“Excuse me, Major,” Private Meswiz said, his voice a high-pitched whisper. “Feylan’s gone.”
Konowa and Pimmer both turned and looked up the path. It was empty.
“What in blue blazes is he thinking?” Konowa said. “All right, stay sharp and keep quiet. Follow me,” Konowa turned and headed up the steps two at a time and to hell with the ice.
He rounded the bend expecting the worst and found Private Feylan standing proudly on a step. When he saw Konowa he mouthed three hundred and one.
“Are you mad? Get off that thing,” Konowa hissed.
Feylan backed up to the next highest step. “It’s okay, Major, all this ice has frozen everything solid. If there are any mechanisms they’re not moving. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed? We have no idea what these traps might be. Anything could set them off. Maybe it’s not pressure on the step at all. Maybe it’s some kind of magical trigger. Have you forgotten the white fire already?”
Feylan’s grin withered on his face. “Oh… I hadn’t thought about that. Sorry, sir. I’d be okay if someone else wants to take the lead for the next part.”
Now it was Konowa’s turn to grin. “Oh, no, you’ve got the keenest sense for danger now, I reckon, so you lead on. Viceroy,” Konowa said, turning his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “How far to the next booby trap?”
“Looks like five hundred and thirty-three steps this time,” he said, his voice far from confident.
“You heard him,” Konowa said, motioning for Feylan to get moving. “Count like your life depends on it.”
Feylan nodded, slowly turned, and began creeping up the steps with significantly more care than before. Konowa let him get a few steps ahead then started after him, careful to step over the three hundred and first step. He knew without looking that the Viceroy and all the soldiers following would do the same. Nothing focuses one’s attention like impending death.
They reached and passed three more suspected booby traps without setting anything off.
Pimmer grew more confident with each success, his voice growing louder as he discussed the intricacies of the map detail until Konowa had to shush him. Konowa, on the other hand, grew increasingly nervous the higher they climbed. The soldiers were starting to relax, and Konowa didn’t like it.
He suspected that Pimmer had missed something critical in his deciphering of the map, but he had no idea what. The builders of the path couldn’t have expected a snow and ice storm to gum up the works, so maybe it really was as simple as that, but Konowa didn’t believe it.
He continued following Private Feylan closely, keeping the soldier within arm’s reach so that if something did spring at them he’d have at least a fighting chance of pulling the lad back to safety. Of course, that assumed whatever trap was sprung didn’t get Konowa, too.
The higher they climbed the more Konowa’s guilt grew. Feylan was pushing his luck as he passed through each booby trapped section, and unlike before, his confidence that the ice had rendered everything safe had eroded. It went unsaid, but Private Feylan would be Corporal Feylan at the top of the stairs. All he had to do was survive.
They reached the next trap. Konowa double-checked the count in his head to make sure it was right and nodded to Feylan. The soldier stepped over the trigger and waited. When nothing happened, Konowa did the same. They each let out a small sigh. Konowa turned and pointed down at the step to the soldier behind him.
“Don’t step here,” he said.
The soldier, Otillo, muttered and Konowa turned to follow Feylan.
A soft click of a metal latch releasing cut through the wind.
Konowa reached out to grab Feylan even as the sound of stone sliding on stone reached his ears.
He was too late. Konowa’s hand touched Feylan’s robe as a sharp snap echoed off the rocks around them.
N o one move!” Pimmer hissed, his voice carrying far more authority than Konowa had ever heard.
Feylan stood stock-still with Konowa’s hand frozen on his shoulder.
“You must have triggered it, Major,” Feylan said. “It sounded like it was behind me.”
Konowa looked down at his boots, but could see nothing that indicated a trap. “No. I counted the right number of steps. I didn’t touch anything.”
“You’ve got the elf ears, sir, but I’m telling you I heard it right behind me.”
Konowa started to doubt himself. His hearing was far from perfect. Too many musket volleys and cannon blasts had taken their toll. Maybe Feylan was right. A thought dawned on Konowa and he twisted his body to the left so that he could look back down the steps while keeping his boots rooted to the stone. Pimmer was picking his way carefully through the men on the stairs as he climbed up to Konowa. He stopped a few steps below him and right behind Private Otillo. Konowa counted the steps back to Otillo.
“You stupid, stupid arse. You’re standing on the trigger.”
Otillo looked down then back up. Unbelievably, the soldier’s voice still sounded defiant. “Everything’s iced up. It should have been fine.” Konowa could see why Otillo had been bounced from his previous regiment. The lad refused to learn.
It was all Konowa could do not to fly back down the steps and throttle him. The fool had risked his life and all of theirs because of his don’t-give-a-damn attitude.
“Viceroy, what do we do now?” Konowa asked.
“This is most distressing. I’ll need a moment,” he said, burying his head in the map as he studied it.
“Quickly,” Konowa said. “We’re rather exposed out here.”
“Yes, yes, I do understand the urgency.” He looked up from his map and the expression on his face already told Konowa the answer. “There’s nothing on here about what to do if a trap is triggered.”
“Then I’ll just jump,” Otillo said, crouching in preparation.
“No!” Pimmer shouted. “You could be standing on a swing lever-”
Otillo jumped. The sound of iron pins scraping across stone echoed off the rocks a moment before the stone step he was standing on gave way. The stones plummeted into a dark chasm. Otillo’s momentum would have carried him to safety, but the second part of the trap now released. An iron bar buried in the rock debris and hinged to the stone step swung up and over as the weight of the stones fell. The bar caught Otillo square on the top of his head with a sickening crack, spraying blood ten feet into the air.
Otillo fell without a sound. A moment later the sound of crashing rock reverberated from the hole.
Ignoring Pimmer’s shouts to stay still, Konowa raced to the edge of the hole and looked down. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Even with his elven vision it was difficult to see all the way down, and for that he was thankful. He saw enough to know Otillo was dead. Black frost was already limning his body
“I tried to warn him,” Pimmer said. “I…”
“It’s not your fault, Pimmer,” Konowa said through clenched teeth, not caring that he hadn’t addressed him by his title in front of the men. “He didn’t listen, and it cost him his life.”
“It’s just that I-”
“We need to keep moving. Now.” Konowa knew his anger was driving his actions, and for the moment he was going to let it. One of his men had been killed because of stupidity, and because he didn’t take his commanding officer’s warning seriously enough. That was not going to happen again.
“Viceroy, if it’s safe, climb up and over the rocks and get back on the steps here. Move.”
Folding up his map, Pimmer clambered over the rocks piled high on either side of the stone stairs and past the gaping hole where Otillo fell. The remaining soldiers quickly followed suit until everyone was bunched up on the far side. Konowa held up a hand for Feylan to wait.
“Otillo’s death is my fault. I told him not to tread on that step and he didn’t listen.”
A couple of the soldiers started to protest this, but he cut them off with a curt wave of his hand. “The next time I give an order and it’s disobeyed the soldier won’t have to worry about a booby trap because I’ll take his head clean off. Is that understood?”
Konowa looked each of them in the eyes. Everyone nodded, including Pimmer.
“I’ll keep lead,” Feylan said. It wasn’t a question.
“You can only push your luck so far,” Konowa said, prepared to choose another soldier to take over for Feylan.
“I’ve come this far and I want to see it through. I don’t know who set these traps, but they aren’t going to beat me. I’ll get us to the top. Safely.”
Konowa could tell the soldier wouldn’t be easily swayed. He could give him a direct order to go to the back of the line and he’d obey, but there was something in his voice that told Konowa that Feylan needed to do this.
“Very well. Private Feylan has lead. Let’s go.”
They moved out silently, each footstep a well chosen affair. Their pace was definitely slower, but Konowa wasn’t going to chasten them. They were all shaken by Otillo’s death, especially because it had been so senseless. It was a harsh lesson to learn, but they were all very keen on counting now.
After a hundred steps Konowa thought about calling for a break. Climbing on ice-coated, uneven steps was bad enough, but looking and listening for signs of a booby trap made it exhausting. Every nerve and muscle was screaming with tension. A small rock tumbled down past Konowa and he almost pulled his saber to stab it.
Easy, easy, he told himself.
He turned his attention back to Feylan, watching where he put each foot. Feylan’s right boot raised and started to swing forward to the next step, but then paused in midair and came back down. Konowa tensed and put up his hand to signal to Pimmer behind him to stop. Feylan crouched down and brought his musket to rest on his hip, the bayonet pointing straight ahead. After several seconds, he quarter-turned so that Konowa could see the side of his face. His jaw was clenched as he whispered out the side of his mouth.
“Rakke. Boulder. Five yards ahead on the right.”
Konowa drew in a breath and froze in place. How was that possible? He hadn’t sensed a thing. He focused on the black acorn and felt its cold power. Yes, there was danger. He’d become so accustomed to the pain of the cold that he hadn’t even noticed it. He inched up the step until his chest was pressed against Feylan’s back and he could rest his chin on his shoulder. He let his gaze travel up the steps and then to the right.
The back of his neck shivered uncontrollably. Feylan was right. Not five yards ahead a rakke crouched on a rock looking down the path they were climbing. How had the beast not seen them?
“Well spotted,” Konowa whispered.
Feylan moved his head just a fraction to the left. “I see three more behind it. And I think there are more behind those.”
The shivering moved to Konowa’s stomach.
He counted over a dozen rakkes perched on boulders. As he looked further up he realized that what he’d taken for more rocks were in fact rakkes. Scores of them. Thoughts of the bravado he’d displayed just a couple of hours before when he’d come up with this plan made him feel foolish. Instead of charging full speed with his saber flashing he wondered if he had just led them all to their deaths. Otillo had already paid the price. Were the others next?
A weight pressed against Konowa’s back and the warm breath of Pimmer thawed his good ear. “Did we find something?”
For a reply, Konowa pointed with his chin while trying to shrug Pimmer’s mouth away from his ear. If they were all about to die the current tableau wasn’t exactly the way Konowa wanted to meet his fate.
“Oh, yes, I see,” Pimmer whispered, patting Konowa on the arm. “Not to worry, I think I know how to deal with this.” Without another word Pimmer bent down, picked up a small rock, stood up and threw it at the nearest rakke.
Konowa was so shocked he couldn’t move. Was the man truly off his nut? The rock missed and rattled around among the boulders. The rakkes appeared not to notice. Before Konowa could act, Pimmer threw a second rock. This time it hit the rakke on the top of its skull and bounced off.
“Stop him, Major,” Feylan whispered, his musket shaking. “He’s going to get us all killed.”
Konowa brought his right arm forward ready to ram an elbow into Pimmer’s face when the rakke moved. Holding his blow in check, Konowa stared in amazement as the rakke leaned forward. Maybe it thought it was the wind, Konowa hoped, knowing that not even a rakke was that stupid. The rakke continued to lean and Konowa was sure it must have seen them. He was starting to call up the frost fire when the beast did the most curious thing and tipped right over and sprawled face-first into the rocks below its boulder.
“Bloody hell,” Feylan said, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. “Is he chucking magic rocks?”
Konowa wondered the same thing. The acorn still throbbed with a cold warning. That rakke must have froze to death, but something up ahead was very much alive. He turned to look at Pimmer who was standing erect and smiling grimly. “Just as I suspected,” he said, and pushed past Konowa and Feylan and walked up the steps toward the rakke.
Konowa lunged after him and caught him a few steps up. “What game are you playing at?” he hissed, trying to pull him back.
“It’s dead, Major,” he said, gently patting Konowa’s hand on his arm. “They all are.”
Konowa risked a look at the nearest rakke. A wooden stake was strapped to its back by a length of frayed rope wrapped around its chest. There was a large, fist-sized hole at the base of its skull and its fur was matted with dried blood. The rakke was dead. Someone had placed it on the boulder like a trophy, or a scarecrow. He looked up the hill and now that fear wasn’t clouding his vision he saw that the other rakkes were dead. Every single rakke had been propped on or staked to a boulder.
Throwing caution to the howling wind, Konowa reached out and grabbed the rakke by the shoulder and tried to heave it over onto its back. He got it partway up, but the wooden stake jammed between two rocks preventing him from turning it all the way over. It didn’t matter, he got a clear view of its face. Both eyes had been gouged out, its fangs had been pulled, its throat slit, and its tongue had been pulled down and out through the gaping wound. The wounds looked fresh, like they had been inflicted only a few days ago.
“My elves did this?” Konowa asked. Rakkes were cruel and vicious and most disturbingly, extinct. They had no reason existing in this age. Still, he knew that even at his most battle-crazed, he could never do what he saw before him. Not this. Not torture. He could kill, of that he had no qualms, but there was a bright, burning line deep inside of him that he had never crossed, and had no intention of ever doing so.
“Why did they do that?” Private Feylan asked, his voice quiet again. “What’s the point in torturing them? They don’t know nothing.” The rest of the soldiers had moved up the path to see what was going on and were now staring silently at the corpse.
Konowa’s mind raced. Why indeed? “
A warning, I should imagine,” Pimmer said. “A rather graphic and horrific warning to be sure, but perhaps an effective one…” he said, his voice trailing off as if he didn’t really believe it.
Konowa wanted to believe it was a warning, but his instincts weren’t cooperating. Whoever did this had acted as cruelly as the rakkes themselves, but something about it was worse. Rakkes were stupid creatures controlled by dark forces. If his elves did this then they were responsible.
“Perhaps we should be moving,” Pimmer said at last, his voice thankfully firm. Konowa wasn’t sure he could deal with sympathy right now.
Without a word he brushed past Private Feylan and took the lead up the stone stairs. Feylan said nothing. Something was alive up here, and they hadn’t found it yet.
Each step higher brought more rakke bodies into view. For every one set out on a boulder there were several more dumped among the rocks. Many appeared to have been tortured. Several had been beheaded. He’d seen enough bodies on battlefields to be hardened to death, but even he wasn’t prepared for what waited around the next corner.
“Oh…”
A rakke lay tied spread-eagle on the steps, its hands and feet cut off, the stumps black with frozen blood. Two bayonets protruded from its eye sockets, its fangs were splintered, and sections of its hide had been peeled back exposing the muscle beneath.
It was still breathing.
Konowa understood shame and guilt and the rage it built inside an elf. He’d lived with it all his life bearing the Shadow Monarch’s mark. After losing the regiment he thought for a time he might lose himself in the Elfkynan forest. And now he’d condemned the reincarnated Iron Elves to a bond beyond death, and when given a chance to break it, chose not to.
But nothing he’d felt, nothing he’d experienced could ever justify this.
“Do you see some-” Private Feylan started to ask, poking his head around Konowa’s shoulder. He turned away and began to vomit, the sound churning Konowa’s stomach. He might have been sick himself if he’d had anything to eat in the last day.
He drew his saber from its scabbard and stepped forward. Anger at Otillo, at his own foolishness, and his brother elves and what they had become poured out in a savage thrust through the beast’s heart. It convulsed once and then went still. Black frost glittered on the exposed portion of the blade and soon the rakke’s body was engulfed. Konowa stood perfectly still, watching. After several seconds the body of the rakke was consumed and the tip of Konowa’s saber rested against the stone step.
“Major?”
The wind, or maybe it was the sound of the blood in Konowa’s veins, roared in his ears. He wanted to scream, cry, punch, and curl up in a ball all at the same time.
“Major Swift Dragon?”
Konowa blinked. Mechanically, he sheathed his blade and forced himself to turn away. Viceroy Alstonfar’s face swam into view.
“I did this to them,” Konowa said. “It’s because of me they were banished here. They did this because of me.”
Pimmer stepped back in surprise. “Absolutely not. Every man and elf has a choice between good and evil. Circumstances might stack the deck one way or the other, but you still pick the card.”
Konowa looked into Pimmer‘s eyes, searching for the lie. He saw only compassion and honesty. “You really believe that?”
“With every ounce of my being, and that’s a lot of belief.”
Konowa smiled in spite of himself. “I could have used you in the forest a while back.”
“I’m here now, and my advice is that we get off these rocks and in the fort posthaste.”
A gust of wind buffeted Konowa’s shako and he realized he was shivering. “Wise words.” He turned and started to climb the steps, not sure he was prepared for what he might see next but knowing he had to face whatever it was. The rest of the climb happened in a blur. Dead rakkes littered the ground wherever he looked. Eventually, he simply looked down, watching his boots. He forgot about counting. He forgot about the regiment marching across the desert floor heading toward the fort. Thoughts of what his elves had become were still playing in his mind when a shadow loomed before him. He looked up in surprise to see the wall of the fort towering directly above him.
The bottom twenty feet of the wall were comprised of roughhewn boulders joined together like massive blocks. As Konowa craned his head back he saw the stones grew smaller and had been worked more, although the overall appearance was still of something put together rapidly.
“We made it,” Private Feylan said, coming to stand beside Konowa. The other soldiers soon appeared and huddled together. Their faces were pale masks of grim concentration. Konowa imagined they were trying desperately, as he was, to forget what they’d just seen.
“We’re not in yet,” Konowa said, looking to Pimmer.
“But we will be soon,” the diplomat said, walking up to the wall and tracing the cracks between the blocks with a finger. He began counting the blocks from right to left and referring back to the map in his hand. “I do believe I’ve found it,” he said after a minute, stepping back from the wall and pointing to a block four feet tall and three feet wide. He looked down at the ground, took another step back, looked up and counted the blocks again, nodded, and stamped his right boot twice.
“Was something supposed to happen?” Private Feylan whispered to Konowa.
Konowa said nothing, only raising an eyebrow at Pimmer who gave the map another look, spun it ninety degrees before turning it back, and moved over three blocks to the right and pointed at another block of similar dimensions. “Yes, definitely got it this time.” The block shifted back an inch with a puff of dust that was quickly whipped away by the wind.
“Gentlemen, our way in,” he said, stepping forward and giving the block a kick with his boot. It swung backward and disappeared in the dark as if it were on hinges. He reached into his robe and pulled out the small storm lantern. “Now it’s my turn,” he said. He shook the lantern and as its light bloomed he stooped down and walked inside.
Konowa watched the light in the square hole dim as Pimmer walked deeper inside. He realized he was cringing, waiting to hear a loud crack as another fiendish device sprung. When no scream of pain issued forth from the secret passage Konowa pinched the bridge of his nose and blew into his hands for warmth.
“He just… he just walked right in,” Feylan said, pointing to the opening with his musket. “Just kicked it open and went in like it was his town’s tavern.”
“Seems he finally figured out which way is up on the map,” Konowa said, then cursed himself for disparaging Pimmer in front of the troops. “Which of course he knew all along. I do believe the Viceroy likes to jest,” he said.
Feylan and the other soldiers looked at him with obvious skepticism, but they kept their opinions to themselves.
“Okay, grab him before he wanders too far,” Konowa said, pushing Feylan toward the opening. The private nodded and followed after Pimmer. He reached the wall and without pausing ducked inside.
“All right, the rest of you, in you go. Take it slow, and don’t go far. We still don’t know who or what might be in there.”
The soldiers walked silently toward the opening, each of them lost in thought. One by one they crouched down and entered the passageway until only Konowa remained outside the wall. He hunched his shoulders against the cold. For several minutes, he simply stood there.
Finally, he took one last look down the rocky slope before turning and walking inside. A trail of black frost stained the ground in his wake.
S colly fell to the tunnel floor, the sound of the musket stock striking his cheek still echoing off the walls.
“Stop it, you’ll kill him!” Visyna shouted, jumping up from the wall and running toward the fallen man. The same elf soldier that had threatened Visyna earlier stood over Scolly, his musket raised for another strike.
Hrem was only a second behind her. “Try that again and I will kill you!”
The elf looked between Visyna and Hrem then down at Scolly. “If he wanders off again, he dies,” the elf said, spitting at the soldier, then spinning on his heel and walking away.
Hrem reached down and lifted Scolly to his feet while Visyna came close and examined the bruise on his face without touching it. “How do you feel?”
Tears were running down Scolly’s cheeks. “I just wanted to know where we are going.”
Teeter came up to them and took Scolly by the elbow, but not before giving Visyna a cold stare. “If you don’t use your damn magic soon it’s going to be too late. C’mon, Scolly, let’s go sit down.”
Visyna tried to think of a response, but couldn’t. Teeter was right. If she didn’t do something then what good was she?
She sat back down against the wall. Hrem joined her a moment later. “Don’t worry about Teeter, he’s just upset.”
“He’s right though,” Visyna said. “I have to act. You see what these elves are like.”
Hrem looked down the tunnel then back at her. “So what did you have in mind?”
“How good is your command of the frost fire?”
“I’m one of the few in the regiment who seems to be able to control it, but I’m no Renwar,” he said, his voice a mixture of pity and relief. “What he did when we left Nazalla was way beyond anything I’d know how to do. I don’t even know exactly how I do control it. It’s sort of like breathing, I just do it.”
Visyna hid her disappointment. “But you can call it up when you want, right?”
For an answer Hrem held out a hand. Black frost covered his palm. As she watched the crystals grew and transformed into ugly, black flames before he closed his fist and doused them. “I could kill someone with it if I touched them, but I couldn’t throw it if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Could you make a wall? Some kind of barrier that you could place around Kritton and the elves?”
Hrem thought about that. “Never tried anything like that. Even if I could, though, how would that help? Flame won’t stop musket balls.”
“Not flame,” Visyna said, “but ice. If I could teach you to weave, maybe you could do it. It wouldn’t have to be for long, just enough time for Chayii, Jir, and me to do the rest.”
Hrem looked at his hands then at her. “Do you want to try now?”
“No, it’s too confined down here. We’ll have to wait until we get out of this tunnel.”
“Does that mean you’re able to weave down here?” he asked.
Visyna nodded. “My ability never left. The ancient power in the library was just too caustic to weave.” She tried to think of a way to explain it. “Think of nature as one giant fabric. Everything has a life force, an energy like a thread that weaves and bonds with everything else. I find these threads and weave them into something I can use, crafting a spell from the very life around me.”
Hrem’s eyes widened. “Do you mean you take some of our life when you cast a spell?”
Visyna smiled and held up her hands. “It doesn’t work that way. I take only what is free. It’s like the heat from a fire for warmth. All life gives off energy as it lives. I find that energy and use it.”
“What if you can’t find enough energy around you? Couldn’t you tap into someone?”
“That would be horrible,” she said, her voice rising before she remembered where they were. “It would be as if I plunged a knife into you and drained your blood. I weave the energy that lives all around us, but I do so with care. I seek to strengthen and help, not hurt. I only take what is available and will harm no living thing.”
“But could you do it if you had to, if there were no other way?”
Visyna thought she understood what he was getting at. “I wouldn’t be able to use your energy even if I wanted to. The oath is far too strong in all of you now.”
“These elves aren’t bound by the oath,” he said.
She understood his implication. She could weave their energy, killing them in the process. “Even if my weaving were strong enough, I couldn’t kill in that fashion.” The very thought of it made her skin crawl.
Hrem raised a hand and held his thumb and forefinger apart an inch. “Then don’t kill them-weaken them. Drain some of their energy, enough that we can get away when the opportunity presents itself.”
It was an intriguing idea, but already she saw a flaw. “Even if I could do it, and I’m not saying I could, I wouldn’t be able to affect Kritton. He is oath-bound like you. The Shadow Monarch’s power makes it too difficult for me to work with it.”
Hrem smiled. “I’ll take care of Kritton.”
She sat back against the tunnel wall. Choices whirled about inside her head, each one dark and filled with unforeseen dangers. A dull pain settled in her breast bone. Is this what it felt like for Konowa? Faced with nothing but terrible choices? A sudden longing for him filled her. Her heart went out to him as she understood in a way she hadn’t before the constant nightmare of choosing the lesser of two evils.
“You say it so easily,” she said.
“For that piece of filth, killing him will be easy. Doesn’t mean I like it, but it’s something that has to be done. In the end, it’s going to come down to him or us, and I’d rather it be us.”
“It’s just that it seems so barbaric, all this killing. There should be another way.” She knew she sounded naive, but didn’t care.
Hrem’s voice grew stern and leaned toward her as he spoke. “Begging your pardon, but have you tried talking to a rakke? The only thing they understand is brute force. And as for Kritton and the rest of these elves, we tried talking to them back in the library and you saw what happened. No, the time for talking is long past. Kritton has to die, and if the other elves get in the way, they will, too. Maybe you don’t like it, but it won’t be the first time you’ve killed.”
“Actually, it will.”
Hrem sat back in surprise. “You’ve been in the thick of the fighting since we set out…”
Visyna shook her head. “I’ve done what I could to aid the regiment with my weaving, but I’ve never directly taken a life.” In her months with the Iron Elves, her weaving had certainly made it easier for the regiment to kill its enemies, but they had been monsters, creatures spawned by wickedness. What Hrem suggested was something new. It was a line she had never crossed.
Could she drain just a little energy? And at what cost?
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I would remember.”
A brown carapaced beetle no bigger than a fly crawled across the sand on the tunnel floor near her foot. She stared at it. Without meaning to she sought out its life presence in the web of energy around her. She glanced up at Hrem and saw that he had seen it, too. He looked at her and shrugged his shoulders a fraction.
It’s only an insect, she told herself, forcing her attention back on the beetle, but in her heart she didn’t believe it. It was a living creature, part of the natural order.
“They’re living, breathing men with families. They deserve a chance,” Hrem said.
And there it was. She knew what he was saying was true, and that she was being overly sensitive, but she also understood this is how it begins. Once she began weaving the living energy of another life she would lose a part of herself forever. It dawned on her then that if she were ever to see Konowa again, this was a sacrifice she would have to make.
“Keep watch,” she whispered, leaning forward to concentrate on the beetle. She brought her hands in front of her and concentrated on the energy coursing around her. The men of the squad were easy to pick out, their energy laced with the darkness of the oath. She quickly found the slender thread of the beetle’s energy and with soft, smooth strokes began to tease it apart, looking only to weave a single strand of it in the hopes of slowing it down.
The beetle continued to crawl across the floor, unaffected by her efforts. Her face flushed and she flexed her fingers and started again. She found its thread and gave a gentle pull.
Crack. The beetle’s energy unspooled like a dropped ball of yarn. She looked past her fingers to see the insect dead on the floor, its tiny body broken in two.
“Impressive,” Hrem said, reaching out and picking up the bug with his huge hand. He studied it for a few seconds then incinerated it with frost fire.
Visyna couldn’t breathe. “I was… I was only trying to slow it down,” Visyna said, dropping her hands in her lap. “Its energy was too thin.” It was a bug, and she knew Hrem would think she was foolish, but she didn’t care. She had just killed a living creature. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Hrem nodded. “Then slowing down a bunch of elves should be easy.”
Visyna looked at him in shock. “It’s murder.”
He returned her stare. “Then so be it.”
The sound of footsteps echoed off the tunnel walls.
“On your feet,” Private Kritton ordered, coming to stand in front of Visyna’s small group. A makeshift bandage of torn blue cloth covered his left shoulder. A dark, wet stain in the center of the cloth attested to the wound from Chayii’s thrown dagger back at the library. Even now, Visyna felt an urge to want to help the elf. She chided herself for the thought. Let him suffer, he deserves it. He’d shot Yimt in cold blood. He’d poisoned the elves with his mad need for redemption. It was clear he would never stop until something, or someone, stopped him.
No one moved. Kritton’s eyes narrowed as he looked them over, then without warning he lashed out with his boot, kicking Scolly hard in the ribs. The soldier yelped in pain and curled up in a ball clutching his rib cage. “I said on your feet, now.”
Hrem was up in an instant, moving far faster than a man of his bulk should move. Frost fire burned in his hands. Several elves appeared with muskets cocked and ready to fire. Each muzzle was aimed at a different member of Yimt’s old squad. There was no way they’d miss.
“Easy, Hrem, he’s not worth it,” Visyna said, gently laying a hand on his arm. Frost fire arced from his sleeve to her skin. The shock of the magic stung her hand, but she kept it there for several seconds, wincing at the pain.
Teeter helped up a whimpering Scolly, while Zwitty and Inkermon rose to their feet on their own. They grouped close together, each one’s fists clenched. Their bravery was all the more impressive because even as they prepared to fight they swayed on their feet. Chayii remained crouched by Jir, her hands buried deep in the fur on the back of his neck. A deep, rumbling growl echoed throughout the tunnel.
“You have something to say, big man?” Kritton asked, wincing as he clutched his left arm to his side.
“Don’t touch him again. Don’t touch any of us again, ever.”
Kritton sneered. “Or what? Your precious major isn’t here to save you now. All I see are a bunch of misguided fools doing the bidding of a bastard in league with Her.”
“Funny,” Hrem said, his voice low and steady, “I was going to say the same about you lot.”
“It’ll be the last thing you say,” Kritton said, his right hand falling to rest on the hilt of Yimt’s drukar.
Seeing it worn by Kritton angered Visyna, but she knew she couldn’t afford to indulge that emotion, not here, and not now. A few growls from the rest of Yimt’s squad suggested they were not as likely to hold their feelings in check. If Visyna didn’t do something soon things would spin out of control.
“It would help if you told us where we are going,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded calm.
Kritton and Hrem continued to glare at each other.
Scolly coughed and doubled over gasping. Teeter kept him from falling and helped him stand up again. When he did they all saw blood trickling from his mouth.
“You pathetic bastard,” Teeter said, letting go of Scolly and taking a step forward. He pointed a finger at the elf. “You don’t know where you’re going, do you? All you know is you fouled it all up and now you’re taking these elves with you.”
Kritton broke his stare with Hrem and turned on Teeter. The elf’s jaw was clenched. “Shut your mouth.”
Teeter took another step. “You’re a coward and a liar, Kritton. All you’re doing is running. That’s all you’ve ever done. There’s a noose waiting for you now so you’re running and you’re taking these elves with you to the gibbet. Yes, that’s right,” Teeter said, turning to look at the elves. “Desertion, murder, and looting are all hanging offenses, or do you think they’ll pardon your crimes for some long-lost baubles and beads?”
No, no, no, Visyna thought, please don’t provoke him.
“Our honor will be restored!” Kritton shouted, his voice trembling. “Everything we’ve done has been necessary. We’ve destroyed Her forces wherever we found them. The rakkes… the rakkes paid for the humiliation we’ve endured.”
The elf soldiers looked uncomfortable at Kritton’s mention of the rakkes, though Visyna couldn’t understand why. The tension in the tunnel was growing. Hrem turned his head slightly and looked at her. She felt trapped. She had to try to weave some magic now.
Teeter refused to back down, continuing to shout insult after insult at the increasingly agitated elf. Visyna took in a slow breath and held it. With her hands down by her side, she sought out the life energy around her. She found the elves easily.
Avoiding Kritton’s aura, she began to weave, careful to keep her movements as small as possible. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her neck grew warm as she focused. The wrongness of what she was doing filled her with dread.
She had just begun to tease apart the strands when the oath magic flared and caused her to lose focus. Teeter’s clenched fists were wreathed in black frost. He was still yelling at Kritton and didn’t appear to notice.
“Teeter, let it go!” Hrem said, recognizing this new danger. Zwitty gasped.
The elves shuffled back a couple of steps before Kritton barked at them to stay where they were. His eyes narrowed. “Do you see? This is the curse Swift Dragon brought down on the regiment, and if he has his way, it will be your fate, too.”
Teeter was no longer yelling, but his anger remained. “Get out of here and take your kind with you,” he said, his voice low and menacing.
“You don’t frighten me,” Kritton said, “or do you forget that I’m just as cursed as you?”
The frost fire blossomed into ice-black flame and began crawling up Teeter’s arms. His jacket shimmered and the buttons gleamed as the fire took hold. The ground beneath his feet sparkled as if he stood on broken glass.
“Put it out, Teeter-you know what happened to Zwitty,” Hrem said.
“I had it under control just fine,” Zwitty said.
“I’m not doing anything. Not until they leave,” Teeter said. His face was cast in a flickering light of sharp shadows as the black frost fire reached his shoulders and covered his chest. He wavered where he stood.
Visyna stifled a cry as she sought out his energy in the web around her. The oath magic was spiraling out of control.
“Hrem, do something,” she said.
He held out his hands and shrugged. “I can’t do what Renwar did. None of us can.”
She looked over at Chayii, but she shook her head.
Teeter took a step toward Kritton. “Run… now.” He was completely wreathed in black flame. The temperature of the air plummeted and the tunnel filled with white mist from their breath. The fire grew in intensity, feeding off Teeter as it did. Kritton backed up several steps.
“This would have been your fate!” he shouted, turning to look at the elves. “This is what I am trying to save you from. This is why everything we did was necessary!”
“Put out the fire now!” Hrem shouted.
Teeter turned to look at him, then at the others. Even through the flame Visyna could see he was trying to smile. “I plan to.”
He spun, and opening his arms wide, lunged at Kritton.
Smoke and flame filled the tunnel as several muskets fired at once. Visyna screamed and covered her ears too late as the blast assaulted her senses. Hot, acrid smoke and burning embers slapped her face. She reeled backward and would have fallen if not for slamming into the tunnel wall.
There was yelling, screaming. Inkermon crashed to the floor with two elves on top of him. Scolly dove on top of them, his fists a blur as he pummeled the back of an elf’s head. More elves charged past her knocking her off her feet in the process. She slid down the wall scraping her back and landing sharply on her tailbone bringing tears to her eyes.
“You bastards! You bastards!” Hrem shouted, tearing into the elves and scattering bodies everywhere. His fists swung like massive sledgehammers, dropping elves into crumpled heaps. Black frost sparkled on several of their uniforms, but did not burst into flame. Visyna struggled to her feet determined to help, but a body fell on her legs pinning her in place. Frost fire crackled and sparkled on her legs and she screamed, pushing the body off. It was Zwitty. Blood trickled from a long gash above his right eye.
This time she did get to her feet, but the fight was over. Elves had them penned in from both sides, their muskets ready to shoot them all down. She rubbed her eyes, blinking and shaking her head as her vision slowly readjusted.
Teeter’s body lay sprawled on the tunnel floor, the frost fire consuming it rapidly. In a matter of seconds it was gone. The air started to warm, and her breath no longer misted in front of her face. More tears filled her eyes as Teeter’s shade materialized briefly and then faded, leaving only a cold, empty space.
“We go, now!” Kritton shouted, his eyes wide with fear and anger. He kicked at elves to get them moving, motioning them to haul the human soldiers to their feet. Visyna willed herself to move. Scolly and Inkermon helped Zwitty up as she fell into step with Hrem.
“There was nothing you could do,” Hrem said. His knuckles were bloody and the left sleeve of his uniform was ripped from shoulder to cuff.
She knew it was true that there was nothing she could have done, but hearing him say it made her feel guilty all the same. She began to trace a tiny pattern in the air with her hands, seeking out the threads of the elves around them. Hrem looked over and tilted his head in question.
“No more of us die,” she whispered.
He nodded, and they kept walking.
A cold shock rippled through Private Alwyn Renwar as he led the regiment toward Suhundam’s Hill. His vision fogged and the ground beneath him spun. He drove his wooden leg down hard for support, breaking through the ore-stained snow crust.
More Iron Elves had been killed. The ranks of the dead shuddered, the feeling moving through Alwyn like an ice flow. No one alive should ever experience this. It was cold, and loss, and hopelessness, and it eroded away a little more of his humanity.
He started to seek out who they were, then stopped. He no longer wanted to know. Soon enough, the shades of the dead soldiers would appear, their cries adding to the chorus of agony and fear that marked the existence of all the fallen. What made it worse was remembering a time in the very recent past when these same men had lived and laughed and smiled. To know them now as nothing but shadows of unending torment and despair was a burden he couldn’t bear much longer.
Death, he knew, would be no release. For him, insanity offered the only way forward.
“And how are you doing this less-than-ideal evening?”
Alwyn turned, surprised to see Rallie standing behind him. He saw the column of soldiers a few yards behind her, waiting.
“More of them have died,” Alwyn said, turning away again.
“You mean of us, don’t you?” Rallie asked, walking to stand beside him. Despite the wind, her cloak barely rippled. “You are still among the living, yes?”
“Am I?”
For an answer, Rallie reached out with her quill and jabbed the point into the flesh of his hand. He yelped, snatching his hand away and shaking it. A warm, soothing sensation enveloped his hand before frost fire sparked and burned the feeling away leaving him cold and shivering.
“Either you have excellent reflexes for a dead man, or you’re still very much alive,” she said.
Alwyn studied her through his gray eyes, seeking out her energy. An ancient power radiated from-“Oww!” he said, feeling the sting of her quill jab him again, this time in the earlobe. As before, a feeling of warmth began to spread throughout his body before the oath magic overwhelmed it. Alwyn shook himself as anger surged inside him.
“The wind took it,” she said, staring him directly in the eyes as if daring him to contradict her. Power coursed through Alwyn. He was the destroyer of Kaman Rhal’s dragon of bones. It was he who blasted the Shadow Monarch’s emissary to pieces. Who was Rallie to-“Oww!”
“It’s like it has a mind of its own,” Rallie said, removing the sharpened end of her quill from his shoulder. It had pierced the cloth of his uniform and his cotton undershirt underneath. This time instead of warmth there was heat as the point entered his skin dead center in the middle of his acorn tattoo. He felt frost fire tracing the outline of the tattoo and its motto “?ri Mekah (Into the Fire and Right the Hell Back Out)” but unlike the previous two times it did not consume the power he felt from her quill.
Rallie held the quill loosely between her fingers, twirling it slowly. Alwyn raised his hands in surrender.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She didn’t answer right away, but started walking. Alwyn watched her for a few steps then followed after her. He caught up with her and fell into step. His tattoo continued to burn, but now it was a tolerable heat. In a very strange way he found it comforting, as if one small part of him was still him.
“The major will be waiting for us, so I think it best we keep moving,” she said.
“You’re not going back to your wagon?”
“One of the lads used to drive a beer wagon. I’m not sure camels are quite the same as dray horses, but I think he’ll get the gist of it quick enough. Besides, with one damaged wagon wheel it’s not a very smooth ride. So I decided I’d take the chance to stretch my legs. And I’d like the company.”
Alwyn tried and failed to read Rallie. He looked for fear, or mockery, but all he sensed was genuine interest on her part.
“Sometimes what you see is what you get,” she said.
He walked in silence, only partially listening as Rallie somehow got onto the subject of distilleries. The regiment trailed them at a distance. A new feeling enveloped him. He was never alone, not anymore, but right now he felt a degree of peace and solitude as he walked beside Rallie. There was something soothing about her voice.
“Are you casting a spell on me?” he asked, suspicion rushing his words and making his tone sharp.
“I have been called mesmerizing in my day,” she said, “positively captivating even. But no, no spell beyond the simple act of keeping a friend company. There’s a power in that greater than anything I’ve ever encountered.”
Alwyn turned his head to see if she was laughing.
“Well, in a deeply emotional way,” she explained, resting a hand over her heart.
Before Alwyn could stop himself the words rushed out. “Everything is pain. I’m losing my friends, Rallie. I’m losing my grasp on this world. Soon there won’t be anything left to keep me here.”
“Nonsense. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”
Alwyn had expected sympathy, perhaps shock on her part at his plight, but not this. “That’s what you think this is? I’m becoming the living dead, cursed for eternity with tormented shades as my companions, and you think I’m feeling sorry for myself?”
Rallie pulled the cigar out of her mouth and jabbed it at him. He recoiled.
“As I keep having to explain to you, you’re not dead, not by a long shot.” She put the cigar back in her mouth and clamped down on it as a gust of wind raced across the desert kicking up sand and snow. “Your survival instinct still works. It’s your brain that’s giving you problems. You’re overthinking things. Wallowing, as it were, in a sea of woe. I can’t help the dead, but the confused and despondent I can still help… if they’re prepared to help themselves. I was telling the major something similar. Start with hope and build.”
Alwyn thought about that. Was there still hope?
“I don’t know if I know how to do that, Rallie. What hope is there for them? For me? We’re all bound by Her magic.”
“Magic done can be undone. That’s why we’re going to meet Her on Her mountain. Which is why we’re currently trekking across this desert. You’re getting yourself twisted in knots about grand, horrible things when what you need to be doing is putting your attention on the here and now.”
“But the shades-”
“Will remain that way unless you and the rest of the living do something about it,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice softened as she continued. “I know they’re suffering, as are you. For now, it can’t be helped. You’re their emissary now, and they look to you for answers, so give them something to do.”
“What do you mean?”
Rallie swung a hand around taking in the emptiness. “Put the buggers to work. They’re dead, but that’s no excuse for lying around moaning and lamenting that state of affairs. They need focus, and you can give it to them. You know what’s at stake. You know what has to be done to free the regiment from Her oath. So buck up, chin up, and get moving.”
“It’s not that simple, Rallie,” Alwyn said.
“That’s the human mind for you, always trying to show how complicated things can be. Don’t think about it, just feel it. Better to do something and fail, than nothing and wonder.”
For the first time in a long time, it was as if a dark, smothering veil had been lifted from his face. Thinking about his situation only made it worse. So maybe Rallie had a point. Stop thinking and start acting. Alwyn drew in a breath and planted his legs firmly in the snow. Rallie stopped and turned to look at him, a smile apparent behind the glowing end of her cigar.
His heart filled with emotion, not all of it sad. There was a way forward. How it would all work out he didn’t know, but right now that didn’t matter. Right now he was alive, and that was enough.
“I miss Yimt,” he said at last, unsure what else to say.
“I miss the rascal, too,” she said, “but I hate to think what he’d be saying to you if he were here instead of me right now. I’m not sure ears as tender as yours could survive being exposed to that kind of verbal abuse.”
Alwyn actually smiled.
She started walking again. He matched her step for step, marveling at how his view of the world could change so fast.
“You never answered my question,” he said. “You know, who are you?”
“I didn’t answer only because I don’t mean to,” she said, cheerily puffing away on her cigar. “A woman is entitled to her secrets, especially if she can’t remember some of them.”
Alwyn didn’t believe that.
“Eventually you have to tell us,” he paused before continuing. “Don’t you?”
“Do you know what kills cats?” Rallie asked.
“Curiosity?” Alwyn answered.
“Not really. It’s usually the horse and buggy that runs them over because they thought they heard a lot of mice scurrying on the road.”
“I’m not sure, but I think that means I should change the subject,” Alwyn said.
She stopped again. A feeling of dread came over Alwyn. Shades of the dead materialized all around him. He shuddered, but steeled himself. He might be their spokesman, but he wasn’t dead. Not yet.
“It’s just been changed for you. There’s the fort,” Rallie said.
Alwyn looked. The hill jutted out of the desert like a broken bone, the jagged top the battlements of the fort. Letting his gaze fall he took in the base of the hill, searching the snow-covered debris for signs of life.
“Are those rakkes?” he asked, spotting bodies spread out in front of the hill.
“They were,” Rallie said.
He tore his gaze away from the hill and focused instead on the shades of the fallen. Their hands started to reach for him and the cold, unending pressure of their agony began to gnaw at him from the inside. His mood darkened, and the warm feeling he’d had from the playful banter with Rallie began to retreat, but then he felt the tattoo on his arm begin to burn hotter, as if a fire were being stoked. It was little more than a single match in a blizzard, but it was enough for him to remember that he could still make choices.
He stood to his full height, the charred and blackened branches of his wooden leg creaking with the effort. “Go. Seek out our enemies. Now!”
The shades didn’t move.
“Try again,” Rallie said.
Alwyn looked at the shades. He felt the anger well up inside him. They were soldiers, damn it, and they had a duty to perform. “The regiment needs you. You are still part of it. Remember that,” Alwyn said.
The shades continued to stand their ground. RSM Lorian rode forth on Zwindarra until he was only a few feet away. “Our pain in this existence grows, yet we appear no closer to our goal.”
Rallie started to step forward, but Alwyn held up his hand to stop her. This time, he let his anger boil forth.
“RSM! You know better. You all know better. We’re soldiers. We fight until the battle is won, and this battle is far from over.” He stepped forth and placed his hands on his hips. “You weren’t cowards in life. Being dead changes nothing. Remember who you are,” Alwyn said, pointing to individual soldiers. “You, and you, and you… you’re Iron Elves. Live up to that name!”
The air around them crackled as the temperature fell. Alwyn’s breath misted and his lungs burned with the cold. The shades of the Iron Elves grew straighter in front of his eyes. He blinked. They were standing at attention. A moment later, they vanished. Alwyn waited several seconds before letting out his breath.
“Now that’s something Yimt would have been damn proud of,” Rallie said, whistling softly.
“I thought I went too far,” Alwyn said.
“So did I, my boy, so did I. Remind me never to play poker with you.”
The sound of crunching snow preceded acting-RSM Aguom as he marched up to stand a few feet away. Alwyn remembered that he was still a member of Her Majesty’s Imperial Armed Forces and turned and stood to attention.
“Stand easy,” Aguom said, looking around nervously. He pointed toward the hill. “Was there a battle here?” he asked, taking in the carnage before them.
“Something like that,” Rallie said.
Aguom looked like he wanted more of an explanation, but let it go at that. “Lieutenant Imba wants to know what the situation is. He’s preparing the regiment to advance in line. Should they fix bayonets?”
“Yes,” Alwyn said.
“Do you sense something?” he asked.
Alwyn closed his eyes and rested his chin against his chest. The wind played with the edge of his caerna, but the sting of the icy snow against his one good leg barely registered. Something darker and colder had his attention.
“What is it?” Rallie asked. Alwyn heard a rustle of paper and knew she had a scroll in her hand, her quill at the ready.
“The shades have found our enemy,” he said, opening his eyes as he raised his head. “Hundreds upon hundreds of rakkes in one mass.”
“What, where?” Aguom asked. “We slaughtered hundreds at the canyon. The rest scattered to the four winds. How can they be gathered up into a force again so quickly?”
“They are driven by Her Emissary. Its power was not destroyed.”
“But you killed it. We saw you tear it to bits,” Aguom said. “How could anything survive that?”
“Madness,” Alwyn said, seeing the path that he might one day walk himself.
RSM Aguom recovered quickly. “No time to waste then, we’ll double time it to the fort and set up our defenses. Once we’re in there we’ll be able to hold them off.”
“I’m afraid we won’t be going to the fort,” Alwyn said.
A howl carried on the wind from somewhere off to the west. It was answered by several more to the east.
“We are already surrounded.”
K onowa found Pimmer twenty yards inside the tunnel leading from the outer wall of the fort. Despite being out of the wind and snow the man appeared to be shivering. He was standing just inside a chamber. The glow from his small storm lantern cast enough light that Konowa could make out the figures of the soldiers all grouped against the wall nearby. After the horror he’d just witnessed he was feeling helpless and angry and seeing his men not spread out and ready to face danger gave him the perfect chance to vent.
He strode into the room, the first curse ready to be whispered with force at such a complete breakdown of discipline. Then he saw what had stopped the men in their tracks.
“This was the garrison’s torture chamber,” Pimmer said, his voice flat.
Konowa took it all in in an instant. The chains, the metal spikes, blood-and-gore-stained walls, and the smell of death. It threatened to overwhelm him. His senses were still reeling from the tableau on the slope outside the fort. He looked at his men and saw they were on the verge of cracking. He didn’t blame them, but this was no time for sympathy and understanding. They could be moments away from battle with who knew what. He had to snap them out of it, and fast.
“Of course it’s their torture chamber,” Konowa snapped, reaching down and picking up a metal device that looked like it might have been used for boring holes in bone. “What did you expect, a barracks with warm sheets and a hearth? Maybe a nice little tavern with drinks and a chatty barmaid?”
Some of the soldiers shuffled their feet. Others looked at him then looked away. Pimmer blinked and looked surprised. “Major, I just meant that-”
“We don’t have time for this,” Konowa said, cutting him. He could deal with hurt feelings later. Right now he had to get his men focused on the task at hand. “And what in blazes are you lot doing there gawking? You should know by now that monsters come in all shapes and sizes.” He whirled on Feylan. “Feylan! If you want those corporal stripes, you’d better start acting like one. We still have no idea who or what is in here with us. If you can’t get the men together and prepared to fight when I’m not here to watch then maybe you’re not the leader I thought you were.”
Feylan’s face grew red as the insult stung, but it had the desired effect.
“You heard the major,” Feylan called out, batting at the shoulder of the soldier nearest to him. “Smirck, Meswiz, Rasser, get across the room and cover that doorway. Dimwhol, watch the way we came in. We don’t want something sneaking up on us from behind. The rest of you grab a brand and light it then keep your eyes and ears peeled.”
Konowa nodded as the soldiers hurried to obey. In moments, the chamber was filled with warm, yellow light. “Viceroy, there’s nothing here for us. Let’s get upstairs and find out if anyone’s home.”
Pimmer looked down at his map then back at Konowa. “Yes, quite right.” He took a breath and stood up a little straighter. “Right. Through that door, gentlemen, and up those stairs will take us to an entrance onto the main courtyard of the fort.”
“Good, good. Now listen, all of you,” Konowa said. He expected all eyes on him, but instead several were nervously staring at the torture device he still held in his hand. He bent down and placed it on the floor, wiping his hands on his trousers as he stood back up. “Look, we’ve made it this far. We lost a good man, but the rest of you pulled through, and that’s pretty bloody amazing. None of us expected what we found out there, or in here, but you’ve handled yourselves well. I’m damn proud of you.”
Konowa kept his face neutral, but allowed himself a sense of satisfaction as his words worked their magic. The soldiers before him grew bigger before his eyes. Chests expanded, chins jutted, shoulders rolled, and spines lengthened. Their demeanor changed into something more like the battle-hardened warriors they knew themselves to be.
“All of you,” Konowa added, looking straight at Pimmer when he said it. Konowa worried buttons would start flying about the room if the diplomat’s chest swelled anymore, so he turned back to his men. “But we’re not into the woods yet.” He paused as he realized he’d used one of his father’s old expressions. For humans and dwarves, they felt safe once they were out of the forest. Elves, naturally, felt the opposite. What surprised Konowa was that he should feel that. He looked around the room they were standing in and decided perhaps it wasn’t that surprising after all. Almost any forest would be preferable to this.
“I’ll take the lead,” Private Feylan said, moving toward the doorway.
“Private Smirck can handle this,” Konowa said, drawing his saber. Feylan looked disappointed, but Konowa knew he’d get over it. The young soldier had proven his mettle more than enough. If he kept volunteering he’d eventually do himself into an early grave. “Slow and easy, Smirck. We still don’t know who, if anyone, is in here with us.”
“Yes, sir,” Smirck said. He turned and faced the doorway head on. He rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, ran a finger along the edge of the bayonet attached to his musket, then eased himself forward as if a rope were tied to his waist pulling him backward.
Konowa let two more soldiers follow then fell in behind them, confident the rest would fall in behind him. No one would linger in that room. He started climbing and realized at once that the stairway had been carved out of the rock with the same lack of attention to detail as the one outside the fort. No two steps rose at the same height, making their progress a jarring one. Bayonet’s scrapped against the rock walls spraying sparks of black frost. Someone behind him tripped, which set off a chain of muttered curses.
“Terribly sorry,” Pimmer whispered. “Bit hard to see in here. These brands seem better at casting shadow than they do light.”
Konowa inwardly groaned. He counted to five and let the curse on his lips fade. Best to just keep moving and get to the top of the steps as quickly as possible. He pushed his senses outward and tried to determine if anything was waiting for them once they reached the top. He couldn’t detect anything. He was mostly relieved, but disappointed, too.
The soldier in front of Konowa stopped moving. He looked over his shoulder at Konowa and pointed forward. Konowa moved up and around him, losing a good chunk of his Hasshugeb robe on the end of the man’s bayonet in the process. It was an even tighter squeeze to get past the next soldier and Konowa felt a momentary panic of being trapped under all this rock, and then he was past him and the feeling retreated. He reached Smirck who was crouched down with his ear pressed against the keyhole in a wooden door at the top of the stairs.
Despite feeling no warning of danger, Konowa waited until Smirck rose and gave the thumbs-up. It never hurt for a second opinion. He patted the soldier on the back and Smirck reached out and pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. He turned to his left and put his shoulder to it.
“Push,” Konowa whispered.
“I am pushing… sir,” Smirck grunted, his voice straining.
“Let me at it,” Konowa said, grabbing Smirck by the belt and pulling him back from the door. Squeezing around him, Konowa looked the door over, wondering if there was another latch or bolt somewhere keeping it in place. A horrible thought came to him. The door was bolted and locked on the other side. Konowa’s stomach sank. How could he have been so stupid? Of course doors would be locked, especially those leading to torture chambers.
Furious at himself, he leaned against the door and pushed with all his might. It didn’t even budge. He stepped back and looked down at the keyhole again. It was a simple iron plate, perhaps three inches by five inches, bolted into the wood of the door, with a narrow slot for a key. Assuming there weren’t additional bolts holding the door secure on the other side, a competent locksmith should be able to open it in under a minute. Konowa didn’t know any locksmiths, but he knew someone even better.
“You ever do any robbery in your younger days, Smirck?” Konowa asked.
Smirck had the decency not to look offended. “I thought of that, too, sir, but I just used to roll drunks in the alley behind the pub. Couldn’t pick a lock if I had a key, but I think Dimwhol used to be a second-story man.” He turned to the soldier behind him. “Ask Dimmy if he can pick a lock.”
The message was relayed down the stairs. A minute later hushed whispers rose back up toward Konowa. Smirck listened and then turned to relay the information. Konowa could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t good news. “Sorry, sir, says that was his father, but, um, we do have a master lock pick with us.”
Konowa brightened. “Well get him up here, now. It’s a tight fit but he can squeeze by.”
“I don’t think so…”
Konowa sagged against the door. Of course the Viceroy can pick locks. He’s a diplomat. He’s probably versed in all manner of subterfuge and skulduggery. And he was now at the end of their column on the stairs.
“Are you okay, Major?” Smirck asked.
Konowa tried counting to five again. It didn’t help. He stood up and away from the door. “Tell everyone to get ready.” With that he turned and faced the doorway. Black flames danced along the edge of his saber and frost crinkled beneath his boots. He drew back his hand, fixed his gaze on the lock, and thrust his saber forward.
The door swung open before his blade hit the lock. Konowa tumbled forward to sprawl face down on the stone pavers. The sound of his saber clattering on the stone echoed around him. His shako rolled along the ground, the last portions of the wings falling off in a cloud of feathers. The shako came to an abrupt halt against the toe of a boot. Konowa scrambled to his feet.
He wasn’t alone.
K onowa could make out two elves standing ten feet away, one crouching behind the other. They were backlit by the falling snow so that their faces were in shadow, but the pointy ears were a dead giveaway.
The one in front held a bow and arrow pointed directly at Konowa’s heart. The bow was at full draw and the elf’s hands were rock steady. He was dressed in what appeared to be palm leaves, twigs, weeds, and other natural litter to be found in the desert. Konowa knew Her dark elves chose to garb themselves in leaves and other material harvested from the sarka har, but he couldn’t recall seeing any dressed like this.
Konowa reluctantly took his eyes off the arrow still pointed at him and assessed the other elf. Unlike his partner, this one wore robes of the Hasshugeb tribes and was currently smoothing nonexistent whiskers on his face.
“Father?” Konowa said, not trusting his eyes.
Standing before him and finally transformed back to elf form from that of a squirrel, Jurwan Leaf Talker continued to work at whiskers no longer there. “What… how did you get here? You’re elf again? What happened?” He heard boots on the stairs behind him stepping out into the courtyard and held up his hand toward the other elf. “Easy, lad, easy. Tyul, right?” he said. “Nothing to worry about, we’re friends. You remember us, right? We were on the big boat together. I’m his son, Konowa. Father, tell him to put down the bow.”
The bow remained at full draw, the arrow unwaveringly fixed on Konowa’s chest. The muzzles of muskets slid into his field of vision on either side of him as his soldiers took aim.
“Father, time to climb down from the tree and be an elf again. Tell him to lower his damn bow. Now!” Jurwan blinked and then bolted for a nearby ladder leading up to a wooden walkway that went all the way around the inside of the fort a few feet below the parapet. He was up it in a flash and gone from sight.
Konowa stood openmouthed. It wasn’t the reunion he’d imagined.
“The two of them are a few bricks short of a wall at the moment,” Yimt said, stepping out from behind the door to stand between Konowa and Tyul. “Mute as monks. Haven’t got a word out of either of them.” He pointed at Tyul and wagged his finger. “What did I tell you about shooting arrows at friends? No. Bad elf. Very bad. ”
Tyul eased the bowstring forward and slowly lowered the bow. Konowa realized his mouth was still hanging open and he shut it slowly. He resisted the urge to wrap the dwarf in a bear hug. Yimt was a mess. He no longer wore his shako, his beard looked more like an eagle’s nest of twigs, and his uniform seemed more holes than cloth. The nastiest-looking hole was one centered right in the middle of his chest. It looked very much like a wound from a musket ball. “You little devil. Where in the hell have you been? We all thought you were dead.”
A chorus of shouts started to build as the soldiers recognized the dwarf, but Konowa quickly silenced them with a sharp wave of his hand. He looked past Yimt and took in the interior of the fort.
It appeared smaller and less imposing on the inside. Truth be told, it was less a fort than four stone walls roughly mortared together to form a box thirty feet by thirty feet. The walls themselves rose no more than twelve feet, but situated as they were on top of the rocky hilltop, they were still imposing to anyone trying to launch an attack from the outside.
Dilapidated wooden shanties lined the interior walls serving as barracks and storerooms. A large fire pit scarred the courtyard in the far corner. Stores lay tumbled in heaps wherever Konowa looked. Smashed-open crates with packing straw strewn everywhere, broken earthenware jugs, split burlap sacks, and wooden barrels with their staves kicked in. The elves stationed here had clearly grabbed what they could, tried to destroy the rest, and then taken flight. Judging by the amount of supplies still scattered about, it was equally clear that the Hasshugeb warriors had not yet looted the place or Konowa suspected there wouldn’t have been so much as a nail left.
He looked back at Yimt. “Did you find anyone here at all?”
“Quiet as a tomb,” Yimt said, “which I gather you’ve seen for yourself.” He used a thumb to point back the way they came.
Konowa nodded. The shock of seeing first his father and now Yimt alive was wearing off and his mind began to function again. “Visyna? Where is she? The rest of your squad? My mother? Jir?”
“All still alive last time I saw them,” Yimt said.
Konowa was glad the soldiers were behind him. His eyes teared up. Visyna was alive. The image of their first meeting in the forests of Elfkyna came back to him. She’d tried to skewer him with a blade, but the memory was a fond one. She was fire, but it was the kind that tempered his spirit and made him strong.
He took a moment to cough so that he could wipe the tears away without anyone noticing.
Yimt waited until Konowa signaled he was okay, then made a point of coming to attention and saluting. It wasn’t easy for him, his face grimacing as his right arm came up. “Regimental Sergeant Major Yimt Arkhorn requesting permission to rejoin the ranks, sir!”
Konowa returned the salute then held out his hand. Yimt looked momentarily surprised, but smiled and shook his hand. The dwarf’s grip was hard and steady. Relief flooded through Konowa. He had the regiment’s steel spine back.
“We need to talk in private, Major,” Yimt said, keeping his voice low so that only Konowa could hear him.
Konowa turned and faced the troops. “Corporal Feylan.”
Feylan snapped to attention while struggling to wipe the smile off his face. The other soldiers perked up on hearing Feylan’s new rank. “Get men to the front gate and see if you can spot the regiment. I want the rest rounding up whatever supplies are here and stacking them by the gate.” Konowa lowered his voice as he continued. “And see if you can’t coax my father down.”
“Grab some gravel in your fist and shake it,” Yimt said to Feylan. “Sounds like nuts. It works, but make sure you’ve got something to feed him otherwise he has a tendency to bite.”
“Er, yes, RSM,” Feylan said. “I’ll get one of the lads on it.” He saluted then spun on a heel and started barking orders. The troops scattered to their tasks.
“Bright lad, that Feylan,” Yimt said. “He’s got the knack of delegating already.”
“Wants to join the navy if you can believe it,” Konowa said.
“Hot buttered nuns, is he daft? He’d be wasted on a ship,” Yimt said, his cheeks flushing red. “I leave this regiment for a few days and the lads start losing the plot. Good thing I’m back.” Yimt scuffed one of his boots in the snow then looked up into Konowa’s eyes. “How is he?”
Konowa had been hoping he wouldn’t ask about Private Renwar, but he couldn’t keep the truth from him. He knew time was precious, but he took it anyway to bring the dwarf up-to-date on everything that happened. Yimt’s eyes grew wide at the description of the bone dragon and of the marching and flying sarka har, but when Konowa mentioned Private Renwar’s transformation, he hung his head.
“I’m sorry, Yimt,” Konowa said, feeling a bond beyond officer and sergeant. “Rallie thinks there’s hope for him yet, and I hope she’s right, but he just keeps drifting further away from this world and into the next.”
Yimt lifted his head. His face gave nothing away, but Konowa knew the hurt he must be feeling.
“He wasn’t made for this life. Oh, he’s tough enough in his own way, in ways I never could be, but a boy like that deserves more, you know?”
Konowa reached out and placed a hand on Yimt’s shoulder. “We all do. And maybe, with a little skill, a lot of luck, and you giving the troops a good kick and bellow now and again, we might all just get it.”
Yimt flashed a smile, his pewter-colored teeth gleaming. “I like the sound of that, Major. And truth be told, trying to march two squirrelly elves across the desert just doesn’t compare to a proper regiment. Of course, seeing as there ain’t one in sight I guess the Iron Elves will have to do.”
Konowa managed to keep the smile on his face as he spied Pimmer walking toward them. “Very nice to meet you, RSM,” the diplomat said extending his hand. “I’ve heard many tales about you in the short time I’ve been with the regiment, and if even half of them are true, well, I’d love to hear a few more.”
Yimt reached out and shook his hand, ignoring the black frost that sparked when their flesh touched. “An honor to meet you, Viceroy. Not every day you meet a diplomat on a scouting party,” Yimt said, looking at Konowa out of the corner of his eye. “And well armed, to boot.”
Pimmer beamed and winced at the same time as he gently took back his hand and patted the pistol tucked into the leather belt keeping his robes in place. “Well, it’s not exactly safe out here. One never knows when danger is going to rear its head. I find it best to be prepared for all eventualities.” He looked over at Konowa and hurriedly added, “And the major has been giving me a crash course in military tactics. It’s all been quite fascinating.”
Before the conversation could detour any more Konowa interjected. “What happened to you and the others? And how in the world did you find my father and Tyul?”
Yimt limped over to an empty wooden crate. “Sorry, sir, not quite up to snuff at the moment, but I’ll be fightin’ fit with a little breather.” The dwarf sat down hard on the crate which groaned in protest but did not break. “Your father and Tyul saved my skin. The beasties, rakkes that is, had me cornered and I’m not afraid to say I was in a spot of bother. Your father and Tyul diced those monsters up like so much onion. Course, neither one of them is quite sound in the noggin’. I thought the young one was going to do me, but instead he shot the rock right out of my hand. He’s completely daft, but the lad can shoot.”
Konowa looked over at Tyul. He was sitting in the middle of the courtyard and appeared to be meditating, or maybe sleeping. “So my father hasn’t said anything?”
“Not that I can make sense of. Every so often he’ll start chittering away about something. I thought maybe it was elvish, but I think it’s squirrelish. Still, the fact that he’s not actually a squirrel anymore has to be a good sign. And he’s wearing clothes now.”
Konowa decided that yes, it was an improvement. He had his father back, at least part of the way. The old elf was tough. If he managed to make it this far, he’d eventually make it the rest of the way home to himself.
“So then… what happened to you?”
Yimt pointed to the hole in his uniform over his chest. “Courtesy of that yellow-bellied coward of a snake, Kritton,” he said, spitting out the words.
Konowa was still staring at the frost-burned scar tissue visible through the hole when what Yimt said registered.
“Kritton? He’s here?!” Konowa asked in disbelief. “How?”
“Can’t say I know how he gets around these days, but I can tell you about the why.” Yimt took the next several minutes to explain the scene in the library. “Buggers were looting the place like rats in a cheese shop. They had wagons-full of more knickknacks, bric-abrac, and artifacts than you could shake a stick at. But even that would be excusable,” Yimt said, showing his rather expansive view on a soldier’s right to grab a few items in the course of a good battle, “if Kritton hadn’t got it into their heads they needed revenge. He’s turned them. Any one of ’em could’ve put a musket ball up that elf’s backside and been a hero, but not a one made a move. And the weaselly elf bastard shot me.”
Konowa closed his eyes for a moment then opened them, looking past Yimt. “We saw the mutilated bodies. I recognized a lot of the muscle cuts. We learned how to skin deer that way back in the Hynta. Kritton is poison all right, but they didn’t have to drink his swill. They made their choice. I can’t worry about that now. The regiment is just outside the fort.”
“But how on earth did you survive a musket shot at close range like that?” Pimmer asked. “Were you wearing armor beneath your uniform?”
Yimt smiled, showing off his pewter-colored teeth. “In a manner of speaking. A dwarf rib cage is like iron, hell, it actually is part iron. It’s all the crute we chew. If he’d shot me in the gut it would have been a very different story, but lucky for me the bastard aimed right at my heart.”
“Incredible. You’re indeed full of surprises, my friend. Do you have any idea where they were headed?” Konowa asked.
Yimt scratched at his beard. “I think they’re trying to head back home.”
“There’s no way the tunnels go all the way to the coast. They’d have to surface somewhere…”
Konowa looked around him. “Viceroy, any indication on your map of any other secret entrances into this place?”
Pimmer turned over another empty crate and with some difficulty kneeled down and spread the map out on it. He held out the storm lantern which Konowa grabbed and positioned over the map.
“I’ve spent some time looking over this, but I’m afraid I just don’t see anything indicating a tunnel leading into the fort.”
“What’s this bit of scribble over here?” Yimt asked, pointing a finger at a small rock formation outside of the fort a few hundred yards off its southern side.
Pimmer leaned over for a closer look. “That’s just the privy. In Birsooni it translates as hole of dark earth, which I took to refer to midnight soil, which we all know means sh-”
Konowa coughed. “They wouldn’t build a latrine outside the fort like that. Couldn’t that also mean tunnel opening? Everything would look dark down there without light?”
“But why all the way out there? Why not bring it right into the fort?”
“Geologic reasons perhaps,” Yimt said. “Might have been too difficult trying to tunnel through this stuff. Everything looks like it was done fast and with less than a master stone mason’s attention to detail.”
“Whatever the reason, that could be a tunnel,” Konowa said. “If it is, then we need to explore it.”
Pimmer rubbed his chin as if debating his next words very carefully. “Not to throw a damper on things, but won’t that take time, time we don’t have.”
Now you worry about time. “We’ll make time,” Konowa said, making sure his tone gave no room for argument. “RSM, when the regiment arrives, I want that rock pile searched. If it’s a tunnel entrance, I want to know what’s down there. Viceroy, look at that map again. If there are any other oddities on there that could mean a tunnel or hole or anything like that, I want to know.” His words were coming out faster than he intended, but he didn’t care. Visyna and Kritton were both alive, and they were somewhere nearby. He knew it. And he was going to find both of them.
“This does shed new light on things,” Pimmer said, standing up and wandering off with his map held close to his face. Konowa watched him walk over to where Tyul was sitting and plop down in front of him. He spread the map out between them, sheltering it from the snow with part of his robe, and began talking. The elf ignored him though Pimmer didn’t seem to notice.
Konowa turned back to Yimt, who was staring up at him with a questioning look.
“What?”
“It’s just that the last time I saw you look that happy, you were killing something,” Yimt said.
Was Konowa going mad? He’d just walked through a field of horrors and this is how he reacted? But it wasn’t that. He struggled to understand the feeling swelling inside him. It was… balance. All his life he’d been angry, thinking that one day he’d find peace and be able to come to terms with the world and his place in it. But he’d had it all wrong. He’d been miserable with his anger, but it gave him purpose. To lose it would be to rob him of something important. He needed his anger, but he needed more, too. He needed to be part of something. For a long time the regiment had served that role. It was his family. The time in the forest during his banishment had been hell. He realized that despite his outward bravado he wasn’t so different from everyone else. He wanted to be part of something more than himself. Maybe he could find it with Visyna. All he knew for certain was that the time was coming when he would have to make choices. Permanent, inviolable choices.
Konowa looked at Yimt and decided he could risk revealing a little of what he was experiencing. “What do you call it when you suddenly realize something that makes your whole life make sense? Everything just comes into view like a fog has lifted?”
Yimt snapped his fingers. “You, Major, just had what they call in technical terms an e-piff-anny. It’s named after some lass from way back. It means you came to an abrupt understanding of something. It’s like when you wake up after a night at the pub and for a minute you don’t know why your bed is wet and lumpy and your beard smells like the wrong end of a goat, not that there’s a right end, and you suddenly remember the wife chasing you out of the quarry with a battle-ax yelling at you not to come back until you sober up.”
“Ahh, that sounds… possible,” Konowa said, surprised that he actually got the gist of what the dwarf was saying if not the full meaning. “Um, I’ll probably regret this, but a goat?”
“Turns out I stumbled into the local cheesemongers shop a few doors down and took a table of cheese curds as a big bed. Wound up buying seventy-five pounds of a right tangy cheddar. Lucky for me the wife had put up some prune preserves, because after two weeks of eating cheese I was-” whatever Yimt was going to say was thankfully interrupted by a shout from the front gate.
“Major, you’d better get over here!”
Even before Konowa made it to the front gate he knew it was trouble. He sprinted the last few yards and came to a stop by the soldiers standing guard. They were all pointing down to the desert floor.
“Rakkes, sir, hundreds and hundreds of the buggers! They’re swarming in from all over.”
The chill that ran down Konowa’s spine had nothing to do with the black acorn. The regiment had yet to reach the bottom of the hill, but the rakkes already had.
“They just came out of nowhere, Major. One minute it was quiet and the next they were everywhere.”
Konowa gripped the edge of the wooden gate. The snow-covered desert plain below the hill was dotted with hundreds of rakkes. They bounded through the snow from every direction, all homing in on the regiment now stranded several hundred yards from the bottom of the road leading up to the gate. Deep in the heart of the swirling dark mass of rakkes, a vortex of black light spun on a wobbling axis. Images of a twisted, mangled figure walked in the center of it. The rakkes kept well clear of the spinning darkness. Konowa cursed under his breath.
“What is that thing?” Corporal Feylan asked, using his musket to point.
“One viceroy too many,” Konowa said. Corporal Feylan brought his musket tight into his shoulder ready to fire.
Konowa reached out a hand and knocked the muzzle down. “That’s a thousand yards if it’s a foot. You couldn’t hit that thing if you tried that shot for a month straight. And I doubt it would even notice a musket ball going through it.”
Feylan looked like he wanted to try anyway, but he grounded his musket. “We can’t just stand here, sir. We have to do something. The regiment is marching right into a noose. They’ll be ripped to shreds.”
“Easy, Feylan, you’re not thinking. One, there’s damn little the handful of us could do from up here, so I’d rather not draw attention to ourselves at the moment.”
Feylan lifted his musket again, his nostrils flaring. “But that’s the point, Major. If we draw their attention the regiment will have a chance.”
Konowa grabbed Feylan by the collar and pulled him forward just past the front gate. “What do you see right down there littered all over the rocks?”
“It’s more dead rakkes.”
“But they’re not just dead, are they? They’ve been tortured. Their bodies were mutilated and set out on display. Now who do you suppose all these new rakkes are going to think did that?”
“Whoever’s up here in the fort…” Feylan said, his voice trailing off.
“Exactly,” Konowa said, letting go of the soldier’s collar and patting him on the shoulder. “We’re relatively safe in here as long as we don’t do anything stupid. Even if the rakkes do climb up the hill they’ll have a devil of a time trying to get in. This fort isn’t much, but it’s on top of a chunk of steep rock, and that counts for a lot.” He put his hand on Feylan’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Sometimes, lad, the smartest thing you can do is nothing at all.”
“But… you mean we just sit here and watch?”
Konowa pointed toward the desert floor. Black frost etched jagged lines in front of the oncoming rakkes. Icy flames rose from the ground then guttered out. In their place stood the shades of the regiment’s dead. The deathly remains of Regimental Sergeant Major Lorian sat astride the great, black warhorse Zwindarra. Konowa shivered in spite of himself. “We let the Darkly Departed do what they do best.”
Lorian charged, leaning forward over Zwindarra’s thick neck. The horse glided more than galloped across the snow and smashed into three rakkes. Blurred images of slashing hooves and Lorian’s ghostly saber flashed among the rakkes and blood splattered the snow in great swathes.
The other shades followed suit, cutting through the rakkes with a fierce abandon Konowa couldn’t remember seeing before. Something, or someone, had definitely fired them up.
“Major, a word?”
Konowa turned. Pimmer stood behind him with his pistol in one hand and a brown leather wrapped telescope in the other. The Birsooni map was folded and tucked in the front of his belt and his small brass storm lantern now hung from a loop of heavy twine around his right shoulder. In his layers of Hasshugeb robes the diplomat looked like a desert warrior ready for anything.
“You were right,” Pimmer said.
“About?” Konowa asked. He really didn’t have time for this, but hearing “you were right” granted the man a little leeway. It wasn’t often Konowa heard those three magic words.
“The map. It turns out that notation does mean tunnel. I think you’d better look.” He handed Konowa the telescope and pointed to the ladder leading up to the southern walkway.
“That’s good to know, but exploring it will have to wait at the moment,” Konowa said, turning back to watch the unfolding battle on the desert floor below. At first he thought a fog had rolled in, but realized it was the freezing mist of spilled blood. His stomach heaved. The black vortex continued to move forward, but as of yet had made no obvious signs of joining the fray. That worried Konowa. A hand on Konowa’s arm spun him around to face a stern-looking Viceroy. “I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear. I know it’s a tunnel because people are emerging from it as we speak.”
Konowa grabbed the telescope from Pimmer’s hand and tore across the courtyard. “Keep a close watch on that twisted Emissary, but don’t do anything. I’ll be back!” he shouted over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop at the foot of the ladder and leaped, barely touching the rungs as he vaulted up the ladder and landed on the wood plank walkway attached to the wall. It shook alarmingly, but he barely noticed as he ran across it to where Private Meswiz stood clinging to the top of the wall. He pointed down toward the desert.
“They started popping up like rabbits by that pile of rocks. At first I thought I was seeing things, but they’re there all right.”
Konowa peered into the night. “Are you sure? Maybe it was just rakkes roaming around. I can barely see anything.”
“I know I saw people with muskets, sir, at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what they were.”
Konowa pulled the telescope open to its full length and sighted it where the soldier was pointing. Everything was black.
“What’s wrong with this thing?”
“The lens cover…” Private Meswiz said.
“Damn it,” Konowa muttered, ripping the cover off and re-sighting the telescope. He struggled to find the spot again. “I don’t see… wait, there are figures there.” Something about that one looks familiar… He moved the larger tube to bring the image into focus.
He lowered the telescope.
Kritton.
D o you see? This is what that fool Konowa has brought down upon us all!” Kritton said, throwing his hands around to encompass the snow-covered desert. He glared at Visyna. There was a certainty of purpose in his eyes that would brook no dispute. In someone else it might have been viewed as fierce determination, but Visyna knew this was something different, something lethal.
He’s losing control, she realized. It was only a matter of time before he tried to kill them all.
Kritton continued to rage, all the while flailing his arms around. His uniform hung in tatters from his lean frame. His hair was unkempt and his caerna was little more than a rag.
She lowered her head and turned away, partly to avoid antagonizing him further, but also to protect her face from the wind-whipped snow buffeting her. After the warm confines of the tunnel, she was finding it difficult to catch her breath in the cold. None of them were dressed for this weather, and all of them were tired, hungry, thirsty, and nursing wounds. They wouldn’t last more than an hour or two in these conditions.
She waited, bringing her hands in tight to her chest to warm her fingers in case she had to begin weaving. Kritton cursed and walked away, shouting orders to the elves to keep their muskets pointed at the prisoners. Visyna searched their faces, looking for a sign of compassion, of regret, or even shame, but all she saw were masks of indifference. The look in their eyes was as cold as the steel of their bayonets. Visyna had no doubt in her mind they would kill all of them without hesitation.
Hrem appeared beside her a moment later. “I think I was right. There’s a fort just ahead of us on those rocks. That has to be Suhundam’s Hill.”
Visyna squinted into the wind. What at first she took to be more darkness resolved itself into the outline of a jagged collection of rocks topped off with a squat, square box. “We need to act before we get inside there. Kritton is coming apart.”
“Elves could die,” Hrem said, his gaze still fixed on the fort.
“They made their choice. It’s time we made ours,” she said, echoing his words from earlier. She tested the air around her. Now that she knew what to look for her fingers easily found the elves’ threads in the storm. She gasped when her touch found one more surrounded by a cold, black power. Could it be? “I think Konowa is here,” she whispered, looking up at the fort.
“That means the regiment is here, too,” Hrem said, glancing around them before looking back to the top of the wall. “I thought I saw movement up there, but I figured it was just the wind. If the regiment is already inside the fort then Kritton is going to walk himself right into a trap. All we have to do is stay calm and let it happen.”
Visyna couldn’t believe their luck. Would it really be this easy? Kritton barked more orders and the elves and their prisoners began to move. In this weather it would be easy for one of the soldiers to slip away into the night unseen, but where would they run? With no shelter from the storm they would freeze to death out here. She looked at the huddled group of soldiers and realized none of them would be running anywhere. Zwitty, Scolly, and Inkermon were keeping each other upright in a swaying, stumbling fashion. Chayii walked with one hand firmly gripping Jir’s mane. The elf stopped and started to swoon, then caught herself and stood up straight.
“Hrem, I must help Chayii. If she collapses, her hold on Jir will, too, and he’ll attack. Keep the others together.”
Hrem nodded and slid over to steady the trio while Visyna matched her pace with Chayii and casually slipped her arm around her waist. The elf was shaking.
“You must keep your hands free to weave, my child,” Chayii said, turning to look at her. Chayii’s face was gray and her lips were turning blue.
“You’re turning to ice,” Visyna said, gripping the elf more tightly and hoping to get some warmth into her.
“Jir is becoming increasingly difficult to hold, and the weather is not helping. I don’t think I can make it to the fort.”
No. Visyna looked around to make sure no elves were close. “I think I felt Konowa up there. I’m certain I sensed him. We just have to make it inside and we’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
“My son is there?”
Visyna squeezed her waist. “You just have to hold on a bit longer.”
At these words Chayii stood up a little straighter. Jir looked up at them and purred, his ears pointing straight up and his muzzle to the wind, sniffing the air. Could he sense Konowa, too, she wondered? A moment later the bengar’s purr turned into a snarl.
Visyna took her hand from Chayii’s waist and sought out the threads again. There were more, hundreds more.
“Rakkes!”
“Where?” Chayii asked, coming to a halt. The elves around them heard her shout and stopped, too. Kritton was there in a flash, eyes boring in on her.
“I warned you, witch,” he said, raising the butt of his musket in preparation to strike her.
Before it could fall, the shrieking cry of a rakke sounded off in the distance. It was answered at once by dozens more. The sound grew to a fury far outstripping the storm. Kritton lowered his musket.
“Back to the tunnel. We need to go back there, now!”
“It’s too late for that,” Hrem said, walking up to place himself between the elf and Visyna. “Didn’t you hear those things? They’re behind us, too. Our only chance now is to make it to the fort. The rakkes will never get us in there.”
Mention of the fort snapped Kritton’s head around to look at the rocky hill. Visyna noticed the elves were watching the storm now and paying no attention to the rest of them.
One of the elves said something to Kritton in elvish and pointed toward the fort, but Kritton shook his head. “The plan was to meet at the foot of the path leading up to the main gate. The dwarf Griz Jahrfel will be there.”
“Kritton, if Griz Jahrfel is anywhere around here, he and the rest of his band of thieves are probably rakke meat by now,” Hrem said. “Listen to them. We have to get to the fort.”
Kritton raised his musket as if to fire. “You forget who’s in charge here! We will not go back in that fort!” Kritton shouted.
By now all the elves had formed a small square facing outward. This was exactly the chance Visyna had been looking for, but now that there were rakkes nearby she wasn’t certain if she should take it. She believed in her heart that Konowa was in that fort, and wanted nothing more than for him to charge out with the regiment to save them, but she already knew that was impossible. A regiment can’t move that fast, and it would be suicide to bring them out of the security of the fort.
She made up her mind.
While Hrem and Kritton continued to argue she moved over to stand in front of Zwitty, Scolly, and Inkermon. She turned to them as if offering them aid.
“Tell me if Kritton comes this way,” she said.
“What are you up to?” Zwitty asked, his weaselly face a scowl of suspicion.
“Saving your lives,” she said.
Ignoring the threads of life around her, Visyna focused instead on the weather. She closed her eyes and focused her attention skyward, picking out a single snowflake fluttering in the air several hundred feet up. Using it as her focal point, she began to draw more flakes to it, hoping to create a microstorm that would blind Kritton and the elves long enough to cover their escape.
Instead of massing together into a billowing pile, however, the flakes melted and froze together, forming a spinning chunk of ice. She grimaced, feeling the sting of the Shadow Monarch’s taint in the storm. Her dexterity was hampered by the pain. The more she wove the larger the ice grew. It was already man-sized and growing faster as it fell. The horror of what she had set in motion dawned on her. This wasn’t going to be a blinding storm, it was a single chunk of solid metallic ice.
She saw Kritton’s life force clearly in the storm. It was bound in the Shadow Monarch’s oath and pulsing with a black energy. It troubled her that it was so similar to that of Konowa’s, but unlike Konowa, she knew Kritton wasn’t going to change. There was more than just the oath staining Kritton’s energy. His rage and his need for revenge was consuming him, making him as toxic as the rakkes around them.
Visyna turned and opened her eyes. Kritton was still yelling at Hrem, but he paused in mid-sentence and looked at her. He saw her hands and his eyes grew wide.
He knows.
Kritton began to bring his musket up to his shoulder again. He was going to fire. Time stood still. Visyna knew what she had to do, but unlike the beetle in the tunnel, this would be no accident. She lowered her hands, removing the last of her hold on the falling ice. It occurred to her then she had the power in her to divert the ice so that it wouldn’t fall directly on Kritton, but she didn’t. A part of her was screaming that this was wrong, and that there would truly be no turning back, but her survival and that of the group meant more.
She made a choice.
There was a rush of air, a blur, and then a spray of red mist as the ice slammed into Kritton’s skull. The ice didn’t shatter then, but carried on to pulverize Kritton’s body into a four-foot-deep crater in the frozen desert floor.
Visyna cried out. The violence of Kritton’s death shocked her. Blood, snow, and ice exploded in every direction. A chunk of ice struck Visyna in the stomach, knocking her backward into the three soldiers, sending all four of them tumbling to the snow.
Visyna gasped for breath, her arms and legs twitching as she tried to regain control of her senses. A hand appeared out of the dark. She reached for it, yelping as the frost fire singed her bare flesh. Hrem hauled her upright then quickly let go. Scolly, Zwitty, and Inkermon staggered to their feet. Jir padded into view with Chayii still gripping his mane.
“That was one hell of an ace you had tucked up your sleeve,” Hrem said. There was a fierce grin of satisfaction on his face that Visyna couldn’t share. He held up his other hand. Yimt’s drukar was clenched in his fist. Did he want to give it to her as a war prize? She’d just murdered another living being. She knew she had done it for all the right reasons, but it still didn’t change the fact of what she had done. She shook her head and turned away.
A musket fired. Everyone ducked, but the shot had been aimed away from them. Rakkes yowled. A rock sailed overhead. The elves were all turned to face outward. More muskets fired.
“The rakkes are closing in,” Hrem shouted. “We have to try for the fort. Can you do more of that weather stuff?”
Visyna was still reeling. It wasn’t remorse, but more shock that she had deliberately taken another life. She tried to probe her feelings further, wanting to feel something beyond disbelief, but her mind was too full of images of blood-splattered ice and the horrible sound of crunching bone. She knew it would stay with her the rest of her life.
“Not like that, but I should be able to keep us partially hidden in the storm.” She suddenly felt the need to explain herself. “I can’t kill them all, Hrem. I did what I had to do to stop Kritton, but I can’t take the lives of all these elves. Even if I had the power I don’t think I could do it.”
“You won’t have to,” Hrem said, looking away.
Visyna followed his gaze. The elves were disappearing into the snow, firing their muskets as they went.
“Are they running away?” she asked.
“Don’t know and don’t care,” Hrem said. “After what you did to Kritton, they probably figure they’re safer with the rakkes. If anything, they should prove a nice distraction for us. We’re a lot smaller group. We have a better chance of remaining undetected.”
A volley of musket fire made further conversation impossible. Visyna ducked again. Rakkes screamed in pain from somewhere close.
“You’re risking our lives,” Zwitty said, pointing a finger at Hrem. “You really think one of these elves won’t put a musket ball in our back as a parting gift? They were ready to end every last one of us down in that tunnel. We set out toward the fort on our own and they might just fire a volley at us.”
“Would you rather stay here and wait for the rakkes?” Hrem asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Scolly said, looking at Zwitty. “Those rakkes are terrible.”
Zwitty looked at Scolly, opened his mouth and then closed it in a frown. He lowered his hand. “No one wants to meet up with those damn rakkes, I’m just saying it’s our lives if you’re wrong, Hrem.”
“It’s our lives regardless,” Visyna added, marshaling her energy. “We have to get to the fort, it’s the only chance we have. I should be able to weave a small storm within the storm that will keep us hidden.”
“Can you control it?” Zwitty asked. The concern in his voice was obvious. They had all seen Kritton’s death. Cannon balls weren’t that destructive.
Visyna knew her cheeks were burning. She hadn’t meant to create a massive chunk of ice, but in the end it saved them. She saved them. “I won’t be focusing my energy above us, only around us. You’ll all be fine, just don’t touch me, and don’t stray outside the area I protect.”
“And if we did?” Zwitty asked.
Visyna said nothing, simply looking over at the crater where Kritton had been standing.
The musket fire lessened. Visyna could still see a few of the elves through the snow, but it was as if her group no longer existed. Now that Kritton was dead, maybe his toxic concepts of honor and revenge would no longer sway the elves. She wanted to believe that was true, but she had already made up her mind she wasn’t going to stay here to find out.
She noticed Chayii still holding on to Jir and walked over to them. “Konowa must know we’re here. We just have to make it to the walls and we’ll be safe.”
“You have a lot of faith in my son,” Chayii said. It was a statement. Visyna detected no sarcasm.
“I do, but I also have a lot of faith in myself, and in you and Jir and the rest of the squad, even Zwitty.”
Chayii’s eyebrows went up and Visyna tilted her head. “Well, faith that he doesn’t want to get left out here all alone.”
The elf smiled. “In that case, my faith in him equals yours.”
Visyna paused, listening to more musket fire. Before she could stop herself she blurted out the question she knew she had to ask. “Do you want me to save them? The elves?”
Chayii stood up straighter. Her eyes peered deep into Visyna’s and for several seconds she said nothing.
“No,” Chayii said. Her voice was free of any emotion. “They are beyond our help.”
“But Konowa…” Visyna started to say, then paused. She wanted to say that Konowa’s whole life had been about finding his elves. And now that they were so close, they were about to slip away.
Chayii smiled at her. “I think you already know the answer. These are not Konowa’s elves. They were once, but not anymore. If by some miracle they were to survive, Konowa would have no choice but to court-martial every one of them. You know what the penalty for their crimes is? He would have to sign their death warrants.”
Visyna knew it was true. “Is there nothing else we can do?”
“We can save ourselves, my child,” Chayii said. “That will be difficult enough.”
There was a cold logic to what Chayii said that Visyna couldn’t dispute. Hrem strode up to them with the other three soldiers close behind. The musket fire began to pick up in intensity again, and this time it didn’t slacken off. Rakkes roared and called to each other all around them.
“We really need to go,” he said.
Visyna looked one last time at Chayii, who turned away to face the fort. It loomed before them like a dark block. It seemed impossibly far away. She knew she was cold, tired, hungry, and scared and did her best to ignore it. The snow swirled around in patches, providing sporadic views of the desert. She caught glimpse of packs of rakkes and bodies sprawled in the snow.
“Stay close.” She began to weave the air, pulling at the threads around her. Musket fire crackled all around her, making it difficult to concentrate. The responding screams and roars from the rakkes only made it worse. She shook her fingers and rolled her head from side to side. She went deeper into herself, ignoring the chaos and searching for something solid to hold on to.
Konowa. She smiled and growled at the same time. He was less base and more a potent element in an alchemist’s cauldron, but he was energy and life. The key, and one she wasn’t sure she’d ever fully comprehend, was to get the mixture of who he was just right. She had no illusions that she could ever change him… at least not completely, but however far he’d drifted from his origins he remained a creature of the natural order. That was enough.
Visyna pictured him in her mind, seeing the elf that he was. She accepted the darkness and the violence that was in him, knowing the choices he’d made had been as difficult as they had been necessary. It didn’t mean she agreed, and it certainly didn’t mean she wasn’t going to help him become a better elf, but for now she found it in herself to accept him the way he was. She’d killed an elf this night because he couldn’t change. The regret weighed heavy on her heart. She would move heaven and earth to help the elf she loved find the strength that Kritton could not.
The ground around her erupted in a geyser of snow and sand. A single column of tightly swirling snow a foot thick climbed twenty feet into the sky. She gasped and slowed down her weaving, allowing the column to settle at a height of six feet.
“The Creator be praised,” Inkermon said, wonder and fear evident in his voice.
Visyna wanted to say his so-called creator had nothing to do with it, but that wasn’t helpful.
“Could you ask him for a little help?” Visyna said, turning her concentration back to the column of snow.
“What, pray to him? Now?” Inkermon asked.
“I could use it. We all could.” She risked a quick look over her shoulder. The soldier appeared stunned.
“No one’s ever asked before,” Inkermon said. He stood up. His knees wobbled, but he stayed upright. “I’m always ridiculed. I have only ever tried to spread the word and offer them a path to redemption.”
“Mercy, Inkermon, don’t get all weepy on us,” Hrem said. “I can’t speak for the rest of them, but I admire a man with firm convictions. Just maybe keep in mind other men might have different ones.”
“There is only one true…” Inkermon started to say, then let the rest of his words get taken by the wind. “A prayer right now would be appropriate. Yes, I will call on his aid that we may yet live to do his bidding.”
Visyna smiled. She had no idea who or what might exist beyond this world, but if they wanted to throw a little help their way she wasn’t going to turn it down. She shivered and lifted her hands out in front of her. With a flick of her right wrist she began to tease apart the column, unfurling it like one of Rallie’s scrolls. As she did she coaxed it into a curving wall, bringing it around to fully enclose them in a five-foot-diameter space.
“Not a lot of room in here,” Zwitty muttered.
“Can you ever give your mouth a break?” Hrem asked.
“Look, I’m not saying I want to be on the other side of this thing,” Zwitty said, his defensive whine in full pitch. “I’m just saying it’s tight quarters is all. She’s the one that said we can’t touch her while she’s doing her spells. That’s not going to be easy trying to get to the fort now, is it?”
“It will be challenging,” Chayii said, her grip loosening on Jir’s mane as she crowded in to stand in front of Visyna. The bengar sniffed at the swirling snow a foot away from his muzzle, but had the sense not to touch it. The soldiers shuffled close to stand beside and behind her in a crescent.
“This is the best I can manage,” Visyna said. It truly was. The dawning realization that she now had to maintain this wall while walking several hundred yards over increasingly difficult terrain and surrounded by rakkes made her question if she could really do it.
“Not much though, is it,” Zwitty said, clearly unable to contain himself. “Now that boulder of ice you used to crush Kritton, now that was some good magic. This, though, it’s just a bit of snow swirling around, isn’t it?”
Before she could shout a warning, Zwitty yelped.
“That could have scoured the skin right off my bones!” he shouted. “It’s scalding!”
Visyna felt his hand briefly touch the wall without having to see it. “Do not touch it. The longer the wall is maintained, the hotter it will become. I should warn you, it will likely become very warm in here.”
“I’m still freezing my-Well, it’s freezing right now so a bit warmer would be just fine,” Hrem said.
Let’s hope that’s all it becomes, Visyna thought, easing back on the pace of her weaving. It was going to be a delicate balance. The rakkes would sense the use of magic, so all the swirling snow in the world would only mask them for so long. She’d need to keep them hidden with enough of a barrier to dissuade any curious rakkes from trying to see what was inside.
“Hrem, you’re all soldiers. We need to walk at a steady pace.”
“That I can help you with. All right, ladies and gentleman. Nice and easy. I’ll give the cadence and you just follow along. Ready? By the right… and by that I mean your right foot… forward… march.”
As Hrem called out a soft “left, right, left, right” Visyna used the tempo to help her weaving. She soon had a comfortable rhythm going. Chayii kept her hand on Jir, but for now he seemed perfectly content to pad along with them. He still favored his wounded shoulder, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down.
“Left, right, left, right, I see the fort straight ahead, left, right, left, right,” Hrem said, saying the words at the same tempo as the cadence.
“Any sign of rakkes?” she asked. “I have to concentrate on this. It’s difficult to see beyond it.”
Hrem didn’t answer right away. “Well,” he said, dropping the cadence, “we’re about to find out just how hot that snow is. Can you brace yourself?”
Visyna risked a quick push of her senses beyond the wall and immediately regretted it. “There’s hundreds of them!”
“I can’t see all that, but I can see enough. We don’t even have any damn weapons,” he said.
Sweat began dripping off the end of Visyna’s nose. She blinked and more drops stung her eyes. She couldn’t afford to wipe her hands across them so she rubbed her face into the cloth of her sleeve while still maintaining her weaving. It was already hot inside the circle and they had barely traveled twenty yards.
“Just stay close… and keep moving,” Visyna said, really talking to herself. She already knew she couldn’t keep this up all the way to the fort.
A rakke howled from just outside the swirling wall of snow.
A moment later, Visyna felt the creature impact the wall. Its screams were cut short as the small group continued moving forward and over the rakke’s smoking body. Jir growled and barred his fangs at the sight of the rakke, but other than giving the corpse a good sniff, he left it alone. Visyna stepped over it while doing her best not to look, but the smell of singed hair and flesh made her gag.
“Well, that’s all right then,” Zwitty said, his voice startling loud inside the small area. “Any rakke stupid enough to try to get through this is in for a nasty surprise. Good. But could you turn down the heat a bit?”
“I can’t,” she said, wiping her eyes again. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Her skin felt like she was lying in the sun at high noon. “I’m sorry. It’s only going to get hotter.”
There was a commotion on the other side of the wall and several rakkes began screaming in pain. Fortunately, none of them fell down in their path, but now the snow and sand beneath their feet was turning to mud. Walking was becoming increasingly difficult. If anyone slipped they would fall through the wall. If that didn’t kill them, the slavering beasts on the other side would. They were all walking a tightrope with just one wrong step meaning a horrible death. “I’m going to have to stop,” she said. Her legs were shaking and she was having a hard time walking. Between the fear and her exhaustion it was becoming a challenge just to stand upright.
“Are you mad? We’ve barely-” was all Zwitty managed before the sound of a thump suggested Hrem had knocked him off his train of thought.
“The fort is still quite a piece away,” Hrem said.
“I know,” she said, lifting her sandals out of the mud one at a time only to sink back down again. “I just can’t keep this up. I’m sorry, I thought I could but I can’t.” It was as if the muscles in her legs had been replaced with solid lead.
“You’ve done everything you could, child, no one is blaming you,” Chayii said, her voice calm and without a hint of accusation.
I am, she thought to herself. Her hands were cramping and her hold on the spinning wall was faltering. If she didn’t dissipate it soon, she might lose control of it completely and risk all their lives.
Her right foot caught as she pulled it from the mud and she stumbled. She fumbled her hold on the storm. She struggled to get it back, but it would take more strength than she had left to pull it in tight and keep it strong. The best she could do now was focus it outward, pushing the swirling snow and heat further away while still keeping it swirling around them. Visyna knew before long she would lose even that ability, and when that happened, they would be completely exposed.
And when it happens, I will have killed us all.
V iceroy, I want another exit, now!” Konowa shouted. His right knee was throbbing after jumping the last six feet off the ladder, but pain could wait. He limped across the courtyard of the fort, his mind a whirl of conflicting emotions.
Visyna is alive! And his elves… he sped up his gait and to hell with the stabbing sensation in his knee as he tried to process everything. After all this time, they were just a few hundred yards away. Everything and everyone he’d wanted and searched for were now on the outside of the fort.
But it wasn’t what he expected.
The soldiers he thought of as his sons and brothers weren’t the elves out there, but the raggedy-arsed collection of human misfits he’d led into battle from Elfkyna to the Wikumma Islands to here.
The smell of leather, polished copper, and sawdust snapped him back to the here and now. He’d come to a stop under a tattered canvas awning tacked to the inside of the fort’s west wall and held up by two broken cart shafts at the other end. It created about the saddest, leaky, and sagging roof he’d ever seen, but it did serve to keep most of the snow off Pimmer, who had taken refuge underneath it. The spot had clearly been a workshop at one point. Everything from boot soles to leather and canvas straps, bits of brass and pewter, and clay jars littered the ground. Pimmer sat on an overturned bucket while his ever present map was spread out on a door resting on bricks, which created a more than adequate table. His small brass lantern gave off a surprising amount of light.
RSM Arkhorn sat off to the side on a tangled mound of coiled rope, chain, and burlap sacks. He was turning the handle of a small grinding stone set upright in a wooden yoke while holding a piece of copper sheet to it. A rat-sized pyramid of copper dust already filled an earthenware basin set at the base of the grinding wheel.
“I think Kritton’s dead,” Konowa said, “Visyna killed him. Or at least, I think she did. Dropped a huge chunk of ice on him.” The image still shocked him. Between the snow, the dark, and the distance he couldn’t be sure, but even if his eyes couldn’t confirm it, something in his heart did… or at least, very much wanted to. That huge chunk of ice had come plummeting from the sky and hit someone. He had no idea she could do that.
Yimt stopped grinding. “Blast. I was looking forward to putting a permanent crimp in his spine myself. You’re sure he’s dead?”
“If he’s not, he’s at the bottom of a crater with his head in his boots.”
Yimt let out a low whistle. “I owe that lass a pint. Is she okay?”
“As far as I can tell,” Konowa said, starting to pace then stopping when the pain in his knee flared up. “I saw a storm. She weaves weather so it had to be something she made. It hid everything from sight, but that’s about all it’s probably good for. There are a lot of rakkes between her and the fort. We have to find a way to help her.”
Pimmer looked up from the map. The expression on his face wasn’t encouraging. “We’ve gone over this a hundred times from a dozen different angles and there’s no other way in or out except the main gate and the entrance we used.”
Konowa wasn’t satisfied. “They must have built more bolt holes. There has to be another way.”
Pimmer shook his head. “I’m sorry, Major, but I don’t see it. And even if there were…” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Meaning what?” Konowa asked, the pain in his knee forgotten.
“Meaning,” Yimt said, “what would we do with it? There’s hundreds of yards between us and them, and then there’s a vertical climb to get up here. And that’s not counting the rakkes. There’s precious little we can do for them by charging outside these walls without a plan.”
Konowa couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “This isn’t like the regiment. They have the Darkly Departed. They’re trained soldiers. Rallie’s with them. They’ll be fine. Visyna’s out there alone.” As soon as he said it he paused and rubbed a hand against his forehead. “Visyna and your squad and my mother and hopefully Jir are out there alone. They’re the ones that need our help.”
“As I was saying, Major, we’d be little more than fresh meat for the rakkes if we venture out without a plan. However,” Yimt said, looking over at the Viceroy, “we’ve been working on something that should put a lit fuse up their keisters. We were concocting it with the lads in mind, but now that Visyna and her group have arrived I’d say they could use it more.”
The two of them smiled. Konowa found his hand reaching for his saber of its own accord. Yimt Arkhorn and Pimmer Alstonfar had come up with a plan to inconvenience hundreds of rampaging rakkes.
And they’d done it together.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
When they finished, both looked at him for his response. For several seconds, Konowa was absolutely speechless. Finally, he nodded and took his hand off the pommel. “Let’s do it. Now, explain to me again why I’m the one who’s going to be set on fire?”
Kritton.
The elf’s shade appeared before Alwyn. It was a dark spectral being in searing pain, yet it wasn’t like the other shades of the deceased Iron Elves. Kritton’s shade exuded an awareness and a presence the others did not, not even RSM Lorian.
“Take your place among the fallen and defend the regiment,” Alwyn said. He phrased it like an order, but would Kritton obey? Alwyn’s relationship with the shades was a precarious one. He walked on the edge, just one slip away from joining them wholly. But as long as he still lived he wasn’t one of them. He did command the dead, but only because they chose to follow. He had bargained with the Shadow Monarch and won them a freedom of a kind, but they remained dead, and in servitude. Alwyn saw the futility of it. “Rakkes have encircled us and Her Emissary approaches.”
Alwyn turned from the shade, expecting it to obey, and focused his attention on Her Emissary. It took him a moment to realize he was wrong. Her Emissary no longer serves the Shadow Monarch. The realization would have filled him with hope a few days ago, but now he knew the cost behind it. The Shadow Monarch’s former servant was utterly mad and destroying itself in the process. It was literally and figuratively flying apart, and growing more dangerous in the process. How do you destroy something like that?
“I have always defended the regiment,” Kritton said, his voice an icy tendril worming its way into Alwyn’s mind.
Alwyn blinked and turned back to Kritton’s shade. “Then do so again,” he said. “As the oath bound you as you lived to the regiment, and through it, the Shadow Monarch, it binds you now to me. You must feel this.”
“You can’t understand what I feel,” the shade of Kritton said, moving forward so that it stood only a foot away. “You are not elf. You are not one of the tainted ones soiled by Her vile touch. You were not betrayed as I was.”
“This is not the time or the place to discuss betrayal, Kritton,” Alwyn said, finding it easier now in the face of Kritton’s anger to exert his own power. “You are bound by the oath as we all are. You have no choice.”
“You lie! I hear it in your voice. I do have a choice. I may not have the power, but I have the choice. You yourself tried to break Her oath. Yes… I feel this.”
Alwyn focused on Kritton. Power arced between them in ugly barbs of harsh light. Kritton’s shade began to scream. It flailed and tried to break free, but it was no match for Alwyn.
“Stand and fight with the others. You know this is our duty. We are all soldiers of the Iron Elves. Forget the oath that cursed us and remember the one you made with the regiment. All of us must fight.”
“I do not accept that!”
Alwyn raised his hand to strike Kritton down, then paused. He felt Rallie’s power being exerted to keep the rakkes at bay. The shades of the dead should have been more than sufficient to handle them, but they had fallen back and were no longer attacking. The living soldiers of the regiment were yelling and pleading for the shades to resume the battle, but the shades now refused to move. They were waiting for something.
They were… afraid.
“They do not want this fate any more than I do, any more than you do,” Kritton said. “And you know this.”
Alwyn thrust a hand and drove it into the heart of Kritton’s shade. He felt it scream as he closed his fingers tight. “You are right, Kritton, but I remind you again that we took the oath, and now we will see it through.” He released his grip and withdrew his hand. Kritton’s shade wavered and blurred before resuming its remembered shape of the elf.
Several shades drifted closer to the war of wills between Alwyn and Kritton. Would any of the other shades come to Kritton’s aid? Was their pain so unbearable that they would rather flee than fight?
Alwyn looked the dead in their eyes, steeling himself for the empty horror he saw there. “Our only chance is if we stick together as one. We are all Iron Elves, living and dead. There is no other way.”
The shades appeared to accept this, and a moment later a cheer went up from the regiment as they dead moved forward and began to attack again. Alwyn noted, however, that none ventured near the approach of the thing that had once been Her Emissary. The creature’s spiraling madness spread fear before it like a tornado.
“… the advantage is yours… for now,” Kritton said, moving off to join the other shades.
Alwyn watched it go, but knew he had bigger problems to deal with. Gwyn, though the thing drawing near no longer resembled the man in form or being, managed to hold some core of itself at the center of its own storm even as the rest of it was torn away.
Is this to be my destiny, too? Alwyn wondered. Will I become little more than a maddened collection of violence and death? He half-expected Rallie to appear at his side and tell him he was being foolish, but she was busy, and in the end, he still had a duty to perform. And that, he realized, was what would keep him sane. He was a soldier. He was an Iron Elf. As long as that was true, he could never become the monstrosity Gwyn had.
He adjusted his caerna and brought his hand up to adjust his spectacles, then remembered he no longer wore them. He brought his hand down and knocked on his wooden leg for luck, then limped forward to meet the threat.
“And how is this better than my plan?” Konowa whispered, scrambling over an ice-slicked rock and sliding down the other side to land awkwardly and fall to one knee before catching himself. “We’re still outside the walls risking life and limb.” He stood, brushed the snow off his trousers, and strode after Yimt. How the blazes does anyone with legs so short move so bloody fast? The dwarf had a knack for navigating among the tumbled rocks of Suhundam’s Hill like a mountain goat.
“Almost done, sir,” the dwarf said, easily bounding up and over another boulder. Yimt spooled out more twine from a bobbin slung from his belt. A continuous line now led all the way back to the secret entrance they had come through just a short twenty minutes before.
Konowa ignored the view from below as Yimt’s caerna blew in the wind, and instead marveled that he could move so nimbly after having been shot in the chest. Dwarves had a reputation for toughness, but just how tough Konowa had never fully appreciated. It was truly impressive.
“That’s how I feel,” Konowa said, letting gravity pull him the next few yards before digging his boot heels into the snow to slow himself down as another pile of rocks loomed before him.
“Think low and wide, Major,” Yimt whispered back over his shoulder. “The idea is to spread yourself out over a bigger area, and keep your body close to the ground. Makes a fellow more stable, especially a lanky one like you.”
“I’ll be low and wide and splattered all over these rocks if you don’t slow down,” Konowa grumbled. He finally gave in to his heaving lungs and stopped at the next boulder. Unlike the slow, tense climb up to the fort of a few hours ago, this descent was barely controlled chaos. Konowa’s body was now bruise on top of bruise. If he ever lay down he seriously wondered if he could haul himself back up again.
Yimt turned and trotted back up to where Konowa had halted. “Your orders, if you recall, sir, were to, and I quote, ‘get down the damn hill as fast as you can bloody well move.’ “
“Yes, you’re right,” Konowa managed, bending over double. His face was flushed and he’d already undone the top four buttons on his jacket despite the cold. He straightened back up and started to move off, but Yimt placed a strong hand on his arm and held him in place.
“If you don’t mind my saying, Major,” Yimt said, steering Konowa toward a small rock where he could sit down, “you haven’t really conquered the whole patience is a virtue thing.”
“They’re surrounded by rakkes out there,” Konowa said, struggling to get up from the rock and reluctantly giving into this body and allowing himself to rest for a moment. “Patience won’t do them any good if they’re dead.”
Yimt lowered his chin to his chest for a moment as if in deep thought. When he lifted it again he gave Konowa a look he’d never seen before. Konowa wasn’t looking at a sergeant in his regiment-it was the disgusted and disapproving face of a father.
“Then go, charge out there like a mad, brave fool and see what it gets you. You’re as worn out as a butterfly in a windstorm right now. You’re no good to anyone like this, least of all your missus.”
Missus…? Konowa stood up though it was no easy feat. His thighs screamed and he almost tipped over. “You’re not out in the desert with two elves too far out on a branch. I’ll check the regs, but I’m fairly certain I’m still your commanding officer.” It was surreal to hear those words coming from his lips. It sounded precisely like something the Prince said, but maybe he was allowing his feeling for the troops to breed too much familiarity. He was their commanding officer, but the comradeship and friendship he felt with them, especially Yimt, blurred the lines.
“And while you’re at it, you can check my paybook. Do you know why I’ve been busted back down to private more times than a unicorn has virgins lining up to ride it?” Yimt asked, his voice taking on a hard edge. “I mean, besides the drinking and brawling and general disregard for military rules and discipline?”
Konowa said nothing, deciding a smart remark wasn’t needed at this juncture.
“Because I’ve saved more bloody officers from themselves than deserved it. Most of ’em didn’t even have the decency to give thanks. No, their egos were a little too bruised for that, so when I stopped a lieutenant from leading his company across the path of another regiment about to fire a volley I was brought up on charges of insubordination. And when I fired at a shrubbery that was hiding a band of archers and sprung an ambush before we walked into it, a captain busted me for not maintaining fire discipline.”
“I’m not like that,” Konowa said, his feelings hurt that Yimt would lump him in with these other incompetent officers.
“No, Major,” Yimt said, “you’re worse. You really do care about the men, and yet you still charge hither, yon, and beyond, saber flashing, hair flowing, and setting an altogether bad example.”
“Bad example?” Konowa wasn’t standing for that. “The hell, you say! I lead from the front. I’ve never backed down from a fight.”
“Aye, and that’s an admirable quality in a soldier, but an officer also has to use his brain once in a while. What do you think all those young impressionable lads get in their heads when they see their officer deep in the thick of every fight? I’ll tell you what,” Yimt said, cutting off Konowa’s response. “They think they have to live up to your example, and so they start charging around like mad hatters, too. But here’s the thing-they ain’t you. Let’s face it, you ain’t you either. You’re banged up more than a round-heel on payday. But you’ve got the knack, same as me. The two of us get into trouble all on our own, but we figure a way to get back out again. We’ve both been shot at and hit, missed, and learned a few tricks. A lot of these lads, they don’t have what we have. They can get themselves into trouble, but getting out ain’t going to be as easy for them.”
This was something Konowa had never really thought about before. “But I can’t just sit back and watch. I’m not the Prince.”
Yimt shook his beard and snow fluttered to the ground. “A few weeks ago I would have said that was a good thing, but you know, that royal pain in the arse does use his gray matter. Oh sure, he’s got lofty plans, but I’ll be buggered if he hasn’t put a hell of a lot thought into each one. He thinks about what comes next. Probably learned it from his mum. You could learn from him. Think more than one step ahead. Remember, when you charge there are a lot of soldiers that are going to follow in your footsteps. Know where you’re leading them, and for that matter, know what you’re going to do when you get there.”
The nearby howl of rakkes reminded Konowa of the urgency of their task, but he held the urge to simply charge forward in check. “You know, for a loudmouthed, highly opinionated, rule-breaking malcontent, you offer some damn good advice.”
Yimt’s metal-stained teeth flashed in the night. “And you’re not the dandiest, wouldn’t-know-his-arse-from-a-hole-in-the-ground officer I’ve ever met… though you do vie for that distinction at times.”
“Let’s just pretend that was a compliment and get on with it.”
Yimt motioned with his thumb. “Just waiting for you to catch your breath, Major. Got three more of the sorry things right here.”
Konowa looked and saw three rakke bodies now half covered in snow. “They piled the things everywhere.” He stood up and walked over to the bodies, using his boot to kick off the snow from each one. Grunting with the effort, he then propped each frozen corpse into as close to a standing position as he could manage as Yimt piled some rocks around them to keep them in place. His hands stung as he handled the snow-crusted rakkes, but there was nothing for it. An uneasy feeling washed over him as he realized he was doing something very similar with the bodies of the rakkes that his elves had done.
“This ain’t the same thing,” Yimt said as if reading his thoughts. “We’re just trying to save some lives.” He took the twine and wrapped it around the nearest arm of each rakke. When he was done, they were all tied together. Without pausing, he lifted the flap on the haversack he had slung over one shoulder, reached a hand inside and came out with a dollop of axle grease used for wagon wheels.
“There’s a part of me that says this is desecration,” Konowa said, not feeling sympathy for the rakkes, but something dangerously close to it.
“Part of you is right,” Yimt replied, quickly smearing grease on the rakkes’ chest and head, if they still had a head. “But the way I see it, for all the evil they did in their short, brutish lives, they get to make amends by helping us now. Makes what we’re doing here almost noble.” He took some of the fur on top of a rakke’s head and used the grease to pull it up into a spike then stood back to admire his work.
“You think this is something you’d tell the grandchildren one day?” Konowa asked, opening the haversack he was carrying and scooping out a small handful of copper shavings. He sprinkled some on each body, making sure to trickle a small pile on the grease-coated twine as well. The copper shavings stuck to the grease despite the wind.
“There are things I won’t tell myself,” Yimt said. “As for the rest of it, I imagine I’ll wind up being a plucky warrior saving poor benighted officers left, right, and center. Yup, they’ll think their gramps was a real hero.”
Konowa clapped the dwarf on the shoulder. “He is.”
“You’ll make an old dwarf cry with that kind of mush,” Yimt said, absently pulling up the hem of his caerna to rub the grease off his hand. The howling of rakkes turned both their heads.
“How much more twine do we have?” Konowa asked.
Yimt lifted up the bobbin and pulled the last foot of twine from it. “Out of twine and out of time.”
Konowa rolled his eyes and looked out across the desert. “I can see all kinds of shadows moving out there. I see the storm Visyna is controlling, too. Maybe two hundred yards away.” The thought of her being so close filled him with anxiety. Was she okay? He wanted to run out there right now to her, but he knew if they were going to have any chance of making it back to the fort they had to follow through with this plan.
“I wish I had my shatterbow with me,” Yimt said, sliding a large chopping ax out of the leather straps that held it to his back.
“We’ll be moving too fast to reload. If your plan works, your ax and my saber should be more than enough. If they aren’t, it won’t really matter.”
Yimt hefted the ax in his hands and gave it a few twirls. He deftly spun it around his body as if it were an extension of his arms. Images from Konowa’s dream in the Shadow Monarch’s forest came back to him and he was tempted to ask Yimt about it, but the sound of the rakkes was growing louder. Time was definitely up.
“So,” Konowa said, “I’ll find Visyna and the squad and lead them back here. When you see my signal, light the twine.”
Yimt looked him over. “Now that the rakkes from here to the door are done, a liberal dusting of you should do it.”
Konowa untied the bundled Hasshugeb robe that hung from the belt at his waist and draped it over his shoulders.
Yimt reached forward and opened the flap on Konowa’s haversack and stuck a hand inside. He took the copper shavings and dust and began patting them all over Konowa’s robe, ordering him to turn with a swirling motion of his main finger where upon he patted down his back as well.
“And this won’t hurt?” Konowa asked.
Yimt gave him an extra hard pat and turned him around to face him. “More than anything else you’ve been through in the last few days? Naw,” Yimt said, “can’t imagine it will feel more than a bunny nibbling on your fingers.”
Konowa decided to inquire about the kind of rabbits Yimt had encountered another time. “Right. Somehow, it seems like I should be sending you out running across the desert,” Konowa said, looking down and noticing how the copper shimmered in the reflected metallic light of the falling snow.
Yimt held out his right hand palm up. A small, black flame burned in the center of it. “Gotta hand it to the Viceroy. He knows as much about metals and alchemy as a dwarf. That pencil pusher has one devious mind.” The admiration in his voice sounded sincere.
“I think it’s part of the job requirement,” Konowa said, reaching out with his own hand and the black flame that burned there. The two shook, black sparks whirling up into the night.
“You know all those things I said about thinking ahead and not always charging headlong into battle?” Yimt said, looking up at Konowa with an unblinking stare.
“I wasn’t listening,” Konowa said, giving the dwarf’s hand a squeeze then letting go. He turned and worked his way down through the last jumble of fallen rocks and hit the desert floor at a run. He unsheathed his saber and it immediately glistened with black frost.
“I didn’t think you were,” Yimt shouted after him. “Now go do what you do so well, Major. Stir up that hornet’s nest!”
A wind blew among the sarka har on the mountaintop, rattling their branches. Leaves heavy with ore and dark power twisted and ripped away, twirling through the air like miniature scythes. A few of the blood trees snapped and splintered, their trunks too rigid to cope with the strain. The Shadow Monarch ignored the whirling debris around Her and pulled Her robe closer. It was cold up here, even for Her. She sat on the leeward side of Her ryk faur, sheltered by its massive, gnarled trunk from the worst of the wind. Great, knobby branches hung low around Her, offering further protection.
She closed Her eyes and leaned Her head against the Silver Wolf Oak’s trunk. She felt the strong, urgent vibration of the ichor pulsing through the tree and took comfort from it. Her ryk faur would live. The early frost would not kill it. She saw the birthing meadow sparkling with white frost and felt the anguish as the tiny sapling screamed in terror and pain as the frost burned it. She turned to plead with the elves of the Long Watch to save it, but there was no one there.
The Shadow Monarch sat up, crying out as She reached to soothe the sapling. Her hands came to rest on the ulcerating trunk of the tree. It was sick. It was a thought She knew, yet refused to accept. The contradiction made Her angry, and She looked around for a place to vent Her rage.
A constant trickle of ichor bled down the side of the Silver Wolf Oak to collect in a pool near the Shadow Monarch’s feet. She stared at the shimmering surface, feeling the power flow from the tree. She tried to find Her children as She had before, but the surface of the ichor would not settle. The mountain shuddered and rock cracked as the roots of the sarka har drove deeper in search of sustenance.
Growing angrier, She focused all Her thought on the pool, willing it to cooperate. An image began to appear, but it wasn’t of elves but of a city of humans. Celwyn. She’d never been, but She knew it from the minds of Her Emissaries. A loud snap overhead made Her look up as a heavy branch from the Silver Wolf Oak splintered and fell to the ground, shattering. Ichor splashed Her, and She smelled the taint of death.
Using Her anger, She called on the power in the depths, urging the roots to dig deeper still. The mountain shook and several sarka har fell into chasms that opened wide beneath their trunks. Undaunted, She reached out to the shimmering vision of Celwyn.
Large, lush trees lined cobbled streets. Huge parks with vast meadows buzzed with life. Everywhere She looked, the land mocked Her with its verdant energy. She saw the image of Her ryk faur reflected in the pool of ichor and the contrast drew a slow hiss from between Her teeth.
She felt its branches come down to gently rest on Her shoulders. Two snaked their way down Her arms to wrap lightly around Her wrists. She plunged both hands into the ichor up to Her elbows. The cold shocked her, but cleared Her mind. She felt the natural order and began to tug on the web of roots deep underground, directing them to a new destination. She withdrew Her hands and watched. The branches slid back up Her arms and away.
She sat like that, unaware of the passage of time or the growing cold. Frost sparkled on Her cloak and in Her hair, turning it gray and brittle. The view of Celwyn shimmered and then changed. She blinked. Darkness erupted from the earth throughout the city as Her sarka har sought to conquer this new land. She smiled, and leaned back against her ryk faur as the screams and cries of a people echoed in Her mind.
The Shadow Monarch closed Her eyes. Soon, there would be nowhere else for Her children to run. Soon, they would have to come home. They would have to come back to Her.
Visyna stumbled again, and this time she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep control of the storm around her. The stinging threads began slipping through her fingers at an increasing rate. Her fingertips burned and she stifled a scream, doing her best to use her weaving to shape what little of the storm she still controlled.
“I’m losing it,” she said, knowing her warning was obvious as the wall of swirling snow that had protected the group disappeared into the larger storm around them.
Cold air rushed into the bubble, chilling her to the bone. The pain in her fingers turned into pins and needles. She pressed her hands under her armpits and dared to look around. Rakkes were emerging from the snow wherever she looked.
“Everyone stay close. Don’t get split from the group and don’t try to make a run for it!” Hrem shouted, coming to stand beside her on her left. “We’re stronger as a group and they know it!”
Three dozen rakkes began beating their chests and thrashing in the snow as they built themselves into a frenzy. The fur on Jir’s back stood straight up and his lips peeled back to reveal his fangs. The growl that emanated from deep within his chest sent shudders up Visyna’s spine. Against a few rakkes she would have given the bengar a better than average chance of defeating them, but there were far too many. He couldn’t kill them all, though he would die trying.
Visyna freed her hands and tried to call up some threads from the surrounding storm, hoping against hope that she could yet weave something more out of the chaos, but her efforts were in vain. She sank to her knees, her energy spent.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Chayii. The elf smiled at her. “I would have been proud to call you my daughter-in-law,” she said, gently reaching down and grabbing Visyna by the elbow, helping her up.
“He would have had to ask first,” she said, wiping away a tear.
“He would have,” Chayii replied.
The rakkes howled and moved in closer, though none yet dared to charge the last ten yards.
“Release the animal!” Zwitty hissed. He stood so that Hrem covered him on one side and Scolly on the other. “He wants to get at them anyway. This is the perfect time.”
“There are too many rakkes,” Visyna said, looking to Chayii for support.
She shook her head slowly. “I can’t hold him any longer, child-his rage grows too strong. He will hunt, and what will be will be.” She leaned down and whispered something into the bengar’s ear, patting his mane as she spoke to him. Jir’s growl turned into a deep, rumbling purr. For a moment, Visyna hoped he might stay with them, but then Chayii stood up and released her grip.
Jir shook his head and brought his left paw up to his eyes and rubbed it across them. He then extended his legs, stretching and arching his back as if waking from a sleep, which perhaps he was after Chayii released her hold on him. His muzzle sniffed the air and the purring grew louder.
“Has he gone stupid?” Zwitty asked. “There are rakkes everywhere. He’s acting like he doesn’t even see them.”
“He sees, he smells. He knows they’re there,” Chayii said, leaning against Visyna. The old elf was even more tired than she was. If the wind got any stronger it would blow them both over.
A rakke charged forward a couple of steps in a show of aggression, throwing its head back and gibbering into the sky. Jir twisted his head around and began to lick the fur around his wounded shoulder.
“I can’t believe I’m with Zwitty on this, but why isn’t Jir tearing into them?” Hrem asked.
“Elves have a great affinity with nature and all its creatures,” Chayii said, talking slowly, “although I suppose my son is not the best example. It is how we came to bond with the Wolf Oaks. It is also, unfortunately, why we face the evil of the Shadow Monarch now. Konowa did, however, bond with this creature. As their spirits are very much alike his influence on it did not materially change its basic personality of a predator.”
Visyna understood at once. “But you did!”
Chayii stood up enough to look at her and smile. “He is still very much a predator, and a wild one at that, but during the time I held him in thrall I was able to impart a certain degree of… patience. Something, sadly, I had less success doing with my own son.”
“How in the hell does that help us now?” Zwitty asked.
“You will see soon enough,” Chayii said.
The rakke that charged ahead of the others grew bold when no response came from the group. It gnashed its teeth together and bounded ahead another yard. The other rakkes howled their encouragement and began to shuffle forward. Visyna knew a mass charge was imminent. The longer the rakkes remained uncertain the better their chances were of coming up with some kind of plan to save themselves. She raised her hands and began to weave.
“I thought you couldn’t?” Hrem asked, raising his own hands and balling them into fists.
“I can’t,” Visyna said, “at least, not enough to push them away, but they don’t know that.” She made a show of waving her hands about her before crouching down in the snow and scooping up two handfuls of the tainted snow. It burned her hands, but it also warmed them enough for her to be able to tease a gossamer thread of power from the air and create a thin, shimmering wall between them and the rakkes.
Many of the rakkes scurried back a couple of yards. The lead rakke crouched lower and grew silent, but it didn’t retreat.
Good, Visyna thought, amazed that her plan was actually working, but knowing it wouldn’t for long.
“We need to stall them a little longer,” she said. “Inkermon, start praying. Out loud. Hrem, if you can keep control of the frost fire, call it up now. Make a big show of it. Grunt and yell. You see how they are. Try to do something similar.”
The big soldier looked down at his hands then back at her. “I can’t act.”
Visyna choked back a curse. “Forget acting. Just get angry. Stomp around. Yell.”
“Imagine someone got between you and a bowl of stew,” Zwitty said, his wheedling tone cutting through the building tension.
Hrem roared. Visyna gasped. The soldier spun on his heel and swung his fist at Zwitty’s head. Zwitty leaped backward, took a couple of awkward steps and fell to the snow. The rakkes nearby howled with renewed fury. Zwitty scrambled back to the group on his hands and knees.
“You could have got me killed!” Zwitty said, jumping to his feet and waving an arm at the surrounding rakkes.
“And?” Hrem asked. “Guess I can act a little after all.” There was no humor in his voice.
“This isn’t helping,” Visyna said.
“What should we do?” Scolly asked.
“Make snowballs.”
“Snowballs?” Zwitty asked as Scolly bent over and began scooping up snow in great handfuls. “You really think that’s going to stop a rakke?”
The temptation to punch the private in the nose now had her clenching her fists until she remembered she was supposed to be putting on a show of weaving. “They might if you toss a few to Hrem and the frost fire lights them and then he throws them at the rakkes.”
“Clever,” Chayii said, patting Visyna on the arm.
Jir padded a few feet toward the closest rakke, but still he gave no indication that he was aware of him. The rakke roared and raised its arms high above its head in a threat display. Jir turned as if noticing the creature for the first time. And then he did the most remarkable thing.
“He’s cowering,” Visyna said, not sure she believed her eyes. The fearless bengar was actually belly down in the snow and slowly slinking backward. The rakke recognized the posture and charged.
“No,” Chayii said, “he’s acting.”
Jir’s demeanor changed in an instant. His ears flattened against his skull and his fur rippled as muscles bunched and tensed. The rakke was two strides away when Jir leaped, a blur of black and red fur against the snow. There was a scream that cut off short, the sound of ripping leather, and a spray of blood. Jir landed on his front two paws and let his rear ones softly come down a second later.
The body of the rakke lay sprawled in the snow, its head resting in Jir’s jaws.
The other rakkes retreated several steps and their constant screeching and bellowing calls ceased. Jir had bought them some more time, but how much? More rakkes were appearing who hadn’t seen Jir’s horrific demonstration. Their roars would soon enough encourage the others to move forward again.
“Now what?” Zwitty asked.
“We start moving again toward the fort. Hrem, toss the snowballs about seven yards ahead of us and then a few to the sides. Jir can keep a watch and go after any that come in too close.”
Scolly handed Hrem a snowball. Hrem strode forward from the group and held his hand out at arm’s length. The rakkes fixated on him immediately. Hrem roared, and the snowball burst into black flame. He moved his arm around so that as many rakkes as possible could get a look and then he threw. The ball made a graceful arc trailing black frost in the air. It hit the snow with a sharp crack and Visyna realized it had instantly frozen the powdery snow into solid ice. Black flames and sparks flared for a few seconds before burning out. The rakkes near the flames screamed and pulled back several more yards.
“Move!” Visyna shouted, forcing her fingers to weave what little threads she could manage.
They started forward. Inkermon prayed, Scolly and Zwitty made snowballs and passed them to Hrem who lit them with frost fire and threw them as quickly as he could. Visyna did her best to prop up Chayii while weaving as Jir circled the group, snarling here and there at any rakke that came too close.
“It’s working!” Hrem shouted, tossing a snowball and hitting a rakke directly in the chest. The creature screamed as black flames washed over it and it ran off into the night. “We’re going to make it.”
A rock sailed out of the dark striking Hrem a glancing blow on the side of the head. He didn’t fall, but bent over in pain clutching the wound. The rakkes lunged forward. Jir attacked, his claws sweeping in lightning fast arcs designed more to wound and frighten than to kill.
The charge faltered, but did not stop. There had to be fifty or more rakkes around them now, and even creatures as primal as these knew that with numbers like that they could overwhelm their prey.
“They’ve figured out how to get to us,” Zwitty said, not bothering to hide the rising fear in his voice.
“They’re predators,” Chayii said by way of an answer.
Scolly and Zwitty started throwing snowballs though neither one lit them on fire. Inkermon’s prayer grew louder, but if it was having an effect Visyna couldn’t see it. She only caught a few words, but noticed that the soldier was invoking a lot of salvation, righteous fury, and a quick death. She hoped that last part was directed at the rakkes and not them.
A growing roar filled the air from the direction of the fort. The rakkes turned to look even as they continued to charge.
The sound reached a crescendo and a dark form burst through the circle of rakkes, its body covered in bright green spots of fire.
The reaction of the rakkes was immediate and stunning. They yipped and gibbered with fear and ran, everything else forgotten. They flayed and scrambled over each other to get away from the figure now stumbling around in their midst. Green flame flickered all over the creature obscuring its true shape as it swung its arms as if trying to beat out the fire.
That’s when Visyna noticed it was also waving a saber and cursing a blue streak.
“Konowa!” Visyna shouted, running toward him. She pulled up several feet short from him. He was wearing the tattered and smoldering remains of a cloth robe which was smoking furiously as it burned up with hundreds of tiny green flames.
“Has a spell been cast on you?” she asked, surprised that she could sense no foreign magic at work.
“Ow, ow, bloody, ow!” Konowa shouted, ripping what was left of the robe off his shoulders and diving into the snow where he began to roll over and over. “A bunny nibbling my fingers my arse! Ow!” he shouted some more, some of the choicer words being lost as his face went beneath the snow.
He finally sat up, covered in snow, his saber still waving dangerously around him. “I am going to kick that dwarf right in the-Jir!” he managed to say before a blur raced past Visyna and thundered into Konowa, sending them both, elf and bengar, tumbling in a snowy heap.
Their reunion was short as Konowa staggered to his feet, an excited Jir threatening to bowl him over bounding all around him, the wound in his shoulder completely forgotten. Frost fire arced between them but Jir didn’t appear to notice.
“Major!” Hrem said, stepping forward and clamping a huge hand on Konowa’s shoulder. “It’s great to see you, sir. Where’s the rest of the regiment?”
Konowa was still brushing himself off and didn’t appear to hear the question.
“Are you all right, my son?” Chayii asked, holding out a hand toward him then reluctantly pulling it back as black frost sparkled on his uniform.
“Mother. Oh, just a little hot under the collar is all… Look, no time to explain. We have to move, now.” He started to turn back toward the fort then stopped and looked at his mother again. “Father is back to his elf self, well, almost.”
This time Chayii did step forward and embrace her son. Frost fire glittered where her arms wrapped around him, but she held on.
“I missed you, too, but um, this isn’t really the best time,” Konowa said. His troops stood staring at him with open mouths.
Chayii let go and stepped back, but not before reaching up and brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. Visyna felt a pang of longing, wishing it was her in Chayii’s place right now.
Visyna began to lower her head and start walking. She so desperately wanted him to run to her and sweep her up in an embrace and to hell with the frost fire. The thought made her angry. I’m no delicate flower, she told herself. She lifted her head up, threw back her shoulders and walked right up to him and stopped.
“You, Konowa Swift Dragon, are my elf.” After everything she’d been through, all the pain, all the fear, and all the uncertainty, she was certain about this. She’d found him. She reached up, put her hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down toward her. Frost fire needled into her hands, but it could have been dragon teeth and she wouldn’t have let go. Their lips met. The kiss was unlike any she had ever experienced. It was cold cold lightning, sweet and clear like fresh spring water. His right arm curved around her waist pulling her in close. The frost fire sparked across her back, but she barely noticed. She was lost in a feeling so wondrous that pain would have to wait. She could have stayed there in his arms forever, but long before she was ready to let go, he pulled away. She could still taste him on her lips.
“Ummm, I fwink my wips are nuwmb,” he said, his cheeks flushing red.
“Mwine twwo,” she said, not caring one bit.
Whistles and approving clucks suggested the nearby Iron Elves approved.
“There’s still the matter of the rakkes,” Hrem said, dabbing at the side of his head where a thin trickle of blood was seeping from the wound. “How many soldiers are out here with you, Major?”
“Fwowwow me,” Konowa said, then stopped and rubbed the back of his hand against his lips before trying again. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.” This time Konowa did turn and began striding toward the fort. Jir bounded to his side and butted his head against his knee, almost knocking him over. Konowa reached down with his hand and scratched the bengar’s head leaving a patch of glittering frost on the animal’s fur.
Visyna smiled. She took hold of Chayii’s arm and they followed with the soldiers bringing up the rear. They were surrounded by ravenous monsters intent on their destruction, caught up in the complex web of a demented elf witch, and in the middle of a snow-covered desert, yet her overwhelming feeling was of absolute bliss. She had her elf, and he felt the same way about her as she did about him. Nothing in this world or any other could surpass how good that made her feel.
“I remember when Yimt first told me about you,” Chayii said as they walked along. “I must admit I did not approve.”
Visyna could only smile. Her cheeks actually hurt because she couldn’t stop grinning. “And now?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“And now I’m wondering when I will have grandchildren?”
Visyna’s grin vanished. “We, uh, we only just-”
Chayii squeezed her arm and smiled at her. “I tease,” she said, “for now.”
Visyna noticed that Konowa had slowed to try and overhear their conversation. She took the opportunity to change the subject.
“What was that green fire and why were the rakkes so frightened of it?” she asked.
Konowa slowed enough to walk beside her. “Copper dust and shavings. It burns green. Seems rakkes associate that with some kind of nasty bug that they instinctively fear. Wish I’d known this a few months ago.”
“Rakkes were extinct a few months ago,” Visyna said.
As if to put a point on her thought a rakke bellowed into the night. Several returned the cry. They were gathering for another attack.
“They’re stupid, but persistent,” Konowa said. “We need to move faster.”
Visyna reached out and touched his arm, knowing it would sting. “Everyone is tired and hurt. We’re lucky to be standing at all.”
Konowa slowed. He turned and looked at her. His face was drawn and he looked every bit as exhausted as she felt. “I know, and I’m sorry, but we really have to get out of here.”
“And you came out here by yourself, for us?”
Konowa smiled. “Not exactly, I did bring one other soldier along to help.”
The ground began to slope upward and she saw the dark outlines of large boulders ahead of her. A shadow detached from the side of one and began to move toward them.
“Konowa,” she said, moving to place her body in front of Chayii’s.
“You don’t have to worry-he’s not dangerous unless he starts talking.”
Like the ghost he should have been, Yimt materialized out of the snow and came to a halt, his metal teeth shining like polished diamonds. “I ain’t dead, in case you were wondering.”
For a minute, the dwarf disappeared as Hrem and Scolly mobbed him. Inkermon and Zwitty eased forward cautiously, their right hands extended for a quick shake, but Hrem reached out and pulled both of them into the scrum and whatever ill-blood existed between the soldiers and their sergeant appeared, at least for the moment, to be forgotten.
“All right, let him breathe,” Konowa ordered, breaking up the reunion. The pile parted and Yimt straightened his caerna and caught Visyna’s eye.
“Miss Red Owl,” he said, turning to Chayii, doffing his shako and bowing his head toward the elf. “Miss Tekoy,” he said as he repeated the gesture. “I understand you did this world a great service.”
“It was him or us,” Visyna said. She saw Konowa’s eyes go wide, then he nodded in approval. She nodded back, wishing Konowa was congratulating her for anything else. Taking a life should never be a happy occasion.
“Damn straight,” Yimt said. “It’s what I’ve been trying to get through this lot’s thick melons from the day I set eyes on them.” He paused as he looked over the soldiers and his smile vanished. “Teeter?”
“He went down fighting,” Hrem said, his voice catching.
Yimt nodded. “Aye, that he would. Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “we’ll drink to him later. Right now we need to get climbing.”
“You might want this,” Hrem said, holding out the dwarf’s drukar.
Yimt’s mouth opened and closed, but no words issued forth. He reached out a hand and took the blade, staring at it the way Visyna had at Konowa. “I never thought I’d see this again,” he finally managed.
“Sorry we couldn’t get your shatterbow, too,” Hrem said.
Yimt waved away the apology. “Lil’ Nipper served me well, but when Kritton shot me, I lost my grip on it and it cracked when it hit the floor. It was tough, but I had to leave it behind. I did, however, find a rather nasty little surprise in the library that more than made up for it,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Two rakkes emerged out of the darkness and charged straight at the group, ending the conversation.
Jir’s claws flashed and one of the creatures fell to the snow, its legs tangled in its own spilled intestines. The second met its fate at the end of Yimt’s drukar as the dwarf buried the blade deep into the creature’s chest.
The smell of hot blood filled the air, and the rakke howls grew in ferocity.
“Still works,” Yimt said, trying to pull the blade out. “Now we really need to go,” Konowa said, directing them toward the rocks. “It’s steep and it’s slippery, so watch your step but move as fast as you can.”
“A little help,” Yimt said, struggling to pull the drukar out of the rakke’s chest.
Hrem walked over and placing a boot on the rakke’s rib cage heaved and freed the blade.
“Always nice to have a big, strong man around,” Yimt said, patting Hrem on the forearm. “Now get your arse up that hill and mind you don’t trip on the twine. Oh, and watch out for the dead rakkes. They’re with us now.”
Visyna looked at the dwarf. “There are rakkes up there, too?”
Yimt looked like he was about to explain, but Jir’s growl changed his mind. “Let’s hope we have all the time in the world later to chat. For now, up you go,” he said, shooing her toward the rocks.
“Wait, aren’t you coming with us?”
The soldiers turned when she asked the question, and she could read the concern on their faces. Having just discovered their sergeant was alive, they weren’t about to lose him again.
“Steady now, boys and girls, your old sergeant isn’t leaving. I’m just going to lag behind a tad to keep these critters from getting too frisky and galloping up after us.”
“I’ll stay with you then,” Hrem said, stepping down from a rock and coming back toward Yimt.
“Your heart’s as big as your head, and it’s to your credit, but there ain’t room among these rocks for a big job like you. You just get along and help the others. I’ll be fine, and I won’t be far behind.” He stood up a little straighter. “So now’s the time to follow the twine.”
“Yimt of the warm breeze, it is very good to be in your company again,” Chayii said.
“You flatter me, madam,” Yimt said, “now get your pretty little self up those rocks and take the rest of this rabble with you.”
“Everyone, start climbing,” Konowa said. “Now. And believe it or not, that’s actually an order.”
Visyna’s face flushed, and the familiar urge to snap back at Konowa danced behind her teeth, or maybe it was just the aftereffects of the kiss. This time, however, she wasn’t looking for a fight, but for a way to draw him closer. She longed to feel his body pressed up against hers again. It was beyond infuriating that now that they were together in both presence and emotion, they were still apart because of the oath. She wondered if that fact made her desire for him that much stronger, but she didn’t think so. She wanted him, and she knew he wanted her, too.
“Now off you go,” Yimt said, twirling the drukar in his hands and either not knowing or not caring that it was spraying blood everywhere as he did it. “I will be right behind you.”
Visyna reluctantly turned her back and began climbing. She held out her hand and guided Chayii over a cracked boulder. There was a path of sorts to follow that Konowa and Yimt had made on their way down along with a grubby-looking piece of twine laying on top of the snow. She paused as she looked at the twine closer. It appeared to be flecked with copper as well.
“Do you know why green fire or insects would frighten rakkes so much?” she asked Chayii.
“Are you asking if I was alive when rakkes still roamed the earth?”
Visyna mentally cursed herself. “I wasn’t trying to imply… I just meant…” she sighed and looked at the elf. “Well, yes, I guess that is what I am asking.”
Chayii brushed some snow from her hair and considered the question. “I was not there. There are many things in this world older than I, child.”
Visyna accepted the soft rebuke with a smile. “But I doubt few as wise, or as kind.”
“I have my moments,” Chayii said.
From a few feet below them, Yimt bellowed. “C’mon you mangy bastards! You want fresh meat, I’m right here! Maybe a little gamey, but nothing you brutes can’t choke down.”
Visyna turned to look. Yimt was standing on a boulder, his drukar casually resting over his shoulder, his other hand firmly on his hip and his caerna waving merrily in the wind.
“Oh my,” Visyna said,
“Indeed,” Chayii said. “Quite impressive.”
Visyna didn’t think her cheeks could get any hotter. “We should probably keep climbing,” she said, desperate to change the subject.
“Yes, I suppose we should,” Chayii replied, lingering a moment longer to watch the dwarf. She turned back to climb and saw Visyna looking at her. “I very much love my fool of a husband, but as we say in the Long Watch, ‘You may admire another tree’s nuts as long as you don’t harvest them.’ “
I was wrong, Visyna realized. My cheeks can get hotter.
U p on the hill, Konowa waited by the first dead rakkes, wanting to make sure no one overreacted when they saw them. Even frozen stiff and partially covered in snow, the creatures were still fearsome to look at.
“Just keep following the twine,” Konowa said, ignoring the questioning looks as the soldiers passed by the first bodies.
“Did you kill all these, Major?” Scolly asked, stopping and carefully prodding the leg of one rakke with the toe of his boot.
“They were already dead when we got here, must have frozen to death standing around asking too many questions,” Konowa said.
Hrem clearly got the message and grabbed Scolly’s arm, pulling him away. “C’mon, we need to keep moving.”
“But I want to know what happened to the monsters,” Scolly said.
“Just be glad they’re dead and can’t hurt you anymore,” Hrem said, nudging the soldier on.
“Weren’t they dead before and then they came back again?”
Konowa turned and looked at the corpses. Scolly was a full horn short of a unicorn, but he hit on something that worried Konowa. The rakkes had been dead. Extinct, gone and never to be seen again, until they came back. What would stop the Shadow Monarch from reviving them again and again? The answer was always the same. To hell with his dreams-if he had an ax in his hands when the time came, he’d cut Her down like any tree in the forest.
Yimt’s war cry, sounding much like first volley in a barroom brawl, echoed off the rocks. The rakkes’ reply drowned out anything after that.
“Okay, Sergeant, you little rascal, let’s see if you think it feels like nibbling bunnies,” Konowa said.
“What was that?” Visyna asked as she helped Chayii past the rakkes.
Konowa started. “Ah, nothing. You’d better hurry, it’s about to get very exciting around here.”
“Yes, because up until now our day has been fairly uneventful,” she said while his mother clucked her tongue at him.
“Right, sorry,” he muttered. He watched them go by, making a solemn vow that whether he continued in the service of the empire or not, he would, as a general rule, ensure that neither his parents nor his love interest accompany him out in the field. It just wasn’t good for his elfhood.
“… between the eyes you smelly furball!” Yimt shouted, arriving at Konowa’s position huffing for breath.
“I’ve been called worse,” Konowa said, drawing his saber as he brought forth the frost fire. His saber lit at once, giving off a shimmering black, translucent light.
“Probably with cause, too,” Yimt said matter-of-factly, “but in this case I was directing my keen observations at the hairy brutes not that far behind me.”
Konowa spied them. “They appear to be suitably enraged, well done,” he said, taking a quick look behind him for the best footing.
“I do have a gift for the oral-torical,” Yimt said, resting splay-legged on a boulder while he sharpened the blade edge of his drukar on the rock between his legs. “You know, sometimes I think my talents aren’t fully utilized in the infantry.”
“Do tell,” Konowa said.
“Well, I’ve been wondering of late if a change in career might be called for. I’m not as young as I used to be. Now don’t get me wrong, Major, I do enjoy the fresh air and the travel and even the chance to meet the natives, although it loses something when you usually end up having to shoot them.”
As eager as the rakkes were to rip them to shreds, judging by the mewling and howling, the recent deaths of many of their brethren had instilled a degree of wariness as they stalked their prey. Still, they continued to climb up the rocks, oblivious even to the macabre sight of their mutilated brethren. They were out for blood. Their claws clicked on the rocks as they came on, growing louder as they jockeyed for position to be the first to sink their fangs into the fresh meat barring their path.
“I’ve been thinking along those lines myself,” Konowa said, a sense of relief filling him as he spoke the words aloud. Maybe it was time to hang up his saber and try his hand at something new, that is, if they did manage to survive this and destroy the Shadow Monarch. “What would you do if you left the army? Between the two of us, we’ve served longer than most of these boys we lead combined. It’s hard to imagine doing anything else.”
Yimt held up his drukar blade and admired the edge. “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? After a lifetime of honing our skills in battle, what to do after you parade for the last time and walk out the barracks gates a free dwarf or elf?”
“I’ve a feeling you’ve got an answer.”
“Barrister,” Yimt said.
“Hold that thought,” Konowa said, as three rakkes were overcome by bloodlust and began scrambling over the boulder just a couple yards below them.
Yimt stood up on his rock and hefted his weapon. “Step forth, oh ye wretched and rabid rabble, and prepare to be judged.”
Whether the rakkes understood anything Yimt said was impossible to tell, but his voice was enough to send them into a frenzy. They charged.
Konowa reached forward and touched his saber on the hem of Yimt’s caerna. The coating of copper dust immediately burst into hundreds of tiny green flames. The night turned a sickly green as the flames roared to life.
Yimt leaped from his rock, looking for all the world like a green comet crashing to earth. He landed between two rakkes and dispatched them with quick, powerful blows of his drukar. Konowa fought the urge to join him, knowing his job was to wait.
Rakkes roared and screamed with fright as they tried flee. Yimt was a glowing green nightmare among the rocks, bounding from boulder to boulder cutting down the creatures with brutal precision. Unlike on the desert floor, however, the rakkes were hemmed in by the rough terrain and couldn’t escape fast enough. Konowa lost count after the seventh rakke went down.
“You’re flaming out!” Konowa shouted, noticing the green glow was rapidly dying. “Get back now.”
The rakkes appeared to be noticing it, too. Already, several of them were curving around to climb the hill on either side of them.
“They’re flanking us, Sergeant!” Konowa shouted again, getting ready with his saber.
“Coming!” Yimt yelled, turning and running back up to Konowa’s position as the last of the green flames went out. He leaned forward with his hands on his knees and gulped in air. “Definitely getting a bit long in the beard for this.”
Several rocks crashed into the boulders around them. “I think they’re starting to figure this out,” Konowa said, ducking as another rock sailed overhead.
“Maybe, but we’re slowing them down, and that’s what matters,” he said, standing up straight and drawing in a deep breath through his nose. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Konowa couldn’t help but stare. “Your caerna…”
Yimt looked down. “Appears to have burnt right off. Think they’ll dock my pay for damaging military property?”
Konowa touched his flaming saber to the rakke corpses and the copper shavings caught fire, illuminating the night once again. “I’ll make certain they don’t,” he said, leaping to the next rock and making his way up. “In fact, I’ll make sure you get a special stipend specifically for uniforms so you never have to go without ever again.”
“Very kind of you, Major,” Yimt said as he stepped past him and ran ahead. His short, powerful legs and muscular buttocks pumping vigorously as he climbed. “I don’t mind telling you, now I really do notice the chill.”
“I imagine you would,” Konowa said, doing his best to keep pace, but not too fast. Behind him, the sound of rakkes scrambling over the rocks told him the green fire wouldn’t slow them down much longer.
They reached the next rakke corpse and Konowa simply lit it and kept going. The idea of making a stand at each one was no longer viable. Rakkes were ascending the hill all around them. He was sure a few had even got ahead of them, but their fear of what they thought the green fire really was held them back just enough.
“So a barrister?” Konowa said, finding the idea of the dwarf putting on the robes and powdered wigs of the legal profession fascinating and frightening. He stepped on a rock and slipped, twisting his knee. The pain simply added another layer to the blankets of agony covering his body. He bit off a curse and kept going. “Why spend your days in a courtroom with judges and rules? You don’t strike me as the type to prosecute some poor lad who stole a loaf of bread.”
“Prosecute? Major, I have my pride.” Yimt said, huffing as he bounded over a jumble of rocks. “I’d be representing the wrongfully accused.”
A couple of rocks bounced off boulders nearby. Konowa turned to look over his shoulder, but the rakkes were still far enough back to make their aim wild. “Okay, barrister, convince me.”
“Another time, Major. Shadows up ahead on the path,” Yimt whispered, pointing forward. Konowa saw them.
“Is it our group?”
“I don’t think so, because they are coming down.”
Konowa took a hurried look around and didn’t like what he saw. They were hemmed in by boulders on all sides. There was nowhere to run, and they were out of copper-covered rakkes. Growling and scraping noises echoed from all sides. They were completely surrounded. He looked up and could see the fort’s wall a little over thirty yards away. So close.
“Our best bet is to scream bloody murder and charge,” Yimt said, shifting his drukar from hand to hand.
“I thought that was a bad trait.”
“There’s a time and a place for everything, and in this particular time and place, a good old-fashioned berserker charge is just the ticket.”
Konowa flexed his fingers around the pommel of his saber and rolled his shoulders. They still had the frost fire to call on, and they were close enough to the fort that maybe help would arrive in time. It would have to do.
“Ready?” Konowa asked, moving up to stand beside Yimt.
“Time for these rakkes to hear my closing argument,” Yimt said.
Konowa groaned, but smiled. “You might want the Viceroy to write up your briefs. On three. One… two…”
A volley of musket fire lit the night, its sharp cracks cutting through the snow-deadened air. Rakkes screamed. Konowa stuck his head over the rock in front of him. Corporal Feylan stood fifteen yards away with Yimt’s squad.
“Hurry, Major, there’s a lot more coming up behind you.”
The pair climbed over the rocks and the fallen rakkes before running as fast as they could up to the squad. Yimt’s soldiers were already reloading their muskets in preparation for another volley. Konowa looked behind him and saw they were in no immediate danger.
“That’s enough. Let’s get back inside,” he said. “The regiment is still out there on the plain.”
A touch on his arm made him look down.
“Probably good for them to blow off a little steam,” Yimt said in a low voice. “With everything they’ve been through, I imagine it feels good to give a little back.”
Konowa thought about that. They hadn’t just seen hell, they’d been battling their way through it from the very beginning. So many good men had fallen. There were wives who would never see their husbands again, small children would grow up without ever knowing their father, and mothers who would grieve for their son for the rest of their lives.
He studied the faces of the soldiers. They were gaunt, their skin chalky white with cold, and their eyes red-rimmed. These were men who had to look over their shoulders to see where they had passed their breaking point, and still they were ready to stand and fight.
Konowa knew time wasn’t in their favor, but to hell with that. “Good shooting, men. A few more volleys should keep them out of our hair for a while. On your own time, tear those bastards a new one.”
There were smiles and grunts of approval as the soldiers continued reloading their muskets. The sound of ramrods rattling down barrels as his soldiers tamped down lead ball and black powder was music to his ears. This was the release they’d been longing for. Finally, and at least for the time being, they had the upper hand.
More rakkes appeared and clambered up the rocks to be met with a withering rain of lead shot. The soldiers began cheering and calling out to each other as they picked apart the charging rakkes.
The sharp vibration in his chest as the muskets spit out their lead balls put a grin on Konowa’s face. The rotten-egg smell of the smoke filled his nostrils. He tasted the bitter powder on his tongue and the constant ringing in his ears kicked up an octave.
The rakkes fell by the dozen, but there seemed to be two more ready to take the place of every one that died. The cheering fell away, and soon the joy of exacting an ounce of revenge became a grim task as wave after wave of screaming, roaring predators climbed over the rocks to get them.
“Major,” Yimt said, “they aren’t going to stop.”
Konowa shook his head in disbelief. The beasts just kept coming. He’d once thought the walls of the fort would be easily defended, but with an enemy like this nothing was safe.
“RSM, get these men inside, now.”
Yimt began barking orders and the soldiers started backing up, taking turns covering each other as they retreated to the safety of the fort. Konowa was the last to step inside, realizing that the fort wouldn’t be a safe haven at all. If they didn’t get out of it soon, it would be their tomb.
I want everyone ready to move in ten minutes!” Konowa shouted as he emerged from the steps leading up to the fort’s main square. Passing through the torture chamber again had made his mood very grim. “Grab whatever you can carry and get by the front gate.”
Musket fire sounded along the top of the wall’s forts as soldiers shot down at the massing rakkes. Konowa knew it wouldn’t delay the beasts for long, but hopefully just long enough.
“Major, you had better see this,” Pimmer said from the gate.
Konowa trotted over. “How’s the battle going?”
For an answer, the Viceroy pointed down to the plain below. A single soldier was marching into the open and straight for the whirling madness that had once been Faltinald Gwyn. Frost fire blazed all around the soldier, creating a barrier that no rakke dared approach.
“That’s got to be Renwar,” Konowa said.
Yimt appeared at Konowa’s elbow. “I’d recognize that gimpy walk a mile away. What in the hell does he think he’s doing?”
“He’s challenging Gywn again,” Konowa said, admiring the soldier’s courage. “I told you, Renwar already ripped him apart once before.”
“But did that monster look like that the last time?” Yimt asked.
Konowa didn’t answer. The creature moving toward Renwar looked like nothing so much as a whirling, black storm. Konowa could feel the malevolence of it from here.
“Surely the shades of the dead will aid young Renwar,” Pimmer said. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than several shadows flickered into being near the creature on the desert floor.
But something about them was wrong.
“Those aren’t the Darkly Departed,” Yimt said, starting forward. “Bloody hell. They’re shades of dead rakkes!”
Hundreds of them appeared, emerging from the storm-whipped vortex and flying outward like shrapnel. They were met at once by the shades of the Iron Elves in massive explosions of black frost and ear-splitting cracks. The desert floor gleamed as it iced over. Shadows merged and fragmented in close-quarter combat. The air vibrated with screams and howls as huge chunks of darkness ripped open and then closed as the fighting between the dead escalated from this plane to the next.
The living rakkes took the opportunity to descend on the Iron Elves, charging across the ice with wild abandon. Volley after volley of well-aimed musket fire scythed through their ranks. Limbs and heads flew through the air as the beasts were chopped apart by the lead shot. Blood droplets froze in the air and fell like red glass beads to roll around on the icy ground. Rakkes died by the dozens, but the beasts refused to retreat and launched fresh assaults over the bodies of their fallen.
“You cagey bastard,” Konowa said, his fury rising as he focused on the swirling entity that had once been Viceroy Faltinald Gwyn.
“We have to do something,” Yimt said, turning to look at Konowa. Konowa halted before he’d taken two steps toward the roadway leading down to the desert. His first reaction was to run all the way down there and wade into the beasts with nothing but his saber and his anger. He turned, and with an effort, sheathed his saber, allowing the frost fire to die out. Musket fire from the Iron Elves manning the fort’s walls was crackling like wet pine in a fire. Already, he could hear the shrieks and growls of the rakkes on the far side of the fort.
“The fort is untenable, and the regiment is in trouble. We’re between a rock and an even harder rock. We need to be able to create some kind of diversion,” he said, frustrated that he couldn’t think of anything big enough that would pose a threat to the mass of rakkes attacking the regiment.
“Your father’s a wizard and Miss Tekoy’s a witch,” Yimt said, though Konowa could tell by the tone of his voice he didn’t have much hope in that regard.
Konowa kicked the stone wall of the fort with his boot.
“Unless he’s stopped speaking squirrel I don’t think he’ll be much help, and Visyna is exhausted. Damn it! There has to be something else.” I was wrong to leave the regiment, Konowa realized, horrified that he might very well watch its destruction and not be able to do a bloody thing about it.
“There’s nothing for it then,” Yimt said, standing to his full height and straightening his uniform. He clutched his drukar in his right hand and pointed toward the battle below. “We’ll just have to charge down there and take’em on head on.”
Konowa looked at the dwarf. “That’s suicide and you know it.”
“Aye, but it’s the best kind. Maybe we’ll buy them enough time to get away.”
Konowa was already shaking his head even though he still had no better idea. “We’ll call that plan B. I still want something we can do that gives us at least a five percent chance of survival.”
A small cough alerted Konowa to the presence of Pimmer. “Five percent you say?” he said, offering the two of them a smile he probably only brought out just before revealing the existence of the Calahrian Army outside the opposing diplomat’s capital city. “I think I have just the thing.”
Alwyn felt the presence of the dead rakkes before he saw them. The shades of the dead creatures tore through the wall between this world and the next, staining the air around them with a toxic mix of mindless fear and ravenous hunger. The cries of the living soldiers sounded distant and muted compared to the reaction of the shades of the Iron Elves’ dead.
They charged headlong into the dead creatures, meeting frenzy with the controlled violence of seasoned soldiers. The dead of the Iron Elves slashed and burned their way through the dead creatures, tearing their shadowy forms into fragments that shattered and bled darkness into the night. Frost fire sparked off them and burned holes in the ice on the ground, creating deep, black holes. Wails of absolute agony ebbed and flowed as the battle raged.
Frost fire consumed rakke shades, eating their essence until nothing but disembodied screams of pain remained to echo in the night. The temperature continued to fall as death swept across the mortal plane. It beckoned to things dead and gone eons before rakkes ever walked the earth. Huge, multilegged creatures with spike-crusted claws scrambled into being, lunging and stabbing at the shades of the Iron Elves and forcing them to slowly retreat.
The vortex around the creature continued to grow, its scouring winds tearing and scattering anything and everything they touched. It fed on the darkness, drawing ever more power as time disgorged dead after dead onto the field of battle. Each new creature was more twisted and broken than the last, its memory of what it was so fragmented that it could only piece together parts of what it had once been. What remained as strong as ever, however, was the rapacious need to feed, and these monsters of tentacle and spike, fang and barb, flew at the shades of the Iron Elves with abandon. The shades fell back, and Alwyn let them, knowing that not even they could withstand this force. There was only one way for this madness to stop.
Alwyn took in a breath and breathed out frost fire.
“I challenge you, Gwyn!” Alwyn shouted, and strode forth to meet the darkness head on.
K onowa, this is madness,” Visyna said, standing at the front gate of the fort. Except the front gate wasn’t there anymore. The two large wooden doors had been ripped from their hinges and repurposed by Viceroy Alstonfar. “The Viceroy is a very creative man, but this is just lunacy.”
Konowa couldn’t disagree, but he didn’t see what choice they had. He stepped aside as soldiers ran back and forth from inside the fort. They were scrambling to load as many supplies as would fit on the hastily constructed wooden contraption now resting on the top of the snow-covered roadway leading down to the desert floor. Armloads of anything and everything were being tossed onto the Viceroy’s invention, though Konowa thought a more apt description would be “disaster waiting to happen.” In this regard, he and Visyna agreed, but he couldn’t let her know that.
“Careful, Major, coming through,” a soldier said, tottering under the weight of a large wooden cask. Anything of possible value, especially foodstuffs, were being hurriedly bundled and loaded as RSM Arkhorn barked orders that would sound more at home in a grocer’s shop: “Try to find a bag of flour with a few less rat droppings in it! Don’t go mixing the tins of boot polish with the tins of jam. Some of us will be wanting toast later, and if I open the wrong tin in the dark guess who’ll be eating every bite!”
The crackle of a musket volley drifted up from the desert floor below, adding urgency to the loading. It was a clear reminder that living men were down there among all the shades. Smoke from volley after volley mixed with flashes of light and bursts of frost fire were making it difficult to see what was going on. The urge to charge down there rose up in Konowa again and he fought it by pacing. He looked down at the plain again. The Iron Elves with the Darkly Departed and Private Renwar would have to hold off Gwyn and his monsters for a little longer.
Konowa tore himself away from the view and faced Visyna. “It’s our only option,” he said, looking at the toboggan and wishing it wasn’t. While Konowa had been outside the fort bringing Visyna and her group inside, Pimmer had been hard at work crafting what was little more than thirty feet of sled with a bow made of wood planking, and everything nailed and banded together with cobbler’s supplies. It did not fill Konowa with confidence, but there really was no more time. More musket fire and a rising gibbering howl of maddened rakkes emphasized his point.
“I know it is,” Visyna said, leaning forward and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. The frost fire stung, but he thought he could get used to that.
“All aboard who’s going aboard,” Pimmer shouted.
Konowa turned. His mother was placing his father and Tyul onto the toboggan and getting them settled in. His father was still not talking. Konowa knew it was risky, but he hoped that thrusting the elf into the heart of a battle would snap him out of it. They were going to need him.
Pimmer ran past to direct a soldier where to put some sacks then hurried over to Konowa. “We’re just about ready, Major. I think you can call the soldiers down from the wall.”
Konowa heard their musket fire and shook his head. “Not until the very last moment.”
“We are rapidly approaching that moment,” he said. “Once The Flying Elf starts sliding, there’ll be no stopping her.”
Konowa brought his right hand up to his ear and rubbed a knuckle in it. “ The Flying Elf?”
“HMT The Flying Elf, actually.” When Konowa didn’t respond, Pimmer elaborated. “Her Majesty’s Toboggan, of course.”
“Of course. And the name?”
Pimmer’s smile lessened a little. “A bit cheeky, I know, but after I relayed your experiences with the flying sarka har, Miss Tekoy insisted.”
“And can you steer this… elf?
Pimmer’s face clouded. “All I had time for was the basic design. We’ll just push it down the slope until it starts to move then hop on and hold tight. Our great luck in this is that the road leading down to the desert floor runs straight with a three-foot wall on either side, creating a nice, deep furrow. Now that it’s filled with snow we should stay well centered all the way down. I am a little concerned about the angle of transition between the road and the desert when we reach the bottom. There appears to be a large snowbank down there, but I think we’ll manage with a fairly gradual transition.”
Konowa looked down to the bottom. “More ice than snow I’d say.”
“Best not to think about it too much,” Pimmer offered.
Konowa agreed. “Right. We’re going now.” He looked around and spotted Yimt waving his drukar in the air as he spurred the men on. “RSM! Get the men formed up and make sure we have everyone. We’re not coming back. I want this sl-this toboggan moving in one minute.”
“Corporal Feylan!” Yimt shouted, pointing at the young soldier with his drukar. “I want everyone right here in thirty seconds. Get the men down from the walls, now. Any dawdlers will have the honor of welcoming the rakkes to this place. In light of what happened around here, I imagine death will be almost instantaneous.”
“Yes, RSM, right away,” Feylan said, running off to round up the soldiers still inside the fort.
“So whose butt did he kiss to make corporal?” Zwitty asked, walking up with a single loaf of moldy bread in his hand.
“Corporals and higher sit at the front of this device. Want a promotion?” Yimt asked.
“Just asking,” Zwitty said, scurrying away to place his loaf of bread on the pile then jumping on well away from the front.
“Shame he didn’t dawdle,” Yimt said, watching the soldier the whole time.
A musket fired from inside the fort. Privates Vulhber, Erinmoss, and Inkermon came running. “It’s the rakkes, sir! They’re climbing over the walls!”
Bloodcurdling roars echoed inside the fort as the beasts vaulted over the top and descended into the yard. A couple of muskets fired, dropping one rakke where it twitched and growled in agony, and taking off the left arm of another at the elbow.
“Do we have everyone?” Konowa shouted.
“All accounted for, Major,” Feylan said.
“Good. RSM, get this toboggan moving!”
“All right, laddies… and ladies,” Yimt said, grabbing hold of a wooden crate roped onto the toboggan. “Start pushing!”
A collective groan went up as backs bent to the task. Konowa tried to do the mental calculation of how heavy this toboggan with all its supplies and passengers was and came up with bloody damn heavy.
“It’s not moving!” someone shouted.
More rakkes poured over the wall and started bounding across the fort’s small yard. A single musket fired in response. If a rakke went down Konowa couldn’t see it in the mass of furry beasts closing in on them.
“Then keep bloody pushing!” Yimt shouted back.
A blur off to the left caught Konowa’s attention and he was shocked to see Pimmer running for all he was worth toward the toboggan. “What are you doing, man? This was your idea! Get on!”
Pimmer jumped on and the toboggan broke free and began to slide across the snow. Konowa pushed until he thought his eyes would pop out of his head. The toboggan inched forward, slowly picking up speed. Blood pounded in his ears. I’m getting too old for this, he decided, easing off for a moment to catch his breath. The toboggan leaped ahead a few feet and his heart raced as it started to slip away from him.
“Jump on! Jump on!”
Konowa pumped his legs and dove, landing headfirst in a bag of flour that burst open on impact.
He came up gasping for air. “Do we have everyone?” he shouted, turning to look behind him. Rakkes screamed and picked up pieces of wood and threw them at the toboggan. Too late he wondered what would stop the rakkes from simply sliding down the hill after them?
Jir bounded up beside him and dug his claws into the stack of supplies. He stuck his head up into the wind with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. His stubby little tail wagged furiously.
“Cover your ears!” Pimmer shouted, using his thumb to point back at the fort.
Konowa looked, then flinched as the fort vanished in a black orange flash. The explosion rocked the toboggan and set it hurtling even faster down the slope. Rakkes and rubble rocketed into the air. Konowa had seen gunpowder explode before, but never this much. It sounded like a thousand thunderclouds detonating at the same time. The walls of the fort buckled and flew outward, scattering cartwheeling chunks of masonry down the hill and toward the toboggan. Body parts and bricks began falling all around them.
People screamed. Something heavy hit Konowa in the back between the shoulder blades knocking him forward again into the flour. He pushed himself back up and looked down at his side to see the grinning, severed head of a rakke staring back at him. He picked it up by the smoldering hair on its head and flung it over the side.
He became aware of a new sensation, that of falling. He turned and faced forward as the toboggan whooshed down the snow like the bow of a ship plunging into the trough of a monster wave.
The rock walls whizzed past much closer than Konowa thought was safe. He squinted into the wind and saw that due to the prevailing wind the snow had drifted more to the western side of the road, creating a ramp that was angling them toward the east side, and the rocks that lined it.
“Everyone lean left!” he shouted, throwing his body sideways. The whole toboggan lurched and began to tilt as it climbed up the snowdrift on the west side.
“Too much! Back to the right!”
The toboggan lurched again and a loud crack sounded from somewhere beneath him.
“She’s breaking up, Major!” Pimmer shouted from somewhere behind him. “She can’t handle the strain!”
“We’re almost there!” Konowa shouted, trying to reach for his saber then forgetting the idea when he realized he’d have to release one of his hands from its death grip on the supplies. The toboggan hit a bump-it might have been part of a rakke-and became airborne. The bottom of his stomach fell away and he suddenly felt as light as a feather. It wasn’t a good feeling.
The desert floor appeared through the snow. It was close, and on an angle that looked more vertical than horizontal. A cluster of rakkes stood at the bottom of the snow-covered stairs looking up.
“Rakkes dead ahead off the bow!” Corporal Feylan shouted, embracing his naval ambitions in his excitement. “Brace for impact!”
In the final second before toboggan, Iron Elves, and rakkes met in what would be recorded as the first and last battle of the HMT The Flying Elf, Major Konowa Swift Dragon, brevet naval captain, said a silent prayer to blind, dumb luck.
“Viceroy!” he yelled, the wind and snow stinging his face. “You know how to make a distraction!”
K onowa’s understanding of physics was, as he was the first to admit, more of a complete misunderstanding. The looming change from the steep descent down the snow-covered road to the flat snow-covered desert rushing toward him was blocked by a huge mound of accumulated ice and snow. It looked less like a soft pile of fluffy snow and more of a hard, ice-encrusted ramp. He chose to keep his eyes open as he’d already lived his life once and a lot of it he would just as soon forget. He wanted to see the next few seconds, especially if they were to be his last.
What saved Konowa and the riders of HMT The Flying Elf was luck in the form of the combined body mass of thirty-five rakkes. The toboggan launched itself into the air and immediately took a nose down position as it sailed through the air toward the desert floor. At that angle it would have shattered on landing, but the rakkes took the initial impact of the toboggan, absorbing the force of over two thousand pounds traveling faster than an eight-team horse carriage.
A rakke’s skull, though heavy and thick to protect what little brain it had, wasn’t designed to withstand the blunt impact of that much force. Konowa had never seen a body disintegrate two feet in front of him before. The spray of rakke material stung his face with a wet mask that dried instantly in the wind.
If the creatures screamed, Konowa couldn’t hear them. He did, however, feel the force of the wood pulverizing them as it shuddered toward touchdown. More rakkes appeared and while these, too, were smashed by the toboggan, the body parts now flying through the air were considerably larger and posed a real danger.
“Duck!” someone shouted entirely unnecessarily. Even Jir had had the sense to crouch down as limbs and heads began flying overhead.
HMT The Flying Elf touched down some thirty feet away from the foot of the road and rebounded at once, throwing up a hundred-foot-tall geyser of ice, snow, wood, and more rakke parts. This time Konowa did hear screams, but he had no time to check who they were. He was too busy holding on. His hips then his legs flew up into the air, and for a moment, he was doing a handstand before the toboggan slammed down again and Konowa did, too.
Three more bounces and one more handstand occurred before Konowa was able to remain firmly on the pile of supplies. Rakke howls rose and fell away as the toboggan roared across the snow, bowling over the creatures with little regard and minimal drag on its high rate of speed.
“That was marvelous!” Pimmer shouted, his voice filled with glee.
“Miraculous is more like it,” Konowa yelled, rising up slightly to look beyond the next group of rakkes running to get out of the way. Three didn’t, but one did. Konowa stuck out his boot and caught the rakke at the base of its skull with his heel as they flew past and immediately regretted it. The crack he heard had been the rakke’s spine and not his ankle, but he was still seeing stars for the next several seconds.
“Everyone keep your hands and legs inside!” Visyna shouted. “We’re traveling much too fast.”
Konowa was still grimacing with pain so he didn’t bother to look over his shoulder. He had a feeling she was looking right at him.
“Shades!”
The shades of dead rakkes flitted in and out of sight up ahead. Maybe they’re still trying to get the hang of it, Konowa wondered, hoping that provided enough of an advantage to allow the toboggan to slide through. He risked taking his right hand off the supplies and grabbed his saber, drawing and calling on the frost fire as he did so.
The part of him that was forever six years old grinned while the rest of him tried to convince himself this really had been the best and only plan of action. The blade of the saber sparked to life with frost fire and began trailing an eerie icy black tail of flame and frost like a comet falling from the heavens. Unlike the living rakkes, however, these shades moved to intercept the toboggan. Konowa suddenly realized there was no way he’d be able to swing his blade in a wide enough arc to cut a swath big enough for them to pass through safely.
“I hope this works!” he shouted, swinging his saber down to lodge it into the table top acting as the bow. Black flame engulfed the wood and the entire front of the toboggan, sending huge, flickering tongues of frost fire back along the toboggan. Jir yelped and stuck his head beneath his front paws while screams and shouts rose from those immediately behind him.
“What are you doing?” Visyna and Pimmer shouted at the same time.
Konowa didn’t bother to reply. The answer was about to happen.. . now!
The first shades of dead rakkes hit by the flaming toboggan exploded in a shower of sparks. Their shadowy forms fractured and disintegrated like smashed crystal as the black flames consumed the tumbling pieces until nothing remained. The toboggan barreled on, making living and dead rakkes one and the same.
“A most novel idea, Major,” Pimmer said, crawling up beside him. “We appear to be through the rakke wall. Any thoughts on how to put out the flames?”
His grin vanished. “Oh…”
The flames, fed as much by the wind as the supply of rakke shades, were quickly clawing their way back along the supplies.
“I am sorry about this,” Konowa said, meaning it. He hadn’t set out to destroy the man’s pride and joy. “We’ll just have to jump off and let it burn out.”
“That sounds wise, especially considering I saved a few kegs of black powder and loaded them on the toboggan.”
Konowa looked down below him. He could just make out the curve of a keg at the bottom of the pile. “How could you be that stupid?”
Pimmer looked crestfallen. “I’m afraid I placed them on the bottom to provide some ballast and keep our center of gravity low, like on a ship.”
“Everyone jump off!” Konowa shouted, turning and looking back down the length of the toboggan.
The looks he received were a mix of horror and incredulity. Even Jir perked his head up as if to see if he was serious.
“It was a mad plan to start with, you don’t need to embellish it!” Visyna shouted back. “We’re still going too fast!”
Konowa couldn’t help but notice how attractive she looked with her hair blowing wildly in the wind. He’d have to remember to tell her that. Later. “There’s black powder on here. When the frost fire hits it it’s going to explode!”
“You arse!” Visyna shouted. She glared at him for a second then began weaving the air. Konowa felt the power of her control over the elements around them. It suddenly started snowing much harder. Big, fluffy flakes pasted him like a cold, wet wool blanket.
“I don’t think that’s going to put out the fire,” he said, taking a quick look at the front of the toboggan and the growing bonfire there.
“This isn’t over!” Visyna shouted, grabbing a hold of Chayii. His mother just looked at him with disappointment in her eyes, a look he’d seen far too often. And then the two women in his life stood up and dove off the side of the toboggan and into the snow.
“The Viceroy did it, not me!” he shouted after them, knowing that was the six-year-old part of him again. “I’m just trying to help!”
“And to think you were complaining about a little bit of copper fire a few hours ago,” Yimt said, his face and beard a mask of snow.
“This was the only-Look, I’m still in charge here!” Konowa shouted, anger rising that he was being scolded by apparently everyone. “And I order all of you off the damn sled!
“Damn toboggan,” Pimmer offered helpfully.
Konowa grabbed the diplomat under both arms and held him up. “Thank you for pointing that out. Try to roll when you hit the snow.” He heaved, his anger sending the diplomat flying in a graceful arc, which ended in an explosion of snow.
He turned to look back at the rest of the passengers. “Anyone else need assistance?”
Yimt began kicking supplies and soldiers off the toboggan with equal force. “Never a dull moment in the service!” He jumped, grabbing a flailing Zwitty in one hand and a metal tin in the other. The rest followed in a melee of limbs, prayers, and curses, the latter aimed, he was certain, directly at him.
By now the flames were licking all around Konowa. He knew he was impervious to their effect, but he had no such protection from gunpowder. “Time to go, Jir,” he said, motioning for the bengar to move. Jir growled, and the hair on the back of his mane stood straight up. “This is no time to get squirrelly,” Konowa said, and shook his finger at him. “Jump or I’ll boot you off.”
Jir growled again and bared his fangs. Konowa realized the poor creature was terrified.
“Look, I don’t like it either, but we have to get off this thing. Everyone else is gone, it’s just you and me, and I’m not leaving you behind.” He held out his hands and motioned for Jir to come to him.
Konowa doubted the bengar understood the words, but the tone in his voice must have registered. Jir stopped growling and slinked over to rest his head against Konowa’s thigh. Frost immediately arced between Konowa and Jir and the bengar stood up in surprise. Konowa lunged, grabbed Jir by the mane, and pushed him over the side as the bengar flailed the air with his paws.
“You can thank me later!” he shouted, after the howling bengar landed on the snow, snout first. He skidded along like that for a few yards before emerging from a growing snow pile and began running after the toboggan as it pulled away. “Thought they always landed paws down.”
Konowa turned to face forward again and was surrounded by black flame. It was surprisingly peaceful, as if he’d just dived into a cool lake on a hot summer day. The feeling only lasted a moment.
“Right, this is going to explode,” he said to himself, and prepared to jump. He was halfway to throwing himself off the side when the battle somewhere out in the snow between Private Renwar and Her Emissary caught his attention. The acorn made a grating sound as it constricted with an icy burst of energy. Konowa bent over double with tears streaming down his face. He struggled to right himself as the toboggan continued to tear through the battlefield. He wasn’t steering, but the pull of the conflict between Renwar and Gwyn was drawing him and the toboggan toward them. The power in the night was astounding. It was as if all the breathable air had been replaced with raw energy, and he wasn’t breathing it so much as absorbing it.
The toboggan began to pick up speed as it homed in on the dueling pair and Konowa knew his time was now. The temptation to ride it out and draw even closer to the swirling battle of power almost kept him on the toboggan.
Almost.
With a scream he didn’t pretend was anything but, he flung himself off the side. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d experienced the sensation of flying and falling, but he knew if he never felt it again he’d be entirely okay with that. The snow-covered desert floor came up and punched him in the face and everything went white, cold, and suffocating for a while.
After what could have been an eternity or a few seconds he lifted his head and sucked in some air, choking down a mouthful of the bitter-tasting snow in the process. He gingerly climbed to his hands and knees as the earth pivoted and spun beneath him. He shook his head, which didn’t help one bit. Everything was vibrating, and not in that warm, slightly drunk-feeling way. This was harsh and unsettling. He stood up, surprised to see his saber still clutched in his hand.
“Where’s my… damn shako?” he muttered, poking around in the snow with the point of the blade in the vain hope of finding it. He turned around in a small circle intent on finding the hat while a voice deep inside was screaming at him to pull himself together. “Not without my shako,” he said to no one, then dry-heaved.
Sweat dripped off his nose and his whole body began to shake. “Think I should sit… sit down,” he said, starting to walk instead. That’s when the sights, sounds, and smells of battle assaulted him all at once. He staggered and had to use his saber as a cane to stay upright. Rakkes howled and screamed. Musket volleys rippled and snapped through the air as the acrid smoke of gunpowder mixed with the falling snow turning everything a dusty, pale gray.
He heard shouts, saw shadows, felt the cold wind on his face. It occurred to him then that he was still sweating a lot as more liquid poured down his face and dripped off the end of his nose. He reached up with his left hand to wipe the sweat away and thought it felt awfully sticky. He looked at his fingers. They were covered in blood.
“Oh…”
Got to keep moving, he thought, even as his knees buckled and he sat down in the snow. The weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. He watched the snowflakes spin and float in the air. That was him. Weak and blown about by the wind. He shook his head again. No, that wasn’t him. He had purpose. He had strength. Still, right now that was just so many words.
“… just close my eyes for a minute,” he said, aware that the ground was shaking. Something loomed over him and he looked up.
A rakke stood two yards away. His shako was clutched in its claws. It opened its mouth and peeled back its lips to reveal the full length of its fangs.
Konowa tried to lift his saber, but his right arm stayed limp at his side. The rakke stepped forward, looking around as if trying to detect a trap.
“Run,” Konowa mumbled, not sure if he was talking to himself or the rakke. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t move and the rakke took another step toward him.
Something hard and impossibly cold pressed against his breast until he thought it would burst through and shatter his chest. Still, it wasn’t enough. He watched the rakke approach, the shako still dangling from a claw. He ignored the creature’s milky eyes and its drooling fangs. All his attention was on the shako.
“That’s not yours,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Images of a locket and four words inscribed inside- Come back to me -kept him from slipping into unconsciousness.
The rakke seemed to understand what he meant. It looked down at its claws and brought the shako up to its face. It sniffed at the hat and then tore a chunk out of it and threw it to the snow, spitting out the piece a moment later.
Konowa got one leg underneath him and tried to stand. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said, struggling to stand upright. He wobbled and collapsed back down, the strength from anger not enough this time.
The rakke growled and took another step forward. Its arms could now reach Konowa. One swing and his throat would be torn open or his intestines spilled in the snow. That’s all it would take for him to be so much red meat going down the gullet of a rakke.
“I haven’t had a bath in weeks,” Konowa said, doubting the rakke’s taste buds would care. He took in a breath and cursed under it. Not exactly the most poetic of last words. He was still thinking of something better when the rakke screamed and vanished in a burst of frost fire.
A shade stood where the rakke once had. Konowa blinked.
“Kritton? You saved me?”
The shade of Kritton stepped forward and swung its blade. “No, I didn’t.”
I am the master!
Never in the creature’s past life had it ever believed that statement in its entirety. It had served senior diplomats, and then the queen of Calahr, and finally the Shadow Monarch, and though it had exerted much power and control over the destinies of others in those roles, it had always had a master to answer to. What few memories remained of that time only served to fuel the uncontrollable rage that now consumed it. How could it have been so weak, so powerless, so.. . human?
It continued to tear itself apart, ridding itself of everything superfluous and soft. The human frailties that had defined Gwyn eroded in the fierce storm of its madness. All that remained was pure, unadulterated power. Its world was now one of unbearable pain, yet within that suffering it found an existence so euphoric that it sought even more ways to hurt itself. It scoured and tore every last shred of humanity from its being, whittling itself down to nothing but a collapsing mass of absolute agony.
The vortex of its madness swirled faster and faster, rending the fabric between the planes of the living and the dead. More and more creatures long vanished from the world poured through the tear, taking up ethereal form and attacking the shades of the Iron Elves with raw, wild glee, unfettered again after millennia.
I do this! I control this!
Its core grew smaller even as its power expanded. Its rage and power flew around it in a blur, spinning so fast they created a vacuum. There was no longer any air to breathe within its boundaries, but it had long moved beyond the need for it.
I am the master!
The voice that answered back shook it to its core.
“You are mistaken,” Alwyn said, “and I am here to put things right.”
“Are you all right?” Visyna asked, helping Chayii to her feet while brushing snow from the elf’s hair.
“I appear to be,” she said, her voice shaking as she smoothed out her Hasshugeb robe and straightened up. “Your weaving has saved us again. The snow is much deeper here.”
“I hope the others landed as softly as we did,” Visyna said, not entirely sure her weaving had really had that much of an effect. The burst of fear- and anger-induced energy brought on by Konowa’s latest recklessness had fueled her power to weave the snow in the wake of the toboggan. She doubted she could do it again, although knowing Konowa she didn’t rule it out. He could charm one second and infuriate the next.
“I hope so, too, my dear,” Chayii said, reaching up and brushing some snow out of Visyna’s hair. “You work well with the natural order. I suspect the elf-line runs in your family.”
“Actually, I don’t think one’s bloodline really matters when it comes to caring about the world around us. You either do or you don’t. It just feels right to me.”
Chayii paused in brushing Visyna’s hair and looked deeply into her eyes. “So wise for one so young. Do not tell my son, but I hope my grandchildren take after you.”
Any other time Visyna would have blushed, but being in the middle of a battlefield didn’t afford her that luxury. “We must move,” she said, grabbing the elf by the arm and heading off after the toboggan. It was easy enough to follow its tracks in the snow along with bits of crates, sacks, uniforms, and, eventually, soldiers.
“Friend or foe?” Corporal Feylan shouted. He held the back half of a broken musket in his hands and appeared dazed.
“Shoot first, then ask,” Yimt said, appearing out of the gloom and placing a hand on the soldier’s arm. “But in this case it’s all right. Ladies,” he said, taking a quick bow. He held his drukar in his hand. The blade was slick and dripping.
“Are you okay?” Visyna asked, walking closer. Yes, there was definitely blood on the end of his weapon.
Yimt followed her gaze and then looked back up. “Just my luck I landed on a rakke and the poor thing broke my fall. I am glad I found you. We’re scattered about like dandelions in a windstorm. Ah, there’s a few more now.”
“Is everyone all right?” Hrem asked, running up to them. He had Scolly and Zwitty and three other soldiers in tow. Visyna wasn’t surprised. The big soldier was a natural leader with the added advantage of being easy to spot.
“Better and better,” Yimt said, punching Hrem affectionately in the bicep. “We’re still missing a few, but we can’t stay here. We’ll keep following the trail and see if we can’t round up the stragglers on the way. If you haven’t already done so, grab some kind of weapon. I don’t care if it’s a piece of ice or a knitting needle, but we’re deep in the middle of nowhere safe. Miss Red Owl, Miss Tekoy, please stay behind Private Vulhber. He makes a lovely wall. The rest of you, heads on swivels and if you think you see a rakke or worse, shout it out. Now, by the left if you still remember how it’s done… march.”
As they walked Visyna found herself tussling between two emotions. On the one hand she felt relieved that Sergeant Arkhorn so quickly and easily took command of the situation, but she was surprised to feel a degree of resentment, too, at the loss of the authority she had earned just a short few hours before. In the end, she was content to let things be as her thoughts turned to Konowa.
“I hope he’s all right, because when we find him, I might just punch him in the nose,” she said.
“He was like this even as a child,” Chayii said, keeping her voice low. “The incident in the birthing meadow when he was not chosen by a Wolf Oak only added to what was already there. I realize now he will never truly be at peace until this has come full circle. He will face the Shadow Monarch, and one of them will die.”
Visyna was taken aback by Chayii’s matter-of-fact assessment of the fate of her son, but she didn’t disagree with it. “Perhaps there will be another way.”
“Perhaps,” Chayii said, but she didn’t sound like she believed it, and Visyna wasn’t sure she did herself.
“Heads up! Movement on the left flank.”
Visyna turned. Two shadows emerged from the dark and resolved themselves into the Viceroy and Jurwan.
“Look who I found, or rather, who found me!” the Viceroy said, his voice booming as if trying to get the attention of a barkeep on a busy night. He walked with one arm around the elf’s waist. Jurwan clutched his left arm tight to his chest and appeared to be in pain. Blood glistened between the fingers of his right hand.
Two more shadows emerged ten yards from the pair and angled toward them at a growing rate of speed.
“Rakkes!” Visyna shouted, her fingers flailing uselessly in the cold air. She couldn’t pull so much as a single thread to weave. She stomped the snow in frustration as the rakkes closed in. The Viceroy nonchalantly drew his saber and began to whistle loudly and with little sense of rhythm. Jurwan removed his right hand from his wounded left arm and waved it into the air, scattering drops of blood everywhere.
The rakkes roared and ran even faster toward them. Five more rakkes appeared from the other side, boxing the hapless pair in.
Yimt was already charging toward the rakkes with Hrem right behind him, but they wouldn’t reach them in time.
“Yimt. Hrem. Stop!”
The command cut through the night like a sliver from a single hair threaded through the smallest needle. If Visyna hadn’t been standing right beside her she doubted she would have heard it, but Yimt turned, startled. Hrem stopped, too, after plowing into Yimt and sending them both to their knees in the snow.
“Chayii, why?” Visyna asked, as the rakkes covered the last few yards to the Viceroy and Jurwan.
“My husband is up to his old tricks again,” she said, her tone a mixture of pride and annoyance.
A fifth shadow slid through the night. It moved so fast and so silently that Visyna couldn’t keep it in focus. A soft, subtle voice carried on the night air, and while she couldn’t understand its language, its meaning was clear; this was the power of a Silver Wolf Oak unleashed.
Tyul cut through the rakkes like lightning falling from the sky. He appeared, he destroyed, he disappeared. The creatures had no chance to defend themselves and no time to scream.
As the last rakke collapsed, Tyul came to a standstill, standing quietly in the snow as if he’d been there all along. No other living thing except perhaps Jir could look so calm and yet exude so much potential for violence. It was in the smooth, calculating grace of his stance. She would have found that attractive but for looking in his eyes. The elf was gone. What remained was little more than pure, natural force, a predator of the natural order driven and sustained by the power of a Silver Wolf Oak.
The smell of hot blood filled the air and Visyna brought her hand to her nose.
“What is-” she started to say, but Chayii held up her hand to silence her.
She took a slow, careful step toward Tyul, but the elf simply turned and disappeared into the night. Visyna looked down at the snow where he had stood and could see no sign that he had ever been there.
“A single company of lads like that and the Empire could rule the world,” the Viceroy said, walking up to them as he sheathed his saber. He stopped when he looked at Chayii and his smile froze on his face. “But of course, his affliction is a most tragic one and not something to be used for gain.” He sounded genuinely concerned if a little wistful.
“I see my husband does not share your concern equally,” she said, turning her gaze on Jurwan. “No doubt he cut himself deliberately so that the rakkes would smell his blood and come running, unaware they were being drawn into the hunting ground of one of the diova gruss.”
Visyna had heard that term before and remembered it meant lost one. It definitely fit Tyul. It wasn’t that the elf was insane, at least, she didn’t think so, just that he was so in tune with the natural order that he had become part of it as much as the wind and the rain. He would strike down rakkes and any other ill-conceived creatures that marred the world and upset the natural order.
“Chayii,” Visyna asked, “what will happen to Tyul when there are no more rakkes to hunt?”
The elf hung her head before answering. “Eventually, they lose themselves so completely that they can’t bear to feed on anything, knowing their very existence mars the world. They starve to death in one final act of guardianship of the natural order, giving back their bodies to the earth.”
“That’s crazy,” Zwitty muttered, drawing everyone’s attention his way. He looked guilty, but met their gaze and glared. “Well, isn’t it? What good is anybody dead to anyone?”
“I’ve often wanted to find out,” Yimt said, eyeing Zwitty as if sizing him up for a coffin. “But as with so many joys in life, that will have to wait. We need to keep moving. Anyone seen Inkermon? He jumped about the same time you lot did?”
Hrem shook his head. “It was all a white blur. He’s got to be around here somewhere though.”
No one mentioned the obvious, but Visyna could tell they were all thinking it. With rakkes roaming everywhere his odds of survival were slim. He was no Tyul.
“Well, if that creator of his put any sense in his brain he’ll follow the tracks and catch up. Let’s go.”
Visyna fell into step, watching Chayii gently take her husband’s arm and rest her head on his shoulder. Jurwan still wasn’t talking, but it was clear from his tactic with Tyul he was regaining his elfness.
A forlorn shako, a broken musket, and other bits of uniform and equipment surrounded several black marks in the snow where Iron Elves had perished. Yimt took the time to quickly sift through each one, muttering under his breath as he did so. In each case he picked up something and put the object in a haversack he’d found and slung over his shoulder.
“What’s he doing?” Visyna asked Hrem.
“Collecting something from each soldier, hopefully something personal their family back home might know and appreciate receiving, especially when there won’t be any body.”
“Damn,” Yimt said, standing up from the last spot. He was holding a small white book in his hand with a torn cover.
“Inkermon’s holy book,” Hrem said, his voice low and rough.
Visyna waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. She thought about it, and realized that for soldiers like Hrem and Yimt and Konowa, the squad, the regiment, was another way of saying family.
“Everyone stay sharp, we’re coming up on the main battle,” Yimt said, pointing with his steel bar toward the front.
Visyna had been feeling the pull of the energy in the air for some time and her head began to swim.
“I see a rakke!” Scolly shouted, harkening Yimt’s advice.
“Pointing would help,” Yimt growled, trying to follow Scolly’s eye line.
“It’s standing over there by the major.”
Everyone looked. Up ahead in a rockier area that hadn’t received the heavier snowfall, Konowa sat limply in the snow, looking up at the creature. He wasn’t defending himself.
“Help him!” Visyna cried, not knowing who or what could.
“My son, my son,” Chayii said, her voice trembling.
The rakke stepped forward, ready to kill him when it disappeared in a violent flash of frost fire. The shade of an Iron Elf stood over its body.
“The Darkly Departed are handy to have around, I’ll give them that,” Yimt said, starting to chuckle. His laughter died as the form of the shade sharpened.
Visyna screamed.
Kritton raised his ethereal blade and swung.
T he swirling mass that had once been Her Emissary tore itself into ever tinier pieces, scattering its rage and influence among the shades of the dead rakkes. Alwyn had expected to fight the creature as he had before at the canyon, but he realized now that was impossible. It had devolved into a burning black core of hatred no bigger than Alwyn’s fist, but around it swirled an ever-growing maelstrom of shadowy death, each element a fearful particle of what Faltinald Gwyn had become.
Worse, the tear opened into the realm of the dead was expanding, and the creature’s manic anger was drawing more and larger monsters through into this world. Alwyn leaned forward, pushing the wall of frost fire that surrounded him into the path of the shrieking vortex. The pain in his stump flared and he winced. Tears welled in his eyes. His wooden leg creaked with the stress, its many interwoven limbs splintering as he moved through the magical storm.
The storm reacted with fury to his presence, its howling winds buffeting Alwyn as he closed the distance to its center. Screams from the living and dead mingled in a chaotic thunder. Alwyn tried to draw in a breath, but as soon as he opened his mouth he felt ice form on his tongue. The cold dug into him like metal forks, twisting and stabbing into his flesh as each step brought him closer to the creature.
“I am the master now!” the creature screamed, focusing its attention on Alwyn.
“Then why do you fear me?” Alwyn replied, standing up to his full height and fixing the pulsing black core with his gray eyes. He had its full attention, which meant the others would have a chance. The thought struck him as oddly comforting. He did still care about others, and he knew they still cared about him.
He stepped forward, leading with his wooden leg. The wood chipped and cracked as it was flayed by the storm. Black frost crystallized along the length of the wood, extinguishing the last trace of the more wholesome power once placed there by Miss Red Owl and Miss Tekoy. So be it. With the wood now sheathed in protective black ice, he leaned forward and kept walking.
He’d expected pain, and he got it. It was a new kind of agony, like thousands of knives nicking his flesh one sliver at a time, but it wasn’t the pain that hurt him. He wasn’t just being eroded away by the force of the spinning storm. Bits of who he was, what he believed, what he desired, were being frayed and blown away by the grinding, howling wind.
He caught fleeting visions of thoughts that were once part of the thing at the center of the storm. Pain, horror, misery, and death dominated, but there were other, kinder thoughts. He saw a beautiful jeweled map and an intricately carved table that looked like a dragon. Alwyn began to sift through the storm as he strode toward its center, collecting what pieces he could, however small, containing joy and hope. He let his own fears and angers get torn away as he did his best to replace them with the bits of goodness he found. The task was an uneven one, but he only needed to sustain himself a little longer. The seething core was now just yards away.
Here, near the center, the storm spun slower, but the madness grew denser, making it difficult for Alwyn to focus. Insane laughter filled his lungs. Is this me? Am I becoming it?
He stopped a yard away from the black core. It hung in the air in front of his eyes, an infinite blackness so crazed it repeatedly shattered and re-formed under the pressure of its own insanity. He tried to remember why he’d come and couldn’t. The blackness deepened and his understanding of this world and the next blurred. He shuddered, his body and his being slowly disintegrating in the storm. The fabric of his uniform melted away, leaving him naked and exposed.
Something small and white flew past, just at the edge of his vision. It came around again and stuck into his arm. He felt a hot fire begin to burn, its heat spreading out from the point of impact. As it spread, it redefined his shape, his form, and he understood who and what he was again. He looked down and saw Rallie’s quill sticking out of his arm, dead center in the acorn tattoo:?ri Mekah… Into the Fire.
He smiled and looked up at the blackness before him.
“Your pain is at an end,” he said, reaching out with both hands and grabbing the blackness between them.
The fury of the storm spiked, the wind screamed, and the very air fractured as the madness that was Faltinald Gwyn began to collapse. Alwyn squeezed, crushing time and space into an ever-dwindling point of nothingness. Everything Alwyn ever knew and loved was ripped away as all his energy focused on destroying the creature and closing the tear. Claws and fangs lashed and cut him, gouging flesh and bone and memory. Obsidian-like blades of frost fire cauterized and healed the wounds, replacing flesh and blood with icy flame.
Tears rolled down his face forming icicles on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and squeezed harder, taking the pain from the creature, amplifying it with his own, and building a wall in the tear between this world and the next. Everything dead became caught up in the whirlwind as Alwyn focused all his might. The monsters broke apart and flew back into the darkness, followed by the shades of the rakkes. Still, the maelstrom did not weaken.
He slipped, as the branches of his wooden leg broke. He dropped down to his one knee and his grip on the creature faltered. The wall began to crack as the dead on the other side saw an opportunity to be free again.
“Help me,” he cried, though he couldn’t be sure his voice had made any sound at all.
Shades of the Iron Elves appeared at his side. He opened his eyes as they moved to the wall to buttress it, but even they were not enough. The creature sensed this, and the storm began to spin even faster. Alwyn cried out and would have let go, but a voice came to him from a distance.
“Kick him in the arse and be done with it, Ally. I know damn sure I never taught you to give up!”
Yimt!
Alwyn turned, blinking tears out of his eyes.
The dwarf stood on the edge of the storm. He was looking straight at Alwyn. The tears in his eyes were unmistakable.
“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that I’d have my work cut out turning you into a soldier,” Yimt said, “but I always knew I would. You ain’t about to prove me wrong now, are you?”
Alwyn laughed and cried at the same time. “Yimt! You’re alive!”
“Well, what the hell else would I be? You didn’t think I’d let some mangy rakkes get the better of me now, did you?”
Alwyn found the strength he needed. He squeezed one more time, and this time the creature was unable to resist. The monsters and shades of the rakkes were cast deep in the abyss of the distant past. He absorbed the creature’s pain, robbing it of its power.
“I… there’s so much I want to say,” Alwyn shouted. His entire being was agony, but he still managed to smile. Yimt was alive.
“Save your breath, Ally,” Yimt shouted back, his voice breaking up between sobs. “I’ll say it for both of us. You’re the skinny, overly sensitive, whiny, yet tough as bloody iron son I never had. I’m damn proud of you.”
As the life force in his hands flickered with its last moments, Alwyn smiled. He crushed the last particle that had been Gwyn and the tear between the worlds was closed. The storm around him began to die, and as the air cleared he was able to get one, perfect look at Yimt. The dwarf stood military straight, giving Alwyn a salute.
Alwyn saluted back as the toboggan engulfed in black flame slid to a halt beside him. The frost fire reached the kegs of black powder and exploded, banishing the darkness in a burning white sun brighter than a thousand stars.
Snow flashed and vaporized. Everything went pure white then black as the night shattered. A sizzling wave of cold and hot air washed over Visyna, stealing the breath from her throat. Bright splotches of color swirled before her eyes as icy shards of frost fire crackled and slivered amidst searing-hot tongues of red-orange flame. A moment later, the booming sound of an explosion tore through the air, crushing everything flat in its path.
It felt as if the ground had risen up and slammed into her instead of the other way around. Alternating currents of bitter cold and caustic heat roared overhead, twisting and turning in the sky. Visyna tried to lift her head, but it was pinned to the ground as much by her exhaustion as the rolling blast wave of the explosion.
Unable to breathe and too weak to move, her vision began to gray and she experienced a growing numbness throughout her body. No, not like this! Fighting every urge to close her eyes and drift into unconsciousness, she pulled her arms back until she could prop herself up on her elbows. Straining like she was in labor, she hauled her body up to a sitting position.
She brought one arm up to shield her face as she peered ahead, trying to find Konowa. There was so much flickering light and shadow that it took her a minute to find the spot she’d last seen him. She realized suddenly she hoped to see his body lying on the ground. It sounded perverse even as she thought it, but the logic was sound. If he was dead, there would be nothing left, but if he was only wounded, he would still be there.
She scoured the ground ahead looking for any sign at all of the body of the elf she loved. She found him a moment later, but despite the horrors she had already witnessed, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
I ’m dead. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel strange to think it. He tried out the concept again. I’m dead, I’m really dead.
Something distant and loud echoed in the space around him, but he couldn’t put any meaning to it. Everything was dark, not black exactly, more like the absence of… anything.
He tried to move, but the process by which that happened escaped him. For all that he didn’t feel trapped. It was as if he knew he could travel wherever he wanted, but he had no desire to go anywhere or do anything, so the fact that he couldn’t move was moot.
The noise sounded closer. It was more distinct now, like a huge drum being beaten… or a cannon firing. He thought it strange he could hear that in the afterlife, but then again, why not? The Blood Oath meant he wasn’t really gone, not all the way.
The thought was comforting. He realized he wasn’t ready to leave this world, not yet. His nose itched and he wanted to scratch it, but his arms still wouldn’t move. Wait a second. If my nose is itchy… oh bloody he -
“-EELLLLLLLL!” Konowa yelled, his eyes flying open. Spots flickered in front of his eyes making it impossible to see anything clearly. He kept yelling, knowing that the moment he stopped he was going to experience something he had no desire to feel. He yelled until his whole body was rigid and shaking and his throat on fire. Finally, he closed his eyes and took in a breath, and with it the pain.
“… mother,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes and rolling down the side of his face. If he’d had a pistol in his hand and the energy to lift it he would have put it to his head and ended it all. Never in his life had he felt pain like this. This wasn’t possible. It was as if he was being frozen from the inside out. He could feel tiny, razor-sharp pieces of frost growing like crystal inside his body. The agony was so pure he could have cut diamonds with it.
“I’m here my son, I’m here,” Chayii said, her voice coming to him like a rope to a drowning elf.
“What’s happening?” he asked, unable to open his eyes again as the pain robbed him of the ability to do little more than breathe.
“The blade is still in you, my son. That is why you are suffering. Hold on a little longer.”
Konowa tried to make sense of what she was saying. What blade? He couldn’t remember how he got here, everything was fuzzy and out of order. His memory lay scattered about his mind like a spilled deck of playing cards. Images flashed in his mind, of sliding, of black fire, of rakkes, of-
“Kritton!” He opened his eyes again and forced them to look to his left. A dark, shimmering, ethereal blade protruded from his shoulder. The shoulder itself was sheathed in black ice like an armor suit. That’s what saved me, he realized, also understanding that it was the power of the frost fire that now kept the blade firmly lodged in his flesh. The blade faded in and out of sight, and as it did the pain ebbed and flowed like the tides. “Pull it out! Bloody hell, pull the damn thing out!”
Now that he knew the source of the pain he found strength in his limbs. He thrashed and cursed and spit and dug his heels into the dirt as the pain wracked him. He tried to reach the blade to pull it out himself, but when his hand grasped the shadowy pommel it closed around nothing. It was as if the blade really was just shadow. There was nothing to hold on to.
“You see our dilemma,” Pimmer said, coming into view. “We’ve tried all manner of ways to remove the blade, but thus far none have worked.”
“We haven’t tried my idea yet,” Yimt said, barging forward. The Viceroy started to object then thought better of it and disappeared. Yimt knelt beside Konowa and laid a hand on his right arm. Even through the pain, Konowa could tell the dwarf had been crying.
“You remember Ally took that black arrow in his leg. He lost the leg, but he survived. Miss Red Owl, er, your mother, helped with that.”
Konowa felt colder still. “You want to cut off my arm?”
“This thing is killing you. If we don’t do something soon you’re going to be a solid block of ice.”
Konowa knew it was true. He could feel the frost fire inside him. It had never done that before.
His back arched as a new surge of pain raced through his body. “Okay,” he panted, “let’s call that… plan B. Mother, can’t you do some magic and get it out?”
She leaned forward so that her face was above his. “My child, this is beyond my power, and even if your father were himself, I do not think he could do it either.”
“Visyna?”
There was a pause before Chayii answered. “She is… too weak right now. But have faith, we will find a way.”
“Renwar,” Konowa said, his mind reeling through the list of people he knew with magical powers. It was surprisingly large. “He’s part of their world. Can’t he pull it out?”
The silence that greeted his question triggered something in Konowa’s memory.
“The explosion…”
“There’s a massive crater where Ally was fighting that thing,” Yimt said. His voice deepened with the effort to recall the events. “You should have seen him, Major. Bravest lad I ever knew. He did himself proud.”
Even in his pain, Konowa could hear the hurt in Yimt’s voice. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t lit the sled on fire-”
Yimt squeezed his arm. “You did what you had to do, Major, just like Ally. He’d already made his choice long before that sled exploded. Besides, if he is dead…”
Konowa understood. If Alwyn was dead, they would see him again.
“Could one of the other shades get this thing out of my shoulder?”
Yimt coughed before answering. “They’re gone. When we all picked ourselves up after the explosion the DD and even the rakke dead just vanished. Can’t find a trace of them anywhere.”
A cannon boomed nearby. “The battle is still going on?” Konowa asked.
“Still hundreds of regular old rakkes running around. We’re holding them off, but that’s about it.”
Something wasn’t adding up. “How are the cannons firing? We ran out of shot for them.”
“That was the Viceroy’s second idea. He took chunks of those dragon sarka har you went flying with and stuffed them down the cannon barrels. Not exactly standard procedure, but credit where it’s due, those things tear up rakkes like a hungry dog with a bone.”
It was an image Konowa could have done without. “The regiment. We need to get out of here.”
“We’re working on it,” Yimt said. He looked away for a second and then back at Konowa. His smile was alarming. “Miss Synjyn is coming. She’ll get you right as rain.”
Everything went black. When Konowa opened his eyes again, Rallie was kneeling on his left side. She held a sheaf of papers in one hand and a quill in the other. The end of a lit cigar glowed cherry red clenched between her teeth. He coughed and blew cigar smoke out of his lungs. “So what’s the verdict?”
Rallie looked up from her papers. “I’m drawing you a new reality, one that doesn’t include a sword of shadow stuck in your shoulder.”
“You can do that?” Konowa asked.
“I really don’t know, but it’s a cinch we’re all about to find out. Now, you might feel a little sting when I do this.”
Yimt placed his knee on Konowa’s right shoulder and his hands on his head, pinning him securely to the ground. Hrem appeared and grabbed hold of both his ankles.
“Sting?”
“Would you rather I tell you it’s going to hurt beyond belief?” Rallie asked.
“Not now,” Konowa said, wishing he hadn’t asked.
“Count of three?” Rallie asked.
“Sure, just give me a-argh!” he screamed, as she began to draw on the paper and the blade in his shoulder vibrated with tension.
“Hold him steady. If he moves too much I could accidentally draw part of him out of existence.”
Konowa choked back his next scream and grunted. Every time he thought the pain couldn’t get worse it drove another spike into him. Black frost flickered around the hands of Yimt and Hrem where they held him, but neither let go.
“I do believe it’s working,” Rallie said over the scratching of her quill.
Konowa wanted to shout his dissent, but he was afraid to move at all. Batting an eyelash hurt too much. “Let me know… when you’re sure,” he gasped.
“That’s it, Major, you’re doing fine. Miss Synjyn will have you stitched up like new in no time,” Hrem said from down by his feet.
Konowa looked down his body and saw Hrem had his eyes closed.
“Anything wrong?”
“He just doesn’t like to see the insides of people is all,” Yimt said. “Me on the other hand, I find it downright fascinating. Get to see what makes a fellow tick. Not every day you can say you got to see the inner workings of an officer.”
Konowa risked a look over at his shoulder and felt the blood drain from his face. The shadow blade remained intact, but a large chunk of his shoulder was missing. He could see the pure white bone of his shoulder joint. Black tendrils of frost fire intermingled with shadow snaked all around it and deep into his flesh.
“Rallie?”
“It really is crucial you stay as still as possible,” she said, her quill moving even faster as she drew across the page. “In order to remove the blade, I first have to remove all the parts of you infected by the blade, which, ” she hurriedly added, “I plan to put back when the blade is gone.”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” he said between gasps. “Carry on.”
“See, no problem,” Yimt said. Konowa felt the pressure on his head shift as Yimt leaned over for a better look at the wound. “Reminds me of a beef joint, but very little marbling. Not very tender I’m afraid, but probably good for stew if you let it simmer for a day.”
“You wouldn’t like me,” Konowa said, a tiny smile reaching his lips. “We elves are gamey.”
“I’ve heard that,” Yimt said, as if this was an entirely normal and acceptable topic of conversation. “Now take a big slab of human meat like Private Vulhber there. You’ve got to figure there’s a good ten pounds of top sirloin running along that spine of his. Lot of prime cuts in a lad that size.”
“Have you ever tried orc?” Konowa asked, flinching as another wave of pain spread out from the wound.
“Now that’s gamey,” Yimt said. “Just about broke a tooth on some orc jerky one time. Nasty stuff. You could soak it for a week and it’d still be as tough as boot leather. But here’s something most people don’t know. Orcs have the most tender-” whatever Yimt was going to say was cut off by Hrem’s shouting.
“Would you two please stop! I’m going to be sick.”
Konowa looked down at him and sure enough, the big soldier looked wan and about ready to pass out.
“Easy, Hrem, we’re just chitchatting here. Keeping the major preoccupied is all. Pick a different subject if you like. Come to think of it, all this talk about food has built up an appetite. I’ve been thinking about trying out a new recipe-”
“Or silence,” Hrem said, his breaths coming in short bursts. “Silence might work.”
“Not to worry gentlemen, the deed is done,” Rallie said.
Konowa looked over as she flourished her quill and tucked it away up a sleeve. He had the oddest thought that her arm must be covered in ink stains, but then he was looking at his shoulder.
The blade was gone and his shoulder was whole again, but with a nasty-looking black scar running across it. The cascading waves of pain were gone, too. Every muscle in his body relaxed and he felt his back touch the ground again. It was as if a thousand ropes under tension had been cut and he sank into a puddle of relief.
The frost fire had already disappeared. He tentatively moved the fingers of his left hand.
“They work. Hurts like hell, but they work.”
Rallie leaned back and took the cigar from her mouth, blowing out a thick stream of smoke. “I’m tempted to remind you of the aphorism about quills being mightier than the sword, but you can read all about it when I write my next dispatch.”
“Help me up,” Konowa said, struggling to lift his shoulders from the ground. They wouldn’t budge. “Sergeant, you can stop holding me down, Rallie’s finished.”
Yimt appeared at his side, his hands held out for Konowa to see. “Not me, Major.”
Rallie leaned over and looked closely in his eyes. He had to turn his head to avoid being burnt by the end of her cigar. She leaned back and sighed. “I had hoped to avoid this, but it could have been worse.”
“What?” Konowa asked.
“I did my best to redraw everything back as it was, connecting all the little fibers and bits to where they were before. Still, that kind of work is hard on a body. I’ve never actually done anything like this before, well, I don’t think I have…”
Konowa shared a look with Yimt and decided to ignore the last part. “Rallie, I can’t be flat on my back while the regiment fights. They need me.” And I need them.
“A few hours, a few days, it’s hard to say. But you will recover, of that I’m sure,” she said, slapping the sheaf of papers in her hand.
Konowa shuddered. It felt as if someone had just shook him.
“Sorry about that,” Rallie said, gently rolling the papers up. “There’s a residual connection after something like this. Should dissipate shortly. In the meantime, I suggest we all get moving. The supply of exploding sarka har is limited.”
Yimt and Hrem lifted him up and carried him to Rallie’s battered wagon, which he gathered must have been parked nearby the whole time. Amazing he hadn’t smelled the camels before now, but then his mind had been on other things. They eased him into the back and laid him down on a blanket before throwing another one on top of him. His saber, the tattered remains of his uniform jacket, and a shako that may or may not have been his followed.
“If anyone tries to tuck me in I swear I’ll order you shot at dawn.”
“Shh,” Yimt said, “you’re not the only patient here.”
Konowa looked over. Visyna lay beside him, wrapped up in another blanket. Her eyes were closed. He desperately wanted to reach over and brush her hair and kiss her forehead. “How is she?”
“Exhausted,” Chayii said, coming to sit between the two of them. “As are we all, but she has taken much of the burden upon herself. Were it not for her none of our group would be here now. She is a strong one, Konowa, and a good one.”
The last part was said with such implied meaning that even Konowa couldn’t miss it. “Do I at least get to propose, or has that been taken care of, too.”
“I have no doubt that you will pursue your courtship with her as you see fit,” his mother said, shaking her head as if she already knew it would be some form of disaster, “but hear me now and hear me well. If you let this one get away I might just have you shot at dawn.”
Somewhere not far enough away, Konowa heard Yimt trying not very hard to hold in a laugh. The temptation to bellow at him only lasted a second as happier thoughts filled his mind. It was crazy, especially when in the further distance he could hear musket fire and howling rakkes, but he believed he could see a future when all this was done. A future with Visyna. How any of them got there in one piece was a mystery still to be solved, but his determination to do so was greater than ever.
Rallie clicked her tongue and the wagon groaned and started moving. Konowa did his best to accept his current state and enjoy the ride, but all the while his mind raced with possibilities of what might be. He vowed to stay awake and allowed himself to close his eyes for only a second as the wagon rocked and swayed across the ground.
He woke up two days later on the deck of a ship, and in a world thrown into total chaos.
T wo days?” Konowa asked. His head throbbed, along with the rest of his body, and he’d only been awake for ten minutes. This was worse than drinking Sala brandy with the Duke of Rakestraw. At least he had fun when he did that before paying the price. He reached up and removed the wet cloth from his forehead. It dawned on him that his body was responding again, even if it did so through a curtain of dull, aching pain. He sat up in bed, noticing that he’d been placed in what must have been a senior officer’s quarters on one of Her Majesty’s ships of the line. He was tempted to wonder if this was one of his dreams, but the smell of the ship told him it was all too real. “I’ve been out that long?”
“You had quite a snooze, but considering your recent adventures it’s amazing you’re conscious at all,” Yimt said, plopping down on a small wooden stool by the bed and grinning at him. He handed him a tin cup filled with water. “Besides, you didn’t really miss much. We held off the rakkes and marched to the coast.”
Konowa took the cup with his left hand and downed it in two gulps. He was impressed he held on to it without spilling. He looked over at the black scar on his left shoulder and flexed the muscle. It hurt, but it worked. Maybe he really had needed all that sleep. “You make it sound like a walk in the park, but somehow I doubt it was that,” Konowa said looking closer at the dwarf. A fresh, pink scar creased the dwarf’s right cheek. “I don’t remember that being there last time we talked. And, Viceroy,” Konowa said, shifting slightly to address the diplomat standing quietly by the closed door, “you appear to have acquired a couple of additional war wounds yourself.” His uniform was a mess of rips and tears. The man was a far cry from the bloated spit-and-polish bureaucrat Konowa had met back in Nazalla. Pimrald “Pimmer” Alstonfar had been in the field, and it looked like it agreed with him.
Pimmer blushed. “Just doing my part. I really didn’t do anything heroic.”
“In that case, how about you two get me up to speed on what’s going on?” Konowa said, looking out the one porthole in the room and seeing only darkness. The room itself was lit by a hanging lantern which created far more shadows than Konowa felt comfortable with. He turned back to see Pimmer’s crestfallen face and realized his mistake. “But of course that can wait a few minutes. Regimental Sergeant Major, I suspect the Viceroy is being a bit too modest. Perhaps you could tell me how he comes to look like a gypsy warrior instead of one of Calahr’s civil servants?”
Pimmer beamed as Yimt recounted the last two days. It was as much as Konowa had expected.
“Rakkes hounded us the whole way. Persistent, I’ll give them that. Just won’t give up those things, but the Viceroy has picked up a few of your bad traits, Major. He led three bayonet charges into them. Scattered them to hell and gone. They definitely weren’t in the mood for his style of negotiating.”
Konowa tried to imagine the diplomat trundling across the snow and laying waste to a horde of marauding rakkes and the really startling thing was, he could see it clearly.
It was Pimmer’s turn to return the compliment. “My efforts pale in comparison to that of the RSM here. His leadership and savvy saw us through one tight squeeze after another. And he is quite simply a maestro with a drukar. Such precision… I dare say, he could trim the fuzz off a bumble bee in midflight.”
“Indeed,” Konowa said, deciding to change the subject before the two praised each other to godlike status. “I see I’m on a ship. I take it we made it to Tel Martruk?”
Pimmer jumped in. “And not just us, but a good portion of the Calahrian fleet. They managed to rescue most of the force that landed at Nazalla and came down the coast looking for us. Seems Her Majesty’s Scribe had something to do with that. Do you recognize this ship? It’s the Black Spike. Seemed appropriate to put the Iron Elves on it again. I understand you two share quite a history.”
Memories of the island assaults flooded Konowa’s mind and he quickly pushed them aside. “That we do. RSM, what’s the roster? How many?”
At this the room grew eerily quiet. “Counting the 3rd Spears, the gun crews, civilians like your parents, Miss Tekoy and Miss Synjyn, we muster sixty-seven.”
The number burned into Konowa like a brand. Just a few short months ago they’d started with close to three hundred. “And the shades?”
Yimt’s jovial demeanor faltered. “Nary a peep since that explosion. Ally’s gone. Just… gone, and it looks like he took Her Emissary and all the dead with him. Even when someone new goes down, their body turns to ash, but we don’t see the shade.”
Konowa wasn’t sure he was ready to face it, but if he didn’t ask now it would only be worse later. “Who did we lose on the march to the coast?”
Yimt scratched at his beard. “Lieutenant Imba and most of the 3rd Spears. Only five of them made it. And we lost half the gun crews.”
It was a heavy blow. Imba had been a true leader, an officer destined for so much more. The bravery of the 3rd Spears was already legendary, and their duty with the Iron Elves would only cement that reputation, and rightly so. Konowa could tell there was more, though. “Who else?”
Yimt sighed. “Several soldiers are missing, including Private Inkermon. And Tyul has yet to turn up. Your mother is sick with worry about him. She sent Jir out looking for him, but we haven’t seen anything since. Not sure we’d get that elf on the ship anyway. He’s gone so far round the bend he can see the back of his own head.”
Konowa sat up fully in bed, ignoring the pain. Jir would turn up, he knew it. He had to. That bengar had kept him sane during his banishment. As crushing as it was to come so close to his elves and not see them, to lose Jir would hurt so much worse. His loyalty and companionship meant more to him than he liked to admit. Through Jir he did connect with nature, even if it was in its most predatory state. The bengar actually made him more elf than he otherwise would have been. No, Jir will return.
“Why haven’t you sent out search parties for the missing soldiers?” Konowa asked.
A cannon broadside boomed in the distance before Yimt could reply. Two more followed in quick succession. “That’s why. The town is deserted. About the only thing left alive in it now are rakkes. The ships have been shelling the waterfront to keep the buggers at bay. I hate leaving anyone behind, but orders is orders. We’re setting sail within the hour. That’s why we had to come and wake you, recovered or not.”
It was a blow to realize just how quickly the Empire was collapsing, but it gave Konowa renewed strength. “About bloody time. We should land on the Hyntaland in a few days with good winds. You know, I’ve wanted to throttle His Highness more times than not, but he’s finally seeing things right.”
Pimmer held up his hands. “Major, I think it important to remind you that you’re still recovering from a multitude of grievous wounds. You need to avoid exerting yourself as you recover. Any aggravation could have serious repercussions to your health.”
“Not to worry, Viceroy, this is good news. I feel great.”
Pimmer’s smile froze on his face. He looked to Yimt for help.
“Am I missing something?” Konowa asked.
“You could say that,” Yimt said, slowly getting up from the stool. He stood braced as if he’d just walked into a pub expecting a fight. “Here’s the thing, it’s about our destination…”
Konowa waited for him to finish. When he didn’t he looked back at Pimmer. The man held up his hands and shrugged as if to say “I tried.” “We’re not sailing to the Hyntaland, are we?” Konowa asked.
The man held on to his frozen smile. “Not as such, no. The Prince has determined the wisest course of action is to head for Calahr and assemble a much larger force before tackling the Shadow Monarch.”
Konowa’s following curses were drowned out by a broadside fired by the Black Spike. The entire ship shook and groaned as its heavy cannons let loose against the rakkes in Tel Martruk. The acrid smell of black-powder smoke filled the room.
Konowa threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The pouch with the black acorn in it swung from the leather thong still tied around his neck. A brief stab of cold reminded him it was there, not that he needed any reminding. The cost of the oath was a permanent weight on his shoulders.
He set his feet down on floor and almost smiled at the feel of the cool wood beneath his feet. It was the closest he was likely to come to bonding with a tree. He stood, fighting off the light-headedness that threatened to topple him. He looked down at himself and except for the leather pouch was completely naked. “Where’s my uniform?”
“Now, Major, please, you have to understand,” Pimmer said, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “The regiment is all but depleted. Even the shades are gone. The Empire is in utter turmoil. Everyone, including the Prince, understands the need to finish this business with the Shadow Monarch once and for all, but it needs planning, and resources. If we just sail straight there with this ragtag collection of ships and soldiers the outcome could well be disastrous.”
Konowa stared at the Viceroy. “I’ll walk out of here like this if I have to.”
Yimt came into view with Konowa’s uniform. It looked clean and repaired. He wondered when anyone had had time to put needle to thread, but he was grateful. He really would have stormed out of the room naked, but he suspected his argument for going straight to Her mountain would have more weight if he were wearing more than a snarl. “I had a feeling you’d be a bit motivated to go have a chat with His Highness so I got your things ready for you.”
Konowa looked away from Pimmer and down at the smiling dwarf. “Is that also why I can’t see my saber among my things?”
“Got it out with one of the lads for sharpening. Should have it back to you, oh, right about after you’ve had your talk with him.”
Konowa held Yimt’s stare for several seconds then grabbed the uniform out of his hands and began to get dressed. “I know what I’m doing,” he said, struggling into his trousers.
“Do you now?” Yimt said, helping him on with his boots. “Because from my perspective, and admittedly it isn’t quite as lofty, it appears that you’re about to go charging wildly.”
“Then why are you helping me?” Konowa asked, stomping down harder than he needed to adjust his boots. If anyone was wondering if Major Swift Dragon was up, they’d know it now.
“A good old-fashioned charge is sometimes exactly what’s called for. I just think you’d be wise to consider what you intend to do when you get to the other end of your charge. See, starting a charge is easy. You’re better than most at it. Someone lights a fire under you and off you go. It’s how it ends that can get sticky.”
Konowa fought with the sleeve of his jacket. “I really thought he’d changed, at least enough that he wouldn’t do something as stupid as this. Was he always this pig-headed, even in school?” Konowa asked, turning back to Pimmer.
“Well, it would be highly indelicate of me to comment on-”
“Pimmer!” Konowa shouted, ramming his arm into a sleeve then pulling it back out when he realized he was putting his jacket on back to front. “The fate of the world is at stake. We don’t have time to gather more forces. If we don’t do this now there’ll be nothing but dark forest from here to the horizon and beyond.”
Pimmer moved closer, lowering his voice. “I know this, Konowa, but we’ve received word that the royal court is under siege and Her Majesty ails. The Empire is besieged within and without and the Queen wants her son and heir home where he can better attend affairs of state.”
Konowa snorted, then looked down at his uniform to make sure he didn’t get anything on it. “Let’s be honest, at least among each other. If the Queen has summoned her son home, it’s to keep him safe.”
The diplomat stood up straight and his voice took on a more commanding tone. “It wasn’t just His Royal Highness. She summoned all of us home. The Iron Elves, too.”
Some of the steam firing Konowa left him and he sat down on the bed. “What is she thinking? We need to face danger, not turn and run from it.”
“I think,” Pimmer ventured, looking toward the door as if to ensure it remained closed, “she wants to save as many as she can, including you.”
“But this will only ensure more die. No,” he said, standing up again and taking his shako from Yimt’s outstretched hand. “She is wrong, and the Prince is wrong. We are the key. We need to strike now.”
Pimmer took a moment before responding. “And you can’t be dissuaded?”
“Not as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs.”
Pimmer smiled and gave a quick salute to Yimt. Konowa looked between the two of them. “What in blazes are you two up to now?”
“As Her Majesty’s representative it was my sworn duty to make the case for returning to Calahr with all due haste per royal decree. Having made my case I can report, in due time, that it was unsuccessful. Now, we simply need to convince the Prince.”
“You couldn’t have just told me this at the start?” Konowa asked.
“That was my idea,” Yimt said, brushing away a few dust motes from Konowa’s uniform. “I told the Viceroy that after your twoday nap you’d be a bit slow off the mark unless we gave you the proper incentive. I’d say we succeeded.”
Konowa placed his shako on his head and walked to the door. He stopped with his back to Pimmer and Yimt. “Next time, you could try telling me the truth right off. I might just surprise you.” He opened the door and stepped out. As he walked away the conversation behind reached his ears.
“He seems a bit upset with us,” Pimmer said.
“Naw, he’s just temperamental. Besides, time is fleeting. Did you see how fast he got out of bed? Can’t boot an officer in the butt like you can a soldier. You have to find other ways to motivate ’em.”
Konowa kept walking, his fists clenching as he did. Yimt was right, he felt very motivated. He stormed on deck looking for the Prince. He was surprised to see it wasn’t snowing. It was cold, though, and the wind hummed in the rigging and snapped the sails, urging the Black Spike to heave anchor.
Rallie, Visyna, and his mother materialized in front of him as if they’d been waiting there the whole time, which, he imagined, they probably had.
“The last time we were on this boat the three of you did your best to keep me from harming the Prince, and I appreciate it. This time, however, is different.”
The answer he received threw him off guard.
“We know, Konowa, and we are with you,” Visyna said, moving forward as if to embrace him, but stopping a yard short. “He must be made to see reason. The Shadow Monarch must be stopped now before Her power can grow any stronger.”
Konowa looked to his mother and then Rallie. Both nodded in agreement.
“Where is he?”
“Right behind you,” the Prince said, walking around Konowa to stand on his left. He looked at the three ladies and touched his hand to the brim of his shako. “Shall I guess, or is there any point? You’ve all heard we’re to sail to Calahr at once and not to the Hyntaland.”
Konowa drew in a breath in preparation to convince the Prince through sheer force of argument, but never got the chance.
“Does anyone else hear that?” Rallie asked, looking skyward.
Konowa stomped his boot on the deck. What was Rallie doing? He opened his mouth to speak, but was stymied when the Prince turned his back to follow Rallie’s gaze.
“Is that wings?” the Prince asked.
“Not just any wings,” Rallie said, her gruff voice rising an octave in obvious delight. “I’d know that drunken collection of feathers anywhere.”
True to his name, Wobbly the messenger pelican wobbled into view out over the harbor. His flying prowess, or complete lack of, was obvious. He bobbed and weaved like the drunken bird he was, using up far more sky than any other bird. Konowa figured he flew probably twice as far as he had to on account of all the weaving.
“Wobbly!” Rallie cried. Everyone turned to follow the pelican’s flight.
“It’s wounded,” Pimmer said, stepping out on deck.
“No, just drunk as usual,” Rallie said, walking to the edge of the ship’s railing. Wobbly made a few less than smooth course corrections and began to home in on the ship.
Konowa glared at the Prince one more time then turned to follow the final approach of the pelican. At seventy-five yards out he leveled his wings and started to glide. He slipped a little to the right, dipped his left wing, and steadied himself on the wind.
“He’s coming in awfully fast, isn’t he?”
At twenty yards he flared his wings and stuck out his webbed feet. Konowa tried to follow his path to see what he was aiming for, but the only thing obvious was the large sail canvas.
Thump!
Wobbly hit the main sail and began a panicked flapping of wings as he tried and failed to gain any purchase. Giving up, or growing exhausted, he slid down the sail until he hit the main spar, bounced off it, did a complete somersault in the air losing several feathers in the process, and landed flat on his back on the deck, his wings outstretched and his webbed feet paddling the air.
“You ever think of using an owl instead?” Konowa asked.
“Can’t trust them,” Rallie said, walking forward to pick up the pelican and cradle it in her arms. “Too smart for their own good. Now Wobbly here is a bird you can trust. A drunk, but a trustworthy one.”
Wobbly’s bill opened wide letting forth a belch Konowa could smell from five yards away. A regurgitated vial popped out of his gullet which Rallie deftly grabbed. She then set the pelican back down on the deck. “Could someone please fetch him a bowl of grog, thank you.”
Konowa was growing increasingly frustrated that his showdown with the Prince was being delayed. He started to open his mouth again, but stopped when he saw the look on Rallie’s face as she opened the vial and read the small scroll that had been rolled up inside.
“Rallie, what does it say?” Visyna asked.
Rallie turned to look at the Prince. She pulled back the hood of her cloak. Tears glistened in her eyes. “It is with deepest regrets that I must inform you that Her Majesty, the Queen of Calahr, is dead.”
K onowa willed himself to remain calm. The death of the Queen was tragic. He’d met the old girl once and been impressed with the sharp intelligence peering out from a fat, soft face. Would the Prince blubber and go hide in his cabin? Perhaps he’d put on a brave front, or worse, express happiness that he was finally King. After his inconsolable pout brought on by the destruction of the Lost Library of Kaman Rahl, would this be the final straw to break his royal back, or maybe, just maybe, turn him into a man.
Sympathy tempered Konowa’s anger while he waited. The Prince had lost his father years before, and now his mother. As strange as his parents were, Konowa found comfort in knowing both were still alive. He didn’t want to think about the hole they would leave when they were gone.
A muffled sob made Konowa turn. Pimmer stood with his mouth open, his eyes wide with shock. Visyna went over to him and helped him to sit down on a nearby crate. The man was absolutely undone. Konowa’s respect for him lessened a little, and he felt bad about that, but what kind of diplomat went to pieces like that?
“Pimmer, I am so sorry,” the Prince said softly, with far more caring than Konowa could muster. And why was he apologizing to him?
A cluster of soldiers and sailors had formed around them. When they saw Konowa looking at them they started to leave, but he motioned for them to stay.
“Does it say how she died?” the Prince asked, his voice calm, and giving nothing away.
Rallie paused before answering. “She was murdered. An agent of the Shadow Monarch.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and put a cigar in her mouth, which instantly lit. She took two draws on the stogie before continuing, her next words mixed with a thick cloud of smoke. “The message goes on to request His Highness’s immediate return to Celwyn for the Queen’s funeral and for his coronation as the king of the Calahrian Empire.”
At this she paused, and Konowa assumed it was emotion. When she resumed, he realized it was more likely shock.
“However, due to the current unrest sweeping the Empire and the encroachment by creatures of the Shadow Monarch into Calahr itself it is advised that His Highness does not attempt to return at this time. His safety, and that of the royal court and the very citizenry itself, can no longer be guaranteed.”
Konowa couldn’t believe his ears. By the gasp of surprise by those around, neither could anyone else.
Rallie continued. “Dark creatures now run rampant in the countryside. Citizens from small villages and farms have fled and are now harboring in the larger cities. The risk of plague has now been added to our woes.”
The Prince waved her to silence. “It is as we feared, and why so many of you have counseled for sailing directly to the Hyntaland and the Shadow Monarch’s mountain. In light of this news, I concur. We must-”
“No!” Pimmer shouted, jumping to his feet and crossing the deck to stand in front of the Prince. “You must return. You must take up the crown.”
If events turned any faster Konowa was going to have sit down. “Viceroy,” he said, walking forward, “you know why we must go to Her mountain. I understand you’re upset, but-”
“No, you don’t,” Pimmer said, never breaking his gaze at the Prince. “If there is no King, the Empire won’t simply crumble, it will explode in an orgy of rebellion and war. Do you have any idea how many different races and tribes are kept from each other’s throats by the presence of Imperial forces? Do you know why just a few thousand siggers in their green coats can pacify a nation of hundreds of thousands? It’s because of the symbol. The power of the throne. As long as it’s strong, it exerts enormous influence. But leave it vacant and chaos will reign.”
“Pimmer,” the Prince said, reaching out and grabbing him by the arm. “I know you’re hurting. I am, too, but if this is about-”
Pimmer yanked his arm away. “This is not about that! This hasn’t been about that in a very long time. I never wanted the throne. We agreed on this.”
Konowa had been to the theater where the twists and turns hadn’t been this convoluted. Was Pimmer admitting to being the real heir? It struck him how much the Queen and Pimmer looked alike. There was that same twinkle of smarts carefully hidden by a heavy exterior…
Son of a witch.
“Viceroy, perhaps we can continue this conversation in private,” Rallie said.
Of course Rallie would know, Konowa realized. She had been Her Majesty’s Scribe for decades.
“There is no private anymore,” Pimmer said, looking around him. “The fate of our very existence balances on this fulcrum in time.”
“Told you,” Yimt said from somewhere in the crowd. “The full crumb.”
Pimmer rounded on Prince Tykkin. “This is about your destiny, your duty. If you do not take the throne, it won’t simply be the Empire that falls, but all living things in it. Is that the legacy you want?”
“And if we do not destroy the Shadow Monarch what then?” Konowa asked, unable to contain himself. “You told me yourself it was the right thing to do,” he said, knowing he was betraying the man’s trust and not caring.
“It was, but now it isn’t.”
The Prince raised his hand for silence. Konowa bit back his next retort and waited.
“Events continue to move faster than we anticipate. We have suffered the most unfortunate luck to lose the wrong monarch. Therefore, I have no choice but to set sail for Celwyn and to assume the crown.” He turned and stared at Konowa, forcing him to remain silent. It was as if the man had suddenly grown. He seemed bigger, stronger.
“We’ve had our differences, you and I. I doubt there’s any other officer in this army or any other who exhibits such constant and repeated insubordination. Your attitude toward authority is deplorable.”
If there was a compliment in the offing the Prince was taking a long road to get there. Konowa opened his mouth to speak, but he felt three pairs of eyes on him and shut it again. He chose to believe he did it through his own willpower, and not the combined force of the three women a few feet away.
“Furthermore, you are reckless and have a short temper. It’s quite astonishing you’ve only been court-martialed once.”
Konowa felt the first flicker of frost fire dance in his clenched fists, but with a restraint that was causing the blood to pound in his ears he remained silent.
“I could go on, but time is short, and I think I’ve made my point,” the Prince said. He pulled down on the hem of his coat and jutted out his chin. “It is therefore my great privilege and honor to hereby hand over command of the Iron Elves to you. Congratulations, Colonel Swift Dragon.”
Murmurs of pleasure broke out all over the deck. A nearby cannonade fired by another ship seemed perfectly timed to echo in martial salute. A few even shouted “Long live the King” threatening to turn a solemn moment into something else. The Prince held up his hands and things quieted down.
The Prince turned to take in the growing crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are witness to a truly rare occasion. Colonel Swift Dragon has been rendered all but speechless.”
Konowa found his voice. “I thank you for this honor, Your Highness, but it has little meaning if we are still going to Celwyn and not the Hyntaland.”
“Glad to see your rise in rank hasn’t changed you,” the Prince said, a slight mocking tone in his voice. “Of course, you are right. If you were accompanying me to Celwyn.”
Now Konowa dared hope. “I’m not?”
The Prince smiled. “My duty is clear, as Viceroy Alstonfar pointed out. I must return to the capital and assume the throne. The Empire must be defended. If Calahr falls, all falls. Your duty, and that of the Iron Elves, is equally clear. The Shadow Monarch must be destroyed. I place this vessel under your command. Make all haste to your homeland and use whatever means necessary to dethrone the Shadow Monarch.”
Konowa stood to full attention and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
The Prince looked at him, a bemused expression on his face. And then he did the most startling thing. He held out his hand.
Konowa looked down at it. “Sir? The oath, the frost fire.”
“King’s prerogative.”
Konowa smiled and grabbed the man’s hand. Frost fire crackled between their palms. The Prince winced, but squeezed tighter. He leaned forward and whispered in Konowa’s ear. “If we should never meet again, I still think you’re a scoundrel and a disgrace… and I’m honored to have served with you. Thank you.”
“We will meet again,” Konowa said, squeezing just a bit harder. “And you’re arrogant and vain and it will be my great privilege to one day greet you as His Majesty, the King.”
They stepped back and released their grip. This time the surrounding soldiers and sailors did cheer.
“Very well, it is time we parted ways. I leave you to your task, may fortune favor you.”
“And you, sir,” Konowa said, saluting again.
The Prince returned his salute. He turned and addressed Viceroy Alstonfar.
“Unfortunately, it would appear the Hasshugeb Expanse is no longer part of the Calahrian Empire, which means your viceroyship is at an end.”
“That is a correct interpretation of the political situation,” Pimmer said. He stood calmly, one hand resting on the pommel of his saber, the other on the butt of a pistol stuck into his belt. Konowa smiled. In the short time he’d known him, Pimmer had gone from bureaucrat to warrior. Give the man a few months in the field with the right instruction and he’d be an excellent leader.
“As king, I will be choosing my advisors. I would like my first chosen counsel to be you.”
Pimmer nodded his head. “That is a wonderful offer, and some day I look forward to accepting it, but with the king’s permission, I would like to enlist in the Calahrian Army.”
The ship grew silent. The Prince leaned forward a little. “Pimmer, everyone knows of your bravery. You impressed a lot of people, myself included. You have nothing to prove. Come back with me, help me in Celwyn.”
“I will, Your Majesty, in time. Right now, however, the most pressing need lies to the north, and with your permission, I will accompany the Iron Elves.”
“Not as viceroy you can’t,” Konowa said, interjecting himself into the conversation. “I’m sorry, but we only have room for soldiers.” He looked at the Prince and winked.
“Quite,” the Prince said. “Very well. Viceroy Pimrald Alstonfar, I hereby strip you of your title and standing in the Calahrian Diplomatic Corps and induct you into the Calahrian Army with the rank of Major, second-in-command of the Iron Elves regiment.”
A week ago there would have been a riot. Now, there were cheers. Major Pimrald Alstonfar smiled and saluted, knocking his shako clean off his head.
“He’s all yours, Colonel,” the Prince said. He then turned and motioned to Rallie. “As you were Her Majesty’s Scribe your services now belong to me,” the Prince said.
Konowa expected some sort of comment from Rallie, but she simply bowed her head in acceptance.
“Which is why,” the Prince continued, “I am ordering you to accompany Colonel Swift Dragon and the Iron Elves to the Hyntaland. I’ll be as eager as the rest of your readers to hear how events unfold, and their forthcoming victory in the battle against darkness.”
This time the cheers were raucous. It never ceased to amaze Konowa how fatalistic and cheery a soldier could be at the same time. Still, he felt it, too. They’d all suffered and lost so much because of Her. Revenge, even if it appeared suicidal, appealed to them.
He risked a glance over at Visyna, hoping desperately not to see her frowning. Her smile put a grin on his face. Not giving a damn about decorum, he walked over to her and kissed her as sparks flew.
He pulled back after a moment, his lips and tongue tingling. Soldiers started crowding around and she and Rallie and his mother disappeared from view.
Konowa stood still for a moment, taking it all in. I have the Iron Elves back. The fact that they numbered just a handful and none were from the original regiment mattered not at all. As the soldiers clustered around him to offer their congratulations, Konowa smiled and shook as many hands as were offered. Young Corporal Feylan, the nautical lad; hulking, salt-of-the-earth Private Hrem Vulhber; rock-steady Color Sergeant Salia Aguom; the childlike but determined Private Scolfelton; and the irrepressible Regimental Sergeant Major Yimt Arkhorn. He looked into their eyes and was proud of what he saw. They were dirty, tired, hungry, and scared, but they were Iron Elves. These were his men, his brothers. A pain unassociated with the black acorn lingered in his heart as he thought of the others he’d lost. His smile faltered for a moment as he searched and failed to find the faces of so, so many.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Their numbers had been steadily whittled away. Months of hard living and even harder fighting had taken its toll on those that still remained. The scars, whether physical or somewhere deep inside, would probably never heal, not entirely. Their Empire was falling apart at the seams, and victory looked less and less likely the closer they got to Her mountain. But for all that, they had each other.
Konowa grinned, and started to laugh. His soldiers laughed with him. From somewhere in the small crowd, a soldier’s voice rose up above the din, and his words were taken up by every Iron Elf present:
We do not fear the flame, though it burns us, We do not fear the fire, though it consumes us, And we do not fear its light, Though it reveals the darkness of our souls, For therein lies our power.?ri Mekah!
V isyna stood on the harbor side of the ship with her forearms resting on the railing. The wind in her hair felt good, as did being on the ship and knowing they were leaving this place. She waved as the Prince, escorted by a company of troops, walked across the pier to board the HMS Ormandy to take him back to Calahr. He never broke stride, but he did doff his shako in response.
“Our future king,” Konowa said, walking up to stand beside her at the railing. She felt the sudden urge to slide closer and have him wrap his arms around her, but the frost fire made it too difficult.
“A future king,” she said, turning to him. “I wish him well, but the time of his Empire is over. My country is free.”
Konowa held up his hands. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Old habits.”
“Speaking of old habits, can’t you get rid of that acorn? You did before in Elfkyna,” she said, watching his face carefully.
He smiled, removed his shako and placed it between his thighs, and reached into jacket and pulled the leather thong up over his head. He then placed it inside his shako and set it on the deck of the ship. “Give me your hand,” he said, holding out his.
She did, and immediately withdrew it when black frost arced between their fingertips. “I don’t understand, you removed the acorn.”
His smile remained, but she saw the sadness in it now. He unbuttoned the top four buttons of his jacket and pulled back the lapels while pulling down on his undershirt. A black, acorn-sized stain marked the skin above his heart. “It’s in me. The only way I break this oath and Her hold is to destroy Her.” He placed the acorn back around his neck.
“Then we need to be going,” she said, standing up straight and stepping away from the railing. “She’s come between us long enough. One monarch’s reign has ended, now it’s time the other’s does, too.”
“Have I told you how attractive you are when you’re feisty?” Konowa asked, moving to stand as close to her as he could without touching her.
“No, and I expect that to change,” she said, breathing deeply to take in as much of his scent as possible. She wet her lips. “Bellowing orders like a mad bull might work in the army, but as my elf you’ll need to learn more subtle techniques to get what you want.”
Konowa looked at her with a hunger she longed to feed. She knew it matched her own.
He leaned forward and brought his lips to the very edge of her ear. His breath on her skin made her entire body shiver. “Are you saying you want to tame me?”
“Not… not when we’re alone,” she said, her voice husky with desire.
He started to whisper something else when there was a loud thump and the ship rocked. She stepped back and looked around. “What was that?”
Konowa had his hand on his chest and his eyes closed. “Nothing good.”
The water in the harbor began to churn, but the wind hadn’t picked up. “You’re the only weather weaver I know. Can you tell what this is?” he asked. Men were running around the deck of the ship shouting. Iron Elves appeared along the railings with their muskets at the ready. From belowdecks the ship’s gun crews were yelling and hurriedly reloading their cannons.
“If I could weave I might have an idea, but I’ve exhausted myself. I’m sorry,” she said.
He moved forward and smiled at her. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. I heard what you did. Everything from when you, my mother, and Rallie took off in her wagon from the party in Nazalla until we met at the fort. You didn’t just survive, you saved a lot of lives.”
She returned his smile. “I guess I’ve picked up a few things from watching you.”
The ship rocked again from another unseen blow. “All right, that’s got to stop,” Konowa said, his hand drawing his saber halfway out of its scabbard. “Can anyone see anything?”
The answer came in two parts. Ice began to form on the water although the temperature above it hadn’t dropped. Moments later, long, black branches shot up from the water on the seaward side of the ship and clawed up the side of HMS Black Spike, tilting the ship to starboard.
Pandemonium broke out on deck. Soldiers fired their muskets wildly at any branch they could see. Musket balls whizzed and ricocheted but did little damage. “Hold your fire, hold your fire, you daft buggers!” Yimt yelled. A few more muskets fired before order was restored. The ship rocked as more branches snaked up the side and latched on.
“They’re underneath us,” Visyna said, looking down at her feet. She could accept horrors that came at her in the open, but something about an unseen enemy beneath her was chilling. She stepped away from the railing.
Konowa turned to look at her. “And you wonder why I hate trees?”
Rallie and Chayii appeared on deck with Jurwan between them. The elf wizard was still not talking, but his eyes followed events with an obvious interest and it seemed he was close to returning to normal. Visyna hoped so.
“If you’ve got anymore tricks up your sleeves, now’s the time,” Konowa said to the women. He walked over to his father and peered into his eyes. “We could really use your help father.”
The ship lurched and mooring lines snapped.
“They’re trying to pull us away from the dock,” Visyna said, stumbling back toward the railing. She caught herself and looked down into the water. It was black and frothing, like boiling oil. She pushed herself upright and caught movement on the dock.
“It’s Jir and Tyul!”
She turned to point, but only Chayii heard her. The elf ran over to stand beside her.
A thunderous broadside fired from the Ormandy across the way shook the night. Both of them jumped. Wooden buildings near the dock exploded in a shower of splinters. Jir and Tyul went to ground, but were immediately back up and running for the ship. Rakkes cut them off and a melee began. The elf was a blur of slashing precision while the bengar tore through the creatures with savage efficiency.
But it wouldn’t be enough. There were too many rakkes. More and more joined the horde surrounding the two. The rakkes finally had a chance to bring down two of their tormentors and they weren’t going to let them get away.
“Don’t shoot!” Chayii yelled, waving in a vain attempt to get the attention of the Prince’s ship.
“It’s their only hope,” Visyna said, doubting even that could save them. She could only see Jir and Tyul sporadically now as still more rakkes streamed through the smoldering ruins of the buildings and toward the dock.
The ship rocked again and the brittle, caustic tang of frost fire filled the air. She turned and saw Konowa with his saber drawn, slashing at branches while Rallie drew furiously on a sheaf of papers. Jurwan stood between them, watching, but not helping.
When she turned back, Chayii was gone. Visyna looked over the railing and saw the elf walking effortlessly down one of the mooring lines to land on the dock and start running toward Tyul and Jir. Rakkes filled the space between and musket fire from the Ormandy lashed the dockside.
“Chayii, come back!”
The elf never turned, but kept running. Half a dozen rakkes closed in on her in a converging arc. The ship rose several feet in the air then fell back sending up an icy spray that coated everything. Visyna lost her footing and started to fall as the ship tilted further to port. The deck shook as cannons tore loose from their stations and slid free. Screams and shouts and the groaning and splintering of wood mixed with the howl of rakkes and sharp crack of muskets.
Making up her mind while still falling, Visyna let her body go limp and slid through a gap in the railing. She grabbed a mooring line and slid down it, burning her hands red in the process. Once on the dock she ran after Chayii, still not knowing what she was going to do. She felt as a hollow as a reed. Her body was running on reserves she’d never tapped before.
Shouts rang out behind her as men noticed the two women running on the dock. So this is what it’s like for Konowa, she thought, pumping her arms as her legs carried her across the open space. No plan, just absolute exhilaration.
She reached Chayii as the rakkes closed in to five yards. Reaching down, she picked up a broken piece of barrel stave to use as a weapon. The downside of Konowa’s approach to things became rapidly clear.
“What are you doing out here?” she shouted at Chayii, moving closer until they were back to back as the rakke’s circled them.
“I could not leave Tyul or Jir out here alone. They are innocents. They follow where we lead. It is our duty to protect them,” she said.
Visyna suddenly understood Konowa’s frustration with the elves of the Long Watch. They really did think in the most altruistic terms, even to the point of risking certain death. And she had run out to join her!
“Chayii, Jir and Tyul are two born killers! We need their help,” she said, swinging her broken stave in front of her knowing it would do little to slow down a charging rakke. She thought about yelling back to the ship, but more branches had shot up from the water to grapple it while other ships were firing their cannons making it impossible to hear in the rising storm of noise.
“I did not come out here without a plan, child,” Chayii said. Her voice was surprisingly calm.
“Well then do it!”
Chayii turned and placed a hand on Visyna’s shoulder. “Tell my son
… that I would have enjoyed spoiling your grandchildren very much.”
Before Visyna could reply Chayii turned and raised her hands to the sky. She began chanting in elvish and immediately the world around Visyna changed. Deep, powerful voices from somewhere far away filled the air. She recalled hearing and feeling something like this before, when Tyul had used his oath weapon, but this was different. Something else added its power to the heavy thrum, something close.
“What are you doing?” she asked, aware that the fabric of the natural order around her was beginning to tear.
The old elf continued to chant, ignoring her. Rakkes howled and bared their fangs, but none dared come closer. It began growing lighter. At first, Visyna couldn’t place the source, but then realized the main mast of the Black Spike was glowing. She blinked and looked again. For just the briefest of moments she could have sworn a massive tree had stood where the mast was.
“Chayii?”
“I do what I must, child,” she said, her voice filled with something Visyna thought sounded like joy. “We are the stewards of this world. If, through our sacrifice, we can save it, then it is a small price to pay.”
Visyna’s objection was blown away in a burst of pure, golden light. She turned, and marveled at what she saw. The mast of the Black Spike, once the very trunk of Jurwan’s ryk faur from which the ship was named, dissolved into a million gleaming specs of energy. They swirled as if caught in a wind only they could feel before coalescing into the shape of a shimmering, translucent Wolf Oak standing proudly on the deck of the ship.
The leaves of Black Spike began to fall, twirling and spinning faster and faster. A glowing white acorn was attached to each leaf.
“Your time here is over,” Chayii said to the rakkes. “Be one again with the mukta ull.” A gibbering wail rose up from the rakkes. Visyna turned in time to see Chayii’s hands spread open. The next moment a wind blew over her from behind, knocking her to the ground. The leaves and their acorns flashed above her in brilliant streaks of light. Each leaf and acorn struck a rakke with the force of a cannon ball, cutting off the howls of fear.
The rakkes died where they stood. One moment they were there in all their primal fury, the next, there was a burst of light, and then for the briefest of moments, the ghostly afterimage of a Wolf Oak sapling.
Before she could get up, the wind reversed direction and blew out to sea. She heard Jir yelp in fear and looked up to see the bengar and Tyul tumbling helplessly in the grip of the wind, borne aloft on still more of the shimmering leaves. It carried them all the way to the Black Spike and dumped them onto the deck, Tyul landing lightly on his feet and Jir on all four paws.
The ship heaved and rose high on a roiling wave of water. The sarka har clawing at the Black Spike ’s hull tore and shattered. The wind howled and the heavy ropes mooring the ship to the dock snapped like thread. The Black Spike began drifting out into the harbor, picking up speed as it moved. The massive image of Jurwan’s Wolf Oak was bent by the wind, acting as a main sail.
“Konowa!” She reached out her hands, determined to weave the weather and battle the forces taking him away from her again, but already she knew her strength wasn’t up to the task. She watched silently as the ship disappeared into the night and was gone.
It was several moments before Visyna realized everything had gone quiet. Not a single rakke howled. No shouting, no screaming, no muskets firing. She sat up. Darkness had returned. She rubbed her eyes and turned to Chayii.
“Oh, Chayii.” The elf lay facedown on the dock. Visyna grabbed her shoulder and gently turned her over. She felt it as soon as she touched her body.
Chayii was dead.
She sensed a presence near her and looked up. A misty image of a forest played before her eyes. It was gone so fast she wasn’t sure if it was real or her imagination. She chose to believe its truth; Chayii walking among the trees, singing softly as she tended to the forest.
She blinked and turned away, staring out to sea. She gently let Chayii’s body down and got up, and walked to the dock’s edge. Splintered wood, torn ropes, and great chunks of sailcloth littered the dockside and floated on the ice on the water, as the only indication that the Black Spike had been moored there. A large, churned path through the ice marked its passage out to sea.
The sound of running feet made her turn. Several soldiers from the Ormandy approached, their muskets held at the ready as they looked about for rakkes. A sergeant came up to her and touched his hand to his shako. He was bleeding from a cut above his left eye, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“More rakkes on the way, ma’am. His Highness says for you to board the Ormandy.”
Visyna nodded numbly and allowed herself to be lead toward the ship. She saw two soldiers move to pick up Chayii’s body, then pause and look at her.
“Please” was all she could manage. The soldiers bent down and with surprising gentleness picked up the elf and began to carry her to the ship.
Visyna followed them and boarded the Ormandy without another look back. She crossed the deck and stood at the starboard railing looking out to sea. The cold, salty air changed something inside her and she stood taller as she gripped the railing, feeling the rough grain of the wood on her palms.
“I will find you, Konowa Swift Dragon, I will find you.”
D amn it, father, snap out of it!” Konowa shouted, turning and stomping away a few paces before spinning on a heel and marching back toward Jurwan. The deck of the Black Spike was a windswept mess, which made Konowa’s pacing all the more challenging. There was no main mast anymore. In its place was a tangle of sail, spars, and rigging and the impossible image of his father’s shimmering ryk faur.
The ship should have been crawling along, but instead it was driven by a wind that seemed solely focused on the tree that was and wasn’t there. It was pushing them north at a speed no hurricane could ever match. The ship creaked and groaned with the strain. Konowa heard the captain ordering his sailors to bring down all but the smallest of sails, but it made no difference he could see. The Black Spike was being driven by something none of them understood.
Except Jurwan.
Konowa approached his father again. “Please, father, we need you. Mother… mother is dead.” Saying it out loud hurt more than simply knowing it in his heart, but he had to get through to his father.
“Colonel,” Major Alstonfar said quietly, coming up to stand beside him. “Could we talk over here, please?”
Konowa glared at his father, who simply looked straight ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “I liked you better as a squirrel,” Konowa muttered, then turned away and followed Pimmer until they were out of the wind behind a pile of collapsed sail.
“I understand your frustration and concern over our situation, but telling your father your mother is dead is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
Konowa looked at the man and realized he didn’t know. “She’s dead. She gave her life to tap into whatever energy or life force was left in my father’s ryk faur. I’ve never seen it done before, but I’ve heard them talk about it. It’s the ultimate sacrifice for an elf of the Long Watch.” Bitterness swelled within his chest, but he fought against it. Her sacrifice hadn’t been for trees or plants or the bloody natural order. She’d saved flesh and blood. He was desperately proud and devastated at the same time.
“My mother… gave her life for us. Many of the Long Watch have given their lives to save the trees they bonded with. It’s why we’re in this mess now. The Shadow Monarch poured all her misguided compassion into the Silver Wolf Oak and look where it got us.”
Pimmer looked stunned. “She’s really dead? I am so sorry. I thought… I thought you were trying to shock your father into talking.”
“I am, but not even the death of his wife seems to be enough,” Konowa said, forcing himself not to dwell on what he’d just lost. His mother was gone, and Visyna and Jir were back there and he had no idea if they were alive or dead.
“Her act was truly courageous. She saved us from certain death,” he said. “I am sure the Ormandy and all her crew are fine.”
“The Prince,” Konowa said, suddenly remembering. “If he didn’t survive that would mean you-”
“No,” Pimmer said, cutting Konowa off. “The Prince survived, I am certain. He will take the throne.”
Konowa wanted to object, but there seemed little point. Whether Tykkin was dead or alive was no longer in their hands. They were headed to the Hyntaland. The state of the Empire would have to take a backseat to the coming showdown with the Shadow Monarch.
“Major, gather up all sergeants and corporals and meet me in my cabin in five minutes. Oh, and find Private Vulhber, tell him he’s a corporal now. We have a battle to plan and judging the speed of our travel, we don’t have much time to get it sorted out.”
“Very good, sir,” he said. “Ah, and Her, ahem, His Majesty’s Scribe?”
Konowa looked up at the night sky as gray clouds whipped past before looking back at Pimmer. “She’s already RSVP’d,” Konowa said, pointing behind the man to Rallie, who was already walking toward Konowa’s cabin.
“Indeed,” Pimmer said, turning. He saluted and quickly walked off to assemble the senior staff, such as it was.
Konowa stepped back out into the wind and let the salty air sting his face. It hurt, and he liked that. It made him angry, and anger gave him power. He felt the fire burning inside him and let the flames build. When he reached Her mountain, a forest was going to burn.
Konowa looked back at this father. Did he know his wife was dead? He started to walk toward him again and paused as the wind shifted. It took him a moment to realize it hadn’t been the wind, but the direction of the Black Spike itself. The ship was tacking to port, and heading west.
Konowa walked toward the bridge to speak to Captain Milceal Ervod, but the sailor was already walking toward him.
“We’ve changed direction,” Konowa said.
Ervod motioned for Konowa to duck into a passageway. Once inside, Ervod pulled a map from inside his tunic and held it up against the wall. “Near as I can reckon, we’re here, just north of the Timolia Islands,” he said, pointing to a patch of blue ocean.
Konowa leaned closer. “Are you certain? We only left Tel Martruk a few hours ago.”
Ervod pulled at the end of his nose in a nervous gesture. “By rights, we should still see the lights of the harbor, but we aren’t traveling by any wind I know.”
Konowa wondered if there was a subtle accusation there, but he really didn’t care. His mother’s sacrifice was propelling them to the Hyntaland, or at least, it had been. “What lies to the west of us?”
Ervod unfolded more of the map. “Assuming I’m right and we are north of the Timolians, then a westerly course will take us through the Xephril Straits. Two major rivers empty into the straits, the Kantanna and the Ottawota, which merge into the Greater Kantanna further inland.”
Konowa knew the river. Its headwater was the Shadow Monarch’s mountain in the Hyntaland. “Is the river deep enough to take us all the way to the mountain?”
Ervod shrugged. “The Imperial Navy has only charted the tributary openings in Rewland along the coast. It’s my understanding that the agreement reached with your… the agreement reached with the elves denied the navy access further north.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Konowa said. “When the elves of the Long Watch see a sailing ship like this they see mass murder.”
Ervod went pale. “Colonel!”
“They do make exceptions, and in the case of our current mission I don’t think they’ll mind. In fact, I don’t care if they do. If this wind takes us up the river and saves us having to march the whole way, I’m all for it.”
“You mean, we might end up in the middle of a battle on a river?”
Konowa shrugged. “It would seem anything is possible these days.”
Major Alstonfar appeared in the hatchway. “Ah, here you are, Colonel. Captain. The men and Miss Synjyn have assembled.”
Konowa went to pat Ervod on the back then thought better of it. The man was jumpy enough. “If our course changes again, let me know. Otherwise, assume we’re going upriver and plan accordingly.” He plucked the map from the captain’s hands and followed Pimmer back out and across the deck.
He started to head into the passageway to his cabin when he heard something. It was so distant, so quiet, that he wasn’t sure it was there at all. He was about to brush it off when he heard it again.
“Colonel?” Pimmer said.
“Do you hear that?”
“What? All I can hear is the wind and the ship,” he said.
Konowa shook his head. “No, something else.” He strained to hear it again and this time picked up something. It was coming from the direction of his father. “Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked toward his father, who he realized had been facing in the direction they were now headed before the ship changed course. As he got closer, he heard the sound again. It was… droning, or maybe chanting. He walked up to his father and looked closely at his face. His eyes were closed, but his lips were moving. Konowa leaned in. The chanting wasn’t coming from his father, but his lips were moving in perfect time with it. Either Jurwan heard it, too, or he was somehow controlling it.
Konowa looked up where the main mast used to be. He’d assumed everything that had happened on the dock until now had been his mother’s doing. Tyul, crazy bloody elf that he was, had climbed the shimmering tree and was sitting in one of its top branches, rocking back and forth. How he got there let alone stayed there defied more than Konowa was prepared to consider. Tyul’s bond with his Silver Wolf Oak must be playing a part. Konowa shook his head and looked back at his father and found himself staring into his open eyes.
“I know she is dead, and I will grieve in time,” Jurwan said.
Konowa jumped backward, almost falling on the deck. “Damn it, Father! You could scare an elf out of his skin like that! How long have you been back?”
Jurwan sighed and rolled his shoulders as if just waking up. “I was never away, I just wasn’t here.”
Konowa groaned. “I forgot how fun it is to talk with you.” He started to reach out to hug the elf, then remembered and stopped. “I missed you.”
Jurwan reached forward and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight. Konowa was too surprised to react at first, but when he did he hugged him back. No frost fire sparked between them. When Jurwan let go there were tears in his eyes. “I am sorry about your mother. She was always strong-willed. You two are so much alike.”
It was the first time Konowa had ever heard his father say that. Before today he would have laughed to hear the comparison, but now, it touched him so deeply he thought he might start crying himself. He coughed and pointed at his father. “There was no frost fire.”
“I carried the black acorn with me for some time, time enough for quite a bit of Her poison to rub off on me,” he said.
“Are you okay?” Konowa asked.
Jurwan brought a hand up to his cheek as if to stroke some whiskers, but then brushed some hair from his eyes. “As water is in rain or mud.”
“I’ll take that as close enough,” Konowa said. He motioned to the sea around them. “Is this you? Are you the one driving us?”
For an answer, Jurwan walked toward the area where the main mast used to be. Konowa followed.
“It’s the deep forest that calls us home. I am merely helping to guide us by the safest path. The Wolf Oaks are powerful, but they have little concept of travel. They would pull us straight across the land to Her mountain, so I am gently steering us to a more advantageous route.”
“The river,” Konowa said.
“Yes. I thought it the wiser course. It will take a little longer, but we will arrive in one piece.”
“I didn’t know they could do that,” Konowa said, realizing just how much of his own culture he was ignorant of.
“There’s much they can do, but little they’ve done, until now. They sense the danger.”
“About bloody time,” Konowa said. “Any chance they’ve got some other tricks up their sleeves, er, trunks, we might use?” he asked half-jokingly.
Jurwan sat down on the deck and faced the wind. He closed his eyes and placed his hands in his lap. “I will ask.”
Konowa stared openmouthed at his father for a moment then decided he’d leave him to it. “Tell them… thanks,” he said.
“They say you’re welcome,” Jurwan said. Konowa looked closely and saw the tiniest smirk on his father’s face. He shook his head and left his father to commune with nature as he walked back toward his cabin. A flapping noise caught his attention and he turned in time to duck as Wobbly launched himself into the wind just over Konowa’s head. The pelican strained to get airborne, its huge wings flapping madly as it careened off some rigging and took a dangerous turn over the railing and down toward the water. Konowa ran over to the side and peered down, almost throwing up in the process. The sight of the rushing water made his knees buckle. He looked up and saw Wobbly slowly gaining height and heading due north before he started to tack east and kept turning until he flew right back over the Black Spike heading south. Konowa watched him until he disappeared from sight, said a silent wish for good luck for the bird, and walked to his cabin. He found the assembled group dispiritingly small, but he trusted every one of them with his life and that made up for a lot.
As he looked at each person in the room, he realized they were more than fellow soldiers and travelers. This really was his family. It was an odd thought, and far too sentimental for what they were about to face and what he would ask of them, but it was the truth.
He opened up the map and gave a corner each to Corporal Feylan and Corporal Vulhber to hold. The big man smiled and Konowa nodded back. He let out a breath and took off his shako, tossing it to Color Sergeant Aguom who deftly caught it and tucked it under his arm. Konowa turned to the map and pointed to the Greater Kantanna River.
“This time tomorrow, we’ll be at the foot of Her mountain. So, here’s what I’m thinking…”
Konowa slept little as the Black Spike churned its way through the Xephril Straits. He doubted he’d ever become used to the unnatural speed and the constant protest of wood and sail from the ship, but that wasn’t what made his sleep fitful. Nor was it the sound of soldiers and sailors hammering, sawing, and shouting as they worked to transform the Black Spike for what would most likely be a one-way trip up the river. It was, as it so often was, a bloody dream.
The scene remained unchanged. There was the birthing meadow, the Shadow Monarch’s Silver Wolf Oak, and a figure that he thought was Her, but now knew was himself. And as before, he held an ax in his hands. A voice told him repeatedly to do it, to swing the ax. He tried to make sense of what it really meant. The figure kneeling by the Wolf Oak turned, and this time it was the Shadow Monarch.
“Now I understand,” he said, hefting the ax in preparation to kill Her. He paused. She looked old and frail. A frightened little elf. Damn it! The ax started to fall to his side, but then the voice started up again, louder, more insistent. He shook his head. It was a trick. She might be old, but she wasn’t as she appeared before him. She was the Shadow Monarch, and Her power was untold. This was a test. If he couldn’t swing the ax in his dream, how the hell could he do it when the time came? He gritted his teeth and swung with all his might, taking the Shadow Monarch’s head clean off.
Konowa woke in a sweat. He sat up and brushed the hair from his face, noticing that his hands were trembling. He should have felt relief, or accomplishment, or even righteous joy at killing Her, even if in a dream, but nothing about it felt right. His conversation with Rallie on her wagon came back to him, but what would compassion get him when he faced Her?
A knock on his cabin door brought him welcome relief from his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, but the captain wanted you to know we’ve changed course and are now heading due north up the Kantanna River.”
“Excellent!” Konowa shouted. He got out of bed, realizing he’d fallen asleep while still fully dressed, grabbed his saber and shako, and went outside.
The deck of the Black Spike was transformed. Gone were the clean, smooth lines of a sailing ship. It looked more like a floating castle now, all bulk and angles. Oak planking from belowdecks had been braced along the railings, backed up with slugs of pig iron from the ship’s ballast, and then sandwiched in with barrels filled with everything from salted pork to what appeared to be beer and rum. The effect was to create a thick, protective wall for those on deck. More impressive were the additional cannons winched up from below to be placed on the bow. It would have been suicidal to sail like that in open waters, but under their current propulsion and within the confines of a river it was a risk they’d decided to take. They were ridiculously top heavy, but woe be to whoever came close enough to try and tip them over.
RSM Arkhorn walked past barking orders to a group of sailors trailing him in various states of fear and awe. When he spied Konowa he winked and shooed the sailors on their way. “Not the brightest of lads, but they’re learning.”
Konowa smiled and began to walk along the deck as Yimt described the modifications. They stopped at a gap and Konowa ventured out to the railing and looked over the side.
“You’ve put chunks of oak planks over several of the cannon mouths,” he said, stepping back again quickly as his stomach started to churn.
Yimt greeted his observation with a smile that didn’t bode well for any creatures coming too close the Black Spike. Konowa briefly wondered how many had perished with Yimt’s pewter-colored teeth the last image in their eyes? Better them than him.
“Noticed that, did you, sir? Well, it’s a bit nasty I’ll admit, but can’t say as the buggers don’t deserve it and then some. If you look real close, I had the boys score the wood to help it splinter easier, and a few of the planks have a little extra surprise in them.”
He sounded so proud that Konowa had no choice but to go back to the railing and look over the side again. “Are those nails?” He peered a little closer and saw a piece of chain dangling. He followed it and saw it attached to several more planks further down the ship. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be better employed in weapons manufacture instead of as a barrister?” Konowa asked, stepping away from the railing again.
“Same basic principles apply really,” Yimt said. “You got to hit the buggers hard with everything you got before they hit you.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” he said, then left the rest of his thought hanging as he spied Yimt’s old squad a few yards away. He walked over to the newly minted Corporal Vulhber and shook the man’s hand, congratulating him on his promotion. Privates Scolly and Zwitty stood nearby. Konowa’s first thought was they’d already dipped into the rum. “Someone has to explain this to me.”
Corporal Vulhber looked at him and smiled. “Colonel. Well, it was the RSM’s idea and we figured why not.” The look on Zwitty’s face suggested he’d figured differently, but he kept his mouth shut.
“You appear to be dressed as trees,” Konowa said. And not just trees, but sarka har. Each soldier had the metallic-impregnated bark of a sarka har, no doubt from all the pieces that had fallen on deck when they’d been ripped free back at Tel Martuk, wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso like a knight’s armor. Twine and strips of sailcloth that appear to have been darkened with pitch held everything in place.
“They don’t have ribs like a dwarf,” Yimt said, knocking his knuckles against his chest. “After my recent experience, I got to thinking it’d be just the thing for the lad going into battle. If we had more time I think I could come up with some kind of helmet, too.”
Konowa walked over and rapped his knuckles against Vulhber’s bark plate. Small sparks flew. “It is tough,” he said, standing back. Garbed as they were in black bark over their dirty and worn green uniforms and black caernas, they could probably pass as sarka har from a distance. He turned to Yimt with an idea.
“My thinking exactly, sir,” Yimt said, anticipating him. “I’ve got the rest of the regiment kitting out the same way. Going to add some branches on top when we’re closer. Doubt it’ll fool them for long, but if it buys us a few more seconds, that might just be all we need.”
Konowa grinned. The fire inside had been smoldering for a while, but as he looked at the black-clad warriors before him the first flames began to grow.
The Iron Elves were coming home.
Visyna stood near the bow of the Ormandy, ignoring the freezing spray that flew up every time the bow dipped down into another wave. She’d tried sleeping, but every time she began to drift off the horrors of the last few days came rushing at her. She wondered how soldiers like Konowa and Yimt withstood the assault on their unconscious mind. To lose friends, to kill the enemy, to forever walk into danger knowing-absolutely knowing-that not everyone would walk back out again had to take its toll.
She hunched her shoulders, grateful for the tunic loaned to her by one of the soldiers on board the ship. I’m even starting to hear things, she realized, imagining the erratic flapping of Wobbly somewhere in the night. A moment later, a white blur drew her attention off the starboard bow. It is Wobbly! She ran to the railing to watch his arrival. He seemed to be going faster than was safe, much too fast to make a landing. He skimmed over the main mast, did a slow banking turn, and started heading northwest, back the way he came.
“Wait, you didn’t deliver your message!” she shouted after the pelican. She brought her hands up to weave, hoping perhaps to use the wind to guide him back this way, when a new sound reached her ears. It was more wings flapping. She turned and saw a massive bird of prey swoop down from the sky, its beak glinting like polished steel.
“Dandy!” she cried, marveling as the bird flared its wings and came in for a pinpoint landing on the railing just ten feet from her. He tucked in his wings and squatted down on the railing, but with each blast of sea spray he got up again and fluttered his feathers in annoyance.
“I’m guessing Rallie sent you,” Visyna said, inching a little closer to Dandy. “But why?”
For an answer, Dandy hopped off the railing and began walking across the deck. His claws gouged huge splinters out of the wood as he did so.
“Here! We can’t have your bloody bird tearing up the deck,” a sailor said, running across the main deck to stand in front of Dandy.
Dandy turned his head so that a single, golden eye stared at the sailor. Visyna said nothing.
“It’ll be a deuce of a job for the ship’s carpenter to repair,” the sailor said, his voice quavering as he tried to look around Dandy at Visyna.
“Are you the ship’s carpenter?” Visyna asked.
“No,” the sailor said, backing up a few paces. Dandy followed him.
“Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said, following after the bird.
The sailor seemed to think about that for a few seconds and then promptly turned and ran. Dandy didn’t give chase, but moved toward the canvas-wrapped body of Chayii laid out on the deck. He lowered his head and using his beak, gently pulled Chayii’s body underneath so that it rested by his claws. He raised his head and looked at Visyna. His right claw was open and extended toward her.
She realized it was an invitation.
“You’re here to take us to Konowa, aren’t you?” she said.
Dandy ruffled his feathers as another wall of spray pelted the deck.
“You’re leaving us,” Prince Tykkin said, walking along the deck and coming to a stop a few yards away.
“It appears I am,” Visyna said. She started to move toward the bird, then paused and looked back at the Prince. “I am sorry for your loss. For what it’s worth, I think you have it in you to be an excellent ruler. In the short time I’ve known you…” she realized she couldn’t finish the sentence as it would sound too patronizing. The Prince finished it for her.
“I’ve grown. Yes, well, I suppose it was inevitable,” he said, offering her a wry smile. “I had some very good examples to learn from.” He bowed toward her.
“May your reign be a long and peaceful one,” Visyna said.
“And may the winds of fortune favor you and the Iron Elves in the coming battle.” He nodded and turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “And for what it’s worth, tell that elf of yours that if I’d had my choice, I would have been there at his side.”
Visyna smiled. “He knows that already, but I’ll remind him.”
“Off you go then,” the future king said, giving her a quick salute.
Visyna returned it and turned to Dandy. “Okay, how do we do this?”
Elation and terror fought for dominance as she realized she would soon rejoin Konowa. She’d hoped a miracle would happen, and it had, but now she wished she’d put a little more thought into the details.
Dandy’s claw snatched her up and his wings extended. He crouched low, then pushed straight up, his other claw scooping up Chayii as he did so. He pumped his wings a few times and Visyna buried her head in his feathers as they cleared the mast and vaulted into the sky.
She didn’t scream, but not because she didn’t want to.
P enny for your thoughts.”
Konowa smiled and motioned to a spot beside him where he was staring out through the oak planks at the passing forest lining the river. The smoke from Rallie’s cigar arrived a second before she did. He pointed at the trees.
“Wolf Oaks, but these are small ones, still young, maybe a few hundred years at most. The deeper we go, the older they get,” he said. Pride had crept into his voice, which surprised him. He hadn’t been back to the Hyntaland in years, mostly because there was so little here he wanted to remember. Now, however, his homecoming felt long overdue. He shivered. It was growing colder the further north they traveled. The ship continued at a far faster rate than should have been possible, but it navigated smoothly down the center of the river as if on a rail. He took a quick glance at his father. Jurwan remained seated near the main mast position, deep in a trance. Whatever his father was doing was working.
Dawn colored the sky a deep purple. He took that as a good omen.
“Glad to see it’s not red,” Rallie said.
“Will she get here in time?”
Rallie puffed on her cigar before answering. “It’s in other hands, or feathers, at this point. Have you thought about what you’re going to do when you confront Her?”
Konowa had tried very hard not to. “I’ll do what needs to be done. This has to end, Rallie, it has to. She was a scourge before, but with the return of the Stars she’s become a monster. If She isn’t stopped now I see no hope for anyone, or anything.”
Rallie said nothing, continuing to smoke her cigar and watch the passing trees. Finally, she turned and looked at him. “Do what needs to be done, just don’t assume you know what that is yet.”
“With all due respect, you’re starting to sound a lot like my father with all the cryptic advice. Is there some school that older, wise advisors attend where they learn how to say something without actually saying it?”
Rallie laughed. “Now that’s a school I’d like to attend. I think, however, you’ve got the shoe on the wrong foot. Wouldn’t it be better to ask why young people are always so eager to know everything now? There’s a joy in patience that quick gratification doesn’t offer.”
“In a few hours it’ll all be moot,” Konowa said. “If there are any last revelations you’d like to share, now’s the time. Like maybe who you are, and the Stars?”
Rallie smiled and turned back to watching the trees. “Excellent questions. Very pertinent, too. I can see why you’d want to know.”
Konowa waited. “Well?”
“There are many ancient myths about the creation of the heavens and stars. Some think they are the eyes of gods peering down on us. Others think they are huge diamonds floating in the ether. There’s even a legend that at least some of the stars, like those that fell, were in fact bundles of natural energy long ago gathered up and flung into the heavens for safekeeping. And that one day, when that natural energy was needed, they would return.”
Konowa had the eerie sensation of standing on the edge of a thundering waterfall. One misstep and he’d go over and he’d never be seen again. Still, he decided to step a little closer to the abyss.
“Interesting. How do you suppose all that energy was put in the sky in the first place? Sounds like some powerful magic would be required to do something like that, if that’s what happened…”
“No doubt,” Rallie said. The end of her cigar was glowing like a white-hot brand.
“But if that is what happened, it happened-as you say-a very long time ago.” Konowa could feel the heat coming off the end of her cigar.
Rallie pulled the cigar out of her mouth and studied the glowing tip. It lit up her face, throwing her many wrinkles into stark contrast. “Tell me, Colonel, what would you find more disturbing? The knowledge that I have some information that might be of use to you and I don’t impart it, believing that to do so might create more problems than it solves, or, that I actually don’t have any more information to give. That I’m just a little old lady a tad wise beyond her years, with a keen mind, a quick quill, and a mind that’s not always focused on the here and now?”
“Both?” Konowa answered, only half in jest. “But if I have to choose, and it sounds like I do, I’d rather believe in the former. In fact, I do. You probably have so many secrets you don’t even know them all yourself… if that makes sense.”
Rallie stuck the cigar back in her mouth. “You, my dear elf, are smarter than you look.”
“Thanks?” Konowa said.
“Time, I think, to get my quill and paper,” Rallie said, stepping away from the railing.
Konowa looked into the distance. A gray smudge discolored the horizon to the north. “The mountains.”
“I’m curious, Colonel,” Rallie said, starting to turn away then stopping. “The aid of the Wolf Oaks in getting us here this fast has been spectacular. Do you know if your father has given any thought to how we stop?”
Konowa watched her walk away, a trail of blue smoke in her wake. He looked out at the passing trees. They were whipping by. Faster.
The Black Spike was picking up speed.
Konowa tore away from the railing and ran over to his father. He didn’t bother waiting and simply grabbed Jurwan by the shoulder and shook him. “Father! This isn’t a carriage. We don’t have brakes.”
Jurwan opened his eyes and blinked. “This is a concept that, unfortunately, the Wolf Oaks are not familiar with. They only know that the Shadow Monarch represents danger, and they seek all aid in fighting Her.”
Konowa ran to the bow and looked forward. The land sloped upward into a short range of hills before the mountains themselves. He knew the river wound its way through them, but he doubted the draft would be deep enough for a ship this size. He’d always expected they would disembark at the base of the mountain and climb from there.
Captain Ervod appeared at his side. “Colonel, I don’t have control of my own ship! If we hit a rock now we’ll be destroyed.”
“Don’t you have things you do when you want to slow down? Throw your anchors.”
Captain Ervod stepped back a pace. “At this speed? We’d probably rip the line right off.”
“If you have a better idea I’m all ears,” Konowa said.
Captain Ervod seemed to consider his options. “Fine. Tell your men to brace themselves. This is not going to be gentle.”
“All right, laddies,” Yimt said, standing a few paces away and obviously within earshot, “start thinking soft thoughts. Find a sack of something and put it in front of you. Don’t be standing out in the open where you can go flying. Get low, grab on to something, and stay there.”
Konowa waved his acknowledgment at Yimt and sprinted back toward his father. “Anything?”
Jurwan looked at him and pursed his lips. “Trying to commune with a forest of agitated Wolf Oaks is not… easy. Your mother was much better at this than I.”
“Well, she’s not here anymore, is she!” Konowa shouted, immediately regretting it. He knelt down in front of his father and placed his hand on his arm. “Father, tell them… tell them to think in terms of late fall as their sap starts to thicken and slow.”
Jurwan looked at him with obvious surprise on his face. “The Wolf Oaks were mistaken in not choosing you, my son. You understand better than they know.”
Konowa stood up. “Just tell them. Hurry.” He turned and sprinted back to the bow. The hill range was easily visible now in the growing light. As were the first signs of chop in the water. Rapids. And that meant rocks.
“Anchors away!”
Konowa wedged himself between bales of gun cotton and closed his eyes. He heard the anchors splash into the water and a moment later the port anchor hit bottom, yawing the ship toward the left bank. A moment after that, the starboard anchor dug in, yanking the Black Spike back toward the right bank.
Something snapped and went rolling across the deck to crash into something else. Konowa didn’t bother turning around to look. He lifted his head and opened his eyes to see up ahead. They were still going too fast, but at least they were keeping dead center.
“Captain! Get everyone topside now!” Konowa shouted, hoping he’d been heard.
The Black Spike hit its first rock. The entire ship juddered. There was a horrible screeching noise from far below as the ship passed by the rock on the port side. It felt like a nail being scraped down his spine. When it was passed the ship picked up speed again, but not quite as much as before. Perhaps the anchors and his father were having an effect.
“We’re taking on water!”
Or that.
Konowa wasn’t too worried about drowning in a river with land in sight on either side, but he hoped they wouldn’t have to get wet if it could be helped. The ship took several more hits, jostling one way then the other as it continued moving upstream. Its speed had definitely slowed, but nowhere near anything Konowa considered safe. He saw a large hill pass by on their starboard and had a moment of vertigo as the ship climbed past it.
“After this, I walk everywhere,” he muttered.
He also realized they’d passed through the Deep Forest of the Hyntaland and were now moving into Her realm. The temperature seemed to drop as soon as he thought it, or perhaps he just finally noticed. Though the sun was now well up in the sky, it was a gray, muddy day. Thick clouds boiled above suggesting rain or snow. Konowa felt the first drop on his neck and cursed. Naturally, it would be sleet.
“Not nearly as fast as The Flying Elf, but much more exhilarating,” Major Alstonfar said, crawling up to lay beside Konowa at the bow.
“I hadn’t noticed,” Konowa lied, wishing he had Captain Ervod here. Now there was a man who knew this wasn’t supposed to be fun. “Are the men ready?”
“And raring to go,” Pimmer said, then held up a finger in question. “Is that appropriate military parlance? Would you prefer more formal reports?”
“Major, raring to go is music to my ears. And what about you? Not your first dance, but you’ve never officially led before.”
It took a moment for Pimmer to get the pun. “Ah, very droll, sir. Well, yes, I must admit to a certain trepidation, but-”
The Black Spike leaped into the air as it bounced off a series of small rocks and slammed into a massive one. Timbers from below the waterline cartwheeled past the ship.
“-I look forward to having the opportunity to prove myself in battle and want to thank you again for the belief you’ve shown in me by giving me this chance.”
Konowa looked at the man. “You do know we’re sinking, right?”
“I imagine we have been for some time. Makes things that much more exciting, really. Will we sink before we get there? Will we get a chance to fire the Black Spike ’s guns or will we all have to swim for it? Miss Synjyn will no doubt find ways to make it sound even more dramatic.”
Great swaths of white water ahead told Konowa they were about to get their answer. Her mountain loomed above them now. Konowa risked a look back and shuddered. They had to be halfway up it already. He’d felt a certain degree of safety on the ship as they traversed Her realm, but looking back it appeared as if they were hanging off a cliff. He was ready to jump now when the ship slowed and the bow drove between two large rocks and came to a surprisingly gentle stop.
“That wasn’t so bad at all,” Pimmer said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Konowa wanted to agree, but he was busy trying to throw up. The sound of rushing water battering the bow didn’t help. The icy spray was coating everything. They’d be a solid block of ice inside an hour. They’d have to get off the ship now.
“Arkhorn will be disappointed we didn’t get a chance to try out his handiwork,” Konowa said, standing up.
The first black arrow missed him by a few inches. The second by less than an inch. He was facedown on the deck before the third arrow had a chance.
T hey’re in the trees!”
Black arrows zipped through the rigging of the Black Spike and lodged with loud thunks into the decking. Others twanged as they bounced off the extra planking. The yammering howl of rakkes broke out all around them. Other, stranger cries added to the clamor.
“RSM, you have the guns!” Konowa shouted. He crawled forward and poked his head up and around a barrel of what he suspected were pickles. Sarka har dotted the rocks. There was little purchase for them here on the mountainside, but great snakes of roots connected one to another, helping to anchor them in place. Rakkes streamed toward the ship from both sides of the river, coming to the riverbanks and throwing rocks in their frustration. Further back, Konowa spotted the dark, flitting figures of Her dark, twisted elves. “There but for my parents,” he said, making a mental note to thank his father when all this was over.
He was starting to wonder what happened to Yimt when he heard the dwarf’s voice rise above the din. “This is for Ally! Fire!”
The Black Spike didn’t disintegrate, not entirely. The combined fire of over sixty cannons shook what was left of the ship to its core. Massive oak ribs snapped like twigs. Whole sections of deck collapsed and the aft mast split all the way to the top before toppling over.
The effect on the riverbanks for two hundred yards deep, however, was total obliteration. A gale of death swept over the rocks, scouring everything on it like a million scythes. Elves, rakkes, and sarka har simply vanished in a pulverized mist of bone, flesh, and blood. Konowa tried to stand, but for a moment his legs wouldn’t cooperate. The ringing in his ears was so loud it merged into one long wail. When he finally regained some balance he stood, coughing in the thick cloud of smoke now choking the Black Spike. When the smoke finally dissipated Konowa simply stared. Even the rocks bore the scars of the Black Spike ’s cannonade. Everything was cracked and gouged.
“I would have liked a few more cannon, but overall I’d say that worked,” Yimt said, walking up to the bow. “You think Ally saw that?”
Konowa looked down at the dwarf. “Saw it, felt it, and most definitely heard it.”
Yimt beamed, his metal teeth gleaming. “Aye, that’s what I think, too.”
Corporal Feylan came running to the bow. “Colonel! We’re starting to drift.”
It took Konowa a moment to understand what that meant. And then it hit home. “Get everyone off now. We got our free ride, but this is the end of the line. The Black Spike is going back down the mountain.”
Gangplanks were hurriedly thrown over the starboard side, which was now less than two yards from the riverbank. Some men jumped, but most waited their turn and traversed the planking to land on the shore. Konowa watched the procession, aware the ship was drifting backward faster and faster. The end of the gangplank was scraping against the rocks.
“I’m sorry about your ship,” Konowa said, addressing Captain Ervod.
“She served us well. I’ll-”
The Black Spike lurched and began listing heavily to starboard, cutting off the captain’s eulogy. The man stumbled and fell down the gangplank to land at the river’s edge where waiting sailors fished him out. Konowa ran onto the gangplank and was soon tumbling himself the last yard to land in a heap on the rocks. He looked back and saw with horror that his father was still on the ship. The older elf was standing in front of the shimmering image of his ryk faur.
“Father! Get off the ship!”
Jurwan reached out a hand and patted the bark, then turned and slowly walked across the deck and down the gangplank as if his life wasn’t in mortal danger. A shadow flitted above Konowa and he looked up to see Tyul leap gracefully from the tree to land casually on the rocks as light as a, well, leaf. The image of the Wolf Oak flickered and then was gone.
A moment later, the Black Spike turned onto its side, its remaining masts splintering on the rocks as it was carried away by the river. Cannons rolled across the deck and splashed into the water, and then the ship shuddered and broke apart.
“A sad end to a brave girl,” Rallie said, scribbling in her papers.
Konowa could only nod in agreement. He picked himself up and brushed off the knees of his trousers. A soldier handed him his shako, which he jammed onto his head. Looking around, the sailors were all grouped together looking forlorn and lost. They were, however, armed. RSM Arkhorn had apparently seen to everything.
“Captain,” Konowa said, “this wasn’t part of the plan, although I suppose it was always the likelihood. I don’t feel right about leaving you here, but if you come with us…”
Captain Ervod shook his head. “We’d only slow you down and be in your way. And I have wounded. We’ll get ourselves sorted and set up a defense here as best we can. Depending on what happens up there, you’ll have a place to fall back to.”
Konowa smiled. If they needed a place to fall back to, they wouldn’t need it because they’d be dead. “Be well,” Konowa said, saluting.
Captain Ervod returned it. “May a fair wind favor you.”
The flapping of wings brought everyone’s heads up. Konowa broke out into a huge grin.
“They just did.”
A huge falcon the size of a horse landed on the rocks near the group. It laid its cargo on the ground before hopping awkwardly over to Rallie who cooed and petted it. Konowa ran to Visyna and held her, ignoring the frost fire. She awoke yelling and he reluctantly let go only to be bowled over by Jir. Konowa could only offer him a couple of playful swipes before he stood up and motioned for Jir to back off.
The area grew quiet as Jurwan walked over to the body of Chayii. Konowa followed, and knelt down beside his father. “I am sorry. I feel like if I had-”
Jurwan held up his hand. “She was proud of you. Always. She may not have agreed with the path you chose, or that I helped put you on, but she never once doubted the good in you. Know that. Cherish that.”
Konowa realized he did. “We must go, Father. She’ll know we’re here.”
Jurwan stood and faced him. “Yes, you must go. I, however, will stay here with your mother.”
Konowa opened his mouth to object and then understood.
“You climbed Her mountain once. Best you stay here and help the sailors. It’s my turn now.”
Jurwan nodded. He reached out and placed his hand over Konowa’s heart, the palm of his hand resting against the black acorn.
“When all this is done, you may wish to plant this.”
Konowa gently removed his father’s hand. “It’s evil. Look what it did to you. Imagine what it could do as a tree.”
Jurwan nodded. “Perhaps, but perhaps its proximity to your heart all this time has changed it more than it has changed you.”
“I have to go now, Father,” Konowa said, stepping back. He motioned with his hand and knew RSM Arkhorn would get the troops moving. “Stay here, stay safe, and know… know that I love you.”
“Good luck, my son,” Jurwan said.
Konowa looked at him one more time, then turned and headed up the mountain, slowing his pace so that Visyna could match his stride. Rallie came up behind them and fell into step. Konowa felt comfort, surrounded as he was, but he knew his place was at the front.
He spoke to the two women. “Whatever happens, She is mine to deal with.” It wasn’t a question.
“Konowa-” Visyna started to say, but he just stared her down.
“She is mine.” He turned to look at Rallie.
“As you wish. I’ve only ever been along for the ride,” she said.
Konowa watched her a moment longer then turned back to the path leading up the mountain. He guessed it would take until just before nightfall for them to reach the top, but he planned to sprint ahead long before then. He couldn’t explain it, but the dream was clear. It all came down to him.
“Major Alstonfar, let’s pick up the pace. The Black Spike did a good job of scaring off anything within a couple of miles of here, so let’s make good time while we can.”
Orders were passed along from soldier to soldier which didn’t take long as they numbered a little over five dozen. Color Sergeant Aguom ordered the unfurling of the regimental and Queen’s Colors. The two cloth symbols were raised and snapped and rippled in the wind. Konowa took a moment to watch them, feeling a sense of pride and honor. His heart beat faster to see them in the air. He looked around at his men. They were a sight. Clad in black bark with tree branches sticking from their shakos they looked more like the monsters they were about to do battle with than Calahr’s finest.
His chest swelled at the sight of them. They weren’t his elves. Those soldiers were gone, lost a long time ago. He’d never had a chance to say he was sorry, to try and make them understand why he did what he did, and why, if he had the chance to do it all again, he would do the same damn thing. All this time he’d spent searching for them, believing that finding them would set everything right, only to realize that he’d had his Iron Elves with him the whole time. This ragtag collection of misfits were his regiment. RSM Arkhorn, quite possibly the best and worst soldier to ever wear sigger green. He sought out the soldiers he knew best, looking each in the eye, perhaps for the very last time. Color Sergeant Aguom, Corporals Vulhber and Feylan, Scolly and even Zwitty. He found his eyes searching for soldiers no longer there. RSM Lorian, Privates Meri and Kester and Teeter and the religious farmer, Inkermon, and above all, Private Renwar. He could still see the slender boy looking far too young to be carrying a musket, and how he changed before his eyes into something Konowa doubted he’d ever fully understand.
He caught himself daydreaming and stomped his boot on the ground. It was time. He motioned to Major Alstonfar and the order went out.
The Iron Elves shouldered their muskets, and marched forward, and into battle.
T hey’d climbed almost two hours without a sign of any living creature except the sporadic carcasses of sarka har. They were all dead, or dying.
“What killed them?” Konowa asked, walking off the trail to get a closer look at one. It didn’t look like it had been attacked, more that it had just wilted and died.
“The natural order is so polluted here, and there is nothing of value for them to feed on,” Visyna said, her voice quavering.
Konowa was worried about her. She appeared weak and ill. He felt it in the ground himself, but it only fueled his desire to get to the top. “Perhaps you should-”
Visyna glared at him and he closed his mouth.
“I am going with you all the way. If you even think of suggesting otherwise the Shadow Monarch will be the least of your worries.”
Konowa smiled in spite of the situation. “As you wish.”
The snap of a single musket broke the unnatural quiet.
“Rakkes!”
The beasts poured out of the rocks like ants from a nest. “Steady! It’s nothing we haven’t seen before,” Yimt shouted, moving quickly between the soldiers and forming them into a double line as the first row knelt and prepared to fire.
Konowa judged that he was close enough to make his run now, but something gave him pause. The rakkes coming at them were not like those of even a few hours ago. These seemed disoriented, and weak. The first volley of musket fire crashed into them, knocking down thirty and sending an equal number backward where they shrieked and beat their chests, but gave little indication of charging again.
Soldiers cheered, but Konowa didn’t trust it. This wasn’t right. First the dead sarka har, and now less than maniacal rakkes.
“Archers!”
The sky darkened as hundreds of arrows arced toward them. Konowa’s sense of suspicion had been right. He went to grab Visyna to push her to safety, but Rallie stepped into his path and knocked him off balance. The arrows reached their apogee and began to fall straight toward them.
A sudden wind gust tore along the path blowing most of the arrows astray. The few that fell either hit the stony ground or bounced off the sarka har bark the soldiers wore as armor. Konowa looked to Visyna. She swayed where she stood, but she was weaving. Rallie had her quill poised above a sheaf of papers.
“Visyna!”
“We can hold them off,” she said, bravely smiling at him.
Konowa would have returned it, but the clicking sound of hundreds of pins on rock made him blanch. Dozens of korwirds were scrambling through the rakkes and charging at the Iron Elves. Konowa shivered at the look of the things. They clattered over the rock like armored snakes on hundreds of pointy twigs. Each was easily five feet long and possessed a pair of clacking pincers at its head. He’d never seen one before, but Yimt had gone into great detail about them so that there was no mistaking the nasty-looking things crawling toward them.
“Fire!”
Musket shot spewed out of barrels and raced across fifty yards to tear into rakke and korwird alike, blasting them apart in a mess of blood and chitinous plating. More arrows launched skyward and Visyna called up another wind, though not as strong as the last one. A soldier screamed and went down, his hands pressed over his hip where a black arrow had lodged, blood spurting between his fingers.
The scratch of Rallie’s quill across paper set a hum on the air, and more black arrows went wide of the mark. Konowa cursed. They were pinned down to the spot. They could hold off Her creatures, but there was no way to move forward. Dusk was already tinting the sky, elongating shadows on the ground.
“Colonel,” Major Alstonfar said, jogging up to crouch beside Konowa. He was sweating and breathing heavy, but he sounded calm and in control. “The men are doing a superlative job, but at this rate of fire they’ll expend their ammunition in the next half hour. I’ve ordered them to wait until they have a clear shot, but that will only buy us a little more time.”
Konowa reached out and patted the man on the shoulder, taking his hand back quickly as frost fire began to burn on Pimmer’s uniform. To his credit, Pimmer simply brushed the fire out with his hand. A rumbling roar came from somewhere up the mountain. Whatever it was, it was coming this way. “Tell the men to fix bayonets.”
“What is it?” Pimmer asked.
“No idea, but it won’t be pleasant,” Konowa answered, sprinting away to check on Rallie and Visyna. The women had taken up station behind a large boulder and were continuing to aid the regiment. Visyna was leaning against the rock, her hands trembling as she weaved. Rallie was crouched down by her side, a large sheaf of paper resting on a thigh as her quill flew across the page. “Do you know what’s coming?”
Both women shook their heads, too busy to speak as they concentrated on their magic. The hairs on Konowa’s arms stood up and a trickle of cold sweat raced down his spine. He turned and ran back toward the line, growing all the more frustrated that he had no good plan about what to do next. Were this any other battle, he’d order a tactical withdrawal to a more defensible location, but that wasn’t an option, not here, not when he was so close.
The rumbling grew louder. Konowa unsheathed his saber, the frost fire sparkling along the blade at once.
“Steady now,” Yimt ordered, moving behind the line and offering encouragement to the troops. His drukar was clenched in his right fist, and like Konowa’s saber, sparked with black frost.
A long, guttural scream was answered by a dozen more, and a pack of misshapen dyre wolves bounded from among the sarka har and raced toward the Iron Elves. Each wolf was easily the size of Jir, but where the bengar was sleek muscle, fluid movement, and controlled violence, these creatures were starvation thin and ran with a stilted, drunklike gait. A sickly yellow foam drooled from their muzzles filled with serrated teeth and black pus oozed from their milky white eyes.
Before the order to fire could be given, Tyul sprang up from the rocks and moved in front of the firing line and began loosing arrows at the wolves. Four went down in a matter of seconds, but not even the elf’s lightning-fast reflexes could take them all before they reached the line.
“Tyul! Get the hell out of there!” Konowa shouted, running forward.
Tyul never turned, but continued to fire arrow after arrow as the wolves bore down on him. When the creatures were only a few yards away the twang of many bowstrings reached Konowa’s ears. Arrows whistled past his head, between the Iron Elves, and struck the wolves in mid-jump. The bodies fell and slid along the ground and stopped just inches from where Tyul stood.
Konowa turned. Elves of the Long Watch emerged from the shadows, their bows still active as they engaged Her elves and the rakkes and korwirds. Jurwan walked among them, still as serene as if he were out for a walk on a warm, summer day.
“Father?” Konowa shouted.
“The elves of the Long Watch may not listen to the advice of another elf,” Jurwan said, “but when their own Wolf Oaks saw the rightness of aiding you, they felt compelled to help.”
More rakkes appeared among the trees, their gibbering calls growing in intensity. Konowa knew he had to act now.
“Tell them thanks!” he shouted, and turn and ran back to the line. “Major, fix bayonets and on my order, wheel right and clear that line of trees. The elves will cover you. Once you’ve secured that find cover and keep them busy.”
Pimmer nodded. “And you, Colonel?”
“Just see that it’s done.”
Pimmer saluted and passed along the order to Yimt.
A volley of Long Watch arrows cleared the woods for twenty yards. The Iron Elves stood up and charged, their bayonets ablaze with frost fire. Any rakke or korwird in their path was stabbed to death. The few remaining dark elves stepped forward to plug the gap, but those not killed by the Long Watch fell to the blade of Tyul. The elf slid between tree and elf, slashing and stabbing with an economy of movement and absolute precision. Konowa could have watched him all day, but already a new pack of dyre wolves was racing through the sarka har and more rakkes were massing.
Konowa ran past the soldiers. He spied Yimt and slowed. “I’ll be back,” Konowa shouted over his shoulder, running up the path. He looked down at his saber as he ran. Stygian black frost crackled along the length of the blade.
A black blur preceded him up the path and took a rakke by the throat, shaking the beast so hard the head ripped off. Jir dropped the body and launched himself at the next beast, swiping his claws at its thighs and quickly pouncing on its chest when the creature screamed and fell. A moment later there was a snap and the screaming stopped.
Konowa leaped over Jir and kept running. It was his turn now.
He wasn’t sure how many rakkes and dark elves and other creatures crossed his path. He slashed and stabbed as he ran, ignoring the arrows that flew past his head and the claws that tried to rip his face. The frost fire arced out from him like lightning, striking creatures five and ten yards away from him. Soon, he had no need to swing his saber at all. As the sun dipped below the mountain and darkness settled in, he followed the path by the light of his own black flame.
He was well into the thorny thicket of Her forest at the very peak of the mountain before he realized it. He’d expected a ferocious response, but the sarka har here could only flail in mad desperation. He pushed his way through, destroying the blood trees with sturdy swipes of his saber. Instead of feeling emboldened, he grew increasingly cautious. It was a trick, it had to be. The Shadow Monarch was too powerful. Her forest and Her creatures couldn’t be dying, because if they were dying… Rallie might be right.
He paused, breathing in the cold air. He watched his breath mist in front of him. It doesn’t matter! You came here to end this. End this!
Konowa stood up straight and gripped the pommel of his saber so hard that black flame shot twenty feet in the air from the end of it. He slashed through the last ring of trees and emerged on the rocky summit where the Shadow Monarch knelt by Her Silver Wolf Oak.
The power here was caustic. The acorn against his chest flared, driving needles of cold deep into his heart. He coughed, breathing in the mix of cold, toxic magic permeating the surrounding rocks. The ground beneath his feet groaned. Large fissures crisscrossed the summit from which moans and screams echoed from the far depths. Konowa moved carefully around them, staying well away from the edges. He could make out claw marks where rakkes and other creatures had emerged.
The Shadow Monarch turned to look at him as he approached, and like the dream, a small, scared, elderly elf woman stared up at him.
“My child,” she said, reaching out Her hands to him. Her voice grated on his ears. It was high and shaky, far from the commanding voice he’d often heard in his dreams.
Konowa stopped and looked around the space. Even here the sarka har looked sick. He studied the Silver Wolf Oak and felt revulsion at what he saw. What should have been a tall, straight tree was instead a gnarled, twisted mess of branches sloughing off their bark. Its metallic leaves were either wilting or already fallen, and black ichor oozed from hundreds of cracks in its wood. It was dying!
He knew She couldn’t stop him. Neither could the Silver Wolf Oak. All he had to do was walk forward the last few paces and strike. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.
“Why?” he asked, swinging his saber around to encompass everything. “Why? Why do this?” He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. “Why any of this?”
The Shadow Monarch began to babble. Konowa waited, expecting a trap. Tears were running down the old elf ’s face as She gently tried to piece back together the dying Silver Wolf Oak.
“She doesn’t have any answers,” Rallie said, stepping into the clearing. “She never did. Her mind is all but gone. It has been for a long time.”
Konowa spun, the acorn against his heart burning cold. “You? Rallie?” His world was spinning. No, she couldn’t be.
“All this time, and you really thought She was the power behind all of this?” Rallie asked.
It felt as if someone had pushed him off a cliff. His muscles grew weak and he felt dizzy. Rallie pulled a cigar from her robe and placed it between her teeth, then brought out a tinderbox and lit it.
“I don’t understand,” Konowa said, trying to keep his wits. He could hear the slithering and creaking of branches all around him. Something was happening. He knew he was missing a piece to the puzzle, but what?
“No? I’m not surprised,” Rallie said. Her cigar hadn’t lit so she tried the tinderbox again. Sparks flashed, but the cigar would not catch flame.
Konowa blinked. In all the time he’d known Rallie, he’d never seen her use a tinderbox. “You witch.” His strength returned in a rush. “I may not be the brightest candle, but I know a forgery when I see one.” He raised his saber and took a step toward the Shadow Monarch. She still knelt by the tree, keening softly now and rocking back and forth.
“Finish Her, Konowa, and this will be over,” Visyna said, appearing out of the trees to stand beside Rallie. Again the acorn flared and Konowa cried out in pain. He dropped to one knee.
“You aren’t Visyna,” he said through gritted teeth. “Your parlor tricks won’t work on me.”
“Then kill Her and be done with this,” Yimt said, emerging from the right. Konowa fell to both knees as the pain pierced through to his back. “Kill Her, and set me free.”
Branches began moving around Konowa. He forced himself to his feet. He ignored Yimt and turned his attention to the Silver Wolf Oak. “You said me.”
“Kill Her, Konowa, kill Her,” the Duke of Rakestraw said, stepping out of the trees just a few feet away from him. His long red locks fluttered about his face, and he held his long sword, Wolf’s Tooth, in his hands, but the cold pain squeezing Konowa’s chest told him what he already knew. That wasn’t his friend. Tears filled Konowa’s eyes, but turned to ice as they froze on his cheeks.
“You… said… me.” He took a step forward, then another and pointed toward the Shadow Monarch. “You called to Her all those centuries ago.”
Jurwan approached with his hands outstretched. “It is really me, my son. You must focus. Kill Her, and this will be done.”
Konowa laughed, though it felt as if his ribs were breaking. Cold seeped into every joint. He ignored the images of his friends and family and looked past the Shadow Monarch, and directly at the Silver Wolf Oak. “This wasn’t about Her. It was about you.
Kaman Rahl made the same mistake She made. You’re the real power here, not Her.”
In answer, the avatars of those he loved began to close around him. Konowa held his saber in front of him, coaxing the frost fire to a shimmering black furnace. He heard the grinding of wood on wood. The figures around him shuddered, and he saw through the facades to the twisted mess of ichor and wood forming the structure on which the illusions projected.
His mother appeared in the circle surrounding him. Her sad eyes found his. She reached out her hands. “Kill Her, my son. Kill Her and set me free.”
The cold now was so intense Konowa was having difficulty breathing. His entire body was shaking so hard it took all his strength to hold on to his saber. He watched with horror as the frost fire on the blade began to sputter.
“You must do this,” Chayii said, moving closer as the ring tightened.
Konowa shook his head and swung his saber around him like a drunk. He almost toppled over, but caught his footing in time. “No! I won’t. I want to know why. Why mark us? Why seek us out?”
The sound of branches moving grew in volume. The circle opened leaving Konowa no route except straight forward. The group of people he knew closed to within arm’s reach, but Konowa could no longer lift his own. The frost fire on his saber went out. Tears of frustration streamed down his face and froze. “I want… an answer!”
A branch reached out and circled around his right wrist. Frost fire burned at the spot, searing his skin. The branch tightened, and pointed his saber at the Shadow Monarch. It pulled him forward.
Konowa dug in his heels leaving a trail of black flame in his wake. “Why?”
Chayii moved to his side. “Kill Her my son, kill Her.”
Konowa wrenched his arm until his shoulder joint burned and lights began to flash behind his eyes. “Tell. Me. Why!” He pulled his arm and broke free of the branch. More snaked toward him. Frost fire burst again along his blade and he began slashing wildly at any that came close, setting them afire. The Shadow Monarch cringed, throwing Her hands over Her head.
Chayii moved toward him, but he held his saber in front of him and kept her at bay. “My son, this can all be over. She killed so many you love. She killed me. Kill Her, and the oath is broken.”
A new cold washed over Konowa’s body. The shades of the dead Iron Elves appeared, taking their place beside him. The circle of avatars surrounding Konowa moved back. RSM Lorian on Zwindarra. One-eyed Meri. Private Teeter. And Private Renwar. They said nothing, but there was no need. They and he were one. Their pain was his. Their need was his need.
“Break the oath. Set them free,” Chayii said.
Konowa stepped forward again. “No.”
Waves of anguish washed over Konowa as the shades writhed. He was prepared for battle, but this was something else. Life after life cut far too short flashed through his mind. Husbands that would never return to their wives. Sons who would never see their parents, and fathers who would never hold their children. The sorrow left him breathless. He sobbed until he thought he’d pass out.
“Why?” he screamed, staggering another step forward.
The image that was Chayii shattered, and in its place he saw the Silver Wolf Oak as it saw itself, as it wanted to be. It stood tall and proud, a towering, monstrous example of a Wolf Oak, its leafy crown a sky-blotting collection of glittering Stars. “This is why,” a new voice emanating from the Shadow Monarch said. “I was destined for more! I am more, and I will be, once She is gone.”
Konowa roared. “You’re a tree! You’re a damn, bloody tree! Why? Why all of this? If you hate Her, kill Her yourself. Why mark me?” he asked, pointing to his ruined ear. “Why mark any of us?”
“You wonder why I marked you? Why I marked the others? She is dying. She was always going to die. Do you know what happens to a Silver Wolf Oak when its ryk faur dies?”
A light of understanding dawned in Konowa. “You die, too. Not right away, but you wither and die. The bond has its price.” Konowa understood better now why Tyul was the way he was. “If you kill Her, you kill yourself.”
“And so I need a new bond, a new life to take Her place. The acorn your father gave you was my gift. She did my bidding as Her own. But now I need more. Her strength bleeds away. I need a strong elf, one not enraptured by the natural world as all these other elves are. As She was. And so I sought to set some of you apart in the hopes that one day I would find one strong enough to bond with and create a new world.”
The acorn against Konowa’s heart cracked. He felt the first tendril of what was inside pierce his skin and start to worm its way into his flesh.
“I created you, my child, and now we will be one.”
Konowa screamed and reached for his chest. He ripped his tunic exposing his flesh. He grabbed the acorn and pulled, but he couldn’t remove it. The saber fell from his right hand. Everything was going dark. More branches snaked around him.
He looked to the shades for help, but they were trapped in a shimmering wall of frost fire. He was alone.
A branch wrapped itself around his right wrist while another reached to the ground for his saber.
The saber wasn’t there. Konowa forced his head up. The Shadow Monarch stood next to the Silver Wolf Oak, his saber in Her hands.
“I cannot kill you, my love, my life,” She said, the tears streaming down Her face. “I saved you, I gave you life.” Her voice was broken with sobs. The love and agony in it made Konowa hurt.
The branches of the Silver Wolf Oak shook and thrashed in an attempt to get to the Shadow Monarch, but they were so interwoven now around Konowa they could not reach Her. She moved forward until She stood beside the tree’s twisted trunk. Her sobs grew louder as She sunk to Her knees beside it.
Branches snapped as the sarka har flailed around them. The entire mountain began to tremble. Konowa stumbled as the rock heaved beneath him. The air turned so cold he could no longer breathe. His vision grayed at the edge.
“You have to!” Konowa choked. He struggled to move forward, but the cold and the shaking ground made it impossible.
The Shadow Monarch turned to look at him. “No, I can’t. I won’t. But if I cannot be with my love in this life, I will be with it in the next.” She turned the saber so that the point was facing Her chest, and then She fell forward.
The mountain shuddered. Rocks cracked and blew apart as the Silver Wolf Oak’s roots ripped through the deep, climbing back to the surface to ensnare Konowa in their grasp. The first roots broke free and wrapped themselves around his ankle, but they were too late.
The summit exploded in a shower of black, crystal flame. The Shadow Monarch’s body vanished in a gale of frost fire. The flame ignited the ichor dripping from the Silver Wolf Oak and set it ablaze. It flamed at once, burning so dark the night appeared as day. Konowa burned, too, only now, he had no protection from the frost fire. He stumbled blindly through the flame, struggling to find a way out. He tripped and fell, landing hard on a rock. He struggled to stay conscious as the black flames roared skyward, consuming everything on the mountain peak. He knew if he stayed here, he would die.
The pain tried to keep him pinned to the ground, but the fire inside made him roll. He climbed to his feet, still reeling. He couldn’t see. Everything was aflame. Sarka har shrieked as they burned. The Silver Wolf Oak’s branches thrashed and tore itself apart in its funeral pyre of ugly, black flame.
A wave of cold air suddenly surrounded him. He looked up. The shades of the dead stood beside him again, shielding him from the raging fire. Private Renwar stepped forth. His shadowy form solidified for a moment, revealing the young lad Konowa had first met. They locked eyes. Alwyn smiled, and saluted. The other shades followed suit. Lorian. Meri. His men. His brothers.
Konowa struggled to stand upright and returned their salute, the tears streaming freely down his face. It wasn’t the salute that made him cry. It was seeing their smiles.
The oath was broken.
“Thank you,” Alwyn said, and was gone.
Konowa blinked. He was alone on the mountaintop. The fire still burned. He flung his body off the rock, tumbling and sliding until he could no longer feel the icy flames. He came to rest in the crook of two rocks. The mountain was shaking beneath him. Rocks split and fractured as chasms dug too long and too deep collapsed.
Debris began falling past him. The irony that he would survive his encounter on the mountaintop only to be killed by a falling rock put a grin on his face.
He waited for the fateful blow, but none came. The mountain stopped shaking. He sat up, clutching his chest. When he brought his hand away and looked, the black stain on his chest was still there, but already he could feel warmth spreading through his body. He ripped the black acorn stuck to his chest, and this time it came away. As he held it in his hands he felt the coldness leave it. He thought about what his father said, about how its contact with him would have changed it.
He took in a tentative breath, waiting for a stab of pain to black him out, but beyond a level of overall agony he had become accustomed to, he felt pretty damn good. He gingerly climbed to his feet and looked up. The black flames had gone out. He looked around. There were no signs of sarka har anywhere. He clenched his fists. Nothing. No frost fire.
He climbed back up to the mountaintop. A thick, black ash floated in the air, coating everything. Nothing else remained to show the Shadow Monarch and Her forest had ever been there. The rock where the Silver Wolf Oak had grown had been scoured clean by the frost fire. Konowa kicked his boot through the black ash until he heard a familiar clink. He bent down and picked up his saber. He hefted it in his hands and made a couple of practice swipes in the air. He spun around, expecting something to be standing behind him, but he was alone.
Konowa sheathed his saber. There wasn’t even an echo. He wanted to feel something more, but after all this time, the feeling that overwhelmed all others was that for the first time in his life, he could see himself being happy.
It was a scary thought. He shivered, and decided it was time to get back. He took one last look around and started to set off back down the mountain, but paused.
He opened his hand and looked at the acorn. Could his father be right? Was this a chance for things to be different? After everything, maybe he could find a way to bond with nature. Gently, he knelt down and placed the acorn on the ground. He stood back up and looked at it. A light breeze drifted through the clearing, tousling his hair across his face. For a long time he stared at the acorn, waiting. Then he raised his boot and slammed his heel down on the acorn with all his might. The acorn splintered into several pieces. He lifted his boot and brought it down again and again and again until there was nothing left.
“Bloody trees,” he muttered, turning and never looking back.
“I’ll leave out the parts where I screamed,” he said to himself as he began composing his story for the others. The rest of it, he decided, he’d tell more or less as it happened.
More or less.
Konowa smiled.
It felt… good.
K onowa walked along a path among the trees, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush against the bark as he went. Autumn was in the air. He still wore his uniform, although it no longer conformed to any regulations. His trousers were neatly patched with pieces of Hasshugeb robe, and his jacket no longer carried epaulettes or shiny buttons, the latter having long been replaced by polished pieces of wood from a few shards of the Black Spike. He reached up and scratched his head, still not used to not having a shako there. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of the musket on its sling. His right hand rested on the pommel of his saber with a light but firm grip.
The wind chased fallen leaves before him like a covey of startled quail. It had been three months since the battle on the mountain-top. Three months and he still kept a wary eye on the trees around him. Better safe than sorry. He paused and took in a breath.
“Okay,” he said to himself, closing his eyes, “I can do this.”
He stretched out his arms, palms up, and listened to the forest. It was alive with the sounds of birds and beasts and all manner of insects and other living creatures. The distant voices of the Wolf Oaks were there, too, but if they were talking to him, he couldn’t understand a word they were saying.
A squirrel scampered down a trunk nearby and paused to look at him. Konowa raised an eyebrow at it. “Father?”
The squirrel bushed its tail and darted back up the tree.
“Guess not.” He tried again, straining to hear more than the usual buzz of noise. He closed his eyes and concentrated. C’mon, something talk to me.
“You look like a juggler who’s lost his balls.”
Konowa opened his eyes. Yimt stood a few feet up ahead on the path. His teeth gleamed as he smiled. He was dressed in soft brown and green leathers, and carried a custom-tailored long bow on his back. His trusty drukar hung at his side off his old Calahrian uniform’s belt.
“The forest and I remain, unsurprisingly, not on speaking terms.”
“Just as well,” Yimt said, stepping forward as he shoved a wad of crute between his teeth. He offered some to Konowa who politely shook his head. “Brigadier generals that hear trees don’t stay brigadiers for long.”
Konowa snorted, and fell in step with the dwarf as they started walking back down the path. In the distance just visible through the trees, a small cottage and a neatly domed pile of rocks with a small wooden door sat by a river in a lush, green meadow. “I told you, I’m not taking the commission. Marshal Ruwl got me once, but not again. The Iron Elves are in good hands with Pimmer.”
“What about the message from Miss Synjyn, and the King? They all seem rather keen to have you back under arms,” Yimt said. His voice was filled with mirth at Konowa’s discomfort. “The Shadow Monarch and Her forces might be gone, but the Empire is far from stable. And you are the hero. I read all about it in the Imperial Weekly Herald,” Yimt said, flourishing a scroll of paper.
Konowa made a face. “They can send Rakestraw’s cavalry out looking for me for all I care. I am officially retired. I’m back where I belong, in a forest… among the trees…” Konowa stopped walking and took the scroll from Yimt and unfurled it. A very lifelike sketch of several members of the regiment graced the top of the page along with the official citations commending their acts of bravery. Fifty-two had survived. It hurt to read that, but Konowa was grateful that many had come through. For a very long time he feared the number would be zero.
He easily recognized Corporal Vulhber, RSM Aguom, Private Scolly Erinmoss, and a beaming Major Pimrald Alstonfar. They formed the core of the fully reconstituted Iron Elves, and Konowa couldn’t be happier about that. He ignored his own sketch and grinned when he saw Yimt’s. Rallie had somehow managed to capture the glint of his metal teeth and mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Even newly minted Ensign Feylan of the Imperial Calahrian Navy was depicted. At this rate the lad would have his own ship in a couple more years.
Konowa’s joy dimmed as he scanned down to the posthumous awards. The list was long, much too long. Rallie had drawn the deceased with grace and humor, capturing them at their best, their eyes bright and their smiles genuine and strong, but it still hollowed Konowa out to look at them.
He let the scroll roll up and handed it back to Yimt.
“What about you? Don’t you have a wife and family missing you? You’re a free dwarf. Why not go home and open your law firm? I’m sure there are guilty men in jail right now for no other reason than you’re out here and not in a courtroom working your particular brand of magic.”
Yimt looked down at the ground for a moment before looking up into Konowa’s eyes. “I had to make sure you were okay. I… we lost a lot of good lads. I couldn’t stand to lose anymore.”
Konowa reached out and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yimt, look at me. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I’m happy.”
A rustling in the trees cut off his next words. Both elf and dwarf turned. Konowa’s hand slid to the pommel of his saber while Yimt drew out his drukar. The sound grew louder as it moved closer. Konowa crouched, tensing his muscles. A moment later, Jir bounded out of the low brush covered in burrs. A moment after that the smell hit them. He looked at both of them, wagging his stubby tail.
“ Yirka umno, Jir! I told you, stay away from skunks!” Konowa turned to Yimt. “Whose turn is it to wash him?”
Yimt was already several yards down the path. “Sorry, can’t hear you. See you at dinner!”
Konowa shouted a curse and reluctantly started walking toward the river, motioning for Jir to follow. “Do you think you’ll ever learn?”
“Do you?” Visyna asked.
Konowa looked up to see her coming up the path to meet them. “Yimt tells me you let Jir get in trouble again.”
Konowa smiled. Visyna looked… perfect. Her long brown hair gleamed in the sun and her almond-shaped eyes flashed with joy.
“Me? You give me too much credit. I was just going for a walk.” He closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. He shooed Jir away with his boot and the bengar loped off after the dwarf. “Yimt asked me about the offer to rejoin the army again.”
Visyna tensed in his arms. “What did you say?”
He squeezed her tight. She felt perfect, too. “I told him I was happy, and that I was back where I belong.”
Visyna frowned. “But you hate the forest.”
Konowa leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Forest, what forest? All I see is you.”
She reached up and wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling his face to hers. The touch of her lips on his was warm and soft. They pulled away slowly, and then started walking back down the path hand in hand.
“No sparks,” Konowa said, licking his lips.
Visyna playfully jabbed him in the ribs and as he bent over she wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him to the ground. “I’ll show you sparks,” she said.
Konowa held her tight and did indeed feel sparks. Twice.
If the forest had anything to say, Konowa couldn’t hear it.
He finally realized, he didn’t have to.