Kellen blinked. Power without cost to them — but isn't that what the High Mages have now?
But was it? The High Magick still cost somebody something, and sometimes the High Mages used their own power…
He thought.
"When we realized what they believed in Armethalieh, we sent them envoys and tried to reason with them, for we knew that the Wild Magic was the only defense against Shadow Mountain, and we could not learn its arts, having given up our part in the Greater Magics long ago. But the humans were afraid. They would not heed us. Fear can make people— anyone—think very strange things. Even Elves," Jermayan finished softly. "And now it may be too late."
"Sleep now," Shalkan said firmly, stepping into the lantern light. "Both of you. I'll keep watch. I've had a much easier day than either of you. Sleep."
It was hard to argue with such good advice. Exhausted by the events of the day—the battle and all that went with it, the spell he had cast, Kellen knew he couldn't possibly stay awake much longer, and Jermayan needed to sleep to finish the work of the Healing Spell. Getting to his feet, Kellen quickly washed their cups and bowls and snuffed the lanterns as Jermayan wrapped himself in his bedroll. A few moments later Kellen did the same.
As he looked up at the stars, he thought about what Jermayan had said. He had his answer at last, at least most of it. He thought about his own moment of weakness just this afternoon, how he'd hated the thought of incurring another Mageprice. But he'd accepted it anyway, because that was the cost of the Wild Magic. You paid for what you got, because in paying your Mageprice you were actually helping to tend the garden of the world, as Morusil said.
Only… somewhere in the distant past… there'd been Wildmages who hadn't wanted to pay, who'd wanted to do spells without incurring Magedebt, to use their power selfishly, for themselves alone. And they'd turned to the Demons to escape paying their price, to keep from repaying—
And so, out of that, had come the High Magick. But while the High Mages paid the price of their spells, they didn't pay it themselves…
It was precious little comfort to know that as a Knight-Mage, he had a little more immunity to Demonic entanglement than the average Wild-mage. "The Knight-Mage, even more so than the Wildmage, must choose that path, knowingly, and with forethought …"It was like knowing you were a little more fire-resistant when you were planning to walk into a firing-kiln. Not a lot of real practical use.
And somehow, tangled up in everything else he'd learned about the history of the Wild Magic and the High Magick tonight—and bigger than all of that, really—was the War Jermayan had spoken of, the one the City'd ended up blaming on the Wildmages. Kellen stared at the sky through half-closed eyes, trying to imagine that long-ago war. Dragons… what must it have been like, to look up and see the sky filled with dragons in flight?
A few moments later he was asleep.
THE morning sun woke him, and Kellen realized he had slept far later than usual. He sat up quickly, relieved to note that the exhaustion of the day before had passed.
Jermayan was already up and moving about. The Elven Knight seemed to be almost back to his old self again, though he moved with a bit more care than usual. His surcoat and padded undertunic—and Kellen's surcoat as well—were spread out on the grass, damp from a recent washing.
"They should be dry enough to wear by the time we're ready to leave," Jermayan said, noting the direction of Kellen's gaze. "And fortunately, Elven armor doesn't rust. Tea?"
"Why did you let me sleep so late?" Kellen grumbled, feeling cross and guilty in equal measure, as he rolled out of his blankets. Despite the advanced hour, the air was still chilly, and he pulled one of the blankets around himself, groping for his cloak.
Jermayan tossed it to him, and Kellen pulled it on gratefully, then accepted the cup of tea—a different kind this morning.
"You needed the rest," Jermayan answered inarguably. "So did I. And there were tasks that needed doing. We have been careless and lucky. No longer." He gestured, and Kellen saw that a bow and a large quiver of arrows stood beside Jermayan's armor now, unpacked from their place in the mule's load. "Today we ride fully armored and weaponed, and woe betide the enemy who tries to take us unawares."
Kellen saw that the round shield he'd taken from one of the bandits was piled with his own armor. He barely recognized it, for it had been scrubbed and polished until it gleamed.
"I would say that you have indeed earned your shield, Kellen Tavadon, and I only regret that it is not a more fitting one. Later I will teach you how to make the best use of it. For now it must suffice that you wear it."
So there wasn't going to be a lesson this morning, either. Just as well, Kellen supposed, if they were starting this late, but he did regret it a little. He was wondering what it would be like to face Jermayan in the teaching circle again after having fought for real, and having killed. Would it make a difference? Could he still do it?
But the answers to those questions would have to wait.
Soon enough they were back on their road again, this time wearing cloaks to conceal their armor—not that any cloak Kellen wore could conceal what Shalkan was, or Valdien's armor, for that matter. But anything they could do to conceal their own armor might help them to avoid further attacks. Or it might draw bandits to them, who thought them easy prey. It was a gamble either way.
When they left the canyon and Kellen took his bearings, returning to their northward path, they found themselves heading up a narrow cleft in the rock, a track with sheer walls on either side. After the previous day's ambush, none of them liked it, but to seek another route would take them days out of their way, time they could not afford to lose. They had to act now as if Shadow Mountain knew they were coming, and in that case, speed was their best ally.
The path was barely wide enough for them to ride single file. Kellen and Shalkan led. This time Kellen wore his helmet, with the unfamiliar weight of the round shield strapped to his left arm. The helmet protected his head and face, but left him feeling closed in, unable to see the world very well with his side vision cut off. Fortunately Shalkan's senses were better than his own to begin with. He'd just have to trust Shalkan to spot any potential ambush.
As in fact the unicorn did, before the sun was very much higher.
"BACK!" Shalkan shouted suddenly, rearing up and turning in place.
Kellen took in the situation behind him at a glance. Valdien couldn't turn on the narrow path, and the destrier couldn't back up if the mule didn't move. Kellen leaped down from Shalkan's back and squeezed past Jermayan, grabbing Lily by her bridle and putting his shoulder into her chest. Speaking soothingly but urgently, he pushed, and to his great relief she backed up readily enough. Valdien followed swiftly, backing neatly, with Shalkan jammed in beside him.
Just as the Elven destrier was starting to move, a stone the size of a young pig hit the center of the trail right where Valdien had been standing a moment before. It landed with enough force to crack it in half, and a second later it was followed by another, only slightly smaller.
The travelers stared up at the walls of the gorge, knowing that if further attack should come, they were powerless to avoid it.
But no more stones fell. After a long moment Shalkan walked forward, looking down at the stones with dissatisfaction.
"I believe that they are gone," Shalkan pronounced. "Having failed to topple us, they had no wish to encounter arrows, I suspect."
"They didn't originate from above," Jermayan said unemotionally, gazing down at the boulders. "Those are river stones—see how smooth? Not boulders from farther up the cliff. And soft enough—that's why the one broke when it landed. They were carried here from some distance away to be flung down at us."
"By who—and why?" Kellen asked.
"These and other eternally unanswerable questions…" Shalkan commented with a sigh, shaking his head with a rattle of his armored collar as if flies bedeviled him.
His friend was right, Kellen realized with dismay. They had no way of knowing who was trying to kill them—or why. There were too many possible answers. And what was more, there might be no more sinister reason to this attack except an attempt to kill them and steal what they owned. After staring at the stone for a few moments more, Kellen mounted up, and they reluctantly continued on.
Eventually their path led them out of the gorge into a region of windswept hills covered with sparse grass. What few trees grew here were low, twisted by the constantly blowing wind. In the distance, Kellen could see taller hills dark with trees, and beyond them, true mountains at last, bare rock, their peaks white with snow. Perhaps Shadow Mountain was among them. I just hope we don't have to go all the way there to find the Barrier, Kellen thought worriedly. Such a journey would take months—and Sentarshadeen needed rain soon, for the sake of the spring crops.
As he rode, he'd been continuing to think about all that Jermayan had told him the night before—about the War, and the reason Armethalieh had outlawed the Wild Magic, and the Demons. It made a certain amount of horrible sense, and it certainly didn't make him feel any better about his own emerging Wildmage—or Knight-Mage—powers. True, Jermayan had said that the Wildmages who did fall to the Demons did so because they wanted to get out of paying the price for their powers and spells… but that was a temptation every Wildmage faced every time he cast a spell. Hadn't Kellen himself worried about it when he'd done his Healing Spell for Jermayan? What if the Wild Magic had asked a price that had interfered with him going to trigger Idalia's spell at the Endarkened keystone (and it still could, he knew, because the voice he'd heard hadn't been very specific about what his payment would be) what then? If he refused to pay the price of his magic, was he on his way to being Demon-bait, even though he only refused because it would get in the way of him fighting the Demons and saving Sentarshadeen?
It was all very confusing. And the confusion didn't stop here. Even if he paid his Mageprice this time, it was a choice he was going to face every time he cast a spell for the rest of his life.
It was worse, in a way, than when his fears had just been based on a formless misconception that the Wild Magic might be evil in itself. Now he knew it wasn't. Now that Jermayan had told him about the Great War he knew exactly how a Wildmage got himself into trouble using the Wild Magic, and that was worse, because it wasn't something that you could make up your mind once and for all not to do. It was a decision you had to keep making, over and over.
What if you got tired? What if you got careless? What if you made a mistake?
How could anybody keep making the right choice, over and over and over again, when the choices kept getting harder and harder?
How could he?
"We should look for a place to stop and eat," Jermayan said, breaking into Kellen's thoughts. "Perhaps that grove up ahead."
To call it a grove was a serious overstatement, but at least the few scrubby trees would provide some shelter from the wind.
But when they neared it, a Centaur came charging toward them from among the trees, shouting angrily.
He had a thick grey beard, and was wearing a long rough coat of goatskins that draped over his dark bay flanks, the goat hair blending with his own shaggy uncurried coat. He carried an iron-shod crook as well. They couldn't make out his words, but the intent was plain.
"Fool of a shepherd!" Jermayan said angrily, reining in. "Does he think we're after his flock—wherever they are? Look here, fellow—"
Seeing them pause, the Centaur-shepherd stopped as well. He thrust two fingers into his mouth and whistled sharply.