"It won't work," Kellen said bluntly.
Redhelwar gazed at him, his brows raised in mild reproof. Kellen knew he'd been rude much more than rude, by Elven standards but he couldn't help it.
"Knight-Mage wisdom?" Redhelwar asked, dropping into War Manners.
"Simple common sense," Kellen answered. "They won't all fit. The pregnant women and the children of the Herdsfolk, the Centaurkin, the Mountainfolk… humans and Centaurs live shorter lives than Elves. I don't know about Centaurs, but humans certainly breed faster. You're talking about not a few dozen children and women, or even a few hundred, but a couple of thousand at the very least, and probably more, scattered throughout the Wild Lands and the High Reaches. If you choose to do this, you can't leave anybody behind. And if you do choose to do this… Redhelwar, it is as good as saying we have already lost. There will be panic. And… how are they to get there? Ancaladar can bring the women of the Nine Cities, I guess, but the others? If they have to come overland, in winter… either the Army will have to protect them and we can't split the Army or they have to come unprotected. Either way, anyone on the ground is a feast for anything They want to throw at them."
The longer he spoke, the more problems crowded into Kellen's mind. Getting word to everyone. Preventing panic. Gathering them for the journey. Protecting them at every stage keeping them from freezing would be the least of everyone's problems; these were children they were talking about.
Kellen shook his head wordlessly. It wouldn't work. It was well-intentioned, but it wouldn't work.
"Surely Andoreniel has thought of this," Redhelwar said, sounding puzzled and weary.
"The message came very fast," Kellen suggested tentatively.
"I will send again," Redhelwar said after a long pause. "This time, the message will go by Unicorn Knight. Meanwhile, of your courtesy, perhaps you will oblige me by thinking of some way to protect the children of our Allies that does not involve feeding them to a pack of Coldwarg."
* * * * *
IF only I could think of one, Kellen reflected sourly, leaving Redhelwar's tent. The problem was the same one it had always been the Demons wouldn't stand and fight. Although of course if they did, they'd probably slaughter the entire Allied Army…
The trouble is, we need all our strength, and our Allies, to have any hope of winning. And why should they stay here in the Elvenlands if the Demons are attacking them at home?
Kellen sighed. The weariness he'd held at bay in Redhelwar's tent had come sneaking back, making it hard to think clearly.
* * * * *
ISINWEN, Kellen's Second, was waiting for Kellen when he got back to his tent, and the look of disapproval on the Elven Knight's face made Kellen wish just for an instant that he'd stayed out in the wind.
"I observe," Isinwen said quietly, "that many would lose heart should we lose you, Kellen."
The oblique rebuke cut more sharply than any outright scold could have. Kellen shook his head, acknowledging the barb, and allowed Isinwen to help him off with his cloak.
"I will not die of a walk around the camp, Isinwen," he said gently, sitting down on a stool to pull off his boots. "I wanted to test my strength. From what I have learned today, I can tell you that we will not have Wildmages to support us for a sennight, perhaps two."
The sudden feeling of a key turning in a lock made him blink.
Yes.
He'd wanted to know that. The army needed to know it. And there was certainly no way to find it out other than taking a stroll himself.
Sometimes he wished the Wild Magic could be well, more obvious about things. But it never was.
"Then… I suppose it is for the best. Providing you do not take a lung-fever and end up in bed for a moonturn," Isinwen said, still sounding faintly exasperated.
Kellen laughed, though there was no real humor in the sound. "I don't have time." He set his sword beside his boots. "It would please me greatly if you would present this information to Ninolion at your convenience."
He yawned; he couldn't help himself.
"Get back into bed," Isinwen said firmly. "I will make known to Ninolion what you have learned, so he may advise Redhelwar. And we shall all hope that their services will not be needed."
Kellen nodded in acknowledgment, pulling off his heavy outer tunic. Weariness pulled at him like heavy chains; he had only a moment to hope that he'd find some more of the answers they needed in sleep before it claimed him.
* * * * *
THE cost of attacking the Wildmages and defending her creature within the Golden City had been high. It had cost Queen Savilla dearly, both in the drain upon her power for when the Wildmages had turned her Darkbolt back upon her, the backlash had depleted her of as much power again as it had cost her to cast it and in the knowledge it had given to her son Zyperis, for it had been he who had found her in her ritual chamber, and he who had nursed her back to strength in secret.
Among the Endarkened, knowledge was power. Now Zyperis had seen her humbled; weakened nearly to death. Now he knew a secret lost for a thousand years: that the magic of Mage-man and Wildmage, working together, could end the eternal lives of the perfect creatures of He Who Is.
Zyperis was ambitious. He was her son, after all. He knew he could never hope to rule the World Without Sun while she lived and the Endarkened lived forever.
He would want to use what he had learned. If not at once, then soon.
And meanwhile, the cursed Light-begotten had almost certainly discovered the existence of her Armethaliehan slave and learned his intentions.
Let them, Savilla thought, regarding her reflected image in the mirror of her Rising chamber. Around her, well-cowed slaves from the World Above scuttled, bringing jewels and perfumes and cosmetics to ornament the Queen of the Endarkened to properly appear before her subjects once more. It is too late for them to use what they have learned. I have won. Anigrel sits upon Armethalieh's High Council. The reins of power are in his hands. Soon the City of a Thousand Bells will be mine to turn against my enemies.
And meanwhile … I shall distract my son and lover as easily as I have distracted my enemies. He is young. Let him think I fear him. For now.
Until it is too late for him as well.
As always upon her Rising, there were the Petitions of the Grooming Chamber to be heard. It did not matter that there was a war to conduct; the petty squabbles of the Endarkened nobles must always have first claim on Savilla's attention, for centuries of rule had taught her that over time quarrels grew into vendettas that spread until they drew everyone into them, on one side or the other. And eventually Savilla would be forced to take a side unless the matter, whatever it was, was settled before it had truly begun to fester, while the grievance was still a matter of a favorite slave or a bottle of spilled perfume.
Fortunately, these days such matters were few, for this was a time of such splendor and abundance as the Endarkened had not seen in centuries. Slaves and prey were available in plenty and Savilla intended to open new hunting grounds very soon, which would distract her restless quarrelsome subjects further.
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