Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

Chayii smiled. “His childhood was not easy. He was one of the first elves not banished at birth. I was the one who docked his ear. His father had wanted to leave it, to show the Hynta-elves and the world that no son of his would bow to a fate not of his choosing.” Chayii’s voice grew soft. “I knew he would have a difficult enough path to travel without adding that.”

“But why is he so…” Visyna wasn’t sure how to finish the question.

“He would never admit it, but his rejection in the birthing meadow hurt him deeply. In our culture, there is no higher honor than to be bonded to a Wolf Oak. It is said that until that day, no elf is ever truly complete. Konowa believed that on the day he bonded, everything would change for him. He would be the first elf marked by the Shadow Monarch to take a ryk faur and join the Long Watch.”

“And when he was rejected?” Visyna asked.

“He turned his back on us, on his people, and on himself. He joined the Imperial Army shortly thereafter. His father encouraged him.” The bitterness in Chayii’s voice was clear, but so was the regret.

“It’s not too late for him,” Visyna said, hoping her words were true. “It’s not too late for any of them. We restored the Red Star to my people and saved Elfkyna. We destroyed the Shadow Monarch’s forest on the islands. We will prevail here, too.”

Chayii’s head turned and she studied Visyna carefully. “Your land and your people were indeed saved, yet here you are.”

Visyna blushed, but did not look away. “Konowa is still in peril, and I will save him, too…if I can.”

Chayii said nothing, but reached out a hand and held Visyna’s in hers. Rallie looked up to the sky and pointed at the stars. “Best keep your eyes open then, because we are going to need every bit of help we can find.”

The wagon rolled through the grounds and approached a palace gate. Several sentries stood watching, but made no effort to stop them, simply tipping their shakos at the ladies as they passed. Visyna looked at Chayii and Rallie and considered the contents of the wagon, and realized the soldiers had made a very wise choice.

“Shouldn’t we tell someone?” Visyna asked, watching the lights of the palace disappear as they turned a corner.

“Best that we keep this quiet for now,” Rallie said. “Besides, we have my sreex. When we need to get a message to the Prince and the major, we’ll do so. In the meantime, the less attention we attract the better.”

“Head south, out of the city,” Chayii said. “Rising Dawn’s voice came from over there.”

“South leads us to the desert. Interesting,” Rallie said. She clicked her tongue against her cheek and the brindos broke into a trot.

Shouting erupted downstairs. Alwyn tried to make out what was being said, but it was too garbled. He reached for his musket and remembered he’d left it with Yimt. The shouting rose in volume, and one voice was louder than the others.

Yimt.

“I’ve got to go,” Alwyn said, scrambling to stand up.

Nafeesah grabbed his arm. “It is nothing. Stay. We have yet to explore the reason you came up here in the first place.”

Alwyn looked at her, his mouth dropping open. “I can’t, not now. Don’t you see, Kaman Rhal’s power is here. Somebody or something is wielding the white fire. I don’t even want to think about the idea of an army of the dead.” In fact, Alwyn had spent the last few weeks thinking of nothing but, as the shadows of his fallen comrades never left him.

“What do you think you can do? Why must men always rush about yelling at the top of their lungs threatening to do something?” Nafeesah asked.

The sound of breaking furniture came up through the floor, which briefly intrigued Alwyn, because all he could remember seeing were pillows.

“I really need to go,” Alwyn said, buttoning up his jacket. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is I need to find out, and I need to tell my sergeant.” He began to part the curtains, then turned and came back to kneel beside Nafeesah. He felt as if he needed to say something reassuring, though whether it was for her or himself he wasn’t certain. “Maybe, when all this is over, I’ll be able to come back here…and see you.” He leaned in to kiss her. Their lips touched and Alwyn forgot everything. For a blissful moment, there was no pain, no oath, no death.

“You’re smiling,” Nafeesah said, her lips still pressed to his.

“Thank you,” Alwyn said, not wanting the kiss to end.

Nafeesah pulled back and looked him in the eye. “You can thank me properly on your return.”

Alwyn’s smile faltered. “I’d like that, but I-”

She put a finger to his lips. “You will return, Alwyn Oath Taker, Elf of Iron. I know it.”

Alwyn held her gaze, then a thought struck him. He gently grabbed her hand and held it. “What do I tell the others, about this? Us? I mean, what was supposed to happen up here?”

Nafeesah shook her head, brushing her curls in Alwyn’s face. “You tell them you were so exceptional, I refused to take your money.”

More shouting shook the walls. “I really should get down there.”

She nodded. “Be safe.”

Alwyn let go of her hand and turned to leave. Nafeesah grabbed his arm and pulled him back. They shared one more kiss. Alwyn had begun to wonder if he really did need to rush downstairs when the sound of shattering glass came up from the stairwell. “I’ve got to go!” he said, turning and hobbling to the stairs. He took one last look back at Nafeesah and then went through the curtains and down the stairs.

At the bottom he found himself in the middle of a full-fledged brawl.

It seemed Yimt’s attempts to prevent a riot hadn’t succeeded. As Alwyn’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom he realized it wasn’t Iron Elves against locals, but rather Iron Elves against a group of soldiers from the 12th Regiment. The locals were running for cover.

Yimt was pummeling a sergeant from the 12th while Hrem, Scolly, and Teeter were surrounded by at least seven soldiers. Inkermon had a broken bottle in one hand and a glass of wine in the other and was holding three more soldiers at bay. Zwitty was nowhere in sight.

“Duck!”

Alwyn crouched, unsure if the warning had been directed at him. The woosh of a bottle passing over his head suggested it had. He stood back up as two soldiers of the 12th charged toward him.

“There’s another one of the buggers.”

Alwyn reached for the first weapon he could find and came up with a pillow. He ripped the covering and tossed it into the air, scattering feathers everywhere. In the ensuing confusion, he ran through the white cloud and met the soldiers on the other side. His fist struck first. The nose of one soldier made a wet, crunching sound and he dropped straight to the floor. The second soldier hit Alwyn in the jaw, sending him reeling backward. Alwyn reached up and put his spectacles back in place, amazed they hadn’t broken. The soldier came on, his fist poised to punch again, when he stopped, staring at Alwyn’s wooden leg.

“Aw, hell, I didn’t realize you was a cripple.”

Another wet, crunching sound came as the soldier’s teeth flew out of his mouth. Lightning exploded in Alwyn’s hand, but he only smiled and looked around for more.

Whistles and shouting sounded from outside, and there was a mad rush toward the rear of the pub. Hrem grabbed Alwyn up under one arm and carried him. There were more beaded curtains and then they were in an alley.

“Put me down, Hrem, I can barely breathe,” Alwyn said.

“What, oh, sorry,” Hrem said, setting him onto the ground.

“Everyone accounted for?” Yimt said, rearranging his shako on his head. He was puffing and his face was red, but for all of that he was smiling. “Where’s Zwitty?”