A Darkness Forged in Fire Read online

  The smell of pomade drifted from beneath the Prince's ridiculously tall shako, reminding Konowa of the cloying sap of the forest. A single ponytail of white-powdered hair hung down the Prince's back, the end tipped by a diamond brooch. Up close, the Prince's eyes only reached Konowa's chin, the reason, perhaps, that he wore tall hats. His eyes were a pale green kept in permanent shadow by a heavy brow. An equine nose jutted over thin lips, but for all of that he wasn't unhandsome, and a few weeks in the field would melt twenty pounds off his paunchy frame, giving him a warrior's build. What, if anything, would give him the intelligence to command men Konowa didn't know.

  Konowa glanced over at a large folding table set up in the tent and was disheartened to see it cluttered with books. He read a few of the titles and grew even more despairing:

  Basic Manual for Officers on Disciplining Troops in the Field, Be They Deemed Light Infantry or Regular, Pursuant to All Occasions They May Encounter.

  Legends, Myths, and Fables of the Peoples of Greater Elfkyna and Territories of the Masua Subcontinent.

  The Royal Society of Calahr's Large and Exceptional Collection of Specimens of the Animal, Vegetable, Mineral, and Thaumaturgical Worlds With Lavish Illustrations and Appendices, Volume IV.

  Perfect, Konowa thought, just perfect. He's going to lead a regiment with one eye in a manual and the other looking for pretty flowers and treasure-hoarding dragons.

  "Her Majesty speaks highly of you, did you know that?" the Prince asked. Something in his tone triggered a warning deep inside Konowa.

  The Prince stepped closer to him, peering up at him, watching. "She followed your exploits with great interest. My gallant rogue were Her exact words," Tykkin said, searching Konowa's face for some kind of sign.

  He's jealous, Konowa realized. The Queen's son, the future King, had had to listen to his mother praise another—him, of all people. It must have been especially galling. And now I've been made his second in command. This just gets better and better.

  "I wasn't aware," Konowa said, quickly adding, "sir."

  "Not aware?" The Prince seemed to struggle with his breathing. "Not…no, of course you wouldn't be, would you?" Whatever internal battle the Prince had waged was over, for now. "In any event, you have been made my subordinate and I expect total and instant compliance with every order. The loyalty of the Iron Elves will not fail again."

  The last part was said with the Prince's face mere inches from Konowa's. When Konowa still did not move, the Prince stepped back and turned away from him. There was the sound of a stopper being pulled from a bottle and then the tinkling gurgle of wine being poured into a glass. Konowa licked his lips and chided himself for being little more than a salivating dog. Damn the Prince!

  "Begging Your Highness's pardon," Konowa said at last, his voice sounding like a cannon salvo under the tent, "time is of the essence. We should discuss the matter of reforming the regiment. Marshal Ruwl informed me that arrangements had been made. When can we expect the elves?"

  The Prince tilted his head to one side as he looked at Konowa. "He didn't tell you, did he? Well, well. The marshal may be wary of your temper, but I am not. The elves are in the southern wastes, and that is exactly where they'll stay. I have dispatched men from my personal staff to purchase the necessary troops and supplies from the regiments in camp. The regiment will form from the very cream of the army located here."

  It felt like a blow to the stomach. "Here, sir?" The cream of the army was most certainly not sweltering in the stinking sun of this camp. "But I thought the lads—the regiment was being called back. How can the Iron Elves be reformed without them?"

  The Prince did not turn around, but Konowa heard the smirk in his voice. "The Iron Elves will henceforth be a regiment more agreeably integrated with men from the Empire."

  "With all due respect, your Highness—"

  "It is done!" the Prince shouted, spinning around to face him. "This regiment is mine, and I will command it as I see fit. Reconcile yourself to that, Major." He let out a slow breath and composed himself. "Now, the matter is closed. A toast," he said, motioning to a filled lead crystal glass on the table.

  Konowa looked at the drink as if it were poison, but finally stepped forward and took it.

  "To the glorious future of the Light Infantry of the Hynta," the Prince said.

  Konowa stared at the Prince, his own glass stopped awkwardly halfway up to the sky.

  "Do you dare challenge me thus?" the Prince asked, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  This fool knows nothing. "No, sir, but one never toasts the regiment in that manner. We did not seek glory—quite the opposite. The proper toast is only given at midnight, sir, under a black moon," Konowa said, looking down at a stupid little man who would one day be King. One quick blow to the neck would solve so many problems.

  "I knew that," the Prince said, looking at him with suspicion. "However, today we start a new tradition."

  "Yes, of course, sir," Konowa said. Acting on an impulse before his better judgment could stop him, Konowa gulped his drink in a flick of the wrist. "To the glorious future of the Light Infantry of the Hynta. Long live the Iron Elves…and Men. May our enemies crumble before us!" he shouted, then threw his glass to the ground. The crystal shattered into hundreds of glittering pieces.

  The Prince's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. He said nothing for a long moment. Konowa looked at him with the closest he could manage to complete innocence. A grin now would likely find him hanging from a noose.

  The Prince finally downed his own drink and followed suit, breaking his own glass on the hard-packed dirt.

  "You will explain to me later the traditional toast," the Prince said.

  "Of course, Your Highness," Konowa said.

  "Go collect my men."

  "Yes, sir, at once," Konowa said, coming to attention. He offered the Prince a crisp salute before turning and stepping out of the tent, and into a whole new problem.

  FOURTEEN

  Konowa walked in a straight line, prepared to bludgeon the first person who crossed his path. Unfortunately, the first person was a horse, and Konowa's anger subsided into a crushing weight. This fool of a Prince was going to get them all killed.

  "You appear to gravitate toward the more pungent these days," Jurwan Leaf Talker said, smiling broadly and startling Konowa as the wizard came around the other side of the horse.

  Konowa shook his head. Too many musket salvos had permanently damaged his hearing.

  "And you don't know when to leave well enough alone," Konowa said, walking past his father.

  Jurwan reached out a hand, his fingertips brushing Konowa's arm. The touch was as light as a leaf floating on a stream, but it stopped him like a cannon firing canister shot at twenty yards. Bloody wizards.

  "Judging by the color of your face and the tone of your voice, I'd say you've met the Prince," Jurwan said, chuckling softly, removing his hand to pat the horse's neck. His other hand reached into his hides and pulled out bits of keela fruit, which he offered to the animal. The red pulp dribbled down Jurwan's fingers as the horse nibbled at it, and Konowa felt a queasiness in his stomach.

  "He is an arrogant little poppet who cares more about finding purple-winged moths and pleasing his mother than leading a regiment." Konowa kicked at a weed near his boot. "Regiment. It won't be anything close to what it was before. And when were you going to tell me the Iron Elves wouldn't actually have any elves in it?"

  Jurwan slowly shook his head and clucked his tongue. He walked over to Konowa and bent down by his feet, gently straightening the weed. For an old elf, he still moved with fluid ease, a skill Konowa had long ago given up trying to master.

  "The past is gone, my son, or at least, it used to be. For now, you must embrace the present, so that you may walk with a clear mind and free heart into the future, while being ever vigilant for that which went before you, for it may yet come again."

  Konowa looked down at his father with wide eyes. "Is this mystical pap the cou
nsel you give Ruwl? I mean, in between tending to blades of grass and injured mice?"

  Jurwan stood up and smiled. "No, I only say it to annoy you, and because it's true. As for Ruwl, I tell him he needs to adapt to his surroundings, be open and malleable, not hard and stubborn, as some are wont to be. Oh, and that he should have more Tremkaberry tea shipped over from home. I find the local tea here rather bitter. Which reminds me," he continued, grabbing Konowa by the arm and steering him around the horse. "I am making dinner and am in need of a pair of strong hands to help me."

  "I'm really not in the mood for roasted worms and grass soup, Father," Konowa said, allowing himself to be propelled along nonetheless.

  "Wrong season for worms," Jurwan said absently, casting a quick glance down at the ground. "The earth is too dry at the moment; she waits for Sky Sister to cry."

  Konowa looked up to the sky and sighed. "Rain, it's called rain. Look, is your tent much farther? I have many things to do before the regiment sets out on this mad adventure."

  "And one of them is to eat a meal with your father, if that isn't too much to ask," Jurwan said, squeezing Konowa's arm as they walked. "Ah, here we are!"

  "Where?" Konowa asked. Jurwan had taken him to the edge of the camp where an old willow tree bent over a stream. Its branches were thick with leaves and draped on the ground.

  "Muh ko ji," Jurwan said, and the branches parted. For a moment, Konowa's body tingled and he heard, or thought he heard, a very old, very wise voice answer his father. He pushed his senses outward and listened, but there was nothing more to hear.

  "Come, we have arrived just in time," Jurwan called from inside.

  Konowa shrugged and stepped through the hanging branches. They closed behind him with a soft swish, and he was inside a cozy and surprisingly cool dwelling that was not at all obvious from the outside.

  A large bowl, sanded and carved to a fluid smoothness, floated above a small fire in the center of the floor. Konowa couldn't help but smile. His father had mastery, not that the old elf would call it that, over the elements of life, yet used his great skills to cook with a wooden pot. The flames curled around it, trying to feed on the wood, yet the bowl remained a beautiful satin brown, its surface completely unblemished. Inside it, water was just starting to boil, thin beads of air bubbles winding their way to the surface to release tiny wisps of steam.

  "A fire within the confines of a tree, Father?" Konowa asked, walking around the small area and marveling at the coolness of the air. He undid the chinstrap of his shako and took it off, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

  "Balance in all things, my son," Jurwan said, sitting cross-legged on the grass floor in front of the fire and motioning for Konowa to do the same. "The fuel is dead wood, and I have ensured the flames do not feed on more than that."

  "Black Spike would not have been impressed," Konowa said, regretting it immediately. Jurwan's bond brother, one of the mightiest Wolf Oaks to have grown in the deep forest, had been killed many years ago, and it was a loss Konowa knew the old elf felt deeply.

  Jurwan shook his head. "Not at all. My ryk faur, like most of the Wolf Oaks, was far more pragmatic than the Long Watch make them out to be. Fire, like all elementals, is necessary, even desired at times. Should an elf shun water because he might drown, and so die of thirst? My bond brother would not begrudge me a warm meal, may his ashes bring life to those that follow."

  "Sounds more reasonable than the woman I just met," Konowa said. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of her, but he wasn't sure if it was passion or frustration.

  Jurwan's eyebrows rose in exaggerated surprise. "You're courting then? Well. Perhaps she can knock some sense into that thick head of yours."

  Konowa waved the thought away. "She's elfkynan, some kind of witch, too, for that matter. Our views on the world aren't exactly in harmony."

  "A witch," Jurwan said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. "I do hope the grandchildren take after her."

  "Easy, Father, she hasn't even bothered to see me since we arrived in camp," Konowa said, pacing around the fire. "Not that it matters."

  Jurwan shook his head slowly, letting a small sigh escape his lips. "Be not so sure of what matters and what does not. Drops of rain become an ocean. And if courting hasn't changed completely since I was your age, I think she might be waiting for you to visit her."

  "I've been rather busy, what with this lunacy I've been dragged into," he said, putting a halt to his pacing and choosing a fallen log as a seat.

  "The grass would be better, my son," Jurwan said.

  And the lessons in life begin. "You can burn wood but I can't sit on it?" Konowa asked, throwing his shako to the ground beside him. "Or is it only that I am in touch with nature if my backside is flat on the earth?"

  Jurwan began unfolding a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Don't be silly. But you may wish to reconsider your seat, as it is full of ants—a type of biting ant, actually."

  The log soared through the branches as Konowa jumped to his feet and began to beat at his trousers.

  Jurwan made a tut-tut sound and shook his head. "A whole year alone in the forest. It's a wonder you didn't burn it down."

  Konowa glared at his father, but the old elf was busy arranging a group of vegetables for the cooking pot. He sighed and walked around to the other side of the fire to sit down, checking the ground carefully before he did so.

  Jurwan handed him a thin wooden blade and a potato. Konowa hefted the knife and was pleased with its balance and weight. He twirled it between his fingers, faster and faster. It felt warm and comfortable in his hand and the edge gleamed with a sharpness to match any fire-forged blade.

  "The potato will not hurt you," Jurwan said, peering down his nose at Konowa.

  Konowa stopped twirling the knife and began cutting slices of the potato into the pot, gently sliding each chunk into the water.

  "You haven't told me what you think about all of this," Konowa said.

  "There is only one world," Jurwan replied, passing Konowa two carrots and a small pouch filled with a tangy-smelling spice. "All of us, from the smallest insect to the largest mountain, must live within it, and in harmony with one another."

  "You missed your calling, Father—you should have been a courtier. You manage to say something and nothing at the same time." Konowa sighed dramatically as he diced the carrots with quick, smooth flicks of the knife. When he was done, he upended the pouch with the spice into the bowl, turning the water a rich brown color and filling the air with a tantalizing aroma.

  Jurwan wasn't paying attention, handing Konowa a red kelsa root and some bright-green sprigs of reimoni. "Stir the water, keep everything moving," Jurwan said. He rocked back on his heels, looking up at the hanging branches, which suddenly parted to allow a thin shaft of sunlight to shine down in front of him. "The Empire thinks like the bull dragon. Exert enough force and it can impose its will. Bite, and bite hard, and it can kill anything. In this the Empire believes, so it seeks out that which it does not understand but nonetheless fears, and in finding it, would control it, or kill it."

  "Yes, but the bull dragon, when using its wings, can walk across a frozen lake, fishing between the cracks without falling in." Konowa sat up a little straighter, pleased to be able to use one of the old elf's homilies against him for a change.

  "More than fish swim beneath the ice, my son, but the dragon only sees its own reflection."

  "Is there a moral to this story anywhere in the near future?"

  Jurwan looked at his son with raised eyebrows and motioned for him to get back to the pot. "Only young bulls seek out opponents. The older, wiser ones lie in wait."

  Konowa thought about that as he used the knife to stir the pot, adding more carrots and herbs between swirls. A chunk of potato bobbed to the surface, its already golden-brown hue a clear sign the soup was nearly done.

  "If I didn't know better, Father, I'd say you were trying to warn me." Konowa watched the potato bob on the surface. He stabbed it with
the tip of the knife and brought it to his mouth.

  "Patience!" Jurwan scolded, slapping Konowa's hand down and sending the potato flying back into the pot. "And if you would open your mind as wide as you do your mouth, you might benefit from it."

  Konowa rubbed his hand and looked at his father. "I've been heeding warnings all my life," he said, pointing to his ruined ear.

  Jurwan looked at him and for a moment Konowa saw not the always-sage wizard, but a very worried parent.

  "Your destiny is your own," Jurwan said at last.

  When had that ever been true? Konowa wondered. "I know our history, Father. Somehow, in the world before this one, Her hand touched me as it did so many others, and I was marked, an elf destined for the Shadow Monarch's realm. Tokma ka ĂŚri."

  Jurwan's voice grew louder and the wizard was back. "Nothing forged in fire is the mantra of the Long Watch, but it is not the only way. Do not think you know everything you think you know."

  Konowa's head was already in too much pain to work that all the way through. "The Iron Elves were the tainted ones, Father, and we did our best to prove everyone wrong. We joined the Empire to fight against our destiny, and for a better future, and what did we get for it?"

  "So this is your excuse for all you've done to yourself these last few years? Self-pity?"

  Konowa pounded the ground beside him with his fist. "I didn't choose to be born with a black ear tip! I didn't court-martial myself! I didn't banish myself to the forest, and I certainly didn't volunteer to be an outcast!" he shouted.

  "And yet you live as if you did," Jurwan said, motioning for Konowa to keep stirring.

  Riddles and tests, always a new challenge. Growing up, Father had been like a shadow at dusk, teaching with questions, guiding with silence, never scolding, and never praising. His mother, on the other hand…

  "Would not approve of either of us at the moment," Jurwan remarked.

  "Damn it, Father!" Konowa said, the hairs on the back of his neck shivering. "I hate it when you do that."

  Jurwan stared at his son in mock surprise. "My dear boy, you are as obvious as the night after the setting sun. It is no great feat to listen to the flow of life around you and follow its natural course." He held up his hands and waggled his fingers at Konowa, gently mocking him. "I can see you took the stories of the Long Watch a little closer to your heart than I imagined. I blame myself for letting your mother teach you that, but she was determined you would join us as ryk fauri and prove the birth omen wrong."