Ashes of a Black Frost

couldn’t hit that thing if you tried that shot for a month straight. And I doubt it would even notice a musket ball going through it.”

Feylan looked like he wanted to try anyway, but he grounded his musket. “We can’t just stand here, sir. We have to do something. The regiment is marching right into a noose. They’ll be ripped to shreds.”

“Easy, Feylan, you’re not thinking. One, there’s damn little the handful of us could do from up here, so I’d rather not draw attention to ourselves at the moment.”

Feylan lifted his musket again, his nostrils flaring. “But that’s the point, Major. If we draw their attention the regiment will have a chance.”

Konowa grabbed Feylan by the collar and pulled him forward just past the front gate. “What do you see right down there littered all over the rocks?”

“It’s more dead rakkes.”

“But they’re not just dead, are they? They’ve been tortured. Their bodies were mutilated and set out on display. Now who do you suppose all these new rakkes are going to think did that?”

“Whoever’s up here in the fort. .” Feylan said, his voice trailing off.

“Exactly,” Konowa said, letting go of the soldier’s collar and patting him on the shoulder. “We’re relatively safe in here as long as we don’t do anything stupid. Even if the rakkes do climb up the hill they’ll have a devil of a time trying to get in. This fort isn’t much, but it’s on top of a chunk of steep rock, and that counts for a lot.” He put his hand on Feylan’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Sometimes, lad, the smartest thing you can do is nothing at all.”

“But. . you mean we just sit here and watch?”

Konowa pointed toward the desert floor. Black frost etched jagged lines in front of the oncoming rakkes. Icy flames rose from the ground then guttered out. In their place stood the shades of the regiment’s dead. The deathly remains of Regimental Sergeant Major Lorian sat astride the great, black warhorse Zwindarra. Konowa shivered in spite of himself. “We let the Darkly Departed do what they do best.”

Lorian charged, leaning forward over Zwindarra’s thick neck. The horse glided more than galloped across the snow and smashed into three rakkes. Blurred images of slashing hooves and Lorian’s ghostly saber flashed among the rakkes and blood splattered the snow in great swathes.

The other shades followed suit, cutting through the rakkes with a fierce abandon Konowa couldn’t remember seeing before. Something, or someone, had definitely fired them up.

“Major, a word?”

Konowa turned. Pimmer stood behind him with his pistol in one hand and a brown leather wrapped telescope in the other. The Birsooni map was folded and tucked in the front of his belt and his small brass storm lantern now hung from a loop of heavy twine around his right shoulder. In his layers of Hasshugeb robes the diplomat looked like a desert warrior ready for anything.

“You were right,” Pimmer said.

“About?” Konowa asked. He really didn’t have time for this, but hearing “you were right” granted the man a little leeway. It wasn’t often Konowa heard those three magic words.

“The map. It turns out that notation does mean tunnel. I think you’d better look.” He handed Konowa the telescope and pointed to the ladder leading up to the southern walkway.

“That’s good to know, but exploring it will have to wait at the moment,” Konowa said, turning back to watch the unfolding battle on the desert floor below. At first he thought a fog had rolled in, but realized it was the freezing mist of spilled blood. His stomach heaved. The black vortex continued to move forward, but as of yet had made no obvious signs of joining the fray. That worried Konowa. A hand on Konowa’s arm spun him around to face a stern- looking Viceroy. “I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear. I know it’s a tunnel because people are emerging from it as we speak.”

Konowa grabbed the telescope from Pimmer’s hand and tore across the courtyard. “Keep a close watch on that twisted Emissary, but don’t do anything. I’ll be back!” he shouted over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop at the foot of the ladder and leaped, barely touching the rungs as he vaulted up the ladder and landed on the wood plank walkway attached to the wall. It shook alarmingly, but he barely noticed as he ran across it to where Private Meswiz stood clinging to the top of the wall. He pointed down toward the desert.

“They started popping up like rabbits by that pile of rocks. At first I thought I was seeing things, but they’re there all right.”

Konowa peered into the night. “Are you sure? Maybe it was just rakkes roaming around. I can barely see anything.”

“I know I saw people with muskets, sir, at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what they were.”

Konowa pulled the telescope open to its full length and sighted it where the soldier was pointing. Everything was black.

“What’s wrong with this thing?”

“The lens cover. .” Private Meswiz said.

“Damn it,” Konowa muttered, ripping the cover off and re-sighting the telescope. He struggled to find the spot again. “I don’t see . . wait, there are figures there.” Something about that one looks familiar. . He moved the larger tube to bring the image into focus.

He lowered the telescope.

Kritton.

TWENTY-TWO

Do you see? This is what that fool Konowa has brought down upon us all!” Kritton said, throwing his hands around to encompass the snow-covered desert. He glared at Visyna. There was a certainty of purpose in his eyes that would brook no dispute. In someone else it might have been viewed as fierce determination, but Visyna knew this was something different, something lethal.

He’s losing control, she realized. It was only a matter of time before he tried to kill them all.

Kritton continued to rage, all the while flailing his arms around. His uniform hung in tatters from his lean frame. His hair was unkempt and his caerna was little more than a rag.

She lowered her head and turned away, partly to avoid antagonizing him further, but also to protect her face from the wind-whipped snow buffeting her. After the warm confines of the tunnel, she was finding it difficult to catch her breath in the cold. None of them were dressed for this weather, and all of them were tired, hungry, thirsty, and nursing wounds. They wouldn’t last more than an hour or two in these conditions.

She waited, bringing her hands in tight to her chest to warm her fingers in case she had to begin weaving. Kritton cursed and walked away, shouting orders to the elves to keep their muskets pointed at the prisoners. Visyna searched their faces, looking for a sign of compassion, of regret, or even shame, but all she saw were masks of indifference. The look in their eyes was as cold as the steel of their bayonets. Visyna had no doubt in her mind they would kill all of them without hesitation.

Hrem appeared beside her a moment later. “I think I was right. There’s a fort just ahead of us on those rocks. That has to be Suhundam’s Hill.”

Visyna squinted into the wind. What at first she took to be more darkness resolved itself into the outline of a jagged collection of rocks topped off with a squat, square box. “We need to act before we get inside there. Kritton is coming apart.”

“Elves could die,” Hrem said, his gaze still fixed on the fort.

“They made their choice. It’s time we made ours,” she said, echoing his words from earlier. She tested the air around her. Now that she knew what to look for her fingers easily found the elves’ threads in the storm. She gasped when her touch found one more surrounded by a cold, black power. Could it be? “I think Konowa is here,” she whispered, looking up at the fort.

“That means the regiment is here, too,” Hrem said, glancing around them before looking back to the top of the wall. “I thought I saw movement up there, but I figured it was just the wind. If the regiment is already inside the fort then Kritton is going to walk himself right into a trap. All we have to do is stay calm and let it happen.”