The Light of Burning Shadows (14 page)

“No, no one. Not by themselves and not in a group. It doesn’t work that way. What few of us there are only use it for good. I told you, it’s a subtle power. It gently burns away that which troubles a spirit, no more. What you speak of is impossible. Only Kaman Rhal commanded power that great.” Nafeesah’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Why do you ask this?”

“No reason,” Alwyn lied, looking down at his hands. “I just was curious.”

Nafeesah reached out and touched his face and forced his head up to look at her. “Why do you ask me this, Alwyn?”

Alwyn knew they were not supposed to talk about it, but the idea of following one more order when it was orders that had put him—put all of them—in this situation churned up an anger he couldn’t ignore.

“We…we met someone, or something, using Kaman Rhal’s power. It was on an island off the coast. There was white flame, not a little like you use, but a lot. Enough to…burn the shadow of a soldier and kill him.”

Nafeesah’s eyes widened. “What? This cannot be! Rhal is…dead. His magic is lost to the ages, save the small spark a few of us carry. Surely you are mistaken.”

Alwyn shook his head. “I felt it. I felt it deep inside me, burning, scouring away the oath that binds me to…that I took when I joined the Iron Elves.”

“Gossip travels fast in a city like Nazalla, especially in a place like this. We have many pillows for such talk,” she said, nudging him and smiling.

Alwyn didn’t smile back. “You said the flame burns away troubles. If there was enough of it, could it burn away more?”

Nafeesah stopped smiling. “No. A magical bond is a complex thing. It ties the living to the natural world in ways we cannot understand. The weave would be too entwined with your spirit. To burn one would be to burn both.”

Alwyn shook his head. “I know, but with enough power, it could be controlled. Just enough…”

Nafeesah shook her head violently. “No! If this is Rhal’s magic, then nothing but pain and suffering would await you. You have had your power how long, months? You are no wizard, Alwyn; you are not even an apprentice. Kaman Rhal’s power is old, as old as the sand.”

“Then I need to learn more,” Alwyn said.
There must be a way to use it.
“The soldier that was burned did die, but his bond to the regiment was cut.”

“Yet he is still dead,” Nafeesah said, softening her voice. She started to weave her hands together above the scattered sand, reforming it into an orb. “Did you cremate his body?”

Alwyn hadn’t expected that. “No, we gave him a burial at sea.”

“How far away were you from here?”

“I don’t know, not that far. It was the last island before here. Why? What does it matter. He’s dead.”

Nafeesah muttered a curse. She quickly gathered up the last of the sand, and waving a hand over the box lid, put the sand back. “There are worse fates than death in this world.”

“I know,” Alwyn said.

“No, not everything you don’t. Rhal was said to be able to hold sway over creatures that could move between land and water. Great beasts gifted with his fire. Some say they were his children by a she-drake, but as four-legged creatures they were not suitable for his designs, so he sent them out to kill and bring him back the bodies.”

Alwyn remembered the shallow trench on the island. “Why? Why would he want bodies?”

Nafeesah shuddered. “Before he was wiped out by the storm, Kaman Rhal was building an army.”

“Why? Who was he going to war with?”

“All those from whom he had stolen knowledge.” Nafeesah sat up and turned to look at Alwyn. “Don’t you see, his library was so vast and his power so great because he took knowledge from wherever he could. It became an obsession. All that mattered was acquiring more.”

“Believe me, I understand that kind of thinking, but I still don’t understand the bodies.”

“Kaman Rhal couldn’t trust anyone. The more knowledge and power he acquired, the more he came to view it as his own. In the end, he trusted no one, save the she-drake, and their offspring, but they were not an army. So he collected bodies.”

“And did what with them?”

“He made an army he could trust, because he controlled them completely. Kaman Rhal created an army of the dead.”

T
yul, now garbed in black, followed from a distance as the body of Kester Harkon was carried through the maze of back streets and alleyways of Nazalla. Several times the figures he pursued would pause and turn, looking back the way they had come. Each time they saw nothing out of the ordinary and continued. Had they looked up to the flat rooftops they still would have seen nothing, but they would have at least been looking in the right direction.

Tyul jumped lightly from roof to roof, his movements little more than a wisp of shadow. It was an odd sensation to be this high and not be surrounded by trees. Tears came to his eyes at the thought of the forest. In some part of his mind, he knew that following Chayii Red Owl had been the right thing to do, though that part receded deeper into the darkness with each passing day. As an elf in the Long Watch bonded with a Wolf Oak, he willingly took the solemn oath to protect the great forest from the Shadow Monarch. That the oath would take him so far from home had never occurred to him.

He leaped across an alley, then crouched low, as the figures below stopped and looked back again. Tyul remained motionless, waiting for the group to continue. Images of Black Spike came to his mind. To see the body of a Wolf Oak so desecrated pained him deeply. That Jurwan offered up his
ryk faur
to be used as a ship’s mast mystified Tyul, but then so much of the world made no sense to him. More tears welled up in his eyes. The pain enveloped him and it took all his concentration to block it out. The Wolf Oak was dead, yet something of it remained. Tyul felt it with every breath.

He knew, as all elves knew, that to have a Silver Wolf Oak as
ryk faur
was to risk your very sanity. Now, though, he saw it differently. His bonding with Rising Dawn had opened his mind to a plane of existence few elves would ever experience. He was closer to the natural order than most living things, and it was intoxicating and at times overwhelming. He knew, as few others ever would, that the spirit of the Wolf Oak really felt sorrow in its death as its limbs were slashed, its roots cut, its crown shorn, and its body desecrated with iron and made to serve on a sailing vessel, instead of being returned to the
mukta ull,
Mother Earth, to be reborn.

Tyul understood pain. He sensed it in Jurwan, too. They shared a bond, each affected by a Silver Wolf Oak, though Jurwan’s experience was very different. Tyul wondered again why they followed these men. He sensed nothing of the Shadow Monarch. But Jurwan had told him it was important, so for now he would track them as only he could, and when necessary, he would return them to the
mukta ull.

The small group with the body moved on again, crossing an open space where several alleys met and disappearing around a corner. There were no buildings near enough to jump on. Jurwan chittered in his ear and Tyul leaped to the ground, landing softly on the hard-packed dirt. Instinctively he reached down to grab some earth, but came up with a handful of sand. It was cold and strange to the touch. There was power here, but different from the warm, vibrant energy of the great forest of the Hyntaland, different even from the force in Elfkyna. The grains of sand stung and he flung the handful away. He stood and ran silently across the open square and into a pitch-black alley, though with his elven eyes he was able to see enough to guide his way.

That saved both his and Jurwan’s life.

A dull, white sword swung out of the darkness aimed directly at his head. Tyul easily ducked the stroke and stepped forward, a wooden dagger, a bond weapon given to him by Rising Dawn, now gripped firmly in his left hand. The wood gleamed with energy, and a voice as if from a great distance filled the air as he plunged it into the heart of his attacker, the sound of wood scraping bone echoing off the walls around them.

The feeling of a thousand bee stings attacked Tyul’s hand. He let go of the dagger and withdrew his hand. As he did a rasping scream sprang from his assailant as the hood of its dark cloak fell back. Tyul looked with wonder into the eyes of the man he had just killed.

A grinning skull with black runes carved into it stared back at him. Each eye socket was aglow with a small, white flame.

Tyul stepped backward, clutching his hand to his chest. The skeletal man in front of him reached up with one hand and grabbed the hilt of Tyul’s dagger, still stuck in its chest. White fire burst to life and burned with an intensity that made Tyul shield his eyes. Soon the figure’s cloak was aflame and then burned away, revealing a skeleton in the shape of a man. But this had been no man.

The skeleton that stood before him was made of what appeared to be several different creatures. Tyul had seen enough animal carcasses to recognize several horse bones among others he did not. Most of the bones were cracked and ill-used. Many bore teeth marks. Where muscle and tissue had once held bones together, a wet, black tar now kept them in place.

A sane elf would have known to be afraid. Tyul was fascinated. What stood before him were elements of the natural order, but assembled and animated in a way that perverted that order. This close he felt the magic that kept the collection of bones together. Like the sand, it was old and bitter.

“I want to help you,” Tyul said, his voice soft with caring.

White flames still burned where his oath weapon remained stuck between two ribs of the skeleton. The spirit of Tyul’s
ryk faurre,
Rising Dawn, struggled against the flame. Jurwan peeked out from Tyul’s quiver and started pawing at the back of his neck. Tyul turned. Three more skeletons were closing in on him.

Tyul smiled. “I will help you, too.”

He lunged forward at the first skeleton, grabbing the hilt of his dagger and twisting, knowing the pain would be intense. At the same time he brought his right elbow up and across, smashing it into the skull. There was a snap and the skull went toppling to the ground. Tyul pulled his dagger from its chest, though the skeleton did not fall. It remained standing in place, but now showed no signs of movement. Tyul turned to face the other three.

Each held a long, curved sword made of bone in a skeletal hand. Death whispered on the air as the blades arced toward him, but Tyul jumped gracefully to the side and out of their path. His left hand throbbed, but he kept it clenched on his dagger while with his right hand he reached behind his back for his quiver and grabbed Jurwan by the scruff of the neck. With one fluid motion, he threw the squirrel at the nearest skeleton while he pivoted to attack the other two.

Jurwan flew through the air and landed flat on the front of a skull. He scampered out of the way as the skeleton brought its sword up to cleave him in two. The sword missed Jurwan, but hit above the skeleton’s left eye socket, fracturing a large opening in the skull. Jurwan dove into the opening, his bushy tail disappearing a moment later. White flame flared in the skull’s eye sockets and its lower jaw dropped open in a silent scream. The skeleton crumpled to the ground.

Tyul sidestepped a sword cut and reached down for a large clay pot sitting by a wall. He scooped it up one-handed and swung it like a club against the skull of the nearest skeleton. Both skull and pot smashed, leaving Tyul with just a pottery shard in his right hand. The white fire in the skull’s eye sockets went out immediately as the skeleton wobbled and fell to the ground.

The last intact skeleton lifted its sword high above its head, prepared to strike. Tyul saw his opening and took it, running forward and jamming the dagger and the shard into its eye sockets. The impact shattered the skull in a burst of white fire. Tyul fell backward, both hands numb and twitching. His dagger and the pottery shard slipped from his grasp.

Tyul looked over at the first skeleton. It still stood in place. Jurwan emerged from the wreckage of his opponent and leaped over to the skull with fire still burning inside. He sniffed at it, then turned and chirped to Tyul.

Tyul looked around and gingerly picked up another clay pot in his throbbing hands, wincing as he did so. He calmly walked over to the skull. The white flame grew brighter as he neared and the jaws began to open as if to speak, tipping the skull backward so that the light shone toward the sky. Tyul brought the pot down onto the skull, smashing both. A spear of white flame shot skyward and was gone. A clattering noise marked the collapse of its skeleton as it fell to the ground and disintegrated into a pile of dust.

Voices called out from a nearby building. The sound of running feet echoed off the walls. Tyul bent and picked up his dagger as Jurwan climbed onto his back. He sifted the sand through the fingers of his right hand, then cast it in an arc over the ground.

“You’re welcome,” he remarked, and ran after his quarry.

I
’ve lost sight of Rallie,” Visyna said, holding the hem of her gown as she hurried to follow along. Chayii led her to the far end of the palace grounds, to which Rallie’s wagon and menagerie of animals had been relegated. They passed by several soldiers, who seemed unsure if they should bow or salute or both.

“She knows where we’re going. Hurry, we must hurry,” Chayii said as she darted between some flowering cactuses.

Visyna hoisted her dress up even higher and broke into a run, hoping no one would see her like this. “What is it you think you heard?”

“I heard the voice of Rising Dawn, no matter how faint,” Chayii said, not slowing her pace. “Tyul has used his oath weapon, and not without cost. Another magic is at work here.”

“The Shadow Monarch,” Visyna said.

“I have no doubt Her forces are here, but no, this felt different.” Now she did stop and turned to Visyna. “Did you not hear or feel anything?”

Visyna shook her head. “I’m not sure. Earlier I thought I did sense something, but all the noise at the party made it difficult to understand, and then it was gone.”

Chayii gave her a brief smile. “You are more attuned to the natural order than I thought.”

Visyna blushed slightly at the compliment. Chayii turned and they both ran the rest of the way to Rallie’s wagon. The glow of a cigar tip revealed that the old woman was already there.

“How did you do that?” Visyna asked. “You were behind us when we left the party.”

Rallie blew out a mouthful of smoke and smiled. “I know how to get around. Speaking of which, mind your step, dear. This is definitely a well-attended party.”

Visyna looked down and saw what Rallie meant. Piles of horse and camel manure dotted the lane. The more manure there was to clean up in the morning, the more horses and carriages had been there the night before.

“An odd way to measure the success of a party,” Chayii said.

“Think of it in terms of tracking quarry,” Rallie said. “If this were a forest, you could glean much from what’s scattered on the ground around us, no?”

Chayii made a small bow. “Your city-craft is impressive. I have always had difficulty navigating through large, populated areas such as this. The desecration of the natural order is so violent here.”

Visyna felt it as well. A city oozed pollution like an open wound. The land became sick and the natural power tainted. For weavers of magic such as herself it took great effort to sift through the energy to find clean, usable threads. She sighed. She could spend her whole life purging the polluted energy in Nazalla and still never be done.

The sreexes, Rallie’s batlike courier birds, squawked from inside the covered wagon and a moment later Jir jumped out of the back, his collar and chain no longer attached. He stuck his head high in the air and sniffed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, boy?” Rallie said, leaning down to scratch the bengar on top of his head.

Jir’s purr grew so loud in volume that the hair on the back of Visyna’s neck began to rise. She gave herself a shake. The bengar was a powerful force even when it was contented.

Visyna quickly changed out of her gown and into travel clothes. She threw the gown into the back of the wagon. Chayii had no need to change, as she’d refused to put on a gown and kept her elven clothing, while Rallie had merely adorned her black cloak with a pink bow, which she now removed and put in an inside pocket.

“There, back to informal. Now, shall we go?” Rallie asked, sitting down on the wagon seat and grabbing up the reins.

Visyna and Chayii climbed up after her while Jir hopped into the back, seemingly content now that he wasn’t collared.

“We must find Tyul,” Chayii said. “In his state, he is very unpredictable. I thought he would be safe if left on the ship. I thought they would both be safe.”

Visyna reached out and placed a hand on Chayii’s shoulder. The elf bore more heartache than most. Tyul was
dïova gruss,
lost in the power of a Silver Wolf Oak. Her husband, Jurwan, was equally enthralled and remained locked in squirrel form.

And then there was her son.

“At least we know where Konowa will be for the next several hours,” Visyna said.

Rallie clicked her tongue and flicked the reins. The brindos tossed their heads, then settled down and began to walk. Looking for all the world like horses wearing dark gray armor, the plates of their tough hides slid over their bodies in an unsettling fashion, while the animals’ floppy ears bounced up and down as they moved forward. Their stubby tails wagged furiously—whether in joy to be on the move, or in a vain attempt to keep away flies, it wasn’t clear.

Chayii smiled. “His childhood was not easy. He was one of the first elves not banished at birth. I was the one who docked his ear. His father had wanted to leave it, to show the Hynta-elves and the world that no son of his would bow to a fate not of his choosing.” Chayii’s voice grew soft. “I knew he would have a difficult enough path to travel without adding that.”

“But why is he so…” Visyna wasn’t sure how to finish the question.

“He would never admit it, but his rejection in the birthing meadow hurt him deeply. In our culture, there is no higher honor than to be bonded to a Wolf Oak. It is said that until that day, no elf is ever truly complete. Konowa believed that on the day he bonded, everything would change for him. He would be the first elf marked by the Shadow Monarch to take a
ryk faur
and join the Long Watch.”

“And when he was rejected?” Visyna asked.

“He turned his back on us, on his people, and on himself. He joined the Imperial Army shortly thereafter. His father encouraged him.” The bitterness in Chayii’s voice was clear, but so was the regret.

“It’s not too late for him,” Visyna said, hoping her words were true. “It’s not too late for any of them. We restored the Red Star to my people and saved Elfkyna. We destroyed the Shadow Monarch’s forest on the islands. We will prevail here, too.”

Chayii’s head turned and she studied Visyna carefully. “Your land and your people were indeed saved, yet here you are.”

Visyna blushed, but did not look away. “Konowa is still in peril, and I will save him, too…if I can.”

Chayii said nothing, but reached out a hand and held Visyna’s in hers. Rallie looked up to the sky and pointed at the stars. “Best keep your eyes open then, because we are going to need every bit of help we can find.”

The wagon rolled through the grounds and approached a palace gate. Several sentries stood watching, but made no effort to stop them, simply tipping their shakos at the ladies as they passed. Visyna looked at Chayii and Rallie and considered the contents of the wagon, and realized the soldiers had made a very wise choice.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone?” Visyna asked, watching the lights of the palace disappear as they turned a corner.

“Best that we keep this quiet for now,” Rallie said. “Besides, we have my sreex. When we need to get a message to the Prince and the major, we’ll do so. In the meantime, the less attention we attract the better.”

“Head south, out of the city,” Chayii said. “Rising Dawn’s voice came from over there.”

“South leads us to the desert. Interesting,” Rallie said. She clicked her tongue against her cheek and the brindos broke into a trot.

Shouting erupted downstairs. Alwyn tried to make out what was being said, but it was too garbled. He reached for his musket and remembered he’d left it with Yimt. The shouting rose in volume, and one voice was louder than the others.

Yimt.

“I’ve got to go,” Alwyn said, scrambling to stand up.

Nafeesah grabbed his arm. “It is nothing. Stay. We have yet to explore the reason you came up here in the first place.”

Alwyn looked at her, his mouth dropping open. “I can’t, not now. Don’t you see, Kaman Rhal’s power is here. Somebody or something is wielding the white fire. I don’t even want to think about the idea of an army of the dead.” In fact, Alwyn had spent the last few weeks thinking of nothing but, as the shadows of his fallen comrades never left him.

“What do you think you can do? Why must men always rush about yelling at the top of their lungs threatening to do something?” Nafeesah asked.

The sound of breaking furniture came up through the floor, which briefly intrigued Alwyn, because all he could remember seeing were pillows.

“I really need to go,” Alwyn said, buttoning up his jacket. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is I need to find out, and I need to tell my sergeant.” He began to part the curtains, then turned and came back to kneel beside Nafeesah. He felt as if he needed to say something reassuring, though whether it was for her or himself he wasn’t certain. “Maybe, when all this is over, I’ll be able to come back here…and see you.” He leaned in to kiss her. Their lips touched and Alwyn forgot everything. For a blissful moment, there was no pain, no oath, no death.

“You’re smiling,” Nafeesah said, her lips still pressed to his.

“Thank you,” Alwyn said, not wanting the kiss to end.

Nafeesah pulled back and looked him in the eye. “You can thank me properly on your return.”

Alwyn’s smile faltered. “I’d like that, but I—”

She put a finger to his lips. “You will return, Alwyn Oath Taker, Elf of Iron. I know it.”

Alwyn held her gaze, then a thought struck him. He gently grabbed her hand and held it. “What do I tell the others, about this? Us? I mean, what was supposed to happen up here?”

Nafeesah shook her head, brushing her curls in Alwyn’s face. “You tell them you were so exceptional, I refused to take your money.”

More shouting shook the walls. “I really should get down there.”

She nodded. “Be safe.”

Alwyn let go of her hand and turned to leave. Nafeesah grabbed his arm and pulled him back. They shared one more kiss. Alwyn had begun to wonder if he really did need to rush downstairs when the sound of shattering glass came up from the stairwell. “I’ve got to go!” he said, turning and hobbling to the stairs. He took one last look back at Nafeesah and then went through the curtains and down the stairs.

At the bottom he found himself in the middle of a full-fledged brawl.

It seemed Yimt’s attempts to prevent a riot hadn’t succeeded. As Alwyn’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom he realized it wasn’t Iron Elves against locals, but rather Iron Elves against a group of soldiers from the 12th Regiment. The locals were running for cover.

Yimt was pummeling a sergeant from the 12th while Hrem, Scolly, and Teeter were surrounded by at least seven soldiers. Inkermon had a broken bottle in one hand and a glass of wine in the other and was holding three more soldiers at bay. Zwitty was nowhere in sight.

“Duck!”

Alwyn crouched, unsure if the warning had been directed at him. The woosh of a bottle passing over his head suggested it had. He stood back up as two soldiers of the 12th charged toward him.

“There’s another one of the buggers.”

Alwyn reached for the first weapon he could find and came up with a pillow. He ripped the covering and tossed it into the air, scattering feathers everywhere. In the ensuing confusion, he ran through the white cloud and met the soldiers on the other side. His fist struck first. The nose of one soldier made a wet, crunching sound and he dropped straight to the floor. The second soldier hit Alwyn in the jaw, sending him reeling backward. Alwyn reached up and put his spectacles back in place, amazed they hadn’t broken. The soldier came on, his fist poised to punch again, when he stopped, staring at Alwyn’s wooden leg.

“Aw, hell, I didn’t realize you was a cripple.”

Another wet, crunching sound came as the soldier’s teeth flew out of his mouth. Lightning exploded in Alwyn’s hand, but he only smiled and looked around for more.

Whistles and shouting sounded from outside, and there was a mad rush toward the rear of the pub. Hrem grabbed Alwyn up under one arm and carried him. There were more beaded curtains and then they were in an alley.

“Put me down, Hrem, I can barely breathe,” Alwyn said.

“What, oh, sorry,” Hrem said, setting him onto the ground.

“Everyone accounted for?” Yimt said, rearranging his shako on his head. He was puffing and his face was red, but for all of that he was smiling. “Where’s Zwitty?”

“Right here,” Zwitty said, emerging from the back door of the pub. He was carrying two muskets, one of which he threw to Alwyn. “Don’t want to lose that.”

Alwyn caught it and nodded his thanks. The others were catching their breath and buttoning up their jackets. Teeter had a nasty gash on his forehead and both of Hrem’s hands were bloodied, but otherwise they looked as if they’d fared well. Inkermon was still clutching his now-empty wine glass.

“What was that all about?” Alwyn asked as Yimt started to lead them down the alley. Without a word the soldiers spread out, their muskets ready in their hands.

“That,” Yimt said, “was about regimental pride. Those cheeky buggers thought they’d make a few disparaging remarks about the Prince and the major, so we had to tune them up proper. A rather energetic discussion ensued, which I think you caught the tail end of.”

“But we’ve complained about them ourselves,” Alwyn said.

“Aye, we have, and that’s our right. They’re our colonel and second-in-command and we have the right, nay, the
duty
to complain about ’em. Them other duffers don’t. Just the way it works.”

Alwyn tried to get his head around that. “Even so, now none of you get to go upstairs”

Yimt turned to look at him, the smile still on his face. “True, but
you
did. So how did it go?”

Alwyn felt all their eyes on him.

“Not the way it was supposed to,” Alwyn said, remembering too late what Nafeesah had told him to say. Before the hooting could start up, he quickly related everything else about Kaman Rhal and the white fire.

Teeter shook his head. “You sure you didn’t dream all that? You were hitting the hookah pretty hard.”

Alwyn shook his head. “I was wide awake, believe me. Look, if what she said is true, even some of it, then we know what we’re dealing with.”