by Chris Evans
A twinge of pain in the back of Alwyn’s head brought him back to the here and now. “And so that’s why you threw a rock at my head?”
Rallie brushed some dust from her cloak, making the cloth snap. “There was nothing else for it. Visyna tried to weave around you, but that didn’t take, so I had to employ a more…direct approach.”
If Zwitty had thrown the rock, Alwyn might have called forth the frost fire and burned him then and there, but looking at Rallie, Alwyn’s anger stayed in check. “How could you? You ruined everything.”
This time, Yimt did smack him on the side of the head. “You watch your manners, lad, that’s a lady you’re talking to. You clearly don’t see it, but she saved your life.”
Alwyn started to say something, then changed his mind. “How’s everyone else?”
Yimt sat back and looked at the sand. “Fine, I hope. Two of those skeleton things grabbed Harkon’s body and ducked down a tunnel entrance on the other side of the oasis before we could get to them. Tyul, Jurwan, and Jir went tearing after them, and Miss Tekoy went chasing after them. I sent Hrem, Teeter, and Zwitty to go bring them back. The rest of our little group is still here, and more or less in one piece.”
“We have to get going then,” Alwyn said, starting to get up.
Yimt held him down. “In the fighting, a couple of those drakarri things tried to get into the tunnel after the lads. We got the beasties, but their thrashing brought down the entrance. It’d take a day to dig it out.”
“Then why aren’t you digging?”
Yimt let go of Alwyn’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him. “We’ve got other problems, but right this second, we’re going to deal with yours.”
Alwyn shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“Really?” Yimt asked, his voice growing gruff. “Right, Rallie, show him.”
“No,” Miss Red Owl said. “He’s suffered enough for now.”
Yimt stood up. “Then he’ll suffer a little more. Private Renwar, on your feet.”
Scolly held out a hand and Alwyn took it. His wooden leg creaked ominously and he saw several of the limbs were cracked and broken.
“Rallie, your looking glass, please,” Yimt said, holding out his hand.
Rallie stepped forth and silently gave Yimt a small square mirror. He held it out to Alwyn.
Alwyn peered into it and then recoiled. Scolly kept a grip on him. Alwyn wiped his left hand across his mouth and then leaned forward and looked again. He didn’t recognize the face staring back at him.
One of his eyes was liquid black, the other white flame.
“I…I don’t understand. What’s happened to me?”
“You have both magics in you now,” Rallie said. “In trying to harness the white flame, you brought it into you. Think of it as if you took a second oath.”
Alwyn held out his hands and called on the frost fire. Black flames burst to life in his right hand, but in his left a pure white flame flickered and burned.
Alwyn screamed. Immediately, the two magics warred inside him, tearing and burning, twisting and ripping every fiber of his being. His lungs froze while his head burned.
Scolly yelped and let go of Alwyn.
The flames went out. Alwyn staggered but did not fall. He smelled smoke and looked down to witness his wooden leg smoldering. Terrified, he turned to see if he had accidentally lit Scolly’s shadow on fire. Alwyn was relieved to see that he hadn’t.
That’s when he noticed his own shadow. It was still there, but instead of the black denseness of everyone else’s, his was gray and insubstantial.
“This can’t be, I—I didn’t mean for this…” Alwyn was at a loss for words. What had he done?
“No time to worry about that now, because we’ve got bigger problems,” Yimt said.
Alwyn raised his head and followed Yimt’s gaze. A dust cloud to the south smudged the horizon, and it was moving fast.
“That’s the regiment,” Alwyn said, “isn’t it?” His head felt light and heavy at the same time. His right knee started to buckle, but he caught himself and stood up straight. He noticed no one came close to steady him.
“No, that ain’t the Iron Elves,” Yimt replied. “They’ll be coming down from the north following the same route we took. Whoever that is is heading northwest. My guess is that’s the tribes of the Expanse. If the people in Nazalla know a Star is returning, you can bet their desert kin will, too.”
“Our quarrel is not with them,” Miss Red Owl said. “Surely they will see we share their desire to restore the natural order.”
“Chayii, you forget we’re part and parcel of the Iron Elves now,” Rallie said, “and that means we’re seen as agents of the Empire.”
Miss Red Owl looked as if she’d been slapped. “But that’s absurd! I oppose the Empire and its wanton acts of destruction. I side with it now only because we share a common enemy in the Shadow Monarch that threatens all our existence. Surely these people can be made to see reason.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Yimt said, “but I wouldn’t bet my life on it today.”
Rallie brought out the map. “The Canyon of Bones is just ahead. We should head for it now while we still can.”
“We’d be exposed if we got caught out there. Here we have defensible positions,” Yimt said. “Those huts are sturdy and give us a good line of fire.”
“We can’t stay here,” Alwyn said, “we have to go after Kester. Wherever they’re taking him is where we have to be as well.”
“We still have Hrem and Visyna and the others in that tunnel. I don’t know about just leaving them behind,” Yimt said.
“But the Star isn’t coming here. Can’t you feel it?” Alwyn said. “I don’t know how to explain this, but…”
“He’s right,” Rallie said. “Power fills the air, Sergeant, power from a time long past. When that power arrives, we need to be there. Private Renwar needs to be there.”
“You’re probably right,” Yimt said, “but it don’t do us any good if we’re killed before we get there.”
“Sergeant,” Scolly said, coming up to stand near Yimt.
“Not now, Scolly, we’re busy. If you’re hungry go check the wagon. Now,” Yimt said, turning back to them, “I don’t see that we have a ch—”
“Sergeant,” Scolly said again, this time tugging on Yimt’s sleeve.
Yimt spun around and looked up at Scolly. “What?”
“I don’t want to go into the forest,” Scolly said. His voice was quiet with fear.
Yimt kneaded his forehead with his fingers. “Other than four bloody palm trees and a couple of fig trees, there ain’t a forest for a thousand miles around here.”
“Yes, there is,” Scolly said, pointing northwest toward the distant coast.
Alwyn almost reached for his spectacles, but there was no longer any need. He felt the forest before he saw it. Twenty, perhaps thirty, miles away a cold, obsidian stain was spreading out across the desert floor. It was a mass of black sarka har crawling across the sand. Frost fire sparkled in its depth. It spread out as far as the eye could see. Miles upon miles of sarka har. This was nothing like the small forest that had ringed Luuguth Jor. This was enormous.
“Oh, hell…” Yimt said.
It was like watching an incoming tide. “It’ll be here by nightfall.”
“It’s the end,” Inkermon said, closing his eyes and praying.
Yimt stomped the dirt. “You might not be too far off, Inkermon, but let’s see if we can’t postpone that for a bit, if it’s all the same to you.”
Rallie walked briskly to the wagon and mounted it in one leap. She picked up the reins in her hands and looked down at the soldiers. “We need to get moving. My team can make the canyon before either the Hasshugeb or the sarka har. We’ll find a place to hole up once we’re inside, but we need to go, now.”
“Rallie’s right, we must go forward,” Miss Red Owl said. “The risk is great, but to do nothing is to risk so much more. You know this, Yimt of the W
arm Breeze. The others in the tunnel are capable of fending for themselves. Visyna is with them, and her power is strong. We must trust to things greater than ourselves now.”
Yimt got a firmer grip on his shatterbow and looked toward the forest of sarka har spreading toward them, then to the dust cloud rapidly closing from the other direction. “Are you sure your brindos can outrun that forest? If we get caught in that there’s no amount of frost fire that’s going to pull us through.”
Rallie pulled a cigar from her cloak and stuck it in her mouth. The cigar lit itself. She took a puff and then cracked her neck, first to the left, then to the right. She looked up to the whirling sreexes and whistled. The birds squawked once in return and wheeled and headed north. “Every second we delay casts the possibility in further doubt, so we had better move now.”
“Mount up!” Yimt ordered.
Alwyn limped to the wagon and climbed into the back with the empty cages. Scolly and Inkermon came in after him, while Yimt and Miss Red Owl sat up front. The wagon was already moving while Alwyn was still looking for a place to get comfortable, a search that he quickly realized was pointless. “Hang on to whatever jiggles because this ride is going to be a tad bumpier than last night!” Rallie shouted back to them.
The wagon flew over a small crest and plunged down the other side. Dust flew into the air and the wind whistled past Alwyn’s ears. At another time this would have been exhilarating if terrifying. Now, it felt too slow. He looked over the side and watched the approaching forest. It crawled like a broken-legged spider, the trunks and limbs of the sarka har thrusting out of the sand and clawing forward with ragged, uneven lunges.
Dark clouds grew taller above it. A single bolt of lightning slashed down among the trees, setting off a cascade of frost fire. This forest was a sick and angry thing. Alwyn felt the pain radiate out from the trees.
And the hunger.
He turned away, casting his glance to the oncoming tribes of the Hasshugeb. He could just make out dark shapes at the base of the towering dust cloud above them.
The wagon was now between closing pincers. He looked forward.
Wind buffeted Alwyn’s face and grit got into his nose, ears, and mouth, but not his eyes. Whatever grit touched his eyes burned with either white flame or black. It was an odd sensation, but it helped to take his mind off the roiling forces inside him. Was he like those creatures he’d killed just a few hours ago? Two magics joined that should never have existed in the first place?
Finally, there in the distance the land sloped upward and became two rocky shoulders overlooking a narrow passage between them—the Canyon of Bones.
Alwyn slumped in the wagon and held on as best he could. The sun continued to sink and shadows lengthened as they raced for the opening and whatever waited for them there.
Alwyn silently urged the brindos on. Another bout of pain racked his body. The new Star was coming. It pulled at his senses as if tied to his very soul. The world was about to change again.
He studied his hands as they held his musket and knew he could not go on like this.
Tentatively, he tried to call up the frost fire, just a little. Immediately, the white flame responded as well, and the magics scissored through him. He tried to extinguish the flames as he gasped for breath, but he couldn’t put them out. He focused harder. The flames came under control, but they would not die.
“What are you doing?” Inkermon asked, looking at him with horror. “Put those flames out! You’ll burn us all.”
Alwyn tried to speak, but the effort to keep the fires under control made it too difficult. He grimaced and closed his eyes.
A bright, blue Star beckoned him. It hung motionless in a silk-black sky.
It was almost here. He just had to hang on a little longer.
He opened his eyes and looked at Inkermon. Inkermon still crouched before him, but all Alwyn saw was a dark outline of a man with a core of smoldering frost fire. He turned to Scolly and saw the same thing. Then he looked down at himself. Frost fire and white flame twisted and burned within him, pulsating with an energy he couldn’t control much longer.
“Hurry,” Alwyn said to no one in particular. “Please hurry.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Visyna ran as fast as she could, trying to keep up with Tyul and Jir, but the elf and bengar were much too swift for her.
With her breath coming in gasps and blood pounding in her ears, she stopped and bent over, clutching her sides. She leaned against the tunnel wall and stayed there for a minute.
Finally able to breathe normally, she straightened up and noticed the construction of the tunnel for the first time. The stones were placed so precisely that no mortar had been used. More curious, however, was its size and condition. Once she had traveled a hundred yards or so from the opening at the oasis, it opened up to the width of a small cart, and a fascinating moss grew on the ceiling that gave off a soft glow, allowing her enough light to see where she was going.
The image of the skull with flaming eyes was seared into her memory. She well knew of necromancy, but thought it a relic of a dark past. Could it be true, she wondered, was it possible that Kaman Rhal had returned? The thought chilled her. Her Emissary had fooled her once by pretending to be the power of the Star of Sillra. Perhaps something—or someone—was using Kaman Rhal’s power. Whatever the case, she had been so focused on keeping the Shadow Monarch from obtaining a Star that she had given little thought that there might be other ancient powers out there waiting for just such an opportunity to rise again.
“Miss Tekoy!”
Visyna turned as Private Hrem Vulhber appeared out of the dark. Frost fire tinged his bayonet, and he, too, was panting heavily. A moment later Zwitty appeared. Visyna loathed the weasely faced soldier, but under the circumstances she knew he could kill, and that was a skill they would almost certainly need. Teeter hobbled into view a few seconds later.
“Where are the others?” Visyna asked, looking back down the tunnel.
Teeter shook his head. “We’re it. Sergeant Arkhorn sent us in after you, then the entrance caved in.”
Visyna had faith that Chayii and Rallie could fend for themselves, knowing their powers and Sergeant Arkhorn’s skills were a match for most anything, including those fire-spitting monsters. For many reasons, she worried more about Private Renwar.
“Then we must press on. Tyul is already well ahead of us. He still needs our help,” she said.
“Who’s going to help us?” Zwitty muttered from behind.
A good question, Visyna thought.
As the sun began to slide down the sky, the shadows of the marching column stretched and flowed out across the sand. Konowa found the image disturbing. It made the regiment’s shadows look twenty feet tall. He focused on the path ahead.
Wagon tracks cut neat furrows in the dirt, heading more or less straight south. Konowa knew the tracks had to be Rallie’s—enough reports had already reached the regiment of a wagon ablaze in black fire being pulled by armor-plated beasts that it could be no other.
The Suljak confirmed that the track’s course aimed directly toward a place called the Canyon of Bones, which lay somewhat to the south and west of Nazalla.
“Why do they call it that?” Konowa asked, adjusting himself in the saddle to spread the pain around. He winced as he found a particularly tender spot on his backside. He vowed never to ride another beast again—the Prince could have him shot if he wanted, as long as it wasn’t done in a saddle.
“It is a blighted place. Centuries ago, there was once a forest there, but Kaman Rhal’s she-drake is said to have burned it all because it offended her.” The Suljak looked apologetic as he said this. “I can’t imagine why.”
Konowa shifted in the saddle again. “I can. Trees have a way of doing that.”
The Suljak was momentarily nonplussed, then seemed to gather his wits and continued. “Yes, so I’ve heard. Whatever the cause, all that remains today are withered tree trunks bleached white by the sun and sc
oured by the sand—giving the land the appearance of an unearthed mass grave.”
“Charming,” Konowa said.
“It’s actually rather fascinating,” the Prince said, trotting his camel into line with theirs. He no longer had the parasol up, and looked surprisingly fresh.
A knot formed in Konowa’s stomach. He wondered if all his bottled-up anger was slowly, inexorably eating him up from the inside. Repressing a sigh, Konowa tried to look interested. “Really, Your Highness, how’s that?”
The Prince smiled, obviously pleased to impart some newly attained knowledge. “The legend surrounding the canyon fits perfectly with the level of sophistication of the tribes out here, but a new theory in archeology argues that given the right conditions, a tree can absorb enough minerals to essentially become hard as rock. They actually transform. So you see, it seems far more likely that these trunks weren’t burned by some legendary dragon at all, but simply succumbed to the natural effects of the desert.”
“But how could a forest grow out here in the first place?” Konowa asked, deciding it might be best to put some space between the Prince’s comments about the tribes. “How does anything grow out here?” He wasn’t disappointed that no trees blocked his path. The unimpeded sight lines meant a leader could manipulate and direct his troops in a battle while being able to keep an eye on his forces. The frustration of a communication’s not making it to an officer some distance away and out of direct sight would not be as challenging in this place.
“You’d be surprised at the amount of life teeming around us,” the Suljak said. “For instance, there is an oasis ahead where your soldiers and our mounts can drink. All manner of plants and animals thrive in such areas.” His voice rang with pride.
“What’s that?” the Prince asked, pointing toward the north and the coast.
Konowa turned and squinted. “Storm clouds. I wouldn’t have thought you get much rain here, Suljak,” Konowa said.