It was all very confusing.
There's so much to learn! How am I ever going to even live long enough to leam it all?
KELLEN tried very hard to stop himself thinking about Armethalieh, but somehow he couldn't seem to. It had been easy while he was living out in the woods with only Idalia for human company, since everything was utterly different from life in the City, but Merryvale was just enough like Armethalieh that it reminded him of the place that had once been home, while at the same time being so very different that it stood in the most extreme contrast. Here, Master Eliron's servants and apprentices sat at the same table as the Master and his guests—or, in the case of the Centaurs, stood—and were treated as members of an extended family. To accommodate the Centaurs' greater height, the table was higher—Kellen could have stood comfortably at it himself—and the chairs for the two-legged guests were more like high stools with backs. Kellen caught himself thinking that was unreasonable—couldn't the Centaurs kneel, or something?— but then realized it would be more unfair to expect the Centaurs to accommodate the humans, when it was easier for the humans to accommodate the Centaurs. It was City thinking, the idea that humans were the pinnacle of Creation, that made him think otherwise. And that sort of reasoning wasn't fair.
Kellen sighed and concentrated on his food, wishing he didn't think so much about problems that didn't seem to have any solution. The food was certainly a welcome distraction—hot oven-baked yeast-breads (the thing he'd missed most, living out in the woods), roast chicken with stuffing, a wide selection of tasty vegetables, and beef. Digging into his meal, Kellen realized he'd gotten very tired of venison, rabbit, pigeon, and fish.
At first, looking down at the unfamiliar tools beside his place setting, Kellen hadn't been quite sure what to do, but he quickly realized the courtly table manners drummed into him in House Tavadon had no place here, and emulated the style of those he saw around him.
He was saved from any embarrassment by the fact that Idalia was eating as heartily as he was, with a pragmatic attention to her food that would have given their father heart failure. But so was everyone else, even the old Healer, and Master Eliron's cook was insisting that everything on the table must be eaten before she would bring out the pies and Haneida's honey-cakes.
"And don't you a-go sneaking into the kitchen to steal any, Merana, or I've got a stout stirring spoon with your name on it, my girl!" the woman said firmly. Merana only laughed and switched her braided tail, reaching for another roll and the pot of honey.
"OH," Idalia sighed at last, chasing a drop of gravy about her plate with a bit of hot bread, "this is lovely. I only wish I could cook like this—but I'm afraid I lack three things: the talent, the time, and the tools!"
"You know, my dear, that's hardly an insurmountable obstacle," Master Eliron said gently. "Were you to come here to live…"
Idalia shook her head in refusal. "We've had this conversation before, my dear. You know I can't. The forest needs me. How could those I serve out there find me here?"
"I expect they would find you just as they always have, Idalia," Master Eliron answered. "But perhaps you would consider coming to us just for a few moonturns during deep winter? The Wildwood sleeps then, and here in Merryvale, with your wants seen to, you could devote all your time to Kellen's training. You would not have to fear being a burden on us, not with the Powers at your command, and it would be good to have a second Wildmage living among us." He sighed. "We worry about you out there, with nothing between you and the deep cold but a few walls and a single fire. Do consider it."
"Very well, Master Eliron," Idalia said, with a warm and kindly tone in her voice. "I will consider it."
But Kellen already knew his sister well enough to know that the answer was going to be "no."
Why?
The aged Healer was right: those who needed Idalia's help could find her anywhere. And from what she'd told him about how the Wild Magic worked, she could find work to do anywhere. But she wasn't living with the Elves, and now Kellen knew that she'd had several offers to live in reasonably civilized comfort in Merryvale, and she wasn't living here, either.
Why not?
A not-terribly-pleasant idea occurred to him, and he forced it away.
BUT later, after much more food, and a long pleasant companionable evening spent in music and good talk around Master Eliron's hearth, when Kellen was tucked up under the eaves on a guest-pallet, the idea returned.
Why did Idalia insist on living out in the Wildwood all by herself?
Was it that she really was Tainted after all, and that she feared that Master Eliron would discover it?
He knew it was impossible, but the more Kellen tried to push the idea to the bottom of his mind, the more he seemed to be pushing sleep with it as well, until—bone-weary as he was—Kellen lay wide-awake. He stared up into the darkness, unable to do anything but think.
Lycaelon had said that Wildmagery sent its users down the dark and twisted path to congress with Demons, that the High Magick taught in Armethalieh was the only safe magic for mankind to use.
Of course, everything else Lycaelon and the High Council had taught—and the Priests of the Light—hadn't been true, or so Kellen was discovering, during his Outlaw adventures.
But what if this one thing was?
It would be a lot easier if Demons didn't exist. Then Kellen could just dismiss his father's warnings as a last attempt to manipulate him. But Idalia said they did, and while Idalia might refrain from telling him things until she thought he was ready to hear them, she'd never outright tell him anything that wasn't true.
So Demons existed. But did that mean that Idalia had seen them? Possibly even dealt with them?
Or… no!
It wasn't possible, Kellen told himself firmly. Idalia was a good person. He knew that all the way down to his very bones. She healed people. Healing magic couldn't possibly be wrong. How could something good open you to corruption? That made less sense than anything he'd ever learned in the City… and his sister was a much more interesting person than anyone in the City, for that matter. More honest, too. She thought about things, she answered his questions (even if the answer was "I don't know, why don't we see if we can find out"), and she didn't always assume that an answer was the only answer, or even the best answer.
As far as Kellen could tell from the time he'd spent living with her, Idalia seemed to spend most of her time helping people, with and without magic.
How could that be bad?
How could Idalia be bad?
But…
Could she be bad without knowing she was bad? Was that even possible?
I just don't know, Kellen realized miserably. Nothing makes sense. I just know that Idalia's always telling me to trust my instincts. And my instincts tell me there's some kind of connection between the Wild Magic and the Demons. And I don't know what it is. And that scares me.
And I think Idalia might know what it is. And I think I'm afraid to ask her.
But if she doesn't live out in the forest alone because she knows that she's Tainted and fears to be found out… then why?
Chapter Fifteen
Darkness and Lies
THE ROOM WAS smaller than many in the Heart of Darkness, a room for very private pleasures. The curving walls were covered with closely fitted tiles of amethyst of a flawless purple so dark it was nearly black and overhung with slave-woven tapestries depicting the feasts and pleasures of the Endarkened Court. The floor was thickly covered with silk carpets whose pile was so deep that taloned feet sunk into them as if they were fur. In the cool pale spell-light cast by the enchanted globes in which captured forest pixies slowly died for the pleasure of the Endarkened, the patterns on the floor glowed like a captive garden.
Hanging from a heavily jeweled golden chain attached to a large bronze ring in the center of the ceiling was a large silver and enamel cage, crafted to look like serpents twining over graveyard bones. It was a pity, Prince Zyperis reflected, regarding the three fauns cowering inside, that its inhabitants lacked the discernment to properly appreciate the beauty of their confinement. Still, that would not be a problem for them for very much longer, and the next occupant might have higher sensibilities.
Carrying a large shallow bowl carved and polished from one piece of black obsidian, the Prince advanced to the center of the room and placed it carefully on an iron and ivory table draped in heavy red silk. A sharp knife was already there, waiting.
He paused to savor the moment, and the terror of the fauns, before proceeding.
The war-to-come was going forward nicely. Just as he and Mother intended, the Mage City continued to draw inward even as it expanded its territory, isolating itself not only from the Otherfolk, but also from all outside human contact, wallowing in its own spiritual decay. Lovely.
"Let us see how their plans proceed, eh, my little friends?" Prince Zyperis murmured.
The fauns began to scream.
He picked up the knife and opened the door of the silver cage. Reaching in, he dragged out the first of the struggling, screaming fauns. It was no match for his strength; it writhed in his grip to no avail. It might just as well have been thrashing against the grip of a dragon. With quick efficiency, he lifted it over the obsidian bowl and slit its throat, holding it upside down until the last of its blood had drained into the bowl. The screaming turned to a gurgling, and he feasted on the final dregs of its despair as it felt its life ebbing out of it; horror of the other two as they watched it dying, their own screams now stifled in their throats by sheer terror.
Then he turned to the cage again, and the shrieking began anew as they flung themselves against the bars in a vain attempt to elude him and prolong their wretched lives for another precious moment or two.
The other two talking vermin followed in short order—not from any sense of mercy on Zyperis's part, but because today, the death of the fauns was merely a means to an end. Tossing the last of the tiny bloodless corpses aside, the Endarkened Prince leaned over the bowl of hot fresh blood, peering into its depths.
"Show me what I desire," he commanded huskily. The surface of the liquid shimmered, growing misty and then clearing.