The Light of Burning Shadows (17 page)

“That’s all well and good,” Yimt said, “but I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“I don’t think we could go back even if we wanted to,” Miss Red Owl said. An artificial daylight was rising up from Nazalla, as now thousands of people were simultaneously lighting lanterns and coming out into the streets. Raised voices could be heard in the distance. Alwyn strained to hear what was being said.

“I don’t understand the language, but that really doesn’t sound good,” he said. Anger, an emotion he was all too familiar with, drove the voices through the streets with growing force. The people of Nazalla were not going to let the Empire take their Star.

“I do,” Rallie said, “and you’re right, it isn’t good.”

“All right, let’s get this little band on the road. Get your arses on the wagon, now,” Yimt said, “we’re moving out.”

A small group of people had formed a line in the street twenty yards away in front of the wagon. They were talking quietly amongst themselves while keeping a watchful eye on the soldiers. Alwyn didn’t see any weapons, but with the loose robes they wore, they could have all manner of them tucked away. More people kept arriving as the crowd built. As they did their whispers became louder. With numbers came courage. This wasn’t going to end well. Before long, the street would be so jammed with people they would never be able to get the wagon through.

“Listen up,” Yimt said, “no one do anything stupid and fire a shot. They aren’t prepared to openly attack the Empire…yet. Let’s see if we can’t ease our way out of here and not give them an excuse. Stay calm, no shouting, no sudden movements, and for the love of whatever creator you pray to,
no frost fire.
”

Inkermon began to pull out his bayonet, but Yimt motioned for him to stop. “No bayonets either. Accidentally stabbing someone won’t help our cause one bit. Right now we’re outnumbered about thirty thousand to ten, so let’s keep our heads on straight and we’ll get through this just fine.”

“You cannot take our Star!”

Alwyn tried to see who had shouted that, but it was impossible to tell. He saw people nod. A few even raised their fists. It felt like the first drop of rain. The air hummed. A storm was about to break.

“Go back to Calahr and leave us alone!”

“We can’t, we’re going into the desert to—”

Yimt slapped Scolly on the back. “Did you hear anything I said? We’re trying to prevent a riot,” he hissed.

“It’s true!” someone shouted. “They are here to take the Star! They must be stopped!”

“Time to go,” Rallie said. “I’d suggest everyone hold on tight. Visyna, be a dear and give us a little light?”

The surge of voices around them grew, as did the size of the crowd. Nothing had been thrown, yet, but Alwyn could see clenched fists. The anger of an entire people was boiling to the surface in Nazalla, and they were right in the middle of it.

Visyna climbed up to stand on top of the canvas-covered cages in the back of the wagon and began weaving the air with her hands. “I’ll steady you,” Alwyn said, climbing back to help.

“Thank you, Alwyn, but you can’t. The power in you is…not compatible with mine. Chayii will steady me.” Alwyn started to object, but realized she was right. He doubted there was anything in the world that was compatible with the power the Iron Elves had acquired. He crouched on top of the wagon and brought his musket around to face forward.

The crowd grew even louder as more shouts rose up. They were no longer simply directing them to go home. Alwyn saw more than one man make a cutting motion across his neck, then point at him. The meaning was clear.

A brilliant, white light suddenly appeared a few hundred yards to the west. It hovered a hundred feet or so above the ground, the light so strong it was impossible to look straight at it. Joyous cries of “The Star, the Jewel of the Desert!” rose from the crowd, and the Nazalla citizenry turned and stampeded toward it.

“And that would be my cue,” Rallie said, snapping the reins. The wagon lurched forward as the brindos responded. People still lined the street in front of them, but now their attention was riveted on the appearance of the “Star. A charging wagon with fearsome-looking creatures pulling it was something interesting only insofar as they were concerned about getting out of its way.

Rallie never let up as they thundered through the narrow streets of Nazalla. The breeze felt wonderful on Alwyn’s face, but it was hard to enjoy as he fought to keep his shako on his head and himself on the wagon as it bumped and swayed over the cobbles.

“I can’t do this much longer!” Visyna shouted.

Alwyn turned and looked up at her. She was still weaving the air, but every time the wagon jolted, the pattern would falter and the “Star” she had created would flicker. Rumblings from the crowd in the street suggested they were beginning to have their doubts as well.

“Just a little bit more!” Rallie shouted, slapping the reins hard as the brindos broke into a full gallop.

Alwyn gave up any pretense of trying to watch for trouble and clung to the canvas with everything he had. Buildings and clusters of people flashed by in a blur. The light from Visyna’s “Star” fluttered, then went out. A roar went up from the crowd.

All eyes became firmly fixed on the wagon and its occupants. Suddenly, like a boulder perched on the side of a mountain, all the repressed rage and resentment of a people ruled by a foreign sovereignty tumbled forth.

As new voices were added, the anger grew. This land belonged to the people, not the outlanders from across the sea. The soldiers in the wagon were the force behind the Prince’s insulting and threatening proclamation. If they couldn’t attack the Prince, they would avenge themselves on the soldiers in their midst.

A brick, or perhaps a cobblestone, bounced off the side of the wagon. The sreexes squawked and shrieked and Jir growled. Alwyn risked lifting his head and saw several people pointing at them. In the light of the lanterns many were carrying, he saw others tearing up the cobblestone street behind them.

“We’re still not clear!” Rallie shouted, urging her brindos on. “We need one more diversion to get us through.”

“Ally, can you do anything?” Yimt asked, pointing up ahead where another crowd barred their path. Beyond them, Alwyn could see open desert.

“Like what?” Alwyn asked. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“Just do like Miss Tekoy and give ’em a light show.”

Alwyn shook his head, then realized Yimt couldn’t see him. “I’ve never used the magic that way. I don’t know how!”

More and more citizens were running to block their escape. A flaming torch bounced off the side of the wagon, showering the crowd in sparks. People screamed. Up ahead another group was dragging and pushing a wooden cart toward the street. If they got that in place, there was no way the brindos would be able to get through.

“None of us can control it the way you can. You saw what happened to Zwitty. Do something or we’ll have to shoot!” Yimt shouted.

Alwyn saw Yimt start to wrestle his shatterbow into position as the wagon careened around a broken pot in the middle of the street. The side of a building loomed toward Alwyn, then retreated.

“I’ll try!” he shouted, and got to his hands and knees. Hrem reached out a hand to steady him. “Thanks.” Alwyn raised himself up off his hands and held them out before him. Frost fire burst to flame in his palms, but he already knew he couldn’t throw it.

And then he remembered Nafeesah’s room.

“Meri, I need your help,”
Alwyn called out.

The shades of the dead instantly appeared as shadows projected on the walls of the buildings, keeping pace with the wagon as it raced toward the growing crowd. Alwyn focused on the power. The brindos’ breath turned to white clouds and frost sparkled wherever their hooves hit the ground. Jir roared from inside the wagon while the sreexes shrieked in terror. Miss Tekoy and Miss Red Owl cried out, but Alwyn couldn’t stop.

Shards of black ice trailed the wagon wheels and began spreading up the walls of the buildings they passed. Alwyn shivered and pointed forward. The shadows flitted ahead of the wagon and appeared in a line in front of the crowd blocking their path. Swords writhed in icy flames appeared poised to attack. The shadows began to advance.

Some in the crowd shrieked and ran. Those pushing the cart abandoned their effort and scurried away. A few, however, stood their ground.

“No!”

The swords of the dead slashed into the crowd, cutting down any who stood in their path. Frost fire leaped in the air until a wall of shimmering black flame stretched across the entire street.

The brindos screamed as they reached the line of shadows and flame and thundered on through. The whole wagon screeched as if a thousand nails were scraping a chalkboard. Alwyn’s spectacles froze over, his lungs burning with the cold. From somewhere in the wagon, a grown man wailed like a child.

The shadows exploded as if they’d just driven through a black mirror.

Alwyn fell backward and would have tumbled from the wagon if not for Hrem holding on to him.

The wagon continued on its path. Alwyn could just make out that they were free and clear; there were no more buildings beside them.

They had made it through, but at what cost?

W
hat do you mean, gone?”

Konowa raised his voice at the corporal standing at attention before him. The sound of a city in turmoil reverberated around the Viceroy’s palace, and the first rays of the sun were only just beginning to spread out over Nazalla. Konowa had hoped the oncoming heat would quell whatever it was that had stirred up the population, but the dawn of a new day seemed to be doing the opposite. He needed information, now.

The corporal blanched. “It was close to midnight, sir. Just before the people started coming out into the streets. Apparently the men on duty at the southern gate saw the three ladies ride out in Her Majesty’s Scribe’s wagon.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop them?” Konowa asked, then immediately waved the soldier to silence. No sentry was going to stop those three.
Hell, I’m a major and
I
can’t.
“This should have been reported earlier.”

“I know, sir, and I take full responsibility,” the corporal said. “It’s just that once we had people in the streets, the talk of uprising started making the rounds and I suddenly had a lot to deal with. It’s looking like a absolute riot out there.”

Konowa knew the soldier was being honest. “Very well. Get back to your men and keep them calm. Something’s stirred up the citizenry of Nazalla, but we still have the upper hand. The last thing we need right now is some of our men firing off a volley into a crowd of people. This is only our second day in Nazalla—I was hoping to avoid a full-scale rebellion for at least a week.”

The corporal didn’t laugh.

“Go, and keep the lads in check. We’re not on an island anymore,” Konowa said, surprised to find himself wishing they were. The islands—as horrific as they had been—had also been simple. Everything there had been enemy. Here in Nazalla, it was all a gray area.

The corporal saluted and quickly hurried off.

“How dare they!” the Prince shouted, marching up to Konowa and waving away his salute. The Prince’s eyes were red and his usually immaculate uniform was less than pristine. Apparently it had been a long night for everyone.

“Your jacket is buttoned up wrong, Your Highness,” Konowa said.

The Prince looked down at his jacket and stomped his boot on the ground. He began ripping at the buttons to undo them. “I trusted them!”

Konowa kept the surprise from his face as he realized it was up to
him
to calm the Prince down. “We saw this in Elfkyna, too, your Highness. I’m confident we can control the situation and get the city back to calm before too long.”

The Prince looked up from his buttons. “Are you daft? Of course we can control Nazalla. I’m talking about the women. I took…
rip
those three…
rip
into my confidence. I listened to their advice
rip.
I’ve allowed them to travel with us, and I’ve let Rallie…
rip
write whatever she wanted!” A button went sailing through the air like a cannonball launched from the
Black Spike.

Konowa almost reached out a hand of sympathy to rest it on the Prince’s shoulder. Instead he nodded and waited for the Prince to continue. Color Sergeant Salia Aguom—known as “Sally” by absolutely no one wishing to retain what teeth they had in their head—marched up and saluted. The battle scars covering the sergeant’s face looked fearsome even when he smiled, which wasn’t now. Konowa turned to him and returned the salute. The Prince was still working at a final button.

“Beg to report, sir, seven men are absent.”

Konowa quickly ushered Sergeant Aguom a few steps away from the Prince to keep their conversation private. “Let’s keep this between us right now,” he said, motioning with his head to the Prince. “You’ve searched the grounds? Looked in bushes and under carriages? The bordellos?”

Aguom nodded. “Not a sign of them, sir. Last sighting was in a pub called the Blue Scorpion, then all hell broke loose and they ain’t been seen since. The rest of the regiment is accounted for, except for them.”

Konowa thought out loud. “Normally I’d figure they were sleeping it off somewhere, but with all this racket, I hope they’ve done the smart thing and holed up in a safe place. Has there been any word of fighting in the city between our troops and the locals?”

“That’s the thing,” the sergeant said, scratching at the side of his head. “It’s chaos out there. There’s no end to rumors, and trying to make sense out of any of them while we’re bottled up here is next to impossible.”

“Try me,” Konowa said.

Sergeant Aguom looked over at the Prince, who had now flung his jacket to the ground and was shouting for another one to be brought at once. “I don’t know what to make of it, but we got reports of some kind of skirmish in a back alley. Bodies burned to nothing but ash and bits of bone. They say magic was used, Kaman Rhal’s magic…”

The screams of Private Kester Harkon echoed in Konowa’s ears.

“And?”

“More than one person said they saw a small furry creature with a man dressed in black. This man killed several others and turned them into ash. Oh, and he had a big bushy tail…the furry animal, not the man. Sort of sounds like a…well, like—”

“My father,” Konowa murmured, finishing his sentence.
Parents. One takes off without a word, while the other embarks on a killing spree with a crazy elf.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Sergeant Aguom continued.

“No, why would it be.”

Sergeant Aguom ignored Konowa’s sarcasm. “There’s a rumor that several people saw a Star appear over the city, and that when it disappeared a wagon was seen racing out of the city and into the desert.”

“They think the Empire loaded the Star onto a wagon…?”

“Yes, sir. The other rumors say the Star hasn’t arrived yet, and most people seem to believe that, but everyone is certain about this wagon.”

“Why?”

“Well, sir, it’s not often you see a wagon burning with black fire while being pulled by monsters and guarded by creatures of shadow.”

“No, I suppose not,” Konowa said. “Still, if that’s the worst of it, we might be able to calm the waters. The other colonels are no doubt moving their regiments into the city to restore calm.”

Sergeant Aguom shook his head. “They say twenty people were killed trying to stop the wagon.”

The ground spun beneath Konowa’s boots and it took all his strength to stay upright. This nightmare just kept growing. “How certain are you about this?”

“I can’t verify any of it other than the fact that there’s an angry mob now surrounding the palace grounds shouting for the Empire to leave or die. I need to get out into the streets to find out for sure.”

“Careful what you wish for, Color Sergeant,” Konowa said. He paused and ran through scenarios in his head. “Spread the word. I want every soldier ready to march inside the hour. Full packs, greatcoats, rations—everything.” It occurred to Konowa that Sergeant Arkhorn had unofficially taken over the duties of regimental sergeant major since Lorian’s death.
Why wasn’t he here giving Konowa the report?
“And have Sergeant Arkhorn report to me at once.”

Aguom grimaced. “Sir. Sergeant Arkhorn is one of the ones not here. It’s him and his old section that’s missing.”

Konowa gripped the hilt of his saber and let out a slow breath. “When were you planning to tell me this?”

“Honestly, sir, I wasn’t. Old Arkhorn is the best in the business. I figured he’d show up, probably at the head of a parade,” he said, the admiration clear in his voice. “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”

“Granted.”

“He don’t deserve to be flogged, sir, none of the boys do. Those islands were hell. If a man, or dwarf, wants to blow off some steam, I figure that’s his right after something like what we went through. If they aren’t back, it’s because Arkhorn found them a safe place to lie low.”

“No one’s being flogged,” Konowa said, frustrated that he hadn’t stopped the Prince from flogging several soldiers back in Elfkyna. It was the wrong way to discipline a soldier.
Be firm. Be fair. And don’t ask them to do anything you wouldn’t do, and they’d follow you anywhere.
Konowa wished he could have proven that to the troops, but the true ramifications of the Blood Oath had since become apparent, and the Prince had ordered no corporal punishment since.

“The men will appreciate that, sir,” Sergeant Aguom said.

“Just have them ready to march, Sergeant,” Konowa said. He saluted, dismissed the color sergeant, and turned to address the Prince. A violent roar went up from the crowd outside the gates. The number of voices sounded like thousands. Getting out of the palace wasn’t going to be easy.

“Major, I want the regiment on the march as quickly as possible,” the Prince said, buttoning up his new jacket.

Konowa noted that the Prince had no need to switch his medals and ribbons over from one jacket to another, as each tunic came fully decorated. “Sir, about last night—”

“I’ve heard enough to know we need to get out of here now and into the desert. I want the regiment ready. Now. That rabble will not stand in our way.”

“Very good, sir,” Konowa said, relieved to not have to answer questions. “I’ll see to it right away. But how are we going to get out? That crowd is ready to explode.”

The Prince quit fussing with his uniform and strolled over to stand beside Konowa. Konowa instinctively breathed out, hoping to avoid any more of the Prince’s cologne, but was surprised at not smelling any. He realized the Prince was also no longer wearing his personalized shako, the one several inches taller than standard issue. “Perhaps I inadvertently inspired them more than intended,” the Prince remarked.

“Inspired who, sir?”

Prince Tykkin turned to look at Konowa as if it were obvious. “The women, of course, Major. All my talk of a new order and changing the world must have gotten their blood up. Don’t you see? They divined that the next Star was returning and raced out to find it first. No doubt they intend to beat both of us to the punch.”

Konowa had trouble following the Prince’s logic at the best of times, and this was definitely not one of them. “You think they went out…to get the Star for themselves?”

The Prince smiled in that way that made Konowa daily reconsider his oath to serve and protect the Empire and its royal house. “Oh, no, not them. Don’t misunderstand—I hold all three ladies in the highest regard. Their intentions are pure, I am certain. They will find the Star and allow it to serve its function as guardian of these lands and peoples. After all, they wouldn’t want me getting hold of it and taking it back to Calahr. And they most definitely wouldn’t want you getting it and using its power to break the oath.”

“Sir?”

The Prince turned and looked Konowa straight in the eye. “Let’s be frank, Major. Things have changed. I’ve come to realize that capturing a Star for myself is not in my best interest. In fact, I’m better off letting the Star fulfill its apparent destiny. It’s the
appearance
of the Star that matters. That’s what unlocks the power. Think of it, Major. What’s a Star but a path to a treasure a thou-sandfold more rewarding? I’m after Kaman Rhal’s library. This new Star is going to lead me right to it. That’s the real prize.”

Konowa found himself staring at the Prince with something close to admiration. The feeling was as odd as it was unsettling. “Very clever, sir, but what of the elves stationed in the desert? You aren’t suggesting we forsake them out there?”

“On the contrary, Major, I want you to find your elves more than ever. You see, it occurs to me that I’m not the only one who has come to reassess things,” the Prince said. He smoothed out a nonexistent crease in his uniform jacket before continuing. “What would have happened if you had used the Red Star in Elfkyna to break the oath? You and the regiment would have been freed, but at the cost of losing this power you now wield. And without this power, how will you ever take the battle to the Shadow Monarch and finish Her off once and for all?”

“We would find a way, oath or no oath,” Konowa said, the conviction in his voice strong. “But as it stands, this regiment is the most powerful in the entire Calahrian Imperial Army with the oath in place. For the time being, I think it would be foolish to throw that advantage away.”

“I don’t suppose the troops see it that way,” the Prince said, watching as soldiers hurried past in preparation for their departure.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Konowa said. “But they don’t understand things the way we do.” Even as the words left his lips, Konowa felt a twinge of shock at saying them. “And it’s the same with Kaman Rhal’s power. If we find it, we should attempt to use it or forge an alliance with it to defeat the Shadow Monarch. The oath will be broken when the Shadow Monarch is dead, and the quickest way to do that is to employ any and all means we find.”

Prince Tykkin looked at Konowa for several seconds as if seeing him for the first time. “A thought worth considering, Major.”

“Sir, we still have to get out of the palace. The city is seething. We might have to fight our way out,” Konowa said, hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

“You get the regiment ready and let me worry about that.” The Prince saluted and turned and walked away, looking over his shoulder once at Konowa.

Konowa had no time to reflect on that. A group of fifty soldiers from the 3rd Spears, the regiment of dark-skinned warriors from the Timolia Island chain, stood off to one side of the courtyard. As soon as they saw Konowa was free, they stood to attention. It was a magnificent sight. No man looked to be under six feet tall. Unlike the Iron Elves, they wore the traditional uniform of the Calahrian infantry, including the standard dark gray trousers, but they went without boots. The bottom of each pant leg was bound tight around their calves by a long, thin strip of black cloth called a puttee. Konowa marveled that they could march into battle in bare feet, let alone over the hot cobbles of Nazalla.

Each soldier carried a musket slung over one shoulder, but in keeping with their native tradition, instead of regulation bayonets, their muskets sported ones twice as long. Five of them only wore pistols, as they carried the eight-foot-long spears from which the 3rd Spears derived their name. Konowa had seen those spears in combat—spear points filed to create sawlike edges, inflicting truly horrific damage on flesh.