A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  The section reached the head of the column, where the smell was definitely stronger. Yimt called a halt and the section grounded their muskets, the sound oddly muffled. Alwyn looked down and saw they were standing in tufts of short, spindly grass. Grass. They had made it through the vines! He looked up and noticed that what he had at first taken for more vines in the distance was a grove of trees on a downward slope. He almost shouted for joy, the hardships and horrors of the journey falling away as if an angel had plucked them from his shoulders.

  Then he saw the dirt.

  "I could plant me some nice crops here," Inkermon the farmer said, scuffing the earth with his boot. "Got heft, it does, and plenty of vitamins in it, too. The Creator has blessed this land."

  "What is that?" Alwyn asked, ignoring the farmer's assessment and pointing his chin to where the officers were grouped in a circle. A hundred yards beyond them the earth was humped, at least two men tall and a few hundred feet across. The mound was blood-red in color and peppered with holes big enough for several faeraugs to jump out of at once.

  "Some kind of warren, I reckon," Inkermon said, sucking thought-fully on the single tooth in the front of his mouth. "Awfully big holes to be water gryphs, though."

  This was something new to worry about. "Water gryphs?"

  "Sure, you find them along rivers an' such, but it don't look like no warren I ever seen them in."

  The first drop of rain fell with a splat on Alwyn's nose. He looked up and was rewarded with several warm, fat drops pelting him in the face and blurring his spectacles as the sky opened up directly above them.

  "River?"

  "Over there past that grove of trees. Can't you smell it?"

  Alwyn squinted through the rain. "I don't see it."

  "Course you don't, it's tucked down there below where them trees is at. You got to pay attention to the lay of the land is all. That and the smell. I tell you, with this dirt and that water and the Creator's guiding hand, a fellow could do right proper here."

  The rain was now slashing down. Alwyn tried tipping his head forward slightly to shield his face, but as soon as he did, the rain trickled down his back. He looked over at Inkermon. He'd taken a different tack and leaned his head far back and opened his mouth wide, his single tooth glistening a buttery yellow as rainwater splashed into his mouth.

  Movement to the left drew Alwyn's attention away. The elfkynan witch and a couple of the muraphant drivers had dismounted and walked up to the front of the column. The Prince waved them over to the group. It was impossible to hear what was being said, but there was a lot of pointing toward the mound. One of the elfkynan took a few tentative steps toward the mound, then started shaking his head and turned around and ran right back past the officers and kept going. Alwyn got a good look at his face as he ran past, and it did nothing to instill hope.

  The second muraphant driver began gesticulating wildly while the witch pointed a finger at no one in particular and stamped a boot on the ground. The Prince, surprisingly, seemed amused by it all, while the major just stood there, his left hand resting on the pommel of his saber, his right clutching his chest.

  The other elfkynan started shaking his head, too, and the Prince appeared to agree, because he suddenly pointed at the major and everyone stopped talking.

  "Look sharp!" Yimt said.

  The RSM and Major Osveen left the small group and marched through the rain toward them, talking and looking back over their shoulders toward the large dirt mound. They stopped a few feet away and the major addressed them. Even through the rain Alwyn could see the major was steaming.

  "It'll be dark soon, so the quicker we get this sorted out, the quicker we can set up camp. Corporal Arkhorn," the major said, "you know how this works."

  Yimt nodded. Water cascaded off his beard like a miniature waterfall, turning the normally black mass a shimmering silver. "Is that witch going to be any help?"

  Lorian straightened up and glared at Yimt. "Not at this time."

  If the news bothered Yimt, he didn't show it. He patted the hilt of his drukar and pointed over his shoulder. "Fair enough. Once I get inside, I'll light a charge. After that, it's all down to who wants it more." He hunched over his pack and opened the flap, revealing a white gauze bundle the size of a loaf of bread.

  The RSM looked surprised. "What are you doing with an artillery charge? That isn't part of an infantryman's kit."

  Yimt flashed him a metallic smile. "A soldier never knows what kind of important task those higher up than himself might ask him to do. It's a murky path, trying to divine the thoughts and fancies of your finer thinkers like officers, so I try to be prepared…just in case. I call it me head-and-shoulder plan."

  Major Osveen obliged. "Head-and-shoulder plan?"

  Yimt tapped his head and then his shoulder. "Keeping the one as close to the other as possible."

  "See that you do," the major said, a smile he did nothing to hide stealing over his face. "And the same goes for the rest of you. There might be nothing in there, then again…"

  "Not to fret, sir," Yimt said, taking off his shako and unslinging his shatterbow, motioning for the section to shed their packs and all other unnecessary equipment. The rain bounced off the top of his head and the thin skiff of hair covering it. "We'll be back in two shakes of a dragon's tail. Oh, speaking of tails, that kitty-cat of yours any good for sniffing things out, Major?"

  The major looked over his shoulder to where Jir was tapping a large paw into a puddle, apparently mesmerized by the splashing raindrops.

  "If he's in the mood," he said, whistling to the bengar and making a hand gesture toward the mound.

  Jir looked up from his puddle and twisted his head from side to side as if contemplating the request, then bounded toward the warren and was lost in the rain.

  "Right, we'd best get after him," Yimt said, saluting and quickly addressing the patrol. "Until we know better, you get it in your heads that there is something nasty down there and act like it. Keep your yaps shut unless you see something. We'll get closer and then see what we're dealing with."

  He looked from soldier to soldier, his glance hard and determined. Alwyn returned it, unable to read anything else in the dwarf's eyes.

  "Fix bayonets and make sure they're locked in tight. I don't want it pulling off the first time it gets stuck into something solid."

  Alwyn grabbed the bayonet out of the frog on his belt and fumbled to get it in place. Everything was slick with rain and he was keenly aware that he was being watched. He took a breath and tried again, sighing with relief when the tell-tale click sounded.

  "Follow me." Yimt took off at a casual walk, his drukar in his right hand, his pack in his left. Alwyn wondered if he would ever be that confident. Who knew what they might find in there, yet Yimt walked toward the mound as if he wasn't the least bit concerned.

  They were quickly past the cluster of officers who stood watching their movement as if it were a training drill.

  Adding to the surreal quality of the moment, their horses were busy cropping at grass. Alwyn took their calmness as a good sign.

  Yimt held up his hand and motioned for the section to stay still. Alwyn instinctively crouched lower in the grass and felt for the hammer on his rifle, then stopped. With the rain beating down, there was no way the powder would be dry enough to spark. He'd heard of regimental wizards casting spells on powder to keep it dry, but he seriously doubted a spell could overcome this much rain, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Still, that witch could have at least tried.

  He poked some taller grass to the side with the end of his bayonet and peered through the gap to see what Yimt was doing. It was pointless; the rain made everything a gray blur out past fifty feet. There was no sign of the bengar, either.

  Then Yimt came into view, a short, dark figure in the rain, and pointed somewhere to the left, and then he was running, his caerna plastered to his legs like a pair of short pants.

  Blurred figures rushed forward on either side and A
lwyn stood up and followed suit, straining to see what was happening. The rain now hit his face head-on. He took off his spectacles and jammed them into a jacket pocket as he trotted forward.

  A shadow suddenly loomed before Alwyn and he yelped, swinging his musket clumsily at it. There was a dull crack and the musket shivered in his hands, stinging them. A moment later he saw the shadow fall backward in the mud with a soft thud and lie motionless.

  Shaking, Alwyn moved forward, the musket held by the barrel with both hands, ready to swing it again.

  He'd killed a god. Well, a statue of one at any rate. Alwyn knelt to examine the now-fractured jaw of a short, stocky deity that had been placed on a pedestal that he had not seen. It had once been painted in garish reds and oranges, although only remnants of the colors now remained. He wasn't sure, but it looked an awful lot like a pig, or maybe a boar. Whatever it was, bashing it in the head with his musket wasn't likely to bring him anything but bad luck. He tucked his musket under his right arm and heaved the statue back onto its pedestal, placing the broken pieces of jaw in a neat pile by its feet.

  "—ere the hell did he get to?" drifted through the rain, and Alwyn remembered why he was there. He gave the statue a pat on the head for good luck, then trotted off toward the sound of the voice, coming upon Yimt and the others crouched in a semicircle, less than twenty yards from the nearest opening in the mound.

  Yimt looked at him, but in the pouring rain Alwyn couldn't tell if he was scowling or just frowning.

  "Everyone take a hole," Yimt said at once. "Don't stay at the opening, go in about ten feet, then hold there. Keep your bayonet pointing straight in front of you and brace the butt of your musket in the dirt. Anything comes charging up out of the depths will impale itself."

  Before anyone could respond, a high-pitched hiss sounded somewhere nearby. A moment later, a large, dark shape came loping out of the rain. Jir strolled right up to them, dragging a fifteen-foot-long constrictor in his mouth. He held the snake just behind the head and seemed completely unconcerned that it was wrapping its muscular body around his.

  The snake coiled tighter around Jir's body, straining to squeeze the life out of the bengar. The sound of scales rubbing against wet fur grew louder. The bengar and the dwarf shared a look, and Alwyn was struck by the feeling of watching two predators assess each other. There was a loud snap as the bengar's fangs bit down and the coils of the snake's body slid from Jir's body. He began to play with it, tossing it into the air as if it were a twig, then pouncing on it and tearing off great chunks of flesh.

  "All right, let's get this done," Yimt said, leading them around the mound, dropping off a soldier at a hole as they went by. Soon, only Alwyn was left—Yimt stopped at the next hole and turned to face him, pointing a stubby finger.

  "You need to keep your head about you. You don't often get a chance to repeat mistakes out here. Now, if there is anything down there, it's going to come up in one hellfire of a hurry. Hold your ground and shout if you need help, and I'll be there." And then he smiled, his metal teeth glinting briefly in the rain, and Alwyn felt all was right with the world again.

  "I'll hold, Corporal," Alwyn said, smiling back at his friend.

  Yimt nodded and trotted to the next hole, fifteen yards over. He paused, got a better grip on his drukar, and strolled right in.

  Alwyn was at the back of the mound and hidden from view from the officers and the rest of the regiment. The other members of the section had already gone into their holes, leaving him alone outside. His eyes now picked up hints of things he wished he'd not seen. Bits of white bone were scattered between beaten paths of dirt that ran between the holes and over the mound. Something, or somethings, had definitely lived here. The question was whether they were still down there.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Konowa debated going after the troops and leading them into the mound. He took a step forward, then something made him turn. Visyna was walking toward him in the rain. He stopped, unable to keep from staring at her as she moved. She came to an arm's length from him and stopped, staring back at him. For several moments neither one of them said a word. Lightning fretted within rumbling clouds and Konowa tried to find the anger he'd felt after the faeraug attack, but he missed having her this close to him.

  "Listen, about the other night," he said, "you have to understand, out here, my men come first."

  She nodded. "And you must understand that out here, my land and my people come first."

  "Perhaps when we get out of here we could come first," he said, hoping the driving rain drowned out the squeak in his voice. "I kind of enjoyed it when it was just the two of us."

  "So did I," she said, stepping closer. "Perhaps we won't have to wait until we are out of here. Rallie and I have been talking. I think you and I have more in common than I thought. We both want the same things." She reached out a hand to touch him, then stopped, her fingers just above his chest. "I will do all in my power to protect you and this regiment. Please, get rid of it."

  Konowa hung his head, but the rain sluicing down his collar quickly forced his head up again. "I really wish—"

  The sound of an explosion drifted up from belowground. And then the shouting and screaming started.

  "Oh, hell."

  Alwyn saw yellow, then white, then black. An acrid wind blew past him, followed by clods of dirt, and he turned his head away from the open hole. When he dared to look again, thick, dark smoke was roiling out of the mound in a dozen different places.

  "Yimt?" he called. There was no reply. He had opened his mouth to yell again when black shapes began darting out of the smoke.

  "Bats!"

  The cry went up everywhere as hundreds then thousands of the night creatures flew up from the mound and into the smoke and rain. They formed a growing cloud of whirling wings and high-pitched screeching as they circled the mound.

  They moved like a big school of fish in the sky, darting this way and that.

  Then they dove.

  Alwyn barely had time to switch his grip on his musket and use it as a club when the first of the bats screeched toward him. Their eyes bulged white and milky and their fangs glistened with saliva.

  Alwyn swung hard, knocking two bats out of the sky. A dozen more swarmed over him. They screamed and darted around his head, beating their wings in fury against his arms as they tried to get at his face. Everything was a blur of black leathery wings, white eyes, and wicked-looking fangs.

  "Put me down, you buggers!"

  Alwyn swatted three more bats to the ground and turned toward the sound of Yimt's voice. The bats, dozens of them, were trying to carry Yimt away.

  Alwyn took a few steps toward Yimt, but was stopped as more bats began swarming around his legs. The thought of one of these creatures flying up his caerna gave new energy to his tiring arms, and he swung his musket like a scythe. Blood and gristle covered his face and hands and made holding the musket difficult.

  Musket fire crackled to life somewhere to the left, but Alwyn couldn't imagine it would have much effect. The regiment didn't have enough musket balls to kill all the bats.

  "Lie down!"

  It sounded like the witch, Miss Tekoy. Alwyn dove to the earth, curling his legs up underneath him. A moment later, the air thrummed with energy and for the second time in as many minutes his vision was filled by first yellow, then white, then black.

  The air went eerily silent. Then it began to rain bats.

  Alwyn scrambled to his feet as the creatures began tumbling to earth, their leathery bodies smashing to the ground with sickening wet sounds.

  Jir bounded into view and began leaping into the air to grab the bats as they fell, as if it were a game. Several soldiers were doing much the same, only they were trying to catch the falling bats on their bayonets. Alwyn shook his head and turned back toward Yimt, who was struggling to pull a bat out of his beard. A quick snap of the neck ended the bat's struggle and Yimt held it up by a wing.

  "So what do we do now?" Alywn asked.
/>
  Yimt looked at the bat in his hand, then back at Alwyn. "Dinner."

  Visyna knew she hadn't had a choice in killing the bats, just as it had been with the faerangs, but it still made her ill. This was nature perverted. The bats had been driven by far more than anger and hunger. She headed for the grove of trees while the soldiers ran around like little boys. It didn't bother her that the troops were acting like little boys as they did this, she told herself. What did bother her was Konowa. He refused to recognize the danger of carrying a piece of the Shadow Monarch's mountain with him, even as he tried to be more understanding of her concerns.

  Life thrummed through the land here, a cleaner, more wholesome energy than what had coursed through the vine-covered plain, but it was clear that Elfkyna was sick. Nothing felt the way it should, and it was getting worse. Her concern about Konowa's affections suddenly struck her as utterly foolish. He was a soldier for an Empire that had subjugated her people and land. She chided herself; she would not succumb to passion when the world she knew teetered on the edge of oblivion.

  Her pace quickened and she walked briskly to the edge of the grove, then stopped and looked around. Soldiers milled around several fires and even Rallie was occupied, having accepted the Prince's invitation to dinner in Visyna's place. She stepped through the trees and onto a thin strip of grass that ran around the edge of a small pool of still water as black as the sky above it. She sat down and began to seek.

  It was easier this time. Her fingers traced filigrees of light in the shadows before her, creating silvery skeins that spread out through the web of natural life, calling. The pool's surface roiled in response to her efforts, scattering shards of light and shadow like daggers about the grove, but none penetrated beyond the trees, for shadows had filled the spaces between until anyone looking from outside the grove would have seen nothing but darkness within.

  "He is a threat."

  The grove of trees contained the voice, amplifying it so that it resonated within her body. She shuddered and looked away from the brilliant emptiness of the light as she stood up.