3 When Darkness Falls.8 (63 page)

* * * * *

ANCALADAR was as good as his word. Though his landing had been a cause for concern, the dragon's leap into the sky had something of his usual verve, though his takeoff run was far longer than any Idalia could ever remember. But at last he spread his great wings with their familiar snap, and rose swiftly into the air.

In moments they were above the clouds, into the brilliant — and much colder — upper air.

"You're still alive," she said unnecessarily. She leaned her head against Jermayan's fur-covered back, reassuring herself that it was true. "Alive," he agreed. There was a long pause.

"Idalia. I do not know how to explain what I do not understand. To make and hold such a portal as Ancaladar and I made to send the army through to Ondoladeshiron… it is the Great Spell that was given, long ago, to any who are Bonded to a dragon to cast. Not to open a door, perhaps, but one single spell of such power for each such Mage to cast once in his life, and it should have consumed us utterly. But as the door closed… the Starry Hunt…
came
for us," Jermayan said.

Idalia could not imagine it, though she tried very hard. She could barely retain the memory of Summoning them, so ancient and wild was their power. To see them, in the calm and normal light of day, was something so far beyond the realm of normal experience, even for a Wildmage who had once been a Silver Eagle, that even her imagination failed.

It was simply too much.

"And then what happened?" she asked.

"They came. They… went. After a little time, we flew back to Ysterialpoerin. Ancaladar had just enough strength for that. And fortunately for us, it was not far."

There was another long pause, and Idalia knew that Jermayan was gathering himself to say something he did not wish to say. "We… live. But we will cast no more spells." She had been prepared to hear far worse.

"You idiot! Do you think I care about that?" Idalia demanded. She hugged him fiercely. "I loved you when you were a simple Elven Knight, and I shall love you now that you are a simple Elven Knight once more."

"With a dragon," Ancaladar said.

"With a dragon," Idalia agreed.

Had the Starry Hunt turned Ancaladar from a creature of magic to a creature of flesh-and-blood? Ancaladar himself might not know. It might simply be that his magic had been drained so far by the spell that only enough remained to keep himself and the Bond alive, thanks to the Hunt's intervention.

In the end, it really didn't matter.

He was back.

* * * * *

KELLEN had become used to riding out to what he had gotten used to calling "Ancaladar's Grove" every morning at dawn to see if there was news from Sentarshadeen. Without a detachment of Unicorn Knights in the camp, it was simplest for him to check the grove for messages personally, since Unicorn Scouts were the fastest form of communication between the city and the camp. And besides, it gave him private time with Shalkan.

The Halacira camp was quickly taking on the aspect of a small city. Tents were being replaced by buildings of wood and stone — the surrounding forest would never be the same, but that was a small price to pay, in Kellen's opinion. They had kitchens and a sawmill, thanks to Artenel's tireless labors, as well as a bathhouse.

And the news from Sentarshadeen was good.

The plague victims there continued to recover, and no new cases had been reported. Though Andoreniel's name was not mentioned, Kellen knew that the King's health must be continuing to improve as well.

He was puzzled at the continuing silence from Idalia and Jermayan. Midwinter had passed. She would have done her spell, if she had been able to, and he had heard nothing.

Obviously, that meant that she had done
something
, for if she had been able to do nothing at all, she would still have been in Sentarshadeen and would have written to him herself.

He wondered what it was that she
had
done.

Her continued silence worried him.

But he'd had little time to brood over it, because first the supply wagons had returned from Sentarshadeen — to everyone's great relief, since with even the Wildmages to Call the sparse game out of the forest into hunting range, supplies were running short, and even the best-trained Elven destrier would not eat meat.

Next had come the matter of providing Cilarnen a place to work.

A tent would not do — the largest they had was too small for his needs, Cilarnen informed Kellen, and the spells of the High Magick used too much fire. Half his energy would be spent in keeping his workplace from burning down around him. And Cilarnen's work was vital.

Even with the power he had to draw upon, Cilarnen lacked the ability to create an ice-pavilion such has he had used in the north. Besides, here, in the Avribalzar Forest, his surroundings lacked the same dry cold that was to be found west of Ysterialpoerin. The ice of such a structure would surely have rotted within a sennight. Cilarnen's workspace must be wood. Or stone.

And the sooner it was in place, the sooner he could start working the spells they needed.

At least it turned out that they hadn't had to
build
it. All that had been required was providing Cilarnen with enough cut lumber deposited at a place Cilarnen selected, a suitable distance from the main camp. Cilarnen's magick had done the rest, creating a finished building the size of Redhelwar's pavilion from a pile of lumber between sunset and dawn.

There had not been enough to finish the entire structure, so the roof was made of saplings that Artenel and his sawyers had not provided. They were of an eerily uniform thickness and length, and every single one of them had been stripped of their branches and bark by the same unknown forces that Cilarnen had called up to build his sanctum.

He'd looked very smug when Kellen had come out to see him the following morning, a little worried about Cilarnen having spent the night alone in the cold and the snow. There were certainly no Tainted creatures making their home in the Avribalzar Forest, but if there were Demons raiding in the Delfier Valley, and Ice Trolls and Frost Giants north of the Mystrals, anything at all might show up here without warning.

"Like it?" Cilarnen had called.

Kellen had stared in resigned envy at the snug-looking round structure where none had stood the day before. Resigned, because after such a spectacular success Cilarnen was going to be even more difficult to live with than before — oh, he did his best to be polite and to fit in, but when he became obsessed with working out the details of creating or adapting one of the spells of the High Magick to serve Kellen's needs, nothing else but his work existed for him.

One of the reasons Cilarnen drove himself so hard and so dangerously. Kellen knew, was guilt. Guilt that he had not been able to save the folk at Nerendale. Guilt that Anigrel had attempted to use him as a weapon.

Guilt that when every possible warrior was needed to battle on the side of Light, the High Mages had not only refused to fight, but had done everything they could to give aid to an Enemy that nothing living should help.

And envious, because the wooden building looked as if it would be much warmer and drier than Kellen's own tent. And Cilarnen wasn't even going to use it for sleeping. His tent — where he would sleep and take his meals — was pitched a few feet away from his new sanctum.

Last of all, in the middle of everything else, there was Vestakia to worry about, at least as much as Kellen dared. Her understanding of the images she received from her father's mind seemed to grow clearer by the day, but such clarity did not come without a price. She looked as unwell as Cilarnen did, as if she, too, were yoked to energies nothing mortal should be allowed to bear.

And then, six days ago, when Kellen had gone to Ancaladar's Grove to see what dispatches — or messengers — might be awaiting him from Sentarshadeen, and to drink his morning tea in peace, he saw something that had stunned him completely.

Riasen, Captain of the Unicorn Knights, and Elariagor were standing in the clearing. The pale golden unicorn stood regarding Kellen with faint amusement sparkling from her turquoise eyes.

"Did you miss us?" she asked, switching her long tufted tail.

"I — What — Who — " Kellen sputtered.

He neither spilled a drop of his tea, nor was in any way incapable of dealing with an enemy attack — should one happen to appear in that moment — but for just an instant, his mind was incapable of understanding what he saw. Riasen could not be here. Riasen was with the army, on the other side of the Mystrals, marching toward Ondoladeshiron, and Kellen would see him and the others sometime in late spring. Not now, three days after Midwinter.

"The army rests at Ondoladeshiron, Kellen," Riasen said. "All of it. Now. Redhelwar directs me to inform you that we shall be with you as soon as we can — there is the small matter of the herds to gather back together and a few other insignificant trifles to take care of before we march. Yet it grieves me to tell you that our passage was bought with a life. Two lives. Jermayan and Ancaladar have given their lives for the spell that brought us here so quickly."

The army was at Ondoladeshiron. If Riasen said it, Kellen had no doubt that it was true. And that Jermayan and Ancaladar were dead… that must be true also.

"What spell?" Kellen asked bluntly.

"Two days ago, Ancaladar joined us upon the march. It was a surprise to us, as last we had seen of him, Jermayan, or Idalia, they had gone to bear Cilarnen and Vestakia to you at Halacira. Idalia brought us the joyous news that Andoreniel gains in strength, and that
They
had been struck a grievous blow by a spell she had but lately done, and would now be cast down in disorder and confusion."

So the Greater Summoning had worked. But…

"Redhelwar said that the time to strike was now, in Their hour of greatest weakness, but that by the time he had reached Ondoladeshiron, it would be too late, for
They
would have regained
Their
equilibrium. And Jermayan said that it was possible to make a door through which Redhelwar's whole army could pass, stepping from the outskirts of Ysterialpoerin to the Gathering Plain in but an instant, but that the spell would require all of the magic that he and Ancaladar possessed."

And that, Kellen knew, meant their deaths.

"And so they cast it, but passing through the veils was a great shock, and the animals did not like it overmuch. The herdsmen say we shall be collecting them for some days yet."

"It is not a door that I want to go through twice," Elariagor said feelingly. "Blackness and falling and cold — no wonder the oxen and the horses ran as if
They Themselves
were chasing them. If Ardir had not been there to cast his spell of Animal Speaking, the ox-teams would have done just the same thing, and they were hitched together in teams of twelve and had sledges attached to them besides. It would have been a great mess, with three thousand Elven Knights who could not see what they were riding into set to come just behind. Do imagine it, Kellen."

Kellen could: the oxen crashing into each other in panic, creating a huge barrier of tangled traces and wounded animals to block this mysterious door. And then, crashing into it, the Elven Knights, who would be coming through at a dead run, because Jermayan could surely not have held the door open forever.

"It will be good to hear what you may say to me of my sister, Idalia," Kellen said carefully.

"She is well," Riasen said, sounding a little surprised that Kellen had asked. "She shared in the spellprice for Ardir's spell, and of course, since it came so soon after the previous work she had done, she was greatly weakened. But she rests now in the Healers' care. You will see her, once the army comes."

"That makes good hearing," Kellen answered automatically.

He doubted Idalia was doing much resting, knowing that Jermayan was dead.

* * * * *

BUT he did not have much time to dwell on this new loss. With the army south of the Mystrals, Andoreniel on the road to recovery, and He Who Is having been blocked from aiding the Endarkened — somehow — first thing Kellen wanted was more information about exactly what it was that Idalia had
done.

For that there was only one place to go.

He provided Riasen and Elariagor with the camp's hospitality — fortunately, tea had come with the supply wagons, and there was someone else to brew it — before they continued on to Sentarshadeen, to give a report to Morusil as well. Kellen had added his own reports — brief, as there was nothing to report — and sent them on their way.

"Well, that was entertaining in a quiet way," Shalkan said, as they headed along a well-cleared snow path toward Cilarnen's clearing. The path was well-cleared because Cilarnen had several ice-golems whose sole job, day and night was to clear and maintain paths through the forest, which they did until they

melted or fell to pieces. When he lost enough of them, Cilarnen simply made more and set the new ones to work.

Kellen found it more than a little unsettling, though it was nice to have the nice wide paths through the forest shoveled and swept down to scraped and textured ice.