This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

The old wizard promised the General favorable weather, but now men were freezing, horses were dying, and the General’s most trusted advisor was dubious.

—

“Lord Reynold, a bolt of lightning has struck the ridge, and the black stones are burning.” The young messenger lost his grip on his spear, struggled to catch it, then bowed before me. “The Wizard’s spell worked.”

The Captain nodded, stroking his beard. “The Fates have looked upon us with favor. They have blessed us with heat so we can defeat the Thrax.”

My glare remained steadfast until he averted his eyes, and then I rebuked him. “Your supposition is incorrect. The rocks are coal. The gods and sorcery had nothing to do with this. The Wizard promised us favorable weather, and he failed.”

The Captain squinted. “Lightning this late in the season? And warmth exactly when we need it? I, for one, intend to thaw my bones. I care not whether gods or happenstance brought us this unexpected good fortune. Now we can save the horses.”

His attitude angered me, but my voice remained calm. “You will order the men to set fire to all the coal they can find. They must melt snow and fill the water kegs. Every man will sleep with his horse tonight. You and I will meet with the General and the commanders to discuss tactics.”

Gods! They do not exist. Sorcery? By all the Truths! Magic does not exist either. When will these people learn?

I stomped away from the tent and surveyed our camp: burnt remains of funeral pyres; a dead horse hacked into pieces and roasting over several fires; one of my men moaning, belt in his teeth, as the Healer severed his frost-bitten fingers to save his life.

Even in the bitter cold, I smelled fear. It carried on the breeze, mingling with the stench of sweat and urine and foul breath.

Violent shivers seized me, piercing to my deepest innards with the icy knives of an early winter worse than any I had ever experienced. With my fur cloak pressed to my chin, I hastened toward the tent of the General.

Once we had forged our plans, our watchers stood guard, silhouetted against the red waves of heat, as we enjoyed our first comfortable slumber in weeks. The coal continued to burn and glow through the darkness, alerting the Thrax to our position.

~

Thrax soldiers attacked the following night after we had extinguished our fires, and the moon shone high in a heaven bedecked with stars. The enemy crept forward, their bulky shadows bent low, goatskin armor silent, with spears and hammers in hand. They stabbed and pummeled every cloak-covered figure in the camp.

But the shock on their faces was overshadowed by the terror in their screams as our warriors came out of hiding, and the Thrax realized they had besieged bodies of snow rather than flesh.

I surveyed the slaughter. A radiance covered the carnage: a radiance that did not come from the coal. Clinks and laughs sounded from all directions as my men relieved the corpses of valuables and weapons. An unearthly hum vibrated in my bones.

Sorcery or strategy? Perhaps only the gods know.

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.