Kellen turned Cheska’s head toward the great scarlet pavilion at the center of camp. When he got closer, he saw that it had not escaped the night’s battle unscathed. The front was nearly charred away, and a network of ropes—obviously new and hastily added—held the structure upright.
Kellen dismounted, motioning for the others to do so as well, and stopped before the wide-open front of Redhelwar’s tent, where Dionan stood guard. Adaerion, Redhelwar, and several others were inside.
“Bring the jars, and the weapons. Then go. Find Ciltesse, and tell him what has happened. Take his orders. If you cannot find him”—
Sihemand and Rhuifai bowed, a brief acknowledgment.
“Be welcome,” Dionan said gravely.
Kellen and the two Elves entered. His men set down the heavy stone jugs, the bows, and the quivers of iron arrows just inside where the doorway would have been, bowed again, and departed. They mounted their horses, and led Cheska away with them.
Kellen waited, and as he did so, the last of his energy seemed to drain away. Redhelwar was behind the others, speaking with someone he couldn’t see. At last the general finished and came over to Kellen.
Kellen bowed very low, since he knew in his bones that this was the only thing in the way of proper Elven formality that he’d be able to manage tonight.
Reaction was setting in. Only the knowledge that they had saved Ysterialpoerin from burning was keeping him going now.
“I See you, Redhelwar, Army’s General,” he said wearily.
“I See you, Kellen,
“She’s dead,” Kellen said. He took a deep breath, and held back another sudden burst of sorrow. “The Shadowed Elves killed her.”
“May her spirit run free in the Fields of Vardirvoshan,” Redhelwar said sympathetically. “I have had grave news this night, and I would have your counsel.”
“With all respect, I do not think what I have to say can wait. And for my brevity I beg pardon,” Kellen said. “The attack on the army was a feint. The Shadowed Elves went to burn Ysterialpoerin. They had new weapons. I think it would have worked.”
“But it did not work,” Redhelwar said, his manner suddenly intent.
“We killed them all and brought the weapons back with us,” Kellen said. “The city is unharmed.”
“Yet it would be good to know how the Knight-Mage knew to ride after these Shadowed Elves,” Belepheriel said, coming forward. “Or how it is that he so often gives warning—and never soon enough to prevent losses. I would be interested to know what we will find in the caverns ahead if we continue to rely upon his warnings.”
The note of contempt in Belepheriel’s voice was impossible to mistake, and Kellen felt rage fill him, as if he faced an enemy on a battlefield. He had thought he had come to the end of his energy; he had been wrong. This new challenge filled him with a strength he had not known he still possessed. He swung toward Belepheriel, the fury in his face so plain that even Belepheriel stepped back. Redhelwar placed a hand on his shoulder, but Kellen stepped out from under it, taking a step toward the Elven commander.
“I am a Knight-Mage, Belepheriel,” he said, very softly. “My Magery is the Art of War. Tonight the Wild Magic showed me that the attack upon the army was a cloak for an attack upon Ysterialpoerin, and so I stopped it. Would you see the Heart of the Forest burned to ash for your foolish pride in the Ancient Ways? Or shall I withhold the warnings I can give so that you may rejoice in a slaughter unrestrained by the Wild Magic? You are free to ask me for that, Belepheriel.
There was utter silence in the pavilion.
“You cannot…” Belepheriel began, aghast. “It is unseemly! We are in the field!”
“I will permit it,” Redhelwar said. “This once.”
Abruptly his fury left Kellen, though the cold anger still burned deep. Belepheriel had been a dead weight in their councils ever since Kellen had been admitted to them—and undoubtedly long before—and they could no longer afford that.
And now he remembered what the Circle was—though a moment before the words had come without thought.
