To Light a Candle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Kellen found himself wishing that Shalkan were here to talk to. The news that Cilarnen had come to Ysterialpoerin—and was claiming to be a High Mage of Armethalieh—had unsettled him more than he’d thought possible. Why in the name of the Gods of the Wild Magic had he come?

  Banished? Lord Volpiril would never let that happen.

  But then why—?

  Resolutely, Kellen forced all questions and speculations from his mind. He had to concentrate on the task ahead.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Vestakia as they reached the cavern mouth.

  “I don’t feel anything,” she said, her voice light with relief. She swung down off her palfrey—Pihrandet moved to assist her, but her riding skills had improved greatly since the start of the campaign and she dismounted without help—and began to walk toward the cavern mouth.

  “Wait,” Kellen said, dismounting from Firareth’s back. He paused to give the stallion a companionable pat, then drew his sword and moved forward. “Don’t get yourself killed for overconfidence.”

  The others moved up, and, with Vestakia and Idalia in their midst, moved back into the caverns once more.

  They had lanterns with them, of course, but for the first part of the journey, they didn’t need them. Kellen had cast Coldfire on the rocks and walls of the cavern—it had been the surest way to keep the duergar from creeping up on them as they slept—and the walls glowed a faint pale blue. The spell would wear off eventually, but he saw no reason to dismiss it.

  They went all the way down to the village cavern, and Vestakia felt nothing.

  She looked at Kellen and shook her head. “No. If there were anything here—anything at all, I’d feel it. I’m sure of it.”

  Kellen hesitated, but Vestakia and the Crystal Spiders both agreed that the caverns were empty of Tainted creatures, and he had to admit that his hesitation stemmed from the fact that once they went back, he’d have to confront Cilarnen.

  But that was his problem, and not a reason to keep everyone else standing around in the cold.

  “Let’s go back, then,” he said with a sigh, then smiled. Smiled broadly, in fact. “Good work, Vestakia.”

  She ducked her head, but it seemed to him that she was so happy she was glowing.

  THEY reached the main camp just before dusk. Kellen sent the others on ahead. There was a stop he wanted to make first. It wasn’t just that he wanted to avoid the meeting with Cilarnen. It was that there were other obligations he felt he had to discharge that were just as pressing, and almost as uncomfortable to deal with.

  In the sennight that he’d been underground, the Unicorn Knights had returned to their old camp. Many familiar pavilions had been struck—the encampment was barely half the size it had once been—but Kellen wanted to pay his respects. He’d fled like a coward the night he’d healed Gesade. The least he could do was ask after her. Perhaps someone here would know.

  He rode into the center of the encampment and dismounted.

  Riasen’s pavilion was now in the place where Petariel’s had been. He came out at the sound of Kellen’s arrival.

  “Kellen! You come in a good hour,” he said. “We had begun to think you loved the caves so well you intended to spend the rest of your life underground.”

  “It began to seem as if I was,” Kellen replied, with a shake of his head. “But Vestakia says that the caverns are now free of Taint.”

  “And so I suppose we shall be moving on, once she finds the next one.” Riasen shrugged. By now the other Unicorn Knights had appeared as well. Kellen saw many familiar faces—but as many more were missing, gone forever. Petariel. Vandelt. Melchia.

  Too many to count. He swallowed hard.

  But Riasen was still speaking.

  “—and once you have dealt with this High Mage who has come all the way from Armethalieh to speak with you, of course. Kardus says he was Banished—if this goes on, there will be no one left there at all, and we might as well live there ourselves.”

  Kellen had forgotten how fast gossip traveled among the Elves. Riasen undoubtedly knew everything there was to know about Cilarnen. But before he had to reply to that, a welcome interruption spared him the need.

  “I See you, Kellen,” Menerchel said with pleasure, poking his head out of his own pavilion. “I do not doubt that you have come for a proper cup of tea.”

  “Tea would be welcome,” Kellen said gladly. “We could not make it properly in the caverns—at least it never tasted right.”

  “It is a wonder you all did not die of thirst,” Menerchel said, in tones of mock concern. “I would not myself care to engage in such hazardous duty. No proper tea! It is not to be thought of. I shall see to it at once.” He disappeared back into his pavilion to bring out the tea-things.

  “It would please me greatly to hear what you have heard of this Arme-thaliehan,” Kellen said, “but I came first of all to see if you were … well. And to ask after Gesade.”

  “Why not ask me yourself?” a familiar voice came from behind him. “I’m only blind, you know. Not deaf.”

  Kellen turned around quickly. Gesade and Shalkan were standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder.

  “He looks stricken,” Shalkan said to her. “You know the look.”

  “Indeed I do,” Gesade replied, sounding as if nothing much had ever happened to her. “Very much as if he’s done something wrong and is waiting to be scolded for it. Well, Kellen? Have you done something wrong?”

  She looked completely restored to health—except for the closed sunken lids and the hollow eye sockets.

  Kellen couldn’t speak.

  Gesade walked carefully forward, with Shalkan at her side to guide her. She reached Kellen, and he automatically raised his hand to stroke her neck.

  “Well, boy?” she said tartly. “Would you rather I was dead?”

  “No!” Kellen said instantly—and honestly. “But—”

  “—you’d rather I could see,” Gesade finished for him. “Well, so would I, of course. We’d all rather a great many things that we don’t get. But this is not the end of the world, or my life, so kindly don’t carry on as if it is, if you please.”

  “But … what are you going to do now?” Kellen asked.

  Gesade leaned into his hand, stepping back a pace so he could rub the particularly soft spot just behind her ear.

  “I’m going to stay in the heart-forest until spring, then I’m going to go home to the Great Herd and run with them,” Gesade said. “Someone will come to be my eyes for that. And I’ll live my life—which I could not have done without your help. And that is that, boy. It’s charming of you to wallow in self-pity over me … when I know very well that you’d happily have strangled me more than once!”

  “Yes, but—” Kellen sputtered.

  “That was before I was a helpless cripple?” Gesade said sweetly.

  Shalkan snickered.

  “I pity the person who thinks you’re a helpless cripple,” Kellen said feelingly.

  “Good,” Gesade said, giving him an encouraging nudge. “Thank you for healing me. I am very pleased to be alive, and I intend to extract every moment of pleasure from life that I can. Now drink your tea, and then go find out what that other silly human child wants here—and then be sure to come back and tell us all about it.”

  “First,” Kellen said, accepting a mug of tea from Menerchel gratefully, “tell me what you know.”

  “Not much,” Shalkan said, flicking his ears back and forth. “Andoreniel sent Hyandur to Armethalieh to warn the City about Them, as you know. The City wouldn’t let him in to give his warning—as you knew. As he was leaving, the gates opened and they threw Cilarnen out, wrapped in a Felon’s Cloak. Hyandur had already seen the remains of another body, torn to pieces by a Scouring Hunt, so he knew what was coming. He took Cilarnen with him over the Border—fortunately, it wasn’t very far, and they reached it before dawn.

  “He went on to Stonehearth to warn them, and left Cilarnen there. And that would have been the e
nd of the matter, except for the fact that some moonturns later, a Centaur Wildmage named Kardus received a Task—”

  “A Centaur Wildmage?” Kellen asked. “But Centaurs can’t do magic.”

  “Who’s telling this story?” Shalkan demanded “Kardus’s Task—a Mageprice to anyone else—was to go to Stonehearth and help the human boy he found there. He arrived at the same time that a part of the Centaur levy was mustering there, preparing to head over the Border. Well, one of Them showed up, mistook Cilarnen for you—so Cilarnen says—and tried to destroy the village to cover up Its mistake. Kardus, Cilarnen, and Wirance—a High Reaches Wildmage—working together, managed to kill It, but the levy took heavy losses and so did the village. Cilarnen decided he had to come and talk to you, and since Kardus’s Task was to help Cilarnen, along they came with what was left of the Centaur levy. Which is all anybody knows. Except that he’s definitely not a Wildmage, and he does have magic.”

  Once again Kellen was impressed at how much Shalkan managed to find out—though the unicorn certainly couldn’t be sneaking around the main camp picking up gossip. He couldn’t imagine how Shalkan did it. Or did everyone come to him to tell him the news?

  All it did was add to the mystery.

  “Why me?” Kellen asked.

  “Do come back and tell us,” Shalkan said archly. “And now, I suspect everyone—including Redhelwar—would like an answer to that question.”

  Reminded of his other responsibilities, Kellen quickly finished his tea and bid farewell to the Unicorn Knights, mounted Firareth again, and rode down into the main camp.

  Seeing Gesade again had made him feel better. He hadn’t thought it would—he’d thought being reminded of his failure would make him feel terrible—but somehow it didn’t. Her refusal to wallow in self-pity, even after her maiming, reminded him that no matter how terrible the loss, there was always something left with which to begin anew.

  WHEN he reached the horse-lines there was a message waiting for him to report to Redhelwar “at his convenience.” Kellen grinned to himself and turned Firareth over to one of the ostlers for untacking, brushing down, and turning out He’d dawdled long enough.

  He presented himself at Redhelwar’s pavilion, relieved to see only familiar faces there: Redhelwar, Adaerion, and Idalia. He bowed.

  Redhelwar regarded him with a lifted brow. “Idalia has told me of your sortie into the caverns, and what you found—or, rather, did not find—there, and Adaerion has acquainted me with your suggestion that the Lady Vestakia attempt to communicate with the Crystal Spiders. Perhaps there is something that you will wish to add to that which they have told.”

  “I am sure they have told you everything that I would have said,” Kellen said. “All I have to tell that they do not know is that I have seen Gesade, and that she is well and in good spirits. I ask that you forgive my tardiness, but … I wished to know how she was,” he added awkwardly.

  It could have been viewed as manipulation of the most blatant sort to offer up that excuse for his lateness, but Redhelwar had once been a Unicorn Knight himself, and Kellen knew he would understand. Besides, it was no more than the truth.

  Redhelwar’s expression softened. “You did all you could for her, Kellen.”

  Kellen grinned. “And so she told me—very firmly. And since the unicorns know all the gossip, I think I know as much as anyone does about our … guest.”

  “Guest.” The word tasted sour, tarnishing his good humor.

  “And what we know of him certainly doesn’t add up to a logical whole,” Idalia said. “He’s used magic—everyone agrees about that. But when a Mage is Banished, they Burn the Gift from his mind before they cast him out, so he’ll have no chance at all against the Scouring Hunt. They must have done that to you, Kellen,” she finished, her voice puzzled.

  “No,” Kellen said. “But then, I wasn’t even a Student Apprentice. I was the worst student in the entire history of the Mage-College; I could barely light a fire—or so everyone assumed. I did know a couple of First Level spells—I wasn’t supposed to—but as far as anyone knew, I hardly had the Gift at all. I think I’ve forgotten them now.” He thought hard. “I suppose Lycaelon was supposed to do it when he came to see me anyway, just in case—but I made him so furious I guess he just forgot.”

  Dredging up those old memories required an act of will, and Kellen was surprised at how much they hurt.

  “Lycaelon was a great one for forgetting things,” Idalia said caustically. “And when you were Banished, the Boundaries were so vast that there shouldn’t have been any way for you to get across them before the Hunt caught up to you even if you’d had an intact Gift—in fact, even with Shalkan’s help, you didn’t manage it. If you hadn’t been a Knight-Mage-to-be, you’d be dead.”

  “But Cilarnen was a good student,” Kellen said resentfully. “He’d already been a Student Apprentice forever, and that was last spring. They’d certainly have Burned him.”

  “But they didn’t,” Idalia said. “He’s cast Fire, Mage-light, and Mageshield, from what the Centaurs say. The first two are also spells of the Wild Magic—don’t look so surprised, Kellen; an awful lot of magic comes from the same root, and the High Magick has to have come from the Wild Magic originally—but I can’t cast anything like Mageshield.”

  “Well, neither can I,” Kellen said sulkily, well and truly irritated now. It was a simple spell, too, a First Level spell, one that a Student Apprentice had to master for his own safety before moving on to more elaborate and dangerous work. Most of the First Level spells didn’t even require wand and sigil work, just visualizations and cantrips …

  But he’d never managed to learn them.

  He shook his head, disgusted with himself. It was sickening how quickly all that dead-numbing rote memorization came flooding back into his mind. As if he’d never left the City at all. As if he were still trapped within its walls, buried alive.

  And he’d had a chance to think about this—an Armethaliehan Mage, arriving here at this time, this place—and he didn’t like the conclusions he had come to.

  IDALIA watched her brother with carefully-concealed dismay. It was as if the past half-year had suddenly been stripped away. This was the “old” Kellen; the boy she’d first met—unhappy, uncertain, angry.

  If Kellen had a weak point, it was Armethalieh. He hated and loved it at the same time—she was positive even he wasn’t sure which. The same way he—still—hated and loved Lycaelon, though—and she was quite positive of this—he’d convinced himself he didn’t care about his father at all. And since Lycaelon was Arch-Mage of Armethalieh, Father and City were very nearly the same thing. Certainly Lycaelon had always thought so.

  She knew nothing about Cilarnen Volpiril, except that his father was Lycaelon’s rival on the High Council, but from what Kellen said about him, it was obvious that Kellen saw Cilarnen as everything he had never succeeded in being: excellent student, beloved son.

  And now Cilarnen was here, reminding him of every failure, every fault.

  And Kellen wasn’t thinking clearly at all.

  “Well, as a Knight-Mage, you have precious little use for Mageshield, now, do you?” Idalia said, trying to draw him back to the present and make him focus on what he did have.

  Kellen looked at her, startled. “I … suppose not,” he said, slowly.

  “It would be good to know just why he was Banished from the City,” Idalia continued ruthlessly.

  “That is something he has told no one,” Adaerion said. “And we do not know enough of the ways of the human city to know for what cause it casts out its folk.”

  Kellen looked at Idalia. She was relieved to see that he seemed to have come back to himself a bit.

  “You and I were Banished for studying the Wild Magic,” he said hesitantly. “But … they would have let me stay if I’d apologized and given it up.”

  “Well, we can rule out studying the Wild Magic,” Idalia said. “Because we know he hasn’t done that.” She frowned.
“There’s hardly anything else the Mages Banish someone for. For any other crime, you either do penance, pay a fine, get your memories excised, or all three.”

  “Idalia,” Kellen said after a moment’s silence, an odd note in his voice, “what is studying the Wild Magic? If you’re a High Mage? If someone has studied the Wild Magic, what actual crime—the name of the crime, I mean—are they committing against the City?”

  Idalia thought hard. It had been almost half her lifetime since she’d discovered her three Books in the Records Room of the Council Hall, and from the moment they’d come into her hands, she’d known she was committing …

  “Treason,” she said. “To study the Wild Magic is to commit treason and heresy against the Light.”

  “Ah,” said Redhelwar with satisfaction. “We progress.”

  “No,” said Kellen. “We don’t. We could talk until the sun came up and get nowhere,” he added harshly. “What we need to do is ask Cilarnen questions, not each other. So I’ll see him. I’ll question him. And if I don’t like his answers, I’ll kill him.”

  “Kellen!” Idalia gasped, stunned.

  “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Kellen said bleakly, and now Idalia could see the pain in his eyes—the pain of a man carrying a burden far too heavy for him to bear. “To kill things? We can discuss why he’s here and how he got here for as long as we like. But in the end, it comes down to one thing: a Wildmage brought Cilarnen to me, because that’s his Mageprice. I don’t think there was anything in that price about me letting him live.”

  Idalia would have liked to deny the truth in that—but in all honesty, she couldn’t.

  “I don’t know why an Armethaliehan Mage—whatever his rank, Banished for treason or not—is here. It doesn’t seem really likely that they’d let him go with his Gift intact, or when they knew an Elf was lurking around outside the City ready to help him escape the Scouring Hunt. It sounds like a trap to me. I’ll see,” Kellen finished simply.