T he regiment left the small village behind with more than a little regret. The soldiers found the elfkynan very amenable to bartering, especially for sewing needles, brass buttons, arr beans, and mirrors. In return, the troops filled their haversacks with all manner of preserved fruits, a sweet nut the villagers called wumja, and delicately woven mesh made of plant fiber that when draped over the head kept the bugs out.
But it wasn't just the vibrant trading that had the troops looking back over their shoulders as they marched upriver, nor even the bare-breasted elfkynan women, who seemed not the least concerned by the stares of the men-they were leaving a small sanctuary of peace and calm and marching into battle.
Fear isn't something one soldier discusses with another. Women, food, officers, and the weather were all acceptable and time-honored topics of discussion, but not how one is feeling, unless, of course, with reference specifically to the approved list. It's not that they didn't feel fear; quite the contrary. It was evident in the way they carried good luck charms and amulets and little glass bottles of potions-some, it was rumored, filled with the urine of the bengar the regiment had adopted as its mascot-the warding signs they made, the laughter that was too loud, or absent entirely. Their very profession put their lives perpetually at risk, yet you would never hear them talk about the dangers, at least, not without waving them off as just part of the job. Even now, when several of their comrades were dead and they marched steadily toward unknown peril where more would certainly perish, they did not talk about the fear they must all be feeling.
It was a contradiction Visyna didn't understand.
Konowa said nothing about it. Even in the forest when it had just been the two of them, it was clear he was still a soldier. He could have gone anywhere, done anything, but without the army, he had been like a lost little boy. And now that he had his regiment back, she wondered if he would ever really want for something else.
For her. She knew he had feelings for her-Konowa was certainly not subtle about that. But whenever talk of the Empire and the natural order and the Shadow Monarch came up, he would pull back, even though she knew he felt much the same way she did.
It angered her that she should care at all. Her people and their way of life were threatened by the Empire and the Shadow Monarch, and Konowa was definitely serving one, and was in danger of serving the other. All too soon, choices would have to be made. Something deep within Visyna told her that when the time came, there would be no turning back.
"This is wrong, Rallie, this is all wrong," Visyna said, readjusting her sitting position.
She was riding with Rallie in the correspondent's wagon, and as a result, having to speak louder than she would have liked in order to be heard over the constant creaks and groans of wood killed and carved into unnatural shapes. Faint memories of the trees and what they had once been remained in the wood, and it saddened her. Why did everything that man touched cause so much pain?
Rallie took a long drag on her cigar and blew out an immense cloud of blue smoke. "When young men march off to battle, my dear, it is never right. The question is: What is to be done to make it right?"
"The Empire must be driven from Elfkyna," Visyna said simply. She felt a presence off to the right and turned to see Jir bound out of cover and pounce on a small rat dragon. There was a squeal and a crunch, and the rat dragon disappeared down the bengar's throat in two bites. She smiled as the bengar's joy and satisfaction radiated out from it. "They are an unnatural predator here."
Rallie nodded as if she understood. "I see. Tell me, who then would the elfkynan ally with to fight the Shadow Monarch? The orcs, perhaps? They've always seemed interested in expanding south. Or maybe the dwarves, if you allowed them mining rights. Or what about-"
Visyna shook her head and waved her hands in surrender. "You've made your point. But surely you see that the Empire cannot stay? This is not their land. They oppress my people and steal our resources. Even now, they send this regiment to steal the most sacred talismans of the elfkynan. How can we continue to work with them?" Her own hypocrisy was bitter in her mouth. She served the very Empire she hated, just as Konowa did. Why did she think she was any better?
"We all do things we aren't proud of, my dear-the key, as I mentioned before, is what one does about it to make it right. And the answer," Rallie said, leaning over and patting Visyna on the knee, "you already know."
"You have more faith in me than I do myself," she said. She knew, though she hated to admit it, that the Empire, as vile and heartless as it was, would not allow the Shadow Monarch to exert influence in Elfkyna or anywhere else in the world, just as Konowa would do all in his power to protect the Iron Elves, and her. It was both comforting and confusing.
Something touched her awareness and she looked up, flowing her senses outward. It was a flying creature, but what exactly she could not tell.
"Oh, dear, here comes Wobbly," Rallie said, motioning skyward with her cigar.
Visyna looked up. A snow-white pelican was laboriously flapping its way toward them, tilting across the sky as if fighting a crosswind, then angling back on course. Jir was captivated, his snout high in the air as he watched the bird.
"It's wounded!"
Rallie clucked and stood up, blowing a large smoke ring into the air. "No, not exactly." She sat back down and pulled the hood of her cloak up around her head. "Duck."
The bird had seen the smoke ring and was now aiming toward the wagon. Soldiers up and down the line began pointing and shouting until sergeants got them in check.
Rallie peered out from beneath her hood and looked to the sky. "Duck!"
Visyna threw herself down on the footboards as the pelican flew straight at them and kept on going, bouncing off the top of the wagon in a spray of feathers, shooting back into the air, and wheeling about on one wing. Jir crouched in the wet grass, his tail swishing violently. The bird spied the bengar in the grass and squawked, swinging back toward the safety of the wagon, its large, webbed feet paddling furiously as if trying to gain traction. It finally made it to the wagon, crashing down on top of the canvas cover in a flurry of more white feathers.
"The poor thing," Visyna said, getting up and climbing back over the wagon to help the stunned bird. It righted itself and shook its head, the skin under its enormous bill flapping about like an extra wing. It saw her and immediately opened its mouth wide. There was a small rolled leather tube inside. Visyna gingerly stuck her hand into its mouth and pulled the tube out. That's when she noticed the smell.
"Rallie, I think this bird has been poisoned."
Rallie looked back over her shoulder and held out a large wooden canteen to Visyna. "Poisoned, indeed. Quick, give it the antidote."
Visyna handed Rallie the leather tube and took the canteen, unscrewing the lid and sniffing the contents.
"This is beer!"
Rallie cackled and nodded. "Just what the doctor ordered after all that whiskey he's been drinking. He's a happy drunk, but one surly pile of feathers when sober."
The pelican still had its mouth wide open and now made a few screeches to get Visyna's attention. Reluctantly she upended the canteen into the bird's mouth. The pouch beneath its bill filled up, then it closed its bill and threw its head straight back, the beer disappearing down its gullet in one gulp. Satisfied, it waddled over to the edge of the wagon and looked down at the bengar keeping pace. The pelican clacked its bill together a couple of times at Jir and then moved back to the center of the wagon where it flopped down with its wings spread out wide to either side and closed its eyes. Sreexes growled and yipped below it, but it paid no attention to them.
"Is it dead?" Visyna asked, watching to see if the bird still breathed.
Rallie didn't even turn around, instead eyeing Jir, who was now fascinated by a large tortoise off to the side of the road. "Just sleeping it off. Old Wobbly is the canniest courier I've ever seen. Has an ability to find who or what he's looking for no matter where it might be, but only when he's got a bill full."
Wobbly's mouth opened for a second and a wave of fumes rolled out, followed by a deeply contented sigh. Visyna put the top back on the canteen and crawled back to sit beside Rallie, who had put the reins in her lap and was reading the parchment she had taken out of the leather tube.
"What does it say?" Visyna asked, looking over her shoulder one more time to make sure. The pelican was snoring.
Rallie rolled the parchment back up and took a few thoughtful drags on her cigar. "It's from my editor in Celwyn. We're in even more trouble than I thought possible, and I have a very expansive imagination."