Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Something warm and sweaty loomed in front of his face and Konowa snapped back to himself to find Pimmer weaving in front of him like a ship tossed on a storm. “Major, are you. . are you all right?” he asked, his breathing ragged.

“Fine, thank you, Viceroy. I was just checking to see if there was anything with large claws and teeth around the next rock, but I sensed nothing. How are you?”

“I. . oh my, this is far more vigorous than I anticipated,” he said, sliding down against the rock face opposite Konowa. “Maps. . don’t really impart. . a true sense of altitude I’m afraid.”

“Let’s hope they’re better at telling us what the first booby trap is,” Konowa said, motioning for the rest of the soldiers to take a knee. The command had to be relayed back down the line as the path was too narrow for all of them to squeeze together in a circle.

Knowing that was his cue, Pimmer pulled out the map, turning his body so that it blocked the paper from the wind. Konowa pushed himself away from the rock and leaned over for a better look. Pimmer fished around in his robes and retrieved a small brass storm lantern. He wrapped both hands around it and gave it a shake. When he took his hands away, Konowa was amazed to see it had lit.

Pimmer saw him looking and held it closer so Konowa could see. “A little find in the library. Can’t say that I understand how it works, but that’s science for you.”

“It’s not magic?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Pimmer said. “Looks like there is a liquid and perhaps some crystals inside it. When you shake it they get smashed together and you get light. Lasts for a good ten minutes or so until you shake it again. There are several cases in nature of creatures having the ability to produce their own light from tiny fireflies to, well, dragons.”

“When all this is over you’ll have to tell me all about it,” Konowa lied, pointing to the map. “What’s around the next bend?”

Pimmer smiled and set the lantern down and focused his attention on the map. “If I’m reading this right,” he said, tracing a finger along the paper, “the key to step three hundred and one is to avoid it altogether.”

“Beg pardon?” Konowa said. To their credit, the soldiers around them said nothing, knowing Konowa would look out for them.

Pimmer shrugged. “I’m doing my best, but deciphering the code is tricky, Major. Still, my advice is sound. Whatever happens with the three hundred and first step is nothing we want a part of, so it’s a simple matter of not stepping on it and we should be fine.”

“Are you going first then?” a soldier asked.

“Who said that?” Konowa asked, looking around sharply.

“Me, sir, Private Otillo,” the soldier said. He didn’t have the good sense to look sheepish.

It was clear insubordination. However naive about the job of soldiering the Viceroy might appear, he was still the ruler of this land and Her Majesty’s sworn representative. Konowa knew he’d been letting a lot slide since the ramifications of the oath had become clear, but the men were starting to take advantage. Before he could call out the soldier, however, Pimmer responded.

“There’s nothing else for it. The map is tricky and I won’t be a lick of good to someone a few feet ahead of me as I try to piece the puzzle together.”

Konowa waved away the offer. “Viceroy, we’ve been over this. No one questions your bravery,” he said, looking squarely at Otillo, who had just done so, “but your unique talents will no doubt be needed many times in the coming days as we travel toward the coast. You aren’t going first.”

Pimmer stood up with some effort and straightened his robes. It took a moment as he had to readjust his pistol and saber. When he finally had everything in place, he stuck out his chin and pointed a finger at Konowa. “Then I must pull rank on you, Major, and insist that I go first.”

“This isn’t the time or place, Viceroy,” Konowa said, reining in his exasperation as best he could. “You might outrank me, but out here I-”

“Excuse me, Major,” Private Meswiz said, his voice a high-pitched whisper. “Feylan’s gone.”

Konowa and Pimmer both turned and looked up the path. It was empty.

“What in blue blazes is he thinking?” Konowa said. “All right, stay sharp and keep quiet. Follow me,” Konowa turned and headed up the steps two at a time and to hell with the ice.

He rounded the bend expecting the worst and found Private Feylan standing proudly on a step. When he saw Konowa he mouthed three hundred and one.

“Are you mad? Get off that thing,” Konowa hissed.

Feylan backed up to the next highest step. “It’s okay, Major, all this ice has frozen everything solid. If there are any mechanisms they’re not moving. It’s perfectly safe.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? We have no idea what these traps might be. Anything could set them off. Maybe it’s not pressure on the step at all. Maybe it’s some kind of magical trigger. Have you forgotten the white fire already?”

Feylan’s grin withered on his face. “Oh. . I hadn’t thought about that. Sorry, sir. I’d be okay if someone else wants to take the lead for the next part.”

Now it was Konowa’s turn to grin. “Oh, no, you’ve got the keenest sense for danger now, I reckon, so you lead on. Viceroy,” Konowa said, turning his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “How far to the next booby trap?”

“Looks like five hundred and thirty-three steps this time,” he said, his voice far from confident.

“You heard him,” Konowa said, motioning for Feylan to get moving. “Count like your life depends on it.”

Feylan nodded, slowly turned, and began creeping up the steps with significantly more care than before. Konowa let him get a few steps ahead then started after him, careful to step over the three hundred and first step. He knew without looking that the Viceroy and all the soldiers following would do the same. Nothing focuses one’s attention like impending death.

They reached and passed three more suspected booby traps without setting anything off.

Pimmer grew more confident with each success, his voice growing louder as he discussed the intricacies of the map detail until Konowa had to shush him. Konowa, on the other hand, grew increasingly nervous the higher they climbed. The soldiers were starting to relax, and Konowa didn’t like it.

He suspected that Pimmer had missed something critical in his deciphering of the map, but he had no idea what. The builders of the path couldn’t have expected a snow and ice storm to gum up the works, so maybe it really was as simple as that, but Konowa didn’t believe it.

He continued following Private Feylan closely, keeping the soldier within arm’s reach so that if something did spring at them he’d have at least a fighting chance of pulling the lad back to safety. Of course, that assumed whatever trap was sprung didn’t get Konowa, too.

The higher they climbed the more Konowa’s guilt grew. Feylan was pushing his luck as he passed through each booby trapped section, and unlike before, his confidence that the ice had rendered everything safe had eroded. It went unsaid, but Private Feylan would be Corporal Feylan at the top of the stairs. All he had to do was survive.

They reached the next trap. Konowa double-checked the count in his head to make sure it was right and nodded to Feylan. The soldier stepped over the trigger and waited. When nothing happened, Konowa did the same. They each let out a small sigh. Konowa turned and pointed down at the step to the soldier behind him.

“Don’t step here,” he said.

The soldier, Otillo, muttered and Konowa turned to follow Feylan.

A soft click of a metal latch releasing cut through the wind.