by Chris Evans
Alwyn wondered again if this was the right thing to do, and was happy the decision hadn’t been up to him. Chasing after Tyul and Jurwan without the regiment seemed foolhardy, especially when both elves were not right in the head. Zwitty muttered something about how the two elves were probably out gathering nuts, but a look from Yimt had shut him up. In the end, it hadn’t really mattered, because they would have been torn apart by the citizens of Nazalla if they’d tried to get back to the Viceroy’s palace…or the shades would have slaughtered the crowd.
Even if they could have made it through the crowds unscathed and back to the palace—and without having to murder innocents to do it—Sergeant Arkhorn was not about to let the three ladies head out into the desert unescorted. So here they were, once again the shiny tip of the Calahrian Empire’s bayonet leading the way into trouble.
Sighing and yawning at the same time, Alwyn finally raised his head and looked up at the lightening sky. Every time he did, he dreaded what he might see. The path to the Red Star in Luuguth Jor had been—at some level—something hopeful. There had been a chance to break the oath and free themselves of the Shadow Monarch’s pull. But then the fighting began, the endless carnage. Now another Star would fall, and everyone—the Empire, the Shadow Monarch, maybe even Kaman Rhal himself—would butcher each other to claim it.
Alwyn lowered his head and turned again toward the front of the wagon as he caught bits of conversation between Yimt and Rallie. They were discussing old family recipes that Alwyn did his best not to overhear. Merely the sound of some of the ingredients made his stomach roil.
“I think I’ll try to catch up on some of that sleep now, Sergeant,” Alwyn said. He reached out with the butt of his musket to nudge Yimt.
“What? Sure, Ally,” Yimt said, reaching out a hand and patting his hand. “Rest those peepers. You’ve had a busy night.” He raised his voice as he addressed the other soldiers. “Same goes for the lot of you. Get your heads down while you can. I imagine we won’t be getting much sleep when we get where we’re going.”
“Thanks,” Alwyn said, as Yimt went back to chatting with Rallie. The rest of the section tried to get comfortable on top of the wagon as best they could. Not surprisingly, no one had tried to venture inside where Jir and the sreexes were.
Alwyn lay his head down and closed his eyes.
The first rays of the sun beat down upon his face as the vision of a Star filled his dreams.
He opened his eyes a moment later to find he was standing on top of a mountain.
His natural reaction was to bring his musket to the ready, even though he knew this was still a dream. He’d been to the Shadow Monarch’s domain before in this state, but this was different. The Wolf Oaks here grew tall and proud, their limbs gently curved as they lifted great leafy crowns skyward in a brilliant, blue sky. An elf walked among the trees, her hand gently brushing the trunks as she passed. She wore a long, flowing dress of red. She looked as young as Alwyn, and she was beautiful, her blond hair draping over her shoulders. And she looked familiar.
He walked toward her, aware that he was still dressed in his uniform. He started to sling his musket over his shoulder, but something made him keep it in both hands, though he couldn’t see why. Birds chirped gaily among the leaves and the air was warm and inviting.
“Hello,” he said, still at some distance, lest he frighten her.
The elf turned and smiled at him. Alwyn smiled back. “I know you, don’t I? I haven’t met many elves, but for the life of me, I can’t place you.”
“You know me, Alywn Renwar, and I know you.”
Alwyn almost fired his musket at the sound of Her voice. He looked around wildly, expecting rakkes to come charging at him from between the trees. Instead, a gentle breeze ruffled the tops of mountain flowers and a butterfly wobbled through the air to land on the end of his musket.
“Do not be afraid. I only wished you to see my realm as it will be,” the Shadow Monarch said.
She continued to smile at Alwyn, tossing her long blonde tresses in a way that reminded him of Nafeesah. “No, you want to destroy everything.”
Her face darkened, and in an instant, so did the sky. The breeze grew into a cold wind, tearing the wings from the butterfly perched on his musket, which fell to the ground to flop helplessly in the dirt. A moment later She smiled, bringing the warm, sunny day again to the mountaintop. “I want to set things right. Do you not see? There is much that is wrong with the world. Its people make war against each other. They kill, they desecrate nature. I want peace, Alwyn. I want things to be the way they were meant…to be.”
“What about the rakkes, and the dark elves? The blood trees?” He kept looking around, still expecting an attack at any moment. “What about us? Why us?”
“I mean you no harm, truly,” She said. “My desire has only ever been to right the wrongs that have been done. I want to heal that which is wounded and return that which was lost.” As She spoke, black ichor bubbled to the surface of the small clearing, forming a pool. She waved a hand across it and the surface changed, showing Alwyn scene after scene of death and destruction. None of them were by Her hand.
“I was at Luuguth Jor. I’ve been to the islands. You can’t fool me,” Alwyn said.
“Change is painful, Alwyn, but it is necessary. Look at what you hold in your hands. Is a death by your weapon any less a death?”
Alwyn shook his head, trying to clear it. This wasn’t what he had expected. Her arguments had a logic to them Alwyn couldn’t deny. “Please, I just want to be left alone. I want this to be over.”
The Shadow Monarch smiled. The mountaintop grew cold and darkness fell. Color bled from the world, leaving shades of gray pierced through with black. Freezing rain began to fall, each drop a crystal shard of ice. The wind scoured the ground, ripping away the grass and flowers and exposing the rock beneath. The Wolf Oaks twisted into sarka har, and shadows of dark creatures ringed the forest. “Come Alwyn, and let me show you how.” She reached out a hand.
Alwyn stared at it for what felt like an eternity, then reached out his hand. Shadow enveloped them both and Alwyn saw a way for the pain to end.
Despite every instinct in his body screaming this was a mistake, Konowa slung his musket over his shoulder and climbed into the saddle strapped to the camel. The smell of the beast almost had him vaulting right back off. Nothing alive and healthy should smell this bad, yet the beast did not appear to be at death’s door. Not yet, anyway.
Suppressing his urge to vomit, Konowa gripped the saddle until his hand and arm muscles burned with pain as the beast jerked its way to a standing position. Konowa looked down at the ground and wished he hadn’t. He knew he was only ten feet up, but from the saddle it felt and looked like a thousand. One small slip and he’d plummet to his death.
“Breathe, Major. It’s actually quite enjoyable once you become used to the height,” the Suljak said, walking his camel up to halt beside Konowa’s. He sat perched on the saddle on the beast’s hump with one leg tucked underneath his body, looking as comfortable as if he were lounging on pillows safely set on the ground.
“I have no intention of being up here long enough to find out,” Konowa said. Now upright, his camel stood stock still, showing no inclination to move. Konowa wasn’t sure if he should kick the beast with the heel of his boot, smack it with the flat side of his saber, snap the reins, or simply shoot it and walk. He knew his preference would be frowned upon. “Any advice on how to ride this thing?”
“Remember that the animal is both emotional and intelligent. It has feelings, and it knows when a rider is afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” Konowa said, “I’m concerned.”
“Of course,” the Suljak said. “Firm grip on the reins, not too tight and not too loose, and enjoy the ride. The camel has done this many times before. All you have to do is sit on top and look majestic.”
Konowa snorted. “I’d rather look tired and dusty down there,” he said, pointing at the ground. T
he camel suddenly moved a few feet to the right, almost granting Konowa his wish.
The Suljak smiled. “Elves never cease to amaze me. Do you know the ones stationed in the desert outposts are not overly fond of riding either? Some of the tribes thought to take advantage of that fact and raid a few caravans some miles from the nearest outpost, thinking the elves would never patrol that far into the desert. The raiders found to their chagrin that the elves could move rather quickly on two feet.”
Talk of his elves brightened Konowa’s spirits immensely. Pride welled in his chest to hear of their exploits. “You’ve met with them, then? I’ve had a hell of a time trying to get any information about them. Viceroy Alstonfar has been less than forthcoming. He said they prefer the isolation of the desert to the city. I was hoping to talk to him more about them, but he’s been busy all morning with this,” Konowa said, waving around them at the city.
The Suljak grew quiet. “It’s been some time since I’ve been to an outpost. Much of my work of late has been here in Nazalla dealing with the Viceroy. These elves of yours, they are interesting fellows.” The Suljak spoke hesitantly, as if the subject was one he would prefer to not discuss.
“They’re good soldiers,” Konowa said, knowing he sounded defensive and not caring. “In fact, they’re the best there are.”
“Better than the latest crop of Iron Elves?”
Konowa carefully sat up in the saddle and looked around. No troops were within earshot. “I’m proud of the regiment as it is, but when my brethren are reinstated in the Iron Elves and their honor restored, the regiment will truly be whole again.”
“And are you that certain that these elves will rejoin? Do you expect them to take the Blood Oath that now binds you—if the rumors be true—in life and death?”
It was a sticky point. Konowa had envisioned a thousand times his reunion with the elves of his homeland, and he’d never gotten past the initial greeting. He knew what he hoped—that the elves would welcome him as a long-lost brother and pledge their loyalty to him and his fight to overthrow the Shadow Monarch and forever erase Her taint. But would they? Kritton had wanted to kill him all the way through their journey to Luuguth Jor, and he had remained in the relatively civilized land of Elfkyna. What would elves banished to the desert be like, especially when they had committed no crime other than to follow him? Would they see Konowa as their savior, or as the elf who had condemned them to suffer because Konowa, as their commanding officer, murdered the Viceroy of Elfkyna in cold blood for that elf’s suspected ties to the Shadow Monarch? By not bringing the Viceroy up on charges, Konowa’s rash act cast a pall of suspicion on the trustworthiness of all the elves and led to his and, by extension, their downfall.
“Things will work themselves out,” Konowa said, his voice sounding far more confident than he felt.
“I do hope so, but I should warn you, Major—even a short length of time in the desert will change a man, or elf. I would suggest caution in your optimistic approach.”
As Konowa thought about that, Viceroy Alstonfar rode up on his camel, his rotund form at ease on the saddle. “The Prince requests both your presences at the front of the column. We are moving out.”
“The city is still seething, Viceroy,” Konowa said. “Do you really think we can just waltz on out of here?”
Viceroy Alstonfar and the Suljak shared a look before the Viceroy spoke. “Concessions have been made. Significant financial concessions to the families of those who lost members last night.”
“You bought them off with gold?” Konowa asked. He turned in the saddle, despite the risk, to look more closely at the Suljak. “A few gold coins is enough to grant us free passage?”
“No, but that and my assurances about the fate of the Star are. Politics is a messy business, Major, and it requires setting a price on things that should never be valued in that way. Still, it is a necessary evil.”
Another look was shared between the Viceroy and the Suljak that Konowa didn’t like. Another time he would have pressed for more answers, but time—as so often happened—was not on his side.
The three snapped their reins and their camels began walking. There was still a sizable crowd outside the palace, but they were subdued as the gates swung open. Anger still emanated from them, but it was held in check. The Suljak waved to the crowd, and they began to back slowly away from the gate.
The Iron Elves stood shoulder to shoulder six men wide. Bayonets were fixed at the end of their muskets, which they held against their left shoulders as they awaited the order to march. The rising sun now glinted off the sharpened, bare steel with unmistakable menace.
The soldiers wore looks of grim determination, but Konowa knew much of their fierceness was anger felt at being sent out to the desert after just one night in Nazalla. It was a bitter blow after weeks on the high seas assaulting islands held by Her creatures, but it had to be; there was no choice. Staying in Nazalla was the equivalent of keeping a lit match in a powder magazine. There would be time enough to rest when they found the elves.
And the next Star.
Konowa caught himself. He wasn’t sure even he believed that about the Star, for after this Star there would be another, and another. Stars would keep falling and they would keep fighting, until when? How long could this go on?
Konowa reached the Prince at the head of the column and saluted. The Prince returned his salute, then turned his camel to face the assembled troops. Konowa expected a speech, but the Prince merely drew his sword, held it in the air, then brought it down. A drum took up a beat and the regiment marched in step out through the gate and into the city.
It was a somber procession, save for the still-grinning volunteers of the 3rd Spears. Konowa placed them at the rear of the column, hoping their presence there would discourage any kind of last-minute attack by a few rogues in the crowd. Though they appeared calm, the city seethed under the sweltering heat. The rumors of last night seemed to grow as the temperature rose. Konowa wondered if they could make it out of Nazalla before the citizens believed he had murdered babes in their cribs.
The Suljak rode serenely at the front, and when the citizenry saw him, they quickly stepped aside, bowing deferentially as he passed. Konowa recognized power when he saw it. He had no doubt that it would take but a flick of the Suljak’s hand to have these same people throwing stones and worse.
The column moved through the streets, silent but for the sound of their boots echoing off the walls. For now at any rate, the bargain had been made. Konowa suspected there were ramifications neither the Prince, nor the Viceroy, nor the Suljak saw, but what they were was anyone’s guess.
What Konowa was certain of was that if a price was to be paid, it would likely be exacted in blood from the Iron Elves.
TWENTY-FOUR
Tyul rested near an outcropping of rock. He took the chance to take a drink from the waterskin that Jurwan had found for him before they left the city in pursuit of the remaining skeletal creatures. Tyul poured out some water into his palm for Jurwan. The squirrel drank slowly, pausing to look up periodically before lowering his head to drink again.
The sun approached its zenith, as did the heat. Tyul had removed the black clothing early in the morning, though the aberrations of nature he followed had kept theirs on. Tracking them was proving difficult. Despite moving on foot, they covered ground faster than should have been possible. Tyul found himself running in order to keep them in sight, which in itself was a challenge.
He peered around the rock. The three remaining skeletal creatures and the body they carried disappeared in the shimmering haze like true apparitions. He continued to watch until they reappeared several seconds later. They had covered much ground in the interval.
Tyul knew a power was at work aiding their journey. The farther they traveled into the desert the faster and more elusive the creatures became. As good a tracker as Tyul was, he realized he would not likely be able to keep up this pace for more than another day and night. He considered attacking
them and killing them all while he still had the strength to do so, but then he would not have any answers—not know where they were going—and Jurwan had conveyed to him that that was the most important thing of all.
Jurwan finished drinking and scrambled up Tyul’s arm to rest on his shoulder. Understanding it was time, Tyul took another glance around the rock. The shimmering air stilled for a few seconds and he noticed something far in the distance. He squinted and tried to bring it into focus. Yes, there was something enticingly green up ahead. He blinked and looked again. He was certain there was a tiny smudge of green in a sea of brown. Tyul could track them to that.
He crossed over the rocks without disturbing the dust and renewed his chase. The creatures either did not see him or no longer cared that he followed them. Where the forest was Tyul’s home, this was clearly theirs. Tyul picked up his pace and kept them in sight.
Those were trees in the distance.
Tyul knew how to hunt among trees.
Alwyn crested a dune and paused, using the vantage point to scan the horizon. The sand dunes rippled in every direction, interspersed with rocky outcroppings that with time would be worn away as well. The heat slid over him like molten metal. He ran his tongue across his lips and winced. They were cracked and sore, and his eyes smarted as sweat stung them with every blink. Despite this, he found it was actually a pleasure to be off the wagon and walking. The movement gave his body something to do besides enduring the jarring of the ride. Although his stump was giving him trouble, the marching also helped him clear his head, and more important, it meant no more dreams.
