Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

“I never knew it snowed in the desert,” the soldier said, slowing to keep pace with Konowa. He was short and stocky and looked like a butcher’s apprentice with his red cheeks and double chin. He’d wrapped himself in two robes, one red and one beige which made it look as if his stomach had been slashed open.

Konowa snorted. “It doesn’t. This is just for our benefit, Private. .”

“Meswiz, sir. I was just thinking it’s a shame Miss Tekoy isn’t around to work some of her weather magic is all.”

Konowa said nothing. After a few more steps, Meswiz got the hint and carried on ahead of him. Konowa let him go, then moved over onto the well-trodden path set by Pimmer and found the going much easier. His feet, which had been frozen, now felt like they were on fire. He was certain an evil mix of sand and metalized snowflakes had fallen down his boots and were currently grinding the soles of his feet to pulp. He kept his head down as the wind blew more of the gritty mix around them. Konowa wondered what it must feel like to be wearing a caerna in weather like this, but after the initial shock of being issued the cloth wrap back in Elfkyna, the regiment had taken to it as a source of pride. It was one more thing that set them apart from the rest of the army, and that was something to be proud of.

Konowa was still thinking about that when he walked straight into the back of Meswiz. “Sorry,” he muttered, reaching up to adjust his shako as he looked up to see where they were.

A black mass loomed before them. He craned his head skyward. The swirling snow only added to the illusion that he was looking up at a mountain, and the effect was not welcome.

Konowa blew on his hands to get some warmth back into them. The wind rattled about the foot of the hills, chaffing at the rocks in a grating whine. “Load muskets and fix bayonets,” he said, grounding his own musket and loading a ball and charge. For a moment, there was only the well-drilled movements of men loading their weapons, and Konowa felt at one with them, and more important, at peace. The scrape of ramrods down barrels drifted to his ears like music. He smiled as his shoulder twinged with the effort of jamming the ball home. He kept at it until he heard the satisfying thud of it setting against the charge at the bottom of the barrel. Drawing the ramrod out, he nodded to himself as he hefted his musket. This he understood. This was why he lived.

“I think it best that I lead,” Pimmer said, his voice cutting through the wind. Konowa locked his bayonet into place with a solid click and felt more than heard ten bayonets lock into place at the same time. This wasn’t a parade ground, no sergeants were watching, yet the men had timed their movements to the second with his. Konowa risked a look and saw ten brothers before him.

“Your keenness is impressive, Viceroy, but there might be more than booby traps ahead. For all we know, the place could be crawling with rakkes or something worse,” Konowa said, remembering the flying sarka har . “If we lose you, we lose the only person who can read that map of yours. I’ll lead, and you’ll follow me.”

“Major, we can’t afford to lose you either. I’d like to take the lead,” Private Feylan said. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but there was determination in it. “The Viceroy can call out any warnings to me as we approach them. Like you said, we don’t know what’s up there.”

“You only get corporal’s stripes if you’re alive to sew them on,” Konowa said, admiring the determination in Feylan’s voice. “We’re walking into the complete unknown. The first man up these steps is the one that’s going to meet that unknown head on.”

Feylan ran a finger around the collar of his jacket. “Someone’s got to be first.”

“So it seems,” Konowa said.

Even in the dark, the determination in Feylan’s face was apparent. He stood up a little straighter and just a hint of frost fire glittered on his bayonet. “The thing is, we’ll take this fort, then make for the coast and board a ship and then it’s off to the Hyntaland. When we get there, we put paid to the Shadow Monarch once and for all. With Her out of the way a fellow can think about his future. Mine’s out at sea on a ship. So the way I see it, the sooner we climb these steps and find out what’s up there, the sooner we are to being done. Sir.”

Emotion caught in Konowa’s throat and he turned his head. He sees a future after this. He sees hope. Konowa turned back and coughed before speaking. “Viceroys wanting to lead, lieutenants hiding in the ranks, and privates wanting command of a ship of the line. Why not? Very well. Private Feylan has the lead,” Konowa said, looking at the soldier with something close to fatherly concern, “but I want you to stay close and listen hard to Viceroy Alstonfar. This isn’t the wide-open sea. We won’t be able to cross the T going up this path. The only way we’ll able to fire in support will likely be over your dead body, so keep both eyes peeled and your ears perked.”

Feylan came to attention and saluted. “You can count on me, Major.”

Konowa nodded as he looked at the other soldiers. “Same goes for all of you. Eyes wide, mouths shut, and ears on swivels. If all goes well we’ll find the place empty, but we might not.”

“It could be your elves are still there, too,” one of the other soldiers said.

It was a thought that Konowa was doing his best to banish from his mind. For reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of, he hoped his elves weren’t up there. Now that he’d come this far in search of them, he wasn’t ready to see them again.

“Probably have a nice fire going, maybe even a hunk of meat roasting on a spit. Wait, do elves eat meat?” a soldier asked. His voice squeaked, and Konowa doubted the lad was a day over eighteen.

Pimmer turned as if preparing a long sermon on the dietary habits of elves, but Konowa growled and the man simply adjusted his saber and kept his mouth shut.

He turned back to the map and his face brightened immediately. “Private Feylan, the first three hundred steps appear to be clear of any dangers, but the three hundred and first might put a cramp in your plans for a bridge of your own.”

“Can you tell what it is?” Feylan asked. Konowa admired the way his voice barely shook. Maybe the private was cut out for command after all.

Pimmer shook his head, bringing the map in closer until his nose was almost pressed against it. “Could be any number of nasty things, I’m afraid. Won’t know for sure until we get up there and have a look around. I would suggest you pay close attention to your count as we ascend.”

Konowa could tell by the look on Feylan’s face that his confidence was waning.

“Just count quietly to yourself and take it slow,” Konowa said to him, giving him a wink. “We’ll be doing the same just to be safe. When you get over two hundred stop where you are and we’ll check the map again. Just to be sure,” he said, looking over at Pimmer who was now turning the map upside down.

“What? Oh, yes, always wise to measure twice and cut once,” Pimmer said, then his mouth dropped open. “Goodness, that’s not offensive to you, is it, what with the inference about cutting wood?”

“Viceroy, when it comes to trees, I say cut twice and to hell with measuring.”

Pimmer started to smile, then stopped and decided to look down at his map again. After a moment he gave it a quarter turn. “Ah, that’s better. Yes, now it’s making sense.”

Konowa lowered his voice as he tilted his head to get Feylan to lean in. “On second thought, stop when you get to a hundred steps.”

The creature raged at the scudding clouds driven before an unceasing wind. The sky churned gray and black, echoing the chaotic thoughts in its mind. It leaned into the wind, heedless of the metallic snow scouring the desert floor like an army of teeth. The rakkes, their bloodlust whetted to a shrieking frenzy after ripping through the caravan, charged forward heedless of the deteriorating weather. With every mile covered more rakkes joined the pack until it appeared that a dark crescent was sweeping all the land bare.