Ashes of a Black Frost

TWENTY

Konowa found Pimmer twenty yards inside the tunnel leading from the outer wall of the fort. Despite being out of the wind and snow the man appeared to be shivering. He was standing just inside a chamber. The glow from his small storm lantern cast enough light that Konowa could make out the figures of the soldiers all grouped against the wall nearby. After the horror he’d just witnessed he was feeling helpless and angry and seeing his men not spread out and ready to face danger gave him the perfect chance to ve

nt.

He strode into the room, the first curse ready to be whispered with force at such a complete breakdown of discipline. Then he saw what had stopped the men in their tracks.

“This was the garrison’s torture chamber,” Pimmer said, his voice flat.

Konowa took it all in in an instant. The chains, the metal spikes, blood-and-gore-stained walls, and the smell of death. It threatened to overwhelm him. His senses were still reeling from the tableau on the slope outside the fort. He looked at his men and saw they were on the verge of cracking. He didn’t blame them, but this was no time for sympathy and understanding. They could be moments away from battle with who knew what. He had to snap them out of it, and fast.

“Of course it’s their torture chamber,” Konowa snapped, reaching down and picking up a metal device that looked like it might have been used for boring holes in bone. “What did you expect, a barracks with warm sheets and a hearth? Maybe a nice little tavern with drinks and a chatty barmaid?”

Some of the soldiers shuffled their feet. Others looked at him then looked away. Pimmer blinked and looked surprised. “Major, I just meant that-”

“We don’t have time for this,” Konowa said, cutting him. He could deal with hurt feelings later. Right now he had to get his men focused on the task at hand. “And what in blazes are you lot doing there gawking? You should know by now that monsters come in all shapes and sizes.” He whirled on Feylan. “Feylan! If you want those corporal stripes, you’d better start acting like one. We still have no idea who or what is in here with us. If you can’t get the men together and prepared to fight when I’m not here to watch then maybe you’re not the leader I thought you were.”

Feylan’s face grew red as the insult stung, but it had the desired effect.

“You heard the major,” Feylan called out, batting at the shoulder of the soldier nearest to him. “Smirck, Meswiz, Rasser, get across the room and cover that doorway. Dimwhol, watch the way we came in. We don’t want something sneaking up on us from behind. The rest of you grab a brand and light it then keep your eyes and ears peeled.”

Konowa nodded as the soldiers hurried to obey. In moments, the chamber was filled with warm, yellow light. “Viceroy, there’s nothing here for us. Let’s get upstairs and find out if anyone’s home.”

Pimmer looked down at his map then back at Konowa. “Yes, quite right.” He took a breath and stood up a little straighter. “Right. Through that door, gentlemen, and up those stairs will take us to an entrance onto the main courtyard of the fort.”

“Good, good. Now listen, all of you,” Konowa said. He expected all eyes on him, but instead several were nervously staring at the torture device he still held in his hand. He bent down and placed it on the floor, wiping his hands on his trousers as he stood back up. “Look, we’ve made it this far. We lost a good man, but the rest of you pulled through, and that’s pretty bloody amazing. None of us expected what we found out there, or in here, but you’ve handled yourselves well. I’m damn proud of you.”

Konowa kept his face neutral, but allowed himself a sense of satisfaction as his words worked their magic. The soldiers before him grew bigger before his eyes. Chests expanded, chins jutted, shoulders rolled, and spines lengthened. Their demeanor changed into something more like the battle-hardened warriors they knew themselves to be.

“All of you,” Konowa added, looking straight at Pimmer when he said it. Konowa worried buttons would start flying about the room if the diplomat’s chest swelled anymore, so he turned back to his men. “But we’re not into the woods yet.” He paused as he realized he’d used one of his father’s old expressions. For humans and dwarves, they felt safe once they were out of the forest. Elves, naturally, felt the opposite. What surprised Konowa was that he should feel that. He looked around the room they were standing in and decided perhaps it wasn’t that surprising after all. Almost any forest would be preferable to this.

“I’ll take the lead,” Private Feylan said, moving toward the doorway.

“Private Smirck can handle this,” Konowa said, drawing his saber. Feylan looked disappointed, but Konowa knew he’d get over it. The young soldier had proven his mettle more than enough. If he kept volunteering he’d eventually do himself into an early grave. “Slow and easy, Smirck. We still don’t know who, if anyone, is in here with us.”

“Yes, sir,” Smirck said. He turned and faced the doorway head on. He rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, ran a finger along the edge of the bayonet attached to his musket, then eased himself forward as if a rope were tied to his waist pulling him backward.

Konowa let two more soldiers follow then fell in behind them, confident the rest would fall in behind him. No one would linger in that room. He started climbing and realized at once that the stairway had been carved out of the rock with the same lack of attention to detail as the one outside the fort. No two steps rose at the same height, making their progress a jarring one. Bayonet’s scrapped against the rock walls spraying sparks of black frost. Someone behind him tripped, which set off a chain of muttered curses.

“Terribly sorry,” Pimmer whispered. “Bit hard to see in here. These brands seem better at casting shadow than they do light.”

Konowa inwardly groaned. He counted to five and let the curse on his lips fade. Best to just keep moving and get to the top of the steps as quickly as possible. He pushed his senses outward and tried to determine if anything was waiting for them once they reached the top. He couldn’t detect anything. He was mostly relieved, but disappointed, too.

The soldier in front of Konowa stopped moving. He looked over his shoulder at Konowa and pointed forward. Konowa moved up and around him, losing a good chunk of his Hasshugeb robe on the end of the man’s bayonet in the process. It was an even tighter squeeze to get past the next soldier and Konowa felt a momentary panic of being trapped under all this rock, and then he was past him and the feeling retreated. He reached Smirck who was crouched down with his ear pressed against the keyhole in a wooden door at the top of the stairs.

Despite feeling no warning of danger, Konowa waited until Smirck rose and gave the thumbs-up. It never hurt for a second opinion. He patted the soldier on the back and Smirck reached out and pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. He turned to his left and put his shoulder to it.

“Push,” Konowa whispered.

“I am pushing. . sir,” Smirck grunted, his voice straining.

“Let me at it,” Konowa said, grabbing Smirck by the belt and pulling him back from the door. Squeezing around him, Konowa looked the door over, wondering if there was another latch or bolt somewhere keeping it in place. A horrible thought came to him. The door was bolted and locked on the other side. Konowa’s stomach sank. How could he have been so stupid? Of course doors would be locked, especially those leading to torture chambers.

Furious at himself, he leaned against the door and pushed with all his might. It didn’t even budge. He stepped back and looked down at the keyhole again. It was a simple iron plate, perhaps three inches by five inches, bolted into the wood of the door, with a narrow slot for a key. Assuming there weren’t additional bolts holding the door secure on the other side, a competent locksmith should be able to open it in under a minute. Konowa didn’t know any locksmiths, but he knew someone even better.

“You ever do any robbery in your younger days, Smirck?” Konowa asked.

Smirck had the decency not to look offended. “I thought of that, too, sir, but I just used to roll drunks in the alley behind the pub. Couldn’t pick a lock if I had a key, but I think Dimwhol used to be a second-story man.” He turned to the soldier behind him. “Ask Dimmy if he can pick a lock.”

The message was relayed down the stairs. A minute later hushed whispers rose back up toward Konowa. Smirck listened and then turned to relay the information. Konowa could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t good news. “Sorry, sir, says that was his father, but, um, we do have a master lock pick with us.”

Konowa brightened. “Well get him up here, now. It’s a tight fit but he can squeeze by.”

“I don’t think so. .”

Konowa sagged against the door. Of course the Viceroy can pick locks. He’s a diplomat. He’s probably versed in all manner of subterfuge and skulduggery. And he was now at the end of their column on the stairs.

“Are you okay, Major?” Smirck asked.

Konowa tried counting to five again. It didn’t help. He stood up and away from the door. “Tell everyone to get ready.” With that he turned and faced the doorway. Black flames danced along the edge of his saber and frost crinkled beneath his boots. He drew back his hand, fixed his gaze on the lock, and thrust his saber forward.

The door swung open before his blade hit the lock. Konowa tumbled forward to sprawl face down on the stone pavers. The sound of his saber clattering on the stone echoed around him. His shako rolled along the ground, the last portions of the wings falling off in a cloud of feathers. The shako came to an abrupt halt against the toe of a boot. Konowa scrambled to his feet.

He wasn’t alone.