Melting Snow Ch.1
By Feliks Neverov
Edited by Lauren Eilene
Agent Zakhra of the Royal Office of Territorial Protection kept a gloved hand on the hilt of her saber as she walked through a wood near the front lines. She knew better than to assume she was safe just because she was technically in friendly territory. Her sword and musket were enough to fend off a few bandits, but if she were spotted by enemy troops, the fight wouldn't last very long.
The War of the Melting Snow had been going on for nearly two years now. The Solari Empire had wrenched vast swaths of land away from the Northern Alliance, and had pushed them back here to this single, tiny front. The tribes and militias that made up the meat of the Northern Regular Army fought fiercely against what they saw as an Imperial invasion of their homeland. The empire saw it as the last old-world holdout against its benevolent rule.
Zakhra snorted.
Too much politics, too little sense. At least it'll be over soon. This is a last stand if I ever saw one. she thought as she brushed a wayward bit of blonde hair from her eye. The cold air whistled through the trees and blew the thick layer of white powder on the ground into drifts against the sturdy redwoods. The agent shuddered and pulled her cloak of sewn rabbit skins tighter. She hated this climate. The Empire wasn't named after the sun for no reason. She was used to the rolling plains and warm winters of the Capital. Frankly, she couldn't grasp why the northerners would fight so hard to keep this frozen wasteland independent.
“Then again, I suppose it's not my wasteland,” Zakhra mused quietly to herself.
The next few hours passed in merciful peace, barring the occasional sound of the distant cannons at the front. By the time the agent reached her destination, a small town barely populous enough to appear on her map at all, the sun was already halfway through its descent to the horizon.
The town gate was manned by a couple of dark-skinned Imperial soldiers in dirty uniforms. Zakhra identified them as Auxiliaries from one of the conquered desert territories to the south.
“'Afternoon you poor bastards,” she called to the pair as they stood to monitor her approach. “Looks like you haven't been relieved in months!”
One of the soldiers held up a musket while the other, a junior officer, indicated for her to halt. She complied.
“Good afternoon, ma'am,” the second soldier replied in lightly accented Common Tongue. “Sorry, but we were not expecting visitors this day. You will have to present your papers.”
The agent nodded and pulled her identification from under the fur cloak. The officer looked them over and looked up in surprise.
“Ah, you are-”
Zakhra quickly motioned for the man to keep his voice down. He nodded and continued quietly as he handed her papers back.
“You are from the R.O.T.D.” He said something in his native language to the other soldier, who looked taken aback and lowered his weapon. The officer continued, now smiling. “What brings you to our humble watch?”
The agent returned the smile and pocketed her ID before replying. “I'm on the trail of the Northern operative known around these parts as the Silent Hammer and I believe someone in this place knows where he is. I need to speak to your commander.”
The officer looked even more surprised at the nature of her mission, but nodded and opened the gate.
“Captain Olayinka is in the command post we have set up in the house of worship. It is central to the town. Tell him Lieutenant Kwakou sent you and he will let you in.”
This time it was Zakhra's turn to look surprised. “Olayinka? Tall guy? Big beard? From Meridium?” Her face lit up when Kwakou nodded. “I served with him during the Red Sands Rebellion! With him in charge I'm surprised you haven't won the war by yourselves!”
Kwakou laughed. “I believe he has mentioned you before, yes! Please, go see him! I am sure he will appreciate your assistance.” His face grew more serious as he indicated the entrance once more. “Besides, we must not leave the gate open too long. There have been several raids in the past month.”
The agent nodded and proceeded through the gate and into the town, making sure to keep her hood up to avoid looking at any of the locals, who stared at her with wary eyes. As far as they knew she was just a well-armed traveler, and she wanted to keep it that way, at least until she caught her prey. For all she knew some of the Alliance soldiers that she had killed over the last few months had family here. After some wandering about for a while to memorize the layout of the streets, Zakhra made her way to the domed wooden building at the center of town.
It was fairly plain for a Northern church. Normally towns in these parts put great effort into their house of worship. The agent guessed this place had been fairly poor even before the war came to their doorstep. Still, they couldn't be happy about the place being commandeered by the Solari forces. She discreetly flashed her ID at the door guard before entering.
The interior was only slightly less run down than the outside. Cracked and faded murals covered the sloped walls of the structure, intersected by the intricately knotted wood carvings that adorned many buildings in the northlands. A few desks had been set up around the floor, with a handful of soldiers behind them sorting through papers. One or two looked up briefly, but the rest were far too engrossed in the tedium of their work to even notice her. At the far end of the room, sitting behind the altar that served as his work station was a large, muscular man in the bright yellow uniform of a senior Imperial officer. It fit him as if it were a second skin. Zakhra smirked before throwing off her hood and striding towards Captain Olayinka.
The local commander looked up from his reports as the blonde woman crested the stairs to the dais upon which the altar stood. A bright grin spread over the man's broad face. He leapt to his feet with surprising speed. Before Zakhra could even open her mouth, Olayinka had taken her hand and was shaking it vigorously. This might have thrown her off balance if she hadn't been expecting it. As it was, she did her best to return the handshake with as much enthusiasm as possible.
“Agent Zakhra! It's been far too long my friend! What in the name of the old gods are you doing all the way out here? You haven't been sent to deal with my caravan problems, have you? Oh! Would you like a drink?” The commander exclaimed, further delaying any words from the agent.
She finally had a chance to speak as he was pouring a strange white liquid into two ceramic tankards, despite her not actually having accepted his offer for a drink. She chuckled before replying.
“And here I was worried you wouldn't remember me. I'm glad to see they finally promoted you, Kolawole, though I'm surprised it took so long. After that holding action you pulled off with your irregulars back during the rebellion they should have made you a damn general.”
Kolawole gave a ringing laugh as he handed the white drink to Zakhra, which smelled far sweeter than the agent had been expecting, and shrugged. “You know how reluctant the crown is to promote us oxen.”
She grunted in affirmation. It had been a while since she had heard the slang term for Auxiliaries, but what he said was true. Even though soldiers from the conquered territories made up the bulk of the Solari military, they were often passed over in favor of Imperial citizens and treated as expendable in the field. She took a swig of her beverage. It had a thick texture and the flavor was an odd combination of sweet and sour.
The commander noticed her considering the concoction. “Local brew. Fermented goats milk and honey,” he explained.
“It's actually really good,” Zakhra replied, taking a larger gulp. “Anyway, as to your earlier question: if by 'caravan problems' you mean that northern operative that's been slaughtering people on our supply routes, then yes, I am here for that.”
Kolawole grinned once more. “Truly my prayers have been answered! Perhaps it is the position of my desk, eh?” He joked, indicating the paper-strewn altar. “Well, I will help you any way I can but I'm not sure I'll be able to do much. I have had no good intelligence for weeks. One of the survivors even told me the man was some sort of water demon. Damned scared children, some of them.”
The agent nodded. She had seen many of them in her travels. Young people who had signed on the moment they came of age just for the reliable food and lodging. No real experience with combat. It was always a pity to see them die. A part of her soul flew away every time she had to listen to one of those kids begging her to let them live. She hated it. At least when she wasn't at war anyone she had to kill on a mission generally had it coming.
“I've been tracking the Silent Hammer for months, Kola. He's just a man. A devastatingly efficient shock trooper, but still just a man. And if my intelligence is accurate there's someone in this town who knows when he's going to strike next.”
The commander's brow furrowed and his tone suddenly became much more serious.
“Truly? Here? Are you certain?” His questions came rapid-fire. Who was it? How had they escaped his detection? Was the operative breaching his defenses?
Zakhra held up a hand to quiet him. “All I have is a name, and a claim from a trusted source of a direct and recent tie to Hammer.”
Kolawole set his drink down and closed the distance between himself and the agent. “What is the name?” He asked gravely, placing his hands on her shoulders.
The agent's voice lowered to a tone only he could hear.
“Daniela Zitnik.”
*****
Later that night, Zakhra was astride a rooftop across the road from the local tavern. Her cloak was covered in snow, partly that which she put there herself and partly that which had fallen since she took her position. She had learned from Captain Olayinka, who was on the adjacent roof in similar camouflage, that her target was a barmaid at the establishment. It had been around three hours since the two had taken up their watch, and the last of the rabble had been slowly trickling out. Soon enough only a few remained, and within another half hour the tavern had emptied. The agent prepared herself. Her prey would be going home soon.
As predicted, a rather fetching young lady with raven hair, whom Kolawole had identified as Daniela earlier, soon exited the door, tying her thick coat shut before heading down the street in the snowy moonlight. The whole scene seemed so peaceful that Zakhra's heart sank at the thought of what they were about to do.
Still, she began to stalk her quarry. Her leather boots were wrapped in thick cloth to pad their sound, and she moved almost silently after the woman below her. She and the commander followed in this manner until Daniela reached her home. As she was just about to enter, the pair on the roofs shared a nod and dropped to the ground behind her. Before the local could react, Kolawole had pulled a cloth gag around her mouth and Zakhra had a knife to her throat.
“Don't scream or it'll be the last sound you ever make. Nod if you understand,” the agent hissed.
Daniela nodded sharply, tears already beginning to fill her eyes. The Imperials shoved her into the tiny cabin and bound her to a nearby chair. The darkness was only broken by a beam of moonlight from the single window, but it was just enough that the barmaid could make out Zakhra taking a seat opposite her. Olayinka remained in the shadows to avoid giving away his identity.
The agent began slowly. “Good evening, Miss Zitnik. I represent a party interested in finding the man called Silent Hammer.” She leaned back and toyed with the knife in her hands so that it flashed in the dim light. “I have come to understand that you might be of assistance in this matter. I certainly hope you can as we very much hate to be disappointed.”
It was a part she had played many times before. A part she hated. A part that every fiber of her being screamed to end. To let this poor woman go. But she couldn't. She knew her job. She knew what rode on her getting the information she needed from the frightened northerner. So she continued.
“Allow me to explain how this works. My partner is going to remove your gag, and you are going to begin telling me everything you know. If you call for help, we will kill you. If you claim you don't know anything, we will kill you. If we think you are deceiving us, we will kill you. Do you understand?” She said, her voice calm and even. Another nod from Daniela, who was sobbing quietly into the gag.
Zakhra leaned in, placing the knife against the young barmaid's throat once again. Kolawole slowly removed the cloth from her mouth. A small cry came out. The agent pressed the knife harder. The noise stopped. Daniela took a few shuddering breaths before she spoke.
“I... I do know him. He brings me bread in exchange for telling him when the caravans are leaving for the battlefield. The men speak of it in the tavern. I overhear them and tell the man what he wants to know.” Another quiet sob escaped her lips. “Please, I am only hungry. I do not want to die. I do not want the soldiers to die. I am only hungry.” she repeated the phrase over and over until breaking down again.
Zakhra's stomach churned as it always did when she was interrogating a prisoner, but she pressed the knife again, drawing a tiny sliver of blood from Daniela's neck. The sobbing ceased once more.
“When will he be back?” She growled.
“Two days. Two days from today. Please, I am truthful! Please!” A shove from Kolawole stopped her begging.
The agent pulled back the knife and smiled a joyless smile, made even more disturbing by the shadows. “See? Easy. We're not done yet though. We'll be needing your help to...meet him.”
Daniela looked up at the blonde woman, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. It pierced straight to Zakhra's heart. It was only through sheer force of will that she kept herself in character.
“You will go back to work tomorrow, and the next day, and however many days it takes for Silent Hammer to contact you again. You will tell him that the next caravan is leaving three days after he meets with you.” The agent grabbed the crying woman by the chin, looking into her eyes. “I want to make myself perfectly clear on this next part, so listen carefully: I will be watching you. Always. If you slip up, if you tell anyone about us, if you so much as gasp when you see me, you won't ever make it home. I have been doing this for a very, very long time and I have no problem cutting you down with the whole village looking on.”
Daniela's eyes closed and she nodded one last time.
Zakhra smiled that practiced, horrible smile again and let go of her. “Good. We'll be seeing you then.”
She motioned to the commander who cut the ropes around the barmaid's wrists. As the pair left, the dark-haired woman collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball and crying deeply and silently.
Once they were outside, Kolawole placed a hand on Zakhra's shoulder. “We had to. Remember that. Remember the lives that will be spared when we catch him.”
The agent was shaking and could not meet his eye, but nodded silently.
The commander hugged her. “I will take the first watch, until dawn. Go. Get some rest.”
Zakhra nodded again, the sound of sobbing still hanging faintly in the air from the door behind them, and left without a word.
She didn't sleep that night.
*****
Over the next two days the agent and the commander kept a constant watch on Daniela, Olayinka using his troops at a distance and Zakhra in person. She spent long hours in the tavern keeping an eye on the raven-haired northerner and pretending to read. The only times she would make eye contact with the barmaid was when she asked for refills on her drink, at which point they would both put on false smiles, one hiding fear and the other pain.
Finally, at the closing of the second day, it happened. There came a knock on the tavern door. Daniela's eyes darted to the agent, who aside from the landlord was the only one left awake, and then to the entrance. It opened slowly to reveal a pale man who made Kolawole look like a schoolboy. He stood nearly seven feet tall and wore brown leather armor with a wide-brimmed helmet. His slanted eyes scanned the room, lingering on Zakhra for a moment. Her nose was buried in her book. The landlord nodded to the large man and excused himself to go upstairs, telling Daniela to finish closing up.
With one last look at the agent, the imposing man took a seat across from the barmaid and set a bundle of brown cloth on the table between them. They spoke in their native language; Zakhra listened intently with trained ears.
<”I have brought bread for your chickens.>” Silent Hammer began. His voice was a deep, sonorous bass, devoid of any emotion. <”I have fed well recently and have much to spare.”>
Daniela replied in an uncertain voice that Zakhra recognized as a civilian attempting to remember a code. The agent nodded slightly to make sure the northerner knew she understood what was being said and wouldn't try any tricks. The barmaid inhaled slightly as a response before responding to the man across from her. <”I thank you deeply, kind sir. I believe they will be laying again soon.”>
<”It gladdens me to hear it, my friend. When will the eggs hatch?”> The large man replied in the same flat voice as before.
<”Th-Three days from now. I believe it will be a large clutch. I have moved the chickens to the
north coop, it is warmer there.”> Daniela's voice trembled.
Zakhra thought for a moment that Silent Hammer's head turned ever so slightly in her direction, but couldn't tell if it was deliberate or not from her angle. She tensed up a bit and reached for her saber, which rested against her chair.
The man simply stood, though, and replied with <”I wish you the best of luck. Until next time, Dina.”> before turning to leave. The door closed behind him with a thud and he disappeared into the night.
After a while, Zakhra crossed to where the barmaid still sat. The raven-haired woman was crying again, her hands pressed into her legs.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Zakhra whispered. “Rest assured, we have eyes everywhere. We will know if you attempt to warn him.”
Daniela's head shot up and all of a sudden any fear in her eyes was replaced with pure anger. “I hope he kills you. I hope he runs his blade straight through your heart, you southern dog,” she spat at the agent.
Zakhra managed to maintain her composure, but just barely. She glanced around to make sure they were alone before grabbing the woman by the shirt and pulling her forward so that their faces almost touched. Fear flooded back into the young woman's expression as she realized she might die for her words. Instead, a look of sheer, deep sadness spread across the agent's face and she spoke four words.
“I hope the same.”
With that she let the stunned barmaid go and calmly left the tavern.
*****
Captain Olayinka set up the caravan that would act as bait as normally as possible: two carts of food and weapons guarded by twelve soldiers, two drivers, and an officer. He also refrained from telling all but that officer what was really going on in order to minimize the chances of the soldiers guarding the shipments letting something slip. At the dawn of the third day after the exchange in the tavern, they set out towards the warfront.
Zakhra had snuck out of town the previous night and was camped close to the road that the carts were taking. She had swapped out her rabbit skin cloak for a set of white camouflage from the garrison's stores. As the caravan passed her she began to follow it at a distance, darting from cover to cover as silently as possible.
They continued on for miles. The agent noticed that the sound of cannons had stopped sometime during the journey. She gave little thought to why. It didn't affect her mission. The tension she felt in her body grew worse and worse as they drew closer to the front. Her mind began to swim with questions. When was Silent Hammer going to strike? Had he realized it was a trap? Had he spotted her somewhere on the road and laid low? What if he went to ground and fled to some other area? What if she had missed her chance?
About three quarters of a kilometer away from the last checkpoint before reaching the front, all such thoughts were purged from her mind in an instant. In the distance Zakhra heard shouts of fear and surprise. She saw at a glance what was wrong, and broke into a sprint to reach the carts. The hammer was falling, hard. The large man from the tavern had appeared seemingly out of the earth itself and was carving his way through the caravan guards. Six soldiers, split by sword, stained the snow red before the agent could reach them.
She understood now why he had been described as a water demon. His movements were like that of a great and terrible river, sweeping through all that stood in his way. A man of his stature had no business moving with such fluid grace. Her musket was useless with him being so close to her allies, who had only now all managed to draw their weapons. One less-scrupulous Solari fired hers at the shifting body of their assailant, succeeding only in hitting one of her fellows in the neck.
Zakhra threw off her gun and leapt into the fray, swinging at the aggressor’s back. It seemed like the large man melted out of the way of her strike. He let out a bestial roar and bashed into her chest with his shoulder, knocking her to the ground. As she struggled to rise, he felled two more of her comrades. She turned to the officer in charge, who was frantically trying to line up a shot with his pistol, and shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Take one of the horses and get help from the checkpoint! I'll hold him here! Go! Now!” The man nodded and cut one of the panicking beasts loose, just barely managing to get astride it and gallop northward.
She pulled herself to her feet just as two of the soldiers fled screaming past her. Just then, Silent Hammer came down on Zakhra like a raging torrent, strikes flying at her from what seemed like all directions. There was nothing in his eyes but a pure, inhuman rage. The agent barely kept up for a moment, being pushed back almost a full two meters. She hadn't been sent against him for no reason, though, and her lifelong training took over almost immediately. She became a boulder standing in the path of his river, planting her feet and knocking his blows to either side as quickly as he could bring them.
The two battled on for what seemed like an eternity, the wounds of several nearly fatal blows landing crimson drops on the trampled white beneath their feet. Their brows ran with sweat and their swords grew notched and dull, but neither gave up their ground for more than an instant. It was a dance that so engrossed them both that neither heard the sounds of hoofbeats approaching from the north.
A shot cracked out, and a woman's voice boomed from their left.
“Stand down immediately, soldiers!” This was followed, to the surprise of both fighters, with the same order repeated in the large man's native tongue.
The two enemy combatants jumped back from each other instinctively and looked up. A smoking pistol rested in the hand of a Solari general, who sat astride a fine steed and dressed in a brilliant yellow uniform. Beside her rode a man in a battered set of light armor bearing the green sigil of the Northern Alliance.
Zakhra and Silent Hammer looked at each other, each understanding the truth of the situation before either of the riders spoke it. Speak it they did, though.
“The war is over. The rebels surrendered this morning. By order of the Imperial Crown and the Northern Council, you are both to disarm.” The general stated in a tone so official that the large man barely needed to hear her statement translated to understand.
The two former enemies slowly lowered their swords. Zakhra looked over at her opponent, but his attention was on the bodies that littered the ground around them. He didn't seem to be listening anymore when the general told him that he was to be executed for major war crimes. He only glanced at the agent when his superior repeated the sentence in their language. With one last look at those he'd killed, he dropped his weapon and walked over to her. She raised her sword just in case, but was hardly expecting him to attack her. She expected a shout of anger, a cry of despair, even perhaps a relieved sigh.
Instead he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands limp at his sides. His gaze was directed at her, but his eyes were completely empty. He spoke in the same flat voice she had heard in the tavern.
<”End my war. Please.”>
Zakhra couldn't move for a moment. She couldn't react. Time seemed to stand still. This man, whose life was at her mercy, was everything she had ever feared she would become. The violence, the hatred, the rage of the war was gone from him, but with nothing left to replace it.
This was what could one day happen to her.
She fell to her knees as well, and embraced him.
He didn't react.
The general spoke. “What are you doing? He's your mission! Finish the job!”
Zakhra didn't speak. She didn't even look up.
The general dismounted and reloaded her pistol as she marched over to the pair.
“Move, agent,” the woman in the yellow uniform said coldly.
Zakhra locked eyes with her. Tears were slowly freezing as they traced her cheeks. Her voice was a quiet poison.
“You will not harm my prisoner, general. His execution is my responsibility by right of law. He will die when I kill him, not before.”
The general took a step back, seeing in the agent's eyes what would happen if she argued. After a brief pause to regain her composure she replied, “Very well. Be it on your head.” And with that, she remounted her horse and the two leaders, unequal in glory, rode south to spread their message of peace.
The two agents remained slumped into each other for some time until finally Zakhra pulled back. Silent Hammer's eyes, still unfocused, came to rest on her. There was a question in them. She understood, and replied with a question of her own.
“Your name?” She asked, her voice shaking.
He stared at her for a long while, as if trying to remember the answer himself. Finally he uttered a single word.
“Feliks.”
