Konowa paled at the thought of climbing up there, not the least of which was the knowledge that the higher he went the farther he had to fall back down. Still, there was no other choice, and at least this plan gave them an advantage. Most of the men were probably uneasy with the idea of his handing over the regiment to an until then unknown junior officer from another regiment while he took a small group on what could be a suicide mission.
Konowa would never say it in front of them, but he wanted to reach the fort before the regiment, especially before Private Renwar and his legion of the dead.
If the original Iron Elves were up there, Konowa hoped he could deal with whatever issues might arise and keep tempers cool.
If he was with the regiment and Renwar, there was no telling what could happen.
Rallie had mentioned Renwar’s calling of the shades when they had departed Nazalla and the slaughter that had ensued, and that was before he had become their de facto leader. Now, the scared wisp of a boy commanded a power of incredible violence, or at least appeared to. Konowa thought it equally possible the Shadow Monarch had more control than Renwar thought.
When Konowa was completely honest with himself he wondered how much that was the case with him as well.
“The men are ready,” Pimmer said, his voice a theatrical whisper that sounded louder than if he’d just spoken normally.
Konowa put on a brave face and turned to see who the RSM had chosen. Deep down Konowa wanted that crusty old dwarf and his ragtag group of misfits, but they were gone, perhaps forever. Konowa inspected the assembled troops.
“An excellent cross-section of men if I do say so myself,” Pimmer said. “Every one of them up to the task ahead.”
This was too much for Konowa. He turned to stare at the Viceroy. “You know these men?”
Pimmer nodded solemnly. “I made it a point to learn the names of all the soldiers in the regiment. The variation in ethnic backgrounds is remarkable.”
Konowa couldn’t tell if this was the man’s attempt at humor or sarcasm. “You know their names? All of them?”
“Certainly. It’s one of the reasons I joined the diplomatic corps. Memory like a jar of honey,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple. “Everything sticks.”
Even though he was certain the Viceroy meant nothing by it, something about his smile irritated Konowa.
“Fair enough,” Konowa said, taking a few steps in the snow and letting the sound of his boots crunching on the metallic flakes soothe his nerves. He marched in a small circle and came back to where he’d stood before, a smile now fixed to his face. “All right, here’s the drill. We’ll double time it across the open ground until we get around to the far end of the hill. There’s a secret path there that will lead us straight up the backside of the rocks and into the fort.”
Instead of waiting for questions he simply turned and started trotting. He could have walked, but all the time standing around had allowed the cold to seep into his bones and he was freezing. He quickly realized, however, that moving across snow laden with metal ore was like trying to push through icy cold, liquid pain. Cursing under his breath, he slogged his way forward, swinging his legs from the hip as he pushed through the fresh snow. The sound of heaving breathing sounded in his ears and a moment later Pimmer was trudging beside him.
“Follow me, Major, I’m built for this kind of thing,” he said as he moved past. Not to be outdone, Konowa tried to stay in step but was quickly left behind as Pimmer surged ahead. The soldiers quietly stepped out from behind Konowa and followed the much wider path left by the Viceroy. Leaving his wounded pride in a snowdrift, Konowa followed suit as the last soldier passed him by.
“I never knew it snowed in the desert,” the soldier said, slowing to keep pace with Konowa. He was short and stocky and looked like a butcher’s apprentice with his red cheeks and double chin. He’d wrapped himself in two robes, one red and one beige which made it look as if his stomach had been slashed open.
Konowa snorted. “It doesn’t. This is just for our benefit, Private. .”
“Meswiz, sir. I was just thinking it’s a shame Miss Tekoy isn’t around to work some of her weather magic is all.”
Konowa said nothing. After a few more steps, Meswiz got the hint and carried on ahead of him. Konowa let him go, then moved over onto the well-trodden path set by Pimmer and found the going much easier. His feet, which had been frozen, now felt like they were on fire. He was certain an evil mix of sand and metalized snowflakes had fallen down his boots and were currently grinding the soles of his feet to pulp. He kept his head down as the wind blew more of the gritty mix around them. Konowa wondered what it must feel like to be wearing a caerna in weather like this, but after the initial shock of being issued the cloth wrap back in Elfkyna, the regiment had taken to it as a source of pride. It was one more thing that set them apart from the rest of the army, and that was something to be proud of.
Konowa was still thinking about that when he walked straight into the back of Meswiz. “Sorry,” he muttered, reaching up to adjust his shako as he looked up to see where they were.
A black mass loomed before them. He craned his head skyward. The swirling snow only added to the illusion that he was looking up at a mountain, and the effect was not welcome.
Konowa blew on his hands to get some warmth back into them. The wind rattled about the foot of the hills, chaffing at the rocks in a grating whine. “Load muskets and fix bayonets,” he said, grounding his own musket and loading a ball and charge. For a moment, there was only the well-drilled movements of men loading their weapons, and Konowa felt at one with them, and more important, at peace. The scrape of ramrods down barrels drifted to his ears like music. He smiled as his shoulder twinged with the effort of jamming the ball home. He kept at it until he heard the satisfying thud of it setting against the charge at the bottom of the barrel. Drawing the ramrod out, he nodded to himself as he hefted his musket. This he understood. This was why he lived.
“I think it best that I lead,” Pimmer said, his voice cutting through the wind. Konowa locked his bayonet into place with a solid click and felt more than heard ten bayonets lock into place at the same time. This wasn’t a parade ground, no sergeants were watching, yet the men had timed their movements to the second with his. Konowa risked a look and saw ten brothers before him.
“Your keenness is impressive, Viceroy, but there might be more than booby traps ahead. For all we know, the place could be crawling with rakkes or something worse,” Konowa said, remembering the flying
“Major, we can’t afford to lose you either. I’d like to take the lead,” Private Feylan said. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but there was determination in it. “The Viceroy can call out any warnings to me as we approach them. Like you said, we don’t know what’s up there.”
“You only get corporal’s stripes if you’re alive to sew them on,” Konowa said, admiring the determination in Feylan’s voice. “We’re walking into the complete unknown. The first man up these steps is the one that’s going to meet that unknown head on.”
Feylan ran a finger around the collar of his jacket. “Someone’s got to be first.”
“So it seems,” Konowa said.
Even in the dark, the determination in Feylan’s face was apparent. He stood up a little straighter and just a hint of frost fire glittered on his bayonet. “The thing is, we’ll take this fort, then make for the coast and board a ship and then it’s off to the Hyntaland. When we get there, we put paid to the Shadow Monarch once and for all. With Her out of the way a fellow can think about his future. Mine’s out at sea on a ship. So the way I see it, the sooner we climb these steps and find out what’s up there, the sooner we are to being done. Sir.”
Emotion caught in Konowa’s throat and he turned his head.
Feylan came to attention and saluted. “You can count on me, Major.”
