Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

Gwyn needed to know more. "And how is it you came to have its head while still retaining your own?" He motioned for an elfkynan to place the haversack on the floor beside him and mop up the mess.

"I personally ordered my men to be on the watch for anything peculiar tonight, your grace. I felt something wasn't right."

The Viceroy smiled, an act without any intent to put the elf at ease. "Elves and their senses. It's like having bloodhounds, and house-trained at that," he said, peering down at the floor by the elf's boots as if to verify his own statement.

"Sir," the elf said, his cheeks coloring.

The Viceroy smiled. Elves were rare in the army, rarer still in the days since the Iron Elves were disbanded. This one was clearly a remnant of that disgraced horde. He wore his shako set at just enough of an angle that it marked him a veteran of more than one campaign, but not so tilted that it would catch the ire of an officer. It almost served to hide the fact that the point of one ear was missing, another telltale mark of a former Iron Elf. Seven wound stripes were sewn above the cuff of his left sleeve, a rarity among the cannon fodder they assigned to the Trading Company-typically the bastion of drunkards, fools, and cowards.

Gwyn was certain the elf before him was none of those. No, he was something far more dangerous.

The only other obvious flaw was an irregular dark band that ran the full way around the left sleeve of his uniform. "That dark mark, there, on your coat, what's that?"

"Just a stain," the elf said, his eyes looking everywhere but at the Viceroy.

Gwyn suppressed a smile. "Actually, it looks to me like a patch was once sewn there, a very specific patch, I think, one of leaves, if I had to take a guess. Tell me, Kritton…is it?"

"Sir," the elf said, refusing to take the bait.

"Corporal, what unit were you with before joining the company? A wizard's assistant perhaps, or a scout? Hmmm, no, you carry a musket so you certainly aren't a pureblood. No self-respecting elf would carry metal, would they?"

The elf's body grew even more rigid, but his voice remained neutral. "Regular light infantry, sir."

"Come now, Corporal," the Viceroy said, enjoying himself immensely, "the army spends a great deal of time and money instilling pride in one's regiment. Are you saying you don't remember which one?"

"The Iron Elves, sir."

"Ah, the shamed regiment," Gwyn said triumphantly. "Must have been a terrible blow, having the regiment dishonored like that. Your commanding officer turning out to be a traitor to the Empire. Cast all elves in a rather poor light."

"Sir," the corporal said, clearly restraining himself.

"Quite," Gwyn said, suddenly growing tired of the sport. He had bigger fish to fry tonight. "Job well done, Corporal. I'll make sure to circulate a note regarding it tomorrow, might help your officers see you in a better light. Dismissed."

The corporal threw a parade-ground salute at Gwyn, then wheeled about and marched away, forcing several elfkynan to scramble out of his path.

Gwyn raised his cup to his lips but stopped short of drinking, considering how he might use this latest incident to his advantage. The mind of the masses was a simple thing to manipulate. Play to their beliefs, invoke their various gods and deities, then vanquish their foes, real or imagined, and claim righteous benediction from said god or spirit and reap the rewards.

"It's all too easy, isn't it?" he said out loud. The table shimmered in the lanterns' glow in reply. He brought the cup to his lips and stopped in horror. Bits of gore from the haversack floated in the tea. A sly one. He might have a use for this elf yet. He was debating whether to have him called back when the sound of boots echoed off the ruined walls of the palace.

"Ah, the popinjay has a new roost. Interesting aroma, Viceroy," the Duke of Rakestraw said, striding into the light.

Red hair fluttered around his head like ribbons of blood, framing a face so scarred that it was difficult to pick out the line of his mouth unless it was open. A heavy, curved cavalry saber, known by friend and foe alike as Wolf's Tooth, hung from a sabertache slung down over one enormous shoulder and was of no more cumbrance to the duke than fleas on a dog.

Dull silver spurs sparked against the stones as the Duke quickly crossed the floor, his black riding boots flashing as only polished leather cavalry boots could. His pale-blue surcoat was open at his midsection, revealing a black sash wound around his stomach-Rogolth's Banner. The gall, Gwyn fumed, to wear a fallen orc king's personal standard. Did Rakestraw think showing off the spoils of one of his cavalry's murderous rampages would influence the events of the evening?

"My dear Duke, how good of you to make an appearance," Gwyn said, releasing his grasp on the cup and giving the soldier a measured wave.

The Duke smiled, a jagged crease across his face that looked as vicious as the blue eyes that glared back at Gwyn.

"I haven't all night, Viceroy," he said, walking a complete circuit around the rubble-strewn throne room before choosing a chair directly opposite Gwyn. He sat down with a thump, then rested his boots on the edge of the table.

Gwyn grabbed for the cup and succeeded in spilling more on the table, ruining the effect of the light across the dragon's maw.

"The days of quietude in the Empire are at an end, I'm afraid," Gwyn began, motioning at an adjutant to clean the table again. "Her Majesty's long and benevolent reign over the masses is being challenged. It falls to us to stop it."

The Duke flashed a ragged smile. "Her reign, or the challenge to it?"

"Very droll, my lord Duke, but I do not find this the least bit amusing. I came to Elfkyna expecting to find order, and instead am shocked to find chaos." He decided not to mention the rakke.

"Chaos?" the Duke asked, his voice rising. "The only chaos I know of was the riot you caused in the bazaar this afternoon. Fifteen dead. What are you playing at, Viceroy?"

Gwyn spread his arms wide. "I assure you, this is no game. Rebelliousness is spreading like a plague, and I have begun what you and the rest of the Imperial Army have been unable to do. The natives will learn to stay in line, or suffer the consequences."

The Duke's head was already shaking before Gwyn finished. "You think slaughtering a bunch of civilians is going to cow them? All you've done is stirred things up. I'm already hearing about unrest across the city. When news of this reaches the northern tribes, they're bound to react."

"They already have, weeks ago as it turns out. My information indicates an army from the northern tribes has moved down the Shalpurud River and begun building a series of small outposts. These forces are disrupting our trade routes and making it difficult to take out material to the coast."

The Duke huffed. "Your information comes from my scouts. This army is more mob than anything else. They hardly pose a real threat to the Empire."

Gwyn allowed the smallest of sighs to escape his lips. "That is why diplomacy is best left to those who understand the finer points of things."

The Duke motioned as if to leave and Gwyn hurriedly continued.

"The Imperial Weekly Herald is reporting that all foreign powers should leave Elfkyna. That is nothing less than a call to arms against the Empire."

"Over a period of fifty years! Frankly, I think they're a bit timid about it all."

Gwyn couldn't believe anyone could be this obtuse. "The elfkyna are not at all capable of self-government. Not now, not fifty years from now, not ever. I've studied their history. Tribal warfare racked this land for centuries. Only under the benevolent rule of this Empire has peace and stability existed long enough for real progress to be made, and this talk of rebellion threatens it all." A part of Gwyn listened rapturously to his own performance, marveling at his skill.