To Light A Candle

“It’s just another tax—Light knows there are taxes enough,” Cilarnen said, shrugging dismissively. “If they didn’t want to pay this one, they’d have to leave, I suppose, because there’s no way to live in the City without getting the benefit of the spells and it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else to let them stay. A season mucking out stalls in one of the Delfier villages—like I did in Stonehearth—might convince them they’d rather pay the tax. Or they might like to farm, and not pay it. But either way, they’d know what was being taken, and whether or not they were willing to pay it. It’s not right to take it without telling them.”

Kellen let out his breath in a long sigh. The right answer indeed—and a number of ideas that would have the entire High Council in spinning fits if it ever heard them.

“There may be a solution to your problem of a power source. But we’ll need to solve Idalia’s first,” Kellen said.

They’d reached the tent—and just in time. The snow, which had been falling in a thin powdery dust, began to thicken, and Kellen felt the sting of sleet.

“Sleep well,” he said, and turned away.

—«♦»—

KELLEN and his troop spent the following day with Vestakia at the further cavern as she attempted to communicate with the Crystal Spiders.

It was frustrating work—not because the gentle otherworldly creatures weren’t willing to help, but because they were. Vestakia’s mind was flooded with images and information she found it impossible to interpret.

“I think,” she said, sitting up in the midst of a ring of softly glowing Spiders, “that they do sense their kindred in other caverns. And I think there is at least one more cavern of Shadowed Elves—if I am understanding anything they tell me! But, Kellen—if they never leave their caverns, how can they tell me where the cavern is?”

Kellen shook his head. There had to be a solution to that riddle, if they could only find it. “At least we know we need to keep looking.”

“Maybe there’s something, well, distinctive enough that someone could recognize it if I could describe it,” Vestakia said. “But I’m getting a proper headache seeing the world through eight eyes instead of two!”

“Then you need to stop. Tell them you’ll come back and talk with them again.” Maps. We need maps showing where all the caves beneath the Elven Lands are. Too bad there aren’t any.

Vestakia sighed and lay back down. The Crystal Spiders moved over her in a softly-glowing wave, and then retreated once she had spoken to them, moving quickly into the far depths of the cave. She rolled to her knees. Kellen turned away, and Isinwen moved forward to help her to her feet.

He mustn’t think about her. Mustn’t care if she was cold, or tired… because if he did, he’d never be able to stop. And he’d never stop with just thinking.

—«♦»—

“I know what you’re going to ask.”

Jermayan waited.

The remains of Ancaladar’s breakfast—Vestakia had brought the bullock up before she’d left for the cavern —was nothing more than a few smears of blood upon the snow; the dragon was a tidy eater. Keeping him fed had not precisely been a strain on the army’s resources, but it had required careful planning. Still, a promise was a promise: Ancaladar had not had to hunt for himself since he had accepted Jermayan’s Bond.

Last night, after the Wildmages’ conclave, Jermayan had come here, to the place he and Ancaladar often shared. It was an ice-pavilion, similar to others he had built, but large enough to hold Ancaladar comfortably and shelter the dragon from the wind and the snow. There was even stabling for Valdien, for Ancaladar’s “pavilion” was a certain distance from the camp, almost at the edge of the forest, to discourage idle sightseers.

Jermayan had explained everything that had taken place. Perhaps it was only an act of courtesy—Jermayan was still not entirely certain how much of his thoughts the dragon shared—but he found that talking matters over with his friend helped to clear his own mind.

He had asked for nothing.

“Ask, then.” The dragon was coiled half-out of his pavilion, his sinuous neck curved about so that his jaw rested on the snow just before his foreclaws.

Jermayan swung down from Valdien’s saddle and walked forward.