When Darkness Falls

by Mercedes Lackey

  After so much death, so many losses, he could no longer bear to risk her life.

  Scouts ranged ahead of the column of Elven Knights and light mule-drawn wagons, searching for signs of the Enemy, whether its monsters, or the vassalraces that had fought beneath the Endarkened banner. Kellen doubted they’d find many of either here in the Delfier Valley; it was far too warm, and the creatures of the Endarkened were creatures of darkness and cold. Without the magic of their masters to protect them, this would not be a comfortable place for them. Still, it didn’t hurt to be careful.

  And vigilance took his mind off other things.

  Idalia had not been laid to rest here in the forest. Redhelwar had told him that she was being taken back to Sentarshadeen. The Wildmages had bespelled her body until it could be hung in the Flower Forest itself. It was, Kellen knew, a very great honor.

  He’d rather have had his sister back.

  They spent three days in the Delfier Valley, crisscrossing it, looking for signs of the Enemy. They found none. But they did find a number of villages that had been hastily destroyed by Demon magic, their inhabitants taken to fuel the Demon Queen’s spell, and a few terrified surviving refugees who told grief-stricken tales of Demon raids. They fed them, did what they could for them, promised them that the Demons were gone, and sent them to Armethalieh, promising them that more help would be provided to them there.

  Now, at last, it was true.

  On the morning of the fourth day, they reached the edge of the bounds.

  Here they stopped to convert their wagons to sledges, though even beyond the edge of the Mages’ weather-workings, the snow was beginning to melt and soften. Despite that—and though the Wildmages who still traveled with them said that the time of heavy storms were past—True Spring was sennights away.

  Kellen held himself fortunate that he did have Wildmages. Though the Mountainborn were returning home, several of the surviving Lostlander Wildmages had agreed to accompany Kellen’s army—at least as far as their own settlements at the western edge of the Elven Lands.

  They journeyed onward.

  THEIR first destination was Stonehearth.

  The Centaur village was the closest settlement outside the Delfier Valley, south and east of Armethalieh. It was where Hyandur had taken Cilarnen, and Sumaraldiel, one of Kellen’s trackers, reported that something had passed this way ahead of them, a day or so before, though the wind had blurred the tracks in the snow so much that he could not tell what it might be.

  Whatever it was, Kellen was sure it must be something bad. The Delfier Valley refugees would have headed for the City, and Wildlanders in this area would not have dared to move at all—at least not in the last few days.

  He was right.

  They caught up to them just outside Stonehearth; a mixed force of Frost Giants and dwerro traveling together. Less than fifty of them, but certainly enough to destroy Stonehearth, if they managed to reach it. They were quickly and efficiently overwhelmed by a tiny portion of Kellen’s force, without injury to the Elven Knights.

  But the battle made Kellen think, and think hard.

  The remains of the Enemy forces would be straggling across the Wild Lands in small clumps such as these—all across the Wild Lands. If he kept his own force together—large, comparatively slow-moving—he would never be able to search out all their hiding places before they dug in. Or raided and moved on. He wasn’t sure where the Enemy stragglers were going—probably they didn’t know themselves, but it was a good bet they were trying to either get back to the Demon stronghold—wherever it was—or at least back to the mountains beyond the Elven Lands before summer.

  That evening he called all his Commanders together.

  “I have a proposal to make to you,” he said. “You saw the battle we fought today—not much of one, compared to the Battle of Armethalieh. You know the orders Redhelwar has given us. Given me. I believe that the enemy that we follow will be scattered and disorganized, fleeing—as this one did—in small groups. Easy to kill. I propose, therefore, that we seek him out in the same fashion. In small groups, no more than fifty horse each. In that fashion, we can cover much more territory, find the places they are most likely to seek out. I believe they will attempt to raid the villages and farms of the Wildlands first, and then head around the edge of the Elven Lands into the High Reaches if they can. Just as we do, they will need food and supplies. They may have other needs as well. But whatever they want, we can’t let them have it.”

  “You propose, yet you do not order,” Calundil observed quietly.

  “Today we won our battle without injury,” Kellen said. “If we do what I propose, we will face our Enemy perhaps on equal terms, perhaps at a disadvantage. Thus, I would hear your words—all of you—before I considered giving orders.”

  “It would be good to know how we will provision such smaller commands,” Laurindiel said. “We do not have the capacity to send provision trains with as many forces as you propose to create. I speak without disrespect; even had you decided upon this course before we left, neither we nor the human city could have provided the wagons and the draft animals that would be needed.”

  “I have considered that,” Kellen said. “We have enough wagons to equip perhaps half our force. For the rest—the Wild Lands are well-settled. I believe the villages will provision us. I do not expect you to go so far as to be completely out-of-touch with one another, and … the power that began at the Standing Stones in the Delfier Valley is spreading, I think. Meriec, we would welcome your counsel.”

  Meriec was one of the Lostlander Wildmages who traveled with the army. Even now he wore the traditional Lostlander garb of high sheepskin boots over thick full breeches, heavy knee-length tunic, and long goatskin coat, though, as many had, he had taken the opportunity on the journey south from Sentarshadeen to add a heavy cloak of Coldwarg fur to his outfit. There was one thing good about the hellbeasts, Kellen thought. If you could manage to kill and skin them, they did provide nice warm fur.

  Meriec stood and bowed.

  “I and my brothers and sisters agree, Kellen Knight-Mage. The power that Idalia Wildmage called forth at the Standing Stones continues to pour forth over the land, healing all that was blighted. We all feel it, as must you. The Springtide will be more than fruitful—and there is more. Those beasts not slain by the Tainted creatures will be returning to their old places, and the creatures of byre and pasture will bring forth young in great numbers, come the day.”

  “Still,” Kellen said, “I suppose that still means ‘no hunting.’ So many animals have been killed off that we’d better not touch the rest. So we’ll have to rely on our supplies, and on what the villages can give us. If you all agree to my plan.”

  “Indeed, Kellen, it would be foolish of us to doubt this plan. It seems a sound one. And you have led us to one great victory already,” Vorendel said chidingly. “So I believe I speak for all here when I say that we will do as you ask.”

  Kellen looked around the tent. The Elves all nodded.

  “Then we take a day here to make our dispositions. Tametormo, bring your Twelves and ride with me on to Stonehearth. From there I shall head south and east into the High Reaches. Any of you may find me along that route.”

  DID I do the right thing? Kellen wondered.

  He rode Firareth a little away from the camp, out beyond the pickets. It was already dark, and he conjured a ball of Coldfire. The ball of azure light turned the snow around him a brilliant blue.

  Above him the sky was bright with stars. Meriec was probably right. Winter must be almost over.

  It was going to be a glorious spring.

  He was actually surprised when Shalkan came trotting up to him. He hadn’t seen Shalkan for several days—since the two of them had slain the Prince of Shadow Mountain, in fact—and he certainly hadn’t seen him lurking around the edges of Kellen’s makeshift army as they’d ridden through the Delfier Valley. But still, here he was. The unicorn looked, as always, composed and impert
urbable.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Kellen said.

  “We aren’t finished with each other yet,” Shalkan replied.

  “I guess we aren’t,” Kellen said. “So … Cilarnen is going to be Arch-Mage of Armethalieh.”

  “So I heard,” Shalkan said. “Nice of you to tell me.”

  “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  Shalkan snorted rudely. Kellen sighed. The unicorn wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. But it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t really been that accessible. Not to a unicorn, anyway.

  “I’m sorry,” he said penitently. “I’ll try harder to make myself available.”

  “You’d better,” Shalkan said meaningfully. “I still have to keep an eye on you, you know.”

  “It’s not like I can get into that much trouble out here,” Kellen pointed out. How was it that Shalkan could manage in only a couple of words to make him feel as if he’d never been anywhere or done anything—and still needed looking out for?

  “You’re going to Stonehearth tomorrow. And trust me, Sarlin will bear watching.”

  Sarlin? Oh. “The Lady of Stonehearth. Cilarnen mentioned her. Don’t worry. I won’t get into trouble.” No point in wondering how Shalkan knew something he’d only decided a few minutes ago. Kellen had long since realized that unicorns had their own sources of information.

  “See that you don’t.”

  “So … do you want all the details?”

  “It would be a nice gesture on your part,” Shalkan said grumpily.

  Quickly Kellen told the unicorn all that he’d discussed with the Elves under his command, about splitting the army up into a number of small mobile units, in order to cover the whole of the Wild Lands more swiftly and efficiently.

  “Thought that up all by yourself, did you?” Shalkan said, when he’d finished.

  Kellen sighed. Shalkan snickered.

  “It needs to be done,” Kellen said.

  “It does,” the unicorn agreed. “And afterward. What then?”

  After Sentarshadeen. After the funeral.

  “I don’t suppose I’ve thought that far ahead,” Kellen said.

  “You’ll have to eventually,” Shalkan said.

  “I know,” Kellen said.

  “Go to bed,” Shalkan said. “You’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

  TWO days later, Kellen and his troop rode up to the gates of Stonehearth.

  He was relieved to see that the village appeared to be in good shape. Cilarnen had told them of the devastation the Demons had caused here several moonturns before, and the southern route had been the main line of march for the Demon Army on its path to Armethalieh. But Stonehearth seemed to have escaped.

  The gates were already open as he and his Knights approached. Several Centaurs trotted out through the snow toward them, a young blonde Centauress in the lead. She must be Sarlin, the Lady of Stonehearth.

  Kellen reined in Firareth and waited for them to approach.

  “I greet you in the name of Andoreniel, King of the Elves,” he said, when she reached them. “And I bring you good news: They have been defeated.”

  “ ‘They’?” Sarlin only looked puzzled. And worried.

  Despite himself, Kellen smiled. No need not to speak Their name anymore, lest it draw Their attention.

  “The Demons. They have been defeated. You are safe now.”

  Now a look of joy suffused Sarlin’s features.

  “Herdsman be praised! Then … you are Elves?”

  Kellen reached up and pulled off his helmet. “My Knights are Elves. My name is Kellen Tavadon. I—”

  “You are from the human city! You’re the one Cilarnen went to look for! Did he find you? Is he—”

  “Cilarnen is safe and well,” Kellen said. “And he is a great hero. And a friend of mine.”

  “Oh, I knew he would be!” Sarlin gasped, rearing up on her hind legs in her excitement. “Can you—Will you come in? All of you? Will you tell me about him?” “Gladly,” Kellen said.

  “We need your help, as well.”

  “We will do anything,” Sarlin said fervently.

  THEY stayed three days at Stonehearth, using it as a base as they swept the surrounding area, looking for signs of the Enemy.

  They found one or two, wounded stragglers from the party they had slain. They also found a pack of Ice Trolls, dead of sunlight when their magic failed them. They burned all the bodies.

  Kellen found himself glad of Shalkan’s warning. Sarlin—whether because Kellen was Cilarnen’s friend, or because she was simply relieved that the Demons were gone—was just a bit… fervent. Kellen found himself rather uncomfortable in her presence. But there was little to be done about it, save make certain that he was never alone with her, and that was easy to arrange, as the addition of fifty Elven Knights—and their mounts—crowded the Centaur Village almost to bursting.

  One thing Kellen did find very useful in his time at Stonehearth was that Sarlin—and the rest of the village elders—were able to provide him with detailed information about other villages in the area, something the Elven maps he had brought with him sorely lacked. As Kellen had hoped and expected, they were little more than a day’s ride apart—at least for Elven destriers—and Sarlin assured him that every village and farming community in the area would be as happy as Stonehearth had been to host them, out of gratitude for the news they brought.

  On the third day, Kellen and his Knights moved on.

  FOR sennight after sennight, the Elven Knights rode across the Wild Lands. After the first few villages, Kellen left the others to their work and rode out with Mirsil and his Twelve to find one of the other bands of riders. His plan had evolved; now fast-riding skirmishing units criss-crossed the Wild Lands, rarely more than half a day’s ride from one or another of Kellen’s bands of searchers.

  It was a method of solving the problem of cleansing the Wild Lands that the Elves would never have considered for themselves. Kellen had come up with it almost without thought; another gift of his Knight-Mage skills.

  And everywhere they went, they brought with them the news that the Demon Army had been utterly routed.

  Sometimes it seemed that they did not need to bring the news at all. As the sennights passed, even though they moved farther east and north, spring was rapidly approaching. Even the enormous blanket of snow that had fallen over the past hard winter was melting away—now the ground was visible in places, with the first shoots of spring grass pushing up through the dead growth of the year before—and the trees were setting their first leaves.

  They encountered stragglers from the Demon Army constantly, of course. Hundreds of them, overall. But their enemies had only had a few days’ head start, and had wandered, disoriented, with no clear plan. Kellen’s strike forces dealt with them quickly and efficiently, and while there were a few casualties—both in villages, and to the Elven Knights—not one of the Enemy that they faced survived, nor got as far east as the High Reaches.

  And at last, Kellen and his Knights reached the Border of the Elven Lands.

  Twenty

  To Honor the Fallen

  IT WAS THREE moonturns, almost to the day, since they had left Armethalieh, and winter was over. It was hard, now, to believe that the ground had ever been covered in snow, and that Kellen had ever spent his days and nights worrying about freezing to death.

  There was no longer any need to worry about fodder for the horses and mules. Grain would have been better, of course, but the ground was covered with lush thick grass, and after an entire winter of dry fodder, the animals took to it greedily. With the little grain they had left—and the fact that they took the last part of the journey east by easy stages, having, so far as the Wildmages could tell them before they left, scoured the Wild Lands of the Enemy—they did well enough.

  As Redhelwar had asked, Kellen had sent him regular reports. And in fact, he had much to report.

  Every sign of the blight the Demons had spread�
�both to the land and the people—was gone. As Meriec had prophesied back at Stonehearth, the wild creatures had indeed returned to their old ranges—Kellen had seen several herds of deer already, as well as birds of every description—and the farmers reported that the flocks and herds were all being, well, fruitful. The births of twin lambs and calves had become the rule instead of the exception. And apparently the crops were going to do well, too—though Kellen wasn’t sure how anyone could tell this early in the season. But that was what everyone told him, so he dutifully wrote it all down and sent the information along to Redhelwar.

  Idalia would have been so happy to know all these things.

  “YOU should dismiss us, you know,” Tametormo said, as they reached the boundary of the Elven Lands.

  “I … er, it would be good to know your thoughts, of your courtesy,” Kellen said.

  In the days and nights of their journey north, he had come to rely upon Tametormo as his Second. Their relationship lacked the easy familiarity of the one he had had with Isinwen, or the close rapport he had shared with Ciltesse, but he trusted Tametormo to advise him on the things a commander needed to know.

  He’d been lost in thought—not thinking of very much, aside from being alert (as he always was) for possible danger on the road ahead, and wondering what he would do with himself once he got to Sentarshadeen. He rode at the head of the column of Knights; in less than an hour they would cross the Border, and be back in Elven Lands again.

  At last.

  “We will enter the Elven Lands, and go beyond Sentarshadeen, to the place where Redhelwar gathered us together to await Andoreniel’s word. There, I am certain, he awaits us now. But the time for the army is past. I do not believe that any of us here calls Sentarshadeen home. For my part, I long to see the plains of Ondoladeshiron again. So, when we arrive there, Commander, dismiss us, that we may go home,” Tametormo said.