“Nothing for you to do while we’re in camp, Kellen,” Riasen said cheerfully. “Except stop wearing yourself to the bone working as a Knight and a Healer both. If that’s what being a Wildmage is like, I thank Leaf and Star I was born Elven.”
“I did all right,” Kellen said, stung. He hadn’t thought he’d looked
“We were all taking bets on when you’d fall over,” Riasen said frankly. “But you saved Petariel’s leg, and so… if there’s ever anything you need: ask.”
“I hope I won’t have to,” Kellen said. “But I will, if…”
“And Leaf and Star defend us from the day,” Riasen agreed. “Now, I have heard that Rochinuviel has sent bullocks from her own herds, and cheese from her own cellars. You won’t want to miss that.”
“Probably not,” Kellen agreed. And if he was going to go give bad news to Redhelwar, he wanted to do it on a full stomach.
—«♦»—
THE dining tents were enormous; the largest single structures in the camp, designed to seat and feed hundreds at a time, and to serve as a place where a large percentage of the troops could be gathered in one place in foul weather—or as a hospital, in case of true disaster.
The tables and benches were delicate yet strong, designed to be folded and stowed for easy transport, in the event that the entire army should need to move somewhere. Despite having been constructed for function and efficiency, the space maintained the ethereal beauty common to all the work of the Elves, and Kellen was reminded, suddenly, of the teacup he had broken last night.
Were the Elves themselves like that teacup? Must the Elves themselves pass away for Shadow Mountain to be destroyed this time ? Was the attempt to save the Elves the attempt to preserve Beauty that would doom them all?
Did Jermayan know?
If the Elven Knight-turned-Mage
Kellen shook his head. It sounded like something out of
Even at this hour—late for breakfast—the tent was half-filled with Elves. Kellen walked the length of the tent, toward the far end where it opened into the cooking area.
The army that had traveled into the mountains had contained only fighters and Healers, but an army, Kellen was discovering, needed much more than that to function properly. Not only fighters, but everything from blacksmiths to wagon drivers to armorers to launderers to cooks—an army was essentially a small mobile city.
The kitchen staff, seeing him, took instant action without a word from Kellen, presenting him with a heavily laden tray burdened with roast meat, cheese, fruit buns, and even—amazingly—a few apples. They were a little withered from winter storage, but fresh fruit at this season was nothing short of a miracle.
Kellen took his food to the nearest table and worked his way slowly through it, trying to at least pretend he had table manners. He wrapped one of the fruit buns in his napkin and tucked it into his tunic, knowing Shalkan would relish the treat later. Sometimes he wondered how the unicorn had indulged his sweet tooth before he’d had Kellen to cadge treats from.
Breakfast over—and feeling comfortably stuffed—Kellen went off to look for Dionan. He knew better than to think he could just barge in on Redhelwar, Knight-Mage or no.
—«♦»—
DIONAN’S tent was near Redhelwar’s. Kellen waited outside while Dionan dealt with another matter—from the armor, Kellen recognized Belepheriel, the Elf of the previous evening who had suggested that there might not be any more Shadowed Elves. When Belepheriel had left, Kellen walked up to the tent and courteously shook the bells attached to the tent flap.
“I See you, Kellen Knight-Mage. Enter and be welcome,” Dionan said.
“I See you, Dionan,” Kellen answered in return. He entered the tent.
Dionan’s tent was set up as an office, with a table and chairs. A smaller table held a teapot and cups—it would have been startling if it did not. Kellen took a deep mental breath and resigned himself to attempting the Elven dance of politeness once again.
