Ashes of a Black Frost

NINETEEN

A cold shock rippled through Private Alwyn Renwar as he led the regiment toward Suhundam’s Hill. His vision fogged and the ground beneath him spun. He drove his wooden leg down hard for support, breaking through the ore-stained snow crust.

More Iron Elves had been killed. The ranks of the dead shuddered, the feeling moving through Alwyn like an ice flow. No one alive should ever experience this. It was cold, and loss, and hopelessness, and it eroded away a little more of his humanity.

He started to seek out who they were, then stopped. He no longer wanted to know. Soon enough, the shades of the dead soldiers would appear, their cries adding to the chorus of agony and fear that marked the existence of all the fallen. What made it worse was remembering a time in the very recent past when these same men had lived and laughed and smiled. To know them now as nothing but shadows of unending torment and despair was a burden he couldn’t bear much longer.

Death, he knew, would be no release. For him, insanity offered the only way forward.

“And how are you doing this less-than-ideal evening?”

Alwyn turned, surprised to see Rallie standing behind him. He saw the column of soldiers a few yards behind her, waiting.

“More of them have died,” Alwyn said, turning away again.

“You mean of us, don’t you?” Rallie asked, walking to stand beside him. Despite the wind, her cloak barely rippled. “You are still among the living, yes?”

“Am I?”

For an answer, Rallie reached out with her quill and jabbed the point into the flesh of his hand. He yelped, snatching his hand away and shaking it. A warm, soothing sensation enveloped his hand before frost fire sparked and burned the feeling away leaving him cold and shivering.

“Either you have excellent reflexes for a dead man, or you’re still very much alive,” she said.

Alwyn studied her through his gray eyes, seeking out her energy. An ancient power radiated from-“Oww!” he said, feeling the sting of her quill jab him again, this time in the earlobe. As before, a feeling of warmth began to spread throughout his body before the oath magic overwhelmed it. Alwyn shook himself as anger surged inside him.

“The wind took it,” she said, staring him directly in the eyes as if daring him to contradict her. Power coursed through Alwyn. He was the destroyer of Kaman Rhal’s dragon of bones. It was he who blasted the Shadow Monarch’s emissary to pieces. Who was Rallie to-“Oww!”

“It’s like it has a mind of its own,” Rallie said, removing the sharpened end of her quill from his shoulder. It had pierced the cloth of his uniform and his cotton undershirt underneath. This time instead of warmth there was heat as the point entered his skin dead center in the middle of his acorn tattoo. He felt frost fire tracing the outline of the tattoo and its motto “?ri Mekah (Into the Fire and Right the Hell Back Out)” but unlike the previous two times it did not consume the power he felt from her quill.

Rallie held the quill loosely between her fingers, twirling it slowly. Alwyn raised his hands in surrender.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, but started walking. Alwyn watched her for a few steps then followed after her. He caught up with her and fell into step. His tattoo continued to burn, but now it was a tolerable heat. In a very strange way he found it comforting, as if one small part of him was still him.

“The major will be waiting for us, so I think it best we keep moving,” she said.

“You’re not going back to your wagon?”

“One of the lads used to drive a beer wagon. I’m not sure camels are quite the same as dray horses, but I think he’ll get the gist of it quick enough. Besides, with one damaged wagon wheel it’s not a very smooth ride. So I decided I’d take the chance to stretch my legs. And I’d like the company.”

Alwyn tried and failed to read Rallie. He looked for fear, or mockery, but all he sensed was genuine interest on her part.

“Sometimes what you see is what you get,” she said.

He walked in silence, only partially listening as Rallie somehow got onto the subject of distilleries. The regiment trailed them at a distance. A new feeling enveloped him. He was never alone, not anymore, but right now he felt a degree of peace and solitude as he walked beside Rallie. There was something soothing about her voice.

“Are you casting a spell on me?” he asked, suspicion rushing his words and making his tone sharp.

“I have been called mesmerizing in my day,” she said, “positively captivating even. But no, no spell beyond the simple act of keeping a friend company. There’s a power in that greater than anything I’ve ever encountered.”

Alwyn turned his head to see if she was laughing.

“Well, in a deeply emotional way,” she explained, resting a hand over her heart.

Before Alwyn could stop himself the words rushed out. “Everything is pain. I’m losing my friends, Rallie. I’m losing my grasp on this world. Soon there won’t be anything left to keep me here.”

“Nonsense. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”

Alwyn had expected sympathy, perhaps shock on her part at his plight, but not this. “That’s what you think this is? I’m becoming the living dead, cursed for eternity with tormented shades as my companions, and you think I’m feeling sorry for myself?”

Rallie pulled the cigar out of her mouth and jabbed it at him. He recoiled.

“As I keep having to explain to you, you’re not dead, not by a long shot.” She put the cigar back in her mouth and clamped down on it as a gust of wind raced across the desert kicking up sand and snow. “Your survival instinct still works. It’s your brain that’s giving you problems. You’re overthinking things. Wallowing, as it were, in a sea of woe. I can’t help the dead, but the confused and despondent I can still help. . if they’re prepared to help themselves. I was telling the major something similar. Start with hope and build.”

Alwyn thought about that. Was there still hope?

“I don’t know if I know how to do that, Rallie. What hope is there for them? For me? We’re all bound by Her magic.”

“Magic done can be undone. That’s why we’re going to meet Her on Her mountain. Which is why we’re currently trekking across this desert. You’re getting yourself twisted in knots about grand, horrible things when what you need to be doing is putting your attention on the here and now.”

“But the shades-”

“Will remain that way unless you and the rest of the living do something about it,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice softened as she continued. “I know they’re suffering, as are you. For now, it can’t be helped. You’re their emissary now, and they look to you for answers, so give them something to do.”

“What do you mean?”

Rallie swung a hand around taking in the emptiness. “Put the buggers to work. They’re dead, but that’s no excuse for lying around moaning and lamenting that state of affairs. They need focus, and you can give it to them. You know what’s at stake. You know what has to be done to free the regiment from Her oath. So buck up, chin up, and get moving.”

“It’s not that simple, Rallie,” Alwyn said.

“That’s the human mind for you, always trying to show how complicated things can be. Don’t think about it, just feel it. Better to do something and fail, than nothing and wonder.”

For the first time in a long time, it was as if a dark, smothering veil had been lifted from his face. Thinking about his situation only made it worse. So maybe Rallie had a point. Stop thinking and start acting. Alwyn drew in a breath and planted his legs firmly in the snow. Rallie stopped and turned to look at him, a smile apparent behind the glowing end of her cigar.

His heart filled with emotion, not all of it sad. There was a way forward. How it would all work out he didn’t know, but right now that didn’t matter. Right now he was alive, and that was enough.

“I miss Yimt,” he said at last, unsure what else to say.

“I miss the rascal, too,” she said, “but I hate to think what he’d be saying to you if he were here instead of me right now. I’m not sure ears as tender as yours could survive being exposed to that kind of verbal abuse.”

Alwyn actually smiled.

She started walking again. He matched her step for step, marveling at how his view of the world could change so fast.

“You never answered my question,” he said. “You know, who are you?”

“I didn’t answer only because I don’t mean to,” she said, cheerily puffing away on her cigar. “A woman is entitled to her secrets, especially if she can’t remember some of them.”

Alwyn didn’t believe that.

“Eventually you have to tell us,” he paused before continuing. “Don’t you?”

“Do you know what kills cats?” Rallie asked.

“Curiosity?” Alwyn answered.

“Not really. It’s usually the horse and buggy that runs them over because they thought they heard a lot of mice scurrying on the road.”

“I’m not sure, but I think that means I should change the subject,” Alwyn said.

She stopped again. A feeling of dread came over Alwyn. Shades of the dead materialized all around him. He shuddered, but steeled himself. He might be their spokesman, but he wasn’t dead. Not yet.

“It’s just been changed for you. There’s the fort,” Rallie said.

Alwyn looked. The hill jutted out of the desert like a broken bone, the jagged top the battlements of the fort. Letting his gaze fall he took in the base of the hill, searching the snow-covered debris for signs of life.

“Are those rakkes?” he asked, spotting bodies spread out in front of the hill.

“They were,” Rallie said.

He tore his gaze away from the hill and focused instead on the shades of the fallen. Their hands started to reach for him and the cold, unending pressure of their agony began to gnaw at him from the inside. His mood darkened, and the warm feeling he’d had from the playful banter with Rallie began to retreat, but then he felt the tattoo on his arm begin to burn hotter, as if a fire were being stoked. It was little more than a single match in a blizzard, but it was enough for him to remember that he could still make choices.

He stood to his full height, the charred and blackened branches of his wooden leg creaking with the effort. “Go. Seek out our enemies. Now!”

The shades didn’t move.

“Try again,” Rallie said.

Alwyn looked at the shades. He felt the anger well up inside him. They were soldiers, damn it, and they had a duty to perform. “The regiment needs you. You are still part of it. Remember that,” Alwyn said.

The shades continued to stand their ground. RSM Lorian rode forth on Zwindarra until he was only a few feet away. “Our pain in this existence grows, yet we appear no closer to our goal.”

Rallie started to step forward, but Alwyn held up his hand to stop her. This time, he let his anger boil forth.

“RSM! You know better. You all know better. We’re soldiers. We fight until the battle is won, and this battle is far from over.” He stepped forth and placed his hands on his hips. “You weren’t cowards in life. Being dead changes nothing. Remember who you are,” Alwyn said, pointing to individual soldiers. “You, and you, and you. . you’re Iron Elves. Live up to that name!”

The air around them crackled as the temperature fell. Alwyn’s breath misted and his lungs burned with the cold. The shades of the Iron Elves grew straighter in front of his eyes. He blinked. They were standing at attention. A moment later, they vanished. Alwyn waited several seconds before letting out his breath.

“Now that’s something Yimt would have been damn proud of,” Rallie said, whistling softly.

“I thought I went too far,” Alwyn said.

“So did I, my boy, so did I. Remind me never to play poker with you.”

The sound of crunching snow preceded acting-RSM Aguom as he marched up to stand a few feet away. Alwyn remembered that he was still a member of Her Majesty’s Imperial Armed Forces and turned and stood to attention.

“Stand easy,” Aguom said, looking around nervously. He pointed toward the hill. “Was there a battle here?” he asked, taking in the carnage before them.

“Something like that,” Rallie said.

Aguom looked like he wanted more of an explanation, but let it go at that. “Lieutenant Imba wants to know what the situation is. He’s preparing the regiment to advance in line. Should they fix bayonets?”

“Yes,” Alwyn said.

“Do you sense something?” he asked.

Alwyn closed his eyes and rested his chin against his chest. The wind played with the edge of his caerna, but the sting of the icy snow against his one good leg barely registered. Something darker and colder had his attention.

“What is it?” Rallie asked. Alwyn heard a rustle of paper and knew she had a scroll in her hand, her quill at the ready.

“The shades have found our enemy,” he said, opening his eyes as he raised his head. “Hundreds upon hundreds of rakkes in one mass.”

“What, where?” Aguom asked. “We slaughtered hundreds at the canyon. The rest scattered to the four winds. How can they be gathered up into a force again so quickly?”

“They are driven by Her Emissary. Its power was not destroyed.”

“But you killed it. We saw you tear it to bits,” Aguom said. “How could anything survive that?”

“Madness,” Alwyn said, seeing the path that he might one day walk himself.

RSM Aguom recovered quickly. “No time to waste then, we’ll double time it to the fort and set up our defenses. Once we’re in there we’ll be able to hold them off.”

“I’m afraid we won’t be going to the fort,” Alwyn said.

A howl carried on the wind from somewhere off to the west. It was answered by several more to the east.

“We are already surrounded.”