by Chris Evans
Have another drink was the first thought that entered Konowa’s head, but he kept it to himself. “I’ll admit, I can’t begin to imagine what that means, but does it really matter? I can see the fort from here. We simply have to climb up. With or without the map and its secrets that really shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Except for the booby traps.”
That got Konowa’s attention. Aguom stiffened. Soldiers trained to fight an enemy they could see. Hidden traps though were like snakes lying in tall grass. There was something fundamentally unfair about them, although the enemy of course thought differently. “It says that? What kind of traps?”
Pimmer rubbed his chin in thought. “Well, in this particular case the camel can only refer to Suljak Emyan who was famous for carting about a massive main tent that could be seen for miles in the desert like a great camel’s hump. One moonless night, or so legend has it, his guards made the unfortunate mistake of allowing a Guara assassin into his tent thinking the man was one of the Suljak’s servants. You can guess what happened next,” Pimmer said, making a slashing motion with his hand across his throat.
Konowa offered Pimmer a weak smile. “I’m still not clear how this helps us. What’s the trap?”
“No way to tell from here, but I suspect it will be something that looks innocuous enough but will in fact be quite deadly.”
Konowa still wasn’t convinced, but it was time to move. “Very well, Viceroy, I can see the benefit of having you with me. Please collect whatever you’ll need and report—return here so that we can begin.”
Pimmer smiled and reached out to pat Konowa on the arm then appeared to think better of it and turned it into a wave that meandered into a salute that only the most charitable, or farsighted, would consider military. “I shall go fetch my pistol and be back in a moment.”
Aguom coughed. “You aren’t carrying it with you now?”
Pimmer made a patting gesture on his robes. “Afraid not. In fact, it seems I’ve left my saber back at the camel, too. Takes a bit of getting used to carting all these weapons around. I don’t know how you do it.”
Konowa made sure not to catch the regimental sergeant major’s eye lest one or both of them burst out with something they’d regret. “As a general rule, Viceroy, you might wish to keep your pistol and other weapons on your person and in a position to use at a moment’s notice. As you’ve seen, things are a bit dicey out here. There’s no telling where or when we’ll be in battle next.”
Pimmer straightened up at the idea and fixed Konowa with a hard stare. “Then it’s time we get going,” he said. “You know, up until your arrival my battles were fought with the quill, strategically planned tea breaks, and wine-soaked dinner parties for the coup de grâce.”
“I think it’s safe to say those days are over for the foreseeable future,” Konowa said. “A saber in hand is your best friend now.”
“What a wonderful phrase and terrible thought,” Pimmer said, then turned and strode off to fetch his gear.
Konowa watched him go and then motioned to Aguom to follow. They walked a short distance away so they were well out of earshot of the troops.
“Right, I’m splitting us into two groups.” He knew it was risky to divide their strength when about to face the enemy, but he didn’t see he had much choice. Marching the entire column at Suhundam’s Hill meant following the caravan track that wound its way directly below it and well within range of muskets or arrows.
“A good move, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Aguom said. “If we took the whole column straight on we could find out the enemy is somewhere out there in the desert and we’d be pinned up against the rock. Splitting us up gives us options, and in the snow and the dark the enemy will have a hard time seeing us, hopefully at least until it’s too late.”
Konowa stepped back a pace and studied the RSM. “I knew sergeants were the backbone of the army and put there to keep officers from making too many mistakes they might not live to regret, but I didn’t know they were tacticians, too. I’ve been remiss in not consulting with you sooner.”
“Kind of you to say, Major, but I actually picked it up talking to another officer with us.”
Konowa looked past him to the assembled soldiers a short distance away. “What, the naval ensign in charge of the guns? Where did a fish learn how to fight on land?”
Aguom shook his head. “No, sir. He was killed by one of those flying trees. A branch went right through his neck. Quite a mess.” Aguom pointed at his own neck indicating where the branch had struck and killed the naval ensign.
Konowa reached up toward his own neck then brought his hand back down. Without intending to he hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin in a little. He realized Aguom was staring at him and reluctantly Konowa forced himself to raise his head and expose the flesh of his neck to the cold, night air. He had a newfound sympathy for turtles. “If not the ensign then . . . wait, you don’t mean the Viceroy?” Pimmer was clearly bright and capable enough in a maddening, eccentric way, but he didn’t know command of soldiers in the field.
“No, sir, not the Viceroy. It’s Lieutenant Imba, sir.”
Konowa didn’t recognize the name. “We have a Lieutenant Imba? Where did we pick him up and where’s he been hiding?”
The RSM looked at the ground then back at Konowa. “He was one of the volunteers from the 3rd Spears. He was afraid you wouldn’t let him join if you knew he was an officer, so he begged me to keep his secret. He took off his rank and blended in. His men admire him greatly. I know his clan. Fisherman for the most part and warriors when necessary.”
Konowa looked back toward the soldiers. “Lieutenant Imba, to me.”
A soldier detached himself from the group and started over. The remaining men began looking everywhere except at Konowa. They all knew, he realized, kicking himself for not spotting the deception back in Nazalla, but he’d had too much on his mind. As Lieutenant Imba marched he carried himself like an officer, a confident one at that. There was an easy grace to his gait. Almost as tall as Konowa, he never averted his gaze as he approached. He held his head up just a fraction higher than was comfortable in order to jut out his chin and throw his shoulders back. The result was subtle yet powerful. He conveyed authority without appearing aggressive. Konowa knew he stomped around like a bull half the time. It had worked, especially in the early going of his career when he was determined to prove elves weren’t all a bunch of flower-sniffing dandies, but maybe it was time for a more thoughtful approach to life’s challenges . . . although perhaps not too thoughtful.
Imba came to a smooth stop in front of Konowa and saluted smartly. Unlike most of the men, he had not wrapped himself in a Hasshugeb robe and stood before Konowa in a threadbare uniform and bare feet. His musket rested perfectly against his left shoulder and gleamed as if he had guard duty at the Queen’s palace. Konowa stared at his face, mentally tracing each ceremonial scarring band under clear, unblinking eyes. He knew they were made without the aid of any drug or liquor to ease the pain. Ragged scars were a sign of squirming as the blade bit into flesh across the cheekbones and Konowa wondered how many he could stomach before throwing up, passing out, or taking a swing at whoever was doing the cutting. Imba had seven scars under his right eye and six under his left. Every one was ruler straight.
The acorn grew colder, but Konowa didn’t need its warning. The man before him was a true warrior.
“So, it’s lieutenant, is it?” Konowa asked.
Imba’s voice was clear and unapologetic despite his words. “Yes, sir. My apologies for the deception. I shall place myself under arrest until such time as a court-martial is convened and I am tried and convicted for dereliction of duty.”
Konowa looked up to the sky as if considering the idea. Another time and another place not that long ago that’s exactly what would have happened, and the most likely result would have been execution by firing squad . . . assuming he didn’t die first from a thousand lashes. But that time and place no longe
r existed. Konowa brushed a few snowflakes from his face and returned his gaze to Lieutenant Imba.
“Yes, well, under the unique circumstances, I’m inclined to view this as a significant but correctable oversight on your part. As of now you will resume the rank of lieutenant. We’ve been a regiment running on wings and prayers from the outset so another officer is a useful addition. I want you, with the RSM’s assistance, to take the column up the road toward the fort. That includes the cannons. I know we don’t have any shot for them, but no one in the fort will know that. Miss Synjyn will follow in her wagon with His Highness bringing up the rear. You will assign the Color Party to stay with the Prince and keep him safe.”
If Imba wondered at the strangeness of the order he didn’t show it. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If you don’t mind my asking, where will you be, Major?”
Konowa pointed toward the fort. “I’m taking ten men and the Viceroy with me across the desert and coming at the place from the backside.”
“Will ten men suffice?”
“Lieutenant,” Konowa said, drawing his saber and holding it up near his face to examine the blade, “if it weren’t for the look of the thing I’d run right up there by myself and to hell with the consequences.”
Choosing to take that as a signal, RSM Aguom motioned to Lieutenant Imba and they both saluted and marched back toward the troops. Konowa continued to stare at his blade as snowflakes fell on the steel. A quick burst of frost fire burned it clean and he reluctantly sheathed it. He looked back toward Suhundam’s Hill. Please, let there be something up there I can take a swing at.
Blood will spill this night,” Konowa said. The assembled soldiers grew quiet. Konowa let that thought hang in the cold air for a while. Only a few flakes were falling now, which seemed to make the night darker, more sinister. Even though it was hell to march through, there had been something oddly comforting about the snow.
Konowa turned and looked toward Suhundam’s Hill. It had to be clear to every soldier present that it wouldn’t be an easy nut to crack if they had to take it by force. Faced with the prospect of assaulting a fortified position on a rocky hill definitely focused their attention.
Konowa continued. “His Majesty has asked me to convey his best wishes in the coming hours and knows you will do your best. He is currently deep in study, pouring over the many documents and artifacts that were recovered from the library in hopes of finding ways to defeat the Shadow Monarch and break the oath. While this is unlikely,” he quickly added, knowing it was the best lie he had to offer, “there is always hope. And cunning.”
“Lieutenant Imba,” Konowa announced, drawing a few murmurs of feigned surprise from the ranks. Imba stepped forward and turned to look at the gathered troops.
“Some of you are no doubt aware that Lieutenant Imba has been with us since Nazalla, serving quietly among the ranks. I’m sure you’ve guessed the reason for this subterfuge by now.” Konowa was certain, in fact, that they hadn’t because he was crafting his reasoning as he spoke. “The enemy is wily, and they can no doubt pick out myself, His Majesty, and the Viceroy from some distance. This is good. They will see all of us march toward Suhundam’s Hill and believe the entire regiment is coming straight at them. They’ll be in for a surprise.
“Two soldiers will dress up like the Viceroy and myself and march with the regiment with Lieutenant Imba in actual command. The Prince will remain to the rear and appear to be . . . incapacitated.” Konowa doubted he’d be able to remember all these lies if ever called to explain this later. “While the regiment goes forward I, along with the Viceroy, will lead a group of ten men across the desert and climb the hill up a secret pathway. If necessary, we expect to catch whoever is in the fort completely by surprise.”
As plans went it sounded pathetic and Konowa was trying to think of an alternative when he noticed the bustling sound of the regiment had quieted. He turned as Private Renwar appeared out of the dark.
Neat trick. Konowa kept his expression neutral.
“Where would you like me?”
Konowa looked past Renwar to see if he could detect any of the fallen, but it was too dark to see. He felt relieved. “Private Renwar,” Konowa said, ignoring the fact the soldier hadn’t formally addressed him, “I wasn’t sure if you were still with us. Your . . . charges, have been rather absent of late.”
The air cooled around them, an impressive feat considering the already freezing temperature. Konowa refused to be intimidated. This is still my regiment.
“We are here, but even in death there is a cost to battle. The pain we suffer grows. To kill Her creatures compounds that pain. It’s my duty to ease their suffering.”
The use of the word “we” struck Konowa. He’s really going over to the darkness. Aware of the regiment hanging on every word, Konowa had no choice but to keep things light. “A noble attitude, and one we all share, living and dead. That said, we all still have our duty. I need you to continue leading the column toward the fort. If there’s going to be a fight, I’d like the . . . others to create a distraction while my group sneaks up on whatever might be up there from behind. Is that understood?”
“There is no need. We can kill every living thing in our way,” Renwar said. There was no emotion in his voice. It was a simple statement of fact. Konowa couldn’t tell if it was meant as a larger threat or not, but it was chilling regardless.
Konowa sensed the unease building among the troops. He bowed his head for a moment as if in deep thought then raised it, revealing a big smile. “Well of course we can, we’re the Iron Elves,” he said, deliberately raising his voice and putting on a big smile. He turned and caught the eyes of some of the soldiers, nodding his head in recognition even though in their bundled state he couldn’t tell one from another. “I pity any foe who opposes us this night, especially any villainous rum casks or wine barrels we might find up there.”
Heads nodded and a few soldiers even cheered. Any chance for rest and drink, no matter how brief or where the respite might come, was always welcome. RSM Aguom looked to Konowa to see if he wanted him to instill some order, but Konowa shook his head. Let the lads enjoy the moment. Their dead comrades followed them everywhere led by the increasingly unsettling Private Renwar. Even Konowa wasn’t immune to the growing sense of dread that hung around them like an invisible fog. No, if the troops could find some joy among all this horror then Konowa wanted them to wring every drop out it.
“Any chance there’ll be any women up there, too, Major?” one of the soldiers shouted out.
“That depends,” Konowa said, pausing for effect.
“On what?” several soldiers asked at the same time.
Konowa made a show of adjusting his shako on his head and straightening out his uniform. “On if you find female rakkes attractive.”
Laughter rolled from the ranks, a release of tension by men knowing that in the next hour they might very well be dead, or worse. Konowa casually looked over at Private Renwar. The soldier’s face remained impassive, his gray eyes locked in on Konowa’s.
You and I have a problem.
Konowa held on to his smile, grinning so hard his jaw ached. This is my regiment, and don’t you forget it. “At the very least they make good rugs,” he continued, letting his gaze slide away from Renwar’s unblinking eyes. “Lads, the truth of it is, I don’t know what we’re going to find up there, but whatever it is, I absolutely know you’ll handle it.” Konowa motioned to Aguom to take over and the RSM started barking orders.
Konowa turned and walked a short distance away. He doubted his speech was worthy of Rallie’s quill, and that disappointed him. Her readers back home wanted to hear about glory and adventure, and he understood that, but it was the quiet, impromptu little talks like the one he just gave that made the difference. Throughout history it was small banter, a quick laugh and nod of understanding among a few tired, hungry, and scared soldiers like these that turned the tide and won the day. Maybe if more folks back home knew that they’d be less eager
for the empire to push its boundaries further. The truth of it was, talk of queen and country sounded good when you were far from danger and warm and fed and chatting up a barmaid and no one, except maybe her husband, was lurking in the shadows waiting to bash your head in. Out here, however, with rakkes threatening to tear a soldier’s throat out with their fangs and claws, dark elves shooting vicious black arrows, and sarka har learning new and more lethal ways to kill, it didn’t have the same impact. The call of duty that every soldier did carry with him deep in his gut like a precious white diamond was nothing more and nothing less than the desperate hope to live to see another day. Wake up to a new dawn enough times and one of those days a ship would take you back home. Walking off that gangplank and setting up shop in the nearest tavern, a soldier could spin tales of derringdo leavened with a touch of modesty about how he wasn’t really a hero, which only made him sound even more of one. The soldier had been there, and everyone else hadn’t, and they knew it. The screams might still echo somewhere deep in the soldier’s skull and a loud noise might make him start and reach for the musket he no longer carried, but the audience around him would see a gallant warrior, a man who had stood before the enemy and held his ground. Even the stingiest bartender would slide him another round with just the smallest shake of his head indicating that his money was no good there. Konowa had experienced that more than once when on leave, but as good as it felt, his heart yearned to be back with the regiment, somewhere out in the wilds, wherever that might be.
“It is a bit steep, isn’t it?” Viceroy Alstonfar said, startling Konowa.
“Sorry, what is?”
“That,” Pimmer said, pointing up at Suhundam’s Hill.
