Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Renwar’s eyes never flickered, but Konowa felt the communication between the private and the shades. Though it didn’t seem possible, the air turned colder and every lungful stung as if filled with tiny razors.

Movement to Konowa’s left drew both his and Renwar’s gaze. Rallie stood off to the side, her quill in one hand and a large scroll of paper in the other. At first Konowa thought she was scratching her head, then realized it was a gesture aimed at Renwar. The private looked back to Konowa. Slowly, as if trying to remember something from a very distant past, he stood to attention and raised his right hand in salute. It wasn’t parade ground sharp, but for here and now it was enough.

More surprisingly and definitely unnerving, the shades followed suit.

Konowa didn’t fool himself that the dead saw him as their leader anymore, but they were clearly following the lead of Renwar, and he was still a living member of the regiment Konowa commanded-the Prince notwithstanding.

Konowa waited three beats, enjoying the building tension because now it was his to control, then returned the salute. The air warmed as a collective sigh passed among the soldiers.

“Right,” Konowa said, taking his time to exude a calm he didn’t feel. “Private Renwar, I’ll need you and the lads there to form up and follow me. We’re heading due north for the coast.” He raised his voice and shifted weight from one boot to another in a studied act of nonchalance. “These Stars are going to keep dropping from here to hell. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t plan on spending the rest of my life, living or dead, tracking them down one by one. It’s time we took this fight to its home, and that’s the Shadow Monarch’s mountain.”

The cheer that greeted this pronouncement was hardly boisterous, but it had a flinty edge to it that filled Konowa with hope. The regiment was still with him. . or at least those living were.

“You ask a lot,” Private Renwar said in his new role as spokesman of the shades. He spoke quietly and carefully, sounding more like the young soldier Konowa knew. Konowa chose to view it as a positive sign even if the response wasn’t. He decided to bull ahead.

“I’m not asking, Private, but even if I were, I’m not asking any more of you than I am of myself or the rest of the regiment,” Konowa said, taking a couple of steps to turn around and take in the assembled troops. They were no longer the shiny rascals of the Elfkynan campaign. The marching, the fighting, and above all the oath, were taking a fearsome toll. The once tall winged shakos now had a crumpled, weathered look about them. Many wings had shed so many feathers that it was more accurate to describe their headgear as plucked. The original velvety sheen of their Calahrian silver-green jackets was faded, ripped, patched, bloodied, and loose-fitting. Konowa dared look in their eyes, fearing the worst and feeling his heart swell when they met his gaze. There was strength there yet. They were grouped tightly together, shoulder to shoulder, each holding his musket in both hands. Many had attached their bayonet though no bare metal showed signs of frost fire. Good, Konowa thought, good .

“Every last man here, and Rallie, too, knows this has to end, and it can only end one way, and in one place. That means heading north and setting sail for the Hyntaland. Every hour we stand here is an hour She grows stronger and our mission becomes that much more difficult.”

Renwar stared, his eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. The shades around him, however, began to fade. Konowa felt the unnatural cold of the oath and Her power falling away, to be replaced by the biting wind driving sand and snow before it. Finally, Private Renwar spoke.

“She knows this and will be waiting. She is. . not pleased. Her Emissary yet lives and marshals Her forces,” he said, his gray eyes straying briefly to where Her forest lay in wait beyond the snow.

Konowa silently cursed. Viceroys were clearly proving to be the bane of his existence. The last two appointed to oversee the Protectorate of Greater Elfkyna had turned out to be in league with the Shadow Monarch, each acting in succession as Her Emissary. Konowa had killed the first, which had set the entire chain of events in motion leading to here and now. Private Renwar had dispatched the second, but they weren’t done with that foul thing yet. Former viceroy Faltinald Gwyn was nothing if not determined. . and as a twisted puppet in the Shadow Monarch’s hands, he had become manically so.

Konowa allowed himself a little bravado. “Not pleased? I should think so. In fact, I imagine She’ll be furious, and maybe a little frightened, too. When the Iron Elves come calling, it doesn’t go unnoticed.” A few grunts of approval from the troops reached Konowa’s ears. They all knew that what he was proposing was tantamount to suicide with only the slimmest chance of survival, but it would be a death on their terms, fighting for something they believed was right. In the life of a soldier, bound by a dark oath or not, that was no small thing.

“As for Her Emissary,” Konowa said, his upper lip curling of its own volition into a sneer, “you seem more than capable of handling it. You flung the creature miles!” More soldiers added their voice to the cheers this time. It had been a spectacular sight.

The shades of the dead and their leader did not raise their voices in support. “I did what I had to do. What you ask now is less. . clear. The oath is different now. Those who perish answer to me, not Her. They now have a voice. My voice. Why should those who have gone beyond this life continue the struggle? It won’t bring them back. It won’t bring Yimt back.”

The dwarf’s name caught Konowa off guard. For the first time, Konowa fully saw Private Alwyn Renwar for who he was and not as an emissary of the dead before him. “We don’t know what happened to him. I can see that he’s not among the shades and you should know that no one found his body. He’s the toughest bugger in this army. If anyone is a survivor, it’s Sergeant Arkhorn.”

“I felt him fall, then nothing more,” Alwyn said.

Konowa sensed morale crumbling as the regiment pondered the loss of the dwarf, and he spoke quickly to rally what spirit in the troops remained. “Arkhorn’s been busted in rank more times in his career than there are one-eyed newts stumbling around a witch’s garden, and he’s climbed right back up the ranks again every time. I’m not about to count him out yet and neither should you. But whatever the case, I know damn well he’d be placing one very large boot up each and every one of your backsides if he thought for a moment any of you were going to give up, and that includes the Darkly Departed.” Konowa looked around and let a grin creep across his face. “I don’t know how, but I’m sure he’d find a way to kick a shadow. And with good reason. As long as the Shadow Monarch lives the oath will never be broken. We’re tied to Her and She to us. But remember this: Her power, however dark and unwise its origins, is ours to use as well. And that’s what we’re going to do. Our dead aren’t at rest, and Her sarka har and rakkes and every other abomination She can pull out of the depths haven’t gone away. This only ends one way, and that’s when the Shadow Monarch and Her forest are destroyed.”

Konowa caught motion out of the corner of his eye and turned. A small group of six soldiers accompanying Prince Tykkin and Viceroy Alstonfar were marching toward them from the direction of the library. The Prince led the way, though his gait suggested a man leaving the pub after a few stiff drinks.

The group came to a stop right between Konowa and the Iron Elves on one side and Private Renwar and the shades of the dead on the other. The Prince looked down at his boots, shuffling them like a child. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, all the while muttering to himself “It’s gone, it’s all gone.” The smell of smoke wafted off the Prince and the knees of his trousers were black with soot. He’d been down in the burned-out library sifting through the debris since the battle ended. Konowa realized with some surprise that he sympathized with the Prince. Both had come here looking for something-Konowa his lost elves, the Prince the Lost Library of Kaman Rhal-and both had come away empty-handed.