Ashes of a Black Frost

THIRTY-TWO

Two days?” Konowa asked. His head throbbed, along with the rest of his body, and he’d only been awake for ten minutes. This was worse than drinking Sala brandy with the Duke of Rakestraw. At least he had fun when he did that before paying the price. He reached up and removed the wet cloth from his forehead. It dawned on him that his body was responding again, even if it did so through a curtain of dull, aching pain. He sat up in bed, noticing that he’d been placed in what must have been a senior officer’s quarters on one of Her Majesty’s ships of the line. He was tempted to wonder if this was one of his dreams, but the smell of the ship told him it was all too real. “I’ve been out that long?”

“You had quite a snooze, but considering your recent adventures it’s amazing you’re conscious at all,” Yimt said, plopping down on a small wooden stool by the bed and grinning at him. He handed him a tin cup filled with water. “Besides, you didn’t really miss much. We held off the rakkes and marched to the coast.”

Konowa took the cup with his left hand and downed it in two gulps. He was impressed he held on to it without spilling. He looked over at the black scar on his left shoulder and flexed the muscle. It hurt, but it worked. Maybe he really had needed all that sleep. “You make it sound like a walk in the park, but somehow I doubt it was that,” Konowa said looking closer at the dwarf. A fresh, pink scar creased the dwarf’s right cheek. “I don’t remember that being there last time we talked. And, Viceroy,” Konowa said, shifting slightly to address the diplomat standing quietly by the closed door, “you appear to have acquired a couple of additional war wounds yourself.” His uniform was a mess of rips and tears. The man was a far cry from the bloated spit-and-polish bureaucrat Konowa had met back in Nazalla. Pimrald “Pimmer” Alstonfar had been in the field, and it looked like it agreed with him.

Pimmer blushed. “Just doing my part. I really didn’t do anything heroic.”

“In that case, how about you two get me up to speed on what’s going on?” Konowa said, looking out the one porthole in the room and seeing only darkness. The room itself was lit by a hanging lantern which created far more shadows than Konowa felt comfortable with. He turned back to see Pimmer’s crestfallen face and realized his mistake. “But of course that can wait a few minutes. Regimental Sergeant Major, I suspect the Viceroy is being a bit too modest. Perhaps you could tell me how he comes to look like a gypsy warrior instead of one of Calahr’s civil servants?”

Pimmer beamed as Yimt recounted the last two days. It was as much as Konowa had expected.

“Rakkes hounded us the whole way. Persistent, I’ll give them that. Just won’t give up those things, but the Viceroy has picked up a few of your bad traits, Major. He led three bayonet charges into them. Scattered them to hell and gone. They definitely weren’t in the mood for his style of negotiating.”

Konowa tried to imagine the diplomat trundling across the snow and laying waste to a horde of marauding rakkes and the really startling thing was, he could see it clearly.

It was Pimmer’s turn to return the compliment. “My efforts pale in comparison to that of the RSM here. His leadership and savvy saw us through one tight squeeze after another. And he is quite simply a maestro with a drukar. Such precision. . I dare say, he could trim the fuzz off a bumble bee in midflight.”

“Indeed,” Konowa said, deciding to change the subject before the two praised each other to godlike status. “I see I’m on a ship. I take it we made it to Tel Martruk?”

Pimmer jumped in. “And not just us, but a good portion of the Calahrian fleet. They managed to rescue most of the force that landed at Nazalla and came down the coast looking for us. Seems Her Majesty’s Scribe had something to do with that. Do you recognize this ship? It’s the Black Spike. Seemed appropriate to put the Iron Elves on it again. I understand you two share quite a history.”

Memories of the island assaults flooded Konowa’s mind and he quickly pushed them aside. “That we do. RSM, what’s the roster? How many?”

At this the room grew eerily quiet. “Counting the 3rd Spears, the gun crews, civilians like your parents, Miss Tekoy and Miss Synjyn, we muster sixty-seven.”

The number burned into Konowa like a brand. Just a few short months ago they’d started with close to three hundred. “And the shades?”

Yimt’s jovial demeanor faltered. “Nary a peep since that explosion. Ally’s gone. Just. . gone, and it looks like he took Her Emissary and all the dead with him. Even when someone new goes down, their body turns to ash, but we don’t see the shade.”

Konowa wasn’t sure he was ready to face it, but if he didn’t ask now it would only be worse later. “Who did we lose on the march to the coast?”

Yimt scratched at his beard. “Lieutenant Imba and most of the 3rd Spears. Only five of them made it. And we lost half the gun crews.”

It was a heavy blow. Imba had been a true leader, an officer destined for so much more. The bravery of the 3rd Spears was already legendary, and their duty with the Iron Elves would only cement that reputation, and rightly so. Konowa could tell there was more, though. “Who else?”

Yimt sighed. “Several soldiers are missing, including Private Inkermon. And Tyul has yet to turn up. Your mother is sick with worry about him. She sent Jir out looking for him, but we haven’t seen anything since. Not sure we’d get that elf on the ship anyway. He’s gone so far round the bend he can see the back of his own head.”

Konowa sat up fully in bed, ignoring the pain. Jir would turn up, he knew it. He had to. That bengar had kept him sane during his banishment. As crushing as it was to come so close to his elves and not see them, to lose Jir would hurt so much worse. His loyalty and companionship meant more to him than he liked to admit. Through Jir he did connect with nature, even if it was in its most predatory state. The bengar actually made him more elf than he otherwise would have been. No, Jir will return.

“Why haven’t you sent out search parties for the missing soldiers?” Konowa asked.

A cannon broadside boomed in the distance before Yimt could reply. Two more followed in quick succession. “That’s why. The town is deserted. About the only thing left alive in it now are rakkes. The ships have been shelling the waterfront to keep the buggers at bay. I hate leaving anyone behind, but orders is orders. We’re setting sail within the hour. That’s why we had to come and wake you, recovered or not.”

It was a blow to realize just how quickly the Empire was collapsing, but it gave Konowa renewed strength. “About bloody time. We should land on the Hyntaland in a few days with good winds. You know, I’ve wanted to throttle His Highness more times than not, but he’s finally seeing things right.”

Pimmer held up his hands. “Major, I think it important to remind you that you’re still recovering from a multitude of grievous wounds. You need to avoid exerting yourself as you recover. Any aggravation could have serious repercussions to your health.”

“Not to worry, Viceroy, this is good news. I feel great.”

Pimmer’s smile froze on his face. He looked to Yimt for help.

“Am I missing something?” Konowa asked.

“You could say that,” Yimt said, slowly getting up from the stool. He stood braced as if he’d just walked into a pub expecting a fight. “Here’s the thing, it’s about our destination. .”

Konowa waited for him to finish. When he didn’t he looked back at Pimmer. The man held up his hands and shrugged as if to say “I tried.” “We’re not sailing to the Hyntaland, are we?” Konowa asked.

The man held on to his frozen smile. “Not as such, no. The Prince has determined the wisest course of action is to head for Calahr and assemble a much larger force before tackling the Shadow Monarch.”

Konowa’s following curses were drowned out by a broadside fired by the Black Spike. The entire ship shook and groaned as its heavy cannons let loose against the rakkes in Tel Martruk. The acrid smell of black-powder smoke filled the room.

Konowa threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The pouch with the black acorn in it swung from the leather thong still tied around his neck. A brief stab of cold reminded him it was there, not that he needed any reminding. The cost of the oath was a permanent weight on his shoulders.

He set his feet down on floor and almost smiled at the feel of the cool wood beneath his feet. It was the closest he was likely to come to bonding with a tree. He stood, fighting off the light-headedness that threatened to topple him. He looked down at himself and except for the leather pouch was completely naked. “Where’s my uniform?”

“Now, Major, please, you have to understand,” Pimmer said, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. “The regiment is all but depleted. Even the shades are gone. The Empire is in utter turmoil. Everyone, including the Prince, understands the need to finish this business with the Shadow Monarch once and for all, but it needs planning, and resources. If we just sail straight there with this ragtag collection of ships and soldiers the outcome could well be disastrous.”

Konowa stared at the Viceroy. “I’ll walk out of here like this if I have to.”

Yimt came into view with Konowa’s uniform. It looked clean and repaired. He wondered when anyone had had time to put needle to thread, but he was grateful. He really would have stormed out of the room naked, but he suspected his argument for going straight to Her mountain would have more weight if he were wearing more than a snarl. “I had a feeling you’d be a bit motivated to go have a chat with His Highness so I got your things ready for you.”

Konowa looked away from Pimmer and down at the smiling dwarf. “Is that also why I can’t see my saber among my things?”

“Got it out with one of the lads for sharpening. Should have it back to you, oh, right about after you’ve had your talk with him.”

Konowa held Yimt’s stare for several seconds then grabbed the uniform out of his hands and began to get dressed. “I know what I’m doing,” he said, struggling into his trousers.

“Do you now?” Yimt said, helping him on with his boots. “Because from my perspective, and admittedly it isn’t quite as lofty, it appears that you’re about to go charging wildly.”

“Then why are you helping me?” Konowa asked, stomping down harder than he needed to adjust his boots. If anyone was wondering if Major Swift Dragon was up, they’d know it now.

“A good old-fashioned charge is sometimes exactly what’s called for. I just think you’d be wise to consider what you intend to do when you get to the other end of your charge. See, starting a charge is easy. You’re better than most at it. Someone lights a fire under you and off you go. It’s how it ends that can get sticky.”

Konowa fought with the sleeve of his jacket. “I really thought he’d changed, at least enough that he wouldn’t do something as stupid as this. Was he always this pig-headed, even in school?” Konowa asked, turning back to Pimmer.

“Well, it would be highly indelicate of me to comment on-”

“Pimmer!” Konowa shouted, ramming his arm into a sleeve then pulling it back out when he realized he was putting his jacket on back to front. “The fate of the world is at stake. We don’t have time to gather more forces. If we don’t do this now there’ll be nothing but dark forest from here to the horizon and beyond.”

Pimmer moved closer, lowering his voice. “I know this, Konowa, but we’ve received word that the royal court is under siege and Her Majesty ails. The Empire is besieged within and without and the Queen wants her son and heir home where he can better attend affairs of state.”

Konowa snorted, then looked down at his uniform to make sure he didn’t get anything on it. “Let’s be honest, at least among each other. If the Queen has summoned her son home, it’s to keep him safe.”

The diplomat stood up straight and his voice took on a more commanding tone. “It wasn’t just His Royal Highness. She summoned all of us home. The Iron Elves, too.”

Some of the steam firing Konowa left him and he sat down on the bed. “What is she thinking? We need to face danger, not turn and run from it.”

“I think,” Pimmer ventured, looking toward the door as if to ensure it remained closed, “she wants to save as many as she can, including you.”

“But this will only ensure more die. No,” he said, standing up again and taking his shako from Yimt’s outstretched hand. “She is wrong, and the Prince is wrong. We are the key. We need to strike now.”

Pimmer took a moment before responding. “And you can’t be dissuaded?”

“Not as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs.”

Pimmer smiled and gave a quick salute to Yimt. Konowa looked between the two of them. “What in blazes are you two up to now?”

“As Her Majesty’s representative it was my sworn duty to make the case for returning to Calahr with all due haste per royal decree. Having made my case I can report, in due time, that it was unsuccessful. Now, we simply need to convince the Prince.”

“You couldn’t have just told me this at the start?” Konowa asked.

“That was my idea,” Yimt said, brushing away a few dust motes from Konowa’s uniform. “I told the Viceroy that after your twoday nap you’d be a bit slow off the mark unless we gave you the proper incentive. I’d say we succeeded.”

Konowa placed his shako on his head and walked to the door. He stopped with his back to Pimmer and Yimt. “Next time, you could try telling me the truth right off. I might just surprise you.” He opened the door and stepped out. As he walked away the conversation behind reached his ears.

“He seems a bit upset with us,” Pimmer said.

“Naw, he’s just temperamental. Besides, time is fleeting. Did you see how fast he got out of bed? Can’t boot an officer in the butt like you can a soldier. You have to find other ways to motivate ’em.”

Konowa kept walking, his fists clenching as he did. Yimt was right, he felt very motivated. He stormed on deck looking for the Prince. He was surprised to see it wasn’t snowing. It was cold, though, and the wind hummed in the rigging and snapped the sails, urging the Black Spike to heave anchor.

Rallie, Visyna, and his mother materialized in front of him as if they’d been waiting there the whole time, which, he imagined, they probably had.

“The last time we were on this boat the three of you did your best to keep me from harming the Prince, and I appreciate it. This time, however, is different.”

The answer he received threw him off guard.

“We know, Konowa, and we are with you,” Visyna said, moving forward as if to embrace him, but stopping a yard short. “He must be made to see reason. The Shadow Monarch must be stopped now before Her power can grow any stronger.”

Konowa looked to his mother and then Rallie. Both nodded in agreement.

“Where is he?”

“Right behind you,” the Prince said, walking around Konowa to stand on his left. He looked at the three ladies and touched his hand to the brim of his shako. “Shall I guess, or is there any point? You’ve all heard we’re to sail to Calahr at once and not to the Hyntaland.”

Konowa drew in a breath in preparation to convince the Prince through sheer force of argument, but never got the chance.

“Does anyone else hear that?” Rallie asked, looking skyward.

Konowa stomped his boot on the deck. What was Rallie doing? He opened his mouth to speak, but was stymied when the Prince turned his back to follow Rallie’s gaze.

“Is that wings?” the Prince asked.

“Not just any wings,” Rallie said, her gruff voice rising an octave in obvious delight. “I’d know that drunken collection of feathers anywhere.”

True to his name, Wobbly the messenger pelican wobbled into view out over the harbor. His flying prowess, or complete lack of, was obvious. He bobbed and weaved like the drunken bird he was, using up far more sky than any other bird. Konowa figured he flew probably twice as far as he had to on account of all the weaving.

“Wobbly!” Rallie cried. Everyone turned to follow the pelican’s flight.

“It’s wounded,” Pimmer said, stepping out on deck.

“No, just drunk as usual,” Rallie said, walking to the edge of the ship’s railing. Wobbly made a few less than smooth course corrections and began to home in on the ship.

Konowa glared at the Prince one more time then turned to follow the final approach of the pelican. At seventy-five yards out he leveled his wings and started to glide. He slipped a little to the right, dipped his left wing, and steadied himself on the wind.

“He’s coming in awfully fast, isn’t he?”

At twenty yards he flared his wings and stuck out his webbed feet. Konowa tried to follow his path to see what he was aiming for, but the only thing obvious was the large sail canvas.

Thump!

Wobbly hit the main sail and began a panicked flapping of wings as he tried and failed to gain any purchase. Giving up, or growing exhausted, he slid down the sail until he hit the main spar, bounced off it, did a complete somersault in the air losing several feathers in the process, and landed flat on his back on the deck, his wings outstretched and his webbed feet paddling the air.

“You ever think of using an owl instead?” Konowa asked.

“Can’t trust them,” Rallie said, walking forward to pick up the pelican and cradle it in her arms. “Too smart for their own good. Now Wobbly here is a bird you can trust. A drunk, but a trustworthy one.”

Wobbly’s bill opened wide letting forth a belch Konowa could smell from five yards away. A regurgitated vial popped out of his gullet which Rallie deftly grabbed. She then set the pelican back down on the deck. “Could someone please fetch him a bowl of grog, thank you.”

Konowa was growing increasingly frustrated that his showdown with the Prince was being delayed. He started to open his mouth again, but stopped when he saw the look on Rallie’s face as she opened the vial and read the small scroll that had been rolled up inside.

“Rallie, what does it say?” Visyna asked.

Rallie turned to look at the Prince. She pulled back the hood of her cloak. Tears glistened in her eyes. “It is with deepest regrets that I must inform you that Her Majesty, the Queen of Calahr, is dead.”