Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Konowa woke in a sweat. He sat up and brushed the hair from his face, noticing that his hands were trembling. He should have felt relief, or accomplishment, or even righteous joy at killing Her, even if in a dream, but nothing about it felt right. His conversation with Rallie on her wagon came back to him, but what would compassion get him when he faced Her?

A knock on his cabin door brought him welcome relief from his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Begging the colonel’s pardon, but the captain wanted you to know we’ve changed course and are now heading due north up the Kantanna River.”

“Excellent!” Konowa shouted. He got out of bed, realizing he’d fallen asleep while still fully dressed, grabbed his saber and shako, and went outside.

The deck of the Black Spike was transformed. Gone were the clean, smooth lines of a sailing ship. It looked more like a floating castle now, all bulk and angles. Oak planking from belowdecks had been braced along the railings, backed up with slugs of pig iron from the ship’s ballast, and then sandwiched in with barrels filled with everything from salted pork to what appeared to be beer and rum. The effect was to create a thick, protective wall for those on deck. More impressive were the additional cannons winched up from below to be placed on the bow. It would have been suicidal to sail like that in open waters, but under their current propulsion and within the confines of a river it was a risk they’d decided to take. They were ridiculously top heavy, but woe be to whoever came close enough to try and tip them over.

RSM Arkhorn walked past barking orders to a group of sailors trailing him in various states of fear and awe. When he spied Konowa he winked and shooed the sailors on their way. “Not the brightest of lads, but they’re learning.”

Konowa smiled and began to walk along the deck as Yimt described the modifications. They stopped at a gap and Konowa ventured out to the railing and looked over the side.

“You’ve put chunks of oak planks over several of the cannon mouths,” he said, stepping back again quickly as his stomach started to churn.

Yimt greeted his observation with a smile that didn’t bode well for any creatures coming too close the Black Spike . Konowa briefly wondered how many had perished with Yimt’s pewter-colored teeth the last image in their eyes? Better them than him.

“Noticed that, did you, sir? Well, it’s a bit nasty I’ll admit, but can’t say as the buggers don’t deserve it and then some. If you look real close, I had the boys score the wood to help it splinter easier, and a few of the planks have a little extra surprise in them.”

He sounded so proud that Konowa had no choice but to go back to the railing and look over the side again. “Are those nails?” He peered a little closer and saw a piece of chain dangling. He followed it and saw it attached to several more planks further down the ship. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be better employed in weapons manufacture instead of as a barrister?” Konowa asked, stepping away from the railing again.

“Same basic principles apply really,” Yimt said. “You got to hit the buggers hard with everything you got before they hit you.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it works,” he said, then left the rest of his thought hanging as he spied Yimt’s old squad a few yards away. He walked over to the newly minted Corporal Vulhber and shook the man’s hand, congratulating him on his promotion. Privates Scolly and Zwitty stood nearby. Konowa’s first thought was they’d already dipped into the rum. “Someone has to explain this to me.”

Corporal Vulhber looked at him and smiled. “Colonel. Well, it was the RSM’s idea and we figured why not.” The look on Zwitty’s face suggested he’d figured differently, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You appear to be dressed as trees,” Konowa said. And not just trees, but sarka har . Each soldier had the metallic-impregnated bark of a sarka har, no doubt from all the pieces that had fallen on deck when they’d been ripped free back at Tel Martuk, wrapped around his arms, legs, and torso like a knight’s armor. Twine and strips of sailcloth that appear to have been darkened with pitch held everything in place.

“They don’t have ribs like a dwarf,” Yimt said, knocking his knuckles against his chest. “After my recent experience, I got to thinking it’d be just the thing for the lad going into battle. If we had more time I think I could come up with some kind of helmet, too.”

Konowa walked over and rapped his knuckles against Vulhber’s bark plate. Small sparks flew. “It is tough,” he said, standing back. Garbed as they were in black bark over their dirty and worn green uniforms and black caernas, they could probably pass as sarka har from a distance. He turned to Yimt with an idea.

“My thinking exactly, sir,” Yimt said, anticipating him. “I’ve got the rest of the regiment kitting out the same way. Going to add some branches on top when we’re closer. Doubt it’ll fool them for long, but if it buys us a few more seconds, that might just be all we need.”

Konowa grinned. The fire inside had been smoldering for a while, but as he looked at the black-clad warriors before him the first flames began to grow.

The Iron Elves were coming home.

Visyna stood near the bow of the Ormandy, ignoring the freezing spray that flew up every time the bow dipped down into another wave. She’d tried sleeping, but every time she began to drift off the horrors of the last few days came rushing at her. She wondered how soldiers like Konowa and Yimt withstood the assault on their unconscious mind. To lose friends, to kill the enemy, to forever walk into danger knowing-absolutely knowing-that not everyone would walk back out again had to take its toll.

She hunched her shoulders, grateful for the tunic loaned to her by one of the soldiers on board the ship. I’m even starting to hear things, she realized, imagining the erratic flapping of Wobbly somewhere in the night. A moment later, a white blur drew her attention off the starboard bow. It is Wobbly! She ran to the railing to watch his arrival. He seemed to be going faster than was safe, much too fast to make a landing. He skimmed over the main mast, did a slow banking turn, and started heading northwest, back the way he came.

“Wait, you didn’t deliver your message!” she shouted after the pelican. She brought her hands up to weave, hoping perhaps to use the wind to guide him back this way, when a new sound reached her ears. It was more wings flapping. She turned and saw a massive bird of prey swoop down from the sky, its beak glinting like polished steel.

“Dandy!” she cried, marveling as the bird flared its wings and came in for a pinpoint landing on the railing just ten feet from her. He tucked in his wings and squatted down on the railing, but with each blast of sea spray he got up again and fluttered his feathers in annoyance.

“I’m guessing Rallie sent you,” Visyna said, inching a little closer to Dandy. “But why?”

For an answer, Dandy hopped off the railing and began walking across the deck. His claws gouged huge splinters out of the wood as he did so.

“Here! We can’t have your bloody bird tearing up the deck,” a sailor said, running across the main deck to stand in front of Dandy.

Dandy turned his head so that a single, golden eye stared at the sailor. Visyna said nothing.

“It’ll be a deuce of a job for the ship’s carpenter to repair,” the sailor said, his voice quavering as he tried to look around Dandy at Visyna.

“Are you the ship’s carpenter?” Visyna asked.

“No,” the sailor said, backing up a few paces. Dandy followed him.