Ashes of a Black Frost

trees.

Their branches began to blaze as they caught fire again, but with each backward step the falling snow and the dark masked them until they disappeared completely. Konowa stopped for a moment and stared at the night. It all seemed like a terrible nightmare. Of course, it was-it was just that they were awake.

“Everything okay, Major?” Feylan asked.

“What?” Konowa said, making a show of removing his shako and wiping his brow with his sleeve before putting the hat back in place. “Just had to slow down for a second to cool off. All this running around gets me a little hot.”

Silence greeted this, and Konowa remembered they had just lost a friend. He wanted to ask them to describe Grostril, hoping something would trigger a memory, but he realized that would only make them feel worse.

“Look, lads, just keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll be fine. Grostril was unlucky. Keep your heads on your shoulders, stay sharp, hold your fire, shout out if you see anything, and you’ll have better luck.”

They continued to backtrack through the snow. What had started as a neat line soon collapsed into a tight ball with muskets covering all points of the compass. Konowa had seen it before in battle. Soldiers would seek the comfort of having a comrade nearby and orderly lines began to mesh into ungainly herds. It was dangerous to be grouped so close together like that, especially when the sarka har could hurl flaming chunks of exploding wood, but the morale boost it gave the men was worth the risk, so Konowa said nothing.

“I would have thought the Darkly Departed would have showed up at some point,” Feylan said. It sounded rhetorical, but Konowa knew all the soldiers were wondering the same thing, and so was he. Why hadn’t the dead appeared when they needed them?

“Could be they’re busy elsewhere,” Konowa said, hoping the regiment wasn’t currently under attack. “Or maybe they finally got some leave.”

No one laughed this time, and Konowa didn’t blame them. He opted to change the subject. He slowed his pace a little and motioned for Feylan to walk with him as the other soldiers continued moving in a tight cluster.

“Damn impressive the way you’ve organized the men. What happened to your corporal?”

“A branch took his head clean off,” Feylan said, his voice surprisingly calm for such a statement.

Konowa cringed, recalling he’d just told the men to keep their heads on their shoulders.

Now Feylan’s voice did catch, but he covered it with a cough. “When we first saw the trees, we thought they were soldiers, too, and he started to cuss them out for getting lost. He walked right up to one. After that I sort of just took over, but any of them could have done it. Guess I just piped up first.”

Konowa knew better. Leaders stepped forward in time of danger. “You did more than that.”

They walked on in silence. Konowa became aware of his boots crunching through the ice crust forming on the snow. He strained his ears in hopes of hearing the approach of the 3rd Spears coming back to their aid, but of course they’d have to fight their way through the other sarka har that were now somewhere between the end of the column and the rear guard.

I failed them. The thought struck Konowa particularly hard. If the rear guard hadn’t moved off the path to save him, they would have stayed in position to slow down the sarka har and warn the 3rd Spears. Because of him the entire column was at risk. It all came down to the three soldiers Feylan had sent forward to warn the others. If they didn’t make it, the sarka har would catch them completely unaware.

“I think I hear something,” a soldier said.

The group shuffled to a stop. Konowa doubted any of them were breathing, himself included, as they focused all their energy on the night around them. Konowa didn’t bother pushing his senses. The acorn was a constant cold pain against his chest now, which, when added with the numbing cold of the weather, was making it increasingly difficult to tell one from the other.

After a minute of listening to nothing, Konowa was about to order them to move when a piece of wood creaked somewhere in the dark.

“There, did you hear it?” the soldier asked. “It’s one of them sarka har, and it’s close.”

“Shhhhh,” Konowa said, waving at the soldier to be quiet. Konowa turned his head to one side and closed his eyes. He heard the creaking sound again, but couldn’t get a location on it. Damn these ears. Realizing it was pointless, he opened his eyes and looked at the soldiers around him. They had all turned and were staring in the direction the column had taken.

“Off the road, now,” Konowa hissed, using his musket to direct the men. They moved quickly, pushing through the deeper snow until they were fifteen yards away. He turned and dropped to one knee, wrapping the leather sling of his musket around his left forearm, grounding the weapon on his thigh to keep it out of the snow. The men formed up beside him to his left, following his lead. Konowa kept his eyes on the road as he addressed them.

“We’ll hit the sarka har as soon as they appear. That should draw them this way. While they pick up the bark and get ready to throw more fire, we’ll swing around and run like hell to catch up with the regiment.”

The sound of creaking wood grew closer. Someone coughed, followed by a thump as another soldier whacked the offender.

Konowa rolled his head to work a crick out of his neck and forced his breathing to slow. “I’ll call out the tree to aim at and then we fire on my command. We’ll reload once, I’ll designate another tree, fire again, then take off. If any of you get separated from the group, stay on the road and keep running. They’re slow and stupid. You’re faster and not as stupid.”

There was no telling if the soldiers laughed because the sound of wood grinding and knocking against itself rose in pitch to drown out even the wind.

“Bloody hell,” Feylan said, “that sounds like twenty of them charging.”

“Ready. .” Konowa said, bringing the butt of his musket tight against his shoulder and resting his cheek against the stock. The smooth coolness of the wood felt comforting against his skin.

Somewhere down the line a soldier began to sob.

“Remember the boys that aren’t here anymore. Remember. . Grostril,” Konowa said, thinking of so many others they had lost. “This is our chance to avenge a lot of wrongs.”

The groan of wood being pushed to its limit filled the night. Konowa shifted his knee in the snow and sighted down the barrel of his musket. His world constricted to a small patch of snow-covered road fifteen yards away. All his anger and frustration poured out of him and focused on that place. The Shadow Monarch Herself wouldn’t survive if She showed up now.

“As soon as the first one appears I’ll call it, then we fire.”

No sooner had Konowa spoken the words than a shadow burst out of the darkness and entered the killing ground.

SEVEN

The shadow grew in size, filling the area on the road directly in front of Konowa’s musket. “Ready. . Aim. .” He hesitated before uttering the final command. The acorn against his chest was no longer cold. Konowa lifted his cheek from the stock and looked closer.

“Hold your fire! Hold your fire! It’s Rallie!”

Her Majesty’s Scribe appeared out of the dark in a swirl of snow. As it settled, her wagon and the team of camels pulling it became visible, making the sound of the creaking wood clear. She pulled on the reins and brought the camels to a halt. The beasts brayed and spit and shook their heads, clearly agitated. With the reins still bunched in her hands, Rallie stood up and looked at Konowa.

“Bit of a cold night for a walk. I thought you fellows might enjoy a lift.”

Konowa turned to the soldiers beside him to make sure they had lowered their muskets. It had been that close.

“On your feet,” Konowa said, relief making it difficult for him to keep his voice from shaking. “Get in the back