“Nothing that Allheal won’t cure,” Kellen said, feeling stronger now.
“You take too many chances,” Isinwen said, a note of exasperation—and relief—in his voice.
Kellen nodded. There was nothing to say. He knew it was wrong to hazard himself this way when he was responsible for the lives of his entire force. But he also knew that no one else could do what he had done, and if he had not done it, his command would have perished.
“Go back to the convoy and bring them up. Pass the word that we will stop here long enough to drink tea. I could do with a cup myself,” he added. He felt thirsty—unusually so. Undoubtedly it was more of the aftermath of Water Mind. The floating state was a potent tool, but just like his own sword or dagger, it did not care what it harmed, and could destroy him as easily as an enemy.
Isinwen sent the others went back to their waiting destriers, and, with a last glance around the snowfield to make sure that no other danger lay in wait, followed. A few moments later six of the Knights mounted up and headed back toward the rest of the convoy. The rest settled down, spreading their cloaks to form a windbreak, and prepared to brew tea.
When they were thoroughly engaged in the activity, Shalkan trotted back to Kellen’s side.
“Not that I had any doubts, of course, but it was interesting to watch,” the unicorn said.
“Even more interesting to do,” Kellen said, stretching tentatively.
He realized that the blood from the kill had frozen along the surface of his blade and sighed. It would take warm water and oil, then a session with a sharpening stone, before the blade was at its best again.
It took him three tries to summon Fire into the small block of charcoal that he laid inside his shield—he could have gone and gotten Fire from Isinwen but it would have meant leaving Shalkan alone—but once it was burning, it gave off enough heat to melt the ice beneath it sufficiently that he could begin to clean his sword. Once it was clean enough to sheath, Kellen tipped the charcoal out onto the ice and set the shield aside.
“There’s something here you should see,” Shalkan said, prodding at the body of the Shadewalker.
“What?” Kellen asked.
“Figure it out for yourself,” Shalkan said, twitching his tail. “I’ll be around.”
Kellen sighed. It was awkward having to divide his time between Shalkan and the army, but there really wasn’t any way for him to have specified that all members of his command be chaste virgins. It simply wasn’t practical.
Keirasti and her troop rode out onto the ice-field, passing Isinwen and the others with a casual salute. She swung down off Orata’s back and walked over to the body of the Shadewalker.
“That is a very ugly bear,” she announced.
Kellen walked over to join her. “Shalkan said it was something called a Shadewalker.”
“And it seems we are not the first to try its mettle recently,” Keirasti continued. “It bears wounds of recent fighting—sword wounds—less than a sennight old, I judge.”
She pointed.
“But… those are mine,” Kellen said, dumbfounded.
He realized suddenly just how lucky he’d been to strike the fatal blow that he had. The Shadewalker’s earlier injuries had already partly healed by the time he’d struck the blow that killed it—in fact, the first wound he’d given it was entirely gone. Even the deep cut to its foreleg was more than half healed.
The wounds Shalkan had given it were still raw and fresh, however, which made Kellen wonder. He knelt down beside it and investigated the body carefully, parting the fur to inspect the hide, and found several more wounds, these old enough to have healed over into angry raised knots in the Shadewalker’s black skin.
“The scouts Redhelwar sent to Sentarshadeen came this way,” he said.
“It is the main road to the King’s city, and the fastest way,” Keirasti said, puzzled at the seeming change of subject. “It is the way I would have gone, were I sent.”
“Then they met this… thing,” Kellen said. “And from the look of these wounds, they didn’t get farther than this, either.”
Fighting against an enemy who could heal anything but a mortal wound a hundred times faster than normal, the messengers must have been unable to kill it. And it had undoubtedly made sure to catch them in a place where their unicorn mounts couldn’t simply outrun it. That trick would have worked again, on Kellen, if he and Shalkan had been a few seconds slower reaching the icefield.
Keirasti made a quick gesture over her heart. “Gone to Leaf and Star,” she said quietly.
“But never again,” Kellen said grimly.
THEY saw no further evidence of the Enemy in their descent from the Mystrals, which made Kellen brood over their continuing good fortune. Their losses continued to be light, but descending a mountain presented more hazards than going up one—they lost wagons and teams of oxen down the sides of cliffs, along with supplies they could ill-afford to lose. It was up to Kellen to make the decisions that had to be made with the loss of supplies, and he chose to divert the remaining food, as much as possible, to the horses and oxen. The Knights could manage on shorter rations than their animals could, and Ondoladeshiron was less than a moonturn away now, depending on the weather.
But if the Enemy left them alone, the winter weather nearly made up for Their absence. Just after the army crossed the top of the peaks, the weather turned unexpectedly bad, making their descent through the mountains slow and miserable. Kellen and his Seconds pushed everyone as hard and as fast as they dared—they had to get down out of the mountains before they froze, starved, or were simply buried in snow.
THAT’S it, Kellen thought, patting Firareth’s neck. Leather glove met padded crinet-cover with a dull wet sound, but Firareth seemed pleased. I’m not going over those again—not even at high summer.
It was early morning, barely light enough to ride. For a few hours, the Wildmages had promised them a break in the weather, and Kellen meant to take full advantage of it. For the last several days the army had been making its way through a series of mountain valleys, each indistinguishable from the last—or the next. But now they could fairly say that the mountains were behind them at last.
And if Redhelwar was to follow them, the Army’s General would have to take the same route—and Redhelwar had most of the army’s heavy equipment—the large tents, the main horse herds and remounts, the Centaur cavalry. And half again as many souls to move.
But he’ll have to move south to Ondoladeshiron. Five of the six Elven Cities that remain—if Deskethomaynel and Windalorianan were evacuated—are south of the Mystrals, and he has to be in a position to defend them if that’s what Andoreniel decides to do. The only one north of the Mystrals isYsterialpoerin, and the Elves won’t leave that.
But that makes it such a perfect target… .
Kellen sighed. He knew there was no point in worrying about that now. His job was to scout Halacira as a refuge for the families of the Elven Allies, and then go on to Sentarshadeen. And then, yes, report back to Redhelwar, which would probably mean crossing the Mystrals again—though fortunately not with a full army this time. Fortunately, they didn’t need the snow-sledge here on the plains, and their progress would be faster.
BUT after the first sennight, Kellen realized he had no choice but to send an advance party ahead to the city. They’d simply lost too much of their supplies crossing the mountains.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He wanted to lead the advance party himself, and knew that as the commander he had to stay with the main force.
But to send them off alone, knowing that the relative peace of their journey so far might simply be a subtle trap of the Enemy, knowing the advance party might never reach Ondoladeshiron at all … who, could he send?
He agonized over his choice, knowing it was obvious. The party should be made up of Knights from the skirmishing units, used to traveling light and fast and fighting independently. Keirasti should be in command; he knew she’d lea
d them well. They’d need Reyezeyt, who was one of the best trackers he had.
No matter who he sent, he’d be sending friends.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He was alone in his tent, looking down at the scroll that carried the tally of his command. Outside the wind howled, making the heavy fabric of the tent shudder. He huddled next to a single brazier, using a ball of Coldfire for light. Charcoal and lamp oil were only two of the things they were running out of, and everybody was sleeping four and five to a pavilion for warmth, but he’d needed to be alone right now. There was nobody he could really talk to about this, nobody who could make these decisions for him. Tomorrow he had to make the selections and send an advance party to Ondoladeshiron in hopes they could bring back supplies. He probably should have done it yesterday.
This isn’t like a battle. There isn’t one right answer. I don’t even know that they won’t get through and get back. I just have to be willing to send them, and know, if they die, that I’m the one who sent them to their deaths.
And that was why he hesitated.
Not because he wasn’t willing to do that.
But because he was.
Long before he’d become a Knight-Mage, before he’d really understood what the Wild Magic was, Kellen’s greatest fear had been that he would become a tool of the Dark. Though he’d realized his original fear was unfounded, the more he’d come to learn about the Demons, and how they corrupted Wildmages to their use, the more he worried—about his actions, and their consequences, and his reasons for doing everything he did. Ancaladar had said that in the Last War, the Bonded had taken their dragons with them into the service of the Demons out of love—the desire not to see their dragons die at the end of a human lifespan.
So the path into the Dark can begin with good intentions, and the desire to do good, even if it’s wrong and misplaced. And if I’m willing to sacrifice lives in a good cause, am I going to know when to stop?
And if I don’t, is anyone going to be able to stop me?
He took a deep breath.
If I do nothing out of fear of what I may do, They win anyway.
He unrolled the scroll and began to choose.
A sennight later Keirasti met them on the road—if you could call it that—coming up from Ondoladeshiron. All thirty of the Knights Kellen had sent were with her, and she had six sledgewagons of supplies.
Even though they had encountered Keirasti’s trail-wands along the way—each cluster proof that the party she commanded was still alive—Kellen did not relax until she had rejoined the main force.
Even as he gave the orders to make camp, and as the army surrounded the wagons and began unloading them, Kellen realized he’d been expecting the very worst up until the last moment—for Keirasti and her people to be ambushed within sight of the army, or …
Or things I can’t imagine until the moment they’d happen. But manage to worry about anyway, Kellen realized with a rueful grin.
“It would be good to know what you can tell about the journey,” he said, bringing Firareth up beside Orata.
“We brought tea,” Keirasti said, pushing her fur-lined hood back from her helmet and starting with what she obviously considered the most important matter. “Grain, charcoal, oil, trailfood. Rochinuviel says not to come into the city when you get there—they have plague. It’s in Sentarshadeen as well—everywhere in the south—the mirror-relays are up south of the Mystrals, and they have fresh news. And some Darkspawn blight is infesting the forest and killing the trees around the city, though it hasn’t attacked the Flower Forest. Rochinuviel worries that they may not be able to plant in the spring, if what is affecting the trees spreads. She thinks the Deathwings bring it—they were certainly too busy with something to bother us, though we saw enough of them. No Coldwarg bothered us either, for which Leaf and Star be thanked, though I shot enough serpentmarae to make myself a new pavilion, if I’d stopped to skin the damned things.”
Kellen grinned, too relieved to see her to worry about the bleak news she’d brought.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
Keirasti snorted. “As if I’d leave you to wander around out here all by yourself. As soon as we’ve unloaded everything, we’ll all have a proper hot meal, and then I can make a full report.”
THAT night, well-fed and reasonably warm for the first time in sennights, Kellen took the opportunity to discuss what Keirasti had told him with Shalkan. He’d had a spare pavilion pitched at a suitable distance from the main camp for the unicorn’s comfort—he wouldn’t risk spending the night here, but he could certainly afford a few hours, now that they had the charcoal to spare to keep him from freezing.
Keirasti hadn’t had much to add to her initial report—only more details of the journey to Ondoladeshiron, and more information about what she had heard from the Vicereign.
“You were expecting plague,” Shalkan pointed out. “And they’re having more success in treating it in Ondoladeshiron, according to Rochinuviel, than they did at White Spring.”
“Yes…” Kellen admitted slowly. Once Reyezeyt had reminded him that plague was mentioned in the Teaching Songs about the Great War, he’d spent a lot of time going over what he remembered of them, and asking Isinwen to fill in the gaps in what he remembered. “The stories about the Last War mention sickness … if it’s following the same pattern now as it did then, it will spread from the people to the animals—or maybe there are different kinds, and the animals just haven’t started getting sick yet. And They certainly used some kind of crop-blight last time: It’s one of the reasons so little grows in the Lostlands. But there are remedies for it, too. And if They sent the blight this early in the winter, it isn’t going to affect very much, and we’ll know we need to be ready for it in the spring.”
If, he reflected, there was anyone available to plant crops in the spring. He ruffled the unicorn’s fur, wordlessly seeking comfort. Shalkan leaned into him.
“So it doesn’t make sense for them to use it now,” he went on, following the train of his own thoughts. “It seems as if they’re throwing everything at us here in the Elven Lands that they can get over the Borders. And why would they bother if they were certain they were going to win?”
“Well, they haven’t got Armethalieh yet,” Shalkan agreed. “And even if They can weaken the Land-wards to the point where Frost Giants and Ice Trolls can cross them, instead of just being brought in by the Shadowed Elves, They still won’t risk crossing them Themselves. But that doesn’t mean that enough High Mages working for them can’t destroy the Land-wards.”
“Or strengthen them,” Kellen said. “Maybe Cilarnen can tell us if that’s possible. But the point is, if They were so certain that winning was just a matter of time—taking Armethalieh over to the Dark and using it—why bother about us at all?”
“Knowing the answer to that is not the same thing as being able to use it,” Shalkan said.
“Not yet,” Kellen answered grimly.
WITH the additional supplies that Keirasti had brought, the last sennight’s journey toward Ondoladeshiron was nearly easy.
As Keirasti had warned, herds of serpentmarae roamed the plain for hundreds of miles around the city, and along the way Kellen got his first look at the creatures.
The sight of the herd of dun-colored beasts pacing the convoy—they resembled giant rats as much as anything equine—was deeply unsettling to Kellen, for it brought back sharp memories of the vision he’d once had of a battle of the Great War, in which he’d seen these things being ridden into battle against the forces of the Light. For now, the serpentmarae herd simply followed at a wary distance, hoping to pull down stragglers—or, as Reyezeyt informed him, to attack the other creatures of the Plains who also followed the convoy, hoping for food.
He did what he could: assigned several skirmishing units to ride up and down the column, making sure that nobody fell behind, even by so much as a few hundred yards; posted additional guards at every night camp. And always h
e worried about what he might have left undone, and if he might be overlooking something vital.
IT was with both relief and an odd sense of loss that Kellen finally sighted the Gathering Plain outside Ondoladeshiron. The first time he’d seen it—was it only a few moonturns ago?—he’d been a different person entirely.
The Wild Magic is a magic of change, and change isn’t always pleasant—or easy, he reminded himself. He’d known then that he would have a crucial part to play in the war to come, and knew that he would have to change if he was to play it. But he’d never suspected how much he’d have to change, or what that change would cost him.
I’ve killed more times than I can count. I’ve lost friends. I’ve seen friends die. And maybe worst of all, I’ve learned to see my friends as pieces on a xaique-board, and I know that I’ll do what I have to do to win.
Because not to win, when the stakes were this high, was unthinkable.
There were more supplies waiting for them on the Gathering Plain—cairns containing more fuel, fresh meat, blankets—and Kellen set his people to the task of making a more permanent camp. They’d all earned a rest—even if only a few days.
And he wanted to talk to Rochinuviel, if that were at all possible.
“THE messages left with the supplies say that the sickness is under control in Ondoladeshiron,” Isinwen reported, holding out a handful of long slender sticks to Kellen. Kellen could see that they were ringed with bands of color, but Elves saw far more colors than humans did; one of the few skills Kellen had been unable to master in the House of Sword and Shield was that of reading the trail-wands that the Elves used to leave messages in the field.
“Read them to me, of your courtesy,” Kellen said.
“The Vicereign still does not wish us to enter the city, but there is a place outside where the foresters will check for messages, and where they will leave fresh supplies for us. She says that the mirrors say that the serpentmarae have not been sighted south of here. Which means that the rest of our journey should be a simple matter indeed.”
The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Page 187
