The Light of Burning Shadows: Book Two of the Iron Elves

by Chris Evans

  Scolly slammed his ramrod down the barrel, cutting his hand on the bayonet. “Kill them! They don’t got no shadows!”

  Alwyn glanced at the ground and realized Scolly was right.

  Scolly paid Yimt’s orders no mind; he simply raised his musket, aimed, and fired with the ramrod still in the barrel. The ramrod and musket ball flew across the water and hit the first figure in the side of the head, tearing away the hood of its cloak.

  A grinning skull with eyes of white fire stared back at them.

  Yimt’s shatterbow fired at the same time as several muskets. A hail of musket balls pulverized the creature’s skull and two shatterbow darts blew the rest of it to pieces.

  Alwyn didn’t join the attack. Bitter cold gripped his chest and his breath misted before him. He spun around to face the water as several beasts now surged out of the pond, their jaws of razor-sharp teeth snapping loudly. Water steamed off their scaly hides as they clambered onto the sand. Each appeared fifteen feet long, with a hide of scales gray-green in color. Their heads were long and pointed, like hinged wedges filled with flesh-rending teeth. They stayed just a few inches above the ground, scrabbling forward with four short, but very powerful legs splayed out to the sides. Great slashing scars covered their scales, as if they fought amongst themselves when there wasn’t something meatier to eat. Their eyes burned with white fire and their open maws held it like a foundry furnace.

  Alwyn squeezed the trigger, his musket bucking in his hands. The musket ball punched a neat hole in the head of the closest creature, which sank back into the furiously bubbling water. A few of the pond monsters immediately began tearing chunks off the dead creature while the rest crawled forward. They opened their jaws wide, hide around their throats expanded, and they began convulsing. A moment later they spewed out pure white flame.

  Shouts and screams echoed off the walls of the nearby buildings. With no time to reload, Alwyn called forth the frost fire, setting his bayonet aflame. He lunged forward to the water’s edge, skewering one of the beasts. White fire washed over Alwyn, the burning sensation he’d experienced on the island wracking him again.

  His shadow was on fire.

  “Get out of there, Ally!” Yimt shouted.

  Alwyn ignored the order and waded into the water, stabbing down with his bayonet as more creatures emerged. He thrust again with his musket, piercing the jaws of one creature closed as it was about to spew more white fire. It tried to pull its jaws free, but Alwyn kept them pinned even as the white fire grew inside it. Finally, its neck tore apart violently as gouts of flame ripped through its scales and shot out across the water.

  Black flame rose in response to the white, as each powerful fire roared higher and higher. The surface of the water began to alternate between boiling and freezing. Alwyn ignored everything except the creatures. He stabbed and burned until his mind went blank and all he was, all he would ever be, was a dispenser of death.

  A third power tried to weave its way around Alwyn. He recognized Miss Tekoy’s magic and realized she was trying to protect him, but he didn’t need protection, not for this. He called up more of the frost fire and brushed her efforts aside.

  A musket fired nearby, followed by the distinctive double blast of Yimt’s shatterbow. Water frothed around Alwyn until he could barely see, but he didn’t need to. He sensed where every creature was as his bayonet slashed down again and again, each time finding its mark. Still the white flame burned his shadow, and he felt the first threads of the Shadow Monarch’s grip part even as he burned. Yes. He could master this.

  Another beast came at him. Alwyn threw aside his musket and dove forward, thrusting his right arm down the creature’s throat. Its teeth sank into his shoulder, but Alwyn didn’t care. He felt around with his hand until he grabbed something small and hard. It was bone, and it burned like the surface of the sun.

  Alwyn squeezed as his whole body spasmed in pain, his vision going completely white. Somewhere impossibly deep inside Alwyn, the white fire seared through the black threads of the oath, burning away strands of it like cutting taut strings. More of the oath that bound Alwyn to the Iron Elves and the Shadow Monarch frayed and parted. The creature reared up in the water and tried to use the claws on its feet to tear at Alwyn, but its stubby legs made it impossible.

  “He’s gone into the tunnel!”

  Alwyn’s focus was broken and he looked up. Tyul was disappearing down the tunnel after the skeletons carrying Kester’s body. Miss Tekoy and several soldiers raced after the elf, though Alwyn couldn’t see who it was. More of the fire creatures lunged for the tunnel entrance, followed by the sound of Yimt’s shatterbow firing. There was a huge explosion and the tunnel entrance disappeared in a cloud of smoke, dust, and a blinding ball of white flame.

  Alwyn stumbled and only barely kept himself upright. He brought his attention back to the creature he fought, and drew even more of the white fire into himself. The creature gave up trying to claw him and let itself fall back into the water, taking Alwyn down with it. As soon as they were submerged it began rolling about and thrashing, trying to twist Alwyn’s arm from his body.

  The sound of the fighting grew muffled as Alwyn and the creature twisted and rolled under the water. Alwyn drew in a breath and water filled his lungs, only to vaporize in a flash. Muscles tore in Alwyn’s shoulder and a new, more understandable pain tried to render him unconscious, but still he held on.

  The oath was breaking. The power of the white fire was cleansing him from the inside. That it also burned him until every nerve in his body quivered in pain was a price he was prepared to pay. Every twisted piece of the Shadow Monarch’s magic that was severed felt like claws raking his flesh from the inside. He knew he was close. One more squeeze would do it. Alwyn focused all his energy on his right hand and began to crush the bone in it. He was going to finally be fr—

  Something hard and heavy hit him in the back of the head and color burst before his eyes as the muscles in his hands relaxed. He tried to regain his grip, but already he was being pulled up out of the water. Another musket fired and there was unintelligible shouting as he took a breath. He opened his eyes and realized his spectacles were gone. Water gurgled in his ears.

  “—most idiotic th…ever seen!” Yimt shouted at Alwyn as he leaned over him. “—let that thing eat you…were you thinking?”

  Alwyn closed his eyes and turned away. He had been so close.

  Next time, he vowed, as the pain in his shoulder spread and the nerves in his body reacted to the violence of the last two minutes. He opened his mouth to scream as a new wave of pain washed over him, but he blacked out before he could.

  TWENTY-SIX

  A coldness came over Konowa that defied the heat of the desert sun.

  He knew somewhere ahead of them the missing soldiers and the three women were in trouble. He pounded his fist against his thigh in frustration and turned to look back over the column.

  Midway back, the Prince and the Viceroy chatted amiably on their camels. Affixed to the saddle furniture on their camels were two large, green parasols trimmed with silver brocade, which swayed above their heads while providing ample shade. The rocking motion of the green canvas brought to mind ocean waves, and Konowa’s stomach gurgled in distress. He quickly looked past the parasols to see the sun glinting off spear tips marking the position of the Timolian soldiers of the 3rd Spears.

  Bringing up the rear now that they were safely out of Nazalla were two supply wagons pulled by mules and three cannons pulled by donkeys. Konowa was unclear on the distinction between the animals and didn’t care, as both had a tendency to bite and kick. The cannons, two nine-pounders and one six-pounder, were naval equipment left in the palace grounds for show after the parade through Nazalla. Unfortunately, there was only enough powder and shot for fifteen rounds each. Konowa doubted it would be enough if they ran into trouble, but then that seemed to be the constant state of things. Marching sullenly alongside the cannons were their naval gun crews, no doubt cursing
the sea of sand they now found themselves in.

  Konowa felt for every marching soldier. The Iron Elves trudged with their heads bent forward and a silence that spoke volumes about their general mood. The oppressive heat from the sun above and the broiling sand below produced a scorching environment not even magically bound soldiers like the Iron Elves could ignore. It was past noon, but that still meant hours of energy-sapping heat before the brief cool of the evening brought any relief, followed by a freezing cold—if the Suljak was to be believed—that would create a whole new set of problems. The smart thing to do would be to wait for nightfall and march then, but time, as was so often the case, was not on their side.

  The Jewel of the Desert was indeed returning, and though Konowa couldn’t point to a single piece of concrete evidence to prove it to himself or anyone else, he knew it was tonight. Maybe he was finding a way to finally make sense of his elven heritage, and this both intrigued him and concerned him. He had tried in the past to understand the natural order, and usually got kicked in the arse for his efforts. This time, however, he could feel it. He was seeing what Visyna and his mother saw, although he suspected not in the same way. The Star was going to fall somewhere in the Canyon of Bones near Suhundam’s Hill and his original Iron Elves…and if they didn’t pick up the pace he wouldn’t be there when it did.

  “I believe the expression is a watched pot never boils, though I’ve never quite understood that, because of course the pot will indeed boil whether it’s observed or not,” the Suljak said, talking matter-of-factly as he rode alongside Konowa. The camels kept pace and moved across the sand with ease, if not with grace. Konowa’s back and neck ached from the constant jostling, and he was unable to find the rhythm of the animal. He suspected it kept changing it on purpose.

  “We’re going to be too late,” Konowa replied. “Why aren’t you upset? The Star means more to you than any of us.”

  The Suljak nodded. “True, but worrying about things we cannot change is not the most productive use of one’s time. Besides, I have something you apparently do not.”

  Konowa rolled his eyes. “I really don’t want to discuss faith right now.”

  “I was referring to patience, Major. If the legends are true, the Stars have been gone for thousands of years. A few hours more is but a grain of sand in, well, this,” he said, waving a hand in an arc.

  “Take it from me, a few hours can make all the difference in the world,” Konowa said, turning to look back again at the column. A lingering dust cloud hung in the still air behind them, marking their passage through the desert. It could be seen for miles. The feeling in Konowa grew colder. “Damn. We’re not going to make it to the Star, are we?”

  The Suljak twisted slightly in his saddle and observed the cloud of dust following the column. He stroked the wisps of hair that made up his beard and gave Konowa an enigmatic look. “As I told you, Major, politics is a messy business.”

  “You’ve made another deal with the Prince,” Konowa said. It wasn’t a question.

  “A force of several thousand tribesman is coming up from the south. Their intent is peaceful.”

  The Suljak emphasized the word, as if somehow saying it clearly made it more likely. Konowa sincerely doubted it.

  “They will welcome the Jewel of the Desert and prevent any interference with its rightful resurrection. It is as it should be, Major. No doubt the Prince will show his displeasure publicly, as is expected.”

  “No doubt,” Konowa said dryly. “But what of the Shadow Monarch, and whatever is out here stirring things up? They certainly have different views on the matter. Your tribesmen aren’t equipped to handle powers like this.”

  “They’ll have help, of course.”

  The Suljak’s demeanor did not change, a fact that irritated Konowa no end. The man had no idea what horrors his people were about to face. The thought gave Konowa pause. He really didn’t know, either. As terrible as Elfkyna had been, the islands had been worse in their own way. Who was to say the desert wouldn’t find new ways to increase the horrors they all faced. “What help?”

  “Major, I really do admire your single-mindedness. For you this is all quite simple, isn’t it?” His tone of voice suggested a gentle mocking. “Alas, the path to my aims is far more indirect. There will be fighting, Major, of that I am certain, but I see no reason that it should be the Empire against the peoples of the Hasshugeb. Rather, we will come together as one—allies of equal stature—and together we will defeat our enemies.”

  “You expect the Prince to help you after your maneuvering to take the Star and usurp his authority? Pimmer is one thing, but the Prince is the future King. I doubt he’ll be as agreeable to your vision as you seem to think. We’re still in the Calahrian Empire, even out here.”

  Now the Suljak sounded genuinely surprised. “Major, don’t you see, everyone gets what they really want. The Star is returned to my people. The Prince finds the Lost Library, the Shadow Monarch and the necromancer Kaman Rhal are destroyed…assuming he has returned. And if not destroyed, they will most definitely be thwarted in their endeavors, at which point you are reunited with your brethren. Beautiful, is it not? Machinations within intrigues woven with finesse and finished off with just the right amount of controlled violence.” The Suljak beamed, his voice taking on an almost childlike glee.

  “Somehow I doubt that’s what will happen at all,” Konowa said.

  “Patience, Major, patience. Tonight, all will be revealed. You will see. All will come to pass as I have foreseen it.”

  “And what of my mother, and Rallie and Visyna? They got a head start on us. What if they get to the Star first?”

  For the first time in their conversation the Suljak lost his annoying calm. His fists clenched for just a moment before he saw Konowa watching him. The Suljak relaxed and smiled. “A not entirely unanticipated event, displeasing as that might be. Still, they understand the way of things, Her Majesty’s Scribe especially. My brief discussion with her was most…fascinating.”

  Konowa took some pleasure in noting that it didn’t sound as if the Suljak believed his own words for a second. It was small consolation. Konowa knew the Suljak was wrong. Whatever the night revealed, it was bound to be more than anyone had bargained for.

  Alwyn opened his eyes and instantly knew some time had passed. The sun was low in the sky and already the air was cooling. He blinked several times and began to make out figures moving around him. He recognized Yimt and relaxed. Someone had removed Alwyn’s jacket, as he saw it lying on the sand beside him. The right sleeve was completely shredded. Gritting his teeth, he propped himself up on his elbows, expecting pain as he did so. Surprisingly, he felt none except for a throbbing at the back of his head. Miss Red Owl appeared before him and handed Alwyn his spectacles, somehow recovered, which he took with his left hand and put on his face. His vision blurred.

  He took them off, buffed them on his sleeve, and had begun to put them back on when he realized that he could see fine without them.

  He slowly raised the spectacles to his eyes, and as before his vision blurred. As he lowered them, it returned. He could see perfectly without them. Maybe the knock in the back of the head had fixed his vision?

  Miss Red Owl came over and gently laid a hand on his wounded shoulder.

  “You are fortunate to still be with us, Alwyn of the Empire” she said.

  Alwyn looked at his shoulder and at first didn’t understand what he was seeing. Ugly, black scars criss-crossed the entire shoulder, each emanating from where the pond creature’s teeth had dug into his flesh. Instead of open wounds, however, frost fire had healed them with barklike grafts. The skin around the wounds was gray. He flexed his fingers. No pain. In fact, there was no feeling at all. He looked down at his hand. More black scars, but the fingers were still there and moving.

  “I can’t feel anything in my right arm,” he said.

  “I’m worried about what’s between your ears,” Yimt said, walking over to join them. He kneeled i
n the sand and looked Alwyn in the eye. “What in blazes were you thinking?”

  Alwyn looked at his arm again. There was no point in keeping up pretenses. “I almost had it. The white flame was burning away the oath. I could feel it. Just a little more, and I would have been free.”

  Yimt raised his hand as if he wanted to slap Alwyn, and then placed it on his good shoulder. “Free? Laddie, don’t you understand? One more foolhardy stunt like that and you’ll be dead.”

  “No, it’s you that doesn’t understand. I can’t explain it, but I know.” He sat up a little straighter. “I felt a powerful magic hit me, just before I was going to break the oath.”

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t so much magic as it was a three-pound rock,” Rallie said from behind Alwyn.

  He turned and saw she had brought the wagon up to the edge of the oasis. The canvas cover was off and Rallie was opening the sreex cages. The large birds with their leathery, batlike wings squawked and flew into the air, wheeling overhead in a tight circle.

  “You threw a rock at my head?” Alwyn asked, reaching up with his left hand to rub it. Sure enough, there was a large bump and the whole area was tender to the touch.

  “I wasn’t about to wade into that water with those drakarri splashing around spitting fire, now was I?” she said.

  “Drakarri?”

  “Ancient creatures,” Rallie said, pointing at the ash piles around the oasis, “although these days, that term has come in for some abuse. Drake spawn, you’d call them, though they are unique even for that. These fellows are—if one believes legends, and it seems we’d be well advised to heed them—the most unfortunate offspring of Kaman Rhal and his damnable mating with a she-drake.”

  Alwyn’s head tried to navigate around that image and failed completely. “He…mated with a dragon?”

  “Apparently it gets rather lonely out here in the desert,” Rallie said. She looked around, but no one seemed inclined to laugh. “Ah, tough oasis. Again, legend has it that it was more a magical mating, a weaving of two powers that should never have been joined.”