Ashes of a Black Frost

by Chris Evans

  He smiled and looked up at the blackness before him.

  “Your pain is at an end,” he said, reaching out with both hands and grabbing the blackness between them.

  The fury of the storm spiked, the wind screamed, and the very air fractured as the madness that was Faltinald Gwyn began to collapse. Alwyn squeezed, crushing time and space into an ever-dwindling point of nothingness. Everything Alwyn ever knew and loved was ripped away as all his energy focused on destroying the creature and closing the tear. Claws and fangs lashed and cut him, gouging flesh and bone and memory. Obsidian-like blades of frost fire cauterized and healed the wounds, replacing flesh and blood with icy flame.

  Tears rolled down his face forming icicles on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and squeezed harder, taking the pain from the creature, amplifying it with his own, and building a wall in the tear between this world and the next. Everything dead became caught up in the whirlwind as Alwyn focused all his might. The monsters broke apart and flew back into the darkness, followed by the shades of the rakkes. Still, the maelstrom did not weaken.

  He slipped, as the branches of his wooden leg broke. He dropped down to his one knee and his grip on the creature faltered. The wall began to crack as the dead on the other side saw an opportunity to be free again.

  “Help me,” he cried, though he couldn’t be sure his voice had made any sound at all.

  Shades of the Iron Elves appeared at his side. He opened his eyes as they moved to the wall to buttress it, but even they were not enough. The creature sensed this, and the storm began to spin even faster. Alwyn cried out and would have let go, but a voice came to him from a distance.

  “Kick him in the arse and be done with it, Ally. I know damn sure I never taught you to give up!”

  Yimt!

  Alwyn turned, blinking tears out of his eyes.

  The dwarf stood on the edge of the storm. He was looking straight at Alwyn. The tears in his eyes were unmistakable.

  “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that I’d have my work cut out turning you into a soldier,” Yimt said, “but I always knew I would. You ain’t about to prove me wrong now, are you?”

  Alwyn laughed and cried at the same time. “Yimt! You’re alive!”

  “Well, what the hell else would I be? You didn’t think I’d let some mangy rakkes get the better of me now, did you?”

  Alwyn found the strength he needed. He squeezed one more time, and this time the creature was unable to resist. The monsters and shades of the rakkes were cast deep in the abyss of the distant past. He absorbed the creature’s pain, robbing it of its power.

  “I . . . there’s so much I want to say,” Alwyn shouted. His entire being was agony, but he still managed to smile. Yimt was alive.

  “Save your breath, Ally,” Yimt shouted back, his voice breaking up between sobs. “I’ll say it for both of us. You’re the skinny, overly sensitive, whiny, yet tough as bloody iron son I never had. I’m damn proud of you.”

  As the life force in his hands flickered with its last moments, Alwyn smiled. He crushed the last particle that had been Gwyn and the tear between the worlds was closed. The storm around him began to die, and as the air cleared he was able to get one, perfect look at Yimt. The dwarf stood military straight, giving Alwyn a salute.

  Alwyn saluted back as the toboggan engulfed in black flame slid to a halt beside him. The frost fire reached the kegs of black powder and exploded, banishing the darkness in a burning white sun brighter than a thousand stars.

  Snow flashed and vaporized. Everything went pure white then black as the night shattered. A sizzling wave of cold and hot air washed over Visyna, stealing the breath from her throat. Bright splotches of color swirled before her eyes as icy shards of frost fire crackled and slivered amidst searing-hot tongues of red-orange flame. A moment later, the booming sound of an explosion tore through the air, crushing everything flat in its path.

  It felt as if the ground had risen up and slammed into her instead of the other way around. Alternating currents of bitter cold and caustic heat roared overhead, twisting and turning in the sky. Visyna tried to lift her head, but it was pinned to the ground as much by her exhaustion as the rolling blast wave of the explosion.

  Unable to breathe and too weak to move, her vision began to gray and she experienced a growing numbness throughout her body. No, not like this! Fighting every urge to close her eyes and drift into unconsciousness, she pulled her arms back until she could prop herself up on her elbows. Straining like she was in labor, she hauled her body up to a sitting position.

  She brought one arm up to shield her face as she peered ahead, trying to find Konowa. There was so much flickering light and shadow that it took her a minute to find the spot she’d last seen him. She realized suddenly she hoped to see his body lying on the ground. It sounded perverse even as she thought it, but the logic was sound. If he was dead, there would be nothing left, but if he was only wounded, he would still be there.

  She scoured the ground ahead looking for any sign at all of the body of the elf she loved. She found him a moment later, but despite the horrors she had already witnessed, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.

  I’m dead. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel strange to think it. He tried out the concept again. I’m dead, I’m really dead.

  Something distant and loud echoed in the space around him, but he couldn’t put any meaning to it. Everything was dark, not black exactly, more like the absence of . . . anything.

  He tried to move, but the process by which that happened escaped him. For all that he didn’t feel trapped. It was as if he knew he could travel wherever he wanted, but he had no desire to go anywhere or do anything, so the fact that he couldn’t move was moot.

  The noise sounded closer. It was more distinct now, like a huge drum being beaten . . . or a cannon firing. He thought it strange he could hear that in the afterlife, but then again, why not? The Blood Oath meant he wasn’t really gone, not all the way.

  The thought was comforting. He realized he wasn’t ready to leave this world, not yet. His nose itched and he wanted to scratch it, but his arms still wouldn’t move. Wait a second. If my nose is itchy . . . oh bloody he—

  “—EELLLLLLLL!” Konowa yelled, his eyes flying open. Spots flickered in front of his eyes making it impossible to see anything clearly. He kept yelling, knowing that the moment he stopped he was going to experience something he had no desire to feel. He yelled until his whole body was rigid and shaking and his throat on fire. Finally, he closed his eyes and took in a breath, and with it the pain.

  “. . . mother,” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes and rolling down the side of his face. If he’d had a pistol in his hand and the energy to lift it he would have put it to his head and ended it all. Never in his life had he felt pain like this. This wasn’t possible. It was as if he was being frozen from the inside out. He could feel tiny, razor-sharp pieces of frost growing like crystal inside his body. The agony was so pure he could have cut diamonds with it.

  “I’m here my son, I’m here,” Chayii said, her voice coming to him like a rope to a drowning elf.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, unable to open his eyes again as the pain robbed him of the ability to do little more than breathe.

  “The blade is still in you, my son. That is why you are suffering. Hold on a little longer.”

  Konowa tried to make sense of what she was saying. What blade? He couldn’t remember how he got here, everything was fuzzy and out of order. His memory lay scattered about his mind like a spilled deck of playing cards. Images flashed in his mind, of sliding, of black fire, of rakkes, of—

  “Kritton!” He opened his eyes again and forced them to look to his left. A dark, shimmering, ethereal blade protruded from his shoulder. The shoulder itself was sheathed in black ice like an armor suit. That’s what saved me, he realized, also understanding that it was the power of the frost fire that now kept the blade firmly lodged in his flesh. The blade faded in and out of sig
ht, and as it did the pain ebbed and flowed like the tides. “Pull it out! Bloody hell, pull the damn thing out!”

  Now that he knew the source of the pain he found strength in his limbs. He thrashed and cursed and spit and dug his heels into the dirt as the pain wracked him. He tried to reach the blade to pull it out himself, but when his hand grasped the shadowy pommel it closed around nothing. It was as if the blade really was just shadow. There was nothing to hold on to.

  “You see our dilemma,” Pimmer said, coming into view. “We’ve tried all manner of ways to remove the blade, but thus far none have worked.”

  “We haven’t tried my idea yet,” Yimt said, barging forward. The Viceroy started to object then thought better of it and disappeared. Yimt knelt beside Konowa and laid a hand on his right arm. Even through the pain, Konowa could tell the dwarf had been crying.

  “You remember Ally took that black arrow in his leg. He lost the leg, but he survived. Miss Red Owl, er, your mother, helped with that.”

  Konowa felt colder still. “You want to cut off my arm?”

  “This thing is killing you. If we don’t do something soon you’re going to be a solid block of ice.”

  Konowa knew it was true. He could feel the frost fire inside him. It had never done that before.

  His back arched as a new surge of pain raced through his body. “Okay,” he panted, “let’s call that . . . plan B. Mother, can’t you do some magic and get it out?”

  She leaned forward so that her face was above his. “My child, this is beyond my power, and even if your father were himself, I do not think he could do it either.”

  “Visyna?”

  There was a pause before Chayii answered. “She is . . . too weak right now. But have faith, we will find a way.”

  “Renwar,” Konowa said, his mind reeling through the list of people he knew with magical powers. It was surprisingly large. “He’s part of their world. Can’t he pull it out?”

  The silence that greeted his question triggered something in Konowa’s memory.

  “The explosion . . .”

  “There’s a massive crater where Ally was fighting that thing,” Yimt said. His voice deepened with the effort to recall the events. “You should have seen him, Major. Bravest lad I ever knew. He did himself proud.”

  Even in his pain, Konowa could hear the hurt in Yimt’s voice. “I’m sorry. If I hadn’t lit the sled on fire—”

  Yimt squeezed his arm. “You did what you had to do, Major, just like Ally. He’d already made his choice long before that sled exploded. Besides, if he is dead . . .”

  Konowa understood. If Alwyn was dead, they would see him again.

  “Could one of the other shades get this thing out of my shoulder?”

  Yimt coughed before answering. “They’re gone. When we all picked ourselves up after the explosion the DD and even the rakke dead just vanished. Can’t find a trace of them anywhere.”

  A cannon boomed nearby. “The battle is still going on?” Konowa asked.

  “Still hundreds of regular old rakkes running around. We’re holding them off, but that’s about it.”

  Something wasn’t adding up. “How are the cannons firing? We ran out of shot for them.”

  “That was the Viceroy’s second idea. He took chunks of those dragon sarka har you went flying with and stuffed them down the cannon barrels. Not exactly standard procedure, but credit where it’s due, those things tear up rakkes like a hungry dog with a bone.”

  It was an image Konowa could have done without. “The regiment. We need to get out of here.”

  “We’re working on it,” Yimt said. He looked away for a second and then back at Konowa. His smile was alarming. “Miss Synjyn is coming. She’ll get you right as rain.”

  Everything went black. When Konowa opened his eyes again, Rallie was kneeling on his left side. She held a sheaf of papers in one hand and a quill in the other. The end of a lit cigar glowed cherry red clenched between her teeth. He coughed and blew cigar smoke out of his lungs. “So what’s the verdict?”

  Rallie looked up from her papers. “I’m drawing you a new reality, one that doesn’t include a sword of shadow stuck in your shoulder.”

  “You can do that?” Konowa asked.

  “I really don’t know, but it’s a cinch we’re all about to find out. Now, you might feel a little sting when I do this.”

  Yimt placed his knee on Konowa’s right shoulder and his hands on his head, pinning him securely to the ground. Hrem appeared and grabbed hold of both his ankles.

  “Sting?”

  “Would you rather I tell you it’s going to hurt beyond belief?” Rallie asked.

  “Not now,” Konowa said, wishing he hadn’t asked.

  “Count of three?” Rallie asked.

  “Sure, just give me a-argh!” he screamed, as she began to draw on the paper and the blade in his shoulder vibrated with tension.

  “Hold him steady. If he moves too much I could accidentally draw part of him out of existence.”

  Konowa choked back his next scream and grunted. Every time he thought the pain couldn’t get worse it drove another spike into him. Black frost flickered around the hands of Yimt and Hrem where they held him, but neither let go.

  “I do believe it’s working,” Rallie said over the scratching of her quill.

  Konowa wanted to shout his dissent, but he was afraid to move at all. Batting an eyelash hurt too much. “Let me know . . . when you’re sure,” he gasped.

  “That’s it, Major, you’re doing fine. Miss Synjyn will have you stitched up like new in no time,” Hrem said from down by his feet.

  Konowa looked down his body and saw Hrem had his eyes closed.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “He just doesn’t like to see the insides of people is all,” Yimt said. “Me on the other hand, I find it downright fascinating. Get to see what makes a fellow tick. Not every day you can say you got to see the inner workings of an officer.”

  Konowa risked a look over at his shoulder and felt the blood drain from his face. The shadow blade remained intact, but a large chunk of his shoulder was missing. He could see the pure white bone of his shoulder joint. Black tendrils of frost fire intermingled with shadow snaked all around it and deep into his flesh.

  “Rallie?”

  “It really is crucial you stay as still as possible,” she said, her quill moving even faster as she drew across the page. “In order to remove the blade, I first have to remove all the parts of you infected by the blade, which,” she hurriedly added, “I plan to put back when the blade is gone.”

  “Oh, is that what you’re doing?” he said between gasps. “Carry on.”

  “See, no problem,” Yimt said. Konowa felt the pressure on his head shift as Yimt leaned over for a better look at the wound. “Reminds me of a beef joint, but very little marbling. Not very tender I’m afraid, but probably good for stew if you let it simmer for a day.”

  “You wouldn’t like me,” Konowa said, a tiny smile reaching his lips. “We elves are gamey.”

  “I’ve heard that,” Yimt said, as if this was an entirely normal and acceptable topic of conversation. “Now take a big slab of human meat like Private Vulhber there. You’ve got to figure there’s a good ten pounds of top sirloin running along that spine of his. Lot of prime cuts in a lad that size.”

  “Have you ever tried orc?” Konowa asked, flinching as another wave of pain spread out from the wound.

  “Now that’s gamey,” Yimt said. “Just about broke a tooth on some orc jerky one time. Nasty stuff. You could soak it for a week and it’d still be as tough as boot leather. But here’s something most people don’t know. Orcs have the most tender—” whatever Yimt was going to say was cut off by Hrem’s shouting.

  “Would you two please stop! I’m going to be sick.”

  Konowa looked down at him and sure enough, the big soldier looked wan and about ready to pass out.

  “Easy, Hrem, we’re just chitchatting here. Keeping the major p
reoccupied is all. Pick a different subject if you like. Come to think of it, all this talk about food has built up an appetite. I’ve been thinking about trying out a new recipe—”

  “Or silence,” Hrem said, his breaths coming in short bursts. “Silence might work.”

  “Not to worry gentlemen, the deed is done,” Rallie said.

  Konowa looked over as she flourished her quill and tucked it away up a sleeve. He had the oddest thought that her arm must be covered in ink stains, but then he was looking at his shoulder.

  The blade was gone and his shoulder was whole again, but with a nasty-looking black scar running across it. The cascading waves of pain were gone, too. Every muscle in his body relaxed and he felt his back touch the ground again. It was as if a thousand ropes under tension had been cut and he sank into a puddle of relief.

  The frost fire had already disappeared. He tentatively moved the fingers of his left hand.

  “They work. Hurts like hell, but they work.”

  Rallie leaned back and took the cigar from her mouth, blowing out a thick stream of smoke. “I’m tempted to remind you of the aphorism about quills being mightier than the sword, but you can read all about it when I write my next dispatch.”

  “Help me up,” Konowa said, struggling to lift his shoulders from the ground. They wouldn’t budge. “Sergeant, you can stop holding me down, Rallie’s finished.”

  Yimt appeared at his side, his hands held out for Konowa to see. “Not me, Major.”

  Rallie leaned over and looked closely in his eyes. He had to turn his head to avoid being burnt by the end of her cigar. She leaned back and sighed. “I had hoped to avoid this, but it could have been worse.”

  “What?” Konowa asked.

  “I did my best to redraw everything back as it was, connecting all the little fibers and bits to where they were before. Still, that kind of work is hard on a body. I’ve never actually done anything like this before, well, I don’t think I have . . .”

  Konowa shared a look with Yimt and decided to ignore the last part. “Rallie, I can’t be flat on my back while the regiment fights. They need me.” And I need them.