Ashes of a Black Frost

SIX

A pack of fifteen rakkes clustered around the mangled remains of one of their brethren. Despite the blowing wind, the tang of fresh blood hung in the air above the corpse. Normally, the rakkes would have welcomed the chance at fresh meat even when it was the body of one of their own, but not this time. Green insects crawled over and through the rakke’s flesh even as the falling snow buried the body from sight. A primal fear of the green death kept the rakkes at bay.

Four gray blurs drifted through the snow, coming to a silent stop a few yards behind the rakkes. The pulsing, rhythmic blue light of the Star tree slowed momentarily like an ocean wave retreating down a beach as four dark elves appeared from out of the gloom.

Even amidst the cobalt-tinged darkness and swirling snow it was clear that nothing about these elves was natural. The points of their left ear tips absorbed what light there was, making them blacker even than the surrounding night. Every joint and limb appeared angular, sheared, and incomplete as if sheets of stone as thin as parchment had been wrapped around bundles of metal stakes. For clothing, they wore only ore-saturated leaves secured with steel-colored vines, revealing far more than they covered. If the elves felt the bite of the cold, they gave no indication.

Each elf held a long bow the color of rusted iron in its hands. Drawstrings thrummed as they were drawn to their full pull, the limbs of the bows arching back to create grotesque smiles with tongues of thin, black arrows. At this distance, the arrows would pass through the back of a rakke’s skull and continue on through with enough force to embed themselves in another victim.

Bony fingers flexed and creaked as they curled tighter around the vine-wrapped grips of the bows. Wet, black eyes stared at the assembled rakkes calculating distance and trajectory. With no eyelids, the orbs shone like polished granite, and with as much warmth. The elves would not miss. They waited only for the command.

Her Emissary materialized behind the elves. Or rather it attempted to. Parts of it were simply missing, lost forever when that damnable Iron Elf soldier had summoned a vortex of magic and blown it to pieces. It knew pain now as it had never before, and the experience was transcendent. Twice in the life of the creature formerly known as Viceroy Faltinald Gwyn it had served powerful rulers-always in the pursuit of more power-and each time it had suffered greatly. Now, as every shredded fiber of its flesh and soul screamed in agony, it called on the power so horribly earned to rebuild itself one more time. It focused its energies on a dark, fathomless core-the black acorn planted into its heart by the Shadow Monarch.

It was rewarded with nothing. The acorn had shattered when the soldier had attacked-all that remained of the Shadow Monarch’s gift were cracked and broken shards. Her Emissary’s form mirrored that of the acorn, as did its mind. In its insanity it was finally free, but still the Shadow Monarch’s will filled its thoughts, commanding it to destroy the rakkes.

“Kill them. They grow too wild and will destroy everything in their path. My lost children must be allowed to return to me alive,” said the voice in what remained of Her Emissary’s head. It understood. The pact She made with the soldier that turned him into an emissary of the dead meant Her power over the fallen was diminished. She needed the Iron Elves brought to Her alive.

A crease of a smile cracked across its frost-burned face. If Her dark elves looked like mannequins created in an iron foundry, then Her Emissary was the wretched slag that remained. Redoubling its efforts, it coalesced enough of itself from the ether to create a form roughly human in shape. It drew what little power remained from Her gift, but found a new and more plentiful supply in something far stronger-rage. This was an endless well of power it could call its own.

It stumbled forward, growing stronger with each step. At that moment the wind shifted and the rakkes noticed the terrible being behind them. The elves pulled back on the bowstrings a little more, waiting only for Her Emissary to relay Her command.

It never came. Instead, as Her Emissary found a rasping, hissing voice barely capable of speech, it only needed to utter one word.

“Die!” A ragged scythe of ice formed in the air in front of Her Emissary. It reached out and grabbed it, swinging it in a wicked arc faster than the eye could follow. For a moment nothing happened, then as one the four elves crumpled to the ground, their heads falling away from their bodies. Fingers no longer restrained by life released the bowstrings and the arrows flew true, still aimed at the rakkes. The creature knew it had the strength to stop the arrows in midflight, but it did not. Six of the rakkes fell. Those remaining stood rooted to the ground.

“Build your strength,” the creature commanded. “Soon you hunt for fresher game.”

The rakkes roared their pleasure and fell on the bodies, both rakke and elf. The remnants of the acorn in the creature’s chest flared with frost fire, but it extinguished them with its madness.

The Shadow Monarch no longer pulled its strings.

High above on the canyon wall and undetected by those below, something stirred. A pair of eyes studied the scene on the desert floor through the falling snow. The figure remained deep in shadow as it watched the rakkes tear into the bodies of the dark elves first and then their own kindred. The rakke it had slaughtered earlier was untouched. Stupid, rudimentary creatures that they were, they knew enough to avoid that.

And here, off to the side and cloaked in shifting darkness, a violently misshapen thing directed the rakkes.

Interesting.

Killing one rakke had been satisfying. Killing this pack and its new leader would be. . enjoyable.

From deep within a black throat, a green glow came to life. Stalking this prey would be more difficult than the first kill, but not impossible. The green insects began to multiply, responding to subtle signals that a new quarry was at hand. But just as quickly, the signals then weakened. The rakkes were moving off, carrying what meat they could as they began to track west.

The watching shadow had no choice but to move into the open to begin tracking the rakkes, who no doubt had picked up the trail of the Iron Elves.

A group of six rakkes detached themselves from the rocks along the ridgeline where they had been hiding and spread out in a rough U-shaped pack. Claw tips extended and fangs began to glisten with drool as they set out after the shadowy figure.

The hunter was now the hunted.

“Major, get the hell out of the way!”

Konowa was so intent on his last charge that the shouted warning went unheeded. He was still several feet from the nearest sarka har when it blew apart in a red-orange explosion. Thousands of black scales cartwheeled through the air followed by flaming splinters. Konowa’s shako was blown off his head and he skidded to a halt, his arms thrown across his face. Only the flaring of the frost fire into a frigid wall in front of him saved him from being cut to ribbons.

“That’s new,” he gasped, equally impressed by the exploding tree and the frost fire’s reaction to it.

A familiar ringing in his ears told him musket fire had sounded a moment before the tree was destroyed. The remaining trees seemed oblivious to the fate of their brethren and continued to close in on Konowa.

“Major, over here!”

Konowa spun around. Several more soldiers had appeared out of the snowy night. He kept his saber at the ready, unwilling to be tricked again by a shadowy form seen in the distance. The soldiers advanced-Konowa relaxed as he recognized them as his rear guard.

“What in the bloody hell are those things?” Konowa asked when the soldiers came to a stop.

“We were hoping you’d know,” one of the soldiers said. Konowa recognized him as the young private planning on joining the navy.

“What’s your name again, son?” Konowa asked.

“Feylan, sir, Private Bawton Feylan.”

“Well, Private Bawton Feylan, all I know for sure is never trust a damned tree.”

As a group, they began to fall back, walking backward to keep the trees in sight the whole time. Six soldiers knelt in the snow and fired their muskets at another sarka har. Huge chunks of bark and wood tore from the trunk in great flashes of flame. One massive arm cracked and fell away, but unlike the tree before, this sarka har remained intact. The remaining five soldiers walked a few more paces, halted, and having reloaded their muskets, took aim and fired at the wounded tree. This time it blew apart.

“Why do they explode like that?” Konowa asked, resheathing his saber and unslinging his own musket. He banged snow out of the muzzle and unwrapped the leather covering that kept the fire lock dry.

“Haven’t the foggiest, sir, they just do,” Feylan said. If he was scared he was doing a fine job of hiding it. “It’s like they’re filled with gunpowder or something. Hit them with a few musket balls and you can hurt them, but it takes at least five or six all at once to light ’em up.”

“A little more dragon than you bargained for, eh?” Konowa shouted at the trees, ramming home a charge in his musket and preparing to fire.

Instead of advancing, the remaining sarka har converged on the spot where the last tree was destroyed. They unsnaked their branches and began picking up pieces of bark, applying it to their trunks.

“That’s brilliant, that is,” Konowa said, spitting in the snow. “Not only have the buggers learned to walk, now they’ve figured out how to protect themselves.” He was tempted to add “what’s next?” but the question became moot as the trees began grabbing burning pieces of wood and crushing them into flaming spheres. As the spheres grew, the ends of their branches caught fire and began to burn. The night turned an ugly orange as each sarka har held up its two arms, now transformed into massive torches.

“Well that wasn’t too bright now, was it?” Konowa shouted at the trees. “You’ve gone and set yourselves on fire, you dumb bastards. Guess you missed the lesson about fire and wood.”

The private looked up from reloading his musket and screamed. “Take cover!”

“I don’t see-” was all Konowa managed before the private tackled him to the snow.

Konowa looked up from the snowbank Feylan had dumped him into to see the sarka har bend backward as if being pummeled by a hurricane, then whip forward. The ends of their arms splintered and tore from the rest of their bodies to fly toward the soldiers. Konowa stared in total amazement as burning cannonballs of wood hurtled toward him. Did every tree have it out for him? He slammed his head back down and buried it deep into the snow as he tried to burrow to the center of the earth. Searing heat passed over his back, and a moment later the ground reared up and punched him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Explosions sounded all around him, accompanied by screams. “Is anyone hurt?” Konowa shouted, spitting out snow as he finally dared to lift his head again. Large black scorch marks dotted the snow for twenty yards in every direction. Flames still burned in several of them.

“Grostril caught one full in the chest. Nothing left of him but his musket,” a soldier said, his voice trembling. “He was right beside me. .”

Konowa tried to picture Private Grostril, but he realized he no more knew who the soldier was than he did the one who had carried the locket in his shako that he had found back at the canyon. It hurt him, both that he had lost another man under his command, and that he didn’t even have a face he could call up in his memory to honor his falling.

“Major, they’re still coming at us!”

Konowa got up to his knees and pointed his musket at the sarka har. Sure enough, they had resumed their awkward march forward, smoke streaming from the burned ends of their branches. It was time to get the rear guard out of here.

“Listen up. We’re going to keep falling back in an orderly fashion. Stay together and hold your fire. These damn trees are walking powder kegs! We’ll fall back fifty yards, then we’ll hold and wait for them to close in on us. When they do, we’ll all shoot at the furthest tree. That should punch through the extra scales or bark or whatever the hell it is.”

The soldiers didn’t need a second invitation. The ten remaining men got up and scrambled through the snow. Konowa made sure they were all moving, then followed after them. He was sweating freely and almost ripped the Hasshugeb robe off, but the sight of all the snow persuaded him he’d best keep it. He counted out fifty yards in his head then called a halt. The soldiers turned and formed a single line shoulder to shoulder. Without waiting for the order, they took a knee, a few having to yank their robes out of the way. Each man brought his musket up to his shoulder and waited for Konowa’s command to fire.

“Remember, lads, they’re just trees,” Konowa said, walking behind each soldier and patting him on the shoulder. “They might have learned a few tricks, but we’re a damn sight smarter than any walking piece of wood.”

“I see one!” a soldier shouted, swinging his musket in the direction of a sarka har emerging from the snow.

“Steady, and watch where you point a loaded musket. Remember your drill, lads. We’ll wait until the others show themselves, then we aim for the last one. If they want to try that flaming fireball trick again, they’ll have to backtrack, and by then we’ll be gone.”

Three more trees appeared, each moving forward in a stilted, creaking gait. Konowa shuddered, but quickly stamped his boots in the snow to regain control. He waited another minute, but no more trees showed themselves. “Okay, we’ll take out the one on the far left.”

As one, the soldiers leveled their muskets at the sarka har. Konowa brought his own musket up to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.

“Ready. . fire!”

Eleven muskets crackled to life. White-orange flame lit the night as sparks flew from the barrels. All eleven musket balls hit the trunk of the sarka har at almost the same instant. The double layer of black dragon scale bark proved no match for the lead balls. The heartwood splintered, filling the air with a mist of brown ichor. A flickering flame on a piece of bark ignited the mist and the tree went up like a bomb.

Konowa dropped down beside the soldiers as flaming pieces of the tree, trailing an oily, foul-smelling smoke, flew over his head.

“Go back to where you came from, you stupid buggers!” Private Feylan yelled, slinging his musket and picking up a still burning length of branch and snapping it in half before quickly slapping his hands in the snow to cool them. The surviving sarka har ignored his taunt and went about the same procedure as before, stumbling back toward the flaming wreckage and adding more dragon scale bark to their trunks before gathering up burning chunks of wood.

“Nicely put,” Konowa said, tapping the private on the shoulder and motioning for him to fall back. “Now it’s time for us to advance in the other direction and get the hell out of here. We’ve got to warn the column there are more of the damn things coming after them.”

“I sent three of the men after the column as soon as we realized we were in trouble,” Feylan said.

Brave and thinks on his feet. Konowa was impressed. “If they stay clear of those things, they should hook up with the column before long. Good work.”

Konowa risked a quick glance over at Private Feylan and was pleased to see the young private’s face only had the barest of smiles on it. Proud, but professional. It made Konowa wonder how Feylan landed in the Iron Elves, but he’d have to ask him that another time. For now he focused his attention on the trees.

Their branches began to blaze as they caught fire again, but with each backward step the falling snow and the dark masked them until they disappeared completely. Konowa stopped for a moment and stared at the night. It all seemed like a terrible nightmare. Of course, it was-it was just that they were awake.

“Everything okay, Major?” Feylan asked.

“What?” Konowa said, making a show of removing his shako and wiping his brow with his sleeve before putting the hat back in place. “Just had to slow down for a second to cool off. All this running around gets me a little hot.”

Silence greeted this, and Konowa remembered they had just lost a friend. He wanted to ask them to describe Grostril, hoping something would trigger a memory, but he realized that would only make them feel worse.

“Look, lads, just keep doing what you’re doing and we’ll be fine. Grostril was unlucky. Keep your heads on your shoulders, stay sharp, hold your fire, shout out if you see anything, and you’ll have better luck.”

They continued to backtrack through the snow. What had started as a neat line soon collapsed into a tight ball with muskets covering all points of the compass. Konowa had seen it before in battle. Soldiers would seek the comfort of having a comrade nearby and orderly lines began to mesh into ungainly herds. It was dangerous to be grouped so close together like that, especially when the sarka har could hurl flaming chunks of exploding wood, but the morale boost it gave the men was worth the risk, so Konowa said nothing.

“I would have thought the Darkly Departed would have showed up at some point,” Feylan said. It sounded rhetorical, but Konowa knew all the soldiers were wondering the same thing, and so was he. Why hadn’t the dead appeared when they needed them?

“Could be they’re busy elsewhere,” Konowa said, hoping the regiment wasn’t currently under attack. “Or maybe they finally got some leave.”

No one laughed this time, and Konowa didn’t blame them. He opted to change the subject. He slowed his pace a little and motioned for Feylan to walk with him as the other soldiers continued moving in a tight cluster.

“Damn impressive the way you’ve organized the men. What happened to your corporal?”

“A branch took his head clean off,” Feylan said, his voice surprisingly calm for such a statement.

Konowa cringed, recalling he’d just told the men to keep their heads on their shoulders.

Now Feylan’s voice did catch, but he covered it with a cough. “When we first saw the trees, we thought they were soldiers, too, and he started to cuss them out for getting lost. He walked right up to one. After that I sort of just took over, but any of them could have done it. Guess I just piped up first.”

Konowa knew better. Leaders stepped forward in time of danger. “You did more than that.”

They walked on in silence. Konowa became aware of his boots crunching through the ice crust forming on the snow. He strained his ears in hopes of hearing the approach of the 3rd Spears coming back to their aid, but of course they’d have to fight their way through the other sarka har that were now somewhere between the end of the column and the rear guard.

I failed them. The thought struck Konowa particularly hard. If the rear guard hadn’t moved off the path to save him, they would have stayed in position to slow down the sarka har and warn the 3rd Spears. Because of him the entire column was at risk. It all came down to the three soldiers Feylan had sent forward to warn the others. If they didn’t make it, the sarka har would catch them completely unaware.

“I think I hear something,” a soldier said.

The group shuffled to a stop. Konowa doubted any of them were breathing, himself included, as they focused all their energy on the night around them. Konowa didn’t bother pushing his senses. The acorn was a constant cold pain against his chest now, which, when added with the numbing cold of the weather, was making it increasingly difficult to tell one from the other.

After a minute of listening to nothing, Konowa was about to order them to move when a piece of wood creaked somewhere in the dark.

“There, did you hear it?” the soldier asked. “It’s one of them sarka har, and it’s close.”

“Shhhhh,” Konowa said, waving at the soldier to be quiet. Konowa turned his head to one side and closed his eyes. He heard the creaking sound again, but couldn’t get a location on it. Damn these ears. Realizing it was pointless, he opened his eyes and looked at the soldiers around him. They had all turned and were staring in the direction the column had taken.

“Off the road, now,” Konowa hissed, using his musket to direct the men. They moved quickly, pushing through the deeper snow until they were fifteen yards away. He turned and dropped to one knee, wrapping the leather sling of his musket around his left forearm, grounding the weapon on his thigh to keep it out of the snow. The men formed up beside him to his left, following his lead. Konowa kept his eyes on the road as he addressed them.

“We’ll hit the sarka har as soon as they appear. That should draw them this way. While they pick up the bark and get ready to throw more fire, we’ll swing around and run like hell to catch up with the regiment.”

The sound of creaking wood grew closer. Someone coughed, followed by a thump as another soldier whacked the offender.

Konowa rolled his head to work a crick out of his neck and forced his breathing to slow. “I’ll call out the tree to aim at and then we fire on my command. We’ll reload once, I’ll designate another tree, fire again, then take off. If any of you get separated from the group, stay on the road and keep running. They’re slow and stupid. You’re faster and not as stupid.”

There was no telling if the soldiers laughed because the sound of wood grinding and knocking against itself rose in pitch to drown out even the wind.

“Bloody hell,” Feylan said, “that sounds like twenty of them charging.”

“Ready. .” Konowa said, bringing the butt of his musket tight against his shoulder and resting his cheek against the stock. The smooth coolness of the wood felt comforting against his skin.

Somewhere down the line a soldier began to sob.

“Remember the boys that aren’t here anymore. Remember. . Grostril,” Konowa said, thinking of so many others they had lost. “This is our chance to avenge a lot of wrongs.”

The groan of wood being pushed to its limit filled the night. Konowa shifted his knee in the snow and sighted down the barrel of his musket. His world constricted to a small patch of snow-covered road fifteen yards away. All his anger and frustration poured out of him and focused on that place. The Shadow Monarch Herself wouldn’t survive if She showed up now.

“As soon as the first one appears I’ll call it, then we fire.”

No sooner had Konowa spoken the words than a shadow burst out of the darkness and entered the killing ground.