by Chris Evans
“Stop him, Major,” Feylan whispered, his musket shaking. “He’s going to get us all killed.”
Konowa brought his right arm forward ready to ram an elbow into Pimmer’s face when the rakke moved. Holding his blow in check, Konowa stared in amazement as the rakke leaned forward . Maybe it thought it was the wind, Konowa hoped, knowing that not even a rakke was that stupid. The rakke continued to lean and Konowa was sure it must have seen them. He was starting to call up the frost fire when the beast did the most curious thing and tipped right over and sprawled face-first into the rocks below its boulder.
“Bloody hell,” Feylan said, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. “Is he chucking magic rocks?”
Konowa wondered the same thing. The acorn still throbbed with a cold warning. That rakke must have froze to death, but something up ahead was very much alive. He turned to look at Pimmer who was standing erect and smiling grimly. “Just as I suspected,” he said, and pushed past Konowa and Feylan and walked up the steps toward the rakke.
Konowa lunged after him and caught him a few steps up. “What game are you playing at?” he hissed, trying to pull him back.
“It’s dead, Major,” he said, gently patting Konowa’s hand on his arm. “They all are.”
Konowa risked a look at the nearest rakke. A wooden stake was strapped to its back by a length of frayed rope wrapped around its chest. There was a large, fist-sized hole at the base of its skull and its fur was matted with dried blood. The rakke was dead. Someone had placed it on the boulder like a trophy, or a scarecrow. He looked up the hill and now that fear wasn’t clouding his vision he saw that the other rakkes were dead. Every single rakke had been propped on or staked to a boulder.
Throwing caution to the howling wind, Konowa reached out and grabbed the rakke by the shoulder and tried to heave it over onto its back. He got it partway up, but the wooden stake jammed between two rocks preventing him from turning it all the way over. It didn’t matter, he got a clear view of its face. Both eyes had been gouged out, its fangs had been pulled, its throat slit, and its tongue had been pulled down and out through the gaping wound. The wounds looked fresh, like they had been inflicted only a few days ago.
“My elves did this?” Konowa asked. Rakkes were cruel and vicious and most disturbingly, extinct. They had no reason existing in this age. Still, he knew that even at his most battle-crazed, he could never do what he saw before him. Not this. Not torture. He could kill, of that he had no qualms, but there was a bright, burning line deep inside of him that he had never crossed, and had no intention of ever doing so.
“Why did they do that?” Private Feylan asked, his voice quiet again. “What’s the point in torturing them? They don’t know nothing.” The rest of the soldiers had moved up the path to see what was going on and were now staring silently at the corpse.
Konowa’s mind raced. Why indeed?“
A warning, I should imagine,” Pimmer said. “A rather graphic and horrific warning to be sure, but perhaps an effective one . . .” he said, his voice trailing off as if he didn’t really believe it.
Konowa wanted to believe it was a warning, but his instincts weren’t cooperating. Whoever did this had acted as cruelly as the rakkes themselves, but something about it was worse. Rakkes were stupid creatures controlled by dark forces. If his elves did this then they were responsible.
“Perhaps we should be moving,” Pimmer said at last, his voice thankfully firm. Konowa wasn’t sure he could deal with sympathy right now.
Without a word he brushed past Private Feylan and took the lead up the stone stairs. Feylan said nothing. Something was alive up here, and they hadn’t found it yet.
Each step higher brought more rakke bodies into view. For every one set out on a boulder there were several more dumped among the rocks. Many appeared to have been tortured. Several had been beheaded. He’d seen enough bodies on battlefields to be hardened to death, but even he wasn’t prepared for what waited around the next corner.
“Oh . . .”
A rakke lay tied spread-eagle on the steps, its hands and feet cut off, the stumps black with frozen blood. Two bayonets protruded from its eye sockets, its fangs were splintered, and sections of its hide had been peeled back exposing the muscle beneath.
It was still breathing.
Konowa understood shame and guilt and the rage it built inside an elf. He’d lived with it all his life bearing the Shadow Monarch’s mark. After losing the regiment he thought for a time he might lose himself in the Elfkynan forest. And now he’d condemned the reincarnated Iron Elves to a bond beyond death, and when given a chance to break it, chose not to.
But nothing he’d felt, nothing he’d experienced could ever justify this.
“Do you see some—” Private Feylan started to ask, poking his head around Konowa’s shoulder. He turned away and began to vomit, the sound churning Konowa’s stomach. He might have been sick himself if he’d had anything to eat in the last day.
He drew his saber from its scabbard and stepped forward. Anger at Otillo, at his own foolishness, and his brother elves and what they had become poured out in a savage thrust through the beast’s heart. It convulsed once and then went still. Black frost glittered on the exposed portion of the blade and soon the rakke’s body was engulfed. Konowa stood perfectly still, watching. After several seconds the body of the rakke was consumed and the tip of Konowa’s saber rested against the stone step.
“Major?”
The wind, or maybe it was the sound of the blood in Konowa’s veins, roared in his ears. He wanted to scream, cry, punch, and curl up in a ball all at the same time.
“Major Swift Dragon?”
Konowa blinked. Mechanically, he sheathed his blade and forced himself to turn away. Viceroy Alstonfar’s face swam into view.
“I did this to them,” Konowa said. “It’s because of me they were banished here. They did this because of me.”
Pimmer stepped back in surprise. “Absolutely not. Every man and elf has a choice between good and evil. Circumstances might stack the deck one way or the other, but you still pick the card.”
Konowa looked into Pimmer‘s eyes, searching for the lie. He saw only compassion and honesty. “You really believe that?”
“With every ounce of my being, and that’s a lot of belief.”
Konowa smiled in spite of himself. “I could have used you in the forest a while back.”
“I’m here now, and my advice is that we get off these rocks and in the fort posthaste.”
A gust of wind buffeted Konowa’s shako and he realized he was shivering. “Wise words.” He turned and started to climb the steps, not sure he was prepared for what he might see next but knowing he had to face whatever it was. The rest of the climb happened in a blur. Dead rakkes littered the ground wherever he looked. Eventually, he simply looked down, watching his boots. He forgot about counting. He forgot about the regiment marching across the desert floor heading toward the fort. Thoughts of what his elves had become were still playing in his mind when a shadow loomed before him. He looked up in surprise to see the wall of the fort towering directly above him.
The bottom twenty feet of the wall were comprised of roughhewn boulders joined together like massive blocks. As Konowa craned his head back he saw the stones grew smaller and had been worked more, although the overall appearance was still of something put together rapidly.
“We made it,” Private Feylan said, coming to stand beside Konowa. The other soldiers soon appeared and huddled together. Their faces were pale masks of grim concentration. Konowa imagined they were trying desperately, as he was, to forget what they’d just seen.
“We’re not in yet,” Konowa said, looking to Pimmer.
“But we will be soon,” the diplomat said, walking up to the wall and tracing the cracks between the blocks with a finger. He began counting the blocks from right to left and referring back to the map in his hand. “I do believe I’ve found it,” he said after a minute, stepping back from th
e wall and pointing to a block four feet tall and three feet wide. He looked down at the ground, took another step back, looked up and counted the blocks again, nodded, and stamped his right boot twice.
“Was something supposed to happen?” Private Feylan whispered to Konowa.
Konowa said nothing, only raising an eyebrow at Pimmer who gave the map another look, spun it ninety degrees before turning it back, and moved over three blocks to the right and pointed at another block of similar dimensions. “Yes, definitely got it this time.” The block shifted back an inch with a puff of dust that was quickly whipped away by the wind.
“Gentlemen, our way in,” he said, stepping forward and giving the block a kick with his boot. It swung backward and disappeared in the dark as if it were on hinges. He reached into his robe and pulled out the small storm lantern. “Now it’s my turn,” he said. He shook the lantern and as its light bloomed he stooped down and walked inside.
Konowa watched the light in the square hole dim as Pimmer walked deeper inside. He realized he was cringing, waiting to hear a loud crack as another fiendish device sprung. When no scream of pain issued forth from the secret passage Konowa pinched the bridge of his nose and blew into his hands for warmth.
“He just . . . he just walked right in,” Feylan said, pointing to the opening with his musket. “Just kicked it open and went in like it was his town’s tavern.”
“Seems he finally figured out which way is up on the map,” Konowa said, then cursed himself for disparaging Pimmer in front of the troops. “Which of course he knew all along. I do believe the Viceroy likes to jest,” he said.
Feylan and the other soldiers looked at him with obvious skepticism, but they kept their opinions to themselves.
“Okay, grab him before he wanders too far,” Konowa said, pushing Feylan toward the opening. The private nodded and followed after Pimmer. He reached the wall and without pausing ducked inside.
“All right, the rest of you, in you go. Take it slow, and don’t go far. We still don’t know who or what might be in there.”
The soldiers walked silently toward the opening, each of them lost in thought. One by one they crouched down and entered the passageway until only Konowa remained outside the wall. He hunched his shoulders against the cold. For several minutes, he simply stood there.
Finally, he took one last look down the rocky slope before turning and walking inside. A trail of black frost stained the ground in his wake.
Scolly fell to the tunnel floor, the sound of the musket stock striking his cheek still echoing off the walls.
“Stop it, you’ll kill him!” Visyna shouted, jumping up from the wall and running toward the fallen man. The same elf soldier that had threatened Visyna earlier stood over Scolly, his musket raised for another strike.
Hrem was only a second behind her. “Try that again and I will kill you!”
The elf looked between Visyna and Hrem then down at Scolly. “If he wanders off again, he dies,” the elf said, spitting at the soldier, then spinning on his heel and walking away.
Hrem reached down and lifted Scolly to his feet while Visyna came close and examined the bruise on his face without touching it. “How do you feel?”
Tears were running down Scolly’s cheeks. “I just wanted to know where we are going.”
Teeter came up to them and took Scolly by the elbow, but not before giving Visyna a cold stare. “If you don’t use your damn magic soon it’s going to be too late. C’mon, Scolly, let’s go sit down.”
Visyna tried to think of a response, but couldn’t. Teeter was right. If she didn’t do something then what good was she?
She sat back down against the wall. Hrem joined her a moment later. “Don’t worry about Teeter, he’s just upset.”
“He’s right though,” Visyna said. “I have to act. You see what these elves are like.”
Hrem looked down the tunnel then back at her. “So what did you have in mind?”
“How good is your command of the frost fire?”
“I’m one of the few in the regiment who seems to be able to control it, but I’m no Renwar,” he said, his voice a mixture of pity and relief. “What he did when we left Nazalla was way beyond anything I’d know how to do. I don’t even know exactly how I do control it. It’s sort of like breathing, I just do it.”
Visyna hid her disappointment. “But you can call it up when you want, right?”
For an answer Hrem held out a hand. Black frost covered his palm. As she watched the crystals grew and transformed into ugly, black flames before he closed his fist and doused them. “I could kill someone with it if I touched them, but I couldn’t throw it if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Could you make a wall? Some kind of barrier that you could place around Kritton and the elves?”
Hrem thought about that. “Never tried anything like that. Even if I could, though, how would that help? Flame won’t stop musket balls.”
“Not flame,” Visyna said, “but ice. If I could teach you to weave, maybe you could do it. It wouldn’t have to be for long, just enough time for Chayii, Jir, and me to do the rest.”
Hrem looked at his hands then at her. “Do you want to try now?”
“No, it’s too confined down here. We’ll have to wait until we get out of this tunnel.”
“Does that mean you’re able to weave down here?” he asked.
Visyna nodded. “My ability never left. The ancient power in the library was just too caustic to weave.” She tried to think of a way to explain it. “Think of nature as one giant fabric. Everything has a life force, an energy like a thread that weaves and bonds with everything else. I find these threads and weave them into something I can use, crafting a spell from the very life around me.”
Hrem’s eyes widened. “Do you mean you take some of our life when you cast a spell?”
Visyna smiled and held up her hands. “It doesn’t work that way. I take only what is free. It’s like the heat from a fire for warmth. All life gives off energy as it lives. I find that energy and use it.”
“What if you can’t find enough energy around you? Couldn’t you tap into someone?”
“That would be horrible,” she said, her voice rising before she remembered where they were. “It would be as if I plunged a knife into you and drained your blood. I weave the energy that lives all around us, but I do so with care. I seek to strengthen and help, not hurt. I only take what is available and will harm no living thing.”
“But could you do it if you had to, if there were no other way?”
Visyna thought she understood what he was getting at. “I wouldn’t be able to use your energy even if I wanted to. The oath is far too strong in all of you now.”
“These elves aren’t bound by the oath,” he said.
She understood his implication. She could weave their energy, killing them in the process. “Even if my weaving were strong enough, I couldn’t kill in that fashion.” The very thought of it made her skin crawl.
Hrem raised a hand and held his thumb and forefinger apart an inch. “Then don’t kill them—weaken them. Drain some of their energy, enough that we can get away when the opportunity presents itself.”
It was an intriguing idea, but already she saw a flaw. “Even if I could do it, and I’m not saying I could, I wouldn’t be able to affect Kritton. He is oath-bound like you. The Shadow Monarch’s power makes it too difficult for me to work with it.”
Hrem smiled. “I’ll take care of Kritton.”
She sat back against the tunnel wall. Choices whirled about inside her head, each one dark and filled with unforeseen dangers. A dull pain settled in her breast bone. Is this what it felt like for Konowa? Faced with nothing but terrible choices? A sudden longing for him filled her. Her heart went out to him as she understood in a way she hadn’t before the constant nightmare of choosing the lesser of two evils.
“You say it so easily,” she said.
“For that piece of filth, killing him will be easy. Doesn’t
mean I like it, but it’s something that has to be done. In the end, it’s going to come down to him or us, and I’d rather it be us.”
“It’s just that it seems so barbaric, all this killing. There should be another way.” She knew she sounded naïve, but didn’t care.
Hrem’s voice grew stern and leaned toward her as he spoke. “Begging your pardon, but have you tried talking to a rakke? The only thing they understand is brute force. And as for Kritton and the rest of these elves, we tried talking to them back in the library and you saw what happened. No, the time for talking is long past. Kritton has to die, and if the other elves get in the way, they will, too. Maybe you don’t like it, but it won’t be the first time you’ve killed.”
“Actually, it will.”
Hrem sat back in surprise. “You’ve been in the thick of the fighting since we set out . . .”
Visyna shook her head. “I’ve done what I could to aid the regiment with my weaving, but I’ve never directly taken a life.” In her months with the Iron Elves, her weaving had certainly made it easier for the regiment to kill its enemies, but they had been monsters, creatures spawned by wickedness. What Hrem suggested was something new. It was a line she had never crossed.
Could she drain just a little energy? And at what cost?
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I would remember.”
A brown carapaced beetle no bigger than a fly crawled across the sand on the tunnel floor near her foot. She stared at it. Without meaning to she sought out its life presence in the web of energy around her. She glanced up at Hrem and saw that he had seen it, too. He looked at her and shrugged his shoulders a fraction.
It’s only an insect, she told herself, forcing her attention back on the beetle, but in her heart she didn’t believe it. It was a living creature, part of the natural order.
“They’re living, breathing men with families. They deserve a chance,” Hrem said.
And there it was. She knew what he was saying was true, and that she was being overly sensitive, but she also understood this is how it begins. Once she began weaving the living energy of another life she would lose a part of herself forever. It dawned on her then that if she were ever to see Konowa again, this was a sacrifice she would have to make.
