Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

Konowa tipped his shako to her and rode in silence for a while, thinking.

The first elven Viceroy of the Calahrian Empire turned out to be a traitor in the service of the Shadow Monarch, and Konowa, as commanding officer of the only elven regiment in the Imperial Army, killed him. Simple enough. Only the Viceroy didn't die, or did die and has now come back as Her Emissary, looking for what should have been just a children's tale-a red shooting star. Not so simple. Myths becoming reality and the dead becoming, well, less so. Like the rakkes, extinct for hundreds of years, suddenly reappearing and knowing his name. That was no coincidence, of that much he was sure. The Shadow Monarch was looking for him. He gripped the reins tighter. She wouldn't have to look much longer. If Her Emissary was prowling around that miserable little fort at Luuguth Jor, She'd soon find out exactly where Konowa Swift Dragon was, and what he was capable of.

Far up ahead, a muraphant trumpeted, setting off the rest of them in a chorus of deep, rumbling blasts. Not to be outdone, the animals pulling Rallie's wagon lifted their heads in the air and honked, making a long sonorous sound that reminded Konowa of the after-echo of cannon fire. A voice from within the column that sounded suspiciously like the dwarf's suggested in no uncertain terms that they should all stuff it or wind up as steaks.

Konowa chuckled and coaxed Zwindarra closer to the wagon so he could get a good look at the beasts pulling it. What he had taken for especially monstrous horses were in fact brindos, a native species of deer that looked more like the ill-advised union of rhinoceros and horse.

"I call the big one there Baby, but they're all my babies really," Rallie said, smiling benevolently at her animals.

Baby was neither small nor cute, standing as tall as Zwindarra, but sporting a dull black hide of interlocking plates. It looked like a jigsaw puzzle in motion. Its hooves were cloven, its tail a stubby whip that thrashed vigorously to no effect that Konowa could discern, and its head was a wedge-shaped block featuring a pair of enormous floppy ears and two small, evil-looking green eyes. As it called out to the muraphants farther ahead, Konowa got a good look at its teeth and was surprised to see large flat molars. He wasn't sure why, but somehow he had expected brindos to be fanged like Jir.

Konowa realized he hadn't seen the bengar in some time. He'd never admit it, not to anyone, but Jir had saved his life out there, and not just from rakkes. Without the company of that furry, territory-marking carnivore, Konowa would have gone mad. Undercurrents of life in the forest had ebbed and flowed through his dreams, leaving susurrous after-echoes of something he didn't understand. What must the elves of the Long Watch endure? he wondered, feeling thankful that he had been rejected that day in the birthing meadow.

"A piece of gold for your thoughts," Rallie said, bringing Konowa back to the present with a jolt.

"You'll get a lot of change then," Konowa said, smiling to cover his sudden unease. Might Rallie possess his father's uncanny ability to know another's thoughts?

"I very much doubt that, Konowa Swift Dragon," Rallie said with a huge grin, "not if you told me your true thoughts."

Konowa forced a smile and rode on in silence, musing there was little chance of that.

T he sun's rays beat down on the regiment like bricks of light as it marched east across the vine-covered plain of Qundi. The trail they followed meandered like an old river, its bed a silty carpet of dust inches thick that spumed into the air with every footstep, plastering the soldiers until they were as gray as the earth. With each step they saw the effects of the endless battle to keep the trail open; great swathes of blackened, shriveled vegetation lined the trail and trunks lay hacked apart, the ends brown and desiccated. But wherever flame had burned or blade had cut, new growth had burst forth, sending tendrils back across the trail, forcing the regiment to employ ten soldiers and a pair of muraphants at a time to hack and trample a clear way forward.

It was a slow, exhausting march. Soldiers stumbled and fell, their skin as dry as parchment, their eyes rolled back in their heads. By late afternoon, one muraphant had had its supplies redistributed to other animals so that it could carry soldiers too weak to walk. Konowa had first asked Rallie if he might put some of the troops in the back of her wagon, but she had politely declined, suggesting they would be far more comfortable on the muraphants. After the twentieth soldier collapsed, the Prince was finally forced to order a halt and make camp for the night.

"Can they not even march a day's distance?" the Prince asked, pacing under the awning of his marquee and sipping wine from a crystal goblet.

Konowa forced his balled fists to unclench. "It is exceedingly hot during the day with no shade for cover, sir…and no horse to ride," he said, barely keeping his anger in check.

"They are soldiers of the Calahrian Empire, part of the finest army in the world. Do they need to be coddled? Should I call for carriages for all of them so that they may ride in comfort, growing soft and idle in the process?"

Like you? Konowa wanted to say, but instead shook his head. "I would merely suggest that we alter our marching schedule so that we rest during the heat of the day. We can march during the night and the early morning when it's cooler. It will do us little good to come to battle with soldiers dazed and weak and unable to fire a musket."

Prince Tykkin appeared to give this some thought, continuing to pace about, pausing only to refill his goblet. He didn't bother to offer any to Konowa, whether out of spite or from concern that more of his lead-cut crystal would wind up shattered on the ground.

"Very well, we shall rest until nightfall, then resume the march. Ah," the Prince said, his face brightening as he looked past Konowa, "here comes my scribe."

Konowa turned to see Rallie making her way toward the tent, her large gray cloak wrapped around her like a shroud. He wondered how it was that she didn't suffocate from the heat, but appeared to step as sprightly as if it were a cool, winter day.

"What weighty things does this war council discuss?" she asked, helping herself to a goblet and filling it to the brim.

The Prince beamed at what he interpreted as a compliment. "I was just telling my second in command that in order to better preserve the men's health and keep them fit for battle, we will henceforth march at night." He turned slightly away from Konowa as he said it.

Rallie pushed back the hood on her cloak, revealing a tangled mess of frizzy gray hair to which the concept of a comb was clearly foreign. "A compassionate and wise decision, Your Highness," she said, giving Konowa a wink. "Tell me, what provision have you made for drinkables out here on the plain?"

"I have several casks of that wine, as well as barrels of water," the Prince said, motioning for Rallie to take a seat on one of the wicker chairs set out.

"I meant for the men," she said.

"Yes, of course. They'll make use of the rivers we cross, no doubt," he said, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

"Make sure they boil it first, or the only story I'll be sending home will be a rather watery discourse," she said, a loud, throaty laugh spilling out from her mouth.

"Indeed," the Prince said, struggling to get the conversation on track. "I imagine you'll want my views on the raising of the regiment and our progress thus far. I know Her Majesty and Her loyal subjects will be interested to hear of it," he said pointedly.

"Absolutely, Prince Tykkin. In fact, Her Majesty seemed particularly interested in hearing about the major's resurrection," she said, downing the goblet with a practiced flick of her wrist.