To Light a Candle Read online

  “The Elves are like no other people in the world,” Idalia said quietly, watching his face. “You read the Histories, back in the City? Where they talk about the Other Races? Do you remember what they say about the Elves?”

  “That they make living into Art?” Kellen asked.

  “Oh, there’s that,” Idalia said, shrugging. “But it also says they lie.”

  Kellen turned to face her, outraged.

  “I was surprised,” Idalia said, “so I went to an older, unexpurgated version—the one in the locked case in Father’s library. There, it says that Elves never lie—and never tell the truth.”

  “Not much better,” Kellen muttered, but then he thought about it. “Never lied”—he couldn’t remember Jermayan, or any of the other Elves he’d met ever lying to him. But told him the truth? The whole truth, the way he thought he wanted it, as fast as he wanted it?

  He had to admit he hadn’t gotten that, either. And maybe still didn’t have it, even from Jermayan, who was his friend and teacher.

  “Maybe fairer,” Kellen said grudgingly. Not much though.

  “Elves are different from humans,” Idalia said. “Very different. They live much longer, they have a different way of looking at the world than humans do. I am not saying you shouldn’t trust them—you’d say I’d gone crazy, and you’d be right. But don’t expect them to think like humans, because they just won’t.” She stared off into nothing for a moment. “When you live as long as they do, you take your time about everything, and you wait for everything to come in its proper time. So, for instance, an Elf will never tell you the whole truth all at once; he’ll wait for the right time to tell you bits of it, until, in the end, you’ve come to see the shape of it for yourself. Which is the point, for them—that you should come to see and understand a truth for yourself, and not have to be told what it is. Now, give that a lot of thought, and you’ll begin to see how they live their entire lives.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this when we first came here?” Kellen asked curiously. Surely all this good advice would have been a lot more useful then?

  Idalia smiled crookedly. “You wouldn’t have listened. We weren’t going to a formal banquet then. And you weren’t meeting the entire city population on more-or-less equal terms. Oh, there’s Jermayan and Vestakia.”

  She pointed.

  Kellen turned, spotting Jermayan and Vestakia coming up behind them.

  Jermayan was dressed pretty much as Kellen was—the long belted robe seemed to be a standard sort of evening fashion—though Jermayan’s robe was practically transparent, and so were both undertunics. Kellen felt his face get a little flushed. Not that Jermayan didn’t have the body for such an audacious outfit, but still!

  But Vestakia … !

  There was no possible way to conceal the fact that she looked like a Demon, so Tengitir had obviously decided to make a virtue of what could not be ignored

  Her gown left her neck and shoulders bare, and her deep rose skin sparkled as if it had been dusted with gold. It probably had been, in fact, because there had been subtle patterns painted on her forehead in gold, in imitation of some of the filigree diadems worn by some of the Elven ladies. Her eyes had been accentuated with lines of black and gold on the lids, making them look bigger and somehow more innocent.

  A wide band of gold and red embroidery held her cherryblack hair away from her pointed ears, exposing both them and her tiny golden horns, and a band of the same material decorated the neckline—if you could call it a neckline—of her long-sleeved dress, holding in the folds of shimmering gold brocade that were gathered into a tightly-pleated waist before sweeping out into a full skirt that was gathered up at the sides to reveal an underskirt the exact shade of her skin.

  “You look amazing,” Kellen said.

  Vestakia smiled shyly, ducking her head.

  “Come on,” Idalia said, looking at him oddly. “I’ll escort Vestakia around. You and Jermayan … mingle.”

  “IS she—I mean, it would please me to know that Vestakia is going to be all right,” Kellen said, catching himself just in time. He barely avoided hitting Jermayan with his rainshade, but Jermayan handled his own with as much grace as if it were a sword.

  “Idalia will see to her comfort,” Jermayan said. “And certainly no harm nor insult has come to her yet.”

  “Good,” Kellen said. About then, his brain caught up with the rest of him and he realized why Idalia and Jermayan had gotten him away from Vestakia so quickly.

  He’d been so stunned at the sight of her in that dress that he’d just stared, but now, thinking back …

  No. No thinking. Not about that, or anything like that. Not for a year.

  He’d sworn a vow of chastity and celibacy to Shalkan in exchange for the unicorn’s help in getting away from Armethalieh and the Outlaw Hunt. And it didn’t matter whether or not Shalkan was his friend. If Kellen broke that vow, Shalkan would have no choice but to exact the penalty for breaking it.

  And Kellen didn’t want to break his vow.

  But Vestakia—

  No.

  Kellen tipped back his rainshade—Jermayan ducked gracefully out of the way—and took a deep breath of the cool moist air. It had been easier when he’d been sick and drugged. A lot easier.

  “I need a great favor from you. You have to explain for me, Jermayan,” Kellen said, though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to say. “You have to let her know why I can’t—spend as much time with her as I want to. I don’t want her to think I’m avoiding her.”

  Although that was exactly what he was going to be doing, at least for a while, at least until he could get all this straightened out in his own mind. Maybe Shalkan would have some good advice for him—not that he’d be seeing Shalkan here tonight, of course. Unicorns were notoriously uninterested in the company of the non-chaste, and even Shalkan’s tolerance had limits.

  “I will,” Jermayan promised. “And remember—she is not unfamiliar with the obligations a Wildmage must undertake. As for you, you will be far too busy to worry about the matter. After the Council meeting tomorrow morning, come to the House of Sword and Shield, where we will continue your training—”

  “That will be—” Wait a minute. Council meeting? There’s a Council meeting? And I’m supposed to go? Without success, Kellen attempted to come up with a polite way to indicate he wanted to know more about that. “It would be most gratifying to hit you now, Jermayan,” he finally said.

  The Elven Knight smiled. “You may attempt the exercise tomorrow afternoon. In the morning I believe you will be accompanying Idalia, to advise Andoreniel and Ashaniel upon the best way to deal with … the problem.”

  The Elves almost never spoke the words “Shadow Mountain” or “Demon” aloud, as if to say them might be to summon the Endarkened—and from the very little Kellen knew of Shadow Magic, that might even be true.

  So he was going to the Council meeting … and Jermayan was not.

  “Idalia goes because she’s a Wildmage … and I think she’s the only Wildmage anywhere around near here. And I guess I go because I’m a Knight-Mage,” Kellen finally said.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps we may know if you are correct,” Jermayan said. “But these are grim subjects for a night of celebration! Come, and I will bring you to that which will lift your spirits.”

  They passed among the canopies and among the lanterns. Jermayan moved purposefully, but not so swiftly that Kellen did not have opportunities to appreciate the beauty that surrounded him. There was probably no “best time” to see the garden; like every work of the Elves, it was undoubtedly designed to present a different aspect at every hour and season, and even at night and in the rain, it caught and held Kellen’s attention.

  But the garden was not what Jermayan had brought him to see.

  In a corner of the garden—not quiet, precisely, because there was a rowdy game of chase-and-catch going on, but secluded—there seemed to be a party-within-a-party going on.

&nbs
p; “Children,” Kellen said quietly, stopping at the edge of the smaller garden.

  “The children of Sentarshadeen,” Jermayan agreed.

  They were not alone, of course. There were other Elves there—servants (assuming the Elves had servants), companions, older brothers and sisters, perhaps even their parents. Kellen recognized Sandalon, and a moment later the young Prince spotted him and came running over.

  “Kellen!” he shouted happily.

  The game stopped instantly—Kellen had the sense that the others had been entertaining Sandalon—and everyone looked at him.

  Oh, this is awkward. If dealing with adult Elves could be embarrassing, the potential problems in dealing with Elven children—far more direct than their elders—could be mind-boggling.

  “Uh … hi,” Kellen said.

  “We’ve been waiting for you! Everybody wants to meet you! This is Alkandoran,” Sandalon said, pulling Kellen firmly into the midst of the group. “He’s nearly as old as you are, Kellen!”

  Kellen found himself face-to-face with a boy who—and he saw no reason to assume Sandalon was mistaken—must be about his own age. Alkandoran was dressed in a tunic and leggings and sleeveless vest, but without the long robe and belt of his elders. He was willowy and slender, androgynously pretty, and almost painfully determined not to gawk at the human stranger.

  “I See you, Alkandoran,” Kellen said, bowing slightly. He was pretty sure he knew just how Alkandoran felt.

  “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage,” Alkandoran said, bowing in return.

  “And this is Tredianala,” Sandalon continued.

  Tredianala didn’t just look uncomfortable. She looked terrified, as only the very shy could be in the presence of strangers. She was much younger than Alkandoran—maybe ten? Twelve?—and dressed in a knee-length tunic over full trousers. Kellen was reminded of some of the shyest Otherfolk, the ones you might share a forest with for years, but never see.

  “I See you, Tredianala,” Kellen said softly, carefully not looking directly at her. “It pleases me to meet a friend of my friend.”

  “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage,” another girl boldly said, without waiting for Sandalon to make the introduction.

  “I See you—”

  “Merisashendiel,” Sandalon supplied cheerfully. Kellen turned toward the child, feeling as much as seeing Tredianala make her escape back behind the adults.

  Merisashendiel looked enough like Tredianala to be her twin sister—they were dressed in similar costumes—but there all resemblance ended. Merisashendiel regarded him with frank interest, as if she was bursting with questions that she intended to ask then and there.

  But she was enough older than Sandalon to know better than to do that, at least in front of strangers.

  “I See you, Merisashendiel,” Kellen said, bowing very low. She giggled, regarding him with speculative approval, then swept into a full low curtsy, watching him all the time.

  Kellen grinned. That one was going to provide her parents with more than a few sleepless nights in a few years, at least if Elven ways were anything like human ones.

  The byplay was entirely lost on Sandalon, of course. And would be for some years yet.

  “And here is Vendalton.”

  When Kellen had first arrived in Sentarshadeen, he’d found Sandalon playing alone along the dry riverbed. And Ashaniel had said that Sandalon was often lonely. Kellen had assumed, at the time, that that was because Sandalon was the only child in Sentarshadeen, but it made just as much sense if these were all the children in Sentarshadeen. He wasn’t all that good at judging the ages of Elven children, but Vendalton seemed to be easily twice Sandalon’s age. A five-year difference in age might not matter later, but it was a huge gap now.

  “I See you, Vendalton,” Kellen said.

  “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage,” Vendalton said. “Sandalon said that you slew a … something evil.”

  “With the help of my friends, I destroyed the Barrier that was keeping the rain from falling on Sentarshadeen,” Kellen said, choosing his words with care. “Everyone helped, and even so, it was very hard. It also could not have been done without the magic of my sister, in which all of Sentarshadeen participated. So you see, it was all of us together, as a whole, and not any one individual that broke the bonds of evil. I was only the channel through which all of our effort flowed.”

  Sandalon and Vendalton stared hard at each other, and Kellen wondered what long-running argument he’d just resolved—or made worse.

  Jermayan cleared his throat significantly, regarding Sandalon.

  “But she can’t talk!” Sandalon protested.

  “Nevertheless, I am sure she will wish to meet Kellen, if her nurse will permit,” Jermayan said gravely.

  “Of course I shall, Jermayan,” a new voice said.

  A woman stepped into the light, holding a bundle in her arms. She stopped a few feet away from Kellen and set it down on the grass.

  A lady.

  A very young lady.

  Quite the most enchanting young lady Kellen had ever seen in his life. He fell instantly under her spell, and went down on one knee to greet her properly.

  Adult Elves were stunningly beautiful. Elven children had all their elders’ beauty, plus the natural appeal of the young of any species.

  The combination was enchanting.

  “And this is Kalania,” Jermayan said, a smile in his voice.

  Kellen didn’t know how old Kalania was, but it was obvious that walking was a skill she had only lately begun to master. The tiny Elven child regarded him out of grave dark eyes, firmly clutching the hand of the slender woman dressed in rose velvet who knelt behind her.

  “Come to me, sweeting,” he coaxed. “You can do it.” In the City he’d seen few children—but still far more than any of his peers had, for Kellen had spent as much of his time as he could on the streets of the Low City. The youngsters he’d seen playing in the streets there had never known how much he’d wished he could change his life for theirs. Now he wondered what it would be like to grow up in Sentarshadeen, with unicorns for playfellows. He held out his hand to the baby. Kalania seemed to study him carefully before making up her mind. She released her nurse’s hand and came staggering toward him, her chubby arms flailing.

  The other children—even Sandalon—watched in fascination as Kalania made her uncertain way across the few feet of space toward Kellen. If she showed any sign of falling, he was prepared to swoop her up before she did, but she made it, grabbing his outstretched hand in a surprisingly strong grip to steady herself.

  “Oh, well done, Bright Heart!” Kellen said, scooping the baby up into his arms and getting to his feet. Kalania crowed with delight at the ride into the sky.

  Kellen crossed the little distance and returned her to her nurse, knowing he’d been given a great gift tonight. Jermayan had been right. Seeing the Elven children had made him stop brooding.

  After a few minutes more—Kellen found himself answering quite a number of artfully indirect not-questions about his journey to the Barrier and about Vestakia—they left the little garden again. He was very careful to edit his answers, too. There were things that these children did not need to know. It was enough to tell them that the man he had rescued Vestakia from was trying to steal her goats, and not any of the rest of it. Telling them that she was Shalkan’s great and good friend now told them that no matter what she looked like, she was not to be feared.

  Once they were away from the others, he found Jermayan regarding him curiously. “Idalia told me you didn’t know the Old Tongue.”

  “I don’t,” Kellen said, puzzled. There were days when he felt that getting along in the Common Speech of the City—which the Elves now used as well—was enough trouble.

  He knew that there were other languages in the world—spoken over the sea, and therefore anathema in the City. Probably there had once been other languages spoken on this side of the ocean as well, before the Great War had destroyed most of civilization. The E
lves had probably learned the commonest human language in order to communicate with their allies, and then never abandoned it.

  “Yet you knew what Kalania’s name meant,” Jermayan pointed out reasonably. “You called her ‘Bright Heart.’ Kala means ‘heart,’ and Ania means ‘bright’ in the Old Tongue.”

  “Coincidence. My nurse used to call me that,” Kellen said uncomfortably. Only he’d never had a nurse. He remembered a nurse—quite a succession of them, in fact—but those memories were at least partially false, implanted through magic by his father, the Arch-Mage Lycaelon, to conceal the fact that he’d been cared for as a child by his sister Idalia, Banished from the City as a Wildmage when Kellen was six.

  And whom Lycaelon had not wanted Kellen to remember.

  But it was far too pleasant an evening to think of old troubles.

  “Undoubtedly a coincidence,” Jermayan said, sounding unconvinced.

  “Really,” Kellen said. “If I’d suddenly developed the ability to understand Old Elvish, I’d tell you.”

  Jermayan said something liquid and incomprehensible. Kellen gazed at him expectantly.

  “I said that all Elven names come from the Old Tongue.”

  Jermayan, Kellen suddenly realized, positively enjoyed making leading remarks—of the sort that, in any human society, would cause the hearer to respond with a question. And knowing perfectly well that Kellen’s first impulse would be to ask that question.

  I am almost sure I didn’t need to find out what passes for a sense of humor among the Elves.

  “I am very nearly certain that Idalia knows what your name means, and will tell me if I ask her,” Kellen said with a wicked grin.

  Jermayan smiled faintly, acknowledging that Kellen had won this round. “It means ‘strong shield,’” he said. “A mayn is a shield. And now, I believe we are bidden to take our places, for the banquet is about to begin.”