A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  "Soldiers of the Iron Elves! Battle has been joined," he began, cringing at the obviousness of it. He shook his head and lowered his voice slightly, looking down at the upturned faces. Many were smiling, their trust in him absolute.

  "Today, at this place, the true measure of your heart will be taken. Blood will flow, nerves will fray, and men will die. Make no mistake, the day will be hard. But know also that as with all days, this one too shall fade into night, and a new dawn will rise."

  A few muted cheers rumbled through the regiment, the reminder of the coming battle having a sobering effect.

  "Take comfort in the fact that you are the rarest of all warriors to walk the land in any age. You are Iron Elves, oath takers bound to all those that went before. Their strength is your strength. Be not afraid of it, for therein lies your power!"

  The cheers were louder now. Muskets were held high in the air, the sun glinting off them like steel lightning.

  Konowa tried to think of something else to say, but the regiment continued to cheer, the air growing cooler around them. He abruptly pulled his saber from its scabbard and held it skyward.

  "For the Queen! For the Empire! For the Iron Elves!"

  They answered as one, their voice a cold, clarion note through a mist-shrouded forest.

  Konowa resheathed his saber and stepped down from the crates, smiling back at his men as they continued to cheer. Each one believing the lie.

  As he walked along the line, the sound of cheering came from the other side of the river. Konowa paused, trying to hear what was being yelled, but it didn't really matter. The rebel leaders would be telling their troops much the same, perhaps invoking the power of the Star. The elfkynan, like the Iron Elves, would believe the same lie, knowing that they would prevail while others died.

  Whose speech, Konowa wondered, had been closer to the truth?

  Inja had been born in the palace stables. The warm, heavy smells of the large animals had filled her lungs with her very first breath. By the time she was four, she could ride any horse in the stables, even the big stallions. At seven it was clear that she had the limoo sy about her, the ability to know things that had not yet come to pass…as it related to horses. Now at fifteen, Inja could predict within the minute when a mare would foal and which horse was going to develop colic and die months before it happened, giving the stable master ample time to sell the beast at full price to an unsuspecting buyer. She knew the fate of every horse in the stable, including the fastest of them all, Hizurantha.

  Inja walked slowly toward the stall of the three-year-old gray gelding, the six-inch blade in her hand growing heavier with each step.

  She knew that what she was about to do was a merciful thing. No creature should have to endure what she had forseen for Hizu. It was a fate truly worse than death.

  Hizu smelled her coming and whinnied with anticipation, knowing she always brought him a chunk of keela fruit. Inja looked down at her hand and saw only the cold glint of steel. Could she really do this thing? What if she was wrong, what if her vision had been a mistake? The nightmare flashed repeatedly through her mind, as sharp as the knife in her hand.

  There was no mistake. Hizu would suffer terribly; she had no choice.

  Inja arrived at Hizu's stall and reached out her left hand and pulled back the wooden slide that held the stall door in place. Slowly, quietly, she eased the smooth, worn slat back until it made that familiar thunk sound as it hit its wooden stop. Hizu tossed his mane and snorted and stamped his front hooves.

  "I am sorry, Hizu," Inja said, stepping into the stall and reaching up to grab Hizu's halter. The horse obediently brought its head down and sniffed her, looking for the keela fruit. Inja refused to look him in the eye, searching instead for the great vein at the side of his neck. "You deserved better."

  The knife in her hand grew colder, and the horror of what she was about to do made her shiver. Hizu sensed something was wrong, jerking his head back up, his breath coming fast, its mist clouding the cold air of the stable. Inja looked at the mist in surprise, and then down at her hand. Frost sparkled along the blade.

  "What—?" she asked aloud, turning as a new presence entered the stall behind her. Something incredibly cold grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. The knife fell from her hand as she reached up to pry away the icy grip. Already the cold was eating into her, blurring her vision as it bled the strength from her limbs. She heard the sound of Hizu's screams from a growing distance, and then she was flying, the cold vise around her neck letting go. Her head hit the stone cobbles of the hallway in front of the stall, but she remained conscious for a moment more, long enough to hear Hizu's hooves clatter across the stone and fade into the distance.

  The Viceroy of Elfkyna was riding to Luuguth Jor.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  In the future, Major, I will be the one to give the speeches to the men," Prince Tykkin said, pacing up and down a small patch of grass twenty yards behind the firing line. He'd ridden the short distance down from the fortress on Rolling Thunder despite the horse's continued skittishness within the ring of trees. No sooner had he dismounted than the horse bolted, galloping back up to the fortress to huddle among the brindos and muraphants. Konowa felt a certain amount of pride that Zwindarra seemed unconcerned by their present environment.

  "This is my regiment, not yours," the Prince went on. His face was red, but it was more from being out in the sun than from anger. In fact, despite Konowa's breach of etiquette, the Prince was clearly preoccupied with something else. Chants of "Sillra! Sillra!" washed over the regiment from the far bank as the elfkynan worked themselves into a frenzy in preparation for attack.

  "Of course, sir," Konowa said, caring little what the Prince thought. The battle would be over soon and this whole nightmare would be at an end.

  The Prince paused in his pacing, shivering and wrapping his arms around his body. He looked across the river and shook his head. "I caught the tail end of it, Major, and I noticed you didn't mention me. Still, it was rather rousing; I'll have to ask Rallie to write me up something like it." He stamped his boots and started pacing again. "This weather is absolutely atrocious. First it's hot enough to boil eggs and now I'm thoroughly chilled."

  Konowa felt the cold, too, and found he was getting quite used to it. A thought occurred to him.

  "Sir, when I administered the oath to the regiment, you were having one of your discussions with Rallie, correct?"

  The Prince stopped again and looked skyward for a moment, pushing the brim of his shako back out of his eyes. He had lost a good ten pounds since they set out, the puffiness of his face having disappeared, the collar around his neck looser. Konowa hated to admit it, but he was starting to look like what a Prince and a leader should look like, toughened by the outdoors and bloodied, if slightly so far, by battle. Whether he had any more sense was another matter.

  "Yes," he finally said, lowering his eyes to look at Konowa suspiciously. "She was fascinated by my plans to build the Great Library in Celwyn. Said placing the Star there would put it out of reach of almost every miscreant and fool that would try to use it, which was, of course, exactly my plan."

  "No doubt," Konowa said, wondering if the Prince had ever taken a moment to consider the phrase "almost every." "Do you recall feeling cold at all that night? A cool breeze…frost, even a little?"

  Prince Tykkin raised an eyebrow. "What are you getting at, Major?"

  Now that Konowa had brought it up, he wasn't sure how to proceed. "Some of the men have reported feeling a bit off, sir. I was just curious if you had felt different of late."

  The Prince relaxed and actually smiled. "I never would have taken you for a mother hen, Major, but no, put your mind at ease. I have never felt better in my life. If it wasn't for this blasted cold, I'd say I was near perfect."

  So then. The oath hadn't affected the Prince. "Very good, sir. The men will be pleased to hear it."

  "Of course they will," the Prince said, tapping his chest proudly.
"They serve in the finest regiment in the Imperial Army, commanded by the heir to the throne. Now, enough about my health. Is everything ready?"

  Konowa made a point of looking up and down the line as if studying the placement of the troops, something he had already done a dozen times before. "The regiment is ready, sir."

  "Good, splendid. Well, very good. Yes, very, very good. We'll stand here then, shall we?"

  Once again, Konowa came face to face with the reality of his situation: Prince Tykkin had no earthly idea what to do with a regiment going into battle.

  "As the commanding officer it would be wise if you oversaw the battle from the fortress. It provides a commanding view and will allow you to take in the whole field, sir," Konowa lied. A commander's place was with his men, right in the thick of it—not that this fool would ever realize it.

  The Prince looked back up to the fortress. "Seems rather far away to direct the regiment," he said. No sooner had he said it than a single arrow fluttered over from across the river, an impossibly long shot by an elfkynan archer hoping to take out an officer. The arrow barely penetrated the dirt two feet in front of them before slowly toppling over. The shouts of "Sillra!" grew even louder.

  "The men know you would gladly risk your life to be right up here with them, sir," Konowa said, turning slightly so he could keep a better eye out for more arrows. He noticed that the Prince made sure to keep Konowa between himself and the river. "But yours is a strategic role, sir, watching for that critical moment when things hang in the balance. And of course the Star…you'll be looking for the Star."

  Mention of the Star reanimated Prince Tykkin and his pacing resumed, faster than before, heedless of exposing himself to further shots. "It's close, Major, right at our very fingertips. It's here somewhere, I can feel it!"

  "Yes, sir, I'm sure it is. All the more reason for you to continue searching for it. I'm sure you'll find it soon." The air vibrated with elfkynan chants.

  "You're right," the Prince said. Another arrow sailed in a high curving arc across the river and struck the Prince's shako square on, bouncing off the hat just above his forehead to lie at their feet.

  "He's got the right idea," Konowa muttered, looking across the river for the elfkynan archer.

  "How's that?" the Prince asked, his voice rising in preparation for another tantrum.

  "Always aim at their leaders, sir. You cut off the head and the body falls. They obviously recognize the threat you pose," Konowa said. "Perhaps Rallie will help you with a victory speech for after the battle. I know the men will be looking forward to hearing a few words from you."

  "It would be appropriate," the Prince said, and then paused, a new thought clearly dawning on him. "And speaking of appropriate, an officer should be mounted at all times practical, Major. The men need constant inspiration. They need to look up to those that command them. That's why we have horses."

  "Not all the horses seem comfortable with the trees," Konowa said, succeeding for the most part in keeping the exasperation out of his voice.

  "They'll learn, or they'll wind up in a cooking pot," the Prince said, bending to pick up the arrow. "I expect to see you mounted, Major; no excuses. This battle will be fought properly."

  "Very good, sir," Konowa said, knowing it was futile to argue.

  "Now," Prince Tykkin continued, turning to head back up to the fortress, "I think I'll go have a chat with Rallie and get her working on my speech. My recent brush with death adds a real sense of weight to things, and it should go over well with the men, don't you think?"

  "Almost nearly," Konowa said under his breath, "almost nearly."

  In the thousands of years that the Baynama River had curled through eastern Elfkyna, long before the land had been named, it had forever run brown with the silt washed into it from the heavy rains that fell throughout the year.

  Until today.

  Konowa bent and pulled a wounded soldier away from the bank and paused. The crimson water in front of him frothed with the frenzied feeding of fish drawn to the surface.

  "Major! Get down!"

  Konowa threw himself flat against the grass as the sound of dozens of ice picks stabbing a piece of tin crackled above his head. The musket volley thrashed the forward line of elfkynan just entering the river thirty yards away, flailing their exposed flesh, exposing briefly the brilliance of white bone beneath. Elfkynan screamed. More slipped under the water, trampled underfoot by those not yet hit, their cries gurgling into abrupt silence as water filled their lungs and they vanished from sight.

  An arrow pricked the ground inches from his head, the shaft quivering as if furious it had not found flesh. More arrows whistled past, answered by yet more musket fire, the smoke of the volley rolling over Konowa and temporarily blocking his view of the river. Over it all, the chants of "Sillra! Sillra!" ebbed and flowed like a coming tide, each wave climbing higher and higher onto the beach.

  "I've got him, sir," Private Hrem Vulhber said, running through the smoke to grab the wounded soldier from Konowa and heave him over his shoulder. "You shouldn't be out in front of the line like this. You're not immortal."

  Konowa allowed Hrem to drag him back over the wall of mud bricks, caring little if an elfkynan arrow hit him in the back as he halted on the edge, looking back down at the river.

  "Maybe I am. Maybe we all are," he said, recognizing the feeling of utter futility. The elfkynan weren't going to stop. They surged forward in waves with no concern for their lives. The few prisoners the Iron Elves had taken that day wailed and begged to be killed. It wasn't until Konowa threatened to grant their wish by having Jir eat them, starting at their toes and working his way up, that one thought better of it.

  "Paradise! Paradise forever! The Star has returned!"

  "What paradise?" Konowa asked, motioning for Jir to take a few steps forward.

  The elfkynan's eyes bulged. "Death does not matter. The Star has returned. All who perish in its service will be rewarded in the afterlife." Taking heart from his own words, the elfkynan ran into the open and stepped in front of one of the five-pounders just as it fired a canister shot.

  Hrem reached up and pulled Konowa off the wall, dropping him behind it as several more arrows ricocheted off the mud bricks. He looked at Konowa for a moment, then nodded and moved back into the firing line a few feet away. Shouts of "Sillra…Sillra" still echoed across the battle, but for the first time, the weight of voice had decreased, the screams growing in volume as yet more elfkynan went to their paradise.

  Even the yelling and taunting by the Iron Elves as the elfkynan had first charged the river had subsided into grunts and curses, and more than a few prayers for the poor buggers to stop, to just please stop.

  This wasn't battle—this was butchery.

  Ramrods rattled in musket barrels, sergeants barked hoarse commands to "look lively," "aim low," the gun carriages for the two five-pounders creaked and groaned as they shook under each blast, and through it all, the screams of the dying never stopped.

  There was a boom from the fortress signaling the firing of the howitzer. Konowa looked up and saw the blur of the cannon ball arc overhead before it dipped and slammed into a group of elfkynan. For a moment, nothing happened, the cannon shell sitting half dug into the soft earth, its burning fuse hidden from view. The elfkynan laughed, and one stepped forward to place a foot on the shell when it exploded, tossing several of them into the air.

  A private held on to Zwindarra's reins a few feet away, the horse remarkably calm amid all the chaos. It angered Konowa to needlessly risk the animal's life for no good reason. At least he'd been able to get Jir penned up in the fortress under Rallie's supervision. He'd miss that bengar more than a little if anything ever happened to it.

  "They're absolutely mad!" Lorian said, riding up on one of the commandeered elfkynan horses. Halting beside Zwindarra, the horse—a dappled, shaggy-looking thing—looked like a large pony in comparison. Lorian dismounted, handing the reins to the private holding Zwindarra's, and walked up
to peer over the wall by him. "Little boys with toy soldiers make better battle plans than this."

  Konowa stood up and looked over in time to see six elfkynan crawl up onto the western bank in front of their position. They rose to their feet yelling fiercely, their eyes bright with belief as they were unceremoniously cut down by another round of canister shot fired at a range of twenty yards, the smoke of the blast blotting them from sight. When the smoke drifted away all that remained was madly thrashing fins and scaly mouths gulping down chunks of red, raw flesh floating in the water.

  "How's our ammunition holding out?" Konowa asked, forcing himself to look away as two more elfkynan crawled onto the bank, one trying to hold his innards in with one hand while waving a mioxja with the other. Two sharp musket cracks told Konowa their fate.

  "We're down to twenty rounds a man. I've ordered some of the canister shot cut open and more cartridges to be made, but I doubt there are that many of the dumb bastards left that will need it," Lorian said, sliding down from the wall to rest with his back against it beside Konowa.

  "Losses?" Konowa asked.

  "Eight dead and another fifteen wounded. Prince Tykkin has made it a priority to examine every wound himself to ensure there's no malingering," Lorian said, motioning with his halberd toward the casualty collection area a hundred yards back of the firing line. From there, the wounded were transported by a muraphant-pulled wagon up to the fortress. Those deemed insufficiently injured were sent stumbling back down to the line. Mercifully, there were only a few seriously wounded so far.

  Konowa nodded, grabbing a canteen off the ground and offering it to Lorian. The RSM took a long pull and held it out to Konowa, who grabbed it and finished it off, the bitter taste of gunpowder temporarily diluted.

  "I think it's time we let them force the gap," Konowa said, pointing to the one open section in the ring of trees that surrounded their position. A large abatis made of cut-down trees spiked with sharpened sticks lay across the road. They were normal trees, as attempts to use some of the black trees had gone nowhere. No soldier would get close enough to the blood trees to swing an ax. As it was, the abatis proved useful in blocking the growing number of elfkynan who were trying to find a way through. "We need to finish this now. Who knows what else is out there."