Ashes of a Black Frost

do next.”

The hope of a moment before dimmed, but did not die. She’s right, Visyna realized. Thoughts of being little more than a damsel in distress brought blood rushing to her cheeks. I can do this. She brought her hands in front of her and gently began to weave the air. There was power here she could use. She lowered her hands and began to think. Even elves can’t march forever. They would have to stop sometime to rest. When they did she would have to be ready.

“Are we there yet?”

This time Visyna smiled. “Soon, Scolly, soon.”

EIGHT

Trailing the unknown shadow among the rocks, the rakkes moved cautiously at first. The green death was instinctively terrifying, but it was more than seeing one of their own kind eaten alive by it. Buried deep in their primal core lay a memory that any other sentient creature would have understood to be a nightmare. They couldn’t fight the green death, only flee from it, and that went against their very nature.

They didn’t understand why they were here, or even how. Each retained the memory of its death centuries ago-drowning, falling, burning, beheaded-horrors a rakke could understand. But to be here in this time and place, and faced with a death they couldn’t tear with claws or rip apart with fangs added to their distress. They knew, however, that the thing that set the green death free could be torn. It would bleed, and so they trailed it, desperate to feed on its flesh while equally terrified that their own flesh would be devoured before they got the chance. A high wind drove between hairline fractures in the rocks issuing forth a razor shriek that dominated all other sound. Stone and sand tumbled as claws sought purchase on rocks slick with ice and snow as the rakkes picked up their pace, growing bolder with each passing minute they went undetected. They were many and it was alone and unaware it was being hunted.

The shadow continued on, moving from cover to cover, but having to expose itself more to the open in order to keep up with the rakkes on the desert floor below. Each sighting amidst the wind-driven snow spurred the rakkes on. They were closing in. Soon, they would feed.

A heavy gust of wind kicked up a mix of snow and sand, momentarily blocking the shadow from the rakkes’ view. When it had passed the shadow was gone. Surprised, the rakkes lurched forward, forgetting their caution of before and now only focused on picking up the trail of their prey before it could slip away in the night. They bounded over rocks in blind pursuit, howling and yelping to each other as they worked themselves up into a killing frenzy. Long-extinct red-throated screams ripped through the air, seeking to flush out their quarry.

It worked.

The rakkes scrambled up and over a twenty-foot-high pinnacle of granite and descended into a shallow valley in front of another chunk of granite where the shadow stood waiting for them.

It was smaller than they had imagined; its hunch-backed body balanced on just two thick, short legs. Two ragged wings sprouted from its head and its face was covered in a thick matt of windblown fur, but its eyes were visible and without a glimmer of mercy. The green glow of impending death, however, came not from its mouth, which now smiled revealing gleaming metal teeth, but from the long black metal pipe with a wide-mouthed nozzle the demon held in its hands. Only now did the rakkes see the copper-wound hose that hung from the back of the pipe and curled up behind the demon to attach to the brass tank strapped to its back.

“You should have stayed extinct, you stupid buggers,” Yimt said, squeezing the trigger on the weapon.

Three things happened at once. The heel of Yimt’s left boot slipped on a piece of ice and his leg shot out in front of him dropping him straight down onto his backside. Instead of hitting all six of the rakkes the arc of the green phosphorescent insects shooting out of the weapon’s metal nozzle only covered the two on the far right, their howls of fear and pain drowned out by the frenzied glee of the four remaining rakkes now lunging forward.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Yimt shouted, struggling to climb to his feet before the rakkes could reach him. He clutched his chest, his hand covering a torn hole in his uniform. He stood up and swayed under the weight of the weapon on his back. Realizing it was too late to run he squeezed the trigger again, moving the nozzle side to side to spray the oncoming rakkes. Nothing came out. Elevating his cursing to greater heights he shrugged his shoulders out of the straps holding the tank to his back and heaved the entire weapon at the charging rakkes now scrambling up the other side of the crevice toward him.

The brass tank hit a rakke in the head with a satisfying clang and the hose of the metal barrel got caught up in the legs of the one behind causing all four rakkes to stumble and go down in a tangle of limbs. Not waiting to see if the tank had burst open, Yimt rolled over and crawled on his hands and knees up and over the rock he was on and rolled down the slope on the other side until a pile of rock debris stopped him.

He sat up with both arms crossed over his rib cage and let out a growl of pain. The sound of yammering rakkes clawing at the rock just the other side of where he sat got him to his feet, though the effort had him spitting blood. He searched around in the dim light looking for a weapon and a place to hide, but the first rakke had already crested the top of the rock above him. The creature’s howl vibrated off the rock around them and Yimt lost his footing again, going down to one knee.

The other rakkes appeared a moment later and then all four began to make their way down the slope toward him. Yimt took a quick look behind him, but the desert floor was still hundreds of feet below and the slope far too sheer for him to climb down. Turning back to the rakkes, he picked up a large rock in each hand and started calculating the odds. Two rocks, four rakkes.

Yimt blinked and wiped snow and sweat from his eyes and looked again. Two more figures stood atop the rock. It was difficult to make them out through the snow, but the wind died down just as they began to descend. He had time to see a drawn sword in the hand of one and a bow and arrow held by the other. A new gust of wind blew up and just before they were lost in the falling snow Yimt saw something far worse. Pointed ears.

“Nuns in butter,” he muttered, twisting the heels of his boots into the gravel in hopes of better footing on the slippery rock. “Rakkes I can deal with, but dark elves, too?” Fine, he decided, he’d have to make sure he kept an eye on the elf with the bow. If the twisted beastie decided to hang back and shoot he’d have little chance. Think, you daft dwarf, think.

He’d have to take out the elf with the bow first and then turn his attention to the rakkes, who were much closer. Hopefully, if the snow kept blowing he’d have enough cover that he could take on his attackers one at a time. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. He cocked back his left arm ready to hurl the first rock when he noticed black frost burning on its surface.

“Well I’ll be a newt in a pot,” he said, stopping in mid-throw. He focused on the rock and concentrated. Black flames rose two inches high along its surface. The roar of a rakke startled him as it reared up just feet away. Saliva flew from its open maw as its curving yellow fangs lunged for his throat.

With no time to look for the elf with the bow Yimt threw the rock. It smashed into the rakke’s face, breaking one of the upper fangs clean in two. The creature screamed in agony, but not from the broken tooth. Frost fire from the rock covered its face, washing it in flickering black flames. The oath magic took hold quickly, devouring the rakke before his eyes. First its black fur disappeared, revealing a gray, leathery hide that quickly eroded, revealing muscle and sinew that fell away in ribbons until only the silently screaming skull of the beast remained, before it, too, was consumed by the black frost.

Oblivious to the other rakke’s fate or simply too maddened to care, another of the creatures leaped over the rapidly disintegrating remains and caught Yimt full in the ribs with a clenched paw. White sparks exploded behind Yimt’s eyes as the other rock grew heavy in his hand and slipped from his fingers. He flew backward, landing in a crumpled heap on the edge of the ridge line with his head hanging over the precipice. His shako flew from his head to twirl like a top all the way to the desert floor.

Gasping for breath and clutching his side Yimt forced himself to his elbows and then his knees. He reached out with his right hand and patted the dirt looking for another rock to throw. A dark figure loomed over him and he looked up to see a rakke standing a foot away. Its mouth was a gaping jigsaw of sharp fangs. Yimt wondered why it hadn’t already lunged at him when he noticed it was cradling one of its paws. It was clearly shattered.

“You daft. . silly. . bugger,” he said, forcing the words out between breaths.

The rakke tilted its head in obvious pain and confusion.