The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy

by Mercedes Lackey

  “So you’re going to take command?” Shalkan asked.

  “I don’t want to. Maybe there’s another way. But we have to take Armethalieh now. Before They figure out just what’s going on with that ‘Big Fish’ Cilarnen told me about. And that means taking the army over the Border. Into the Wild Lands. All the way to Armethalieh.”

  “It’s a long way,” Shalkan said.

  “You did it in—what? A day and a half?”

  “I took us from Armethalieh to Idalia’s cabin,” Shalkan corrected. “And I’m a unicorn, if you’ll kindly remember. It’s at least a moonturn from Idalia’s cabin to Sentarshadeen—in summer. So perhaps two, in winter, from Sentarshadeen to Armethalieh, if nothing goes wrong, and your army makes very good time.”

  “At least most of it will be downhill,” Kellen said, remembering the terrain he and Shalkan—and, later, he and Shalkan and Idalia—had crossed.

  “So you can slide all the way there,” the unicorn agreed, picking up his pace.

  SENTARSHADEEN looked peaceful and untouched, though Kellen knew from the dispatches that the Shadow’s Kiss had struck here at least as hard as in any of the surviving Nine Cities. But plague was a quiet assault, and at least he had seen nothing of the forest blight that was ravaging the Wild Lands on his ride here. So far this part of the Elven Lands had been spared that, at least.

  When Kellen reached the Unicorn Meadow, he unsaddled Shalkan—he knew that Shalkan would be eager to exchange gossip with the unicorn herd here, and he’d be sure to hear the choice bits of it later—and carried Shalkan’s saddle down to the House of Leaf and Star.

  The door opened as he reached it.

  “I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage.”

  Kellen regarded the woman standing there. “I See you,” he said politely. “I greet you in the name of Leaf and Star.”

  “My name is Taranarya. Be welcome at our home and at our hearth.”

  SHE conducted him to a room he’d never seen before—though Kellen suspected he’d have to be a great deal older than he was now before he saw all the rooms of the House of Leaf and Star—and asked that he accept the hospitality of the house. Kellen was resigned to a certain amount of formality; if someone didn’t come along in a reasonable time to ask him his business, well, he’d just go looking for them.

  Meanwhile, there was plenty to look at here.

  The waiting room Taranarya had conducted him to was designed to resemble a birch forest in autumn—without, however, slavishly copying it. Kellen wasn’t quite sure how the Elves managed to convey such a powerful suggestion of autumn forest, because whenever he looked directly at something—the pale cream wood paneling of the walls, the intricate geometric pattern of the black and yellow carpet, the four cylindrical stoves at the corners of the room—it didn’t look particularly sylvan. But when he looked at the room out of the corner of his eye, the forest was there: the tumble of yellow leaves underfoot; the tall slender birch trunks against a backdrop of more yellow leaves; it almost seemed as if he could hear the wind through the branches.

  He was always amazed by what you could do without magic.

  HE hadn’t been there very long before two more Elves appeared, bringing tea and a selection of pastries. He recognized one of them from one of his first visits to the House of Leaf and Star.

  “I See you, Lamarethiel,” he said.

  “I See you, Kellen,” Lamarethiel replied.

  “It would please me greatly should you and your companion desire to stay and drink tea with me,” Kellen said cannily. “I have been long away from Sen-tarshadeen, and would know how the city fares.”

  He had counted on the fact that Elves were constantly curious, and always willing to gossip—and that someone who served in the House of Leaf and Star would probably know almost as much about what was going on as, well, a unicorn.

  Lamarethiel and his companion, Javondir, did not disappoint him. Kellen heard—after a discussion of the weather, which, since he was going to be taking an army through here soon, was actually something that interested him for a change—all the details of the arrival of the Wildmages Catreg, Tadolad, and Kannert and their strange ways—butter in their tea!—of the wonderful recovery of the Shadow-kissed over the last sennight—and particularly since Midwinter—of the fact that Dargainon was expected to recover fully, that Tyendimarquen still showed no signs of plague—by the grace of Leaf and Star, and that Morusil was still well. In fact, since Midwinter, there had been no new cases at all.

  In turn, of course, Kellen was expected to provide news of his own, and so he did. He spoke of the final battle against the Shadowed Elves at Halacira, and their complete defeat. Of the building there of a new fortress where the families of the Allies could take refuge within the Elven Lands. Of the fact that Redhelwar’s army, even now, marched south from Ondoladeshiron to join him at Halacira.

  “There is more, of course, but it is news best shared first with the King’s Counselors. I had hoped, of course, to speak to Morusil… .”

  “I shall see if he is here,” Lamarethiel said, rising to his feet gracefully. “And I thank you for the news you have brought, Kellen. It has made … interesting hearing.”

  “I have enjoyed the chance to tell it,” Kellen answered politely.

  He was definitely getting better at dealing with Elves.

  After Lamarethiel departed, Javondir excused himself, saying that he would bring fresh tea.

  Kellen went back to admiring the room, trying to decide just how the illusion of a forest was created.

  When Javondir returned, bringing fresh tea, Morusil was with him.

  Idalia had said that Morusil had survived the plague, but Kellen had left Yste-rialpoerin before the first cases had appeared there, and he had never seen what the plague left behind in its aftermath. The livid bars of purple that marred Morusil’s face and neck came as a wrenching shock to him. He sprang to his feet as the aged Elven Counselor entered the room, leaning heavily on an ornate wooden staff.

  “Morusil! I—That is, I hope I find you well.”

  Morusil chuckled. “Extremely well, my brash young Knight-Mage. I shall tend my gardens for some years yet.” He lowered himself into a chair.

  Thus rebuked, Kellen sat again as well. Javondir replaced the empty pot with a fresh one, and withdrew, this time closing the doors to the room behind him.

  “And—so I hear—things have gone well for you at Halacira as well, and we shall be welcoming guests within our borders soon.”

  “In spring, I think,” Kellen answered. “Travel simply isn’t possible in the winter.”

  “Yes, the winter has been unusually hard. But it promises an excellent—if wet—spring. The fruit trees should flourish, if the orchards receive proper drainage.”

  And they were back onto the topic of the weather.

  After several more cups of tea—at least Kellen was able to turn the topic of the weather to conditions south of Sentarshadeen, which actually interested him—Morusil allowed Kellen to turn the conversation to more practical matters.

  “But you will not have come to talk about the weather.”

  “Actually, it is a matter of interest to me, for the reason that the weather always affects the army, especially when it must travel. And I—hope—that the army will soon be traveling a very great distance.”

  “I am told that the army has already traveled a great distance. From Ysteri-alpoerin to Ondoladeshiron in one footstep is a great journey.”

  “The Enemy is not at Ondoladeshiron, Morusil. And it isn’t Their goal. For moonturns we’ve known They mean to take Armethalieh. Now we know that Idalia has called up, well, Cilarnen isn’t really sure what. Shalkan calls it a ‘Great Power.’ But whatever it is, They don’t like it. And it seems to be interfering with Their plans to call up Their own Great Power: He Who Is. While They’re figuring out just what to do about it, They’re going to be about as disorganized as They’re going to get.”

  He took a deep breath.

 
“But there’s bad news to go with the good. Vestakia can see into her father’s mind a little. What she’s seeing seems to say that They are finally massing an army for an all-out battle. If They do that—and have Armethalieh to draw on—we don’t stand a chance.”

  “You would not have come here solely to tell me that we are doomed, Kellen. That is not in your nature,” Morusil observed.

  “No. I have come here to tell you that we need to take the army to Armethalieh now. Get there before They do, and convince the Armethaliehans to fight on our side.”

  “It would please me to know how you intend to do this, as they will listen to none of us.”

  “They’ll listen to Cilarnen,” Kellen said grimly. “He’s one of them. It’s true he was Banished, but he was supposed to have been stripped of his Magegift before they turned him out, and he still has it. That will make them listen. He can tell them about Anigrel, and everything he’s done to betray them to the Enemy. The High Mages are powerful. I don’t think Anigrel can fight them openly and win—and if he tries, he’ll just be proving that Cilarnen’s right. Morusil, it’s the only chance I see for us. We can’t let Them take Armethalieh.”

  “But to take the army out of the Elven Lands,” Morusil said slowly. “Under whose command?”

  “Redhelwar is the commander of the army,” Kellen said, feeling his way. “If he is ordered to go west and prevent Them from taking Armethalieh, he will do that.”

  “Taking the advice of his Knight-Mage as to the best way to proceed,” Morusil said.

  “I hope Redhelwar will always listen to the counsel of the Wild Magic,” Kellen said honestly. “Mine, and Idalia’s, and Jermayan’s, and that of all the other Wildmages who ride with the army.”

  “A good answer,” Morusil said. “Yet I can still not give you the answer you hope for. That answer must come from the King, and Andoreniel is yet too weak to give counsel.”

  “Morusil, I must have an answer. Redhelwar will be at Halacira within a sennight,” Kellen said desperately.

  “And Halacira lies two days’ ride from here. Yet I believe an army travels more slowly than a single rider, especially in winter. So it will be perhaps ten days before I see you again. Leaf and Star grant you can obtain an answer at that time.”

  And Gods of the Wild Magic grant that it’s the one I need.

  But there was nothing more he could do here, and Kellen knew it. If any of the surviving members of Andoreniel’s Council was willing to grant Kellen’s request, it was Morusil. Tyendimarquen would have refused out of hand, and Dar-gainon would simply have debated both sides of the matter until the Demons arrived in Sentarshadeen itself.

  “I thank you for all your help—both that you have already given me, and that you have yet to give. And may Leaf and Star watch over us both.”

  “That is a prayer I make daily, Kellen Knight-Mage.”

  WALKING back out to the Unicorn Meadow through the snow, Kellen did his best to believe that his visit to Sentarshadeen had not been useless.

  He knew he’d needed to go, to put his request before Morusil.

  At least he’d gotten orders to bring the army as far as Sentarshadeen. What they were going to do with it here if they didn’t take it to Armethalieh, he didn’t know.

  “I take it you didn’t get what you wanted?” Shalkan asked, apparently materializing out of a snowdrift.

  Kellen produced a couple of iced cakes out of his tunic—when confronted with a plate full of pastry, he’d automatically tucked several away for the unicorn. Lamarethiel and Javondir might have thought his behavior a little odd, but they’d never been confronted with a greedy unicorn with a sweet tooth demanding to know why they hadn’t brought him back anything from an Elven tea.

  “Yes and no. In other words, Morusil heard me out, and told me to come back with the whole army, when he’d let me know.”

  “A little ambiguous,” Shalkan remarked, around a mouthful of cake.

  “I suppose he can’t say much else,” Kellen said reluctantly. “He can’t give me—or Redhelwar, really—the army without Andoreniel’s permission, and Andoreniel is still too weak to be consulted. Morusil’s hoping he’ll be stronger ten days from now.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Shalkan said.

  KELLEN did not spend the time waiting for Redhelwar to arrive in leisure, however. Even though he only had a few thousand horses, there were preparations to make to leave Halacira, especially since he must provide for a permanent force to be left behind. As he was doing that, he also sent a dispatch to Redhelwar, so the General would know he was now to proceed directly to Sentarshadeen.

  Kellen did not think at all about what he would do, or need to do, if he did not receive the answer he needed when he returned to Sentarshadeen. None of this, as Kellen had realized long ago, was about him and what he needed. It was all about the Wild Magic and its balance, and whatever was best for that was what was going to happen.

  He only hoped his nerves could stand it.

  Meanwhile, there was the far more mundane (but still important) matter of telling Cilarnen it was time to pack and move again—and this time, if Fortune favored them, Cilarnen would have no fixed workspace ever again.

  But here Cilarnen had anticipated him.

  “I shall need two oxen,” he said, when Kellen came to tell him the news. “Six draft horses would be better—faster—but I suppose they can’t be found. And at any rate, I shan’t need to travel any faster than the army does.”

  “Would it be a great deal of trouble, o’ Exalted High Mage, if you told me just what you’re talking about?” Kellen asked.

  In answer, Cilarnen pulled out one of his books and opened it. There was a drawing of a cart unlike anything Kellen had ever seen, though it looked a little like the wagons in which the Elven children had first been sent to the Fortress of the Crowned Horns: a little house on wheels, with a door, windows, and roof. Kellen even saw what looked like a hearth built into one side. The conveyance was drawn by four large horses.

  “The drawing doesn’t show much, so I cast Knowing on the chapter. This is how the War Mages carried their equipment to war. I can store everything I really need here. I could even sleep in it, if I had to, but I’d really rather not.”

  “Cilarnen,” Kellen said doubtfully, “I don’t think we have time to build something like that.”

  “Did you have to build my last work area?” Cilarnen demanded scornfully. “I admit I’d need help if it were going to have wheels, and axles, but it’s going to be on sledges, like the heavy wagons—which is why I’d need six horses instead of four, if I were going to use horses at all. I’ll be fine. Artenel won’t even have to cut any more planks; I can just take apart my sanctum and re-use the wood from that.”

  “Well, I’ll look forward to seeing it,” Kellen had answered.

  “Don’t forget the oxen.”

  Making the war-wagon had taken Cilarnen a little longer than constructing his round house, but three days later, after Kardus had led a yoke of oxen up to him, Cilarnen had driven it down into camp. It looked, Kellen had to admit, very much like the picture Cilarnen had shown him.

  And by then it was time to leave.

  JOINING up with an army on the march—especially such a comparatively large army—was a complex logistical problem, especially in an area like the Avribalzar Forest, where both forces must move along the War Road in long narrow columns, hemmed in by the trees.

  In the end, Kellen simply distributed his forces along the line of march reformed into their traditional units—or what was left of them after Halacira. His own command was one of the hardest hit: Only six of his Twelve survived, and almost half of them had been new after the Second Battle of the Caverns.

  Then, as their places appeared in the line of march—Healers, Knights, supply-wagons—each element of the army moved fluidly into the gaps Redhelwar left for them. Cilarnen and Vestakia rode with the Healers.

  And once more Kellen and his command became a part of the main
army.

  Unfortunately—from Kellen’s point of view—this maneuver was all-too-easy to accomplish, even after all his warnings to Redhelwar. Even after a thousand years—and, for all he knew, after five thousand years—the elements of the Elven Army marched and fought in exactly the same position and order.

  And that meant that when the Allies finally met the Enemy on the battlefield for the first time in a thousand years, the Enemy would know exactly where to strike for greatest effect.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Road to Armethalieh

  AT THE END of the day, when the army made camp, Kellen was at last reunited with Idalia and Jermayan.

  He had seen Ancaladar flying back and forth above the trees several times that day, of course, but though the sight did much to reassure him that Jermayan was indeed alive, it did nothing to answer Kellen’s many questions.

  But that night, after camp had been pitched and the simple housekeeping chores of life upon the road attended to, the five of them gathered together in Idalia’s tent.

  Kellen was instantly struck by how changed Jermayan seemed. While both Cilarnen and Vestakia looked as if they were being consumed from within—by different but equally catastrophic fires—and so glowed far too brightly, Jermayan looked as if some natural illumination that he should properly possess had been extinguished.

  The explanations—both Jermayan’s and Idalia’s—took several hours, starting with Idalia’s realization that the imminent arrival of He Who Is back in the world from which he had been banished uncounted millennia before was keeping the Wildmage magic from working properly, to the discovery of the ancient Tokens hanging in the Council Chamber of Sentarshadeen, to the summoning of the Starry Hunt.

  At least now Kellen had a name for their new ally, though from the explanation he received, it was actually a very old one.

  From there it became Jermayan’s story: his realization that the appearance of the Hunt in this world meant a period of unsureness and confusion for Them; his realization that by expending all of his and Ancaladar’s magic to open a door to Ondoladeshiron he could gain the army precious time so that they might meet the Enemy while it was still disorganized; their rescue by the Starry Hunt as they lay dying.