2 To Light A Candle.13 (94 page)

Linyesin laughed. Cilarnen would hardly have been less surprised if the Elf had dismounted from his mare and turned cartwheels in the snow. "Oh, yes, Comild, 'proper food.' Nemermet brought you to join us as fast as he could, and the food the scouts travel on can be less-than-satisfying, but we don't mean to starve you before we reach Ysterialpoerin."

HE would hardly have called it "luxury" a moonturn before, but fresh meat, pancakes, hot cider, and a warm place to sleep—even if it was a tent he shared with three of the Mountainfolk—made Cilarnen feel more confident than he had since he'd left Stonehearth. The Centaurs had been eager to exchange news as they marched, and apparently their new guides—Elven Knights—were freer with information than any of the Elves Comild's party had dealt with up till now. In the few hours Cilarnen had ridden with the army, he and Kardus had learned more about what was going on than they had in all their time riding with Nemermet.

All Nemermet had told them was that their eventual destination was a place called Ysterialpoerin. Now they knew that, weather permitting, they would reach it in two sennights. Three at the most—assuming nothing attacked them along the way.

And attack was possible at any moment, though so far they'd been lucky— another reason Nemermet had hurried them along so swiftly. The Elven Lands were already under assault. Not by the Demons directly—apparently they couldn't come here—but it seemed that they had found a way to slip their creatures past the land-wards. The Centaurs had been warned to be on the watch for a kind of wolf the size of a pony, bats as large as small ships, and (apparently worst of all) things called "Shadowed Elves," which had to be destroyed at all costs. Though nobody said anything directly, Cilarnen got the impression that the Demons meant to destroy the Elves and the Elven Lands first.

These Demons—nobody called them anything but Them—were nothing like the Armethaliehan nursery'tales he'd been terrified by as a child. He managed to figure that out, though nobody wanted to talk about them much. Cilarnen doubted that the Centaurs he'd talked to knew much more than they'd said; and he wasn't quite ready to try questioning any of the Elves.

He suspected that Kardus knew more, but the Centaur Wildmage would not answer any of his questions. "This is neither the time nor the place," was all Kardus would say. "Wait for better."

Remembering the sight of the Demon at Stonehearth, Cilarnen reluctantly decided to take his advice.

THEY were two days away from Ysterialpoerin when the blizzard struck.

The Wildmages traveling with the army had been warning of truly bad weather to come—in a day, perhaps two. Cilarnen knew that Linyesin was hoping that they would at least reach the edge of the forest before it began, so that they would have some shelter and protection from the storm. The Centaurs had rejoiced when the Wildmages told them that weather magic had been done by the Wildmages with the Elven army, pushing back the storm and giving them an extra day's grace.

But then the storm struck without warning, and far too early.

It was an hour or two past noon. Cilarnen was riding beside Kardus near the supply carts when suddenly he heard the horns begin to blow.

"What is it? Are we being attacked?" he demanded in alarm.

"No," Kardus said, puzzled. "It's the signal to make camp."

Suddenly the temperature dropped sharply, and the sky turned black.

Cilarnen looked up, alarmed.

The sky was… boiling.

There was no other way to describe it. He heard a rumble, and a sudden crash of thunder, and saw lightning flash across the sky.

A wall of wind—fierce enough to make Kardus stagger—came howling down out of the north. Oakleaf began to sidle and balk as thunder boomed again and heavy wet flakes of snow began to sheet down out of the now-black sky.

Belatedly, Cilarnen realized what the horns had meant. The promised blizzard had come now. And if they all didn't get under cover they were going to freeze.

He swung down off Oakleaf's back. The mule fussed and balked, but Cilar-nen managed to lead him over to the wagon and tie him fast.

THEY formed the supply carts into a windbreak, and fought to get the shelters up, for without shelter they would freeze, and quickly. But it was useless. The wind was too strong.

It was the Mountainfolk who realized what must be done to save them. They emptied the supply carts, flinging the contents haphazardly into the snow as the Elves struggled to unhitch the mules so that they could be brought to shelter. So great was the force of the wind that the wagons' contents blew everywhere. Already snow was mounded against the windward side of the wagons, and no one could see more than a few feet in any direction.

Every coil of rope they found, the Mountainfolk passed to the Centaurs, who used it to link themselves together, so that none would be lost in the blinding snow.

Cilarnen found himself unceremoniously lifted—he didn't see by whom— and tossed into one of the now-empty carts. He landed hard, and immediately tried to scramble back out again.

"Stop that, boy. Do you want to freeze? I've never seen a storm come up this fast—not even a Called one," an unfamiliar voice said out of the darkness. It was one of the Mountainfolk. Others crowded in quickly, and then pulled the tarp closed over the end of the wagon.

"But, Kardus—" Cilarnen said. The wagon shuddered with the force of the wind.

"Your Centaur-friend is warm and safe in the middle of the herd," the stranger said. "Which is more than you or I would be out there just now; they're hardy folk. Have patience. The worst of this should blow itself out in a day or two and we can be on our way. And then, I admit, I'd like to have a word or two with whoever Called this blizzard."

"Called?" Cilarnen said blankly.

"Of course," the stranger said calmly. "You don't think this came naturally, do you? This weather was supposed to come tomorrow, or the day after—and not a storm this hard, either. A Wildmage called this up, and I'd like to know why."

As the wind howled around them, and Cilarnen buried his head under the shelter of his cold arms, he decided that he wanted to know why, too.

Very badly indeed…

"I need to get back," Kellen mumbled aloud. He was exhausted from the healing but he thought he might as well rest back at the cavern as here. Where he was supposed to be right now anyway.

"You're exhausted," Shalkan told him, not unkindly, as Kellen sat at the front of the unicorn's tent, wrapped in blankets and drinking a cup of soup someone had brought him. "You're not thinking clearly. If you insist on going tonight, wait for Ancaladar to get back. A horse won't be able to make it even as far as the main camp in this weather—and don't make eyes at me. Even if I were willing to take you—and I'm needed here—you'd freeze by the time I could get you there."

He knew Shalkan was right—the snow was coming down even heavier than before, if that was possible, and in full darkness, even a unicorn might get lost. And getting back to the cavern camp wasn't really an emergency.

"Why is it snowing?" Kellen finally thought to ask. "The weather wasn't supposed to turn so soon."

"The Shadowed Elves tried to burn the forest. Jermayan is pretty sure they used the ever-burning metal you stopped them from using before. He had to bring the storm to stop the fires from spreading. Kindolhinadetil's foresters are out looking for the pieces now. Perhaps they will be able to save the individual trees that were set afire. But whether they can or not, the forest itself is safe."

"I should go and help," Kellen said groggily, trying to get to his feet.

"You should stay where you are, and drink your soup," Shalkan said firmly, lowering his horn meaningfully. "I will wake you when Ancaladar returns."

Kellen had no intention of falling asleep—especially here. Not when there was so much to do. But Shalkan was right. He needed a little more strength, and he could get that from the soup. It wouldn't hurt anything or anyone just to sit there until he finished it.

SHALKAN woke him a few hours later. "Come on," he said, prodding Kellen with his horn; it was the prod of the horn, rather than Shalkan's voice, that stirred him out of an unrestful sleep.

Kellen was glad to be awakened. He was as groggy as if he hadn't slept at all. His dreams had been unsettled, filled with shadowy menace and battles. He'd woken with the same feeling he had all-too-frequently these days: that time was running out; that while they spent their energy on inessentials, Shadow Mountain was winning the larger war.

He got unsteadily to his feet and staggered after Shalkan into the thigh-high snow, pulling his heavy cloak tightly about him. The snow was still falling heavily and steadily; there was a narrow trench where others had walked, but even that was filling quickly, and the snow showed no sign at all of stopping. If the wind kept up like this, they'd have snow dunes up to a dragon's eye before long.

Ancaladar and Jermayan were waiting for Kellen in the same clearing as before. Balls of Coldfire hung in the trees, illuminating the blowing snow and very little else.

"The forest is secure," Jermayan said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the wind. "The foresters have found every ring of the Shadowed Elf metal."

"Good," Shalkan said, shaking to rid himself of the snow that clung to his fur. "And Kellen has done what he came here to do. So you may take him back to the caverns—as he insists."

The cold had woken him thoroughly at last, which was a mixed blessing. Kellen clambered up onto Ancaladar's back, slipping on the dragon's ice-covered side. He wondered if Ancaladar even noticed the cold. He wished he didn't.

Jermayan seated himself in the forward saddle with a great deal more grace, and pulled the riding straps tight. But they didn't take off at once. Instead, Ancaladar trotted quickly through the trees, to Kellen's initial puzzlement. At last he figured out the reason.

Of course. He can't just jump into the air. He may be able to land straight down, but in this wind, he needs more room than there is here to get into the sky. Kellen made sure his own riding straps were tight. Having experienced several of Ancaladar's takeoffs, he had no desire to fall off, especially in this weather and at night.

Soon they reached an area where there were fewer trees, and Ancaladar spread his wings, springing into the wind. The force of the storm spun him like a kite, and he used its power to pull him into the sky, rising in a tight swooping spiral. It seemed to snow harder the higher they went, until suddenly the snow was gone, and darkness was replaced by light: the brilliance of the moon and the stars. Beneath them, the clouds looked like the snow-covered landscape.

"We have paid a heavy price for victory this day," Jermayan said quietly, as Ancaladar leveled off.

Petariel. Gesade. So many of those Kellen had ridden with, fought beside, dead or terribly wounded in these last battles. And how long until Idalia, Ves-takia, Jermayan and Ancaladar, were added to the list? Everyone he knew, everyone he loved…

"Yes," Kellen said, tightly. The last thing Jermayan needed was a display of emotion when he himself must be feeling worse than Kellen. He must have known his friends and fellow Knights for—a century, at least! These were Elves who should have been spending the next several centuries contemplating their gardens, practicing their arts, making beautiful things, and perfecting themselves. And now—now they were gone.

"We must take what comfort we can in having won," Jermayan said somberly. "For the consequences of defeat are too great to bear."

But are we winning, Jermayan? Kellen looked at his friend's back, heard the weariness and near-despair in his voice, and did not ask his question aloud.

THE following day, Kellen, Vestakia, and Keirasti met with Adaerion to discuss the best way of ridding the caverns of duergar. By now both their units had been brought up to full strength again, as Redhelwar reconfigured the hard-hit skirmishing units, and formed new ones.

The blizzard still hammered the land. The pavilions of the cavern camp were all half-buried in snow, and ropes had been strung between them to allow people to find their way between them. Without that, there was every chance of becoming lost, even in the few feet that separated one pavilion and the next.

"Kindolhinadetil has opened the archives at Ysterialpoerin to Redhelwar, so we now know something more than we did of the habits of duergar. They are not accustomed to luring many victims at one time, so if you approach them in force, at least some of you should be safe from their call, and able to attack them while the others are held in thrall," Adaerion said.

"But our light will drive them into hiding, as it did the last time we entered the caverns," Keirasti said.

"You will not have light," Adaerion said. "The Wildmages have worked upon this problem since we understood we would have to hunt duergar. They have crafted Darksight hoods—enough for both your troops. They will not render you invisible as tarnkappa would, for we now know that would be useless, but you will be able to see your prey and approach him in darkness. And Artenel's artificers have made you spears and nets, which will be of more use against these creatures than your swords."

"So we can hunt them," Keirasti said with grim satisfaction. "But it would be pleasant indeed to hear how we will find them."

"The Crystal Spiders will tell us," Kellen said. "They're as eager as we are to free their home of what they call Dark Ones. They said they would give us aid. If we go into the caverns—past the village cavern—I think they'll come out and speak with us."

"All that remains is getting there," Keirasti said. She glanced at the doorway of Adaerion's pavilion and winced faintly as the wind shook the fabric vigorously.

"We might as well move into the caverns until we've cleared them," Kellen said reluctantly, although the last thing he wanted to do was to move underground. "The big chamber near the entrance would do for a base camp. If we light up enough of the caverns—I can cast Coldfire on the walls, or Jermayan or one of the other Wildmages can—we'll be safe from the duergar. And we won't have to keep coming back and forth through the snow." The camp was a mile away from the cavern mouth—close enough in ordinary winter weather, but not something he wanted to ride through twice a day in a storm. And it would be warmer underground as well; so much of their energy was being wasted in keeping warm that everyone was exhausted.