* * * * *
IT was near dawn when Ancaladar awakened Jermayan. The Elven Knight came instantly awake. "Cilarnen is coming, Bonded," the dragon said softly.
"Coming? Here?" Jermayan reached for his sword and began to dress, tucking the furs around Idalia again in a futile attempt to keep from waking her, though he knew from experience that she slept as lightly as he.
"He seems very upset," the dragon said mildly, peering out through the doorway of the tent. "Shall I go and see why?"
"Better not," Idalia said, sitting up. "I don't think he's slept in days, and the last thing we want is for Anganil to pitch him off into the snow."
"The news can't be good if he's come himself and come here," Jermayan said grimly, continuing to dress.
"I'll make tea," Idalia said pragmatically.
By the time they were both dressed and the water had approached the boil Cilarnen was in sight. He had not bothered with either saddle or bridle, riding Anganil tackless and bareback over the snow, lighting his way with a great globe of Magelight that followed him like a captive moon. It turned the snow azure in the predawn gloom. He looked like something out of one of the ancient story-songs; almost like an Elemental creature himself.
He slid from Anganil's back as he reached the pavilion, and staggered a couple of steps before sinking to his knees in the snow. Jermayan caught him and steadied him on his feet.
"There's news," Cilarnen gasped. "I didn't see Kellen. It's bad, though."
"Come in and get warm," Idalia demanded. "It will wait a second or two."
"It won't," Cilarnen insisted, trying without success to shrug Jermayan off. "I Saw I Saw some of Kellen's people only a few hundred heading back across the Mystrals. Toward Ysterialpoerin. I don't know who they were, and I couldn't talk to them, but I recognized the horses. I'm sure they were with Kellen's people when they left."
Without a word Jermayan passed Cilarnen to Idalia, and strode into the tent. Cilarnen leaned against her heavily; she could feel him shaking with cold and exhaustion.
"Cilarnen, are you sure?"
"Idalia, who else would be crossing the Mystrals at this time of year? I can't tell one Elf from another, especially in armor, but I do know horses. Those horses went out with Kellen's party. I'm sure of it. And Kardus and I came through those mountains to get here; it's not as if I'd forget what they look like."
The speech had drained the last of his strength; she nearly carried him into the pavilion. There, Jermayan had finished putting on his armor and had picked up Ancaladar's saddle.
"I must go and see," he said simply.
Idalia nodded. There was nothing else to say.
"I'm sorry," Cilarnen whispered.
"'Sorry'?" Idalia demanded, lowering him to the floor of the pavilion and wrapping him in the heaviest of the discarded sleeping furs. "Sorry for bringing us what might be vital warning? It's true, then, what the Wildlanders have always said that they are all mad in the City. Now, you will drink a cup of tea, and eat something, and then you will sleep here or I promise you, by the Gods of the Wild Magic, I shall Heal the abuses you have heaped on your body myself!"
"Anything… but that… " Cilarnen said faintly.
Outside the ice-pavilion, Idalia heard the booming sound of Ancaladar taking flight.
* * * * *
IT had been six days since she had left the Gathering Plain and Kellen, and Keirasti had pushed her people mercilessly into the mountains.
If the weather favored them beyond all reason, it would be four sennights, perhaps five, before they saw Ysterialpoerin again.
Too long, with the urgency of the news she carried.
There was no way to go any faster. Horses were not unicorns, to outrun the wind, and they could not travel without the supplies the carts carried. And even if the mirror-relays were reliable, Kellen was right: The message she carried was not one that could be trusted to the mirrors. It was one she wished she did not know herself.
Once they reached the far side of the mountains, however, they would abandon the wagons and the heavy equipment, and go on with just what they could carry themselves, using their remounts as pack-horses. They would make better time that way. A sennight outside of Ysterialpoerin she would leave most of her command behind and take a small force, with several remounts for each Knight, and ride as fast as she could for the camp.
And pray to Leaf and Star that they met nothing to oppose them along the way. Her command was already suffering, from frost-burn, snow-glare, and the persistent cough that settled in the chest in the High Cold. Rest and warmth would soothe these ills, but there was no time for either. Each morning she had begged the gods that no horse would fall lame from the punishing pace she set. for they could not spare even an hour to stop to tend it, and Keirasti would leave no animal behind to starve and die, or be killed by predators.
"Keirasti! In the sky! Something comes!" Reyezeyt called, pointing eastward.
Keirasti looked, but could see nothing. Her heart sank in her chest. The Deathwings had found them, and as Kellen had warned her, she must leave her people to die, so that his message might get through.
"Archers!" she shouted. "Prepare for attack!"
* * * * *
JERMAYAN and Ancaladar flew westward, following the route Kellen's army had taken nearly two moonturns before. The dragon's sharp eyes picked out the ice-cairns and clusters of trail-wands that marked their path, though all other trace of their passage was erased by wind and fresh snow.
What can have happened? I have been through the Southern Triad not a fortnight ago, and seen no sign of the Enemy. I cannot believe they have destroyed all but a few hundred of those Redhelwar sent.
I cannot believe that Kellen is dead.
Idalia said she would know.
"Do not anticipate the day, Beloved," Ancaladar said softly. "Soon we will find what Cilarnen has Seen, and we may ask them ourselves. Have patience."
Jermayan smothered a curse. He knew his Bonded was right, but…
But Kellen had said, over and over, that to split their forces was arrant folly. He would never divide a force under his command.
Unless he faced a disaster beyond Jermayan's ability to imagine.
As they reached the mountains, the winds grew more turbulent, and Ancaladar fought and strained to follow the army's course. Again and again Jermayan was flung against the straps of the riding-harness, until he was as bruised as if he were still a novice Knight standing in the practice-Circle. He barely noticed, straining his eyes to pierce the blowing snow that covered the ground below.
"There," Ancaladar said.
In one of the narrow mountain valleys at the western side of the Mystrals, Jermayan saw what Cilarnen had undoubtedly Seen: a small party of Knights a scant handful in comparison to what had been sent with only half-a-dozen wagons accompanying them.
"Land," he said tersely.
SHE would not give the order to desert her command until the last moment. Her people would obey her without question that much she knew but she would carry the shame and horror of it to her grave, for she did not know if the reason for what she did would ever be known.
And she did not even know if abandoning her comrades would work, or if the skyborne enemy would simply kill them all.
"Keirasti! It is Ancaladar!" Reyezeyt said.
They must stop. Gods send that they will stop.