A Darkness Forged in Fire

FIFTY

I s that…" Vulhber started to ask, his voice choking.

"Get back in the square!" Konowa shouted. He drew his saber and pointed up toward the fortress. "Lorian, get them moving! Double time!"

Lorian raised his halberd in response and relayed the order from atop Zwindarra.

Konowa trotted forward, searching. Rakkes bellowed with unmitigated fury at the sight of the shades, but for the moment were unwilling to challenge them.

The regiment picked up its pace, the men sensing the new urgency. Chunks of splintered sarka har still flew through the air, and three more Iron Elves fell, but the protective walls of the fortress were tantalizingly close, and cheers began to rise from the ranks. The rakkes turned their attention on the elfkynan, but though the circle wavered, the four shamans maintained the protective spell around them. Konowa knew it couldn't last, sensing the force diminishing under the intense pressure, the warmth of the spell growing cold, fading.

Konowa waved his saber forward, urging the regiment on, the feel of the cool night air in his hair reminding him that he had lost his shako.

That's when Konowa felt them.

He didn't need the surge of ice against his chest to tell him. It was like a sliver of metal slipped between the eye and the lid. The rakkes grew silent, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Even the clawing of the bara jogg on the hard earth stopped, their scaly bodies uncannily still.

Shadows slipped through the trees, long, jagged blades held in their hands.

Konowa heard their terrible cries in his head. They all did. The shades of the Thirty-fifth Regiment wailed in terror, their spirits overcome by the sarka har. Still, they advanced. They had become unwilling servants to Her will, soldiers in a battle no longer for their lives, but for their souls.

"Fire!"

Muskets punched through the screams. Many shades were hit, a few bursting into writhing pyres of black flame, but most continued, the effect negligible. The first reached the front rank of the square, their blades slashing through the wall of bayonets to rend flesh.

Men screamed as frost fire burst over them. Others hacked and stabbed furiously with their bayonets, but it was like spearing water. The sides of the square began to buckle, the square collapsing in on itself as soldiers backed away from the relentless shadow warriors. The square was moments from collapsing altogether when the shades of the Iron Elves turned from the destruction of the trees and filled the ranks of the fallen in the square.

Now, shadow met shadow.

A howitzer shell hurtled skyward, a trail of sparks scribing its flight against the night. It appeared to get caught in a wind, though Konowa felt none. The shell veered far to the right, coming down not among the shades, but near the trees. The explosion radiated a brilliant white light. Several rakkes were scattered in the blast, their bodies flung about like rag dolls.

Konowa sensed something else then, a pure, exquisite malice that surpassed even the sarka har. More figures emerged from the trees, and though they moved as if they were shadow, their bodies were indeed corporeal, if twisted. The ground beneath Konowa swayed, or perhaps it was him, he could no longer tell.

Flame from a torch guttered and flared briefly, illuminating the area in front of him. An elf stood there, its black ear tip an obsidian beacon in the night. It held a longbow ready in its hands. Hunger…rage…anguish…extremes of emotion radiated outward from the elf, all of them driven by something bitter and vengeful. They had been left on the plains to die, mere babies, abandoned by their tribe. Death should have found them; a ravening wolf, carrion birds, a hunting dragon. But She found them, and took them for Her own, creating the dyskara, the tainted ones.

Brilliant black eyes glittered, searching, hunting. Konowa knew they looked for him. He would not bend his knee to Her, so he would die.

Bows creaked as their strings were pulled back, arrows of dark and wicked creation aimed straight at his heart. Lorian shouted at the regiment to fire. The elf hissed between its teeth.

Powder sparked.

Bowstrings sang.

Musket balls and arrows criss-crossed the open ground. Konowa waited for the impact, wondering what his death would feel like. Sudden warmth spread over him, and he recognized the sensation of elfkynan magic.

They were trying to protect him.

The surprise was still registering in his mind when the arrows hit.

"We've got to get in there!" Yimt shouted, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his shatterbow. They stood at the edge of the forest looking out across the open ground to the unnatural black wall that barred them from Luuguth Jor. Musket fire crackled amid screams and howls, but the dark trees blocked everything except the rough outline of the fort atop the hill.

Alwyn fidgeted with the strap on his musket, his enthusiasm not as strong. He'd still go, he didn't care how scared he was-and he was terrified-but he was in no rush to do it. Surprisingly, Miss Red Owl didn't seem overly eager, either.

"Patience, master dwarf," Chayii said, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her eye. "The sarka har have created a wall that is not easily broached. They are preparing a new forest for Her. The ground grows cold as the roots delve deep. A moment's thought now may bear fruit long after."

Yimt's right eyebrow shot up as he stomped over to the elf. "And I think the time for thinking is over. That's our regiment in there, and we're going in. If you folk don't want any part of it, fine, but you aren't stopping us."

Teeter and Scolly nodded while Inkermon stared blankly ahead, his ruined book still clutched in his hand. Alwyn heard many bowstrings grow taut around them. Miss Red Owl glared down at the dwarf, then smiled.

"It is not my intent to stop you," Chayii said, shaking her head slightly. The bowstrings relaxed, but arrows remained notched. "In speaking with the others, it is clear to me that we fight the same foe, and allies against Her will are a welcome boon. Still, a little prudence would not be out of place. How will we get through?"

"We can hack our…" Yimt trailed off as his hand grasped only air when he reached for his drukar. He huffed, but finally nodded. "Fine, what do you have in mind?"

In answer, Chayii held out her hand, palm up. The flying squirrel suddenly flew out of the night to land gently on it, swiveling its ears with every musket shot. She spoke to it, her voice the perfect imitation of its squeaking. It twitched its nose and jumped onto her shoulder, waiting.

"It seems, master dwarf, that I have need of a favor," Chayii said. "Is your skill with your weapon as good as you claim?"

Yimt looked suspicious. "You mean Lil' Nipper? You saw what I did in the forest to that beastie."

Chayii nodded. "A good shot from a short distance, but I am talking about a much longer distance now, over the sarka har."

Yimt looked past her toward the battle. "I suppose I could get a shot over them from here if I use one of them black arrows. But I can't see what I'm shooting at on the other side of the trees."

"You'll be aiming at the next ball of flame," she said, making a graceful arc with her hand mimicking the flight of a howitzer shell.

Yimt started shaking his head vigorously. "That'd be like threading an orc through a needle. You're the woodland folk. I'd have bet real money that one of your lot could do something like that."

Chayii shook her head. "A few could, though it would be a difficult shot, to be sure. But what we need to do is redirect one of those balls of flame so that it lands among the sarka har. We will then have our passageway."

"It's a nifty idea, Miss Red Owl, but it will never work," Yimt said. "An arrow would never have the power to knock a howitzer shell off course, and even if it did, there's no way of telling where it might land. We could do more harm than good."

"You won't be shooting an arrow," she said.

Alwyn looked from Miss Red Owl to Yimt's shatterbow, then back to Miss Red Owl, where the squirrel was sitting up on its haunches, its eyes wide as it looked up into the sky.

Oh.

"Miss Red Owl, I like the way your mind works," Yimt said, putting it together at the same time. "Is the little fellow some kind of magical familiar?" "My husband, actually," Chayii said, ignoring the looks of astonishment. "He has a tendency to forget himself on occasion, and it so happens that will work in our favor now."

Alwyn watched Yimt carefully, waiting. The dwarf scratched his beard, clearly thinking this over. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say."

Tyul suddenly appeared, his leafy camouflage rustling as he came to stand beside Yimt. He said nothing, only staring at the dwarf, his tattooed face unreadable. Chayii said something to him in elvish, but Tyul gave no indication of listening, his gaze remained fixed on Yimt.

"Maybe he'd like to do it?" Yimt ventured, trying to smile at the elf, but giving up when he got no response. "I mean, no offense, but I've never shot anyone's husband before…in this way."

Chayii smiled. "In this case, your weapon is better suited to the task, and he would not touch it though the need is great."

"Okay, then, but just remember," Yimt said, clearly at pains to make sure this was really what she wanted, "I'm only doing this because you asked me to."

Yimt placed the end of the shatterbow on the ground and pulled back on the heavy bowstring, grunting with the strain. He hoisted it up and looked at Alwyn.

"Be a sport, Ally," he said, pointing to a spot a few feet away.

Alwyn dutifully walked to Yimt and bent over, allowing Yimt to rest the shatterbow across his back. The position was painful, and Alwyn hoped he wouldn't have to hold it for long.

"Ready when he is," Yimt said, sighting down the shatterbow. The squirrel chirped once and jumped the short distance to land on Alwyn's shako. He sniffed it, then quickly crawled onto his back and up onto the shatterbow, pausing to sniff different parts of it. Apparently satisfied, the squirrel settled in at the rear of the weapon, all four paws clutching the heavy string, its shoulders hunched high around its head.

Alwyn saw a bush beside him and realized Tyul had moved to stand right beside Yimt again.

"Don't squirm, Ally, you don't want me firing this poor critter…elf, into the trees instead of over them."

The bush that was Tyul moved slightly, and Alwyn forced himself to remain very, very still. He took deep, slow breaths and hoped the howitzer would fire soon. As if in response, a familiar boom echoed from within the trees and a moment later a trail of sparks arced skyward.

"Happy landings," Yimt said, and squeezed the trigger. The bowstring hummed, flinging the squirrel into the air.

The vibration of the shot traveled up and down Alwyn's spine. He looked up to see where the squirrel was, but it was impossible to tell. He focused on the howitzer shell instead as it rose higher into the air.

This will never work.

"Your powers as a seer need more work, Alwyn of the Empire," Chayii said.

Alwyn jumped and looked again at the howitzer shell. It had reached its apex and was now falling back to earth. Was it drifting? Alwyn blinked. Yes, the trail of sparks was definitely coming down at a different angle than when it went up. It sounded like thunder and looked like lightning bursting from the earth when it landed. When Alwyn's night vision returned he saw a gaping hole in the black mass that surrounded Luuguth Jor.

"Do you think the little squirrel is okay?" Scolly asked, coming up to stand beside Tyul. The elf didn't answer, instead turning and disappearing into the night toward the opening.

"Load your muskets and fix bayonets," Yimt said. He was already pulling the bowstring back on his shatterbow. "Now let's go find out."