Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Konowa reluctantly took his eyes off the arrow still pointed at him and assessed the other elf. Unlike his partner, this one wore robes of the Hasshugeb tribes and was currently smoothing nonexistent whiskers on his face.

“Father?” Konowa said, not trusting his eyes.

Standing before him and finally transformed back to elf form from that of a squirrel, Jurwan Leaf Talker continued to work at whiskers no longer there. “What. . how did you get here? You’re elf again? What happened?” He heard boots on the stairs behind him stepping out into the courtyard and held up his hand toward the other elf. “Easy, lad, easy. Tyul, right?” he said. “Nothing to worry about, we’re friends. You remember us, right? We were on the big boat together. I’m his son, Konowa. Father, tell him to put down the bow.”

The bow remained at full draw, the arrow unwaveringly fixed on Konowa’s chest. The muzzles of muskets slid into his field of vision on either side of him as his soldiers took aim.

“Father, time to climb down from the tree and be an elf again. Tell him to lower his damn bow. Now!” Jurwan blinked and then bolted for a nearby ladder leading up to a wooden walkway that went all the way around the inside of the fort a few feet below the parapet. He was up it in a flash and gone from sight.

Konowa stood openmouthed. It wasn’t the reunion he’d imagined.

“The two of them are a few bricks short of a wall at the moment,” Yimt said, stepping out from behind the door to stand between Konowa and Tyul. “Mute as monks. Haven’t got a word out of either of them.” He pointed at Tyul and wagged his finger. “What did I tell you about shooting arrows at friends? No. Bad elf. Very bad. ”

Tyul eased the bowstring forward and slowly lowered the bow. Konowa realized his mouth was still hanging open and he shut it slowly. He resisted the urge to wrap the dwarf in a bear hug. Yimt was a mess. He no longer wore his shako, his beard looked more like an eagle’s nest of twigs, and his uniform seemed more holes than cloth. The nastiest-looking hole was one centered right in the middle of his chest. It looked very much like a wound from a musket ball. “You little devil. Where in the hell have you been? We all thought you were dead.”

A chorus of shouts started to build as the soldiers recognized the dwarf, but Konowa quickly silenced them with a sharp wave of his hand. He looked past Yimt and took in the interior of the fort.

It appeared smaller and less imposing on the inside. Truth be told, it was less a fort than four stone walls roughly mortared together to form a box thirty feet by thirty feet. The walls themselves rose no more than twelve feet, but situated as they were on top of the rocky hilltop, they were still imposing to anyone trying to launch an attack from the outside.

Dilapidated wooden shanties lined the interior walls serving as barracks and storerooms. A large fire pit scarred the courtyard in the far corner. Stores lay tumbled in heaps wherever Konowa looked. Smashed-open crates with packing straw strewn everywhere, broken earthenware jugs, split burlap sacks, and wooden barrels with their staves kicked in. The elves stationed here had clearly grabbed what they could, tried to destroy the rest, and then taken flight. Judging by the amount of supplies still scattered about, it was equally clear that the Hasshugeb warriors had not yet looted the place or Konowa suspected there wouldn’t have been so much as a nail left.

He looked back at Yimt. “Did you find anyone here at all?”

“Quiet as a tomb,” Yimt said, “which I gather you’ve seen for yourself.” He used a thumb to point back the way they came.

Konowa nodded. The shock of seeing first his father and now Yimt alive was wearing off and his mind began to function again. “Visyna? Where is she? The rest of your squad? My mother? Jir?”

“All still alive last time I saw them,” Yimt said.

Konowa was glad the soldiers were behind him. His eyes teared up. Visyna was alive. The image of their first meeting in the forests of Elfkyna came back to him. She’d tried to skewer him with a blade, but the memory was a fond one. She was fire, but it was the kind that tempered his spirit and made him strong.

He took a moment to cough so that he could wipe the tears away without anyone noticing.

Yimt waited until Konowa signaled he was okay, then made a point of coming to attention and saluting. It wasn’t easy for him, his face grimacing as his right arm came up. “Regimental Sergeant Major Yimt Arkhorn requesting permission to rejoin the ranks, sir!”

Konowa returned the salute then held out his hand. Yimt looked momentarily surprised, but smiled and shook his hand. The dwarf’s grip was hard and steady. Relief flooded through Konowa. He had the regiment’s steel spine back.

“We need to talk in private, Major,” Yimt said, keeping his voice low so that only Konowa could hear him.

Konowa turned and faced the troops. “Corporal Feylan.”

Feylan snapped to attention while struggling to wipe the smile off his face. The other soldiers perked up on hearing Feylan’s new rank. “Get men to the front gate and see if you can spot the regiment. I want the rest rounding up whatever supplies are here and stacking them by the gate.” Konowa lowered his voice as he continued. “And see if you can’t coax my father down.”

“Grab some gravel in your fist and shake it,” Yimt said to Feylan. “Sounds like nuts. It works, but make sure you’ve got something to feed him otherwise he has a tendency to bite.”

“Er, yes, RSM,” Feylan said. “I’ll get one of the lads on it.” He saluted then spun on a heel and started barking orders. The troops scattered to their tasks.

“Bright lad, that Feylan,” Yimt said. “He’s got the knack of delegating already.”

“Wants to join the navy if you can believe it,” Konowa said.

“Hot buttered nuns, is he daft? He’d be wasted on a ship,” Yimt said, his cheeks flushing red. “I leave this regiment for a few days and the lads start losing the plot. Good thing I’m back.” Yimt scuffed one of his boots in the snow then looked up into Konowa’s eyes. “How is he?”

Konowa had been hoping he wouldn’t ask about Private Renwar, but he couldn’t keep the truth from him. He knew time was precious, but he took it anyway to bring the dwarf up-to-date on everything that happened. Yimt’s eyes grew wide at the description of the bone dragon and of the marching and flying sarka har, but when Konowa mentioned Private Renwar’s transformation, he hung his head.

“I’m sorry, Yimt,” Konowa said, feeling a bond beyond officer and sergeant. “Rallie thinks there’s hope for him yet, and I hope she’s right, but he just keeps drifting further away from this world and into the next.”

Yimt lifted his head. His face gave nothing away, but Konowa knew the hurt he must be feeling.

“He wasn’t made for this life. Oh, he’s tough enough in his own way, in ways I never could be, but a boy like that deserves more, you know?”

Konowa reached out and placed a hand on Yimt’s shoulder. “We all do. And maybe, with a little skill, a lot of luck, and you giving the troops a good kick and bellow now and again, we might all just get it.”

Yimt flashed a smile, his pewter-colored teeth gleaming. “I like the sound of that, Major. And truth be told, trying to march two squirrelly elves across the desert just doesn’t compare to a proper regiment. Of course, seeing as there ain’t one in sight I guess the Iron Elves will have to do.”

Konowa managed to keep the smile on his face as he spied Pimmer walking toward them. “Very nice to meet you, RSM,” the diplomat said extending his hand. “I’ve heard many tales about you in the short time I’ve been with the regiment, and if even half of them are true, well, I’d love to hear a few more.”