Ashes of a Black Frost

saying.”

More voices chimed in. Talk of riches clearly captured their imaginations.

“Duhlik says there was more in the library than we’re bein’ told. He says he knows for a fact that there’s fifty pounds of gold coins in small bags that made it out of the library.”

“Who’s Duhlik then and how many arrows did he take to the brain?”

Laughter greeted this, but the soldier talking about the gold coins would not be deterred.

“Duhlik, short fellow, about yea high, kind of weedy in the face. He’s the one what got the sister who goes bald every time she’s in a motherly way.”

“That ain’t Duhlik, that’s Wistofer, and it ain’t his sister, it’s his wife. Saints and rabid owls, man, can’t you tell them apart by now?”

“Look, it doesn’t matter who said it, right? What matters is that it’s true. We’re marching along here as thin as paupers and the Prince and the major have packed away a fortune in gold coins. Why do you think we’re lugging those cannons around with no shot for them? They stuffed the coins down the barrels see.”

“I don’t think Major Swift Dragon would do that,” Feylan said.

Konowa nodded silently in agreement, but he did admire the other soldier’s view on his general level of craftiness. Hiding valuables down a cannon barrel wasn’t a bad idea at all, at least until you had to use it.

“He’s an officer, ain’t he? They’re every one of them thieves of a sort. You know what it costs to be an officer? Lots, that’s what. You gotta buy extra uniforms for fancy balls and such, mess hall fees, rounds of drinks, nice shiny swords, a horse more times than not, and at least one mistress on the side in addition to a wife and kids. All adds up.”

“That may be true,” Private Feylan said, “but the major’s not like that.”

You just made corporal, my son, Konowa decided.

“He’s an elf, and they’re kinda peculiar when it comes to money,” Feylan continued. “Not too keen on minted coins. Now, if it was something natural like diamonds or rubies on the other hand, he’d be stuffin’ them down his pants and under his shako to be sure.”

And back to private you go.

The first soldier tried to get them back on point. “What I’m saying is, there’s treasure to be found out here. That library was just one spot, but there have to be others. Think about it. We’re going to this fort, right, and it sits on a hill overlooking a trading route. That means those elves have had time to do a little taxing of the merchants’ caravans in return for safe passage. Maybe gold coins, maybe diamonds and rubies. Whatever it is, it’s gotta be worth something. And if them elves ain’t there when we get there I say what’s the harm in snooping around a bit and seeing what we can scrounge?”

Konowa really couldn’t argue with that logic. The life of a soldier in the Calahrian Army was damn hard. Out here it was closer to a nightmare. If his elves had padded their meager pay with a few bribes here and there he wouldn’t judge them any the worse for it. They’d been dealt a crappy hand through no fault of their own. Getting a little something back seemed only natural. It made perfect sense to Konowa, yet deep down it filled him with unease. Deep, deep down, he hoped it wasn’t true.

The wagon found another rut jolting Konowa forward and back. If the conversation behind continued he could no longer hear it. He gave up trying to listen and shook himself upright while shedding drifts of snow from the folds in his robe. Brushing off more of it he noticed the flakes felt drier and colder than before. He rubbed a few flakes between his finger and thumb and immediately regretted it.

“Son of a witch,” he muttered, twisting his head to free his mouth from his makeshift scarf. He brought his stinging fingers to his lips and blew on the skin. When he pulled his hand back bright red drops of blood beaded on the pads of his finger and thumb from several small cuts.

“It’s more ice than snow,” he said, turning to Rallie.

She pushed the hood of her robe back far enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. A black cigar dangled from her lips, the end of the cigar burning bright orange in the night. “It’s worse than you think. This snow springs from the heart of Her forest. It’s tainted with metal ore. She failed in Her first attempt to plant Her forest here, so now she’s preparing the ground for another try.”

Konowa lifted his head and stuck out his tongue. The bitter tang of metal made him grimace.

“She’ll kill everything,” he said, sitting back down. He’d always believed the Shadow Monarch was mad, but in a controlled, specific way. The enormity of what She was attempting left him weak. “Rallie, She really is insane. She’s planning to destroy the entire world.”

Rallie’s cigar burned brighter as she took several puffs before answering. Her words flowed out with a stream of smoke. “I suspect that in Her mind this makes perfect sense. A world populated with nothing but sarka har, their roots ripping into the foundations of all the lands until everything is black forest. It’s certainly not what most of us would consider an improvement, but She is working at a distinct disadvantage,” she said, pointing to her head.

Konowa turned to stare straight ahead, hunching his shoulders against the cold. “And all because of the Wolf Oaks and the stupid need of my people to find a ryk faurre. Nature was doing just fine before we came along. All of this could have been avoided if we’d left well enough alone.”

“That’s a rather harsh assessment, don’t you think?” Rallie asked.

“Harsh? Look around us. Rallie, it’s snowing metal. Forests of sarka har are sprouting up everywhere, some of the buggers have even learned to walk, and we’re bound by an oath trapping us in shadow for eternity. No, I don’t think I’m being harsh enough. And when we get to Her mountain this all comes to an end.”

“So you really do intend to kill Her then?” The tone in Rallie’s voice was measured, but Konowa knew an accusation when he heard one.

“Rallie, Her crystal ball is cracked. You said so yourself. She’s already killed thousands, and for what? So some possibly sentient tree even more twisted than Her will have a lovely little place in the sun to spread its leaves? She’s a poison that needs to be eradicated before She can do any more damage.”

Rallie turned to look at him. Her eyes shouldn’t have shone that brightly from beneath her cloak. “I don’t dispute for a moment the horrors She has unleashed, but when the time comes, don’t forget that unlike Her you have choices. She cared for something so deeply that She lost Herself in it. Surely you can understand that.”

Konowa sat back a little from Rallie. “It’s not the same. All I’ve ever tried to do is what’s right. And look at what I’ve lost because of Her.” He realized his hand had come up to rub the tip of his ruined ear and he quickly brought it back down. “After what we’ve all lost? No, Rallie, there is only one choice before me.”

“You mean like at Luuguth Jor when you could have broken the oath?”

Konowa choked back what he was going to say next. He hated that Rallie was able to make something so simple and clear significantly more complicated just by asking questions.

“Life is messy, Major. We fool ourselves at our great peril if we think otherwise.”

“If She doesn’t die, how does any of this end?” Konowa finally asked, surprised that he was even considering the possibility.

“I assure you I haven’t the foggiest,” Rallie said, turning to face forward again. “But it’ll be most interesting to find out.”

Konowa waited to hear if she had more to add, but judging by the cloud of cigar smoke pouring out from her cloak it was clear she was done talking. The wind picked up, knifing its way through gaps in his robe. Cursing softly, he hunched in on himself to find some warmth. His eyelids closed of their own volition and he began to drift into sleep. He found some small comfort in the fact that with the winter storm still blowing and the horror of the walking sarka har now behind them, the regiment was slightly safer from attack. With the current state of the world, Konowa viewed that as a major accomplishment.

TEN

The creature that had once been the man Faltinald Elkhart Gwyn, Viceroy of the Protectorate of Greater Elfkyna, and until a few hours ago the Shadow Monarch’s Emissary, struggled to hold on to its sense of being. It moved across the windswept desert, oblivious to the falling snow and the chilling cold.