Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

She blinked and turned away, staring out to sea. She gently let Chayii’s body down and got up, and walked to the dock’s edge. Splintered wood, torn ropes, and great chunks of sailcloth littered the dockside and floated on the ice on the water, as the only indication that the Black Spike had been moored there. A large, churned path through the ice marked its passage out to sea.

The sound of running feet made her turn. Several soldiers from the Ormandy approached, their muskets held at the ready as they looked about for rakkes. A sergeant came up to her and touched his hand to his shako. He was bleeding from a cut above his left eye, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“More rakkes on the way, ma’am. His Highness says for you to board the Ormandy .”

Visyna nodded numbly and allowed herself to be lead toward the ship. She saw two soldiers move to pick up Chayii’s body, then pause and look at her.

“Please” was all she could manage. The soldiers bent down and with surprising gentleness picked up the elf and began to carry her to the ship.

Visyna followed them and boarded the Ormandy without another look back. She crossed the deck and stood at the starboard railing looking out to sea. The cold, salty air changed something inside her and she stood taller as she gripped the railing, feeling the rough grain of the wood on her palms.

“I will find you, Konowa Swift Dragon, I will find you.”

Damn it, father, snap out of it!” Konowa shouted, turning and stomping away a few paces before spinning on a heel and marching back toward Jurwan. The deck of the Black Spike was a windswept mess, which made Konowa’s pacing all the more challenging. There was no main mast anymore. In its place was a tangle of sail, spars, and rigging and the impossible image of his father’s shimmering ry

k faur.

The ship should have been crawling along, but instead it was driven by a wind that seemed solely focused on the tree that was and wasn’t there. It was pushing them north at a speed no hurricane could ever match. The ship creaked and groaned with the strain. Konowa heard the captain ordering his sailors to bring down all but the smallest of sails, but it made no difference he could see. The Black Spike was being driven by something none of them understood.

Except Jurwan.

Konowa approached his father again. “Please, father, we need you. Mother. . mother is dead.” Saying it out loud hurt more than simply knowing it in his heart, but he had to get through to his father.

“Colonel,” Major Alstonfar said quietly, coming up to stand beside him. “Could we talk over here, please?”

Konowa glared at his father, who simply looked straight ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “I liked you better as a squirrel,” Konowa muttered, then turned away and followed Pimmer until they were out of the wind behind a pile of collapsed sail.

“I understand your frustration and concern over our situation, but telling your father your mother is dead is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

Konowa looked at the man and realized he didn’t know. “She’s dead. She gave her life to tap into whatever energy or life force was left in my father’s ryk faur . I’ve never seen it done before, but I’ve heard them talk about it. It’s the ultimate sacrifice for an elf of the Long Watch.” Bitterness swelled within his chest, but he fought against it. Her sacrifice hadn’t been for trees or plants or the bloody natural order. She’d saved flesh and blood. He was desperately proud and devastated at the same time.

“My mother. . gave her life for us. Many of the Long Watch have given their lives to save the trees they bonded with. It’s why we’re in this mess now. The Shadow Monarch poured all her misguided compassion into the Silver Wolf Oak and look where it got us.”

Pimmer looked stunned. “She’s really dead? I am so sorry. I thought. . I thought you were trying to shock your father into talking.”

“I am, but not even the death of his wife seems to be enough,” Konowa said, forcing himself not to dwell on what he’d just lost. His mother was gone, and Visyna and Jir were back there and he had no idea if they were alive or dead.

“Her act was truly courageous. She saved us from certain death,” he said. “I am sure the Ormandy and all her crew are fine.”

“The Prince,” Konowa said, suddenly remembering. “If he didn’t survive that would mean you-”

“No,” Pimmer said, cutting Konowa off. “The Prince survived, I am certain. He will take the throne.”

Konowa wanted to object, but there seemed little point. Whether Tykkin was dead or alive was no longer in their hands. They were headed to the Hyntaland. The state of the Empire would have to take a backseat to the coming showdown with the Shadow Monarch.

“Major, gather up all sergeants and corporals and meet me in my cabin in five minutes. Oh, and find Private Vulhber, tell him he’s a corporal now. We have a battle to plan and judging the speed of our travel, we don’t have much time to get it sorted out.”

“Very good, sir,” he said. “Ah, and Her, ahem, His Majesty’s Scribe?”

Konowa looked up at the night sky as gray clouds whipped past before looking back at Pimmer. “She’s already RSVP’d,” Konowa said, pointing behind the man to Rallie, who was already walking toward Konowa’s cabin.

“Indeed,” Pimmer said, turning. He saluted and quickly walked off to assemble the senior staff, such as it was.

Konowa stepped back out into the wind and let the salty air sting his face. It hurt, and he liked that. It made him angry, and anger gave him power. He felt the fire burning inside him and let the flames build. When he reached Her mountain, a forest was going to burn.

Konowa looked back at this father. Did he know his wife was dead? He started to walk toward him again and paused as the wind shifted. It took him a moment to realize it hadn’t been the wind, but the direction of the Black Spike itself. The ship was tacking to port, and heading west.

Konowa walked toward the bridge to speak to Captain Milceal Ervod, but the sailor was already walking toward him.

“We’ve changed direction,” Konowa said.

Ervod motioned for Konowa to duck into a passageway. Once inside, Ervod pulled a map from inside his tunic and held it up against the wall. “Near as I can reckon, we’re here, just north of the Timolia Islands,” he said, pointing to a patch of blue ocean.

Konowa leaned closer. “Are you certain? We only left Tel Martruk a few hours ago.”

Ervod pulled at the end of his nose in a nervous gesture. “By rights, we should still see the lights of the harbor, but we aren’t traveling by any wind I know.”

Konowa wondered if there was a subtle accusation there, but he really didn’t care. His mother’s sacrifice was propelling them to the Hyntaland, or at least, it had been. “What lies to the west of us?”

Ervod unfolded more of the map. “Assuming I’m right and we are north of the Timolians, then a westerly course will take us through the Xephril Straits. Two major rivers empty into the straits, the Kantanna and the Ottawota, which merge into the Greater Kantanna further inland.”

Konowa knew the river. Its headwater was the Shadow Monarch’s mountain in the Hyntaland. “Is the river deep enough to take us all the way to the mountain?”

Ervod shrugged. “The Imperial Navy has only charted the tributary openings in Rewland along the coast. It’s my understanding that the agreement reached with your. . the agreement reached with the elves denied the navy access further north.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Konowa said. “When the elves of the Long Watch see a sailing ship like this they see mass murder.”