Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“Grab a pillow and get comfortable. Oh,” Yimt said, as they began to sit down, “and keep your muskets by your side.”

“You expecting trouble?” Hrem asked, looking around the pub. He took a deep breath to swell up his chest and create an even more imposing impression. Normally, this was an impressive sight, but the effect was somewhat lessened by the fact that he immediately doubled over coughing after breathing in a lungful of the blue smoke. A few patrons looked over their way, but most were back to smoking, drinking, and talking. If it wasn’t for the pillows, rugs, and funny smoking devices it could pretty much be a pub back home.

“Always,” Yimt said, making a great show of sitting down with his back to the room and setting his shatterbow on a pillow beside him. There was an audible sigh in the pub and the conversation grew more relaxed. “But we should be fine here. The owner is a practical man and he knows which way the wind’s blowing. At the moment, the Empire trumps all. Still, an Imperial-made musket is worth a few gold coins, so guard them like you can’t afford to pay for a new one.”

Alwyn checked for the exits. He couldn’t relax the way Yimt did. Wherever the dwarf went he seemed at ease. Alwyn kept an eye on the room as he eased himself down onto a pillow and let his wooden leg stretch out before him. An odd thought occurred to him as he sat down. It was strange, but he was having a hard time remembering what it had been like when he had had two normal legs. The thought became darker a moment later. He had trouble remembering what it had been like before at all. A night that included a pub, dinner, good conversation, and the prospect of nothing more frightening than the bill used to be an event for him. Now, it all seemed so foreign.

“Cheer up, Ally, the night’s just starting,” Yimt said, taking off his shako and unbuttoning his uniform jacket. “For tonight at least, we’ve left all that stuff behind us. No beasties, no dark magic, and no officers.”

Alwyn nodded and gave Yimt a half-smile. “And no salted pork, I hope.”

Yimt laughed. “Now that’s the spirit. Ah, the first order of business,” he said as a waiter arrived with a tray filled with small blue cups. “Take one, but don’t drink just yet.”

Each soldier took a cup, even Inkermon. Alwyn looked into his and saw an amber-colored liquid. It smelled faintly of wood and wasn’t unpleasant. He sat up straighter on his pillow as Yimt addressed the group.

“Gentlemen, and I use the term recklessly, we’ve been to hell and back more times than a centipede has legs.”

Scolly started to count the fingers on one hand, but Teeter quietly told him, “It means a lot.”

Yimt continued. “We’ve seen things a person never should, and we’ve done a few things a person could come to regret.”

There was quiet as each soldier contemplated the words. Even the background noise subsided. Alwyn felt his pulse quickening and forced himself to stay calm. The thoughts racing in his head were just that, thoughts. They were in a pub, not on one of the islands.

“The life of a sigger ain’t an easy one, and the life of an Iron Elf is harder still.” There were nods of agreement. “It’d be as easy as warm pie on a cold day to get a bit twisted up inside about it all, and who’s to blame you? They don’t pay us near enough for this.”

There were a few forced laughs. Alwyn tried to come up with an amount that would compensate for everything that had happened, but no pile of gold coins seemed worth it.

“Still, we’re here today when others aren’t, and that’s something. So,” Yimt said, raising his cup, “to all those poor, good souls that didn’t make it this far I say this.”

Alwyn and all the others joined in as they raised their cups in response.

“Rest easy. Your work is done. We’ll take it from here, you bloody slackers!”

They drank, and then set the cups down. For a moment, each soldier simply looked around the group. There was nothing to say. Many had fallen, but they remained. And while they did, that was, indeed, something.

“Now,” Yimt said, breaking the spell, “what say we get ready for a feast. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a mite peckish.”

O ut in Nazalla Bay, the water rippled with the passing of a creature a few feet underneath the surface. It swam past the Black Spike and other ships at anchor and made straight for the shore.

Seven figures detached themselves from the shadows in the lee of a small hut and walked toward the shoreline.

The rippling water stopped and the body of Kester Harkon broke the surface. Its eyes were open and water gurgled from its mouth as it tried to scream. The jaws holding it released and slid back into the water and out of sight.

A hand quickly covered Harkon’s mouth as others grabbed the body and lifted it from the water and began carrying it away.

From farther out in the water, the creature rose again to watch the figures disappear into the night. It then slid back beneath the surface and swam past the Black Spike and headed not back out to sea, but into a river inlet.

From high up in the mast of the Black Spike, three pairs of eyes followed the creature’s progress until it vanished around a bend. Tyul Mountain Spring looked up at Dandy, the massive silver-beaked falcon perched in the crow’s nest, and whistled quietly to it. Dandy stretched out its neck and spread its wings, pumping them slowly. A squirrel perched on Tyul’s shoulder chittered quietly in his ear. Tyul reached up a hand as Jurwan jumped into it, and placed him inside his tunic. Tyul then climbed up the rigging until he was in the crow’s nest. Dandy’s wings flapped faster and then he launched himself skyward, grabbing Tyul gently by the shoulders with his talons.

Dandy rose a few more feet in the air, then pointed his body downward, tucking in his wings as he did so. Falcon, elf, and squirrel plummeted toward the water. At the last instant, Dandy spread his wings and soared just feet above the waves, angling toward the shore. A moment later he unclenched his talons. Tyul landed on the ground without a sound while Dandy flew into the night and was gone.

Tyul knelt and sifted the sand through his hands for several moments, then looked up, his eyes unblinking.

He walked quickly across the sand and past the hut, following a trail. He carried no weapons in his hands and only his bow and quiver on his back. Dressed in greens and browns and covered in leaf tattoos, he was invisible in the forest, but the dock area of Nazalla was no forest, though dangerous creatures also prowled there.

Two of them watched the elf walk into a narrow alley they knew had no exit, and followed in after him. Dressed in blacks and grays, only their knives glinted as they were pulled from tunics.

This would be easy.

The dunes of the Hasshugeb Expanse disappeared over the horizon in every direction. Under the moonlight, the gentle uniformity of their shape gave the desert the appearance of an ocean frozen in time just before the waves crested and began to tumble downward. Dark, curving shadows carved great chunks out of the far side of the dunes under their peaks, creating black holes where no light shone.

Perfect hiding places, Her Emissary thought.

Her Emissary moved to the first dune, still tired from its transformation and the power required to travel the great distance from Her mountain to here. A trail of black frost twinkled in its wake.

At the first shadow, it bent and placed an acorn from the Shadow Monarch’s Wolf Oak in the darkness and waited. Black flame sparked to life, but then guttered and went out.

Her Emissary stared at the sand. Was Her power not strong enough here? As soon as the thought entered its mind, it was banished. Something else was at work.