Sifting through things that had no name in words.
All of his early training was there, laid down like layers of rock in the earth, or the densely-colorful weavings of a fine tapestry.
He touched each piece. Each was as it should be. Harmless. Innocent. He left them alone.
It took time days to work through all the years of his training. It took a lifetime to make a High Mage, or it should. What he was now, what he was making of himself in sennights instead of years, was something different, as different from a High Mage, he imagined, as Kellen Tavadon was from a Wild Mage. Something created to burn brightly in time of war.
At last he reached the place where things… stopped.
There it was. Alien magic, twined through his own. No wonder he'd been having headaches, Cilarnen realized. The only wonder was that he'd been having so few of them.
It lay dormant, glowing an ugly blackish-red to his spell-sight. It took him hours to work it free, setting layer upon layer of wards around it as he went. It was the most delicate and painstaking magick Cilarnen had ever performed in a sense, in that moment he took and passed the test for Master Mage.
Once he had removed it from his mind, he was able to trigger it harmlessly, examining it in the moment that it expended itself fruitlessly against the wards he had created around it.
As if in a dream, he saw what might have been. Himself and Kellen, standing beside each other. There was no magick involved in the two of them seeking each other out: That had been inevitable from the moment Cilarnen had been Banished and lived. Even without the Demons' raid on Stonehearth, it would have happened eventually.
And Anigrel's spell, lying dormant not even a spell, as such, for the unicorns and Vestakia could have detected that but a receiver for a spell, waiting for the moment when Anigrel would be invested with his full power as a Darkmage, and trigger it…
And Cilarnen would strike at Kellen with all a High Mage's power.
Killing them both.
Cilarnen smiled grimly as the spell-construct fizzled away in a tiny flash of light. He carefully banished the wards he had constructed to contain it, and got stiffly to his feet, rubbing his head.
No more headaches around Kellen. Maybe no more headaches around Wildmages in general, although that might be too much to hope for. Their magics were as different as fire and water.
Which was why, together, they could slay Demons.
Cilarnen stretched, groaning as muscles too long unused protested. He was light-headed from long fasting, and dizzy from lack of sleep.
But company was coming, and it was time to go and greet them.
* * * * *
THEY were within sight of the ice-pavilion when the snow rose up to bar their way.
Valdien stopped dead. Cella shied, and danced nervously. The snow fell away, revealing the form of a man, carved entirely in ice. "Very pretty," Idalia said dryly, patting her palfrey's neck soothingly. The creature stood motionless in the snow.
"I wonder what would happen if we just rode around it?" Idalia said to no one in particular.
"I'm afraid it would try to stop you," Cilarnen called, walking toward them.
The young High Mage was unkempt and unshaven. His short red-gold hair was as rumpled and disheveled as if he'd been running his fingers through it in lieu of a comb, and he didn't look as if he'd slept for days.
He'd obviously dressed in haste to greet them. The pale-blue tunic and trousers he'd dragged on were meant for sleeping, not for a walk in the snow, and he was holding his heavy fur cloak closed with bare hands. But whatever he'd been doing, it seemed to have gone well, for despite his obvious exhaustion, he looked triumphant.
He paused a short distance away and sketched a quick glyph with his wand. "I'm sorry you got here sooner than I thought you would. It's all right now. I've put it to sleep."
Valdien regarded the ice-statue which looked no different now than it had a moment beforesuspiciously, then took a step forward and nosed it. It remained unmoving. The destrier flicked his ears and apparently dismissed the strange object from further consideration.
"You didn't come all this way just to admire my ice-golems," Cilarnen said, walking the rest of the way up to them. "Though I do admit I'm proud of them." He rubbed his forehead.
"Are you still having headaches?" Idalia asked.
"I think that was the last of them," Cilarnen answered cryptically. "But if you'd like to stable your horses, I'm sure Anganil won't mind sharing. And even if it is the servants' day off, I can certainly offer you tea."
* * * * *
SINCE the last time Idalia had been here, Cilarnen had constructed a stabling area for Anganil not as elegant as Jermayan's ice-pavilion, but sturdy and warm. They left Cella and Valdien there, and shortly the three of them were seated in Cilarnen's painted pavilion, waiting for the tea to brew.
He'd lost weight, Idalia judged critically. And he reminded her, oddly, of Kellen. It wasn't so much that he'd gained in self-confidence Cilarnen Volpiril of Armethalieh had always had that as that in the last few sennights he'd acquired a kind of certainty. He knew what he had to do, and how he had to do it.
No matter how high the cost.
"We've come because we need you to do something," Idalia said, bypassing the courtly Elven dance of politeness. Cilarnen wouldn't expect it, and they didn't have time for it anyway.
She hated to ask him for anything at all right now especially now that she saw how tired he was but this matter was beyond urgent.
"Of course," Cilarnen agreed. He glanced at Jermayan. "But with the most powerful Mage in the Elven Lands sitting beside you, you'll forgive me for being… worried."
Idalia smiled faintly. "We've discovered that the last of the Shadowed Elf Enclaves that Vestakia was searching for is Halacira. Kellen is going there. We need to warn him at once. Can you do it?"
"Probably not," Cilarnen said lightly. He looked at their faces. "As you knew," he added doubtfully.
There was a long moment of silence, and then Cilarnen spoke again, in the tone of one repeating a much-given speech.
"Kellen is a sort of Wildmage. The High Magick is innately incompatible with Wildmagery. I can bespell a Wildmage, assuming I use a large destructive spell, like Lightning, but something subtle, like speaking over a distance, or Far-Seeing… no. And I have tried. Redhelwar wanted me to send messages to you, Jermayan, and that didn't work at all. Look how hard Kellen had to work to hold your power and mine together in the mirror spell, and it took Shalkan to help. Whoever designed the High Magick did not design it to be compatible with the Wild Magic, the Eternal Light knows why."
Idalia's shoulders drooped. Jermayan put a comforting arm around her.
"Then he'll have to manage on his own," she said bleakly.
"Wait," Cilarnen said. "There's something else I can try. The Glyph of Far-Seeing can find things I have seen, and I have seen Kellen's army. I can't see him, but I can see them. I don't know if anyone without some sort of Gift could hear me through the Glyph, but I could try. Would that help?"
An angry retort sprang to Idalia's lips, but she bit it back. Cilarnen was already exhausted to the point of foolishness, yet he was still offering to help.
"Yes," she said gently. "That would help, Cilarnen."
He sighed and nodded, eyelids drooping before he caught himself. "Then give me the exact message you need to send. And then go away. I don't wish to be rude, but it's a delicate spell, and you're both powerful Wildmages. If I discover anything urgent, I'll send one of my ice-golems to the camp. Come to me then."
Idalia nodded. "Tell Kellen the Shadowed Elves are in Halacira. He'll know what to do."
* * * * *
"HE has changed a great deal," Jermayan said to Idalia, as they rode back to the camp to pick up a few things before heading up to Ancaladar's pavilion for the night.