Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

He poked some taller grass to the side with the end of his bayonet and peered through the gap to see what Yimt was doing. It was pointless; the rain made everything a gray blur out past fifty feet. There was no sign of the bengar, either.

Then Yimt came into view, a short, dark figure in the rain, and pointed somewhere to the left, and then he was running, his caerna plastered to his legs like a pair of short pants.

Blurred figures rushed forward on either side and Alwyn stood up and followed suit, straining to see what was happening. The rain now hit his face head-on. He took off his spectacles and jammed them into a jacket pocket as he trotted forward.

A shadow suddenly loomed before Alwyn and he yelped, swinging his musket clumsily at it. There was a dull crack and the musket shivered in his hands, stinging them. A moment later he saw the shadow fall backward in the mud with a soft thud and lie motionless.

Shaking, Alwyn moved forward, the musket held by the barrel with both hands, ready to swing it again.

He'd killed a god. Well, a statue of one at any rate. Alwyn knelt to examine the now-fractured jaw of a short, stocky deity that had been placed on a pedestal that he had not seen. It had once been painted in garish reds and oranges, although only remnants of the colors now remained. He wasn't sure, but it looked an awful lot like a pig, or maybe a boar. Whatever it was, bashing it in the head with his musket wasn't likely to bring him anything but bad luck. He tucked his musket under his right arm and heaved the statue back onto its pedestal, placing the broken pieces of jaw in a neat pile by its feet.

"-ere the hell did he get to?" drifted through the rain, and Alwyn remembered why he was there. He gave the statue a pat on the head for good luck, then trotted off toward the sound of the voice, coming upon Yimt and the others crouched in a semicircle, less than twenty yards from the nearest opening in the mound.

Yimt looked at him, but in the pouring rain Alwyn couldn't tell if he was scowling or just frowning.

"Everyone take a hole," Yimt said at once. "Don't stay at the opening, go in about ten feet, then hold there. Keep your bayonet pointing straight in front of you and brace the butt of your musket in the dirt. Anything comes charging up out of the depths will impale itself."

Before anyone could respond, a high-pitched hiss sounded somewhere nearby. A moment later, a large, dark shape came loping out of the rain. Jir strolled right up to them, dragging a fifteen-foot-long constrictor in his mouth. He held the snake just behind the head and seemed completely unconcerned that it was wrapping its muscular body around his.

The snake coiled tighter around Jir's body, straining to squeeze the life out of the bengar. The sound of scales rubbing against wet fur grew louder. The bengar and the dwarf shared a look, and Alwyn was struck by the feeling of watching two predators assess each other. There was a loud snap as the bengar's fangs bit down and the coils of the snake's body slid from Jir's body. He began to play with it, tossing it into the air as if it were a twig, then pouncing on it and tearing off great chunks of flesh.

"All right, let's get this done," Yimt said, leading them around the mound, dropping off a soldier at a hole as they went by. Soon, only Alwyn was left-Yimt stopped at the next hole and turned to face him, pointing a stubby finger.

"You need to keep your head about you. You don't often get a chance to repeat mistakes out here. Now, if there is anything down there, it's going to come up in one hellfire of a hurry. Hold your ground and shout if you need help, and I'll be there." And then he smiled, his metal teeth glinting briefly in the rain, and Alwyn felt all was right with the world again.

"I'll hold, Corporal," Alwyn said, smiling back at his friend.

Yimt nodded and trotted to the next hole, fifteen yards over. He paused, got a better grip on his drukar, and strolled right in.

Alwyn was at the back of the mound and hidden from view from the officers and the rest of the regiment. The other members of the section had already gone into their holes, leaving him alone outside. His eyes now picked up hints of things he wished he'd not seen. Bits of white bone were scattered between beaten paths of dirt that ran between the holes and over the mound. Something, or somethings, had definitely lived here. The question was whether they were still down there.

K onowa debated going after the troops and leading them into the mound. He took a step forward, then something made him turn. Visyna was walking toward him in the rain. He stopped, unable to keep from staring at her as she moved. She came to an arm's length from him and stopped, staring back at him. For several moments neither one of them said a word. Lightning fretted within rumbling clouds and Konowa tried to find the anger he'd felt after the faeraug attack, but he missed having her this close to him.

"Listen, about the other night," he said, "you have to understand, out here, my men come first."

She nodded. "And you must understand that out here, my land and my people come first."

"Perhaps when we get out of here we could come first," he said, hoping the driving rain drowned out the squeak in his voice. "I kind of enjoyed it when it was just the two of us."

"So did I," she said, stepping closer. "Perhaps we won't have to wait until we are out of here. Rallie and I have been talking. I think you and I have more in common than I thought. We both want the same things." She reached out a hand to touch him, then stopped, her fingers just above his chest. "I will do all in my power to protect you and this regiment. Please, get rid of it."

Konowa hung his head, but the rain sluicing down his collar quickly forced his head up again. "I really wish-"

The sound of an explosion drifted up from belowground. And then the shouting and screaming started.

"Oh, hell."

Alwyn saw yellow, then white, then black. An acrid wind blew past him, followed by clods of dirt, and he turned his head away from the open hole. When he dared to look again, thick, dark smoke was roiling out of the mound in a dozen different places.

"Yimt?" he called. There was no reply. He had opened his mouth to yell again when black shapes began darting out of the smoke.

"Bats!"

The cry went up everywhere as hundreds then thousands of the night creatures flew up from the mound and into the smoke and rain. They formed a growing cloud of whirling wings and high-pitched screeching as they circled the mound.

They moved like a big school of fish in the sky, darting this way and that.

Then they dove.

Alwyn barely had time to switch his grip on his musket and use it as a club when the first of the bats screeched toward him. Their eyes bulged white and milky and their fangs glistened with saliva.

Alwyn swung hard, knocking two bats out of the sky. A dozen more swarmed over him. They screamed and darted around his head, beating their wings in fury against his arms as they tried to get at his face. Everything was a blur of black leathery wings, white eyes, and wicked-looking fangs.

"Put me down, you buggers!"

Alwyn swatted three more bats to the ground and turned toward the sound of Yimt's voice. The bats, dozens of them, were trying to carry Yimt away.

Alwyn took a few steps toward Yimt, but was stopped as more bats began swarming around his legs. The thought of one of these creatures flying up his caerna gave new energy to his tiring arms, and he swung his musket like a scythe. Blood and gristle covered his face and hands and made holding the musket difficult.

Musket fire crackled to life somewhere to the left, but Alwyn couldn't imagine it would have much effect. The regiment didn't have enough musket balls to kill all the bats.