She was dead.
"No," Kellen whispered.
This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Idalia had been going to do a spell in the City. That was what she'd told him. She hadn't been supposed to be here.
At the sound of his voice, Jermayan looked up at him. For a moment their eyes met. Then Jermayan set Idalia down among the flowers, very gently, and got to his feet.
"Jermayan," Kellen said.
But Jermayan turned away, toward Ancaladar, setting his foot into the stirrup and mounting Ancaladar's saddle.
"Jermayan!"
But the dragon had spread his great wings and leaped into the sky.
The last sound Kellen heard was the howl of grief, two voices mingled together.
* * * * *
KELLEN'S Knights returned slowly to the City walls, passing across the battlefield once more. Idalia's body, wrapped in Kellen's cloak, lay across his saddle. He led his horse.
All around them, the forest was filling with flowers. They spread at a more-than-natural rate, a living carpet growing outward from the Delfier Shrine, covering the burnt ugliness of the long night's battle with a victory carpet of living green. Everywhere Kellen looked, new life was beginning; tiny white flowers raised their heads through the ash of the forest floor, tendrils of palest green appeared from seeming nowhere to twine themselves around the burnt husks of the trees.
He tried to care. Surely such a powerful sign meant that their victory was a true one, and that the power of the Endarkened had been broken once again.
Perhaps, this time, forever.
But as they walked across the battlefield, picking their way with care among the shattered dead, their feet and the horses' hooves splashing through the pools of water and blood, what Kellen saw was the cost.
No cost would have been too high to save the world the Light from the Demons. He had been prepared to spend himself, his friends, everything he held dear to gain that victory. But the one price he had never thought to pay was to stand alive in the aftermath and count his dead.
It was hard. It was very hard.
But it was his Price, Kellen realized. The price of all the Wild Magic he had taken up and used, not counting the cost at the time, knowing that payment would someday come due but knowing he must have the spells at the time.
Well, now payment was due.
He must forgive. Himself most of all.
For being alive.
As they approached the City walls, he saw that Redhelwar had been busy in his absence. The Enemy had never managed to reach the rear guard, so they'd successfully held on to some of their supply wagons, sheltering them beneath the City walls when they'd moved the wounded inside the City. In the mile or so of clear bare untouched ground between the edge of the battlefield and the City walls, Redhelwar had put up the pavilions. Against the austere pale stone of the City walls, the colorful silk canvas of the Elven pavilions looked strange and alien; the two halves of Kellen's heritage, brought together at last.
Redhelwar rode out to meet him. He looked, questioningly, toward the shrouded bundle on Kellen's saddle.
Kellen took a deep breath. "Idalia was at the stones," he said. "I don't… I don't understand what happened. Jermayan and Ancaladar were there with her. But they… left. I couldn't stop them."
Redhelwar bowed his head. "We have won a great victory, by her sacrifice, and the sacrifice of many others. It would be good to hear what orders you give now, Kellen."
Kellen considered for a moment. He pulled off his gloves, then his gauntlets, and dropped them into the mud. He reached for the pouch on his belt, and fumbled at it until he got it open. The ring was still there. He pulled it out, and held it out to Redhelwar.
"I have no orders, Redhelwar, Army's General. I return to you Andoreniel's ring, and with it, his army. The task set me by the Wild Magic is done."
Redhelwar took the ring, closing his fingers over it.
"Then see to your horse, Kellen, then find a bed, and sleep. By the grace of Leaf and Star, we have won the battle. And perhaps, some day, we shall rejoice in it."
Chapter Nineteen
In the Temple of the Light
ClLARNEN AWOKE WITH a shudder.
He'd had the most amazing dream. He'd been…
He looked around.
He was in his rooms. His old rooms. In House Volpiril.
He flung himself out of bed, his mind reeling. It couldn't all have been a dream! He remembered…
He ran to his windows and looked out. The garden looked just the same as he remembered. It was daylight.
They were all still alive.
Idalia's spell must have worked.
There was an unfamiliar weight around his neck. He reached beneath his nightrobe and touched it. A City-Talisman, on a gold and sapphire chain, the same sort he'd always worn it on. He drew upon its stored power, feeling, beneath it, the link to a greater wellspring of stored power, and touched the City Wards beyond.
They were intact. Everything was as it should be.
He remembered now. Standing in the Circle, the Great Sword of the City in his hands, Elemental Energy surging through him as he fought to complete the spell, feeling a link with a dreaming half-conscious force much greater than himself that had taken and taken and taken, using everything he had to rebuild the Wards. Purging him of his link to the wild Elemental energies he had wielded for so long, draining him utterly.
He remembered the harsh caress of the Elemental as they released each other, their bond and the need for it ended.
Felt the spell continue to drain him for an instant more, sucking forth the tiny reservoir of personal Power he possessed.
And then… ?
And then his father had brought him back… here?
How long had he slept? What had they done to him as he slept?
Nothing, Cilarnen realized with a pang of relief. His mind, his memories, were his own; he knew that with a bone-deep certainty. If they weren't, how could he remember Kellen, Idalia, Jermayan, Kardus, every day of his Banishment? If they had tampered with his mind, surely he would not think of them Elves, Wildmages, Centaurs as his friends?