Ashes of a Black Frost

Easy, easy, he told himself.

He turned his attention back to Feylan, watching where he put each foot. Feylan’s right boot raised and started to swing forward to the next step, but then paused in midair and came back down. Konowa tensed and put up his hand to signal to Pimmer behind him to stop. Feylan crouched down and brought his musket to rest on his hip, the bayonet pointing straight ahead. After several seconds, he quarter-turned so that Konowa could see the side of his face. His jaw was clenched as he whispered out the side of his mouth.

“Rakke. Boulder. Five yards ahead on the right.”

Konowa drew in a breath and froze in place. How was that possible? He hadn’t sensed a thing. He focused on the black acorn and felt its cold power. Yes, there was danger. He’d become so accustomed to the pain of the cold that he hadn’t even noticed it. He inched up the step until his chest was pressed against Feylan’s back and he could rest his chin on his shoulder. He let his gaze travel up the steps and then to the right.

The back of his neck shivered uncontrollably. Feylan was right. Not five yards ahead a rakke crouched on a rock looking down the path they were climbing. How had the beast not seen them?

“Well spotted,” Konowa whispered.

Feylan moved his head just a fraction to the left. “I see three more behind it. And I think there are more behind those.”

The shivering moved to Konowa’s stomach.

He counted over a dozen rakkes perched on boulders. As he looked further up he realized that what he’d taken for more rocks were in fact rakkes. Scores of them. Thoughts of the bravado he’d displayed just a couple of hours before when he’d come up with this plan made him feel foolish. Instead of charging full speed with his saber flashing he wondered if he had just led them all to their deaths. Otillo had already paid the price. Were the others next?

A weight pressed against Konowa’s back and the warm breath of Pimmer thawed his good ear. “Did we find something?”

For a reply, Konowa pointed with his chin while trying to shrug Pimmer’s mouth away from his ear. If they were all about to die the current tableau wasn’t exactly the way Konowa wanted to meet his fate.

“Oh, yes, I see,” Pimmer whispered, patting Konowa on the arm. “Not to worry, I think I know how to deal with this.” Without another word Pimmer bent down, picked up a small rock, stood up and threw it at the nearest rakke.

Konowa was so shocked he couldn’t move. Was the man truly off his nut? The rock missed and rattled around among the boulders. The rakkes appeared not to notice. Before Konowa could act, Pimmer threw a second rock. This time it hit the rakke on the top of its skull and bounced off.

“Stop him, Major,” Feylan whispered, his musket shaking. “He’s going to get us all killed.”

Konowa brought his right arm forward ready to ram an elbow into Pimmer’s face when the rakke moved. Holding his blow in check, Konowa stared in amazement as the rakke leaned forward . Maybe it thought it was the wind, Konowa hoped, knowing that not even a rakke was that stupid. The rakke continued to lean and Konowa was sure it must have seen them. He was starting to call up the frost fire when the beast did the most curious thing and tipped right over and sprawled face-first into the rocks below its boulder.

“Bloody hell,” Feylan said, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. “Is he chucking magic rocks?”

Konowa wondered the same thing. The acorn still throbbed with a cold warning. That rakke must have froze to death, but something up ahead was very much alive. He turned to look at Pimmer who was standing erect and smiling grimly. “Just as I suspected,” he said, and pushed past Konowa and Feylan and walked up the steps toward the rakke.

Konowa lunged after him and caught him a few steps up. “What game are you playing at?” he hissed, trying to pull him back.

“It’s dead, Major,” he said, gently patting Konowa’s hand on his arm. “They all are.”

Konowa risked a look at the nearest rakke. A wooden stake was strapped to its back by a length of frayed rope wrapped around its chest. There was a large, fist-sized hole at the base of its skull and its fur was matted with dried blood. The rakke was dead. Someone had placed it on the boulder like a trophy, or a scarecrow. He looked up the hill and now that fear wasn’t clouding his vision he saw that the other rakkes were dead. Every single rakke had been propped on or staked to a boulder.

Throwing caution to the howling wind, Konowa reached out and grabbed the rakke by the shoulder and tried to heave it over onto its back. He got it partway up, but the wooden stake jammed between two rocks preventing him from turning it all the way over. It didn’t matter, he got a clear view of its face. Both eyes had been gouged out, its fangs had been pulled, its throat slit, and its tongue had been pulled down and out through the gaping wound. The wounds looked fresh, like they had been inflicted only a few days ago.

“My elves did this?” Konowa asked. Rakkes were cruel and vicious and most disturbingly, extinct. They had no reason existing in this age. Still, he knew that even at his most battle-crazed, he could never do what he saw before him. Not this. Not torture. He could kill, of that he had no qualms, but there was a bright, burning line deep inside of him that he had never crossed, and had no intention of ever doing so.

“Why did they do that?” Private Feylan asked, his voice quiet again. “What’s the point in torturing them? They don’t know nothing.” The rest of the soldiers had moved up the path to see what was going on and were now staring silently at the corpse.

Konowa’s mind raced. Why indeed?“

A warning, I should imagine,” Pimmer said. “A rather graphic and horrific warning to be sure, but perhaps an effective one. .” he said, his voice trailing off as if he didn’t really believe it.

Konowa wanted to believe it was a warning, but his instincts weren’t cooperating. Whoever did this had acted as cruelly as the rakkes themselves, but something about it was worse. Rakkes were stupid creatures controlled by dark forces. If his elves did this then they were responsible.

“Perhaps we should be moving,” Pimmer said at last, his voice thankfully firm. Konowa wasn’t sure he could deal with sympathy right now.

Without a word he brushed past Private Feylan and took the lead up the stone stairs. Feylan said nothing. Something was alive up here, and they hadn’t found it yet.

Each step higher brought more rakke bodies into view. For every one set out on a boulder there were several more dumped among the rocks. Many appeared to have been tortured. Several had been beheaded. He’d seen enough bodies on battlefields to be hardened to death, but even he wasn’t prepared for what waited around the next corner.

“Oh. .”

A rakke lay tied spread-eagle on the steps, its hands and feet cut off, the stumps black with frozen blood. Two bayonets protruded from its eye sockets, its fangs were splintered, and sections of its hide had been peeled back exposing the muscle beneath.

It was still breathing.

Konowa understood shame and guilt and the rage it built inside an elf. He’d lived with it all his life bearing the Shadow Monarch’s mark. After losing the regiment he thought for a time he might lose himself in the Elfkynan forest. And now he’d condemned the reincarnated Iron Elves to a bond beyond death, and when given a chance to break it, chose not to.

But nothing he’d felt, nothing he’d experienced could ever justify this.

“Do you see some-” Private Feylan started to ask, poking his head around Konowa’s shoulder. He turned away and began to vomit, the sound churning Konowa’s stomach. He might have been sick himself if he’d had anything to eat in the last day.

He drew his saber from its scabbard and stepped forward. Anger at Otillo, at his own foolishness, and his brother elves and what they had become poured out in a savage thrust through the beast’s heart. It convulsed once and then went still. Black frost glittered on the exposed portion of the blade and soon the rakke’s body was engulfed. Konowa stood perfectly still, watching. After several seconds the body of the rakke was consumed and the tip of Konowa’s saber rested against the stone step.

“Major?”

The wind, or maybe it was the sound of the blood in Konowa’s veins, roared in his ears. He wanted to scream, cry, punch, and curl up in a ball all at the same time.