A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  Konowa stood in the saddle, resting the balls of his feet on the stirrups. "Cannon will fire on my command…fire!"

  The night momentarily lit up as twin gouts of sparks burst from the muzzles of the two five-pounders, scattering two hundred musket balls along the riverbank. The huge bara jogg blew apart, their scales no match for the force of the canister shot. More bara jogg still crawling out of the river began feeding on the remains of the others. Konowa was sure no one would straggle after seeing that.

  The gun crews were already pivoting their guns to face the trees nearest the regiment, the sizzle of the wet sponge extinguishing the remaining sparks in the barrel before the next charge was rammed in place surprisingly loud in the cool, night air. The quiet was broken a moment later when the rakkes set up a new howl, and some of them began lumbering forward.

  "The cannon will fire on my command…fire!"

  Portfires, the metal sticks holding a length of burning cord called slow-match, were brought down to the touch hole at the rear of the cannon barrel. The flame came in contact with the fuse, in this case a goose quill filled with fast-burning powder, which ignited at once, sending flame directly into the powder charge inside. The guns roared, the force of the shot sending them rolling backward on their wheels. Each disgorged a solid cannonball through the air and into the trees.

  The force of the impact uprooted several trees and scattered steel-like splinters into the nearest rakkes, felling them as forcefully as musket shot. It was enough to send the rest scurrying back for a moment, which was exactly what Konowa was waiting for.

  "On my command, regiment will form a hollow square and prepare to march. Regiment…form square!"

  In an open field in daylight the maneuver could be quickly and easily done by a well-drilled regiment. This was not an open field—it was night, the Iron Elves had had almost no time to practice complicated drills, and creatures from nightmares roared and crawled all around them.

  Lorian's voice rose above the din, and in turn the sergeants and corporals got their men moving. Konowa directed Zwindarra toward the gun crew near the gap while Lorian went toward the other, each shouting at the men to hurry up. The two guns crews came running in a moment later, a wagon wheel being rolled by each group. Konowa kept twisting around in the saddle, trying to keep an eye on both the tree line and the river.

  Everywhere he looked there was a threat. Everywhere his senses flowed he felt the malice and the hunger and knew there would be no negotiation, no mutual retreat. There would be only those not yet dead.

  When the last man finally entered the ranks, Konowa and Lorian rode in and the Iron Elves closed around them, facing outward.

  Typically, a square was formed to defend against roving cavalry. It allowed line infantry to create, in effect, a miniature fortress with all-round defense, their bayonets a bristling abatis, their muskets a deadly fusillade, and most important, the sense of security that derived from standing side by side with other soldiers, comrades in arms, friends. A square was strong only as long as all four walls held. A single breach would invite destruction.

  The large bara jogg, their impromptu meal finished, responded by jerking and rolling their bodies faster up the bank, teeth-filled mouths opening and closing in anticipation of more flesh. The rakkes began to howl again and move forward, sensing the change was in their favor.

  "Three hundred yards to the fortress, gentlemen," Konowa shouted above the din, walking Zwindarra around the tight area within the circle. He could see his breath as he spoke, though he didn't feel particularly cold. "Just three hundred yards, a stroll in the park."

  There were a few laughs, not as many as Konowa had hoped for. He looked over at Lorian. The RSM sat tall in his saddle, the reins in his left hand, his halberd leaning against his right shoulder. He walked his horse slowly around the inside of the square, nodding approval at what he saw. It was now or never.

  "Keep it tight, keep it strong, and don't run! Now let's get out of here. Regiment…forward march!"

  The square lurched forward. Konowa knew the trouble would come from the rear, which was forced to march backward. Lorian was already on it, shouting encouragement to the men and giving a tap with the butt of his halberd to those who needed a bit more.

  They quickly outpaced the bara jogg, who continued to scratch and spike their way forward, the first of them crawling over the abandoned firing position. The rakkes were another matter. Their frenzy peaked with long, drawn-out howls, and then they charged as one, converging on both the Iron Elves and the elfkynan.

  Many rakkes held crude wooden blades in their hands, the weapons little more than large, splintered chunks of the sarka har. The pieces of wood dripped black ichor, the frost that covered the ground sizzling wherever a drop landed. Konowa had been prepared to let the rakkes get within seventy-five yards before giving the command to fire, but then one of the rakkes let out a great mewling cry and threw its splinter at the square. The soldiers facing the rakke saw it coming and ducked, but those facing the opposite direction did not.

  The wood caught one soldier high in the back, running him through and slamming his body to the ground. Black frost began to grow on the wood immediately and soon covered the soldier's body. The square faltered as soldiers turned to look.

  "Halt! Face out! Hold your positions! On my command, the outer rank will volley…fire!" The muskets sounded like deep ice breaking up, the cold air lending a clarity to their violence. Sparks flew and gray smoke roiled outward from all points of the compass. Dull, wet thwacks marked the striking of flesh by iron, and scores of rakkes went down, the rest retreating to a safer distance to howl in rage.

  The attack against the elfkynan circle made more progress, the discipline of the native warriors not as strong as the Iron Elves', and the rain of arrows not as lethal. As rakkes charged and threw their jagged missiles, many elfkynan shifted position, breaking the integrity of the circle. Those who strayed or found themselves outside were quickly overcome by fangs and claws and dripping black splinters. The bodies were not consumed by frost fire, however; instead, roots from the nearest sarka har would plunge up from below, impaling the body as a new blood tree began to grow.

  "Sir, we have to keep moving!" Lorian shouted, struggling to keep his horse under control. The animal's eyes showed white and it began frothing at the mouth as it chewed its bit.

  Konowa knew he was right, but already a new problem was literally growing to make that more and more difficult. "There are a lot of trees between here and the fort—I can't destroy them all myself."

  Lorian looked over at the body of the fallen soldier. There was nothing left, just a dull, black stain on the ground where he had lain. "Let's get this over with, then." The sound of spikes and scales being dragged across the hard ground grew louder as the enlarged bara jogg came on. The Iron Elves had no choice but to keep going.

  Konowa shouted for Private Vulhber. The giant stepped out of line and into the center of the square. Konowa dismounted and held out Zwindarra's reins. "Take care of him for me; the RSM and I have some work to do." It was a gift any of the soldiers would have treasured, a chance to stay within the protective center of the square. After witnessing Vulhber's heroics, Konowa figured the soldier deserved it.

  Hrem looked at the reins longingly, then shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, Major, I'd just as soon not. I've got an idea about what you two are going to do, and I figure a third pair of hands might come in, well, handy."

  "Can you control the power well enough?" Lorian asked, dismounting.

  "Better than most. Seems only a few of the lads can really work it so far and I'm one of them." There was no joy in the statement, or pride. "That's why I'm still here. I used the frost to slow the fuse of that shell while I tried to pull it out. Still working out the kinks, but I saw what the major did with those trees back at the outpost. I'd just as soon help you and get this over with."

  "Words to live by," Konowa said, whistling for two soldiers nearby to come and t
ake the reins of the horses. One of them was the weasel-faced private who had bayoneted the wounded elfkynan. Konowa was tempted to order him back into the line, but a chunk of black wood tumbling through the air and gouging a furrow in the ground in the center of the square got his attention.

  "Lorian, Private Vulhber and I will deal with the trees; you stay here and command," Konowa said.

  Lorian looked surprised. "I'll burn the damn trees, sir, I'm not afraid of them."

  Konowa gave him a quick smile. "I know you aren't, but someone has to keep the boys in shape and I'll be rather busy."

  "Then you should stay and I should go with Vulhber. You're an officer, sir, you should stay in the center and command. It's your proper place," he finished.

  "I'm no Prince, RSM. I'll lead them back through the trees; you have command of the square. Take Zwindarra, you'll have a better view," he said, taking the reins from weasel-face and handing them to Lorian. Konowa then saluted, forcing Lorian to return it.

  "Let's go, Private," Konowa said, sheathing his saber and stepping through the side of the square facing the fortress. "You, too," he said, pointing at weasel-face, who was trying to wrest the reins of Lorian's horse from another private.

  "Me, sir?" Zwitty asked, shock registering on his face.

  "You'll be our scout. If you see trouble, let us know."

  Private Vulhber slung his musket on a broad shoulder and grabbed Zwitty by the arm, propelling him through the square.

  "I didn't volunteer!" Zwitty shouted, panic breaking his voice.

  Konowa grabbed him by the front of the jacket and jerked him onto his toes. Frost radiated out from the point where his hand held the cloth and up to the collar of the soldier's jacket. "Oh, but you did. As soon as I saw you use that bayonet, I knew you were just the man for the job. Now you keep your eyes peeled and watch our backs, or you won't get a chance to volunteer for anything again."

  Konowa released his grasp and the frost evaporated in a swirling mist. He turned and motioned to Private Vulhber. "You'll hear screaming; just squeeze harder."

  Without waiting for a reply, Konowa looked back to Lorian, now sitting astride Zwindarra. He waved his arm, then turned and walked toward the first tree.

  A howl rose from the rakkes at the sight of the three Iron Elves outside the bristling wall of bayonets. Konowa ignored them, focusing his attention on the tree in front of him. Musket fire from the fortress sounded for the first time, a short rippling burst that was quickly swallowed by the night. A single arrow from an elfkynan archer flitted by Konowa's head, but the acorn against his chest had nothing to say on the subject.

  "Regiment…march!"

  Boots crunched on the brittle ground as the square inched forward again. Konowa reached the first tree, its limbs wriggling frantically at his approach, slashing at the air in an attempt to ward him off. He felt the eyes of many on him and didn't care. Power was what you made of it, and he was getting the Iron Elves home.

  He grabbed the sarka har by the trunk and pulled. It didn't budge. A surge of cold anger flowed through it far greater than its size warranted. It was trying to overwhelm him, and he felt not just two souls, but many. He squeezed, forcing his power into it, but unlike before, the tree absorbed it with ease. Was the power of the Wolf Oak acorn failing?

  The cold seeped into his blood far deeper this time, and he felt something new and unexpected. The screaming softened, beckoning instead for him to join them. A great void opened up somewhere deep within his mind, a pool of absolute nothingness. No chaos, no sensations…nothing. The temptation to dive into it weighed down on him like a mountain, and his hands began to slip from the trunk. He had almost let go when the pool rippled and vanished in a storm of light and noise. He blinked and looked over to see Private Vulhber grab a tree.

  Konowa concentrated, realizing now that they weren't just attacking a single tree, but the power of the entire forest around them. Every tree was connected.

  "Major, look out!" Zwitty shouted as he turned and ran back toward the square.

  The shako on Konowa's head was ripped off, a chunk of wood thrown by a rakke just missing crushing his skull. He kept his hands on the tree, not knowing what else to do. There were still dozens of trees between the regiment and the fort. If the square was to maintain its integrity, Konowa had to find a way to remove the trees in its path.

  The tramping of boots echoed through the ground. With each step he felt a growing strength. As the regiment got closer the power in him increased, magnified by their numbers, and their oath. He sensed the presence of Iron Elves around him, their closeness giving him incredible power. With a shout that was half growl, he ripped the tree from the earth and burned it in a triumphal blaze of black flame.

  A rakke suddenly loomed before him, its yellow fangs dripping with saliva. Konowa didn't even reach for his saber. He took one step forward and drove his right fist into the creature's chest. He felt the ribs freeze and turn brittle, snapping into several pieces as they were driven into its heart, which shuddered and stopped.

  More rakkes charged.

  "Major, Private! Get down!"

  Konowa shook his head and moved toward the rakkes. A hand like an anvil came down on his shoulder and shoved him to the ground.

  "Fire!"

  Muskets barked directly above him. Bitter smoke stung his nostrils, his eyes watering. He shook off the hand holding him down and stood up. Rakkes lay everywhere, trees writhed and flailed their crooked branches, and somewhere a series of bells were ringing.

  "—more careful! That volley would…and then what…"

  Konowa watched Vulhber's lips moving, but only caught a few words. He realized the ringing in his ears was from the last volley. Slowly, his hearing came back.

  "—you okay?"

  Konowa nodded and moved forward again toward the next tree. "Stay close; use their power," he said, pointing to the regiment behind them.

  Private Vulhber shook his head. "There's no point, sir."

  Konowa snarled. "Don't go soft on me now."

  Vulhber pointed to the trees. "Look."

  Konowa turned. Dark figures moved across the ground, long, two-handed swords gleaming like lightning dancing above the ground. They drifted in and out of sight, more shadow than substance, making it difficult to keep them in focus. Their swords rose and fell with untiring violence. Black frost sparked into black flame wherever their swords cut, consuming the sarka har in a chorus of screams that echoed in Konowa's head. One of the figures paused, its blade held high above its head. It turned slowly, its gaze sweeping across Konowa like a winter gale.

  A voice crawled into his skull from somewhere impossibly far away.

  "They are coming," the shade of Meri said. "Run."

  FIFTY

  Is that…" Vulhber started to ask, his voice choking.

  "Get back in the square!" Konowa shouted. He drew his saber and pointed up toward the fortress. "Lorian, get them moving! Double time!"

  Lorian raised his halberd in response and relayed the order from atop Zwindarra.

  Konowa trotted forward, searching. Rakkes bellowed with unmitigated fury at the sight of the shades, but for the moment were unwilling to challenge them.

  The regiment picked up its pace, the men sensing the new urgency. Chunks of splintered sarka har still flew through the air, and three more Iron Elves fell, but the protective walls of the fortress were tantalizingly close, and cheers began to rise from the ranks. The rakkes turned their attention on the elfkynan, but though the circle wavered, the four shamans maintained the protective spell around them. Konowa knew it couldn't last, sensing the force diminishing under the intense pressure, the warmth of the spell growing cold, fading.

  Konowa waved his saber forward, urging the regiment on, the feel of the cool night air in his hair reminding him that he had lost his shako.

  That's when Konowa felt them.

  He didn't need the surge of ice against his chest to tell him. It was like a sliver of metal slipped bet
ween the eye and the lid. The rakkes grew silent, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Even the clawing of the bara jogg on the hard earth stopped, their scaly bodies uncannily still.

  Shadows slipped through the trees, long, jagged blades held in their hands.

  Konowa heard their terrible cries in his head. They all did. The shades of the Thirty-fifth Regiment wailed in terror, their spirits overcome by the sarka har. Still, they advanced. They had become unwilling servants to Her will, soldiers in a battle no longer for their lives, but for their souls.

  "Fire!"

  Muskets punched through the screams. Many shades were hit, a few bursting into writhing pyres of black flame, but most continued, the effect negligible. The first reached the front rank of the square, their blades slashing through the wall of bayonets to rend flesh.

  Men screamed as frost fire burst over them. Others hacked and stabbed furiously with their bayonets, but it was like spearing water. The sides of the square began to buckle, the square collapsing in on itself as soldiers backed away from the relentless shadow warriors. The square was moments from collapsing altogether when the shades of the Iron Elves turned from the destruction of the trees and filled the ranks of the fallen in the square.

  Now, shadow met shadow.

  A howitzer shell hurtled skyward, a trail of sparks scribing its flight against the night. It appeared to get caught in a wind, though Konowa felt none. The shell veered far to the right, coming down not among the shades, but near the trees. The explosion radiated a brilliant white light. Several rakkes were scattered in the blast, their bodies flung about like rag dolls.

  Konowa sensed something else then, a pure, exquisite malice that surpassed even the sarka har. More figures emerged from the trees, and though they moved as if they were shadow, their bodies were indeed corporeal, if twisted. The ground beneath Konowa swayed, or perhaps it was him, he could no longer tell.