2 To Light A Candle.13 (28 page)

Her firmness worked. Tredianala gave her a look equally compounded of hurt and resentment, and went off to fold up the peculiar hammocklike slings.

"The rest of you: go through all the bundles and sort the contents neatly. I wish to know everything that is here, and how much there is of everything. Tredianala may help you, when she has finished her task."

A ragged chorus of "Yes, Nurse Lairamo," greeted her latest order, and the children—all but Kalania and Sandalon—set to work.

Once some of the lanterns were filled and lit, and the lit brazier began radiating heat, everything seemed less nightmarish, but no less terrifying. Lairamo only hoped the children didn't really realize the extent of their danger, though she suspected, from the look on Alkandoran's face, that the youngster knew perfectly well that they were in deep trouble. He said nothing, though, simply taking charge of the others in sorting out the stockpiles.

Lairamo tucked her cloak more tightly around Kalania and Sandalon. At the movement, Sandalon raised his head.

"It's my fault," he whispered, so low that only she could hear. "We're here because of me." There was an unchildlike bitterness in his voice.

"My heart—no!" Lairamo said, hugging him tightly.

But he shook his head, for the first time contradicting her. "Yes. I am the Prince. And my father is King. We are here because of me."

THE rescue party from Sentarshadeen left at first light the following morning: Kellen, Shalkan, Jermayan, Vestakia, Idalia, and six Elven knights, all that could be gathered at such short notice. A second party was being assembled, which would follow with additional supplies and as many knights as Andoreniel could call up quickly; Calmeren would be able to lead them as far as the place from which the children had been taken. But it would be at least a sennight before the larger rescue party was ready, and it would only be able to travel at wagon-speed. Kellen had no intention of waiting for anything or anyone.

Elven palfreys had been found for Idalia and Vestakia. Though the two women could certainly have ridden pillion with Jermayan and Kellen, Shalkan and Valdien might need to be able to carry other passengers later, and every rider was burdened with their own supplies: journey-food, of course, but they must also carry supplies and medicines for those they hoped to rescue.

The caravan had taken nearly two sennights to reach the ice-meadows below the Crowned Horns, and die. Calmeren, wounded, running fiat-out at a unicorn's top speed, had covered the same distance—in the opposite direction—in a little over two days, though it had cost her dearly.

It was five days before Kellen's party reached the spot, rising before dawn and riding long after sunset, and pausing only when neither man nor beast could place one foot in front of the other.

The first thing they encountered was the place where the guard of Elven knights had faced the coldwarg pack. The remains of the dismembered bodies of Elves and horses still remained after a sennight, half-buried in new snow, and strangely undisturbed by the natural predators known to inhabit these mountains.

"No natural beast will feed from a coldwarg kill," Jermayan said, rising to his feet and brushing his gauntlets free of snow. They had stopped long enough to uncover one or two of the bodies, for as important as it was to rescue the captive children, they dared not rush to that rescue blindly. "We cannot tarry now to send you to your final rest, my friends," he said, looking around at the snow. "But do not fear. We shall return for you. You will not lie in the dark earth, but return to the wind, and the stars."

"The caravan road lies in that direction," Idalia said, pointing. "I flew over it often enough when I was a Silver Eagle. They must have heard the 'wargs com-ing and split the party, half of them riding toward the pack, the rest fleeing toward the Crowned Horns, and safety… or so they hoped."

"They wanted to slow the pack, to give the unicorns as much of a head start as they could," Shalkan said. He put his head down, sniffing at a drift of snow and then beginning to paw at it. "But the coldwarg weren't hunting alone." He nudged his prize free.

"What's that?" Kellen asked, walking over and picking it up. He stood it on end and regarded it curiously. It was a club—he could see that much—black and polished with use, and very nearly as tall as he was. But that really didn't answer the question of what it was.

"Frost-giants—just as Calmeren said." A knight named Artaliar spoke up. "The pack was traveling with frost-giants." His voice was a mixture of disgust and despair.

jermayan sighed, shaking his head. "It should not have been possible."

"Vestakia?" Kellen asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing here."

"Then let's go on."

THEY stopped at the wagons only long enough to make certain that no survivors had taken refuge there—a slim hope, but one they had to make sure of. Something had been at them after the party had abandoned them; they had been looted—or vandalized, or searched; by now it wasn't quite clear; and whatever had done it had left traces that made Shalkan and the other two unicorns wrinkle their muzzles in disgust, and made Vestakia look distinctly uncomfortable.

But there was no one alive, and no clues that would help them in their search, so the party rode on.

FINALLY they reached the killing ground where all but Calmeren had died. Some freak of weather had swept the area free of new snow, and the bodies of the Elven knights and the unicorns in their armor glittered starkly against the field of ice like savagely disjointed dolls.

They smelled the battlefield before they saw it. Even in the cold, something here was decaying, and the smell was worse than anything Kellen had ever encountered—worse than cleaning out Perulan's cesspit back in Armethalieh, worse than the sensory derangement at the Black Cairn. The Elven destriers, well-trained and battle-tried as they were, balked at approaching it, and rather than force them, the party left them with the unicorns to guard them, and approached the site on foot.

Today the air was still, the weather was clear and bright. The harsh mountain light showed every detail clearly. The dryness of the air had leached all moisture from the bodies, and not even birds had come to despoil what little the coldwarg and their allies had left behind. Every detail was starkly, terribly, clear.

The source of the stench was quickly apparent. Kellen gazed down at the gruesome remains of something that lay entangled with the remains of one of the unicorns. Long delicate wings covered with greyish membrane were spread across the snow—it had the proportions of a bat, but a bat the size of a small sailing ship, and its head was shaped more like a wolf's than a bat's, with a long muzzle and yellow carnivorous teeth. Its body, rotting swiftly even in this cold, was covered in a thick white fur.

He looked around, then off into the distance. The Fortress of the Crowned Horns was clearly visible, a tiny doll's castle a few hours' ride away. So very near to safety, and then, to be taken by Demons on their very doorstep, within sight of their greatest stronghold…

Their Enemy was mocking them. Telling them how helpless they were. Telling them that they could be struck down anywhere, at any time, by the forces that Shadow Mountain could deploy against them.

But how? Kellen frowned. Andoreniel was no fool, and Idalia had certainly warned him that Shadow Mountain was active once more. The Barrier had been ample proof of that. And Kellen knew that Elven Knights were patrolling all the Elven Lands, even more thoroughly than before. And half a dozen parties before Sandalon's had come this way—all well guarded—and none of them had reported anything suspicious.

Yet coldwarg, and frost-giants—and Idalia had said it looked like ice-trolls as well—all creatures of Darkness, all predators of the High Cold—had slipped into the heart of Elven lands undetected to mount a raid and kidnap the young Prince.

How?

He looked back down at the remains of Death on the wing.

"It stinks of Taint," Shalkan said, coming up behind him.

"Well, it stinks, anyway," Kellen said gloomily. "You'd think someone would have noticed."

"You would," the unicorn said noncommittally. "In the sky, these things would be visible for leagues, and frost-giants don't move all that fast on the ground. It would take them some time to get here."

"Which means that They knew our plans all along—and picked this caravan to attack. Specifically," Kellen said.

"Not that we'd leave any child in the hands of Demons," Shalkan observed, "or anyone else for that matter. But you know what the basis of Endarkened magic is. And Sandalon is the Heir."

Kellen took a deep breath. Endarkened magic drew its power from blood and pain and death—from torture. And the death by torture of the Royal Heir would undoubtedly be a source of greater power than any other sacrifice the Demons could marshal, as well as being a great blow to the Elves.

Kellen gazed around the battlefield again. The others were walking among the dead—saying prayers, Kellen supposed, or trying to identify fallen friends. He glanced over his shoulder. Vestakia had stayed with the horses. She was standing beside her mare, leaning against the saddle, the hood of her cloak pulled well up over her face.

Kellen turned back to the battlefield. It was almost as if the bodies—where they lay, how they'd fallen—told a story, and it was one he needed to disentangle. None of the children were here. Calmeren had said they'd been taken, by things that flew, but the only reason she'd survived was because she'd fled before the battle was over. He needed to know more than she could tell him.

Could his magic help him here?

It was worth a try.

Tell me what I need to know, Kellen said silently, summoning up his battle-sight.

There was a shimmer, a faint doubling of vision as the battle-sight rose up, peopling the icy battlefield with the silent silvery ghosts of the dead. He watched as the battle replayed itself before his eyes: the moment when the unicorns realized that flight would not save their precious charges, when they turned, desperately, to fight. They'd been facing the coldwarg pack—the ice-giants would not have been fast enough to keep up with the pack—and… something?

Kellen glanced up at the sky, empty now.

Yes. When the unicorns had turned to face the coldwarg, the flying creatures had attacked as well, forcing the unicorns back into the lethal jaws of the pack, and then carrying off the children and Lairamo. He watched the Deathwings as they attacked, agile and deadly, the long razor-sharp talons on their feet clawing and grasping at the unicorn's heads and shoulders, snatching Knights into the air with a fell swoop only to drop them to the ground once more with a stunning impact.

But the coldwarg had possessed other allies as well.

Kellen watched as the last of the unicorns and their riders were pulled down, and saw, with distant surprise, a party of cloaked figures move onto the field. Calmeren had said it had been snowing heavily that day. The cloaked figures would have been concealed by the snow until the last instant.

The silvery vision-ghosts moved among the dead and dying without fear of the feeding coldwarg. Allies, then, and too heavily cowled for Kellen to be sure of what they might be. Perhaps even men.

The vision faded, and Kellen blinked, seeing only the battlefield once more.

"What did you see?" Shalkan asked quietly.

"The battle," Kellen said simply. "Calmeren was right. Those bat-things— Deathwings—carried the children off… somewhere."

"But where?" Jermayan's voice was tight with frustration.

"I don't know," Kellen said, feeling a moment of utter despair. To come so far, and to fall just short of success…

"I can find them," Vestakia said.

She'd come up behind him while Kellen was watching the past unfold. She'd pushed the hood of her cloak back, and Kellen could see that her face was set with a mixture of horror and determination. If her skin hadn't been the color of ripe cherries, Kellen would have bet she would have been pale. As it was, she looked as if she might be sick at any moment, and not just from the ugliness of the sight before her. Shalkan said the killing ground reeked of Taint as much as the stench Kellen's physical senses could perceive, and Vestakia's gift and curse was that she was peculiarly able to perceive Demonic Taint. And more than any other creature of the Light, she found it debilitating, sickening, perhaps even painful. Kellen didn't know for certain; she had never elaborated, and he could only guess.

Shalkan took a step sideways to press his shoulder against her hip.

"They were taken by Demons—or for Demons," Vestakia said in a small, determined voice. "They were taken by things like that." She indicated the Death-wing with a shudder. "I think I can track them."

Jermayan regarded Vestakia with warm approval.

By now the others had gathered around as well.

"There's something more you need to know," Kellen said. "When I saw the battle"—he shrugged, not sure how else to say it—"there were others, helping the coldwarg and the Deathwings. Not giants, and not Endarkened. Figures in cloaks, man-sized. I don't think I could have seen them clearly even if I'd been there in the flesh. But that means we have another enemy to worry about."

"Not Elves!" Trotaliath exclaimed. "Elves would never betray their own to the Enemy!"

"Men. Yet it would be desirable to know how Men could come so far into our lands without our knowing," Debarniekel said, eyeing Kellen with disfavor.

"As well wonder how came the frost-giants, or the ice-trolls, or any of our misfortunes," Jermayan said grimly. "And we do not know yet that they were Men, Debarniekel."

"I guess we'll find out when we catch them," Kellen said. He knew from what Vestakia had told him that Demons could change their shape, and appear in almost any form, but he couldn't imagine why they'd bother to disguise themselves to come here. They couldn't have expected to be seen, after all.

And hadn't the whole point been to have the caravan disappear without a trace? A few more sennights—another big blizzard or two—and there wouldn't have been any traces at all left for them to find. Only the charred remains of the wagons, if that. The Deathwing would have been completely rotted away.