Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“Damn it all to hell!”

“War is no excuse for language like that, my son,” Chayii Red Owl said. “And we are but three bowshots’ distance from the island. You really should get down from there.”

A snigger, a muffled giggle, even an innocent cough would have launched Konowa at the throat of the unlucky person, but not a one gave any indication that he had heard Konowa being scolded by his mother. There were five boats currently being rowed toward the island, and of course it was Konowa’s luck that his vessel had his mother on board.

“Uncork your musket, unwrap the firelock, and prepare to fire,” Konowa said from the bow, deliberately ignoring his mother’s advice. The soldiers reacted instantly, well versed now in the drill after having stormed six islands before. They knew from experience that things would happen fast.

“Sergeant Arkhorn, ready your cannon.” Each boat was equipped with a small six-pounder cannon strapped to the bow with ropes facing forward. It wasn’t subtle, but then again neither were rakkes.

“Aye, sir, ready and waiting,” the dwarf said, giving the barrel of the cannon a solid slap with the palm of his hand. “The beasties will know what hit ’em, but not for long.” Beside him, Private Renwar peered down the length of his musket, his hands rock steady. Konowa had made it known to the sergeant that Renwar need not join them on the island assaults on account of his wooden leg. Surprisingly, Chayii had objected, though she had refused to elaborate. Konowa had also tried to bring the subject up with Visyna, but talking with her was even more frustrating. They agreed on nothing-not the use of the Shadow Monarch’s power, not the role the Empire played in the world, and definitely not how to set things right again.

Naturally, Visyna agreed with Chayii about Private Renwar, but the point was moot as Renwar volunteered for every attack. Konowa was happy to have him along. Konowa had thought Renwar too fragile for soldiering, but the private was proving to be a fierce warrior, charging the beach with exceptional bravery and never once holding back despite his significant impairment.

The boat lurched and one set of oars rowed air for a moment. Konowa stumbled and grabbed hold of the cannon before righting himself. It took a greater effort to keep the contents of his stomach. He stood back up, carefully. The crew was struggling to keep the boat on course as the sea grew choppier.

“Go left, man, more left,” Konowa said, brandishing his saber. The white-enameled hand guard with gold inlay was a bit showy for his tastes, but it had been a gift from his friend Jaal, the Duke of Rakestraw, and Konowa cherished it. It had taken some doing to get a new three-foot-long blade put on it after the first one had broken at Luuguth Jor, but Sergeant Arkhorn had known a dwarf who knew a blacksmith and Konowa had paid twenty silver coins and asked no questions.

“Left. We need to land on the southern tip,” Konowa said.

“You mean larboard, sir,” the boat’s mate said.

Konowa stared at the man.

“Aye, sir, left it is! All right, boyos, you heard the officer, more left!”

Konowa turned back to face the wind, preferring the bite of the salt-tinged air and stinging spray of the water to the looks of the men he was leading. The mix of fear, anger, loathing, and resentment he saw there filled him with feelings he couldn’t afford to indulge in. Chayii, for her part, simply looked sad, which only added to his pain. Something small and furry landed on Konowa’s shoulder.

“Enjoying the ride, Father?”

Jurwan Leaf Talker, wizard, counselor to Imperial Army Marshal Ruwl, husband of Chayii Red Owl, and currently unwilling or unable to turn back to elf form, twitched his whiskers and said nothing. Konowa sighed. When he’d bothered to imagine his future, he’d never once allowed for the possibility that one day he’d be leading soldiers ashore to do battle against the Shadow Monarch’s dark creatures with his mother and father in tow. That one now sported a very bushy tail and the other was generally disappointed with how he’d turned out did, however, seem like something he should have anticipated.

He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“We could use your help, you know,” Konowa said.

Jurwan scratched his nose with one small paw and said nothing. In a way, Konowa didn’t blame him. Jurwan had risked his life, certainly his sanity, to get the black acorn now resting against Konowa’s chest from atop Her mountain. Her dark magic must have done more damage than even a great elf wizard like his father could repair. That thought should have given Konowa pause, but he knew that where his father had failed, he would not. Perhaps, if Jurwan’s ryk faur Black Spike, the Wolf Oak he shared a magical bond with when a member of the Elves of the Long Watch, were still alive, he would be back to his old self by now.

Konowa patted a hand against his chest and felt the familiar tingle of cold power there. A dark stain now marred Konowa’s skin over his heart, but he knew he could undo it when the time was right.

“Were you able to sense anything from the ship?” Konowa asked, keeping his voice low. Jurwan, some years ago, had quietly gifted the…body, for lack of a better word, Konowa supposed, of his ryk faur to the Queen for use in building one of her ships. The gift had infuriated the elves of the Long Watch and his mother in particular. Not even the naming of the ship after the Wolf Oak could appease the elves, but Konowa doubted that anything less than the dissolution of the Empire would. Fittingly, the Queen had assigned HMS Black Spike to her son, Prince Tykkin, and the Iron Elves as they set sail from Elfkyna, perhaps hoping the reunion between elf and ryk faur would snap Jurwan out of his current state. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.

A nudge against Konowa’s thigh drew his attention downward. He reached out a hand to give Jir a rub between the ears, then thought better of it. For all purpose if not intent, the bengar was a large, furry, black-and-red-striped monster, not that Konowa saw him that way. The predatory beast with a stubby muzzle full of very sharp teeth and a thick mantle of fur running halfway down his back was bigger even than a tiger…with an appetite larger still. That they were friends spoke to an understanding between the two that Konowa shared with few others. With that understanding came the realization that Jir was now ready for battle, his demeanor one of quiet intensity.

In that regard he was the perfect mascot for the Iron Elves. Jir’s eyes were fixed on the dark smudge on the horizon and his nostrils were flaring. The muscles under his fur rippled back and forth like waves trapped between two cliffs. This was definitely a time when it was best to leave him be.

Konowa returned to watching the beach. Shadows moved in and out among the trees that lined the shore. Konowa focused on the power in the black acorn. That something so small could harbor so much power, and so much danger, was a thought he pushed aside for another time. If he and the regiment were cursed by the oath that had inadvertently bonded them to Her power, then he would bloody well use that power. He let his senses flow outward. It was becoming easier to manipulate the magic. A cold clarity pulsed throughout his body in anticipation of what was to come.

Scores of rakkes roamed the island. Konowa pushed his senses further, his breath misting in the humid air. He shivered in the sudden cold and grimaced. He felt the presence of five of Her elves on the island, those born like him with a black ear tip. In the not-too-distant past, the tribes of the Hyntaland believed that to be born thus was to be forever tainted. Babies were left in the forest to die, but the Shadow Monarch gathered them to Her, and made them Her own. Konowa had been spared that, instead having his left ear tip shorn off in an act of defiance.