Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

There was no mistake. Hizu would suffer terribly; she had no choice.

Inja arrived at Hizu's stall and reached out her left hand and pulled back the wooden slide that held the stall door in place. Slowly, quietly, she eased the smooth, worn slat back until it made that familiar thunk sound as it hit its wooden stop. Hizu tossed his mane and snorted and stamped his front hooves.

"I am sorry, Hizu," Inja said, stepping into the stall and reaching up to grab Hizu's halter. The horse obediently brought its head down and sniffed her, looking for the keela fruit. Inja refused to look him in the eye, searching instead for the great vein at the side of his neck. "You deserved better."

The knife in her hand grew colder, and the horror of what she was about to do made her shiver. Hizu sensed something was wrong, jerking his head back up, his breath coming fast, its mist clouding the cold air of the stable. Inja looked at the mist in surprise, and then down at her hand. Frost sparkled along the blade.

"What-?" she asked aloud, turning as a new presence entered the stall behind her. Something incredibly cold grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. The knife fell from her hand as she reached up to pry away the icy grip. Already the cold was eating into her, blurring her vision as it bled the strength from her limbs. She heard the sound of Hizu's screams from a growing distance, and then she was flying, the cold vise around her neck letting go. Her head hit the stone cobbles of the hallway in front of the stall, but she remained conscious for a moment more, long enough to hear Hizu's hooves clatter across the stone and fade into the distance.

The Viceroy of Elfkyna was riding to Luuguth Jor.

I n the future, Major, I will be the one to give the speeches to the men," Prince Tykkin said, pacing up and down a small patch of grass twenty yards behind the firing line. He'd ridden the short distance down from the fortress on Rolling Thunder despite the horse's continued skittishness within the ring of trees. No sooner had he dismounted than the horse bolted, galloping back up to the fortress to huddle among the brindos and muraphants. Konowa felt a certain amount of pride that Zwindarra seemed unconcerned by their present environment.

"This is my regiment, not yours," the Prince went on. His face was red, but it was more from being out in the sun than from anger. In fact, despite Konowa's breach of etiquette, the Prince was clearly preoccupied with something else. Chants of "Sillra! Sillra!" washed over the regiment from the far bank as the elfkynan worked themselves into a frenzy in preparation for attack.

"Of course, sir," Konowa said, caring little what the Prince thought. The battle would be over soon and this whole nightmare would be at an end.

The Prince paused in his pacing, shivering and wrapping his arms around his body. He looked across the river and shook his head. "I caught the tail end of it, Major, and I noticed you didn't mention me. Still, it was rather rousing; I'll have to ask Rallie to write me up something like it." He stamped his boots and started pacing again. "This weather is absolutely atrocious. First it's hot enough to boil eggs and now I'm thoroughly chilled."

Konowa felt the cold, too, and found he was getting quite used to it. A thought occurred to him.

"Sir, when I administered the oath to the regiment, you were having one of your discussions with Rallie, correct?"

The Prince stopped again and looked skyward for a moment, pushing the brim of his shako back out of his eyes. He had lost a good ten pounds since they set out, the puffiness of his face having disappeared, the collar around his neck looser. Konowa hated to admit it, but he was starting to look like what a Prince and a leader should look like, toughened by the outdoors and bloodied, if slightly so far, by battle. Whether he had any more sense was another matter.

"Yes," he finally said, lowering his eyes to look at Konowa suspiciously. "She was fascinated by my plans to build the Great Library in Celwyn. Said placing the Star there would put it out of reach of almost every miscreant and fool that would try to use it, which was, of course, exactly my plan."

"No doubt," Konowa said, wondering if the Prince had ever taken a moment to consider the phrase "almost every." "Do you recall feeling cold at all that night? A cool breeze…frost, even a little?"

Prince Tykkin raised an eyebrow. "What are you getting at, Major?"

Now that Konowa had brought it up, he wasn't sure how to proceed. "Some of the men have reported feeling a bit off, sir. I was just curious if you had felt different of late."

The Prince relaxed and actually smiled. "I never would have taken you for a mother hen, Major, but no, put your mind at ease. I have never felt better in my life. If it wasn't for this blasted cold, I'd say I was near perfect."

So then. The oath hadn't affected the Prince. "Very good, sir. The men will be pleased to hear it."

"Of course they will," the Prince said, tapping his chest proudly. "They serve in the finest regiment in the Imperial Army, commanded by the heir to the throne. Now, enough about my health. Is everything ready?"

Konowa made a point of looking up and down the line as if studying the placement of the troops, something he had already done a dozen times before. "The regiment is ready, sir."

"Good, splendid. Well, very good. Yes, very, very good. We'll stand here then, shall we?"

Once again, Konowa came face to face with the reality of his situation: Prince Tykkin had no earthly idea what to do with a regiment going into battle.

"As the commanding officer it would be wise if you oversaw the battle from the fortress. It provides a commanding view and will allow you to take in the whole field, sir," Konowa lied. A commander's place was with his men, right in the thick of it-not that this fool would ever realize it.

The Prince looked back up to the fortress. "Seems rather far away to direct the regiment," he said. No sooner had he said it than a single arrow fluttered over from across the river, an impossibly long shot by an elfkynan archer hoping to take out an officer. The arrow barely penetrated the dirt two feet in front of them before slowly toppling over. The shouts of "Sillra!" grew even louder.

"The men know you would gladly risk your life to be right up here with them, sir," Konowa said, turning slightly so he could keep a better eye out for more arrows. He noticed that the Prince made sure to keep Konowa between himself and the river. "But yours is a strategic role, sir, watching for that critical moment when things hang in the balance. And of course the Star…you'll be looking for the Star."

Mention of the Star reanimated Prince Tykkin and his pacing resumed, faster than before, heedless of exposing himself to further shots. "It's close, Major, right at our very fingertips. It's here somewhere, I can feel it!"

"Yes, sir, I'm sure it is. All the more reason for you to continue searching for it. I'm sure you'll find it soon." The air vibrated with elfkynan chants.

"You're right," the Prince said. Another arrow sailed in a high curving arc across the river and struck the Prince's shako square on, bouncing off the hat just above his forehead to lie at their feet.

"He's got the right idea," Konowa muttered, looking across the river for the elfkynan archer.

"How's that?" the Prince asked, his voice rising in preparation for another tantrum.

"Always aim at their leaders, sir. You cut off the head and the body falls. They obviously recognize the threat you pose," Konowa said. "Perhaps Rallie will help you with a victory speech for after the battle. I know the men will be looking forward to hearing a few words from you."

"It would be appropriate," the Prince said, and then paused, a new thought clearly dawning on him. "And speaking of appropriate, an officer should be mounted at all times practical, Major. The men need constant inspiration. They need to look up to those that command them. That's why we have horses."