Ashes of a Black Frost

“Major, over here!”

Konowa spun around. Several more soldiers had appeared out of the snowy night. He kept his saber at the ready, unwilling to be tricked again by a shadowy form seen in the distance. The soldiers advanced-Konowa relaxed as he recognized them as his rear guard.

“What in the bloody hell are those things?” Konowa asked when the soldiers came to a stop.

“We were hoping you’d know,” one of the soldiers said. Konowa recognized him as the young private planning on joining the navy.

“What’s your name again, son?” Konowa asked.

“Feylan, sir, Private Bawton Feylan.”

“Well, Private Bawton Feylan, all I know for sure is never trust a damned tree.”

As a group, they began to fall back, walking backward to keep the trees in sight the whole time. Six soldiers knelt in the snow and fired their muskets at another sarka har. Huge chunks of bark and wood tore from the trunk in great flashes of flame. One massive arm cracked and fell away, but unlike the tree before, this sarka har remained intact. The remaining five soldiers walked a few more paces, halted, and having reloaded their muskets, took aim and fired at the wounded tree. This time it blew apart.

“Why do they explode like that?” Konowa asked, resheathing his saber and unslinging his own musket. He banged snow out of the muzzle and unwrapped the leather covering that kept the fire lock dry.

“Haven’t the foggiest, sir, they just do,” Feylan said. If he was scared he was doing a fine job of hiding it. “It’s like they’re filled with gunpowder or something. Hit them with a few musket balls and you can hurt them, but it takes at least five or six all at once to light ’em up.”

“A little more dragon than you bargained for, eh?” Konowa shouted at the trees, ramming home a charge in his musket and preparing to fire.

Instead of advancing, the remaining sarka har converged on the spot where the last tree was destroyed. They unsnaked their branches and began picking up pieces of bark, applying it to their trunks.

“That’s brilliant, that is,” Konowa said, spitting in the snow. “Not only have the buggers learned to walk, now they’ve figured out how to protect themselves.” He was tempted to add “what’s next?” but the question became moot as the trees began grabbing burning pieces of wood and crushing them into flaming spheres. As the spheres grew, the ends of their branches caught fire and began to burn. The night turned an ugly orange as each sarka har held up its two arms, now transformed into massive torches.

“Well that wasn’t too bright now, was it?” Konowa shouted at the trees. “You’ve gone and set yourselves on fire, you dumb bastards. Guess you missed the lesson about fire and wood.”

The private looked up from reloading his musket and screamed. “Take cover!”

“I don’t see-” was all Konowa managed before the private tackled him to the snow.

Konowa looked up from the snowbank Feylan had dumped him into to see the sarka har bend backward as if being pummeled by a hurricane, then whip forward. The ends of their arms splintered and tore from the rest of their bodies to fly toward the soldiers. Konowa stared in total amazement as burning cannonballs of wood hurtled toward him. Did every tree have it out for him? He slammed his head back down and buried it deep into the snow as he tried to burrow to the center of the earth. Searing heat passed over his back, and a moment later the ground reared up and punched him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Explosions sounded all around him, accompanied by screams. “Is anyone hurt?” Konowa shouted, spitting out snow as he finally dared to lift his head again. Large black scorch marks dotted the snow for twenty yards in every direction. Flames still burned in several of them.

“Grostril caught one full in the chest. Nothing left of him but his musket,” a soldier said, his voice trembling. “He was right beside me. .”

Konowa tried to picture Private Grostril, but he realized he no more knew who the soldier was than he did the one who had carried the locket in his shako that he had found back at the canyon. It hurt him, both that he had lost another man under his command, and that he didn’t even have a face he could call up in his memory to honor his falling.

“Major, they’re still coming at us!”

Konowa got up to his knees and pointed his musket at the sarka har. Sure enough, they had resumed their awkward march forward, smoke streaming from the burned ends of their branches. It was time to get the rear guard out of here.

“Listen up. We’re going to keep falling back in an orderly fashion. Stay together and hold your fire. These damn trees are walking powder kegs! We’ll fall back fifty yards, then we’ll hold and wait for them to close in on us. When they do, we’ll all shoot at the furthest tree. That should punch through the extra scales or bark or whatever the hell it is.”

The soldiers didn’t need a second invitation. The ten remaining men got up and scrambled through the snow. Konowa made sure they were all moving, then followed after them. He was sweating freely and almost ripped the Hasshugeb robe off, but the sight of all the snow persuaded him he’d best keep it. He counted out fifty yards in his head then called a halt. The soldiers turned and formed a single line shoulder to shoulder. Without waiting for the order, they took a knee, a few having to yank their robes out of the way. Each man brought his musket up to his shoulder and waited for Konowa’s command to fire.

“Remember, lads, they’re just trees,” Konowa said, walking behind each soldier and patting him on the shoulder. “They might have learned a few tricks, but we’re a damn sight smarter than any walking piece of wood.”

“I see one!” a soldier shouted, swinging his musket in the direction of a sarka har emerging from the snow.

“Steady, and watch where you point a loaded musket. Remember your drill, lads. We’ll wait until the others show themselves, then we aim for the last one. If they want to try that flaming fireball trick again, they’ll have to backtrack, and by then we’ll be gone.”

Three more trees appeared, each moving forward in a stilted, creaking gait. Konowa shuddered, but quickly stamped his boots in the snow to regain control. He waited another minute, but no more trees showed themselves. “Okay, we’ll take out the one on the far left.”

As one, the soldiers leveled their muskets at the sarka har. Konowa brought his own musket up to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

“Ready. . fire!”

Eleven muskets crackled to life. White-orange flame lit the night as sparks flew from the barrels. All eleven musket balls hit the trunk of the sarka har at almost the same instant. The double layer of black dragon scale bark proved no match for the lead balls. The heartwood splintered, filling the air with a mist of brown ichor. A flickering flame on a piece of bark ignited the mist and the tree went up like a bomb.

Konowa dropped down beside the soldiers as flaming pieces of the tree, trailing an oily, foul-smelling smoke, flew over his head.

“Go back to where you came from, you stupid buggers!” Private Feylan yelled, slinging his musket and picking up a still burning length of branch and snapping it in half before quickly slapping his hands in the snow to cool them. The surviving sarka har ignored his taunt and went about the same procedure as before, stumbling back toward the flaming wreckage and adding more dragon scale bark to their trunks before gathering up burning chunks of wood.

“Nicely put,” Konowa said, tapping the private on the shoulder and motioning for him to fall back. “Now it’s time for us to advance in the other direction and get the hell out of here. We’ve got to warn the column there are more of the damn things coming after them.”

“I sent three of the men after the column as soon as we realized we were in trouble,” Feylan said.

Brave and thinks on his feet. Konowa was impressed. “If they stay clear of those things, they should hook up with the column before long. Good work.”

Konowa risked a quick glance over at Private Feylan and was pleased to see the young private’s face only had the barest of smiles on it. Proud, but professional. It made Konowa wonder how Feylan landed in the Iron Elves, but he’d have to ask him that another time. For now he focused his attention on the