The Light of Burning Shadows

TWENTY-SIX

A coldness came over Konowa that defied the heat of the desert sun.

He knew somewhere ahead of them the missing soldiers and the three women were in trouble. He pounded his fist against his thigh in frustration and turned to look back over the column.

Midway back, the Prince and the Viceroy chatted amiably on their camels. Affixed to the saddle furniture on their camels were two large, green parasols trimmed with silver brocade, which swayed above their heads while providing ample shade. The rocking motion of the green canvas brought to mind ocean waves, and Konowa’s stomach gurgled in distress. He quickly looked past the parasols to see the sun glinting off spear tips marking the position of the Timolian soldiers of the 3rd Spears.

Bringing up the rear now that they were safely out of Nazalla were two supply wagons pulled by mules and three cannons pulled by donkeys. Konowa was unclear on the distinction between the animals and didn’t care, as both had a tendency to bite and kick. The cannons, two nine-pounders and one six-pounder, were naval equipment left in the palace grounds for show after the parade through Nazalla. Unfortunately, there was only enough powder and shot for fifteen rounds each. Konowa doubted it would be enough if they ran into trouble, but then that seemed to be the constant state of things. Marching sullenly alongside the cannons were their naval gun crews, no doubt cursing the sea of sand they now found themselves in.

Konowa felt for every marching soldier. The Iron Elves trudged with their heads bent forward and a silence that spoke volumes about their general mood. The oppressive heat from the sun above and the broiling sand below produced a scorching environment not even magically bound soldiers like the Iron Elves could ignore. It was past noon, but that still meant hours of energy-sapping heat before the brief cool of the evening brought any relief, followed by a freezing cold-if the Suljak was to be believed-that would create a whole new set of problems. The smart thing to do would be to wait for nightfall and march then, but time, as was so often the case, was not on their side.

The Jewel of the Desert was indeed returning, and though Konowa couldn’t point to a single piece of concrete evidence to prove it to himself or anyone else, he knew it was tonight. Maybe he was finding a way to finally make sense of his elven heritage, and this both intrigued him and concerned him. He had tried in the past to understand the natural order, and usually got kicked in the arse for his efforts. This time, however, he could feel it. He was seeing what Visyna and his mother saw, although he suspected not in the same way. The Star was going to fall somewhere in the Canyon of Bones near Suhundam’s Hill and his original Iron Elves…and if they didn’t pick up the pace he wouldn’t be there when it did.

“I believe the expression is a watched pot never boils, though I’ve never quite understood that, because of course the pot will indeed boil whether it’s observed or not,” the Suljak said, talking matter-of-factly as he rode alongside Konowa. The camels kept pace and moved across the sand with ease, if not with grace. Konowa’s back and neck ached from the constant jostling, and he was unable to find the rhythm of the animal. He suspected it kept changing it on purpose.

“We’re going to be too late,” Konowa replied. “Why aren’t you upset? The Star means more to you than any of us.”

The Suljak nodded. “True, but worrying about things we cannot change is not the most productive use of one’s time. Besides, I have something you apparently do not.”

Konowa rolled his eyes. “I really don’t want to discuss faith right now.”

“I was referring to patience, Major. If the legends are true, the Stars have been gone for thousands of years. A few hours more is but a grain of sand in, well, this,” he said, waving a hand in an arc.

“Take it from me, a few hours can make all the difference in the world,” Konowa said, turning to look back again at the column. A lingering dust cloud hung in the still air behind them, marking their passage through the desert. It could be seen for miles. The feeling in Konowa grew colder. “Damn. We’re not going to make it to the Star, are we?”

The Suljak twisted slightly in his saddle and observed the cloud of dust following the column. He stroked the wisps of hair that made up his beard and gave Konowa an enigmatic look. “As I told you, Major, politics is a messy business.”

“You’ve made another deal with the Prince,” Konowa said. It wasn’t a question.

“A force of several thousand tribesman is coming up from the south. Their intent is peaceful.”

The Suljak emphasized the word, as if somehow saying it clearly made it more likely. Konowa sincerely doubted it.

“They will welcome the Jewel of the Desert and prevent any interference with its rightful resurrection. It is as it should be, Major. No doubt the Prince will show his displeasure publicly, as is expected.”

“No doubt,” Konowa said dryly. “But what of the Shadow Monarch, and whatever is out here stirring things up? They certainly have different views on the matter. Your tribesmen aren’t equipped to handle powers like this.”

“They’ll have help, of course.”

The Suljak’s demeanor did not change, a fact that irritated Konowa no end. The man had no idea what horrors his people were about to face. The thought gave Konowa pause. He really didn’t know, either. As terrible as Elfkyna had been, the islands had been worse in their own way. Who was to say the desert wouldn’t find new ways to increase the horrors they all faced. “What help?”

“Major, I really do admire your single-mindedness. For you this is all quite simple, isn’t it?” His tone of voice suggested a gentle mocking. “Alas, the path to my aims is far more indirect. There will be fighting, Major, of that I am certain, but I see no reason that it should be the Empire against the peoples of the Hasshugeb. Rather, we will come together as one-allies of equal stature-and together we will defeat our enemies.”

“You expect the Prince to help you after your maneuvering to take the Star and usurp his authority? Pimmer is one thing, but the Prince is the future King. I doubt he’ll be as agreeable to your vision as you seem to think. We’re still in the Calahrian Empire, even out here.”

Now the Suljak sounded genuinely surprised. “Major, don’t you see, everyone gets what they really want. The Star is returned to my people. The Prince finds the Lost Library, the Shadow Monarch and the necromancer Kaman Rhal are destroyed…assuming he has returned. And if not destroyed, they will most definitely be thwarted in their endeavors, at which point you are reunited with your brethren. Beautiful, is it not? Machinations within intrigues woven with finesse and finished off with just the right amount of controlled violence.” The Suljak beamed, his voice taking on an almost childlike glee.

“Somehow I doubt that’s what will happen at all,” Konowa said.

“Patience, Major, patience. Tonight, all will be revealed. You will see. All will come to pass as I have foreseen it.”

“And what of my mother, and Rallie and Visyna? They got a head start on us. What if they get to the Star first?”

For the first time in their conversation the Suljak lost his annoying calm. His fists clenched for just a moment before he saw Konowa watching him. The Suljak relaxed and smiled. “A not entirely unanticipated event, displeasing as that might be. Still, they understand the way of things, Her Majesty’s Scribe especially. My brief discussion with her was most…fascinating.”

Konowa took some pleasure in noting that it didn’t sound as if the Suljak believed his own words for a second. It was small consolation. Konowa knew the Suljak was wrong. Whatever the night revealed, it was bound to be more than anyone had bargained for.

Alwyn opened his eyes and instantly knew some time had passed. The sun was low in the sky and already the air was cooling. He blinked several times and began to make out figures moving around him. He recognized Yimt and relaxed. Someone had removed Alwyn’s jacket, as he saw it lying on the sand beside him. The right sleeve was completely shredded. Gritting his teeth, he propped himself up on his elbows, expecting pain as he did so. Surprisingly, he felt none except for a throbbing at the back of his head. Miss Red Owl appeared before him and handed Alwyn his spectacles, somehow recovered, which he took with his left hand and put on his face. His vision blurred.

He took them off, buffed them on his sleeve, and had begun to put them back on when he realized that he could see fine without them.

He slowly raised the spectacles to his eyes, and as before his vision blurred. As he lowered them, it returned. He could see perfectly without them. Maybe the knock in the back of the head had fixed his vision?

Miss Red Owl came over and gently laid a hand on his wounded shoulder.

“You are fortunate to still be with us, Alwyn of the Empire” she said.

Alwyn looked at his shoulder and at first didn’t understand what he was seeing. Ugly, black scars criss-crossed the entire shoulder, each emanating from where the pond creature’s teeth had dug into his flesh. Instead of open wounds, however, frost fire had healed them with barklike grafts. The skin around the wounds was gray. He flexed his fingers. No pain. In fact, there was no feeling at all. He looked down at his hand. More black scars, but the fingers were still there and moving.

“I can’t feel anything in my right arm,” he said.

“I’m worried about what’s between your ears,” Yimt said, walking over to join them. He kneeled in the sand and looked Alwyn in the eye. “What in blazes were you thinking?”

Alwyn looked at his arm again. There was no point in keeping up pretenses. “I almost had it. The white flame was burning away the oath. I could feel it. Just a little more, and I would have been free.”

Yimt raised his hand as if he wanted to slap Alwyn, and then placed it on his good shoulder. “Free? Laddie, don’t you understand? One more foolhardy stunt like that and you’ll be dead.”

“No, it’s you that doesn’t understand. I can’t explain it, but I know.” He sat up a little straighter. “I felt a powerful magic hit me, just before I was going to break the oath.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t so much magic as it was a three-pound rock,” Rallie said from behind Alwyn.

He turned and saw she had brought the wagon up to the edge of the oasis. The canvas cover was off and Rallie was opening the sreex cages. The large birds with their leathery, batlike wings squawked and flew into the air, wheeling overhead in a tight circle.

“You threw a rock at my head?” Alwyn asked, reaching up with his left hand to rub it. Sure enough, there was a large bump and the whole area was tender to the touch.

“I wasn’t about to wade into that water with those drakarri splashing around spitting fire, now was I?” she said.

“Drakarri?”

“Ancient creatures,” Rallie said, pointing at the ash piles around the oasis, “although these days, that term has come in for some abuse. Drake spawn, you’d call them, though they are unique even for that. These fellows are-if one believes legends, and it seems we’d be well advised to heed them-the most unfortunate offspring of Kaman Rhal and his damnable mating with a she-drake.”

Alwyn’s head tried to navigate around that image and failed completely. “He…mated with a dragon?”

“Apparently it gets rather lonely out here in the desert,” Rallie said. She looked around, but no one seemed inclined to laugh. “Ah, tough oasis. Again, legend has it that it was more a magical mating, a weaving of two powers that should never have been joined.”

A twinge of pain in the back of Alwyn’s head brought him back to the here and now. “And so that’s why you threw a rock at my head?”

Rallie brushed some dust from her cloak, making the cloth snap. “There was nothing else for it. Visyna tried to weave around you, but that didn’t take, so I had to employ a more…direct approach.”

If Zwitty had thrown the rock, Alwyn might have called forth the frost fire and burned him then and there, but looking at Rallie, Alwyn’s anger stayed in check. “How could you? You ruined everything.”

This time, Yimt did smack him on the side of the head. “You watch your manners, lad, that’s a lady you’re talking to. You clearly don’t see it, but she saved your life.”

Alwyn started to say something, then changed his mind. “How’s everyone else?”

Yimt sat back and looked at the sand. “Fine, I hope. Two of those skeleton things grabbed Harkon’s body and ducked down a tunnel entrance on the other side of the oasis before we could get to them. Tyul, Jurwan, and Jir went tearing after them, and Miss Tekoy went chasing after them. I sent Hrem, Teeter, and Zwitty to go bring them back. The rest of our little group is still here, and more or less in one piece.”

“We have to get going then,” Alwyn said, starting to get up.

Yimt held him down. “In the fighting, a couple of those drakarri things tried to get into the tunnel after the lads. We got the beasties, but their thrashing brought down the entrance. It’d take a day to dig it out.”

“Then why aren’t you digging?”

Yimt let go of Alwyn’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him. “We’ve got other problems, but right this second, we’re going to deal with yours.”

Alwyn shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” Yimt asked, his voice growing gruff. “Right, Rallie, show him.”

“No,” Miss Red Owl said. “He’s suffered enough for now.”

Yimt stood up. “Then he’ll suffer a little more. Private Renwar, on your feet.”

Scolly held out a hand and Alwyn took it. His wooden leg creaked ominously and he saw several of the limbs were cracked and broken.

“Rallie, your looking glass, please,” Yimt said, holding out his hand.

Rallie stepped forth and silently gave Yimt a small square mirror. He held it out to Alwyn.

Alwyn peered into it and then recoiled. Scolly kept a grip on him. Alwyn wiped his left hand across his mouth and then leaned forward and looked again. He didn’t recognize the face staring back at him.

One of his eyes was liquid black, the other white flame.

“I…I don’t understand. What’s happened to me?”

“You have both magics in you now,” Rallie said. “In trying to harness the white flame, you brought it into you. Think of it as if you took a second oath.”

Alwyn held out his hands and called on the frost fire. Black flames burst to life in his right hand, but in his left a pure white flame flickered and burned.

Alwyn screamed. Immediately, the two magics warred inside him, tearing and burning, twisting and ripping every fiber of his being. His lungs froze while his head burned.

Scolly yelped and let go of Alwyn.

The flames went out. Alwyn staggered but did not fall. He smelled smoke and looked down to witness his wooden leg smoldering. Terrified, he turned to see if he had accidentally lit Scolly’s shadow on fire. Alwyn was relieved to see that he hadn’t.

That’s when he noticed his own shadow. It was still there, but instead of the black denseness of everyone else’s, his was gray and insubstantial.

“This can’t be, I-I didn’t mean for this…” Alwyn was at a loss for words. What had he done?

“No time to worry about that now, because we’ve got bigger problems,” Yimt said.

Alwyn raised his head and followed Yimt’s gaze. A dust cloud to the south smudged the horizon, and it was moving fast.

“That’s the regiment,” Alwyn said, “isn’t it?” His head felt light and heavy at the same time. His right knee started to buckle, but he caught himself and stood up straight. He noticed no one came close to steady him.

“No, that ain’t the Iron Elves,” Yimt replied. “They’ll be coming down from the north following the same route we took. Whoever that is is heading northwest. My guess is that’s the tribes of the Expanse. If the people in Nazalla know a Star is returning, you can bet their desert kin will, too.”

“Our quarrel is not with them,” Miss Red Owl said. “Surely they will see we share their desire to restore the natural order.”

“Chayii, you forget we’re part and parcel of the Iron Elves now,” Rallie said, “and that means we’re seen as agents of the Empire.”

Miss Red Owl looked as if she’d been slapped. “But that’s absurd! I oppose the Empire and its wanton acts of destruction. I side with it now only because we share a common enemy in the Shadow Monarch that threatens all our existence. Surely these people can be made to see reason.”

“Another time, perhaps,” Yimt said, “but I wouldn’t bet my life on it today.”

Rallie brought out the map. “The Canyon of Bones is just ahead. We should head for it now while we still can.”

“We’d be exposed if we got caught out there. Here we have defensible positions,” Yimt said. “Those huts are sturdy and give us a good line of fire.”

“We can’t stay here,” Alwyn said, “we have to go after Kester. Wherever they’re taking him is where we have to be as well.”

“We still have Hrem and Visyna and the others in that tunnel. I don’t know about just leaving them behind,” Yimt said.

“But the Star isn’t coming here. Can’t you feel it?” Alwyn said. “I don’t know how to explain this, but…”

“He’s right,” Rallie said. “Power fills the air, Sergeant, power from a time long past. When that power arrives, we need to be there. Private Renwar needs to be there.”

“You’re probably right,” Yimt said, “but it don’t do us any good if we’re killed before we get there.”

“Sergeant,” Scolly said, coming up to stand near Yimt.

“Not now, Scolly, we’re busy. If you’re hungry go check the wagon. Now,” Yimt said, turning back to them, “I don’t see that we have a ch-”

“Sergeant,” Scolly said again, this time tugging on Yimt’s sleeve.

Yimt spun around and looked up at Scolly. “What?”

“I don’t want to go into the forest,” Scolly said. His voice was quiet with fear.

Yimt kneaded his forehead with his fingers. “Other than four bloody palm trees and a couple of fig trees, there ain’t a forest for a thousand miles around here.”

“Yes, there is,” Scolly said, pointing northwest toward the distant coast.

Alwyn almost reached for his spectacles, but there was no longer any need. He felt the forest before he saw it. Twenty, perhaps thirty, miles away a cold, obsidian stain was spreading out across the desert floor. It was a mass of black sarka har crawling across the sand. Frost fire sparkled in its depth. It spread out as far as the eye could see. Miles upon miles of sarka har. This was nothing like the small forest that had ringed Luuguth Jor. This was enormous.

“Oh, hell…” Yimt said.

It was like watching an incoming tide. “It’ll be here by nightfall.”

“It’s the end,” Inkermon said, closing his eyes and praying.

Yimt stomped the dirt. “You might not be too far off, Inkermon, but let’s see if we can’t postpone that for a bit, if it’s all the same to you.”

Rallie walked briskly to the wagon and mounted it in one leap. She picked up the reins in her hands and looked down at the soldiers. “We need to get moving. My team can make the canyon before either the Hasshugeb or the sarka har. We’ll find a place to hole up once we’re inside, but we need to go, now.”

“Rallie’s right, we must go forward,” Miss Red Owl said. “The risk is great, but to do nothing is to risk so much more. You know this, Yimt of the Warm Breeze. The others in the tunnel are capable of fending for themselves. Visyna is with them, and her power is strong. We must trust to things greater than ourselves now.”

Yimt got a firmer grip on his shatterbow and looked toward the forest of sarka har spreading toward them, then to the dust cloud rapidly closing from the other direction. “Are you sure your brindos can outrun that forest? If we get caught in that there’s no amount of frost fire that’s going to pull us through.”

Rallie pulled a cigar from her cloak and stuck it in her mouth. The cigar lit itself. She took a puff and then cracked her neck, first to the left, then to the right. She looked up to the whirling sreexes and whistled. The birds squawked once in return and wheeled and headed north. “Every second we delay casts the possibility in further doubt, so we had better move now.”

“Mount up!” Yimt ordered.

Alwyn limped to the wagon and climbed into the back with the empty cages. Scolly and Inkermon came in after him, while Yimt and Miss Red Owl sat up front. The wagon was already moving while Alwyn was still looking for a place to get comfortable, a search that he quickly realized was pointless. “Hang on to whatever jiggles because this ride is going to be a tad bumpier than last night!” Rallie shouted back to them.

The wagon flew over a small crest and plunged down the other side. Dust flew into the air and the wind whistled past Alwyn’s ears. At another time this would have been exhilarating if terrifying. Now, it felt too slow. He looked over the side and watched the approaching forest. It crawled like a broken-legged spider, the trunks and limbs of the sarka har thrusting out of the sand and clawing forward with ragged, uneven lunges.

Dark clouds grew taller above it. A single bolt of lightning slashed down among the trees, setting off a cascade of frost fire. This forest was a sick and angry thing. Alwyn felt the pain radiate out from the trees.

And the hunger.

He turned away, casting his glance to the oncoming tribes of the Hasshugeb. He could just make out dark shapes at the base of the towering dust cloud above them.

The wagon was now between closing pincers. He looked forward.

Wind buffeted Alwyn’s face and grit got into his nose, ears, and mouth, but not his eyes. Whatever grit touched his eyes burned with either white flame or black. It was an odd sensation, but it helped to take his mind off the roiling forces inside him. Was he like those creatures he’d killed just a few hours ago? Two magics joined that should never have existed in the first place?

Finally, there in the distance the land sloped upward and became two rocky shoulders overlooking a narrow passage between them-the Canyon of Bones.

Alwyn slumped in the wagon and held on as best he could. The sun continued to sink and shadows lengthened as they raced for the opening and whatever waited for them there.

Alwyn silently urged the brindos on. Another bout of pain racked his body. The new Star was coming. It pulled at his senses as if tied to his very soul. The world was about to change again.

He studied his hands as they held his musket and knew he could not go on like this.

Tentatively, he tried to call up the frost fire, just a little. Immediately, the white flame responded as well, and the magics scissored through him. He tried to extinguish the flames as he gasped for breath, but he couldn’t put them out. He focused harder. The flames came under control, but they would not die.

“What are you doing?” Inkermon asked, looking at him with horror. “Put those flames out! You’ll burn us all.”

Alwyn tried to speak, but the effort to keep the fires under control made it too difficult. He grimaced and closed his eyes.

A bright, blue Star beckoned him. It hung motionless in a silk-black sky.

It was almost here. He just had to hang on a little longer.

He opened his eyes and looked at Inkermon. Inkermon still crouched before him, but all Alwyn saw was a dark outline of a man with a core of smoldering frost fire. He turned to Scolly and saw the same thing. Then he looked down at himself. Frost fire and white flame twisted and burned within him, pulsating with an energy he couldn’t control much longer.

“Hurry,” Alwyn said to no one in particular. “Please hurry.”