A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  "Grow, strong little ones, and cleanse this place," Chayii said, offering a blessing for the arrow-trees that were now consuming the body of the korwird. She motioned for them to start moving, and Alwyn tore his eyes away from the body. Tyul, he saw, remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the arrows now growing into trees.

  "Won't they be tainted by feeding off that thing, Ms. Red Owl?" Alwyn asked, feeling some comfort that the elf was now walking with them on the path.

  "Evil or good lies in the spirit, Alwyn of the Empire. That creature is as much a victim of Her power as were the children of this place that were injured by it," she said, pointing to the trees around them. "She delves deeper than the roots, far deeper than is wise, and brings forth from the depths things that should no longer be. Long have we guarded against this, confining Her to the mountain and the High Forest there, but we were complacent, and it shames us that we should have let this peril grow."

  "But you can stop Her, right? Your magic is the good kind, and that's always better…right?"

  Chayii stopped on the path and looked at Alwyn. "Much hangs in the balance, Alwyn of the Empire, and I would not seek to unsettle it by stating that which I do not know." She started walking again, gently placing a hand on his arm to guide him. The familiar murmur of life returned. Alwyn felt a spark where her hand rested on his arm, but Chayii ignored it.

  "The elves of the Long Watch will strive with all their power to prevent Her dominion from finding any more purchase in this or any other land. You perhaps do not realize, but Tyul Mountain Spring sacrificed much to offer two children of his ryk faurrĂŠ, Rising Dawn, to mend this place. He will mourn this for many moons, and I fear will go ever further beyond us."

  "Irkila told me he was a dĂŻova gruss, one of the lost ones. What does that mean?"

  Chayii bowed her head for a moment, then brought it up and looked at Alwyn. "Once in a very long time the birthing meadow will give rise to a silver Wolf Oak. Their power is great, far greater than their brothers' and sisters'. Too often the elf that is chosen gets lost in the purity of its heart, its understanding of the natural order. When that happens, the chosen one forgets what it means to be an elf, becoming instead a creature of the wild, beyond our recall."

  "Is that what happened to the Shadow Monarch?" Alwyn asked.

  Chayii stopped, her grip on Alwyn's arm tighter than before. "No," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. "No dĂŻova gruss would do such a thing, Alwyn of the Empire, for in saving Her ryk faur, She broke with the natural order. That is something those like Tyul could never do, for to no longer be part of the natural order would rob them of the very thing they hold precious above all else, even if it meant their ryk faur would die."

  Alwyn looked back over his shoulder. Tyul no longer stood in the center of the path, but the image in Alwyn's mind grew stronger and a deep sadness overcame him.

  "What if Yimt hadn't pulled those black arrows out of the korwird, what would have happened then?"

  "A new forest might have arisen as this land weakens, a dark, cold place to challenge the trees that live here in peace. They have not fought Her power as have the Wolf Oaks of our home, so are not yet strong enough to hold back Her influence. They would have succumbed, I fear, their voices hardened, their sap turned black as shadow."

  There was an anger in her voice that caught Alwyn off guard.

  "I never knew trees were so…well, so alive," Alwyn said, looking around him again at the things he had always taken for granted. Now, however, he actually thought he could feel their energy. It was unsettling.

  "Then there is much yet for you to learn. Now, as we walk, perhaps you can enlighten me?"

  Alwyn looked at Chayii with surprise. "I'd be happy to, Miss Red Owl. What would you like to know?"

  Chayii cast a sideways glance at Alwyn and gave the faintest hint of a smile. "Tell me, Alwyn of the Empire, more of this witch, Visyna."

  FORTY-SIX

  The sound of sporadic musket fire echoed from the far side of the river. Konowa stood at the river's edge, watching the first rays of sunlight creep over the horizon.

  It was going to be a slaughter.

  He unbuttoned the top of his jacket in direct violation of Prince Tykkin's uniform code, knowing His Highness was still up at the fortress searching for signs of the Star. No doubt the musket fire would rouse the Prince to come and oversee the battle, but for now, the regiment was his.

  The first thing he saw emerge from the mist were the wings on the shakos of the regiment's skirmishers. The soldiers marched in orderly fashion in ones and twos about thirty yards at a time, then turned, dropped to a knee, and aimed at the approaching elfkynan files still a hundred yards behind them. As they did so, those who had fired before stood up and marched past their comrades another thirty yards where they took up position, reloading their muskets quickly but in good order. RSM Lorian directed them the whole time, calmly walking back and forth among the skirmishers, pointing out targets, barking orders, and always reminding them to make each shot count.

  Despite the accuracy of the skirmishers' shooting—Konowa saw several elfkynan fall never to rise again—the enemy appeared completely indifferent to the firing, paying it no more heed than they would a few mosquitoes. They continued to march forward at an easy pace, their mioxja held high in the air, their faces lifted to the sky in song. The opposing army, not that it resembled any army Konowa had faced before, looked and sounded more like a very large celebration.

  It was going to be a slaughter.

  The skirmishers kept up their harassing fire, though they were not completely unscathed. Two wounded soldiers were already making their way back across the bridge, one holding a bloodstained handkerchief to his thigh, the other cradling an arm with an arrow protruding from it. Konowa looked past them and saw another soldier fall to the ground, his musket sliding from his hands. Konowa willed the soldier to get up, but he knew that he was dead. Lorian strode over to his body a moment later and grabbed the soldier by the shoulder, turning him over. He then stood and continued to command the remaining skirmishers. Lorian himself continued to present a tempting target to the elfkynan bowmen, who were in a less festive mood than their brethren, but though the arrows rained around him, the RSM remained unhurt.

  Konowa calculated the speed of the skirmishers and the advancing elfkynan and knew there wasn't much time left. The skirmishers would soon be back across the river, the brown water the final barrier between the Iron Elves and the elfkynan wild with the thought of finding the Eastern Star and ridding themselves of the Calahrian Empire once and for all. Konowa closed his eyes for a moment and tried to flow his senses out across the river, searching for the Star. He still wasn't sure if he truly believed it was real, not like the acorn that weighed cold and heavy against his chest, but watching the elfkynan approach gave him pause. They certainly appeared to believe in it.

  Konowa opened his eyes after a few moments, detecting nothing but the usual chaos. He saw rather than felt the splitting of the elfkynan forces, the bulk of the rebels' army coming straight at Luuguth Jor, while two smaller columns were beginning to bend to envelop the village and fortress from either side. Expecting this, Konowa had deployed two platoons of C Company at the gap in the trees. He would have liked to have done the same on the other side, but with no gap in the trees those troops would be at too much risk of being cut off. Instead, he placed two more platoons from C Company through the gap and facing west. When the elfkynan column got across the river to the north and then swung around the trees thinking they would surprise the regiment, they'd be in for a rude awakening.

  An arrow fluttered by Konowa's face just a few feet away, bouncing off a mud brick and coming to rest at his feet. He bent and picked it up, twirling it in his fingers, noting that the fletching was rudimentary at best, the tip just sharpened and not even fire-hardened. He concentrated for a moment and burned the arrow with frost fire in a matter of seconds. There was no screaming in his head, no anguish, only a slight un
pleasant feeling of regret that he quickly pushed aside.

  "Cavalry, Major!"

  Konowa looked up to see a squadron of elfkynan riders galloping hard for the river, then making an abrupt turn and racing parallel to it in an attempt to get behind the skirmishers and cut them off. If it weren't for the tall grass and uneven ground they would have ridden straight through them. As it was, if they succeeded in herding the skirmishers together, the soldiers would be easy pickings for the closing main elfkynan column.

  "Hold your fire—wait until the first horse gets to the bridge," he ordered, wishing he had his musket in his hands instead of his saber.

  With no resistance, the horsemen continued to race along the bank, their mioxja making a high, keening sound as they waved them over their heads. The lead cavalryman was still a good twenty feet from the bridge when a musket fired from somewhere off to the left. At only fifty yards wide, the river was little more than a big ditch, and hitting a target as large as a horse, even one cantering across their line, was not difficult. The ball struck the rider's front shoulder, throwing him over the horse's neck as it stumbled to its knees.

  "Front row, by volley…fire!" Konowa shouted, unleashing eighty musket balls at once. There was the staccato ripple of seventy-nine hammers sparking seventy-nine pans within half a second of each other, followed by the sharp crack of balls leaving muzzles, the familiar shower of sparks and expanding plumes of gray smoke that rolled forth a few feet before losing their impetus and beginning to blur and rise into the brightening sky.

  The effect was immediate and devastating. Twelve horses took the brunt of the shot, the musket balls punching through their hides. Seven riders were also hit, a musket ball plucking one rider off his saddle with a clean shot in one ear and out the other. Screams of dying and wounded horses and dying and wounded elfkynan filled the air, and following cavalry slowed and bunched as they were forced to navigate through their fallen comrades. It was the moment Konowa was waiting for.

  "Second row, to the fore! First row, to the rear, reload!" Konowa shouted, hearing his commands echoed up and down the line as sergeants hurried their men. The hollow rattle of ramrods in musket barrels reminded Konowa of battles past and he smiled, a thin-lipped baring of his teeth that would have terrified anyone looking at it.

  "Front row, by volley…fire!"

  Sixty muskets fired this time, but the effect was unknown, as the smoke from the second volley mixed with the first and with the fog that still hung over the river, obscuring the far side of the bank. A thin gust of wind moved enough of the smoke a moment later for Konowa to see again, and he counted at least another ten riders fallen, along with several horses. Confusion reigned on the far side, and the cavalry were now milling about, unsure whether to press on or fall back. It was time to make up their minds for them.

  "The cannon will fire on my command, and don't you bloody well miss…fire!"

  Twin cracks snapped the air. Loaded with canister shot, little more than a tin can filled with fifty musket balls strapped to a round wooden plug by thin metal bands, all of which sat on a flannel bag filled with powder, the canisters burst apart with the force of the blast as soon as they left the cannon. Their shot tore through the hanging smoke and fog and spread out to spray an area thirty feet wide on the other side of the river. The head and neck of one horse simply disappeared in a red mist. Seven more stumbled and fell, two of them rolling over and down into the river, taking their screaming riders with them. One rider stood amid the carnage with his left arm completely shorn away, a stream of blood arcing out of the gaping wound at his shoulder. Instead of running away, he was shaking his right fist in the air, still clenching his mioxja, and shouting curses at the Iron Elves.

  He was either very brave, or very foolish, and either way Konowa admired him, which made it a shame that the trooper would be killed with the next volley. Konowa was about to shout for the first row to fire again when he heard the elfkynan cavalry blow retreat on a horn, its plaintive cry calling the survivors back. The cavalry trooper swayed on his feet, but refused to move, still shouting, though his remaining arm had now dropped to his side.

  Konowa's attention was pulled away as the massive frame of Private Hrem Vulhber came into view, easily dwarfing the rest of the soldiers as they picked their way through the dead and dying. Lorian was close behind, still walking tall and shouting orders to the skirmishers even as the elfkynan army pressed down on them. He waved at Konowa and signaled with his halberd that the skirmishing line was still in good order and able to fight. The steel point of the weapon was stained red, mute testament that at least one rebel had gotten a little too close.

  Konowa cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted across to him, "Get your men across the river, Sergeant Major! And make it look good!"

  Lorian gave a thumbs-up and shouted new orders to the skirmishers. Their controlled retreat suddenly became a mad dash for the river and the sole means across it. A cheer rose from the elfkynan line marching after them, thinking that the siggers had finally broken and were running away.

  As the skirmishers jogged back, one of them veered off to the right to where the one-armed elfkynan cavalry trooper still stood and bayoneted him in the back. The elfkynan screamed and fell, the soldier stabbing him again and again until the screaming stopped. The soldier quickly rifled through the dead elfkynan's clothing, then rejoined the troops filing back across the bridge.

  Konowa saw the weasel-faced soldier as he stepped off the dock and pointed to him. The soldier looked around for a moment, clearly hoping Konowa wanted someone else, but when he saw he was it, he marched over.

  "Private Gorton Zwitty, Major," he said, saluting.

  "Why did you bayonet that elfkynan?"

  Zwitty looked confused. "Which one, sir? I put the steel to a few of them heathen. Squealed like little girls, the cowards."

  Konowa reined in his temper and pointed across the river. He was aware that Lorian and several soldiers were watching. "The one missing an arm."

  "Why did I bayonet him?" Zwitty asked, clearly puzzled by the question. "Answer the major," Lorian barked, startling Zwitty.

  Zwitty shrugged. "I did what the major told us: If they had one of those moja things, get in close and do 'em, so I did."

  The futility of it all hit Konowa, and he waved the soldier away. He saw Lorian looking at him and asked the RSM for a report.

  "The elfkynan are a mess," he began quickly, his breathing still labored after the exertions of the last couple of hours. His face was flushed, and there was a wild look to his eyes. Konowa recognized it at once, a feeling of indescribable exhilaration at having fought and survived in battle. In his banishment, he had missed it terribly.

  "Discipline is poor, more like a mob than an army. And the bastards didn't seem to care one bit as we shot at them. They just kept chanting Sillra, Sillra. Main column looks to be a couple hundred wide and thirty deep, give or take a few."

  "Their faith in the Star is strong," Konowa said, feeling the smallest sense of disappointment that it was misplaced.

  "It's like they think it will protect them from being killed," Lorian said, his breathing slowing as the rush of battle left him. "I couldn't get a good look at the two wings that went out, so I did a quick scout of my own and counted close to two thousand in the right wing. The left has probably got the same. And you saw their cavalry, brave enough, but not much to worry about on this side of the river. I'd wager three to four hundred at the most."

  "A quick scout of your own?" Konowa asked, looking at the still-bloody halberd.

  Lorian grimaced, then nodded. "I couldn't see a damn thing where I was, so I borrowed one of them ponies and went for a gander."

  Cavalry. Lorian was no different from the Duke of Rakestraw, galloping at everything with no regard for his own safety. Having spent considerable time in the saddle the last few weeks, Konowa was beginning to suspect that it was the horses, not the cavalry troopers, that had more sense.

  "Not exactly what
I had in mind when I said no heroics," Konowa said, waving away Lorian's protest. "The Duke would not have been pleased if I had lost him his best sergeant." He shook his head and smiled. "Well done all the same. If my math is close, that would give the rebels six thousand in the center, maybe a couple thousand in each wing, and a few hundred cavalry." He paused for a moment, then asked the question they were both reluctant to hear. "What did we lose?"

  "Two dead and five wounded," Lorian said simply.

  It pained him to lose a single Iron Elf, but their losses were light, and the skirmishers had succeeded in drawing the attention of the elfkynan, who even now were marching toward the river.

  "Put them in for a citation. I want their widows to get a full pension," Konowa said, knowing it was cold comfort for the loss of a loved one. "Their deaths won't be in vain."

  "If they are in fact dead," Lorian said, hanging his head. Ice crystals winked along the length of his halberd and the blood on the metal point thickened, darkening as it did so. A perfectly rounded drop froze before vanishing in a flicker of frost flames. Lorian never looked up.

  Konowa glanced around to see if they were watched, but the preparations to receive the elfkynan attack had all the soldiers' attention. "This isn't the time, Lorian."

  Lorian brought his head up as if waking from a dream. He stiffened and saluted. "Of course, Major. I'll see to the defenses," he said, striding back to the pier to oversee its dismantling.

  Watching him go, Konowa realized he couldn't put it off any longer. The troops deserved some kind of explanation. He walked over to a pile of ammunition crates and climbed on top of them. Soldiers nearby saw him and began motioning to others. Soon, shouts were going up and down the line that the major was going to speak.