by Chris Evans
Konowa wondered if there was a subtle accusation there, but he really didn’t care. His mother’s sacrifice was propelling them to the Hyntaland, or at least, it had been. “What lies to the west of us?”
Ervod unfolded more of the map. “Assuming I’m right and we are north of the Timolians, then a westerly course will take us through the Xephril Straits. Two major rivers empty into the straits, the Kantanna and the Ottawota, which merge into the Greater Kantanna further inland.”
Konowa knew the river. Its headwater was the Shadow Monarch’s mountain in the Hyntaland. “Is the river deep enough to take us all the way to the mountain?”
Ervod shrugged. “The Imperial Navy has only charted the tributary openings in Rewland along the coast. It’s my understanding that the agreement reached with your . . . the agreement reached with the elves denied the navy access further north.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Konowa said. “When the elves of the Long Watch see a sailing ship like this they see mass murder.”
Ervod went pale. “Colonel!”
“They do make exceptions, and in the case of our current mission I don’t think they’ll mind. In fact, I don’t care if they do. If this wind takes us up the river and saves us having to march the whole way, I’m all for it.”
“You mean, we might end up in the middle of a battle on a river?”
Konowa shrugged. “It would seem anything is possible these days.”
Major Alstonfar appeared in the hatchway. “Ah, here you are, Colonel. Captain. The men and Miss Synjyn have assembled.”
Konowa went to pat Ervod on the back then thought better of it. The man was jumpy enough. “If our course changes again, let me know. Otherwise, assume we’re going upriver and plan accordingly.” He plucked the map from the captain’s hands and followed Pimmer back out and across the deck.
He started to head into the passageway to his cabin when he heard something. It was so distant, so quiet, that he wasn’t sure it was there at all. He was about to brush it off when he heard it again.
“Colonel?” Pimmer said.
“Do you hear that?”
“What? All I can hear is the wind and the ship,” he said.
Konowa shook his head. “No, something else.” He strained to hear it again and this time picked up something. It was coming from the direction of his father. “Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked toward his father, who he realized had been facing in the direction they were now headed before the ship changed course. As he got closer, he heard the sound again. It was . . . droning, or maybe chanting. He walked up to his father and looked closely at his face. His eyes were closed, but his lips were moving. Konowa leaned in. The chanting wasn’t coming from his father, but his lips were moving in perfect time with it. Either Jurwan heard it, too, or he was somehow controlling it.
Konowa looked up where the main mast used to be. He’d assumed everything that had happened on the dock until now had been his mother’s doing. Tyul, crazy bloody elf that he was, had climbed the shimmering tree and was sitting in one of its top branches, rocking back and forth. How he got there let alone stayed there defied more than Konowa was prepared to consider. Tyul’s bond with his Silver Wolf Oak must be playing a part. Konowa shook his head and looked back at his father and found himself staring into his open eyes.
“I know she is dead, and I will grieve in time,” Jurwan said.
Konowa jumped backward, almost falling on the deck. “Damn it, Father! You could scare an elf out of his skin like that! How long have you been back?”
Jurwan sighed and rolled his shoulders as if just waking up. “I was never away, I just wasn’t here.”
Konowa groaned. “I forgot how fun it is to talk with you.” He started to reach out to hug the elf, then remembered and stopped. “I missed you.”
Jurwan reached forward and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him tight. Konowa was too surprised to react at first, but when he did he hugged him back. No frost fire sparked between them. When Jurwan let go there were tears in his eyes. “I am sorry about your mother. She was always strong-willed. You two are so much alike.”
It was the first time Konowa had ever heard his father say that. Before today he would have laughed to hear the comparison, but now, it touched him so deeply he thought he might start crying himself. He coughed and pointed at his father. “There was no frost fire.”
“I carried the black acorn with me for some time, time enough for quite a bit of Her poison to rub off on me,” he said.
“Are you okay?” Konowa asked.
Jurwan brought a hand up to his cheek as if to stroke some whiskers, but then brushed some hair from his eyes. “As water is in rain or mud.”
“I’ll take that as close enough,” Konowa said. He motioned to the sea around them. “Is this you? Are you the one driving us?”
For an answer, Jurwan walked toward the area where the main mast used to be. Konowa followed.
“It’s the deep forest that calls us home. I am merely helping to guide us by the safest path. The Wolf Oaks are powerful, but they have little concept of travel. They would pull us straight across the land to Her mountain, so I am gently steering us to a more advantageous route.”
“The river,” Konowa said.
“Yes. I thought it the wiser course. It will take a little longer, but we will arrive in one piece.”
“I didn’t know they could do that,” Konowa said, realizing just how much of his own culture he was ignorant of.
“There’s much they can do, but little they’ve done, until now. They sense the danger.”
“About bloody time,” Konowa said. “Any chance they’ve got some other tricks up their sleeves, er, trunks, we might use?” he asked half-jokingly.
Jurwan sat down on the deck and faced the wind. He closed his eyes and placed his hands in his lap. “I will ask.”
Konowa stared openmouthed at his father for a moment then decided he’d leave him to it. “Tell them . . . thanks,” he said.
“They say you’re welcome,” Jurwan said. Konowa looked closely and saw the tiniest smirk on his father’s face. He shook his head and left his father to commune with nature as he walked back toward his cabin. A flapping noise caught his attention and he turned in time to duck as Wobbly launched himself into the wind just over Konowa’s head. The pelican strained to get airborne, its huge wings flapping madly as it careened off some rigging and took a dangerous turn over the railing and down toward the water. Konowa ran over to the side and peered down, almost throwing up in the process. The sight of the rushing water made his knees buckle. He looked up and saw Wobbly slowly gaining height and heading due north before he started to tack east and kept turning until he flew right back over the Black Spike heading south. Konowa watched him until he disappeared from sight, said a silent wish for good luck for the bird, and walked to his cabin. He found the assembled group dispiritingly small, but he trusted every one of them with his life and that made up for a lot.
As he looked at each person in the room, he realized they were more than fellow soldiers and travelers. This really was his family. It was an odd thought, and far too sentimental for what they were about to face and what he would ask of them, but it was the truth.
He opened up the map and gave a corner each to Corporal Feylan and Corporal Vulhber to hold. The big man smiled and Konowa nodded back. He let out a breath and took off his shako, tossing it to Color Sergeant Aguom who deftly caught it and tucked it under his arm. Konowa turned to the map and pointed to the Greater Kantanna River.
“This time tomorrow, we’ll be at the foot of Her mountain. So, here’s what I’m thinking . . .”
Konowa slept little as the Black Spike churned its way through the Xephril Straits. He doubted he’d ever become used to the unnatural speed and the constant protest of wood and sail from the ship, but that wasn’t what made his sleep fitful. Nor was it the sound of soldiers and sailors hammering, sawing, and shou
ting as they worked to transform the Black Spike for what would most likely be a one-way trip up the river. It was, as it so often was, a bloody dream.
The scene remained unchanged. There was the birthing meadow, the Shadow Monarch’s Silver Wolf Oak, and a figure that he thought was Her, but now knew was himself. And as before, he held an ax in his hands. A voice told him repeatedly to do it, to swing the ax. He tried to make sense of what it really meant. The figure kneeling by the Wolf Oak turned, and this time it was the Shadow Monarch.
“Now I understand,” he said, hefting the ax in preparation to kill Her. He paused. She looked old and frail. A frightened little elf. Damn it! The ax started to fall to his side, but then the voice started up again, louder, more insistent. He shook his head. It was a trick. She might be old, but she wasn’t as she appeared before him. She was the Shadow Monarch, and Her power was untold. This was a test. If he couldn’t swing the ax in his dream, how the hell could he do it when the time came? He gritted his teeth and swung with all his might, taking the Shadow Monarch’s head clean off.
Konowa woke in a sweat. He sat up and brushed the hair from his face, noticing that his hands were trembling. He should have felt relief, or accomplishment, or even righteous joy at killing Her, even if in a dream, but nothing about it felt right. His conversation with Rallie on her wagon came back to him, but what would compassion get him when he faced Her?
A knock on his cabin door brought him welcome relief from his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Begging the colonel’s pardon, but the captain wanted you to know we’ve changed course and are now heading due north up the Kantanna River.”
“Excellent!” Konowa shouted. He got out of bed, realizing he’d fallen asleep while still fully dressed, grabbed his saber and shako, and went outside.
The deck of the Black Spike was transformed. Gone were the clean, smooth lines of a sailing ship. It looked more like a floating castle now, all bulk and angles. Oak planking from belowdecks had been braced along the railings, backed up with slugs of pig iron from the ship’s ballast, and then sandwiched in with barrels filled with everything from salted pork to what appeared to be beer and rum. The effect was to create a thick, protective wall for those on deck. More impressive were the additional cannons winched up from below to be placed on the bow. It would have been suicidal to sail like that in open waters, but under their current propulsion and within the confines of a river it was a risk they’d decided to take. They were ridiculously top heavy, but woe be to whoever came close enough to try and tip them over.
RSM Arkhorn walked past barking orders to a group of sailors trailing him in various states of fear and awe. When he spied Konowa he winked and shooed the sailors on their way. “Not the brightest of lads, but they’re learning.”
Konowa smiled and began to walk along the deck as Yimt described the modifications. They stopped at a gap and Konowa ventured out to the railing and looked over the side.
“You’ve put chunks of oak planks over several of the cannon mouths,” he said, stepping back again quickly as his stomach started to churn.
Yimt greeted his observation with a smile that didn’t bode well for any creatures coming too close the Black Spike. Konowa briefly wondered how many had perished with Yimt’s pewter-colored teeth the last image in their eyes? Better them than him.
“Noticed that, did you, sir? Well, it’s a bit nasty I’ll admit, but can’t say as the buggers don’t deserve it and then some. If you look real close, I had the boys score the wood to help it splinter easier, and a few of the planks have a little extra surprise in them.”
He sounded so proud that Konowa had no choice but to go back to the railing and look over the side again. “Are those nails?” He peered a little closer and saw a piece of chain dangling. He followed it and saw it attached to several more planks further down the ship. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be better employed in weapons manufacture instead of as a barrister?” Konowa asked, stepping away from the railing again.
“Same basic principles apply really,” Yimt said. “You got to hit the buggers hard with everything you got before they hit you.”
“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” he said, then left the rest of his thought hanging as he spied Yimt’s old squad a few yards away. He walked over to the newly minted Corporal Vulhber and shook the man’s hand, congratulating him on his promotion. Privates Scolly and Zwitty stood nearby. Konowa’s first thought was they’d already dipped into the rum. “Someone has to explain this to me.”
Corporal Vulhber looked at him and smiled. “Colonel. Well, it was the RSM’s idea and we figured why not.” The look on Zwitty’s face suggested he’d figured differently, but he kept his mouth shut.
“You appear to be dressed as trees,” Konowa said. And not just trees, but sarka har. Each soldier had the metallic-impregnated bark of a sarka har, no doubt from all the pieces that had fallen on deck when they’d been ripped free back at Tel Martuk, wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso like a knight’s armor. Twine and strips of sailcloth that appear to have been darkened with pitch held everything in place.
“They don’t have ribs like a dwarf,” Yimt said, knocking his knuckles against his chest. “After my recent experience, I got to thinking it’d be just the thing for the lad going into battle. If we had more time I think I could come up with some kind of helmet, too.”
Konowa walked over and rapped his knuckles against Vulhber’s bark plate. Small sparks flew. “It is tough,” he said, standing back. Garbed as they were in black bark over their dirty and worn green uniforms and black caernas, they could probably pass as sarka har from a distance. He turned to Yimt with an idea.
“My thinking exactly, sir,” Yimt said, anticipating him. “I’ve got the rest of the regiment kitting out the same way. Going to add some branches on top when we’re closer. Doubt it’ll fool them for long, but if it buys us a few more seconds, that might just be all we need.”
Konowa grinned. The fire inside had been smoldering for a while, but as he looked at the black-clad warriors before him the first flames began to grow.
The Iron Elves were coming home.
Visyna stood near the bow of the Ormandy, ignoring the freezing spray that flew up every time the bow dipped down into another wave. She’d tried sleeping, but every time she began to drift off the horrors of the last few days came rushing at her. She wondered how soldiers like Konowa and Yimt withstood the assault on their unconscious mind. To lose friends, to kill the enemy, to forever walk into danger knowing—absolutely knowing—that not everyone would walk back out again had to take its toll.
She hunched her shoulders, grateful for the tunic loaned to her by one of the soldiers on board the ship. I’m even starting to hear things, she realized, imagining the erratic flapping of Wobbly somewhere in the night. A moment later, a white blur drew her attention off the starboard bow. It is Wobbly! She ran to the railing to watch his arrival. He seemed to be going faster than was safe, much too fast to make a landing. He skimmed over the main mast, did a slow banking turn, and started heading northwest, back the way he came.
“Wait, you didn’t deliver your message!” she shouted after the pelican. She brought her hands up to weave, hoping perhaps to use the wind to guide him back this way, when a new sound reached her ears. It was more wings flapping. She turned and saw a massive bird of prey swoop down from the sky, its beak glinting like polished steel.
“Dandy!” she cried, marveling as the bird flared its wings and came in for a pinpoint landing on the railing just ten feet from her. He tucked in his wings and squatted down on the railing, but with each blast of sea spray he got up again and fluttered his feathers in annoyance.
“I’m guessing Rallie sent you,” Visyna said, inching a little closer to Dandy. “But why?”
For an answer, Dandy hopped off the railing and began walking across the deck. His claws gouged huge splinters out of the wood as he did so.
“Here! We can’t have you
r bloody bird tearing up the deck,” a sailor said, running across the main deck to stand in front of Dandy.
Dandy turned his head so that a single, golden eye stared at the sailor. Visyna said nothing.
“It’ll be a deuce of a job for the ship’s carpenter to repair,” the sailor said, his voice quavering as he tried to look around Dandy at Visyna.
“Are you the ship’s carpenter?” Visyna asked.
“No,” the sailor said, backing up a few paces. Dandy followed him.
“Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said, following after the bird.
The sailor seemed to think about that for a few seconds and then promptly turned and ran. Dandy didn’t give chase, but moved toward the canvas-wrapped body of Chayii laid out on the deck. He lowered his head and using his beak, gently pulled Chayii’s body underneath so that it rested by his claws. He raised his head and looked at Visyna. His right claw was open and extended toward her.
She realized it was an invitation.
“You’re here to take us to Konowa, aren’t you?” she said.
Dandy ruffled his feathers as another wall of spray pelted the deck.
“You’re leaving us,” Prince Tykkin said, walking along the deck and coming to a stop a few yards away.
“It appears I am,” Visyna said. She started to move toward the bird, then paused and looked back at the Prince. “I am sorry for your loss. For what it’s worth, I think you have it in you to be an excellent ruler. In the short time I’ve known you . . .” she realized she couldn’t finish the sentence as it would sound too patronizing. The Prince finished it for her.
“I’ve grown. Yes, well, I suppose it was inevitable,” he said, offering her a wry smile. “I had some very good examples to learn from.” He bowed toward her.
“May your reign be a long and peaceful one,” Visyna said.
“And may the winds of fortune favor you and the Iron Elves in the coming battle.” He nodded and turned to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “And for what it’s worth, tell that elf of yours that if I’d had my choice, I would have been there at his side.”
