Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“You’re a fool, you know that?” Zwitty said, staring at the leg. “Losing that leg was your ticket out of this nightmare. Why didn’t you get yourself shipped back to Calahr when you had the chance, or at least stay back in Elfkyna?”

“There is no out,” Teeter said. “We’re all in this to the end, and maybe even beyond the end. I don’t care what Sergeant Arkhorn said, I don’t see how we survive this.”

A sharp, disapproving snort indicated Inkermon’s thoughts on the subject. “We must find a way. We just need faith.”

“Or something else,” Alwyn said. “We all saw what happened to Kester.”

“Yeah, he burned alive with his shadow and now he’s dead,” Zwitty said.

“But he didn’t join the others, at least, not yet,” Alwyn said.

Zwitty’s eyes widened. “Not yet? He’s still dead, and he screamed as if the flames burning his shadow were burning him from the inside. Hrem felt it. You felt it. Are you telling us that’s a pleasant way to go? And go where? There might just be worse things than serving in the afterlife, you know.”

“I can’t imagine them,” Alwyn said. Images of ghostly hands reaching out to him remained a constant companion during his waking hours.

“Aye, I felt it,” Hrem said, “and it was like being pulled apart a little bit at a time, all while burning.” His voice was so soft that all the soldiers shuddered to hear him say it.

Alwyn had felt that, too, but he didn’t share their reaction. “But what if we could learn to control it? What if we could use it to burn away the oath and then stop?”

“And what if you couldn’t stop it and your shadow keeps burning until you’re dead? Then what?” Zwitty asked for all of them.

Alwyn never got the chance to reply as bellowing broke out along the formation of troops. It was time to march.

“Right, lads, look sharp!” Yimt shouted as he strode up to them. “This is the citizenry of Nazalla’s first time getting a peek at you and you’d better look aces. You’re Iron Elves now and that means something to folks. We’re the ones that took on the Shadow Monarch and Her beasties at Luuguth Jor and handed them their keesters in a basket.”

A roar went up from the Iron Elves. Backs straightened and eyes brightened.

“We’re the bloody bastards what took island after island and cleared ’em safe.”

The roar was louder now. The heat suddenly didn’t seem so oppressive.

“Sure, you’re probably doomed for all eternity to a life of misery and woe, but oh, what woe you’ll sow!”

Creases were brushed flat, spit smoothed down stray hairs, and shakos were adjusted to the perfect jaunty angle. The snap of cloth drew nods of approval as the Colors, the pair of flags that served as every regiment’s badge of honor, were unfurled in the blazing sun. The Queen’s Colors rose first, the royal cipher surrounded by a leafy garland on a background of silver-green offering a stark contrast to their dusty white surroundings.

The tops of boots were given a final buff on the backs of stockinged legs as the Regimental Colors were hoisted. A murmur of grudging acceptance greeted the black flag. Battle honors for Luuguth Jor and the island chain now adorned the mountain outlined in silver along with the Elvish script?ri Mekah; Into the Fire. What other regiment took that into battle?

“I’d wager my weight in gold every creepy-crawly-nasty-ugly the world over is hunting for you,” Yimt said, thumping his chest with vigor. “They probably think, seeing as you ain’t really elves, your poor excuse for a hide would make a nice throw rug in their cave!”

Caernas were twirled, then hitched up or down so that the hem rode right at the kneecap. Muskets were pressed just that much tighter against shoulders and jaws jutted out until they ached.

“But if anyone ever tells you lads you don’t got pointy ears, by the deuce boyos, you look ’em in the eye and tell ’em you got iron balls!”

Birds startled into the air and camels bucked as the Iron Elves roared their approval. They might be doomed, damned, and buggered for all eternity, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t sparkle like a diamond in the sun and grin like a skull in moonlight on their way to oblivion.

A regiment smells. It’s supposed to. Among all the things the Iron Elves smelled of, something new asserted itself; pride.

V isyna batted away some flies and watched the crowd lining the street as the parade marched past. Some waved, and a few brave children ran out to beg for food and tobacco, but most of the citizens of Nazalla simply stood and stared. She tried to put a word to it. The crowd was…careful. The people lined the streets because they were expected to. Whatever resentment they harbored they kept in check, at least while the sun was in the sky. At night, Visyna could imagine the city becoming something very different, and very ugly.

It reminded her of Elfkyna. She remembered all too well the feelings of helplessness and rage at watching the soldiers of the Empire marching across her land. And she remembered with crystalline clarity how it felt to stand up to that force and fight, in her own way, to help her people. Elfkyna wasn’t free yet, but it had its guiding Star again, and the people saw that as a sign of good things to come. Visyna desperately hoped their faith would be rewarded.

Perhaps the return of a Star here would do the same for these people. They must want to be free just as all people do.

She shifted in her seat beside Rallie on the wagon and looked back to where the other regiments followed behind in the column.

“Not quite the same reaction, is it?” Rallie said, puffing on a cigar.

It wasn’t. Once the Iron Elves had passed it was as if a cloud lifted. The once-subdued crowd became more boisterous. The mood of the people lightened. It wasn’t outright joy, but the fear that they’d felt as the Iron Elves neared was reason enough to celebrate when the regiment had passed.

“The oath is a burden the soldiers should never have had to bear. The darkness of it permeates everything around them.” Flies buzzed around her face, landing in the corner of her eyes and even trying to crawl up her nose.

“It is most unfortunate, no doubt about it,” Rallie said. “Still, they are handling it well, for the most part.”

More people were coming out of doorways of the whitewashed buildings to line the street. Shuttered windows opened and roofs teemed with the curious. A few greetings rang out, and from a couple of roofs dates and olives rained down on the soldiers. Children, fascinated by the colorful and noisy procession, scampered among the soldiers with unrestrained glee. Those who came close to Rallie’s wagon, however, quickly retreated when they heard the noises coming from inside. Visyna wasn’t sure who was more agitated by the situation, the sreex or Jir. Dandy, the massive silver-beaked falcon, was currently perched on the crow’s nest of the Black Spike -until needed, as Rallie put it.

“How long will this last before they turn on them and a full-scale revolt breaks out?” Visyna asked. “I felt their fear as the Iron Elves marched by. That fear is going to turn to anger. I saw it happen in Elfkyna.”

“Possibly,” Rallie said, “although the Viceroy in Nazalla has a decidedly lighter hand than the last two Viceroys you knew in your homeland. In the end, it probably won’t matter. Between the pent-up resentment and the prospect of change, there would have been a new order here before much longer whether the Iron Elves had arrived or not. Their Star is returning,” she said, pointing at the crowd, “and soon. That is what will tip the balance.”

“And make for some very good reading in the Imperial Weekly Herald, ” Visyna said. She meant it as a joke, but it was hard not to notice that the more “interesting” things became, the more Rallie was interested in being there.