Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

And then he saw it. The first pinkish-orange smudge on the horizon.

It was magic. Everything seemed different with that first tiny bit of light. The tension dribbled out of his muscles until he thought he'd collapse on the ground in one wonderful mushy heap of relief. It was morning, the start of a brand-new day, and the vines were behind them.

Scritch-splash. He turned, and for the first time saw the river. Tall, bulbous-headed reeds rustled at the river's edge as ducks (and they were ducks, he was happy to see) nibbled around their stalks, diving for seeds that had shaken loose from their pods. It was a beautiful sight.

He looked out past the ducks to the river itself, no more than a musket shot across as the far bank began to take shape through the mist. The smell, which he had to admit he was getting used to, appeared to come from the river itself. As the dawn grew brighter he could make out the oily surface of the brown water and wondered how the ducks survived in it. Maybe they drink somewhere else, he thought, taking a few steps closer to the reeds.

Water splashed into the air a few feet away. Alwyn jumped, swinging his musket to bear. The mist was still thick enough that large chunks of the area were clouded by it. He eased the hammer back and held his breath, the sound of his own heart so loud he wondered if a person could break a rib. The mist became thicker again, a reaction to the rising heat of the morning, and it clung to his skin like a thin sheet of slime.

A terrible thought occurred to him. What if the powder in the pan is too wet and won't light? He looked down at the musket as if it had just betrayed him.

He cradled the now-suspect weapon in one hand and felt around for another charge in his ammunition pouch, his fingers brushing the tops of the waxed paper cartridges and feeling moisture on each one. He closed the lid on the leather pouch and decided he'd take his chances with what was in the pan. More water splashed.

"Hrem," Alwyn called. He said it so softly he wasn't sure any sound escaped his lips. He tried again and jumped at the loudness of his own voice.

"Naw…tickle me there, Dabina, that's the spot…"

Alwyn shook his head. He was beginning to think he'd never sleep normally again, while soldiers like Yimt and Hrem seemed capable of sleeping anywhere, any time.

More ducks were splashing and quacking now and the sun was definitely on the rise, though the area around Alwyn was still murky with shadow. He decided a couple of seed pods lobbed into the tall grass like those hand-sized fireballs the grenadiers used should get Hrem's attention. He rested his musket on his shoulder and walked toward the river's edge to grab some.

The smell again. Stronger.

It was earthy and old, a smell that had never seen the light of the sun. It wasn't the smell of the river, either. It was approaching Alwyn from somewhere in the mist.

"…Hrem…" Alwyn cried, but now that he wanted to shout his voice would only rasp, his tongue dry and immovable inside his mouth.

Something large and ponderous loomed out of the mist-it was a dark blur, but Alwyn knew what it was.

"…R-r-rakke," he tried to scream, gripping his musket so hard the muscles in his hands burned.

"…use the feather; no, the purple one," Hrem said, sighing with great contentment.

" Hremmmm! " Alwyn shouted at the top of his lungs, pulling back the hammer and squeezing the trigger. There was the distinctive crack of flint striking metal followed by a fizz and then nothing.

The powder didn't light.

The rakke emerged from the mist swinging its arms wildly. Alwyn closed his eyes and lunged forward, waiting for the impact.

A bitter cold wind roared up from nowhere. Alwyn opened his eyes. Meri stood before him, a long broadsword held easily in his hands. The body of the rakke was tumbling down the bank where it rolled into the water and sank from view.

"What's going on?"

Alwyn turned at the sound of Hrem's voice. The big soldier was standing a few feet away, his musket at the ready.

"It was a-" Alwyn started to say, turning to point to Meri.

There was no one there. No sign of Meri. No sign of the rakke.

"A what?" Hrem asked, taking a few steps toward the river before turning back.

Alwyn shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Sun rays began to stretch out across the land, chasing away the last vestiges of the night. Alwyn watched the mist burn into nothing, and wondered if his mind would soon follow.

A gold coin for your thoughts," Konowa said, spying Rallie pacing back and forth near her wagon. Blue smoke hung thick around her as she puffed rapidly on a large cigar. Every few steps she would stop, take the cigar out of her mouth, and look to the sky, visible now that the sun was up and had burned away the mist. It appeared that she was speaking to someone Konowa couldn't see.

"I can't see him, either," Rallie said, sending a cool trickle of unease up his spine as she answered his unspoken thought.

"Martimis, was it?" he asked. He looked to the sky, but beyond a new batch of rain-laden clouds on the horizon, there was no sign of the sreex, or any other flying creature, for that matter.

"Oh, I hope it still is," she said, clamping down on the cigar and walking back to her wagon. She motioned for him to follow.

Konowa obliged and was surprised to see Jir curled up underneath her wagon, his muzzle resting on his paws and his ears twitching in dream. Rallie bent and gave the bengar a scratch behind the ears, and his whiskers fluttered and his hind legs stretched out to the fullest. He never opened his eyes. She stood up, jumped onto the running board along the side of the wagon, and leaned her head back against the wooden cages. The sreexes inside purred in response.

Konowa remained standing a few feet away. "Martimis looked like he could take care of himself."

"Normally, yes, but things are no longer normal," she said, pulling out her cigar and waving it around her. The smoke left a fat trail in the air like a snake through mud.

"Will you send another?"

Rallie sighed and looked at the caged sreexes. "I've sent two more since Martimis. My editor is not the most patient of dwarves-if my reports aren't getting through he'll send Wobbly."

"Wobbly?"

Rallie smiled and closed her eyes. "You'll know him when you see him. Still, I keep hoping that you won't."

"Then it is hope in vain, and you know it," Visyna said, appearing from around the far side of the wagon. She was dressed in a light cotton wrap the color of warm gold and had traded in her riding boots for a pair of woven grass sandals again. Her hair was pulled back and tied up off her shoulders, revealing an enticing amount of bare brown skin, much of which was covered with intricate tattoos of animals and plants in perfect harmony.

"Hope is never in vain, my dear," Rallie said, opening her eyes and watching Visyna walk toward them. "Hope is hope. What is vain is when we do nothing to help it along."

"Then you should convince the Prince to turn this regiment around, now. Going to Luuguth Jor will only result in disaster." She pointedly refused to look at Konowa.

Konowa touched his hand to his shako. "Get up on the wrong side of nature this morning?"

Visyna gave him a withering glance and took a few more steps toward Rallie, showing off a significant portion of smooth thigh in the process as the cloth fluttered and settled about her body again. Konowa found himself remembering the touch of her hands against his skin and allowed himself a small smile.

"I'm glad to see someone is enjoying our plight. Everywhere the world grows strange and the weight of an Imperial hobnailed boot does little to aid it."

He sighed and held out his hands. "Surely you don't blame the regiment? We're on the same side, remember?"