In company of the rest of her Court—some in the form of humans, some in the form of horses—Savilla had ridden at last to the walls of her greatest prize. It was nearly within her grasp at last.
And before she had gone, she had done one last thing.
It was a powerful spell. It had required the sacrifice of all of the captives they had collected along their march. But for a few brief hours—as the Brightworlders reckoned time—their very essence would be masked from any who might sense them for what they truly were.
Time enough and more to take into her hands the last of her pawns and playing pieces.
“MY Lord Arch-Mage.”
Lycaelon smiled. “You are very formal with me this morning, Anigrel.”
“It is a day for the greatest of formality, Lord Arch-Mage, for it is a day that will change the future of Armethalieh forever. The delegation of the Enlightened has arrived. They await us outside the walls. Let us ride forth and escort them into the City.”
He had spent last night in communion with his Dark Lady, preparing for this moment. She was very near now. Soon he would behold her face, flesh to flesh, for the first time in his life.
He would give her Lycaelon.
Then he would return to the City, alone, to tell the High Council that the Wildmages had captured and killed the Arch-Mage. He would tell them that an emergency Working must be done to strengthen the Wards upon the walls.
But he would not strengthen them. He would destroy them completely.
The time for subtlety was nearly past.
But just now, a little subtlety was still needed. Enough to overshadow Lycaelon’s will, to convince the Arch-Mage that it was, indeed, a very good idea to ride out with Anigrel to meet these new allies…
IDALIA rode up to Redhelwar and Kellen. It was two hours before noon. The walls of Armethalieh were already visible in the distance.
“They’re not going to attack,” she heard Kellen saying, as she approached.
“In fact, Vestakia can’t sense Them at all any longer all of a sudden,” Idalia said. “Though somehow I doubt that They’ve left. And the dose of potion I gave her wore off hours ago.”
“They haven’t,” Kellen said concisely. “Jermayan may not be able to speak from Ancaladar’s back any longer, but he can still talk.” He pointed up toward the sky where, high above, Ancaladar’s black form circled. Intermittently, flashes of light appeared, as if Jermayan were holding … a mirror?
“Jermayan knows the mirror code,” Kellen explained, “and here, where the skies are clear all day and the air is always calm, he can use it. I can’t read it, but Dionan and Redhelwar can. Jermayan says that They have split the army. Most of Them are about twenty miles off in that direction—” He pointed.
Idalia groaned faintly. “That’s about where I think the Delfier Shrine is. Too bad we couldn’t afford to put part of the army on top of it to defend it.”
“They’d have been slaughtered where they stood,” Kellen said simply. “It’s more important to take the City, and keep Them from getting Their hands on the Great Sacrifice—whatever it is—and taking it to the Shrine, than to try to hold the Shrine. Especially since that’s something we couldn’t do anyway.”
“Kellen,” Redhelwar said suddenly. “They’re opening the City Gates.”
In the distance, Kellen could just make out the Delfier Gates beginning to move. Not the Lesser Gates, the ones that were opened for the Farm Caravans—and to cast out Outlaws—but the Great Gates themselves, the ones that stood as high as the City Walls.
“They’re going to ride outside the walls?” Kellen demanded in disbelief. “Somebody get Cilarnen.”
BY the time Cilarnen had ridden to the top of the column, the gates were almost completely open. Cilarnen stared, as disbelieving of the sight as Kellen.
“The Great Gate hasn’t been opened in … even Master Hendassar wasn’t sure of the last time it had been opened,” Cilarnen said in awe. “They must have seen us, and be planning to attack us. I think—I hope—I can Shield well enough to stop the first attack; once they recognize they’re facing High Magick, they might break off,” he added. But he didn’t sound certain.
“And if Ancaladar makes a pass over them, their horses certainly won’t stand.”
“That’s true enough,” Kellen agreed. Fortunately, they didn’t have to try to figure out a way to tell Jermayan to try that. Jermayan had been trained in the House of Sword and Shield for far longer than Kellen had; if Cilarnen could think of something like that, certainly Jermayan would, too.
“Line halt. Skirimishers to the fore,” Redhelwar said.
The horns echoed back down the column.
“Here they come,” Cilarnen said nervously, as the first horses came through the gates—still miles away—at a slow walk. “City Militia. Wait. They’re carrying the Arch-Mage’s banner. I recognize House Tavadon’s colors. And Lord Anigrel is with him—see the cadet pennon? They shouldn’t be here.”
“Oh, Gods of the Wild Magic,” Idalia groaned. “Who symbolizes the Land in Armethalieh but the Arch-Mage of the City? Lycaelon is to be the Great Sacrifice! Anigrel must have told him some tale to convince him to come outside the walls where They could get at him!”
“Look,” Kellen said, pointing. “There They are.”
Another group of riders had just come out of the forest, directly opposite the City gates and the emerging High Mages.
There were perhaps twenty of Them. Once They had taken Their position, They stopped and sat perfectly still. Their horses were whiter than snow, as were Their flowing garments. Even Their hair was white. They wore no armor, carried no weapons. They radiated beauty and calm purity.
“Stop the Armethaliehans before they reach Them,” Redhelwar said.
Dionan blew the order. Skirmishers to the charge.
KELLEN and the other skirmishing units galloped across the snow at a dead run, the only thought on anyone’s mind to reach the Armethaliehan party before it could reach the White Riders.
Kellen knew what this must look like to those watching from the walls: an attack—by the Elves—on the Arch-Mage and his escort.
He couldn’t allow that to matter to him. There would be time later to explain. Right now, they had to stop the Demons from getting Their hands on the one thing They needed to win.
EVEN though the skirmishing units were farther from the Armethaliehans than the Armethaliehans were from the White Riders, for a few moments it actually looked as if they would reach them first. The Armethaliehan party was moving forward at a slow ceremonial walk, and the White Riders were not moving at all.
Kellen’s first hope was that the sight of sixty Elven Knights bearing down on them at a thundering gallop would simply cause the Armethaliehans to turn and dash back inside their walls. It would have been the smartest thing to do.
But the City Militia that formed Lycaelon’s honor guard had no concept of warfare or proper tactics. When they saw the enemy approaching they stopped, milled uncertainly for a moment, then formed a protective barricade around Lycaelon and Anigrel, stopping dead where they were. He saw Lycaelon raise his staff of office.
“Scatter!” Kellen shouted. He urged Firareth to an even faster pace as the riders around him broke ranks in every direction.
The lightning bolt struck just where he’d been a moment before. He saw Lycaelon reel back with the effort of casting so powerful a spell, and consoled himself with the knowledge that Lycaelon—unlike Cilarnen—probably did not have more lightning bolts in reserve.
Now the White Riders spurred Their mounts forward.
IF They had dared to take on Their true forms, it would have been a slaughter instead of merely a battle, but here, so close to the walls, They must continue to seem to be human.
Kellen dropped instantly into Battle-mind.
It was unlike any of his previous experiences. This time the double-sight did not come, overlaying his vision of the enemy with a map of their potential attacks and hi
s. This time, it was as if he simply surrendered himself completely to the Wild Magic, becoming a tool for it to move as it willed. He felt fully alive, fully aware, fully present—but his volition had become a part of a force far greater than himself.
He could see—could feel—every one of his own people around him, as much a part of himself as his sword, or the fingers of his own hand. He shouted orders, moving them into position for the attack. Far behind him, he sensed that Redhelwar, seeing that the first assault had failed, was sending reinforcements. Kellen noted their kind and number, and when they would arrive, and returned to solving the puzzle of the battle. The proper solution would lead to victory.
This enemy could not be killed.
But it must pretend to be killed, hurt, driven back.
Because the Armethaliehans were watching from the walls of the City, and there was still a need for deception.
The Elven Knights drove into the middle of the White Riders, slashing at them frantically. If they could only reach Lycaelon’s Militia …
But even now, beyond the press of the shining white horses, Kellen could see that a few of the White Riders had refrained from joining battle with the Elves. They were urging Lycaelon and his guard onward, into the forest.
Fifteen against sixty. And despite those odds, the Elven Knights were taking the worst of it. The white horses fought as viciously as their riders, kicking and snapping and rearing. It was only the fact that the two forces were so thoroughly intermingled by now that kept any of the High Mages watching the battle from the walls from using spells of their own, Kellen was sure. And cantrips such as Cilarnen possessed took time to prepare. The one that Lycaelon had used must be the only one he had. Anigrel might not have any at all.
All around him he could hear the shouts of battle and the screams of the dying.
He closed with a White Rider. Light At The Heart Of The Mountain rang as it slid up the enemy’s blade. The two stallions jockeyed for position, their bodies slamming bruisingly against each other as they circled and snapped.
Suddenly there was an earth-shattering roar as the air split; a blinding flash of light. Lightning struck the ground—once, twice—between the retreating Militia and the forest.
Kellen did not need to turn his head to see. He already knew—had known from the moment he had given his first orders—that help was coming. Cilarnen and the Wildmages had arrived.
The Militia turned and broke, then—not even the White Riders accompanying them could prevent it. Their horses—Anigrel and Lycaelon were still with them—turned and bolted for the still-open City gates.
But by now the tide of battle had swept through that area, and the panicked animals were running directly into a tangle of Elven cavalry that was being cut to pieces by a cluster of White Riders. They had been forced so close to the City walls by their foes that they were under attack from the guards on the walls as well, and their losses were heavy.
Suddenly there was another flash—not of lightning this time.
And now Kellen faced, not a White Rider and his moon-pale stallion, but two Demons with glowing yellow eyes and great scarlet wings.
Firareth gathered himself on his haunches and sprang backward. Kellen slashed downward with his sword. The Demon lashed out—
And Shalkan was suddenly between him and the blow.
Every hair on the unicorn’s body was fluffed out like a cat’s. A sound Kellen had never heard the unicorn make came from Shalkan’s throat. He hissed.
The Demons—both of them—leaped back.
The Unicorn Knights had arrived.
Now they had a chance, because the Demons dared not allow the Unicorn Knights anywhere near them.
The Elven Knights were desperately trying to disengage, attempting to clear the way for the Armethaliehans to get back into the City. But now that they had seen the true face of the enemy, the Militia was attempting—in a gesture as gallant as it was hopeless—to stand and fight.
The Demons cut them down in seconds. Kellen saw two of the towering winged creatures grab Anigrel and Lycaelon and launch Themselves into the air.
There was another flicker as the spell the Wildmages had cast ebbed and died, and the Demons were gone. The White Riders appeared in their place once more. Kellen looked for the two in the sky, and could not find them—then saw, far in the distance, two white horses running at top speed into the trees, each bearing on its back a rider in the robes of an Armethaliehan High Mage.
The Allies had lost.
The Demons had gained Their sacrifice.
The remaining White Riders weren’t attacking any longer, but now allowing the Unicorn Knights to drive them off. In fact, they were fleeing the battlefield.
He realized he was still shouting orders as the Battle-mind ebbed and left him. Retreat—regroup—rescue the wounded. Shalkan and the Unicorn Knights had already retreated from the battlefield. Now it was up to the survivors of the rescue attempt to escape the killing ground before they were attacked by the High Mages.
Of those who had ridden out against the White Riders, two-thirds were dead.
“WE have to get into the City and talk sense into these people,” Idalia said grimly, when Kellen had returned with the remains of his force. “The Sacrifice will be tonight—at midnight; Kindling Eve—but we can stop it if we can get enough of the High Mages to help. And for that, we have to get into the City.”
“Then it’s up to the Unicorn Knights and me,” Cilarnen said. “We’ll take the Wards down, and then Ancaladar can open the Gates.”
“They’ll shoot at you from the walls,” Kellen said. “They can’t be sure of what they saw, but they’re sure of one thing. We’re the enemy. And the Arch-Mage has just been kidnapped—and as far as they know, killed.”
“Then we’ll have to dodge,” Cilarnen said simply.
“How will we know when your spell has run its course?” Redhelwar asked.
“Oh, you’ll know,” Cilarnen said. “Believe me, you’ll know.”
“We had best move the rest of the army up into position outside the City,” Redhelwar said. “Perhaps it will dismay them.”
Cilarnen went to prepare the Unicorn Knights.
Redhelwar gave the Elven Army the order to deploy itself for battle.
THIS is it, Kellen thought. Not the final battle itself, but surely the beginning of it. The army made its dispositions: infantry, light cavalry, heavy cavalry, the remains of its skirmishing units. All deployed around Armethalieh, a city they must both protect, and defend themselves from, in the event the High Mages chose to attack.
Redhelwar did not plan a line of retreat. There would be no retreat from this battle.
There was nowhere to go.
“LEAF and Star—and the Light—go with you,” Redhelwar said to Cilarnen.
The young High Mage sat on Anganil’s back. The black stallion danced in place, eager to be gone. A few hundred yards away the Unicorn Knights stood, waiting.
“Good luck,” Kellen said quietly.
Cilarnen nodded, saying nothing.
Then he turned, spurring Anganil forward.
Kellen rode out to stand with Shalkan. And to wait.
THE unicorns spread out behind Cilarnen, running single-file at first. Any of them could easily have outpaced Anganil, but they didn’t.
“It’s a dance, not a race.”
Kellen remembered Cilarnen saying that. Now he was dancing for the lives of everyone in the land.
They ran down toward the walls of Armethalieh. Suddenly Anganil turned and pivoted in his tracks, turning back the other way. The twenty unicorns gave way before him, and in moments he was followed by a double column of ten.
Turned again.
Circled.
Turned back toward the walls, the unicorns following in single file once more. And now their coats seemed to be glowing more brightly than they had been a moment before.
Pivot, stop, circle, turn … it was like watching a flock of birds in flight, and with ea
ch figure, the unicorns glowed brighter. Soon Anganil was glowing, too, and finally Kellen began to have an idea of what it was he was seeing.
They were a wand. Cilarnen and the unicorns were a wand. He was using them all to draw an enormous glyph—on the land, instead of in the air. They were dancing it.
And when it was complete, the spell would be cast.
They reached the walls of the City, but they still didn’t run in a straight line. Backward, forward, spinning and turning; if Anganil had not been an Elven-bred destrier trained for war, he would already have foundered.
How long could they keep that up?
How long did they have to keep that up?
The line of unicorns—and one destrier—disappeared around the curve of the wall.
“Wait. Where are they going?” Kellen asked.
“To ride three times around the City walls,” Shalkan replied quietly.
“But… the docks are on the seaside of the City,” Kellen said. He knew the docks well. They’d been his favorite place in the City. A unicorn could navigate them easily; he’d never yet seen the terrain a unicorn couldn’t get over. But he couldn’t imagine riding even an Elven destrier over the docks.
“Cilarnen will manage,” Shalkan said. “He has to.”
Even with them out of sight, Kellen could feel the spell build. It was an odd sensation. He knew what he was feeling had to be High Magick, since the spell was Cilarnen’s, and Cilarnen was a High Mage. Normally—at least since he’d become a Wildmage—Kellen couldn’t sense the workings of the High Magick any more than Cilarnen could sense the Wild Magic. The one time he’d been in contact with High Magick and had sensed it—in the spell of Kindolhinadetil’s Mirror—it had just hurt.
This was different.
It was as if there were something important, and maybe interesting, and not all that bad, just out of reach.
If Cilarnen was right, a long time ago—a very long time ago—High Mages and Wildmages had worked closely together. Hard as it was to believe, Idalia said that their magic had all once come from the same place.
The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Page 215
