A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  Splash.

  Alwyn froze, straining to locate the sound. Everything was silent again. He leaned forward slightly, cocking his left ear toward the still-unseen river. A ghostly whirl of mist sailed past, taking shapes every bit as dire as his imagination would conjure. He gripped his musket a little tighter and peered into the fog, praying the sun would hurry up and rise. The underground village, with all its narrow tunnels and hollowed-out rooms more suitable for large gophers, or dwarves, than men now seemed like the most wonderful place in the world.

  I'm just being silly, he told himself, realizing he had been leaning more and more forward as he strained to hear. "I'm an Iron Elf," he whispered, not really believing it, but standing up straight and by sheer force of will turning his back to the river.

  Splash.

  The vines and the faeraugs were behind them, the regiment was largely intact, and Hrem, one of the biggest soldiers in the regiment, was sleeping just a few yards away. Hell, they even had an elfkynan witch, even if she did seem a bit standoffish. So why did the sound of a fish or a frog (he hoped) set his nerves on the edge of a razor?

  More mist whirled past, and for the briefest of moments a shape emerged that Alwyn knew he recognized.

  Meri.

  Alwyn squinted until he thought his eyes would turn to jelly. He shook his head. He could have sworn the one-eyed soldier had just appeared, but Meri was dead.

  I'm cracking up, he thought, though he felt more clear-headed than he ever had in his life. It had to be his imagination. Alwyn wouldn't tell Yimt, or the major. As Hrem had let slip, the other soldiers already thought Alwyn was a bit off—he could all too easily imagine what they'd think if they knew he was seeing things, too.

  Scritch…scritch.

  Just a duck nibbling at snails on water lilies. He debated waking Hrem. If there was something out there, it was the smart thing to do.

  Sreeeesh…crack.

  A turtle crawling over a small log? A water gryphon eating a turtle on a small log? Alwyn shifted his grip on his musket and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. It wasn't working.

  That's it, I'm waking Hrem, he decided, and turned to find the sleeping soldier.

  And then he saw it. The first pinkish-orange smudge on the horizon.

  It was magic. Everything seemed different with that first tiny bit of light. The tension dribbled out of his muscles until he thought he'd collapse on the ground in one wonderful mushy heap of relief. It was morning, the start of a brand-new day, and the vines were behind them.

  Scritch-splash. He turned, and for the first time saw the river. Tall, bulbous-headed reeds rustled at the river's edge as ducks (and they were ducks, he was happy to see) nibbled around their stalks, diving for seeds that had shaken loose from their pods. It was a beautiful sight.

  He looked out past the ducks to the river itself, no more than a musket shot across as the far bank began to take shape through the mist. The smell, which he had to admit he was getting used to, appeared to come from the river itself. As the dawn grew brighter he could make out the oily surface of the brown water and wondered how the ducks survived in it. Maybe they drink somewhere else, he thought, taking a few steps closer to the reeds.

  Water splashed into the air a few feet away. Alwyn jumped, swinging his musket to bear. The mist was still thick enough that large chunks of the area were clouded by it. He eased the hammer back and held his breath, the sound of his own heart so loud he wondered if a person could break a rib. The mist became thicker again, a reaction to the rising heat of the morning, and it clung to his skin like a thin sheet of slime.

  A terrible thought occurred to him. What if the powder in the pan is too wet and won't light? He looked down at the musket as if it had just betrayed him.

  He cradled the now-suspect weapon in one hand and felt around for another charge in his ammunition pouch, his fingers brushing the tops of the waxed paper cartridges and feeling moisture on each one. He closed the lid on the leather pouch and decided he'd take his chances with what was in the pan. More water splashed.

  "Hrem," Alwyn called. He said it so softly he wasn't sure any sound escaped his lips. He tried again and jumped at the loudness of his own voice.

  "Naw…tickle me there, Dabina, that's the spot…"

  Alwyn shook his head. He was beginning to think he'd never sleep normally again, while soldiers like Yimt and Hrem seemed capable of sleeping anywhere, any time.

  More ducks were splashing and quacking now and the sun was definitely on the rise, though the area around Alwyn was still murky with shadow. He decided a couple of seed pods lobbed into the tall grass like those hand-sized fireballs the grenadiers used should get Hrem's attention. He rested his musket on his shoulder and walked toward the river's edge to grab some.

  The smell again. Stronger.

  It was earthy and old, a smell that had never seen the light of the sun. It wasn't the smell of the river, either. It was approaching Alwyn from somewhere in the mist.

  "…Hrem…" Alwyn cried, but now that he wanted to shout his voice would only rasp, his tongue dry and immovable inside his mouth.

  Something large and ponderous loomed out of the mist—it was a dark blur, but Alwyn knew what it was.

  "…R-r-rakke," he tried to scream, gripping his musket so hard the muscles in his hands burned.

  "…use the feather; no, the purple one," Hrem said, sighing with great contentment.

  "Hremmmm!" Alwyn shouted at the top of his lungs, pulling back the hammer and squeezing the trigger. There was the distinctive crack of flint striking metal followed by a fizz and then nothing.

  The powder didn't light.

  The rakke emerged from the mist swinging its arms wildly. Alwyn closed his eyes and lunged forward, waiting for the impact.

  A bitter cold wind roared up from nowhere. Alwyn opened his eyes. Meri stood before him, a long broadsword held easily in his hands. The body of the rakke was tumbling down the bank where it rolled into the water and sank from view.

  "What's going on?"

  Alwyn turned at the sound of Hrem's voice. The big soldier was standing a few feet away, his musket at the ready.

  "It was a—" Alwyn started to say, turning to point to Meri.

  There was no one there. No sign of Meri. No sign of the rakke.

  "A what?" Hrem asked, taking a few steps toward the river before turning back.

  Alwyn shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

  Sun rays began to stretch out across the land, chasing away the last vestiges of the night. Alwyn watched the mist burn into nothing, and wondered if his mind would soon follow.

  THIRTY-ONE

  A gold coin for your thoughts," Konowa said, spying Rallie pacing back and forth near her wagon. Blue smoke hung thick around her as she puffed rapidly on a large cigar. Every few steps she would stop, take the cigar out of her mouth, and look to the sky, visible now that the sun was up and had burned away the mist. It appeared that she was speaking to someone Konowa couldn't see.

  "I can't see him, either," Rallie said, sending a cool trickle of unease up his spine as she answered his unspoken thought.

  "Martimis, was it?" he asked. He looked to the sky, but beyond a new batch of rain-laden clouds on the horizon, there was no sign of the sreex, or any other flying creature, for that matter.

  "Oh, I hope it still is," she said, clamping down on the cigar and walking back to her wagon. She motioned for him to follow.

  Konowa obliged and was surprised to see Jir curled up underneath her wagon, his muzzle resting on his paws and his ears twitching in dream. Rallie bent and gave the bengar a scratch behind the ears, and his whiskers fluttered and his hind legs stretched out to the fullest. He never opened his eyes. She stood up, jumped onto the running board along the side of the wagon, and leaned her head back against the wooden cages. The sreexes inside purred in response.

  Konowa remained standing a few feet away. "Martimis looked like he could take care of himself."

  "Normally,
yes, but things are no longer normal," she said, pulling out her cigar and waving it around her. The smoke left a fat trail in the air like a snake through mud.

  "Will you send another?"

  Rallie sighed and looked at the caged sreexes. "I've sent two more since Martimis. My editor is not the most patient of dwarves—if my reports aren't getting through he'll send Wobbly."

  "Wobbly?"

  Rallie smiled and closed her eyes. "You'll know him when you see him. Still, I keep hoping that you won't."

  "Then it is hope in vain, and you know it," Visyna said, appearing from around the far side of the wagon. She was dressed in a light cotton wrap the color of warm gold and had traded in her riding boots for a pair of woven grass sandals again. Her hair was pulled back and tied up off her shoulders, revealing an enticing amount of bare brown skin, much of which was covered with intricate tattoos of animals and plants in perfect harmony.

  "Hope is never in vain, my dear," Rallie said, opening her eyes and watching Visyna walk toward them. "Hope is hope. What is vain is when we do nothing to help it along."

  "Then you should convince the Prince to turn this regiment around, now. Going to Luuguth Jor will only result in disaster." She pointedly refused to look at Konowa.

  Konowa touched his hand to his shako. "Get up on the wrong side of nature this morning?"

  Visyna gave him a withering glance and took a few more steps toward Rallie, showing off a significant portion of smooth thigh in the process as the cloth fluttered and settled about her body again. Konowa found himself remembering the touch of her hands against his skin and allowed himself a small smile.

  "I'm glad to see someone is enjoying our plight. Everywhere the world grows strange and the weight of an Imperial hobnailed boot does little to aid it."

  He sighed and held out his hands. "Surely you don't blame the regiment? We're on the same side, remember?"

  Rallie stood up suddenly, clapping her hands together in obvious annoyance. She set the wagon rocking as the sreexes reacted with throaty screeches that hurt even his musket-deadened ears. Jir growled, and his claws extended, but he slept on.

  "It would be best for all concerned that the two of you hurry up and consummate this relationship of yours before someone gets hurt," Rallie said. There was not a hint of humor in her voice.

  Konowa wasn't sure who looked more embarrassed.

  Just then a soldier came running toward them, shouting. Konowa reached for the acorn against his chest and instinctively willed his senses outward, but the natural chaos of life, annoying but not threatening, was all he felt. The soldier came to a stumbling halt, his shako falling from his head and landing at Konowa's feet. Konowa picked it up and handed it back to the soldier, who quickly put it back on and saluted, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe.

  "M-major! The villagers are back! They have news from Luuguth Jor."

  "Show me," Konowa said, setting off at once in the direction the soldier had come from, forcing the winded man to trot after him. Visyna and Rallie followed, their heads close together as they walked, whispering to each other.

  A minute later they came upon what could only be categorized as a land dispute in full heat.

  "—a right swift kick where the sun rarely graces—Oh, hello, Major," Yimt said, spotting Konowa. He gave him a brisk salute, his elbow just missing the very angry face of the elfkynan male he'd been arguing with a moment ago. "Beautiful morning, wouldn't you say? I was just telling my new friend here, Nobnuts the fool, was it, about the Empire and how lucky they are we've come to this land, bringing them a healthy dollop of good old civilization."

  "N'bhat," the elfkynan said, stomping away from Yimt to stand in front of Konowa. He was no taller than the dwarf, dressed in only a simple cloth around his privates. His skin was as brown as bark, and he wore his hair in a single braid down his back. A group of villagers similarly attired, including many women and several children, stood off at a distance watching. "My name is N'bhat, foloo of the village. You go now. Go and come back never." It was said with fierce determination, and Konowa admired the elfkynan for it, surrounded as he was by a well-armed regiment of the Imperial Army.

  "Foloo?" Konowa asked, turning to Visyna. She looked as if she had just taken a drink of frog-bottom ale.

  "It means headman," she said, with an edge of contempt in her voice clear to everyone, including N'bhat, who looked both angry and frightened of her. The women of the village suddenly began making warding signs and spitting on the ground. "They are Majazi, a nomadic tribe of elfkynan that follow the fish as they move upstream to spawn."

  The Hynta-elves, though not the Long Watch, hunted buffalo, deer, and tarnir in the same way, tracking them from the forest as they moved across the great plains. Konowa figured he could deal with these people as well.

  "N'bhat," he said, turning back to the elfkynan, "we have no desire to get in the way of your hunting. Tell me what you've seen and we will leave here in peace."

  The elfkynan fidgeted. "You go now. We want no trouble. You go."

  Konowa tapped the pommel of his saber. "No one wants trouble, but it has a way of finding you all the same. What did you see?"

  One of the women, perhaps N'bhat's wife, began shouting at him and gesticulating wildly, pointing at the way they had just come. N'bhat shouted something back at the woman, the only effect of which was to agitate her even more.

  "The sooner you tell me, the sooner we'll be on our way," Konowa offered, keeping a wary eye on the woman, who showed no signs of quieting down. The other women seemed emboldened by her display, and many were holding fishing spears in their hands. This could get ugly fast.

  N'bhat threw up his hands at the women and, turning back to Konowa, sighed and nodded. "There, where siggers live, Luuguth Jor. Terrible things. Go now."

  "What happened?"

  "You go if I say?"

  Konowa resisted the urge to grab the elfkynan by the throat and shake him. "Or maybe I set up a garrison here. I'm sure the ladies wouldn't mind too much," he said.

  N'bhat looked startled at the suggestion. "Terrible things. No see, but hear. And more elfkynan come, come to war against siggers." He knelt in the dirt and began drawing.

  "Siggers are this many," he said, making a dot with his finger.

  He then began making rows of dots in a circle around the first dot, and Konowa's heart sank.

  When N'bhat finally finished there were over a hundred dots surrounding the first.

  The Thirty-fifth Foot had sent a half company to garrison the fort, approximately fifty men. Fine for showing the flag among peaceful natives, wholly inadequate for what was bearing down on them now.

  They wouldn't hold out for long.

  "You go now."

  If N'bhat was right, that meant a rebel force of at least five thousand elfkynan, not counting what the "terrible things" were.

  Konowa waved the headman away and looked to the east. The land rose gently into a series of low, scrub-covered hills. The river wove its way through them, a thin strip of flat grassland to either side. It would offer the regiment a fairly easy time of it after the vines. It was also the quickest route, and one the enemy would be sure to watch.

  "We'll have to be vigilant," Rallie said.

  She didn't have to read his thoughts—every soldier there saw the danger. Konowa turned. "Do you believe him?"

  "Do not trust him," Visyna interrupted. She kept casting a glance toward the women villagers, her fingers moving rapidly.

  "He seemed genuine enough," he said, unable to determine what was at work here. "Do you know him?"

  Visyna gaped and her eyes narrowed. "Most certainly not! The Majazi are nothing like my people."

  Rallie scowled, but said nothing.

  "Aren't you all elfkynan? They seem very much in tune with nature, which, as you so often remind me, is a wonderful thing," Konowa said.

  "You wouldn't understand," she replied, looking with disgust as one of the village women began breast-feeding a b
aby in the open.

  Konowa considered Visyna's fine garment, the way she held herself, her life as the daughter of a wealthy merchant, and suddenly understood perfectly.

  "Major!"

  Konowa looked past Visyna and grimaced. Lorian was coming toward him with the Prince.

  "Sir," Konowa said, saluting for all present when the Prince arrived.

  The Prince seemed caught off-guard for a moment, then saluted and looked around. His jacket was undone and his shako was perched at a precarious angle on his head as if he had thrown it on in a hurry. And then he yawned and rubbed his eyes. The bloody fool had just woken up.

  "Major, what's this I hear about finding the villagers? Fishermen, are they? I distinctly smell bara jogg being fried."

  Konowa gave Lorian a subtle hand signal and the RSM had the surrounding troops bustled away in a flash, leaving only the RSM, the Prince, Konowa, Visyna, and Rallie.

  "A refined nose you have, sir," Konowa said, opting to make this as painless as possible. "Apparently the villagers are nomadic, following the fish as they swim the rivers. This village here is their main dwelling. It was empty because they were away upstream, toward Luuguth Jor. The headman tells me something has happened at Luuguth Jor, though he doesn't know what, and that a rebel army is marching toward it. He estimates their numbers to be at least five thousand troops."

  "This is good news," the Prince said, waking up considerably at the news. "Rallie, you'll want to make note of this. This is clearly a pivotal moment. Everything is falling into place. We have ascertained the whereabouts of the rebels." He smiled indulgently at the small group around him and placed his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels.

  Lorian stared at the Prince with something close to panic in his eyes. Konowa hoped his own didn't show as he realized that the fool had no idea what to do next. "Yes, sir, a pivotal moment. May I suggest we break camp at once and march on the garrison?"

  The Prince stopped rocking and nodded sagely. "Exactly what I was going to say. Yes, we'll march at once and meet the rebels head-on. When those elfkynan see the Iron Elves, they'll run like the cowards they are—no offense, Ms. Tekoy, I know a few of your race to be quite steadfast, almost Calahrian in constitution."