Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

“Any chance there’ll be any women up there, too, Major?” one of the soldiers shouted out.

“That depends,” Konowa said, pausing for effect.

“On what?” several soldiers asked at the same time.

Konowa made a show of adjusting his shako on his head and straightening out his uniform. “On if you find female rakkes attractive.”

Laughter rolled from the ranks, a release of tension by men knowing that in the next hour they might very well be dead, or worse. Konowa casually looked over at Private Renwar. The soldier’s face remained impassive, his gray eyes locked in on Konowa’s.

You and I have a problem.

Konowa held on to his smile, grinning so hard his jaw ached. This is my regiment, and don’t you forget it. “At the very least they make good rugs,” he continued, letting his gaze slide away from Renwar’s unblinking eyes. “Lads, the truth of it is, I don’t know what we’re going to find up there, but whatever it is, I absolutely know you’ll handle it.” Konowa motioned to Aguom to take over and the RSM started barking orders.

Konowa turned and walked a short distance away. He doubted his speech was worthy of Rallie’s quill, and that disappointed him. Her readers back home wanted to hear about glory and adventure, and he understood that, but it was the quiet, impromptu little talks like the one he just gave that made the difference. Throughout history it was small banter, a quick laugh and nod of understanding among a few tired, hungry, and scared soldiers like these that turned the tide and won the day. Maybe if more folks back home knew that they’d be less eager for the empire to push its boundaries further. The truth of it was, talk of queen and country sounded good when you were far from danger and warm and fed and chatting up a barmaid and no one, except maybe her husband, was lurking in the shadows waiting to bash your head in. Out here, however, with rakkes threatening to tear a soldier’s throat out with their fangs and claws, dark elves shooting vicious black arrows, and sarka har learning new and more lethal ways to kill, it didn’t have the same impact. The call of duty that every soldier did carry with him deep in his gut like a precious white diamond was nothing more and nothing less than the desperate hope to live to see another day. Wake up to a new dawn enough times and one of those days a ship would take you back home. Walking off that gangplank and setting up shop in the nearest tavern, a soldier could spin tales of derringdo leavened with a touch of modesty about how he wasn’t really a hero, which only made him sound even more of one. The soldier had been there, and everyone else hadn’t, and they knew it. The screams might still echo somewhere deep in the soldier’s skull and a loud noise might make him start and reach for the musket he no longer carried, but the audience around him would see a gallant warrior, a man who had stood before the enemy and held his ground. Even the stingiest bartender would slide him another round with just the smallest shake of his head indicating that his money was no good there. Konowa had experienced that more than once when on leave, but as good as it felt, his heart yearned to be back with the regiment, somewhere out in the wilds, wherever that might be.

“It is a bit steep, isn’t it?” Viceroy Alstonfar said, startling Konowa.

“Sorry, what is?”

“That,” Pimmer said, pointing up at Suhundam’s Hill.

Konowa realized he’d been staring at the hill without realizing it. Now he looked at it and began to realize the challenge that lay ahead. Suhundam’s Hill looked like a mountain that had been shorn off a much taller mountain and then dropped smack in the middle of the desert. Rock slivers thrust up from the desert floor in sharp lines of gray, black, and white to form a pointed pyramid towering several hundred feet above the ground.

“Steep? It’s a bloody mountaintop without the rest of the mountain,” Konowa said. “Why couldn’t the stupid bugger go and get himself killed heroically on a nice piece of flat sand and not a place where a mountain goat would think twice about climbing?”

“They don’t actually have mountain goats in this part of the world,” Pimmer said helpfully. Konowa turned to glare at the Viceroy, who kept any other observations to himself.

Konowa paled at the thought of climbing up there, not the least of which was the knowledge that the higher he went the farther he had to fall back down. Still, there was no other choice, and at least this plan gave them an advantage. Most of the men were probably uneasy with the idea of his handing over the regiment to an until then unknown junior officer from another regiment while he took a small group on what could be a suicide mission.

Konowa would never say it in front of them, but he wanted to reach the fort before the regiment, especially before Private Renwar and his legion of the dead.

If the original Iron Elves were up there, Konowa hoped he could deal with whatever issues might arise and keep tempers cool.

If he was with the regiment and Renwar, there was no telling what could happen.

Rallie had mentioned Renwar’s calling of the shades when they had departed Nazalla and the slaughter that had ensued, and that was before he had become their de facto leader. Now, the scared wisp of a boy commanded a power of incredible violence, or at least appeared to. Konowa thought it equally possible the Shadow Monarch had more control than Renwar thought.

When Konowa was completely honest with himself he wondered how much that was the case with him as well.

“The men are ready,” Pimmer said, his voice a theatrical whisper that sounded louder than if he’d just spoken normally.

Konowa put on a brave face and turned to see who the RSM had chosen. Deep down Konowa wanted that crusty old dwarf and his ragtag group of misfits, but they were gone, perhaps forever. Konowa inspected the assembled troops.

“An excellent cross-section of men if I do say so myself,” Pimmer said. “Every one of them up to the task ahead.”

This was too much for Konowa. He turned to stare at the Viceroy. “You know these men?”

Pimmer nodded solemnly. “I made it a point to learn the names of all the soldiers in the regiment. The variation in ethnic backgrounds is remarkable.”

Konowa couldn’t tell if this was the man’s attempt at humor or sarcasm. “You know their names? All of them?”

“Certainly. It’s one of the reasons I joined the diplomatic corps. Memory like a jar of honey,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple. “Everything sticks.”

Even though he was certain the Viceroy meant nothing by it, something about his smile irritated Konowa.

“Fair enough,” Konowa said, taking a few steps in the snow and letting the sound of his boots crunching on the metallic flakes soothe his nerves. He marched in a small circle and came back to where he’d stood before, a smile now fixed to his face. “All right, here’s the drill. We’ll double time it across the open ground until we get around to the far end of the hill. There’s a secret path there that will lead us straight up the backside of the rocks and into the fort.”

Instead of waiting for questions he simply turned and started trotting. He could have walked, but all the time standing around had allowed the cold to seep into his bones and he was freezing. He quickly realized, however, that moving across snow laden with metal ore was like trying to push through icy cold, liquid pain. Cursing under his breath, he slogged his way forward, swinging his legs from the hip as he pushed through the fresh snow. The sound of heaving breathing sounded in his ears and a moment later Pimmer was trudging beside him.

“Follow me, Major, I’m built for this kind of thing,” he said as he moved past. Not to be outdone, Konowa tried to stay in step but was quickly left behind as Pimmer surged ahead. The soldiers quietly stepped out from behind Konowa and followed the much wider path left by the Viceroy. Leaving his wounded pride in a snowdrift, Konowa followed suit as the last soldier passed him by.