by Chris Evans
“Granted.”
“He don’t deserve to be flogged, sir, none of the boys do. Those islands were hell. If a man, or dwarf, wants to blow off some steam, I figure that’s his right after something like what we went through. If they aren’t back, it’s because Arkhorn found them a safe place to lie low.”
“No one’s being flogged,” Konowa said, frustrated that he hadn’t stopped the Prince from flogging several soldiers back in Elfkyna. It was the wrong way to discipline a soldier. Be firm. Be fair. And don’t ask them to do anything you wouldn’t do, and they’d follow you anywhere. Konowa wished he could have proven that to the troops, but the true ramifications of the Blood Oath had since become apparent, and the Prince had ordered no corporal punishment since.
“The men will appreciate that, sir,” Sergeant Aguom said.
“Just have them ready to march, Sergeant,” Konowa said. He saluted, dismissed the color sergeant, and turned to address the Prince. A violent roar went up from the crowd outside the gates. The number of voices sounded like thousands. Getting out of the palace wasn’t going to be easy.
“Major, I want the regiment on the march as quickly as possible,” the Prince said, buttoning up his new jacket.
Konowa noted that the Prince had no need to switch his medals and ribbons over from one jacket to another, as each tunic came fully decorated. “Sir, about last night—”
“I’ve heard enough to know we need to get out of here now and into the desert. I want the regiment ready. Now. That rabble will not stand in our way.”
“Very good, sir,” Konowa said, relieved to not have to answer questions. “I’ll see to it right away. But how are we going to get out? That crowd is ready to explode.”
The Prince quit fussing with his uniform and strolled over to stand beside Konowa. Konowa instinctively breathed out, hoping to avoid any more of the Prince’s cologne, but was surprised at not smelling any. He realized the Prince was also no longer wearing his personalized shako, the one several inches taller than standard issue. “Perhaps I inadvertently inspired them more than intended,” the Prince remarked.
“Inspired who, sir?”
Prince Tykkin turned to look at Konowa as if it were obvious. “The women, of course, Major. All my talk of a new order and changing the world must have gotten their blood up. Don’t you see? They divined that the next Star was returning and raced out to find it first. No doubt they intend to beat both of us to the punch.”
Konowa had trouble following the Prince’s logic at the best of times, and this was definitely not one of them. “You think they went out…to get the Star for themselves?”
The Prince smiled in that way that made Konowa daily reconsider his oath to serve and protect the Empire and its royal house. “Oh, no, not them. Don’t misunderstand—I hold all three ladies in the highest regard. Their intentions are pure, I am certain. They will find the Star and allow it to serve its function as guardian of these lands and peoples. After all, they wouldn’t want me getting hold of it and taking it back to Calahr. And they most definitely wouldn’t want you getting it and using its power to break the oath.”
“Sir?”
The Prince turned and looked Konowa straight in the eye. “Let’s be frank, Major. Things have changed. I’ve come to realize that capturing a Star for myself is not in my best interest. In fact, I’m better off letting the Star fulfill its apparent destiny. It’s the appearance of the Star that matters. That’s what unlocks the power. Think of it, Major. What’s a Star but a path to a treasure a thou-sandfold more rewarding? I’m after Kaman Rhal’s library. This new Star is going to lead me right to it. That’s the real prize.”
Konowa found himself staring at the Prince with something close to admiration. The feeling was as odd as it was unsettling. “Very clever, sir, but what of the elves stationed in the desert? You aren’t suggesting we forsake them out there?”
“On the contrary, Major, I want you to find your elves more than ever. You see, it occurs to me that I’m not the only one who has come to reassess things,” the Prince said. He smoothed out a nonexistent crease in his uniform jacket before continuing. “What would have happened if you had used the Red Star in Elfkyna to break the oath? You and the regiment would have been freed, but at the cost of losing this power you now wield. And without this power, how will you ever take the battle to the Shadow Monarch and finish Her off once and for all?”
“We would find a way, oath or no oath,” Konowa said, the conviction in his voice strong. “But as it stands, this regiment is the most powerful in the entire Calahrian Imperial Army with the oath in place. For the time being, I think it would be foolish to throw that advantage away.”
“I don’t suppose the troops see it that way,” the Prince said, watching as soldiers hurried past in preparation for their departure.
“No, they wouldn’t,” Konowa said. “But they don’t understand things the way we do.” Even as the words left his lips, Konowa felt a twinge of shock at saying them. “And it’s the same with Kaman Rhal’s power. If we find it, we should attempt to use it or forge an alliance with it to defeat the Shadow Monarch. The oath will be broken when the Shadow Monarch is dead, and the quickest way to do that is to employ any and all means we find.”
Prince Tykkin looked at Konowa for several seconds as if seeing him for the first time. “A thought worth considering, Major.”
“Sir, we still have to get out of the palace. The city is seething. We might have to fight our way out,” Konowa said, hoping that wouldn’t be the case.
“You get the regiment ready and let me worry about that.” The Prince saluted and turned and walked away, looking over his shoulder once at Konowa.
Konowa had no time to reflect on that. A group of fifty soldiers from the 3rd Spears, the regiment of dark-skinned warriors from the Timolia Island chain, stood off to one side of the courtyard. As soon as they saw Konowa was free, they stood to attention. It was a magnificent sight. No man looked to be under six feet tall. Unlike the Iron Elves, they wore the traditional uniform of the Calahrian infantry, including the standard dark gray trousers, but they went without boots. The bottom of each pant leg was bound tight around their calves by a long, thin strip of black cloth called a puttee. Konowa marveled that they could march into battle in bare feet, let alone over the hot cobbles of Nazalla.
Each soldier carried a musket slung over one shoulder, but in keeping with their native tradition, instead of regulation bayonets, their muskets sported ones twice as long. Five of them only wore pistols, as they carried the eight-foot-long spears from which the 3rd Spears derived their name. Konowa had seen those spears in combat—spear points filed to create sawlike edges, inflicting truly horrific damage on flesh.
Konowa spotted Color Sergeant Aguom nearby talking with other soldiers and motioned for him to come over. The sergeant did so at once.
“From your homeland?” Konowa asked, pointing to the soldiers of the 3rd Spears.
“They are from an island nearby mine, but our tribes are friendly,” Sergeant Aguom said.
“Why aren’t they with their regiment?”
“They came here last night escorting carriages. They were supposed to return to their camp down by the docks this morning, but with this crowd, they can’t get through without a fight.”
“Just as well. Fine, tell them to stay here and wait for orders. I’m sure things will calm down. They can wait it out here when we leave for the desert.”
“They want to come with us.”
Konowa waved his hand. “Their colonel would not be thrilled to know we’d absconded with fifty of his men.”
Sergeant Aguom wasn’t to be deterred. “The want to see the Star, Major. They want to be there when it returns. They heard the stories about Luuguth Jor and they want to see this one.”
“At potential risk to their lives? Why?”
“Our legends talk of a Star of Knowledge guiding the elders of our islands many centuries ago. They want to see with their own ey
es if this one is real. If it is, then there is hope for my people, too,” Sergeant Aguom said, his voice dropping away as the full meaning of the words registered.
“Would your people rebel?” Konowa asked. The world kept shifting under his feet. He was finally starting to comprehend just how widespread the desire to be rid of the Empire really was.
“They simply want to chart their own course in the world. The Stars offer that chance. What people would refuse such a gift?”
Konowa shook his head. “You know it’s real. You were at Luuguth Jor. Tell them.”
“I did,” the sergeant said, “and it has only made them more determined to come with us.” He paused for a moment as if considering how to say the next sentence. “They are willing to take the Blood Oath to join us.”
Konowa wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “They what?”
“They’ll take the oath. They are brave warriors. For them, there is great honor in sacrifice. They see that the Iron Elves are losing soldiers, and no new recruits are coming. And they know that where you are, the Star will fall.”
“I admire their spirit, but this isn’t the time. Thank them for the offer, but tell them no.” Konowa saluted and waited for the sergeant to do the same.
Color Sergeant Aguom stood his ground. “If this costs me my stripes, then so be it. Sir, if they are refused, they will desert their regiment and follow us anyway. They see it as…their destiny.”
“Their destiny? How in blazes did they come to that conclusion? If they hadn’t noticed, this regiment is called the Iron Elves. Elves! This is my regiment, and when I find my elves everything will be right again.” Blood pounded in Konowa’s ears. “How dare they presume to claim this as their destiny.”
“Your elves stand all around you, sir. An Iron Elf stands in front of you now…or am I less a soldier in your eyes because my ears do not have points?”
A cold, black anger welled up in Konowa. In the back of his mind, he heard his mother and Visyna pleading with him. This was not the way.
But in an even deeper place inside himself he heard Her voice.
She understood.
The Shadow Monarch knew the importance of the elves. She fully realized the bond Konowa felt with them.
With an effort that caused him to grit his teeth, Konowa pushed the anger back down. Lightheaded, he swayed on his feet. Wiping some sweat from his eyes, he looked again at Color Sergeant Aguom. “Sergeant, you have my apologies. Every soldier matters to me. Every single one. If these men want to join us and see the return of a Star, I will not stand in their way. I’ll handle it with the Prince that there are no repercussions. But understand this: I will not administer the oath to them. They can come with us, fight alongside us, and chase whatever glory and honor they desire, but I will not subject them to the oath. Is that clear?”
Sergeant Aguom beamed. “I thank you, on behalf of all of them. They will not let you down, sir.” He saluted, and without waiting for Konowa to return it, turned and ran over to the waiting soldiers. A loud cheer broke out a moment later.
Konowa shook his head. The Prince approached, looking at maps held by two corporals who were walking backward so the Prince could study the terrain as he walked. He looked up when he heard the commotion and, dismissing the map carriers, came back over to Konowa.
“I shouldn’t think there’s much to cheer about,” the Prince said, tapping his sword scabbard against the top of his leather riding boot.
“I didn’t think so either, but apparently they’re eager to get out of the city,” Konowa said, choosing not to reveal the real reason. “They’ve volunteered to come with us into the desert.”
Konowa waited, wondering if the Prince would see this as an affront to his authority or a boost to his ego.
“They volunteered to serve directly under me, knowing we’re almost certainly going into battle?”
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what they did.”
Prince Tykkin drew in a breath and stood up a little straighter. He drew his sword from its scabbard, lifted it into the air, and turned to the soldiers of the 3rd Spears. “Well done, lads!”
The soldiers cheered in response, breaking out in a war chant in their native tongue. Spears and muskets were raised in the air. Several soldiers of the Iron Elves standing nearby looked at them with varying degrees of confusion and annoyance.
Konowa noticed that at the sound of raised voices from the 3rd Spears, the growing crowd outside the palace grew silent. He looked through the palace gate and was amazed to see the citizens of Nazalla leaving in a hurry. The reputation of the warriors of the Timolia Islands was clearly known even here.
“Best we get moving, sir, while we can,” Konowa said.
The Prince lowered his sword and resheathed it, his face aglow. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Still, I think we’ll let them enjoy this moment a little longer. Who knows what the day brings? We’ll be hard-pressed to make it out of Nazalla in one piece, let alone get through the desert.”
The tone in the Prince’s voice suggested otherwise, which meant he must have worked something out. “Sir? Do you have a plan to get us out of the city without having to go to war with the civilians in it?”
“My proclamation was clear enough,” the Prince said.
Konowa’s heart raced. “Sir, they’re civilians. It’d be a slaughter. There has to be another way.”
The Prince looked at Konowa as a mother would, comforting her child. Konowa’s stomach churned.
“There is, Major, there is. Come now, you don’t think I’d really send the regiment out to murder innocents, now do you?”
Konowa didn’t trust himself to answer. Luckily, the Prince made the question rhetorical as he kept talking.
“Not to fret, Major,” the Prince said, “I’ve already negotiated our safe passage. Get the regiment formed up, we’re moving out in ten minutes.” Then the Prince did the most unexpected thing. He smiled at Konowa, reached out, and punched Konowa good-naturedly in the shoulder before turning and walking away.
Konowa stood rooted to the spot for several seconds. “What the devil was that all about?”
“The devil, you say?” said the Suljak of the Hasshugeb Expanse, appearing at Konowa’s side. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”
Konowa looked down at the old man. “You’re helping us?”
The Suljak looked surprised. “I’ve been presented with a golden opportunity to escort the Iron Elves out of Nazalla and deep into the heart of the desert, and all without further risk to the lives of the local populace. Why wouldn’t I help?”
Konowa wasn’t as gullible as the Prince…he hoped. “Because you’ll have ensured that we have a force ready to sweep in and claim the Star, that’s why.”
With the U formed by finger and thumb the Suljak stroked either side of his mouth as if in deep thought. “A conundrum, to be sure. Still, better to throw the viper from your home and then worry about it outside your door, no?”
Konowa started to nod, then stopped. “Wait, you said escort the Iron Elves. What about the other regiments?”
“There are limits to my powers of suggestion,” the Suljak said. “I can ensure the safe passage of the Iron Elves, as I ride with them, but I cannot do so for the others, spread out as they are around the city and by the docks. It will take some time for them to swing round the city to follow us, and time,” the Suljak said, looking up to the sky, “is most definitely not going to wait for man or elf.”
“Or Star,” Konowa added, looking up as well.
The Suljak patted Konowa on the arm. “Indeed, my dear Major, I believe it should be a most interesting trip.”
TWENTY-THREE
Alwyn sat on top of the canvas-covered rear of Rallie’s wagon along with the rest of the section. Each man looked out in a different direction, muskets loaded and at the ready. Alwyn faced the rear, watching the lights of Nazalla dwindle in the distance.
Events of the last few hours played through his mind in a never-ending loop. He ha
d called forth the shades and they had followed his orders.
But then they had killed those innocent people. He hadn’t wanted that. The shades had to know he hadn’t meant for that to happen, but they did it anyway.
“You should put your head down for a bit,” Yimt said, turning around from the front bench to look back at Alwyn.
“I’m fine—I just can’t get what happened out of my head.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Ally. Those people were balancing all day twixt giving us a kiss on the cheek versus a pitchfork in the arse, and the pitchfork mentality won. Once a mob starts doing your thinking, it’s all over but the killing. The Darkly Departed were doing what soldiers are trained to do. If they hadn’t, we probably wouldn’t be here now.”
“Do you really believe that? Do you really think they were just being soldiers…like us?” Alwyn asked.
Yimt looked at him for a long time before replying. “I hope so,” he said. “Now, get some shut-eye.”
Alwyn yawned, surprised that he could feel so tired even being this unsettled, but then he realized he hadn’t slept at all last night. The rocking motion of the wheels over the roadway they followed was lulling him to sleep. He shook his head and stretched his arms. He set his musket down on the canvas and twisted his wooden leg to a more comfortable angle. It still hurt. He knew Zwitty had some of that tobacco from the hookah back at the Blue Scorpion, but decided to wait to ask him for some later. So far it was the one thing that eased the pain of his stump.
The wagon groaned in protest as its wheels hit a pothole, jostling everyone and everything on board. Alwyn yawned again and peered back along their path. A misty veil of dust hung behind them, obscuring Nazalla even more. He turned and looked out over the desert. Dawn was infusing the grays and blacks of the dunes with deep red. He felt his mood lift slightly as shadow gave way to shape, despite the fact that they were heading into the unknown.
He twisted around farther to see if he could actually make out anything ahead of them. Miss Red Owl and Miss Tekoy were riding the lead brindos. They had said they were doing so to better follow Tyul’s path into the desert, but he suspected it was in part to get farther away from him. He didn’t blame them—the other soldiers had given him as wide a berth since their escape into the desert.
