But it appeared that the sentry was bound and determined to hold to convention. Kellen felt like a wild thing lunging against a tether; he desperately wanted to get back to the camp and bring these strange new Shadowed Elf weapons with them. But despite his feeling of urgency, he knew that offending the Elves of Ysterialpoerin would only make trouble for him later. He had to hold on to their respect. He took a deep breath and restrained his impatience.
“Perhaps you will allow me to carry your word to Kindolhinadetil,” said the sentry, “that he may know what aid and honor will best sustain you in the completion of your task.”
Now what was he to say?
Once more Isinwen saved him. “Compared to Kindolhinadetil’s burdens, Ysterialpoerin’s guardian, our own are light indeed, and we would be greatly honored not to add to them by more than the word of what has transpired here this night. And we are but come upon the wing. Our duty to Redhelwar, Army’s General, calls to us like hind to hart in spring, and our hearts leap to obey.”
“Let it be so, then.” The sentry bowed again, deeply, and seemed to vanish without moving, but by now Kellen was practically used to that.
“We need to take the strange weapons,” Kellen said. “Handle the jugs carefully. They can’t be allowed to spill. Leave everything else. I’ll tell Adaerion what happened here.”
Before they left, however, the Elves arranged the Shadowed Elf dead neatly in the snow. It was not only a mark of respect, but would make handling the bodies easier later, since they’d certainly freeze solid in the night. Kellen took the opportunity to look around for other traps, but saw none, and sensed no further danger to the city.
At least not
He walked back and collected his bow from where he’d thrown it, slinging it over his shoulder, and as he did he saw the faint trail of blood in the snow from Mindaerel’s wounds.
If he’d known Mindaerel had been hit, would he have stopped, tried to heal her? Could he have saved her life if he had? Even as he asked himself the questions, Kellen knew the answer was “no.” No, he wouldn’t have stopped, couldn’t have stopped, not until the Shadowed Elves were all dead.
And by then it would have been too late.
“It would honor me did you choose to ride with me,” Isinwen said, trotting up beside Kellen on Cheska.
“Thanks,” Kellen said. He took Isinwen’s hand, and pulled himself into the saddle behind him.
They rode back toward the camp—more slowly now, following their own hoofprints in the snow. The horses were tired, and Kellen sensed no need for haste. The fight back at the camp was certainly over by now. And if they’d stayed to fight it, Ysterialpoerin would already be burning.
He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts just now. They kept returning to Mindaerel. He knew that a good general had to use the people and materials available to him to win—use them
Suddenly Kellen found himself hoping so—fiercely. So far he’d been lucky. His people had been wounded, some gravely, but no one had died. But when they attacked this new set of caverns, some surely would die. He would not only send them to death, he would lead them to it, just as he had led Mindaerel. And afterward he would mourn them, just as he mourned her now, but he would know—he knew now—that it was something he did open- eyed, and would do again the next time there was need.
What was he becoming?
He wondered if this was how a sword felt while it was being forged.
But right now he needed something to take him outside his thoughts, if only for a little while.
“You’re good at that,” Kellen said to Isinwen as they rode. “Talking to the sentry. They’re very… formal… here.”
“Yes. I was born here,” Isinwen said blandly. Kellen stiffened in surprise. If it had been Jermayan, Kellen would be sure he was being set up for one of the elaborate and obscure Elven jokes, but he didn’t know Isinwen
