by Chris Evans
“Steady!”
Konowa sensed a cold fury from the sarka har and saw Her Emissary begin to angle the forest toward the Iron Elves. The regiment continued its steady pace, closing the distance with measured steps. Whatever fear the soldiers felt was suppressed by the proximity of the soldier to either side of him. They were one, and they would live or die as one.
He took a quick look to where the 3rd Spears were lined up, wondering too late if the terror of this night was too much for men not bound by an oath such as that of the Iron Elves. He could see immediately that he needn’t have worried. The soldiers of the 3rd Spears were inching their way forward by taking longer strides, so that they were making a mess of the line. More than one sergeant was yelling at them to hold to the pace. The soldiers’ eyes were wide and intent on the battle ahead of them. While the tips of their swordlike bayonets did not sparkle with frost fire, there was a fierceness in their stance that imbued them with a power no magic could ever fully replicate. These were warriors, and they would taste blood this night.
Already, the gap cleared by the cannon fire was beginning to close up again. Konowa knew it was now or never.
“Regiment…halt!” Again boots crashed down on the ground and dust swirled up around them. The rear rank took one extra half step forward and to the right, interlocking the two rows so that every soldier had a clear shot to the front. “Front rank…prepare to volley…fire!”
The front row of the Iron Elves vanished in a cloud of smoke as musket balls spat forth. They tore through the creatures with satisfying violence, but more surged from the sand to take the place of the fallen.
“Second rank…prepare to volley…fire!”
Before the smoke had cleared, Konowa was racing forward. The Prince and the Viceroy, breaking all tradition and ignoring common sense, came through the double line to join Konowa out front. Viceroy Alstonfar’s breath whistled like a kettle on the boil, but he did not slow down.
“By column…the regiment will march…now!”
Color Sergeant Salia Aguom strode forward with the Colors as the two lines fell into place behind them. Screams burst from the forest as the Iron Elves began to enter the gap. The fire creatures spat fire in front of their advance, but Konowa had expected this.
The acorn against his chest grew frigid and then the frost fire roared to life in his hands. Shadows emerged from the darkness and kept pace with the regiment, shielding it in a black wall of flame as white fire lanced and arced across the sky. The opening into the canyon was clear. Only a hundred yards to go. The sky above the canyon grew to a deep, pulsing blue. Konowa knew it was time.
He raised his saber in the air. The Prince did the same. “Regiment…”
The Iron Elves roared. The Colors shot proudly into the air, unfurling and blowing full.
“Charge!”
Tyul followed Jurwan as the wizard scampered along the stone floor. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if Tyul was following. Tyul kept pace, though the pain from the power flowing through the rock weighed him down until it felt like walking through water.
The floor became easier to see, and Tyul realized they were approaching an opening. Jurwan continued without slowing and disappeared into the light. Tyul hurried as fast as he could, drawing his oath dagger and shielding his eyes as he stepped out from the tunnel. He heard the language of his tribe called out to him and he relaxed. Tyul lowered his arm and tried to understand what he saw. Dozens of elves stood before him, all wearing the uniform of the Calahrian Empire. Their shorn left ears identified them immediately, but that wasn’t what left Tyul stunned as they gathered around him and escorted him away.
He hadn’t entered a room at all—he had set foot in the deep forest in the Hyntaland.
He was home.
THIRTY-ONE
Visyna grabbed hold of Jir’s neck as she and the soldiers were escorted by Kritton and the elves through the side tunnel. With every step Visyna felt the ancient power that resided here. They walked in silence, and Visyna lost track of time as they went. No one talked. The air was heavy with power, and worked to stifle any conversation. Finally, the way ahead lightened, and the group was led out into a room so large Visyna could not see its far end.
She gaped at what she saw. Pillars carved from the very rock rose to the ceiling hundreds of feet above. Hundreds upon hundreds of alcoves dotted the walls. In them Visyna could see endless rows of books, scrolls, parchments, and more lining the shelves. The main floor was a sea of artifacts. Brass, ivory, marble, glassware, rich brocades, bundles of tapestries, gems, gold coins and jewelry, and treasures Visyna couldn’t begin to comprehend. Yet that wasn’t the most startling find. In the distance, she saw a huge cluster of trees.
There was a forest growing within the edifice.
Farther on there appeared to be a lake. The water rippled as if a light breeze were playing upon it. Visyna’s hair fluttered across her eyes and she realized there really was a breeze.
It made absolutely no sense, yet there they were.
“Welcome,” Kritton said, “to the Lost Library of Kaman Rhal.”
“It’s really true,” Visyna said, looking around her as the others did the same. Now she noticed more of the elven soldiers of the original Iron Elves. They moved among the alcoves carrying large bundles. They were in a hurry, grabbing up armfuls of books and scrolls, running them out to large tables set up in the middle of the library, and placing them there, where a group of dwarves were sorting them into different piles. Wagons pulled by camels were neatly lined along one side of the tables. They were loading a caravan inside the library.
A dwarf overseeing the operation looked their way and came over.
“Griz Jahrfel!” Hrem said, recognizing the dwarf.
“We meet again,” Griz said, bowing when he saw Visyna. “My lady, gentleman. I see you’ve discovered our little hideaway.” There was genuine pride in his voice.
“But how, how did you find this?” Visyna asked.
Griz winked at her. “Legends and myths aren’t what they used to be, or so I’ve been told. The Lost Library was never really all that lost. The sandstorm that buried Kaman Rhal and the town of Urjalla was the real tragedy. This library has always been here, it’s just that everyone who knew about it died. Well, almost everyone. A few so-called descendants of Kaman Rhal knew of its existence and passed the information down generation to generation until such time that the library would be revealed again.” He looked up to the ceiling. “A time like now, with the imminent return of the Jewel of the Desert. The Suljak decided it was well past time to move more of the…precious items, knowing the Prince and the Empire were sure to come.”
“The Suljak knows? But you’re looting the library,” Visyna said, still not believing what she was seeing.
Griz nodded. “Aye, you could call it that, but pretty much everything in here was looted from somewhere else at one time or another. You know the old saying: “You never really own anything—you just loot it until the next bugger comes along and takes it.’”
Visyna turned on Kritton. “This is how you break the oath, by working with thieves? Where is your honor?” How could these be Konowa’s elves? She looked around her and raised her voice at the other elves. “Konowa is still out there fighting for you! He leads men like these,” she said, pointing to Hrem, Zwitty, and Teeter, “against all enemies, including the forces of the Shadow Monarch. And here you skulk like petty criminals. How dare—”
Kritton lunged forward and grabbed her by the throat. His fingers were ice cold as frost fire singed her flesh. “Don’t you ever question our honor, wench!”
Jir’s fangs and the three muskets of the human soldiers found themselves facing dozens of muskets held by the elves. “Let her go!” Hrem yelled. Black frost coated his bayonet, but it did not flame.
“The magic here is too old and too strong for that to work,” Kritton said, still holding Visyna’s throat. She could breathe, but each time she did a frigid gale enveloped h
er lungs in pain. “This is our leverage. The Prince wants the library. It’s all he ever talks about. His search for knowledge while the world slowly goes insane. Fine, if he wants knowledge, we have it, and for a price, we’ll sell it to him.”
“You want to cut a deal?” Hrem asked, his voice incredulous.
“We want our honor restored. We want the stain of our disgrace removed once and forever. It’s a simple enough deal. These elves know we were deceived and dishonored by Swift Dragon and the Empire. They had a lot of time to dwell on it. When I told them how the Iron Elves had been reformed without them, well, they saw things as they really are.”
“I doubt that, traitor,” a booming voice shouted from another tunnel entrance.
Everyone turned as Sergeant Yimt Arkhorn stepped into the library followed by Chayii and the other soldiers. Visyna tried to speak, but Kritton’s grip remained firm.
“Let Visyna go, Kritton—you’re in enough trouble as it is,” Yimt said. His shatterbow was held steady at his hip, both barrels pointing directly at the elf.
Kritton laughed. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? We both know you’d kill her, too, if you tried, and there are hundreds of elves here who’ll shoot down every one of you a moment later.”
“Sergeant, lower the shatterbow and let’s talk dwarf to dwarf,” Griz said, raising his hands for calm. “This is a complicated situation that requires time to fully understand.”
Yimt nodded as if in agreement, then turned and pointed his shatterbow at the wagons being loaded. All work immediately ceased. “Looks like a lot of valuable, and, if I’m not mistaken, flammable things you got there.”
“Don’t be a fool, Arkhorn,” Griz shouted, backing away from Yimt. “Kritton, let her go. This is insanity. There’s enough treasure here for everyone to get whatever they want a thousand times over.”
“Not their honor,” Yimt said, looking at the elves. “You’re still soldiers. Act like it.”
Visyna watched even as her vision began to go gray around the edges. The elves looked to Kritton. For the first time she saw doubt enter their eyes. They knew this was wrong. Whatever Kritton had said to them couldn’t be stronger than what they knew in their hearts.
“You’ve lost, Arkhorn,” Kritton said. “The rest of you, drop your weapons, now.”
He squeezed Visyna’s throat even tighter and she convulsed. The room began to swim.
Muskets clattered to the floor. The pressure on her throat lessened and then he released her. She gulped warm air and sank to her knees as Chayii ran over to hold her.
Kritton grabbed his musket in both hands again and pointed it at Yimt. “They know who they are, and they know what’s been stolen from them. This,” he said, swiveling his head to indicate the library, “is our way of setting things right.”
“This,” Yimt said, looking at the elves, “is looting. How in blue blazes do you think this restores your honor? Do you think you can buy it back? How much?” he asked, pointing his shatterbow at one of the elves. “How much does it cost to buy an elf these days?”
“You…don’t…understand!” Kritton shouted. “Our honor—”
“Stuff your bloody honor!” Yimt bellowed. “There’s more important things to worry about now than your damn hurt feelings!”
Kritton trembled with rage. The elves looked between him and Yimt, but still none made a move.
Yimt stood there for a moment longer, looking as many elves in the eye as would meet his gaze. Finally, he glanced over at Visyna and smiled. “Tell Rallie the secret ingredient in all my stews is love.” He pulled the trigger on his shatterbow and sent two explosive darts hurtling across the room. They hit a wagon and exploded, sending flaming debris twenty feet into the air. The camel team startled and broke into a gallop, pulling the burning wagon with them. Fire broke out in a trail behind the runaway camel team as elves and dwarves ran for cover.
“No!” Kritton shouted.
Visyna felt Chayii tense, and they both acted at the same time. Chayii’s dagger was already flying through the air as Visyna brought her hands in front of her and began to weave, but they were already too late.
Kritton fired.
Chayii’s blade caught Kritton in the shoulder, knocking his musket from his grasp. Visyna tried to create a barrier in the air in front of the musket, but the energy she tried to weave burned her too severely. She cried out and had to stop.
Kritton’s shot hit Yimt in the center of his chest. His mouth opened in surprise as the shatterbow slid from his hand and clattered to the floor. He brought his right hand up to his chest and placed it over the wound.
“Bugger,” he remarked, then fell face-forward, motionless.
“Yimt!” Scolly cried, running forward toward the dwarf. The elves blocked his path.
Griz strode forward, pulling at his beard. “Damn it all to hell! All right, we’re out of here now. This place is going to become a funeral pyre. You,” he said, pointing at Kritton. “You get your elves to get this lot out of here. We’ll meet at the rendezvous point in three days’ time as agreed.” With that he took one last look at Yimt’s body and turned and hurried off. Flames were climbing the walls around them as thick black smoke billowed from the alcoves.
Kritton motioned to the elves to get them moving.
Tears filled Visyna’s eyes, but it wasn’t from the smoke. She took one last look at where Yimt lay and then was pushed along toward the far side of the library. The last thing she saw was smoke rolling over the dwarf’s body and then a shadowy figure standing where the dwarf had fallen.
THIRTY-TWO
Alwyn grabbed his chest. Yimt! Something terrible had just happened to his sergeant and his friend. He tried to focus on the feeling, but it was impossible. The magics continued to war inside him, and now the sounds of battle echoed off the canyon walls as Rallie continued to draw.
Alwyn took in a few deep breaths and began walking toward the outcropping of rock. Above him, the air thrummed with blue light while underneath something ancient and dry clawed to be heard. It was the thing in Rallie’s sketch. It was the source of the white fire. He felt that magic in him flaring as the voice grew louder and more insistent. He was being drawn to it, as were the skeletons that continued to flow from cracks in the mountains, carrying their grisly cargo.
“Alwyn.”
He turned, expecting Rallie to try to stop him, but she smiled at him instead. “Remember what I said. You are a good man.”
Alwyn said nothing. He turned and walked toward the out-cropping. It was all going to end. One way or the other, it was all going to end tonight. The white fire burned hotter inside him and the frost fire flared in response. The pain staggered him, but he kept walking. His body was now a pyre of white and black flame, but still he walked. He rounded the outcropping and stood face to face with the heart of the white flame that would break the oath, or kill him.
Above him, the Jewel of the Desert burst into being, its light casting everything in brilliant, blue shadow. The white flame flared in response and clawed into the sky after the Star. Alwyn smiled, opened his arms wide, and ran headlong into the fire.
The Iron Elves tore through everything before them, bayoneting, shooting, clubbing, and burning. The shades of the dead slashed with swords of black frost fire, cleaving fire creatures and sarka har with grim precision.
Black ice flowed through Konowa’s veins and all the weeks of pent up frustration poured out through his saber. Nothing stood before him. He ran faster, letting loose his anger on anything he found. White flame washed over him in sheets and he grinned and cut the drakarri in two, never pausing. A hollow carapace of a scorpion the size of a camel lumbered forth, its pincers clacking. Konowa simply ran between its outstretched claws and drove his saber into its head to the hilt. The beast shuddered and blew apart as frost fire burned it to nothing.
Two more scorpion shells scuttled across the sand, each with a huge stinger four feet long hanging above its head. Before Konowa could attack, soldiers of the
3rd Spears charged the creatures, their sword bayonets flashing as they thrust and hacked at the scorpion bodies.
One soldier was caught between pincers and shorn in two, but the others only redoubled their efforts, as several began climbing up onto the scorpions’ backs to hack at them from above. Soon both stingers had been cut from their tails, and the scorpions collapsed under the assault.
Every emotion inside Konowa poured out of him in a flurry of saber strikes. Limbs from sarka har snaked toward him. He turned and cut them with vicious strokes of his blade. The trees screamed and writhed. Konowa slashed and burned until no memory and no feeling was left.
For a time, he was only death.
His shoulder muscles screamed as he hacked through more sarka har, but it only drove him harder. All the lies and deceptions were vanquished with every slash of the blade and every burst of frost fire. Mountains would have crumbled and seas parted in the face of his fury.
More skeletons marched toward him, and Konowa leaped forward, grabbing the closest grinning skull. White flame brightened in the skull’s eyes, then was blown out as black frost shattered it into hundreds of pieces. The rest of the bones clattered to the ground. All around him the shades of the dead scythed through the skeletons, extinguishing their unholy light with cold efficiency.
Konowa ran forward and almost stopped when he saw Rallie with her sketchbook, but he felt the power that surrounded her and knew she was in no immediate danger, so he kept going.
Everything before Konowa became a blur, and he cut things down he barely saw or understood. Nothing was going to stop him. Nothing.
And then no more creatures stood before him. Konowa knew without looking that the regiment was behind him, and he slowed to a walk, his eyes bulging and his lips twisted into a sneer. Frost fire licked between the fingers of his left hand and bathed the saber in his right.