by Chris Evans
A low murmur sounded followed by a few muffled aye’s before the wind drowned out the rest. A moment later the soldier nearest Konowa gave him a thumbs-up.
Konowa carefully spun himself back around to face up the stone stairs and gave Feylan a hand signal to continue. The soldier set out at once, but definitely with more caution. Konowa kept a close eye on where Feylan stepped and tried to place his boot in exactly the same spot while counting off the steps under his breath.
Before Konowa was ready they reached the two hundredth step. Again they stopped and Konowa did another head count while the Viceroy continued to spin his map for yet another new angle in a most disconcerting fashion.
Three hundred and one remained the magic number. All the soldiers were accounted for, so they pressed on until Konowa counted out two hundred and eighty. He reached out a hand and grabbed a hold of Feylan’s robe and pulled. The private stopped and turned.
“We’re getting close,” Konowa said, keeping his voice low. He motioned for Feylan to sit down as he leaned back against a boulder and caught his breath. Thus far the path, though steep, had run more or less in a straight line. Up ahead, however, Konowa could make out a sharp turn and then blackness.
The wind had a nasty trick of funneling down the path directly into their faces, carrying with it minute particles of sand and rock along with the metallic-tinged snow, stinging his face and making it even harder to see the way ahead.
Pushing his senses forward would be of little help here. If there really was an ancient booby trap up ahead the original builders would have had to have made it out of rock or metal. It certainly couldn’t be anything alive . . . or could it?
Konowa closed his eyes and drew his thoughts inward, grasping the cold power of the oath bond and then strengthening it with his need. He pushed outward, opening his eyes to stare sightlessly as his mind surged far ahead, questing the rocks above them for something waiting to attack.
Something warm and sweaty loomed in front of his face and Konowa snapped back to himself to find Pimmer weaving in front of him like a ship tossed on a storm. “Major, are you . . . are you all right?” he asked, his breathing ragged.
“Fine, thank you, Viceroy. I was just checking to see if there was anything with large claws and teeth around the next rock, but I sensed nothing. How are you?”
“I . . . oh my, this is far more vigorous than I anticipated,” he said, sliding down against the rock face opposite Konowa. “Maps . . . don’t really impart . . . a true sense of altitude I’m afraid.”
“Let’s hope they’re better at telling us what the first booby trap is,” Konowa said, motioning for the rest of the soldiers to take a knee. The command had to be relayed back down the line as the path was too narrow for all of them to squeeze together in a circle.
Knowing that was his cue, Pimmer pulled out the map, turning his body so that it blocked the paper from the wind. Konowa pushed himself away from the rock and leaned over for a better look. Pimmer fished around in his robes and retrieved a small brass storm lantern. He wrapped both hands around it and gave it a shake. When he took his hands away, Konowa was amazed to see it had lit.
Pimmer saw him looking and held it closer so Konowa could see. “A little find in the library. Can’t say that I understand how it works, but that’s science for you.”
“It’s not magic?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Pimmer said. “Looks like there is a liquid and perhaps some crystals inside it. When you shake it they get smashed together and you get light. Lasts for a good ten minutes or so until you shake it again. There are several cases in nature of creatures having the ability to produce their own light from tiny fireflies to, well, dragons.”
“When all this is over you’ll have to tell me all about it,” Konowa lied, pointing to the map. “What’s around the next bend?”
Pimmer smiled and set the lantern down and focused his attention on the map. “If I’m reading this right,” he said, tracing a finger along the paper, “the key to step three hundred and one is to avoid it altogether.”
“Beg pardon?” Konowa said. To their credit, the soldiers around them said nothing, knowing Konowa would look out for them.
Pimmer shrugged. “I’m doing my best, but deciphering the code is tricky, Major. Still, my advice is sound. Whatever happens with the three hundred and first step is nothing we want a part of, so it’s a simple matter of not stepping on it and we should be fine.”
“Are you going first then?” a soldier asked.
“Who said that?” Konowa asked, looking around sharply.
“Me, sir, Private Otillo,” the soldier said. He didn’t have the good sense to look sheepish.
It was clear insubordination. However naïve about the job of soldiering the Viceroy might appear, he was still the ruler of this land and Her Majesty’s sworn representative. Konowa knew he’d been letting a lot slide since the ramifications of the oath had become clear, but the men were starting to take advantage. Before he could call out the soldier, however, Pimmer responded.
“There’s nothing else for it. The map is tricky and I won’t be a lick of good to someone a few feet ahead of me as I try to piece the puzzle together.”
Konowa waved away the offer. “Viceroy, we’ve been over this. No one questions your bravery,” he said, looking squarely at Otillo, who had just done so, “but your unique talents will no doubt be needed many times in the coming days as we travel toward the coast. You aren’t going first.”
Pimmer stood up with some effort and straightened his robes. It took a moment as he had to readjust his pistol and saber. When he finally had everything in place, he stuck out his chin and pointed a finger at Konowa. “Then I must pull rank on you, Major, and insist that I go first.”
“This isn’t the time or place, Viceroy,” Konowa said, reining in his exasperation as best he could. “You might outrank me, but out here I—”
“Excuse me, Major,” Private Meswiz said, his voice a high-pitched whisper. “Feylan’s gone.”
Konowa and Pimmer both turned and looked up the path. It was empty.
“What in blue blazes is he thinking?” Konowa said. “All right, stay sharp and keep quiet. Follow me,” Konowa turned and headed up the steps two at a time and to hell with the ice.
He rounded the bend expecting the worst and found Private Feylan standing proudly on a step. When he saw Konowa he mouthed three hundred and one.
“Are you mad? Get off that thing,” Konowa hissed.
Feylan backed up to the next highest step. “It’s okay, Major, all this ice has frozen everything solid. If there are any mechanisms they’re not moving. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Are you trying to get yourself killed? We have no idea what these traps might be. Anything could set them off. Maybe it’s not pressure on the step at all. Maybe it’s some kind of magical trigger. Have you forgotten the white fire already?”
Feylan’s grin withered on his face. “Oh . . . I hadn’t thought about that. Sorry, sir. I’d be okay if someone else wants to take the lead for the next part.”
Now it was Konowa’s turn to grin. “Oh, no, you’ve got the keenest sense for danger now, I reckon, so you lead on. Viceroy,” Konowa said, turning his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “How far to the next booby trap?”
“Looks like five hundred and thirty-three steps this time,” he said, his voice far from confident.
“You heard him,” Konowa said, motioning for Feylan to get moving. “Count like your life depends on it.”
Feylan nodded, slowly turned, and began creeping up the steps with significantly more care than before. Konowa let him get a few steps ahead then started after him, careful to step over the three hundred and first step. He knew without looking that the Viceroy and all the soldiers following would do the same. Nothing focuses one’s attention like impending death.
They reached and passed three more suspected booby traps without setting anything off.
Pimmer grew more
confident with each success, his voice growing louder as he discussed the intricacies of the map detail until Konowa had to shush him. Konowa, on the other hand, grew increasingly nervous the higher they climbed. The soldiers were starting to relax, and Konowa didn’t like it.
He suspected that Pimmer had missed something critical in his deciphering of the map, but he had no idea what. The builders of the path couldn’t have expected a snow and ice storm to gum up the works, so maybe it really was as simple as that, but Konowa didn’t believe it.
He continued following Private Feylan closely, keeping the soldier within arm’s reach so that if something did spring at them he’d have at least a fighting chance of pulling the lad back to safety. Of course, that assumed whatever trap was sprung didn’t get Konowa, too.
The higher they climbed the more Konowa’s guilt grew. Feylan was pushing his luck as he passed through each booby trapped section, and unlike before, his confidence that the ice had rendered everything safe had eroded. It went unsaid, but Private Feylan would be Corporal Feylan at the top of the stairs. All he had to do was survive.
They reached the next trap. Konowa double-checked the count in his head to make sure it was right and nodded to Feylan. The soldier stepped over the trigger and waited. When nothing happened, Konowa did the same. They each let out a small sigh. Konowa turned and pointed down at the step to the soldier behind him.
“Don’t step here,” he said.
The soldier, Otillo, muttered and Konowa turned to follow Feylan.
A soft click of a metal latch releasing cut through the wind.
Konowa reached out to grab Feylan even as the sound of stone sliding on stone reached his ears.
He was too late. Konowa’s hand touched Feylan’s robe as a sharp snap echoed off the rocks around them.
No one move!” Pimmer hissed, his voice carrying far more authority than Konowa had ever heard.
Feylan stood stock-still with Konowa’s hand frozen on his shoulder.
“You must have triggered it, Major,” Feylan said. “It sounded like it was behind me.”
Konowa looked down at his boots, but could see nothing that indicated a trap. “No. I counted the right number of steps. I didn’t touch anything.”
“You’ve got the elf ears, sir, but I’m telling you I heard it right behind me.”
Konowa started to doubt himself. His hearing was far from perfect. Too many musket volleys and cannon blasts had taken their toll. Maybe Feylan was right. A thought dawned on Konowa and he twisted his body to the left so that he could look back down the steps while keeping his boots rooted to the stone. Pimmer was picking his way carefully through the men on the stairs as he climbed up to Konowa. He stopped a few steps below him and right behind Private Otillo. Konowa counted the steps back to Otillo.
“You stupid, stupid arse. You’re standing on the trigger.”
Otillo looked down then back up. Unbelievably, the soldier’s voice still sounded defiant. “Everything’s iced up. It should have been fine.” Konowa could see why Otillo had been bounced from his previous regiment. The lad refused to learn.
It was all Konowa could do not to fly back down the steps and throttle him. The fool had risked his life and all of theirs because of his don’t-give-a-damn attitude.
“Viceroy, what do we do now?” Konowa asked.
“This is most distressing. I’ll need a moment,” he said, burying his head in the map as he studied it.
“Quickly,” Konowa said. “We’re rather exposed out here.”
“Yes, yes, I do understand the urgency.” He looked up from his map and the expression on his face already told Konowa the answer. “There’s nothing on here about what to do if a trap is triggered.”
“Then I’ll just jump,” Otillo said, crouching in preparation.
“No!” Pimmer shouted. “You could be standing on a swing lever—”
Otillo jumped. The sound of iron pins scraping across stone echoed off the rocks a moment before the stone step he was standing on gave way. The stones plummeted into a dark chasm. Otillo’s momentum would have carried him to safety, but the second part of the trap now released. An iron bar buried in the rock debris and hinged to the stone step swung up and over as the weight of the stones fell. The bar caught Otillo square on the top of his head with a sickening crack, spraying blood ten feet into the air.
Otillo fell without a sound. A moment later the sound of crashing rock reverberated from the hole.
Ignoring Pimmer’s shouts to stay still, Konowa raced to the edge of the hole and looked down. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Even with his elven vision it was difficult to see all the way down, and for that he was thankful. He saw enough to know Otillo was dead. Black frost was already limning his body
“I tried to warn him,” Pimmer said. “I . . .”
“It’s not your fault, Pimmer,” Konowa said through clenched teeth, not caring that he hadn’t addressed him by his title in front of the men. “He didn’t listen, and it cost him his life.”
“It’s just that I—”
“We need to keep moving. Now.” Konowa knew his anger was driving his actions, and for the moment he was going to let it. One of his men had been killed because of stupidity, and because he didn’t take his commanding officer’s warning seriously enough. That was not going to happen again.
“Viceroy, if it’s safe, climb up and over the rocks and get back on the steps here. Move.”
Folding up his map, Pimmer clambered over the rocks piled high on either side of the stone stairs and past the gaping hole where Otillo fell. The remaining soldiers quickly followed suit until everyone was bunched up on the far side. Konowa held up a hand for Feylan to wait.
“Otillo’s death is my fault. I told him not to tread on that step and he didn’t listen.”
A couple of the soldiers started to protest this, but he cut them off with a curt wave of his hand. “The next time I give an order and it’s disobeyed the soldier won’t have to worry about a booby trap because I’ll take his head clean off. Is that understood?”
Konowa looked each of them in the eyes. Everyone nodded, including Pimmer.
“I’ll keep lead,” Feylan said. It wasn’t a question.
“You can only push your luck so far,” Konowa said, prepared to choose another soldier to take over for Feylan.
“I’ve come this far and I want to see it through. I don’t know who set these traps, but they aren’t going to beat me. I’ll get us to the top. Safely.”
Konowa could tell the soldier wouldn’t be easily swayed. He could give him a direct order to go to the back of the line and he’d obey, but there was something in his voice that told Konowa that Feylan needed to do this.
“Very well. Private Feylan has lead. Let’s go.”
They moved out silently, each footstep a well chosen affair. Their pace was definitely slower, but Konowa wasn’t going to chasten them. They were all shaken by Otillo’s death, especially because it had been so senseless. It was a harsh lesson to learn, but they were all very keen on counting now.
After a hundred steps Konowa thought about calling for a break. Climbing on ice-coated, uneven steps was bad enough, but looking and listening for signs of a booby trap made it exhausting. Every nerve and muscle was screaming with tension. A small rock tumbled down past Konowa and he almost pulled his saber to stab it.
Easy, easy, he told himself.
He turned his attention back to Feylan, watching where he put each foot. Feylan’s right boot raised and started to swing forward to the next step, but then paused in midair and came back down. Konowa tensed and put up his hand to signal to Pimmer behind him to stop. Feylan crouched down and brought his musket to rest on his hip, the bayonet pointing straight ahead. After several seconds, he quarter-turned so that Konowa could see the side of his face. His jaw was clenched as he whispered out the side of his mouth.
“Rakke. Boulder. Five yards ahead on the right.”
Konowa drew in a breath and
froze in place. How was that possible? He hadn’t sensed a thing. He focused on the black acorn and felt its cold power. Yes, there was danger. He’d become so accustomed to the pain of the cold that he hadn’t even noticed it. He inched up the step until his chest was pressed against Feylan’s back and he could rest his chin on his shoulder. He let his gaze travel up the steps and then to the right.
The back of his neck shivered uncontrollably. Feylan was right. Not five yards ahead a rakke crouched on a rock looking down the path they were climbing. How had the beast not seen them?
“Well spotted,” Konowa whispered.
Feylan moved his head just a fraction to the left. “I see three more behind it. And I think there are more behind those.”
The shivering moved to Konowa’s stomach.
He counted over a dozen rakkes perched on boulders. As he looked further up he realized that what he’d taken for more rocks were in fact rakkes. Scores of them. Thoughts of the bravado he’d displayed just a couple of hours before when he’d come up with this plan made him feel foolish. Instead of charging full speed with his saber flashing he wondered if he had just led them all to their deaths. Otillo had already paid the price. Were the others next?
A weight pressed against Konowa’s back and the warm breath of Pimmer thawed his good ear. “Did we find something?”
For a reply, Konowa pointed with his chin while trying to shrug Pimmer’s mouth away from his ear. If they were all about to die the current tableau wasn’t exactly the way Konowa wanted to meet his fate.
“Oh, yes, I see,” Pimmer whispered, patting Konowa on the arm. “Not to worry, I think I know how to deal with this.” Without another word Pimmer bent down, picked up a small rock, stood up and threw it at the nearest rakke.
Konowa was so shocked he couldn’t move. Was the man truly off his nut? The rock missed and rattled around among the boulders. The rakkes appeared not to notice. Before Konowa could act, Pimmer threw a second rock. This time it hit the rakke on the top of its skull and bounced off.
