But the outer ring of sentries rode to a fixed pattern, and by now Kellen had timed it out exactly. When they were on the opposite sides of the camp, he would run. When they were in a position to see him, he would throw himself down in the snow and wait until they’d passed. After half a league of that, he should be out of sight.
They were in position. Kellen grabbed up his blanket and began to run. At the end of ten minutes, he flung himself facedown in the snow to wait.
“I do hope you weren’t planning to go anywhere without me,” a familiar voice said from above his head.
“Yes,” Gesade added. “Where were you going?”
Kellen choked on a mouthful of snow, barely managing not to yelp. Knight-Mage Gifts were one thing, but unicorns were sneaky.
He thought about ignoring them. He thought about telling them to go away. He might as well have wished for a tarnkappa—or wings.
He rolled over on his back, looking up at the two unicorns. Both of them were gazing down at him with identical expressions of polite interest, their bodies white blurs against the snow.
“I’m deserting,” Kellen said, after a long pause.
Shalkan cleared his throat in the manner of a unicorn that was trying very hard not to laugh and wanted to make sure everyone knew it.
“In that case,” he said mildly, “I’m going to need my armor and my saddle.”
“Come and have tea,” Gesade said. “You look half-frozen. Humans don’t like snow-baths. Come to that, Elves don’t like snow-baths either. Petariel will get Shalkan’s things.”
I wonder if you can strangle a unicorn? Make that two unicorns.
“Look,” Kellen said, gritting his teeth. “I’m telling the truth. I really am deserting. Redhelwar told me not to leave the camp, and I’m leaving. So no one can know. Do you understand?” The snow had now had ample time to melt, and he’d have to wait at least another ten minutes—probably more—before he could move again, even if he could talk the unicorns into leaving. His cloak felt damp, and his armor … well, his armor felt like cold metal. Which it was.
“All right,” Gesade answered reassuringly, as if to a small child. “We won’t tell anyone. Come and have tea. Because if you don’t, you’re going to find out how loud I can scream,” she added, her voice taking on a warning edge.
“Oh, do get up, Kellen,” Shalkan said, sounding bored. “You can’t desert if you’ve got the coughing sickness. Everyone will hear you for leagues. And I understand that Idalia’s remedy for that tastes really awful.”
“One …” Gesade said, laying her ears back and switching her tail meaningfully.
Kellen scrambled to his feet.
“THIS is important,” Kellen said to Shalkan, as the two of them followed Gesade back to the camp of the Unicorn Knights.
“It’s all right,” Shalkan said, rubbing his head against Kellen’s arm.
For a moment Kellen almost felt an urge to hit Shalkan, then draped an arm over the unicorn’s neck instead. “People are going to die,” he said, and heard his voice tremble.
“No,” Shalkan said firmly. “I told you not to try to go off somewhere interesting without me, didn’t I? You should have remembered.”
THE camp of the Unicorn Knights was silent and dark—no need of Elven sentries here, with the unicorns to keep watch. Gesade walked into Petariel’s pavilion—opening the flap neatly with her horn—and a few moments later, Petariel came out.
The Captain of the Unicorn Knights had obviously been roused from sleep. His long hair was loosely braided, and he was still pulling a heavy fur cloak around him. But his expression was alert as he saw Kellen.
“Leaf and Star—you’re soaking wet. Gesade, Riasen and Menerchel, if you please.” He went to the banked brazier and began adding charcoal, then went back into his pavilion, coming out with another cloak.
“Here. Take this. Not your color, but at least it’s dry.”
Kellen dropped his wet cloak to the ground and took the dry one gratefully. Gesade had roused Menerchel and Riasen now, and Kellen wondered with a sinking heart just how much worse things could possibly get.
“Kellen’s deserting,” Gesade said brightly. “So we need Shalkan’s saddle and armor.”
“Tea first,” Petariel said. “Kellen, you’re as blue as ice.”
“I have to get out of here,” Kellen said desperately.
“You need to tell us what else you need,” Riasen said as Menerchel began to prepare tea.
“I’m deserting,” Kellen said, wondering if they’d all gone deaf.
“Yes,” Petariel said. “We all heard you. Tell us how to help.”
Kellen stared at them. He’d been expecting … he didn’t know what he’d been expecting. But not this. For a moment, he felt as if the earth had opened under him—except that he also felt as if the moment it had, he’d discovered how to fly.
“I think he should sit down,” Shalkan said. “Over here, next to the brazier. I’ll tell you what I know while his wits unthaw. Sit down, Kellen.”
Kellen sat. If he’d learned nothing else in the past several moonturns, he’d learned that arguing with Shalkan was worse than useless.
Quickly Shalkan summarized the evening’s events, including most of what had gone on in Redhelwar’s pavilion. “So now Redhelwar has changed his battle plans, and I imagine Kellen hasn’t been able to talk him out of them, don’t you?”
“Huh,” Gesade said, stamping her forehoof. “They must be really bad plans.”
“No,” Kellen said, stung to Redhelwar’s defense. “They aren’t. Not really. It’s just … he doesn’t …”
“Better tell,” Shalkan said.
Kellen sighed, giving up.
“He isn’t going to risk trying to scout the caverns again. Without maps, we can’t attack them both at once, and he’s concerned about leaving Ysterialpoerin undefended. He’s going to divide the army into thirds and guard Ysterialpoerin and the further cavern. There’s nothing wrong with either of those ideas,” Kellen said, knowing it sounded bad, but he was tired of mincing words! “But he means to send the third force into the nearer cavern using the troops to draw the Shadowed Elves to attack.”
“And that’s bad?” Gesade asked.
“It must be,” Shalkan said. “Because Kellen’s deserting. To scout the nearer cavern before Redhelwar can get the army into position, I suppose. All by yourself?”
“I’d wanted to take Idalia,” Kellen said unwarily. “But I can’t ask her now.”
“We’ll ask her,” Riasen said. “That way the army will have decent maps, at least. She has a fine hand at mapmaking.”
“And you’ll have someone along to keep you out of trouble,” Shalkan said with satisfaction. “Though I’d hate to be the one to wake her up.”
“Fortunes of war,” Riasen said. “We’ll draw lots for it.”
“I—Hey—Wait—” Kellen said desperately. How had things gotten so completely out of his control?
“Tea,” Menerchel said, passing Kellen a cup.
Kellen took it. “You can’t do this,” he said, trying to make them understand. “It’s one thing for me to disobey orders. I’ll be in trouble—I don’t know how much, but probably a lot—but if you help me, you’ll all be in trouble, too. I can’t let you—”
“Kellen,” Shalkan said, interrupting him, “tell them what will happen if Redhelwar proceeds as he plans, and no one scouts the nearer cavern before he sends the army in.”
Kellen focused on what he’d felt in Redhelwar’s tent, trying to bring it into words. There was nothing but dread—a terrible sense of death and loss. “I—” he began.
“No,” Riasen interrupted somberly. “Your face tells us too much. Once I said you might call upon the Unicorn Knights at need. Now the day has come.” He glanced at the others. Petariel and Menerchel both nodded. “Drink your tea before it cools.”
Kellen drank the tea.
This was mutiny. A whole troop of the Elven army—the Unicorn Knights,
the elite scouts—were disobeying Redhelwar’s orders to follow his. Or at least to help him, because try as he might, he didn’t seem to be able to order them not to help him.
“I give up,” he muttered.
“Good,” Shalkan said, nuzzling his ear. “I’d almost thought you were going to be as stubborn as an Elf.”
On the other side of the brazier, the three Elves were playing an elaborate—and quick—guessing game: Wind, Water, Tree. Kellen had never been able to master it—the Elves learned it as children, and played it all their lives, and though Kellen had mastered the simple gestures easily enough, he’d never understood it well enough to play. Petariel lost the round, and shook his head with a sigh.
“I will go to waken Idalia and tell her what she must know. But you, Menerchel, will bring Shalkan’s armor here.”
Menerchel bowed elaborately, a courtly reverence filled with mockery. He straightened, fading into the darkness beyond the edge of the lantern light.
“There will be time for a meal before you go, if we are quick,” Riasen said. He went into his tent.
“I don’t understand Elves,” Kellen said to Shalkan.
“The beginning of wisdom,” Shalkan said.
Kellen opened the jar of honey-disks and fed several to Shalkan. “Won’t they get into trouble? Someone’s sure to look for me in the morning.”
“And displease us?” Shalkan asked haughtily, switching his tail. “But you’re asking the wrong question. The question is, will they say they’ve helped you? And will Redhelwar ask them?”
Kellen thought about that for a few moments as he finished his tea.
“I really don’t understand Elves,” he finally said.
Riasen came out of the tent with a large bundle of cloth and a flask. He spread out the bundle near the brazier. It held half a chicken, a meat-pie, and some tarts.
“The cordial will be warm, but the rest must be cold,” Riasen said. “It’s the best we can do.”
“You honor me,” Kellen said, pulling off his gauntlets and reaching for the chicken.
By the time he’d finished eating, Menerchel was back with Shalkan’s armor, and the cordial was warmed. Like most of the decoctions of Elven brewing, it contained very little alcohol. This one tasted strongly of sweet cherries, and banished the last of Kellen’s chill. When he’d drunk it, he got to his feet and began armoring and saddling Shalkan, first rubbing him dry with his discarded cloak. It wasn’t much of a chore—the downy unicorn fur seemed to shed snow as if it were bespelled; and maybe it was.
“You’d better dry that if you’re going to wear it,” Shalkan pointed out, so Kellen stood over the brazier, holding his cloak to the heat. Soon Petariel would return—without Idalia, he was sure—and they could be on their way.
But not long after that, Petariel returned—with Idalia.
She was leading Cella, saddled and ready for a journey. The palfrey even had full saddlebags and a bedroll lashed to her saddle.
“Well?” Idalia said, swinging into the saddle. “Are you ready?” Quite as if they were going off for a snow-picnic.
Kellen nodded, taking off Petariel’s cloak and exchanging it for his own now-dry one. He swung into Shalkan’s saddle.
“Don’t worry about the pickets,” Gesade said. She’d backed away when Idalia entered the camp, but her voice was quite audible. “We’ll take care of them.”
“Thank you,” Kellen said meekly.
“Fare well and safe journey,” Petariel said. “And return to us in a good hour.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Idalia said.
Shalkan took off at a brisk trot, and Cella followed.
FOR a long time they rode in silence, wary of their voices carrying back to the camp. The trees were few and far apart, not thick enough to blunt the force of the wind, and it was so cold that the snow was more like powdered ice. Finally the wind shifted, and then dropped altogether. Kellen could tell that the clouds would probably start to break up soon. That meant it would get colder. There were two kinds of weather in winter, he’d learned—bad and worse.
“You didn’t have to come,” he said, now that the wind had slacked enough to make conversation easy. They were riding side by side—though far enough apart to be comfortable for Shalkan.
“You’re welcome,” Idalia said. “You may be deserting your command, but I am a Wildmage, and if I want to go wandering off into the Shadowed Elf caverns on a whim, that’s my business.”
“Oh.” Well, at least there was one person who wasn’t risking Redhelwar’s displeasure tonight.
“Kellen, what did you See?” Idalia asked.
“Nothing. I don’t know.” He shook his head, wishing desperately that he had something more concrete to tell her. “I really … I couldn’t tell Redhelwar either. But we—I have to go look.”
She gave him a long look, her face hidden in the shadows of her hood. “Petariel said you told Redhelwar you wanted me along.”
“You’re better at maps than I am,” he told her honestly. “But he said he couldn’t risk us.”
She coughed politely. “That’s not all that got said in Redhelwar’s tent tonight, from what I hear.” Her voice softened. “I’m sorry about Mindaerel, by the way.”
“Belepheriel’s son was one of the scouts who died out here tonight And then, later, in Redhelwar’s pavilion, I called him a fool,” Kellen said, half answering.
Kellen could feel Idalia’s gaze even though he wasn’t looking at her. “They said he challenged you to a Circle, and you refused, but I’m sure that’s wrong. Redhelwar wouldn’t permit it.”
“Redhelwar would permit it,” Kellen said wearily. “And I challenged him. He called me … well, he said the warnings I gave were conveniently useless.”
“Let’s go back,” Idalia said after a pause, and now her voice had an edge to it that could cut the wind. “I’ll challenge him myself.”
“No,” Kellen said, feeling tired of it all. “It’s all right. Well, it isn’t. I’ll have to make it right later. But he apologized.”
“Storytelling is obviously not a Knight-Magely gift,” Shalkan said. “I heard that after he apologized to Kellen, and wished him all honor and long life, Belepheriel left Redhelwar’s pavilion, and so did not take part in further discussion of the planning and strategy.”
“Did he?” said Idalia in an odd voice. “What did you say to him after he’d apologized, Kellen?”
Kellen thought back. “He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. I challenged him, nobody said anything, Redhelwar demanded his answer, he gave it and asked to be excused, Redhelwar said ‘go,’ and everybody started acting as if he’d never been there.”
“Elves,” Idalia sighed. “Well, what else?”
Once more Kellen summarized what he’d told Petariel, and the others about Redhelwar’s change of plan.
“And it’s all … reasonable, I suppose,” he concluded. “We didn’t know before tonight that they’d try something like attacking Ysterialpoerin. So it makes sense to defend it. And blockading the farther cavern and taking the two enclaves one at a time … the Mountainfolk will be put to good use guarding the farther cavern. But attacking the nearer cavern without scouting ahead, even without Vestakia there …” Kellen shook his head.
“A Finding Spell might locate the village. We haven’t tried that yet,” Idalia suggested. “Let’s see if we can find it on our own, first. I brought the tarnkappa, but I have lanterns, too. You can decide which we’ll use.”
“Thanks,” he replied, touched beyond words that she was delegating the decision to him.
“Knight-Mage’s privilege,” Idalia told him. “And I brought food, tea, and a brazier—all items that I’m sure you forgot. Nothing I like better than spending a night in a cozy snowdrift, followed by a day sneaking around a cave filled with murderous monsters.” She made her voice sound light, though Kellen was very certain she felt nothing humorous in the situation. “And it’s actually a relief to get away from the c
amp for a while. All those people! When this is over with, I’m going to find myself a nice high mountaintop and sit on it—alone!—for about ten years, I think.”
“You and Vestakia,” Kellen said, grinning to himself. Idalia’s matter-of-fact confidence in his judgment and abilities lightened his spirits. They could do this. And they would.
They were over halfway to the nearer cavern now, and Kellen was automatically sensing rather than seeing to find his way through the dark. He looked up, suddenly startled, as six pale ghosts rode past.
Oh.
The Elven scouts, who’d ridden this way earlier in the day. Kellen watched them, fascinated.
But why was he seeing them? He’d “read” the site of a past battle before, but he’d done it deliberately.
Ah, but sometimes the Wild Magic showed him things of its own accord, when there was need. Was this one of those times?
“Idalia—” he said softly, “I’m seeing our scouts.”
She knew exactly what he meant. “Tell me. Show me.”
He kept looking.
And saw, moving through the scattered trees, the Shadowed Elves as they moved toward the camp. And beyond them, off in the distance, a second, smaller party.
“Ah,” he said. “There.” He pointed off to the right. “That’s where the party going toward Ysterialpoerin went. I was right. They circled wide around the army, but they were on the move at the same time as the party the scouts ran into. I think they might have come from the upper cavern. No wonder the scouts didn’t see them.”
“That’s another reason you wanted me to come along, isn’t it?”. Idalia said, quietly. “In case there were still more of them.”
“If there was a third force in hiding, waiting to attack the army just when things started to quiet down, someone would have to ride back and warn them,” Kellen agreed. “And that would have been you. But I don’t see one. And Vestakia and Ancaladar can warn them of most things now as well as I can.”
No matter how untrue it was, Belepheriel’s accusation still rankled. Couldn’t Belepheriel see that Kellen wanted desperately to be able to give better warning than he did—that every time someone died because of something he didn’t see, he felt as if it were his fault?
The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Page 137