There were indeed feathers on the helmet, but Kellen was relieved to see that it was only a short brushy crest. He held the helmet up for closer inspection. The feathers were pale green, with the glittering iridescence of a hummingbird’s down. They didn’t seem to be dyed in any way. He set it down again, wondering what bird the feathers had come from.
“Here’s your surcoat—no Elven Knight should be without one,” Idalia said with a determined cheer that seemed very forced, holding up a length of heavy sea-green fabric. She helped him slip it over his head. It hung down loosely to his knees in front and back. It had the shine of silk, but was much heavier, like a strong linen canvas, and there was a subtle pattern in the weave.
“And here is your sword, gentle Knight.”
The sword Kellen had picked out yesterday had indeed had a scabbard made for it as Tandarion had promised. It also had a swordbelt and baldric, a strap going over his shoulder and attaching to the swordbelt.
If the sword itself was plain, the swordbelt, scabbard, and baldric more than made up for it. They were of green leather, stitched in pale green silk the color of his surcoat (and, as Kellen suspected he was going to find, the same color of Shalkan’s saddle and decorations) and stitched with silver wire and, to his faint dismay, studded with green moonstones. The sword and scabbard could be unhooked from the sword belt easily.
Kellen raised his arms so that Idalia could slip the belts into place and buckle the swordbelt. When she was done, the sword hung at Kellen’s left hip. He reached down and clasped the hilt experimentally. The armored fingers of his glove closed over the hilt as fluidly as his unencumbered hand might; it felt as if he were wearing heavy leather gloves, nothing more. Kellen sighed in relief and appreciation, releasing the sword and taking an experimental step. The armor moved with him, heavy but not awkward.
Idalia went to get his packs.
There was a tap on the door. Kellen went to open it, finding that even in armored gauntlets, he could still manage the task of clasping the door handle and turning it. Perhaps the Chief Armorer had been right about being able to dance in it as well.
Shalkan was standing outside, saddled and ready. It seemed incongruous to see the unicorn wearing a saddle and armor. The saddle and armor didn’t make the unicorn look more like a horse—quite the opposite. It just made Shalkan look as if he were wearing some sort of unconvincing disguise. Partly, Kellen supposed, it was because when you saw a saddle, you expected to see a bridle and reins as well, but there was absolutely no reason for a unicorn to wear them. A bridle and reins were to control an animal, and Shalkan wasn’t an animal—or if he was, it was only in the sense that Kellen was an animal. Shalkan was a person with hooves.
And Kellen had been right about the color. The seat of Shalkan’s saddle, the stirrup-leathers, the silk cords that knotted the bands of his armor together, and its sheepskin lining were all dyed the same shade of green as Kellen’s surcoat and the equivalent parts of his armor.
“I see you’re ready to go,” Shalkan said, regarding Kellen with approval. “Very nice. We’ll be meeting our escort at Songmairie.”
“I’ll go with you that far,” Idalia said, following Kellen out the door with his packs slung over his shoulder. “Someone has to carry the luggage.”
WHEN they reached the canyon floor, Shalkan stopped.
“Time to mount up,” he told Kellen. “You do know how to use stirrups, don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” Kellen said in automatic protest, though in truth he hadn’t ridden horses very often, and Shalkan was nothing like a horse.
But the Elven armor was just as flexible as its designers had promised, and Shalkan was far stronger than any horse. He set his feet and stood rock-steady as Kellen slipped his left toe into the stirrup and swung his right leg determinedly across Shalkan’s back.
Instead of the narrow slippery surface that Kellen had been forced to contend with when riding Shalkan bareback, the saddle gave him a wide comfortable seat, and the stirrups gave him someplace to put his feet and a way to brace himself. The broad curl of the saddle in front of him would give him something to hang on to, too, if Shalkan broke into one of his bounding runs.
There was a place at the back of the saddle to hook his helmet, so Kellen did.
“Tuck your knees in,” the unicorn said sternly, looking over his shoulder. “You ride like an arthritic granny.”
Meekly, Kellen did as he was told.
Subconsciously, Kellen had expected that everyone in Sentarshadeen would turn out to see him off, but it seemed that the Elves had too much of a sense of propriety for that. The early-morning streets were deserted.
He wasn’t certain for a moment whether he was disappointed or relieved. He finally settled on the latter. It was one thing to daydream about setting off on a quest amid cheering crowds; it was quite another to have a crowd come to see you off when you were not altogether sure you were going to be able to do what you were supposed to do … and actually, didn’t know what you were supposed to do, when it all came down to cases.
As they passed the House of Leaf and Star, in the distance he saw Sandalon standing forlornly in an open window, watching them ride out.
“He will miss you,” Shalkan said quietly.
“I’ll miss him,” Kellen said. He raised his hand and waved. He didn’t care if it was bad manners. Ashaniel would forgive him.
The boy waved back energetically, and Kellen saw Ashaniel come to stand beside him. He forced himself to turn away and not stare after her like a moonwit. Sandalon would know that he’d said good-bye, and that was enough.
The spring was deserted when they arrived.
Unconsciously, Kellen expected to see the landscape veiled in mist, but the air was far too dry for that. Everything was bright and crystal-clear. Idalia set the packs down and looked around.
“I wonder …?” she began.
An Elven Knight in dark gleaming armor was walking toward them from the direction of the Palace, leading a black horse and a white mule.
Jermayan.
Jermayan was going to be his escort?
This could be more than awkward.
The Elven Knight stopped in front of Idalia, gazing down at her. Idalia met his gaze steadily, and once more Kellen could feel the air was full of intense but unspoken communication.
“Take care of him,” Idalia said at last.
Jermayan bowed silently. Idalia turned away and walked off quickly, her back straight. Jermayan picked up Kellen’s packs and added them to the mule’s burden, lashing them down firmly, then mounted his own horse.
There was a long pause as no one moved.
“Where are we going?” Shalkan finally asked.
“Oh. Oh.” Kellen blushed hotly as he realized he was the only one who knew. “North. Toward the High Desert.”
Jermayan silently turned his horse and rode off. Kellen and Shalkan followed.
KELLEN had thought that his own armor was the most elegant thing he’d ever seen, but that was before he got a good look at Jermayan’s—and he had plenty of time to study it, because Jermayan didn’t say anything as they rode, and given the Elf’s look of stony concentration, there didn’t seem to be much point in trying to start a conversation.
He’s statuesque, all right. Lycaelon’s stone golems are more expressive.
The Elven Knight’s armor—what Kellen could see of it beneath the deep blue surcoat Jermayan wore—was lacquered in a dark blue glaze the color of the midnight sky, through which silver stars embossed on the armor’s surface shone and twinkled. It was more elaborately pieced than Kellen’s was, and fitted Jermayan like an elegant suit of clothes, and there was a crescent-shaped shield that matched it—down to the design of silver stars—hanging from his saddle. His horse’s armor matched Jermayan’s exactly, from shanfron to crupper.
The Elven destrier was as much a creature of perfection as Kellen had expected, the exquisite counterpart for Jermayan himself, and leagues beyond the noble
beasts Kellen had seen pulling the water carts. With a broad forehead, elegant nose, proudly arched neck, and impeccable carriage, it was every bit as handsome as its rider, and considerably more animated. Once Jermayan had given it their direction, he left its reins slack upon its neck, as if it were intelligent enough to be trusted to find its own way.
It was not, Kellen decided, inspecting it closely, actually black, though it had seemed that way at first. Rather, the destrier was the darkest possible shade of smoke-grey, a color Kellen had never seen before in a horse.
Even the mule that followed placidly behind the destrier at the end of a long lead-rope was attractive, though in an endearing fashion rather than an elegant one. Its ears were rounded, its muzzle small and neat, its eyes limpid, and it resembled nothing so much in Kellen’s opinion as a very large baby rabbit. And there was no mistaking it for anything but a creature of Elven breeding, or Kellen would eat his new armor, feathered helm and all.
After long inspection and consideration, Kellen decided that the mule wasn’t exactly white (especially next to Shalkan), but actually the palest shade of new cream, from pink nose to silken tail-tuft. He was surprised to see water kegs among the mule’s cargo, until he remembered how hard it had been for him and Idalia to find water on their way into Sentarshadeen. Once the water they carried with them was gone, they would have to rely once more on Shalkan to find them water until they reached the edge of the drought area, and to make sure it was pure and fit to drink as well.
FOR a long time they rode in silence, Jermayan in the lead. Soon enough they had left the Flower Forest of Sentarshadeen and even the outer forest that the Elves were able to tend behind them. Now the effects of the long drought were written plain on the autumnal landscape, so much so that Kellen wondered if even rain could revive it once the keystone he carried had done its work.
The day, as usual, was clear and cloudless, and Kellen felt uncomfortably warm in his armor, though Jermayan seemed perfectly at ease. At least they weren’t riding out in high summer: the weather might be unnaturally dry, but the sunlight was the mild sun of autumn.
After a while Kellen began to wonder if they were going to ride all the way to the Barrier—wherever it was—in a polite and chilly silence. From what he’d learned of Elves during his brief stay in Sentarshadeen, it was perfectly possible.
Especially with this Elf. Kellen didn’t know very much about Jermayan, and from the way things looked right now, Jermayan didn’t intend for him to learn any more.
At least he’d have Shalkan to talk to.
But after a couple of hours, Jermayan reined in, dropping back to ride beside Kellen.
“There is a matter I would raise with you, Wildmage,” Jermayan said, breaking the long silence. “And then I would go on to speak of other things.”
“Ah … surely,” Kellen replied. He felt slightly relieved that Jermayan had said something, even though he was fairly sure he wasn’t going to enjoy whatever the conversation was going to be about. Whatever it was, it was still better than silence.
“In Sentarshadeen, in times of peace, it is entirely appropriate for civilized people to behave in a civilized and decorous fashion,” Jermayan said, in tones that suggested that this was not a matter for debate. “But we are not now in Sentarshadeen, nor is this to be a peaceful journey. We are riding into battle, and it is appropriate for us to behave as warriors do.”
“Yes,” agreed Kellen politely, because what Jermayan said seemed self-evident. But he got the strong feeling that he didn’t understand all of what Jermayan meant to say.
“Excellent,” Jermayan said, sounding relieved.
Shalkan made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker.
“I coughed,” the unicorn said innocently, when Kellen glared at him.
“Now, as to the second matter. I understand that only you can trigger the counterspell to destroy the Barrier, but is there some reason I do not know of that only you may know how to find it?”
Kellen stared, jaw dropping with shock. Jermayan had just asked him a direct question.
Jermayan shook his head with a sigh, seeing Kellen’s expression. “Wildmage Kellen, I just explained matters to you, and you agreed. Civilized rules are for civilized times and places. We are at war. You humans are always at war. Surely a sennight among the Elves has not civilized you so much?”
Kellen gathered his scattered and perambulatory wits. “No, I … it’s just a surprise, that’s all. I thought you couldn’t ask questions.”
Jermayan regarded him with a haughty expression, one eyebrow raised. “That, Wildmage, is akin to saying one cannot be rude. One chooses not to be, of course.” Seeing Kellen’s stricken expression, Jermayan obviously decided to take pity on him. “Questions are … very direct. We of Leaf and Star consider them a form of coercion, not to be used in civilized times and places. But when one rides to war, one must be … more efficient.”
“Yes. I … okay. Yes. That … seems reasonable.” Kellen didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. Well, he certainly shouldn’t show it. “I … Just … tell me when I stop being efficient and start being rude, okay?”
“I shall try to bring myself to do so,” Jermayan said, with another faint self-possessed smile.
Kellen thought for a moment about what Idalia had told him that morning, gazing northward as he did. “I’m not sure exactly where we’re going, really,” he admitted. “It’s kind of a case of knowing it when I see it. Idalia told me the sort of signs to look for, but I’ll need your help and Shalkan’s to recognize them.”
Quickly he explained the underlying theory about the Barrier, and the unnatural patterns it would produce in the natural world.
“So that’s the best idea she could give me of what we’re looking for,” he finished. “If we don’t see anything like that in a day or so—or if we think we’re missing the signs or might be going off in the wrong direction—I’ll try a Finding Spell to locate our route. Idalia said that was something to avoid if I could, though. She said it would attract attention.”
“Then we shall hope that Shadow Mountain has grown proud and careless,” Jermayan said grimly. “And now, we should stop as soon as we come to a good place for stopping, for Valdien needs rest if Shalkan does not, and there is something I must begin to show you, for all our sakes.”
IN a short while more, they came to an oak tree standing alone in what must have once have been a lush deer meadow. But if the oak had ever had a dryad, she was long gone, and the grass around the tree was nothing more now than greyish stubble that crumbled away into dust beneath the hooves of the animals as they rode over it. The tree itself was bare of leaves, looking sere and winter-blasted out of season.
Jermayan swung gracefully down from Valdien’s back, but though he tied the mule carefully to one of the tree branches, he made no effort to tether his destrier in any way. Valdien followed him about the way a dog might, until Jermayan told the destrier to stand. To Kellen’s mild surprise, Valdien obeyed, though the destrier continued to watch his master hopefully.
Kellen got himself out of Shalkan’s saddle with much less grace, though he managed the feat without tripping and falling.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked the unicorn, seeing that Jermayan was loosening Valdien’s saddle-girths.
“Just some water,” Shalkan said. “I’ll miss Songmairie,” he added wistfully.
“Do you know what he’s planning?” Kellen asked in a low voice.
“Yes. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. Much.” Shalkan sounded amused.
Kellen sighed and went to get Shalkan’s drink.
Jermayan was already taking both the water barrels down from the mule’s back. For a short stop they wouldn’t unpack the mule completely, but the water was the heaviest part of her load, and they couldn’t leave the load unbalanced.
“The buckets are in the pack on the near side,” Jermayan said when Kellen arrived.
Kellen unbuckled the flap and looked insid
e. It was easy to see which was his; the bucket was green, to match everything else. Well, Idalia had said the Elves were perfectionists. He lifted it out. The blue one beneath it obviously belonged to Valdien, but fortunately they wouldn’t need to water the horse and the mule until tonight since the weather was relatively cool. Even so, those barrels barely held enough water for a day.
He brought the bucket over to where Jermayan was carefully unscrewing the top of the barrel and dipped it full, then carried it to Shalkan. When the unicorn was done drinking, Kellen carried the bucket back and tipped the last drops down at the base of the tree. It felt odd to remember he’d been doing more or less this same thing at about this time yesterday, with no idea that barely a day later he’d be on the road, riding against Shadow Mountain.
Whatever Shadow Mountain might be. In the flurry of last-minute preparations, he’d never gotten a chance to ask Idalia about that. He frowned. It occurred to him suddenly that Idalia had probably arranged it that way.
Why?
“Now,” Jermayan said firmly, summoning Kellen’s attention. “You know that we ride into danger. I am expendable. You are not. Without your Wildmage skill to break the spell of the Barrier, all is lost. If I should die, who will defend you?”
Kellen stared at the Elven Knight, hoping he didn’t look as disconcerted as he felt. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but whatever it was, it hadn’t been this.
“Exactly,” Jermayan said, as if Kellen had actually answered. “You will have to defend yourself. Yet at this moment you have no skill with the sword, which is the Knight’s weapon. In fact, have you skill with any weapon?”
“Not much,” Kellen admitted. “I’ve learned how to use a bow for hunting, and I’m not bad with it.”
“There is nothing unknightly about the bow,” Jermayan pronounced, to Kellen’s relief, “but it will not do when the foe closes in. And so now I will begin to teach you the Way of the Sword, so that you may walk it as far as you can with me before … that is perhaps no longer possible. Put on your helm, Kellen, and we will begin.”
The Outstretched Shadow Page 58