To Light A Candle

“Good,” Idalia said resolutely. “And we can tell Redhelwar and the others what happened to their bodies. They’ll want to know. Now let’s find a safe place to camp and wait for dawn.”

—«♦»—

THEY found shelter behind a granite outcropping a few hundred yards uphill from the stream, spread a blanket on the snow, and huddled in their cloaks while Idalia unpacked the tea-things from Cella’s saddlebags, lit the brazier, and prepared to brew tea. The quiet night, and the simple, everyday preparations helped to still Idalia’s mind, and keep her from thinking too much about what might lie ahead of them.

Now and then, over the years since she’d left Armethalieh, Idalia had wondered about what had happened to the brother she’d left behind. She hadn’t thought about him very often, for thinking about the life she’d left behind held pain, and her scrying-visions had never shown him to her. She’d always imagined him safe and happy— Lycaelon had wanted a son as much as he’d been indifferent to a daughter—probably growing up to be the next Arch-Mage of Armethalieh, if Lycaelon had his way, and never wondering what lay beyond the walls of the City. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined she would see him again, much less that their lives would intertwine so intimately.

When Shalkan had staggered into her clearing in the Wild Lands half a year ago, she’d realized the Wild Magic had possessed other plans for Kellen all along—even before she’d found the three Books in his pack. She’d been happy to be able to train him—and more frustrated than she’d ever let him suspect when the Wild Magic didn’t come as easily to him as it had to her.

But all had been explained once Jermayan discovered that Kellen wasn’t a Wildmage, but a Knight-Mage. Since Kellen had come into his true power, he’d grown up frighteningly fast. She didn’t think the Elves could see it —everything that humans did was fast, to them—but she could. He was nothing like the boy who’d been pitched out of the gates of the City so short a time ago. That boy would have never, ever have been able to face down an Elven general.

She knew much more of the story of what had happened in Redhelwar’s pavilion than she’d let on when she’d been questioning Kellen. She’d been the Healer to treat Gairith after he left there, and Gairith had been a silent witness to the entire confrontation between Belepheriel and Kellen. And as a scout, no matter what his condition, his memory was sharp, and near-perfect as to details.

She did not doubt that the Wild Magic had been involved in what had happened. She had told Kellen many times that healing was such a simple matter for her because so often all she needed to do was “step aside” and let the Wild Magic do as it wished. Apparently there was something similar that operated to assist a Knight-Mage, and Kellen had done it—or been possessed by it—when he’d shamed Belepheriel. And now that they were heading for the caverns in such haste, it was obvious to Idalia that the Wild Magic wasn’t done with Kellen yet.

But it was equally true that Kellen didn’t understand what he’d done, nor did Redhelwar wish him to understand it. Though it had not, in fact, come to a Circle, Belepheriel had lost his Challenge, and all that was once Belepheriel’s was now Kellen’s, by Elven custom.

Including his rank.

It was an ancient custom, and there were many good reasons to ignore it in this instance. Belepheriel was one of the most senior commanders. Kellen was a very junior sub-commander.

But Kellen was also a Knight-Mage, honored and well liked, and there had been far too many witnesses to what had happened for the truth to remain hidden for very long.

The Elves liked ritual, custom, order, and tradition—as she knew to her cost. They had long since given up their share in the Greater Magics, but had always welcomed the Wildmages among them, since the Wild Magic was a magic of, when all was said and done, “setting things right.” It worked in small quiet ways, and the Elves liked that, and found it… suitable.

But Kellen’s form of Wild Magic… didn’t operate in small ways, nor in quiet ways. He was a Knight-Mage. As he’d told Belepheriel, his Magery was the Art of War, and that was hardly small and quiet at the best of times. At times like these, when the need was so great, he was a weapon that the Wild Magic would use in ways that were not what the Elves were used to.

And he won’t stop pushing. He can’t. Even if it were in his nature—which it isn’t—I don’t think the Wild Magic will let him. Not until Shadow Mountain is destroyed.

“Ah… I think the water’s boiling,” Kellen said. “Unless you want me to make the tea?”

“Gods forbid,” Idalia said with an absent smile. “I’ve been told your tea is poisonous.”

“So they say,” Kellen said, holding out the pot.

Is that why Redhelwar forbid him to go to the caverns? Because he knew Kellen well enough to know he’d go anyway? And that would give Redhelwar some sort of pretext to leave Belepheriel in command? All he had to do was explain it, and Kellen would have done whatever was needed. Or Redhelwar could have forbidden the Challenge in the first place. But to dismiss a Knight-Mage’s warning…

Idalia poured the water into the pot, swirling it between her hands to mix the water and the leaves. She could not read Redhelwar’s mind, or know what had been in his thoughts. Perhaps it had truly been as simple as him not wishing to risk Kellen’s life. Perhaps tomorrow—if Kellen had stayed—he would have been invested as a commander, supplanting Belepheriel. Perhaps Redhelwar would have had second thoughts.