The Light of Burning Shadows: Book Two of the Iron Elves Read online

  THE LIGHT OF BURNING SHADOWS

  Also by Chris Evans

  A Darkness Forged in Fire

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2009 by Chris Evans

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-6458-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4391-6458-4

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  For Nat Schoen—

  WWII veteran of the North African, Sicilian,

  and Italian campaigns,

  old New Yorker in the grandest sense,

  and my friend.

  You are missed.

  We are the Dead. Short days ago

  We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.

  —LT. COL. JOHN MCCRAE, MD, “IN FLANDERS FIELDS”

  THE LIGHT OF BURNING SHADOWS

  ISSUE NO. 4372 Imperial Weekly Rerald SOLISDAY, 12TH OF SEXTONTH

  * * *

  Is Now Published every MOONDAY, ODDAY, and SOLISDAY morning by

  T. R. RAMSHIELD & CO.

  79 Unicorn House, Illdar Street, Celwyn

  (1/2 Gold Coin per annum, payable quarterly in advance)

  And is distributed throughout the Empire by the ROYAL DISPATCH CORPS and

  the NEWS CRIER & COURIER SERVICE of Daffold & Daffold Co.

  In This, The 47TH Year and 239TH Day of Her Majesty the

  QUEEN’S BLESSED REIGN

  over the

  CALAHRIAN EMPIRE

  * * *

  A Dispatch Received from the FIELD

  written by Her Majesty’s Scribe, RALLIE SYNJYN

  PORT GHAMJAL, ELFKYNA: The Iron Elves fight again!—Major Konowa Swift Dragon distinguishes himself on the field of battle—Elements of the Imperial Army prove victorious against forces aligned against the Empire—The fabled Red Star of the East returns!—A second Viceroy falls from grace—The Shadow Monarch casts her noxious spell—Forests most foul—Luuguth Jor is saved!—The Iron Elves sail forth in a daring gambit to stamp out evil wherever it builds a lair.

  HONOR RESTORED

  Through the magnificent exertions of the once more proud and honorable Iron Elves, and under the command of His Majesty, Prince Tykkin, these stalwart warriors wearing the Imperial silver-green met and defeated the most wicked of creatures controlled by the elf witch, the Shadow Monarch, in pitched battle. Most stunning of the many exceptional events that unfolded was the return to this world of the fabled Red Star, known in these parts as the Star of Sillra. In an act of supreme graciousness, Prince Tykkin allowed the Star to remain and grow in Elfkyna as a beacon of strength and purity, thwarting the works of Dark Elements.

  MARCH INTO BATTLE

  Major Konowa Swift Dragon—formerly Colonel Konowa Heer Ul-Osveen—(as previously reported) has once again resumed his rightful place as an honored and respected officer in the service of the Empire. Recently restored to active duty, Major Swift Dragon wasted no time in reconstituting the regiment he once led so proudly, the Iron Elves. Though no longer composed of elves, the regiment nonetheless retains the traditions and most importantly, the battle skills of its previous incarnation, and has acquitted itself well in the field. In an act surely to go down in the annals of history, the soldiers of the Iron Elves took a Blood Oath infused with magic of unknown powers to serve their regiment and the Empire unto death and beyond. Never has such an oath been taken, but then never has such a regiment strode forth into danger against such overwhelming odds. What repercussions such an oath carries only time will tell.

  INSPIRED ACTIONS

  Having received his orders from the Prince, Major Swift Dragon led the brave soldiers of the reformed Iron Elves to the embattled outpost at Luuguth for to relieve the 35th Foot Guard. Alas, a forest of black intent had taken root there, the hand behind its design none other than the Shadow Monarch. Finding the garrison lost, the Iron Elves immediately set to the task of restoring order. Though outnumbered, the Iron Elves never faltered though the battle lasted through the day and night. With inhuman strength, creatures of shadow and darkness threw themselves against the Iron Elves’ wall of bayonets. Each time Major Swift Dragon was there, his saber (a gift from his friend, Colonel of the 14th Household Cavalry and Officer Commanding Her Majesty’s Cavalry in Elfkyna, the Duke of Rakestraw) whistling through the air as the enemy fell before him. Musketry crackled like dropped crystal as the soldiers fired volley after volley until their eyes were red and their throats parched from the smoke. Though they were hard pressed, these brave warriors did not break. Again and again, rakkes—yes, dear readers, the rumors you have heard are true, the great hairy beasts of fang and claw long thought hunted to extinction have returned—flung themselves on the line, but each time they were repulsed. Tales of elfkynans in league with these creatures are patently false! By the end of the battle all peoples of the Empire—elfkynan, human, elf, and dwarf—stood shoulder to shoulder as they fought the Shadow Monarch’s forces.

  COURAGE ABOUNDS

  For his actions at Luuguth Jor, Major Swift Dragon was to be commended and awarded the Silver Sword for Bravery medal by the Queen Herself at the palace in Celwyn, a most deserved acknowledgment of his actions. However, Prince Tykkin, expressing his regrets, has ordered the Iron Elves and other elements of the Imperial Army and Navy to immediately set sail and scour the high seas for any sign of the Shadow Monarch’s creatures and destroy any enemy lodgments they find. Sightings of forests of a most dark and unhealthy nature by merchant shipping suggest the Shadow Monarch is making a play for the islands in the Onmedan Sea. This cannot stand, and thus the Iron Elves, so recently bloodied in fierce contest with the enemy, will once again take up the quarrel with the foe and smite it down.

  THE FALLEN ARE HONORED

  Memorial Service for the 35th Foot Guard to be held in Triumph Park this coming week. The Roll will be read and family members of the deceased may place a rose or other suitable flower on the site of the future monument to be dedicated in their honor.

  WANTED FOR HIGH TREASON

  By Royal Proclamation be it known that Faltinald Elkhart Gwyn, former Viceroy for the Protectorate of Greater Elfkyna, is hereby stripped of all titles, honors, awards, and other distinctions, and is considered a most vile and contemptible man. His capture, prosecution, and execution is paramount and any persons aiding in his being brought to justice will be eligible for a reward of not less than 100 gold coins. Any persons known to give aid and comfort to this TRAITOR will share his decidedly dark fate.

  LOTTERY OF THE STARS

  The Royal Mint, in conjunction with the Soldiers’ Benevolent Fund, has launched a lottery open to all citizens of the Empire to wager a guess as to where and when the next Star will
fall. The person(s) guessing both date and place correctly will receive 1/3 of the funds collected with the remaining 2/3 going to the care and treatment of wounded soldiers, or, in the case of their death, their families. In addition, the Royal Mint is proud to announce it will begin striking a collectors’ series of coins commemorating each Star as it reveals itself.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  GLOSSARY

  ONE

  There were two of him now, and neither one knew which was sane.

  He stood atop the ridgeline running the length of the island and waited for the sun to drown. The ocean darkened. Shadows bled up the windward slope toward him. Bodies pierced by the trunks of obsidian trees became shrouded in the gloom. The smell of putrefying flesh fled as the heat of the day leached from the air. It was as if nothing had happened here. No horrors to relive, no nightmares to endure.

  He might have believed that if not for the screams in his head. They echoed in the space between what he was, and what he was becoming.

  Here, now, he stood in a world where the sun was setting and a cool ocean breeze was worrying the saw grass behind the dunes of the beach. Only the unhurried slide of waves over sand and the distant shouts and forced laughter of men from the shore party filled the air.

  But he also stood here, now, where the screams of the dead still rasped from blood-red throats. Only yesterday the trees of the Shadow Monarch had flourished in this place, feeding on all they found as Her forest continued to expand across the known world.

  Frost fire burned to life in his hands. He did nothing as it arced to the steel and wood of his musket, setting it afire in cold, black flame. He brought a hand close to his face, mesmerized. This was power and curse. The union of the Iron Elves’ blood oath with Her magic.

  The flames climbed higher and he staggered. There was a price for this. The gulf between his polar selves widened each time he called upon this newfound power. In his mind the outstretched limbs of the Shadow Monarch’s forest inched a little closer. He knew it had to stop.

  The last rays of the sun vanished into the sea. Dark forms rose from the lengthening shadows, surrounding him.

  Dead hands reached out. He recognized the fallen and they did not frighten him:

  One-eyed Meri, killed by dog spiders.

  Alik and Buuko, struck down by rakkes and the Shadow Monarch’s dark elves.

  Regimental Sergeant Major Lorian, sitting tall on the horse Zwindarra, both felled in the battle at Luuguth Jor.

  And so many others…

  “Join us.”

  He eased the hammer back on his musket. A charge and ball already rested inside. He turned the musket so that the muzzle rested firmly over his heart.

  Frost fire danced along the metal in anticipation.

  It would take but one squeeze of the trigger, but what would he end, and what would begin?

  “Join us.”

  He wanted to believe that all the pain, the fear, the terrifying rage, the nightmares that stalked his sleep…all would sink into a cold abyss. The shades of those that had gone before beckoned him, but their voices trembled with a pain he could only guess at. Could it be worse than what he lived with now?

  One final act on his part and he would find out.

  His finger tightened on the trigger.

  “There you are!” Sergeant Yimt Arkhorn said, trudging up the slope. The dwarf’s voice boomed like a cannon in the cooling night air. “I wouldn’t a thought it possible to lose someone on this wee pebble of an island, but you just about managed it. You don’t want to be hanging around this sad lot,” he said, casting a hand toward the blackened husks of trees and the dead. If the dwarf saw the shadows, he said nothing.

  Private Alwyn Renwar lowered his musket as the frost surged briefly before guttering out. He slowly turned to face the dwarf.

  “Five islands in a row,” Yimt said, huffing to a stop beside him on top of the ridge. He hoisted his shatterbow up to his shoulder, hooking one of the curved arms over it so that the double-barreled weapon hung down across his broad back. He reached to his side and grabbed his wooden canteen, first offering it to Alwyn, who shook his head.

  “Suit yourself, but it helps your eyeballs,” he said, referring to Alwyn’s need for spectacles. Yimt upended the canteen and gulped several mouthfuls of a liquid most certainly not water as the pungent vapors drifted into the night air. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, Yimt deftly stuffed a wad of crute, the rock spice the dwarf was forever chewing, between his cheek and metal-colored teeth.

  “Five islands of nothing but black misery. I understand the need to weed these foul trees before they really take root, but why’s it always us? I’ll tell you this, Ally, if his arseness the Prince orders us to one more dust speck in the middle of the ocean, I might just risk the noose and kick the bugger right where his top and bottom halves meet. And with a running start.”

  A smile, Alwyn thought. I know I should smile.

  Alwyn took a deep breath and let it out, forcing his shoulders to relax and doing his best to reassure. “I can see you’re wasting no time in trying to lose those sergeant’s stripes,” he said.

  Yimt patted his arm and traced a finger around the recently sewn-on stripes on his uniform. “These aren’t what make a dwarf, Ally, though I got to admit I’m feeling a bit more protective of them this time round. Someone’s got to keep their head.”

  “You’re saying Major Swift Dragon isn’t?”

  Yimt rolled his eyes. “The major’s spittin’ musket balls. The Prince is a hairsbreadth from his last breath if he keeps sending us to these cursed islands instead of straight on to the desert wastes of the Hasshugeb Expanse. Now just between you and me, I’m starting to wonder a bit about the major. He’s gettin’ a bit frantic to find the first Iron Elves. ’Course, I can see his point. Be nice to have some reinforcements with all this going on,” he said, again waving a hand around them. “I swear by the dew of a freshly laundered nun the major’s going to do the Prince harm.”

  “Would that be so terrible?” Alwyn said, but the wind picked up just then and Yimt kept talking as if he hadn’t heard.

  “Our major is a kettle on full fire with half an ounce of water inside. We visit another island and the line of succession to the throne will be shorter by one.” Yimt pointed a hand out to sea. “Not that it’ll matter a cauldron of newts if this Shadow Monarch and Stars business keeps up. Like there ain’t enough pain and suffering in the world already without someone wanting to take the whole bloody thing over and make it worse. Where’s the sense in that?”

  Alwyn answered before he could stop himself. “Maybe She doesn’t see it that way. Maybe She’s in pain none of us can understand, and this is Her way of trying to deal with it. People don’t think straight when they are hurting. For Her, the Red Star offered a chance to change things.” He didn’t add that the Red Star also offered a chance for the blood oath the Iron Elves had taken to be broken, a chance that was lost at Luuguth Jor.

  Yimt spat out a stream of crute, which sizzled in the sand. “Odd way of looking at it, Ally, but even if that’s true—and I don’t buy it—then all the more reason to find the first Iron Elves, get a mess of axes, and go pay a visit to Her little moun
tain. More Stars are bound to come tumbling down and She’s gonna keep trying to get her hands on every one until She’s stopped. She’s already brought back rakkes, heaven knows what else She’ll find.”

  Alwyn feared and hated the rakkes. They were massive, hideous creatures with fangs and claws and milky white eyes, but what truly made them horrific was that they were brought back from extinction with only killing as their purpose. That the Shadow Monarch might bring back creatures worse than that added a whole new layer to his nightmares.

  “But what of the oath we took?” Alwyn asked. “Her magic wove its way into it. We have power unlike anything else. I can do things, Yimt, that I don’t want to be able to do. We weren’t meant to have this kind of power. And She’s behind it. Can’t you feel things…changing?” The Shadow Monarch was ever present in Alwyn’s dreams, forever calling to him. He couldn’t hold out forever, none of them could.