Read A Darkness Forged in Fire Online
Authors: Chris (chris R.) Evans
A Darkness Forged in Fire (21 page)
T
here's a small village to the north of us on the Olopol River," Konowa said, holding out the folded map for the Prince to take a look.
They were riding at the head of the regiment as it marched across the plain. Konowa had lost count of just how many days they'd been on the move, but it felt like an eternity, and still, it showed no sign of ending. As far as the human, elfkynan, dwarf, or elf eye could see, the plain shimmered with green heat above vines bulging with hidden terrors.
The Prince let his mount's reins drape around its neck and used both hands to push back the shako on his head, revealing a clear line between the pale white skin of his forehead and the now-most-unroyal ruddy complexion of his face. The areas under the arms of his silver-green coatee were black with sweat, and he was constantly fidgeting on his saddle, now denuded of its fur covering. Konowa knew, in fact, that the Prince had developed a rather virulent heat rash, a tale Rallie had enjoyed sharing with him the night before.
Hope it rubs you right raw
, Konowa thought, careful to keep his face neutral as he leaned over a little more with the map.
"What? Oh, yes, fine. Can we make it there by nightfall?" the Prince asked, not even bothering to look at the map.
Zwindarra snapped his head around at the map and Konowa cuffed him on the ears. The horses and brindos had grown testy, reacting to the heat and the stress as badly as the troops. The muraphants, on the other hand, had become so lethargic that it took a musket with a blank charge fired at their hindquarters to get them up and moving.
Not even the piece of mountain pressed against Konowa's chest seemed immune. It had been days since he felt even a twinge of cold emanate from the pouch, and he was starting to wonder if he had somehow exhausted its power.
"If we push on through the afternoon I think so," Konowa said, deciding then and there it was better to risk a few more cases of heatstroke than to stay out on the plain another day…and night.
There had been no further faeraug attacks, but the temporary camps they set up each afternoon to avoid marching in the heat of the day had been anything but relaxed. The strain, both mental and physical, was taking its toll. The troops grew more sullen and quarrelsome with each mile. Fights broke out over dirty looks. Two more floggings were ordered by the Prince in a fit of pique, and no matter what Konowa said, he would not be talked out of it. The act, predictably, bred even more resentment and tension and created a growing cadre with an ax to grind, spurred on, he knew, by Kritton.
"Very good, Major, we'll press on," the Prince said, sitting up straighter in his saddle.
He made it sound as if it was his own idea, nodding as if the world was in complete agreement with everything that tumbled from his lips. Konowa reasoned that a person brought up to be King probably came to believe that everything was his own idea, even when it was spoon-fed to him.
"They have some very talented weavers in this part of the world, did you know?" the Prince said, turning about in his saddle to look around them and back at the regiment snaked out in their wake.
"Weavers, Colonel?" Konowa asked, wondering if this was the nit's attempt at small talk.
"Weavers, Major, spinners of yarn, makers of cloth.
Elfkynan embroideries are famous the world over, and quite prized among the
finer households in the capital."
"I can't say as I've seen any, sir," he said truthfully. Zwindarra started as a butterfly flew up from a vine in front of his face.
"Bloody idiot," he said, then turned and saw the Prince's eyes narrowing. "Oh,
the horse, sir, scared of his own shadow. You were telling me about the
embroideries…"
The Prince relaxed visibly in the saddle and pulled a hanky from the end of a sleeve, dabbing his brow with it. Konowa got a whiff of perfume and bent forward to adjust a stirrup, taking in a deep breath of the gelding's musky scent to counter the cloying smell.
"I think it's their delicate features, especially their fingers," the Prince said, clearly warming to his subject. He held the hanky in one hand and moved the fingers of the other over it as if playing the piano.
"Marvelous dexterity. Tens upon tens of thousands of stitches in some of the larger ones. I've
heard rumor that they employ a certain form of magic to make them as ornate as
they do. What do you think?"
Konowa looked at the Prince, surprised. "About what,
sir?"
The Prince gave an annoyed flick of his head. "The
stitching. Do you think they use magic?"
Maybe the heat's frying what part of a brain he's got
, Konowa thought.
"I really don't know, sir, but I suppose they might, though it seems a bit of a waste, if you ask me. I'd think they'd
want to use magic for something more useful."
The Prince tut-tutted him. "You must keep in mind, Major, that we are dealing with a simple people here. The elfkynan aren't
as evolved as us humans, or even you Hynta-elves, for that matter."
Zwindarra neighed and stamped a hoof, and Konowa unclenched his fists and let the reins slide through his fingers until the horse's head was back at a more comfortable position.
"Very kind of His Highness to say."
The Prince waved away the compliment, completely oblivious to the sarcasm.
"It's true." He suddenly leaned over in his saddle, looking furtively around them like a child with a big secret.
"They are a simple, earthy folk, swayed by beliefs in things they cannot see. They don't think like we do, Major, which is why the Empire is here. They
need
us. They need our guiding hand to become civilized. The Star of Sillra is the perfect example. I've studied the origin of the Stars for years, you know, talked with the finest scholars and wizards on the subject, including your father, I might add," he said, still casting around to see if they were in danger of being overheard.
"My father never mentioned it," Konowa said flatly. Wizards, royalty, and their intrigues. Ideas born in the flickering shadows of midnight candles and snifters of brandy that invariably sent soldiers like him tramping through some gods'-forsaken land in search of what only the mages and their patrons knew. This time, he knew the whatat least, he thought he did. He looked at the Prince's eager face and felt the cold sharp bite of the stone beneath his uniform.
"Absentminded, the lot of them," the Prince continued, rolling his eyes with a patronizing shake of his head.
"But the Stars are real, rest assured. And yet, the elfkynan do not see the Star's real purpose. They think of nothing more than to use it to rid themselves of the Empire, ignorant of the irony! They themselves call the Stars sources of knowledge, yet would use it as no more than a bludgeon." He spurred his horse a little closer to Konowa's.
"On the other hand, your father and the other wizards I've spoken to all believe
we should claim the Star so that we might use its power against the Shadow
Monarch. Again, only seeing it as a weapon, however much more sophisticated
their use of it might be."
Konowa couldn't hide his surprise. "You have other
ideas?"
The Prince tapped his nose with his free hand. "I do, but it's been difficult to get Her Majesty to understand. This new Viceroy has convinced her and many in her court that the Stars are weapons," he said. His mouth was puckered as if he had just swallowed something sour.
Konowa took the opening before his better judgment could stop him.
"Aren't they?"
The Prince was upright in his saddle and looking around as if wanting to strike something.
"Untold mysteries lie buried throughout the world, waiting only for a man of
vision and destiny to find them. The Empire has a duty to procure the artifacts
of time and power and preserve them, to mine them for their secrets, not to
destroy them out of hand or turn them into swords to be wielded by simple-minded
generals."
The spell dropped, the pieces suddenly falling into place. Konowa looked at the Prince with newfound loathing.
"You wish to collect this Star for a
museum
?"
The Prince turned his face to the sun, and for a moment appeared to glow in his own magnificence.
"Not just a museum, Major, a temple of knowledge! Can you not see it? A great
hall of learning where scholars, alchemists, wizards, artists, and more would
come together to study and share their ideas."
"A school, then," Konowa said, fighting back the bile creeping up his throat.
"Precisely! The Queen's advisors hold ever-increasing sway in Her court, and all fear the coming changes. They would simply eradicate every amulet and potion that is of a design they do not understand! Ruwl and the Imperial Army see only weapons that must be harnessed to the Empire's
carriage. I favor the witches and wizards more, even though they covet the magic
as a drunk does his mead. They are a miserly bunch when it comes to sharing
their knowledge, but with the proper encouragement, I will see to it that the
world is brought into the light."
"Perhaps they have reason to keep their secrets?"
The Prince shook his head even as he settled back into the saddle and took a deep breath.
"Their days of shadowy dealings are coming to an end. When we find the Star, we
will have begun the birth of a new age."
"What about the Shadow Monarch, and the extinct creatures coming back?" Konowa asked, marveling at the Prince's ego as he did so.
"Of little importance, really," he said, turning to Konowa and gracing him with a pitying smile.
"You, and everyone else for that matter, think we're out here to crush a rebellion and banish the Shadow Monarch to her High Forest. No. The finding of the Eastern Star is nothing less than the coming of a new age of enlightenment. Imagine, Major, a world where men can study in peace and tranquility, guided by the greatest powers ever known. Now
that
is a worthy goal, one that will redeem you a thousand times over."
Konowa grabbed Zwindarra's mane in his hand to steady himself as he felt the blood drain from his face.
"Are you serious?"
The Prince laughedand it was the most frightening thing Konowa had heard since the trip across the plains began.
"When we succeed, all of it will fall into place. You and the Iron Elves are going to help me create the greatest repository of knowledge and wisdom ever witnessed in the history of civilization. When we find the Star, we will use it to find the others. Even the Shadow Monarch will bow before me, Her power bent to my will as surely as I command this regiment. If not, then She shall be destroyed…although it would be a shame to lose Her wisdom. Do you not see, Major? Our quest is not for a single source of magic. Our quest is to have them
all
."
A
regiment on the march is not a quiet beast.
Metal-banded canteens clattered against wooden musket stocks with each thud of a hobnailed boot. Breath whistled through noses misshapen by barstools and barmaids, and between missing teeth, courtesy of same, laced with wit, pleas, groans, and curses. Spit and matter less liquid flew freely, expelled with a rasping smack of sun-cracked lips, leaving a trail of wet stains and gaining the attention of insects large and small who converged on the sweating mass in a thrumming buzz. The serried rows of soldiers took up a ragged applause in response as hundreds of hands slapped away their tormentors, cursing each and every one.
Accompanied, as the Iron Elves were, by horses, brindos, and a baggage train of muraphants, there was the added sound of creaking wagon axles, the rhythmic friction of jute ropes, the clink of bridles and bits, the swish of tails, the clomp of hoovescloven and notand the respective calls of animals as annoyed with their current lot as the soldiers that marched with them.
You'd have to be deaf not to hear a regiment on the march. Or dead.
The order to halt echoed down the line, and the regiment creaked to a ragged stop. Nervousness washed over the men like an incoming tide.
Alwyn strained to hear some kind of commotion up ahead. It would be dark in another hour or so, and even though the faeraugs had not bothered them again, he still expected to see them every night when the sun went down.
There was no sound beyond a few coughs and a single bellow from a muraphant. The soldiers near Alwyn started to fidget and look around them, scanning the vines for movement. Teeter, a former sailor with a limp, had his pipe lit in an instant. He tilted to the side as if leaning into a stiff breeze, his leathery face beaming satisfaction. Another soldier took off his shako, revealing an apple-sized divot missing from the back of his head. He saw Alwyn staring and glared back, giving him a very rude hand gesture to boot.
"Don't mind Scolly," a third soldier said, his face temporarily hidden behind a large, pink hanky he was using to mop the sweat from his face. When he removed it, Alwyn saw the round, chubby face of a middle-aged man who looked as if he should have been at home delivering milk.
"Alwyn Renwar," Alwyn said, sticking out his hand.
"I know. Poor luck having to flog the elf, but from
what I hear, he deserved it."
Alwyn nodded and said nothing.
"Alik Senerson, by the way," the soldier said, shaking his hand,
"formerly of the Queen's Tamburian Guards." His face betrayed his offense a moment later in reaction to Alwyn's open-mouthed response.
"Not all Guardsmen are six-foot oaks; there are a few normal-sized men in the
ranks. I was the pay clerk…until a small accounting discrepancy, that is."
"Oh," Alwyn said. "So what's the deal with that fellow
over there?"
Alik dabbed at his face again with the pink hanky and nodded toward Scolly.
"That miscreant yonder is Scolfelton Erinmoss, son of the Earl of Boryn. Fell off a horse when he was ten and got impaled on a wooden stake. It's a miracle he survived, but of course, he hasn't
been right ever since."
Thunder boomed in the distance.
"You smell that?"
The voice startled Alwyn, and it took him a moment to realize Yimt had asked him a question.
"What?"
"That stench. That's why we stopped."
Alwyn sniffed the air. There was something, and it was far more disgusting than the current gamey fragrance of the Iron Elves.
"What is it?"
There was the sound of boots and Regimental Sergeant Major Lorian came into view. He leaned against his halberd to catch his breath.
"Arkhorn, fall out and bring your section with you."
"Yes, Sergeant Major," Yimt said, and motioned for the section to step out of line.
As they marched past the rest of the regiment, Alwyn couldn't help but notice that the other troops were giving them an odd look. It surprised him to realize it was pity. What, he wondered, did they know that he didn't?
The section reached the head of the column, where the smell was definitely stronger. Yimt called a halt and the section grounded their muskets, the sound oddly muffled. Alwyn looked down and saw they were standing in tufts of short, spindly grass. Grass. They had made it through the vines! He looked up and noticed that what he had at first taken for more vines in the distance was a grove of trees on a downward slope. He almost shouted for joy, the hardships and horrors of the journey falling away as if an angel had plucked them from his shoulders.
Then he saw the dirt.
"I could plant me some nice crops here," Inkermon the farmer said, scuffing the earth with his boot.
"Got heft, it does, and plenty of vitamins in it, too. The Creator has blessed
this land."
"What is that?" Alwyn asked, ignoring the farmer's assessment and pointing his chin to where the officers were grouped in a circle. A hundred yards beyond them the earth was humped, at least two men tall and a few hundred feet across. The mound was blood-red in color and peppered with holes big enough for several faeraugs to jump out of at once.
"Some kind of warren, I reckon," Inkermon said, sucking thought-fully on the single tooth in the front of his mouth.
"Awfully big holes to be water gryphs, though."
This was something new to worry about. "Water gryphs?"
"Sure, you find them along rivers an' such, but it don't
look like no warren I ever seen them in."
The first drop of rain fell with a splat on Alwyn's nose. He looked up and was rewarded with several warm, fat drops pelting him in the face and blurring his spectacles as the sky opened up directly above them.
"River?"
"Over there past that grove of trees. Can't you smell
it?"
Alwyn squinted through the rain. "I don't see it."
"Course you don't, it's tucked down there below where them trees is at. You got to pay attention to the lay of the land is all. That and the smell. I tell you, with this dirt and that water and the Creator's
guiding hand, a fellow could do right proper here."
The rain was now slashing down. Alwyn tried tipping his head forward slightly to shield his face, but as soon as he did, the rain trickled down his back. He looked over at Inkermon. He'd taken a different tack and leaned his head far back and opened his mouth wide, his single tooth glistening a buttery yellow as rainwater splashed into his mouth.
Movement to the left drew Alwyn's attention away. The elfkynan witch and a couple of the muraphant drivers had dismounted and walked up to the front of the column. The Prince waved them over to the group. It was impossible to hear what was being said, but there was a lot of pointing toward the mound. One of the elfkynan took a few tentative steps toward the mound, then started shaking his head and turned around and ran right back past the officers and kept going. Alwyn got a good look at his face as he ran past, and it did nothing to instill hope.
The second muraphant driver began gesticulating wildly while the witch pointed a finger at no one in particular and stamped a boot on the ground. The Prince, surprisingly, seemed amused by it all, while the major just stood there, his left hand resting on the pommel of his saber, his right clutching his chest.
The other elfkynan started shaking his head, too, and the Prince appeared to agree, because he suddenly pointed at the major and everyone stopped talking.
"Look sharp!" Yimt said.
The RSM and Major Osveen left the small group and marched through the rain toward them, talking and looking back over their shoulders toward the large dirt mound. They stopped a few feet away and the major addressed them. Even through the rain Alwyn could see the major was steaming.
"It'll be dark soon, so the quicker we get this sorted out, the quicker we can set up camp. Corporal Arkhorn," the major said,
"you know how this works."
Yimt nodded. Water cascaded off his beard like a miniature waterfall, turning the normally black mass a shimmering silver.
"Is that witch going to be any help?"
Lorian straightened up and glared at Yimt. "Not at
this time."
If the news bothered Yimt, he didn't show it. He patted the hilt of his drukar and pointed over his shoulder.
"Fair enough. Once I get inside, I'll light a charge. After that, it's all down to who wants it more." He hunched over his pack and opened the flap, revealing a white gauze bundle the size of a loaf of bread.
The RSM looked surprised. "What are you doing with an artillery charge? That isn't part of an infantryman's
kit."
Yimt flashed him a metallic smile. "A soldier never knows what kind of important task those higher up than himself might ask him to do. It's
a murky path, trying to divine the thoughts and fancies of your finer thinkers
like officers, so I try to be prepared…just in case. I call it me
head-and-shoulder plan."
Major Osveen obliged. "Head-and-shoulder plan?"
Yimt tapped his head and then his shoulder. "Keeping
the one as close to the other as possible."
"See that you do," the major said, a smile he did nothing to hide stealing over his face.
"And the same goes for the rest of you. There might be nothing in there, then
again…"
"Not to fret, sir," Yimt said, taking off his shako and unslinging his shatterbow, motioning for the section to shed their packs and all other unnecessary equipment. The rain bounced off the top of his head and the thin skiff of hair covering it.
"We'll be back in two shakes of a dragon's tail. Oh, speaking of tails, that
kitty-cat of yours any good for sniffing things out, Major?"
The major looked over his shoulder to where Jir was tapping a large paw into a puddle, apparently mesmerized by the splashing raindrops.
"If he's in the mood," he said, whistling to the bengar and making a hand gesture toward the mound.
Jir looked up from his puddle and twisted his head from side to side as if contemplating the request, then bounded toward the warren and was lost in the rain.
"Right, we'd best get after him," Yimt said, saluting and quickly addressing the patrol.
"Until we know better, you get it in your heads that there is something nasty down there and act like it. Keep your yaps shut unless you see something. We'll get closer and then see what we're
dealing with."
He looked from soldier to soldier, his glance hard and determined. Alwyn returned it, unable to read anything else in the dwarf's eyes.
"Fix bayonets and make sure they're locked in tight. I don't
want it pulling off the first time it gets stuck into something solid."
Alwyn grabbed the bayonet out of the frog on his belt and fumbled to get it in place. Everything was slick with rain and he was keenly aware that he was being watched. He took a breath and tried again, sighing with relief when the tell-tale click sounded.
"Follow me." Yimt took off at a casual walk, his drukar in his right hand, his pack in his left. Alwyn wondered if he would ever be that confident. Who knew what they might find in there, yet Yimt walked toward the mound as if he wasn't the least bit concerned.
They were quickly past the cluster of officers who stood watching their movement as if it were a training drill.
Adding to the surreal quality of the moment, their horses were busy cropping at grass. Alwyn took their calmness as a good sign.
Yimt held up his hand and motioned for the section to stay still. Alwyn instinctively crouched lower in the grass and felt for the hammer on his rifle, then stopped. With the rain beating down, there was no way the powder would be dry enough to spark. He'd heard of regimental wizards casting spells on powder to keep it dry, but he seriously doubted a spell could overcome this much rain, so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Still, that witch could have at least tried.
He poked some taller grass to the side with the end of his bayonet and peered through the gap to see what Yimt was doing. It was pointless; the rain made everything a gray blur out past fifty feet. There was no sign of the bengar, either.
Then Yimt came into view, a short, dark figure in the rain, and pointed somewhere to the left, and then he was running, his caerna plastered to his legs like a pair of short pants.
Blurred figures rushed forward on either side and Alwyn stood up and followed suit, straining to see what was happening. The rain now hit his face head-on. He took off his spectacles and jammed them into a jacket pocket as he trotted forward.
A shadow suddenly loomed before Alwyn and he yelped, swinging his musket clumsily at it. There was a dull crack and the musket shivered in his hands, stinging them. A moment later he saw the shadow fall backward in the mud with a soft thud and lie motionless.
Shaking, Alwyn moved forward, the musket held by the barrel with both hands, ready to swing it again.
He'd killed a god. Well, a statue of one at any rate. Alwyn knelt to examine the now-fractured jaw of a short, stocky deity that had been placed on a pedestal that he had not seen. It had once been painted in garish reds and oranges, although only remnants of the colors now remained. He wasn't sure, but it looked an awful lot like a pig, or maybe a boar. Whatever it was, bashing it in the head with his musket wasn't likely to bring him anything but bad luck. He tucked his musket under his right arm and heaved the statue back onto its pedestal, placing the broken pieces of jaw in a neat pile by its feet.
"ere the hell did he get to?" drifted through the rain, and Alwyn remembered why he was there. He gave the statue a pat on the head for good luck, then trotted off toward the sound of the voice, coming upon Yimt and the others crouched in a semicircle, less than twenty yards from the nearest opening in the mound.
Yimt looked at him, but in the pouring rain Alwyn couldn't tell if he was scowling or just frowning.
"Everyone take a hole," Yimt said at once. "Don't stay
at the opening, go in about ten feet, then hold there. Keep your bayonet
pointing straight in front of you and brace the butt of your musket in the dirt.
Anything comes charging up out of the depths will impale itself."
Before anyone could respond, a high-pitched hiss sounded somewhere nearby. A moment later, a large, dark shape came loping out of the rain. Jir strolled right up to them, dragging a fifteen-foot-long constrictor in his mouth. He held the snake just behind the head and seemed completely unconcerned that it was wrapping its muscular body around his.
The snake coiled tighter around Jir's body, straining to squeeze the life out of the bengar. The sound of scales rubbing against wet fur grew louder. The bengar and the dwarf shared a look, and Alwyn was struck by the feeling of watching two predators assess each other. There was a loud snap as the bengar's fangs bit down and the coils of the snake's body slid from Jir's body. He began to play with it, tossing it into the air as if it were a twig, then pouncing on it and tearing off great chunks of flesh.
"All right, let's get this done," Yimt said, leading them around the mound, dropping off a soldier at a hole as they went by. Soon, only Alwyn was leftYimt stopped at the next hole and turned to face him, pointing a stubby finger.
"You need to keep your head about you. You don't often get a chance to repeat mistakes out here. Now, if there is anything down there, it's going to come up in one hellfire of a hurry. Hold your ground and shout if you need help, and I'll be there." And then he smiled, his metal teeth glinting briefly in the rain, and Alwyn felt all was right with the world again.
