Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

And then there are those like Tyul Mountain Spring, touched by the power of a Silver Wolf Oak.

The only sounds heard were that of two cracks as necks broke from the force of a single strike from bare hands. The two knives were caught in midair, one by a leaf-tattooed hand, the other in the mouth of a squirrel. The feel of the metal drew anguished sobs from both Tyul and Jurwan, and the knives were quickly reunited with their owners. Tyul studied the ground for several seconds, then reached out a hand as Jurwan scampered up it to perch on the elf’s shoulder. With three steps, they vanished into the night.

In the morning, the bodies would be found stripped of their clothing. It would take the efforts of three men to pull the blades out of the eye sockets.

Konowa took a sip from his glass and immediately spat it back. “Tastes like horse p-” he started to say, then caught himself. Several guests in attendance at the Viceroy’s palace looked his way. The din of conversation in the outdoor courtyard quieted.

“Lovely party,” he muttered, raising his glass and gulping down the offending liquid to prove his point. Of course, the Viceroy would put on airs for the arrival of the Prince, and naturally the Prince would insist Konowa attend. The bastard really does hate me.

Konowa spotted a group of wives-at least he assumed they were wives-heading his way. They appeared just a sip away from asking him about his adventures. Rallie! The scribe and her damn dispatches were proving more troublesome than a roomful of drunken orcs. If Konowa had to answer one more question about his “poor” ear tip or comment on how “lonely” it must be out there, he was prepared to light the whole damn place on fire and to hell with the consequences.

The women edged closer, fans flapping and eyelashes fluttering. Already tonight, a woman had reached out to shake his hand and deposited a metal door key in his palm. She blushed and said she had only wanted to see if an elf really could hold metal, and then suggested he could return the key later…personally. Konowa wasn’t interested.

The one woman who did interest him was, as usual, in seemingly endless discussion with Rallie and his mother. It was as if the three had become best friends. Perhaps it was for the best. As long as he was bound by the oath, Konowa saw no way he and Visyna could be together, assuming she even wanted that.

Konowa glanced at the group of women and quickly plotted his getaway. If he didn’t act now it would soon be too late. Once they surrounded him, there would be no easy way to extract himself from the lace, the fawning, the laughter at everything he said, and double entendres that would make Sergeant Arkhorn blush. Konowa stood up straight and offered them a smile by way of baring his teeth. Immediately, their interest in him plummeted, and they quickly veered off, looking for easier prey. As they did, Konowa saw an opening through the crowd leading to an archway and blissful freedom.

He set his glass down on a nearby table and set out. A servant saw him and began angling toward him with a tray filled with yet more drinks. Was there no end to this? Konowa dodged an incoming officer from the 3rd Spears and picked up his pace. Everywhere he looked, gaggles of local officials and dignitaries, ships’ captains, and Calahrian officers engaged in animated conversation drifted about the courtyard like ships cut adrift of their mooring lines. Konowa heard his name called but kept walking. He caught snippets of conversation as he passed. Talk of the fleet in the harbor, the return of the Red Star, and what it all meant filled the air and filled Konowa with loathing.

A cluster of archeologists, botanists, astronomers, and other learned types, attached to the fleet at the personal request of the Prince in his search for “antiquities of special interest,” hove into view directly in Konowa’s path. Konowa brushed past them without a glance, furious that the Prince still saw this as some kind of adventure expedition.

Movement off to the left indicated the servant was closing in. Konowa lengthened his stride. The noise of dozens of conversations washed over him as he passed, serving to infuriate him even more. Didn’t they realize that every moment spent drinking and eating and talking was a wasted one? All their efforts should be directed toward finding the original Iron Elves. He should have set out for Suhundam’s Hill the moment they landed…by himself, if necessary.

The archway was only yards away now, and Konowa genuinely smiled for the first time the whole evening. He would get out among the troops camped on the palace grounds. That was where he belonged, not here.

Looking through the arch, he spotted a campfire with a group of soldiers standing around it. No matter what the temperature, soldiers clustered around fires the way moths did. Konowa could already smell the harsh tobacco they smoked and the pot of arr boiling on the fire. Now that was home. That was where an elf could be an elf. He felt his shoulders relax and allowed himself a half-turn to look back at the party as he left it.

He didn’t see the servant arrive one step ahead of him.

The tinkling of broken glass took several seconds to dissipate, by which time the courtyard had gone completely silent. Konowa hung his head. So close. So bloody close.

The servant was back on his feet in an instant. “My deepest apologies, Major. Three ladies suggested you were in dire need of a drink. They were quite insistent. They impressed upon me the matter was urgent.” He leaned in a little closer, his voice shaky. “Not for me to say, but they have an air about them that suggests, well, you know…”

Konowa sighed. “Believe me, witches isn’t a strong enough word.” He shook his head and looked down at his uniform. “Well, I’d say you completed your mission, as I most definitely have more than enough drinks to keep me busy for some time to come. Do me a favor, though, and keep open flames away until I dry.”

The background noise of the party quickly swelled to its former level. The campfire still beckoned just beyond the archway, but Konowa knew it was destined to be beyond his reach even before a voice called to him.

“You almost made good your escape, Major,” a man said somewhere behind Konowa, “but your strategy was flawed.”

Konowa turned and had to shield his eyes as a small cart was wheeled past with yet more crystal stemwear. The light from the many lanterns hung in the courtyard reflected off the glasses, temporarily wreathing the smiling face of the Suljak of Hasshugeb. The effect created a dozen flickering shadows behind him for just a moment.

The Suljak was a wisp of a man, his robe pulled close around him despite the warmth of the night air. While his gaunt cheeks and thin gray hair suggested his desert home was a harsh one, his brown eyes twinkled with an intelligence that indicated it had honed his mind to a very sharp instrument.

“Your Grace,” Konowa said, bowing slightly and reluctantly turning his back on the archway. “What strategy is that?”

The Suljak came closer and placed a hand on Konowa’s arm, patting it gently as if comforting a small child. “Call me Faydarr, please. I find being called by one’s title all the time rather taxing. After a while, one starts to wonder who one really is…don’t you find, Major?”

Konowa traced the hand guard on his saber with a finger. He was determined to avoid any more philosophical discussions if he could help it. “I wouldn’t know; I’m a military elf. Without the hierarchy of a rank structure, we’d be little more than rabble with muskets.”

The Suljak squeezed Konowa’s arm. “Few sleepless nights for you then, eh, Major, wondering about where your thread weaves into the grand tapestry of life?”