Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

In his darkest thoughts Konowa wondered what his life would have been like if he, too, had been abandoned to die, then “saved” by the Shadow Monarch. Would he now be like the elves he was about to kill, a crazed and twisted thing driven by a madness he didn’t understand?

The Prince had a standing order for one of the Shadow Monarch’s dark elves to be taken alive, but thus far none had been. The elves chose to fight to the death. Konowa’s hand strayed to his own scarred ear, then stopped. The mark alone did not determine an elf’s fate. Konowa was proof enough of that…he hoped.

Konowa came back to himself, but not before pausing. Something else, something he could not identify, was also on the island. It felt ancient. He debated for a moment whether he should search again, then thought better of it as the boats neared the shore. Whatever it was would soon share the same fate as the rest of Her creatures.

The first mewling cry from a rakke set off a chorus of howls on the island. The horizon turned pink as the night gave way to dawn. Konowa smiled. Black flames sparked to life in his hands.

“Fire!”

Sergeant Arkhorn reached up and slapped Konowa’s boot. “You’re standing over the cannon again, Major!”

“To hell with that. Fire!”

Whatever Chayii started to shout was lost as Sergeant Arkhorn touched a flaming linstock to the cannon vent. The six-pounder barked, launching a double load of canister shot.

Konowa roared his fury as two hundred musket balls ripped through the coming dawn. His ears rang with the concussion of the blast as his vision temporarily blurred and the unmistakable stench of black powder filled the air. Orange and red flame billowed from the muzzle, lighting up the sea. The small boat reared up then slammed down in the water, sending up a huge spray. Rakkes disintegrated in a thick red-black mist. Muskets crackled to life as hammers struck flint and powder flared. More rakkes fell, their cries defiant as life was once again torn from their lungs.

Farther out to sea a false dawn tore a hole in the darkness as the starboard-side guns of the Black Spike fired a broadside at the island. Cannonballs rumbled overhead like boulders crashing down a mountain. Konowa instinctively ducked even though the barrage was a good twenty feet above him.

The shoreline exploded in gouts of flame and smoke as sand, water, rakkes, trees, and everything else was pummeled and flung into the air. Debris thrown up by the barrage began raining down on them and splashing in the water all around their boat. Jurwan leaped from Konowa’s shoulder and scampered to the back of the boat, where he jumped onto Chayii and dove into her quiver of arrows.

A dazzling white light burst above the island, elongating shadows to grotesque lengths. Konowa shook his head, opened and closed his mouth to clear the ringing in his ears, and took a quick look to his right. He was unable to see Visyna, but knew she was close by. Her magical skills in weaving the natural order in aid to his men had proven valuable on many occasions. Her light would help them now.

Cannon and musket fire erupted from the other four boats. Shouts rose up and oars bit into sand and came to rest.

The Iron Elves had landed.

The first black arrows from Her elves whistled from somewhere deeper among the trees. The Iron Elves were ready. Thick oak planks, another item borrowed from the Black Spike, swung up to shield the soldiers and crew. Wood and arrows splintered, sending lethal shrapnel everywhere. Men screamed. Two tumbled overboard into the water, their cries abruptly silenced under the waves.

Konowa’s anger surged. Her elves had learned a new trick. Well, so had his boys.

“Cannon…second volley…fire!”

The cannon roared again, but this time Arkhorn had loaded it with chain shot. It was simple in design and lethal in use. Two cannonballs attached by a length of chain flew from the muzzle and began spinning, scything down everything in their path. Originally intended to cut through the masts of enemy ships, chain shot was equally effective at tearing through Her forest, and the creatures in it.

“Remember, we want to try to capture one of the elves!” Konowa shouted, knowing it was likely futile. And even if they did capture one, Konowa wasn’t sure what good it would do. These elves were as dark and twisted as the Shadow Monarch’s trees.

Screams of rage and pain among the rakkes lifted high into the sky as the keel of the boat ground to a halt in the sand. Konowa used the momentum to leap ashore, but he was already several paces behind Private Renwar and Jir. Konowa knew his place was with the men, leading them in a methodical march across the island, but all his pent-up rage spilled forth as it had on every island before this. He knew in his heart this was about revenge. The Shadow Monarch had used his father, in a ploy to get to him, and in so doing bound Konowa and the new Iron Elves in an eternal oath. She haunted all their dreams now, calling to them. Konowa felt the pull, but he felt something else more; fury.

Frost fire burned wickedly along the blade of Konowa’s saber. He grinned and charged, looking for things to kill.

Sergeant Arkhorn was yelling something about staying out of the line of fire of the cannon, but Konowa was already through the mounds of dead and dying rakkes and among the sarka har, the blood trees of the Shadow Monarch. Every anguish Konowa had ever experienced fell before his blade. He slashed the limbs of the trees with so much force that the tendons in his shoulder began to burn with the first few swings. Wherever his blade made contact, the wood burst into cold flame, the black fire consuming them with merciless efficiency.

Konowa smiled, a nervous habit he had in battle, and slashed again. Black, icy flames traced arcs in the air as his saber hacked and burned the sarka har. These trees should not exist. The Shadow Monarch’s twisted mind was creating nightmarish forests that threatened every living thing. His whole life had been lived under Her tainted magic. Here, now, he could avenge that fate.

“Your power is mine, elf witch!” he roared, cleaving a tree completely in two. “And I will end you with it!”

An arrow passed so close to his cheek that the fletching brushed the skin. Konowa turned to trace the source, but Jir was faster still. The bengar leaped, his massive jaws closing on the throat of the dark elf and bearing it to the ground. Konowa didn’t even bother trying to call Jir off. The elf was dead before he hit the ground.

Three rakkes burst through the trees and straight at Konowa. Their milky-white eyes bulged as they charged, drool flying from long, yellow fangs. Konowa pivoted in place to meet them. Another figure came in from Konowa’s left side and crashed into the nearest rakke, knocking it off its feet and into the path of the other two.

“Renwar!” Konowa shouted, recognizing the soldier at once. Private Renwar stood above the first rakke, the bayonet of his musket lodged so deeply in the creature’s rib cage that he couldn’t pull it back out.

The other two rakkes were back on their feet in an instant and both now focused on the private. Six-inch-long claws swung for his head. Konowa lunged forward and brought his saber down two-handed, severing a rakke’s arm at the elbow. Frost fire exploded at the wound and raced up its body, sending it whirling away.

The third rakke leaped and took Renwar to the ground. Konowa raised his saber to strike again, but a fist-sized hole suddenly appeared in the rakke’s back and frost fire flew out. Konowa kicked the body to the side and reached down a hand to help Renwar up, then took it back in surprise. Black flames, darker and more intense than any Konowa himself had yet conjured, blazed in the young soldier’s hands. Konowa tried to read Renwar’s face, but the flame reflected in the soldier’s spectacles made it appear as if his very eyes were afire.