Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

Konowa kept his stare even and concentrated on forcing the corners of his mouth to remain still.

The Prince's cheeks turned bright red. "Unfortunately, he has other business he must attend to. Isn't that right, Major?"

"Actually, sir, everything is in order. I think I have the time."

"The initiation," the Prince said suddenly, giving Konowa a triumphant smile. "You were going to initiate the men into the regiment the traditional way, if I recall." He eyed his crystal and visibly relaxed. "Yes, I think it critical that you do it. Tonight. Perform whatever rites or ceremonies need to be done. I trust that I do not need to be involved."

Konowa knew when he'd been defeated. "Not at all, sir. Your Highness, ma'am," he said, saluting and marching out of the tent and into the thickening night.

He walked aimlessly among the impromptu camp, not at all happy with the arrangement. Swirling offshoots of leaves rose well above men's heads in several places, limiting visibility to a few feet at most, while the trunks themselves made walking about the camp more like navigating the great royal maze in Celwyn, or a bloody forest.

Cooking fires winked to life, and Konowa marveled that anyone could be hungry in this heat. Then again, soldiers-especially the old hands-knew that you ate while you could, never knowing when the next chance might present itself.

He hated to interrupt them now, but even though the Prince thought he was getting Konowa out of the way, Tykkin had unwittingly given him an opportunity to address the men directly and explain the heritage of the Iron Elves to them. It wasn't the way he would have liked to do it, but fools wait in vain for the perfect time.

He buttonholed the first sergeant he saw and told him what he wanted.

Twenty minutes later the regiment was squeezed into the largest open area they had.

Sergeant Lorian stood beside Konowa and kept twirling his halberd between his hands. "The Prince should be here for this."

"The Prince has other plans," Konowa said, hoping now that the Prince didn't reconsider and suddenly show up. The Iron Elves were Konowa's, not the property of that sorry excuse for nobility. "Just do what I say," he said, jumping up onto an overturned cooking pot. The murmur of voices quieted as he raised his hand to speak.

"I know you're tired after a long day's march, so I'll keep this brief."

Cheers rose up from the men, and then all was quiet again.

"The Iron Elves have a long and storied past in the Imperial Army, and in that past, the regiment recruited from my native land of the Hynta. Times have changed. What hasn't changed is the honor and pride that every soldier in the Iron Elves should feel. You are now part of the finest regiment that ever walked the face of the earth." It was hyperbole of a sort. The Iron Elves had been the finest regiment. This collection of soldiers was something else again.

"Many might ask why reform the Iron Elves at all? The answer, gentlemen, is out there," he said, waving his arm to the blackness beyond. "The Empire has many enemies, and those enemies are on the march. You'll have heard rumors, and I'll be straight with you, I don't know what to believe myself, but I do know this: The Iron Elves once again stand ready to defend the Empire, and that is no small thing."

There was the obligatory roar of approval.

"But to be in the Iron Elves and fight under its Colors is more than just wearing the uniform. There are traditions, an initiation that bonds you to the regiment, and to each other, a bond that may not be sundered no matter what enemy we face!"

The roar was louder now. Konowa had made sure a couple of wine casks had been tapped before he started talking. One should know one's crowd.

"So I ask you now to pledge yourself to this regiment and accept what fate awaits us, not just as soldiers, not even as elite soldiers, but as the Iron Elves!"

Shakos flew high and fists pumped the air. Konowa waved them quiet and pulled his saber from its scabbard. The troops followed suit, grabbing their bayonets and holding them in their right hands.

He leaped off the cooking pot and knelt on one knee. The regiment followed suit. Quiet reigned. A singular clarity gripped Konowa and he saw his regiment again, his Iron Elves, about to be reborn.

Konowa turned to Lorian and nodded for him to begin.

"Iron Elves! Ground your weapons!"

Konowa thrust his saber into the earth as the soldiers did the same with their bayonets. A sensation, one of crystal purity of purpose, washed over Konowa.

The regiment spoke with one voice:

"We do not fear the flame, though it burns us.

We do not fear the fire, though it consumes us.

And we do not fear its light, though it reveals the darkness of our souls,

For therein lies our power!"

The silence that followed reverberated like the aftereffects of a cannon firing. In the stillness Konowa was whole again-he was home. He looked out at the soldiers before him. These were his brothers, his Iron Elves. Something greater than geography or even race united them, and nothing would break that bond. Not this time.

He was about to stand and draw his saber from the earth when the faintest of breezes brushed along the ruined top of his left ear. A sliver of cold pricked his chest where the acorn lay in its pouch. He looked down at the ground around the saber. It was surrounded by a thin crust of frost. He watched, amazed, as the frost spiderwebbed out to race across the ground and touch each bayonet at the same time, and for the briefest of moments, each soldier disappeared into shadow. It happened so fast that he wasn't sure it had happened at all. He blinked and looked again. Now there was no frost anywhere, no breeze.

"Uh, Major, how long do we need to do this?" Lorian whispered in his ear.

Konowa shook his head and stood, drawing his saber from the earth. Lorian ordered the regiment to do the same.

"You are now, all of you, Iron Elves! You are the fire-forged!"

The troops roared their approval one last time, whether in agreement with him or just happy to be done and be able to get back to their cook fires he didn't know. Konowa cleaned off his blade and sheathed it, staring at the ground.

"You didn't see anything odd?" Konowa asked Lorian.

Lorian looked angry. "Odd, sir? Why, was one of the men fooling around? I'll deal with him, sir, just point him out to me."

Konowa waved him down. "No, nothing like that-the men were splendid. Never mind, I think I just need some sleep." He saluted and watched Lorian walk off into the dark.

Sleep. He'd said it to cover for his own foolishness, but he could use a good night's worth. He patted the area over his chest and was surprised that he felt nothing. Funny, maybe it really was his imagination.

He had started walking toward his tent when something tugged at the edges of his awareness. He stopped, cocking his head to one side to listen. He spun slowly where he stood and tried to listen, to feel the ebb and flow of life around him. It was pointless. The camp was once again awash with noise and commotion, mixing with the more natural rhythm of the land around them so that he could discern nothing but the typical chaos. Except for the all-too-rare moments like the one of a minute ago, it had been that way his entire life, feeling adrift among a people that saw, and felt, the world differently than he, whether it was elves or men. The more he thought about it, the more he came to believe he was trying to see more than there really was.

Konowa kicked at the dirt and began walking again. Sleep could wait. He considered searching out Kritton, but quickly decided against it. After the grueling march of today and the initiation of so many into the Iron Elves, his mood would hardly be improved. He heard laughter and looked around, spotting the muraphants clustered near Rallie's wagon. Despite the abundance of vegetation, the animals were reluctant to stray far from the cook fires and instead huddled in a single mass near the brindos, who for their part circled around the muraphants in what appeared to be a guard-dog posture.