Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

Lightning scorched the branches just feet above him, setting his teeth chattering. His life, what was left of it, now hinged on the caprice of his only monarch.

A moment later, another figure emerged from the dark, materializing from nothing with a cold certainty. Unlike Gwyn, this one did not tremble. Its hooded cloak appeared more like that of the Shadow Monarch. There were no eyes to be seen. It, too, bowed before Her, though not as low.

Gwyn found his mind and body warring with each other as Her Emissary approached. Memories of the torture he had suffered at the cold, dead hands of this monster sent fresh currents of fear coursing through him. Even now, his training as a diplomat told him to show no emotion, but his body was not up to the task. He dug his hands into the ice until they bled, but he could not quell the shaking.

Her Emissary, an elf from the same tribe as Her, had been like Gwyn once, Viceroy to the Queen of Calahr. And like Gwyn he, too, had chosen the path of serving two masters in the belief that he could find the balance and ride the storm that was growing between these two worlds.

Both had been brought to ruin by the same despised elf-Konowa Swift Dragon of the Iron Elves.

Anger almost overcame fear as thoughts of the elf and his friend, the Duke of Rakestraw, ran through Gwyn’s mind. They were the architects of his fall. If there was justice in the world then they both would burn, and then after an agonizing period of suffering, they would be put to death. First, however, he had to survive the Shadow Monarch.

“My Emissary and my Viceroy come to me in failure.”

Gwyn gave up trying to control the shaking. He was absolutely terrified at the sound of Her voice. To hear it in person was to know fear unlike any he had ever known. He raised his head, though he did not look directly at Her, and held out his hands. “I…I have failed you, my Queen. I deserve whatever judgment you see fit.”

The words galled him to say, yet at a certain level he believed them. This was indeed failure, though in it there was opportunity for power. Fear still gripped him in a steel claw, but he spied a way to use it now. He allowed his head to touch the icy ground again.

The trees crackled as branches flexed, shedding ice as they interlaced themselves above his head. It was a ceiling of dangling swords, each hanging by a thread She controlled. Only Her will kept the branches from slicing Gwyn to ribbons.

The Shadow Monarch remained silent for a long time. Sleet continued to fall. Gwyn knew if nothing else happened, he would still die from simple exposure to the elements.

After what felt like an eternity, the Shadow Monarch spoke.

“And you?”

Her Emissary radiated confidence. He had been arrogant in life and had found little humility in death. Gwyn had once marveled at such power, but now in proximity to Her, he understood its limitations. Her Emissary was a tool, a blunt, heavy weapon. There was no subtlety, no finesse. There was but one path for it to take, but if that path diverged such a weapon no longer had any use. Yes, this was a game Gwyn knew how to play. The question was, did Her Emissary?

“As you desired, Konowa Swift Dragon is bound by his oath, as are they all. Many have already succumbed and now inhabit the world between. Losing the Star was unavoidable. There was unforeseen interference.”

“I am aware of her presence.”

Gwyn marshaled all of his remaining energy to not raise his head in surprise. He was trained to detect the slightest wrong note in an opposing diplomat, and he heard one now. Was that annoyance in Her voice? He refused to believe it could be something more powerful, yet if it weren’t for the fact he was freezing to death, he would have sworn he detected a hint of worry.

The Silver Wolf Oak shuddered. A branch untangled itself from the forest and came to rest gently on the Shadow Monarch’s shoulder.

Her Emissary continued as if it heard nothing, which Gwyn suspected was precisely the case.

“Were it not for the power of the Star, Elfkyna would be yours now. It is strong, but it can be overcome.”

Gwyn felt Her Emissary’s gaze upon him and knew the accusation that hung in the air. He refused to take the bait. Gwyn had already offered his life to Her, accepting whatever fate She decreed. He would play this hand to the end.

“My forest in Elfkyna was destroyed. Even now, Konowa hunts them down wherever they grow.”

“I will stop him.”

“No. The elves I seek are not yet found.”

“Then I will find them.”

“No, you will not.”

Gwyn felt more than heard Her command. The branch around Her shoulder lashed out. Shards of ice flew in all directions. Gwyn threw up his hands to cover his face. A single brief scream was lost to the sleet. No echo, no reverberation.

It took a moment for Gwyn to realize the scream wasn’t his, that he was still alive. He lowered his arms and looked up. The body of Her Emissary hung in midair, impaled on the branch. Frost fire raged over it, the flames gouging deeply. The tree flung the body into the waiting branches of its offspring, which set about tearing what was left to shreds.

The branch slowly returned to the Shadow Monarch, curling itself around Her shoulders. Something wet now glistened on its tip and Gwyn saw that it was a blood-soaked obsidian acorn ripped from the chest of Her Emissary.

“Rise.”

Gwyn climbed to his feet, shaking, freezing, unsure of his balance. He dared to look in Her eyes, then found he could not look away.

“Will you accept my gift?”

There was but one answer, and Gwyn found voice enough to give it. “Yes, with all my heart.”

The Shadow Monarch did something then that the former Viceroy of Elfkyna would remember for the rest of his life.

She smiled.

The branch of the Silver Wolf Oak uncoiled itself again from around her and snaked its way toward him.

Slowly.

“Where he failed you will succeed. You will did my child.”

Gwyn wasn’t sure he understood.

The branch inched closer, twisting in the night air.

“Your…child?” The branch continued to come toward him, as Gwyn’s gaze tore away from Hers. Blood still dripped from the acorn.

“Look,” she said. The pool of ichor shimmered once more. A vast ocean appeared. A single ship raced ahead of a growing storm. Soldiers were grouped on the deck around four flag-draped bodies. A ceremony was taking place. Gwyn recognized it at once.

“Konowa Swift Dragon. He is the key. He seeks his brothers, the Iron Elves, and through him you will find the rest of my children and bring them home to me.”

Gwyn nodded. “I will find the Iron Elves for you. I will bring them home.” As he said this, the pool of ichor flared with frost fire as the bodies of the Iron Elves were consigned to the depths. The black flame rose, then settled down, but deep in the center for one brief moment, a pure white flame burned. The Shadow Monarch said nothing, but the air around them grew colder. He gasped for breath as the freezing air bit into his lungs.

Shades now stood where only a moment ago the black of night had filled the spaces between the trees. Their forms were hazy, as if uncertain or unwilling to commit further to the darkness around them. Gwyn counted only three.

“Many have begun the journey already, but there is still a long way to go. Aid me in this, and you will have…my gratitude.”

Gwyn had no time to ponder what that might mean. He wanted to ask what the white flame meant, but the branch shot forth the rest of the distance, piercing his chest. The force of the impact flung his head forward like a snapped twig. He felt the blood-soaked acorn lodge deep within his heart, and tried to scream as pain blossomed through his body. Just as quickly, the branch withdrew, leaving something new in its place.