Chris Evans - Ashes of a Black Frost

Without knowing its name, its history, or even what it was, the transformed sarka har began to close in on a single point in the Hasshugeb Expanse.

Suhundam’s Hill.

To march is to grind the body slowly with a torturer’s attention to detail. Granules too small to see find that perfect place between flesh and strap, rubbing skin until it blisters, weeps, and tears, staining shirts and filling boots with an oozing, red-tinted mud. Muscle and sinew explore pain so searing that the onset of stabbing needle pricks of numbness comes as a welcome relief. Shoulders erupt in burning cauldrons of agony that ache long after pack straps have been pried off, while wild thoughts of amputation race through the mind with every footfall.

At his most cynical, Konowa even wondered if it was all diabolically planned to be this way. Soldiers have very little to say about marching that’s relatable in mixed company. And when no officer or sergeant is around, their comments usually start by spitting in disgust, and for good reason. The prospect of battle, no matter how terrifying, grows in the mind of the soldier to be a kind of salvation from all the damned marching.

Konowa pushed away those thoughts and scanned the inhospitable wasteland curtained with snow. That in itself was worrying enough. What only yesterday had been a broiling pan of bleached sand and wind-frayed rock was now an unnatural tundra, cold and unforgiving. That the Iron Elves were about to march straight into the teeth of it was of less concern than what lay on the other side. Every man knew that the Shadow Monarch and Her creatures would be at the end of this journey. This march would have to be several types of hell for that prospect to look good.

Konowa did his best to buoy their spirits. “Just a short jaunt to the coast, lads. Not exactly a walk in the park, but we’ll make it.” Soldiers nodded, mostly because he looked at them, but hopefully because some actually believed him.

“Remember, the Prince brought a whole fleet with us when we landed,” Konowa said. “Admittedly, the navy types are a bit soggy, but they’ll be there for us when we need them.” I hope.

Konowa gave up on his pep talk and wandered among the men. Every soldier was busy examining the contents of his pack, lifting it and judging the weight, knowing every ounce carried would become ten pounds of pain in a few hours. Contents were dumped out and reexamined on the snow as soldiers thought long and hard about what to keep and what to discard.

“You might find your stomach will wish you’d kept those,” Konowa said, stopping by one soldier who was kneeling in the snow, busily dumping out the hard-as-rock biscuits given to them from the HMS Black Spike ’s stores. Feygan . . Feyran . . Konowa tried, but couldn’t remember the man’s name, if he ever knew it. This soldier was scrawny and his uniform so dusty and torn that he looked more like a beggar sifting through a rubbish heap.

“My stomach don’t have a death wish, but if yours does you’re welcome to them,” the soldier said, then looked up and realized who he was addressing. He jumped to his feet and saluted. Eyes still wild from battle stared back at Konowa from a gaunt, sunburnt face smeared with black powder. Konowa recognized the look, knowing his own visage was just as startling. He returned the salute and motioned for the soldier to continue with his packing.

“You’re right; they are an acquired taste. Still, if you dunk them in a mug of arr they almost become edible.”

The soldier’s face took on a puzzled look. He reached up and brushed a greasy lock of blond hair off his forehead. “Well, sir, if that means poison then I agree with you there. I tried feeding one to a rat on the ship and the little bugger took one sniff and hightailed it in the other direction.”

Konowa could smell the soldier from here and suspected the rat hadn’t reacted entirely to the biscuit. None of them, save the Prince perhaps, were too fresh at this point. “Smart rat. How are you set for cartridges?”

At this, the soldier brightened. “Chockablock full there, Major. These heathen warriors use a ball just a smidge smaller than ours. They might rattle a bit coming out the barrel, but we’ve been grabbing up as much as we can carry. I’d wager our muskets will still be true enough to a hundred yards give or take.”

Cartridges weren’t the only thing the Iron Elves were stripping from the dead Hasshugeb warriors littering the sand around them. In addition to jewels and coins quietly pocketed, belts, robes, daggers, and goat-hide water skins were quickly becoming part of the regiment’s dress. Konowa marveled that the Prince had nothing to say on the subject-a far cry from the parade-ground dress he had demanded just a few short months ago. That strange sensation of hope stirred in Konowa again. If the Prince could learn, who knew what else was possible?

“Very well,” Konowa said. He paused, a question forming that he wasn’t sure how to ask, or even if he should. He knew most officers and certainly the Prince wouldn’t inquire of a soldier how he was doing. Soldiers do what they’re told. For the most part Konowa accepted it as the way it had to be. He also believed, however, that a soldier fights better when he understands the situation, at least as far as he’s able to grasp it. And that meant officers needed to understand things, too, most especially the hearts and minds of the troops.

Konowa realized the soldier was staring at him so he simply said: “How are you holding up?”

The soldier pointed to his chest. “Me, sir? Better than most,” he said, waving in the direction of the battlefield. “I’m still here, got all me parts, no extra holes, and I’m looking forward to moving out.”

Konowa strained to hear a trace of sarcasm, but couldn’t detect a note. “Eager to get at the Shadow Monarch are you?”

The soldier shrugged his shoulders. “You could say that, sir. Way me and the lads see it, when we climb the elf witch’s mountain and kick Her down the other side, well, we’ll be good and done with the oath. With that taken care of, I’ve been thinking I might take me back pay, retire from this here army, and take on a new job, one with a little less danger if you take my meaning.”

Konowa did. “Clerking in a shop perhaps, or driving a milk wagon?”

The soldier’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head vigorously. “Lordy no, sir. I was thinking about joining the navy. Except for these biscuits, the sea air felt good somewhere deep inside me, you know? A man can breathe out there.”

Thoughts of the ocean for Konowa brought about the immediate opposite reaction. “I suppose everything qualifies as a job with less danger when compared to our current activities.” Konowa hunched his shoulders as a blast of wind drove more snow down his back, where it melted and trickled down his spine. The chill made thoughts of the ocean a little too real for him. “Can you swim?”

“Not as such,” the soldier said, a shy smile stealing across his face, “but I float like a champion. I figure that’s close enough.”

“Could be, but try to bunk near some cork, just in case. Carry on, Private,” Konowa said. He saluted as he took a step to walk on, then stopped and turned back. “Feylan.”

The soldier’s smile grew. “Aye, aye, Major!”

Konowa enjoyed the rest of his time moving among the troops. Wherever he went, they nodded or gave a thumbs-up. A few even grinned. Despite the horrors they’d faced and the losses they’d suffered, these men were not broken. He felt a small yet rousing speech coming on when an icy blast threw snow in his face and brought him back to reality. It reminded him that despite the black acorn connecting him to a cold magic, he still needed to stay warm. Konowa began to search for a dead warrior still clothed, but wherever he looked, the bodies were already stripped bare. He spied the Prince in conversation with Rallie and deliberately angled away from them. He had all he could handle right now with the coming march.