3 When Darkness Falls.8 by 3 When Darkness Falls.8 Page B

riding into disaster as if nothing were wrong?" Shalkan asked sweetly, since he could hear Kellen perfectly well.
    Kellen winced at the sarcasm. "I'd rather nothing were wrong," he answered honestly. "Instead of so many things being wrong I hardly know where to start worrying."
    "Start in the obvious place, then," Shalkan advised. "With something you can fix."
    "And what… ?" Kellen began, then blinked. Where Shalkan had been a moment before was nothing more than a unicorn-sized hole in the air.
    It was obvious that Shalkan had meant him to solve that puzzle on his own, and it occupied Kellen for the rest of the ride back to the main camp. Thinking things over carefully, Kellen had to admit there were very few things he could actually control just now.
    With enormous reluctance, he came to the very conclusion Shalkan had meant him to reach: that the best thing he could do right now was rest.

    * * * * *

    HE left Firareth at the horselines. The ostlers would make sure that the destrier's coat was toweled dry where it had been under the harness and that Firareth got a good warm feed before he was turned out into the near herd. Kellen was hoping for much the same treatment himself, as he headed through the darkness to the main dining tent. There he could be sure of a hot meal — even if it did involve greenneedle leaves — and several mugs of hot cider to wash the taste of the caves out of his mouth. Maybe a night's rest would give him some fresh ideas, and in the morning he could talk to Jermayan.
    To his surprise, when Kellen walked into the dining tent, Cilarnen was there. Though it would be days, or even sennights yet, before the army's Wildmages could call upon the Wild Magic again, nearly all of those who had participated in the spell of Kindolhinadetil's Mirror had left their beds by now, but as of this morning, Cilarnen had not. Though Kellen had tried hard not to think of it, he had worried that the intense exposure to the Wild Magic had been as inimical to the young High Mage as they had originally feared, and that Cilarnen would simply waste away, one of the hidden casualties of the war.
    But now, Cilarnen was sitting at a table in the far corner of the tent with Wirance — the High Reaches Wildmage who had accompanied him from Stonehearth into the Elven Lands — beside him. Cilarnen looked alert and vigorous — and actually more cheerful than Kellen could remember ever having seen him. The table before him was heaped with books — bound books, not the cased scrolls the Elves preferred.
    And the books looked oddly familiar…
    "Kellen!" Cilarnen called out excitedly, seeing him. "You missed all the excitement! Come and see what Kindolhinadetil has brought us!"
    "Brought to you , you mean," Wirance growled good-naturedly, as Kellen reached the table.
    "They were a gift to all of us — to the human mages — " Cilarnen said, trying — and failing — to sound apologetic. "I don't really think Kindolhinadetil can tell humans apart very well."
    "Or one kind of magic from another," Kellen agreed, puzzled. "Except for Jermayan, who's Bonded to Ancaladar, all the Elves have is what they call 'small magics,' and I have no idea what…"
    In the middle of his sentence, he looked down, and completely forgot what he'd been about to say.
    The books were from his father's library.
    Or — they could have been. Lycaelon Tavadon's passion was rare books, and it would have been amazing indeed if the Arch-Mage of Armethalieh did not own a number of rare and ancient books on the Art Magickal.
    "What — " he sputtered. "Where — "
    Cilarnen laughed. "I wanted to know the same thing — but you're the one who told me that it's very rude to ask Elves questions, Kellen! And anyway, I wasn't here when they came — so if you want to know, you'll have to ask someone else. All I know is that they're a gift from Kindolhinadetil's library."
    Kellen sat down slowly opposite Cilarnen. He picked up a book at random and opened it to a