Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

"Regiment…march!"

Boots crunched on the brittle ground as the square inched forward again. Konowa reached the first tree, its limbs wriggling frantically at his approach, slashing at the air in an attempt to ward him off. He felt the eyes of many on him and didn't care. Power was what you made of it, and he was getting the Iron Elves home.

He grabbed the sarka har by the trunk and pulled. It didn't budge. A surge of cold anger flowed through it far greater than its size warranted. It was trying to overwhelm him, and he felt not just two souls, but many. He squeezed, forcing his power into it, but unlike before, the tree absorbed it with ease. Was the power of the Wolf Oak acorn failing?

The cold seeped into his blood far deeper this time, and he felt something new and unexpected. The screaming softened, beckoning instead for him to join them. A great void opened up somewhere deep within his mind, a pool of absolute nothingness. No chaos, no sensations…nothing. The temptation to dive into it weighed down on him like a mountain, and his hands began to slip from the trunk. He had almost let go when the pool rippled and vanished in a storm of light and noise. He blinked and looked over to see Private Vulhber grab a tree.

Konowa concentrated, realizing now that they weren't just attacking a single tree, but the power of the entire forest around them. Every tree was connected.

"Major, look out!" Zwitty shouted as he turned and ran back toward the square.

The shako on Konowa's head was ripped off, a chunk of wood thrown by a rakke just missing crushing his skull. He kept his hands on the tree, not knowing what else to do. There were still dozens of trees between the regiment and the fort. If the square was to maintain its integrity, Konowa had to find a way to remove the trees in its path.

The tramping of boots echoed through the ground. With each step he felt a growing strength. As the regiment got closer the power in him increased, magnified by their numbers, and their oath. He sensed the presence of Iron Elves around him, their closeness giving him incredible power. With a shout that was half growl, he ripped the tree from the earth and burned it in a triumphal blaze of black flame.

A rakke suddenly loomed before him, its yellow fangs dripping with saliva. Konowa didn't even reach for his saber. He took one step forward and drove his right fist into the creature's chest. He felt the ribs freeze and turn brittle, snapping into several pieces as they were driven into its heart, which shuddered and stopped.

More rakkes charged.

"Major, Private! Get down!"

Konowa shook his head and moved toward the rakkes. A hand like an anvil came down on his shoulder and shoved him to the ground.

"Fire!"

Muskets barked directly above him. Bitter smoke stung his nostrils, his eyes watering. He shook off the hand holding him down and stood up. Rakkes lay everywhere, trees writhed and flailed their crooked branches, and somewhere a series of bells were ringing.

"-more careful! That volley would…and then what…"

Konowa watched Vulhber's lips moving, but only caught a few words. He realized the ringing in his ears was from the last volley. Slowly, his hearing came back.

"-you okay?"

Konowa nodded and moved forward again toward the next tree. "Stay close; use their power," he said, pointing to the regiment behind them.

Private Vulhber shook his head. "There's no point, sir."

Konowa snarled. "Don't go soft on me now."

Vulhber pointed to the trees. "Look."

Konowa turned. Dark figures moved across the ground, long, two-handed swords gleaming like lightning dancing above the ground. They drifted in and out of sight, more shadow than substance, making it difficult to keep them in focus. Their swords rose and fell with untiring violence. Black frost sparked into black flame wherever their swords cut, consuming the sarka har in a chorus of screams that echoed in Konowa's head. One of the figures paused, its blade held high above its head. It turned slowly, its gaze sweeping across Konowa like a winter gale.

A voice crawled into his skull from somewhere impossibly far away.

"They are coming," the shade of Meri said. "Run."

I s that…" Vulhber started to ask, his voice choking.

"Get back in the square!" Konowa shouted. He drew his saber and pointed up toward the fortress. "Lorian, get them moving! Double time!"

Lorian raised his halberd in response and relayed the order from atop Zwindarra.

Konowa trotted forward, searching. Rakkes bellowed with unmitigated fury at the sight of the shades, but for the moment were unwilling to challenge them.

The regiment picked up its pace, the men sensing the new urgency. Chunks of splintered sarka har still flew through the air, and three more Iron Elves fell, but the protective walls of the fortress were tantalizingly close, and cheers began to rise from the ranks. The rakkes turned their attention on the elfkynan, but though the circle wavered, the four shamans maintained the protective spell around them. Konowa knew it couldn't last, sensing the force diminishing under the intense pressure, the warmth of the spell growing cold, fading.

Konowa waved his saber forward, urging the regiment on, the feel of the cool night air in his hair reminding him that he had lost his shako.

That's when Konowa felt them.

He didn't need the surge of ice against his chest to tell him. It was like a sliver of metal slipped between the eye and the lid. The rakkes grew silent, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Even the clawing of the bara jogg on the hard earth stopped, their scaly bodies uncannily still.

Shadows slipped through the trees, long, jagged blades held in their hands.

Konowa heard their terrible cries in his head. They all did. The shades of the Thirty-fifth Regiment wailed in terror, their spirits overcome by the sarka har. Still, they advanced. They had become unwilling servants to Her will, soldiers in a battle no longer for their lives, but for their souls.

"Fire!"

Muskets punched through the screams. Many shades were hit, a few bursting into writhing pyres of black flame, but most continued, the effect negligible. The first reached the front rank of the square, their blades slashing through the wall of bayonets to rend flesh.

Men screamed as frost fire burst over them. Others hacked and stabbed furiously with their bayonets, but it was like spearing water. The sides of the square began to buckle, the square collapsing in on itself as soldiers backed away from the relentless shadow warriors. The square was moments from collapsing altogether when the shades of the Iron Elves turned from the destruction of the trees and filled the ranks of the fallen in the square.

Now, shadow met shadow.

A howitzer shell hurtled skyward, a trail of sparks scribing its flight against the night. It appeared to get caught in a wind, though Konowa felt none. The shell veered far to the right, coming down not among the shades, but near the trees. The explosion radiated a brilliant white light. Several rakkes were scattered in the blast, their bodies flung about like rag dolls.

Konowa sensed something else then, a pure, exquisite malice that surpassed even the sarka har. More figures emerged from the trees, and though they moved as if they were shadow, their bodies were indeed corporeal, if twisted. The ground beneath Konowa swayed, or perhaps it was him, he could no longer tell.

Flame from a torch guttered and flared briefly, illuminating the area in front of him. An elf stood there, its black ear tip an obsidian beacon in the night. It held a longbow ready in its hands. Hunger…rage…anguish…extremes of emotion radiated outward from the elf, all of them driven by something bitter and vengeful. They had been left on the plains to die, mere babies, abandoned by their tribe. Death should have found them; a ravening wolf, carrion birds, a hunting dragon. But She found them, and took them for Her own, creating the dyskara, the tainted ones.