Last Battle of the Icemark (14 page)

Ollie sat up and tried to focus his beer-fuddled eyes. “Olympia, Basilea of the Northern Hypolitan, do you really want to be remembered as the first leader of your people in more than half a millennium who ignored their rights as citizens and inflicted punishment without due process of the law?”

She held his gaze for a few moments and then sighed. “No. No, I don't. But even so, there are elements that need watching.”

“There are always elements that need watching. But in the meantime I have a steak pie and too much beer to sleep off.” With that he fell immediately asleep.

Olympia looked at him for a few seconds, caught between annoyance and amusement. Then she covered him up, snuffed the candle and snuggled up to what felt and sounded like a hibernating greyling bear.

C
HAPTER
12

C
ressida helped herself to wine and lay back in her chair. She was tired after spending several hours training in the lists, but at last she had a little time for herself, and she chose to spend it with Eodred and Howler.

Her brother's quarters were always so much more ‘lived-in' than her own. The floor was littered with pieces of armour, old belts and discarded lacings, and the place smelt like a housecarle's armpit after a day spent fighting in the hot sunshine. But somehow she felt comfortable here. Her own rooms were gleamingly clean, and as tidy as an ironed shirt; in fact, if they'd been anything other than spotless the chamberlains would have been in serious trouble, and she wouldn't have been able to relax until order had been restored. But Eodred's and Howler's room was different. Perhaps it was precisely because it was the complete opposite of her own space that she could relax so completely. She didn't have to worry about keeping up with the expected standards of the Crown Princess, and could wind down in the company of two fellow warriors who had no interest whatsoever in etiquette or the correct procedures of court life.

“So you think we'll be ready to march in a month or so?” Eodred said, lying back on his bed and stretching luxuriously as he slowly thought things through.

“Yes,” Cressida replied, focusing her mind on the conversation. “About five weeks, in fact.”

“How far then to Romula?” asked Howler.

“I'm a bit sketchy on that, I'm afraid. But a week or so of steady marching, I should think.”

“Hmm, the latest relay reports say that Erinor and her Hordes are about to invade the Polypontian heartlands,” said Howler, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “General Andronicus is trying to stop her with a scratch army cobbled together from remnants and garrison troops, but nobody thinks he's got a chance.”

“I shouldn't think he has,” Cressida said, sipping her wine. “Though Andronicus is more than competent according to all the intelligence we have, and if his supplies were better and he'd had time to train his troops, then I think Erinor might have got a shock.”

“Really?” said Eodred, sitting up. “Could he have stopped her?”

“I didn't say that. The Hordes are brilliantly ferocious and, some believe, unstoppable. But I think it would have taken more than one battle to settle the matter. Don't forget that Andronicus was second only to Bellorum in the Imperial military hierarchy. In fact, we're told that his was the loudest voice in the Senate against invading the Icemark, and he led the peace faction that wanted to recall Bellorum when the war dragged on longer than anyone thought.”

“Shrewd, then,” said Howler.

“Very.”

“So what'll happen?” asked Eodred.

“With a bit of luck, Andronicus will slow Erinor down, perhaps even hurt her enough to stop her for a while, and so give us a better chance to establish ourselves before she's ready to march again.”

“And what about these Tri-Horns?” Eodred went on. “Are they as unstoppable as everyone claims?”

Cressida shrugged. “Who knows? We can only judge by the reports we receive, and they suggest the animals are virtually indestructible. But no one here's actually witnessed them in action. Even the refugee Polypontian officer the werewolves brought north from the border has no idea. To be honest, I don't think he's actually seen any active service, just admin and supply and that sort of thing; useful for details about logistics, but no good when it comes to the sharp edge of the fighting.”

Howler paced the room, suddenly restless. “It's a shame we can't go in and bring someone out!”

“What do you mean?” asked Cressida.

“You know, a small raiding party to seek out and capture a Polypontian officer with experience of fighting Erinor.”

“I see your point, but it's too risky. They'd need to go to the front line to get someone with the relevant knowledge, and striking so deep into unknown territory and then getting out again, undetected, would be nigh on impossible,” said Cressida briskly. “And not only that, but if they fell into the hands of the Hordes then all chance of taking them by surprise would be lost. Erinor mustn't know we're coming. By all accounts she's a brilliant tactician and strategist; if she finds out that we're on the way she'll be ready for us.”

“I suppose so,” Howler reluctantly agreed. “But without information we're fighting blind.”

Cressida shrugged. “We'll just have to be as adaptable as the enemy, then. Until the empire began to fragment they were just a scatter of mountain tribes bickering amongst themselves. It took someone with vision and power to stop them attacking each other and teach them to fight together. Erinor forced them to adapt to new circumstances, and now
we
have to adapt to
her
.”

The sound of marching feet, roaring voices and galloping hooves percolated faintly through the shutters that were closed against the weather of a late Icemark autumn. “Someone's busy learning to adapt right now,” said Eodred, climbing to his feet and opening the window so that a blast of freezing air howled around the room. “Not many of us are used to campaigning in the winter weather. Still, it'll be warmer in the Polypontus . . . slightly.”

Down on the plain that surrounded the city of Frostmarris, Tharaman-Thar and Krisafitsa-Tharina watched as a division of the cavalry put a contingent of infantry through its paces. Already there'd been several light falls of snow and the frozen land was covered in a ragged blanket of white. In the distance the Great Forest roared and howled as an icy wind found a voice in the naked branches of the trees, and an ominously grey sky threatened more snow before the end of the day.

“Does she really need to do this now?” Tharaman asked cantankerously. “We were at it all day yesterday and things got so . . . 
vigorous
almost half the infantry and upwards of thirty cavalry ended up in the infirmary!”

“Don't exaggerate, dearest,” said Krisafitsa calmly. “It was much less than a quarter of the foot-soldiers, and only fifteen cavalry.”

Tharaman humphed moodily, then added: “Yes, and five of those were Snow Leopards! That just proves how violent it was; it takes pretty energetic war-gaming to put our warriors in the hospital.”

“You know she's desperate to get the army battle-ready, and keep them that way. And besides, she needs to distract herself. Sharley's still missing and she's afraid.”

“And we're not, I suppose.”

“Well, of course we are, my dear,” she answered quietly. “That fact is made abundantly clear by your complaints about Thirrin. I don't think I've ever heard you say a word against her until now.”

Tharaman lowered his head. “I'm tired, Krisa, we've a war to fight – an invasion, no less – and all I can do is wonder where our daughter has got to. How can I concentrate when one of our cubs is lost on the Plain of Desolation?”

“No more than I can. But we must, Tharaman. This new threat from the south could destroy the Icemark and the Hypolitan, our friends and allies. We can do nothing to help Kirimin and the boys now. We can only trust that Oskan traces them and brings them home safely.”

“But he's already admitted that he can't find them, and that someone, or some
thing
, is masking their whereabouts,” said Tharaman desperately. “That in itself is a huge worry; why would anyone hide them from a potential rescuer unless they meant them harm?”

Krisafitsa flattened her ears with fear. “I've no idea, and I must admit it looks bad. But we have no choice, my love – we
can only wait while Oskan continues his search, and pray that he succeeds.”

“And if he doesn't?” the Thar asked quietly.

“If he doesn't . . . if he doesn't then for a time the stars will stand still in their courses, and the sun will be dimmed to a grey parody of day,” said Krisafitsa in a whisper. “But still, Tharaman, still our allies will be threatened, and our friends will be in danger, and I for one will fight in their war, though my heart may mourn for the rest of my days and my life will be changed to a cold and dark shadow of what it once was.”

The Thar gazed out over the darkening plain, his amber eyes glowing like the heart of a winter's fire, and the icy wind stroking patterns in his richly dense fur. Then at last he hung his head low for a moment before turning to his Tharina. “You're right, as ever, my love,” he finally said. “From now on my heart will still be in the Magical Realms, but I will try to use my teeth and claws here in the physical world. Our friends are in need and the struggle is about to begin. Let none say that Tharaman and Krisafitsa ever betrayed those in need of the Snow Leopards' strength!”

And, throwing back his head, he sent out a mighty roar that was answered by all of his people, until the Plain of Frostmarris echoed with the power and might of the Icesheets.

Oskan searched slowly through the Plain of Desolation again. Eventually he turned away and looked beyond the steaming geysers, mud-pots and hot springs to the narrow area of rocky scree that led down to the chasm bordering the land. He knew that beyond the border lay the supreme evil of the Darkness, and he was desperate to find the boys and Kirimin.

But despite his sense of urgency he was distracted; being so
close to the evil realm filled his psyche with a frisson of almost unbearable excitement. He was well aware that all he had to do was lower his defences and the Dark Power would fill his mind to capacity, and then no amount of shielding would be able to hide Sharley from him. But what then? Would he just become as evil and as twisted as every other fool who'd opened themselves to the Darkness, or would he be strong enough to control it? He was, after all, supposedly the son of the second most powerful being in the Cosmos . . .

“And that second most powerful being was also made evil and twisted by the Darkness,” said a voice, and Oskan watched as the Messenger of the Goddess approached. He hadn't seen or spoken with the powerful spirit since she'd appeared in his psychic trance. Oskan raised his hand in greeting and wondered what this second visitation heralded.

“I rather thought that Cronus was evil before he created his realm,” he said.

“And so he was,” the messenger agreed as she stood before him. “But the creation of the Darkness has compounded his wickedness. He's steeped and bathed in its power every second of his existence; it permeates every part and particle of his being, corrupting and deforming his very soul. Exactly as it would do to you if you chose to open your mind to it.”

Oskan nodded. “And she has sent you to warn me of this?”

“Yes, and also to remind you of the weapon of knowledge that the Goddess has placed in your hands. You must choose to use it freely for it to be truly effective.”

Oskan remained silent. The sacrifice that its use demanded was appalling, and he still resisted accepting his task.

“The Goddess will expect an answer from you soon, Oskan Witchfather. She knows of your pain, as She knows the minds
of all of Her children. But the existence of the entire Cosmos depends upon your decision. She must think of the many.”

Oskan nodded and looked up, meaning to tell the messenger to ask the Goddess to allow him a little more time. But she had gone, and he was alone in the ether of the Plain of Desolation. He sighed; when would there ever be time for Oskan Witch's Son again, the boy who'd once met a princess in the forest and given her shelter from a storm?

He scanned the plain around him, and for a while he could see nothing – but then, for a moment, a tiny flicker of identity broke through an obscuring fog.

‘Sharley!'

The mask that had been hiding the three friends had slipped, and now he could see why. Whoever it was that had enticed them away to the Plain of Desolation was about to attack, and maintaining the energy levels needed to hide people while preparing to strike was almost impossible.

Quickly Oskan assumed the shape of a giant hawk and sped to the chasm. As he flew he could sense a building of negative power in the ether. Whoever it was that was trying to kill Sharley and his friends was almost ready to strike! The kids would be defenceless against Magical Power.

He arrived just as a bank of black thundercloud rose out of the void and moved threateningly towards the two boys and the Snow Leopard. Bolts of lightning flickered about its huge bulk, and deep rumbling notes of thunder muttered and boomed ominously. Quickly Oskan projected a bridge that leaped out over the yawning chasm, an ideal place of safety; nothing could harm anyone who stepped onto magical bridges, because the levels of magic needed to make them were so high that all other power in the vicinity was
rendered null and void.

Oskan could also see that Sharley and Mekhmet were drawing their scimitars, and Kirimin was crouching, ready to spring at the approaching storm. Desperately he shouted a warning, but it emerged from his hawk throat as a piercing screech. There was a small flying creature nearby, and when it heard the hawk it flew about the friends' heads and seemed either to be urging them towards the bridge or harrying them in some way.