Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

“Behind you, Major.”

The black acorn sent a cold sliver of warning into Konowa’s heart as he turned to confront a group of rakkes carrying jagged shards of wood.

“Get your arse in the sand now!” bellowed a voice from the water’s edge. Konowa dove forward even as the rakkes moved to within yards of him. One raised a makeshift club and began to swing it down.

A cannon boomed and the world vanished. Smoke and sand whipped over Konowa, partially lifting him off the ground. Sparks stung the back of his hands and neck as the unmistakable sound of heavy metal sawing through the air passed overhead. His nose and ears clogged with sand and something wet. Black and white and orange flashes danced across the inside of his eyelids.

Konowa blinked several times and propped himself up to his elbows. The chain shot had done its job well. What was left of the rakkes lay in a congealing puddle of blood and debris. It looked as if the dwarf was determined to keep his stripes this time.

“Renwar, are you-” Konowa started to ask, but the soldier had already gotten up and was charging off deeper into the trees. Frost fire blazed in the soldier’s hands and along the length of his musket. With no time to ponder the matter, Konowa got to his feet and dusted himself off. He flexed his right hand, holding his saber, and found that it still had strength.

“Did you see where Private Renwar went, sir?” Sergeant Arkhorn asked, stepping over the bodies with little concern. He held his shatterbow at the ready, its twin muzzles sweeping the area as he walked.

“I’m fine, Sergeant,” Konowa said, making a point of flicking a piece of rakke skull off his uniform.

Arkhorn nodded. “Of course you are, sir. I shouted a warning, didn’t I? Have you seen Ally?”

Before Konowa could answer there was a shriek and the sound of a musket firing from up ahead. Konowa sensed frost fire burning and was staggered by the power in it.

“Never mind, sir, I know where he is,” Arkhorn said. “All right laddies, we’ve done this before.” He motioned for a section of Iron Elves to form up around him. “Make a wedge and keep your necks on swivels or it won’t be Her darlings you have to worry about.” Someone groaned.

“Why not let the DDs take care of this? They’re dead already and we ain’t. Why do we have to keep risking our necks, eh?”

Konowa couldn’t see who had asked the question, but it wasn’t the first time it had been voiced. It started shortly after the DDs, or Darkly Departed-the shadows of the dead-had first appeared in support of the regiment.

Sergeant Arkhorn put two fingers to his lips and whistled between his metal teeth. It sounded like twenty kettles on the boil. “One more outburst like that and you’ll be swimming from here to the Hasshugeb Expanse. You bloody well know the “Darkly Departed’ don’t like it when the sun’s coming up. They’re dead. The night is their domain and all that. Honestly, did your mum never read you any fairy tales? We’re on our own. Stay smart, well, as smart as you lot can, and we’ll come out of this just fine. Stay spread out and don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want you grouped together and making any easy target,” Sergeant Arkhorn said, looking around at the soldiers and waiting until each one nodded.

“Oh, and ten gold pieces from the Prince himself for any man who captures an elf, present company excepted,” he finished, touching his hand to his shako in salute.

Konowa returned it, unable to entirely hide a smile.

“By the left…move your arses!” The soldiers followed Arkhorn, the bayonets on the end of some of their muskets wreathed in black flame.

Konowa recognized a couple of them as they marched past, including the towering form of Private Hrem Vulhber. Konowa nodded, but the soldier only stared at him for a moment before carrying on. It was insubordination, but Konowa was letting a lot of things go these days. The sooner they were done with this island, the sooner they could finally land in the Hasshugeb Expanse and join up with the original Iron Elves. Then the Shadow Monarch would truly reap the whirlwind She had created.

He’s done it again!” Visyna shouted as the boat she was in ground to a halt on the beach. She stood near the bow weaving a pattern from the natural energy around her, creating the artificial dawn that now hung above them. Arrows zipped past her head, but a power curved their path around her. “He promised he wouldn’t go charging ahead like that.”

“You mean Private Renwar?” Rallie said, looking up from the sheaf of papers she was sketching on with a feather quill. The drawing of Visyna standing in the bow pulsated on the paper. Dark and light ebbed and flowed across the page as energy coursed around them.

Visyna waited for all the soldiers to jump out of the boat before she answered. “You know who I mean, Rallie.”

“He’s fighting demons we can’t see,” Rallie said, flourishing her quill as a rakke burst through the line of Iron Elves and charged the boat. The beast saw the two women alone and howled, its maw opening wider in anticipation.

“Rallie, hurry,” Visyna said.

“I see it,” Rallie said, her quill flying across the page. The rakke leaned forward and began loping toward the boat on all fours. Sand sprayed high into the air as its claws dug into the beach. Muskets fired, but the beast continued to close.

A wave sloshed around the boat, sending spray over its sides. Water splashed onto Rallie’s page, which sent sparks of energy shooting into the sky. The air around them sizzled and crackled. Visyna continued to weave the light that gave the Iron Elves their advantage, while looking down at Rallie. The page was a mess. Rallie looked over the edge of the boat with obvious annoyance.

The rakke was almost to the bow.

“Rallie!”

Rallie set the sheaf of papers down and picked up an oar. As soon as she touched it, the wood hummed with energy. The rakke leaped, its claws fully extended as it flew toward Visyna. She closed her eyes and kept weaving.

There was a loud crack of wood splintering. The boat shook and the air smelled of burnt flesh. The howling of the rakke ended abruptly, followed by a splash. Visyna opened her eyes. Rallie stood beside her, a broken oar in her hands. Smoke wafted lazily from the wood and sparks still crackled along its length. The body of the rakke floated facedown in the water beside them, its chest impaled by the other half of the oar.

“Keep weaving, my dear-the sun isn’t up just yet,” Rallie said, casually putting the oar down and going back to her seat. She picked up her sheaf of papers and, wiping off the top page with the sleeve of her cloak, began to sketch again.

Visyna refocused her efforts on her weaving, pulling together more skeins of energy and infusing the light above the island with more power. Silver filigrees danced between her fingertips. She took another quick glance down at Rallie’s sketching and saw that once again the boat and herself were there, the lines flowing and strong. Rallie, however, had chosen not to put herself in the drawing. Where she sat, the lines of energy curved around that space as if unable, or unwilling, to acknowledge what was there.

The sky grew lighter and fire, real fire, blazed in several locations from the sparks of musket and cannon shot. Konowa walked a short distance to stand on a jumble of rocks and look back down at the beach. Several soldiers milled about as more appeared, carrying the wounded. A makeshift first-aid station had been set up right on the beach and Konowa knew Visyna, Rallie, and his mother would be there now tending to the wounded. Farther up the beach were the still figures of several soldiers.

Konowa let his gaze drift out to sea where the Black Spike had dropped anchor, another full broadside ready and waiting. There were certain advantages to having the son of the Queen in command of the Iron Elves.