The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy
Page 227
Kellen and Vestakia were riding at the head of the convoy. It was peaceful to ride beside Vestakia. She was the last of his comrades who remained, the one who had been with him almost from the beginning. And while Kellen knew that she missed Idalia as much as he did, he also took delight in her constant wonder in everything new—and everything about the lushness of spring in the Elven Lands was new to Vestakia, since she had grown up in the harsh and nearly-barren Lost-lands.
Suddenly she stiffened and leaned forward in her saddle.
Kellen put a hand on his sword.
“No! Kellen—look! It’s Ancaladar!”
Kellen stared where she was pointing.
At the foot of the causeway that led up to the entrance to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns, there was a familiar black shape.
Ancaladar.
Kellen turned to Ornentuile, one of the Elven Knights who rode just behind them. “We’re riding on ahead. You have command.”
He spurred Firareth forward, racing across the meadow.
Vestakia followed.
“IT is good to see you again, Kellen, Vestakia,” Ancaladar said politely.
The dragon lay basking in the sunlight, his great wings spread.
“What are you doing here?” Kellen demanded. “Didn’t you know we were all worried about you?”
“We’ve been busy,” Ancaladar said calmly, not at all distressed by Kellen’s exasperation and anger. “You should go and see Jermayan. You’ll understand.”
Kellen glanced up the causeway. Master Tyrvin stood at the bronze gates that guarded the entrance to the Fortress—open now—waiting for them.
Kellen gestured to Vestakia.
“Oh, I’ll go,” she said, sounding exasperated, “but be sure that when I come back, Ancaladar, I’m going to give you the scolding of your life!”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” the dragon said, sounding amused.
“WELL met,” Master Tyrvin said, when Kellen and Vestakia reached the top of the causeway.
“We’ve come to bring you news,” Kellen said. “But I think you may already have gotten it.” He nodded back to where Ancaladar lay.
“That Their power has been swept from the land is word that has perhaps come to us indeed.” Tyrvin smiled. “But come. There is news you will wish to have as well, perhaps equally joyous, and I shall bring you to Ashaniel so that she may deliver it to you.”
He led Kellen and Vestakia inside, and through a maze of corridors down a path Kellen had not taken on his previous visit to the Fortress. Though he heard the sound of scurrying feet many times—indicating that the corridor was being hastily vacated—Kellen saw none of what must, by now, be the many inhabitants of the Fortress.
Tyrvin paused before a door and knocked.
Sandalon opened it.
The boy seemed to have grown at least a head taller in the moonturns that had passed since Kellen had seen him last. He flung himself into Kellen’s arms with a glad cry of joy.
“Kellen! You’ve come back for us! And Vestakia is here, too! Mother! Kellen and Vestakia are here! Oh!” Suddenly the boy remembered his manners. He stepped back and bowed. “Please be welcome—in our home and at our hearth, Kellen Wildmage, Lady Vestakia.”
Kellen reached down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “And I See you too, Sandalon,” he teased, stepping inside.
The first thing his eyes went to in the room was Jermayan.
The Elven Knight was sitting beneath a window—it wasn’t a real window, for there were no windows anywhere in the Fortress of the Crowned Horns—but Ashaniel’s chamber had been painted in the likeness of a tower room, with mock paintings of windows upon all four walls.
He was sitting beside a cradle, a look of utter peace upon his face.
Ashaniel sat at the other side of the cradle, gazing down into it with a fond smile upon her face.
“I have a new sister,” Sandalon announced importantly. “She is very special.”
Kellen and Vestakia walked over to the cradle and looked down.
The baby was very tiny indeed. She lay beneath her blankets, regarding the world with calm curiosity.
Her eyes were not Elven black, but violet.
And she had a birthmark—a silvery eight-pointed star in the hollow of her throat.
“By the Good Goddess!” Vestakia gasped. “It’s Idalia!”
The baby gurgled with laughter, waving her tiny fists. Jermayan reached out a hand, and she grabbed his finger, clutching strongly.
No wonder Ancaladar sounded so … smug, Kellen thought.
“But…” he said.
Jermayan looked up, met his eyes, and smiled.
“I can wait,” he said serenely. “I have centuries—what is a mere eighteen years to that? I think—should I begin to grow impatient—that Ancaladar and I shall go in search of other dragons, to tell them that their need to hide from the world has passed. That is a task of years that will keep me from too much impatience. But when I return …”
He looked meaningfully at Ashaniel, who simply smiled.
“It will not be the first time a child has been betrothed in her cradle, Jermayan. And I can see already how stubborn she is. Not for all the treasure of the Nine Cities—or a dragon’s magic—would I do anything to keep the two of you apart.”
“So she is not dead,” Vestakia said joyfully.
“No,” Kellen said, still stunned by what he was seeing. Nor would Idalia’s greatest fear—that Jermayan would be forced to live out long centuries of his life without her—ever come to pass. Not now. For as a last gift of the Wild Magic, in payment for her ultimate sacrifice, Idalia had been reborn among the Elves, possessed, now, of the gift of their long years.
Suddenly Vestakia put her arms around him. He hugged her back without thinking—and as he did, he realized that it was almost summer.
His bond with Shalkan—a bond of chastity and celibacy—had been formed in early spring, to run for a year and a day.
That time was over now. Well over.
He was free.
He could look at Vestakia now. He could think about Vestakia now.
“I—” he said, suddenly feeling terribly awkward.
“I always knew,” she said gravely. Suddenly she smiled, and an irrepressible dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “Kellen, you worked so hard to avoid me!”
Kellen laughed with sheer relief. It was true.
But no longer.
THERE were formalities, of course. He had to speak to Tyrvin, and formally relieve him of his duties at the Fortress, something Jermayan had not been able to do. With that, the preparations for leave-taking could at last begin.
Once they were underway, Kellen and Vestakia went back down the causeway, this time walking hand-in-hand. For the first time in nearly a year, the children of the Elves were out in the fresh air once more, laughing and playing in the meadow among the watchful unicorns. He saw Sandalon among them, running in circles among the meadow flowers for sheer joy at being able to do so.
Where was Shalkan?
He’d said he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
Kellen located him at last, at the edge of the ring of unicorns that was watching the children. He was standing next to another unicorn, rubbing his neck against hers. Kellen recognized her at once—Calmeren, the only survivor from the first Crowned Horns convoy.
As he started to approach, Shalkan raised his head. His nostrils flared warningly. Kellen stopped.
Still celibate. But no longer chaste, I guess.
“I suppose this is goodbye, then,” Kellen said.
“You knew the time would come,” Shalkan said, sounding more than a little cross at having been interrupted. “Some of it was fun. All of it was necessary. But now it’s time for you to get on with your own life and let others tend to theirs. Goodbye, Kellen.”
“Goodbye, Shalkan.” Kellen turned away.
“And one last piece of advice,” Shalkan called after him.
Kellen
stopped and turned back. “What is it?”
“Kiss the girl.”
Kellen grinned in spite of himself. Trust Shalkan to get in the last word.
Kellen turned to Vestakia. “Shalkan’s advice is usually pretty good,” he said.
“I think we should follow it,” she agreed.
And so they did.
About the Authors
MERCEDES LACKEY is the author of the Heralds of Valdemar and Elemental Masters series from DAW books, the Bardic Voices (in collaboration), the SER-RAted Edge, and Bedlam Bards series from Baen Books, and the Halfblood Chronicles from Tor Books, along with many other solo and collaborative works. Her hobbies include needlework, jewelry design, beadwork, and dollmaking. She lives in Oklahoma with her husband, coauthor and artist Larry Dixon, and far too many parrots for a peaceful household.
JAMES MALLORY is a professional ghostwriter with several books to his credit. Under his own name, he wrote the three-part novelization of the Hallmark Merlin miniseries: The Old Magic, The King’s Wizard, and The End of Magic. Born in San Francisco, Mallory attended schools in California and the Midwest before moving to New York to pursue a career in writing. From an early age Mallory has been fascinated both with the Arthurian legends and their historical evolution, an avocation that triggered a lifelong interest in fantasy literature. Mallory’s interests include hiking, comparative religion, and cinema.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE OUTSTRETCHED SHADOW: THE OBSIDIAN TRILOGY: BOOK ONE Copyright © 2003
TO LIGHT A CANDLE: THE OBSIDIAN TRILOGY: BOOK TWO Copyright © 2004
WHEN DARKNESS FALLS: THE OBSIDIAN TRILOGY: BOOK 3 Copyright © 2006
by Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.