2 To Light A Candle.13 (106 page)

"They both knew the risks. We all discussed them before we tried it. They both agreed. It was probably more dangerous to Atroist, all things considered."

Considering, Kellen thought, that Cilarnen was a less than half-trained High Mage, it was entirely possible that he could have killed Atroist.

But this was war. And they had both known the risks.

"And it did work." Cilarnen's voice sounded faint, and very hoarse. He sat up with a stifled groan, running his fingers through his hair, and blinked owlishly at Kellen. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked as if he'd just recovered from a high fever. "And I didn't kill anybody."

"No," Idalia said. "And you certainly put on quite a show."

Kellen wondered what it was Cilarnen had done, exactly.

"I don't think I could light a candle right now," Cilarnen said. He felt around himself, obviously searching for something.

"It's over here," Idalia said, indicating the table. "I had one of the Healers— not a Wildmage—bring it, after you dropped it. I didn't know if a Wildmage's handling it would make a difference."

"Neither do I." Cilarnen shrugged. "It's just a tool, but no one but one of the Mages would ever touch one in the City."

Kellen glanced over at the table. Lying on it was a crudely finished length of ash wood.

A Magebom's Wand.

He shifted to spell-sight—it was truly second-nature now—and saw the residue of power eddying through the wood, fading slowly. The more it was used, the more attuned to its owner it would become—or so Mage-theory held.

"You'll want to finish that," he heard himself saying. "Artenel can loan you the tools, and give you the proper grade of silver for the caps. You'll need a belt-case, too."

"Just as if I were a proper Mage," Cilarnen said, a note of bitter humor in his voice. "Now all I lack is a dozen other tools, a library of spellbooks, and a lifetime of training."

" 'It is not meet to harvest the fruit before the seed is planted' " Kellen said, quoting Master Belesharon once more.

"In other words, the future will take care of itself," Idalia said. "And I wouldn't be too surprised to find that some of those things could come into our hands if we need them. Now, Kellen, we'll need your help with this spell— because I want you to be my anchor for the big one. For that, we'll need somebody keeping an eye on things in case… well, just in case. And no one better than a Knight-Mage. So you'll need the practice as well."

Kellen nodded. He wasn't looking forward to any of this—if someone was going to poke a stick into the hornet's nest, he'd much prefer it to be him rather than Idalia. But he had to admit that her logic was sound: a Wildmage would be better at a spell of pure Wildmagery than a Knight-Mage. And a Wildmage raised in Armethalieh would have the best chance of all.

"Lady Idalia, would it be permissible for me to watch?" Cilarnen asked. "Not if it is forbidden, of course," he added quickly.

"On the condition that you stop calling me 'Lady Idalia.' It's just 'Idalia.' And if you think you can walk that far," Idalia said. "Who knows? We might make a Wildmage of you yet," she added with a smile.

"The Eternal Light forfend," Cilarnen replied, but for the first time, it sounded as if he had a bit of a sense of humor about it. He got carefully to his feet and tucked his wand securely inside his tunic.

IT would have been impossible to gather the Wildmages together properly for this work in any of the structures within the camp except the main dining tent, and that would have inconvenienced far too many people, since they would need it for at least two days. So Jermayan and Ancaladar had once again created an ice-pavilion for the work, as they had for Atroist's Calling Spell—only this one was several times larger than that had been.

The ice-pavilion was circular, and glowed with Coldfire—an eerie sight in the dusk. Its polished surface—a faithful, though enormous, replica of a traditional Elven campaigning tent—was already crusted white with new-fallen snow.

Ancaladar was coiled around it. Kellen guessed from Cilarnen's lack of reaction that he'd already seen Ancaladar for the first time earlier today.

"Ah," the dragon said. "The young Mage who makes such lovely colors. Come to see what the Wildmages will do with the fruits of your wisdom?"

"Indeed I have," Cilarnen said. His voice shook only slightly—though with cold, weariness—or astonishment at conversing with a dragon—it was difficult to say. "But I think I can safely promise not to learn anything."

Ancaladar laughed. "Go inside before you freeze. And behold the wonders of Kindolhinadetil's mirror."

The three of them stepped inside. Some of the other Wildmages were already present. Jermayan had crafted a bench that ran all the way around the edge of the pavilion, and Cilarnen moved toward it quickly.

Idalia had seen the mirror before. Kellen hadn't. He stared.

It was a perfect oval as tall as he was, set in a wide standing frame. The frame was of a light-colored fine-grained wood, intricately carved.

But it was hard to say with what. Each time Kellen was certain he had identified an object depicted in the frame and the base—fruit and flower, tree and bird—it seemed to change. Was that a deer? Or a wolf? Or was it a vine?

He gave up.

But then he looked directly at the mirror.

It was made of a single thick pane of flawless rock-crystal backed with El-vensilver, and the reflection it gave back was utterly perfect.

Kellen hadn't had much time for mirrors lately. There'd been none in the Wildwood, and he'd paid little attention to the small ones in the house in Sen-tarshadeen. Since then, well… he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a mirror.

Was this him?

He faced a stranger. A man… and one he wouldn't want to face in battle, either. He towered over Cilarnen—even after several moonturns working in Stonehearth's stables, you'd never mistake Cilarnen for anything but an Armethaliehan Mageborn. Kellen…

They'd call me a High Reaches barbarian trying to pass for an Elf, he thought with an inward grin. Well, if he wanted nothing to do with the City, the City had obviously returned the favor.

He turned away from the mirror.

"It's certainly impressive," he said.

"It will serve our needs," Jermayan said with a dismissive shrug. "The rest of you have had all day to figure out this spell," Kellen said, as more Wildmages began to arrive. "Now you're going to have to explain it to me."

Against All Odds

WELL, AT HEART it seems to be most like a Healing Spell that you stop in the middle," Idalia said. "And no actual Healing takes place. Everyone who uses magic has personal shields—with every gift comes an equal weakness. Wildmages can sense more of the world around them than non-Wildmages—without shields to block that out sometimes, we'd drown in all that information. Or be far more vulnerable to spells cast against us than non-Wildmages. Or just to the random influences of magical Otherfolk, even if they didn't mean to affect us. You don't have that problem as much as we do—"

"But then, I can't cast spells as well," Kellen finished.

"Right," Idalia said, pleased that he understood the matter so easily and seemed willing—so far—to go along with her plans. "A natural balance. So we need to drop those shields, blend our powers… and act as one."

She tried to sound confident and assured. She'd refused to accept Jermayan's betrothal pendant for fear that it would establish a deeper form of just such a link as she was proposing to forge now—allowing him to see into her mind, and perhaps glimpse her unpaid price in its fullness.

But that had been before so many things. His Bond with Ancaladar, for one. The discovery of precisely how much trouble they were all in, for another. She could just hope that with so many minds joined, all focused upon their task, the secret of her unpaid Mageprice would remain unshared.

"Tonight we charge the mirror with our shared energy," Idalia announced formally, once everyone had arrived. Even Kardus was there—though the Cen-taur Wildmage had no innate magic, nor any ability to cast spells, he was as much a Wildmage as any of them. "Making it possibly the largest keystone any of us has ever seen. Tomorrow, in the light—at noon—we will work the spell, and see what we can see of Armethalieh. In addition to his mirror, Kindolhinadetil has sent namanar from Ysterialpoerin's Flower Forest—ghostwood—which we will need for the spell. I have spoken with Redhelwar. Tonight he will speak with the army, and see who will share in the price of the spell."

"Not the Healers," Wirance said. "They may be needed."

"And not all the army," Kellen said. "Even if they all volunteer. We could still be attacked."

"Agreed," Idalia said. "Kellen, you and Redhelwar make the disposition of the units that will not be involved. They'll need to be well away from here when the spell is cast. And now, let's get to work."

NORMALLY the charging of a keystone—even a big one—would have been simple, but for this, they needed a circle of protection as well. Idalia walked around outside the edge of the gathering, drawing a faint line on the snow floor of the pavilion with her walking staff. Then she returned to the center, and threw a handful of herbs on the waiting brazier.

Kellen felt the wall of protection go up around them, and a sudden sense of utter quiet descended upon him.

And more than that.

It was like that night at the battle for the farther cavern, when he had used his battle-sight to see every unit of the army at once. Only now it was the Wild-mages around him that he sensed, and he realized that he could draw upon their power as easily as he could call upon his own.

But right now that was not his task. Kellen relaxed as much as he could, remembering what Idalia had said—that this was like a Healing. He concentrated on not concentrating, on being a vessel of power for another to draw from. He felt the magic shift and flow through him—his own, others'—strange, but not uncomfortable.

And then it was done.

Kindolhinadetil's mirror radiated power like a furnace, the clear crystal sheet of mirror glowing with an inward light to the senses of a Wildmage—or Knight-Mage.

"One more of that will be more than enough for me," Wirance said firmly, as soon as the shields had been dismissed. "Still, it will work."

"And I think it is something we shall do more of in the future," Atroist said, glancing at his fellow Lost Lands Wildmages. "With such strength to draw on, even the most difficult Healing could be made easy."

"To each fox his own hare," Wirance said agreeably.

The assembly began to disperse. Jermayan, Ancaladar, and Idalia would remain here tonight, to ensure that the mirror was not tampered with—for even the most benign of reasons.

Kellen took the opportunity to walk back with Atroist. He wanted to hear how the migration of the Lostlanders into the Wild Lands had gone.

"All came, as Drothi promised," Atroist said. "By the grace of the Good Goddess, it was as if the attention of the Dark Folk was turned elsewhere for that time, for if their creatures had harried us upon the way, we would not now be here. And the Firstlings met us far outside their own borders, with mules and wagons to speed the journey and see us safely through their own lands. Once we are settled in the west, the young men and the rest of the Wildmages will return to honor our bargain and join with the army… though it is not comfortable to hear that the Dark Folk have been seen in the Western Lands as well."

"I did not know it when I asked your aid," Kellen said. "I'm not certain how They manage it."

"Nevertheless, the west is a soft and pleasant land," Atroist said, "much in need of strong backs and hard workers to make it bloom. The Springtide will be a glorious sight."

If any of us lives to see it, Kellen thought.

HIS work that night was far from done, but fortunately the spell of preparing the mirror had taken very little of his energy. He went from the ice-pavilion to Red-helwar's pavilion, where he briefed the Army's General on Idalia's plans, and the part the army would share in the spell.

For a healing, a physical link was needed between the Wildmage and those who shared in the price. Fortunately that wouldn't be necessary in this case—or Vestakia could weave a cartload of blankets out of all the hair that would have to be gathered.

"You say you would wish to withhold certain elements of the army from sharing in the spell-price," Redhelwar said. "It is… unlikely… that any will wish to refuse to pay the price, so it will save time to make our dispositions now."

"The wounded will not participate, of course, nor will the Healers," Kellen said. "I would wish to withhold a third of the army and support troops—in case of attack, and to deal with those matters which cannot be set aside, such as the care of the horses. Those who participate… they could fight if they had to, but they will be exhausted. Losses would be heavy."

"And we have had too many losses already. So."

Redhelwar brought out a thick—and much-amended—scroll listing each unit by name, and they got to work.

WHEN their dispositions had been made, Redhelwar summoned his senior commanders, and Kellen had to explain the entire matter again, albeit in a much shorter version this time. Next, the senior commanders would brief their sub-commanders, who would explain matters to their commands.

Tomorrow at the morning meal, Redhelwar would address the army. When those of his komentaüa who were to share in the price brought him their consent to participate in the Wildmage's spell, they would also bring the consent of every person serving under them. Redhelwar would consent to share the price of the spell, and in doing so, would bring with him the consent of all the others.

If there were an attack, it would deprive the army of its general, which was why Kellen had been careful to exclude two of the senior commanders from the price. But it was the only way: in magical terms, Redhelwar was the army, just as in Sentarshadeen, Andoreniel was the city. Only Redhelwar could properly give consent to participate on behalf of the entire army. Otherwise, the Wildmages themselves, and not proxies, would have to hear consent from each of the soldiers individually—and they'd still be listening a sennight from now!