THERE WERE TEN women in Ondoladeshiron who must be taken to the Crowned Horns. This was Ancaladar and Jermayan’s second trip.
He’d grown up with Caronide, Heryelion, Miranaya, and Fire-taldo, just as he had with Amentiel, Missondore, Estauril, Vira-narya, Aryante, and Ingaruuile. Aryante was the youngest—she had been a child when he had left Ondoladeshiron—while Missondore was nearly four centuries his elder. Estauril and Heryelion were close enough to his own age for the three of them to have played together as children.
But they were all part of the fabric of his life.
The fabric that seemed to be unraveling so drastically now.
The people of the War City were careful and practical. Sentarshadeen was the City of Peace, and Ysterialpoerin was the City of History. But Ondoladeshiron, the War City, was where the armies mustered in time of danger, and it was always … watchful.
Jermayan had been saddened, but not surprised, to see the changes war had brought to the city of his birth. Of course many of the city’s inhabitants were away with the army, since Ondoladeshiron sent more students to the House of Sword and Shield than any other of the Nine Cities, and so he had been prepared to see much of the city deserted, but Rochinuviel had asked everyone to move their dwelling-places to the district nearest the Flower Forest, in many cases occupying the homes of those who were away.
It had seemed to Jermayan as if the city had shrunk.
There were many practical reasons for the Vicereign’s request, of course. If the people were gathered close together, they could watch over one another. There was less chance that any of the Dark-tainted creatures who now roamed the Elven Lands might attack a lone dwelling at the edge of the city and overwhelm its occupant. And the nearness of the Flower Forest provided its own subtle protection from Taint, as well as raising the spirits of all who gazed upon it.
But the sight of the streets of empty shuttered dwellings at the outskirts of the city had brought home the reality of the war to Jermayan as nothing else had, despite the terrible battles he had fought, despite seeing Windalorianan destroyed. Watching Ondoladeshiron quietly dwindle, without fire or battle, was like watching a loved one slowly die of a long wasting illness. It had a silent horror that struck him to the roots of his being.
Even if we win this war, nothing will ever be the same again.
“They said that a thousand years ago,” Ancaladar said for his ears alone, breaking into his reverie as they flew toward the Crowned Horns. Jermayan was never quite certain whether the dragon read his mind, or was simply an uncannily accurate guesser. It would certainly take no great sorcery to guess the direction of his mind lately, Jermayan thought ruefully. He had been all but rude ever since they had arrived in Ondoladeshiron. Fortunately the mirror-relays had been working well between Realthataladon and Ondoladeshiron, and everything he and Ancaladar had needed had been waiting for them, so their wait there had been brief, giving him less time to brood over the changes to the city. All they’d needed to do was await the break in the weather that Ancaladar had said was coming.
“And you see? The world went on. Different, and also good,” the dragon continued insistently, finishing his argument.
Yes, my friend, but we won that war,Jermayan answered silently.
Ancaladar snorted explosively. If they had not been carrying passengers, Jermayan was certain he would have been treated to some spectacular aerial acrobatics to jar him out of his mood. Ancaladar said nothing, but he did not need to. Jermayan could easily imagine the dragon’s reply:
“If you do not win this war, you will not need to worry about the state of the world at all.”
Jermayan sighed. He wished he could share Kellen’s faith that matters had taken a turn for the better, but Kellen was the only one who seemed to think they had. For all their sakes, he hoped Kellen was right, but he simply lacked a Knight-Mage’s vision.
A movement on the snow far below caught his attention.
A pack of Coldwarg was loping across the snow in search of prey. They were difficult to spot, being nearly the color of the snow, and it was motion more than color that had attracted Jermayan’s eye.
Some of the pack looked up as Ancaladar’s shadow passed over them. But the dragon did not attack, and they ignored him as they ran on.
So many … Jermayan thought. A pack of such size would make trouble for even the army, should it encounter them. No lesser band of travelers would be safe. They seek to tighten their grasp upon us by proxy, isolating us from each other through weather and Their creatures.
Finally the Fortress was once more in sight. Today it gleamed like the bright crown of the mountains it had been built to be, in those ancient days.
MASTER Tyrvin had not been pleased to hear he must open the doors of his fortress again, and not once, but more than a dozen times so that Jermayan and Ancaladar could bring the women of the Nine Cities to him. When Kellen had visited here earlier in the winter, he had convinced Tyrvin of the need to keep the fortress sealed against any who might be a Demon in disguise. Only Andoreniel’s decree, made for the most logical and compelling, if not the best, of reasons could have convinced the Fortress’s master to obey.
Fortunately I need endure my old friend’s silent reproaches only once more after today, for there is only one atYsterialpoerin who must come here, and then this task is done.
As he landed, Ancaladar broke through the ice-crust on the snow at the foot of the causeway with the sound of an axe biting into wood. Where the crust was unbroken, it was thick enough to bear Jermayan’s weight, and he quickly moved around Ancaladar, helping his passengers from the carrying baskets and then cutting the baskets free of the harness the dragon wore, for they would only hinder Ancaladar on his flight to Ysterialpoerin, and at any moment they might need to fight.
By the time Jermayan was finished with his task, the Knights waiting on the narrow causeway that provided the only access to the Fortress had reached the dragon’s side and were shepherding Jermayan’s charges up the causeway. Jermayan prepared to follow.
“Will you be long?” Ancaladar asked, turning his head to look directly at Jermayan.
“I must see Ashaniel; she left word last time that she wished to see me, but she was asleep when I came, and they would not waken her. But I will be brief.”
Ancaladar snorted gustily. “Brief for Elves,” the dragon sighed. “I will wait.” He spread his wings to catch as much of the sun’s rays as they possibly could.
BY now the narrow halls and corridors of the Fortress were as familiar to Jermayan as the back of his own hand, but the Fortress had been designed to confuse intruders, and he was pleased to have an escort as he followed Shentorris to Ashaniel’s chambers. The colorful and elaborate murals on the walls looked even more battered than the last time he had inspected them; the inevitable result of the corridors being used as battlegrounds for active children.
For battlegrounds and not playgrounds they had now become. Now every child here, not just those who had been students at the House of Sword and Shield, was learning everything the Knights had to teach. It did not matter if they were barely old enough to walk, like Kalainia, or nearly old enough to take the field outside, like Alkadoran, who had been nearly ready to enter the House of Sword and Shield to begin his Knightly training when he had come with the caravan from Sentarshadeen: Each learned all he or she was capable of, whether it was simply to run and hide, or the dancelike moves of swordless fighting, or how to attack with club, stave, bow, sword… .
As he and Shentorris moved down the hall, two Elven children ran the other way. The elder could have been no more than five, her companion at least a year younger, and their faces shone with delight at the wonderful game they were playing. Hands over their mouths to stifle giggles, they dodged down the cross-corridor.
Behind them came Alkadoran, his face grim. In his mind, at least, this was no game, for he was one of the children who had been captured and held prisoner by the Shadowed Elves, and more than many here, h
e knew the true horror that they all faced. He did not give the two Knights a passing glance, but continued down the corridor after the two children at a measured pace, his lips moving as he counted off seconds.
Hare and Hound, a game all children play … but if it is ever played out in earnest in this place, the stakes will be far higher than the forfeit of a sweetmeat or a hair ribbon. Leaf and Star, if the day comes that the children must fight because we have failed to defend them, I think it would be much better for us, and for them as well, if this place had been sealed up so tightly that they had starved to death instead.
And that is yet possible. Tyr says the food supplies here will not last much past late spring. We must find some way to resupply… .
After several more twists and turns—corridors were short on purpose, and there were many ways to reach every destination—Shentorris stopped before a door. “Come and see Master Tyrvin before you leave. Sandalon will bring you.” He tapped at the door.
A voice from within bid them enter, and Shentorris opened the door.
Few of the rooms of the Fortress of the Crowned Horns had windows, and Ashaniel’s chamber was no exception, though the walls had been painted to make the room seem as if it were a tower room, with paintings of pretended windows on all four walls looking out over the Mystrals in high summer, when the meadows below were green and starred with flowers.
Sandalon and Lairamo, the Elven woman who was nurse to the young Elven Prince, were with the Queen. Jermayan was sorry to see that Sandalon still looked hollow-eyed and unnaturally aged. Idalia had told him that Sandalon blamed himself for being the cause of all the deaths in the caravan that he had been a part of. Idalia had said that he’d told Lairamo that it was his fault because the caravan had only been taken because of him.
It was a terrible weight of responsibility for a young child to carry. They’d all told him it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t responsible for the deaths, or for the capture of Alkadoran, Kalainia, and all the rest.
But of course, in a way he was right: The Endarkened had struck at that caravan precisely because Sandalon was traveling with it. But to say the boy was responsible for the attack would be as if one were saying he could accept responsibility for what They chose to do. And he couldn’t.
It was a difficult concept to explain to a five-year-old child who knew only that some day he would be King, and that being King meant taking responsibility.
Jermayan entered, bowing very low.
“Oh, come, Jermayan, there is no need for such formality here. It was I who asked to see you.”
Jermayan raised his head, and then rose gracefully from his bow. “I shall do whatever my Queen desires.”
Ashaniel chuckled, low in her throat. “You are just as mannerly as Sandalon, you know, Jermayan—and just as hard on your clothes.”
“It is difficult to follow the fashion in the field,” Jermayan said ruefully, settling himself beside her, at her gesture, on the low padded bench. “But naturally such matters are meaningless to you. As always, you neither set nor follow fashion, but transcend it.”
Ashaniel wore a simple gray gown beneath an open fur-lined robe. The lines of the gown were loose, designed to conceal much, though she was not yet halfway through her pregnancy. But unless there were stores of unfinished cloth here in the fortress, the gown she had arrived wearing was the only clothing she had. Ancaladar could carry passengers, but not baggage.
“Were it the season to carry a fan, I would strike you with it to remind you of the utter foolishness of that remark,” Ashaniel said serenely. “Lairamo, perhaps you would find it appropriate to distract our guest with tea before he says something even more foolish.”
Lairamo went to the cabinet at the side of the room and brought out the tea-brazier and a pot.
AS the water heated and then the tea brewed, the three of them spoke of inconsequential things: the weather, the people now living in the Fortress. Both Jermayan and Ashaniel encouraged Sandalon to talk about how he found things here in his new home, since for the first time in his life, there were children his own age around for him to play with. But he was difficult to draw out, as if he were struggling with ideas that he simply did not have the words to express. What he wanted to know about was Kellen, and Shalkan, and Vestakia, and Idalia. In order to save the child from enumerating the entire list of people he had known back in Sentarshadeen, Jermayan told him all that he knew about all of Sandalon’s friends as he had last seen them. He was glad he was able to say that they were all alive and well.
He hoped what he told the boy was still true.
When the tea was poured, and a cup of cider had been mulled for Sandalon, Jermayan sensed that they would soon be coming to the reason that Ashaniel had summoned him.
Sandalon seemed to sense it, too. He finished his drink in a few inelegant gulps and looked appealingly at his mother. She smiled and reached out to ruffle his short dark hair.
“I think it is time for you to go and play gan with Lairamo for a little while, my heart. And then Jermayan will need you to show him the way back to Master Tyrvin’s chambers, or else he will wander here for a very long time.”
Sandalon actually looked grateful to be excused, while the boy Jermayan had known of old would have teased to be allowed to stay and listen in on the conversation of the adults.
“Do you rea—I mean, thank you for allowing me to be of service to you, Jermayan.” The boy made a deep and surprisingly-practiced bow.
“It is my honor and my pleasure as well, Sandalon,” Jermayan replied.
Lairamo took Sandalon’s hand and led him from the room, through a door that was not the one through which Jermayan had entered. The door was flanked by tall painted windows showing a vista of imaginary rooftops, mountains, and a long sweep of flower-starred green. Spring.
Jermayan hardly dared to imagine what horrors this spring would bring.
Ashaniel settled herself more comfortably and refilled both their cups.
“Now,” she said, a hint of winter’s ice in her voice. “Truth will make good hearing.”
Jermayan stared at her in surprise. Ashaniel raised her eyebrows.
“Master Tyrvin assures me that we are all quite safe. One presumes that he is training children of six to wield a dagger because we are all quite safe. One presumes also that he must think that Magarabeleniel has suddenly been wreft of the power of speech—oh, she is no fool, as you know, to spread her news everywhere, but certainly she spoke to me. And so has every woman from every city that you have ferried here.”
“Perhaps,” Jermayan said quietly, “you know more than I.”
“Perhaps,” Ashaniel said unrelentingly. “And if you tell me what you know, we may be certain of it.”
Jermayan bowed his head, acknowledging defeat. “I think I may not know as much as you, Lady Ashaniel, since for nearly two moonturns Ancaladar and I have been flying among the Nine Cities, and our only news is fragmentary and long out of date. Of Lerkalpoldara you know as much as I. You know, too, that Deskethomayel and Windalorianan have been evacuated, their inhabitants sent south. I know that none of them went to Ondoladeshiron, for I have just come from there, and I only hope they reached what destinations they chose safely. There was fear of both plague and blight in Windalorianan when I was there, and also of ancient Allies of the Enemy breaching our northern borders. Because of the Shadowed Elves, Their creatures already roam our land freely: serpentmarae, ice-drakes, and Coldwarg, despoiling the land of both game and herd, and tainting what it feeds upon. Coldwarg I saw myself on our flight here.”
Ashaniel nodded in reluctant approval of this summary. “It is much as I have heard. And so we fall back upon our young cities in the west, and surrender the north to the darkness. Victory, it seems, lies outside our borders, in who claims the allegiance of the Mage City, and when. But I must know what lies within your thoughts, Jermayan, and if it seems to you that it is possible that the High Mages will come to listen to us in time to save themselves an
d us.”
Jermayan hesitated. He wanted to tell her that certainly Armethalieh would come to its senses and ally itself with the Children of Leaf and Star as Men had with Elves in the last Great War.
But not even Kellen had faith in that, though Kellen believed the Light would win this war.
“Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” Jermayan said at last. “Kellen believes that whatever path the Golden City chooses, the Light can yet prevail.”
“But I would hear your thoughts, not what Kellen believes,” Ashaniel reminded him softly.
“It is … too soon to say,” Jermayan said, after a long silence had grown between them. “The human High Mage Cilarnen reminds us of something we had nearly forgotten—that Armethalieh, too, remembers the ancient Enemy. The war has not yet touched the human city. When it does, it may well be that they awaken to their true danger and fight, for all that Anigrel High Mage has done to make them blind and unaware.”
“So … ‘the Wild Magic goes as it wills’?” the Queen quoted with a faint smile.
“Kellen Knight-Mage has often been right before. And he feels we are closer to victory than we have ever yet been,” Jermayan said honestly.
“But all know that Kellen has two selves,” Ashaniel said, touching once again on many of the Elves’ greatest worry. “It would be good to know which speaks: the human boy or the Knight-Mage. We all hope. But I must know.”
Jermayan shook his head decisively. “Once, at the beginning, before Kellen knew what it was to be a Knight-Mage, before any of us knew what the cost of this war was to be … yes, then he had two selves and either might speak. But the fires of war have burned the boy to ash, and only the Knight-Mage speaks now.”
“Then the Knight-Mage believes there is a chance for victory,” Ashaniel said, resting her hand lightly against her stomach.
“One thing Kellen has never done well is evade the truth. It is wholly entertaining to watch him try. The Wild Magic speaks to him. If he believed anything other than what he has said, I would know. And I would not have come to see you at all.”
The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Page 185