The Light of Burning Shadows (24 page)

“Anything in this tunnel heard that shot,” Hrem said. “We’d best keep moving. Tyul might be just ahead.”

“At least there’s one less skeleton to worry about,” Teeter said, trying to sound jovial.

Visyna hoped he was right. She followed Hrem as he led off. Jir stayed beside her. The bengar licked at his shoulder a few times and favored his right front paw, but for having been inches from death he was in remarkably good shape.

Hrem stopped and held up his hand. Jir tilted his head to one side as if listening. Visyna shook her head and strained to hear what had gotten their attention.

“I can’t hear anything, but I smell fresh air, as if a door just opened,” Visyna said. She smelled something else, something familiar. Pipe clay. Gunpowder.
There were more soldiers in the tunnel!

“Hrem, there are so—” she started to say, but the rest of the sentence caught in her throat. Soldiers lined the tunnel ahead of them. They were still cast in shadow so that Visyna could not make out their faces, but their outline was unmistakable.

One of the soldiers stepped forward until he was visible in the dim glow. He held a musket in his hands and had it leveled at his hip ready to fire. Visyna’s eyes widened. “You!”

Private Takoli Kritton smiled. He was still dressed in the uniform of an Iron Elf. A large, black blade with a distinctive kink in it hung from a leather thong on his cartridge belt. Visyna recognized it as Sergeant Arkhorn’s drukar.

“Imagine finding you all here,” Kritton said, his voice smooth and calculating. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come with me. The way ahead is blocked.”

“Tyul is up there, Kritton,” Hrem said, looking past the elf at the soldiers behind him. He was squinting, trying to make them out. “Some skeleton demons have the body of one our men. They’re trying to take his soul! We have to go after him.”

Kritton went pale. “Be thankful they only have the one. The creatures you speak of are the long-dead remains of Kaman Rhal’s army. They started gathering up the dead again shortly after the first Star reappeared in Luuguth Jor, but that is none of our concern.”

“How can you say that?” asked Visyna.

“Because for too long the Empire dictated what was right and wrong, but no longer.” Kritton leered at her. “Don’t look so surprised, isn’t that what you’re always saying? Just like Elfkyna, there’s a power growing in this desert, and it is welcome to this wasteland.”

“You sound well informed for someone who’s been on the run,” Visyna said, glaring at the elf.

“I’ve had my eyes opened to a lot of things,” Kritton said. “Knowledge is a powerful tool, especially if you know how to use it.”

“What are you talking about?” Visyna asked. “You ran away in Elfkyna when these men stayed and fought. And now you stand here as if nothing has happened.”

Anger flashed in Kritton’s eyes, but he kept his voice calm. “Much has happened. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“You’re in no position to be giving orders anymore,” Hrem said, taking a step forward. “You’re a deserter, or have you forgotten the forest in Elfkyna when you saved your own miserable skin and left the rest of us to die?”

“We’re all dead anyway if something isn’t done,” Kritton said, his lips white with anger. “I ran because I saw a chance to get away and make a difference. I wasn’t trying to save my life, I was trying to save all of us from this abomination,” he said, taking a hand off his musket and grabbing at his uniform above his heart.

“You had the right idea,” Zwitty said, inching forward. “See, I told the lot of you desertin’ was the smart move.”

If Zwitty had expected a sign of approval from Kritton he didn’t get it. “I did not desert!” Kritton shouted. “We are here to set things right. We will no longer follow the orders of those who deceive and dishonor us!”

Visyna stepped forward before anyone else could speak. “Who is ‘we’?”

Kritton looked over his shoulder and whispered something. The soldiers behind him came forward, their muskets pointing at Visyna and Hrem. Visyna gasped. Every soldier had a shorn left ear tip while the right still had its point.

“We,” Kritton said, a look of fierce pride on his face, “are the
true
Iron Elves.”

No one said a word. A tear came to Visyna’s eye. These were Konowa’s men, his brothers. She looked at them all, seeking to understand who they now were. All still wore the uniform of the Calahrian Imperial Army. The cloth was tattered and worn, but their muskets gleamed with care. Each stood at least six feet tall, their frames thinner than Konowa’s, not as broad across the shoulders. Gaunt faces looked back at her. None sneered, none smiled. She looked into their eyes and understood why.

These elves were in pain. Enormous pain. She sensed it without needing to weave the air. They had been abandoned and dishonored, and none of it had been their fault.

“Listen to me, all of you. Whatever Kritton has told you is a lie. Konowa did not desert you. The reason we are here now is you! He has come back for you. We’ve all come here for you,” she said, pointing around her at the other soldiers. “Even now your regiment goes to battle. Go to Konowa and help him. He needs you.”

Kritton’s laugh echoed off the tunnel walls. “He needs us? What about when we needed him? Where was he then? No, Miss Tekoy, we will not be fooled again. Our honor will be restored, but it will not be by him.”

Visyna cast her gaze across the elves in front of her, searching for a sign that some of them, or even one, would listen to her. Each elf met her gaze, their eyes revealing what they would not say. She refused to give up.

“You know this is wrong! I can see it. This isn’t who you are. No one can take away your honor. Being banished here was terrible, I understand that, but only you hold your fate in your hands. Only you—”

“Enough!” Kritton roared. “You will not lecture us again. We have already regained our honor, and you’re going to see how. Now move,” he ordered, motioning her toward the tunnel entrance.

Visyna started to make one more plea, but Hrem reached out a hand and touched her arm.

“Forget it, Miss Tekoy. They aren’t the elves we thought they were.”

Visyna could only nod. As she stepped into the side tunnel the only consolation she could muster was that she was glad Konowa wasn’t here to witness what his elves had become.

K
onowa turned and looked at the regiment. Already they had edged out onto the sand. Death stood just a short distance away yet still the sergeants had to restrain the men from lunging forward. They knew battle was upon them, and they were ready. Frost fire limned them as darkness grew.

It was time.

Konowa and the Prince trotted their camels back to the oasis and brought them to a halt in front of the column. Konowa looked to the Prince, who nodded. Konowa cleared his throat. “Iron Elves…shoulder arms!” As one, they picked up their muskets in their right hands and threw them across their chests. Frost fire arced from bayonet to bayonet as they moved through the air. Each soldier caught it with his left, cradling the butt of the musket in his palm and pressing the musket against his left shoulder.

“Color Party will keep the Colors low until we are through the gap.” Konowa knew that without the order the Color Party would hoist the flags high, their pride overcoming their instinct for survival. They would all be targets soon enough, but Konowa didn’t want to lose the Color Party through sheer foolhardy bravery.

“The regiment will march in column…by the center…march!” A drummer with the 3rd Spears immediately set up a rhythm to keep everyone in time. Konowa steered his camel toward the young boy. “When you see me raise my saber, then drop it, I want you to pick it up to double time.”

The drummer nodded and kept up his pace. Konowa trotted his camel back to the front of the column and then out past it to where the Prince and Viceroy Alstonfar waited. “I suggest you both get to the middle of the column. It’ll be safest there.”

The Prince looked toward the battle, then at Konowa. “You’re right, but I won’t. These are my men, and the only way to lead is from the front.”

“Your Highness, Major Swift Dragon is right,” the Viceroy said. “You are the future King of the Calahrian Empire. You must be protected.”

Prince Tykkin smiled and slapped the side of his camel with his scabbard. The animal brayed and went down to its knees and the Prince dismounted. Konowa and the Viceroy followed suit. “I shall lead them on foot,” the Prince said, adjusting his tunic and reaching up to push his shako a little tighter onto his head.

Konowa knew he should object, but a part of him admired the Prince for this. It was foolish, needlessly reckless, and the men would see it and their chests would swell and their eyes would glint and woe be to the enemy that stood astride their path.

“Go, Pimmer,” the Prince said, reaching out and placing a hand on the Viceroy’s shoulder. “Get yourself back there and try not to be too big a target.”

The Viceroy licked his lips nervously and then shook his head. “Respectfully, no. I am the Viceroy of this territory, and whatever else people might think of me, it will not be said that this day I added coward to the list. My place is here, and if you don’t like it, I suggest you take it up with the Queen next time you see her.”

The Prince stood with an ever-widening grin on his face, looking at the Viceroy before turning to Konowa. “I do believe, Major, that I have just been told to go stuff myself.”

Konowa smiled. “Actually, sir, I think it’s a bit more accurate to say Pimmer has instructed you to get stuffed, but close enough.”

The sound of marching boots heralded the front of the column. “Well then, gentlemen, we shall lead this regiment into the gap and let nothing stand in our way. To the Star!”

Konowa and the Viceroy drew their sabers, and all three raised them in the air. “To the Star!” Boots crunched over sand and rock with an inexorable beat. The entire regiment took on a slight lean as it anticipated the fall of the saber. Konowa let his saber fall.

The drumbeat sped up and the regiment shouted. The men began to march faster, keeping time with the drum. The cannons wheeled to the fore, the mule drivers cracking their whips to keep the animals in check.

Ahead of them, the battle raged. To the left, the warriors of the Hasshugeb were slowly falling back. They had formed a ragged line several hundred yards wide, firing their muskets in sporadic volleys at the rampaging
drakarri
spitting their deadly fire. Several of the creatures rushed forward, breaking the line and wreaking absolute havoc among the panicked Hasshugeb. White flames spiked twenty feet into the air as warriors were consumed in the supernatural furnace.

The sound of the Suljak’s voice cut through the din and the fire died down. More musket fire ripped the night air and several
drakarri
fell. It was just enough of a respite to allow the Hasshugeb to reform their line and continue in as orderly a retreat as they could manage.

Over on the right flank it was a different story. The
sarka har
slashed and shrieked as they pushed forward against the white fire. The trees were actually tearing themselves apart in an effort to kill the
drakarri
by whipping their branches around with such force that the limbs broke free and sailed through the air like spears.

Konowa had hoped Her forest would be contained by Kaman Rhal’s creatures, but the blood trees were still gaining ground. A shadowy figure at the edge of Her forest wielded a lance of pure frost fire that none of the fire creatures could withstand. Wherever it moved, frost fire overwhelmed the
drakarri
and left them gutted husks.

“Her Emissary,” Konowa spat.

The Prince and the Viceroy said nothing. It occurred to Konowa then just how remarkable it was that both men were marching beside him. Neither the Prince nor the Viceroy were bound by the Blood Oath of the Iron Elves. They did not have the power of the frost fire burning within them, yet they did not flinch as the Iron Elves marched closer to the fray.

They approached to within five hundred yards of the canyon opening. The Prince raised his saber again and waved it back and forth, then brought it down. The regiment halted. The drummer ceased his drumming as boots thudded to a halt in the sand. The sounds of battle washed over the regiment as it stood, waiting.

The Prince and the Viceroy walked back toward the column while Konowa strode several paces away on its right flank. He then turned and faced the regiment. “Colors to the center, 3rd Spears to the right and left flanks…the regiment will form two rows in line…now!” Despite the horror taking place in front of the column, it spread out with smooth precision, each soldier taking measured steps as he found his place. In moments, the Iron Elves stretched out across the sand in two neat rows facing the canyon.

“Nine-pounder cannons to the right flank, six-pounder to the left…deploy!” Whips cracked and wheels creaked as the gun crews brought their guns up to the line. The cannons were quickly unhitched and the mule teams taken back behind the line while the gun crews rushed to get their guns set for firing. Cannonballs and powder charges were unloaded from limbers as the gun commander of each cannon began sighting down the barrel and adjusting the elevating screw.

Konowa glanced toward the canyon. A blue light was beginning to fill the sky just inside the opening between the two rocky shoulders. The way forward was littered with burning bodies. Fire creatures dashed back and forth spitting white flame while musket fire popped. The
sarka har
continued to grow, pushing the boundary of the forest ever closer to the canyon opening. The Iron Elves were going to have to move fast.

“Cannons…on my command…fire!”

Round shot hurtled out of the three cannon barrels and arced across the night sky toward the mayhem ahead. The shots fell short, but this was not a bad thing. The iron balls bounced low over the sand, smashing through anything that stood in their way. A
drakarri
exploded in a flash of white that temporarily turned night into day.
Sarka har
were cut down by the dozen, their trunks shorn in two by the shot.

Round after round roared from the cannons and the troops watching cheered as the path ahead was cleared. All too soon, however, the last shot left the barrels and silence reigned across the line of Iron Elves. The smoke from the cannons drifted lazily up into the sky and once more the voice of battle swept over them.

“Regiment…make ready!”

The muskets of the front-row men dropped from their shoulders and came to rest at their hips. Those in the back rank brought their muskets across their chest to port.

Konowa stayed to the side, raising his musket again. Frost fire flared along the length of the blade.

“By the left…march!”

Every soldier stepped forward and the Iron Elves began the march toward the canyon. The drummer picked up the beat again.

Fire creatures turned to face the regiment, their jaws opening to reveal the furnaces that burned inside.

“Steady!”

Konowa sensed a cold fury from the
sarka har
and saw Her Emissary begin to angle the forest toward the Iron Elves. The regiment continued its steady pace, closing the distance with measured steps. Whatever fear the soldiers felt was suppressed by the proximity of the soldier to either side of him. They were one, and they would live or die as one.

He took a quick look to where the 3rd Spears were lined up, wondering too late if the terror of this night was too much for men not bound by an oath such as that of the Iron Elves. He could see immediately that he needn’t have worried. The soldiers of the 3rd Spears were inching their way forward by taking longer strides, so that they were making a mess of the line. More than one sergeant was yelling at them to hold to the pace. The soldiers’ eyes were wide and intent on the battle ahead of them. While the tips of their swordlike bayonets did not sparkle with frost fire, there was a fierceness in their stance that imbued them with a power no magic could ever fully replicate. These were warriors, and they would taste blood this night.

Already, the gap cleared by the cannon fire was beginning to close up again. Konowa knew it was now or never.

“Regiment…halt!” Again boots crashed down on the ground and dust swirled up around them. The rear rank took one extra half step forward and to the right, interlocking the two rows so that every soldier had a clear shot to the front. “Front rank…prepare to volley…fire!”

The front row of the Iron Elves vanished in a cloud of smoke as musket balls spat forth. They tore through the creatures with satisfying violence, but more surged from the sand to take the place of the fallen.

“Second rank…prepare to volley…fire!”

Before the smoke had cleared, Konowa was racing forward. The Prince and the Viceroy, breaking all tradition and ignoring common sense, came through the double line to join Konowa out front. Viceroy Alstonfar’s breath whistled like a kettle on the boil, but he did not slow down.

“By column…the regiment will march…now!”

Color Sergeant Salia Aguom strode forward with the Colors as the two lines fell into place behind them. Screams burst from the forest as the Iron Elves began to enter the gap. The fire creatures spat fire in front of their advance, but Konowa had expected this.

The acorn against his chest grew frigid and then the frost fire roared to life in his hands. Shadows emerged from the darkness and kept pace with the regiment, shielding it in a black wall of flame as white fire lanced and arced across the sky. The opening into the canyon was clear. Only a hundred yards to go. The sky above the canyon grew to a deep, pulsing blue. Konowa knew it was time.

He raised his saber in the air. The Prince did the same. “Regiment…”

The Iron Elves roared. The Colors shot proudly into the air, unfurling and blowing full.

“Charge!”

Tyul followed Jurwan as the wizard scampered along the stone floor. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if Tyul was following. Tyul kept pace, though the pain from the power flowing through the rock weighed him down until it felt like walking through water.

The floor became easier to see, and Tyul realized they were approaching an opening. Jurwan continued without slowing and disappeared into the light. Tyul hurried as fast as he could, drawing his oath dagger and shielding his eyes as he stepped out from the tunnel. He heard the language of his tribe called out to him and he relaxed. Tyul lowered his arm and tried to understand what he saw. Dozens of elves stood before him, all wearing the uniform of the Calahrian Empire. Their shorn left ears identified them immediately, but that wasn’t what left Tyul stunned as they gathered around him and escorted him away.

He hadn’t entered a room at all—he had set foot in the deep forest in the Hyntaland.

He was home.