A Darkness Forged in Fire (6 page)

Corporal Kritton turned so fast to look at the dwarf that Alwyn thought he was going to attack Yimt. For several seconds Kritton said absolutely nothing, then he smiled, and the contents of Alwyn's stomach froze solid.

"Her Majesty doesn't pay you for your opinions. I think what we have here is a case of dereliction of duty, allowing an enemy of the Empire to get this close to the lines," he said.
"I could have you flogged for this."

"Flogged?" Yimt said, puffing out his chest and looking at the rest of the soldiers now gathered around them.
"All we did was save lives tonight, same as we do any time we get piquet duty, ain't
that right, Ally?"

Alwyn tried to speak, but though his mouth opened and closed, no words would come out. An off-kilter dwarf, a monster from a storybook, and a maniacal elf for a corporal, and all because he thought wearing a uniform would impress women.

"See, Ally's so shocked that you'd think we wasn't doing our duty that he can't even speak," Yimt said, looking up at Alwyn with genuine concern in his eyes.
"Tell you what, Corp, Her Majesty can keep Her medal. We'll take our reward in
beer and call it square."

If I'm really lucky
, Alwyn decided,
I'll pass out before they start to flog me
.

K
onowa chose to believe he was leading Visyna through the forest as the sun was setting on their second day together. It helped keep his mind off his rib cage. And it soothed his ego to believe, as usual, that he wasn't lost

In the not-too-distant past, he'd led the Calahrian Imperial Army's finest regiment of soldiers into battle, and most important, brought them back out again each and every time. Killing the Viceroy then had been just one more battle for him, one more threat to the Empire destroyed.

The Viceroy had been in league with Her, and of all the things on this earth that Konowa despised—and the list was long—serving the Shadow Monarch was the most foul. Her very existence tainted every elf of the Hyntaland, especially those like Konowa. His hand drifted up by his ruined ear tip before he realized what he was doing.

What he hadn't realized was that while killing a hundred enemies in battle would earn you a medal, killing in peacetime got you court-martialed.

"Does it hurt?" Visyna asked, bringing him back to the here and now.

He quickly brought his hand down. "What? Oh…no, not really. They call it
‘ghost pain.' You forget it's no longer there," he lied, wishing he could stop remembering.

She tilted her head to one side in a manner that suggested she didn't quite believe him, but let it be. They hadn't been together two full days and already Konowa found himself interpreting her moods by the way she held herself. Flashes of anger were always signaled by a stiffening of her body, a sight Konowa found enticing. Of course, it also meant enduring several minutes of an opinion that wasn't his own, but after a year alone it was refreshing to hear
any
voice that wasn't his own.

"I think I see a clearing up ahead," she said, pushing through a wall of vines.

"Fine, I'll have a look," he started to say as she
disappeared through them without waiting. That was the other thing about her.
Soldiers obeyed orders. Miss Visyna Tekoy, daughter of Almak Tekoy, most
certainly did not—

"Konowa!"

Her shout came from the other side of the vines.

"Are you all right?" He unslung his musket and ran after her without waiting for her reply, ducking under low-hanging branches and holding his injured ribs tight with one arm. A moment later he burst through the same wall of vines Visyna had, and found himself in a clearing, and in trouble.

The ground shook beneath his feet. Konowa had stepped into a field of low scrub and directly into the path of a galloping horse.

Its human rider wore the pale blue of the Imperial Army cavalry with bright silver epaulets of chain mail on each shoulder. A gleaming helm of burnished steel wrapped with a band of spotted leopard pelt and topped by a flowing plume of red-dyed horsehair adorned his head. The horse itself was brown with a single white star on its chest, which was growing at an alarming rate as animal and rider charged straight for him.

Konowa leaped aside as man and horse whipped past, his shouted cry to hold up going unheard. He was still watching the rider when he felt a presence behind him and turned to see another trooper spurring his mount in his direction.

The second trooper stood high in his stirrups and reached across his body to pull his saber free. The horse galloped forward and veered to Konowa's right, giving the trooper ample room to skewer Konowa on the end of his wicked-looking blade. Konowa remembered the proper tactic: Stay still, then jump to the right and bayonet the horse as it galloped past. Without a bayonet, Konowa's options were few.

When the horse's muzzle was just feet away, he leaped to his right to keep the man's saber arm on the far side of the horse and swung the stock of the musket at the charging horse's face. The musket missed, but its continued stroke caught the trooper a glancing blow off the top of his knee. The man howled in pain and tumbled from his saddle in a billowing cloud of dust.

Using the dust as a screen, Konowa ran forward another few steps and surprised yet another trooper, who had expected him to be standing over his fallen comrade. Konowa screamed and faked a blow at the horse's head, hoping instead to smash the stock into the metal chest plate of its rider. The horse lifted its head in surprise and stutter-stepped, causing its rider to pitch forward over its neck. Konowa let go of the musket and grabbed the temporarily off-balance man by the arm and belt, pulling with all his strength. The muscles along his ribs seared in protest, but Konowa held on, and a moment later was rewarded, as the trooper fell from his saddle to land flat on his back.

A flash of light caught Konowa's eye and he turned to see a cavalry saber arcing gracefully toward his head. Time seemed to slow—Konowa saw everything perfectly, realizing with calm detachment that there was nothing he could do. The trooper was crouched low in his stirrups, the reins clenched between the gloved fingers of his left hand while his right swung the heavy blade downward. One large brown eye of the roan the man rode was just inches from Konowa's face, and he saw his own reflection in it. Then the eye was past and the shoulder of the horse brushed against him and he prepared to feel the bite of the cold steel.

A rush of wind like a scythe through ripe hay whistled in front of Konowa's face and then the horse was gone and he could see the open countryside in front of him. He waited, wondering if the slightest movement would topple his head from his shoulders. Nothing seemed out of place aside from the erratic pounding of his own heart, so he carefully raised a hand and placed it against his neck. He felt sweat and grime, but no blood or cut. Amazed, Konowa turned his head to see the trooper reining in his horse and staring awestruck at the hilt guard of his saber. The blade was gone.

Konowa looked around and saw the flat chunk of steel lying several feet away in the grass. Everything had now gone eerily quiet. He looked up to see that a group of cavalry, perhaps ten, had hauled in their steeds and were staring not at Konowa, but at Visyna. She was standing near the edge of the forest, holding a branch in front of her like a weapon. The air shimmered around her and Konowa blinked, uncertain that it wasn't sweat in his eyes. When he looked again, the air was normal and Visyna began yelling about frightening a lady and did they know who her father was?

Before the cavalry could recover from her assault, Konowa bent over, nearly toppling to the ground as more lightning raced through his chest, and picked up the blade portion of the saber. Gritting his teeth, he walked the few paces to the sergeant who only a moment ago had tried to decapitate him.

The shabraque over the sergeant's saddle was made of a dark-blue cloth with ornately embroidered crests in gold stitching on the rearmost portion. It depicted an arrow in flight aided by a pair of eagle's wings. Konowa recognized it at once as the emblem of the Fourteenth Household Cavalry, commanded by the Duke of Rakestraw, Colonel Jaal Edrahar.

"You always greet strangers that way?" Konowa asked, holding out the piece of steel.

"There's been some unrest lately, bandits and such," the sergeant said, letting go of the reins and taking back the blade.
"Who are you?" His eyes took in the ragged remains of Konowa's uniform with extreme skepticism.

"I'm just lost in the woods," Konowa said, "but that
is Ms. Visyna Tekoy, daughter of Almak Tekoy. We need to get to a military
outpost at once."

As he talked, the sergeant's roan started to nuzzle Konowa's shirt. It took a big sniff, its eyes went wide, then it whinnied and stepped back.

"And I need a flagon of beer and a wench to rub my back," the sergeant said, reining in his mount.
"You aren't going anywhere until I know more."

"I've never known Colonel Edrahar's troops to refuse aide to a damsel in distress," Konowa said, looking over at Visyna, who was still menacing the troopers with her branch.

At the sound of the Duke's name the sergeant looked down at Konowa with a wary expression on his face.

"You know the Duke, then?" he asked.

"Know him? Sergeant, six years ago I saved that sorry
excuse for nobility at Khundarr Ridge."

The sergeant sat back in his saddle and pushed his helmet up from his brow, revealing a tanned face dominated by a large, blond mustache, the ends twirled into complete circles.
"I was at Khundarr Ridge. The Duke wasn't saved by no savage, it was that officer of the Hynta-elves…bloody hell." Like all good noncommissioned officers, the sergeant covered his shock by shouting.
"Right, you two," he yelled, pointing to the two unhorsed troopers who were dusting themselves off.
"Seeing as you were daft enough to get your arses knocked off, you can walk back. And right smartly, too," he growled before the troopers could utter a complaint.

"Can't have an officer walking, now can we, sir?" the sergeant said, gesturing with the now-useless hilt of his saber.
"Sir, you take the gelding and your woman can ride the gray mare."

Konowa smiled and thought of correcting the sergeant. Visyna was most certainly not his woman.

"Name's Lorian, sir, Sergeant Dhareg Lorian. Sorry for that crack about savages, didn't mean nothing by it. I'll get you and the missus to the Duke by morning. We're bivouacked just over the next hill, a few miles north of Port Ghamjal. We'll
have you there in no time."

Konowa nodded. "I appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure it's
wise to leave the troopers out here alone. We came across some—" He started to say rakkes, then thought better of it.

Sergeant Lorian tipped the helmet a little farther back on his head.
"Across some what, sir?"

"Bandits," Konowa said, "lots of bandits. I'd suggest you don't leave anyone behind." It was strange, but after a year, it was hard to make it an order.

Sergeant Lorian didn't look as if he believed Konowa, but he finally shrugged and motioned to the unseated troopers.
"All right, you lucky buggers, double up on the mare, the officer and his lady
will ride the gelding. Now be quick about it."

Konowa walked over to the gelding, remembering to mount from the left. He placed his musket muzzle-down in the leather container strapped to the side of the saddle that had only moments before held a trooper's musket. Visyna walked over, her face flushed with shouting. He decided to be a gentleman and offer her his hand.

"Thank you, no. I think of the two of us it's
you
who needs assistance," she said, holding out her hand to him.

Konowa decided the snickers he heard were from the horses, and reluctantly took Visyna's hand. With his left hand he grabbed a chunk of the horse's mane, then placed his left foot in the stirrup, said a little prayer, and jumped. As it was, he barely got up into the saddle, his ribs crying out in protest as he swung his right leg over. Visyna had no such trouble, hopping up behind him with delicate ease. She chose to ride sidesaddle on the rolled blanket strapped to the saddle.

The elves of the Hynta were not known for riding, staying mostly within the confines of the Great Forest. Still, they had an affinity with horses, as they did with most things in the natural order, and took to it with grace and ease when required. Konowa, on the other hand, found riding a horse as enjoyable as sitting on a rockslide at the top of a very steep cliff. Horses were huge, all steel-shod hooves and sharp teeth, and worst of all, had minds of their own.

He gave the one beneath him a good long look. To his surprise, the horse appeared thin, its ribs showing from beneath the shabraque. Tufts of hair seemed to be falling out, too, but then Konowa knew military life was never easy on horses, or any other living creature. Still, he'd remembered the Duke's mounts as being among the finest in the army.

"Easy now, easy, it's just a short trip," Konowa said, slowly gathering up the reins that had fallen to the ground.

The horse started stamping its hooves and tried to back up, tugging hard on the reins in an effort to unseat Konowa.
"I know, I know," he muttered, "but you'll just have to get used to the smell." He pulled back on the reins and leaned forward, almost falling. The horse swung its head around and nipped at him with a set of huge yellow teeth.

"Problem, sir?" Sergeant Lorian asked, riding up to a few feet from where Konowa was struggling to keep the gelding in check.

"No," Konowa lied, noticing that the sergeant seemed to be looking more at Visyna than at him. The horse jittered to the right and Konowa reached down to pat its withers. He pulled his hand back a second later as the horse's head whipped around again.
"We're just getting to know one another," he said. The horse shifted about beneath him, perhaps hoping he might fall off if it kept trying, but Konowa squeezed his knees to its sides and pulled back hard on the reins to show the animal who was boss. There was the stamp of a hoof and a few swishes of its tail and then it calmed, ceding, at least for the moment, superiority to Konowa. Visyna said nothing the whole time, but he could feel her stare on the back of his neck.

It was a strange sensation to be on a horse again—the feel of the leather in his hands, the rhythmic breathing of the horse beneath him. Konowa slackened his grip on the reins and forced himself to look up. Everything seemed different on top of a horse. He was struck by how remote and distant the last year of his life had suddenly become, and all that from gaining a few feet of perspective. Things were clearly changing. He was beginning to allow himself to imagine that they might even be changing for the better when the horse swung its head around and managed to nip him on the knee.

The more things changed, the more they hurt like hell.