Chris Evans - The Light of Burning Shadows

The drummer nodded and kept up his pace. Konowa trotted his camel back to the front of the column and then out past it to where the Prince and Viceroy Alstonfar waited. “I suggest you both get to the middle of the column. It’ll be safest there.”

The Prince looked toward the battle, then at Konowa. “You’re right, but I won’t. These are my men, and the only way to lead is from the front.”

“Your Highness, Major Swift Dragon is right,” the Viceroy said. “You are the future King of the Calahrian Empire. You must be protected.”

Prince Tykkin smiled and slapped the side of his camel with his scabbard. The animal brayed and went down to its knees and the Prince dismounted. Konowa and the Viceroy followed suit. “I shall lead them on foot,” the Prince said, adjusting his tunic and reaching up to push his shako a little tighter onto his head.

Konowa knew he should object, but a part of him admired the Prince for this. It was foolish, needlessly reckless, and the men would see it and their chests would swell and their eyes would glint and woe be to the enemy that stood astride their path.

“Go, Pimmer,” the Prince said, reaching out and placing a hand on the Viceroy’s shoulder. “Get yourself back there and try not to be too big a target.”

The Viceroy licked his lips nervously and then shook his head. “Respectfully, no. I am the Viceroy of this territory, and whatever else people might think of me, it will not be said that this day I added coward to the list. My place is here, and if you don’t like it, I suggest you take it up with the Queen next time you see her.”

The Prince stood with an ever-widening grin on his face, looking at the Viceroy before turning to Konowa. “I do believe, Major, that I have just been told to go stuff myself.”

Konowa smiled. “Actually, sir, I think it’s a bit more accurate to say Pimmer has instructed you to get stuffed, but close enough.”

The sound of marching boots heralded the front of the column. “Well then, gentlemen, we shall lead this regiment into the gap and let nothing stand in our way. To the Star!”

Konowa and the Viceroy drew their sabers, and all three raised them in the air. “To the Star!” Boots crunched over sand and rock with an inexorable beat. The entire regiment took on a slight lean as it anticipated the fall of the saber. Konowa let his saber fall.

The drumbeat sped up and the regiment shouted. The men began to march faster, keeping time with the drum. The cannons wheeled to the fore, the mule drivers cracking their whips to keep the animals in check.

Ahead of them, the battle raged. To the left, the warriors of the Hasshugeb were slowly falling back. They had formed a ragged line several hundred yards wide, firing their muskets in sporadic volleys at the rampaging drakarri spitting their deadly fire. Several of the creatures rushed forward, breaking the line and wreaking absolute havoc among the panicked Hasshugeb. White flames spiked twenty feet into the air as warriors were consumed in the supernatural furnace.

The sound of the Suljak’s voice cut through the din and the fire died down. More musket fire ripped the night air and several drakarri fell. It was just enough of a respite to allow the Hasshugeb to reform their line and continue in as orderly a retreat as they could manage.

Over on the right flank it was a different story. The sarka har slashed and shrieked as they pushed forward against the white fire. The trees were actually tearing themselves apart in an effort to kill the drakarri by whipping their branches around with such force that the limbs broke free and sailed through the air like spears.

Konowa had hoped Her forest would be contained by Kaman Rhal’s creatures, but the blood trees were still gaining ground. A shadowy figure at the edge of Her forest wielded a lance of pure frost fire that none of the fire creatures could withstand. Wherever it moved, frost fire overwhelmed the drakarri and left them gutted husks.

“Her Emissary,” Konowa spat.

The Prince and the Viceroy said nothing. It occurred to Konowa then just how remarkable it was that both men were marching beside him. Neither the Prince nor the Viceroy were bound by the Blood Oath of the Iron Elves. They did not have the power of the frost fire burning within them, yet they did not flinch as the Iron Elves marched closer to the fray.

They approached to within five hundred yards of the canyon opening. The Prince raised his saber again and waved it back and forth, then brought it down. The regiment halted. The drummer ceased his drumming as boots thudded to a halt in the sand. The sounds of battle washed over the regiment as it stood, waiting.

The Prince and the Viceroy walked back toward the column while Konowa strode several paces away on its right flank. He then turned and faced the regiment. “Colors to the center, 3rd Spears to the right and left flanks…the regiment will form two rows in line…now!” Despite the horror taking place in front of the column, it spread out with smooth precision, each soldier taking measured steps as he found his place. In moments, the Iron Elves stretched out across the sand in two neat rows facing the canyon.

“Nine-pounder cannons to the right flank, six-pounder to the left…deploy!” Whips cracked and wheels creaked as the gun crews brought their guns up to the line. The cannons were quickly unhitched and the mule teams taken back behind the line while the gun crews rushed to get their guns set for firing. Cannonballs and powder charges were unloaded from limbers as the gun commander of each cannon began sighting down the barrel and adjusting the elevating screw.

Konowa glanced toward the canyon. A blue light was beginning to fill the sky just inside the opening between the two rocky shoulders. The way forward was littered with burning bodies. Fire creatures dashed back and forth spitting white flame while musket fire popped. The sarka har continued to grow, pushing the boundary of the forest ever closer to the canyon opening. The Iron Elves were going to have to move fast.

“Cannons…on my command…fire!”

Round shot hurtled out of the three cannon barrels and arced across the night sky toward the mayhem ahead. The shots fell short, but this was not a bad thing. The iron balls bounced low over the sand, smashing through anything that stood in their way. A drakarri exploded in a flash of white that temporarily turned night into day. Sarka har were cut down by the dozen, their trunks shorn in two by the shot.

Round after round roared from the cannons and the troops watching cheered as the path ahead was cleared. All too soon, however, the last shot left the barrels and silence reigned across the line of Iron Elves. The smoke from the cannons drifted lazily up into the sky and once more the voice of battle swept over them.

“Regiment…make ready!”

The muskets of the front-row men dropped from their shoulders and came to rest at their hips. Those in the back rank brought their muskets across their chest to port.

Konowa stayed to the side, raising his musket again. Frost fire flared along the length of the blade.

“By the left…march!”

Every soldier stepped forward and the Iron Elves began the march toward the canyon. The drummer picked up the beat again.

Fire creatures turned to face the regiment, their jaws opening to reveal the furnaces that burned inside.

“Steady!”

Konowa sensed a cold fury from the sarka har and saw Her Emissary begin to angle the forest toward the Iron Elves. The regiment continued its steady pace, closing the distance with measured steps. Whatever fear the soldiers felt was suppressed by the proximity of the soldier to either side of him. They were one, and they would live or die as one.

He took a quick look to where the 3rd Spears were lined up, wondering too late if the terror of this night was too much for men not bound by an oath such as that of the Iron Elves. He could see immediately that he needn’t have worried. The soldiers of the 3rd Spears were inching their way forward by taking longer strides, so that they were making a mess of the line. More than one sergeant was yelling at them to hold to the pace. The soldiers’ eyes were wide and intent on the battle ahead of them. While the tips of their swordlike bayonets did not sparkle with frost fire, there was a fierceness in their stance that imbued them with a power no magic could ever fully replicate. These were warriors, and they would taste blood this night.