Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Viceroy Alstonfar shambled to a halt beside the Prince and attempted a smile at Konowa from behind a huge pile of scrolls clutched tightly against his substantial stomach. Perhaps not entirely empty-handed, Konowa thought, marveling at the load carried by the Viceroy. More scrolls, bronze canisters, and thin wooden boxes bulged from canvas sacks hung from both shoulders. As Alstonfar bent over to catch his breath, Konowa spied an overfilled pack with even more items on his back.

The Prince turned, and catching Konowa off guard as much as anyone else, motioned to a couple of soldiers to help the diplomat. The Viceroy stood up gratefully and nodded his thanks as the weight of the sacks was taken from him. Despite the cold, the Viceroy’s face was red from exertion and beaded in sweat. His pastel blue Calahrian Diplomatic Corps uniform, designed to exemplify and project the peaceful intentions of the Empire during stressful negotiations, now suggested much darker intentions. Konowa tried to imagine the reaction of a foreign ambassador if forced to sit across from the now sooty, sweaty, and bloodstained Viceroy and decided this new look would be very effective during peace talks. Small burns from black powder speckled the front of his coat, indicating that at some point in the battle the Viceroy had actually fired a musket. The once glittering array of silver-plated buttons showed gaps in their ranks and those that remained had lost much of their luster. His scabbard, however, was firmly tied to his belt and the hilt of his saber had clearly been polished since the battle ended. Konowa knew without checking that the blade was clean, too. Alstonfar might appear to the world like a wobbly piece of fat ripe for the first bayonet to split him open and spill his guts on the sand, but there was gristle under there, somewhere deep. The coming march across the sand might help reveal more of it.

The soldiers stood to attention as best they could. Konowa looked at Renwar, wondering what the soldier would do. Never once taking his eyes off Konowa, he, too, stood to attention. The sharp bite in the air lost some of its tooth. The shades of the dead then faded until Konowa couldn’t tell a shadow from a swirling patch of snow. Go back to your darkness and stay there until you’re really needed.

Konowa saluted and Prince Tykkin returned it without fanfare and absently waved the men to stand at ease as he brought his hand back down. Konowa expected him to begin speaking, or possibly yelling, but instead the Prince began to fiddle with his uniform, worrying at a dangling piece of embroidered cord hanging from his lapel. He then reached up to straighten a cockeyed epaulette on his shoulder, slowly spinning in a complete circle like a dog chasing its tail. As he did so every soldier couldn’t help but see the left sleeve of his jacket. A large tear ran from the cuff up to the outside of the elbow, revealing a blood-soaked bandage underneath. The Prince-future ruler of the Calahrian Empire-had been in battle, and not on the periphery.

Konowa fought a battle within himself between disgust and admiration and was pleased that admiration won. The Prince, however reluctantly and by sheer misadventure, was becoming a leader of men. The gilded popinjay who grew up on a diet of privilege and arrogance had run stride for stride with the regiment and had not flinched as the Iron Elves smashed into the enemy. Not having taken part in the Blood Oath, there was no afterlife waiting for the Prince, however horrific that life might be. His death in battle would be finite and forever. Leading the men, Konowa knew, was no more than what the Prince should have done, yet he couldn’t banish the grudging respect with which he now viewed the future king. Konowa was convinced the Prince was still a royal prick of the first order, but the man wasn’t a coward, and that counted for a lot.

“So,” the Prince said, looking around at the assembled soldiers. He seemed to struggle for what to say, opening and closing his mouth a few times as he searched for the words. His gaze fell on Alwyn, but if he was startled by the private’s appearance he showed no sign of it. Spying Rallie, he dipped his head in acknowledgment and stood up a little straighter as she dutifully poised her quill above her scroll.

“So,” the Prince began again, his voice stronger this time. “I should like to congratulate you all on a battle well fought. Due to your exceptional efforts another Star of power has been returned to its land and its people. Our enemies, both ancient and new, have been crushed and sent scurrying for cover.” The Prince pointedly chose to ignore the forest on the horizon marking the limits of their victory. Here and now in this exact place though, the Empire was triumphant.

Instead of filling his lungs and lustily carrying the speech to a roaring climax as he usually did, the Prince grew quiet, his shoulders sagging again as he finished. “Most wonderful and worthy. . yes, a feat of special significance. In fact, one that no doubt will go down in the annals of history and mark this moment as an auspicious one for this modern age. .” he said, his voice trailing off. He caught Rallie’s eye as if pleading with her to make it so.

Stupid, silly bugger getting that bent out of shape over a bloody library, Konowa thought. He did genuinely feel sorry for the man, but there was a limit. They still had a war to fight. And win. Someone’s going to have to have a talk with him, Konowa realized, knowing deep down that the task would fall to him.

Without looking around, the Prince started to walk away, but caught the toe of one of his boots on a sack that Viceroy Alstonfar had been carrying. He stopped and stared down at the spilled scrolls, nudging at them with his boot tip. Rallie’s quill bit hard into the paper with a sharp ripping sound, drawing the Prince’s attention back to the moment. He raised his head and jutted out his chin. “And of course we discovered the long-lost Library of Kaman Rhal and all its treasures.”

Several soldiers looked to Konowa for guidance, their eyebrows rising along with their shoulders in a clear sign they were unsure if they should cheer. Konowa sighed and slid his saber from its scabbard and lifted it high into the air feeling half the fool and glad the night would hide the grimace of embarrassment on his face. “Three cheers for His Majesty! Three cheers for our glorious victory won this night! Three cheers for the return of the Jewel of the Desert and the finding of a great treasure!”

Still catching his breath, Viceroy Alstonfar struggled to stand straight and lifted his saber into the night sky, almost launching it out of his hand in his enthusiasm. The Prince looked genuinely surprised, and began dabbing at the corner of his eyes. Muskets rose, too, their bayonets flashing in the falling snow. Despite himself, Konowa found his voice growing louder with each cheer.

They had defeated the Shadow Monarch and Kaman Rahl’s dragon this night. They had returned another Star to its rightful people. And though he didn’t give two hoots of a lice-infested owl about it, they had found a pile of books and other ancient knickknacks buried in the sand.

Given all that, a foreign feeling now gripped Konowa, one that seemed at odds with the current situation. The fate of Visyna, his parents, and even Arkhorn and his squad remained to be determined, and he was no closer to reuniting with the original Iron Elves. None of that was very happy news, yet the strange emotion that now filled him only grew stronger. He continued to ponder its full meaning long after the cheers had died down and Color Sergeant, now acting Regimental Sergeant Major, Aguom, began bellowing at the troops to fall in and prepare to march. As the regiment gathered up its weapons and equipment in preparation for setting out, Konowa looked up to the snow-filled sky and shook his head.