Mercedes Lackey - To Light A Candle

He gathered them together in a corner of the dining tent. Of the original thirty he had been given to command, there were less than a dozen left. The others were all new to him, added to his command since the battle of the farther cavern.

Briefly he explained to them what was to be done tomorrow, and the part they would be asked to play.

“And now I must ask: is there anyone here who will share in the price of the spell?”

The Elves exchanged glances.

“Foolish human,” Ambanire—one of the new recruits—said. “We all will, of course.”

The others nodded.

“Kellen, you know you don’t have to ask,” Isinwen said.

“No, actually,” Kellen said. “I do. Trust me, that’s the way Wild Magic works. There is no such thing as implied consent. Isinwen, tomorrow you have command. I’ll be busy. Afterward, you’ll all be very… tired. I don’t know more than that. So I suggest you all get a good night’s sleep.”

—«♦»—

THERE was someone in his tent.

Kellen didn’t need the footprints outside in the fresh snow to tell him so. He knew . And it didn’t take a Knight-Mage’s Gift to tell him who it was: even here in a war camp, the threshold of one’s own dwelling was sacrosanct. No Elf would cross it without permission, even if its owner were not present. But a human— especially a young human entirely untutored in the courtesy that came so naturally to the Elves—

“What do you want, Cilarnen?” he said, stepping into the tent.

Cilarnen had left it dark; Kellen lit the lamps.

Cilarnen was sitting on the low stool that was the tent’s only seating—probably to keep himself awake, for he had been half-dozing when Kellen arrived, and sat up with a jolt. Kellen could smell a faint unfamiliar medicinal smell in the air. Idalia’s cordial? Well, exhaustion and strain could bring on a headache as well.

“I… I wanted to talk to you. Before tomorrow. Alone.”

Kellen didn’t want to talk. He wanted to sleep. But it must be something important—at least in Cilarnen’s mind—to bring him here when he was obviously so desperately tired.

“You’re here, it isn’t tomorrow, and we’re alone—as much as that’s possible,” Kellen said. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Cilarnen wanted to see him about, but after all that Cilarnen had done to help make tomorrow’s spell a success, he owed Cilarnen a hearing, no matter how much he’d rather be sleeping.

“Tomorrow… I want to be with the rest of you. With the Wildmages.”

Kellen could not have been more stunned if Cilarnen had announced he suddenly wanted to become a Wildmage.

“In the Circle? Inside the Shields? With us?”

Cilarnen nodded.

“Why?” Kellen asked bluntly.

“Kellen, you said I was the smartest student at the Mage-College. I don’t know if you were right or not, but I’ve been thinking, ever since, well, I finally saw you again. These Things —they’re smart, too, aren’t they?”

“As smart as we are,” Kellen said grimly. “Maybe smarter.”

“But the one in Stonehearth mistook me for you. And we look nothing alike, you know,” Cilarnen said seriously. “So they’re either stupid—or there’s some reason for them to confuse the two of us. If you think like Them . Or see like Them .”

Kellen waited. Cilarnen’s reasoning made sense so far, though he didn’t like where it was going.

“So—a reason. But I can’t figure out what it is. I can’t think like a… That . I can’t even think like one of you . But Vestakia and Kardus both say I’m not Tainted with Dark Magery—Vestakia said she’d know, and that if she didn’t, Shalkan would.”

“That’s true,” Kellen said. “Whatever else we have to worry about, we don’t have to worry about that .”

Cilarnen smiled, though it clearly took an effort to do so.

“I think I’d rather die than be anything like the thing I saw at Stonehearth. It killed and it killed, and it… laughed. But you see, Kellen… maybe I’m supposed to be there tomorrow. Because you’ll be there tomorrow. Maybe It saw something nobody else has seen—but not something bad. Maybe something it was afraid of. Something that could help.”

It was possible, Kellen decided. All they really knew about Demons was that they were evil, terribly powerful, immortal, could assume any shape, and fueled their magic through the blood and pain of others. It was not impossible—in fact, it was highly likely—that they could sense things non-Demons couldn’t. And he couldn’t think like a Demon any more than Cilarnen could.

Oh, he could guess at their tactics. Imagine their strategy—some of the time. But truly think like one? No creature of the Light could manage that.

“Maybe you’re right,” Kellen said slowly. “Maybe your being there could help. Or maybe it will kill you.”

Cilarnen looked directly at him, startled. This was obviously not what he’d expected to hear.

“Yes, I mean to scare you,” Kellen said. “I want you to know exactly what you’re asking for. This will be the most powerful spell any of us has ever attempted. A spell of the Wild Magic. You’ll be right in the middle of it. We don’t control the Wild Magic, not entirely; it works through us in its own way, though always for the Good. We’re its tools, not the other way around. You might find yourself linked to several dozen Wildmages. If just being around us makes you uncomfortable, think what that would do. Think hard.”

Kellen watched as Cilarnen pictured in his mind what Kellen had suggested. He could tell the boy was imagining something intolerably painful.

“I still want—I need—to be there. I’ve brought the message. My work—

Kardus’s Task—they’re done. The Elves will take Tinsin back to Stonehearth. And Anganil will find another rider… if the Light forsakes me,” Cilarnen said slowly. And if smiling had cost him an effort, there was no doubt in Kellen’s mind that those words cost him every bit of courage and will that he had.

“Leaf and Star send that it doesn’t,” Kellen said. “Now go to bed. Here. It’s too late and too cold for you to walk all the way back to the Centaur camp now—you’d probably fall asleep in the first snowdrift you found. Take the pallet. I’ve slept rougher than this before.”

He opened his clothes chest and began pulling out his extra blankets and spare cloak. They’d make an adequate bed for the night, and his coldwarg-fur-lined cloak was warm enough to serve as a sleeping pallet in its own right.

“But—” Cilarnen began.

“No arguments. I’m saving all of mine for Idalia tomorrow,” Kellen said.

Cilarnen was quickly asleep. Kellen lay awake a few moments longer, wondering if he were doing the right thing, then decided there was no point in worrying about it.

He slept.

—«♦»—

THE funerals for the High Mages Perizel and Arance eclipsed in splendor even that of High Mage Vilmos two moonturns earlier, though they were held much more privately, in the Chapel of the Light at the Mage-College. At least Vilmos had died with dignity and honor—giving his all for the good of the City in a Great Working.

Perizel and Arance had been murdered.

It was impossible that the Commons should learn of it, of course—but every Mageborn in the Mage Quarter knew almost before the Magewardens had arrived at the houses of the deceased.

—«♦»—

“THEY were poisoned, Lord Arch-Mage,” Anigrel said, entering Lycaelon’s office as Dawn Bells sounded its single lonely carillon. “We know how, but not by whom. My agents are questioning the servants—and the families.”

“It seems that you were right, my son,” Lycaelon said heavily, motioning for Anigrel to seat himself. “This monstrous conspiracy of Wildmages strikes at our very marrow. But how could they be poisoned?”