1 The Outstretched Shadow.3 (88 page)

 Kellen found himself profoundly stirred by this tale. Only scouts! Yet they had done what needed to be done, against far longer odds than those he and Jermayan faced, against the Endarkened in all their strength, not the weakened creatures hiding in Shadow Mountain. If they could do it…

 "No one knows what happened there, though there are many ballads of their bravery. I believe that when the Endarkened saw The Seven could not be easily brushed aside, they tried to tempt The Seven to join their own forces, for that is ever the way of Demons."

 Suddenly Kellen could picture it in his mind, the vast host behind the leaders, the Endarkened leaders offering—what? It would have had to be more than just their lives. It would have to be everything all of them had ever wanted: love, power, riches, fame, everything…

 "But that, too, will have failed," Jermayan said, his voice filled with awe, "and then, surely, the wrath of the Endarkened commander must have been overweening. Yet The Seven held Vel-al-Amion, and the Endarkened army could not advance through it while their way was barred."

 "But how?" Kellen asked wonderingly. "If they were just scouts, how could they have held?"

 "There is much we will never know," Jermayan admitted simply. "It was a miracle, and The Seven gave their lives in payment to the Gods that had answered their prayers for that miracle. What is certain is that reinforcements arrived in time to catch the Endarkened army while it was bottled up in the pass. 'Then blew the silver horns of the army of Cirandeiron Istemion, then roared the mighty drums of King Damek; brazen and argent marched the human and Elven armies across the bridge of their hallowed dead to engage the foe…' or so the bards would have it. The Allied armies hurt the enemy badly enough to force them to retreat, and the War went on. The bodies of The Seven were never recovered. Yet if they had not held the pass long enough for the Allies to get there…" Jermayan shrugged eloquently, and said nothing more.

 But Kellen thought about that story long and hard as they rode, and he wondered—if it had been him, would he have had the courage to stand?

 THEY made an early camp, unwilling to push the tired animals any farther over such difficult terrain. There was no possibility of finding any place that was sheltered, but at least they'd found someplace flat, a stony hilltop with a spectacular view of the barren sweep of parched hills and the mountains beyond. If they could not be comfortable, Kellen consoled himself, at least no one could possibly sneak up on them.

 Not for the first time today, Kellen wondered if they'd overshot the mark or taken a wrong turn. He soothed his apprehension with the promise that he'd do a Finding Spell in the morning before they set off. That would quickly set them on the right path again. True, Idalia had warned him against that sort of thing except in a dire emergency, but—

 —but by now their presence here in the Lost Lands couldn't be a secret anymore.

 He'd done pretty major Healing Magic on Jermayan, and even though he'd done it within the protection of his circle, some of the power had to have leaked out. And he knew, deep down inside, that at least one of the attacks on them had come from the hands, if not of the Endarkened themselves, at least from their creatures. And since they'd be moving immediately, it wouldn't draw the enemy to their position.

 But the moment he made the decision, doubt set in. What price would the Finding Spell exact? What if paying it ran counter to his current mission? What if it was something he couldn't—or didn't want to—do?

 What if it was the first in the series of mistakes that would set him on the path to becoming a Darkmage? What if it conflicted with the price he had yet to pay for Jermayan's healing? Every time he thought of doing magic, things just got more complicated! No wonder the ancient Mages had come up with High Magick, which—

 Which has its own prices, and is paid for with stolen energy.

 So that wasn't an answer, either.

 He performed his part of the chores of setting up camp in a haze compounded of equal parts of exhaustion and preoccupation. Jermayan helped him dig out and collect several melon-sized stones to build a fire-ring, both to protect their fire and to conserve its heat.

 "No practice tonight, I think. We're both tired. And I think you'll know what to do when the time comes."

 The Elven-Knight's words were an unintentional echo of the message Kellen had received from the Wild Magic during the last spell he'd cast, the message he still didn't understand. Remembering that unfulfilled obligation only worried him more. What would the true cost of Jermayan's healing end up being? Would it turn out in the end to have been better for Sentarshadeen if Kellen had let Jermayan die? But how could he ever have faced them—Idalia—Shalkan—himself—if he had?

 "Ah—all right, if you think that's best," Kellen muttered. "I think I'm going to take a look around. Stretch my legs while there's still light."

 "Be careful," Jermayan warned, but Kellen could tell from his tone that the Elven Knight wasn't really worried. Nothing could approach them unseen up here.

 Kellen changed out of his armor into the spare set of clothes and boots he'd brought. Wrapping his cloak tightly around him and belting on his sword—an act that seemed like second nature to him by now—he walked off.

 He didn't plan to go far—not even out of sight of the camp—but he'd been telling the truth about wanting to stretch his legs. Spending a day on horseback—or on unicorn-back—was still a kind of sitting, and not the restful kind, either. His legs ached with something that was not quite a cramp, and felt restless, as if they would twitch nervously if he didn't given them the exercise they craved. Strange, how you could be so tired and yet parts of you still needed more activity to settle down…

 The hilltop was covered with the same sort of dry scanty grass that they'd seen elsewhere; both Valdien and the mule were grazing meditatively. In places the granite beneath showed through, and if that weren't enough, there were occasional horse-sized (and larger) boulders strewn about, as if someone had been using the hilltop for a target a long time ago.

 Considering what Jermayan had told him about what sort of thing had gone on around here, maybe someone had. This would be a natural place to make a stand.

 He was keeping one eye on the camp, intending to walk a wide circle around it, when he saw the stele.

 At first he thought it was just another boulder, albeit a tall and narrow one. Perhaps snow and rain had sheered part of it away, giving it that tall and narrow shape.

 But no. When he got closer, he realized that it had been carved into that shape deliberately, and centuries of wind and weather had softened its shape until it looked like one of the natural boulders.

 He came closer. There was writing on it—at least, he thought it must be writing, though the even rows of symbols were wholly unfamiliar.

 There was one thing about the stele that was all-too understandable, however, though seeing it came as a complete and utter shock. Carved near the bottom was the glowering, horned, and fanged countenance of a Demon.

 "Jermayan!"

 Kellen's shout brought the Elven Knight at a run, sword drawn, with Shalkan close behind. Kellen pointed; he was very proud when his hand didn't shake.

 Too much.

 "Ah." The confusion and alarm eased from Jermayan's face. He peered at the inscription on the stone. "It is a marker, commemorating a great battle fought here, of an Allied triumph over the Demons."

 Kellen stared around. Suddenly the empty hilltop seemed somehow populated, as if the armies that had once engaged here had not left.

 Maybe they haven't. If any place should be haunted, it ought to be a place like this one.

 "Of course, in those days this place had a different aspect," Jermayan reminded him, as if guessing the direction of Kellen's thoughts. "But come.

 We will eat, and consider what route we may take on the morrow."

 Jermayan turned and walked away. Kellen gazed after him. Jermayan seemed awfully calm about standing in the middle of an ancient battlefield, a place where Demons had actually set foot. He glanced at Shalkan, but for once the unicorn's expression was unreadable.

 Grand. Making camp among the ghosts. I hope at least some of them are friendly.

 "I guess we'd better go back," Kellen muttered. He cast a last look at the stele, and followed Jermayan.

 Though there was not to be a sparring match that evening, that didn't save Kellen from a long lecture on the theory of combat, which was, in its way, just as helpful as actual physical practice. There was more to battle than hitting the enemy with a sword, he was coming to discover, just as there was more to magic than casting the most powerful spell you could manage. Just as knowing what spell would produce the best result with the least expenditure of personal power was important for a Wildmage, so, for a Knight (or a Knight-Mage), was being able to make your foe do what you wanted—flee or die—with the least risk to yourself and your allies.

 "Glory and honor are important," Jermayan said sternly, "but they are not the most important things in the life of a knight. He must always keep his ultimate goal in his mind, and be prepared to sacrifice all other things to that goal. Perhaps even his honor, should such a choice be forced upon him."

 Kellen nodded, but he knew his own choices weren't so simple. A Wildmage's personal honor involved always paying the price of his magic, no matter what that price might be. And to refuse to pay that price, as he had learned from Jermayan, would lead a Wildmage down the path of corruption, and into the service of the Demons of Shadow Mountain.

 Kellen had the horrible suspicion that what that meant was that eventually a Wildmage would inevitably be called upon to betray one loyalty for another, and he didn't like that thought very much at all. Betray a friend who trusted you for the greater good? Betray a trust to keep a greater one? Betray a secret to save another? But try as he might, he couldn't see any way around it… if the need to do so ever came up.

 Maybe it wouldn't.

 He hoped it wouldn't.

 How could he do that and ever feel clean again?

 But the unpaid price of Jermayan's healing hung over his head, like a sharp sword suspended by the thinnest of threads, and all Kellen could do was worry about a potential disaster he could see no way to avert.

 How did Idalia live with this sort of thing hanging over her all the time? How did other Knight-Mages?

 How would he? Or would trying to resolve all the conflicts someday drive him mad?

 Eventually their small fire burned low, and it was time for sleep. Despite the whirl of worries and fears chasing each other around and around inside his head, when Kellen laid himself down, weariness had its own way with him.

 Will-he, will-he, he slept.

Visions of the past

 HE WAS AWAKENED by the ring of swords against armor. Kellen threw himself out of his bedroll, staring around himself wildly. Beside the fire, Valdien and Jermayan still slept, undisturbed. Even Shalkan dozed unconcernedly.

 "Kellen! They're breaking through!"

 Someone was shouting his name. But even as Kellen looked in the direction of the call, he realized it was not him they were summoning. Or at least not the Kellen of here-and-now.

 He saw with the strange doubling of Othersight, but instead of single objects, or a simple overlay of lines and symbols, as it usually was, this time it was as if he saw into a whole other world. All around him an army was gathered, beautiful and terrifying, and as in a dream, somehow the moment he saw a thing, he understood everything about it, as if he were seeing it and reading about it in a book at the same time. Part of him knew he hadn't moved at all, that he still lay asleep in his blankets, and did not stand upon the hillside, gazing into the sun.

 There was a booming sound in the sky, as loud as a sudden crack of thunder, and when Kellen looked up, he saw that one of the dragons had launched itself into the sky.

 Dragons?

 He'd wanted to see a dragon. Now he had that wish.

 It bore as much resemblance to the lizards of the forest as Shalkan did to a horse, and as little. Long sinuous neck, tail twice the length of its body, ending in a broad flat barb to help it to steer in the currents of the upper air.

 As he watched, its spread wings caught and held the light, glowing like colored glass, for somehow Kellen was aware that even though it was still night where his body truly was, what he was seeing was taking place in the day. The plates of its underbelly—all he could see at this angle, as it caught an updraft and began circling higher—glowed like burnished metal.

 And on its back rode the other-Kellen, the one to whom the summons had gone.

 All around him the tide of battle surged. Though a part of his mind knew that this was dream or vision, nothing that could touch him now, it was so real that it was easy to forget and be swept up in the urgency that surrounded him, the screams and cries of embattled men and creatures.

 All thought of Reality faded away as he looked around himself for familiar forms—for humans, Elves, unicorns—and saw none. To his left, a phalanx of towering figures in faceless red armor, twice as tall as a man, waded slowly into battle, swinging thick black clubs slowly before them and chanting rhythmically in deep rumbling voices. On his right, he heard a rumble of hooves, and turned to see a horde of bizarre cavalry rush forward, overtaking the giants. The animals were ponylike, but squatter and stockier, with cloven hooves, yellow eyes, and hairless skin and tails. They snapped and squealed at one another as they ran, like pigs or rats.