Ashes of a Black Frost

THIRTEEN

Konowa didn’t wake up as much as the bruising that covered his entire body dragged him back to a state of consciousness. Pain. Endless pain. “Ow,” he said.

“Back among the living are we?” Rallie asked, her usually gruff voice a full octave more. . joyful.

Konowa pried open his eyes a crack. It was still dark, still snowing, although not as heavily, and he appeared to be lying flat on his back under a makeshift tarpaulin in the back of Rallie’s wagon. “Ask me again in a year,” he said. He noted the wagon was definitely the worse for wear, but then who wasn’t? Splintered planks of wood making up the wagon bed were bound together with twine. He tried to move and realized he was completely immobilized, swaddled like a newborn babe inside what must have been a dozen Hasshugeb robes and something that smelled like hot manure.

“It was the Viceroy’s idea,” Rallie said, reaching down and removing the top layer of his cocoon.

“Is that. .” Konowa started to ask before he was overcome by gagging.

Rallie held up the offending garment. “Camel hide, recently skinned. Apparently it’s an old tribal remedy for those who have been injured. They wrap them up tighter than a tick in wet wool in one of these things and before you know it the afflicted are on their feet and running.”

“No doubt to get away from the stench,” Konowa said, his eyes watering as he gasped for breath. Despite cries of pain from every joint and muscle, he managed to free his arms and push himself up to a sitting position by leaning against what was left of the front board of the wagon bed. It looked the way Konowa felt, frayed and battered.

“And lo, he rises,” Rallie said, bundling up the camel hide, then using it as a cushion as she sat down beside him. She popped a cigar into her mouth and drew in a breath. The end of the cigar lit of its own accord.

Konowa stared for a moment then shook his head and wished he hadn’t. “Ow.”

“Ow, indeed,” Rallie said, reaching a hand into her black cloak and pulling out a small silver flask. “You are lucky to be alive, let alone in one piece and without any broken bones. Here, drink this. It’ll ease the pain.”

He held out his hand, noting that it was shaking. She removed the stopper and handed him the flask. He brought the flask to his lips and tipped it up. The liquid went down his throat like a river of lava. Heat radiated throughout his body, soothing every ache and pain. A smile played on his lips and he closed his eyes, sinking down into the robes.

“What is this stuff?” he asked, taking another sip. The flask was pulled from his hand and he opened his eyes to see Rallie tucking it back into her cloak.

“For the sake of argument let’s call it a very powerful medicinal potion and one not to be ingested in large amounts.”

“Magic?” Konowa asked.

Rallie chuckled. “Absolutely not. Mostly Sala Brandy, a few sprigs of this and that, and the oil from a particular mushroom with. . special qualities.”

“I’d like to order a barrel,” Konowa said, marveling at how well he suddenly felt. Not healed exactly, but better, as if all the sharp points of pain had been smoothed down and coated in something soft and fluffy.

“A little is good, a lot is deadly,” Rallie said, clucking her tongue. “Moderation, Major, everything in moderation.”

Konowa sighed. “I’m aware of the concept, just never really been able to put it into practice.” He noticed a large bundle wrapped in more Hasshugeb robes down by his feet. “What’s in there?”

Rallie didn’t look. “That, is pieces from the two dragon sarka har.”

Konowa sat up a little straighter and slid toward the opposite side of the wagon. “I’ve been lying here with those abominations? What if they come back to life?”

“They’re perfectly safe. Oh, what was the word he used. .” Rallie said to herself, taking the cigar from her mouth and studying the end. “Ah. Inert. Not liable to reanimate or explode unless acted upon by a spark generated by a metallic object.”

Konowa had no need to ask who. “Did the Viceroy say why he wanted them? Not souvenirs, I hope.”

Rallie placed her cigar back in her mouth before responding. “He just said they might come in handy later. I didn’t press him on it, but believe me, my curiosity is definitely piqued.”

“In my case it’s a sense of dread,” Konowa said, suddenly feeling very ill at ease. Even dead and in pieces, the sarka har were finding ways to torment him.

“To change the subject,” Rallie said, her voice adopting a casual smoothness that Konowa immediately found suspicious, “I had meant to ask you before we were so rudely interrupted by those flying twigs, but when you were napping on the wagon you were mumbling to yourself. Dreaming perhaps? The scribe in me is forever curious. . for my readers back home of course.”

Konowa pushed himself back up to a sitting position, wincing as he did so. He took a moment to catch his breath. “I completely forgot about it. Damn, I can barely remember it now. .” he struggled to recall it, knowing it had been important. Rallie stayed silent though the cigar in her mouth glowed bright orange with a series of quick puffs.

“I remember. . an ax, and Yimt was there. We were in the birthing meadow. He kept telling me to use the ax, but when I got to the Shadow Monarch and Her Wolf Oak, it wasn’t Her.” Konowa turned, and ignoring the pain, faced Rallie. “It was me. Yimt was telling me to kill me. . I think.”

Rallie moved the cigar to the other side of her mouth before speaking. “Interesting. . but that doesn’t sound quite right. Are you sure that’s what he meant?”

Konowa shook his head, slowly and carefully. “I’m not even sure I’m remembering it right. We talked about mining for a bit, too, though that was because of the ax. Turns out the reason dwarves use axes in the first place is for cutting down trees for their mines. I didn’t know that.”

Rallie smiled. “I did, and it appears you did, too.”

“But that’s just it,” Konowa said, “I really didn’t know that. Yimt told me something I’d never heard before. How is that possible? Does that mean he was really in my dream? If that was really him, then what was he trying to say?”

Rallie sat up a little straighter and looked out past the tarpaulin to the sky before answering. “A dream is a tricky thing, like trying to catch the wind. You know it’s there, you feel it, but the best you can really do is build a sail and let it help you get where you’re going.”

Konowa thought about that. “I really am not cut out for this. Riddles and puzzles give me a headache.” He fished around inside his jacket and found a pocket with a couple of arr beans. He pulled them out and blowing some lint off them held out his hand to Rallie. It wasn’t shaking now, he was happy to see.

She reached over and plucked one of the beans from his hand and threw it into her mouth while still keeping her cigar in place. The tip of the cigar began to glow bright blue. Konowa popped the remaining bean in his mouth and his lips puckered at the acidic jolt stinging his tongue. His eyes watered and his head cleared.

“They’ve got some kick,” Konowa said, rolling the bean around in his mouth and enjoying the shock to his system. He still felt some pain in his right shoulder, but it was more like a distant memory, or at least destined to become one.

“You should try them with liquor sometime,” Rallie said. “You’ll think you can fly.”

“Ah, ha. . ha,” Konowa said, memories of his recent flight passing before his eyes to lodge somewhere deep in his spinal column like vibrating harp strings. “I prefer to stay close to the ground. Better odds of surviving when I inevitably fall.”

“You do have a knack for that,” she said.

Thoughts of falling stirred up other concerns. Everything around him was calm, and he didn’t trust it, not after the night he’d had.

Feeling more alert, Konowa brought his left hand to the middle of his chest. The black acorn was still there. Regardless of why the Shadow Monarch had made it possible for him to have this power, it was his to use in aid of the regiment.

Okay, he said to himself, you’re an elf. Despite all evidence to the contrary you’re a creature of nature and at one with the natural order. He closed his eyes and pushed his senses outward, searching for a sign that Her forces were near. He was not going to be surprised by those damn sarka har again.

Cold from the black acorn pushed into his chest like a bar of frozen steel, but with that pain came an awareness of the surrounding desert. The metallic snow vanished as his mind explored around rocks and over dunes. The path they were following suddenly appeared before him as if he were looking at it in broad daylight. He could see every twist and turn and every curving sand dune. He pushed harder, and now he felt the world around him. The dull cold of the rocks, the bone-weary exhaustion of the soldiers, the coursing power emanating from Private Renwar at the head of the column, and an ancient power sitting right beside-

Something hit him in the ribs and he opened his eyes in surprise. He looked over at Rallie who was looking back at him with all the innocence she could muster with an eerie blue-flamed cigar clamped between her teeth.

“My apologies, Major, I thought you were going to sleep on me. Now that you’re awake it’s best you stay awake.”

Konowa rubbed the sore spot and managed a grimace for a smile. “That’s quite all right. You know, I was searching the immediate area and noticing something very interesting. If your elbow hadn’t grazed me when it did I think I was about to notice quite a bit more.”

Rallie pulled the cigar from her mouth and let out a long, slow stream of smoke. Konowa watched it twist and turn within the confines of the space under the tarp as if it were a living thing. After what seemed an impossibly long time, the smoke found its way out and into the night sky. Konowa turned back to Rallie and found her staring directly at him. It wasn’t an unfriendly look, exactly.

“So,” Konowa said, desperate to change the subject, “I can’t help but notice we’re not moving. Any reason why my orders are not being followed? Time is slipping away from us. We need to get to Suhundam’s Hill.” He didn’t bother to add because my elves are there, and I have to find them before we leave this desert waste and head for Her mountain. Rallie continued to stare at him for a moment longer then smiled and put the cigar back in her mouth. “We’re already here, Major.”

“We are?” he said, throwing off the robes and getting to his knees before reaching up to push the tarp out of the way and standing up. The cold night air tousled his hair. He brushed a few strands from his eyes and peered into the darkness.

A crumbling pile of rock covered in ragged sheets of snow appeared a half mile away. It looked less a hill and more like the remnants of a rockslide from a long-vanished mountain. There wasn’t a smooth line in the entire feature. Every inch of it jutted and fractured like a block of ice repeatedly thrown to the ground.

“Major, really glad to see you up and about!”

“What?” Konowa asked, trying to focus. He looked down to see a young soldier staring up at him, the lad’s dirt-smudged face smiling. “Ah, Private Feylan. It’ll take more than a damn flying tree to beat me.” Though not by much.

“Hey, the major is all right!” Feylan shouted. RSM Aguom quickly ran up and shushed the private.

“Keep your voice down. Do you want to bring another orchard of those bloody things after us?”

Feylan nodded, but continued to smile. He stood up straight and saluted. Konowa returned it and turned to face Aguom. “What’s our situation?” he asked, walking toward the end of the wagon and staring down at the ground. The jump looked to be about three feet. He debated sitting down and then hopping off, but soldiers were beginning to cluster around. He was their officer, their leader in battle.

Saying a silent prayer then wondering why he bothered, Konowa leaped. He hit the ground and felt every bone joint crack. He stifled a cry, and drew in a deep breath, using it to straighten up his spine. Still, it could have been worse, and his vision was clear. Whatever was in Rallie’s medicine really did the trick. He slapped his hand against his side and didn’t feel his saber. Before he could turn he heard a clunk on the wood behind him and scabbard and saber slid to a stop at the edge of the wagon. Konowa smiled and grabbed it, strapping it around his waist by its leather belt. That feels better. “I don’t suppose anyone found my musket?”

“‘Fraid not, Major,” Aguom said, “but we do have a few spares. .”

Konowa paused as that sank in. “I suppose we do. If it’s still with us, I’d be honored to use Grostril’s.”

There was a murmur of approval from the troops. Konowa figured they’d approve, but he also wanted to honor the soldier. No one should die because of a damn tree.

“We’re in as good a shape as can be expected,” RSM Aguom said, waving a hand around to take in the soldiers standing near them. “This weather isn’t helping any though, and we’re pretty much out of everything except powder and musket balls, and they won’t last much longer at the rate we’re going. Major,” he said, stepping forward and lowering his voice, “if this regiment is going to remain a fighting force we need supplies. If there’s so much as a piece of moldy bread in that fort we really need to get it.”

“We will, we will.” Konowa turned his attention back to Suhundam’s Hill. It looked to be three hundred fifty feet at its highest though at this distance he couldn’t be certain where the hill ended and the night sky began. He searched for the small fort he knew was up there, looking for a lantern or cookfire glow, but nothing but the metallic sheen of the fallen snow reflected back.

“Stupid bugger,” Konowa said, cursing the late Captain Trilvin Suhundam. Recorded as a singular act of uncommon valor, Suhundam had led the spirited defense of a company of soldiers from the then King’s Grenadier Guards against more than five hundred Hasshugeb warriors some sixty-five years ago on that mess of rocks. Survivor accounts credited the officer with rallying the troops no less than twelve times when the natives appeared about to overrun them. On the thirteenth, however, Suhundam slipped and fell to his death, at which point the remaining troops conducted what was euphemistically known as a tactical reorientation vis-a-vis their direction of movement-they did the smart thing and took to their heels and ran.

Konowa hoped their experience here would be significantly calmer, but somehow he doubted it.