To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Six

  The Room of Fire and Water

  An hour later, suitably dressed, Kellen presented himself at the House of Leaf and Star.

  Ice had turned the entire building into something magical, and the Elves, connoisseurs of natural beauty, had left it as it was. Every surface was covered with a thick sheet of nearly transparent ice, so that the House took on the unreality of a structure cast out of colored glass. Long icicles hung down from the eaves, and each one was filled with rainbows from the watery sunlight.

  Kellen knocked at the front door, and, when it was opened, asked if the Lady Ashaniel would receive him—or to be more precise, he suggested to the august personage who answered his knock that it would give him very great pleasure to attend upon the Lady Ashaniel, if she happened to be at home, and was willing to take time from her busy day to allow him to do so.

  “Be welcome within our house, Kellen Wildmage,” the august personage told him, bowing.

  Kellen bowed back—his bows were much improved, after a few fortnights under Master Belesharon’s tutelage—and he followed the Elf into a small side parlor.

  “I will see to your refreshment,” the august personage said, closing the doors behind him as he departed.

  It was only after he’d left that Kellen realized the man hadn’t said he’d tell Ashaniel that Kellen was here, but he supposed she’d find out eventually. He doubted there was much that went on beneath her roof that the Lady Ashaniel didn’t know about.

  Even if he had to wait a long time, there was much here to keep his attention. At one end of the room was an enormous fireplace, its elaborate hearth stretching all the way to the ceiling. It was designed after the fashion of a dragon—the hearth being in the belly—and the outswept wings were carried out in tiles that covered the entire wall of the room. A cheerful fire leaped and crackled on the hearth. It was an astonishingly cheerful-looking dragon. Quite friendly, in fact. More like a winged cat with scales than a dragon; the artist had managed to convey the impression that this dragon not only did not mind that its belly was being used to warm the room, but positively welcomed the idea.

  At the opposite end of the room, a fountain played. A column of water bubbled high into the air, falling back into itself and down into its catch-basin. There were glittering motes of color caught within the water; coming closer and inspecting it, Kellen realized they were tiny shapes of colored glass, but they were moving too fast for him to be able to tell quite what they were meant to represent …

  “I see that the fire-and-water room pleases you,” Ashaniel observed from behind him.

  Kellen turned around. While he’d been studying the fountain, Ashaniel had entered the room, Morusil with her. A servant entered behind them, bringing a wheeled cart with tea-things.

  “Yes, it does. Very much,” Kellen answered honestly. Looking around—now that he was not so thoroughly distracted by the fountain—he could see that the end of the room with the dragon fireplace was decorated in reds and oranges and fire motifs, while the other end, where the fountain was, ran to greens and violets, and the walls were covered, not with tiles, but with seashells in every shape and size. It should have looked garish or busy, but somehow it managed to be a harmonious whole.

  “And Morusil,” he said, bowing. “I am happy to see you again.”

  “And I to see you, and to have the opportunity to thank you for bringing me such an eager student,” Morusil replied.

  “I am glad that Vestakia has found a friend in you,” Kellen said, as sincerely as he could manage. “Your wisdom inspires her, and your encouragement heartens her.”

  “It is always a privilege to hear the words of the young,” Morusil said. “But you will have come to visit with Ashaniel, and I do not wish to intrude.”

  “I don’t wish to interfere with your plans, but I would welcome your company as well,” Kellen said hopefully.

  “Then we shall all take tea,” Ashaniel said decisively.

  They settled themselves around the fire, and the servant set out the teapot, the cups, and a plate of assorted cakes on a small table between them. When she had left, Ashaniel and Morusil began discussing the weather, and the prospects for the Winter Running Dance, which would be held on the first Full Moon after the first snowfall, which was expected any day now.

  “Perhaps you will not wish to participate in the Dance, young Kellen—not everyone does, you know—but it is quite beautiful, and few humans have seen it,” Morusil said.

  “I am quite certain it is worthy of seeing,” Kellen agreed politely. Elves do not rush, he reminded himself. And it would be nice to finally know what a “Winter Running Dance” was, since people had been mentioning it, one way and another, since he’d gotten here.

  “But though we find your company agreeable, of course, and it has been too long since you visited the House of Leaf and Star, I think perhaps you did not come to talk upon these subjects,” Ashaniel said with a teasing smile.

  Kellen found himself smiling in return, half-dazzled, as always, by her beauty. “I am afraid I’ve come for something else, and perhaps to raise a subject that you will find tiresome, for I have probably spoken of it far too much for your comfort.”

  Morusil and Ashaniel exchanged a look, one that Kellen was unable to interpret.

  “It is to be hoped that you will always feel free to speak your heart here in the House of Leaf and Star,” Morusil said, after a pause. “Even if the ways of humans are not our ways, there is often much wisdom to be gained from listening to the words of those who are unlike ourselves.”

  The two Elves regarded Kellen expectantly.

  Kellen took a deep breath, trying to get everything he was about to say organized in his mind.

  “I know I’m not going to get this all right, but … at the Council meeting, I know you really didn’t want to send someone to tell Armethalieh about the—the Enemy. Because, well, you didn’t think it would do any good. And you thought it might make matters worse. And you might be right. But, well, what if—I mean, that might not be true. And they need to know. They hate De—the Enemy there. Really, they do! The reason I was cast out was that they believe that the Wildmages are allied with—the other side. If they knew the Enemy were active again, they might not help us—they probably wouldn’t—but they’d at least protect themselves. And that’s important, too. So is there—Maybe there’s some way to get a message to Armethalieh that they’d listen to. Because I think it’s important to try, at least.” He swallowed, his mouth gone dry despite his tea, feeling as if he must have sounded as clumsy as an untutored bumpkin. “And I think we ought to try as soon as possible; I can’t tell you why I feel this way, because I don’t know, and even though I’ve tried scrying, it hasn’t told me anything. But I still do. That’s all.”

  Kellen sat back in his seat, trying not to look as agitated and anxious as he felt. Some diplomat he turned out to be!

  But maybe he hadn’t been as persuasive as he could have been? Maybe, secretly, he didn’t want Armethalieh to be warned, because he still resented the Golden City, but he wanted to be able to say—assuming anyone ever asked—that he’d done everything he could to save it.

  Maybe he should go himself. Or try to. Perhaps with a suitable disguise …

  “I think perhaps that you are right, Kellen Knight-Mage,” Ashaniel said after a very long pause. “Perhaps we have been overhasty in dismissing the threat the Enemy poses in human lands. Certainly a timely word of warning would not go amiss, could the Golden City be persuaded to accept it. Yet the selection of a proper envoy is a delicate matter.”

  “I would say that it must be either Bevar or Hyandur,” Morusil said consideringly. “Both have been to the Golden City in the past—though not for many years, of course—and both are familiar with the ways of humans. I shall speak to each of them within the moonturn to see if he is willing to go. I believe that one of them will be, and if he is, he will leave before the heavy snows. Rest assured, young Kellen, warning of the Enem
y’s intentions will be carried to the human city in a timely fashion, though whether it may be successfully delivered is something which only the Gods Themselves may say.”

  “Thank you both,” Kellen said feelingly. “I know it doesn’t seem like a very important matter to you—”

  Ashaniel raised her hand, silencing him.

  “In the tapestry of the weaving of the Gods of Leaf and Star, none who are living may see the whole pattern and know its completion,” Ashaniel said gently. “Perhaps the threads of your spinning are as important as the rest.”

  Perhaps so. Kellen only hoped the Gods thought so—and that they could make someone in Armethalieh listen to whoever Ashaniel and Morusil sent.

  ABOUT a sennight and a half after the caravan left, the first snowfall came to Sentarshadeen, and a few days after he went to the House of Leaf and Star, Kellen awoke to find Sentarshadeen transformed once more. Snow had begun to fall during the night, making the whole city silent and white. As a result, he slept later than usual, only to be awakened by a messenger from the House of Sword and Shield, who had come to tell him that Master Belesharon had decreed that there would be no classes today, so that all could honor the first fall of snow.

  Kellen stood in the doorway, wrapped in his house robe, watching the messenger leave. He stared up at the sky, then looked away quickly, blinking and shaking his head.

  Snow was dusty. And cold.

  He brushed his face clean and stepped back inside, closing the door and frowning suspiciously.

  Idalia had described snow, of course. It was fluffy frozen water that fell from the sky in winter whenever it felt like it. But they’d barely had rain in the City, and the only snow Kellen had ever seen was either already on the ground in the City parks—since the Mages in charge of the weather made sure it fell only on the parks, and only at night—or sold in the City markets in Preservation-spelled containers. It had not been coming down from the sky as if it would fall forever.

  He wasn’t sure he liked it.

  “Was there someone at the door?” Idalia slid open the door of her sleeping room and poked her head out, her sleeping-braids hanging loose about her face. “It’s snowing,” she added unnecessarily.

  “Vinshan came to tell me that there are no classes today. We’re to honor the snow,” Kellen said, hoping he didn’t sound too grumpy about it. He didn’t know why, but the snow made him feel uneasy. As if there were something bad about it.

  “Then I guess you should do that. At least it will be warmer now that it’s started snowing,” Idalia said, which certainly didn’t make any sense.

  She retreated back into her room and came out a few moments later, her braids secured on top of her head with a few bone pins, and wrapped in her favorite winter house robe. She moved immediately to the stove and began building up the fire.

  Kellen went over to the window and stared gloomily out at the snow. It sifted down steadily, making everything white. Even the pines in the forest opposite had turned a pale silvery grey. The only spot of color in the landscape was the surface of the swiftly-moving river below.

  “Will you stop pacing, please?” Idalia said a few minutes later. “You’re acting like a caged bear.”

  Kellen came to himself with a start, realizing he’d been doing exactly that.

  “The tea’s ready. Go get dressed. Have something to eat. Maybe that will settle you down.”

  Sheepishly, Kellen retreated to his room, dressing in warm working clothes, a half-formed notion brewing in his mind. Master Belesharon had said it would be safe to ride again once the snow had started, after all. And Vinshan hadn’t said Kellen couldn’t go down to the House of Sword and Shield, only that there were going to be no lessons today. Maybe a workout with Deyishene was just what he needed to take the fidgets out. And that would be honoring the snow, wouldn’t it?

  He came back out and accepted a cup of tea from Idalia, but when she offered him the plate of breakfast pastries, Kellen found that he wasn’t really hungry. He tucked a couple of the dried fruit ones into his pockets for later—if he didn’t want them, Deyishene would relish the treat.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Idalia asked, sounding worried.

  “I’m fine,” Kellen said, forcing himself to sound as if her question didn’t make him want to scream. “It’s just … well, snow takes some getting used to, you know. It doesn’t seem natural; maybe that’s what’s getting on my nerves.”

  Idalia smiled. “I keep forgetting you haven’t seen very much wild weather. And the snow’s going to be especially heavy this winter because the weather patterns are still settling back to normal. But you’ll soon get used to it. And it’s quite beautiful really.”

  “And warmer,” Kellen said sardonically.

  “Warmer than bright clear days where everything’s covered in ice. Really. You’ll see,” Idalia said. “Not a lot warmer, I’ll grant you that, but even a little can seem like a lot in winter. And snow is easier to walk in—and over—than ice. Now that it’s finally come, we can trade our sabatons for snowshoes, and the going will be a lot easier.”

  “If you say so,” Kellen said doubtfully. He set down his empty teacup. “I think I’ll get going.” He rubbed his head.

  “Headache?” Idalia asked.

  “Not really. Everything just feels … tight. I’ll feel better with a little fresh air and exercise.”

  But the feeling didn’t go away on the walk down to the stables, and by the time Kellen reached them, he felt definitely unsettled. It wasn’t anything like the feeling he’d had when he’d faced the Endarkened Barrier—nothing in the world could compare to that!—but it was almost like remembering that feeling. He felt touchy and out-of-sorts, and was glad there was no one around to see him but the horses. The stable was fuller than he’d ever seen it, with a number of the animals having come in to seek shelter from the snow. An equal number, of course, were reveling in it, romping and rolling in the icy stuff, kicking up great plumes of white. All of them were in full winter coat by now, their heavy coats making them look round and shaggy, not at all the sleek gleaming creatures they were at high summer.

  Deyishene was glad to see him, of course, but the Elven mare seemed to catch some of his mood as soon as Kellen put his hands on her. Though she’d let him groom her, and was happy to eat both his breakfast pastries, every time he tried to put a saddle on her back she made it clear in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t having any, and at last he gave up. Not only the weather, but his lady was playing him false today.

  When he finally put the tack away, she followed him to the tack room, nuzzling at his neck and shoulder as if to try to apologize for something she couldn’t explain. Kellen patted her shoulder resignedly.

  “Never mind, Deyishene. I guess I’m just not having any luck today. I’d better go find some place quiet to drown myself,” he said with a halfhearted grin. “That is, if I don’t have to break the ice to do it!” Someplace where I won’t make . trouble for myself that I just have to clean up later when I’m feeling better.

  The unicorn meadow and the Flower Forest beyond was the obvious destination. If he was lucky, he might run into Shalkan, who might be able to talk him out of this peculiar mood, or at least provide a counter-irritant—since Shalkan could be very irritating when he tried. And the Flower Forest was beautiful enough to make anyone feel better, and it was always warm in there.

  Maybe he just missed Sandalon more than he thought he would. Even though sending the Elven children to the Crowned Horns had been a sensible decision, their leaving had cast a pall over all of Sentarshadeen.

  Yes, the unicorn meadow was a good choice. But he needed to stop at home first—for a dry cloak and boots, a cup of tea, and to see if there was anything in the pantry that might serve as unicorn-bribes. If he was lucky, Idalia might be out (honoring the snow herself, he had no doubt) and he wouldn’t inflict his sour mood on her.

  But when he got home, not only was Idalia there, Vestakia was with her.

&
nbsp; IDALIA had been relieved to see Kellen leave that morning. He was radiating distress like a beacon—finally strong enough to notice it himself, though Idalia had known there was something not-quite-right for a sennight.

  But that wasn’t really it. It wasn’t that something was not-quite-right. It was that Kellen felt there was something not-quite-right, and that even he didn’t feel it strongly enough to notice it consciously. She only sensed him sensing it because she knew him so well. And finally it was starting to come toward the surface of his conscious attention.

  She didn’t want to say anything, lest she disrupt the fragile process of his magic—assuming it was Knight-Magery at work, and not just growing pains—and cause him to lose the intuition completely. So she kept quiet, although if there were going to be many more days like today, she might just settle for burying him in the nearest snowbank and see if he’d figured the matter out by spring thaw.

  She’d spent a soothing and solitary morning preparing a batch of Drawing Salve—a similar sort to the one Jermayan had used on Kellen’s hands, and a delicate process because many of the herbs and oils involved were poisonous in the wrong quantities—and was just preparing to charge it when there was a knock at the door.

  She opened the door to find Vestakia standing there, bundled in a violet and mulberry cloak crusted with snow, looking as bedraggled and woebegone as a half-drowned kitten.

  “Vestakia!” Idalia said, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Vestakia burst out, sounding frustrated, irritable, and apologetic all at the same time. “I just … I … there’s just something not right, is all, I didn’t want to be alone, and I wasn’t quite sure where else to go.”

  “Well, come in and have some tea. You look half-frozen. And tell me what seems to be the problem,” Idalia said, resigning herself to the fact that no more work would get done today. But friends came first, and the poor child looked half out of her mind with worry.