To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  “You’d better go out to him,” Shalkan said. “I believe he was unaware until now of how protective a unicorn can be:”

  Wincing inwardly at the thought, Kellen stepped out of the cavern mouth into the snow, wrapping his cloak around him as tightly as he could. The snow was knee-deep, and soaked through the rags of the tarnkappa wrapped around his feet instantly. As he had been taught at the House of Sword and Shield, he shut the pain and the cold away in a small part of his mind, and concentrated on the task ahead.

  He reached Redhelwar’s stirrup and bowed, as formal a bow as he could manage under the circumstances.

  “I See you, Redhelwar, Army’s General,” he said.

  But Redhelwar did not greet him in return. Instead, he bent his head only enough to look stonily down at Kellen through the slits in his helmet.

  “What do you have to say to me, Kellen Knight-Mage?”

  Kellen suspected that this was not War Manners, but the attitude of a commander who is about to issue a great deal more than a simple reprimand. Either way, it did not matter.

  He took a deep breath. No matter what was done to him after this, at least he would have prevented a disaster with his disobedience. “I say that the cavern is a death trap, Redhelwar. There are no Shadowed Elves here. It is filled with a series of traps, cleverly concealed, to destroy the army if it enters. And if the army actually reached the village cavern, the entire roof would collapse upon them.” The commander’s eyes widened, but Kellen wasn’t done yet. “Further, the Shadowed Elves brought allies to ensure that the army would advance into the caverns at any cost: within the caverns are both goblins and duergar. I have seen and slain both, but more remain.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and picked his words with the utmost precision. “Whoever entered that cavern mouth would never come out again; neither living, nor dead. This was not only meant as a trap, it was meant to destroy one-third of our army.”

  Elves were ageless and beautiful. Even the tales told of them in Armethalieh said so. And though Kellen had seen that they did age, the marks of age came slowly and at the end of a very long life, and even in age they were still beautiful.

  But in that moment Redhelwar’s Elven beauty drained away like water poured into drought-parched earth. For a moment, Kellen saw the Elven general not only surprised, but terrified.

  He lowered his eyes quickly, not wishing to see more.

  “If I had done what I wished to do, followed the plans I had made …” Redhelwar said. His voice sounded hollow, as if he bore a burden of unendurable pain.

  “I would ask a boon, Army’s General,” Kellen sid, keeping his teeth from chattering with an effort. The wind seemed to find every gap in his cloak, and the snow burned against his skin. He couldn’t feel his feet at all.

  “Name your boon, Kellen Knight-Mage,” Redhelwar said. His voice was stronger now, and Kellen dared to look up again. Redhelwar’s face was still haggard, but it no longer looked quite so … naked.

  “We escaped the cavern alive through the help of allies. The caverns are far too dangerous to leave with their traps intact, but we have promised our allies time to escape before we destroy the traps. They ask for a day.”

  “All shall be as you wish,” Redhelwar said hollowly.

  He raised his hand and gestured. Dionan rode forward.

  “Sound the retreat,” Redhelwar said, his voice steady now, but without expression. “We return to camp.”

  Dionan raised his horn to his lips and blew a complicated series of notes. Instantly the army was in notion, its elements turning in place and beginning to move away from the cavern.

  “Bring Ninolion to me, and fetch Idalia’s mount. My compliments to Belepheriel, and let him know it would please me greatly if he and his people would continue to watch over this cavern for untoward events. Under no circumstances are they to enter it.”

  “And could someone find something for Kellen to wear?” Idalia demanded irritably, forging through the snow to stand at Kellen’s side. “He hasn’t got a thing on under that cloak.”

  “The, uh, Goblins poisoned my armor. I had to take it off,” Kellen explained, blushing furiously. He thought he’d actually rather freeze than have Idalia explain things.

  “See to it,” Redhelwar ordered, still in that terrible, flat voice. Dionan rode off.

  “Shalkan will assist you,” Redhelwar said to Kellen. “Go to him. Dionan will see what may be done. And … my thanks to you. You have saved me from a great error.”

  Kellen bowed. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Idalia grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back toward Shalkan.

  Shalkan’s horn was back to its normal pearly-white color now. “Get on,” he said, seeing Kellen.

  It took Kellen several tries to mount—by now he couldn’t feel either his hands or his feet—but once he was on Shalkan’s back, he felt better. Even through the armor, the unicorn was radiating heat like a furnace, and soon Kellen’s teeth stopped wanting to chatter, and he stopped shivering.

  Was everything going to be all right now? Or as all right as things got these days? At least Redhelwar had believed him.

  It hadn’t occurred to him until just now that the Elven general might not have. What could he possibly have done then?

  “Where am I going to get another set of armor?” he said aloud, turning his mind with relief to things that didn’t matter quite so much. “And another sword?” He was beginning to feel a bit of that muzziness return; he wasn’t quite sure where the broken one had gotten to—or his dagger. He thought he’d left them both back inside the cavern just after the last trip-wire.

  The majority of the Elven army had withdrawn to beyond the river now. Only Redhelwar and his adjutants remained, and Belepheriel and his command.

  “Both of those things are Artenel’s problem, and I’m sure he’ll rise to the challenge,” Idalia said. “How are you planning to trigger the traps in the cave?”

  “That’s Jermayan’s problem,” Kellen said, with a certain amount of relief. “I’m sure he and Ancaladar will rise to the challenge. Tomorrow.”

  “I take it Redhelwar didn’t have a problem with that?” Idalia said.

  “I think he’d have given me the whole damned army if I’d asked for it just now,” Kellen said.

  “Ah,” Idalia said. “There’s Cella.”

  Ninolion had led the palfrey up to Redhelwar’s side. Idalia went out to the mare and led her back to Kellen and Shalkan. She was carrying something else in her other hand, but by now it was too dark—and, once again, snowing too hard—for Kellen to see it clearly.

  “Here,” she said. “Put these on.”

  Kellen reluctantly untucked his hands from his cloak to take what Idalia was holding out to him. It was a pair of the long heavy sheepskin boots that were worn over armor as a further protection against the cold. They were an Elven pair, of course, so even without armor, Kellen could barely cram his feet into them.

  Idalia rooted around in her packs and came up with several blocks of journey-food. She gave one to Shalkan, handed one to Kellen, and unwrapped the third for herself. Kellen wolfed it down as quickly as be could, then wrapped himself tightly in his cloak again.

  “Let’s go,” she said, mounting Cella. “I want to get you back to camp and into the hands of the Healers before you fall over.”

  “You go ahead,” Kellen said. “Shalkan and I will follow as closely as we can. I promise.”

  Idalia nodded, and trotted after the retreating army.

  Kellen glanced once more at Redhelwar and the others. Without Shalkan, he might have been tempted to join them—or at least think it was his duty—but with Shalkan, it was impossible. Shalkan made an exception for Idalia—at need—but for a whole troop of Elves?

  Impossible.

  Fortunately. No doubt now; he was beginning to feel unpleasantly drunk.

  “Let’s go home.”

  “YOU’LL have to make your own way from here,” Shalkan said, trotting into the circle of p
avilions that made up the camp of the Unicorn Knights. “I’d suggest stealing some clothes, but nothing will fit.”

  “Where is everyone?” Kellen asked, looking around. None of the lanterns in front of the pavilions were lit, and even the communal brazier was cold and dark.

  “Probably off at Ysterialpoerin,” Shalkan said. “Where I’m going, to get this armor off and get a good meal, as well as to catch up on the gossip, so don’t worry about me. Now, go—straight to the Healers, if you please. I can smell that potion Idalia gave you, that and the goblin poison both. You need to get them both taken care of. Now.”

  “I’m going,” Kellen said meekly.

  He’d forgotten what a long cold walk it could be from the Unicorn Camp back to the main camp—of course, he’d never done it wearing nothing more than a cloak and a pair of too-tight boots before. At least there was a string of lanterns to mark his way, though the snow—the everlasting snow—had drifted so high that they seemed to rest directly on its surface, and some of them had melted small craters in it, so their light gleamed against walls of ice.

  And he had the awful feeling that Idalia’s potion was wearing off very quickly now, because he didn’t seem to be able to keep the cloak closed. It seemed to take too much effort, somehow, and he had the strongest desire just to lie down right here in the snow and sleep.

  “Halt and declare yourself.” A sentry’s voice came out of the darkness.

  Stopping was the best idea Kellen had heard in hours. He opened his mouth to explain who he was.

  And that was the last thing he remembered.

  “—BE all right now. The poison is gone, and I’ve healed him of the potion’s effects. All he needs now is rest and food.”

  A stranger’s voice, one that Kellen didn’t recognize.

  “Thank you, Arozen. I’ll see to it that he gets both.”

  Idalia.

  “You should rest as well, Idalia,” Arozen said.

  “Hey,” Kellen said weakly. He pried his eyes open, though that seemed to take a great effort.

  Idalia was glaring down at him as if he were a personal enemy. A man stood next to her, dressed in High Reaches furs: Arozen, presumably.

  Vestakia was there, too, and Ciltesse, Isinwen … all his command. He struggled to sit up.

  “Don’t—you—dare—move,” Idalia said, strong-arming him flat with one expertly-placed blow.

  “I’m not moving,” Kellen said hastily, now entirely bewildered. Why was Idalia so angry with him?

  “It was … a difficult healing,” Arozen said, explaining. “The potion Idalia gave you is, in its way, a kind of poison as well, and you were already poisoned. And you were also paying Mageprice, so … you were closer to death than you realized. And it is cold out there in the night.”

  “Well, I’m not dead now,” Kellen said. “Honest.” Paying Mageprice? He couldn’t think of any spells he’d cast.

  Unless … back in Redhelwar’s pavilion … what he’d done to Belepheriel had been a spell after all? If the price had been to go off to the Shadowed Elf cavern in the middle of the night, taking complete disgrace on himself, then he guessed he’d paid the price in full.

  “Idalia—Vestakia—Ciltesse—I’m fine,” he said. “Tired, but—fine.” He knew Arozen wouldn’t have let Idalia share the Mageprice of his healing, as tired as she’d been, but he suspected that the reason the others were here was because they had.

  Including Vestakia.

  “That makes good hearing, alakomentai,” Ciltesse said.

  “Now go and rest,” Kellen demanded. “All of you. Please. Idalia, if you don’t think I’ll be smart enough on my own to stay here, you can find … you can find …”

  He didn’t manage to finish his sentence before he was asleep.

  HUNGER and the smell of food woke him. Daylight was shining through the walls of the Healer’s tent, and Isinwen was there with a large covered tray that smelled wonderful.

  Kellen scrambled into a sitting position and reached for it. Isinwen set it carefully on Kellen’s knees and removed the cover.

  “I See you, Isinwen,” Kellen said. “Tell me what I need to know, of your courtesy.” The tray was piled high with enough food to feed three people, and Kellen was so ravenous he was sure he could eat all of it. Thinking back, he wasn’t sure when the last time was he’d had a full meal. One day? Two? He thought it might have been the journey-meal on the march the day they’d reached Ysterialpoerin, but he wasn’t quite sure. He reached for the tall mug of tea first.

  “You have slept only through the night, which should please you. The farther cavern is quiet, as is the nearer. You will need to see Artenel today for a first fitting for your new armor, and to choose a new sword. Ciltesse has selected three destriers for you to choose from, but thinks you will pick Anganil. There have been wagers placed, of course.”

  Kellen found himself grinning around a mouthful of bread and cheese. He’d discovered that Elves would place bets on the most unlikely of things, and at the most unlikely of times. Even in the middle of war. Probably in the middle of battle.

  “Redhelwar wishes to see you when you are fully recovered. And … Belepheriel begs the favor of an audience as well.”

  Kellen nearly choked on a mouthful of roast chicken. Belepheriel wanted to see him?

  He took a deep breath, and prepared to eat crow along with his chicken. “Isinwen, I fear I have offended Belepheriel greatly by my rash and ill-considered words. It would please me if you, who are wise in the ways of the Elves, can help me to understand what seems strange to me.”

  Isinwen smiled. “Your manners improve. Kellen, the whole camp knows what happened in Redhelwar’s pavilion that night, though certainly no one would say so. Belepheriel’s words are just as I have said them to you. He spoke so to Ciltesse in my hearing. He comes as a petitioner. It is for you to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

  “That’s not a lot of help,” Kellen muttered, swallowing chicken and reaching for a meat-pastry.

  “You would wish to know his reasons for asking,” Isinwen said. “I do not know them. I do know that he will not offer you insult, should you come as a guest to his pavilion. If you would seem gracious, accept. If you wish a … distance … to grow between you, say nothing. If you wish to truly sever all connection, then refuse to see him. But that course could lead to … awkwardness.”

  “Awkwardness,” Kellen suspected, was a mild understatement of what would actually happen. And whatever his—or Belepheriel’s—feelings, the army could not afford a feud.

  “I’ll see him,” Kellen said quickly. “I did not know that his son was one of the scouts who died. I wish I had.”

  “We searched for their bodies and did not find them,” Isinwen said sadly.

  “You won’t,” Kellen said. Abruptly he lost all appetite. He pushed the tray away. “The Wild Magic showed me their deaths. They died quickly and well. But then—after Gairith had left them—the Shadowed Elves came and took their bodies.” Kellen hesitated for a long time. “It was a hunting party, searching for food.”

  Isinwen made a quick gesture over his heart, and bowed his head for a moment. “Tell Belepheriel so. It is better to know, no matter how black the news.”

  “I will tell him. I wish … it seems there are very many people I must see this day.” His mood of good humor was quite gone now. He would have liked to enjoy it just a little longer.

  Isinwen nodded. “Were I to have the choices set before you, I would go first to Belepheriel, then to Dionan to discover Redhelwar’s pleasure. The rest of what you must do can be set about those things. And now, clothing was prepared for you while you slept. I have had it brought.”

  When Isinwen said that clothing had been “prepared,” he meant precisely that. The garments he presented for Kellen’s inspection were nothing Kellen remembered ever seeing before, though it was all in his colors.

  The skintight pants that the Elves favored had been made in his size, woven of soft heavy wool, with a
twining pattern of leaf and vine worked into the weave. Thigh-high boots of smooth leather, lined in sheepskin, with a tapered heel so that Kellen could ride in them at need were also a perfect fit. A sleeveless quilted undertunic was a superior replacement for the one he had lost. He wasn’t sure what it was made of, but its surface was as soft as down. A heavy, long-sleeved tunic—also wool—that came nearly to his boot tops, again, a perfect fit, better than the old one, for he suspected he had been putting on some muscle in the chest. A pattern matching the subtle weave in his leggings was worked into it in silver thread. Gauntlets of the same leather as the boots, their cuffs lined with vair, which would be welcome against the cold. A baldric and belt—but no scabbard—its entire surface stamped with a twining pattern of vines in Elvensilver, was again superior to what he had left behind. The buckle was of green enamel, and through its glassy surface, Kellen saw, not more leaves, but stars.

  “And last of all, lest you freeze again, your cloak,” Isinwen said.

  On the outside it was the thickest, softest green velvet Kellen had ever seen. The lining was white fur, faintly dappled. The fur looked oddly familiar.

  “Coldwarg fur,” Isinwen said proudly. “It will not freeze, no matter the temperature, even if it gets wet. Petariel said that if anyone deserved a cloak made from those wretched hellbeasts, you did.”

  Kellen took the cloak and swirled it around his shoulders. It felt oddly heavy in his hands, but once he had it on—like his armor—he didn’t notice the weight.

  Where had all this stuff come from? He didn’t think even Tengitir could have produced this quantity of clothing overnight. And then there were the boots. Boots took time to make … .

  He wasn’t going to ask. He thought, all things considered, he was probably better off not knowing. At least he wouldn’t have to face Belepheriel looking like a street urchin. Assuming the Elves, who valued children beyond all treasure, had any such thing.

  “You’ll have to show me where Belepheriel’s pavilion is,” Kellen said to Isinwen. He didn’t feel at all ready, but then, he doubted that he ever would.