Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“You bought them off with gold?” Konowa asked. He turned in the saddle, despite the risk, to look more closely at the Suljak. “A few gold coins is enough to grant us free passage?”

“No, but that and my assurances about the fate of the Star are. Politics is a messy business, Major, and it requires setting a price on things that should never be valued in that way. Still, it is a necessary evil.”

Another look was shared between the Viceroy and the Suljak that Konowa didn’t like. Another time he would have pressed for more answers, but time-as so often happened-was not on his side.

The three snapped their reins and their camels began walking. There was still a sizable crowd outside the palace, but they were subdued as the gates swung open. Anger still emanated from them, but it was held in check. The Suljak waved to the crowd, and they began to back slowly away from the gate.

The Iron Elves stood shoulder to shoulder six men wide. Bayonets were fixed at the end of their muskets, which they held against their left shoulders as they awaited the order to march. The rising sun now glinted off the sharpened, bare steel with unmistakable menace.

The soldiers wore looks of grim determination, but Konowa knew much of their fierceness was anger felt at being sent out to the desert after just one night in Nazalla. It was a bitter blow after weeks on the high seas assaulting islands held by Her creatures, but it had to be; there was no choice. Staying in Nazalla was the equivalent of keeping a lit match in a powder magazine. There would be time enough to rest when they found the elves.

And the next Star.

Konowa caught himself. He wasn’t sure even he believed that about the Star, for after this Star there would be another, and another. Stars would keep falling and they would keep fighting, until when? How long could this go on?

Konowa reached the Prince at the head of the column and saluted. The Prince returned his salute, then turned his camel to face the assembled troops. Konowa expected a speech, but the Prince merely drew his sword, held it in the air, then brought it down. A drum took up a beat and the regiment marched in step out through the gate and into the city.

It was a somber procession, save for the still-grinning volunteers of the 3rd Spears. Konowa placed them at the rear of the column, hoping their presence there would discourage any kind of last-minute attack by a few rogues in the crowd. Though they appeared calm, the city seethed under the sweltering heat. The rumors of last night seemed to grow as the temperature rose. Konowa wondered if they could make it out of Nazalla before the citizens believed he had murdered babes in their cribs.

The Suljak rode serenely at the front, and when the citizenry saw him, they quickly stepped aside, bowing deferentially as he passed. Konowa recognized power when he saw it. He had no doubt that it would take but a flick of the Suljak’s hand to have these same people throwing stones and worse.

The column moved through the streets, silent but for the sound of their boots echoing off the walls. For now at any rate, the bargain had been made. Konowa suspected there were ramifications neither the Prince, nor the Viceroy, nor the Suljak saw, but what they were was anyone’s guess.

What Konowa was certain of was that if a price was to be paid, it would likely be exacted in blood from the Iron Elves.

T yul rested near an outcropping of rock. He took the chance to take a drink from the waterskin that Jurwan had found for him before they left the city in pursuit of the remaining skeletal creatures. Tyul poured out some water into his palm for Jurwan. The squirrel drank slowly, pausing to look up periodically before lowering his head to drink again.

The sun approached its zenith, as did the heat. Tyul had removed the black clothing early in the morning, though the aberrations of nature he followed had kept theirs on. Tracking them was proving difficult. Despite moving on foot, they covered ground faster than should have been possible. Tyul found himself running in order to keep them in sight, which in itself was a challenge.

He peered around the rock. The three remaining skeletal creatures and the body they carried disappeared in the shimmering haze like true apparitions. He continued to watch until they reappeared several seconds later. They had covered much ground in the interval.

Tyul knew a power was at work aiding their journey. The farther they traveled into the desert the faster and more elusive the creatures became. As good a tracker as Tyul was, he realized he would not likely be able to keep up this pace for more than another day and night. He considered attacking them and killing them all while he still had the strength to do so, but then he would not have any answers-not know where they were going-and Jurwan had conveyed to him that that was the most important thing of all.

Jurwan finished drinking and scrambled up Tyul’s arm to rest on his shoulder. Understanding it was time, Tyul took another glance around the rock. The shimmering air stilled for a few seconds and he noticed something far in the distance. He squinted and tried to bring it into focus. Yes, there was something enticingly green up ahead. He blinked and looked again. He was certain there was a tiny smudge of green in a sea of brown. Tyul could track them to that.

He crossed over the rocks without disturbing the dust and renewed his chase. The creatures either did not see him or no longer cared that he followed them. Where the forest was Tyul’s home, this was clearly theirs. Tyul picked up his pace and kept them in sight.

Those were trees in the distance.

Tyul knew how to hunt among trees.

Alwyn crested a dune and paused, using the vantage point to scan the horizon. The sand dunes rippled in every direction, interspersed with rocky outcroppings that with time would be worn away as well. The heat slid over him like molten metal. He ran his tongue across his lips and winced. They were cracked and sore, and his eyes smarted as sweat stung them with every blink. Despite this, he found it was actually a pleasure to be off the wagon and walking. The movement gave his body something to do besides enduring the jarring of the ride. Although his stump was giving him trouble, the marching also helped him clear his head, and more important, it meant no more dreams.

The one of just a short time ago had faded to the point that he wondered how much was his, and how much was Her.

He remembered the Shadow Monarch reaching out Her hand…and he remembered reaching to Her…but then everything blurred. His memory went blank after that.

A brindo brayed and Alwyn turned to watch the wagon slowly creak past. As tough as they were, even the brindos needed a respite from pulling the extra weight. The three women remained on the wagon, talking quietly among themselves. Every once in a while, Miss Tekoy or Miss Red Owl would get off and sift the sand and weave the air, then they would set off again, always heading south.

Like Alwyn, the rest of the section walked along behind the wagon in single file. Even Jir had come out from his resting place to stretch his legs, though he seemed disoriented by the lack of trees. It was hard to mark territory when there was nothing to mark. Alwyn had already had to shoo him away from his wooden leg twice. Jir now slunk underneath the wagon, keeping pace and walking there in the shade.

Alwyn preferred the sun right now, no matter how hot. The limbs that made up his new leg creaked in the dry heat, and sand began to wear the burnished sheen of the wood. He didn’t want to use any more of the special tree sap until it was absolutely necessary, but if he didn’t find a way to protect the leg, it would eventually grind itself apart in the sand.