Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

Konowa wasn’t as gullible as the Prince…he hoped. “Because you’ll have ensured that we have a force ready to sweep in and claim the Star, that’s why.”

With the U formed by finger and thumb the Suljak stroked either side of his mouth as if in deep thought. “A conundrum, to be sure. Still, better to throw the viper from your home and then worry about it outside your door, no?”

Konowa started to nod, then stopped. “Wait, you said escort the Iron Elves. What about the other regiments?”

“There are limits to my powers of suggestion,” the Suljak said. “I can ensure the safe passage of the Iron Elves, as I ride with them, but I cannot do so for the others, spread out as they are around the city and by the docks. It will take some time for them to swing round the city to follow us, and time,” the Suljak said, looking up to the sky, “is most definitely not going to wait for man or elf.”

“Or Star,” Konowa added, looking up as well.

The Suljak patted Konowa on the arm. “Indeed, my dear Major, I believe it should be a most interesting trip.”

A lwyn sat on top of the canvas-covered rear of Rallie’s wagon along with the rest of the section. Each man looked out in a different direction, muskets loaded and at the ready. Alwyn faced the rear, watching the lights of Nazalla dwindle in the distance.

Events of the last few hours played through his mind in a never-ending loop. He had called forth the shades and they had followed his orders.

But then they had killed those innocent people. He hadn’t wanted that. The shades had to know he hadn’t meant for that to happen, but they did it anyway.

“You should put your head down for a bit,” Yimt said, turning around from the front bench to look back at Alwyn.

“I’m fine-I just can’t get what happened out of my head.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ally. Those people were balancing all day twixt giving us a kiss on the cheek versus a pitchfork in the arse, and the pitchfork mentality won. Once a mob starts doing your thinking, it’s all over but the killing. The Darkly Departed were doing what soldiers are trained to do. If they hadn’t, we probably wouldn’t be here now.”

“Do you really believe that? Do you really think they were just being soldiers…like us?” Alwyn asked.

Yimt looked at him for a long time before replying. “I hope so,” he said. “Now, get some shut-eye.”

Alwyn yawned, surprised that he could feel so tired even being this unsettled, but then he realized he hadn’t slept at all last night. The rocking motion of the wheels over the roadway they followed was lulling him to sleep. He shook his head and stretched his arms. He set his musket down on the canvas and twisted his wooden leg to a more comfortable angle. It still hurt. He knew Zwitty had some of that tobacco from the hookah back at the Blue Scorpion, but decided to wait to ask him for some later. So far it was the one thing that eased the pain of his stump.

The wagon groaned in protest as its wheels hit a pothole, jostling everyone and everything on board. Alwyn yawned again and peered back along their path. A misty veil of dust hung behind them, obscuring Nazalla even more. He turned and looked out over the desert. Dawn was infusing the grays and blacks of the dunes with deep red. He felt his mood lift slightly as shadow gave way to shape, despite the fact that they were heading into the unknown.

He twisted around farther to see if he could actually make out anything ahead of them. Miss Red Owl and Miss Tekoy were riding the lead brindos. They had said they were doing so to better follow Tyul’s path into the desert, but he suspected it was in part to get farther away from him. He didn’t blame them-the other soldiers had given him as wide a berth since their escape into the desert.

Alwyn wondered again if this was the right thing to do, and was happy the decision hadn’t been up to him. Chasing after Tyul and Jurwan without the regiment seemed foolhardy, especially when both elves were not right in the head. Zwitty muttered something about how the two elves were probably out gathering nuts, but a look from Yimt had shut him up. In the end, it hadn’t really mattered, because they would have been torn apart by the citizens of Nazalla if they’d tried to get back to the Viceroy’s palace…or the shades would have slaughtered the crowd.

Even if they could have made it through the crowds unscathed and back to the palace-and without having to murder innocents to do it-Sergeant Arkhorn was not about to let the three ladies head out into the desert unescorted. So here they were, once again the shiny tip of the Calahrian Empire’s bayonet leading the way into trouble.

Sighing and yawning at the same time, Alwyn finally raised his head and looked up at the lightening sky. Every time he did, he dreaded what he might see. The path to the Red Star in Luuguth Jor had been-at some level-something hopeful. There had been a chance to break the oath and free themselves of the Shadow Monarch’s pull. But then the fighting began, the endless carnage. Now another Star would fall, and everyone-the Empire, the Shadow Monarch, maybe even Kaman Rhal himself-would butcher each other to claim it.

Alwyn lowered his head and turned again toward the front of the wagon as he caught bits of conversation between Yimt and Rallie. They were discussing old family recipes that Alwyn did his best not to overhear. Merely the sound of some of the ingredients made his stomach roil.

“I think I’ll try to catch up on some of that sleep now, Sergeant,” Alwyn said. He reached out with the butt of his musket to nudge Yimt.

“What? Sure, Ally,” Yimt said, reaching out a hand and patting his hand. “Rest those peepers. You’ve had a busy night.” He raised his voice as he addressed the other soldiers. “Same goes for the lot of you. Get your heads down while you can. I imagine we won’t be getting much sleep when we get where we’re going.”

“Thanks,” Alwyn said, as Yimt went back to chatting with Rallie. The rest of the section tried to get comfortable on top of the wagon as best they could. Not surprisingly, no one had tried to venture inside where Jir and the sreexes were.

Alwyn lay his head down and closed his eyes.

The first rays of the sun beat down upon his face as the vision of a Star filled his dreams.

He opened his eyes a moment later to find he was standing on top of a mountain.

His natural reaction was to bring his musket to the ready, even though he knew this was still a dream. He’d been to the Shadow Monarch’s domain before in this state, but this was different. The Wolf Oaks here grew tall and proud, their limbs gently curved as they lifted great leafy crowns skyward in a brilliant, blue sky. An elf walked among the trees, her hand gently brushing the trunks as she passed. She wore a long, flowing dress of red. She looked as young as Alwyn, and she was beautiful, her blond hair draping over her shoulders. And she looked familiar.

He walked toward her, aware that he was still dressed in his uniform. He started to sling his musket over his shoulder, but something made him keep it in both hands, though he couldn’t see why. Birds chirped gaily among the leaves and the air was warm and inviting.

“Hello,” he said, still at some distance, lest he frighten her.

The elf turned and smiled at him. Alwyn smiled back. “I know you, don’t I? I haven’t met many elves, but for the life of me, I can’t place you.”

“You know me, Alywn Renwar, and I know you.”

Alwyn almost fired his musket at the sound of Her voice. He looked around wildly, expecting rakkes to come charging at him from between the trees. Instead, a gentle breeze ruffled the tops of mountain flowers and a butterfly wobbled through the air to land on the end of his musket.