A Darkness Forged in Fire

FORTY-SIX

T he sound of sporadic musket fire echoed from the far side of the river. Konowa stood at the river's edge, watching the first rays of sunlight creep over the horizon.

It was going to be a slaughter.

He unbuttoned the top of his jacket in direct violation of Prince Tykkin's uniform code, knowing His Highness was still up at the fortress searching for signs of the Star. No doubt the musket fire would rouse the Prince to come and oversee the battle, but for now, the regiment was his.

The first thing he saw emerge from the mist were the wings on the shakos of the regiment's skirmishers. The soldiers marched in orderly fashion in ones and twos about thirty yards at a time, then turned, dropped to a knee, and aimed at the approaching elfkynan files still a hundred yards behind them. As they did so, those who had fired before stood up and marched past their comrades another thirty yards where they took up position, reloading their muskets quickly but in good order. RSM Lorian directed them the whole time, calmly walking back and forth among the skirmishers, pointing out targets, barking orders, and always reminding them to make each shot count.

Despite the accuracy of the skirmishers' shooting-Konowa saw several elfkynan fall never to rise again-the enemy appeared completely indifferent to the firing, paying it no more heed than they would a few mosquitoes. They continued to march forward at an easy pace, their mioxja held high in the air, their faces lifted to the sky in song. The opposing army, not that it resembled any army Konowa had faced before, looked and sounded more like a very large celebration.

It was going to be a slaughter.

The skirmishers kept up their harassing fire, though they were not completely unscathed. Two wounded soldiers were already making their way back across the bridge, one holding a bloodstained handkerchief to his thigh, the other cradling an arm with an arrow protruding from it. Konowa looked past them and saw another soldier fall to the ground, his musket sliding from his hands. Konowa willed the soldier to get up, but he knew that he was dead. Lorian strode over to his body a moment later and grabbed the soldier by the shoulder, turning him over. He then stood and continued to command the remaining skirmishers. Lorian himself continued to present a tempting target to the elfkynan bowmen, who were in a less festive mood than their brethren, but though the arrows rained around him, the RSM remained unhurt.

Konowa calculated the speed of the skirmishers and the advancing elfkynan and knew there wasn't much time left. The skirmishers would soon be back across the river, the brown water the final barrier between the Iron Elves and the elfkynan wild with the thought of finding the Eastern Star and ridding themselves of the Calahrian Empire once and for all. Konowa closed his eyes for a moment and tried to flow his senses out across the river, searching for the Star. He still wasn't sure if he truly believed it was real, not like the acorn that weighed cold and heavy against his chest, but watching the elfkynan approach gave him pause. They certainly appeared to believe in it.

Konowa opened his eyes after a few moments, detecting nothing but the usual chaos. He saw rather than felt the splitting of the elfkynan forces, the bulk of the rebels' army coming straight at Luuguth Jor, while two smaller columns were beginning to bend to envelop the village and fortress from either side. Expecting this, Konowa had deployed two platoons of C Company at the gap in the trees. He would have liked to have done the same on the other side, but with no gap in the trees those troops would be at too much risk of being cut off. Instead, he placed two more platoons from C Company through the gap and facing west. When the elfkynan column got across the river to the north and then swung around the trees thinking they would surprise the regiment, they'd be in for a rude awakening.

An arrow fluttered by Konowa's face just a few feet away, bouncing off a mud brick and coming to rest at his feet. He bent and picked it up, twirling it in his fingers, noting that the fletching was rudimentary at best, the tip just sharpened and not even fire-hardened. He concentrated for a moment and burned the arrow with frost fire in a matter of seconds. There was no screaming in his head, no anguish, only a slight unpleasant feeling of regret that he quickly pushed aside.

"Cavalry, Major!"

Konowa looked up to see a squadron of elfkynan riders galloping hard for the river, then making an abrupt turn and racing parallel to it in an attempt to get behind the skirmishers and cut them off. If it weren't for the tall grass and uneven ground they would have ridden straight through them. As it was, if they succeeded in herding the skirmishers together, the soldiers would be easy pickings for the closing main elfkynan column.

"Hold your fire-wait until the first horse gets to the bridge," he ordered, wishing he had his musket in his hands instead of his saber.

With no resistance, the horsemen continued to race along the bank, their mioxja making a high, keening sound as they waved them over their heads. The lead cavalryman was still a good twenty feet from the bridge when a musket fired from somewhere off to the left. At only fifty yards wide, the river was little more than a big ditch, and hitting a target as large as a horse, even one cantering across their line, was not difficult. The ball struck the rider's front shoulder, throwing him over the horse's neck as it stumbled to its knees.

"Front row, by volley…fire!" Konowa shouted, unleashing eighty musket balls at once. There was the staccato ripple of seventy-nine hammers sparking seventy-nine pans within half a second of each other, followed by the sharp crack of balls leaving muzzles, the familiar shower of sparks and expanding plumes of gray smoke that rolled forth a few feet before losing their impetus and beginning to blur and rise into the brightening sky.

The effect was immediate and devastating. Twelve horses took the brunt of the shot, the musket balls punching through their hides. Seven riders were also hit, a musket ball plucking one rider off his saddle with a clean shot in one ear and out the other. Screams of dying and wounded horses and dying and wounded elfkynan filled the air, and following cavalry slowed and bunched as they were forced to navigate through their fallen comrades. It was the moment Konowa was waiting for.

"Second row, to the fore! First row, to the rear, reload!" Konowa shouted, hearing his commands echoed up and down the line as sergeants hurried their men. The hollow rattle of ramrods in musket barrels reminded Konowa of battles past and he smiled, a thin-lipped baring of his teeth that would have terrified anyone looking at it.

"Front row, by volley…fire!"

Sixty muskets fired this time, but the effect was unknown, as the smoke from the second volley mixed with the first and with the fog that still hung over the river, obscuring the far side of the bank. A thin gust of wind moved enough of the smoke a moment later for Konowa to see again, and he counted at least another ten riders fallen, along with several horses. Confusion reigned on the far side, and the cavalry were now milling about, unsure whether to press on or fall back. It was time to make up their minds for them.

"The cannon will fire on my command, and don't you bloody well miss…fire!"

Twin cracks snapped the air. Loaded with canister shot, little more than a tin can filled with fifty musket balls strapped to a round wooden plug by thin metal bands, all of which sat on a flannel bag filled with powder, the canisters burst apart with the force of the blast as soon as they left the cannon. Their shot tore through the hanging smoke and fog and spread out to spray an area thirty feet wide on the other side of the river. The head and neck of one horse simply disappeared in a red mist. Seven more stumbled and fell, two of them rolling over and down into the river, taking their screaming riders with them. One rider stood amid the carnage with his left arm completely shorn away, a stream of blood arcing out of the gaping wound at his shoulder. Instead of running away, he was shaking his right fist in the air, still clenching his mioxja, and shouting curses at the Iron Elves.

He was either very brave, or very foolish, and either way Konowa admired him, which made it a shame that the trooper would be killed with the next volley. Konowa was about to shout for the first row to fire again when he heard the elfkynan cavalry blow retreat on a horn, its plaintive cry calling the survivors back. The cavalry trooper swayed on his feet, but refused to move, still shouting, though his remaining arm had now dropped to his side.

Konowa's attention was pulled away as the massive frame of Private Hrem Vulhber came into view, easily dwarfing the rest of the soldiers as they picked their way through the dead and dying. Lorian was close behind, still walking tall and shouting orders to the skirmishers even as the elfkynan army pressed down on them. He waved at Konowa and signaled with his halberd that the skirmishing line was still in good order and able to fight. The steel point of the weapon was stained red, mute testament that at least one rebel had gotten a little too close.

Konowa cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted across to him, "Get your men across the river, Sergeant Major! And make it look good!"

Lorian gave a thumbs-up and shouted new orders to the skirmishers. Their controlled retreat suddenly became a mad dash for the river and the sole means across it. A cheer rose from the elfkynan line marching after them, thinking that the siggers had finally broken and were running away.

As the skirmishers jogged back, one of them veered off to the right to where the one-armed elfkynan cavalry trooper still stood and bayoneted him in the back. The elfkynan screamed and fell, the soldier stabbing him again and again until the screaming stopped. The soldier quickly rifled through the dead elfkynan's clothing, then rejoined the troops filing back across the bridge.

Konowa saw the weasel-faced soldier as he stepped off the dock and pointed to him. The soldier looked around for a moment, clearly hoping Konowa wanted someone else, but when he saw he was it, he marched over.

"Private Gorton Zwitty, Major," he said, saluting.

"Why did you bayonet that elfkynan?"

Zwitty looked confused. "Which one, sir? I put the steel to a few of them heathen. Squealed like little girls, the cowards."

Konowa reined in his temper and pointed across the river. He was aware that Lorian and several soldiers were watching. "The one missing an arm."

"Why did I bayonet him?" Zwitty asked, clearly puzzled by the question. "Answer the major," Lorian barked, startling Zwitty.

Zwitty shrugged. "I did what the major told us: If they had one of those moja things, get in close and do 'em, so I did."

The futility of it all hit Konowa, and he waved the soldier away. He saw Lorian looking at him and asked the RSM for a report.

"The elfkynan are a mess," he began quickly, his breathing still labored after the exertions of the last couple of hours. His face was flushed, and there was a wild look to his eyes. Konowa recognized it at once, a feeling of indescribable exhilaration at having fought and survived in battle. In his banishment, he had missed it terribly.

"Discipline is poor, more like a mob than an army. And the bastards didn't seem to care one bit as we shot at them. They just kept chanting Sillra, Sillra. Main column looks to be a couple hundred wide and thirty deep, give or take a few."

"Their faith in the Star is strong," Konowa said, feeling the smallest sense of disappointment that it was misplaced.

"It's like they think it will protect them from being killed," Lorian said, his breathing slowing as the rush of battle left him. "I couldn't get a good look at the two wings that went out, so I did a quick scout of my own and counted close to two thousand in the right wing. The left has probably got the same. And you saw their cavalry, brave enough, but not much to worry about on this side of the river. I'd wager three to four hundred at the most."

"A quick scout of your own?" Konowa asked, looking at the still-bloody halberd.

Lorian grimaced, then nodded. "I couldn't see a damn thing where I was, so I borrowed one of them ponies and went for a gander."

Cavalry. Lorian was no different from the Duke of Rakestraw, galloping at everything with no regard for his own safety. Having spent considerable time in the saddle the last few weeks, Konowa was beginning to suspect that it was the horses, not the cavalry troopers, that had more sense.

"Not exactly what I had in mind when I said no heroics," Konowa said, waving away Lorian's protest. "The Duke would not have been pleased if I had lost him his best sergeant." He shook his head and smiled. "Well done all the same. If my math is close, that would give the rebels six thousand in the center, maybe a couple thousand in each wing, and a few hundred cavalry." He paused for a moment, then asked the question they were both reluctant to hear. "What did we lose?"

"Two dead and five wounded," Lorian said simply.

It pained him to lose a single Iron Elf, but their losses were light, and the skirmishers had succeeded in drawing the attention of the elfkynan, who even now were marching toward the river.

"Put them in for a citation. I want their widows to get a full pension," Konowa said, knowing it was cold comfort for the loss of a loved one. "Their deaths won't be in vain."

"If they are in fact dead," Lorian said, hanging his head. Ice crystals winked along the length of his halberd and the blood on the metal point thickened, darkening as it did so. A perfectly rounded drop froze before vanishing in a flicker of frost flames. Lorian never looked up.

Konowa glanced around to see if they were watched, but the preparations to receive the elfkynan attack had all the soldiers' attention. "This isn't the time, Lorian."

Lorian brought his head up as if waking from a dream. He stiffened and saluted. "Of course, Major. I'll see to the defenses," he said, striding back to the pier to oversee its dismantling.

Watching him go, Konowa realized he couldn't put it off any longer. The troops deserved some kind of explanation. He walked over to a pile of ammunition crates and climbed on top of them. Soldiers nearby saw him and began motioning to others. Soon, shouts were going up and down the line that the major was going to speak.

"Soldiers of the Iron Elves! Battle has been joined," he began, cringing at the obviousness of it. He shook his head and lowered his voice slightly, looking down at the upturned faces. Many were smiling, their trust in him absolute.

"Today, at this place, the true measure of your heart will be taken. Blood will flow, nerves will fray, and men will die. Make no mistake, the day will be hard. But know also that as with all days, this one too shall fade into night, and a new dawn will rise."

A few muted cheers rumbled through the regiment, the reminder of the coming battle having a sobering effect.

"Take comfort in the fact that you are the rarest of all warriors to walk the land in any age. You are Iron Elves, oath takers bound to all those that went before. Their strength is your strength. Be not afraid of it, for therein lies your power!"

The cheers were louder now. Muskets were held high in the air, the sun glinting off them like steel lightning.

Konowa tried to think of something else to say, but the regiment continued to cheer, the air growing cooler around them. He abruptly pulled his saber from its scabbard and held it skyward.

"For the Queen! For the Empire! For the Iron Elves!"

They answered as one, their voice a cold, clarion note through a mist-shrouded forest.

Konowa resheathed his saber and stepped down from the crates, smiling back at his men as they continued to cheer. Each one believing the lie.

As he walked along the line, the sound of cheering came from the other side of the river. Konowa paused, trying to hear what was being yelled, but it didn't really matter. The rebel leaders would be telling their troops much the same, perhaps invoking the power of the Star. The elfkynan, like the Iron Elves, would believe the same lie, knowing that they would prevail while others died.

Whose speech, Konowa wondered, had been closer to the truth?

Inja had been born in the palace stables. The warm, heavy smells of the large animals had filled her lungs with her very first breath. By the time she was four, she could ride any horse in the stables, even the big stallions. At seven it was clear that she had the limoo sy about her, the ability to know things that had not yet come to pass…as it related to horses. Now at fifteen, Inja could predict within the minute when a mare would foal and which horse was going to develop colic and die months before it happened, giving the stable master ample time to sell the beast at full price to an unsuspecting buyer. She knew the fate of every horse in the stable, including the fastest of them all, Hizurantha.

Inja walked slowly toward the stall of the three-year-old gray gelding, the six-inch blade in her hand growing heavier with each step.

She knew that what she was about to do was a merciful thing. No creature should have to endure what she had forseen for Hizu. It was a fate truly worse than death.

Hizu smelled her coming and whinnied with anticipation, knowing she always brought him a chunk of keela fruit. Inja looked down at her hand and saw only the cold glint of steel. Could she really do this thing? What if she was wrong, what if her vision had been a mistake? The nightmare flashed repeatedly through her mind, as sharp as the knife in her hand.

There was no mistake. Hizu would suffer terribly; she had no choice.

Inja arrived at Hizu's stall and reached out her left hand and pulled back the wooden slide that held the stall door in place. Slowly, quietly, she eased the smooth, worn slat back until it made that familiar thunk sound as it hit its wooden stop. Hizu tossed his mane and snorted and stamped his front hooves.

"I am sorry, Hizu," Inja said, stepping into the stall and reaching up to grab Hizu's halter. The horse obediently brought its head down and sniffed her, looking for the keela fruit. Inja refused to look him in the eye, searching instead for the great vein at the side of his neck. "You deserved better."

The knife in her hand grew colder, and the horror of what she was about to do made her shiver. Hizu sensed something was wrong, jerking his head back up, his breath coming fast, its mist clouding the cold air of the stable. Inja looked at the mist in surprise, and then down at her hand. Frost sparkled along the blade.

"What-?" she asked aloud, turning as a new presence entered the stall behind her. Something incredibly cold grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. The knife fell from her hand as she reached up to pry away the icy grip. Already the cold was eating into her, blurring her vision as it bled the strength from her limbs. She heard the sound of Hizu's screams from a growing distance, and then she was flying, the cold vise around her neck letting go. Her head hit the stone cobbles of the hallway in front of the stall, but she remained conscious for a moment more, long enough to hear Hizu's hooves clatter across the stone and fade into the distance.

The Viceroy of Elfkyna was riding to Luuguth Jor.