Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

"Hold your fire!" Konowa shouted, his mind racing. Zwindarra tossed his head and pawed at the ground nervously, but still responded to Konowa's commands.

The encircled elfkynan were even more agitated, their cries of Sillra falling away as they witnessed the desecration of their brethren. The four shamans in the center of the circle stood back to back, their eyes closed, both hands gripping their staffs, chanting silently. Konowa expected to see a bright light, a glow, something, but though the wizards continued to chant nothing appeared to happen.

"Major, over there!" Lorian shouted, reining his horse in as it reared and neighed in fright.

Konowa swung around in the saddle to look, but he had already felt it.

Gray, awkward shapes were crawling from the water. The creatures were man-sized, their heads a blunt, eyeless knob with a circular mouth filled with rows of small, pointed teeth. There didn't seem to be a neck, just a scaly tube for a body, studded with spikes and supported on what looked like four short legs.

They were the huge ancestors of the bara jogg that swam the river.

Their progress was slow, their transition from water to land an uneasy one. Konowa cast a glance back at the elfkynan to make sure they weren't preparing anything and urged Zwindarra closer to the river. As he got closer, the reason for the creatures' strange gait became apparent. What he had taken for legs were just four large spikes that flailed and scratched at the ground for purchase, propelling them up the bank and toward the Iron Elves.

Konowa's mind was still reeling when a more familiar and unwelcome sight greeted his eyes. Rakkes emerged from the trees, their hulking forms all but hidden within the shadows save for the glow of their white, milky eyes. They began roaring and beating their chests, working themselves into a frenzy. Konowa figured they had a minute, maybe two.

"Major?"

"There's no point holding the river now. We've got to get the men up to the fortress as quickly as possible. I need you to keep them in check; we'll go slow and steady. No stragglers, no heroics, and I mean it."

Lorian nodded, a gesture mostly lost in the dark. "There's still the matter of the elfkynan between us and the fortress. How do we get by them while keeping those monsters at bay?"

"I don't think we have too much to worry about from them for the next little while," he said. The elfkynan were clearly horrified by the new trees squirming to life and showed no sign of mounting any kind of attack. The Iron Elves were no doubt troubled by the spectacle as well, but discipline would hold them together where others ran. Discipline, and an oath.

"Very good, sir," Lorian said, adjusting himself on the elfkynan saddle, which appeared a bit too small for him.

The howitzer in the fortress fired again, the shell landing only a few yards from the previous one. Instead of exploding, the shell bounced, the ground within the ring of trees hardened with frost. It started rolling toward the square, the fuse still sputtering. A soldier leaped out of line and ran toward the shell. He bent over it and fumbled with the fuse, trying to pull the burning cord out. After two failed attempts, the soldier simply picked the cannonball up and heaved it at the trees, where it exploded a moment later. Konowa didn't need to see his face to know the identity of the only soldier who could toss a cannonball like that.

"If he was a little smaller, Private Vulhber would make one hell of a cavalryman," Lorian said, his voice filled with relief and pride.

"Regiment, load muskets!" Konowa shouted, cantering Zwindarra in front of the line of soldiers at the edge of the river. Muskets were held at the hip as cartridges were pulled from leather pouches, the iron ball bitten from the top of the waxed paper that held the black powder, a portion of which was poured into the pan. As one, the regiment grounded their muskets and poured the remaining powder down the barrel, the musket ball following. Ramrods rattled and banged.

"Regiment will fix bayonets!" The sharp clang of steel on steel rever-berated in the cold air, and Konowa smiled at its familiar tune. He would get these men up to the fortress no matter what black horror stood in their way.

"What about the guns?" Lorian asked, using his halberd to point at the two positions at either end of the line.

Konowa spit. "There's nothing for it, they'll have to be left behind. We'll never get the muraphants down here now. Have the gun crews fire double canister shot into those things coming out of the water, then a couple of shots into the trees, and then go. The one in the fortress will have to do."

Lorian spurred his horse to a gallop to relay the message. Konowa watched him go, quickly running things over in his mind. They had close to three hundred yards to cover to get to the safety of the fortress, normally a three-minute march.

Konowa stood in the saddle, resting the balls of his feet on the stirrups. "Cannon will fire on my command…fire!"

The night momentarily lit up as twin gouts of sparks burst from the muzzles of the two five-pounders, scattering two hundred musket balls along the riverbank. The huge bara jogg blew apart, their scales no match for the force of the canister shot. More bara jogg still crawling out of the river began feeding on the remains of the others. Konowa was sure no one would straggle after seeing that.

The gun crews were already pivoting their guns to face the trees nearest the regiment, the sizzle of the wet sponge extinguishing the remaining sparks in the barrel before the next charge was rammed in place surprisingly loud in the cool, night air. The quiet was broken a moment later when the rakkes set up a new howl, and some of them began lumbering forward.

"The cannon will fire on my command…fire!"

Portfires, the metal sticks holding a length of burning cord called slow-match, were brought down to the touch hole at the rear of the cannon barrel. The flame came in contact with the fuse, in this case a goose quill filled with fast-burning powder, which ignited at once, sending flame directly into the powder charge inside. The guns roared, the force of the shot sending them rolling backward on their wheels. Each disgorged a solid cannonball through the air and into the trees.

The force of the impact uprooted several trees and scattered steel-like splinters into the nearest rakkes, felling them as forcefully as musket shot. It was enough to send the rest scurrying back for a moment, which was exactly what Konowa was waiting for.

"On my command, regiment will form a hollow square and prepare to march. Regiment…form square!"

In an open field in daylight the maneuver could be quickly and easily done by a well-drilled regiment. This was not an open field-it was night, the Iron Elves had had almost no time to practice complicated drills, and creatures from nightmares roared and crawled all around them.

Lorian's voice rose above the din, and in turn the sergeants and corporals got their men moving. Konowa directed Zwindarra toward the gun crew near the gap while Lorian went toward the other, each shouting at the men to hurry up. The two guns crews came running in a moment later, a wagon wheel being rolled by each group. Konowa kept twisting around in the saddle, trying to keep an eye on both the tree line and the river.

Everywhere he looked there was a threat. Everywhere his senses flowed he felt the malice and the hunger and knew there would be no negotiation, no mutual retreat. There would be only those not yet dead.

When the last man finally entered the ranks, Konowa and Lorian rode in and the Iron Elves closed around them, facing outward.

Typically, a square was formed to defend against roving cavalry. It allowed line infantry to create, in effect, a miniature fortress with all-round defense, their bayonets a bristling abatis, their muskets a deadly fusillade, and most important, the sense of security that derived from standing side by side with other soldiers, comrades in arms, friends. A square was strong only as long as all four walls held. A single breach would invite destruction.