“It is good that Luermai made known to us Nemermet’s name,” Kardus said to Cilarnen, as he helped him fill Tinsin’s packs. One of the few advantages of riding a draft horse was that she could carry a great deal in addition to her rider.
“Luermai? You know him?” Cilarnen asked.
“We have met before,” Kardus said. “But if he wished to be known to all, he would have given his name. To give us Nemermet’s name is kindness enough, as the Elves reckon things.”
Cilarnen puzzled that out for a moment “But aren’t we doing them a favor?” he said at last.
Kardus looked at him. “If the Dark Folk strike first in the Elven Lands, is it a favor to the Elves to fight them there? Or is it better to wait until they come back to Stonehearth?”
Cilarnen blushed. “I guess you’re right. But it just seems as if they ought to be more … welcoming.”
“No one save Wildmages has crossed the Elven Borders in a thousand years. That there is need for anyone to do so now”—Kardus switched his tail—“upsets them.”
When Kardus put it that way, it made more sense to Cilarnen. He supposed it was just like, well, Elves and Centaurs in Armethalieh.
Only not quite.
Because the Elves were letting them in, even though they apparently didn’t like it all that much. And the High Council hadn’t let Hyandur in at all.
When everything was ready, Nemermet turned his stallion’s head and began to ride off through the trees. The Centaurs, Wirance, and Cilarnen followed.
ADAERION had been right about this journey being different from the last. For one thing, there was someplace Kellen was supposed to be every single minute of the day, from before dawn until well after dark. For another, this time he didn’t ride among the Unicorn Knights, and he found he missed their free-and-easy companionship more than he’d expected to.
And he missed Shalkan most of all, for now that he was riding Mindaerel in the middle of the army, he only saw Shalkan for a few hours each day, when he could steal time from his other duties—and there were many of them.
Now that the army was on the move, watches and patrols were added to the drills and planning meetings—not that there was much time for drilling, since they were heading toward Ysterialpoerin as fast as the full army could travel.
The weather worsened the more they traveled north. Almost every day now brought snow, and in the deep night Kellen could sometimes hear the howling of wolves. He didn’t envy Jermayan and Ancaladar their post, flying above the army—and back and forth through the clouds—all day, keeping an eye on the territory ahead.
They were a sennight out of Ondoladeshiron when the first attack came.
That day began like any other. Up in the greyness of false dawn. Into his armor, pack his gear, and off to the cook-fire assigned to his group for a quick breakfast of tea and pastries—the cooking tents weren’t unpacked at every stop—then to the horse-lines to collect and saddle Mindaerel and gather his troop and find their place in line. By then it was dawn, and the army had begun to move.
As they rode, Kellen realized that he felt unsettled—just as he had the day that Calmeren had come back to Sentarshadeen bearing news of the ambush at the Crowned Horns.
Leaving his troop in Ciltesse’s charge, he rode back through the line until he found Adaerion. Collecting his commander’s attention, the two of them rode a little aside from the line and stopped.
“Something’s going to happen,” he said bluntly, though keeping his voice pitched as low as possible. “I don’t know what. But soon. I felt like this the day we learned that the children had been taken.”
Adaerion glanced back toward the line, to where Vestakia was riding beside Idalia. She seemed completely untroubled. Whatever Kellen sensed, it owed nothing to Demon-taint.
Not all of the creatures that served the Demons bore Demon-taint.
“Ride up and warn Petariel to be on the alert. Then pull your force out of the line and ride to flank.” Adaerion rode back toward the line, but Kellen could hear his next words clearly. “Kharren, allow Keirasti, Shunendar, Duarmel, Churashil, and Thenalakti to know that it would please me greatly if they would ride to flank this morning and be alert for any inconvenience.”
Kellen urged Mindaerel up toward the head of the army. The mare seemed grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs, and soon overtook the unicorn riders, who were, as was the custom, riding far ahead.
“A vision! A vision of spring!” Petariel cried, sighting him. Gesade wheeled around and came trotting back toward Mindaerel, seeming to run across the top of the snow rather than through it.
Kellen reined Mindaerel to a stop and waited for Petariel and Gesade to reach him. “You’re to be especially alert today.” He hesitated. “I have a feeling.”
“What kind of a feeling?” Shalkan asked, trotting up. Now that he was no longer Kellen’s mount, Shalkan continued to stay with the Unicorn Knights most of the time—to keep an eye on things, he’d told Kellen.
“Like … the day Calmeren came. That something bad is going to happen,” Kellen said. “But Vestakia doesn’t feel anything.”
“Not Them then,” Gesade said, switching her tail. “Anything else?”
“I’m not even sure about that,” Kellen said. He wouldn’t have confessed it to anyone else, but the Unicorn Knights, Petariel especially, were the closest thing to family he had here, outside of Idalia, Jermayan, and Vestakia. “But …”
“We’re glad of the warning, all the same,” Petariel said, nodding. “And even if nothing comes of it, don’t hesitate to give it again. I’d rather a thousand warnings that came to nothing than to miss one we needed.”
“Me, too,” Kellen said fervently. He turned Mindaerel’s head about and headed back toward the line to find Ciltesse.
THEY’D been riding in flank for nearly an hour when he heard Ancaladar’s shriek of fury.
Kellen looked up, just as a flash, like lightning out of season, lit the sky. It silhouetted the dragon against the clouds, surrounded by a flock of winged wheeling shapes like an eagle harried by crows.
Deathwings!
“Ware!” Thenalakti suddenly shouted from across the column.
Horns blew, taking up the warning call. With the precision of a dance, the Elven army stopped and deployed for battle.
Suddenly Kellen could see all of it, spread out before him like the markings on a map. The Deathwings above, and the coldwarg packs heading for the army, preparing to strike the column at several places at once under cover of the growing storm. Thenalakti, Duarmel, and Shunendar were on the far side. He couldn’t reach them. But he, Keirasti, and Churashil were here, and the flanking units became skirmishing units when the call to battle was given.
“Coldwarg,” he said to Ciltesse. “They’ll go for the unicorns first.” He stood in his stirrups and drew his sword, making himself as visible as he could. “Skirmishers! To me!”
THIRTY mounted Knights pounded up the line. They were ninety by the time they reached the head of the line, and Kellen saw his first coldwarg in the flesh.
The creatures were nearly the size of a unicorn. Their remote ancestors might have been wolves, but wolf was only a small part of their nature now. They carried their heads low, their thick necks and heavy shoulder-hump of muscle giving killing power to the enormous jaws that could crush a limb—or a neck—with one bite. Their silvery fur was faintly dappled, giving them perfect winter camouflage, and their thick wide paws were perfectly adapted for running over snow. They were the ultimate predator, and the pack sweeping toward Petariel and the others outnumbered the Unicorn Knights three to one.
Kellen swore softly to himself, seeing the perfection of the trap. The unicorns could not retreat to the safety of the army, and they could not outrun the pack.
People will die here.
It was Kellen’s last private thought.
“Archers!” he shouted. “Keirasti! Churashil! Split them up!”
Suddenly the air was fill
ed with arrows. He’d seen Jermayan drop an ice-tiger in seconds with the deadly Elven bow, but though every arrow found its mark in a coldwarg body, the arrows barely seemed to inconvenience the monsters.
They did, however, make the coldwarg aware that Kellen’s force had arrived. Half the pack split off from attacking Petariel’s knights and came for Kellen’s, flowing over the snow toward them like a ripple of wind.
The skirmishers could expect no assistance from the main body of the army. Kellen could sense that it had problems of its own. Ancaladar and Jermayan weren’t able to stop all the Deathwings. Some of them were getting through. And not all the coldwarg were going after the unicorns.
Chursashil and Keirasti had split off. Keirasti drove past him, heading for the coldwarg that had nearly reached Petariel’s force.
Kellen and Churashil drove into the other pack side by side. The Elvensteel-shod hooves of their destriers plowed the shattered bodies of the coldwarg that hadn’t moved fast enough to escape into red ruin beneath them.
But it wasn’t enough.
The horses grunted as they wheeled, presenting tight walls of hooves and armor to the pack. It was the traditional defense against coldwarg, but defense would not serve the Elves this day. The moment the Knights had taken their position and braced for attack, the coldwarg facing them turned away and took off to resume the assault upon the unicorns once more.
Follow, and they were vulnerable. Yet there was no choice. Kellen spurred Mindaerel to the attack once more.
As soon as they left the safety of close formation, the coldwarg turned back and attacked.
It became a deadly dance over the snow. Through his battle-sight, Kellen was aware that Thenalakti, Duarmel, and Shunendar had joined him, but the other commanders were as handicapped as he was by the coldwarg’s tactics. The beasts would not stand and fight the skirmishers, and when the cavalry gave chase, they were easy prey. All around him he could hear the shouts of Elves and the screams of horses.
Despite their best efforts, the Elves were too spread out. Every time they tried to regroup, the coldwarg went after the unicorns again. The Unicorn Knights were clustered together, but the rest of the skirmishers, Kellen included, were scattered by now in a wide ring around them. He could see it as clearly as if he sat upon Ancaladar’s back. And the coldwarg were taking every advantage of that, scattering them further.
He had to make them come to him.
“Shalkan!” Oh, please don’t let Shalkan be dead; I don’t think I could stand it—
“Kellen.” The unicorn appeared out of nowhere. He was red with blood; he looked as if he’d been bathing in it. But he was alive. Why hadn’t Kellen made him wear his armor? He’d make him wear it every day from now on; he swore it.
“I’m going to form square around the unicorns. Make them stand when I do.”
“They won’t—” Shalkan began.
“Make them.”
Shalkan sprang away. A coldwarg leaped out of concealment in the snow and bounded after Shalkan. Without a thought Kellen sent Mindaerel after it, sword poised to strike. A single downward blow severed the creature’s spine.
For a moment he had a breathing space. He looked around, unable to see anyone he recognized. Where was Keirasti? Where was Thenalakti?
“Square!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, unable to tell if anyone could hear him. “Square around the unicorns! Skirmishers!”
On the fields of Ondoladeshiron he’d seen the Elven Knights practicing their maneuvers and thought of those maneuvers as only a pretty dance, useless in the war they were about to fight.
Today Kellen learned differently.
All about him on the battlefield, a ripple seemed to move through the Elven Knights as the order was passed. They moved as the fingers of one hand, fighting through their separate retreats to execute the order Kellen had given. He urged Mindaerel down into the fray, closing up with the Knights to either side.
Slowly, bloodily, the square formed. The Knights fought for every inch of ground. The pack seemed to sense what was happening, and tried to drive through the gaps in the forming lines, but at last the monsters were fighting on the Elves’ terms. They met a wall of steel and sword and hoof, and at last the impenetrable square closed around the Unicorn Knights.
“Is everyone—” Kellen began.
“Oh, Leaf and Star.” Beside him, Duarmel’s voice was flat with despair.
Kellen looked. His heart sank.
Across the battlefield, he saw Keirasti riding toward them, her mare running flat-out. Petariel was behind her in the saddle. Limping along beside the mare on three legs, her top speed now only that of the mare’s, was Gesade.
There was no hope. Gesade must have been wounded, Keirasti had stopped to cover her retreat. And now the three of them were going to die in sight of sanctuary, because if Kellen broke the square to send out a rescue party, the coldwarg would take more of them, not just his friends.
The coldwarg circling the square saw them in the same instant.
“Archers, fire,” Kellen said, his voice rough. “Everyone, hold steady.”
He had no spells that would stop a coldwarg pack. Jermayan did, he was sure, but Jermayan wasn’t here.
But he was a Knight-Mage.
“Duarmel, take command. Hold them.” He gathered up Mindaerel’s reins.
“Take me. I’m faster.” Shalkan was suddenly at his side.
Kellen didn’t question how Shalkan knew what he was going to do, or what it cost the unicorn to stand so calmly among the knights. He flung himself from Mindaerel’s back to Shalkan’s, and with a bound, they were away.
Shalkan flew over the snow like a blast of wind. Kellen barely noticed that he had no trouble keeping his balance on Shalkan’s bare back. The Elven arrows flew all around them, but despite the wind and the snow, Kellen knew that none of the shafts would strike Shalkan.
The coldwarg were not hurrying as they loped toward their prey. The death of their victims was certain, and they would savor the fear before the kill. Though some fell to arrows, the others did not slacken. It would only take one or two to accomplish the kill.
Kellen saw Petariel push himself from Keirasti’s saddle and fall to the snow beside Gesade. He saw the Unicorn Knight rise gracefully to his feet and draw his sword.
Closer now.
There weren’t many of the pack left alive; seven, perhaps eight. Of those that had begun the attack, many had fled, many had died. Kellen and Shalkan were within reach of the stragglers now. He could attack them, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to defend Petariel, Gesade, and Keirasti.
Keirasti had turned back when she felt Petariel’s weight leave her saddle. He could hear her shouting. Gesade was shouting too. Kellen didn’t bother to listen to the words. He was focused on what he must do.
The coldwarg could have attacked him and Shalkan as they passed, but they didn’t. Kellen hadn’t thought they would. The creatures would find it far more entertaining to let them reach the others and kill them all together.
He was counting on it.
“Help me,” he said to Shalkan, almost conversationally.
“Yes,” the unicorn answered simply.
They reached the other three. Shalkan was running flat-out, bounding over the snow. Kellen thrust himself off backward, landed standing in the snow, whirled, and drew his sword.
The coldwarg, sensing at last that something was not right with their prey, abandoned their lazy lope and began to run. They closed the distance between them and Kellen in seconds.
The world became nothing more than a series of targets. Kellen had no time to think, only to be. Afterward—long afterward—he would realize it ought to have reminded him of fighting the Outlaw Hunt, but it didn’t, and it never would, because the Kellen who faced the coldwarg in the Elven snow was a very different man than the frightened boy who had faced the pack of stone dogs sent by Armethalieh. That boy had been unsure of himself, uncertain of what to do.
&nbs
p; Kellen knew exactly what to do.
He cut through the neck of the first beast that leaped at him. The second didn’t die, but it ran, badly wounded. He stopped counting after that. Each blow merged into the next. It was as if they moved to meet his blade. He knew where they were; knew where they would be. It was snowing harder now, masking the world in an impenetrable veil of whiteness, and it didn’t matter. Kellen saw the world in patterns of blue and green and red: his attacks, their attacks; defense, retreat.
He did not plan to retreat. He would not be where their blows landed; they would be where his blade could find them. It did not matter if he killed, or merely wounded, all that mattered was that he became the center of their attention, the foe that could not be ignored, that he dominated their thoughts until there was room for no other prey in their minds.
Except, of course, that he was not the prey.
They were. They just hadn’t realized it yet.
Here was the dancing circle, as it had been drawn for him by all his teachers—Jermayan, Master Belesharon, those who had taught them, back to the beginning of the World. Within it was what he had sworn to protect. Attack came from every side; he crossed the circle again and again, his sword spraying blood across the snow like dark stars.
At last there were no more targets.
The patterns faded around him and vanished into whiteness. And his sword suddenly felt too heavy to lift.
Warily Kellen gazed around. With his own eyes, he could see nothing but blowing snow, but the battle-sight told him the coldwarg were gone.
Or dead.
He looked around. Where were the others? There was no one in sight.
To Light a Candle Page 56
