The Light of Burning Shadows

TWENTY-NINE

Konowa fumed as they came upon the oasis. The sun had almost dipped below the horizon and a cold wind was blowing in from the north. The Suljak’s lies and gambits made his head spin. He tried to marshal an argument in his mind that would sway the Suljak to reconsider, then tried to think of a way to convince the Prince to ignore the agreement-he even considered using brute force to beat the old man into submission-but he knew with every second that it no longer mattered.

Her forest was huge. Sarka har stretched as far as the eye could see, and his elven eyes could see far. Everything to the north was a sea of seething black death. For centuries the elves of the Long Watch had kept this horror confined to a mountain peak. Even in Elfkyna it had amounted to only a few thousand at most, but now, it covered hundreds of miles. Konowa looked to the sky and found himself wishing he believed in a god so that he could pray. He tried anyway. “If anyone’s listening, it’s about bloody time you got off your damn cloud and did something useful.”

Just a few thousand yards away the lead elements of the Hasshugeb warrior army stood and waited. They looked impressive on top of their camels and seemed calm, despite the wall of black death approaching. The Prince and the Suljak rode around the oasis and toward the Suljak’s army. Konowa chose to stay back with the Iron Elves. He looked around, and on spying Color Sergeant Aguom motioned for him to come over. The sergeant jogged over and saluted. Konowa leaned over the side of the camel while trying to keep his balance.

“Get the men into the oasis, but I want them pushed right to the far edge and ready to march out the other side. We will not be staying here tonight.”

Sergeant Aguom looked over his shoulder at the approaching forest, then back to Konowa. “I hope it’s a bigger Star this time.”

Konowa could only nod. He dismissed him and guided his camel through the oasis. Signs of battle littered the ground. There were no bodies, but he wasn’t certain that was a good thing. He got to the other side of the oasis and then watched as the regiment marched through. Satisfied, he urged his camel forward.

The Shadow Monarch’s forest had come to the very edge of the right shoulder of the Canyon of Bones while the massed riders of the desert tribes had reached the left. Neither had yet engaged the other, but the gap between them would close within the hour. If Konowa was going to get the Iron Elves in the canyon it had to be now.

The Prince and the Suljak were talking with some of the Hasshugeb warriors. Konowa tried to urge his camel forward, but the animal jerked to a halt and refused to budge. He cursed and gave it a whack with the flat of his hand, but the animal would not move. The other camels began to act oddly as their riders fought to keep them under control. A moment later the sand around them geysered into the air and scaly beasts emerged, their jaws alight with white fire.

“My drakarri,” the Suljak said. He dismounted from his camel and walked toward the creatures.

The drakarri followed his movements, their heads moving in perfect time with his steps. White flame dribbled from their jaws and spilled onto the sand, where it fused the grains into blackened glass.

The Suljak turned and looked at Konowa. The acorn against Konowa’s chest crackled with frost as the two locked eyes.

“I told you, Major, that politics is a messy business! But in the end, power is what rules the day. And this,” he said, sweeping his hands to encompass the drakarri arrayed before him, “is my power! This is the power of the desert!”

The Suljak turned back to the creatures and began to speak. The wind picked up, and sand particles swirled into the air. The voice the Suljak spoke with was in a tongue that grated on Konowa’s ears. He knew without understanding that it was an ancient language. Hundreds more of the creatures clawed their way out of the sand. As each breached the surface it turned to look at the Suljak. His voice rose higher, and with it the wind began to howl. Konowa raised an arm to protect his face from the wind-whipped sand.

As one, the creatures turned and began to move toward the forest. They scrabbled forward on their stubby legs, their jaws snapping in anticipation. Frost fire engulfed the leading sarka har as the sand around them froze over.

It was nightmare against nightmare.

Then the drakarri stopped.

The Suljak’s voice rose above the howl of the wind, his arms high as he commanded the creatures. The drakarri started to move against Her forest again, then turned around and began crawling back toward the Hasshugeb warriors.

Ice crystals of warning seared Konowa’s senses as a new voice carried on the wind. It was coming from the Canyon of Bones. This voice rasped the very air, and Konowa shuddered. He sensed commotion in the ranks and turned. “Steady! Steady, lads.”

The Suljak shouted again, but the creatures were no longer listening. Their heads were cocked as the voice from the canyon called to them. Their jaws snapped open and closed as more white flame dripped down to splatter on the sand.

Then the voice from the canyon ripped through the air like a cannon volley.

The drakarri shrieked, and half of them wheeled and charged toward Her forest. The others charged at the Hasshugeb warriors.

“No!” the Suljak screamed, as white fire began to arc among the assembled warriors. The Hasshugeb muskets crackled to life. Konowa called up the frost fire and smacked the camel again. This time it moved.

He held on as it galloped across the sand toward the Prince. When they got close, Konowa pulled back on the reins and shut his eyes. Miraculously, the camel stopped, perhaps finding some small comfort in being around others of its kind.

The Suljak was slowly walking backward, shaking his head. “No, this cannot be. I command the power! The Shadow Monarch cannot be this strong so far from Her mountain.” He used the ancient language again, but the drakarri paid him no heed. They were listening to a voice much, much older.

Konowa looked around them. Men screamed and sarka har flailed as the white fire scorched the sand and everything on it. “Isn’t it obvious? You didn’t just call back Kaman Rhal’s power-you got him back as well!”

“No, that’s not possible. The power flows through me, I command it,” the Suljak said, looking down at his own hands. He raised his eyes and pointed at Konowa. “You! You’ve done this. It’s your corrupting influence that has caused this to happen.”

“The major is a loyal officer, and I will not have him slandered,” the Prince said, striding forward to come between the Suljak and Konowa. “Get those abominations under control.”

The Suljak glared at Konowa. “You conspire with the Shadow Monarch. Before your arrival my control was complete. I underestimated you and the power you wield, but I will not make that mistake again.” He brought both hands together and closed his eyes. Wind roared around the three of them as the sand beneath their feet began to shift.

Konowa reached inside himself for the frost fire, but the power of the Suljak’s magic made it difficult to bring it forth. He tried again, but all he could manage was a small flicker.

Prince Tykkin glanced over at Konowa, then at the Suljak. Without a word, the Prince cocked his right fist back and slammed it into the Suljak’s face. The old man flew backward and landed on his back. The wind died down.

“In light of current circumstances, our agreement,” the Prince said, “is null and void.”

The voice from the canyon grew louder. The white fire on the desert floor burned brighter. The sound of screaming intensified.

Konowa looked at the Prince, and for a moment couldn’t find the words. Finally, he turned back to the Suljak, who was slowly climbing to his feet. He was no longer a powerful manipulator, but a scared old man. “It looks as if your game wasn’t deep enough,” Konowa said. He spat the words, unable to keep his disgust in check. He turned back to the Prince. “Once that gap closes we have no chance of breaking through, sir. We need to move now while there’s enough chaos out there.”

The Prince studied the gap. “Can we get them through?”

Konowa nodded. He’d get them through if he had to kill every living and dead thing in his path. The time for gambits was over. “Yes, but we have to go now.”

The Suljak looked at them both, a mad light in his eyes. “We are still part of the Empire. It is your duty to save my people. I…I command you to save my people! Call forth your soldiers and rid the desert of these defilers! You brought all of this upon us. You must fix it!” His calm demeanor was gone. In its place was something Konowa recognized all too clearly.

“Your people’s only hope is if we get to the Star before anything else,” Konowa said. “They can’t get to the canyon now, and Her forest is held at bay, but that won’t last for long.”

The Suljak watched the battle and wrung his hands. “The Jewel of the Desert is returning. It must be protected. It cannot fall into the wrong…hands.”

“It won’t, if you get your men out of here,” Konowa said. “If they stay on the field of battle, they die.” He grabbed the Suljak by his robes and spun him around. “Look at what’s happening. I don’t give a damn about how messy politics might be. This is a battle now. The time for the finer points of manipulation are over. This is slaughter!”

White fire burned in patches all over the sand, marking the bodies of fallen Hasshugeb warriors. Riderless camels galloped past in fear, some on fire. They left ghostly images of flame and terror on Konowa’s mind as they disappeared into the night. A few sarka har snaked forward until their branches were able to stab down at the drakarri spitting fire at them. White and black flame exploded wherever the two powers met. The space between became an inferno of swirling tremendous magics. Men screamed, animals shrieked and howled, and over it all a voice of ancient power drove the fire creatures to ever greater frenzy.

“You are still the Suljak of the Hasshugeb,” the Prince said, his face white as he watched the destruction unfold. “Do your duty and save your men. I will determine the fate of the Star later.”

Konowa shook the Suljak. “Tell your men to fall back from the canyon opening. If they keep dying where they are we’re going to have a hard time walking over all the bodies,” Konowa said, knowing it was cruel and not giving a damn.

The Suljak began to shake. “This is not how it was supposed to happen. It was planned so well. It was…beautiful.”

The musket fire of the Hasshugeb warriors grew more controlled, but Konowa doubted that would last for long. The voice from the canyon directing the drakarri kept growing louder. Thoughts of controlling that voice vanished from Konowa’s mind.

They’d be lucky to survive.

“And this is now!” Konowa shouted. “Order your warriors to fall back. You can worry about your precious plans later.”

The Suljak looked up, his eyes glazed over. “The Star, the Star is all that matters.”

“Do as the major says, Suljak! Get your men away from here and the Star will be saved,” the Prince shouted. His fist was clenched again for another punch. Konowa did not reach out to hold his arm.

“I…I will order my men back,” the Suljak said. “We will regroup in the desert.”

“Go to hell,” Konowa said.

The Suljak climbed back onto his camel, snapped the reins, and began to trot toward the battle. Several tribal leaders rode out to meet him. The conference was quick. The leaders galloped their camels back to their men and began shouting orders.

“Major, we have our opening,” the Prince said. “Let’s go get that Star.”

The bengar lay crouched on the tunnel floor. There was a long gash on his right shoulder where the musket ball had torn across his fur and skin. Visyna put away her dagger and moved closer. Jir’s ears were pressed back on his head and his jaw was open in a snarl. Visyna reached out a hand toward the bengar, but Jir uttered a low, rumbling growl from deep within his chest.

“Easy, Miss Tekoy,” Hrem said, now standing beside her. She hadn’t heard him approach, but her ears were still ringing from the musket shot. “He might be the major’s pet and our mascot, but Jir’s still a wild animal.”

“Is he okay?” Zwitty shouted from way back in the tunnel. Visyna turned and saw he was frantically reloading his musket.

“It’s just a scratch, but you could have killed him.”

“I saw the skeleton so I took the shot,” Zwitty said. He finished reloading and walked slowly toward them. Teeter and Hrem both glared at him.

Jir’s growl grew louder when he spied Zwitty. Visyna turned back to the bengar and tried to calm him. “It’s all right, Jir, it was only an accident. Zwitty’s sorry, aren’t you?”

“Trying to save our lives is what I was doing,” Zwitty muttered. “How was I supposed to know he’d be coming back with half a skeleton?”

“Tell Jir you’re sorry,” Hrem said, pointing at Zwitty.

“What, why? He’s just a stupid animal.”

Jir showed more teeth and the fur on his back rippled as his muscles tensed.

“You want to be his dinner?” Teeter asked. “Just apologize already.”

“Okay, okay,” Zwitty said. He held his musket across his body as he looked at Jir. “I’m sorry I tried to save us all by shooting at the skeleton and you got in the way.”

Hrem shook his head. “Were you ever human?”

Zwitty looked as if he wanted to shout something, but he just turned and walked a few paces away, muttering under his breath. Jir relaxed and his ears slowly came up as his fur went down. Visyna reached out a hand and this time he didn’t growl. She gently rubbed his head then smoothed his fur down to the wound. Blood matted the fur, but it would heal on its own. She would have woven some magic to help it heal, but not here.

“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.