden floor laid down on the snow, with carpets over that. Braziers to heat the tent almost to the temperature of an indoor room. A table laid out with a tea-brazier and service, as well as several plates of delicacies.

  Both Morusil and Tyendimarquen were there, as well as several other Elves whose names Kellen did not know. Several of the Elves bore the same livid purple scars that Morusil did, indicating that they had caught—and survived—the plague.

  Andoreniel was not there. Kellen had not really expected that he would be.

  “Enter and be welcome,” Morusil said. “I know that your stay must be brief, for you will not wish to leave your army standing in the cold without direction.”

  “That is so,” Redhelwar agreed, “and we are all grateful for your kindness.”

  He seated himself at the table, and Kellen, without much choice in the matter, seated himself beside him. Redhelwar removed his fur mitts, gloves, and armored gauntlets, setting them on the table beside him, and accepted the cup of tea that one of the courtiers poured. Kellen was glad to see that it was one of the small cups, indicating that this was just going to be a brief tea-drinking before they got down to business.

  He did the same with his own gloves and gauntlets, and accepted his own cup. He settled his mind, breathing in the fragrance of the tea. Whatever was to come, the decision had already been made. There was nothing to do about that.

  The tea smelled of cherries and mint. A kind he had not tasted before. He savored it, letting go of worry.

  The Wild Magic might want him to die—well actually, the Wild Magic probably didn’t care whether he, as a person, died or not. As far as he could tell, the Wild Magic didn’t care a lot about Kellen Tavadon. But the Wild Magic didn’t want the world to die. The Wild Magic wanted the Balance to be kept. The Wild Magic was all about Balance, and he was an instrument of the Wild Magic. It was his job to be the best instrument of its balance that he could be. And so far, as far as he knew, he’d done everything he could to be a good instrument, and act in accordance with what it wanted him to do.

  So whatever happened here today would be—would have to be—another part of the Wild Magic’s mysterious balancing.

  So he should stop worrying.

  They drank tea.

  Redhelwar and Morusil—and even Tyendimarquen—talked of the weather. It was going much as it had in other years. The Winter Running Dance, alas, would not be held this year, though the weather would have been exceptionally fine for it. But perhaps the snow would have been too heavy. The orchards looked to bear well in spring. It was possible they could look to see the vilya fruit next year.

  At last the tea was finished, and they set aside their cups.

  “Andoreniel continues to grow in strength, as I have promised you,” Morusil said, “and I have laid your problem before him. He has bade me give this to Redhelwar.”

  There was a box upon the table, made of the same pale wood as the conference table in the Council Chamber. Morusil opened it.

  Inside it was a ring.

  It was large—it would cover the wearer’s finger from knuckle to knuckle. The stone was a huge green oval, of the deep yellow-green of forest moss. Kellen had seen Ashaniel wearing gems of the same color.

  He’d seen Kindolhinadetil wearing a ring like it. And Rochinuviel.

  Morusil took the ring from the box and handed it to Redhelwar.

  “Who wears this ring acts in Andoreniel’s name,” Morusil said. “He bids you go and do as you think best, even to the walls of Armethalieh, for the good of all who walk in the Light. And may Leaf and Star go with you.”

  Redhelwar slipped the ring onto his finger.

  Paired with the scarlet of Redhelwar’s chosen color, the green of the gem glowed even more brightly, as if it were lit from within.

  The meeting seemed to be over.

  Redhelwar rose to his feet. “I thank Andoreniel for his trust. I vow to you all that I shall not fail it, so long as the trees grow and the stars burn. Leaf and Star abide with you all.”

  “IT is perhaps more freedom than I would have wished,” Redhelwar said quietly, as they rode back to the army.

  The ring was tucked down inside his glove now, since he could not wear it beneath his gauntlet.

  “I am not entirely sure what just happened,” Kellen confessed. “The ring Morusil gave you from Andoreniel … it looks like the rings I have seen the Viceroys wear.”

  “Yes,” Redhelwar said. “The army has become … a city. The Tenth City. And so, now, Andoreniel can command. But I can also … refuse.”

  Kellen’s eyes went wide with surprise. He hadn’t known the Viceroys had that kind of power.

  And now Redhelwar was—in all the ways that mattered—a Viceroy.

  “We need this,” he said.

  “Yes,” Redhelwar said. “But I look forward to the day when I can surrender this power again.”

  WHEN they returned to the army, Redhelwar gave the order for the army to advance once more. They swung to the right, their path leading them in a broad arc around the city, to a place where they could cross the river that was Sentarshadeen’s western border easily.

  “So?” Idalia asked, riding up beside Kellen. “I assume we’re going to Armethalieh.”

  “Yes,” Kellen agreed. “Andoreniel has given Redhelwar a Viceroy’s ring. Redhelwar says we’re a city now.”

  “Convenient,” Idalia said. “He won’t have to wait for Andoreniel’s orders, and can do pretty much whatever he deems right for the safety of the Elven Lands. It’s been done before, but…”

  “Not in a thousand years or so?” Kellen said, guessing.

  Idalia grinned at him, silently confirming his guess.

  THAT night they made camp at the edge of the Elven Lands. Tomorrow morning they would cross the Border into the Wild Lands, leaving the protection of the Elven land-wards behind.

  Both Kellen and Cilarnen had spoken to Redhelwar of Cilarnen’s plan for breeching the walls of Armethalieh using the Unicorn Knights, and Cilarnen had obtained both Redhelwar’s approval and the Unicorn Knights’ agreement. Kellen still wasn’t entirely sure what the plan consisted of, though Cilarnen had explained it: It wasn’t that Cilarnen was ever intentionally m
ysterious, it was simply that when he was speaking about the High Magick, he might as well be speaking in some utterly foreign language. All of the words seemed simple and commonplace, but all put together they didn’t make any sense that Kellen could see. All he got out of the explanation was something about dancing.

  But the unicorns themselves seemed to approve of the plan, and Cilarnen thought it had a good chance of working.

  So from now on, Cilarnen camped with the Unicorn Knights, and drilled them in the part they were to play in the few hours they could spare from other duties. Fortunately, unicorns could see in the dark, and there was always Magelight.

  “DO you think this will work?” Kellen asked Shalkan.

  The two of them were standing at the edge of the field, watching Cilarnen with the unicorns. He rode ahead of them on Anganil, the black stallion’s body invisible in the winter darkness. Only the crown of Magelight he wore made him visible.

  Behind him the unicorns followed, their horns and bodies glowing faintly. They looked like living Elven lanterns: gold, silver, russet, and the deep midnight blue that the coat of the black unicorns gave off at night.

  “Maybe,” Shalkan said consideringly.

  “No, no, no! Menerchel, you and Hindulo need to go left, not right! Nelarussa, that’s too slow: you and Rochovoth must keep the space between you and Orchel precisely. And Araveth, you’re going too fast. It’s a pattern, not a race. Back to the beginning.”

  The ball of Magelight trotted off. The unicorns followed.

  “And whatever it is they’re going to be doing,” Kellen said, “they won’t be doing it in an open field in peace and quiet. Well, relative peace and quiet anyway. They’ll be doing it in the middle of a battle. With Leaf and Star alone knows what trying to stop them.”

  “Then we’d just better hope that Cilarnen’s a good teacher,” Shalkan said. “And that he has enough time before we get there.”

  THE following day they crossed over into the Wild Lands.

  Almost instantly Kellen could sense a change in the landscape.

  Everything seemed … diminished … as if the life had been sucked out of it. Though the countryside was winter-barren, it managed to look as if nothing ever had grown there, not only since the Great Drought, but in living memory.

  Around midday, they saw the first refugees.

  From his previous trip to the Elven Lands, Kellen knew that there were no villages, Centaur or human, within a fortnight’s travel of the Border. They were traveling through open country now, and would be for some time; Redhelwar’s maps weren’t as detailed here, but they showed only one range of high hills (Kellen recalled them vividly; it was where he and Shalkan had fought off the Outlaw Hunt) and a forest beyond it which marked the far edge of the Delfier Valley. Those should be the only real impediments to the army’s march.

  Aside from whatever the Enemy chose to do.

  The unicorns, as always, were the far-forward scouts. Riding between them and the rest of the army was another troop of knights led by Nithariel. She and her Knights could receive their reports and bring them back to Redhelwar without causing distress to the unicorns.

  The army forged forward steadily, covering the leagues that separated them from Armethalieh at a steady, ground-eating pace. Overhead, Ancaladar soared and wheeled through the clear empty sky. Since Jermayan could no longer communicate with the forces on the ground by magic, he now carried one of the Elven war-horns. The various calls would provide nearly as much advance information as magical speech.

  Kellen’s troop had been made up to full strength once again, and as a skirmishing unit, his Twelve was riding on the flank of the army, ready to break away immediately to deal with any danger that might present itself. The position gave him a good view of the road ahead, and so he was able to see when Riasen rode back to Nithariel, and Nithariel in turn rode back to Redhelwar.

  “Something’s up,” he said to Isinwen.

  “I do not doubt we shall soon discover what it is,” Isinwen said placidly. “As always, I await any order you choose to give.”

  “If I ordered you to go and ask Redhelwar what was going on, he’d have both our heads, and send us off to horse-duty for the rest of the campaign,” Kellen said.

  “Why so I had believed. But I did not like to put my own opinions before those of so worthy a Knight-Mage and battle-commander,” Isinwen said blandly.

  “You know, I really think you’re wasted here,” Kellen said. “You should be off amusing the unicorns.”

  “Alas,” Isinwen said. “My wife would hardly approve. Nor, I think, would the unicorns take pleasure in my company. Ah, here is news.”

  Dionan rode back down the line.

  “Nithariel and Riasen report a band of travelers on the road ahead. Refugees from Greenpoint, Riasen believes, and without Taint, Elariagor says. Ride up to them and discover their condition. They may take sanctuary beyond the Border.”

  Kellen raised a hand in salute and pulled his troop out of line. In moments they were cantering up past the head of the column.

  THE band of travelers were a ragged collection. Kellen counted a dozen humans and six Centaurs. Four of the humans were women. One was carrying a baby, well muffled-up against the cold. All of the Centaurs were carrying heavy packs, and one of the men was leading a shaggy pack-pony as well. The beast looked exhausted, as did the people.

  “We mean you no harm,” Kellen said, dismounting from Firareth’s saddle. “I’m Kellen. We’ve come to offer the sanctuary of the Elven Lands. The Border is just a few miles up the road, and the Elven city of Sentarshadeen is just beyond it. They’ll take care of you there.”

  “Huntsman be praised!” one of the Centaurs said. “Is it true … the Elves will open their borders to any who come?”

  “Any who are of the Light,” Kellen said firmly. “But what are you doing here? Riasen—the unicorn rider—said you were from Greenpoint.”

  “Greenpoint isn’t there anymore.” It was one of the men who spoke. “My name is Jasson. I was a blacksmith at Greenpoint. We have heard that the Shadowkin rise again, but thought they would not come to us here in the west. When the hunting began to fail just after Second Harvest, we thought it was simple misfortune, but…”

  To Kellen’s dismay and horror, Jasson began to weep, covering his face with his hands.

  “We were in the woods, searching for wildgather,” one of the women said. “Something … came.”

  “We are all that is left,” another of the Centaurs said. “We have been on the road this past moonturn. My brother Sarick and I fish for Greenpoint. We were out on the ice when we saw the smoke. By the time we returned, the village was gone. No one was left. Only those who were away, like Sietta, or whose shops are far from the village, like Jasson. The village had burned. Even the stone had burned. There were not even bodies.”

  Demons. It must be Demons.

  Demons had raided Greenpoint a moonturn ago, and taken everyone there as slaves … or food.

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Kellen said quietly. “But the Shadowkin have not yet crossed the Borders of the Elven Lands. Beyond Sentarshadeen we are building a place for you to live, where you can be safe. In Sentarshadeen they will show you how to get there.”

  “But what of you?” Sietta asked. “Can you not take us there yourselves? Won’t you protect us?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kellen said. “We’re going the other way. We have to go to fight the ones who destroyed your village.”

  Quickly he emptied his saddlebags of all the food he was carrying, and the rest of his troop did the same. A few trail-bars, some dried fruit—it wasn’t much, but it would be enough to get them over the Border, and Halacira was being provisioned from Sentarshadeen. They’d be safe at Halacira.

  But how many more victims of Their cruelty would the army encounter on the road to Armethalieh?

  The refugees moved wearily up the road. Kellen rode back to make his report to Redhelwar.

  “WE will not
be able to feed them all, Kellen,” the Army’s General said. “If we encounter more, you must think of the army first.”

  “I know,” Kellen said.

  It was a bitter truth. But there would be no chance to reprovision the army between here and Armethalieh—and probably not even then, unless they raided some of the Delfier Valley farms and took what they needed by force. The army would need everything it had to feed itself.

  LATER that day, they fought off their first Demon attack.

  They saw no more refugees, but the unicorns ranged farther from the column now, and brought back reports of the tracks of both Coldwarg and serpentmarae. The monsters that were Their most efficient tools ranged freely here in the Wild Lands, and Redhelwar ordered the army to be especially alert.

  Suddenly he heard an outcry from farther back in the column. Vestakia.

  There was an urgent cascade of hornsong from the sky.

  Something coming from the sky.

  The column stopped. The skirmishers deployed. The Unicorn Knights came riding back toward the main body of the army, stopping less than half a mile away. Shalkan was with them. Nithariel’s troop passed Kellen’s as she rode down the line toward her place in the formation, her Knights galloping all-out through the snow.

  Kellen heard Ancaladar shriek with anger—a sound he could not ever remember hearing the dragon make before.

  There were Demons in the sky.

  Only two, but from all Cilarnen had told them, one could destroy a village. Two might well be able to slay half the army.

  For a moment, the two-bat-winged forms swooped and danced around Ancaladar as the dragon lashed out at Them with claws and tail. But without Jermayan’s magic, he and Ancaladar were powerless to affect the creatures, and the Demons knew it. With one powerful blow—not even a spell—one of the Demons knocked Ancaladar out of the sky, but the dragon and his rider were not their main target.

  The army was.