The Outstretched Shadow ou(tom-1 Read online

  But anger was a destructive emotion, more so than any other. It destroyed the capacity for clear sight that a Wildmage needed above all things, and the first thing it destroyed was self-judgment. A Wildmage poisoned by anger might never even know it until it was too late, thinking only that he or she was filled with a righteous need to bring justice and balance back into the world.

  That the Wildmage's spells would turn against them and fail them, that the price exacted would be too heavy to bear for a spell cast in blind anger, would be cold consolation to Idalia if the caster was Kellen.

  But everything was going to be all right. She was sure of it now. Sometimes Idalia forgot how young her little brother was, how sheltered a life he'd led until the last few moonturns. He was only seventeen; far too young to bear the burden of guilt for the flight of the inhabitants of the Western Hills into unknown peril.

  Until tonight she'd been afraid that the guilt would sour him, the anger work in him like a canker, and his thoughts turn into darker paths. It was enough to unsettle a far older and steadier soul… but Kellen could not have responded so to Verlin's music if the toxins of blind revenge were working in him.

  She was furious with their father and the Council, and had fought a hard and bitter battle against her own rage to keep it from affecting her.

  Why couldn't Lycaelon leave well enough alone? Kellen was gone from the City; as good as dead to him. What in the name of the Gods was driving the man on this suicidal course? The City could never possibly hold the territory Lycaelon so rashly claimed. The Wildlanders would fight back eventually; the western farmers weren't Lycaelon's tame cowed lowland villagers, nor yet his utterly pacified Armethaliehans.

  Yes, if they resisted, they would lose. If they fought, they would die. And the High Council might get its own way for a time, "ruling" over lands they had emptied of the people who had lived and worked there.

  But High Magick wasn't free for the asking. Like the Wild Magic, it, too, had a price and must be paid for. If the High Council had to spend more and more of its power to pacify its new Western Holdings, where would they go to replace it?

  And what would happen when, in the fullness of its ambition, the High Council of Armethalieh turned its attention from the Western Hills to the High Hills?

  Idalia smiled her hard wolf-smile. The Mountain Traders had nowhere else to go: their lands backed directly on the Elven borders, and the Elves would not give up their lands for the asking. And even if the Mountain-folk did have somewhere they could flee to, they wouldn't: the Mountain Traders had hated the City for generations with a cordial and stubborn hate. They hated the Council and its policies nearly as much as they loved their wild mountains—they would not abandon them for the Elven forests even if that was possible. And the Mountain-folk were far from helpless. By now, most of the Wildmages that had been driven out of every other place that Armethalieh had taken for its own were gathering in the High Reaches. The Mountain Traders would be able to call upon magical defenders of their own.

  Armethalieh would regret its greediness. Perhaps not this year. Perhaps not in ten years. But if it pursued its present policies, the City was in for the fight of its life. Perhaps even a war… and that meant the Mages would be using their High Magick on the war instead of at home on the City. Magick that had once gone to provide the most comfortable possible life for the citizens of the Golden City, the City of a Thousand Bells, would be squandered—to the Armethaliehans' way of thinking—invisibly and unnoticeably, far from home and hearth. And what would Armethalieh's citizens say when their comforts were abruptly withdrawn, to no purpose they could see?

  There would be trouble. Trouble within, trouble without.

  Change.

  And it's your own fault, Lycaelon Tavadon. You could have left us in peace, left the Western Hills and the High Reaches in peace, lived out your life as Arch-Mage of the High Council and had everything you ever wanted within those eight walls. But you let greed and pride and anger blind you, and now you're going to destroy yourself.

  Along with a great many innocent bystanders.

  Idalia sighed. Her shoulders drooped tiredly. She could see it so clearly, not with magic, but as a thing of logic and the mind, the way an Elven xmjiue-master could see the outcome of the game once the first piece was shifted on the board.

  But things might yet come out differently. All the pieces might not yet be on the board. She could only hope that was true, because the one thing she did know was that terrible as the picture her imaginings painted was, there was nothing for her to do to avert the future she saw. The only thing she could do was what she was doing: remove herself and Kellen beyond the City's reach, into the land of the Elves.

  That it was the one place in all the world she'd sworn she'd never return to was irrelevant. It was the only choice on a short list of possible destinations.

  And this should teach her not to swear by "never" and "forever."

  THE Mayor's speech, when he finally made it, was short—concentrating entirely on what a wonderful person Idalia was and how sorry they all were to see her go, without one word about the City—and followed by several others by other Guildmasters and village leaders in the same vein. Kellen's suspicions had been completely lulled by the time he was seized and lifted up onto the platform.

  He stared down at the sea of waiting faces with dawning shock and horror.

  "They're waiting to hear a few words from you, boy," the Mayor said, nudging him gently. "You're her brother, after all."

  "Uh… hi. I'm Kellen," Kellen said. "I guess you know that."

  Appreciative laughter and cheers, with calls of "Good start!" and "Go on!" and "Tell us something we don't know!"

  What could he say? Kellen stared out at all of them. He had to say something! "I—" He stopped. Silence spread out from the speaker's platform like ripples from a flung stone. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. He stared around wildly, willing Idalia to come rescue him, but his sister was nowhere in sight. He took a deep breath. He'd faced an Outlaw Hunt, and it hadn't been harder than this.

  "I haven't been here long," he said at last. "I wish it could have been longer. I haven't been very many places, but this is the best place I've ever been. Thank you—all of you—for being so kind. For being our friends. For welcoming me and—and giving me a place to belong, even if I didn't get to enjoy it for long." Suddenly inspired, he bowed—a full, courtly, City-style bow.

  Everyone cheered. Before they could quiet down and ask him to say anything else, Kellen turned and quickly jumped down off the platform.

  It was almost dark by now, and Kellen took advantage of that to make his way to the edges of the party. He thought about it, and then kept going. There was something sort of unsettling in the air. He wasn't completely sure of what it was, but for the first time in many sennights, he was reminded again of the vow he'd sworn to Shalkan. Chastity and celibacy. He wasn't sure how or why, but he didn't think either promise would be really easy to keep back at the party, between the music and the dancing and the kegs of beer, wine, mead, and hard cider being tapped in such abundance. Like his own speech, the gaiety had a sharp air of desperation under it, the music more than a hint of melancholy; combine that with a little too much to drink and—

  And things might get out of hand. Quickly. Maybe he'd just go and keep Coalwind and Prettyfoot company until things quieted down a little bit.

  Honey-cakes. I promised Shalkan some honey-cakes. And those little maple candies.

  Kellen stopped a few yards up the forest path, fretting. The sweets would all be gone if he didn't go back for them now. He sighed, looking back at the lights in the clearing. It was quiet out here, and he could hear the music drifting enticingly through the trees behind him. It was a little chilly, and back there were fires and warmth. The air smelled of damp earth, and back there were the scents of cooking meat, mulled ale, and woodsmoke. He knew it would be a bad idea to go back there. He'd gotten away once by doing the
unexpected. He couldn't expect to be so lucky twice, and of course everybody wanted to wish both him and Idalia well. And with those wishes came tankards of drink from the men, and kisses from the women and girls. One or two of those farewell kisses had left him feeling flushed and uncomfortable already, and those were from the girls he knew the least…

  But he'd promised…

  As he stood in the darkness of the forest he realized that it was dark here under the trees, too dark to find his way, and the moon wasn't going to be high enough to show him the way to where he'd left the horses for several hours.

  Great. Now I do have to go back. Honey-cakes and a lantern…

  He looked back at the clearing, and for a moment had the unsettling impression that one of the lights was swelling like a frog about to sing. Then he realized that it was moving. Away from the party. Moving toward him?

  Kellen slithered behind the nearest big tree and waited.

  Merana came walking slowly down the trail, placing each hoof slowly and carefully. She had a basket over one arm, and was holding a lantern high over her head and talking to herself in a loud whisper.

  "Idalia said he'd be out here somewhere. Kellen? Are you here? Kellen?" She held the lantern down near the ground and peered at it, looking for footprints that weren't there, then straightened, and peered at the trees on either side of the path.

  "Kelleh?" she called in a louder voice. "Are you here? Kellen?"

  When Kellen didn't immediately answer, Merana took another couple of hesitant steps down the path, then stopped, fidgeting and whispering to herself again. "She must have been wrong. Why would he be wandering around alone when he could be snuggled under a blanket and a cart with a nice warm willing—"

  Kellen decided he didn't want to hear any more, and stepped out from behind the tree. Merana squeaked, and for a moment he thought she was going to rear up like a startled horse.

  "Kellen?" she said out loud. "What are you doing here? You gave me such a fright!"

  "Sorry," Kellen said. He couldn't exactly say what he was doing out here, because he didn't really know himself. "Idalia sent you to look for me?"

  "Uh-huh." Merana nodded. "She packed a basket for you, with a warm cloak and everything. Are you sure you don't want to stay for the rest of the dancing and all?" she added pleadingly, switching her tail so that the bells braided into it jingled. "I've—we've hardly gotten warmed up."

  He shrugged. "Guess not. It's a great party, though."

  "The best," Merana said eagerly. "Almost as fine as Harvest Home— though I don't know as anybody's going to be doing much celebrating of that this year," she added, with a hint of that dark mood that seemed to be underlying everything at the festivities. She set down the basket and held out the lantern. Kellen took it.

  "Won't you need it?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I can make my way back by the lights, fear you not. Well, I guess this is good-bye, then. A kiss for luck?" she added hopefully.

  Kellen took a step back, shaking his head apologetically.

  "I was right then," Merana said with satisfaction. "It is a Wild Magic thing! Oh, don't worry—I won't tell. I can keep my mouth shut when I ought. And don't you worry about Cormo, either—Haneida and I have him all settled between us."

  "Good," Kellen said, and meant it. "You take care of him. He needs— somebody to boss him around and make it stick, I guess. If he gets that, he just might turn out all right."

  "He might." Merana's spirit of mischief must have fought clear at that moment, for she added saucily, "Still, it's too bad you aren't coming back to the party. You'll miss the rest of the dancing—and other things besides."

  She turned away, and with a last flirt of her tail, trotted back quickly toward the lights and the music.

  It's the "other things" I'm worried about, I guess, Kellen thought doubtfully.

  He set down the lantern, and investigated the basket. A warm cloak was folded on the top—not necessary just now, but if he was going to be spending most of the night out in the woods, it might be later. And beneath it, a selection of delicacies from the feast, including a generous number of honey-cakes and several patties of maple sugar.

  Thank you, Idalia.

  Kellen picked up the lantern and the basket and went to find the animals and Shalkan.

  "I wondered how long it would take you to figure things out," the unicorn said when he arrived.

  "You could have told me," Kellen grumbled, setting the basket down and hooking the lantern over the stub of a branch. The horse and the mule dozed placidly nearby.

  "You might have said that the girls would be"—he felt himself blushing—"well, frisky. Especially Merana."

  "Where's the fun in that?" Shalkan asked. "This was an easy one, and I was nearby to warn you if necessary. There may be others that aren't as obvious, and I might not be around for them."

  "So I'm supposed to consider this a learning experience?" Kellen asked, spreading the cloak on the ground and beginning to unpack the basket.

  "Are those honey-cakes I smell?" Shalkan responded eagerly.

  IT was very late—or very early—by the time that Kellen, carrying the empty basket and leading the two animals on their halters, returned to the clearing. The chill had turned to cold, but he'd been more than warm enough in the cloak. He was young enough to think a night without sleep to be a grand prelude to a long day's ride, and in fact he'd even dozed for a few hours before Shalkan had nudged him awake. It was still dark, but it would be dawn in an hour or two, and he knew that Idalia wanted to be on the road as soon as there was light to see by. There was a hint of fog in the air, and a suggestion that in a day or two, there might be rain.

  The canopies and garlands were all still there—they, like the cabin itself, would be removed over the coming days and taken elsewhere. The clearing was quiet, if not silent, and far from empty; though most of the partyers had gone home or off to nearby villages there were still a few late revelers remaining, sitting and lying in twos and threes and fours, some sleeping, some talking together in quiet contented tones.

  Kellen stopped to tie the animals to a tree, then walked into the clearing. Almost at the cabin door, Kellen passed a tangle of sleeping fauns. They smelled strongly of mead, and some kind soul had rolled them into a cloak. As he watched they squirmed over one another, as blissfully indifferent to their surroundings as a basketful of puppies.

  He turned and walked into the cabin.

  Just as he suspected, Idalia was already up and dressed, but in clothes he'd never seen before. Gone was the woodland ranger dressed in beaded buckskin, horn, and feathers: the boots and tunic, cloak and breeks Idalia wore now would have looked unremarkable anywhere from the High Reaches to the gates of Armethalieh herself: sturdy wool cloth, dyed with indigo and butternut, sturdy leather riding boots with hard soles and stacked heels to hold the stirrups, with a wide felt hat to shade her eyes and face from wind and weather… Idalia looked like a stranger.

  She glanced over at his entrance, and saw his startlement, and smiled crookedly. "Quite a different look for me, isn't it? There's a set for you, too. It's what they wear in the High Hills; that Mountain Trader I bought Prettyfoot from felt guilty about his good fortune and threw in a few trade gifts, and then I did a little tailoring. We have a lot of territory to ride through, and we won't stand out as much this way. The boots I ordered in Merryvale; when you're running, it's always a good idea to have boots you can trust. Go ahead; I'll start getting the beasties ready."

  She picked up an armful of saddlepads and blankets and walked out. Kellen went on into the empty room that had once been the bedroom.

  The shutters were closed and pegged now, and the room seemed close and airless, but a fat candle stuck in a wall sconce gave sufficient light for Kellen to see what he was doing. A similar set of traveling clothes were laid out for him: cloak and gloves, too.

  After spending so many sennights in supple buckskin, wool and homespun were scratchy and harsh against his ski
n, and the new clothes itched. Kellen sighed, stamping his feet into the boots. He only hoped it wouldn't be too hard to get used to them after wearing moccasins for so long.

  But at last he was dressed, and there was no more point to delaying. He even spared a moment to wish for a mirror to see himself in, though he knew all he'd get would be a shock.

  He pushed aside the deerskin curtain and stepped back out into the main room, his new cloak folded over one arm. Idalia thrust a comb into his hand.

  "Comb your hair out, and braid it, or tie it back. You won't want to be combing knots and twigs and heaven knows what else out of it at the end of the day," she said, brushing past him to get at Coalwind's saddle and bridle.