Ashes of a Black Frost

invaluable, to the peoples of the world of course.” At this he paused and looked down at the ground. “Still just odds and ends though. I’m afraid most of what was in the library is now gone forever.”

“Good riddance,” Konowa said, knowing it would upset the Viceroy and not caring. “Searching for treasures, no matter what form they take, makes men do stupid things.”

If the Viceroy was insulted he didn’t show it. He looked up at Konowa with genuine hurt on his face. “Knowledge is worth preserving.”

“So are lives.”

Faces of those Konowa held dear immediately sprung to mind, and he had to swallow hard before trusting himself to continue. “In any event, the library is gone and the Prince will have to get over his disappointment.” He paused to let the building anger subside. Pimmer wasn’t the Prince. “About this caravan route to the west that will take us to Suhundam’s Hill. You’re certain about our path?”

At this, Pimmer lowered his voice again, making Konowa strain to hear him over the wind. “As certain as can be in these uncertain times. We’ll have Her forest to the north, and it’s difficult to say how the tribes further to the west will react should we come in contact with any of them. But one factor above all others makes me believe this is the way to go.”

“And what is that?” Konowa asked.

“Miss Synjyn agrees with me.”

Konowa reached out a hand and placed it firmly on the Viceroy’s arm. The cloth was soft and thicker than Konowa had realized. Frost fire began to sparkle along the fabric and he removed his hand before he hurt the man. A wind gust picked that moment to drive a flurry of snow in his face. They were in for a long, cold march. “Then it sounds like we have a little more walking in the snow to do than I thought. Tell me, Pimmer, I seem to have missed out on the procurement of foul weather clothing. How much for one of your robes?”

FOUR

The world appeared washed-out and blurry through Alwyn’s open eyes.

Everything he had known was fading, as if the colors that made life vibrant and fresh now feared to be near him. Even his memories were taking on a patina of gray, diluting the emotions he once associated with them and gave them meaning. He knew that before long the very concepts of laughter, compassion, even love, would be lost to him.

He would fight it, but he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

Alwyn closed his eyes, but his vision didn’t darken. Even with his eyes closed he saw the world, but now as a vast sea swirling and frothing with energy. Major Swift Dragon stood speaking with Viceroy Alstonfar twenty yards away. He saw them clearly; the elf and the man shone like two torches against black velvet. Alstonfar showed as a warm, soft blend of oranges and yellows. The major’s aura was a twisted mess of greens and reds surrounding a metallic black core, a source of energy and power to be directed and used.

Threads of pulsing force connected everything, and all Alwyn had to do was reach out and pluck one and claim the power for himself.

He understood the Shadow Monarch better now. The pull of the energy surrounding him was seductive. His right hand began to rise as anticipation coursed through his body. He could use his life force, direct it to better purpose. He could make things right again.

Alwyn forced his eyes open, fighting back a scream as he did so. Dizziness threatened to topple him. He brought his already raised hand up to his head and squeezed his temples. The pressure felt good, and he shifted his weight to his wooden leg, testing his balance. Pain flared in the stump of his leg and frost fire sparkled briefly wherever the thin wooden branches of the artificial limb touched his flesh. A wave of cold spread throughout the stump in response, and the pain melted away as his flesh went numb. The magic that had once infused the wooden leg was dying, overwhelmed by the growing power of the oath inside him. Already Alwyn could see new black shoots sprouting from dead branches in the leg.

Before much longer the leg, like the rest of him, would belong to Her.

Snow gathered on the sand around him and he looked up into the sky. A scouring wind was driving the snow at an increasingly sharp angle as it moved in from the coast. Carried on the wind was the unmistakable smell of Her presence. He shook his head and turned to Yimt only to stop and catch his breath.

Yimt was gone.

Thoughts of the dwarf burst through the darkening vistas of his mind and he desperately clung to them, finding strength in the memories of his lost friend.

“Kill him.”

Alwyn looked up as the shade of Regimental Sergeant Major Lorian, astride the warhorse Zwindarra, materialized beside him in the gusting snow. Laced with pain, Lorian’s words were more plea than command. Alwyn returned his gaze to follow Major Swift Dragon as he resumed walking among the troops. The Blood Oath that bound the dead to the regiment and Her lived through the major. Killing him, however, would not break it, but it would satisfy an all-consuming need for revenge. “Kill him,” Lorian said again, his voice a cold echo inside Alwyn’s head.

Lorian’s anguish washed over him in ethereal waves flooding between this world and the next. Alwyn fought for balance again as more shades materialized, their suffering adding to the surging eddies of vengeance that threatened to carry him along until their desire was his.

Alwyn alone would have yielded to their cries, but he was no longer just Private Renwar. He was more. He had assumed the role of leading the shades of the dead, giving voice to their anguish and their anger. In doing so, he held a power the shades did not. Unlike them, he remained part of both worlds-their allegiance, however confused and harrowing, was his to lead. He hadn’t wanted that, but he had bargained with the Shadow Monarch in his dream, freeing the shades from Her grasp while condemning himself in the process. His task was simple-ensure that Konowa arrived safely to Her mountain. Too late he realized that it had been no bargain at all. Alwyn had hoped that in freeing them he would ease their pain, but the brilliance of Her plan was in its very simplicity. The dead were now bound to Alwyn, and he was bound to Her, and so the Blood Oath was not diminished. Through it all, the shades’ suffering grew.

“No, he must live,” Alwyn replied, focusing his thoughts on the shades. These were former comrades, men who had risked their lives for something greater and deserved better than the existence they now endured. All that stood between them and immortal service was Alwyn’s force of will, and he knew he couldn’t hold out forever. Either the Shadow Monarch died, or they were all doomed.

“He caused this,” Lorian’s shade said as voices of the dead around it howled in agreement.

“No. She caused this,” Alwyn shot back, concentrating his strength and adding power to his voice. “He is as much a victim as we are.” As is She, he thought to himself. It was Her love for the dying sapling that had driven Her to extreme lengths to save it. That one, desperate act now drove them all to find a way to end it, and Her.

Shrieking in protest, the shades drifted back into darkness. They could not defy their Emissary. Their agony reverberated in the air for several seconds.

Alwyn shuddered. Time was against them. Even now they watched the major and he felt their need to destroy him.

It was becoming his need, too.

It seemed right. Before long he would know it was right, and then all would be lost.

“Prepare to march!”

It took a moment for Alwyn to recognize the command referred to him as well. No living soldiers came near him, and Alwyn understood. He also knew that if Yimt were still alive, the dwarf would be cajoling him to snap out of it and get a wiggle on. The thought almost brought a smile to his face. Marshaling his thoughts and focusing on the humanity that yet remained inside him, Private Alwyn Renwar of the Calahrian Empire’s Iron Elves shouldered his musket, and without waiting for further orders or looking behind him, began to walk to the west.