Mercedes Lackey - To Light A Candle

“Less exciting,” Kellen said, blinking at Idalia’s matter-of-fact summary. If you had asked him two days ago just how likely this was—a High Mage casting a spell on a Wildmage!—he’d have assumed the questioner was mad to even think the idea. “Vestakia says the Crystal Spiders think there’s at least one more cavern to clear, but she’s having trouble finding out just where it is.” He was still trying to wrap his mind about what she’d just told him so blithely. “Idalia, Cilarnen— Atroist—something could have gone wrong,” he finished inadequately.

“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 Mageborn’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 Elvensilver, 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 Sentarshadeen. 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.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

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—”