A Darkness Forged in Fire (25 page)

T
he regiment left the small village behind with more than a little regret. The soldiers found the elfkynan very amenable to bartering, especially for sewing needles, brass buttons, arr beans, and mirrors. In return, the troops filled their haversacks with all manner of preserved fruits, a sweet nut the villagers called
wumja,
and delicately woven mesh made of plant fiber that when draped over the head kept the bugs out.

But it wasn't just the vibrant trading that had the troops looking back over their shoulders as they marched upriver, nor even the bare-breasted elfkynan women, who seemed not the least concerned by the stares of the men—they were leaving a small sanctuary of peace and calm and marching into battle.

Fear isn't something one soldier discusses with another. Women, food, officers, and the weather were all acceptable and time-honored topics of discussion, but not how one is feeling, unless, of course, with reference specifically to the approved list. It's not that they didn't feel fear; quite the contrary. It was evident in the way they carried good luck charms and amulets and little glass bottles of potions—some, it was rumored, filled with the urine of the bengar the regiment had adopted as its mascot—the warding signs they made, the laughter that was too loud, or absent entirely. Their very profession put their lives perpetually at risk, yet you would never hear them talk about the dangers, at least, not without waving them off as just part of the job. Even now, when several of their comrades were dead and they marched steadily toward unknown peril where more would certainly perish, they did not talk about the fear they must all be feeling.

It was a contradiction Visyna didn't understand.

Konowa said nothing about it. Even in the forest when it had just been the two of them, it was clear he was still a soldier. He could have gone anywhere, done anything, but without the army, he had been like a lost little boy. And now that he had his regiment back, she wondered if he would ever really want for something else.

For her. She knew he had feelings for her—Konowa was certainly not subtle about that. But whenever talk of the Empire and the natural order and the Shadow Monarch came up, he would pull back, even though she knew he felt much the same way she did.

It angered her that she should care at all. Her people and their way of life were threatened by the Empire and the Shadow Monarch, and Konowa was definitely serving one, and was in danger of serving the other. All too soon, choices would have to be made. Something deep within Visyna told her that when the time came, there would be no turning back.

"This is wrong, Rallie, this is all wrong," Visyna said, readjusting her sitting position.

She was riding with Rallie in the correspondent's wagon, and as a result, having to speak louder than she would have liked in order to be heard over the constant creaks and groans of wood killed and carved into unnatural shapes. Faint memories of the trees and what they had once been remained in the wood, and it saddened her. Why did everything that man touched cause so much pain?

Rallie took a long drag on her cigar and blew out an immense cloud of blue smoke.
"When young men march off to battle, my dear, it is never right. The question
is: What is to be done to make it right?"

"The Empire must be driven from Elfkyna," Visyna said simply. She felt a presence off to the right and turned to see Jir bound out of cover and pounce on a small rat dragon. There was a squeal and a crunch, and the rat dragon disappeared down the bengar's throat in two bites. She smiled as the bengar's joy and satisfaction radiated out from it.
"They are an unnatural predator here."

Rallie nodded as if she understood. "I see. Tell me, who then would the elfkynan ally with to fight the Shadow Monarch? The orcs, perhaps? They've
always seemed interested in expanding south. Or maybe the dwarves, if you
allowed them mining rights. Or what about—"

Visyna shook her head and waved her hands in surrender.
"You've made your point. But surely you see that the Empire cannot stay? This is not their land. They oppress my people and steal our resources. Even now, they send this regiment to steal the most sacred talismans of the elfkynan. How can we continue to work with them?" Her own hypocrisy was bitter in her mouth. She served the very Empire she hated, just as Konowa did. Why did she think she was any better?

"We all do things we aren't proud of, my dear—the key, as I mentioned before, is what one does about it to make it right. And the answer," Rallie said, leaning over and patting Visyna on the knee,
"you already know."

"You have more faith in me than I do myself," she said. She knew, though she hated to admit it, that the Empire, as vile and heartless as it was, would not allow the Shadow Monarch to exert influence in Elfkyna or anywhere else in the world, just as Konowa would do all in his power to protect the Iron Elves, and her. It was both comforting and confusing.

Something touched her awareness and she looked up, flowing her senses outward. It was a flying creature, but what exactly she could not tell.

"Oh, dear, here comes Wobbly," Rallie said, motioning skyward with her cigar.

Visyna looked up. A snow-white pelican was laboriously flapping its way toward them, tilting across the sky as if fighting a crosswind, then angling back on course. Jir was captivated, his snout high in the air as he watched the bird.

"It's wounded!"

Rallie clucked and stood up, blowing a large smoke ring into the air.
"No, not exactly." She sat back down and pulled the hood of her cloak up around her head.
"Duck."

The bird had seen the smoke ring and was now aiming toward the wagon. Soldiers up and down the line began pointing and shouting until sergeants got them in check.

Rallie peered out from beneath her hood and looked to the sky.
"Duck!"

Visyna threw herself down on the footboards as the pelican flew straight at them and kept on going, bouncing off the top of the wagon in a spray of feathers, shooting back into the air, and wheeling about on one wing. Jir crouched in the wet grass, his tail swishing violently. The bird spied the bengar in the grass and squawked, swinging back toward the safety of the wagon, its large, webbed feet paddling furiously as if trying to gain traction. It finally made it to the wagon, crashing down on top of the canvas cover in a flurry of more white feathers.

"The poor thing," Visyna said, getting up and climbing back over the wagon to help the stunned bird. It righted itself and shook its head, the skin under its enormous bill flapping about like an extra wing. It saw her and immediately opened its mouth wide. There was a small rolled leather tube inside. Visyna gingerly stuck her hand into its mouth and pulled the tube out. That's when she noticed the smell.

"Rallie, I think this bird has been poisoned."

Rallie looked back over her shoulder and held out a large wooden canteen to Visyna.
"Poisoned, indeed. Quick, give it the antidote."

Visyna handed Rallie the leather tube and took the canteen, unscrewing the lid and sniffing the contents.

"This is beer!"

Rallie cackled and nodded. "Just what the doctor ordered after all that whiskey he's been drinking. He's
a happy drunk, but one surly pile of feathers when sober."

The pelican still had its mouth wide open and now made a few screeches to get Visyna's attention. Reluctantly she upended the canteen into the bird's mouth. The pouch beneath its bill filled up, then it closed its bill and threw its head straight back, the beer disappearing down its gullet in one gulp. Satisfied, it waddled over to the edge of the wagon and looked down at the bengar keeping pace. The pelican clacked its bill together a couple of times at Jir and then moved back to the center of the wagon where it flopped down with its wings spread out wide to either side and closed its eyes. Sreexes growled and yipped below it, but it paid no attention to them.

"Is it dead?" Visyna asked, watching to see if the bird still breathed.

Rallie didn't even turn around, instead eyeing Jir, who was now fascinated by a large tortoise off to the side of the road.
"Just sleeping it off. Old Wobbly is the canniest courier I've ever seen. Has an ability to find who or what he's looking for no matter where it might be, but only when he's
got a bill full."

Wobbly's mouth opened for a second and a wave of fumes rolled out, followed by a deeply contented sigh. Visyna put the top back on the canteen and crawled back to sit beside Rallie, who had put the reins in her lap and was reading the parchment she had taken out of the leather tube.

"What does it say?" Visyna asked, looking over her shoulder one more time to make sure. The pelican was snoring.

Rallie rolled the parchment back up and took a few thoughtful drags on her cigar.
"It's from my editor in Celwyn. We're in even more trouble than I thought
possible, and I have a very expansive imagination."

T
he rain clouds split like overripe melons, drenching the small patrol in an instant. One moment the dark landscape was quiet, and the next it was as if the very world had shaken loose and everything was in turmoil.

Alwyn wrapped a small piece of oilcloth around the lock of his musket, but he doubted it would do more than keep the rain out. The powder would already be absorbing the moisture in the air and rendering the musket unable to fire. His spectacles were once again a blurry mess, and the pressure of the rain on his skin made him feel that he was marching six feet under water.

He reached around behind him and adjusted the small canvas cover on the cage, looking inside to see how Quppy was doing. The sreex seemed completely unaffected by the rain, the water beading up and rolling off its leathery feathers with ease. He saw Alwyn and gave a quiet growl, revealing his toothy mouth. Alwyn smiled back and patted the cage, careful to keep his fingers from getting between the wooden slats.

Daylight was still hours off and the rain showed no sign of slowing, which meant they'd be walking blind. He heard, or thought he heard, a splash somewhere behind him, but before he could turn there was a flash of movement up ahead. Alwyn pointed his bayonet in that direction and cautiously inched forward, trying to watch where he walked lest he slip and go tumbling into the river, which was quickly growing in size and force.

"—somebody with that thing!"

Alwyn jerked to a stop, his bayonet halfway through Yimt's shako. He pulled it out and grounded his musket, shouting his apology as he did so. The rain fell about them in sheets, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction.

"N'bhat says the river will crest inside the hour. We'll
have to swing wide and get away from it!"

Other forms started to appear. Alwyn quietly counted the shadows, praying there wouldn't be one extra this time. There wasn't. Now they were one short.

Yimt walked around the circle peering up into each face. When he was done he shook his head, sending water flying everywhere, not that it made a difference.
"Where is Alik?"

Heads shook in the dark. Alwyn remembered hearing the splash.

"I think he might have fallen into the river! I heard something a minute ago. It could have been him." His heart felt sick. He'd liked Alik.

"Show me where!" Yimt shouted, motioning for Alwyn to lead the way. A hand reached out and stopped him. It was Kritton.

"He's gone; forget about him," Kritton said. "We need
to move on."

Yimt grabbed the elf by the arm and pushed him away. "We don't leave anyone behind, not if I can help it. Now, form a line, grab the other fellow's
belt, and move! Ally, show us where."

Alwyn felt Yimt grab hold of his belt and then he was walking toward the river. He imagined this was what sailors felt like being at sea. Water sprayed his face, the noise drowned out any other sound, and everything seemed to be in motion. He felt forward one foot at a time, sure he would suddenly plummet into the river and be swept away like Alik.

"I think this is the place," Alwyn said, trying to judge the distance from where he had been standing and deciding this was it. He could just see the edge of the river a few feet away. The rain frothed along its surface and here and there dark objects raced by faster than Alwyn liked.

"Now work your way downstream for a bit!"

Before he could say he couldn't see a thing, N'bhat was beside him, clutching his arm and smiling.

"Rain good, bring big fish!"

Alwyn tried to smile but failed. The elfkynan held out his other hand and Alwyn reached out for it, feeling the end of a vine.

"You hold tight, or N'bhat no come back." Just like that N'bhat was gone, diving headfirst into the river and disappearing from sight.

Alwyn screamed and frantically started reeling in the vine, passing it back to Yimt. The vine went taut and Alwyn was pulled forward before he regained his balance. The river was now perilously close. He leaned backward into Yimt and tried to back up.

"Not yet, Ally, wait for the signal," Yimt yelled, pushing back.

There was a sharp tug on the vine, then another. "Now!" Yimt shouted, and now he began to pull. Alwyn dug his heels in and heaved. Slowly, inch by inch, the vine slid back through his fingers as the other soldiers reeled N'bhat in. Alwyn gasped and took in a lungful of rain. He didn't see how N'bhat could still be alive, let alone Alik. A moment later he saw something dark in the water and then N'bhat was crawling out of the river dragging the limp body of Alik behind him. They pulled them another fifteen feet from the river's edge.

"Is he dead?" Alwyn asked, looking down at Alik. All he had on was his jacket and caerna and one sock, everything else having been torn off in the river. His eyes were open and his skin was as white as bone.

N'bhat leaned over Alik's head and listened. After a few seconds he stood up and walked a couple of feet away.

So, Alik was dead. Before that thought had fully registered N'bhat turned, jumped, and landed with both feet on Alik's chest.

Alwyn watched in stunned silence as the little elfkynan jumped up and down several more times. Each time he landed water spurted out of Alik's mouth and his arms and legs jerked up as if attached to strings. On the last jump his arms stayed up, and then batted wildly at N'bhat's legs.

"Help him up," Yimt ordered. N'bhat lightly jumped off as Scolly and Teeter grabbed Alik under the arms and hoisted him upright. Alik was coughing and wheezing, but he was definitely alive.

"Are you all right?" Yimt shouted, grabbing Alik's coat to steady him. Alik coughed a few more times and finally caught his breath.

"I—I think so. One minute I was walking along and the next the ground just vanished and I was in the river. I managed to grab hold of some bulrushes, but I was still going under. That's
the last thing I remember until now."

Yimt nodded and let go of his coat. "You're damn bloody lucky. As it is, you've lost your weapon and most of your kit. Let this be a lesson to the rest of you," Yimt said, turning and shouting at the rest of the group.
"Keep your eyes open and pay attention! Now, stick close and watch where you step; we're
moving on."

Alwyn saw a stick lying in the mud and picked it up and handed it to Alik.
"Here, it's not much but its better than your bare hands, you know, in case we
find something."

Alik took it and nodded his thanks. And then they were moving, heading away from the river on an angle. Each step away from the water felt wonderful, although the rain continued unabated.

Soon they were walking among low shrubs and climbing up a bit of a slope. Alwyn made sure to keep at least two bodies in sight at all times and stumbled more than once over an unseen plant. After another hour of that, a halt was called and heads counted. This time, there were nine.

Yimt had everyone huddle close together and then draped a section of canvas over them, creating a very small, but temporarily dry, circle of heads. There was a click and a hiss and a small lantern flickered to life, its tiny flame casting a warm glow on a very strange tableau of seemingly disembodied heads.

Alwyn slid the cage off his back and placed it in the center to keep Quppy out of the rain for a bit. Yimt placed the lantern on top of it and clapped his hands together to get their attention.

"N'bhat says we've gone a mile or so to the west away from the river. From here we'll head straight north and with luck should come to a forest at daybreak. Now, because of the rain, the regiment won't be able to follow the river either, so when we get to the trees we'll mark a few to show them our path. N'bhat says his people never go into the forest." Yimt held up his hands to forestall objections.
"No, not because there is something lurking in there, just because they're river folk, and they stick to the water. All the same, when we get there, keep your eyes open and stay close." Yimt looked around the circle, taking each face in turn. Alwyn smiled when the dwarf looked at him and Yimt grinned back, his metallic teeth glinting in the flickering light.

And then, they were on the move again. The rain slackened as they went, and now that Yimt had steered them away from the river they were making better time.

Yimt spat a stream of crute and ran his sleeve across his mouth. He looked straight ahead as he walked, his shatterbow still cradled in the crook of his left arm as if it was glued there.
"You did a stupid-brave thing earlier, volunteering for this. I'm sure it was because you'd
hate to miss out on my cooking, and not on account of that slippery eel of an
elf. Been a long time since anyone liked my cooking that much."

They continued walking in silence, Yimt chewing and spitting crute while Alwyn tried and failed to say something back. Yimt was more father to him than his own, a man who had left him and his mother when Alwyn was only four.

"I hear you fry a pretty good bara jogg," he finally said.

The dwarf harrumphed and spat a stream of crute. "Fry bara jogg? Bah, you want to sautĂŠ it, then dice it into cubes for a nice soup. I'll show you how when we get to Luuguth Jor." He turned his head slightly and looked up at Alwyn for a second, nodded, and dropped back to fall in step with Teeter.

Alwyn took a deep breath and readjusted the cage on his back. Quppy shook himself a couple of times and settled back down. He unslung his musket and noted with satisfaction that the piece of cork Yimt had told him to place in the muzzle was still there. The dwarf knew every trick in the book, and probably a lot more that had never been written down.

Kritton, Alwyn worried, knew them, too. Beyond telling them to leave Alik behind to drown, the elf had done nothing sinister, at least, not that Alwyn could see, and that was the problem. As hard as Alwyn tried, he was never able to keep the elf in sight for more than a few seconds at a time, his ability to blend with shadows so fluid it defied any rational explanation.

He had never put much stock in the whole magical, mystical connection elves were supposed to have with nature. Mr. Yuimi hadn't seemed all that different from any other cobbler. The shoes he repaired didn't sprout vines or give the wearer special abilities, as Alwyn had found out once trying to leap from one tree to another. Even the major, who looked like every wild elf he'd ever heard about in children's tales, seemed like most officers he'd known—kinder, more intelligent, perhaps, but still determined to see the job done no matter what the cost. Now, Miss Tekoy seemed magical all right. And a witch, which made sense as he thought about it. But Kritton was different. Or maybe it was that all the other elves Alwyn knew seemed good at heart. Kritton had a dark heart; maybe that's what let him blend with the shadows so easily. Whatever the case, he wasn't about to let the elf do anything to Yimt.