To Light A Candle

Kellen sighed inwardly. He wondered if he’d ever been anything like Cilarnen. Probably. He refilled his own cup. “I don’t make very good tea. Ask anyone,” he said mildly. He passed Cilarnen the jar of honey-disks and sipped his own tea. It tasted fine to him—strong, but that was just as well. He hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“You say you’re going to help. But you don’t say what you’re going to do. And the only reason you’re going to help is because if those Things destroy Armethalieh, it’ll be bad for the Elves, who are the only ones you really care about,” Cilarnen retorted,belligerently a few moments later.

If Kellen hadn’t had something really important to worry about now, if he hadn’t had the paying of his Mageprice fixed firmly in his mind, he might actually have gotten angry. As it was, he simply stared at Cilarnen in bemusement. Why in the name of anything you cared to call upon was the boy trying to pick a fight with him?

Because Cilarnen was afraid.

The intuition came to him suddenly. He glanced up at Kardus, and saw acknowledgment in the Centaur Wildmage’s dark-eyed gaze. Cilarnen was terrified.

For Armethalieh.

Kellen had been afraid when he’d been Banished, but only of the unknown. From the moment Armethalieh’s gates closed behind him, he’d been looking forward, not back.

But Cilarnen…

Cilarnen missed Armethalieh. The way Idalia would miss Jermayan, he imagined vaguely, or he would miss Shalkan. Cilarnen felt about Armethalieh the way Jermayan and Ancaladar felt about each other.

But a city is wood and stone. It can’t love you back.

He supposed that didn’t matter. The Elves loved Ysterialpoerin, and had fought desperately to save it. He had fought desperately to save it.

Compassion warmed his next words.

“Yes, many of the Elves are my friends. But I’d help anyway, even if Armethalieh’s destruction weren’t a danger to them. If They destroy Armethalieh, Their victory will be bad for more than just the Elves. It will give Them the power to destroy every creature of the Light, every tree, every blade of grass, until there’s nothing left in the world but Them and Their slaves. They tried twice before. The first time was before there were humans, and the Elves fought them alone. The last time was around the time Armethalieh was built. Everyone—Elves, humans, Centaurs, unicorns, dragons, and Otherfolk who don’t exist anymore—all joined together to defeat Them. They thought they’d won forever.

“They were wrong.”

Cilarnen just shook his head. Plainly it was more information than he could handle.

“Kellen will aid Armethalieh, Cilarnen, and so will the Elves, for all the races of the Light depend on one another, like a spider’s web. Cut one strand, then another, and soon there is no web at all. Do you see?” Kardus said, as simply as if he were talking to a small child.

“But the Elves went to ask the City for help,” Cilarnen said, shaking his head. “And we wouldn’t give it. Why should they help now?”

Kardus glanced at Kellen questioningly.

“Well, the Elves weren’t actually asking for help. Andoreniel already knew that the High Mages wouldn’t fight for the Elves—or for anyone outside the City,” Kellen said, trying to keep his explanation simple. “He was only trying to warn the City so they could protect themselves.”

“But they wouldn’t let Hyandur in!” Cilarnen said angrily. “They wouldn’t let him warn them—and he still saved my life! Roiry and Pearl could have been killed outrunning the Scouring Hunt, but he still helped me.”

Kellen wasn’t sure, but from the context, “Roiry” and “Pearl” seemed to be Hyandur’s riding animals. Odd that one of the Mageborn should care about anything like that; young Mages-in-training didn’t have pets or favorite mounts any more than they had girlfriends. They were supposed to focus their entire being on the High Magick to the exclusion of everything else.

“If what the creature you met at Stonehearth told you is true,” Kellen said, still thinking his way slowly through everything Cilarnen had told him, “Hyandur’s being barred from the City may have saved not only your life, but his. He probably wouldn’t have been left alive to deliver his message—depending on the nature of this ‘foothold.’”