A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  Anger flashed in Visyna's eyes, but she only smiled at the Prince and nodded deferentially to him. Would have taken my head off, Konowa thought, then focused on what the Prince had said.

  "Of course, sir, but we might want to consider a cautious approach when we get there. We don't know the exact size of the force we're dealing with, and what, if any, additional support it might have," he said, wondering what Her Emissary could be up to. "And there is the matter of whether the Thirty-fifth Foot still hold the garrison."

  The Prince's smile vanished, to be replaced by the look of one accustomed to getting his own way. "We will find the star there, Major, and we will do whatever is necessary to procure it. I will not lead a regiment of skulking pad foots through the shadows. This is the new Iron Elves, and will march tall and proud straight at the enemy, and it will be they who turn and run. I do hope that is perfectly clear."

  "Yes, sir." Konowa saluted and watched the Prince stride off toward his tent, no doubt to make sure his precious books were packed away properly. Rallie and Visyna were already walking away, still whispering to each other. Lorian turned to Konowa.

  "I hate to say this, Major, but I think the Prince is going to get us all killed."

  Konowa kicked a small clod of dirt with his boot, sending it rolling across the ground shedding bits of itself until it tumbled into nothing. "Then it's up to us to see that that doesn't happen. I can't spare you, but grab what horses you can, including Zwindarra, find troops that can stay in a saddle, and send them ahead of us so we aren't surprised by anything nasty."

  Lorian shook his head. "It sounds like a wise course of action, sir, but it won't work. The horses are all but done in. Your mount looks all right, and the Prince has a couple that might hold up for a bit, but this weather is taking the wind right out of them. We could still do it—I brought a few of the lads from the Fourteenth over with me—but I spread them out through the regiment to steady the weaker elements. I don't think I want to take them out now just when things are going to get dicey."

  Konowa considered for a moment commandeering a few brindos or muraphants, but quickly threw out that idea. "Then they'll have to go on foot. If we get there blind, we're dead."

  "A section ought to do it. They'll move a lot faster than the regiment, even on foot, especially with that elfkynan as a guide. If we send them out right now, we should have good warning of what's up ahead. If the Thirty-fifth Foot still hold the garrison, we might be able to squeeze the rebels between them and ourselves and catch them in a crossfire when we get there."

  Now Konowa shook his head. "Don't underestimate the elfkynan. For all we know, there could be thirty thousand of them waiting for us, and that isn't counting the star…or the Shadow Monarch."

  "You really think so, sir?"

  Konowa patted his jacket over his heart and looked east at the growing wall of rain clouds. "Lorian, I'm not sure what I believe anymore. All I know for certain is we're going to need every bit of luck, skill, and chicanery we've got, so get N'bhat and get me those scouts."

  Lorian saluted. "Have no fear, Major, I know just the lads for this."

  Konowa saluted and stood there while Lorian ran off into the bustling camp. If there was something terrible waiting for them, the soldiers Konowa had just ordered to scout ahead weren't coming back.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Can you keep up or not?"

  Three Section, First Platoon, A Company, stood perfectly still, waiting. Corporal Yimt Arkhorn glared up at the RSM, who glared right back, a folded piece of paper in his hands. They were orders signed by the major himself, ensuring the scouting party was not mistaken for a group of deserters when they arrived at Luuguth Jor…assuming the fort was still held by the Thirty-fifth Foot. Soldiers got hung for desertion, but that wasn't the issue here.

  Yimt spat a sizzling stream of crute into the grass. "I've walked more miles in this army than most of these boys have had hot meals. I was there with General Remdol in the Erimii Mountains when we chased those orcs all the way up Mount Ipk and down the other side, but that ain't the point. I could march to the ends of the earth and keep on going with a change of boots, but not with him!"

  The smallest of tics twitched under Private Kritton's right eye, but he forced a smile and looked down at Yimt with apparent friendliness. "We've had our differences in the past, Corporal, but if I'm big enough to serve under you now that our positions are reversed, surely you won't mind leading me. I've already forgiven young Renwar there. Leaves in the wind. Can't you do the same?"

  Alwyn's blood ran cold as the elf turned his stare to him. This was madness. Kritton wouldn't forgive anyone, and even though it was Alwyn who had delivered the lashes, he knew that Kritton really blamed the major, and Yimt.

  "I'll show you what I can do," Yimt said, taking a step toward Kritton.

  The regimental sergeant major slowly spun his halberd in his closed fist. He motioned Yimt over to one side. "No one is showing anyone anything. You'll do exactly as you're ordered, or you'll lose those stripes on your sleeves and get some new ones on your back!" He seemed to reconsider his next words and sighed, lowering his voice so that Alwyn had to strain to hear what he said next.

  "Kritton is a bastard, but he's also an elf, and a sneaky one at that. He knows his way around the wild, he's got eyes like a hawk." Lorian pointed at Yimt and cut him off. "A scouting party is going. Kritton is going to be on it. Now, are you going to lead it?"

  Yimt tugged on his beard and looked around the group, his stare lingering on Kritton before looking back at the RSM. "I'll lead the scouting party, but I can't promise what'll happen out there. Things get bloody in a hurry—someone could get hurt," he said, his gaze drifting back to the elf.

  "Yes, they could," Kritton said, his smile all teeth.

  As much as Alwyn admired Yimt's abilities as a fighter, there was no way he'd make it out there with Kritton. He'd need someone to watch his back.

  "I volunteer, RSM," Alwyn said, startling the group.

  "The hell you do," Yimt shot back, rounding on him and stabbing a thick finger at his chest. "This ain't no game," Yimt said, turning to look at Lorian. "He's done his share and every last one of us here knows it. I'll get my scouts, but not him."

  The RSM nodded as if he agreed.

  "That's not fair! If Three Section is going, then I should go, too. You said you needed volunteers and I'm volunteering."

  "Who volunteered for what?" a voice asked. Alwyn turned and was shocked to see the Prince standing just a few feet away.

  "Colonel! Everything under control, sir," the RSM said, saluting the Prince, who returned it slowly, suspicion obvious on his face.

  "Of course everything is under control, RSM, how could it be otherwise? What I asked, however, was who was volunteering, and for what. I do hope it isn't anything like scouting. I made it quite clear that the Iron Elves will not be hiding in the bushes in the face of the enemy." He stared at Kritton the whole time.

  Lorian looked suddenly very embarrassed about something. Alwyn saw his chance.

  "An advance party, Colonel, to announce your arrival to the garrison to give them time to prepare a proper reception." Alwyn realized he was out-and-out lying to the colonel of the regiment and the future King. He took a quick breath and continued. "Sad fact of the matter is, sir, some of the regiments don't hold to the same standard as others out here. The RSM was just telling us about how important it was that the garrison at Luuguth Jor be on top of their game. I had just volunteered to go with the advance party and help them get everything in order."

  "Now that's initiative," the Prince said, nodding his approval. "I can see why you would be so eager to volunteer. Yes, we have a duty to all the regiments in the Imperial Army to set an example, but it wouldn't do to show them up too much at first, now would it, men?"

  The soldiers gave the Prince a half-hearted "yes, sir."

  "Well, don't dawdle around here a moment longer. RSM, get these men on their way immediately. The regiment will move
out in ten minutes."

  "Yes, sir, at once," he said, saluting the back of the Prince, who was already walking back toward his charger. He was barely out of hearing when Yimt was standing in front of Alwyn.

  "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

  The RSM intervened before he could answer. "It's done, Arkhorn, so do what the colonel said and get your boys out in front, now. We wouldn't want the garrison at Luuguth Jor to greet the Prince in their undergarments, now would we?" he asked, looking long and hard at Alwyn.

  Yimt threw up his hands. "Fine. Three Section, grab your kit and form up. And you," he said, pointing at Kritton, "I want you ten yards in front of me at all times."

  The elf smiled and bowed slightly, tipping his shako to Yimt. "Whatever you say, Corporal."

  A single shaft of sunlight fell into the chamber through a crack in the half-shuttered window. Only then did the Viceroy realize he had forgotten to close it after the beast had come last night, bearing another dead sreex in its maw. He watched the light move across the stone floor, revealing the brown, dried blood and bits of flesh left over from the dragon's latest meal.

  As the light crawled along the stone, not a single dust mote danced in its luminous path, so cold was the air in the room.

  So cold, and so pure.

  The Viceroy walked over to the window, opened the metal shutters wider, and looked outside, the first time he had done so in days. The sun was up, heating the coming rain clouds so that when their rain fell, it would be warm and dull, unsatisfying. Everything outside was soft with humidity. The land steamed and bubbled like a festering morass while the elfkynan moved listlessly through it, their tired insolence a palpable smell on the thick, wet air.

  It was the smell of rebellion.

  An example must be made. Not just one, or even a handful, but dozens, perhaps hundreds. Crush the spirit and the body will follow. But who? The Viceroy pulled the shutters to and locked them, turning back to the table in the center of the room. Here, in this room, it was cold like the top of a mountain in the dead of winter. With the cold came clarity. His mind now dissected ideas, formulated concepts, and discerned purpose with a razor precision he had only dreamed of before. Here, he had the power and the vision to see the coming of a great new age.

  He moved toward the table, reaching out a hand and gently brushing it against the surface. The cold bit into his flesh, and he released a long, slow breath of pure pleasure, uncaring of the fact that no mist formed when he did so.

  He understood it now, this thing that Her Emissary called its ryk faur.

  Its needs were simple and immense, and he reveled in feeding it. To feed it was to satisfy his own needs, and in so doing the bond between them grew.

  "Show me," he said, placing both hands firmly on the table. The cold enveloped him, peeling away shreds of his humanity a strip at a time and replacing it with something heavier, something stronger.

  The air in the room thinned as a skein of ice crept up the walls and across the ceiling. The tabletop remained clear, its surface disappearing as the verdant landscape of Elfkyna swirled into focus, its lush abundance teeming with life, crawling with all manner of beasts, including one many-legged creature he was especially interested in.

  The Iron Elves were easy to find, their presence on the ground as obvious as a signal fire in pitch darkness. They marched in a northeasterly direction, following the path of a fat, brown river to a fishing village.

  "Luuguth Jor." Its ancient history radiated beneath the tenuous skin of life that existed there. Its memory went deep into the earth, tying it to things far older than even he could yet contemplate. He knew the Star was to be found there. Before, he had cared little if the Star truly was a lost talisman of an ancient magic, but now it mattered more than anything, because it mattered to Her.

  He wormed his mind deeper into the howling force of the table's soul. The table shuddered, then calmed. The Viceroy saw the garrison at Luuguth Jor, their fear a palpable taste in his mouth. They were being hunted, though some yet remained. The temptation to reach out and crush them was so strong that he allowed a hand to stray across the surface of the table until it rested above a single soldier. With slow deliberation the Viceroy clenched his fist. At first, nothing happened. Feeling foolish, he began to withdraw his hand; then he saw a shadow move close to the soldier. There was a cold, sharp sting, and the soldier fell into shadow. Amazed, he brought his hands toward each other, encircling the village and the fortress above it.

  "You begin to understand. Do Her will. Feed its hunger."

  The voice resonated deep within his head, and he smiled that he did not startle.

  Shadowy figures flowed across the land, closing in on Luuguth Jor. Voices cried out in pain as the souls winked out, smothered in black screams. The Viceroy placed both his hands on the table and absorbed the cold, and the fear, and was content.

  Far below in the manicured gardens of the palace, a worker dropped her shears and stared at the plant she tended. Its leaves curled and blackened before her eyes, falling off the stems and tumbling to the ground. She made a warding sign and ran away, never looking back at the palace, so she did not see the growing black frost that stained the stone around a single, shuttered window.

  The light was fading, and as it did shadows grew in length, covering everything in a suffocating cloak of darkness. The sky took on the appearance of slate as the rain clouds threatened another deluge. The air was so wet it felt like breathing through a soaked towel. Sounds that had no visible source started to grow in volume, and none of them were friendly. There was no chittering click of a faeraug or mewling howl of a rakke, yet the blacker it got, the more likely it became that something evil would rise up out of the darkness and attack.

  Alwyn immediately chided himself for letting his imagination get the better of him and forced his thoughts to more rational things. Anyone, or anything, watching the riverbank would have a difficult time picking Three Section out of the dusk. N'bhat, the little elfkynan headman, knew this land inside and out and guided them with calm resolve, seemingly unconcerned with the various sounds of life that surrounded them. Yimt, now that he had calmed down, moved like a dwarf looking for a fight, his shatterbow cradled under one arm, a hand resting on the hilt of his drukar. And then there was Kritton. He moved in and out of the shadows as if he was one himself. Alwyn tried and failed to keep him in sight as he trailed the elfkynan. Yimt had ordered them all to remove or blacken anything that would reflect light.

  "You'll keep an eye out for me, won't you, Quppy?" Alwyn asked, craning his neck around to look at the wooden cage strapped to his back. Snoring softly inside was a small sreex—Quopparius, Rallie had said, cooing over the creature as if it was her very own child. Alwyn knew Yimt had made him carry the sreex because he was mad at him for volunteering, but Alwyn didn't mind. Having another living creature so close, and a relatively friendly one, helped—at least a little.

  The plan (and on the surface it seemed reasonable) was to give a message to Quppy to fly back to the regiment when they reached Luuguth Jor. That assumed a lot of things, not the least of which was that they would actually make it to Luuguth Jor and have the time and ability to give the sreex a message. There was also the slight concern that Quppy, because he was young and new to this, would not fly back to the regiment at all, but instead head straight for the news offices where it had been trained to fly. Scolly had suggested throwing the animal into a cooking pot as the regiment was marching to Luuguth Jor. Alwyn was determined he would set Quppy free before he let that happen. For his part, Quppy continued to sleep, his wings wrapped around his body, his little muzzle twitching with each breath.

  "Isn't that nice—the dwarf gave you a pet."

  Alwyn jumped. Kritton walked just inches beside him. "Qupp—the sreex is not a pet, and that's Corporal Arkhorn," Alwyn hissed back, hoping his voice didn't betray how scared he felt.

  "For now," the elf replied, and slipped away in the shadows.

  Alwyn c
lenched his musket tighter and vowed not to let Kritton sneak up on him, or Yimt, again.

  He scanned the countryside, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Three Section was moving quickly along the west side of the river, its progress made easy by the low grass and relatively flat land that lined the water and served as its flood plain in the rainy season. In front of him walked Teeter, his seesaw gait obvious even in the failing light, then Scolly, Alik, Buuko, and Inkermon huffing along just behind Alwyn. Nine souls—six humans, an elf, an elfkynan, and a dwarf—to spearhead the Iron Elves, who in turn were the spearhead of the Imperial Army of Calahr, into the deep, dark unknown. It was best not to think about it.

  A low whistle sounded from up ahead and everyone stopped where they were. Alwyn knelt on one knee, the grass wet and sticky against his skin, and was glad he'd fixed his bayonet on his musket even if it did make the weapon unbalanced. If something came running out of the dark at him, even Kritton, he'd have a chance. He changed his grip on his weapon and adjusted his caerna, the knitted cloth twirling limply around his legs. He had a strange thought and was wondering what they were supposed to do in the winter, when another low whistle signaled they were moving again. Alwyn stood up and looked over his shoulder.

  He could just make out the shadows of the soldiers behind him. Six shadows. Six shadows…Inkermon. Scolly. Alik. Teeter. Buuko. Had Kritton doubled back to try to scare him again? He looked again and counted; six. It had to be the elf, or maybe the elfkynan. He quickened his pace and moved around a large bush and saw Yimt, N'bhat, and Kritton in front of him.

  Alwyn kept walking even though his legs were shaking so hard he thought he would tip over and tumble into the river with each step. Something was behind them. His breathing quickened, yet he couldn't bring himself to shout a warning. He was still afraid, but it wasn't the same as before. He turned around again and counted one more time.