Ashes of a Black Frost

I don’t know whether to pity him or hate him.

“You might try talking to him,” Rallie said. “He’s lost a lot this night. We all have.”

Konowa shivered and didn’t bother to lie to himself that it was because of the snow. Rallie’s uncanny ability to know, or at least sense, what he was thinking always left him feeling unsettled. He took a steadying breath and turned to face her. “I know, but he made a deal with Her,” he said. “He made a deal with the Shadow Monarch and became Her Emissary. He defeated the dragon because She gave him the power to do so.”

Rallie shook her head, her frizzy gray hair obscuring her eyes. Her quill remained poised above the paper. Konowa noticed that despite the falling snow, not a single flake fell on the scroll laid out before her. “You’re stating the facts, but not the truth of them. He is Their Emissary, not Hers. He speaks for the dead now.”

Konowa waved away the distinction with a hand. “Hers, theirs, the difference is moot. He forsook the regiment. He had a duty to fight against Her, not grow stronger by joining Her.”

“Major, don’t you see, he followed your example,” Rallie said, brushing snow from her hair. “He sacrificed his well-being and that of this regiment for something greater.”

“The oath remains, Rallie. Those killed still become shades doomed to do Her bidding. Every day Her power over them grows. What is it you think he’s accomplished?”

Rallie shook her head from within her hood. “You’re wrong, Major. She no longer holds sway over them as She did before. It might seem small, but it is important to note. She might think She’s gained an ally in Private Renwar, but I think She’s miscalculated, and not for the last time.”

Konowa’s retort stayed behind his teeth. It was easy to convince yourself that your enemy always knew what it was doing, that every setback you encountered was a clever trap laid by design. Konowa grudgingly considered that maybe Rallie was right. Maybe the Shadow Monarch underestimated Alwyn. Twice now She had failed to acquire a newly returned Star, first at the battle of Luuguth Jor in Elfkyna, and now in the Canyon of Bones in the Hasshugeb Expanse. In each case the returning Star, a vessel of natural magic attuned to the land from which it had originated, was free to transform, becoming a towering tree coursing with power. They were guardians in much the same way the Wolf Oaks of his homeland stood watch over the natural order, bridging the gap between the heavens and the earth.

“Perhaps, but I don’t trust this,” he said, waving his hand vaguely to take in the devastation around them. A gust of wind blew snow in his face. “The Stars of Knowledge and Power are returning, and that appears to be positive, if you don’t take into account the growing likelihood that the Empire will be torn apart from the inside. Every colony and native people see this as their chance to be free. Who will have the power then? The Queen in Celwyn, presiding over an ever-dwindling realm, or the Shadow Monarch on Her mountain? Last time I checked, the ruling monarch of Calahr couldn’t do this.”

Rallie waved her quill in the air. Snowflakes swirled around it as if deliberately trying to avoid it. “Which begs the question, why are we still here and not moving?”

The sigh was past Konowa’s lips before he could stop himself. “Prince Tykkin is still searching through what’s left of Rhal’s library.” He wasn’t sorry the library had been destroyed in the fighting. The Prince’s quest to find the fabled lost library and bring back to Calahr all its purported treasure of knowledge accumulated over the ages had seemed more like a boy’s adventure than anything else. Perhaps it was Konowa’s lack of sentimentality, but a dusty tome on ancient mathematics or spells paled in comparison to the pressing needs of the here and now.

He looked over at her. “I thought you would be there with him.” It wasn’t meant as a slight. Konowa genuinely assumed Rallie would be interested in ancient artifacts. A spark of self-preservation saved him from saying ancient out loud, but as he looked at her pursed lips he suddenly wished he were somewhere, anywhere, else.

“What I’m looking for isn’t there,” Rallie said, her tone as gruff and kind as ever. She blew the hair from her eyes with a smoky puff from her cigar.

Konowa held her stare for a moment. “Dare I ask what that is?”

Rallie shrugged. “I’m not entirely certain myself. It’s more than annoying, I assure you.” Her face brightened and the quill stabbed the air. “But I will know it when I find it.”

“Won’t we all,” Konowa said, turning again to look north. A wall of churning snow crawled ever closer. He reflexively hunched his shoulders and stamped his boots in the sand. “It’s time we were going.” Steel buttressed his voice. He saw his immediate future and it was crystal clear, despite the darkness.

“Visyna was-is the one with the knack for weaving the weather. My abilities work along other lines,” she said, chuckling at the pun. “Putting aside the fact that you still have to pry His Highness out of the library, how do you think we’re going to make it through all that?”

Konowa started to reach for his musket, then instead brought his left hand to rest against his thigh. The fingers of his right hand closed around the pommel of his saber. Black frost sparkled on the hand guard.

“I’m going to have a little chat with the shades’ new leader,” he said, louder than he’d intended. Soldiers turned to look. The wind piled drifts of snow and sand against his boots as the blue light of the Star tree pulsed faster. He fixed his gaze on Private Renwar and started walking.

Renwar remained where he stood, his head tilted to one side as his completely gray eyes stared without blinking, and without emotion. Black frost limned his wooden leg, a magically rendered replacement after his real leg was lost in the Battle of Luuguth Jor. The blue light of the Star tree shattered and refracted through the wind- driven snow, strobing the air with images that vanished and reappeared.

Shades of the dead materialized around Renwar. They didn’t occupy space as much as create a black emptiness in the air, which they temporarily filled while crossing into this world from the one in which they now existed. Looking directly at them was difficult, and not just because of the emotional shock of recognizing the faces of friends and comrades. It physically hurt Konowa to stare at them for any length of time, as if his vision were being drawn into their world, a place where no living being could survive. Pain flowed out from them like a tide, and it was growing stronger.

Konowa narrowed his focus to Renwar. The soldier’s gray eyes gave nothing away.

Unbidden, and without orders, the Iron Elves began to form up behind Konowa, falling into step as he marched across the battlefield. They numbered little more than a hundred now, their ranks decimated by claw, fang, arrow, and magics no soldier should ever have to face. Yet they had, and they would again before this was over. Konowa would understand if they loathed him. It was his doing that had bound them to the regiment for eternity. He hated himself for it, but like them, he was a soldier, and together they would see this through to the end. It wasn’t particularly elegant or even noble, but it was what a soldier did. And so they marched with him, stride for stride. They could hate him a thousand times over, but they would follow where he led, and for that he loved them all.

They were the Iron Elves.

His Iron Elves.

Konowa kept walking. The knuckles of his right hand lost all color as frost fire sparkled along the entire length of his scabbard. All eyes, living and dead, were on him as he led what was left of the regiment across the sand. With each step, the black acorn against his chest grew colder.

Behind the regiment, the fine, sharp stitch of quill on paper resumed. A legend was being woven into the fabric of history. The late-evening cries of thousands of celebrating patrons in pubs around the Empire would no doubt repeat with full-throated joy what Rallie Synjyn penned this night.

Anyone brave enough to look over Rallie’s shoulder, however, would have seen that her quill was not flowing in a smooth left to right path across the page, but instead tracing the same shape repeatedly on one small section of the paper. There, the shape finally clarified and revealed itself as the ink glittered and flickered in the blue light of the Star.

It was the image of a black acorn wreathed in flame with two words in ancient elvish script emblazoned within it.

?ri Mekah: Into the Fire.

TWO