To Light A Candle

It was just as cold as Ancaladar had promised. The mist-droplets turned to ice crystals on Kellen’s face—his only exposed skin—and the sheer dry cold took his breath away. The clouds below them— below them!—looked as solid as a snowfield, shining whitely in the sun, and the sunlight itself was bright and harsh. There was no sound save the whistling of the wind over Ancaladar’s body, and the occasional squeals and outcries of delight from the children. Kellen was glad they were so firmly strapped in to their carrying-baskets: it would be far too tempting for the more audacious of them to try to climb out and take a closer look at this wonderland of sun and clouds.

His fear of flying was forgotten. He didn’t even notice the cold. He wished this wonderful experience could last forever. Now—now he envied Jermayan, if this was the sort of thing that the Elven Knight was going to get to experience all the time.

As they continued north and west he could see the peaks of the higher mountains poking up through the clouds. The only thing that would make it better would be if he could see the ground below. He was Mageborn and had lived with magic all of his life, but this was the most magical moment of his life.

Too soon Ancaladar began to descend, flying into snow and buffeting winds as they entered the realm of mountain storms. The ride now was much rougher, as the dragon glided from side to side, riding on the winds and tacking from side to side instead of fighting them directly. Now Kellen could see trees below, and had some way to judge their speed, and it was faster than anything he could have ever imagined. No wonder the Elves had wanted to send the children this way.

“Almost there,” Jermayan said.

“I am tired of snow,” Ancaladar complained, swerving again in response to a particularly prankish gust of wind. “What it does to the wind and thermals is simply disgusting.”

“It’s winter,” Jermayan said soothingly. “And a particularly bad one. By next year, the weather patterns should be back to normal.”

“We’ll hope Andoreniel’s message got through, then, with your weather and all. I have no desire to be shot at,” Ancaladar grumbled, but Kellen could tell his complaining was merely a kind of bantering between the dragon and Jermayan. The Bond between Jermayan and Ancaladar was something he could not even imagine—far closer than his relationship with Shalkan—and words seemed almost unnecessary to it.

Even through the snow, Kellen could see the fortress up ahead. At first, it seemed merely an unusual outcropping, then he recognized the forms of Elven building—and then they seemed to be rushing at it at such a speed that there was no chance they could avoid hitting it.

Then the dragon tilted a wing, and suddenly the fortress was passing under them, in a dizzying, exhilarating panorama.

Ancaladar circled it once, and then landed at the foot of the causeway. A party of defenders was already waiting there for the children. Kellen unbuckled the belt and pushed himself free of the saddle, surprised at how stiff he felt, and immediately slipped off Ancaladar’s back to fall sprawling in the deep densely-packed snow, for Ancaladar’s scales were covered in ice.

Jermayan, naturally, fared much better—no matter how much and how hard Kellen trained, Jermayan was an Elf, with all the Elves’ natural grace. Jermayan walked neatly down Ancaladar’s back, cutting the straps that buckled the children into the baskets—for unbuckling the straps would take time, and everyone knew that here they were vulnerable if the Enemy wished to strike.

But Kellen had a hunch They wouldn’t. At least, not today.

All the Elven children of the Nine Cities were here now—for as he’d heard recently, word of the attack on Sandalon’s caravan had not reached the other Elven cities in time, and the last of the children had been dispatched to the fortress on the original schedule.

And reached their destination safely.

More than ever now, Kellen was sure that the whole point of the attack had been to show them the Shadowed Elves, and nothing else.

Kellen clambered up out of the snow in time to help with the last couple of baskets, and then set to work on the other needful task: cutting away the basket harness from Ancaladar’s body. It had done its work, and was no longer necessary. Now only the saddle on the dragon’s neck would remain, and the riding harness that held it there.

By the time he looked up from that, the children and those who had waited to greet them were gone. Only one warrior remained.

“I See you, Shentorris,” Jermayan said.

“I See you, Jermayan,” Shentorris said, bowing slightly in acknowledgment.

“I See you, Shentorris,” Kellen said in his turn.

“I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage. I would be honored to make you welcome at the Fortress of the Crowned