by Chris Evans
Cannon and musket fire erupted from the other four boats. Shouts rose up and oars bit into sand and came to rest.
The Iron Elves had landed.
THREE
The first black arrows from Her elves whistled from somewhere deeper among the trees. The Iron Elves were ready. Thick oak planks, another item borrowed from the Black Spike, swung up to shield the soldiers and crew. Wood and arrows splintered, sending lethal shrapnel everywhere. Men screamed. Two tumbled overboard into the water, their cries abruptly silenced under the waves.
Konowa’s anger surged. Her elves had learned a new trick. Well, so had his boys.
“Cannon…second volley…fire!”
The cannon roared again, but this time Arkhorn had loaded it with chain shot. It was simple in design and lethal in use. Two cannonballs attached by a length of chain flew from the muzzle and began spinning, scything down everything in their path. Originally intended to cut through the masts of enemy ships, chain shot was equally effective at tearing through Her forest, and the creatures in it.
“Remember, we want to try to capture one of the elves!” Konowa shouted, knowing it was likely futile. And even if they did capture one, Konowa wasn’t sure what good it would do. These elves were as dark and twisted as the Shadow Monarch’s trees.
Screams of rage and pain among the rakkes lifted high into the sky as the keel of the boat ground to a halt in the sand. Konowa used the momentum to leap ashore, but he was already several paces behind Private Renwar and Jir. Konowa knew his place was with the men, leading them in a methodical march across the island, but all his pent-up rage spilled forth as it had on every island before this. He knew in his heart this was about revenge. The Shadow Monarch had used his father, in a ploy to get to him, and in so doing bound Konowa and the new Iron Elves in an eternal oath. She haunted all their dreams now, calling to them. Konowa felt the pull, but he felt something else more; fury.
Frost fire burned wickedly along the blade of Konowa’s saber. He grinned and charged, looking for things to kill.
Sergeant Arkhorn was yelling something about staying out of the line of fire of the cannon, but Konowa was already through the mounds of dead and dying rakkes and among the sarka har, the blood trees of the Shadow Monarch. Every anguish Konowa had ever experienced fell before his blade. He slashed the limbs of the trees with so much force that the tendons in his shoulder began to burn with the first few swings. Wherever his blade made contact, the wood burst into cold flame, the black fire consuming them with merciless efficiency.
Konowa smiled, a nervous habit he had in battle, and slashed again. Black, icy flames traced arcs in the air as his saber hacked and burned the sarka har. These trees should not exist. The Shadow Monarch’s twisted mind was creating nightmarish forests that threatened every living thing. His whole life had been lived under Her tainted magic. Here, now, he could avenge that fate.
“Your power is mine, elf witch!” he roared, cleaving a tree completely in two. “And I will end you with it!”
An arrow passed so close to his cheek that the fletching brushed the skin. Konowa turned to trace the source, but Jir was faster still. The bengar leaped, his massive jaws closing on the throat of the dark elf and bearing it to the ground. Konowa didn’t even bother trying to call Jir off. The elf was dead before he hit the ground.
Three rakkes burst through the trees and straight at Konowa. Their milky-white eyes bulged as they charged, drool flying from long, yellow fangs. Konowa pivoted in place to meet them. Another figure came in from Konowa’s left side and crashed into the nearest rakke, knocking it off its feet and into the path of the other two.
“Renwar!” Konowa shouted, recognizing the soldier at once. Private Renwar stood above the first rakke, the bayonet of his musket lodged so deeply in the creature’s rib cage that he couldn’t pull it back out.
The other two rakkes were back on their feet in an instant and both now focused on the private. Six-inch-long claws swung for his head. Konowa lunged forward and brought his saber down two-handed, severing a rakke’s arm at the elbow. Frost fire exploded at the wound and raced up its body, sending it whirling away.
The third rakke leaped and took Renwar to the ground. Konowa raised his saber to strike again, but a fist-sized hole suddenly appeared in the rakke’s back and frost fire flew out. Konowa kicked the body to the side and reached down a hand to help Renwar up, then took it back in surprise. Black flames, darker and more intense than any Konowa himself had yet conjured, blazed in the young soldier’s hands. Konowa tried to read Renwar’s face, but the flame reflected in the soldier’s spectacles made it appear as if his very eyes were afire.
“Behind you, Major.”
The black acorn sent a cold sliver of warning into Konowa’s heart as he turned to confront a group of rakkes carrying jagged shards of wood.
“Get your arse in the sand now!” bellowed a voice from the water’s edge. Konowa dove forward even as the rakkes moved to within yards of him. One raised a makeshift club and began to swing it down.
A cannon boomed and the world vanished. Smoke and sand whipped over Konowa, partially lifting him off the ground. Sparks stung the back of his hands and neck as the unmistakable sound of heavy metal sawing through the air passed overhead. His nose and ears clogged with sand and something wet. Black and white and orange flashes danced across the inside of his eyelids.
Konowa blinked several times and propped himself up to his elbows. The chain shot had done its job well. What was left of the rakkes lay in a congealing puddle of blood and debris. It looked as if the dwarf was determined to keep his stripes this time.
“Renwar, are you—” Konowa started to ask, but the soldier had already gotten up and was charging off deeper into the trees. Frost fire blazed in the soldier’s hands and along the length of his musket. With no time to ponder the matter, Konowa got to his feet and dusted himself off. He flexed his right hand, holding his saber, and found that it still had strength.
“Did you see where Private Renwar went, sir?” Sergeant Arkhorn asked, stepping over the bodies with little concern. He held his shatterbow at the ready, its twin muzzles sweeping the area as he walked.
“I’m fine, Sergeant,” Konowa said, making a point of flicking a piece of rakke skull off his uniform.
Arkhorn nodded. “Of course you are, sir. I shouted a warning, didn’t I? Have you seen Ally?”
Before Konowa could answer there was a shriek and the sound of a musket firing from up ahead. Konowa sensed frost fire burning and was staggered by the power in it.
“Never mind, sir, I know where he is,” Arkhorn said. “All right laddies, we’ve done this before.” He motioned for a section of Iron Elves to form up around him. “Make a wedge and keep your necks on swivels or it won’t be Her darlings you have to worry about.” Someone groaned.
“Why not let the DDs take care of this? They’re dead already and we ain’t. Why do we have to keep risking our necks, eh?”
Konowa couldn’t see who had asked the question, but it wasn’t the first time it had been voiced. It started shortly after the DDs, or Darkly Departed—the shadows of the dead—had first appeared in support of the regiment.
Sergeant Arkhorn put two fingers to his lips and whistled between his metal teeth. It sounded like twenty kettles on the boil. “One more outburst like that and you’ll be swimming from here to the Hasshugeb Expanse. You bloody well know the “Darkly Departed’ don’t like it when the sun’s coming up. They’re dead. The night is their domain and all that. Honestly, did your mum never read you any fairy tales? We’re on our own. Stay smart, well, as smart as you lot can, and we’ll come out of this just fine. Stay spread out and don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want you grouped together and making any easy target,” Sergeant Arkhorn said, looking around at the soldiers and waiting until each one nodded.
“Oh, and ten gold pieces from the Prince himself for any man who captures an elf, present company excepted,” he finished, touching his hand to his sh
ako in salute.
Konowa returned it, unable to entirely hide a smile.
“By the left…move your arses!” The soldiers followed Arkhorn, the bayonets on the end of some of their muskets wreathed in black flame.
Konowa recognized a couple of them as they marched past, including the towering form of Private Hrem Vulhber. Konowa nodded, but the soldier only stared at him for a moment before carrying on. It was insubordination, but Konowa was letting a lot of things go these days. The sooner they were done with this island, the sooner they could finally land in the Hasshugeb Expanse and join up with the original Iron Elves. Then the Shadow Monarch would truly reap the whirlwind She had created.
FOUR
He’s done it again!” Visyna shouted as the boat she was in ground to a halt on the beach. She stood near the bow weaving a pattern from the natural energy around her, creating the artificial dawn that now hung above them. Arrows zipped past her head, but a power curved their path around her. “He promised he wouldn’t go charging ahead like that.”
“You mean Private Renwar?” Rallie said, looking up from the sheaf of papers she was sketching on with a feather quill. The drawing of Visyna standing in the bow pulsated on the paper. Dark and light ebbed and flowed across the page as energy coursed around them.
Visyna waited for all the soldiers to jump out of the boat before she answered. “You know who I mean, Rallie.”
“He’s fighting demons we can’t see,” Rallie said, flourishing her quill as a rakke burst through the line of Iron Elves and charged the boat. The beast saw the two women alone and howled, its maw opening wider in anticipation.
“Rallie, hurry,” Visyna said.
“I see it,” Rallie said, her quill flying across the page. The rakke leaned forward and began loping toward the boat on all fours. Sand sprayed high into the air as its claws dug into the beach. Muskets fired, but the beast continued to close.
A wave sloshed around the boat, sending spray over its sides. Water splashed onto Rallie’s page, which sent sparks of energy shooting into the sky. The air around them sizzled and crackled. Visyna continued to weave the light that gave the Iron Elves their advantage, while looking down at Rallie. The page was a mess. Rallie looked over the edge of the boat with obvious annoyance.
The rakke was almost to the bow.
“Rallie!”
Rallie set the sheaf of papers down and picked up an oar. As soon as she touched it, the wood hummed with energy. The rakke leaped, its claws fully extended as it flew toward Visyna. She closed her eyes and kept weaving.
There was a loud crack of wood splintering. The boat shook and the air smelled of burnt flesh. The howling of the rakke ended abruptly, followed by a splash. Visyna opened her eyes. Rallie stood beside her, a broken oar in her hands. Smoke wafted lazily from the wood and sparks still crackled along its length. The body of the rakke floated facedown in the water beside them, its chest impaled by the other half of the oar.
“Keep weaving, my dear—the sun isn’t up just yet,” Rallie said, casually putting the oar down and going back to her seat. She picked up her sheaf of papers and, wiping off the top page with the sleeve of her cloak, began to sketch again.
Visyna refocused her efforts on her weaving, pulling together more skeins of energy and infusing the light above the island with more power. Silver filigrees danced between her fingertips. She took another quick glance down at Rallie’s sketching and saw that once again the boat and herself were there, the lines flowing and strong. Rallie, however, had chosen not to put herself in the drawing. Where she sat, the lines of energy curved around that space as if unable, or unwilling, to acknowledge what was there.
The sky grew lighter and fire, real fire, blazed in several locations from the sparks of musket and cannon shot. Konowa walked a short distance to stand on a jumble of rocks and look back down at the beach. Several soldiers milled about as more appeared, carrying the wounded. A makeshift first-aid station had been set up right on the beach and Konowa knew Visyna, Rallie, and his mother would be there now tending to the wounded. Farther up the beach were the still figures of several soldiers.
Konowa let his gaze drift out to sea where the Black Spike had dropped anchor, another full broadside ready and waiting. There were certain advantages to having the son of the Queen in command of the Iron Elves.
The ship named for his father’s Wolf Oak was a towering three-masted, seventy-two-gun ship-of-the-line, one of Her Majesty’s main means of projecting power around her far-flung empire. Five years ago, just the sight of her dropping anchor in the Bay of Kilok Ree had been enough to quell the rebellion there of some disgruntled natives protesting the exporting of priceless religious and magical artifacts to Celwyn, the Calahrian capital. Konowa could understand their reactions, both the rebellion and the sudden change of mind when the Black Spike appeared. The ship was for all intents and purposes a floating gun platform, carrying twenty of the massive sixty-eight-pounder carronades, another forty thirty-six-pounder long-range cannon, and twelve lesser guns, although six were currently strapped to the bows of her away boats. It was a pity there wasn’t a way to get the Black Spike up the side of the Shadow Monarch’s mountain. Along with the Iron Elves, the Black Spike could end this war, or whatever it was, in about three broadsides.
Konowa flexed his knee and followed after his men. The island was all but theirs. Everywhere he looked, rakkes lay dead on the ground and sarka har burned with frost fire. Now, finally, they could set sail for the Hasshugeb Expanse. Content, Konowa reached up a hand and patted the black acorn underneath his uniform tunic.
A white-hot needle of pain stabbed his heart and seared his hand.
He gasped and stumbled backward, falling to one knee. This was nothing he’d experienced before. He raised his saber in defense against the expected blow, but none fell.
He looked up. There was nothing around him. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his blood felt as if it was boiling inside his skin. The cold that normally infused him when using Her power was now replaced by a heat that took his breath away. Musket fire barked to life up ahead. Men shouted and someone started screaming and didn’t stop.
Konowa forced himself to his feet and started forward. The pain was receding and he broke into a run. When he reached the soldiers on the other side of the island, his mind couldn’t make sense of what he saw. Private Harkon staggered about on the beach surrounded by other soldiers.
His shadow was on fire.
White-hot flames roared wherever his shadow fell on the sand and Harkon screamed as if he himself was the one burning.
“Run into the water! Private, throw yourself in the ocean!” Konowa shouted.
Harkon looked toward Konowa, his eyes shining with madness. Harkon began tearing off his uniform. Konowa realized he would have to take matters into his own hands and charged forward.
Private Vulhber got there a step before him and roughly picked up the stricken soldier and began running for the water. As soon as he did, his own shadow caught fire. He cried out, but held on and kept running, plunging them both into the waves. Steam boiled into the air, but the flames did not go out.
Konowa reached them, but was lost as to what to do now. He spun around looking for Visyna or his mother or even Rallie, but none were in sight.
“We’re still burning,” Vulhber said, his voice trembling with the effort to keep calm. Blood frothed at Harkon’s lips as his screams continued.
“Major, what do we do?” a soldier asked.
Konowa felt as lost and powerless as he had when his regiment had been disbanded. Now that he had command again he wasn’t going to lose his regiment a second time, especially not to something he couldn’t even understand.
“You!” he shouted, pointing to a soldier. “Run to the beach and get the women. Now!” The soldier sprinted off, his shako tumbling in the sand as he ran.
“Major.”
Konowa turned. Sergeant Arkhorn had come up to stand beside him. He had cocked the hammers
on his shatterbow. They traded a look and Konowa nodded. Arkhorn raised his weapon and aimed at the two men in the water.
“Wait,” Private Renwar said, limping into the water and blocking the shot. He strode forward until his own shadow merged with theirs. It too ignited and white tongues of fire sizzled along the water’s surface where his shadow lay. Renwar then closed his eyes and plunged his hands into the fire. A jolt of crystal ice from the black acorn against Konowa’s chest knocked him down again. Several soldiers staggered at the same time. The white flame guttered and was overcome by the frost fire, which then hissed out.
“Help them out of there,” Sergeant Arkhorn said, as Konowa climbed back to his feet. Vulhber and Renwar came out more or less on their own, but Harkon wasn’t moving and had to be carried. They laid him out on the sand, then quickly stood up and backed away. It looked for the all the world as if Private Harkon was sleeping.
“He’s dead,” Alwyn said.
Konowa started to look away, then stopped. In the brightening dawn it looked as if the soldier no longer had a shadow at all. He cursed the tricks his eyes played on him and returned his focus to what was real.
“What new abomination is this?” a soldier asked. Konowa turned to see who it was.
“Don’t you dare start up with that Creator-savior rubbish again, Inkermon,” Yimt said, pointing his still-cocked shatterbow in the soldier’s direction. “This isn’t the place.”
Inkermon held his ground. “Don’t you see? It’s a test, a means of measuring the man to determine the righteousness of his soul. The Stars are returning, calling up evil long banished to the depths, and we are ensnared in a dark web, tempted by a seductive power. We have sinned and must repent. Repent now and save yourselves.”
“It went into the water just as we got here,” Renwar said, shaking off helping hands and coming to stand in front of Konowa. Inkermon looked as if he had more to say, but Yimt’s shatterbow was aimed squarely at his midsection. “Harkon was the first one here and that’s when his shadow caught fire.”
