Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“Your Highness, I really wish you would reconsider,” Pimmer finally managed as he stood up straight and stayed there.

“The matter is settled, Pimmer.”

“But, Your Grace, it is not safe for you to march through the city. This is not Celwyn. The population is restless and there is much talk of insurrection. News of the uprising in Elfkyna and the return of the Star of Sillra has inflamed passions. The people expect the Jewel of the Desert to fall next. Fortunetellers all over the city have been predicting it for days now. The price of tea has tripled in a week.”

Konowa hadn’t heard of the Jewel of the Desert, but it made sense that the Stars would have names appropriate to their locales. If he ever got wind of a Star of Cold Beer and Warm Women, he might just chuck it all and never look back.

“Then it is time to douse those flames, Pimmer. Really, I had expected better of you. You’ve had weeks to prepare for our arrival. What have you been doing with your time, besides gorging yourself?” the Prince asked, using the toe of his boot to nudge him in the stomach.

Konowa was surprised to find himself agreeing with the Prince.

“I have been negotiating with the Suljak of the Hasshugeb,” Pimmer said, then continued when neither the Prince nor Konowa indicated they knew what that meant. “He’s the spiritual leader for every tribe in these lands. From warlord to goatherd, they all listen to him. It is through his intervention that the trade routes remain open. It’s the Suljak, and the Suljak alone, who can talk to the Gaura tribe. They make up half the population. The Suljak has brokered a deal between them and us, and because of that the other tribes are falling into line. Without him, we would be lost here, now more than ever.”

The Prince waved a hand in front of his face to get rid of some flies. “Pimmer, you remain a candle without a wick. The trade routes remain open because we have outposts guarding them and soldiers patrolling them.” The Prince looked down at Konowa and pointed to him. “In fact, you have among the troops at your disposal the original Iron Elves. Despite the major’s past indiscretions, which we won’t get into here, the regiment was, as it is again under my command, Her Majesty’s finest. I am sure the elves you have are up to the task of keeping the rabble in these parts in check.”

“Yes, well…about the elves,” Pimmer began, looking between the Prince and Konowa. “The situation here is a very complicated one. There are certain subtleties that you should be aware-”

“Enough, Pimmer!” the Prince said, his voice spooking his camel. The animal reflexively kicked a front leg out and directly at Konowa. Konowa jumped out of the way, though the foot grazed his saber’s scabbard. “The time for subtlety is over. Events call for action, and I can see I arrived here not a moment too soon. I thought you’d have a chance to prove yourself out here in the southern wastes and away from the pressures that gather at the center of the Empire. It appears even in this vastness you are in over your head. I will deal with you later. Now, we will march, and the people of Nazalla will know that the Empire is the only power that matters.”

Alwyn took his spectacles off and rubbed them against his sleeve. He held them up to the sun and squinted. The glass was scratched in several places. Sighing, he put them back on. A moment later the order to come to attention rang out. Boots slammed down on the cobblestones, kicking up a waist-high dust storm.

The Prince rode a camel in front of the formation and looked out over the regiment with a slow, steady gaze. He paused twice, as if spying something that displeased him, then let his gaze travel on. Alwyn realized he had seen the Prince do this before. Major Swift Dragon was also astride a camel, but where the Prince was steady and at ease, the major looked like someone holding on for dear life. The major’s camel took a half step, then stopped and lowered its head, nearly pitching Major Swift Dragon onto the ground. The major quickly regained his saddle and sawed back on the reins with obvious effort until the camel brought its head up.

The Prince cleared his throat. “Soldiers of the Calahrian Imperial Army! Untold centuries of history look down upon you and will judge your actions,” he said, pointing theatrically out to the desert beyond the city.

A smudge on the horizon indicated a rising plateau, or perhaps just a smudge on Alwyn’s spectacles, he couldn’t be sure. A few soldiers turned to look, some even putting up a hand to shield their eyes. One, and it sounded an awful lot like Scolly, asked, Where? I don’t see nothing.

“Know that I have delivered this very day a proclamation to the peoples of this land, informing them that their days of subjugation at the hands of petty tyrants and wielders of dark magics is at an end. The proclamation reads as follows…”

“Well, that seems a bit holier than thou if you ask me,” Yimt said, dabbing a bit of white pipeclay onto his nose. Alwyn adjusted his spectacles and followed suit. He’d learned that however odd a thing might seem, if Yimt did it it was worth copying…except when it came to recipes…and crute…and drink…actually, there were a lot of exceptions, but often the dwarf got it right.

“What does?”

Yimt spat out a wad of crute, which sizzled and boiled on the sun-baked cobblestones. He immediately shoved a fresh batch between gum and cheek and continued. “Telling us brave and fearless siggers that history is looking down at us, as if we’ve done something wrong.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Alwyn said.

Yimt continued as if he hadn’t heard. “All that untold history that came before us should by rights be looking up at us with admiration and awe. You see,” he said, lowering his voice theatrically, “we’re at what you call the full crumb of history.”

Scolly turned his head. “What, you mean like bread?”

Alwyn started to shake his head, but Yimt nodded.

“Aye, Scolly, you’re right. This heat must be good for your noggin.” Yimt looked around at the soldiers near him. “The trick is, lads, to think of history as one big loaf. Slices are what you call centuries. But each slice is made up by a lot of crumbs, and in every slice there is what the peelitical types call a full crumb.” A few soldiers smiled at this and Yimt wagged a finger at them. “Makes perfect sense, it does. Who among you didn’t grow up savoring the smell of fresh-baked bread? Ideas is a lot like that, so it stands to reason a deep thinker would use it to explain things, knowing it’s something fellows at the shallow end of the reflectin’ pool like you lot could understand. See, there’s this special crumb that holds the slice, or century, together. That’s the full crumb, and that’s where we’re at right now.”

Alwyn glanced toward the Prince. He’d finished reading the proclamation and was now droning on about the Empire and power and opportunities, but the soldiers around Yimt were hanging on the dwarf’s every word. It made Alwyn wonder what would happen if a person could rise to power based not on his bloodline, but on his ability to captivate an audience. Then again, Yimt’s nickname, “The Little Mad One,” was well earned, so perhaps it was for the best he was only a sergeant.

“In fact,” Yimt said, standing up a little straighter, “you could say we Iron Elves are that full crumb. We’re the bit that every other bit of the slice that makes up this rigmarole with the Shadow Monarch and falling Stars and the rest of it hinge on.”

Hrem leaned forward and asked the obvious question. “So, if we’re this full crumb, and everything is one big slice of bread, how do we break this oath? I don’t want to be a shadow for eternity doing the bidding of that elf witch and Her twisted trees. And I want Her out of my dreams.”