Jermayan frowned. “I’m not certain. Perhaps simple brigands, for all that they managed to take us so completely by surprise. This far from human and Elven lands there are all manner of unchancy things prowling. It is a hard land, one that cannot be farmed or husbanded. Though there are a few who are sturdy enough to eke out a precarious living as shepherds, even they are surly, unfriendly, and half-beast themselves. Those who fell upon us today might be no more than the lawless wolfsheads whose meat is hapless travelers—but the fact that they were able to hide so nearly in plain sight and approach us so closely argues that they may have had magical help to do so.”
“So they might have been related to these people who set the Barrier? Shadow Mountain?” Kellen said.
Jermayan reluctantly nodded.
Aha! “So who—what—is Shadow Mountain, and why are they—it—doing this?” Kellen demanded urgently.
There it was, the question he’d been wanting to ask ever since the name had been mentioned back in Sentarshadeen and the Elves had practically turned themselves inside-out. What was Shadow Mountain? If the enemy was going to be hunting them directly—and now that Kellen had used the Wild Magic outright, he’d been thinking more about that possibility—it was time to stop avoiding the question and find out exactly who and what he might be facing.
Though—now that he came to think about it—everyone, including Jermayan, had been doing a very good job of distracting him from that very question from the moment of the Council meeting back in Sentarshadeen.
There was a long pause. Kellen could tell that Jermayan really wished Kellen hadn’t asked the question, and for a moment Kellen almost withdrew it. But he wanted to know. More than that, he thought he needed to know. If he was going to be fighting Shadow Mountain—if they were going to be sending enemies after him and Jermayan—he needed to know what he was up against.
“Shadow Mountain is what the Children of Leaf and Star call the stronghold of our oldest enemy—indeed, the oldest enemy of every race in this world, if only the rest of you knew it. Shadow Mountain is the home of the Endarkened,” Jermayan answered at last, very reluctantly.
Kellen looked puzzled. The Endarkened. The name meant nothing to him.
“Demons,” Jermayan elaborated. “The Endarkened are what you humans call Demons.”
“Demons?”
All Kellen’s old fears—fears he’d thought long-settled and put to rest—returned in a sudden rush. Idalia had said the Demons were real. The old faun back in the Wildwood had been terrified of them. But even though he’d been hearing about them since he’d left the City—and even before—Demons still seemed so unlikely, a concept Kellen recoiled from believing in even while it terrified him. They belonged to nightmares, not to conversations like this.
Jermayan seemed to sense his hesitation, and misunderstood its source.
“ ‘Demon’ is the name that Men gave to them in the War, and it is a truly fitting one—or so we Elves decided, once we understood the human concept of Demons. The Endarkened are evil, without exception. They are at least as long-lived as Elves, if not truly immortal.”
“They are?” Kellen asked in a whisper. The creatures of his nightmares had certainly seemed unstoppable …
“What—what do they look like?” He didn’t want to know. Except that he did. He had to know if his nightmares reflected the truth, or only his own twisted imagination.
“Unless they are disguising themselves by magic,” Jermayan replied, “they are easy to recognize: they have the horns of goats, the slitted eyes of snakes, scarlet or ebony skin, barbed tails, talons, and often wings or cloven hooves as well.”
Kellen shuddered, suppressing a chill of horror. Jermayan’s description exactly matched the images in his nightmares. But how had he known?
But despite his reluctance to begin, Jermayan was by no means finished with the subject of Shadow Mountain and Demons.
“And unlike other races, all the Endarkened are powerful Mages, able to wield a kind of magic that is neither the High Magick of the City, nor the Wild Magic you have learned, Kellen, but magic of a third kind, wholly abominable, and wholly inimical to Life. The least of the Endarkened is an inherent Mage far more powerful than most human Mages, and the most powerful of the Endarkened Mages can cast spells of incalculable power and devastation. Their power comes from the pain and fear of their victims and from the anguish and despair of their victims’ deaths. The price of Endarkened magic is paid in the blood and suffering of others, as we learned to our cost in the War.
“So if they are not truly Demons as you humans use the term, you will find, should you learn more of them, that they are close enough,” Jermayan said with a bitter sigh.
Kellen knew that Jermayan’s unwontedly expansive mood would probably not last long, and that he should learn all he could while the Elven Knight was willing to answer his questions. Suddenly he remembered some thing Idalia had said to him a long time ago: “… duergar and goblins and trolls … pushed out of the settled lands by the Great War, and even after all this time, I don’t think they’d be foolish enough to come back …”
“You mentioned a war. There was a war, wasn’t there? Between the humans … and the Demons?” And Armethalieh had made sure that no mention of it had survived in the City Histories. Lycaelon had said as much—something about the Black Days, when Demons had prowled the City itself.
He’d blamed that on the Wild Magic—and though Kellen now knew that the Wild Magic couldn’t have been at fault—not in the way that Lycaelon had tried to get him to believe, anyway—his instincts still told him that there was some sort of connection between the Wild Magic and the Demons.
Jermayan smiled just a little, like a teacher pleased with his pupil’s quickness, even though the subject itself was a terrible one.
“The Endarkened have tried twice before to conquer all the living things of the earth—once, when only we Elves were there to stop them, and the second time when Elves and Men joined in the Great Alliance with several other races to drive them back to their caves beneath the earth once more. The Great Alliance left scars in the fabric of the world that are healing still: Men only entered the conflict because there were other humans, their enemies, who had been seduced by the promises of the Demons and had allied themselves with the powers of Darkness. There were dragons in the world then, who fought on both sides of the conflict—dragons betrayed by the humans who had bonded with them into slavery at the hands of the Demons, and dragons who faithfully served the Great Alliance. The unicorns played a vital part in that war, because the Demons, being creatures of Dark Magic, cannot survive the touch of their living horns.”
Dragons! This was the first time Kellen had ever heard that dragons existed outside of a wondertale! The thought distracted him for a moment—
—but not for long, because Jermayan was still talking.
“The Great War took a terrible toll from all the Creatures of Light. Some races were lost forever, some changed beyond recognition. Some withdrew forever from the sight of Elves and Men. Ancient partnerships that had been forged in the morning of the world were sundered forever … It would make you weep, Kellen, did I tell you the story of those days in full, of all that was true and good and fair that passed out of the world then, never to be seen again. Yet in the end we rejoiced, though the land itself was in ruins and the work of rebuilding would be a thing of centuries, for we had broken the power of Shadow Mountain for all time … or so we thought then.”
Jermayan shivered, and Kellen wondered, had he been there? Had he seen the Great War? Surely not; he was far too young—
“But you won—” he ventured. “Surely you could have gotten rid of them forever!”
Jermayan shook his head. “What victory we won came at a great price, one that your race is paying down to this day. When the Great War was over, the few human Mages who were left—and there were not many, for the War had taken a terrible toll of any who had the least magical Gift—banded together to fo
und the City of Armethalieh, where they thought they could be safe. They outlawed the Wild Magic, swearing death to any who should practice its arts and driving the few surviving Wildmages who would not renounce their practice far from human lands. There began the creation of the High Magick, and the history of Armethalieh the Golden, City of a Thousand Bells—a city for humans alone, ruled only by the High Magick that the surviving Mages created to take the place of the Wild Magic they had spurned.”
“But … why?” Kellen whispered, horrified.
“The new High Mages thought that it had been the practice of the Wild Magic that had led to the seduction of their human enemies by the Demons,” Jermayan said mournfully, as if he could not believe that the Mages had been so blind. “And so they outlawed the Wild Magic, lest new Wildmages should become the prey of Demons as well. But it was not the Wild Magic that caused those Mages to fall.”
There it was, the thing Kellen had been dreading. That Wild Magic was dangerous, that Wildmages could be drawn to the Dark—both he knew to be true, though Idalia said it was not true that a Wildmage could serve the Demons with Wildmagery. But she had not told him why Wildmages could be drawn to the Demons …
“But—if it was the Wildmages who were corrupted—” he ventured.
“Oh, no, Kellen,” Jermayan said, and not in the tone people used when they were trying to reassure him (which of course had the opposite effect) but as if this was such accepted truth that Jermayan could no more have doubted it than he could doubt that the earth would uphold him. “It was not the Wild Magic that caused those Mages to fall, rather their attempts to escape or subvert the price of Wild Magic that led them down the dark paths. They were Wildmages who did not wish to pay the cost of their power, and so in the end, they paid a far higher price.”
He looked narrowly at Kellen. “Do you understand me? They wished power without a cost, at least to them. And so, they lost the Wild Magic, and found—that only the Demons would promise what they wanted. And they believed that promise, only to find that there was a price, after all. It cost them their souls, all that made them truly happy, and in the end—their lives.”
Kellen blinked. Power without cost to them—but isn’t that what the High Mages have now?
But was it? The High Magick still cost somebody something, and sometimes the High Mages used their own power …
He thought.
“When we realized what they believed in Armethalieh, we sent them envoys and tried to reason with them, for we knew that the Wild Magic was the only defense against Shadow Mountain, and we could not learn its arts, having given up our part in the Greater Magics long ago. But the humans were afraid. They would not heed us. Fear can make people—anyone—think very strange things. Even Elves,” Jermayan finished softly. “And now it may be too late.”
“Sleep now,” Shalkan said firmly, stepping into the lantern light. “Both of you. I’ll keep watch. I’ve had a much easier day than either of you. Sleep.”
It was hard to argue with such good advice. Exhausted by the events of the day—the battle and all that went with it, the spell he had cast, Kellen knew he couldn’t possibly stay awake much longer, and Jermayan needed to sleep to finish the work of the Healing Spell. Getting to his feet, Kellen quickly washed their cups and bowls and snuffed the lanterns as Jermayan wrapped himself in his bedroll. A few moments later Kellen did the same.
As he looked up at the stars, he thought about what Jermayan had said. He had his answer at last, at least most of it. He thought about his own moment of weakness just this afternoon, how he’d hated the thought of incurring another Mageprice. But he’d accepted it anyway, because that was the cost of the Wild Magic. You paid for what you got, because in paying your Mageprice you were actually helping to tend the garden of the world, as Morusil said.
Only … somewhere in the distant past … there’d been Wildmages who hadn’t wanted to pay, who’d wanted to do spells without incurring Magedebt, to use their power selfishly, for themselves alone. And they’d turned to the Demons to escape paying their price, to keep from repaying.
And so, out of that, had come the High Magick. But while the High Mages paid the price of their spells, they didn’t pay it themselves …
It was precious little comfort to know that as a Knight-Mage, he had a little more immunity to Demonic entanglement than the average Wildmage. “The Knight-Mage, even more so than the Wildmage, must choose that path, knowingly, and with forethought …” It was like knowing you were a little more fire-resistant when you were planning to walk into a firing-kiln. Not a lot of real practical use.
And somehow, tangled up in everything else he’d learned about the history of the Wild Magic and the High Magick tonight—and bigger than all of that, really—was the War Jermayan had spoken of, the one the City’d ended up blaming on the Wildmages. Kellen stared at the sky through half-closed eyes, trying to imagine that long-ago war. Dragons … what must it have been like, to look up and see the sky filled with dragons in flight?
A few moments later he was asleep.
THE morning sun woke him, and Kellen realized he had slept far later than usual. He sat up quickly, relieved to note that the exhaustion of the day before had passed.
Jermayan was already up and moving about. The Elven Knight seemed to be almost back to his old self again, though he moved with a bit more care than usual. His surcoat and padded undertunic—and Kellen’s surcoat as well—were spread out on the grass, damp from a recent washing.
“They should be dry enough to wear by the time we’re ready to leave,” Jermayan said, noting the direction of Kellen’s gaze. “And fortunately, Elven armor doesn’t rust. Tea?”
“Why did you let me sleep so late?” Kellen grumbled, feeling cross and guilty in equal measure, as he rolled out of his blankets. Despite the advanced hour, the air was still chilly, and he pulled one of the blankets around himself, groping for his cloak.
Jermayan tossed it to him, and Kellen pulled it on gratefully, then accepted the cup of tea—a different kind this morning.
“You needed the rest,” Jermayan answered inarguably. “So did I. And there were tasks that needed doing. We have been careless and lucky. No longer.” He gestured, and Kellen saw that a bow and a large quiver of arrows stood beside Jermayan’s armor now, unpacked from their place in the mule’s load. “Today we ride fully armored and weaponed, and woe betide the enemy who tries to take us unawares.”
Kellen saw that the round shield he’d taken from one of the bandits was piled with his own armor. He barely recognized it, for it had been scrubbed and polished until it gleamed.
“I would say that you have indeed earned your shield, Kellen Tavadon, and I only regret that it is not a more fitting one. Later I will teach you how to make the best use of it. For now it must suffice that you wear it.”
So there wasn’t going to be a lesson this morning, either. Just as well, Kellen supposed, if they were starting this late, but he did regret it a little. He was wondering what it would be like to face Jermayan in the teaching circle again after having fought for real, and having killed. Would it make a difference? Could he still do it?
But the answers to those questions would have to wait.
Soon enough they were back on their road again, this time wearing cloaks to conceal their armor—not that any cloak Kellen wore could conceal what Shalkan was, or Valdien’s armor, for that matter. But anything they could do to conceal their own armor might help them to avoid further attacks. Or it might draw bandits to them, who thought them easy prey. It was a gamble either way.
When they left the canyon and Kellen took his bearings, returning to their northward path, they found themselves heading up a narrow cleft in the rock, a track with sheer walls on either side. After the previous day’s ambush, none of them liked it, but to seek another route would take them days out of their way, time they could not afford to lose. They had to act now as if Shadow Mountain knew they were coming, and in that case, speed was their best ally.
/>
The path was barely wide enough for them to ride single file. Kellen and Shalkan led. This time Kellen wore his helmet, with the unfamiliar weight of the round shield strapped to his left arm. The helmet protected his head and face, but left him feeling closed in, unable to see the world very well with his side vision cut off. Fortunately Shalkan’s senses were better than his own to begin with. He’d just have to trust Shalkan to spot any potential ambush.
As in fact the unicorn did, before the sun was very much higher.
“BACK!” Shalkan shouted suddenly, rearing up and turning in place.
Kellen took in the situation behind him at a glance. Valdien couldn’t turn on the narrow path, and the destrier couldn’t back up if the mule didn’t move. Kellen leaped down from Shalkan’s back and squeezed past Jermayan, grabbing Lily by her bridle and putting his shoulder into her chest. Speaking soothingly but urgently, he pushed, and to his great relief she backed up readily enough. Valdien followed swiftly, backing neatly, with Shalkan jammed in beside him.
Just as the Elven destrier was starting to move, a stone the size of a young pig hit the center of the trail right where Valdien had been standing a moment before. It landed with enough force to crack it in half, and a second later it was followed by another, only slightly smaller.
The travelers stared up at the walls of the gorge, knowing that if further attack should come, they were powerless to avoid it.
But no more stones fell. After a long moment Shalkan walked forward, looking down at the stones with dissatisfaction.
“I believe that they are gone,” Shalkan pronounced. “Having failed to topple us, they had no wish to encounter arrows, I suspect.”
“They didn’t originate from above,” Jermayan said unemotionally, gazing down at the boulders. “Those are river stones—see how smooth? Not boulders from farther up the cliff. And soft enough—that’s why the one broke when it landed. They were carried here from some distance away to be flung down at us.”
The Outstretched Shadow Page 64
