The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy

by Mercedes Lackey

“I have done all I can, save act without orders,” Redhelwar continued. “The Wildmages cannot advise me. Even Cilarnen cannot, though he has found a way to use his power. Though the High Magick can see things that the Wild Magic cannot, it has its own limitations, and as Cilarnen has neither been to Sentarshadeen nor seen a Shadowed Elf, he can neither See Andoreniel nor where the last of the Shadowed Elves may be hiding.”

  “Then it is plain that I must go to Sentarshadeen, and seek out Andoreniel at once,” Jermayan said.

  “As much as I would wish this, I cannot counsel you to act against the last orders Andoreniel did give you,” Redhelwar said heavily. “The women of Ysteri-alpoerin have yet to be transported to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns. That task must come first.”

  Jermayan shook his head in frustration, though he knew Redhelwar was right. “It will be a matter of but half a day, and then we will fly for Sentarshadeen, and end this troubling silence. And, further, I am moved to speak as Kellen would, in his absence.”

  Redhelwar smiled faintly. “I admit, I have missed his bold counsel. It has been … quiet… since he left.”

  Jermayan inclined his head in agreement. “It is true that, as Idalia tells me, we are needed here, and I am troubled at the thought that our absence might invite an attack upon Ysterialpoerin by those whom we oppose. Yet it is also true that our presence is a great drain upon the resources of the Forest City, especially now that she has so many other calls upon her substance. It is in my mind that Kellen would say that you must prepare the army to move south to Ondoladeshiron, even though Andoreniel has sent no word, lest the army become too great a drain upon Ysterialpoerin. I wish I could say that the Wild Magic speaks in this, but I cannot.”

  “We are not humans, to depend upon magic for everything,” Redhelwar answered slowly. “It is good counsel—yet I fear, as you do, to leave them undefended.”

  “I have no resolution for you,” Jermayan said unhappily.

  “And so it must be my decision. Go. Rest, for both you and Ancaladar are to weary to fly again before morning, even if you would. I shall see you again when you have returned from the Crowned Horns. There are messages that must go to Sentarshadeen.”

  Jermayan left Redhelwar’s pavilion, his steps heavy. Idalia was waiting for him.

  “And now you know everything I do,” she said, tucking her arm through his.

  “Tomorrow I make my last flight to the Crowned Horns—and then Ancaladar and I must go to Sentarshadeen, to discover the reason for Andoreniel’s silence,” Jermayan said.

  “I’d go with you,” Idalia said wistfully, “but there’s so much work to do here. Vestakia’s been wearing herself to a frazzle trying to be in two places at once. She had such high hopes of getting information from the Crystal Spiders. They want to help, Jermayan, but Vestakia says she just can’t understand what they’re telling her.”

  Jermayan regarded her quizzically. Idalia sighed heavily.

  “She says they’re trying to communicate symbolically. Showing her pictures of a cave filled with water. And jewels. The same image, over and over, for sennights. But that doesn’t mean anything to her, and she can’t get them to make it any clearer.”

  They had been walking in the direction of Healer’s Row, where Idalia’s pavilion was. When she said those last words Jermayan stopped in mid-step.

  “A cave marked out by water and jewels. It would be good to think that there were two such places in our land. I know of only one, and in it these things are not symbols, but reality.”

  “Jermayan! You know where it is?” Idalia demanded.

  “Perhaps I am wrong,” Jermayan answered, though not as if he thought he were. “But a cavern with water, and jewels … that sounds as if the Crystal Spiders speak of the Caverns of Halacira, through which runs Angarussa the Undying.”

  “Redhelwar sent Kellen there,” Idalia said, her voice emotionless. “He might already be there.”

  “Perhaps,” Jermayan said gently, “you might ask Vestakia to come to us, to see if she has more to tell.”

  THAT morning, Vestakia had entered the caverns filled with a grim determination. She would have an answer she could use this time no matter what she had to do to get it, Vestakia vowed. After a mostly-sleepless night, she and Khirethil and Khirethil’s troop went down into the caverns once more. After so many sennights, the preparation for communicating with the Crystal Spiders had become almost a ritual. They came down into the caverns, she laid a heavy fur robe on the floor to protect her as much as possible from the chill of the stone floor, lay down upon it, and waited.

  Soon the Crystal Spiders appeared, moving over the floor in a softly-glowing wave of many-legged bodies. They looked very much like the lanterns the Elves lighted outside their homes back in Sentarshadeen—assuming, of course, that those lanterns could walk.

  The Crystal Spiders settled over her body, touching her face and hands with their stiff feathery bristles.

  :Once more you come to us,: she heard in her mind.

  “Yes. I still haven’t found what I need. You have to show me … show me something about this place that makes it special to the Elves.”

  There was a long pause, during which she felt the pressure of the Crystal Spiders’ thoughts like a background chorus of whispers in her mind. Though it was nothing like the experience of her dream, it reminded her of it, and she could not help shuddering, just a little.

  :You touch the Dark?: came the question, clear and strong in her mind.

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I think I am beginning to see into my father’s mind. I think it can be a weapon to help in our fight.”

  :Darkness swallows Light. Be wary.:

  There was silence then—not even the whispers—and Vestakia began to believe the Crystal Spiders might have nothing to tell her. She was shaping another question for them when the images began.

  Fast—too fast for her to “see” any of them clearly—they appeared inside her mind in quick flashes, changing so swiftly she began to grow sick and dizzy. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to endure. She sensed that whatever was taking place, the Crystal Spiders were making a greater effort to communicate in a way she could understand than they ever had before.

  On and on the dizzying kaleidoscope of images went, until at last one held. Steadied.

  She was looking at a vast cavern, like one she had seen here with her own eyes. The same conical pillars of stone extended from ceiling and floor, except here, some of them had been carved into familiar shapes.

  Xaique-pieces.

  The images withdrew from her mind, and Vestakia blinked, forcing herself to breathe normally. Her head pounded, as if it had been forced to hold far more than it ought. But her sense of triumph was so strong she almost didn’t care.

  A cavern filled with giant xaique-pieces? Surely someone would recognize that description!

  “Thank you,” she said to the spiders. “I think this is what we need.”

  :We thank you for battling the Dark Minds. We hope we did not damage you, but we sensed your need was great.:

  “Oh yes,” Vestakia said. “Yes, it was.”

  WHEN the Crystal Spiders had retreated, and she tried to get to her feet, she discovered that she was as weak as if she’d lain long abed with a high fever. Khirethil had to help her to her feet.

  “It would be good to hear that your work has prospered. It is nearly noon.”

  “So long?” Vestakia gasped. They’d come down to the caves just after dawn, and she’d thought only a few minutes had passed.

  “I … think I have the answer now. We need to ride back to the Main Camp and find somebody who will know.”

  “We need to ride back to the Main Camp,” Khirethil agreed. “But to place you beneath the eye of the Healers, were I to be consulted.”

  “There’s no time for that!” Vestakia said impatiently. “Though I suppose Idalia would be a good place to start.” Idalia knew as much about the Elven Lands as anyone Vestaki
a knew. If she didn’t recognize Vestakia’s description of the caverns, she might know someone who did.

  JERMAYAN and Idalia were just preparing to send a messenger up to the Further Cavern when Khirethil’s troop rode down to Healer’s Alley with Vestakia—chilled, shivering, and wrapped in several fur cloaks in addition to her own.

  Khirethil and Idalia both insisted on putting Vestakia into a warm bed at once, while Vestakia was equally adamant that she must deliver her news: The Crystal Spiders had finally provided her with a landmark that someone would be able to use to identify the last of the Shadowed Elf Enclaves.

  “Tell me, then, of your courtesy,” Jermayan said, bowing slightly. “I do admit, that while Idalia is an admirable woman, there are times when she does not listen as well as she might, especially when one is attempting to tell her something important.” There was a faintly teasing note in his voice.

  “This news will wait,” Idalia snapped. “The fact that Vestakia is freezing will not.”

  “But I am not freezing now,” Vestakia said pleadingly. “I am perfectly warm, truly I am, Idalia. And I have worked so hard to find this out, and I am so tired. I want to tell someone. And I am sure that Jermayan must know.”

  “Very well then,” Idalia said grudgingly. Her gruffness, both Vestakia and Jermayan knew, was caused by very real worry over Vestakia’s health. “You may talk to Jermayan. I shall go to prepare you a sleeping cordial. And when I come back, you will drink it.”

  “I see our speech is to be brief,” Jermayan said. “Then let us begin.”

  Vestakia drew a deep breath. “From the first, the Crystal Spiders have been showing me pictures of water and jewels—it is their way of making names, I think, because they do not talk in words. Sometimes they would show me actual pictures, but they were just the same: water and jewels. It made no sense to me!”

  “It makes sense to me,” Jermayan said. “But you have said that today they showed you a different thing.”

  “Yes!” Vestakia said, her voice vibrant with relief. “Today they showed me a great cavern carved to look like a giant xaique board, with all of the pieces in place, and the floor inlaid as well. Surely someone must know of such a place, Jermayan!”

  “Indeed, and this confirms my deepest fears, for you have just told me that the Crystal Spiders say that the last lair of the Shadowed Elves is at the Jeweled Caverns of Halacira.”

  “But… Kellen is going to Halacira,” Vestakia said numbly.

  “He is,” Jermayan said. “But he will not reach the caverns for some time yet, I am certain. When I return from the Crowned Horns, I will take your warning to Kellen, and he will be grateful to receive it, you may be sure.”

  “But—” Vestakia said.

  “No buts—” Idalia said implacably, returning with a large steaming mug. “We now know where the last Enclave is, which is a lot more than we knew this morning. Kellen has been fighting these things all winter and doing just fine. And he certainly wouldn’t thank me if I let you wear yourself to a frazzle worrying about him after you’d done your part. Now drink, and get a good rest. You’ve spent far too much time in those damp caverns.”

  Meekly, Vestakia did as she was told.

  JERMAYAN and Idalia waited until Vestakia was asleep, then left the Healer’s Tent. Khirethil would stand guard over Vestakia, making certain she remained where she was supposed to even if she woke up. A nice warm sleep would be the best thing for her.

  WHILE they waited, Jermayan wrote out the details of what Vestakia had learned and gave them to a runner to deliver to Redhelwar, so that the Army’s General would have the latest information—though there was little more that Redhelwar could do about it than what—as it turned out—he had already done.

  No one knew better than Jermayan how well Kellen fought. And Kellen had as much experience as any of them against the Shadowed Elves. Further, Kellen was a Knight-Mage, the first in a thousand years. The Wild Magic often worked with great subtlety; it was not impossible that Kellen’s being sent to Halacira was part of the unfolding of a pattern of the Wild Magic too vast and enigmatic for either Elves or Men to see. If there was one thing Jermayan was certain of about his young human friend, it was that Kellen would not go charging blindly into anything without making certain that it wasn’t a trap.

  And yet…

  “It would be reassuring if we could warn Kellen immediately,” Jermayan said aloud, when he and Idalia left the pavilion. He had told Vestakia that Kellen was days away from reaching Halacira, but in truth he was not certain of that at all. Distance was a variable thing in winter, depending much upon weather conditions. It was possible that Kellen was already there—or if not actually there, then certainly close enough that the Shadowed Elves might venture out of their stronghold to attack him.

  Idalia made a rude noise. “If your magic can’t reach him, mine certainly won’t. But we can try Cilarnen. It’s a lovely day for a ride, I think.”

  They turned and headed back in the direction of the horse-lines.

  VALDIEN was delighted to see his master after such a long absence, and Cella had not gotten as much exercise as Idalia would have liked, with all the work she’d had to do in both camps. The two animals were quickly saddled, and Idalia and Jermayan set out.

  “Cilarnen is living up at the pavilion you built for the mirror-spell now,” Idalia told him as they rode. “He says he needs the quiet to work. Kardus visits him—daily, since a problem we ran into earlier—and I think the unicorns are fascinated by the High Magick, but otherwise he pretty much keeps to himself.”

  “I do not know that I would think that entirely wise,” Jermayan said slowly.

  “He says it’s safer,” Idalia said. “I’m not sure for whom. There’s a lot he isn’t telling us, but it’s only common sense that you can’t cram a lifetime of training and study into a few moonturns without serious side-effects. And I don’t know much about the High Magick, but I do know it isn’t meant to be worked by just one person alone, even if he does have … help.”

  “Redhelwar said that he has found a source of power for his spells,” Jermayan said doubtfully.

  Idalia made a face. “He’s gained the consent of the Elementals to draw on them directly. Don’t even ask me to explain how that works.”

  SOMEONE was coming, but he would be finished long before they were close enough to be a nuisance.

  It had taken him a long time to build up this most dangerous of spells, but it was vital. He had told Kardus what he must do; the Centaur Wildmage, understanding the necessity, had promised to cease his visits until Cilarnen was finished. Cilarnen understood why Idalia thought they were necessary, and Kardus was his friend, but the constant fussing and interruptions annoyed him. To do what he must do, to learn what he must know, he needed privacy and solitude. A lot of it.

  If he could not do it, there was always the possibility that he would be the traitor within, the Endarkened’s weapon to use against the forces of the Light at the moment of their greatest weakness.

  He knew that Anigrel had tampered with his mind.

  He knew part of what the Tainted Darkmage had done: He had suppressed Cilarnen’s Magegift when he should have Burned it from his mind.

  Why?

  And what else had he done?

  How did it aid Anigrel—and the Demons—to have Cilarnen—whole, and in possession of his Magegift, alive and among Anigrel’s enemies?

  He must know.

  He had told the Elves truly that he was no Mindhealer, and even now, with infinite power to draw on, and a High Mage’s library at his disposal, he could not claim such skills, for those healing arts took a lifetime of practice to master.

  But to find a compulsion set in his mind …

  Perhaps he had the skill for that.

  For the past three days he had been sitting in the center of the ice-pavilion, his sword across his knees.

  Sifting through things that had no name in words.

  All of his early training was
there, laid down like layers of rock in the earth, or the densely-colorful weavings of a fine tapestry.

  He touched each piece. Each was as it should be. Harmless. Innocent. He left them alone.

  It took time—days—to work through all the years of his training. It took a lifetime to make a High Mage, or it should. What he was now, what he was making of himself in sennights instead of years, was something different, as different from a High Mage, he imagined, as Kellen Tavadon was from a Wild Mage. Something created to burn brightly in time of war.

  At last he reached the place where things … stopped.

  There it was. Alien magic, twined through his own. No wonder he’d been having headaches, Cilarnen realized. The only wonder was that he’d been having so few of them.

  It lay dormant, glowing an ugly blackish-red to his spell-sight. It took him hours to work it free, setting layer upon layer of wards around it as he went. It was the most delicate and painstaking magick Cilarnen had ever performed—in a sense, in that moment he took and passed the test for Master Mage.

  Once he had removed it from his mind, he was able to trigger it harmlessly, examining it in the moment that it expended itself fruitlessly against the wards he had created around it.

  As if in a dream, he saw what might have been. Himself and Kellen, standing beside each other. There was no magick involved in the two of them seeking each other out: That had been inevitable from the moment Cilarnen had been Banished—and lived. Even without the Demons’raid on Stonehearth, it would have happened eventually.

  And Anigrel’s spell, lying dormant—not even a spell, as such, for the unicorns andVestakia could have detected that—but a receiver for a spell, waiting for the moment when Anigrel would be invested with his full power as a Darkmage, and trigger it… .

  And Cilarnen would strike at Kellen with all a High Mage’s power.

  Killing them both.

  Cilarnen smiled grimly as the spell-construct fizzled away in a tiny flash of light. He carefully banished the wards he had constructed to contain it, and got stiffly to his feet, rubbing his head.