To Light A Candle ou(tom-2 Page 21

  Kellen smelled a whiff of burning as Idalia called the charcoal to light. She handed Kellen a large pot of salve.

  “Put this on her injuries, but don’t try to turn her. Just slop it on. It’s sovereign for Taint, and will make it easier to heal her.”

  Kellen pulled off his gauntlets and scooped up large handfuls of the stuff. It was a bright violet color, and even in the cold it was as thin and drippy as honey. He wiped it on as gently as he could—Calmeren seemed to sigh with relief as soon as it touched her—emptying the jar, and then scrubbed his hands clean in the snow.

  By then, Idalia was ready to begin. “Who will share the price of this healing?” she asked.

  “We will—all of us.” A black unicorn mare, who seemed to be the little group’s leader, stepped forward and spoke.

  Shalkan shook his head mutely, stepping back from Calmeren. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low that only Kellen could hear.

  “Me, too. I’ll share,” Kellen said. If Shalkan couldn’t help Calmeren—he didn’t understand but this was no time to ask questions—he’d take his friend’s place.

  “That should be more than enough to make this easy,” Idalia said. She handed Kellen a knife, and at her direction, he gathered strands of hair from each of the waiting unicorns’ manes, then presented the bundle to Idalia. She reached out and cut a few blood-soaked hairs from Calmeren’s mane, added a few strands of her own hair, and pricked her finger to add her own blood to the mix, then tossed the little knot of hair onto the brazier.

  Once again, Kellen felt the sheltering weight of Presence reach out to enfold them all—him, Idalia, Calmeren, all the other unicorns except Shalkan. But this time, there was a difference. Calmeren’s body sizzled and smoked when the protective dome came down over it, as if there were something about her that could not survive within it. A dark oily smoke seemed to rise out of her coat, and especially out of her wounds. In a few moments, it was gone. Kellen felt light-headed, as if there had been a cost to do that much. But Calmeren’s wounds still remained, stark and ugly against her matted fur.

  “Now I can begin,” Idalia said. She reached her hands out and held them over the unicorn, and green fire spilled out of them like water, striking the unicorn’s coat and making it glow as if Calmeren were filled with the sun.

  In a few moments—Kellen was always surprised at how quickly something so miraculous could run its course—Calmeren’s wounds were healed. It was as if they simply melted away, sinking back beneath the surface of her coat as the flesh knitted together, though the salve and the streaks and clots of blood remained, matting the white fur.

  Kellen didn’t hear the Mageprice that the Powers asked of Idalia, of course—that was between her and her magic, though she might tell him if she chose. Whatever it was, he hoped it was something small and easy to pay; she was doing so much for Sentarshadeen these days that it hardly seemed fair that much more should be asked of her.

  Kellen felt the protective shield disperse and the Presence depart once the healing Spell had run its course. Idalia was already dousing the brazier, scattering the coals in the snow, and packing her things away in her bag, then moving back, because her nearness would be uncomfortable for Calmeren and the rest of the herd.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Vestakia asked, coming up behind Kellen. Her cloak was covered in snow where she’d fallen to the ground, but the pain in her voice was gone.

  “Yes… now,” Kellen said. “Idalia healed her.”

  The unicorn mare was already struggling toward consciousness. She opened her eyes—they were as green as Shalkan’s—and gazed wildly around, breathing a shaky snort of relief at the sight of the unicorns.

  “Home!” she gasped. She rolled onto her stomach, trying to get her legs under her to stand, but was obviously still very weak. Kellen and Vestakia hurried over to her, lifting and steadying her. She leaned heavily against Kellen, and he could feel that she was nothing more than skin and bones.

  “Thank you,” Calmeren said huskily. “I must see Andoreniel and Ashaniel at once! Coldwarg—others I have no name for—they attacked us within sight of the Crowned Horns. They carried off the children. All the rest are dead.” Her head drooped in despair.

  Ciradhel? Naeret? Dainelel? Emessade? Kayir? He’d trained with all of them in the House of Sword and Shield. Naeret had taught him xaqiue. Ciradhel had helped to teach him to ride. He’d practiced with Dainelel a hundred times. They’d all gone with the convoy.

  And Calmeren said they were all dead, killed by Shadow Mountain.

  “I fought and fought—but they took the children and killed the rest. All the rest—all gone—all gone.” Her head hung down to her knees, and her sides heaved. Unicorns couldn’t weep, or at least, if they could, Kellen had never seen it happen, but the sorrow and despair in her voice was enough to bring tears to his eyes. “There was nothing I could do.”

  “You brought us warning,” Shalkan said quietly. “That is a very great deal.”

  “I should have known!” Vestakia burst out. “I should have known that was why I felt so strange!”

  “We should all have known that They wouldn’t just leave us in peace,” Kellen said bitterly. “But we didn’t.”

  “Do you think you can walk as far as the House of Leaf and Star?” Idalia asked. “I’ve healed you, but you’re still very weak. You’ll need rest, and care, and food.”

  But the unicorn’s head came up again at that. “I have to go back,” Calmeren said, sounding frantic. “I have to save the children!”

  “No,” Kellen said, his voice hard. “You have done your duty, and more than your duty, Calmeren. You aren’t strong enough, even healed; now your duty is to pass the task on to someone else. You only have to tell me where to go. I’ll save them. That’s my job.”

  —«♦»—

  LESS than an hour later, the Elven Council had gathered again. This time Vestakia was present as well, so that they could hear what she could tell them about what she had sensed that morning.

  On the way to the House of Leaf and Star, Kellen had heard the rest of what Calmeren had to tell him.

  “Not the Enemy—” Calmeren shuddered. “And not Elves. But enemies!” She shook her head so hard she staggered, and Shalkan, walking beside her, leaned into her to steady her.

  She’d managed to slip away as the hooded ones moved among the wounded Knights and unicorns, finishing off any who still lived. She knew—she knew that she was only one wounded unicorn, and that to stay would be to die, but to run would be to bring help. So she had run, as hard as she could, stopping for nothing, back along her trail to bring warning to Sentarshadeen. Along the way, she’d seen the slain bodies of the rest of her friends—every Knight, every servant, every destrier that had ridden out from Sentarshadeen a fortnight ago was dead.

  “But they did not die alone,” Calmeren said with grim satisfaction. “They were able to take some of their attackers with them, and so I could see what else had been hunting us. Ice-trolls and frost-giants. A small war-band, but enough.”

  “Both creatures of the Dark, long-time allies of Shadow Mountain,” Shalkan said.

  “And they knew exactly where to strike, and when,” Kellen said. “And how to sneak right up on the caravan without being seen. How?”

  “With help,” Shalkan answered. “The question is… whose?”

  —«♦»—

  NOW Kellen stood before the Elven Council and told them everything that Calmeren had told him.

  “Calmeren said they were careful to take Sandalon and the other children alive,” he finished. “That isn’t good, but it’s better than it could be. It means we have a chance of getting them back. First, we need to find them, and I think we have a way of doing that.”

  “Tell us,” Andoreniel said simply.

  “Vestakia can track them. You know she can sense when They are nearby, or when They’re working strong magic.” He glanced at Vestakia.

  She bowed her head a little. “Yes. I
could sense the presence of the Demon-taint on Calmeren when she came close enough—I think my powers are growing stronger. If there is Demontaint near the Crowned Horns, I should be able to follow the trail it leaves.” She brought her head up again, and now her eyes shone with tears, and with anger, as well as justifiable fear. “I will gladly do all I can to rescue the children.”

  Kellen patted her shoulder, knowing what those brave words had cost her. If Vestakia fell into Demonic clutches, her fate would be too terrible to contemplate.

  “While of course we all appreciate Vestakia’s kind offer in the light in which it has been extended,” Councilor Sorvare said, “it might be in the best interests of the children to consider matters carefully at this delicate pass. Certainly, as no one will deny, our ancient Enemy seeks to weaken us by striking at our most vulnerable point. We must analyze the situation carefully from all possible aspects before moving forward, lest we overlook an avenue of possible threat.”

  Kellen wasn’t sure what Sorvare was getting at, but from the looks on Andoreniel’s and Ashaniel’s faces, they’d had no trouble at all unraveling his little speech.

  “I say again—and for the last time—that I repose all trust in Vestakia,” Andoreniel said, an edge of true anger in his voice. “She is a citizen of Sentarshadeen, as much as any of us here, and gladly and willingly do I place the life of my son in her hands.”

  Oh. Oh. Now that he’d had it translated for him, Kellen felt angry as well. Sorvare had as good as called Vestakia a traitor, saying she’d probably lead the rest of them into a Demon-trap.

  “There is going to be a rescue party,” Kellen said, cutting off Dargainon as he began to speak. “And you might as well resign yourselves to the fact that it is going whether or not you like it; debate all you want in our absence, but we are going, and going now. I am not going to leave the children in Enemy hands for a single moment longer than it takes to reach them. Idalia, Jermayan, Shalkan, Vestakia, and I have already agreed. You can send anyone else you like, but it leaves at first light tomorrow morning, and anyone who goes had better be able to keep up.”

  “I would say that you handed some of the Counselors a rather stinging rebuke,” Idalia said, sounding surprisingly calm, as the three of them walked back toward the house a little while later. “I think you shocked them.”

  “How could he say something like that about Vestakia?” Kellen burst out.

  “It’s all right,” Vestakia said. “I do know what I look like, Kellen.”

  “It’s the Council’s business to be cautious,” Idalia added. “Not just to agree with everything Andoreniel and Ashaniel want to do.”

  “But not to be idiots,” Kellen countered angrily. “For the Light’s sake, Idalia, the Enemy has the children! And one of them is Sandalon! How could they stand there and even think about debating when every moment that passes could mean—”

  “Well, you won,” Idalia said, “and I don’t think half the Council will ever get over the shock.” Now she smiled, though grimly. “That’s the price of having Wildmages around, and I think that they’d forgotten that. Now, Vestakia and I both have a lot of packing to do before morning—and shouldn’t you get over to the House of Sword and Shield and see what knights you want to take with you for tomorrow?”

  “Me?” Kellen said, stopping and staring at her in confusion.

  “You,” Idalia said, giving him a little push in the right direction. “You’re the only Knight-Mage we’ve got—and unless I’m very much mistaken, you’ve just appointed yourself the leader of this rescue party.”

  —«♦»—

  THE cellar was damp and cold, located at the edge of the Low Quarter of Armethalieh. It was, however, well lit. Balls of Mage-light hovered near the ceiling, illuminating every corner with a spectral azure glow.

  Before he’d become an Entered Apprentice, Cilarnen would not have been able to imagine that such a place could exist. That he had come to enter it at all, however, had little to do with that, and much to do with his new friend, Master Raellan.

  In Master Raellan, Cilarnen had found an ally and confidant who did much to fill the aching void left by his father’s continuing displeasure. Master Raellan shared Cilarnen’s love for the City—and more, his fear that all was not as it should be.

  Now that his eyes had been opened, Cilarnen could see the signs. Oh, not everywhere. There was no change in the lives of the Mageborn. But among the people they served, there were subtle indications everywhere he looked. Not of unrest, of course. But of confusion. All was not as it had always been in the Golden City, and the change was not for the better.

  Despite the best efforts of the Provenders Councils, prices were rising, and wages were not rising to match. Some foodstuffs had simply disappeared from the regular markets. And all because the High Council—pushed by Lord Volpiril— had removed Armethaliehan protection from the Home Farms. So far as Cilarnen knew, there was not actual hunger in the City yet, but the day was not far off when there would be. The sellers of small luxuries that did not happen to be edible were looking anxious; when bread cost twice what it had in the summer, people had to stop buying other things to afford it.

  Something must be done. And if the High Council would not—or could not—set things right, then the Mageborn themselves must act. For the good of the City.

  It was a terrifying thought, one that would have paralyzed him completely without Master Raellan’s support. But Master Raellan seemed to know his thoughts almost before he voiced them. It was Master Raellan who assured him that many of the High Council felt just as he did. They merely needed to be brought to see that it was safe—in fact, vital—that they speak openly. Someone had to be brave enough to make the first move, to begin saying aloud what others only thought. Someone young, but known for his good sense and devotion to the City and his duty. Someone charismatic enough to lead.

  Someone like Cilarnen…

  Thus supported, Cilarnen began making cautious overtures among his fellow Entered Apprentices, to see which—if any of them—might have the wit and the stomach to do more than grumble around a table in the Golden Bells.

  Gillain he dismissed at once. The young lord was far too reckless, and could not keep his mouth shut to save his life. Besides, he was notoriously scatterbrained—he’d actually managed to lose his City Talisman on more than one occasion! Viance and Flohan were too timid—while they were more sensible than Gillain, neither of them would be willing to do what it would take to save the City.

  He would certainly have despaired had not Master Raellan steered him gently toward a different group of Mageborn.

  Jorade Isas was the great-great-grandnephew of the Isas who sat upon the Council.

  Geont Pentres was the youngest son of House Pentres, a minor Mageborn House which was distantly allied to the Breulin line, and thus much at odds with the Volpirils at the moment.

  Kermis Lalkmair’s family had the rare and odd distinction of never having held a City office or a Council seat. The Lalkmair line produced scholars exclusively, and it was said that Lord Lalkmair would rather Burn the Gift out of one of his sons than see him hold a seat on any of the City Councils.

  Tiedor Rolfort was the son of a tradesman. His Gift had appeared early, and he had been fostered with House Arcable. He had repaid the House’s kindness with utter loyalty, and complete devotion to his new class.

  Margon Ogregance was the son of High Mage Epalin Ogregance, who oversaw the Merchant’s and Provender’s Council. More than any of the others, he knew exactly what was going on with the City’s food supply, and knew just how bad things were.

  “We shall starve by spring,” he said bluntly.

  The other five stared at him in shock, unused to such plain speaking.

  “Well?” Margon said impatiently. “Isn’t that what you wanted to know? Isn’t that why we’re all here? Jorade—Cilarnen—Tiedor—Kermis—Geont—we didn’t all slip away from our families and hide out in this drafty cellar to take tea.”

&
nbsp; “But…” Tiedor began.

  “Starve,” Margon repeated flatly. “The Home Farms can’t—or won’t—supply us with what we need at any price. I suspect the answer is that they can’t; without us to control the weather and the pests, they have only enough to feed themselves. The Council has already authorized Father to contract with the Selkens for grain, but that’s not to say it will get here in time. And one can’t depend on foreigners, you know.”

  “Besides,” Jorade said slowly, working it out, “to ask them to bring in food— and so much food—that tells them we’re weak, doesn’t it?”

  “They’ll attack us, not help us,” Geont said, looking at Cilarnen. “And it’s all your father’s fault.”

  “The Peace of the Light be between you,” Kermis said firmly, raising his hand. “If not for Lord Cilarnen, none of us would have the least idea how bad things really were, let alone that there might be something we could do about it.”