The column stopped. The skirmishers deployed. The Unicorn Knights came riding back toward the main body of the army, stopping less than half a mile away. Shalkan was with them. Nithariel's troop passed Kellen's as she rode down the line toward her place in the formation, her Knights galloping all-out through the snow.
Kellen heard Ancaladar shriek with anger a sound he could not ever remember hearing the dragon make before.
There were Demons in the sky.
Only two, but from all Cilarnen had told them, one could destroy a village. Two might well be able to slay half the army.
For a moment, the two-bat-winged forms swooped and danced around Ancaladar as the dragon lashed out at Them with claws and tail. But without Jermayan's magic, he and Ancaladar were powerless to affect the creatures, and the Demons knew it. With one powerful blow not even a spell one of the Demons knocked Ancaladar out of the sky, but the dragon and his rider were not their main target.
The army was.
Suddenly Cilarnen and Anganil came bolting out of the column past Kellen. The destrier's reins were looped around the saddlehorn; Cilarnen had both hands raised to the sky.
Lightning.
By now Kellen had seen more wild weather than he actually cared to. He'd seen storms, and he'd seen lightning. But only lightning up in the sky great flashes of light that turned the night to day, or jagged bolts of light crossing the sky, as if the night were cracking to let the morning in.
Not like this.
This was lightning coming out of a clear blue sky. Coming without warning. A jagged column of blinding white fire lanced down out of the sky with an ear-numbing crack once, twice and when it was done, the Demons in the sky had been slammed to earth in the center of a huge lake of charred grass and mud, their bodies nothing more than twisted, still-smoking embers. Though the bolts had struck almost half a mile away, a ripple of unease moved through the army, as startled animals reacted to the sudden blast of light and noise.
And, horribly, the Demons were still moving. "They aren't dead!" Cilarnen cried.
Shalkan was the first to reach them, slipping and skidding in the ice and mud, followed by the rest of the Unicorn Knights. By the time he had, the Demons were already beginning to heal. But they were still weak enough that the unicorns, trampling and goring, reduced them quickly to inanimate ash.
It was all over very quickly.
Kellen rode up to Cilarnen as the Unicorn Knights retreated. Cilarnen swung down awkwardly from Anganil's back, dropped to his knees, and plunged his hands into the snow.
"Aaah ! By the Light, that hurts," Cilarnen gasped. He raised his hands out of the snow after a moment, and Kellen could see that they were red. Burned. Blisters had formed and already broken, and thin trickles of blood, mixed with melted snow, were running down his wrists. Cilarnen inspected the damage and plunged his hands back into the snow again.
"What did you do?" Kellen demanded, swinging down out of his saddle.
"Lightning," Cilarnen said succinctly. "It's a complicated spell, but I have it as a cantrip. I've only prepared a few more, though, so I hope there won't be many more visitors. It won't kill Them, of course. But it slows Them down."
Despite the cold Kellen felt it even through layers of armor and padding, and Cilarnen was only wearing a robe Cilarnen was sweating heavily. Drops of perspiration fell from his forehead to the snow, melting small pockmarks in it.
"I'm going to need leather armor," Cilarnen said meditatively. "Something made without any metal at all. I think I would have fried myself if I'd been wearing my chain shirt."
"Cilarnen," Kellen said again. "What did you do? You burned your hands. And you're outside the Elven Lands. You can't be drawing on the Land-wards now."
"Always asking useless questions," Cilarnen said with a shaky laugh. He scooped up a handful of snow and held it to his face. "You might actually have made a decent High Mage, Kellen, if you'd had decent teachers. Not that I suspect there are many left in Armethalieh. Or maybe the High Magick and the Wild Magic really have more in common than I think, if you go back to their roots. Yes, we're outside the Elven Lands. That's blindingly obvious. I'm using wild elemental energy now. The same thing my ancestors used. It's… stronger. I didn't compensate for that. But I talked to the Fair Ones while I was still back in Halacira, and they agreed to lend me their strength. Because if They win, the Fair Ones will all be gone, too. It just hurts, a little. You're supposed to start when you're a child, with the simplest Forces, and I can't."
Cilarnen's teeth were chattering with cold now.
"Well, you've done enough for one day," Kellen said. He heard no further horn-calls. The two Demons must have been acting alone.
He bent down and scooped Cilarnen up into his arms. Cilarnen was heavy, but proper Mageborn were slightly-built, and Kellen had the muscles that came from wearing armor day in and day out, and swinging a heavy sword on top of it. He wouldn't want to do this as a regular thing, but it was certainly possible for him to lift the smaller man. With Cilarnen in his arms, he stepped up into Firareth's stirrup, swinging his leg over into the saddle. The buckskin destrier stood rock-steady as he mounted.
"Hey!" Cilarnen protested.
"You are going off to see Idalia," Kellen told him, turning Firareth back toward the column. "Burned hands are no joke, and you'll need to change into something warm and dry. We can't afford to lose you."
* * * * *
THE Golden City of Armethalieh, City of a Thousand Bells, had once held spell-bound beneath its rule all the land from the edge of the Western Sea to the farthest reaches of the Delfier Hills.
Now it did not even rule itself.
Fear ruled Armethalieh.
High Mage Astranis of House Nerawell was the son and grandson of Mages, and could trace his exalted and unblemished Mageborn lineage all the way back to the ancient days of the City, in a peaceful and unbroken record of privilege and service. The sons of House Nerawell had all led lives of duty to the City and service to the Light. The daughters had all married well, and presented their husbands, in due time, with proper Mageborn sons and daughters to continue the great name of Armethalieh, unchanged and unchanging.
But now there was change.
Nerawell was one of the High Houses the Nerawell lineage was closely connected with the High Council itself, by marriage if not by the felicity of actually possessing a seat on the Council. Astranis knew nearly as much about what went on in Armethalieh as Lycaelon Tavadon himself.
And none of it was good.
In the last half year had come, first, the Banishment of the Arch-Mage's own mongrel son. Of course there was bad blood there, and the matter should have been dealt with quietly long before. But now both children were gone, and Light knew it was for the best. Perhaps Lycaelon might marry again; a suitable girl this time.
But then so it appeared the Wildmage taint that had surfaced with the boy had not been entirely rooted out of the City. The Council had acted rashly, restricting the Bounds back to the City walls, leading to, of all ridiculous things, a revolt among the farmers. The famine that had bred among the Commons had at least had one useful result: it had forced the rest of the Wildmages hiding in the City out into the open, leading to a purge of the Council, and the Banishment of several of the ringleaders, the young sons of several of the Council members and their families.
That Lord Volpiril had been involved in any way had been a surprise, though. Astranis had always thought the man had been sound.
Astranis had looked for things to return to normal, then. The Bounds were being expanded once more. Lycaelon had adopted a new Heir still Commons blood there, of course, but Mageborn on his mother's side, and raised in a good home. And at least both parents were Citizens.
But then Lycaelon had put the boy on the Council. And now the Council was seven, not thirteen. It had been eight until a moonturn ago, but Lord Meron had resigned unexpectedly, giving reasons of ill-health and a desire to put his personal affairs in order.
Astranis was unconvinced. He suspected a visit from the Magewardens, rather than ill-health, was behind Lord Meron's decision.
The Magewardens! There was something that should be a bitter tea in every Mageborn's cup. The Mageborn ruled Armethalieh. They always had. Now, suddenly, there was a ruling council set over the Mageborn a gaggle of low-rank, Low House, social-climbers whom no one knew, and no one could control.
Save Lycaelon's whelp, Anigrel Tavadon.
It was he who was the true power in the City now, not the Arch-Mage. Anigrel said that the Wildmages were still among them, seducing their sons and daughters just as they had Lycaelon's and Volpiril's and so many others. Anigrel said that only the Magewardens could be trusted to seek out the Wildmage corruption among the ranks of the Mageborn and keep it from spreading so disastrously again.
Oh, Astranis had to admit that the boy did have a few good ideas. The extra taxes on magick, for example. That had been an excellent notion. And the formation of the Commons Wardens. That kept the people out of trouble. The passes that kept them in their homes at night were a good notion as well. He did admit that.
But being spied upon, as if he were one of them, his own actions called into account… ?
Intolerable!
But there was nothing to be done about it. He already knew that.
He had learned from the lesson of Master Undermage Hendassar.