To Light A Candle

Oh. Oh. Now that he’d had it translated for him, Kellen felt angry as well. Sorvare had as good as called Vestakia a traitor, saying she’d probably lead the rest of them into a Demon-trap.

“There is going to be a rescue party,” Kellen said, cutting off Dargainon as he began to speak. “And you might as well resign yourselves to the fact that it is going whether or not you like it; debate all you want in our absence, but we are going, and going now. I am not going to leave the children in Enemy hands for a single moment longer than it takes to reach them. Idalia, Jermayan, Shalkan, Vestakia, and I have already agreed. You can send anyone else you like, but it leaves at first light tomorrow morning, and anyone who goes had better be able to keep up.”

“I would say that you handed some of the Counselors a rather stinging rebuke,” Idalia said, sounding surprisingly calm, as the three of them walked back toward the house a little while later. “I think you shocked them.”

“How could he say something like that about Vestakia?” Kellen burst out.

“It’s all right,” Vestakia said. “I do know what I look like, Kellen.”

“It’s the Council’s business to be cautious,” Idalia added. “Not just to agree with everything Andoreniel and Ashaniel want to do.”

“But not to be idiots,” Kellen countered angrily. “For the Light’s sake, Idalia, the Enemy has the children! And one of them is Sandalon! How could they stand there and even think about debating when every moment that passes could mean—”

“Well, you won,” Idalia said, “and I don’t think half the Council will ever get over the shock.” Now she smiled, though grimly. “That’s the price of having Wildmages around, and I think that they’d forgotten that. Now, Vestakia and I both have a lot of packing to do before morning—and shouldn’t you get over to the House of Sword and Shield and see what knights you want to take with you for tomorrow?”

“Me?” Kellen said, stopping and staring at her in confusion.

“You,” Idalia said, giving him a little push in the right direction. “You’re the only Knight-Mage we’ve got—and unless I’m very much mistaken, you’ve just appointed yourself the leader of this rescue party.”

—«♦»—

THE cellar was damp and cold, located at the edge of the Low Quarter of Armethalieh. It was, however, well lit. Balls of Mage-light hovered near the ceiling, illuminating every corner with a spectral azure glow.

Before he’d become an Entered Apprentice, Cilarnen would not have been able to imagine that such a place could exist. That he had come to enter it at all, however, had little to do with that, and much to do with his new friend, Master Raellan.

In Master Raellan, Cilarnen had found an ally and confidant who did much to fill the aching void left by his father’s continuing displeasure. Master Raellan shared Cilarnen’s love for the City—and more, his fear that all was not as it should be.

Now that his eyes had been opened, Cilarnen could see the signs. Oh, not everywhere. There was no change in the lives of the Mageborn. But among the people they served, there were subtle indications everywhere he looked. Not of unrest, of course. But of confusion. All was not as it had always been in the Golden City, and the change was not for the better.

Despite the best efforts of the Provenders Councils, prices were rising, and wages were not rising to match. Some foodstuffs had simply disappeared from the regular markets. And all because the High Council—pushed by Lord Volpiril— had removed Armethaliehan protection from the Home Farms. So far as Cilarnen knew, there was not actual hunger in the City yet, but the day was not far off when there would be. The sellers of small luxuries that did not happen to be edible were looking anxious; when bread cost twice what it had in the summer, people had to stop buying other things to afford it.

Something must be done. And if the High Council would not—or could not—set things right, then the Mageborn themselves must act. For the good of the City.

It was a terrifying thought, one that would have paralyzed him completely without Master Raellan’s support. But Master Raellan seemed to know his thoughts almost before he voiced them. It was Master Raellan who assured him that many of the High Council felt just as he did. They merely needed to be brought to see that it was safe—in fact, vital—that they speak openly. Someone had to be brave enough to make the first move, to begin saying aloud what others only thought. Someone young, but known for his good sense and devotion to the City and his duty. Someone charismatic enough to lead.

Someone like Cilarnen…

Thus supported, Cilarnen began making cautious overtures among his fellow Entered Apprentices, to see which—if any of them—might have the wit and the stomach to do more than grumble around a table in the Golden Bells.

Gillain he dismissed at once. The young lord was far too reckless, and could not keep his mouth shut to save