Ashes of a Black Frost

“Punching a dwarf in the ribs that’s spent his whole life chewing crute is like taking a swing at a boulder. It’s the rock spice you bloody nitwit!” Yimt shouted, though the effort almost blacked him out. “It seeps into our teeth and bones. Makes them denser than you. Hell, not even a musket ball can make it through these things. And I should know.”

The rakke roared and threw back its head in preparation to pounce. Its head went back, and back, and then kept on going, rolling across its right shoulder and then tumbling down its arm and onto the gravel where it landed face up. Blood spurted from its neck as the body remained perfectly still.

“What the hell?” Yimt said, his hand finally locating a rock. He gripped it as hard as he could, feeling the frost fire take hold. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the headless rakke standing in front of him. Then as if the strings holding it up had been cut, the body collapsed straight down. It didn’t flop or spasm. Standing behind it, shrouded in swirling snow, was the elf with a now bloody sword. Looking past it, Yimt saw the crumpled bodies of the other two rakkes.

“Much obliged to you, but you ain’t taking me alive,” Yimt said, picking up the rock and bringing his arm all the way back. He saw the other elf appear out of the corner of his eye. Its bowstring was pulled fully back and an arrow pointed straight at him. The frost fire blazed like a star in his hand as he brought his arm forward to throw the rock at the elf holding the sword. The second elf released the bowstring setting the arrow to flight.

This, Yimt thought, is going to hur-

NINE

Konowa sat up straight on the wagon’s wooden bench and reached for his chest. The black acorn flared then grew quiet again. He grabbed up his musket and peered out into the night. There was nothing to see but snow and rocks and sand. Now back with the column and relatively safe he should have been able to relax, but it wasn’t working. I’m getting jumpy, he decided, sitting back against the bench. He looked over at Rallie, who continued to stare straight ahead, giving no indication she had noticed, though he knew damn well she had.

Better safe than dead, he consoled himself, resting his chin on his chest and pulling his shoulders up as far as he could. The cold was seeping into him, making him jumpy. He crossed his arms and, tucking his hands into the folds of his Hasshugeb robe, eased back further on the bench. With a scarf fashioned from a piece of a burlap sack wound around his face and his shako pulled low over his forehead only his eyes remained visible. Guilt gnawed at him in his cocoon, knowing the majority of the regiment marched in the foul weather while he rode in relative warmth. An icy gust found a chink in his fabric armor jolting him upright. He adjusted the robe before slipping back down into a semi-reclined position. For now, he could live with the guilt.

He wasn’t sure when he’d slept last. If they had any hope at all of getting out of the Expanse and to the coast he’d need to be sharp. It was a rationalization and he knew it, but he dealt with it by knowing the rear guard led by the very able Private Feylan rode along with him in the back of Rallie’s wagon. It was a well-deserved luxury and they had earned it.

Lest he be seen as playing favorites, he had also given the regiment permission to dip into the last sack of arr beans. There was no hot arr to be had on the move, but the soldiers popped the beans into their mouths and sucked on the bitter juice. Just the memory of the vile taste filled Konowa’s mouth with saliva. Each bean was like a shot of lightning. He’d once marched five days straight on nothing but water and a handful of arr. Of course, he’d started seeing orcs riding flying unicorns by the end, but he’d survived, and so would the Iron Elves.

He wriggled around, trying and failing to get comfortable. Muscles ached with memories of battle he was doing his damnedest to forget. He carefully rolled his right shoulder and quickly stopped as the motion gave fuel to the burning coal of pain lodged deep in the socket. His old friend the Duke of Rakestraw called it saber shoulder and said it happened a lot in the cavalry.

Konowa wondered what Jaal was up to. Hopefully something far less desperate than this. The wagon tilted as its right side wheels found a rut and Konowa slammed against the wooden slat that acted as an armrest. The pain in his shoulder flared, bringing his attention back to the here and now. Why couldn’t the damn cold of the oath deal with that? he wondered.

The wagon righted itself and the ride went back to being simply bone jarring. He peered into the sky. He tried to calculate the time and gave up immediately when he realized he wasn’t entirely sure what day it was let alone the hour. Already his sense of time was stretching and twisting. The driving snow dulled everything, turning the world before him into a gray-tinged blur. Not long ago such a storm would have been enough to foul his mood and send him questing deep into himself, asking why him and what the hell was going on. Now he saw the way forward and would not be deviated to either side. The Iron Elves were headed for the Shadow Monarch’s mountain and one way or another, the oath would be broken. That was the why and the what of it.

A sudden gust of wind tore a brief window in the screen of snow. The column appeared, stretching out ahead of them like a black snake, its body a series of curves as the soldiers marched. A moment later it was gone again, lost in the swirling snow. Konowa considered finding Viceroy Alstonfar-Pimmer-he corrected himself, and asking him again if he was certain the regiment was heading in the right direction. Private Renwar appeared to know, but just how sane the soldier was Konowa couldn’t say. Still, Konowa told himself, Pimmer would no doubt sound the alarm if they strayed off course. His faith in the diplomat continued to grow. Besides, to check with Pimmer would mean leaving the wagon seat just when he thought he was finding a position offering the least amount of pain. And the last time Konowa had set off by himself had not exactly gone as planned.

The regiment, Konowa concluded as he let his back sag a little more, was unerringly headed for the fort on top of Suhundam’s Hill. They would arrive at the foot of the hill in the next few hours. . probably. What he hoped to find there remained a mystery to him.

The wind changed direction and Konowa picked up voices in the dark. He realized they were coming from the soldiers riding in the wagon bed behind him. A laugh drifted to him and the urge to turn and join in the conversation pulled at him hard, but he instinctively knew this was a time when soldiers needed to be alone, free to piss and moan and laugh about life, the fairer sex, food, officers, and the general state of the world from their vantage point. Konowa forced himself to stay where he was. He did, however, turn his head slightly so that he could catch a bit more of what was being said.

“. . you grease it up nice and thick, see, and that keeps it from sticking when it gets hot. Now if you’re baking a rye bread you might want to consider a flat stone instead of a metal pan. Personally, I like to let the dough rise. .”

Konowa smiled. A world of monsters surrounded them and their main concern was food. His own stomach gurgled and the taste of a warm loaf of fresh bread pushed all other thoughts out of his head. His fingers twitched as he remembered tearing pieces of a still hot loaf into chunks as steam rose from the soft bread within. His mother always had a wooden bowl of fresh honey for dipping, but only if he promised to eat a handful of berries and nuts as well. It was a bargain he was always happy to make. Maybe one day he’d have that chance again.

“. . with the damn recipes. I could gnaw the knobby bits off a camel at this point, so leave off would you? Now here’s what you want to be puttin’ your minds to. Where’s our treasure then, eh?”

Ahh, a soldier with a bit of the pirate in him. Konowa wondered where this would go. Just a few scant hours ago all of them were a hairs-breadth from dying at the hands of infernal trees, and now they were talking about loot.

“Are you on about that again? The library burned, didn’t it? Mostly rubbish was left, scrolls and papers and such which the fire didn’t touch. The Viceroy grabbed those up and he’s welcome to them is how I see it.”

“But not all of it burned, did it?” the first soldier said. Konowa tried to place the voice but he couldn’t. He realized the only soldier he knew by name out of the rear guard was Feylan. He’d have to learn the others. They all deserved a commendation.

“Think about this,” the soldier continued. “We sail across the ocean jumping onto island after island to gut every last rakke and dark elf we find, yeah? We’re all gonna get medals for it, too, right?”

Another soldier interrupted. “Me mum’ll be right proud of me coming home with a medal or two on my jacket.” Konowa recognized the voice. Definitely Private Feylan.

“She’d be a damn sight prouder if you had a small chest of coins tucked under your arm is all I’m