To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  From where she stood, she counted about twenty of them. They were gathered around a central cooking fire, where some indeterminate carcass smoked and sizzled over a bed of coals. When Idalia risked another peek without the tarnkappa, she could see it was a bed of carefully banked charcoal, giving as little light as possible, and none of them looked at it directly. She pulled her hood back down and continued watching.

  Their garments were primitive, consisting of little more than a crude loin-wrap for males and females both. The halfdozen children that she could see wore no clothing at all.

  They were no race that Idalia knew, or had ever heard described. Their skin was a dull fish-belly white, save for a long dark stripe down their spines, and a matching one that covered their lower face and extended down their stomachs. Their hands and feet seemed to be a darker color as well, though whether that was natural pigmentation, or just dirt and callus, Idalia wasn’t sure. Their bodies were entirely hairless, but shaggy dark hair, left long and untended, grew from their scalps. From everything she could see, they existed at the most primitive tribal level.

  Their faces were the most unsettling, as if someone had taken something familiar and cruelly distorted it. Their eyes were large, round, and bulging. They were practically chinless, upper and lower jaws pushed forward in a muzzlelike fashion, and when one of them opened his mouth to speak a few words in a curious low barking language, Idalia could see that the mouth was filled with long discolored fangs.

  And their ears were pointed.

  When she saw that, the nagging sense of almost familiarity Idalia had felt when she’d seen the creatures settled into place with a sense of almost physical force. It was as if … it was as if someone, somehow, had managed to breed Elves and Goblins together, and this was the result.

  Oh, that isn’t possible, Idalia thought with a wave of nauseated faintness. But she knew it was. The Endarkened delighted in perverting any of the creatures of the Light that fell into their hands, and they were masters of Dark Magic. The creatures they had created to fight their battles in the Great War still plagued the world today—the coldwarg were just one sample. Why not these … Shadowed Elves?

  And it would explain how they could be here undetected, she told herself with brutal pragmatism. If these debased creatures possessed Elven blood, it was more than likely they could circumvent the ancient wards against intruders placed upon the Elven lands. They would, after all, be Elves, in a sense, able to come and go within Andoreniel’s domain as they wished. The could have brought the ice-trolls and the frost-giants over the border through their own caves. No wonder no one had seen them until it was too late!

  Idalia stared down into the Shadowed Elf village with cold horror. How many of them were there? It had been centuries since the Endarkened had possessed Elven captives to experiment upon. And more important—where were they? This couldn’t be the only encampment of them.

  She hesitated, on the verge of turning back right now to warn the others. This was a greater threat than the missing children—a Dark-Shadowed race living undetected within the borders of the Elven realm itself.

  Suddenly a chorus of furious barking down below drew her attention back to the village. An argument had broken out at the central firepit.

  Several of the Shadowed Elves were standing in front of it. One had a large basket at his feet, filled with what looked, from this distance, like large mushroom caps or flat loaves of bread. He was gesturing at the roasting carcass, and speaking urgently.

  The other, facing him—the chief?—was speaking equally imperatively, underscoring his words with gestures that Idalia had no trouble in interpreting as a refusal. No meat, then. But for who?

  The argument concluded, and the first Shadowed Elf picked up the basket and walked away. His companion—a female—followed.

  Idalia watched as they paused to don long hooded cloaks that covered them all the way to the ankles, and for the female to pick up a large jar of the sort that might contain wine or water. From the way she moved, it was heavy.

  That was curious. They obviously weren’t going outside—they hadn’t put on boots, or gloves, or any undergarments. The cloaks were plainly for concealment.

  Feeding prisoners on “bread and water”? Prisoners that they didn’t want to see them?

  Idalia’s heart began to beat faster.

  Once they were cloaked and provisioned, the two Shadowed Elves began ascending the steps. Idalia moved quickly back along the rim, looking frantically around for a niche to hide in. They couldn’t see or hear her, but nothing would save her from discovery if they walked right into her.

  She found nothing, and was forced to retreat back the way she came, hoping that wouldn’t be the direction they ended up coming. But luck was with her, and when the two Shadowed Elves reached the top of the steps, they headed away from her. Idalia chalked a quick trail-sign and followed them.

  Fortunately—because the water-jug was heavy and fragile—they moved slowly, and Idalia was able to follow them at a prudent distance, making marks along the way. The only danger was that they might hear the sound of the chalk against the stone, but she was well behind them, and apparently it did not occur to the Shadowed Elves that there might be any interlopers within their stronghold.

  Without them to follow, Idalia wasn’t sure she would ever have found the prisoners, for the path they took involved a number of twists and turns. But at last they reached their goal, a pocket cavern deep within the bowels of the mountain.

  The doorway to the cave stood open. The Shadowed Elves had trusted—and rightly so—to the darkness outside to serve as a more perfect jailer than any doors or locks. Only the truly desperate would try to find their way through that blackness, and if the captives did not fall to their deaths over an unseen precipice, they would be easily recaptured before they ever found their way to the surface.

  Eight

  Prisoners of Darkness

  Lairamo did not know how long they had been here. It was hard to measure time even by sleeping and waking. Their cloaked captors had fed them seven times since they had arrived—baskets of flat tasteless fungus, and jars of stale water—and so she had scratched seven marks upon the wall. But the meals, such as they were, might not be coming at regular intervals, or if they were, those intervals might not be the same as a day.

  She kept her thoughts to herself. There was no point in adding fresh terrors to a situation that had already grown beyond horror.

  At first she had been grateful that they were left together. That no atrocities were visited upon her charges. It had been peculiar that the door to the cavern was left unbarred and unguarded, and it had been Alkandoran who had first suggested that they must try to escape. He had persuaded her to let him take one of the lanterns and see if he could find the way out, and at last, reluctantly, she had let him have his way.

  He was gone a very long time.

  At last he had returned—in the hands of two of their hooded captors. His face was white and strained, and the lantern was gone. They had shoved him back into the cavern, then entered, selecting one of the remaining lanterns and smashing it carefully. The lamp oil had kindled in a bright brief flare as it burned away into darkness.

  The silent message was clear. Escape was impossible. Further attempts would be punished by the removal of more of the lanterns.

  Lairamo did not think any of them could stand this captivity in the darkness. And the hooded ones might take one or both of the braziers as well, and the children surely could not survive the cold.

  So they huddled together in the wan light of the two remaining lanterns, keeping their spirits up as best they could. All of them were cold and filthy—especially the baby—and slept huddled together beneath a pile of their cloaks and the strange hammocks in which they’d been carried here. Lairamo encouraged the children to sleep as much as they could, and did everything she could think of to keep them from talking or thinking of what the future might hold. Among the items left behind here by t
heir captors had been a gan set. Alkandoran had taught the younger children to play, and bullied them into it constantly. No one was very good at it, but it kept their minds off where they were, at least a little.

  The only thing they could do was wait. Alkandoran had told her of what little he’d managed to see before he’d been recaptured—he’d wandered for what seemed like hours through cave passages that all looked alike, and he’d been pretty sure he’d been going in circles. The hooded ones had waited until his lantern ran out of oil before taking him, so he was fairly sure they’d been following him the whole time.

  A faint scuffling in the outer darkness heralded the return of their captors once more. Reflexively, Lairamo drew the children to her and scuttled back against the farthest wall of the cave. They huddled against her skirts, and she put her arms around as many of them as she could.

  A few moments later, the two cloaked and hooded figures appeared, faint ghosts in the dimness. As always, one carried a wide shallow basket and the other carried a water jar. They set their burdens down just inside the doorway, where the shadows were thickest, then one of them moved to collect the empty jar. In moments the two were gone again.

  Lairamo made them all wait for several minutes before they approached the food and water, though they were hungry all the time these days, and thirsty as well. She rationed their supplies as best she could, but they were entirely at the mercy of their jailers, and without constant supplies, they would die of thirst long before they starved.

  Just as she was getting stiffly to her feet, Kalania balanced on her hip, there was a sudden blur of motion, and a figure appeared out of nowhere, standing in the middle of the chamber. Tredianala gave a hoarse cry of alarm, and Alkandoran jerked the slender girl behind him.

  But after a moment’s pang of terror, Lairamo recognized the intruder.

  “Idalia! Praise to the Gods of Leaf and Star!”

  “I’ve come to get you out of here. There’s a rescue party waiting nearby.”

  IDALIA had followed the two Shadowed Elves to their destination. She waited until they were well out of sight before advancing on the cave. She didn’t know what prisoners it might contain, but she meant to rescue them whoever they were—she would leave no one in the hands of these creatures.

  She edged closer, wrinkling her nose. The cavern smelled of long—and unsanitary—occupancy. When she rounded the corner and looked inside, her heart leaped. Lairamo and the children—and as far as she could see, they were all alive and whole, though filthy and haggard.

  She stepped into the cave and flung off her tarnkappa.

  Instantly the world became dim—though by some whim, the Shadowed Elves had left their Elven prisoners a lantern or two to see by.

  “They will catch you,” the oldest boy said grimly. “I tried to get away once. They followed me for a long time, then they brought me back here.”

  “Ah,” Idalia said lightly, hoping to rally their spirits. “But I have magic. This cloak conceals me from sight and sound—and anything I have under it as well. I’ve marked the way to the surface, and with the hood down, I can see in the dark as well as they can. I can carry you all to safety, and no one will suspect a thing.”

  But it will take several trips.

  “Sandalon and Kalania will go first,” Lairamo said calmly. “They are the youngest, and the smallest. The rest of us will wait here.”

  “THERE’S something moving out there.”

  The unicorns had excellent night-sight—better even than the Elves’—and the three unicorns in the party had volunteered to keep watch on the cave mouth from the edge of the trees. Shalkan had the first watch.

  Kellen was standing with him—not because he could be at all useful; the darkness was nothing but dark to him, and the moon was too new to give any proper light, the merest fingernail crescent in the sky, sennights from full—but because this was, in a sense, his plan, or at least his responsibility. He was too keyed-up to sit at the warmth of the brazier with the others, waiting for Idalia to come back. His fidgeting would do more harm than good to their spirits. He was wise enough to know that much.

  “What is it? What do you see?” Kellen fought to keep his voice low and level.

  “Footprints in the snow,” Shalkan said. “Coming this way.”

  Kellen loosened his sword in its scabbard. He hoped it was Idalia in the tarnkappa, but other beings possessed the secret of invisibility as well. Or someone might have taken it from her. But Vestakia had given no warning, so Kellen was merely alert, not preparing for battle.

  A few yards away from where Shalkan stood, the air seemed to shimmer. Suddenly Kellen could see Idalia clearly. She was holding a bundle in her arms. There was a wriggle of movement, and Sandalon dropped from her back and ran to Kellen. Kellen dropped to one knee to receive the Elven Prince, who buried his face in Kellen’s shoulder. The boy was trembling, but did not make a sound.

  “I’ve got to go back,” Idalia said without preamble. “The rest of them are still there—alive and safe, for now, but I’m the only one who can get them out, and it has to be done quickly. There’s more news, and worse—that cavern is home to a whole race of Dark-tainted creatures that seem to be some kind of Elven-Goblin hybrid.”

  She thrust the bundle—the baby Kalania—at Kellen, swirled the tarnkappa around herself again, and vanished.

  “Come on,” Kellen said, picking up Sandalon and trying not to drop the toddler. “Let’s go back and find the others. Jermayan and Vestakia are here. They’ll be glad to see you, you know. You’re safe now.”

  Sandalon began to tremble even harder, and Kellen felt the warmth of soundless tears against his cheek.

  KELLEN was able to hand Kalania to Vestakia when he reached the others; Sandalon flatly refused to let go of him. Everyone had leaped to their feet when he approached, taking in the sight of the two children and understanding what it meant.

  “Where is Idalia?” Jermayan demanded, the normal courtly speech of Elvenkind subsumed beneath War Manners.

  “Gone back for the others,” Kellen answered briefly. “She says they’re all alive and well, and that she can get them all out.”

  “Everyone on your guard and ready to ride,” Jermayan said. “We need to move as soon as everyone has been recovered.”

  The knights moved briskly about the campsite, saddling horses and unicorns and checking equipment. Evanor, the Elven Healer, took Kalania from Vestakia and laid her down on a blanket near the brazier, and peeled off the layers of sodden foul garments to examine her. Though the toddler was thin and filthy, and obviously stunned with terror, Evanor was able to apply soothing salves to the worst of her rashes, swaddle her in clean cloths, and get her to drink a little broth with a soothing potion mixed in, after which the child fell immediately asleep.

  “It would be well if I were to examine young Sandalon as well,” Evanor said, when he was finished with Kalania.

  “I’m fine,” Sandalon said sharply, his voice high with fear. His hands were wrapped around a cup of broth, and he was sitting on Kellen’s lap. At Evanor’s words, he recoiled.

  “Of course you are,” Vestakia said, coming to kneel beside Kellen. She smoothed back Sandalon’s hair, it was greasy and matted after so long without washing or combing. “I can tell that. I know about these things. We found you because I can sense Them, you know. That’s the trail we followed. But I couldn’t sense any of you at all. We didn’t even know for sure you were in there until Idalia went in to look. So that’s how I know you’re all right.”

  “You’re sure?” Sandalon asked, his voice torn between pleading and suspicion.

  Poor little fellow! Kellen well remembered his own agonized fears of being Demon-tainted—and he hadn’t been a five-year-old child who’d seen all his friends horribly slaughtered, then been held prisoner by monsters down in the dark. No wonder the boy didn’t want to be examined too closely!

  “I’m sure,” Vestakia said firmly.

  Sandalon looked at Kelle
n.

  “She’d know,” Kellen assured him. “And you should let Evanor make sure you’re not hurt, or going to become ill, and give you clean dry clothes to change to. We’re going to have a long way to ride tonight.” If Idalia gets the others out safely. And what if she doesn’t? What are we going to do then?

  Reluctantly, Sandalon allowed himself to be examined by Evanor, who pronounced him to be in better shape than Kalania, and dosed him with a strengthening cordial.

  Just then, two of the unicorns trotted off, as if summoned by a voice only they could hear. And Shalkan walked into the clearing with Tredianala clinging to his mane.

  The girl was crying and quivering with terror—Kellen recalled that she had been particularly timid—and Evanor quickly took charge of her, speaking soothingly to her and leading her over to the brazier.

  “Four more to go,” Shalkan said, coming over to Kellen. “Four more trips.”

  Kellen didn’t ask the question that was uppermost in all of their minds: How long can Idalia’s luck hold out?

  LAIRAMO had sent the oldest girl on the second trip because Tredianala was the most fearful of the remaining children, and Idalia had blessed the sound-cloaking properties of the tarnkappa with every step she took, as the child had cried the entire way, just as if she were not on her way to rescue and safety. The second in-and-out went much faster than the first, and she was able to deposit Tredianala within sight of Shalkah, and turn back to the cavern.

  By now her tracks were a deep rut in the snow. The sight of them gave her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but there wasn’t much she could do about them. If the Shadowed Elves came outside, the proverbial goose was cooked anyway; they just had to hope they could get the captives out and make it to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns with them before the Enemy could come up with any more Deathwings or coldwarg.

  Down into the dark again, and the caverns began to seem like an old friend. This time she took Vendalton. Now only Alkandoran, Merisashendiel, and Lairamo were left. The boy rode piggyback, his arms clutched about her throat. Her back was starting to hurt; this was different from carrying a pack all day in the Wildwood. A pack didn’t squirm around trying to get comfortable, and occasionally kick you in the stomach by accident.