"Well, come in," Cilarnen said when Kellen automatically stopped at the threshold.
I've spent much too long with the Elves, Kellen thought ruefully to himself. Their ways were starting to seem automatic to him, to the point that it did not occur to him to enter a dwelling-place without being expressly invited. He followed Cilarnen inside.
The interior of the pavilion was much like his own though of course, having been a Healer's pavilion, it was slightly larger. A brazier had been left burning, and it was… well, it was as warm as the pavilions ever got.
Cilarnen set his armful of books down on the nearest chest and motioned for Kellen to do the same with his own burden. He kindled a spill from the brazier and lit the hanging lamps by hand, shrugging apologetically.
"I'm no better off," Kellen told him. "I couldn't even cast Coldfire in the caverns today."
Cilarnen smiled in acknowledgment. "What will we do, Kellen?" he asked seriously.
There were too many possible answers to that question.
"The best we can," Kellen answered. "There is hope, you know. They would not be working so hard to convince us there was none if that was not the case."
"I think you truly believe that," Cilarnen said after a moment. "And, for what it's worth, I think… I don't care whether you're right or not. I'm going to believe you."
"Thanks… I think," Kellen answered. "Now you should get some rest. I certainly intend to."
Cilarnen looked longingly toward the pile of books, then sighed. "I suppose you're right. I won't become a Master Mage in one night."
"Sleep well," Kellen answered, stepping from the tent.
* * * * *
THE next morning, after checking with the Captain of the Day Watch to see what duties might be required of his troop, Kellen saddled Firareth and went in search of Jermayan. Though the Elven Knight had quarters within the camp itself, he rarely used them, preferring to spend his time with Ancaladar, in the ice-pavilion he had built near the edge of the forest to shelter the great black dragon from the wind and the storm. Kellen was fairly sure that Ancaladar didn't feel the cold at least not the way he did, or even Shalkan did but nobody liked to be crusted in ice and buried in snow if there was any way to avoid it. And Jermayan and Valdien certainly did not.
But when Kellen reached the ice-pavilion, it was deserted. Nor was Valdien awaiting his master's return in the stabling Jermayan had built to shelter the Elven destrier from the storm. That implied to Kellen that wherever Jermayan was, he did not expect to return soon.
He glanced up at the sky, squinting against the ice-laden wind. Not the best weather for flying, and the clouds were low; he doubted that the two of them were on patrol. To see the ground, Ancaladar would have to fly beneath the cloud-cover, so low that he'd be constantly at the mercy of the strong winds of the lower air.
Perhaps Idalia would know where they were.
Kellen turned Firareth's head back toward the camp.
* * * * *
"HE has gone to Lerkalpoldara to begin the evacuation that Andoreniel ordered," Idalia said when Kellen finally tracked her down. "They left last night, when the winds dropped. I do not know when he will return sennights, perhaps, as Ancaladar cannot carry very many passengers at a time, but no other way is actually safe."
Kellen took a deep breath. He hadn't realized until just this moment how much he'd wanted to talk things over with Jermayan and get his opinion of how matters stood.
"You look like you've just lost your last friend," Idalia said. "Anything I can do to help?"
Kellen shrugged. "I'd wanted Jermayan's advice. We can't move all the Allied women and children to the Crowned Horns, and if they can't all go, moving any of them there is going to open a pretty ugly can of worms, as the Mountainborn say. But we can't just leave them without protection, especially when we have some. So I was going to ask Jermayan what he thought."
Idalia considered for a moment. "Well, you're right," she said after a pause. "And they can't move in winter anyway, but that isn't the point, really. They need to know we're trying to help. That will give them everyone, really the courage to hold out until spring, when they can move."
"Idalia, when is spring?" Kellen asked. He knew how long a year was, of course, but seasonal changes were still largely a mystery to him.
Idalia laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I sometimes forget what a sheltered life you've led! The Longest Night is less than a moonturn away that's the midpoint of winter, though really, there are more cold days after it than before it. But four moonturns after that at least in Sentarshadeen the trees will be setting new leaves and it will be the middle of spring plowing season in the Wild Lands." Her expression turned dark. "At least, it will be if the weather runs the way it has in previous years."
And assuming any of us is there to plow. Kellen didn't say that aloud. Four moonturns almost five? If the war went on that long, he hated to imagine what they'd be doing then.
Would it take that long for Anigrel to persuade Armethalieh to open its gates to the Demons?
And if, against all odds, they could convince the City to come in on the Allied side…
Then the war might be considerably longer than a few moonturns. According to what he'd learned at the House of Sword and Shield, the Great War had lasted most of a century, from the first Endarkened attacks to what everyone had thought was their ultimate defeat.
"Well, that's not so long to wait," Kellen said, trying to put a good face on things. "I'm sure the Mountainborn and the Wildlanders can hold out where they are against whatever They intend to do that long if we can convince them we have a plan to help them as soon as the weather turns." All I need to do is come up with one.
"If anybody can think of something the Elves are likely to miss, it's you, brother mine," Idalia said reassuringly. "Now scat unless you want to help me roll bandages, count out medicines, or deal with the test of the decidedly non-magical scutwork that goes with being a Healer." She grinned impishly. "Or you could go help Cilarnen study to become a High Mage."
"Gods of the Wild Magic forefend!" Kellen swore feelingly. "That idiocy makes my head hurt! If you want to do magic, why not just do it, instead of consulting a bunch of books about the right time and hour to do a spell, and locking yourself away from everything in the world that's truly magical?" He knew he sounded just like Cilarnen when Cilarnen was talking about the Wild Magic, but he couldn't help it. Even the thought of High Magick made him want to run away and bury his head in the snow.
"If I knew the answer to that, Kellen, I'd probably be a High Mage assuming, of course, I'd had the great good fortune to be born male, since 'everybody knows' that women can't do magic," Idalia said. "Now scat. I have work to do, and I'm sure you do, too."
And on that note, Kellen had no choice but to take his leave.
* * * * *
THIS was the work he'd been born for.
Cilarnen barely noticed the cold, or the moan of the wind whipping around his pavilion. He'd been appalled by it when he'd first seen it pale yellow, and covered with an intricate design of birds and flowers that made it look like nothing in the world so much as a vulgar serving woman's shawl. Now the only thing that mattered to him was that the color let in a lot of light.
The books Kindolhinadetil had sent were spread over every available surface. He'd discovered that he only had to ask for things to be given them providing they were available in the camp, of course and so he had a thick sheaf of loose sheets of vellum on which he was making careful notes, both of things he would need for the work to come, and of notes from his reading.
He had so many questions! But there was no one at all to ask. If the answers could not be found among these books, he must do without them.
And he could not do without them.
I cannot do the Great Conjurations they require a full working Circle of thirteen High Mages all performing their parts but there are so many other spells I can do. Or I could do, if I had the power!
And, strangely, there were other spells that he thought he could manage now, spells that only seemed to require a Mage's own personal power, but that were in the books among advanced and even proscribed magicks. Spells of scrying and divination.
Why? Because whoever did them would see things that the High Council didn't approve of? Or because they're dangerous? The books don't say. They expect you to know. And I don't…
He'd awoken early that morning, too excited at the prospect of study to sleep. He'd dressed quickly, lit the lanterns and the braziers, and begun. Several hours later, hunger had driven him from his pavilion long enough to seek breakfast though it was nearly midday by then and he'd ensured that wouldn't happen again by stuffing his tunic as full of rolls and pastries as he could.
Everything was here. Everything. There was even a copy of the Art Khemitic there was no way now to gather the necessary materials, but if they only could, they could probably make enough umbrastone to destroy all the magick in Armethalieh.
Kermis said that what the Art Khemitic was best for was getting blown up. I wonder if that would be useful?
The thought of his friend of all his friendsbrought a momentary spasm of grief. What had happened to them? Were any of them still alive? If they were, did they even remember him? Or had their memories been edited as Kellen Tavadon's had once been "for the good of the City"?
Cilarnen set the book on the Art Khemitic aside. He would never know what had happened to them.