Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

“That’s not yours,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Images of a locket and four words inscribed inside- Come back to me -kept him from slipping into unconsciousness.

The rakke seemed to understand what he meant. It looked down at its claws and brought the shako up to its face. It sniffed at the hat and then tore a chunk out of it and threw it to the snow, spitting out the piece a moment later.

Konowa got one leg underneath him and tried to stand. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he said, struggling to stand upright. He wobbled and collapsed back down, the strength from anger not enough this time.

The rakke growled and took another step forward. Its arms could now reach Konowa. One swing and his throat would be torn open or his intestines spilled in the snow. That’s all it would take for him to be so much red meat going down the gullet of a rakke.

“I haven’t had a bath in weeks,” Konowa said, doubting the rakke’s taste buds would care. He took in a breath and cursed under it. Not exactly the most poetic of last words. He was still thinking of something better when the rakke screamed and vanished in a burst of frost fire.

A shade stood where the rakke once had. Konowa blinked.

“Kritton? You saved me?”

The shade of Kritton stepped forward and swung its blade. “No, I didn’t.”

I am the master!

Never in the creature’s past life had it ever believed that statement in its entirety. It had served senior diplomats, and then the queen of Calahr, and finally the Shadow Monarch, and though it had exerted much power and control over the destinies of others in those roles, it had always had a master to answer to. What few memories remained of that time only served to fuel the uncontrollable rage that now consumed it. How could it have been so weak, so powerless, so. . human?

It continued to tear itself apart, ridding itself of everything superfluous and soft. The human frailties that had defined Gwyn eroded in the fierce storm of its madness. All that remained was pure, unadulterated power. Its world was now one of unbearable pain, yet within that suffering it found an existence so euphoric that it sought even more ways to hurt itself. It scoured and tore every last shred of humanity from its being, whittling itself down to nothing but a collapsing mass of absolute agony.

The vortex of its madness swirled faster and faster, rending the fabric between the planes of the living and the dead. More and more creatures long vanished from the world poured through the tear, taking up ethereal form and attacking the shades of the Iron Elves with raw, wild glee, unfettered again after millennia.

I do this! I control this!

Its core grew smaller even as its power expanded. Its rage and power flew around it in a blur, spinning so fast they created a vacuum. There was no longer any air to breathe within its boundaries, but it had long moved beyond the need for it.

I am the master!

The voice that answered back shook it to its core.

“You are mistaken,” Alwyn said, “and I am here to put things right.”

“Are you all right?” Visyna asked, helping Chayii to her feet while brushing snow from the elf’s hair.

“I appear to be,” she said, her voice shaking as she smoothed out her Hasshugeb robe and straightened up. “Your weaving has saved us again. The snow is much deeper here.”

“I hope the others landed as softly as we did,” Visyna said, not entirely sure her weaving had really had that much of an effect. The burst of fear- and anger-induced energy brought on by Konowa’s latest recklessness had fueled her power to weave the snow in the wake of the toboggan. She doubted she could do it again, although knowing Konowa she didn’t rule it out. He could charm one second and infuriate the next.

“I hope so, too, my dear,” Chayii said, reaching up and brushing some snow out of Visyna’s hair. “You work well with the natural order. I suspect the elf-line runs in your family.”

“Actually, I don’t think one’s bloodline really matters when it comes to caring about the world around us. You either do or you don’t. It just feels right to me.”

Chayii paused in brushing Visyna’s hair and looked deeply into her eyes. “So wise for one so young. Do not tell my son, but I hope my grandchildren take after you.”

Any other time Visyna would have blushed, but being in the middle of a battlefield didn’t afford her that luxury. “We must move,” she said, grabbing the elf by the arm and heading off after the toboggan. It was easy enough to follow its tracks in the snow along with bits of crates, sacks, uniforms, and, eventually, soldiers.

“Friend or foe?” Corporal Feylan shouted. He held the back half of a broken musket in his hands and appeared dazed.

“Shoot first, then ask,” Yimt said, appearing out of the gloom and placing a hand on the soldier’s arm. “But in this case it’s all right. Ladies,” he said, taking a quick bow. He held his drukar in his hand. The blade was slick and dripping.

“Are you okay?” Visyna asked, walking closer. Yes, there was definitely blood on the end of his weapon.

Yimt followed her gaze and then looked back up. “Just my luck I landed on a rakke and the poor thing broke my fall. I am glad I found you. We’re scattered about like dandelions in a windstorm. Ah, there’s a few more now.”

“Is everyone all right?” Hrem asked, running up to them. He had Scolly and Zwitty and three other soldiers in tow. Visyna wasn’t surprised. The big soldier was a natural leader with the added advantage of being easy to spot.

“Better and better,” Yimt said, punching Hrem affectionately in the bicep. “We’re still missing a few, but we can’t stay here. We’ll keep following the trail and see if we can’t round up the stragglers on the way. If you haven’t already done so, grab some kind of weapon. I don’t care if it’s a piece of ice or a knitting needle, but we’re deep in the middle of nowhere safe. Miss Red Owl, Miss Tekoy, please stay behind Private Vulhber. He makes a lovely wall. The rest of you, heads on swivels and if you think you see a rakke or worse, shout it out. Now, by the left if you still remember how it’s done. . march.”

As they walked Visyna found herself tussling between two emotions. On the one hand she felt relieved that Sergeant Arkhorn so quickly and easily took command of the situation, but she was surprised to feel a degree of resentment, too, at the loss of the authority she had earned just a short few hours before. In the end, she was content to let things be as her thoughts turned to Konowa.

“I hope he’s all right, because when we find him, I might just punch him in the nose,” she said.

“He was like this even as a child,” Chayii said, keeping her voice low. “The incident in the birthing meadow when he was not chosen by a Wolf Oak only added to what was already there. I realize now he will never truly be at peace until this has come full circle. He will face the Shadow Monarch, and one of them will die.”

Visyna was taken aback by Chayii’s matter-of-fact assessment of the fate of her son, but she didn’t disagree with it. “Perhaps there will be another way.”

“Perhaps,” Chayii said, but she didn’t sound like she believed it, and Visyna wasn’t sure she did herself.

“Heads up! Movement on the left flank.”

Visyna turned. Two shadows emerged from the dark and resolved themselves into the Viceroy and Jurwan.

“Look who I found, or rather, who found me!” the Viceroy said, his voice booming as if trying to get the attention of a barkeep on a busy night. He walked with one arm around the elf’s waist. Jurwan clutched his left arm tight to his chest and appeared to be in pain. Blood glistened between the fingers of his right hand.