Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Konowa looked at Yimt and decided he could risk revealing a little of what he was experiencing. “What do you call it when you suddenly realize something that makes your whole life make sense? Everything just comes into view like a fog has lifted?”

Yimt snapped his fingers. “You, Major, just had what they call in technical terms an e-piff-anny . It’s named after some lass from way back. It means you came to an abrupt understanding of something. It’s like when you wake up after a night at the pub and for a minute you don’t know why your bed is wet and lumpy and your beard smells like the wrong end of a goat, not that there’s a right end, and you suddenly remember the wife chasing you out of the quarry with a battle-ax yelling at you not to come back until you sober up.”

“Ahh, that sounds. . possible,” Konowa said, surprised that he actually got the gist of what the dwarf was saying if not the full meaning. “Um, I’ll probably regret this, but a goat?”

“Turns out I stumbled into the local cheesemongers shop a few doors down and took a table of cheese curds as a big bed. Wound up buying seventy-five pounds of a right tangy cheddar. Lucky for me the wife had put up some prune preserves, because after two weeks of eating cheese I was-” whatever Yimt was going to say was thankfully interrupted by a shout from the front gate.

“Major, you’d better get over here!”

Even before Konowa made it to the front gate he knew it was trouble. He sprinted the last few yards and came to a stop by the soldiers standing guard. They were all pointing down to the desert floor.

“Rakkes, sir, hundreds and hundreds of the buggers! They’re swarming in from all over.”

The chill that ran down Konowa’s spine had nothing to do with the black acorn. The regiment had yet to reach the bottom of the hill, but the rakkes already had.

“They just came out of nowhere, Major. One minute it was quiet and the next they were everywhere.”

Konowa gripped the edge of the wooden gate. The snow-covered desert plain below the hill was dotted with hundreds of rakkes. They bounded through the snow from every direction, all homing in on the regiment now stranded several hundred yards from the bottom of the road leading up to the gate. Deep in the heart of the swirling dark mass of rakkes, a vortex of black light spun on a wobbling axis. Images of a twisted, mangled figure walked in the center of it. The rakkes kept well clear of the spinning darkness. Konowa cursed under his breath.

“What is that thing?” Corporal Feylan asked, using his musket to point.

“One viceroy too many,” Konowa said. Corporal Feylan brought his musket tight into his shoulder ready to fire.

Konowa reached out a hand and knocked the muzzle down. “That’s a thousand yards if it’s a foot. You couldn’t hit that thing if you tried that shot for a month straight. And I doubt it would even notice a musket ball going through it.”

Feylan looked like he wanted to try anyway, but he grounded his musket. “We can’t just stand here, sir. We have to do something. The regiment is marching right into a noose. They’ll be ripped to shreds.”

“Easy, Feylan, you’re not thinking. One, there’s damn little the handful of us could do from up here, so I’d rather not draw attention to ourselves at the moment.”

Feylan lifted his musket again, his nostrils flaring. “But that’s the point, Major. If we draw their attention the regiment will have a chance.”

Konowa grabbed Feylan by the collar and pulled him forward just past the front gate. “What do you see right down there littered all over the rocks?”

“It’s more dead rakkes.”

“But they’re not just dead, are they? They’ve been tortured . Their bodies were mutilated and set out on display. Now who do you suppose all these new rakkes are going to think did that?”

“Whoever’s up here in the fort. .” Feylan said, his voice trailing off.

“Exactly,” Konowa said, letting go of the soldier’s collar and patting him on the shoulder. “We’re relatively safe in here as long as we don’t do anything stupid. Even if the rakkes do climb up the hill they’ll have a devil of a time trying to get in. This fort isn’t much, but it’s on top of a chunk of steep rock, and that counts for a lot.” He put his hand on Feylan’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Sometimes, lad, the smartest thing you can do is nothing at all.”

“But. . you mean we just sit here and watch?”

Konowa pointed toward the desert floor. Black frost etched jagged lines in front of the oncoming rakkes. Icy flames rose from the ground then guttered out. In their place stood the shades of the regiment’s dead. The deathly remains of Regimental Sergeant Major Lorian sat astride the great, black warhorse Zwindarra. Konowa shivered in spite of himself. “We let the Darkly Departed do what they do best.”

Lorian charged, leaning forward over Zwindarra’s thick neck. The horse glided more than galloped across the snow and smashed into three rakkes. Blurred images of slashing hooves and Lorian’s ghostly saber flashed among the rakkes and blood splattered the snow in great swathes.

The other shades followed suit, cutting through the rakkes with a fierce abandon Konowa couldn’t remember seeing before. Something, or someone, had definitely fired them up.

“Major, a word?”

Konowa turned. Pimmer stood behind him with his pistol in one hand and a brown leather wrapped telescope in the other. The Birsooni map was folded and tucked in the front of his belt and his small brass storm lantern now hung from a loop of heavy twine around his right shoulder. In his layers of Hasshugeb robes the diplomat looked like a desert warrior ready for anything.

“You were right,” Pimmer said.

“About?” Konowa asked. He really didn’t have time for this, but hearing “you were right” granted the man a little leeway. It wasn’t often Konowa heard those three magic words.

“The map. It turns out that notation does mean tunnel. I think you’d better look.” He handed Konowa the telescope and pointed to the ladder leading up to the southern walkway.

“That’s good to know, but exploring it will have to wait at the moment,” Konowa said, turning back to watch the unfolding battle on the desert floor below. At first he thought a fog had rolled in, but realized it was the freezing mist of spilled blood. His stomach heaved. The black vortex continued to move forward, but as of yet had made no obvious signs of joining the fray. That worried Konowa. A hand on Konowa’s arm spun him around to face a stern-looking Viceroy. “I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear. I know it’s a tunnel because people are emerging from it as we speak.”

Konowa grabbed the telescope from Pimmer’s hand and tore across the courtyard. “Keep a close watch on that twisted Emissary, but don’t do anything. I’ll be back!” he shouted over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop at the foot of the ladder and leaped, barely touching the rungs as he vaulted up the ladder and landed on the wood plank walkway attached to the wall. It shook alarmingly, but he barely noticed as he ran across it to where Private Meswiz stood clinging to the top of the wall. He pointed down toward the desert.

“They started popping up like rabbits by that pile of rocks. At first I thought I was seeing things, but they’re there all right.”

Konowa peered into the night. “Are you sure? Maybe it was just rakkes roaming around. I can barely see anything.”

“I know I saw people with muskets, sir, at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what they were.”

Konowa pulled the telescope open to its full length and sighted it where the soldier was pointing. Everything was black.