Ashes of a Black Frost

TWENTY-SEVEN

Konowa, this is madness,” Visyna said, standing at the front gate of the fort. Except the front gate wasn’t there anymore. The two large wooden doors had been ripped from their hinges and repurposed by Viceroy Alstonfar. “The Viceroy is a very creative man, but this is just lunacy.”

Konowa couldn’t disagree, but he didn’t see what choice they had. He stepped aside as soldiers ran back and forth from inside the fort. They were scrambling to load as many supplies as would fit on the hastily constructed wooden contraption now resting on the top of the snow-covered roadway leading down to the desert floor. Armloads of anything and everything were being tossed onto the Viceroy’s invention, though Konowa thought a more apt description would be “disaster waiting to happen.” In this regard, he and Visyna agreed, but he couldn’t let her know that.

“Careful, Major, coming through,” a soldier said, tottering under the weight of a large wooden cask. Anything of possible value, especially foodstuffs, were being hurriedly bundled and loaded as RSM Arkhorn barked orders that would sound more at home in a grocer’s shop: “Try to find a bag of flour with a few less rat droppings in it! Don’t go mixing the tins of boot polish with the tins of jam. Some of us will be wanting toast later, and if I open the wrong tin in the dark guess who’ll be eating every bite!”

The crackle of a musket volley drifted up from the desert floor below, adding urgency to the loading. It was a clear reminder that living men were down there among all the shades. Smoke from volley after volley mixed with flashes of light and bursts of frost fire were making it difficult to see what was going on. The urge to charge down there rose up in Konowa again and he fought it by pacing. He looked down at the plain again. The Iron Elves with the Darkly Departed and Private Renwar would have to hold off Gwyn and his monsters for a little longer.

Konowa tore himself away from the view and faced Visyna. “It’s our only option,” he said, looking at the toboggan and wishing it wasn’t. While Konowa had been outside the fort bringing Visyna and her group inside, Pimmer had been hard at work crafting what was little more than thirty feet of sled with a bow made of wood planking, and everything nailed and banded together with cobbler’s supplies. It did not fill Konowa with confidence, but there really was no more time. More musket fire and a rising gibbering howl of maddened rakkes emphasized his point.

“I know it is,” Visyna said, leaning forward and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. The frost fire stung, but he thought he could get used to that.

“All aboard who’s going aboard,” Pimmer shouted.

Konowa turned. His mother was placing his father and Tyul onto the toboggan and getting them settled in. His father was still not talking. Konowa knew it was risky, but he hoped that thrusting the elf into the heart of a battle would snap him out of it. They were going to need him.

Pimmer ran past to direct a soldier where to put some sacks then hurried over to Konowa. “We’re just about ready, Major. I think you can call the soldiers down from the wall.”

Konowa heard their musket fire and shook his head. “Not until the very last moment.”

“We are rapidly approaching that moment,” he said. “Once The Flying Elf starts sliding, there’ll be no stopping her.”

Konowa brought his right hand up to his ear and rubbed a knuckle in it. “The Flying Elf?”

“HMT The Flying Elf, actually.” When Konowa didn’t respond, Pimmer elaborated. “Her Majesty’s Toboggan, of course.”

“Of course. And the name?”

Pimmer’s smile lessened a little. “A bit cheeky, I know, but after I relayed your experiences with the flying sarka har, Miss Tekoy insisted.”

“And can you steer this. . elf?

Pimmer’s face clouded. “All I had time for was the basic design. We’ll just push it down the slope until it starts to move then hop on and hold tight. Our great luck in this is that the road leading down to the desert floor runs straight with a three-foot wall on either side, creating a nice, deep furrow. Now that it’s filled with snow we should stay well centered all the way down. I am a little concerned about the angle of transition between the road and the desert when we reach the bottom. There appears to be a large snowbank down there, but I think we’ll manage with a fairly gradual transition.”

Konowa looked down to the bottom. “More ice than snow I’d say.”

“Best not to think about it too much,” Pimmer offered.

Konowa agreed. “Right. We’re going now.” He looked around and spotted Yimt waving his drukar in the air as he spurred the men on. “RSM! Get the men formed up and make sure we have everyone. We’re not coming back. I want this sl-this toboggan moving in one minute.”

“Corporal Feylan!” Yimt shouted, pointing at the young soldier with his drukar. “I want everyone right here in thirty seconds. Get the men down from the walls, now. Any dawdlers will have the honor of welcoming the rakkes to this place. In light of what happened around here, I imagine death will be almost instantaneous.”

“Yes, RSM, right away,” Feylan said, running off to round up the soldiers still inside the fort.

“So whose butt did he kiss to make corporal?” Zwitty asked, walking up with a single loaf of moldy bread in his hand.

“Corporals and higher sit at the front of this device. Want a promotion?” Yimt asked.

“Just asking,” Zwitty said, scurrying away to place his loaf of bread on the pile then jumping on well away from the front.

“Shame he didn’t dawdle,” Yimt said, watching the soldier the whole time.

A musket fired from inside the fort. Privates Vulhber, Erinmoss, and Inkermon came running. “It’s the rakkes, sir! They’re climbing over the walls!”

Bloodcurdling roars echoed inside the fort as the beasts vaulted over the top and descended into the yard. A couple of muskets fired, dropping one rakke where it twitched and growled in agony, and taking off the left arm of another at the elbow.

“Do we have everyone?” Konowa shouted.

“All accounted for, Major,” Feylan said.

“Good. RSM, get this toboggan moving!”

“All right, laddies. . and ladies,” Yimt said, grabbing hold of a wooden crate roped onto the toboggan. “Start pushing!”

A collective groan went up as backs bent to the task. Konowa tried to do the mental calculation of how heavy this toboggan with all its supplies and passengers was and came up with bloody damn heavy.

“It’s not moving!” someone shouted.

More rakkes poured over the wall and started bounding across the fort’s small yard. A single musket fired in response. If a rakke went down Konowa couldn’t see it in the mass of furry beasts closing in on them.

“Then keep bloody pushing!” Yimt shouted back.

A blur off to the left caught Konowa’s attention and he was shocked to see Pimmer running for all he was worth toward the toboggan. “What are you doing, man? This was your idea! Get on!”

Pimmer jumped on and the toboggan broke free and began to slide across the snow. Konowa pushed until he thought his eyes would pop out of his head. The toboggan inched forward, slowly picking up speed. Blood pounded in his ears. I’m getting too old for this, he decided, easing off for a moment to catch his breath. The toboggan leaped ahead a few feet and his heart raced as it started to slip away from him.

“Jump on! Jump on!”

Konowa pumped his legs and dove, landing headfirst in a bag of flour that burst open on impact.

He came up gasping for air. “Do we have everyone?” he shouted, turning to look behind him. Rakkes screamed and picked up pieces of wood and threw them at the toboggan. Too late he wondered what would stop the rakkes from simply sliding down the hill after them?

Jir bounded up beside him and dug his claws into the stack of supplies. He stuck his head up into the wind with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out. His stubby little tail wagged furiously.

“Cover your ears!” Pimmer shouted, using his thumb to point back at the fort.

Konowa looked, then flinched as the fort vanished in a black orange flash. The explosion rocked the toboggan and set it hurtling even faster down the slope. Rakkes and rubble rocketed into the air. Konowa had seen gunpowder explode before, but never this much. It sounded like a thousand thunderclouds detonating at the same time. The walls of the fort buckled and flew outward, scattering cartwheeling chunks of masonry down the hill and toward the toboggan. Body parts and bricks began falling all around them.

People screamed. Something heavy hit Konowa in the back between the shoulder blades knocking him forward again into the flour. He pushed himself back up and looked down at his side to see the grinning, severed head of a rakke staring back at him. He picked it up by the smoldering hair on its head and flung it over the side.

He became aware of a new sensation, that of falling. He turned and faced forward as the toboggan whooshed down the snow like the bow of a ship plunging into the trough of a monster wave.

The rock walls whizzed past much closer than Konowa thought was safe. He squinted into the wind and saw that due to the prevailing wind the snow had drifted more to the western side of the road, creating a ramp that was angling them toward the east side, and the rocks that lined it.

“Everyone lean left!” he shouted, throwing his body sideways. The whole toboggan lurched and began to tilt as it climbed up the snowdrift on the west side.

“Too much! Back to the right!”

The toboggan lurched again and a loud crack sounded from somewhere beneath him.

“She’s breaking up, Major!” Pimmer shouted from somewhere behind him. “She can’t handle the strain!”

“We’re almost there!” Konowa shouted, trying to reach for his saber then forgetting the idea when he realized he’d have to release one of his hands from its death grip on the supplies. The toboggan hit a bump-it might have been part of a rakke-and became airborne. The bottom of his stomach fell away and he suddenly felt as light as a feather. It wasn’t a good feeling.

The desert floor appeared through the snow. It was close, and on an angle that looked more vertical than horizontal. A cluster of rakkes stood at the bottom of the snow-covered stairs looking up.

“Rakkes dead ahead off the bow!” Corporal Feylan shouted, embracing his naval ambitions in his excitement. “Brace for impact!”

In the final second before toboggan, Iron Elves, and rakkes met in what would be recorded as the first and last battle of the HMT The Flying Elf, Major Konowa Swift Dragon, brevet naval captain, said a silent prayer to blind, dumb luck.

“Viceroy!” he yelled, the wind and snow stinging his face. “You know how to make a distraction!”