The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Cilarnen no longer spent his nights in spellcraft and meditation; in an army on the move, it was simply impossible, and he was devoting every minute he had to perfecting the spell that he and the Unicorn Knights would cast at Armethalieh. The only one who was not a part of that spell was Shalkan; once again, Shalkan’s own Mageprice set him apart.

  In the moments Cilarnen could spare from working with the Unicorn Knights, he assembled the cantrips that would serve him best in the field, and—Kellen supposed—snatched an hour or two of sleep here and there, in Anganil’s saddle as often as not.

  He looked as if he were dying of fever.

  TODAY they had reached the edge of the Delfier Valley.

  Armethalieh itself was only a few days away. Less, really, for the edge of the High Mage’s weather-spells was just ahead. They would cross them in a mile or so.

  Behind them, the landscape still labored under deep winter and heavy snow. Ahead, at the valley’s westernmost entrance, there was less than a foot of snow upon the ground. Ancaladar had flown over the Delfier Valley yesterday—the Bounds did not keep anyone out as the Elven Landwards or the City-Wards did; they simply marked the edge of where spells of the High Magick could be cast—and said that everywhere he flew it was the same. Only the lightest dusting of snow covered the ground.

  Here, the course of the Demons’ raids could be plainly seen. Ancaladar and Jermayan had reported seeing the burnt-out remains of several villages on their overflight. They could not name the villages that had been destroyed. Even Cilarnen could not do that. A proper young High Mage’s knowledge of geography stopped at the City Walls, and Cilarnen knew more of the geography of the Elven Lands than he did of the Delfier Valley just a few miles from the city where he had been born and raised.

  Without Jermayan’s magic to shield them, he and Ancaladar had not dared approach Armethalieh closely, though Ancaladar was willing to risk such a flight tonight. The High Mages would be awake, and active, but their attention would be elsewhere. A black dragon against a black sky, flying quickly, would not be seen. And Ancaladar was still capable of seeing far more things than a human could.

  “‘A Great Sacrifice,’” Idalia echoed, puzzled.

  “He has just learned of it,” Vestakia said. “He is very … I am not sure what. She means to make it at a Place of Power somewhere near Armethalieh. He spies on Her. When She has made this Sacrifice She has spoken of, not even the Starry Hunt can keep He Who Is out of the world.”

  Kellen looked at the others—Idalia, Jermayan, Cilarnen—inquiringly. Among them they represented—or had represented, in Jermayan’s case—all the forms of magic that existed in the world, and so represented a sort of informal Council-Within-a-Council in Redhelwar’s army. Everyone knew that the battle that would be joined—in only a few days, now at most—would be fought more with magic than with swords and lances, and High Mages and Wildmages had the best idea of the form a battle of magic would take.

  “Well,” Idalia said slowly, “I suppose it isn’t hard to guess where She means to do it. There’s one of the old Places of Power in the Delfier Valley—a Shrine, like the one in the north where I summoned the Starry Hunt. The one in the Delfier Valley belongs to Men, but unfortunately for us, all the Shrines are completely neutral. Anyone can use them, and for any purpose, even a bad one. I’m not entirely certain where it is exactly, though I could find it if I had to; it’s been forgotten for longer than the walls of the City have stood.”

  “Kindling is only a day or two away,” Kellen said slowly. “That doesn’t give us much time. But what’s a ‘Great Sacrifice’? Is it something you do? Or something you have?”

  “It’s—I’m not sure,” Cilarnen said. “But if I had to guess from what’s in my old books—and from the look on your face, I’d better—it would be a person. Someone who symbolizes the Land Itself. And considering what we know about Them and how Their magic works, I’d say it would be a blood sacrifice.”

  “A King would be the only one who could symbolize the Land,” Kellen said. “But Andoreniel is safe in the Elven Lands. And Sandalon is safe in the Fortress of the Crowned Horns. So is Ashaniel, for that matter. And there aren’t any other kings.”

  Idalia frowned. “The Centaurs don’t have Kings. Not any more. No Centaur She could sacrifice at the Delfier Shrine would symbolize the Land. The same holds for the Mountainfolk, because whoever She tried to sacrifice at the Delfier Shrine at Kindling, She’d have to find someone the Shrine itself would recognize as a King of Men—isn’t that right, Cilarnen?”

  “Magic has rules,” Cilarnen said firmly. “Well, the High Magick does. And what I read about the Great Sacrifice was in a book about the High Magick—or its ancestor, anyway. So I’d say that this old form follows a lot of the same rules as what I do. The Sacrifice can’t be just anybody. It has to be a specific somebody. At a specific time. The best and most powerful sacrifices—the only kind my book talks about, actually—went willingly, joining their personal power to the Land’s power for the good of all, but I really don’t think that’s going to happen. And I think … She doesn’t have Her sacrifice yet. Or She’d already have taken the shrine and just be waiting on top of it for the right time.”

  “She doesn’t want Him to know,” Vestakia said softly. Her voice was dreamlike, as if she were still asleep. “And … I don’t know who the sacrifice is, but… I know that what She does will give Her a lot of power. And I think it frightens Him.”

  “It would frighten anyone,” Kellen said quietly. “We’ll stop it.” He spoke with more certainty than he felt, but he could not bear the sight of her pinched, haunted, face.

  Suddenly she gasped and doubled over.

  “They’re coming!” she said. “They’re approaching from the south.”

  “To horse,” Redhelwar said quietly. “We must reach Armethalieh before Them.”

  LESS than an hour later they crossed over into the Delfier Valley, and the army’s speed increased.

  Their army was still too far away too see—at the far end of the valley, coming up the southern road, the one Cilarnen had taken toward Stonehearth many moonturns ago—but everyone in the army, whether they had magic or not, now could sense Their approach. It was as if the air were filled with a constant irritating whine, and there were a shadow over the face of the sun. Half the outriders had dropped back simply to keep the horse herds from bolting, and even the normally stolid oxen, the last creatures to be affected by anything, were on the verge of panic.

  But Idalia and the other Wildmage Healers had been preparing for this all the way here. At the first stop of the day, they moved through the army and the herds, distributing doses of the same bright green cordial Kellen had been dosed with by Shalkan when he began his climb to the Black Cairn. It shut down the magical senses—even in the nonmagical—and made the presence of the Demons easier to bear.

  “How much is there?” Kellen asked.

  Idalia had brought a large bucket of faintly green-tinged water to where he and his troop were resting. After all of the Elves had drunk a cup—Kellen, of course, did not—the destriers were each encouraged to drink a bowlful. As Kellen recalled from Shalkan’s explanation, it would taste good to them, and calm their nerves.

  “Enough to dose the worst cases at full strength for three days, and to take the edge off the entire army for the same time. We’ve put it in the drinking water, by Redhelwar’s command. Don’t worry. There are a few barrels of pure water left for the Wildmages. Or you can melt snow.”

  “If I can find any,” Kellen said, looking around. After the landscape he’d been riding through most of the winter, this looked like high summer. “Did you give some to Vestakia?”

  “She refused.”

  “Make her take it. Or I’ll come and pour it down her throat myself.”

  Idalia opened her mouth to protest. Kellen cut her off.

  “We need what she can still tell us. And she needs rest. We already know that They’re there, and where They’re go
ing. If They attack us in the next few hours, I’m sure we’ll notice without any extra warning.”

  Idalia smiled. “I’ll tell her you said so.”

  “Just tell her she has to take it.”

  “I will.” Idalia picked up the empty bucket and moved on.

  AS they rode deeper into the Delfier Valley, it became apparent to the Allies that the Demons did not mean to engage. Everyone knew how fast They could move—especially the Endarkened themselves, covering miles in seconds. Yet They held back, allowing the Allies to push on down the Western Road toward Armethalieh without opposition.

  “What are They planning?” Kellen demanded.

  He was riding beside Redhelwar, at the front of the Allied Army. Soon they would have to stop to make camp. It was possible the attack would come then. Though the Demons marched—and flew—in the day, many of those who marched beneath Their banner were creatures of the night.

  And tomorrow—if they survived the night—the army would reach Armethalieh.

  “Perhaps to have all of Their enemies in one place before They destroy them,” Redhelwar answered, falling easily into the informality of War Manners.

  “But They don’t want to destroy Armethalieh. They want to devour it. It’s us They want to destroy,” Kellen said.

  “Does the Wild Magic not counsel you?” Redhelwar asked. There was an undertone of worry in his voice.

  “It doesn’t suggest I’m doing anything I shouldn’t be doing—or that you aren’t,” Kellen said. “So I suppose we’re both doing what we ought to be right now by going straight ahead. If Ancaladar can make a flight over the City tonight, we’ll have fresher news. And Cilarnen intends to scry, to see what’s going on with the Council. They have to know that there are two armies out here. They’ll be meeting in an Emergency Session tonight, more than likely. He’ll be able to find out what they’re talking about.”

  “And perhaps tomorrow he can speak to them in person, and bring them to their senses,” Redhelwar said.

  “I hope so,” Kellen said grimly.

  THEY set up camp in expectation of being attacked at any moment, with a third of the camp on watch at all times. It was all they could do; they dared not march through the night. The Demon army was more than human. They were only flesh and bone. Even if Coldfire would allow them to see in the night, they dared not arrive at the sight of the battle unfed and exhausted.

  Kellen was up at the Unicorn Camp. Not only did being there allow him to spend time with Shalkan, he would be nearby when Cilarnen finished doing … whatever it was that Cilarnen did. He wasn’t really in the mood to sleep, anyway. And his troop had the second watch, the hardest of the night. He’d sleep for a few hours after that, he promised himself.

  Every now and again he glanced over at Cilarnen’s wagon. It seemed to glow faintly, though there was no actual light showing.

  “You’ll wear yourself out with all that staring,” Shalkan told him.

  The closeness of the Demons affected everyone. It was as if Their mere presence was a beacon, radiating despair. But the unicorns, of course, were the hardest hit by Their nearness. Shalkan’s fur twitched constantly, as if invisible flies were stinging him, and his tufted tail was in constant motion, though he made no reference to the cause.

  “I know,” Kellen said, sighing. “I just wonder what he’s doing.”

  “If you’d stayed in the City, you’d know, of course,” the unicorn reminded him.

  Kellen shuddered faintly, and not from the cold. Shalkan snickered, but his ears twitched, raising and flattening, as if he were trying to find relief from an itch he couldn’t reach.

  Cilarnen obviously adored the High Magick, every single finicking rule and regulation of it.

  Kellen would rather be wrapped in chains and drowned.

  “I can tell exactly what you’re thinking, you know,” Shalkan said.

  “Is it that obvious?” Kellen asked ruefully. He was willing to endure more than usual of his friend’s teasing tonight, if it could distract Shalkan from his own discomfort.

  “Be glad that the requirements of Knight-Magery do not include concealing your feelings, or you’d never manage it.”

  “If it was something Master Belesharon wanted me to learn, believe me, I’d learn it,” Kellen said feelingly. “I can still feel the bruises I got in the House of Sword and Shield.”

  He sighed again, and looked upward. The night was clear—the High Mage’s weather-spells saw to that—and it almost seemed as if he could see the Starry Hunt riding across the sky. The air here swirled with Power, and not all of it was Dark. When they did face the Demon Army, they would have powerful allies.

  But… powerful enough?

  “Light blast and curse them all!”

  Cilarnen came stamping down out of his Mage-wagon, wearing nothing but a thin woolen shift.

  He regarded Kellen sourly—looking like the oldest and crankiest High Mage in all of Armethalieh—and continued across the camp—barefoot—to his tent.

  When he emerged, several minutes later, he was dressed, but in no better humor. He accepted a mug of tea from Menerchel, and came over to Kellen.

  “Nothing,” he said succinctly.

  “They weren’t meeting?” Kellen asked.

  “I mean I could see nothing,” Cilarnen said. “Not even the surrounding countryside!” He drank tea, obviously extremely frustrated. “I don’t think it’s because They are doing anything to Shield Themselves. And I really hope They can’t be shielding the City. I just think there’s too much Power around. It makes it impossible to see. You’ll have to hope Ancaladar can give you better information.”

  “You did all you could,” Kellen said.

  “What good is that if I couldn’t do what you need?” Cilarnen demanded. He took a deep breath and drained his mug. “I need to go check my spellbooks. There are some other things I need to prepare for the morning.”

  “Charming company, High Mages,” Shalkan said, when Cilarnen had gone.

  “He’s working too hard,” Kellen said, as if that were something they didn’t both already know. “He’s trying to do the impossible. And he thinks it’s his fault that the High Mages are all idiots. I don’t think it’s his fault.”

  “So you forgive him?” Shalkan asked. He raised a hind hoof, and set it down again, carefully.

  “I never blamed him,” Kellen said.

  He was surprised to discover, when he said it, that it was the truth.

  And always had been.

  ANCALADAR returned from his overflight of Armethalieh just before Kellen was about to go on watch. He and Jermayan had even more bad news.

  The only good news Ancaladar brought was that he could—even now—see the Wards around the City.

  They had been changed. Even if the army reached the City walls unopposed, it could never enter, even if the gates were opened to them.

  The Wards now blocked the entry of Elves, Wildmages, Centaurs, Other-folk … of all who rode with the Allied Army, only a few of the Mountainfolk and Wildlanders would be able to enter, and they would probably be killed by the City Guard and the Militia.

  If the Allied Army actually reached the City, it would be trapped against its walls as if they were a high cliff.

  And beyond Armethalieh was the sea.

  THE army marched before first light. There was no time this morning for Cilarnen’s practice—if the unicorns weren’t ready now to do what he was going to ask of them, they never would be. Kellen only hoped they would be able to do what Cilarnen asked of them even with the Demon Army right in front of them. None of them had considered the effect the Demons would have on the unicorns.

  Because no one has faced a Demon army in a thousand years. And no matter how good the records are that the Elves have kept of the Last War, information—vital information—has been lost.

  Perhaps War Mages could have Shielded the unicorns.

  If they’d had enough of them.

  It was too late to worry about that now
.

  The only encouraging news—though it was more than a bit puzzling, and right now none of them was in a mood for mysteries—was that the Demon Army had not attacked in the night. Every mile they rode today would bring them closer to Armethalieh, and after a certain point, there would be no way the sounds and sight of a battle could fail to reach the attention of the High Mages—and, probably, everyone else inside the City, considering the tactics the Demons would undoubtedly use on the battlefield.

  If it was still the Demons’ intention to take Armethalieh through trickery and misdirection, They would not dare attack the Allied Army where the Armethaliehans had any chance of seeing the battle while the City Wards were even partially in place. If the High Mages, even cowed and befuddled as Cilarnen had reported them to be, figured out that there were Demons outside their walls, they would probably join forces even with Elves to fight Them, and that would put an end to the Demons’ plans to subvert the City through deception.

  “THEY’RE gone!”

  Vestakia’s scream was a wail of pure terror, rousing Idalia from an uneasy sleep inside the Healer’s wagon. She’d been awake all night, ministering to the army with the senses-dampening cordial. She’d persuaded Vestakia to take an initial dose of the pure cordial—in the name of getting a few hours’ sleep; Kellen was right about that—but after that Vestakia had refused to take any more. She was right about that, too.

  “Vestakia? Who’s gone?”

  “Them. Their army. Idalia, I can’t sense Them anywhere.”

  Idalia was suddenly completely awake. “I’ll go tell Redhelwar.”

  THEY had moved through the night, her pets, her children, her slaves. All of those who could not disguise their true nature she had sent to wait at the Place of Sacrifice, under the command of her son and lover. Tomorrow night she would make the Great Sacrifice that would rend the Veil forever.