When Darkness Falls Read online

  At last Redhelwar glanced up. “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage. Be welcome at my hearth. It is my hour to drink tea, and I would be honored if you would join me.”

  “It is always a joy to drink tea in the pavilion of a friend,” Kellen answered. The proper response came easily to him now, though once finding the right words for the intricate verbal dance of Elven courtesy would have baffled and frustrated him. But Elves did not hurry—if there was one lesson that Kellen had had to learn the hard way, it was that one. They were creatures of age-honed ritual and politeness, and—except when actually using War Manners—sometimes maddeningly indirect speech.

  But at the moment nobody was actually attacking, he’d be glad of a cup of tea, and he’d welcome the chance to collect his thoughts before finding out what Redhelwar was thinking—and figuring out if he had to try to change the Elven Commander’s mind.

  Redhelwar gestured him to a seat, and Kellen sank into it gratefully.

  In the fashion that Kellen had become used to over the past several moon-turns, Redhelwar then began a seemingly-idle discussion of the weather—cold, though after the last series of severe storms, they could expect only moderate snow for the next few sennights—and the entertaining seasonal menu they had been granted through the generosity of Kindolhinadetil, Viceroy of Ysterialpoerin, who had made sure that the Army was well-supplied with both fresh and preserved food.

  Apparently “entertaining seasonal menu” meant they were eating the green-needle trees of the Heart Forest; Kellen tried not to think too hard about that, but he’d eaten a lot of things he never thought he’d eat since he’d been Banished from the City.

  “One observes that the other Wildmages are still abed,” Redhelwar remarked shrewdly when they both had full mugs of Winter Spice tea before them. “Even Jermayan, with Ancaladar’s power to draw upon, has not ventured forth to taste the pleasures of the day.” “The pleasures of the day” being a joke, or as much of one as Redhelwar ever made.

  And Jermayan is probably the strongest of all the Wildmages, with Ancaladar’s power to draw on.

  “I was restless,” Kellen admitted. “And I am well-served for my impetuousness.”

  “Nevertheless, you have come in a good hour, for matters have … progressed since They chose to move so openly against us, and I would welcome your counsel,” Redhelwar said, allowing the conversation to turn to practical matters at last.

  The Army’s General gestured to the map spread out upon the table. “Scouts have come from Lerkalpoldara and Realthataladon, bringing news of the Borders. The Enemy sends its creatures to gather in strength—here, and here, and here—the Ice Trolls and the Frost Giants—and those who can pass through the Boundary-wards—the ice-drakes, the Deathwings, the Coldwarg, and others—freely do so in greater kind and number than have been seen since the Great War. They once used the Lost Lands as their nursery, but I think that now that time has passed. Now Their creatures will use the Elven Lands as a gateway to harry the Wild Lands to the west and south … and I do not think we can protect them.”

  “It’s another feint,” Kellen said slowly, reasoning it out. “They must know we’ve discovered Their agent in Armethalieh. Anigrel wants to open the City to Them. If he succeeds, They win.”

  “Yet we cannot abandon our allies to Their attack,” Redhelwar said. “And those who might defend them are here, gathered at Andoreniel’s word. I sent to Sentarshadeen as soon as Idalia told me the news from the City, and only this morning I have received Andoreniel’s answering word to me.”

  Kellen was impressed. Even a unicorn couldn’t cover the distance to Sentarshadeen and back in just four days, and that would have left no time for the royal Council to debate its reply. Though Andoreniel was the king of the Elves, he did not act without the advice and consent of his Council.

  “It would be good to know how this was done—and to hear the words of Andoreniel,” Kellen said carefully.

  “You will wonder how word could travel so fast in winter, without magic to aid it,” Redhelwar said with a faint smile. “Yet we have never relied upon magic as you humans do. The weather was calm enough to send birds; they flew to the signaling towers, and the towers passed the message along by means of sunlight and mirrors through the mountains until it reached a place where it must be transferred to the birds once more. Andoreniel’s word to me returned the same way.

  “As soon as Ancaladar has recovered enough strength to fly, I am to ask him to go to each of the Nine Cities in turn, starting with those closest to the Eastern borders, and carry all the women with child to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns of the Moon. Andoreniel says that we will open it to the children of our Allies as well—the Centaurkin, the Mountainfolk, and the Lostlanders who have come down into the Wild Lands so that their Wildmages may fight at our side.”

  It took Kellen a moment to understand what he was hearing. The Crowned Horns of the Moon was a fortress in the Mystral Mountains that dated back to the days of the Great War. It had never been taken by direct assault, and Kellen didn’t think that even the Demons’ trickery could manage to find Them a way in. When Andoreniel had first realized that Shadow Mountain might be moving against the Elves, he had ordered all the Elven children of the Nine Cities moved to the fortress, purely as a precaution, there to be guarded by a coterie of hand-picked defenders, Elven Knights and unicorns both. Elven children were few, and when Kellen had visited there, most of the Crowned Horns still stood empty.

  But now Andoreniel was proposing to fill it.

  And that told Kellen that Andoreniel was certain the Allies were going to lose.

  Of course, if the Allies lost, nobody in the Fortress of the Crowned Horns was going to survive anyway.

  But that’s not right! Kellen thought angrily. For the first time since this all began, we’ve finally got a chance of winning. We know what They want—what They have to have—and where it is. For the first time, we actually have a chance!

  “It won’t work,” Kellen said bluntly.

  Redhelwar gazed at him, his brows raised in mild reproof. Kellen knew he’d been rude—much more than rude, by Elven standards—but he couldn’t help it.

  “Knight-Mage wisdom?” Redhelwar asked, dropping into War Manners.

  “Simple common sense,” Kellen answered. “They won’t all fit. The pregnant women and the children of the Herdsfolk, the Centaurkin, the Mountainfolk … humans and Centaurs live shorter lives than Elves. I don’t know about Centaurs, but humans certainly breed faster. You’re talking about not a few dozen children and women, or even a few hundred, but a couple of thousand at the very least, and probably more, scattered throughout the Wild Lands and the High Reaches. If you choose to do this, you can’t leave anybody behind. And if you do choose to do this … Redhelwar, it is as good as saying we have already lost. There will be panic. And … how are they to get there? Ancaladar can bring the women of the Nine Cities, I guess, but the others? If they have to come overland, in winter … either the Army will have to protect them—and we can’t split the Army—or they have to come unprotected. Either way, anyone on the ground is a feast for anything They want to throw at them.”

  The longer he spoke, the more problems crowded into Kellen’s mind. Getting word to everyone. Preventing panic. Gathering them for the journey. Protecting them at every stage—keeping them from freezing would be the least of everyone’s problems; these were children they were talking about.

  Kellen shook his head wordlessly. It wouldn’t work. It was well-intentioned, but it wouldn’t work.

  “Surely Andoreniel has thought of this,” Redhelwar said, sounding puzzled and weary.

  “The message came very fast,” Kellen suggested tentatively.

  “I will send again,” Redhelwar said after a long pause. “This time, the message will go by Unicorn Knight. Meanwhile, of your courtesy, perhaps you will oblige me by thinking of some way to protect the children of our Allies that does not involve feeding them to a pack of Coldwarg.”

&nb
sp; IF only I could think of one, Kellen reflected sourly, leaving Redhelwar’s tent. The problem was the same one it had always been—the Demons wouldn’t stand and fight. Although of course if they did, they’d probably slaughter the entire Allied Army …

  The trouble is, we need all our strength, and our Allies, to have any hope of winning. And why should they stay here in the Elvenlands if the Demons are attacking them at home?

  Kellen sighed. The weariness he’d held at bay in Redhelwar’s tent had come sneaking back, making it hard to think clearly.

  ISINWEN, Kellen’s Second, was waiting for Kellen when he got back to his tent, and the look of disapproval on the Elven Knight’s face made Kellen wish—just for an instant—that he’d stayed out in the wind.

  “I observe,” Isinwen said quietly, “that many would lose heart should we lose you, Kellen.”

  The oblique rebuke cut more sharply than any outright scold could have. Kellen shook his head, acknowledging the barb, and allowed Isinwen to help him off with his cloak.

  “I will not die of a walk around the camp, Isinwen,” he said gently, sitting down on a stool to pull off his boots. “I wanted to test my strength. From what I have learned today, I can tell you that we will not have Wildmages to support us for a sennight, perhaps two.”

  The sudden feeling of a key turning in a lock made him blink.

  Yes.

  He’d wanted to know that. The army needed to know it. And there was certainly no way to find it out other than taking a stroll himself.

  Sometimes he wished the Wild Magic could be—well, more obvious about things. But it never was.

  “Then … I suppose it is for the best. Providing you do not take a lung-fever and end up in bed for a moonturn,” Isinwen said, still sounding faintly exasperated.

  Kellen laughed, though there was no real humor in the sound. “I don’t have time.” He set his sword beside his boots. “It would please me greatly if you would present this information to Ninolion at your convenience.”

  He yawned; he couldn’t help himself.

  “Get back into bed,” Isinwen said firmly. “I will make known to Ninolion what you have learned, so he may advise Redhelwar. And we shall all hope that their services will not be needed.”

  Kellen nodded in acknowledgment, pulling off his heavy outer tunic. Weariness pulled at him like heavy chains; he had only a moment to hope that he’d find some more of the answers they needed in sleep before it claimed him.

  THE cost of attacking the Wildmages—and defending her creature within the Golden City—had been high. It had cost Queen Savilla dearly, both in the drain upon her power—for when the Wildmages had turned her Darkbolt back upon her, the backlash had depleted her of as much power again as it had cost her to cast it—and in the knowledge it had given to her son Zyperis, for it had been he who had found her in her ritual chamber, and he who had nursed her back to strength in secret.

  Among the Endarkened, knowledge was power. Now Zyperis had seen her humbled; weakened nearly to death. Now he knew a secret lost for a thousand years: that the magic of Mage-man and Wildmage, working together, could end the eternal lives of the perfect creatures of He Who Is.

  Zyperis was ambitious. He was her son, after all. He knew he could never hope to rule the World Without Sun while she lived—and the Endarkened lived forever.

  He would want to use what he had learned. If not at once, then soon.

  And meanwhile, the cursed Light-begotten had almost certainly discovered the existence of her Armethaliehan slave and learned his intentions.

  Let them, Savilla thought, regarding her reflected image in the mirror of her Rising chamber. Around her, well-cowed slaves from the World Above scuttled, bringing jewels and perfumes and cosmetics to ornament the Queen of the En-darkened to properly appear before her subjects once more. It is too late for them to use what they have learned. I have won. Anigrel sits upon Armethalieh’s High Council. The reins of power are in his hands. Soon the City of a Thousand Bells will be mine to turn against my enemies.

  And meanwhile … I shall distract my son and lover as easily as I have distracted my enemies. He is young. Let him think I fear him. For now.

  Until it is too late for him as well.

  As always upon her Rising, there were the Petitions of the Grooming Chamber to be heard. It did not matter that there was a war to conduct; the petty squabbles of the Endarkened nobles must always have first claim on Savilla’s attention, for centuries of rule had taught her that over time quarrels grew into vendettas that spread until they drew everyone into them, on one side or the other. And eventually Savilla would be forced to take a side—unless the matter, whatever it was, was settled before it had truly begun to fester, while the grievance was still a matter of a favorite slave or a bottle of spilled perfume.

  Fortunately, these days such matters were few, for this was a time of such splendor and abundance as the Endarkened had not seen in centuries. Slaves and prey were available in plenty—and Savilla intended to open new hunting grounds very soon, which would distract her restless quarrelsome subjects further.

  When the last of the lesser nobles’ petitions had been heard, she beckoned her son forward.

  Zyperis had been waiting with uncharacteristic patience while the others were heard. As always when she beheld her son, Savilla felt a pang of delight. So bold, so handsome, so much her match in cunning and daring. Time would make him her equal, and inevitably he would challenge her, for that was the way of the Kings and Queens beneath the Earth.

  In that way Savilla had taken the throne from her own father, Uralesse, lulling and beguiling him over the centuries. Uralesse would never have had the patience and the vision to take this long subtle path to destroy the Children of the Light. He had spent too many centuries mourning his own shattering defeat on the battlefield in the Great War. Yet Savilla, who had fought at his side, had not despaired as he had. In that defeat she had seen the need to begin anew in a new way.

  First she had needed to kill Uralesse, to gain the power to put her plans into motion. Then it had been necessary to move with maddening slowness, for the Endarkened had been weakened nearly to destruction by their last defeat at the hands of the Light-spawn, and should they have realized they had not truly won, all Savilla’s plans would have been as a quenched candle-flame. For centuries, as generations of the race of Men lived and died, and the long-lived Elves turned back to harp and loom and forgot them, Savilla had worked through her human agents to unbind the great Alliance that had proved the undoing of the Endarkened. The human city raised its walls and closed them tight. The Elves forgot war and thought only of peace.

  And Savilla had planned.

  “MAMA?” Zyperis asked.

  Savilla blinked slowly. Her son was kneeling at her feet, the picture of perfect humility. It was not precisely feigned … but it was something Zyperis granted, not something Savilla took. It was a shift in the balance of power, and both of them recognized it.

  But it is only temporary, Savilla vowed.

  “I was contemplating the great favors I shall bestow upon you,” she said. “We have all worked hard for this day—you with your agents among the humans most of all. Now it is time to move forward… .”

  Savilla spoke long and persuasively, mantling Zyperis with her great scarlet wings—a token of great favor. The Endarkened Prince’s face glowed with delight, for he had long chafed at inaction—and at being excluded from her plans.

  “Oh, Mama, how wonderful!” he said, when she had finished speaking. “Surely the Elven King’s allies will desert him to look to their own once we begin to act in the Wild Lands! But… you have always said …”

  “Oh, my son,” she said, stroking his cheek fondly, “it will not matter soon. Just go slowly, as I have told you. Stay far from any lands the Mage-men have ever claimed as their own, for it would not do for them to suspect that their ancient enemy is anything but an ancient myth.”

  Zyperis drew himself up proudly. “You will
see, my sweet Crown of Pain. I shall do all as you would do it yourself. They will sicken, sorrow, and despair—and barely know at first that it is we who are to blame for it all. You shall feast upon unicorn and dryad, wood-nymph and selkie: I shall bring them to you with my own hands!”

  “I shall rely upon you,” Savilla purred, stroking his long black hair as he knelt at her feet. “Sow dissention in their ranks, fill their homelands with sickness and blight, drive the game from their hunters’ nets, and all the time let them wonder if we are to blame, or if it is terrible coincidence… .”

  “Because they dare not ignore either one,” Zyperis said happily. “Whether the cause is an enemy’s hand, or simple misfortune, the result is the same.”

  “Our victory,” Savilla agreed.

  Zyperis raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. She felt the touch of his fangs upon her skin and closed her eyes momentarily in pleasure.

  She would bring him to heel. And his anger and frustration would make his utter and inevitable submission all the sweeter.

  When Zyperis had gone, Savilla accepted a spangled cloak of gossamer spider-silk from one of her attendants. Draping it loosely about her shoulders, she left her private chambers.

  THE World Without Sun was vast, extending far beneath the surface of the earth. Let the Light-begotten think their world was vast: That of the Endarkened was vaster still, so enormous that there were few indeed who knew every chamber and pathway of it.

  It was a place of secrets, for the Endarkened treasured secrets as much as they cherished the pain and death of others. It took Savilla more than half of her Rising-cycle to reach the place she sought, a chamber of incalculable age, deep in the living rock. Its very existence had been forgotten by most of the Endarkened. Uralesse had not known of it.

  Savilla had come here once before, long ago, and learned the magics that would one day allow her to pierce the wards of Armethalieh and make a young boy her servant. When she had first come here, the walls of the Golden City had barely been begun. It would be centuries before she dared to try the spells she had learned that day.