To Light A Candle

“DON’T wake him, Idalia,” Isinwen begged as she entered Kellen’s pavilion. The Elven Knight was sitting cross-legged beside the sleeping pallet, though he looked as if he ought to be in one himself. The pavilion was warm; obviously Isinwen was here to see that the brazier remained full and lit.

“I have to, Isinwen,” Idalia said gently. “There are things he needs to know, and they cannot wait any longer.”

“Then let me make tea first,” Isinwen said resignedly, lighting the tea brazier.

When the tea was ready, Isinwen left.

No one can make you feel quite as guilty as a loyal servant, Idalia thought with an inward sigh. And Isinwen certainly seemed to have appointed himself to that position. She went over and knelt beside her sleeping brother.

—«♦»—

IDALIA was calling him. But he was so tired… With an effort, Kellen forced himself to consciousness.

The mirror. The spell. The attack.

Idalia knows.

“Cilarnen—” he said, his voice a croak. “Shalkan.”

“Alive,” Idalia said. “They’re all alive. I think he—they—will all be okay. They’re still asleep. But I need you now.”

Kellen tried to sit up. His body wouldn’t obey, and that alarmed him enough to give him the strength to pull himself into a sitting position. Idalia steadied him and put a mug of tea into his hand.

Kellen took a deep breath, clearing his head, and gulped at the tea. It was hot, strong, and horribly sweet— just what he needed.

Exhaustion still dragged at him. But his mind was clearing quickly.

“They attacked us. Here.”

“Yes,” Idalia said. She shook her head in self-disgust. “Something I should have thought of, I suppose. We made a link to Their servant in the City. We expected an attack from the Mages, but…”

“But an opening is an opening, and They could use it just as well,” Kellen finished. “But Their attack didn’t work. Just like at Stonehearth—a Wildmage and a High Mage working together can hurt Them. Kill Them. I think… Idalia, I think that’s what the High Magick was originally for.”

“To help kill Them! It would be nice to think so. But I don’t think knowing that is going to do us a lot of good now.”

Kellen had finished his tea. Idalia refilled his mug, adding several more honey-disks.

“Idalia… I saw what you Saw. But I didn’t understand it. Anigrel… he’s on the Council now?”

“He’s the one Cilarnen was told about in Stonehearth. Lycaelon has adopted him, made him a High Mage, and put him on the Council. He’s the traitor—he has been for years. There’s more—much more—but the main thing is this: he’s changing the Wards of the City so that Their spells can pass through them.”

His body might be exhausted, but Kellen’s mind was fully alert. It was the missing piece of the puzzle he’d searched for for so long.

“Once they can bespell the City, they can take the Wards down entirely and enter it in the flesh. But not… not just for prey. They could have stripped the Lost Land bare any time They liked if that was all they wanted. They want something more. Allies? But They are the ancient enemy of the Mageborn, too. Lycaelon would never…”

“He’ll do what Anigrel tells him to,” Idalia said grimly. “And Anigrel is telling him that Wildmages are the ones out to destroy his precious City—and have been for generations.”

“Xaqiue,” Kellen said. “We’re the Wildmages, so we’re the enemy—us, the Elves, the Allies. Idalia, it all makes sense now. They don’t want to face us in the field.