Redhelwar elected to divide his force into four groups: one, the main force that would enter the caverns and mount the attack. Two, a small force that would wait just outside the cavern mouth to secure it Three, a mobile force situated halfway between the caverns and the camp to secure the line of retreat, and which could be called up quickly at need. And four, a sufficient force left behind to guard the camp in case the Enemy was only waiting for them to leave to attack it.
Considering the information they had available—which was very little—Kellen could find no fault with Redhelwar’s dispositions. He thought it would be more tactful to keep quiet about that fact, though.
THEY left the camp an hour after sunrise, heading for the caverns. Each of them had a ball of Coldfire hovering over his or her head like a peculiar nimbus, the radiance only a faint shimmer in the winter sunlight It would remain until Jennayan—or another Wildmage—dispersed it again.
Kellen was grateful that Shalkan didn’t ask him if he was nervous. He hardly knew whether he was or not. His mind was filled with everything that could go wrong and a dull frustration that he hadn’t thought of suggesting that someone—him—do a thorough scouting expedition of the caverns before they went in with their entire force.
But pulling back now would do more harm than good; what information they might gain would be offset by the damage to the morale of the army. And deep down, Kellen wasn’t entirely certain that Redhelwar would have taken his suggestion.
That was the real problem. The Elves honored him. They respected him. But Kellen didn’t set policy for the Nine Cities. He didn’t plan strategy for the army. And he didn’t have a real voice in the tactics it would use.
Yet.
Yet?
The sudden thought—no, realization—startled him so much that he tensed all over. Shalkan craned his head around to gaze curiously at him, but Kellen shook his head wordlessly, and Shalkan went back to gazing at the path ahead.
Yes, yet. There would come a time—there needed to come a time—when the army did what Kellen said, not what Redhelwar said. But—he remembered the lesson of the Crowned Horns—you couldn’t command that sort of trust. You needed to earn it.
He needed to earn it.
And fast.
Then Andoreniel would give him the army. Redhelwar would step aside without anger. The army would follow him.
If he was good enough. If he could prove he could lead an army, and keep it alive, and win. If he could prove that being a Knight-Mage made him understand strategy as instinctively as he understood fighting one-on-one.
One single moment of blind panic touched him. I don’t know how to do that!
But he did. Gan had taught him. Xaqiue had taught him. Master Belesharon’s story songs had taught him. Win a battle. Command a troop—and win. Command a larger detachment—and win.
Win, always. Plan—and show them his plans were better than theirs. And make the Elves see him as a Knight-Mage first, and a young human second. Better yet, get to the point where they looked at him and saw only the Knight-Mage, and the young human not at all.
And the first thing he needed to do to accomplish all that was to get through today.
“Here we are,” Shalkan said.
The Unicorn Knights who had been chosen for the assault had ridden a little ahead of the main body of fighters. Now they dismounted to allow their mounts to get clear of the main army.
The cavern mouth was empty, and there were no footprints on the snow that lay before it. Kellen shifted to battle-sight for a moment, but saw no sign of a trap.
That didn’t make a lot of sense. The Shadowed Elves must know their lair had been discovered. Any sensible. creature would have posted guards, or blocked the entrance somehow.
But they hadn’t.
“Is everything well?” Petariel asked.
“Much too well,” Kellen answered grimly. “It’s as if they can’t imagine we could possibly ever come back.”
“Maybe they left,” Petariel suggested. “Vestakia will tell us soon enough.”
Adaerion was at the head of the force that arrived a few moments later. Redhelwar was waiting with the mobile force—the General of the army was too valuable to lose. Vestakia rode beside him, and Kellen could tell with just one look at her posture—uncomfortably hunched over—that the Shadowed Elves had not left.
“They’re still there,” he said.
“Ah,” Petariel said, following the direction of Kellen’s gaze. “Well, I should hate to have ridden all this way for nothing.”
THEY formed up in the way they had planned at the War Council the night before. Kellen and an Elf called Celegaer, Adaerion’s lieutenant, would go first, with Vestakia and Idalia directly behind them. Vestakia would give warning the moment she sensed the presence of the Shadowed Elves.
“Leaf and Star be with you all,” Adaerion said gravely.
Kellen nodded, forcing himself to wait until Celegaer took the first step toward the cavern before following. He kept himself from looking toward Vestakia and Idalia—or any of his comrades from the House of Sword and Shield. Barring a miracle, this was the last time some of them would see the light of day. This was a war. Fighters died in war.
Get used to it.
Kellen walked into the dark.
The Magelight seemed to glow brighter the further they went along the passage, until it was the only illumination. The Elves moved silently, but he could hear the faint rustle of Idalia’s clothing, and every sound that Vestakia’s armor made.
Suddenly Vestakia gave a gagging whimper. “They’re here—ahead—” she choked out.
“The passage widens just ahead,” Kellen said quickly to Celegaer. “Hurry—we can’t let them trap us here!”
Without waiting to hear Celegaer’s reply, he ran forward.
At the end of the passageway, wider corridors opened out to the left and right, just as Idalia had described. They were crowded with the Shadowed Elves—too many to easily count—and this time the creatures were armed, not to capture a dragon, but to fight.
The Shadowed Elves wore bits and pieces of looted armor lashed to their bodies with strips of leather. But ragged and mismatched as their armor was, their weaponry was in gleaming earnest. Swords and shields—spears—
And bows.
Kellen dropped into battle-mind. Without thought, he raised his shield, and the first of the small deadly arrows fired out of the dark glanced off it.
The Shadowed Elves swarmed—there was no other word to describe their movement—forward. They obviously didn’t like the light, but they weren’t blinded by it as some of the Elves had hoped. Kellen cut down the creatures before him and pressed forward, he and Celegaer trying to clear the way for the Elves that were moving up behind them.
But he quickly realized that their tactics weren’t working.
Individually the Shadowed Elves were comparatively frail. But they were attacking in enormous numbers, taking advantage of the cramped tunnels—and what was worse, they weren’t limited to the floor of the caverns.
They climbed along the walls and ceiling, dropping into the middle of their foes to bear the Elves down by sheer weight of numbers. By ones and twos it was nothing to kill them, but they weren’t attacking by ones and twos.
Kellen fought on, moving deeper into the right-hand cavern at the spearhead of a group of Knights. Up ahead, the Shadowed Elf archers were firing with deadly accuracy. He could see the arrows glowing dull green in his battle-sight, and knew from that that the arrows were poisoned. He would have shouted a warning, but it would have gone unheard. The cavern was filled with the screams of the injured; the clash of weapons; and the hoarse howls and barking of the Shadowed Elves. Kellen shut out the noise and concentrated on his task.
Cut, step, turn, and cut again. Block, attack, dodge. Celegaer was on his left, another Knight was at his back. One of the Shadowed Elves dropped down on him from above. Kellen grunted, bending forward with the impact, turning the move into a forward thr
ow to dislodge the creature.
He felt the wind of an arrow pass his cheek. There was a muffled grunt behind him. Kellen heard—and felt—the Elven Knight fall to the floor of the cavern and die.
He killed the creature on the ground and moved forward.
At last the Elves’ superior battle skills and heavier, more effective armor turned the tide. The battlefield opened up, and it soon became a matter of keeping the Shadowed Elves from escaping, and then it came to executing the enemy wounded and checking the dead.
And that was when Kellen found himself just standing there, sword hanging from his limp grip, staring at an empty tunnel.
“Kellen.” Celegaer laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder. “Go back and rest for a moment. Then ask Idalia if Vestakia is well enough to come forward.”
Kellen blinked, feeling almost as if he were rousing from a deep sleep. He nodded, and turned away.
He had to move carefully through the piles of corpses, and the stone was slick with blood. It soaked the bodies lying in it, staining them all, Elf and Shadowed Elf alike, the same terrible scarlet color. The blue globes of Coldfire—so many, in such a confined space—made the scene shadowless and stark.
Grief and shame hovered over the battlefield like carrion birds. Kellen had expected the grief—there were too many Elven dead, and he knew that soon he would be mourning the loss of friends—but shame? He did not understand. They’d fought well. They’d won. There was no cause for shame.
Was there?
At the end of the corridor he found Petariel. The Captain of the Unicorn Knights had been wounded: a spear had taken him just behind the knee, at one of the weak points of the Elven armor. He leaned against the wall, a makeshift bandage over his wound, his helmet beneath his arm.
And to Kellen’s astonishment, he was weeping.
“Oh, Kellen, our poor cousins. Leaf and Star, that we should be driven to this—!” Petariel said.
Kellen had no idea what he meant, but there would be time later to figure it out. “Come on,” he said, getting an arm under Petariel’s shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here. Gesade and Shalkan both would have my head if I let anything happen to you.”
Petariel laughed raggedly, but it ended on a strangled sob. “The worst has already happened,” he said softly.
Kellen half-carried Petariel back up the passageway. He felt a deep pang of relief to see Idalia and Vestakia both there, unhurt—and quickly focused all of his attention on Petariel, lest his worry for Vestakia’s safety turn into something he must not feel right now.
“Ah, another one,” Idalia said lightly. “The stretcherbearers will be back in just a moment.”
“I can walk,” Petariel said grimly.
“No you can’t,” Idalia said firmly. “Not if you want to be riding again soon.”
Kellen helped Petariel to lie down among the other wounded. There were several Healers working in the narrow space, and a constant stream of the walking wounded were moving out toward the open air.
Everything was moving so slowly! But that was why the Shadowed Elves didn’t bother with guards, Kellen now realized. They were sure no one could attack them in force.
Once he was sure his emotions were under control, he risked a glance at Vestakia.
Vomit stained the front of her surcoat, and she knelt beside Idalia, obviously dazed and exhausted by the presence of so much Taint. Kellen sighed reluctantly.
“Celegaer needs Vestakia,” he said to Idalia.
“Now?” Idalia asked.
“I’m ready,” Vestakia said valiantly, raising her head. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes, and she looked haggard.
“Not yet. Soon. He told me to rest,” Kellen added, trying to make a joke of it.
“As if you would,” Idalia said, handing him a waterskin. “Are you hurt?”
Kellen shook his head, and drank. The water was warm, but it was unicorn-pure. He felt better afterward.
“I think they threw most of what they had at us. Some of them got away, though. We’ll have to find them,” Kellen said.
“That will be my job,” Vestakia said bravely.
“Come on, then,” Kellen said gruffly, sounding far more brusque than he wanted to. But he couldn’t help it. He felt as if he had no energy to spare for anything.
Idalia and Vestakia followed him back into the cavern.
Celegaer and several of the others were waiting for them just past the end of the bodies. All of them had the faintly stunned air of grief about them that Kellen had noticed before.
“Vestakia,” Celegaer said, seeing her. “Are you well?”
“Well enough to do what you ask of me,” Vestakia answered steadily.
“Then find our foe,” Celegaer said.
Without hesitation, Vestakia pointed—not along the corridor, but at the corridor wall.
“The corridor curves,” Idalia said. “That’s the direction of the cavern village. There will be females and young there,” she warned.
“We can leave none alive,” Celegaer said wearily.
“I know,” Idalia said gently.
“Celegaer,” Kellen said. “If I can suggest … now we know where the village is, and Vestakia is too valuable to risk. Send her outside to wait with Adaerion until we think we have cleared the cavern, then bring her in to check to see if we have missed anyone.”
“No!” Vestakia protested.
“Yes,” Celegaer said. “An excellent suggestion, Kellen. Padredor, escort Mistress Vestakia back to Adaerion, and order the rest of the knights to come forward. Idalia Wildmage, will you also withdraw?”
“No,” Idalia said, taking a moment to consider. “I think I can be useful here.”
Chapter Fourteen
Blood and Sorrow
SOON THEY WERE moving forward again. Only about half their original force remained. There were not many dead, considering the savagery of the battle, but there were many wounded, and though some of the wounds were minor, Celegaer had not wanted to take wounded Elves into battle.
We’re too spread out, and there’s no way to avoid it in these tunnels. All the advantage is theirs, Kellen thought. We’re going to have to figure out how to fight this kind of battle—fast—in order to win it.
At last the tunnel widened out into the great cavern that Idalia had described, with the narrow pathway leading around the rim, and the stairs going down to the village below. The cavern was so vast that the Coldfire coronas of the assembled army did nothing more than light their immediate surroundings. All they could see of what was below was the faint glow of the central firepit.
With a flick of her hand, Idalia sent her ball of Coldfire out to hover over the cavern. The light was faint, but enough to show that the crude stone village below was silent and still.
“Ambush,” Kellen said with utter certainty.
“You can sense them?” Celegaer asked with surprise.
“No,” Kellen said. “But I know they’re waiting for us all the same. Or waiting for us to go away”.
“Either course would gain them a victory, of a sort,” Celegaer answered. “So we go down. But not unwarily. Archers—to the rim.”
Once the archers were in place, the Elven Knights began descending the stair. It would have been the perfect place for an ambush, but the Shadowed Elves did not take advantage of it. When the first group of Elves was at the bottom of the staircase, their combined Coldfire illuminated the cavern, giving Kellen a good look at it for the first time.
It was as large as Merryvale—the entire village could have been dropped down neatly inside it, walls and all. There were scattered small huts, and along the cavern wall, Kellen could see holes—they reminded him uncomfortably of very large rat-holes—in the rock.
The Elves stood, silent, motionless.
What are they waiting for? Kellen wondered. He wasn’t looking forward to this any more than they were, but it wouldn’t get any easier—or any better—if they waited.
And where were Jermaya
n and Ancaladar?
He looked toward Celegaer.
Celegaer met his gaze, and there was despair in the black eyes. After a moment, Celegaer spoke.
“Search every structure, every hole. Find them all, down to the smallest infant. Kill them all. No survivors. No prisoners.” The Elven commander’s voice was harsh.
He turned away, striding toward the nearest hut.
The Elves fanned out, spreading across the cavern floor.
For a moment there was silence.
Then Celegaer screamed, and the cavern exploded in a harsh babble of barks and whines.
Kellen ran in the direction of the scream. He was too late. Celegaer was dead, his face and the front of his armor eaten away by a liquid thrown at him by a Shadowed Elf female who had just come out of the stone hut. The archers on the rim had filled her body with arrows, but they had been too late to save their commander.
Celegaer’s troops were staring down at him in shock and horror.
“Search the hut!” Kellen ordered. “Keep your shields forward—we know they use poison as a weapon—now we know they use acid, too.”
He moved on quickly, heading for the next hut. The doorway was low; he had to duck to get inside.
It was one room, windowless, and it stank. It contained a pile of furs and three small children.
I can’t do this, Kellen thought in sick horror. He knew they weren’t children—they were Shadowed Elves—but they were young things. Very young. They hissed at him, cringing back from the light.
Then suddenly all three of them shrieked and sprang at him. There was no fear in their bulging pale eyes, only the berserker madness of cornered rats. They swarmed up his body, scrabbling for every purchase, clawing and biting at everything they could reach.
Reflexively, Kellen knocked them away, but they kept coming back. He could see their glistening, needlelike teeth, smell their rank, poison-tainted breath. No matter how many times he flung them away from him, they sprang up and lunged for him again.
Then one of them pulled Kellen’s dagger free of its sheath.
The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Page 119
