To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  “We will handle matters at first light, alakomentai,” Isinwen said. “There is a way such things are done in Ysterialpoerin.” He smiled slightly, at the small jest they both shared.

  For a moment Kellen had a wild vision of the Elves hoisting Mindaerel into a tree, and shook his head sharply, banishing the freakish fancy. However they handled things in Ysterialpoerin, he was sure it wasn’t that. He nodded.

  “That makes good hearing. She died a warrior. And I would know now, Ciltesse, if it pleases you to say, how fare those who did not ride with me tonight.” Blunt words, and a flat-out demand by Elven terms, but he hoped Ciltesse would forgive him.

  “All live, by the grace of Leaf and Star,” Ciltesse said, looking pleased. “And there were only the most minor of injuries, and none from the Blight-cursed arrows of the Shadowed Elves. All have been seen by the Healers, and are at their rest.”

  “And so I will go to mine, and encourage you to go to yours. Tomorrow Redhelwar disposes the army for the attack upon the nearer cavern, and there will be much to do.”

  Nineteen

  The Wisdom of Betrayal

  Kellen entered his tent, buttoned the flap closed, and called fire into the brazier and the lantern. He opened the small pack he kept always with him—it was the same pack he’d been given in Armethalieh on the day of his Banishing—and drew out his three Books. Perhaps they would grant him wisdom.

  He still wasn’t quite sure why Redhelwar had refused to allow the second scouting expedition—surely he knew that Kellen’s life wasn’t at risk, and he could have agreed to let Kellen go without Idalia if he were really worried about her safety. Perhaps it was because it just “wasn’t the way things have always been done,” or perhaps Redhelwar saw the consequences of the cusp-point that Kellen had only sensed, and feared them.

  He didn’t know. And it didn’t matter now.

  He ran his hands over the worn leather covers. Which one would serve him best tonight? Without hesitation, he opened The Book of Stars at random and began to read.

  “A Wildmage’s honor is not what honor may seem in the eyes of the world. The honor of a Wildmage lies in always paying the price of the Wild Magic, no matter what that price may be, and no matter what path the price may unfold. The world’s honor takes many paths and many forms, but to the Wildmage, there is only one path and one form, and so it must ever be.”

  Kellen closed The Book of Stars and stared unseeingly into the lantern’s flame. He couldn’t remember seeing that passage there before, but in a way he’d suspected its existence ever since he’d begun to be a Knight-Mage.

  He knew Redhelwar’s plan of attack. Redhelwar wasn’t going to Change it. If Redhelwar followed it, there would be disaster.

  Kellen knew it. The Wild Magic had told him so.

  Do what Redhelwar had ordered him to do? Or do what was right?

  They won’t be ready to attack for at least a day and a half. Dionan said so. A full day at least to make ready, and Redhelwar will want to go at midday, when he judges the Shadowed Elves to be weakest, so he might even hold off another full day rather than attack late in the day.

  Time enough for me to reach the nearer cavern and see what’s there—and get back again. Even if I have to go on foot.

  The realization of what he was contemplating shook Kellen. He was a member of the Elven army now—an alakomentai. If he disobeyed orders—if he just left—it would be a serious thing. He had no idea how serious—he suspected he’d lose his command at the very least. He would have betrayed everyone who’d trusted him—Adaerion, Ciltesse, Isinwen … he could sit here until dawn naming names and not be done with the list. And everything he’d done toward convincing everyone that they should listen to him as a Knight-Mage and not just tolerate him as Idalia’s younger brother who happened to be good with a sword would be gone.

  It isn’t worth it, Kellen thought wildly. I can’t throw all that away! If he lost his position in the army, if the Elves went on doing things as they always had—fighting the last war and expecting their enemy to do the same—they’d lose. Shadow Mountain would win. Wouldn’t the greater good—the long-term good—be just to sit here and let Redhelwar do as he pleased, no matter what consequences Kellen foresaw?

  But suddenly Belepheriel’s words came back to him.

  “Yet it would be good to know how the Knight-Mage knew to ride after these Shadowed Elves. Or how it is that he so often gives warning—and never soon enough to prevent losses.”

  This time Kellen had a warning that had come in plenty of time to prevent all losses. How could he even think of disregarding it for what—when you came right down to it—would be personal gain?

  “A Wildmage’s honor is not what honor may seem in the eyes of the world …”

  Always pay the price. Because to refuse to pay it, as he’d learned when Jermayan had begun to teach him about the Great War, would ultimately lead a Wildmage into the service of the Demons.

  He’d been given a gift by the Wild Magic: a warning that would save hundreds—thousands—of lives. The price of that gift was personal disgrace.

  He would pay it.

  Kellen bowed his head over The Book of Stars, trembling as he thought of how close he’d just come to doing something horrible. Better his friends should be alive to hate him than that they should be dead still thinking well of him. He would know he’d done the right thing, no matter what they thought.

  For the first time tonight he felt light and free. He saw his path clearly. Get to the caverns. See what the Wild Magic wanted him to see. Get back and tell someone—Shalkan, Ancaladar, and Jermayan., if no one else would listen to him. Then let Redhelwar do with him as he chose.

  All that remained was “how”—a simple enough problem for a Knight-Mage trained by Master Belesharon.

  Kellen packed his Books away, quenched his lantern, and lay down, feigning sleep.

  IN the darkest part of the night, when the camp was as quiet as it ever got, Kellen slipped out of his tent.

  Within the camp itself, he simply had to not be seen, for it would be best for all when Redhelwar asked after him if no one could say they had seen him go. That was a comparatively easy matter, with his battle-sight to guide him. But eventually he reached the point where he needed to pass the sentry-ring and leave the camp entirely.

  If he’d had a tarnkappa, evading the mounted sentries riding post would have been as simple as covering his tracks in the snow, but he hadn’t dared risk lingering in camp long enough to steal one. Without one, it took him over an hour to work his way past the rings of guards, and it was the most agonizing hour of Kellen’s life.

  He used his battle-sight to spot the sentries, and their movements to mask the sounds of his own. He carried a blanket with him, and dragged it behind him to blur his tracks in the powdery snow. It was snowing again, and the wind was a constant wail through the trees, and that helped to mask the sound of his movements as well. The greatest danger of discovery would come when he had to strike off away from camp. They might well see him then.

  But the outer ring of sentries rode to a fixed pattern, and by now Kellen had timed it out exactly. When they were on the opposite sides of the camp, he would run. When they were in a position to see him, he would throw himself down in the snow and wait until they’d passed. After half a league of that, he should be out of sight.

  They were in position. Kellen grabbed up his blanket and began to run. At the end of ten minutes, he flung himself facedown in the snow to wait.

  “I do hope you weren’t planning to go anywhere without me,” a familiar voice said from above his head.

  “Yes,” Gesade added. “Where were you going?”

  Kellen choked on a mouthful of snow, barely managing not to yelp. Knight-Mage Gifts were one thing, but unicorns were sneaky.

  He thought about ignoring them. He thought about telling them to go away. He might as well have wished for a tarnkappa—or wings.

  He rolled over on his back, looking up at
the two unicorns. Both of them were gazing down at him with identical expressions of polite interest, their bodies white blurs against the snow.

  “I’m deserting,” Kellen said, after a long pause.

  Shalkan cleared his throat in the manner of a unicorn that was trying very hard not to laugh and wanted to make sure everyone knew it.

  “In that case,” he said mildly, “I’m going to need my armor and my saddle.”

  “Come and have tea,” Gesade said. “You look half-frozen. Humans don’t like snow-baths. Come to that, Elves don’t like snow-baths either. Petariel will get Shalkan’s things.”

  I wonder if you can strangle a unicorn? Make that two unicorns.

  “Look,” Kellen said, gritting his teeth. “I’m telling the truth. I really am deserting. Redhelwar told me not to leave the camp, and I’m leaving. So no one can know. Do you understand?” The snow had now had ample time to melt, and he’d have to wait at least another ten minutes—probably more—before he could move again, even if he could talk the unicorns into leaving. His cloak felt damp, and his armor … well, his armor felt like cold metal. Which it was.

  “All right,” Gesade answered reassuringly, as if to a small child. “We won’t tell anyone. Come and have tea. Because if you don’t, you’re going to find out how loud I can scream,” she added, her voice taking on a warning edge.

  “Oh, do get up, Kellen,” Shalkan said, sounding bored. “You can’t desert if you’ve got the coughing sickness. Everyone will hear you for leagues. And I understand that Idalia’s remedy for that tastes really awful.”

  “One …” Gesade said, laying her ears back and switching her tail meaningfully.

  Kellen scrambled to his feet.

  “THIS is important,” Kellen said to Shalkan, as the two of them followed Gesade back to the camp of the Unicorn Knights.

  “It’s all right,” Shalkan said, rubbing his head against Kellen’s arm.

  For a moment Kellen almost felt an urge to hit Shalkan, then draped an arm over the unicorn’s neck instead. “People are going to die,” he said, and heard his voice tremble.

  “No,” Shalkan said firmly. “I told you not to try to go off somewhere interesting without me, didn’t I? You should have remembered.”

  THE camp of the Unicorn Knights was silent and dark—no need of Elven sentries here, with the unicorns to keep watch. Gesade walked into Petariel’s pavilion—opening the flap neatly with her horn—and a few moments later, Petariel came out.

  The Captain of the Unicorn Knights had obviously been roused from sleep. His long hair was loosely braided, and he was still pulling a heavy fur cloak around him. But his expression was alert as he saw Kellen.

  “Leaf and Star—you’re soaking wet. Gesade, Riasen and Menerchel, if you please.” He went to the banked brazier and began adding charcoal, then went back into his pavilion, coming out with another cloak.

  “Here. Take this. Not your color, but at least it’s dry.”

  Kellen dropped his wet cloak to the ground and took the dry one gratefully. Gesade had roused Menerchel and Riasen now, and Kellen wondered with a sinking heart just how much worse things could possibly get.

  “Kellen’s deserting,” Gesade said brightly. “So we need Shalkan’s saddle and armor.”

  “Tea first,” Petariel said. “Kellen, you’re as blue as ice.”

  “I have to get out of here,” Kellen said desperately.

  “You need to tell us what else you need,” Riasen said as Menerchel began to prepare tea.

  “I’m deserting,” Kellen said, wondering if they’d all gone deaf.

  “Yes,” Petariel said. “We all heard you. Tell us how to help.”

  Kellen stared at them. He’d been expecting … he didn’t know what he’d been expecting. But not this. For a moment, he felt as if the earth had opened under him—except that he also felt as if the moment it had, he’d discovered how to fly.

  “I think he should sit down,” Shalkan said. “Over here, next to the brazier. I’ll tell you what I know while his wits unthaw. Sit down, Kellen.”

  Kellen sat. If he’d learned nothing else in the past several moonturns, he’d learned that arguing with Shalkan was worse than useless.

  Quickly Shalkan summarized the evening’s events, including most of what had gone on in Redhelwar’s pavilion. “So now Redhelwar has changed his battle plans, and I imagine Kellen hasn’t been able to talk him out of them, don’t you?”

  “Huh,” Gesade said, stamping her forehoof. “They must be really bad plans.”

  “No,” Kellen said, stung to Redhelwar’s defense. “They aren’t. Not really. It’s just … he doesn’t …”

  “Better tell,” Shalkan said.

  Kellen sighed, giving up.

  “He isn’t going to risk trying to scout the caverns again. Without maps, we can’t attack them both at once, and he’s concerned about leaving Ysterialpoerin undefended. He’s going to divide the army into thirds and guard Ysterialpoerin and the further cavern. There’s nothing wrong with either of those ideas,” Kellen said, knowing it sounded bad, but he was tired of mincing words! “But he means to send the third force into the nearer cavern using the troops to draw the Shadowed Elves to attack.”

  “And that’s bad?” Gesade asked.

  “It must be,” Shalkan said. “Because Kellen’s deserting. To scout the nearer cavern before Redhelwar can get the army into position, I suppose. All by yourself?”

  “I’d wanted to take Idalia,” Kellen said unwarily. “But I can’t ask her now.”

  “We’ll ask her,” Riasen said. “That way the army will have decent maps, at least. She has a fine hand at mapmaking.”

  “And you’ll have someone along to keep you out of trouble,” Shalkan said with satisfaction. “Though I’d hate to be the one to wake her up.”

  “Fortunes of war,” Riasen said. “We’ll draw lots for it.”

  “I—Hey—Wait—” Kellen said desperately. How had things gotten so completely out of his control?

  “Tea,” Menerchel said, passing Kellen a cup.

  Kellen took it. “You can’t do this,” he said, trying to make them understand. “It’s one thing for me to disobey orders. I’ll be in trouble—I don’t know how much, but probably a lot—but if you help me, you’ll all be in trouble, too. I can’t let you—”

  “Kellen,” Shalkan said, interrupting him, “tell them what will happen if Redhelwar proceeds as he plans, and no one scouts the nearer cavern before he sends the army in.”

  Kellen focused on what he’d felt in Redhelwar’s tent, trying to bring it into words. There was nothing but dread—a terrible sense of death and loss. “I—” he began.

  “No,” Riasen interrupted somberly. “Your face tells us too much. Once I said you might call upon the Unicorn Knights at need. Now the day has come.” He glanced at the others. Petariel and Menerchel both nodded. “Drink your tea before it cools.”

  Kellen drank the tea.

  This was mutiny. A whole troop of the Elven army—the Unicorn Knights, the elite scouts—were disobeying Redhelwar’s orders to follow his. Or at least to help him, because try as he might, he didn’t seem to be able to order them not to help him.

  “I give up,” he muttered.

  “Good,” Shalkan said, nuzzling his ear. “I’d almost thought you were going to be as stubborn as an Elf.”

  On the other side of the brazier, the three Elves were playing an elaborate—and quick—guessing game: Wind, Water, Tree. Kellen had never been able to master it—the Elves learned it as children, and played it all their lives, and though Kellen had mastered the simple gestures easily enough, he’d never understood it well enough to play. Petariel lost the round, and shook his head with a sigh.

  “I will go to waken Idalia and tell her what she must know. But you, Menerchel, will bring Shalkan’s armor here.”

  Menerchel bowed elaborately, a courtly reverence filled with mockery. He straightened, fading into the darkness beyond the edge of
the lantern light.

  “There will be time for a meal before you go, if we are quick,” Riasen said. He went into his tent.

  “I don’t understand Elves,” Kellen said to Shalkan.

  “The beginning of wisdom,” Shalkan said.

  Kellen opened the jar of honey-disks and fed several to Shalkan. “Won’t they get into trouble? Someone’s sure to look for me in the morning.”

  “And displease us?” Shalkan asked haughtily, switching his tail. “But you’re asking the wrong question. The question is, will they say they’ve helped you? And will Redhelwar ask them?”

  Kellen thought about that for a few moments as he finished his tea.

  “I really don’t understand Elves,” he finally said.

  Riasen came out of the tent with a large bundle of cloth and a flask. He spread out the bundle near the brazier. It held half a chicken, a meat-pie, and some tarts.

  “The cordial will be warm, but the rest must be cold,” Riasen said. “It’s the best we can do.”

  “You honor me,” Kellen said, pulling off his gauntlets and reaching for the chicken.

  By the time he’d finished eating, Menerchel was back with Shalkan’s armor, and the cordial was warmed. Like most of the decoctions of Elven brewing, it contained very little alcohol. This one tasted strongly of sweet cherries, and banished the last of Kellen’s chill. When he’d drunk it, he got to his feet and began armoring and saddling Shalkan, first rubbing him dry with his discarded cloak. It wasn’t much of a chore—the downy unicorn fur seemed to shed snow as if it were bespelled; and maybe it was.

  “You’d better dry that if you’re going to wear it,” Shalkan pointed out, so Kellen stood over the brazier, holding his cloak to the heat. Soon Petariel would return—without Idalia, he was sure—and they could be on their way.

  But not long after that, Petariel returned—with Idalia.

  She was leading Cella, saddled and ready for a journey. The palfrey even had full saddlebags and a bedroll lashed to her saddle.