A Darkness Forged in Fire

TEN

Konowa awoke to a gentle kiss. He smiled, the nightmare already a distant memory. Warm breath caressed his skin as soft lips brushed against his cheek, the sweet smell of oats-

"Get away!" he shouted, opening his eyes and batting away the muzzle of the gelding. The horse bared its teeth and stamped a hoof and Konowa rolled out of the way, jumping to his feet in one motion.

"Making a new friend, I see," Visyna said lightly, walking up to pat the horse. Sergeant Lorian followed her.

"You, too," he replied. He started to brush the dirt off his clothes, then stopped. The pain in his ribs was gone. "What happened?"

Sergeant Lorian looked puzzled. "We rode all night, sir, although I gather you slept most of the way. We stopped a couple of hours before dawn for a short break for the rest of us. We're heading out now-the encampment isn't more than an hour or two away."

"Why stop so close to the encampment, then? Why didn't we ride on through?"

"The horses needed rest, too," Lorian said. "Push them too hard for too far and you'll push them straight into the ground. Not even unicorns can go forever, and these horses are far from that."

"Have you ever ridden a unicorn, Sergeant?" Visyna asked. She was rubbing the gelding's coat with a handful of grass. The horse looked back and started eating the grass out of her hand.

"Couldn't ride one since I was fifteen," he said, smiling. "Besides, they pretty much stick to women. Temperamental sort."

"Unicorns or women?" Konowa asked.

Visyna huffed and the sergeant looked suddenly embarrassed. "Right, better get things squared away. We mount in five minutes," he said, and walked over to see to his troops.

"He seems nice," Visyna said, picking some more grass for the gelding to eat.

"Charming," Konowa said, staring after the sergeant. The gelding looked at Konowa and stamped a front hoof.

"I think someone is trying to get your attention." Visyna laughed, holding the grass out to the horse. The horse sniffed at her hand, then whinnied, taking the offering in its large, yellow teeth.

"You appear to get along with everyone," Konowa said, grabbing a fistful of dry leaves and absently rubbing the gelding with them.

"And you, on the other hand, do not."

"I bring out the worst in people," he said, rubbing the horse harder. Tufts of hair fell out, revealing red splotches covering the animal's skin. The horse waved its head from side to side and shook its body. "Did we get saddled with a sick horse?" he asked, looking over to Visyna.

She shook her head. "These horses were born and bred in Calahr-they are not suited to this land. It is one more affront to the natural order to transport animals so far from their native home."

"I know what you mean," Konowa said. "Two-legged animals don't fare much better."

Visyna clicked her teeth. "But you had a choice, these creatures did not. This is why my people hate…" She paused, clearly reconsidering her next words. "Why your Empire upsets the balance of life."

Konowa decided he didn't feel like sparring with her again. He went back to rubbing the gelding.

"Here, do it like this," Visyna said, walking around to his side of the horse. She took the leaves from his hand and replaced them with grass, then placed her hand on top of his. "Gentle strokes. You aren't trying to skin it."

She stood close to Konowa and the touch of her hand was warm and soft. He quietly drew in a deep breath, but this time she smelled more like the horse.

"You're right," she said after several moments.

"About what?"

"This horse…in fact, most of these horses. This climate is not ideal for them, but there is something else, a malaise."

"Maybe they're homesick," Konowa said.

Visyna continued to hold his hand. "That is part of it, but there is more, something I don't understand…"

"Speaking of things unexplained, what did you do to me? That was more than just leaves and herbs you used," he said. Her grip tightened on his hand then loosened again.

"No more than understanding the natural order," she replied.

"Ah, I thought maybe there was more to it than that."

"You thought wrong," she said, letting go of his hand and pointing to the saddle. "It's time to go."

Konowa sighed and nodded, gathering up the reins and climbing up without her help this time. He found the stirrups without looking and settled down on the horse, cringing as his muscles protested at being back in the saddle. She jumped up behind him and they joined the already moving line of horses. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the roadway grew to a steady drumbeat that, he thought despairingly, would be tattooed into his brain forever.

Fortunately, this leg of their journey was mercifully short, and before Konowa was prepared for it, a shout up ahead signaled they had reached the forward piquet of the army encampment.

Passing through the line felt like being swallowed whole. The orange glow of cook fires was already fading as the sun came up. As its first rays stretched out across the land, they revealed a white-capped sea, the frothy waves coalescing into fields of canvas tents set in neat rows for thousands of yards in every direction. Men moved about them in that slow, stilted gait of having spent a night bedded down on the earth. Konowa rubbed his own backside in empathy.

A pungent tang caught the back of his throat and he gagged for a moment.

"Anything wrong, sir?" a trooper asked.

"Quite the opposite. I forgot what an army in the field smelled like, that's all."

Meat, most likely goat and rat dragon, roasted on spits and bubbled in pots. Somewhere nearby an armory sergeant had opened a barrel of black powder, the distinctive foul-egg odor hanging heavy in the air. And over it all were the more earthy scents of bootblack and pipe clay mingling with the ever-pervasive aroma of manure and animal sweat, of both the two- and four-legged variety. It was a world away from the dank mold of the forest.

"Companeeeeee! By the wheel, form square!"

Konowa twisted in his saddle. Two rows of Imperial infantry, more commonly called siggers, a bastardized nickname picked up long ago for the silver-green color of their coats, wheeled smartly into a four-sided square. Each side faced out, their bayonet-tipped muskets glinting in the sun. It was the time-honored defense against cavalry, and almost always successful, if done properly. More sounds vied for his attention, and he looked away as a building surge of shouted orders, smithies' hammers, and lowing oxen grew as the camp came alive.

A line of horses bent their necks to drink from a trough made of sailcloth fashioned by a stand of bushy-looking trees covered in moss. Farriers took the opportunity to examine the animals, and any lame or in need of shoeing were selected out. In a grass square surrounded by canvas tents another company of soldiers paraded with bayonets fixed so that they looked like a large, bristling porcupine trundling about in search of an exit.

"It must be strange to be around so many people again," Visyna said, behind him.

"I'm getting used to one, at least."

He felt a gentle squeeze around his stomach and smiled. He turned in the saddle to face her, but before he could respond a trooper rode up with a riderless horse in tow.

"If you'll get on this horse, ma'am, the Trading Company has a headquarters over yonder where you can get a message to your father."

"And you, sir, can follow me," Sergeant Lorian said, his face betraying obvious disappointment that Visyna was going with the troops. "The Duke's quarters are this way." Without waiting for Konowa to acknowledge Lorian, he spurred his horse into a trot.

Visyna slid over to the other horse without touching the ground. "Perhaps you'll stop by?" she asked.

"I'll find you," Konowa said, reluctantly urging the gelding after Sergeant Lorian. After a few yards he turned in the saddle to look back at her, but she was already trotting away.

"Major, the Duke is waiting."

"I've been gone over a year, what's a couple more minutes?" he muttered, and gently kicked the gelding in the ribs to get it moving.

They rode through the camp faster than Konowa would have liked. He noticed several troopers pointing, and he recognized the uniforms of several regiments. A murmur swelled in their wake, and by the time they rode up to the Duke's tent it was a dull roar. Pennants on the end of lances stuck in the ground on either side of the tent fluttered in a stiff breeze. They were the colors of enemy regiments, captured in battle and now displayed as trophies, but a few were unknown to Konowa. Clearly, the Duke had been busy.

Konowa wasn't so sure he wanted to dismount, but he followed the lead of the sergeant and climbed gingerly to the ground.

A crowd of soldiers jogged up to surround the tent, jostling each other for a look. "It is him," a voice said from the crowd. "Like hell," said another, "they sent him south with the rest of them." More claims and counterclaims flew back and forth. Konowa was considering taking bets on the matter when the Duke's tent flaps flew open and a man of singular distinction stepped into the light.

The crowd of soldiers disappeared faster than mead on payday.

Konowa was tall, close to six feet, but the Duke made him look like a child. No one dared question the Duke's parentage within earshot, but popular rumor supposed that there had been a mountain troll in the family woodpile. Dressed in riding boots and breeches and wearing an undershirt that might have been white in the distant past, he did nothing to dispel that notion. Wolf's Tooth, naturally, was slung over his shoulder.

Konowa threw the reins of his horse to a trooper and walked forward to stand in front of the red-haired giant. He searched the man's face, looking for a sign, but the blue eyes gave nothing away. Silence radiated out from them like ripples in a pond.

All at once the Duke lunged forward and wrapped Konowa in his arms, lifting him off the ground. "You sorry excuse for a soldier! I'd given you up for dead!"

The grip was as strong as the rakke's, albeit with friendlier purpose. Konowa struggled to breathe and finally had to pry the massive arms open enough to regain his footing and take a step backward to look up at his old friend. "It's great to see you too, Jaal," he said, smiling at the Duke. A row of white teeth beamed back at him from the scarred visage of his friend, and Konowa realized how much he'd missed him.

A scream sounded from off to the right and several horses spooked. Two privates, a dwarf and a man, came running toward the tent followed by a large bengar. Konowa shook his head. Jir cornered the two soldiers against the side of the tent and was advancing on them, his snout high in the air, sniffing.

"Jir! They're not for eating," Konowa yelled.

"Sweet knobby-kneed nuns! Is this monster yours?" the dwarf yelled. The other soldier kept wiping at his spectacles as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Konowa briefly considered asserting his officer status, but the dwarf was already having a bad day and there was no good reason to make it worse.

"In a manner of speaking. He doesn't normally react like this. The last time I saw him this agitated was a few nights ago, when he ate some rakkes."

The dwarf's eyes bulged. His companion stopped rubbing his specs and looked ready to faint.

"Ate? Ate! We ain't no rakkes," the dwarf cried. "We just killed one of the critters ourselves."

Konowa felt the blood drain from his face. Could it have been the fourth rakke? Why would it come here?

"Where is the body?" he asked.

The dwarf spat a stream of crute juice at Jir, who started growling and sank down on his haunches, never a good sign. "Call off your beast and maybe I'll tell you, elfie."

"You'll tell him now, Private," the Duke of Rakestraw thundered, his voice a hammer poised to fall.

"Colonel, sir! I didn't see you there what with this monster attempting to eat a couple of Her Majesty's finest, and if I may say so, sir, bravest siggers in service in the far-flung reaches of Her Empire and the dominions it contains."

"As wagon nannies for the Outer Territories Trading Company?" Jaal asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice. He looked over at Konowa and rolled his eyes. "Private! While we're still young, and you're in one piece."

"Right," the dwarf said, carefully saluting the Duke. "As I was about to say, we burned the brute, sir, sent it back to the fires it came from, nothing but ash and bone now. Vital service we performed, no doubt about it." He finished, casting a glance at Konowa as he said the last part.

"Did it say anything?" Konowa asked, his hopes of solving this diminishing now.

"No offense, sir, but we weren't exactly interested in engaging it in chit-chat," the dwarf said, his eyebrows high with indignation.

"I think this has gone on long enough," Jaal whispered. Konowa looked around and saw that a crowd had started to gather again. He nodded.

"Curb that mutt of yours and let's go inside," Jaal said, taking his hand off of the hilt of Wolf's Tooth. "You're still a disruption to good order and conduct." He turned and went into the tent.

"Jir, heel," Konowa ordered, pointing to a spot by the tent flaps. To his immense surprise, Jir obeyed, slinking away from the frightened soldiers, but never turning his back to them.

"I suggest you two take a bath and get rid of the smell," Konowa said, addressing the dwarf and his bespectacled companion. He stared in turn at the other soldiers, watching until they suddenly remembered they had better places to be.

"Look who's talkin'," he heard the dwarf mutter, pulling his counterpart after him. They edged away from the tent before breaking into a run in the opposite direction.

Konowa let out a sigh and stepped into the tent after the Duke. The dГ©cor was typical Jaal; sparse, ordered and without a whiff of pretension. A simple wood-framed cot occupied a quarter of the tent. A saddle, its leather polished to a parade-ground finish, its stirrups cinched tight and high, sat at the bottom end. At the head of the cot was a folding wooden chair, with Jaal's blue cavalry jacket draped over its back and his red-crested helmet perched on top of that. A second pair of riding boots, a small travel chest, a board laid across two wicker ammunition crates for a table, and a lantern hanging from the center pole completed the furnishings.

"Being a Duke doesn't appear to have that many advantages," Konowa said, admiring the cobwebs in a corner.

A look that Konowa couldn't interpret crossed his friend's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile.

"And neither does being a savage, I see," Jaal replied, "well, except for your pet out there." He offered Konowa the chair while he sat down on the cot, its canvas sheet sagging to just an inch above the ground. "I seem to recall you having something less than a tender affinity for the forest. вЂFilthy, nasty place filled with bugs' was your usual refrain, was it not?"

The smile on Konowa's face lessened. "Things changed."

Jaal nodded. "They did at that. Well, you're back now. The whole camp knows it, and very soon the entire army will know it. Trouble is definitely in the wind. I only just received a messenger from Marshal Ruwl about detaining you on behalf of no less a personage than the Prince himself. Damn me though if I know what's going on. They're both due here in a few days on some silly inspection tour, so I guess you'll find out then."

"You mean we will," Konowa said.

For a long moment the Duke said nothing, and Konowa wondered if Jaal had heard him.

"I'm going hunting to the west," Jaal said at last.

It had been a while, but Konowa could tell his friend was troubled. "Orcs? You'll be back in a fortnight. They aren't our problem and you know it. I thought I'd put an end to Her ideas in this part of the world, but it seems ridding the world of one of Her servants only got me a whole lot of trouble."

Jaal smiled at his friend. "You did the world a favor when you killed the Viceroy, I'm sorry I wasn't able to-"

Konowa waved him off. "I wasn't going to have you throw away your career for something I did. Besides, I know what you did for my boys. If some in the royal court had had their way, the Iron Elves would have been scattered throughout the army. You kept them together."

Now it was the Duke's turn to motion Konowa to stop. "I'm not sure it was much of a favor. They sent them to garrison the forts in the southern wastes across the Midea Sea. Just sand, camels, and not a tree for hundreds of miles. Pretty damn harsh, especially for elves born in the forest."

"Not elves," Konowa said, "Iron Elves. We don't have quite the same affinity for trees as the others. Still, I imagine it's been rough for them."

"They won't hate you, if that's what you're thinking. You did what had to be done, they know that."

Konowa bowed his head. "Maybe. I've had a year to think about it myself. I sometimes wonder…" He lifted his head, pushing those dark thoughts from his mind. "Enough of that. So, I hear there's a new Viceroy in town."

Jaal nodded, but did not smile. "Faltinald Gwyn, career weasel, pardon me, diplomat. Invited me over to his palace the other night. He claims the orcs are meddling in magics and other sorcery that they can't possibly understand, in league with Her and those rakke things."

"Orcs working with an elf-witch? Is he mad?" That was about as likely as a dwarf voluntarily shaving his beard.

"I don't know. What I do know is I'm leaving and taking the cavalry with me just as you return. There's unrest in the north that the Viceroy's convinced is the start of a rebellion, but he's ordered me west." Jaal winked at Konowa. "So naturally I sent some scouts up north to check things out, but they won't be back before I have to leave."

"Maybe he's a treasure hunter like the last one," Konowa said, his fists clenching as an image of the last Viceroy flashed through his mind. The elf had disgraced them all-if Konowa had to do it all over again, it would have ended the same.

"This one is full weasel. I don't know what he's up to," Jaal said, this time looking away from Konowa's glance.

Konowa smiled at his old friend. There was a wary, sad look to Jaal. Did he feel guilty about what had happened to him? Jaal had always been like an older brother, even though Konowa had decades on him. Jaal had threatened to resign his commission and go with Konowa after his court-martial-and Konowa knew he would have if he had let him. Alone in the forest, Konowa had been the one to carry guilt around, with only Jir by his side; never judging, never condemning. He would never have the bengar's stoicism, but he could sure as hell match its loyalty.

"You have been more friend to me than any elf has a right to," Konowa said. He winked at Jaal, spread his arms out wide, closed his eyes, and began speaking in a deep voice. " Lim rokna re rika, ti rokna se rika, gev esig lo werta oxul, ki rika yinja."

Jaal shook his head, sending his red hair flying about his face. "I'm a bit rusty. May my cullions be squeezed by a maiden fair?"

Konowa opened his eyes and fixed Jaal with a look of mock disdain. "You fight your battles, I'll fight mine, and we will find our enemy is the same, and fight as one."

Jaal bowed his head. Konowa took it for relief.

"So," Konowa said, "my banishment is over, and Marshal Ruwl is still days away. What do we do now?"

The Duke of Rakestraw took a deep breath and sat up straight, looking around the tent for a few moments before returning his gaze to Konowa.

"Swift Dragon, you may have been hugging trees for companionship for the past year, but you aren't that addled yet. We do what soldiers the world over have done when awaiting their orders." He leaned forward and reached into one of the spare riding boots, pulling out a large black bottle. "We drink!"