Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

“It was a mad plan to start with, you don’t need to embellish it!” Visyna shouted back. “We’re still going too fast!”

Konowa couldn’t help but notice how attractive she looked with her hair blowing wildly in the wind. He’d have to remember to tell her that. Later. “There’s black powder on here. When the frost fire hits it it’s going to explode!”

“You arse!” Visyna shouted. She glared at him for a second then began weaving the air. Konowa felt the power of her control over the elements around them. It suddenly started snowing much harder. Big, fluffy flakes pasted him like a cold, wet wool blanket.

“I don’t think that’s going to put out the fire,” he said, taking a quick look at the front of the toboggan and the growing bonfire there.

“This isn’t over!” Visyna shouted, grabbing a hold of Chayii. His mother just looked at him with disappointment in her eyes, a look he’d seen far too often. And then the two women in his life stood up and dove off the side of the toboggan and into the snow.

“The Viceroy did it, not me!” he shouted after them, knowing that was the six-year-old part of him again. “I’m just trying to help!”

“And to think you were complaining about a little bit of copper fire a few hours ago,” Yimt said, his face and beard a mask of snow.

“This was the only-Look, I’m still in charge here!” Konowa shouted, anger rising that he was being scolded by apparently everyone. “And I order all of you off the damn sled!

“Damn toboggan,” Pimmer offered helpfully.

Konowa grabbed the diplomat under both arms and held him up. “Thank you for pointing that out. Try to roll when you hit the snow.” He heaved, his anger sending the diplomat flying in a graceful arc, which ended in an explosion of snow.

He turned to look back at the rest of the passengers. “Anyone else need assistance?”

Yimt began kicking supplies and soldiers off the toboggan with equal force. “Never a dull moment in the service!” He jumped, grabbing a flailing Zwitty in one hand and a metal tin in the other. The rest followed in a melee of limbs, prayers, and curses, the latter aimed, he was certain, directly at him.

By now the flames were licking all around Konowa. He knew he was impervious to their effect, but he had no such protection from gunpowder. “Time to go, Jir,” he said, motioning for the bengar to move. Jir growled, and the hair on the back of his mane stood straight up. “This is no time to get squirrelly,” Konowa said, and shook his finger at him. “Jump or I’ll boot you off.”

Jir growled again and bared his fangs. Konowa realized the poor creature was terrified.

“Look, I don’t like it either, but we have to get off this thing. Everyone else is gone, it’s just you and me, and I’m not leaving you behind.” He held out his hands and motioned for Jir to come to him.

Konowa doubted the bengar understood the words, but the tone in his voice must have registered. Jir stopped growling and slinked over to rest his head against Konowa’s thigh. Frost immediately arced between Konowa and Jir and the bengar stood up in surprise. Konowa lunged, grabbed Jir by the mane, and pushed him over the side as the bengar flailed the air with his paws.

“You can thank me later!” he shouted, after the howling bengar landed on the snow, snout first. He skidded along like that for a few yards before emerging from a growing snow pile and began running after the toboggan as it pulled away. “Thought they always landed paws down.”

Konowa turned to face forward again and was surrounded by black flame. It was surprisingly peaceful, as if he’d just dived into a cool lake on a hot summer day. The feeling only lasted a moment.

“Right, this is going to explode,” he said to himself, and prepared to jump. He was halfway to throwing himself off the side when the battle somewhere out in the snow between Private Renwar and Her Emissary caught his attention. The acorn made a grating sound as it constricted with an icy burst of energy. Konowa bent over double with tears streaming down his face. He struggled to right himself as the toboggan continued to tear through the battlefield. He wasn’t steering, but the pull of the conflict between Renwar and Gwyn was drawing him and the toboggan toward them. The power in the night was astounding. It was as if all the breathable air had been replaced with raw energy, and he wasn’t breathing it so much as absorbing it.

The toboggan began to pick up speed as it homed in on the dueling pair and Konowa knew his time was now. The temptation to ride it out and draw even closer to the swirling battle of power almost kept him on the toboggan.

Almost.

With a scream he didn’t pretend was anything but, he flung himself off the side. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d experienced the sensation of flying and falling, but he knew if he never felt it again he’d be entirely okay with that. The snow-covered desert floor came up and punched him in the face and everything went white, cold, and suffocating for a while.

After what could have been an eternity or a few seconds he lifted his head and sucked in some air, choking down a mouthful of the bitter-tasting snow in the process. He gingerly climbed to his hands and knees as the earth pivoted and spun beneath him. He shook his head, which didn’t help one bit. Everything was vibrating, and not in that warm, slightly drunk-feeling way. This was harsh and unsettling. He stood up, surprised to see his saber still clutched in his hand.

“Where’s my. . damn shako?” he muttered, poking around in the snow with the point of the blade in the vain hope of finding it. He turned around in a small circle intent on finding the hat while a voice deep inside was screaming at him to pull himself together. “Not without my shako,” he said to no one, then dry-heaved.

Sweat dripped off his nose and his whole body began to shake. “Think I should sit. . sit down,” he said, starting to walk instead. That’s when the sights, sounds, and smells of battle assaulted him all at once. He staggered and had to use his saber as a cane to stay upright. Rakkes howled and screamed. Musket volleys rippled and snapped through the air as the acrid smoke of gunpowder mixed with the falling snow turning everything a dusty, pale gray.

He heard shouts, saw shadows, felt the cold wind on his face. It occurred to him then that he was still sweating a lot as more liquid poured down his face and dripped off the end of his nose. He reached up with his left hand to wipe the sweat away and thought it felt awfully sticky. He looked at his fingers. They were covered in blood.

“Oh. .”

Got to keep moving, he thought, even as his knees buckled and he sat down in the snow. The weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders. He watched the snowflakes spin and float in the air. That was him. Weak and blown about by the wind. He shook his head again. No, that wasn’t him. He had purpose. He had strength. Still, right now that was just so many words.

“. . just close my eyes for a minute,” he said, aware that the ground was shaking. Something loomed over him and he looked up.

A rakke stood two yards away. His shako was clutched in its claws. It opened its mouth and peeled back its lips to reveal the full length of its fangs.

Konowa tried to lift his saber, but his right arm stayed limp at his side. The rakke stepped forward, looking around as if trying to detect a trap.

“Run,” Konowa mumbled, not sure if he was talking to himself or the rakke. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t move and the rakke took another step toward him.

Something hard and impossibly cold pressed against his breast until he thought it would burst through and shatter his chest. Still, it wasn’t enough. He watched the rakke approach, the shako still dangling from a claw. He ignored the creature’s milky eyes and its drooling fangs. All his attention was on the shako.