A Darkness Forged in Fire (35 page)

Elfkynan screamed in pain and blood sprayed skyward. A mioxja whistled past Konowa's ear and he turned in the saddle and swung across his body, missing the elfkynan and almost cutting Zwindarra in the flanks. The force of the swing had him toppling out of the saddle, but Zwindarra shifted beneath him and he remained seated. The mioxja whipped the air again, the razor-sharp blades of jimik grass severing one of the wings of his shako. Zwindarra's head shot to the side and he bit the elfkynan in the stomach, lifting the screaming man into the air and shaking him. When Zwindarra let go, the elfkynan's innards lay strewn on the ground.

Konowa urged the horse forward at another group of elfkynan. He bent low in the saddle and stabbed one in the chest, the blade jumping in his hand as it hit spine. The wound began to blacken as frost fire licked around the embedded blade. The elfkynan wrenched himself backward, his shrieks ending abruptly as he vomited black ichor.

Two more elfkynan ran toward him, but before they got within distance of his saber or Zwindarra, Lorian came charging past on his horse and skewered the first on his halberd and rode over the second. An Iron Elf stepped out of the line and bayoneted the trampled elfkynan for good measure. Konowa noticed faint flickers of frost fire on the wounds.

He was still staring at the black flames when something hard struck him in the chest. Bitter cold burst over him and he fell from the saddle, barely able to kick his boots free from the stirrups as he did so. He landed flat on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs as everything went momentarily gray. The arrow that had struck the acorn under his jacket lay shattered a few feet away.

An elfkynan ran toward him, his screams of "Sillra! Sillra!" barely audible in the din of battle. Konowa tried to raise his saber, but his right arm was incapable of lifting a feather at that moment. A great black shadow loomed on top of him and Zwindarra dashed the elfkynan's brains out with a single flick of a front hoof.

The elfkynan charge faltered. Konowa's breath came back in a painful rush and he sat up, his limbs once again responding.

"Reform the line! Reform the line!" Lorian shouted, standing up in the saddle and motioning the troops to close the gap around Konowa. The soldiers began to move toward each other again, still falling back as they did so. Two grabbed hold of Konowa and helped him to his feet. He thanked them and gingerly got back into the saddle, allowing Zwindarra to carry him back toward Lorian.

Now that the gap had closed, the elfkynan attack turned to the new gap opening between the river and the fortress. The cannon covering the gap fired one more time, decimating a group of elfkynan and propelling the rest toward the fortress.

Seeing the fleeing soldiers, the elfkynan were encouraged, believing the Iron Elves had finally succumbed to the pressure.

A tremendous cheer sounded from the elfkynan ranks. Their bloody assault on the river directly across from the regiment slowed as the remaining forces shifted to cross near the gap. Konowa estimated at least a thousand elfkynan were still on their feet, but what he had in store for them would lower that number quickly.

The line of retreating siggers began to wheel to the left, falling back on the riverbank. This created an opening for the elfkynan to surge through between the fortress and the river. If they recognized the killing ground for what it was, they never showed it.

"Are you okay, Major?" Lorian said, trotting up to him on his horse. He reached out a hand, but instead of grabbing Konowa's elbow, he patted Zwindarra's neck.

"Thanks to this fellow I am," Konowa said, leaning forward to give the horse a pat as well.

"He's a fine beast, all right," Lorian said, clearly admiring the horse.
"Fights like a real demon."

"Let's hope
they
don't," Konowa said, watching with growing dismay as the elfkynan ran past. Thousands were either dead or wounded, and why? Because they believed in a power greater than themselves, a power they believed would deliver their country from the Empire that controlled it. Konowa brought his hand up to his chest and felt the cold presence under his coat. What, he wondered, was he fighting for?

"Major?"

Konowa grunted an acknowledgment, watching the elfkynan stream past, their euphoria childlike. Once they were within the ring of trees, the trap would be sprung.

Konowa looked up the hill to see the Color party running into the fortress where the rest of C Company waited, along with the supporting howitzer. He looked back and saw that every second man in the firing line along the river had spun about to face the fortress.

The elfkynan were now caught in the middle.

The final slaughter needed only his command.

Visyna shivered and hunched her shoulders, trying to keep her focus on the wounded soldier before her as her fingers danced through the skeins of life. Musket fire popped and crackled down the hill, intermixed with the screams of the dying. She felt each death like rain on bare skin, each blending with the other until their pain and fear washed away everything else. And yet here she was, tending the very men who were inflicting that suffering on her people.

Her fingers paused, the beat of the soldier's heart palpable in her hands. She could let him die. He was a soldier of the Empire, a tool of oppression and death, and worse, bound to the regiment in a way that frightened her. She had first noticed something wrong when she had tried to help the soldier named Meri in the vines. Then, she had put it down to the general malaise that stalked the land, a vague stain that did not yet pose an immediate threat. She knew better now. This was Her doing, and Konowa had been the means, even if he meant well.

"It's getting cold," the soldier said, his lips pale and trembling. Three fires crackled and sparked around them, their heat doing little to warm the open air of the fortress courtyard where the wounded lay. Visyna motioned for a private standing nearby to put another blanket over the man.

"No amount of covering will warm him now," the man said, eyeing the soldier with the casual disdain of one who knew something about death.
"It's that elf-witch that holds all the cards here."

Visyna bristled at the comment and started weaving again, eliciting a cry of pain from the wounded soldier.
"I'm sorry," she said, slowing and chiding herself for being so easily goaded. "Shouldn't you be with your company, Private…?" she asked.

He sneered. "Zwitty's the name, and no, on account of my wound." He pointed to his left arm. The jacket was covered in blood, yet Visyna remembered dressing his wound earlier, and it had only been a small cut.
"Safer to be here. Besides, the scenery is better."

She ignored his last comment. "The elf-witch you speak of does not hold sway yet. The
sarka har
are still young, their roots not yet long enough to feed them the power they
seek."

"Wouldn't matter if they did," he said, winking at her.
"As soon as the Prince gets his precious Star, we'll be leaving this place and
She can do what She wants with it."

Visyna concentrated on the wounded soldier, blocking out the private's words. She found the faintest of skeins and delicately began to weave them together, slowly creating a strong thread to hold on to the life ebbing before her. There! She felt a clean strength and focused her mind on it. Zwitty was still talking, but she could no longer hear him. All her focus centered on the precious spark of life that yet burned within the man before her. She called on the last reserves of her power and laid her hands on the soldier's body. He gasped, his eyelids shooting open. Slowly, his breathing returned to a more normal rhythm as his face grew less pallid.

"…do a little of that weaving on me," Zwitty said, reaching out and grabbing her arm.

Visyna spun around and used what energy she had left. There was a shock of ice and heat colliding as she pushed him, and then Zwitty was flying through the air. He landed hard on his back, then clambered to his feet, one hand cradled in the other, a look of surprise and anger on his face. He turned and ran back toward the regiment.

Visyna turned away from him and was pleased to see, and feel, that the wounded soldier was indeed healing. She walked briskly to the far end of the fortress, ducking under the remnants of a half-collapsed roof, and sat down on a small keg. Her eyes closed on their own and she let out a shuddering breath. She wrapped her arms around her body and shivered.

"Do you still serve your
people, child?"

Visyna stood up suddenly, swaying as she did so. The image of the Star shimmered before her, its form a shattered mosaic of light and dark. Her weariness vanished in an instant.

"My people are being butchered out there because they
believe in you. How can you let this happen?"

"Their deaths are of no
consequence when weighed against the greater need."

Visyna felt the color drain from her face. "No. You
must stop this!"

"Foolish girl, why would I want
to?"
The image of the Star curved in on itself. Shadow ate light and ground heaved in front of her, crumbling apart as a black figure emerged from the earth beneath her, and Visyna realized the extent of her mistake.

"Deceiver!" Fury blossomed inside her. She brought her hands up to weave a spell, but she was much too slow.

Her Emissary drew forth a long, black dagger. Frost fire danced along the blade, the air sizzling around it. It had drawn back its arm, preparing to strike, when something small and white flew past her.

The shadowy figure shrieked and dropped the blade, a white feather quill stuck in its hand. Rallie emerged from the shadows, another quill held lightly between her fingers.

"I've always believed, but I must admit it is rather
gratifying to see, that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword."

"You!"
it roared, ripping the quill from its hand and incinerating it with a black flame. It held out its good hand and the dropped blade flew into it.
"You should not be here. This is not your time."

"Oh, I don't know," Rallie said, twirling the quill between her fingers.
"I usually think I should be exactly where I am at any given moment. You,
however, are definitely in the wrong place, and very much at the wrong time."

"Your words are as weak as your
weapons. This is becoming Her time, and all those that serve Her."

Visyna gasped for breath as two powerful forces consumed all the life energy around her. The natural order began unraveling and she tried desperately to stitch it back together, even as she realized her magic was woefully inadequate to the task.

"That remains to be seen. In the meantime," Rallie said, preparing to throw the quill,
"it's time you left."

The ebb and flow of the competing forces suddenly surged in one direction, and Visyna caught her breath, a pleasant warmth filling the air. The dark figure howled, its form splintering, reforming, then splintering again. Visyna reached out her hands and grabbed some of the threads, giving what aid she could to Rallie to help her banish it.

"You cannot hold us for long. A
new forest will grow here before the night is out."
The ground shook and Her Emissary disappeared between the cracks and was gone.

Visyna felt sick. She looked down at her hands and saw they were trembling.

She had listened to that thing, taken its advice, done whatever she could to help it. This was all her fault. Everything.

"Really now, my dear, you're getting as melodramatic as Konowa," Rallie said, walking over to give her a pat on the arm.
"This is the Shadow Monarch's fault, first and foremost. Our task, and it's a
significant one, is to undo the damage."

"I should have seen through it," Visyna said.

"Perhaps, but it is skilled in the art of deception,
and you saw what you wanted to see."

"That was the last Viceroy, wasn't it?" Visyna asked, looking at Rallie with a newfound respect.

"Her Emissary now," Rallie said, reaching into her cloak for a cigar. She pulled one out and made no pretense of lighting it, the end suddenly glowing red of its own accord.
"It's been looking for the Star for some time, believing, apparently, that it is
buried somewhere beneath the fort."

"Do you know where the Star is?" Visyna asked, hope rising in her chest.

Rallie shook her head. "Not that I can find it, but don't despair, my dear, I think it will reveal itself when it's
ready."

"What did it mean about this not being your time?"

Rallie cackled softly and blew out a long stream of smoke.
"That, my dear, is a story for another time." She flexed her fingers around her cigar and for the briefest of moments filigrees of light flowed from them like gossamer threads caught in a breeze.

Visyna looked at her in stunned surprise.

"Oh, come now, dear, you suspected as much, no?" Rallie said, cocking her head to the side as if listening to something far away.

"Then you are a witch," Visyna said.

Rallie brought her head up straight and clamped down hard on the cigar between her teeth.
"After a fashion. I like to think of myself more as the one you least suspect…until it's too late. Now, I suggest we get out to the ramparts. We're
about to become rather busy, you and I. The trees that surround us are focused
on digging for the Star, but Her Emissary may soon decide to redirect their
energies."

Visyna nodded, following the old woman, the smoke from Rallie's cigar swirling about them in the darkening night.