A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  "…right to be wary…suitably impressed with your skills…"

  "…be stopped before it's too late—"

  "What, or who, must be stopped?" Konowa asked, stepping into the small room.

  The Prince and Visyna stood up from the table they had been seated at, the surprise on their faces evidence enough that they had been talking about him. The Prince recovered first.

  "You forget yourself, Major."

  Konowa threw a quick salute, unable to hide his own surprise. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't expect you here." His sense of the surreal continued to expand. Visyna and the Prince were the two people least likely to be having a close conversation, of any kind.

  "Where else would I be, but where I am? In any event," the Prince said, growing more authoritative as he spoke. "I have been having a most interesting chat with Miss Tekoy. We share a love of nature, did you know? The birds, the bees, even the forest at large."

  "Is that so?" Konowa said, finding the notion implausible at best. "Have you ever tried living in one, sir? Not quite as posh as a palace."

  "It's all in one's attitude, Major. I think I would get along splendidly if put to it."

  "Perhaps you'll find out—the elfkynan are here."

  The Prince clapped his hands. "Excellent news, Major, excellent news. We should have them on the run in no time, and then be able to devote our attention to finding the Star and be on our way."

  "Your Highness!" Visyna said, her eyes blazing as she looked at him. "We were talking about the importance of the Star to my people."

  "The Star is important to many people, my dear Miss Tekoy. In fact, I grow more convinced that it is imperative all such power be placed somewhere it can be studied, learned from, and most important, protected, especially from misuse. I do, after all," he said condescendingly, "share your concern that such power not fall into less civilized, cultured hands," he said, looking directly at Konowa. "Now, Major, was there something that you wanted?"

  Konowa nodded. "Rallie has asked if you might see her sometime in the next while. I believe she wanted some more detail on your theories of warfare."

  The Prince adjusted his shako and rolled his neck inside the loose-fitting collar of his jacket. "Then she shall have them. I am done here. Miss Tekoy, Major."

  Konowa saluted as the Prince left, staring at Visyna the whole time. When the sound of the Prince's boots faded he tipped his shako to her. "Slumming it, are you?"

  Visyna huffed, then sighed and sat back down on an overturned crate. "Events move with increasing speed, and I feel I have less and less control over anything."

  Konowa walked over and sat down on the other crate, angling his scabbard to the side as he did so. He placed his hands on the small table, crossing one over the other. "For once, we are in complete agreement."

  She brushed a hair from her face and her expression softened. He was treated to the smile that had dazzled him back in the forest.

  "We always have been, I think. We both want what's right, I know that," she said, looking the way the Prince had gone.

  "Did you think you could sweet-talk him into letting the Star stay in Elfkyna?"

  Visyna shrugged. "I don't know. But I thought if I could reason with him, he would understand. He understands all right—he understands power, but not the terrible price that goes with it."

  Konowa thought he detected a subtle jab in her words. "I'm not like him."

  Visyna smiled at him. "No, you're not. In some ways you're worse. He wants the Star the way a child wants a sweet from the market. You, on the other hand, don't seem to want it at all, and that worries me."

  "Worries you? I thought you would be pleased," he said. "I have nothing against your people. In fact, I've come to care a lot about one of them in particular." Saying it out loud felt good. He did care about her, and if it wasn't for their current situation, he'd be showing her right now…if she let him, that is.

  "And I care about more than just my people, too," she said, dipping her head as if suddenly shy. Konowa found himself even more attracted to her. "But look where we are. Her foul trees ring this place in a noose, defiling the land as they dig their roots deep in search of the Star. Yet you still call on that same power with utter disregard for what you will bring down on us all. The earth is changing and the air grows cold with malice. You must—" She caught herself. "Konowa, please, give up Her power and break the oath while there is still time."

  He shook his head. "Someone has to look after this regiment. Should I leave that to His Highness? You see what he's like. That is our future King." Even saying the words gave him a chill.

  Visyna reached across the table, then seemed to think better of it, pulling her hands back. "But he is not King yet. It's a dangerous world out here in the wilds; much could happen."

  Konowa waited for her to smile. She didn't.

  "Why, Miss Tekoy, the bengar shows its teeth," he said, only partially surprised.

  Visyna looked embarrassed. "I'm not saying you should actually…I, just…things are not going as they should."

  Konowa knew the feeling all too well. "They never do."

  A musket fired in the distance. He stood up—it was time.

  She stood as well, moving closer to him until her face was only inches away from his. "Give up this power and embrace the natural order. Help me, and your reward will be greater than you can imagine. You won't just be saving my people, you'll be saving your men, and I can save you, if you'll let me."

  Her hand came up to gently brush back his hair at the side of his head, revealing the ruined ear. She gasped and drew back her fingers. Frost sparkled at the tips.

  "It's too late," he said, turning and walking out of the room.

  The pain was overwhelming, and for the first hour the Viceroy actually cried for his mother, a sharp-tongued shrew who had substituted a wicker cane for love in the belief that it was the only way for a child to grow strong. Had she lived to see her son as he was now, she would no doubt have despaired that she hadn't hit him often enough.

  Though the pain remained, he forced himself up onto his knees, his scarred arms clutching the edge of the table.

  It should have been charred, but his sacrifice had spared it—at a cost.

  He staggered to his feet with excruciating effort, cringing at the sound of crisped skin stretching and tearing as he unbent his legs to stand. He looked down on the table, which gleamed as if no flame had touched it, and brushed away the ash from its surface that he knew to be his own flesh.

  He saw who had done this, and who would pay. First, however, he needed strength.

  He ran his blistered hands across the surface, seeking its depths, seeking Her.

  "Help me," he said, his voice a thin rasp, his breathing ragged and uneven. "Help me do your bidding."

  A tinge of frost sparkled beneath his hands. Red, swollen flesh froze, then turned black and gray, the surface rough and striated. He held a hand up to this face and flexed the fingers. They curled slowly, creaking like autumn twigs. He carefully moved the rest of his body and found that his movements were slowed by the new, barklike skin, but that the pain was subsiding.

  He bent over the table again and focused all his thought on Luuguth Jor.

  They would all die.

  He placed his hands on the table and called to it, but he was too weak. He could see the Iron Elves, but he couldn't direct Her power through it.

  "Then I shall go there and kill them myself," he said, not the least bit surprised by the sound of his new voice.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Are we there yet?"

  The humid night air got a little thicker. Yimt stomped on a six-inch-long centipede crawling across the path, grinding his boot into the dirt with more force than necessary. It was a feeling all the surviving members of the patrol shared. They had been marching for hours through air so wet it felt like breathing through a sopping cotton mask. The elvish tree sap did slake their thirst, refreshing them long after they should have collapsed from exhaustio
n, but it did nothing to cool the heat, or silence Scolly.

  "What about now?"

  Teeter frowned and tried to shush Scolly to no avail.

  Yimt growled something under his breath and stomped another centipede. Alwyn took a quick look around to see if any of the elves were watching, assuming that they would not approve of one of nature's creatures being dispatched in such a fashion, but none were visible at the moment.

  "Well? Are we?" Scolly asked again.

  It was, and of this Alwyn was quite certain, the one hundredth time.

  Yimt reached for his right thigh, then banged his fist against it. Alwyn knew he was wishing he had his drukar.

  The dwarf looked over at Alwyn and shook his head.

  "It's not the heat, it's the stupidity."

  Alwyn smiled, but it wasn't easy. The heat was taking a toll on him, especially with his chest still throbbing with pain. He took another sip from the gourd and immediately felt a little better. The problem was that his gourd was nearly empty, and they still had a long night of marching ahead of them…and Scolly.

  "Well?"

  Yimt cursed and tugged so hard on his beard that strands of it came away in his hand.

  "Scolly, for the last bloody time, I'll tell you when we're there. Do you see any magical stars? Does this look like a fort on a hill by a river?" Yimt asked, waving his hand around at the trees.

  Scolly looked around and finally nodded as if he understood, but everyone knew five minutes later he'd be asking the same questions again. He was terrified of the forest. If they ever found Kritton, the elf had a lot to answer for. The trees for their part did not look particularly dangerous, though they were strange. One gray-barked variety had fist-sized orange-and-black-spotted fruit in clusters of three growing right out of the trunk. Then there was the kind Yimt had dubbed "Weeping Whipper" for the thread-thin leaves that dangled over the path, the tips barbed and perfect for getting tangled in beards. It made Alwyn think of home and the great bushy chestnut trees, snow-white birches, and great maples that had harbored nothing more fierce than a squirrel guarding its winter hoard.

  "What about now?"

  "Oh, that tears it, laddie," Yimt growled, grabbing the stock of his shatterbow and taking a step toward Scolly. Chayii suddenly appeared in front of Yimt and gently placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. With her other, she put a finger to her lips.

  Alwyn stopped where he was and motioned for Inkermon and Teeter to freeze. They already had, the elves of the Long Watch having appeared all around them. While the soldiers stuck to a winding game trail through the forest on their way to Luuguth Jor, the elves—two dozen, Alwyn reckoned, although it was hard to get an exact count—had taken to the forest itself, moving between the trees without making a sound, at least not any he could hear. He wasn't sure, but he thought some of them were actually in the branches, too, leaping from limb to limb above them. Every time he thought he sensed something and looked up, however, there was nothing to see but leaves. He checked those, too, praying he would never see another frost-burnt leaf for the rest of their journey, and the rest of his life.

  "What is it?" Yimt asked, his whisper barely distinguishable from his regular voice.

  Chayii chirped softly to Irkila, who notched an arrow in her longbow faster than Alwyn could follow. She took two steps off the path and melted into the forest. Alwyn blinked, trying to see where she went, but the leaf canopy blocked out too much moonlight for his poor eyesight. He'd never find her, he realized, when something made him turn.

  There, not thirty yards down the path they had just come, standing in a pile of excavated dirt near a gaping hole, was another creature from his granny's bedtime story collection—a korwird.

  Alwyn was so surprised he never even thought to unsling his musket. Korwird, like rakkes, were supposed to be extinct.

  He squinted and shook his head, trying to get a better look. When he finally did, he wished he hadn't.

  It looked very much like the centipedes Yimt had been stepping on, except that this one was twenty feet long and had a pointed snout filled with needle-sharp teeth. Its body was covered in shimmering black and green scales, making its milky white eyes all the more terrifying to look at.

  The korwird took a few steps forward. Alwyn's stomach lurched. Each leg moved in rhythm with the other like oars on a long boat, propelling it forward at a quick, jerky pace, accompanied by a harsh, staccato clicking sound. The creature swept its snout back and forth just above the forest path, sniffing the dirt. Large gleaming streams of drool hung from its mouth and dragged along the ground. Wherever they touched, vapor spumed into the air, and Alwyn instinctively knew it must be poisonous.

  An arrow sliced through the darkness and embedded itself in the korwird's right eye. The creature reared up onto its back legs and shrieked in pain, spraying its lethal venom everywhere. Several more arrows flew out of the shadows at the exposed belly of the beast, but these bounced off the scales without effect.

  Fully enraged and still able to see out of one eye, the korwird crashed back down onto all of its legs and shot up the path directly toward Alwyn. Its body made a series of rapid S movements as it came on, the noise of its many legs as loud as a flight of cicadas. More arrows bounced off the korwird's scales, but none seemed to penetrate. Alwyn stumbled backward, unslinging his musket as he did so. He heard shouts and felt hands grabbing his arm, but all his attention was focused on the nightmare racing toward him faster than he could run. The korwird got to within four feet of Alwyn and opened its mouth wide, ready to take a bite out of his exposed legs.

  "Back to the fiery pits with you and walk this earth no more!" shouted Inkermon, stepping in front of him. He held a small white book in his right hand and held out from his body like a shield.

  Alwyn wasn't sure who was more surprised, himself or the korwird. The creature backed up several paces, its mouth still open wide, its teeth glistening with venom.

  "Back I say!" Inkermon continued, his eyes bulging, his lips flecked with spittle. "Your infernal presence is an affront to all that is good and decent! Your fiendish master has sinned against all that is right and pure! Go back whence you came and trouble us no more!"

  The korwird seemed to consider this for a moment, then lunged for Inkermon.

  Two muskets fired from somewhere just behind Alwyn. His eardrums rattled as acrid smoke billowed around him, obscuring his vision. He heard two loud smacks as the musket balls found their mark. A moment later, he was able to see the korwird in front of him: one large hole in its neck, another in its back, two of its legs now dangling loosely on its left side. It clutched Inkermon's white book between its teeth, while Inkermon was scrabbling up a tree.

  The korwird shrieked, spitting out the book and darting forward again.

  As Alwyn prepared to club the korwird with his musket, there was a familiar, heavy twang and two black arrows whistled past him, piercing the upper bone of the korwird's mouth and lodging deep within its brain. Its head slammed to the ground, but the legs on its body continued to move, each thrashing madly, twisting the korwird into a ragged circle.

  Chayii calmly approached the body, drawing a slender sword from its scabbard as she did so. The faint whisper of a voice both old and wise filled the air. At first, it filled Alwyn with a sense of peace and kindness, but it suddenly grew to be something far more deadly. The voice roared as Chayii sliced the head of the creature clean off with one fluid stroke. She held the blade up to the moonlight and eyed the edge. There wasn't a mark on it. Patting the flat of the blade, she resheathed it and the voice went silent. Alwyn banged a hand against his ear and looked back at the korwird. The legs had stopped moving and the korwird now lay perfectly still. For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the gentle hiss of its venom eating away at the leaves of the trees around them.

  Chayii said something and several elves appeared and went not to the korwird, but to the surrounding trees, carefully applying the same moss they had used on the soldiers' wounds
to the damaged leaves.

  Yimt brushed past Alwyn, casually grabbing Inkermon by the hem of his caerna and yanking him down from his perch in the tree, and went to stand over the body of the korwird, admiring his shot. "Probably could have used just one, but he was getting a mite too close for comfort." He reached down to pull out the arrows, but Irkila held up a hand. Tyul, the elf Irkila had called a lost one, stepped onto the path, his bow bent back with an arrow.

  "It is not safe yet to remove them," she said. She switched to elvish and said something to Tyul, who glided forward to stand directly over the body. The little squirrel suddenly appeared from within the leaves that covered the elf and launched itself onto the korwird. It darted over the body as if searching for something, then stopped and sat at a spot near the korwird's spine, firmly tapping one paw. Tyul released his string and the arrow thudded deep into the korwird's body a mere inch from where the unconcerned squirrel sat.

  "There is parity now—remove the foul arrows." Irkila brushed a hand to her eye and turned away.

  Yimt raised an eyebrow at her, but nodded and began tugging the black arrows out, using the hem of his caerna to protect his hands. Alwyn turned away as Yimt revealed a bit more than he needed to see as he leaned back and pulled.

  "Buggers are in there good," he said, grunting with the strain.

  "They are already taking root," Chayii said, coming to stand beside Tyul, who remained motionless over the body. The squirrel wriggled its nose and jumped back onto Tyul to disappear among the leaves.

  Chayii pointed to the tips of the arrows at the back of the korwird's head. Ugly-looking fibers sprouted there, plunging into the korwird and through it into the ground.

  Chayii and Irkila began to chant, and Alwyn felt the same sort of strangeness that he had in the clearing when he had watched the frost-fire burn. This time was not so dramatic, and after a few moments Yimt was able to pull the arrows free, the roots having disappeared from the arrows. Instead, the two remaining arrows began to take root. The brown shafts shimmered and began to glow as their fletching sprouted new leaves of deep, rich green tinged with gold.