A Darkness Forged in Fire

THIRTY

A huge shadow loomed over Alwyn, and he looked up to see Private Hrem Vulhber crouched over him. "Corporal Arkhorn around? I've got last watch and he said he'd donate one of his boys to stand guard with me."

"I'll keep you company for a bit, Hrem," Alwyn said, standing up and then looking over to where Yimt was reclining against one of the more interesting carvings.

Yimt opened one eye. "I was thinking Inkermon could use a little fresh air, but seeing as you're volunteering I guess it can't hurt. Just do me a favor and stay out of trouble. Hrem, don't let him shoot an officer out checking the lines…unless you really have to, of course."

Hrem smiled and nodded. "As long as you're down here, I think the officers can walk about safely up there."

"The insubordination," Yimt said, yawning and stretching. He waved them away. "Begone then, and do us a favor and don't thump about up there; some folk are trying to sleep."

Alwyn grabbed his shako and musket and followed Hrem up through the tunnels and out into the night.

There were no stars in the sky, and a warm mist rose from the ground, limiting visibility to a few feet at best. His need to stretch his legs diminished somewhat, but he wasn't going to turn back now.

They met a weasel-faced soldier as they stepped outside. Hrem made a small noise in his throat and kept on walking, pointedly not bothering to introduce him to Alwyn.

"Pleasant watch, ladies," the soldier called after them.

"Who was that?" Alwyn asked, quickening his pace to keep up with Hrem's huge strides.

"Trouble. Some people are born bad, others get made that way. Private Zwitty's both."

"Oh."

Hrem looked over and clapped a huge hand on his shoulder, knocking Alwyn off balance.

"Not to worry; you listen to the Little Mad One and you'll be fine. I'm sure he's probably told you, but when you have a problem, you face it head-on. A fellow like Zwitty, or Kritton, you always look in the eye and you don't blink."

"Must be nice to be as big as you, though," Alwyn said, looking up at the towering soldier beside him.

Hrem laughed, a delicate sound that made Alwyn smile. He was glad it was dark enough Hrem couldn't see it.

"Your corporal is this side of four feet nothing, but you find me a soldier in this regiment, hell, in this army, who'd have the stones to take him on. It isn't size, Alwyn, it's what's inside that counts."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, carefully picking their way through the camp and down the slope toward the river that Alwyn still hadn't seen. He certainly smelled it, though, a pungent, stagnant odor growing stronger with each step. He was beginning to worry Hrem would lead them right into it when a voice called out to them up ahead.

"Who goes there?"

"It's me, Kess, come to relieve you," Hrem said. He yawned and started to topple backward before catching himself.

"About time, too, I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me down here," Kess said, walking into view to stand in front of them. In the dark and the swirling mist he was little more than a shadow. "Who's this then?" he asked.

"Alwyn Renwar, A Company," Alwyn said, holding out his hand. An arm came forward with a hand on it and Alwyn was relieved to feel real, warm flesh when he shook it. "I couldn't sleep so I thought I would get a bit of air."

Kess stepped forward and Alwyn could just make out a pair of muttonchops and a very crooked nose.

"To each his own, I say. Kester Harkon, pleased to meet you." He pulled back and waved his arm in the direction of the river. "Watch your step down there; it's all mud."

"Will do, thanks, Kess," Hrem said, moving off toward the river.

Kess grunted and walked away. Alwyn followed Hrem by walking through the gap he made in the mist.

"We're not likely to see a thing," Hrem said a moment later. He'd stopped walking and Alwyn bumped into him.

Alwyn looked around and saw nothing but gray swirling mist against a deep-well darkness. "Probably not," he agreed. Would, he wondered, anything see them?

Hrem yawned again. "It'll be dawn soon, and I haven't slept a wink."

"I could stand watch for a bit," Alwyn said before really thinking about what he had just offered.

"You haven't slept either."

"I don't think I can, not right now anyway. Just tell me what to do if a corporal comes to check the sentries."

There was a thud and a deep sigh as Hrem stretched himself out on the ground. "Not to worry, Alwyn. The only sneak you couldn't hear coming was Kritton, and he's not a problem anymore. Serves the devilish bastard right if you ask me."

"Fair enough," Alwyn said, hoping his voice didn't sound as worried as he suddenly felt.

"You're a grand fellow, Alwyn, no matter what they say about you," Hrem said through one long yawn.

"Who says what about me?"

"…don't you pay it another thought…damn fine lad…bit of a fragile sort, but tough enough…you'll make a soldier yet…"

Alwyn wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Or both. A high-pitched snore rose up from the ground where Hrem had fallen asleep, indicating the conversation was over.

Splash.

Alwyn froze, straining to locate the sound. Everything was silent again. He leaned forward slightly, cocking his left ear toward the still-unseen river. A ghostly whirl of mist sailed past, taking shapes every bit as dire as his imagination would conjure. He gripped his musket a little tighter and peered into the fog, praying the sun would hurry up and rise. The underground village, with all its narrow tunnels and hollowed-out rooms more suitable for large gophers, or dwarves, than men now seemed like the most wonderful place in the world.

I'm just being silly, he told himself, realizing he had been leaning more and more forward as he strained to hear. "I'm an Iron Elf," he whispered, not really believing it, but standing up straight and by sheer force of will turning his back to the river.

Splash.

The vines and the faeraugs were behind them, the regiment was largely intact, and Hrem, one of the biggest soldiers in the regiment, was sleeping just a few yards away. Hell, they even had an elfkynan witch, even if she did seem a bit standoffish. So why did the sound of a fish or a frog (he hoped) set his nerves on the edge of a razor?

More mist whirled past, and for the briefest of moments a shape emerged that Alwyn knew he recognized.

Meri.

Alwyn squinted until he thought his eyes would turn to jelly. He shook his head. He could have sworn the one-eyed soldier had just appeared, but Meri was dead.

I'm cracking up, he thought, though he felt more clear-headed than he ever had in his life. It had to be his imagination. Alwyn wouldn't tell Yimt, or the major. As Hrem had let slip, the other soldiers already thought Alwyn was a bit off-he could all too easily imagine what they'd think if they knew he was seeing things, too.

Scritch…scritch.

Just a duck nibbling at snails on water lilies. He debated waking Hrem. If there was something out there, it was the smart thing to do.

Sreeeesh…crack.

A turtle crawling over a small log? A water gryphon eating a turtle on a small log? Alwyn shifted his grip on his musket and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax. It wasn't working.

That's it, I'm waking Hrem, he decided, and turned to find the sleeping soldier.

And then he saw it. The first pinkish-orange smudge on the horizon.

It was magic. Everything seemed different with that first tiny bit of light. The tension dribbled out of his muscles until he thought he'd collapse on the ground in one wonderful mushy heap of relief. It was morning, the start of a brand-new day, and the vines were behind them.

Scritch-splash. He turned, and for the first time saw the river. Tall, bulbous-headed reeds rustled at the river's edge as ducks (and they were ducks, he was happy to see) nibbled around their stalks, diving for seeds that had shaken loose from their pods. It was a beautiful sight.

He looked out past the ducks to the river itself, no more than a musket shot across as the far bank began to take shape through the mist. The smell, which he had to admit he was getting used to, appeared to come from the river itself. As the dawn grew brighter he could make out the oily surface of the brown water and wondered how the ducks survived in it. Maybe they drink somewhere else, he thought, taking a few steps closer to the reeds.

Water splashed into the air a few feet away. Alwyn jumped, swinging his musket to bear. The mist was still thick enough that large chunks of the area were clouded by it. He eased the hammer back and held his breath, the sound of his own heart so loud he wondered if a person could break a rib. The mist became thicker again, a reaction to the rising heat of the morning, and it clung to his skin like a thin sheet of slime.

A terrible thought occurred to him. What if the powder in the pan is too wet and won't light? He looked down at the musket as if it had just betrayed him.

He cradled the now-suspect weapon in one hand and felt around for another charge in his ammunition pouch, his fingers brushing the tops of the waxed paper cartridges and feeling moisture on each one. He closed the lid on the leather pouch and decided he'd take his chances with what was in the pan. More water splashed.

"Hrem," Alwyn called. He said it so softly he wasn't sure any sound escaped his lips. He tried again and jumped at the loudness of his own voice.

"Naw…tickle me there, Dabina, that's the spot…"

Alwyn shook his head. He was beginning to think he'd never sleep normally again, while soldiers like Yimt and Hrem seemed capable of sleeping anywhere, any time.

More ducks were splashing and quacking now and the sun was definitely on the rise, though the area around Alwyn was still murky with shadow. He decided a couple of seed pods lobbed into the tall grass like those hand-sized fireballs the grenadiers used should get Hrem's attention. He rested his musket on his shoulder and walked toward the river's edge to grab some.

The smell again. Stronger.

It was earthy and old, a smell that had never seen the light of the sun. It wasn't the smell of the river, either. It was approaching Alwyn from somewhere in the mist.

"…Hrem…" Alwyn cried, but now that he wanted to shout his voice would only rasp, his tongue dry and immovable inside his mouth.

Something large and ponderous loomed out of the mist-it was a dark blur, but Alwyn knew what it was.

"…R-r-rakke," he tried to scream, gripping his musket so hard the muscles in his hands burned.

"…use the feather; no, the purple one," Hrem said, sighing with great contentment.

" Hremmmm! " Alwyn shouted at the top of his lungs, pulling back the hammer and squeezing the trigger. There was the distinctive crack of flint striking metal followed by a fizz and then nothing.

The powder didn't light.

The rakke emerged from the mist swinging its arms wildly. Alwyn closed his eyes and lunged forward, waiting for the impact.

A bitter cold wind roared up from nowhere. Alwyn opened his eyes. Meri stood before him, a long broadsword held easily in his hands. The body of the rakke was tumbling down the bank where it rolled into the water and sank from view.

"What's going on?"

Alwyn turned at the sound of Hrem's voice. The big soldier was standing a few feet away, his musket at the ready.

"It was a-" Alwyn started to say, turning to point to Meri.

There was no one there. No sign of Meri. No sign of the rakke.

"A what?" Hrem asked, taking a few steps toward the river before turning back.

Alwyn shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Sun rays began to stretch out across the land, chasing away the last vestiges of the night. Alwyn watched the mist burn into nothing, and wondered if his mind would soon follow.