Free The Light of Burning Shadows by Chris Evans

him.”
    “No. The elves I seek are not yet found.”
    “Then I will find them.”
    “No, you will not.”
    Gwyn felt more than heard Her command. The branch around Her shoulder lashed out. Shards of ice flew in all directions. Gwyn threw up his hands to cover his face. A single brief scream was lost to the sleet. No echo, no reverberation.
    It took a moment for Gwyn to realize the scream wasn’t his, that he was still alive. He lowered his arms and looked up. The body of Her Emissary hung in midair, impaled on the branch. Frost fire raged over it, the flames gouging deeply. The tree flung the body into the waiting branches of its offspring, which set about tearing what was left to shreds.
    The branch slowly returned to the Shadow Monarch, curling itself around Her shoulders. Something wet now glistened on its tip and Gwyn saw that it was a blood-soaked obsidian acorn ripped from the chest of Her Emissary.
    “Rise.”
    Gwyn climbed to his feet, shaking, freezing, unsure of his balance. He dared to look in Her eyes, then found he could not look away.
    “Will you accept my gift?”
    There was but one answer, and Gwyn found voice enough to give it. “Yes, with all my heart.”
    The Shadow Monarch did something then that the former Viceroy of Elfkyna would remember for the rest of his life.
    She smiled.
    The branch of the Silver Wolf Oak uncoiled itself again from around her and snaked its way toward him.
    Slowly.
    “Where he failed you will succeed. You will did my child.”
    Gwyn wasn’t sure he understood.
    The branch inched closer, twisting in the night air.
    “Your…child?” The branch continued to come toward him, as Gwyn’s gaze tore away from Hers. Blood still dripped from the acorn.
    “Look,” she said. The pool of ichor shimmered once more. A vast ocean appeared. A single ship raced ahead of a growing storm. Soldiers were grouped on the deck around four flag-draped bodies. A ceremony was taking place. Gwyn recognized it at once.
    “Konowa Swift Dragon. He is the key. He seeks his brothers, the Iron Elves, and through him you will find the rest of my children and bring them home to me.”
    Gwyn nodded. “I will find the Iron Elves for you. I will bring them home.” As he said this, the pool of ichor flared with frost fire as the bodies of the Iron Elves were consigned to the depths. The black flame rose, then settled down, but deep in the center for one brief moment, a pure white flame burned. The Shadow Monarch said nothing, but the air around them grew colder. He gasped for breath as the freezing air bit into his lungs.
    Shades now stood where only a moment ago the black of night had filled the spaces between the trees. Their forms were hazy, as if uncertain or unwilling to commit further to the darkness around them. Gwyn counted only three.
    “Many have begun the journey already, but there is still a long way to go. Aid me in this, and you will have…my gratitude.”
    Gwyn had no time to ponder what that might mean. He wanted to ask what the white flame meant, but the branch shot forth the rest of the distance, piercing his chest. The force of the impact flung his head forward like a snapped twig. He felt the blood-soaked acorn lodge deep within his heart, and tried to scream as pain blossomed through his body. Just as quickly, the branch withdrew, leaving something new in its place.
    Life as Gwyn knew it ceased. His body collapsed to the ground. Magic thick and raw coursed through him. His wounds froze over and healed as the remnants of his robe fell away in ash and frost fire consumed him.
    When the flames burned out he stood, wrapped in a cloak of night.
    “Bring my children home,” she said, “and yours is the world.”
    “As you wish,” Her Emissary said.

EIGHT
    T he sky turned slate, blackening at the horizon as storm clouds formed in the distance. The cries from a flock of birds fleeing before the coming weather carried farther as the air grew colder. The wind picked up, rushing ahead