by Chris Evans
Visyna lightly descended from Rallie’s wagon and walked to the center of the open space between the buildings and alleyways. Between the moonlight and flickering lanterns, she was able to see well enough. Jir padded alongside her, providing additional comfort that no one, or no thing, was going to surprise her. Visyna raised her hands and began to gently tease at the fabrics of natural energy around her. Light shone from between her hands as she sorted through the many threads, searching for traces that would tell her what had happened. Clearly, a fight had taken place here, and recently. Old, bitter threads marked the three piles of ash that dotted the ground, but just what those piles had been, she couldn’t tell. She concentrated harder, searching for telltale signs of the Shadow Monarch’s power.
“I don’t think you’ll find it here,” Rallie said, still sitting in the wagon and looking down. “This is something else entirely.”
Chayii knelt a few yards away, thoughtfully sifting sand through her hands. She grimaced and stood up, throwing the dirt away. “The magic used here was ancient. Much older than Hers. Tyul was here, and my husband,” she added.
Visyna wasn’t sure if it was annoyance or concern in her voice. Probably both. “Then is this Kaman Rhal’s doing?” she asked. She stretched her senses a little further, worrying at a thread so thin she couldn’t quite grasp it with her mind. She let out a deep sigh and lowered her hands.
“That,” Rallie said, “is what we’re going to find out. We still have a few hours of darkness, so let’s make the most of it and get out of Nazalla with as few eyes watching us as possible. I assume we’re still heading south?”
Chayii nodded. “Tyul is all but untrackable, but Rising Dawn is not. They are definitely heading for the desert.”
“Why, though? Why would Tyul and Jurwan leave the ship and come here?” Visyna asked, climbing back onto the wagon and turning to help Chayii up. The elf smiled her thanks and sat down beside her.
“Tyul sees things differently than us. To him, the world is simple, or should be simple. Things are either in their natural state or they are not. That is why he is still with me. He understands the threat the Shadow Monarch poses and seeks to restore Her mountain to its pure form. If he detected something equally wrong, he would have sought it out. In his mind he would be helping it, even if that meant killing it.”
“And Jurwan?”
Chayii shook her head. “My husband is a fool. Brave, intelligent, loving, but a fool. No one else could have survived Her mountain, and I’m not entirely sure he did. What he wants, what he knows, I can no longer say.”
The brindos lurched forward and the wagon began rolling again. Visyna continued to weave the air around her, puzzling through the various energies and trying to make sense of them. Being tricked by Her Emissary in Elfkyna had been deeply humiliating to her, and she wasn’t about to let it happen again.
It wasn’t easy to weave magic this late at night on a moving wagon in a large city. Visyna yawned and had begun to let the threads go when something caught her attention. She tried to pinpoint it, but it was too difficult to grasp.
“Do you—” she started to ask the other two women, but had gotten no further when she turned toward them. Both were looking to the southern sky. A thin blue light glimmered among the stars.
“I feel it, too,” Chayii said, her eyes unblinking as they watched the night sky. “The Jewel of the Desert is returning.”
Rallie snapped at the reins and the brindos picked up their pace. “That’s not the only thing that’s coming. There’s a change in the weather, masking a power out in the desert.”
No longer feeling sleepy, Visyna focused her energy on her weaving, following threads deep into the desert.
After a distance of some miles, the threads frayed and became lost in a swath of bitter cold darkness. Visyna was all too familiar with its taint. “The Shadow Monarch’s forest has crossed the sea and is out there in the desert,” she said. She lowered her hands and rubbed them on the tops of her thighs.
Chayii cursed in Elvish. “Tyul and Jurwan are heading straight into it,” Chayii said. “They won’t have the sense to turn back. Nei ther’s mind is clear enough. We must get out there and save them from themselves.”
“We’ll need help, Chayii,” Visyna said. “Rallie, we must get a message to Konowa at once. The regiment needs to move. The Star will fall and the only powers out there will be Hers and Kaman Rhal’s. We three alone won’t be enough. We need help.”
Rallie pulled up hard on the reins as the wagon shuddered to a halt.
“Rallie, what are you doing?” Chayii asked.
Rallie pulled a cigar out of her cloak and lit it, drawing in a huge breath until the end of the cigar was bright red. “I think we just found some help,” she said, as shadowy figures emerged from an alleyway to block their path.
TWENTY-ONE
It stings,” Scolly said, rubbing his right arm.
“Then quit worrying it, and keep your voice down,” Yimt said, scratching at his upper arm, too. They stood among the dwarf’s wicker baskets in the alley, waiting for Hrem to appear. A moment later, Hrem struggled his way out of the secret opening behind the large wicker basket and put his shako on his head.
Alwyn flexed his bicep and found that his tattoo didn’t bother him at all. It was his first one. He’d always imagined that if he ever got the courage up to get a tattoo, it would be something manly like a sword or the name of a special woman or even crossed muskets like Griz had mentioned. A black acorn had never entered his mind.
“What do you think, Sergeant? Could we head back to the Blue Scorpion for a bit?” Teeter asked.
Yimt stood still for a moment in deep thought. Finally, he slapped the stock of his shatterbow. “I hate to break it to you, but we’ve got to get back to camp and let the major know what’s going on,” Yimt said.
Teeter kicked at the dirt and looked at Yimt, his eyes pleading. “We don’t really know all that much, do we?”
“There’s nothing for it, we have to report,” Yimt said, looking around the section as if waiting for more objections.
Alwyn wasn’t surprised the group remained quiet. No one wanted to go out to the desert, but the sooner they got out there, the sooner they might find a way to break the oath. Alwyn flexed his wooden leg and got a twinge of pain for his efforts. The effects of the drink and the tobacco were wearing off. So, too, was the high he’d felt with Nafeesah. Once again they were about to go off into the unknown and battle forces bent on trying to kill them, and worse. He looked around the darkened alley and gripped his musket a little tighter. Alwyn tried to recall a time when he didn’t know there was something more dreadful than being killed.
“I thought you said it got cold here at night,” Zwitty said, casually opening the lids on some of the wicker baskets and peering inside. “Feels all right to me.”
“You’re three sheets to the wind for starters,” Yimt said, walking over and slamming a lid out of Zwitty’s hand with his shatterbow, “and we’re in a city on the coast. Wait till we get out in the open desert, and see if you think it’s still warm at night.”
“What time is it?” Teeter asked, looking up at the sky.
“Midnight, maybe later,” Hrem said. “Sergeant, you have a pocket watch?”
Yimt laughed. “Do I look like I’ve got gold bullion tucked up under this caerna? Those devices cost a pretty penny. Besides, I don’t need one to tell me the time.” He looked up at the sky as well. “It’s late.”
“Very helpful,” Inkermon said, leaning unsteadily against a wicker basket and looking up at the sky as well.
“Why’s everyone looking up?” Scolly asked.
Alwyn looked up. “The sky looks a bit blue, don’t you think? And it feels different, too.”
“Different how?” Yimt asked, pointing a warning finger at Zwitty, then walking over to Alwyn.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel the same from when we went down the tunnel to now,” Alwyn said. A general unease
settled in Alwyn’s blood. “You don’t suppose it’s the Star, do you? I can’t explain it, but something is different. You’re right, I think we need to get back to camp.”
Inkermon lurched away from his resting place and strode out into the alley. “It doesn’t matter. You know what this means, don’t you?” he said. His jacket was off and his undershirt sleeve rolled up and he was gently tracing the outline of the acorn with his finger. “It means we are truly marked by Her. Our souls are unredeemable. That’s what you’re feeling. Our souls are gone…” Inkermon gasped and began sobbing.
Yimt walked out to where Inkermon was and put a hand on his shoulder. With the other hand, he reached out and punched Inkermon’s new tattoo. Inkermon quit crying and started yowling.
“Hush your drunken self, you want half of Nazalla to hear you wailing on like a baby?”
Inkermon quieted down. Alwyn expected a fiery retort, but the farmer-turned-soldier simply walked over to a wall and slid down it to sit with his head on his knees.
Yimt took off his shako and scratched his head a couple of times, then put the hat back on. “Look, nobody’s soul has gone anywhere,” Yimt said. “We got these tattoos of our own free will. Fine, I’ll admit it’s a bit creepy to know the acorn mark was already there, but that’s magic for you. We are oath-bound, after all. It’d have been a bigger surprise if that dwarf’s magic quill had called up a puppy or a bouquet of bloody flowers now, wouldn’t it? And let’s not forget we made a few modifications of our own. I don’t think the Shadow Monarch would approve.”
Alwyn looked closer at Inkermon’s bare arm. It was highly unlikely the Shadow Monarch would be thrilled to see a bayonet stuck through the heart of the acorn with the words Æri Mekah—“Into the Fire”—inscribed above it, and And Right the Hell Back Out! underneath it.
Yimt motioned up to the sky, then snapped his fingers to get their attention. His face showed fierce determination. “What I’m trying to say is, don’t you ever let this own you. Not the oath, the afterlife, not any of it. We’ve been in tough spots before and got out of ’em. We’ll figure out a way to make it through this, too.”
“So what’s Ally feeling then?” Zwitty asked. “’Cause if he’s getting twitchy, then you know something is going on.”
Yimt shrugged. “Maybe there’s a big sandstorm brewing. They get them here, absolute monsters. Winds strong enough to scour the flesh off your bones.”
“Lovely,” Hrem said. “Well, my appetite for the pleasures of Nazalla is pretty much spent. If we’re supposed to be heading back to camp, we might as well get going. The longer we stand around here, the more likely trouble’s going to find us. If it’s the desert for us, at least we can get a few hours’ sleep before we go.”
“Spoken like a man with his head on straight,” Yimt said. “Right, Hrem, get Inkermon up and let’s go set a few more of those wheels of history in motion.”
“I hear something,” Scolly said, unslinging his musket and pointing toward the other end of the alley.
Alwyn turned his head and tried to listen. “Sounds like a carriage. Going awfully fast, too.”
Yimt hefted his shatterbow and cocked the hammers. “That doesn’t sound normal, not at this time of night. Wake up, sober up, but stay calm. Follow me and be ready.”
“Ready for what?” Alwyn asked. He wiped a palm against his caerna to dry the sweat.
“Anything,” Yimt said, as he walked to the end of the alley with the section close behind. Without pausing, Yimt strode out into the middle of the road. Alwyn recognized Miss Synjyn’s brindos at once and started to relax. “Well, that’s a relief, Sergeant.”
Yimt lowered his shatterbow and sighed. “Somehow, Ally, I don’t think it is.” He waved to Miss Synjyn. The wagon wheels juddered across the cobbles as the brindos halted. A wash of dust swept over the soldiers and Alwyn turned his head and coughed. When he looked back, Miss Tekoy and Miss Red Owl were off the wagon.
“Alwyn of the Empire, what are you doing out here so late? This is not suitable behavior, young man. You need to rest your leg if it is to have any hope of truly grafting,” Miss Red Owl said.
Light laughter echoed off the surrounding buildings behind Alwyn, but he refused to turn to see who it was. He felt his face flush. I’m not a kid anymore. “I’m fine.” He spat the words out with force. He saw the surprised looks on the faces around him, but he couldn’t hold it in. “In fact, I figured out what attacked Kester on the last island, and I got us a map of the desert and an idea where to find it. I really wouldn’t know what’s appropriate for a young man anymore, but for an Iron Elf, this is.”
Silence reigned for several seconds. Finally, Rallie coughed and leaned over the side of the front bench of her wagon. “May I see it?” she asked, holding out her hand. “The map you so forcefully procured.”
Yimt looked over at Alwyn, then at Rallie. “I’m still the sergeant around here,” he said, pulling the map from his jacket and handing it to her. “Leaving in a bit of a rush, aren’t you? Going somewhere or just taking the brindos out for a late-night trot?”
Rallie took a drag on her cigar until the end became bright red and ignored Yimt’s question. She bent over the map and studied it in the glow. “Tell me, Sergeant, how did you—I’m sorry—how did Private Renwar acquire this map?”
Yimt looked over at Alwyn again before answering Rallie. “Met a dwarf, one of the thirty-four survivors of Frillik’s Drift, no less. When he found out we were heading out to the desert he dug this up. Damn nice of him, I’ll say.”
Rallie continued to study the map. “Really? Whatever is he doing here?”
“Retired,” Yimt said. “Guess he came down here for the heat. The mountains get mighty cold in winter.”
“That they do,” Rallie said. “Well, this was very nice of him indeed. This is far more detailed than any map of the Hasshugeb that the Prince has in his possession. I’d guess this dwarf is a bit of an explorer, too.”
“Griz? Naw, he runs a basket place off the market. Well, probably does a little black market on the side if I had to guess looking at his setup, but solid as a ton of lead,” Yimt said.
Rallie sat up and took the cigar out of her mouth. “Griz Jahrfel?”
Yimt nodded. “Aye, that’s him,” he said slowly. “You know him, then?”
Alwyn wondered if there was a hint of jealousy in Yimt’s voice. Up until now he’d been the only dwarf in Rallie’s life, not counting her editor back in Celwyn, a fact Alwyn knew Yimt didn’t know.
“Must have bumped into him somewhere or other years ago and oceans from here,” she said, rather quickly, Alwyn thought. “Now then, judging by this, it appears were both heading in the same direction. I can’t imagine that’s a coincidence.”
“That’s where you’re headed? Out into the desert, just the three of you?” Yimt said.
“Sergeant, events are once again moving rather rapidly. Tyul and Jurwan left the ship sometime earlier this evening and are tracking something into the desert.” She looked up to the sky before she continued. “With the imminent prospect of a Star returning, this has most definitely piqued our curiosity. More curious, though, is that all paths appear to be leading straight for this.” Her finger stabbed down on an area just to the southeast of Suhundam’s Hill. Alwyn peered over Yimt’s shoulder for a better view.
“The Canyon of Bones, lovely,” Yimt said. “Probably a scenic little picnic spot. I’m sure nothing unpleasant or remotely horrifying has ever happened there.”
Alwyn looked over at Scolly, waiting for the inevitable question about picnics, but Scolly just scratched his arm and said nothing. It was just possible even Scolly got the gist of Yimt’s sarcasm. Would wonders never cease?
The rest of the soldiers clustered around. “I don’t like the sound of that one bit,” Teeter said. “Who names a canyon that? Why not just call it ‘Bloody Terrible Place Where Monsters Live.”
“Nobody said anything about monsters,” Yimt said.
“Do
n’t have to, they just seem to show up unannounced these days,” Teeter said.
“All the more reason to keep your eyes peeled, then,” Yimt said, shooing them all back from the wagon. Alwyn turned to go, but Yimt motioned for him to stay. A light flickered to life in a window down the street. “See what I mean? Spread out and stay sharp.” Yimt jumped up onto the wagon for a closer look, then reached out a hand and helped Alwyn up. “Teeter does have a point. Things are getting a mite peculiar. Ally felt something earlier. You know, I think I even did, too,” he said, looking skyward. “That blue light up there means something, doesn’t it?”
Rallie cocked her head to one side. “Interesting. We three felt it as well. I dare say before too long most of Nazalla will have a sense of it. Another Star is indeed returning.”
Yimt whistled. “Here we go again. Okay, I’ll get the lads moving, and the rest of us will stay put here with you until they return, then we can head out.”
Rallie was shaking her head before he finished. “No. There isn’t time to waste. The Star is coming now. We have to get out there. The regiment will have to catch up as best it can.”
Now Yimt was shaking his head. “Oh, no, I’m not letting you go out there on your own. It’s too dangerous. We all saw what happens when a Star returns.”
Movement down the street behind the wagon caught Alwyn’s attention. More lights were flickering on in windows, and several people had now stepped outside. A few were even standing on their roofs. Everyone was looking up.
“We’ve got company,” Alwyn said, tugging on Yimt’s sleeve.
The dwarf cursed under his breath. He looked to Rallie. “You live and breathe this political stuff—what’s about to happen here?”
Rallie looked over her shoulder. “Simply, the Empire arrives in force and that very night the Jewel of the Desert—the guiding Star of the Hasshugeb Expanse—returns. Who here wouldn’t see that as a repudiation of Imperial intent?”
