A Darkness Forged in Fire

by Chris (chris R. ) Evans

  Yimt's face turned bright red. "This ain't no time to be worrying about trees over people! I put two of them black arrows into that korwird and you countered them; this is only one."

  Chayii turned her head quickly toward Yimt, anger bright on her face. "Would you have us shoot him with an arrow in the other leg? No, master dwarf, the arrow is now part of him. This is no choice I make, it is as it is. The korwird was dead when we culled the sarka har. To cull this one would be to cull Alwyn as well, sending him to a fate worse than death."

  "Then I'll take care of it," Yimt said, reaching out to grab the arrow. "Scolly, Teeter, hold him down. Inkermon, you believe in that creator of yours so much, I want a prayer, and a damn good one." He paused, thinking for a moment, then looked back at Alwyn. "Ally, lad, this might hurt a bit, so try not to scream too much."

  Alwyn tried to protest, but his throat was locked, his mouth clenched against the pain. He closed his eyes and prayed for unconsciousness. It eluded him. The irony of it brought tears to his eyes and he started to laugh.

  "No!" Chayii said. "To rip it out would kill him. The sapling and his leg are one. There is no way to separate them. We must end his misery before he is beyond us."

  Alwyn opened his eyes. Everything was growing distant as the cold infused him. He managed to utter two words. "Do it."

  Yimt looked at him with genuine shock.

  He turned to Chayii, who nodded. "It is the only way," she said. Alwyn noticed that she still held her sword in her hand.

  Alwyn turned his head away as hands gently held his arms and legs. He heard Yimt gasp, and looked back. The dwarf was shaking his head in disbelief.

  "No. There is another way," Meri said, holding out a shadowy hand.

  Konowa bared his teeth and smiled at death as the arrows struck, their dark runes that branded their shafts guiding them unerringly for the heart. He expected excruciating pain, agony, but after the sound of the arrows piercing flesh he felt only a cold dread as the horror of what happened hit him.

  They hadn't aimed at him.

  "M-major…"

  There was a sigh, and an animal scream, and the sound of two bodies falling to the ground. A temporary gap in the square revealed the terrible truth. Lorian and Zwindarra sprawled on the ground, the black shaft of an arrow protruding from each chest. He heard a bowstring pulling taut and turned back to see the elf nearest him taking aim again, and this time it was at him.

  A dark blur pounced on the elf even as it released the string. The arrow leaped from the bow as Jir's teeth sank into the elf's neck, snapping its spine. Time seemed to slow for Konowa. He heard the high-pitched twang of the bowstring and a strange after-echo, the sharp cracking of teeth on bone, saw the arrow rotating on its axis as it sped toward him. The acorn against his chest thrummed with energy, but there was nothing he could do with it except watch his own destruction.

  The Star. All this death and waste for an idea. Even now, it compelled man and beast to horrible acts.

  The arrowhead had reached the edge of his jacket just above the acorn, the very tip of its sharpened point penetrating the cloth, when a second arrow hit it obliquely at the same point, shattering the two shafts and sending the splinters flying off to the side, leaving Konowa unscathed. He blinked and looked down at his chest, expecting to see an arrow there.

  He looked up, turning to the right. A leafy bush stood improbably in the middle of the battlefield. He blinked and looked again, and the bush was gone.

  A growl brought his head back to the front in time to see three rakkes converging on Jir. Konowa screamed his battle cry and charged. Before he had covered half the distance the rakkes were all down, two with arrows through their necks, the third with Jir's jaws around it.

  Konowa felt the power of the acorn increasing and knew the regiment was close. The fortress was now less than a hundred yards away. The shades of the Iron Elves continued their battle with the captured souls of the Thirty-fifth Regiment, an ethereal combat that swam in and out of his vision. Rakkes still roamed the field, their charges coming closer as the regiment expended the last of its ammunition. Black arrows raked square and circle alike. In the course of the battle, the two entities—once mortal enemies, now both prey—had moved closer together until they were now little more than twenty feet apart.

  The elfkynan broke. Chants of "Sillra! Sillra!" were replaced with screams. Their circle disintegrated and the survivors ran, hunted by shadow, claw, and frost fire.

  A group of rakkes charged to within yards of the square when arrows cut into them from all sides. These weren't random shots, but well-aimed strikes that hit eyes and throats and hearts, bringing the creatures down quickly and with skill. Konowa recognized the archers by the talent of their shooting even as his senses blurred with the power of the bond-oath between elf and Wolf Oak.

  The rakkes panicked, howling their confusion as more arrows cut into their ranks. A few muskets fired as well, an odd sound after the silence of the square when it fired what Konowa thought was its last round. Konowa thrust his saber into the chest of the nearest rakke, the frost fire turning it into a burning, screaming pyre. All this death. The futility of it gave strength to his arm, and he swung his saber with abandon, severing limbs and heads, skewering bodies so violently that he was forced to place his boot on the chest of one rakke to pull the saber back out.

  Jir stalked around him, a black demon of claws and teeth, ripping into the rakkes, exposing the blood and the bone beneath. The dead piled up around them, their frenzy unmatched. Konowa let the cold take him, giving himself over to its power. His saber arm was cold, black death. His eyes gleamed with frost. They would pay. He would destroy them all.

  A shade of the Thirty-fifth Regiment appeared in front of Konowa and he cut it down, his saber equally effective against shadow. Nothing could stand up to him. He heard the twang of a bowstring and felt the arrow slicing through the air. He reached out with his senses and burned it with frost fire. The feeling was glorious. Another group of rakkes massed for an attack. Konowa spread the fingers of his left hand wide and slowly squeezed. Frost and flame burst over the rakkes, their screaming pitiful as they tried to run. Konowa squeezed his hand tighter and then opened it with a yelp. A white feather quill stuck out of the top of his hand.

  "I think that's more than enough," Rallie said, striding toward him. Visyna, the Prince, and the regimental Color party followed.

  Konowa looked around him. The battlefield had changed. The bara jogg were crawling back to the river, while rakkes and black elves vanished into the sarka har, the limbs of the trees embracing them. Elves of the Long Watch spread out across the wreckage, their oath-bond weapons tiny sparks of warmth in a cold, dark sea of Her power.

  Black flame danced along Konowa's saber and frost radiated out in all directions from beneath him. His breath misted and hung in the air, a swirling veil muting everything around him. With a single thought he burned the quill in his hand. The power coursing through him was wonderful and terrible.

  Konowa flowed his senses outward, searching, and found a source of power searching in return. He turned and saw a tiny sapling pushing up through the frost, but unlike the sarka har, this tree grew proud and straight and shone with a brilliant red glow. Konowa looked closer. It looked like a Wolf Oak, only more…perfect. The buds on its thin branches began sprouting leaves, and as they unfurled it was clear to see they were unmistakably in the shape of a star. Without a word he walked over and stood above it. He looked up to the sky, searching the darkness for a sign, but he already knew what he had found.

  This was the Eastern Star returned.

  FIFTY-THREE

  When Hizu finally collapsed beneath the Viceroy, he was still a day's ride from Luuguth Jor. Disgusted, he jerked his boots from the stirrups and awkwardly stood to his feet, pulling the long green cloak he had chosen to wear tighter around him. It crinkled with the sound of the hoar frost that lined its interior, a glorious sensation against his new flesh.

  He sto
od over the horse's head and nudged it with his boot. Pink, frothy bubbles blew from its nose and the one eye he could see was rolled back, the cornea shot through with blood. Forcing his knees to bend, a motion he was still relearning as he sought to work the joints where his flesh had been reborn through Her beneficence, he crouched over the dying animal and laid both hands on it, commanding it to rise as he had commanded Her forces to kill.

  Black frost spread across its body like ink spilled from a jar. The horse neighed once, twice, and blew dark streams of blood from its nose and mouth. He stood up and waited, watching the eye turn cloudy as the fluid from the animal's mouth changed from red to gray to black. Much faster than even he had recovered, the horse lurched to its hooves, leaving strips of flesh frozen to the ground where it had lain just a moment ago. It turned to him and opened its mouth wide, its sound now rumbling from deep within frost-burnt lungs.

  Now this, the Viceroy thought, was a horse.

  Warm water trickled down her throat. Inja remembered and opened her mouth to scream. A harsh, rasping sound echoed in her ears.

  "Easy now, girl, I don't look that bad."

  Inja closed her mouth and opened her eyes. At first, all she could make out was polished metal and locks of red hair in the lamplight. She was still in the stable, but now lay on one of the straw-filled mattresses for the help, a blanket over her body. She shivered and clutched it tight around her. Her vision cleared, and she made out a man wearing a shiny metal helm and cuirass—a cavalry officer. Several others stood around her bed, their expressions a mix of sorrow and revulsion. Most curiously, a white bird sat on the foot of her bed, its bill tucked under one wing. It appeared to be snoring.

  "Who…are…you?" she asked, each word a challenge.

  "Ah, of course, we haven't been properly introduced." He stood up from beside her bed and doffed his helmet, the long horsehair plume brushing her exposed arm resting on top of the blanket. "I am the Duke of Rakestraw, Colonel Jaal Endrehar, knight commander of Her Majesty's cavalry in Elfkyna. And these gentlemen are my staff," he said, motioning with a gauntleted hand at the group, who bowed and nodded toward her. "We received a message that we should pay a visit to the Viceroy at our earliest convenience, and found you lying on the floor…injured."

  His voice was deep and rough, but kindness gave it a gentle, soothing quality, and his smile, despite the many scars on his face, outshone the lanterns. Inja brought her hand up to her throat and felt the skin there. It was scarred, and freezing to the touch. "I am Inja, my lord. I work in the stables. I was here when the Viceroy came," she said, understanding now why some of the officers turned away. "He took Hizu and left. I knew what would happen, but I couldn't stop him." At the thought of Hizu, Inja began to sob.

  "Oh, now, don't do that, darling. I'm sure they can't have got far. We'll track the bastard down and get Hizu back," the Duke said, looking at his officers.

  "Hizu is dead; worse than dead. The Viceroy has changed him, as he has been changed." And as I have been changed, she didn't add, bringing her hand up to her throat again. She couldn't stop shivering. The Duke gently took her hand in his and brought it back down to the bed. One of his officers threw a shabraque over her, the lamb's wool thick and heavy.

  "I don't understand," he said, still smiling at her.

  "Then I will show you," she said, pulling herself up using the Duke's hand. She pulled the shabraque around her like a shawl. The movement woke the bird—a pelican, she saw, which flapped its wings a couple of times then hiccuped and tucked its bill back under a wing.

  Inja took a couple of steps and would have fallen if the Duke hadn't put a hand around her waist.

  "Easy now, Inja, I think you should rest," he said, trying to place her back on the bed. "We need to get a fire going to warm you up."

  Inja shook her head. "No, you must see. He will kill many more. It is the table," she said, pointing up toward the palace.

  The Duke stopped trying to sit her back down. "Maybe you'd better lie down. Tables can't hurt you—well, not unless they're being thrown at you," he said, trying to make her laugh.

  She shook her head. "No, you are wrong. It is not merely a table. The soul of something dark lies within it. It remembers—it remembers when it was a tree, and it is angry."

  "Oh, now, I know a thing or two about the Wolf Oaks and the Long Watch and that, ahem, bonding they do, but I never heard of an oath bond with a piece of furniture."

  "You mock me!"

  The Duke smiled and ducked his head. "I apologize, but are you sure you don't mean a crystal ball, or maybe a book of spells sitting on the table? I think I know the table you're talking about, carved to look like a dragon? Bit garish, but hardly evil."

  "I know of what I speak! It is evil. He uses it up in his room. Can you not feel it?"

  At this the pelican looked up, suddenly interested in its surroundings. The Duke looked at his officers, who shrugged, clearly unable to sense the forces at work around them. "We've been riding for the better part of three weeks; I can't feel much of anything at the moment."

  "Then I must show you, now." Without waiting for his reply she broke free from his arm and stumbled out of the stable. The Duke quickly caught up with her, holding out his arm for her to use for support. She heard the clatter of spurs on the cobblestones as his men followed.

  Inja led them into the palace and up the many stairs toward the Viceroy's bedchamber. The Duke all but carried her the last few flights, her strength ebbing as she got closer to the room. Cold seeped into her bones, a deep, insatiable probing that began to tunnel her vision, even as the Duke kicked open the outer door to the room.

  "It's freezing in here!"

  Sabers scraped free of their scabbards as the Duke's men went to the inner door, the wood patinaed with black frost. Shoulders and boots hammered the door, which groaned and then tore from its hinges. A rush of bitterly cold air flooded the room.

  The Duke gently handed her to another officer while he stepped into the inner chamber. He carefully crossed to the barred window, taking a wide path around the table in the center of the room. He flung open the bars, letting the warm outside air in. The pelican landed on the sill, staring in at the table with great curiosity. A glint of silver and the shadow of something much larger flew past the window, but the pelican seemed undisturbed by it.

  The Duke turned back to the table, which seemed to shimmer as the air got colder. He stepped closer, leaning over to look at its surface. He suddenly stood up, his saber whistling from its scabbard.

  "That sneaky bastard. This thing is like some huge crystal ball." He motioned for his men to stay back. "She's right, it is magic. If I'd known that I would have dug my spurs into it good."

  He looked again. "What the devil?" the Duke shouted, his face going white with rage as he gazed at the surface.

  "What is it?" an officer asked, his saber poised.

  The Duke pointed to the surface of the table. "That's the Viceroy, and he's heading to Luuguth Jor. Damnation! We'll never get there in time." He looked back at the surface and his face grew grim. "Konowa and his boys are up against it, and there isn't a thing I can do about it."

  Inja walked unsteadily into the room and stood opposite the Duke, the table between them. The pelican followed her steps intently. "It's very cold in here, my lord. If there were any fuel to burn, we could have some heat."

  The Duke of Rakestraw lifted his head and looked at her from across the table. He had the most wonderfully dangerous smile she had ever seen.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  It was only a tree, Konowa told himself, a living piece of wood. It was nothing. How could it possibly be one of the Stars? Thousands of elfkynan had given their lives believing its lie. Tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, were flocking to its legend, fomenting rebellion in the hope they could win their freedom, deceived by a simple tree.

  And Iron Elves had died, his men, his soldiers, and for what?

  It was only a tree. It should have burned when
he grabbed it. Konowa felt his hand close around its slender trunk, and then he was flying backward, a bolt of lightning leaping into the sky, turning night into day. A new, brilliant Star shone down from the heavens, bathing the battlefield in clear, red light.

  Konowa landed on his left shoulder and rolled to a standing position. His left shoulder throbbed and he brought his right hand up to rub it and stopped as he saw that his saber was broken in two. All he held now in his hand was the hilt and a foot of jagged steel. He looked up. A single, spiraling beam of light now blazed between the Star above and the tree below. Heat spread from it in ever-expanding waves.

  Steam rose from the ground, and the air grew heavier, wetter. Konowa squinted, shaking his head. A figure stood in the light, its robes flowing in the rushing energy being released. It reached and patted the sapling, then moved past it, though the light from the Star followed it. He sensed a new power unlike anything he had felt before.

  "Welcome back, little one," Rallie said, looking up to the sky and smiling.

  A blast of cold air cut through the heat, and Her Emissary rose from the earth, its form muted. "Give me the Star and save yourself."

  Rallie looked amused. She pulled a new cigar out from beneath her robes and held it to the light, her eyes twinkling as the cigar end glowed to life.

  "Give it to you? It's not mine to give," she said.

  Konowa looked around in amazement. All eyes were focused on Rallie and Her Emissary and the blazing Star above them.

  Her Emissary took a step forward. A bowstring released and a musket fired at the same time, but each shot passed right through its chest. Its laughter sounded like brittle rocks falling down a mountain. It drew forth its dagger, black flame curling around it like a living thing.

  "Impressive," Rallie said, a white feather quill suddenly appearing in her free hand.

  "Not even your weapons can harm me now. The sarka har delve deep. Her power will be absolute here, and the Star will fall to Her domain."