Last Battle of the Icemark (26 page)

C
HAPTER
19

“
T
hen . . . then
you
caused the Polypontian Empire to invade the Icemark?”

Medea sat in silence as the enormity of what Cronus was saying sank in. She was appalled, she was thrilled, she was breathless with excited amazement.

“Of course.”

“And so
you
have caused all the wars there've ever been?”

“Not
all
the wars there've ever been. Human beings have always had a capacity for violence. I just helped them along a little.”

“And all the fighting and killing were just part of a master plan to distract the human race while you invaded and took over the Physical Realms.”

“Exactly.”

Medea nodded in silence again as she absorbed this incredible idea. But then her shrewd mind found an anomaly, and she shot Cronus a piercing glance. “So why are you telling me this now?”

“Because now I'm almost ready to carry out my final plans, and despite the weakness of your emotional mind, you are one
of the most powerful Adepts that has ever been. An alliance with you would be useful to my cause.”

Medea was flattered, but oddly she was also disappointed. If Cronus wanted her help, then he couldn't be as powerful as she'd liked to believe. In her imagination the Arc-Adept was the mightiest being in all of the Multiverse, before whom even the Goddess trembled, and yet here he was asking her help to invade the Physical Realms. Her disillusioned mind began to search for further flaws and immediately raised an obvious question.

“So, if you've been planning to invade the Physical Realms for so long, why haven't you done it yet?”

The temperature in the Great Hall of the Bone Fortress seemed to drop even lower, and the ice particles that flowed around Cronus's form swirled in agitation. “The Goddess has watched me closely for aeons and opposed my plans, but my strength has now outgrown even Her ability to stop me.”

“That being the case,” Medea said, “I must ask the question again: why haven't you invaded the Physical Realms before?”

“Because there is another to consider.”

“Who?”

Cronus paused as if to heighten the dramatic effect, then said, “Oskan Witchfather.”

Medea gasped in amazement. Cronus's plans were being thwarted by her father! Once again her shrewd mind was forced to make an adjustment. Oskan was powerful enough to thwart the Arc-Adept's invasion plans! True, he was the most formidable Adept now living in the Physical Realms, and his power combined with that of the witches would be daunting opposition to any invasion. But once she and her grandfather
had taken control of the Icemark and established their defences, surely they'd be unassailable!

Unless . . . unless, of course, there was something else to consider. She could hardly believe it, but eventually she had to accept the obvious.

“You're afraid!” she said in appalled amazement. “You're afraid of my father!”

“Fear is an emotion I cannot feel, Granddaughter. But, my child, you have no idea of the extent of his powers. And neither, incidentally, has he.”

“He's simply an Adept!
I'm
more powerful than he!”

“No, you're not, Granddaughter. If Oskan were to truly accept his position within the magical ecology of the Darkness, there'd be none who could even approach his abilities. He'd be mighty . . . mightier . . . the mightiest! Terrible and unbearable would be his rule, and we would all be his grovelling subjects!”

She gazed at him in horror. “Even . . . even
you?
”

“Even I,” Cronus confirmed.

“But this can't be true!” she managed to croak at last.

“It can, and is,” said Cronus. “The only thing that has saved the whole of the Magical and Physical Realms is the fact that Oskan refuses to accept what he secretly knows. He's chosen the path of Goodness and Truth and he rejects the Darkness. But in the extremity of our invasion of the Icemark, he might be forced to use every weapon and Ability he has.”

He paused, and the dead, empty eyes turned to regard her. “This is why we must form an alliance with him; this is why we must convince him to join us, then all nations can unite and human feeling can be discarded for ever.”

Medea was appalled. In the long, bitter years she'd spent
in the Darkness, the one comfort she'd had was the belief that her Gift was greater than her father's. Now Cronus was telling her that she was badly mistaken. The Witchfather had the capacity to be the greatest and most evil Adept of all time . . . all he had to do was accept his true potential, and all Creation would be at risk!

For the briefest of moments she was almost prostrated by fear, disappointment and even grief. But mixed in with all the negatives was the quiet note of admiration and love for her father. She did her best to quash these feelings and desperately began to search for a flaw in Cronus's revelation.

After a while, a small light of hope was ignited in her brain. Oskan would never embrace his true potential.

“No, Grandfather. It'll never happen. Oskan won't dare accept the Power of the Darkness, especially if he knows it really could make him the greatest and most dangerous Adept ever.”

“Why?” Cronus boomed.

“He loves my mother too much.”

A silence fell. The Arc-Adept's flat black eyes looked at her blankly for a moment, then he spoke. “Are you saying that offspring of mine would put emotion before power? That he'd reject ruling both the Darkness
and
the Physical Realms because of love? Impossible! No one could resist the call of such limitless power. Once he'd established his rule he'd even be in a position to attack the Goddess! Who could reject the chance to rule all Creation?”

Medea smiled, revelling in the power of the knowledge she held. “You obviously don't understand my father. If he accepts the Power of the Darkness he'll become immortal, right?”

“Of course.”

“If he's immortal he won't ever die?”

“Also undeniable.”

“So, if he can't die he'll never be able to enter the designated Heavens, in whatever form they take. The very nature of the universe won't allow it!”

“Yes and yes again! Look, child, what are you trying to say?”

“It's simple. He won't be able to face eternity without my mother. He'd sooner die, and be with her in whatever Heaven they're eventually sent to!” Medea paused, allowing the enormity of what she was saying to percolate through. “Don't you see what this means? We
can
invade the Icemark; he'll never risk turning to the Darkness in any war he fights against us, and there'll be no need to take him into an alliance! We can rule alone; just the two of us.”

“To think that a son of mine could value mere
love
over all that the Darkness can give him. I am truly amazed and ashamed.”

“But you accept I'm right?” Medea asked breathlessly.

“Yes,” he answered at last. “Yes! But even now, I still think that we need your father in our alliance. We must at least try to convince him to join us. With him we will certainly succeed, but without him the contest will be less certain, the final victory longer in coming.”

“But what does time matter to an Immortal such as yourself?” she asked, desperate to exclude Oskan from their future empire. “Besides, I've already told you why he'll always refuse to accept the Darkness; he'll never abandon my mother, and if he remains human he'll be just one more Adept in a Cosmos that
we
rule and dominate.”

Cronus returned to his seat, staring to the middle distance as he thought things through. “But his decision to value mere love higher than the ultimate prize of pure power sullies the line of Cronus the Great and poisons the purity of the Darkness. Our battle with him weakens our strength. And because of this, I insist that we at least make the attempt to draw him into our cause.”

Medea almost wailed in desperation. “But you've said yourself that he's dangerous; how can we be certain that he won't discover our plans if we even meet with him?”

“Because my mind is protected by psychic shields of adamant; nothing could penetrate them, not even the Goddess Herself. And nor will he be able to break through yours, with a little help from me.” He paused again and Medea waited as patiently as she could while his white lips faintly mouthed the words running through his head. “Besides,” he continued at last, “Oskan Witchfather is one of the very few creatures whose mind
I
haven't been able to fully penetrate. His defences throw me out every time I try, but I know he's tempted by the Darkness. He believes he can control it. And perhaps in direct conversation he will reveal more of himself than he realises.”

Medea opened her mouth to protest again, but then she was struck by the possibility that her grandfather simply
wanted
to meet his son, and that perhaps Cronus was more influenced by emotions than he realised. A sudden surge of jealousy flamed up within her. Once again she was being excluded; once again she was being placed second in her family's affections.

She began to splutter objections, but Cronus raised his hand. “Enough! I have decided; we shall meet with Oskan
Witchfather, and then we shall test his mind in a competition of willpower. Be content with the fact that your words have shown me I am now able to invade the Physical Realms with or without Oskan's collaboration!”

C
HAPTER
20

E
rinor sat in silence. Her yurt was in darkness, the only light source being the grey glow of dawn that glimmered through the entrance flap. The camp, too, was unusually silent, the normal sounds of waking and early-morning preparations muted and subdued. Even so, today was to be momentous. Today the final phase of the campaign against the Polypontian Empire would begin. The march on Romula itself was to commence, and a new empire would rise from the foundations. But despite this, there was an atmosphere of quiet and of waiting.

Erinor drew breath, but denied herself the sigh that waited locked in her lungs, and she exhaled quietly. A sigh might denote regret; a sigh could hint at emotional weakness.

At the sound of approaching feet, she turned her eyes to the entrance flap and waited. Ariadne, her second-in-command, entered and bowed.

“Your Majesty, all is prepared.”

“Is the sacrifice waiting?”

“No, Ma'am. As agreed, the victim will be paraded through the camp before being despatched.”

Erinor almost gave orders to change the plan, but remained silent and nodded. She stood, already fully armed and armoured, and strode out of the yurt. Her Tri-Horn was approaching, and she waited until it lumbered to a halt before her. It raised its huge head and bellowed, but even it seemed to be affected by the atmosphere, and it subsided into silence. The Basilea then climbed onto its raised foreleg, up via its bony ruff and into the howdah high on its back.

From her vantage point Erinor could see far and wide over the camp, the tangle of yurts resolving themselves into a grid pattern of temporary streets, wide parade grounds and training squares. Already representative regiments were drawn up in the central square: over ten thousand of the male Shock Troops and fifteen thousand of the elite female soldiers. The rest of the teeming hordes that made up the army were drawn up beyond the boundaries of the yurt city, no square or parade ground being big enough to accommodate them all. Even so, they would know precisely when the sacrifice had been made, because the Tri-Horns would roar and a great beacon would be lit.

Erinor gave the word, and the mahout urged the giant beast forward. Soon they were pacing through the streets, and a phalanx of horse-mounted officers followed behind, led by Ariadne. The Basilea allowed the rhythmic swaying of the howdah to lull her mind into a non-thinking state as she approached the parade square. To think would be to regret. The sacrifice had to be made, and for it to be truly efficacious it must hurt the giver . . . it must hurt the giver badly.

As the Tri-Horn entered the square the waiting soldiers began to sing a hymn of praise to the Goddess and to Erinor, her representative on earth. Round and round rolled the song,
its melody doleful and sad, as befitted a day of sacrifice. All accepted the belief that making a painless offering to the Goddess was worthless. It never seemed to occur to her worshippers that the Mother of All would be deeply saddened to think of Her children hurting themselves, or denying themselves some much-needed commodity, just to make what they considered a fitting offering.

Erinor's giant mount advanced to the centre of the square, where it halted, and a silence descended. Nearby stood a flock of goats, a herd of cows and over fifty hand-picked warhorses. All of the creatures were bedecked with garlands of flowers, and their coats were brushed and cleaned until they gleamed.

The Basilea nodded and the sacrifice began. Soon the square was awash with blood as hundreds of jugulars were slit and the animals sank slowly to the ground as their lives ebbed away.

Erinor nodded again and the mahout dismounted, leaving her to place the huge chisel at the base of her Tri-Horn's skull where its spine entered its brain. Taking the hammer, she struck the chisel three times and the massive creature collapsed as suddenly as a felled tree.

But still the sacrifice was not complete. With perfect timing, Alexandros, the royal Consort, entered the square. His escort of soldiers stamped to a halt, and he advanced alone to where Erinor was stepping from the wreckage of her dead Tri-Horn. He bowed low, then stood waiting.

His wife nodded in greeting, and then advanced to meet him. “Welcome, Alexandros. Are you made ready?”

“Your Majesty, I am.”

“What is it you wish?”

“Nothing but a kiss,” he said quietly.

“Gladly given,” she answered, and for a moment the two embraced and kissed as though no one else was present. “Forgive me,” she whispered in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispered back. And then they stepped apart, and, drawing her sword, Erinor ran its glittering length through his heart.

A muttering rose up from the ranks of the Shock Troops as Alexandros, their commander, slipped slowly to his knees. And then, as Erinor gently laid him on the ground, a deathly silence fell. Tears coursed down her face. If sacrifice without pain was worthless, how great – how enormous – must be the worth of this offering to the Goddess?

The army seemed to gush out of the narrow entrance of the pass, like wine from an opened bottle. Thirrin hadn't been allowed time to sit and gaze upon the lands of the Polypontus, or to savour the moment in which she now led an invasion force into the empire that had twice invaded her little land. The press of the following army was such that she'd been carried forward and down onto the wide grassy plain that flowed from the foothills of the Dancing Maidens and out towards a network of cascading mountain streams.

She frowned to herself; the relay of orders back along the ranks would need to be tightened. No way could they afford such a breakdown in communications when in battle.

“For goodness' sake, woman, lighten up!” snapped Grishmak, reading her mind perfectly. “Everyone got their orders, but they just couldn't resist the temptation to push forward and see the Polypontus. This is history in the making, you know, and understandably everyone wants a piece of it!”

“I know, Grishy. But we can't allow one moment of lapse
when we're fighting Erinor. I'm just worried that if excitement can make the army ignore orders, then what about fear, and what about bloodlust? Just one slip against that woman, and she'll have us!”

“Well, there won't be any slips. The army knows that different rules apply in a battle situation . . .” He trailed off as he watched Cressida gallop by, her face a mask of fury. “Someone's going to cop it! I wonder how many'll be on charge before we make camp this evening, and for that matter how many'll be flogged?”

Thirrin sighed. “I know, I know. Leave it with me. I was going to have a few strong words with the section commanders myself, but Cressida can never quite get things in proportion!”

“You'd better go and sort it out now then, before the Crown Princess makes herself the most unpopular woman in the army.”

Thirrin nodded, and galloped after her daughter.

“Well, Grishy, we're here!” a booming voice called over the noise of the marching army. The werewolf King waited quietly as Tharaman-Thar and Krisafitsa-Tharina trotted up. “The furthest south I've ever been, and probably about as far as I ever want to go, for that matter.”

“The snow got here before you, though, just to make sure you got a good welcome.”

“Call this snow? This isn't snow! It's just a sprinkling of powder to cool my tootsies,” said the Thar contemptuously.

“Oh, I don't know,” argued Grishmak. “It's drifted quite deeply in parts.”

“Huh, not enough to come up to my—”

“That will do, Tharaman,” said Krisafitsa primly. “We
want no crudities, thank you.”

“Don't we? Funny, I was only going to say it wasn't deep enough to come up to my knees.”

“Were you?” asked the Tharina sceptically.

“We'll have to keep an eye on the supply wagons,” Grishmak said, hoping to interrupt any bickering before it started.

“Why, are there problems?” asked Tharaman, almost panicking.

“Don't worry, the beer and wine are safe, and so's the food convoy. I'm just saying that the drivers might need a bit of help through the deeper drifts, that's all.”

“Right, I'll send some of my strongest Leopards to the Supply Commander. We can't be having any difficulties, now, can we?”

“I'm sure Thirrin's already thought of everything, Tharaman,” said Krisafitsa. “There's no need to panic.”

“Who's panicking? I'm just taking proper precautions, that's all.”

“You're a fine commander, my dear – always concerned with the basics of planning,” said Krisafitsa with amused irony.

“Well, yes indeed. ‘An army marches on its stomach' as the old saying goes! Who
did
say that, anyway?”

“Some idiot,” Grishmak observed acerbically. “A snake, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Tharaman replied absently as he watched a wagon struggling through one of the snowdrifts. “Come on, let's give the driver a hand. There could be important supplies on board!”

“There are,” said Krisafitsa. “Toilet paper, I believe.”

“Bog roll?” asked Grishmak incredulously. “On campaign?”

“Do you mean the stuff humans wipe their . . . you know, after they've . . .?” Tharaman said.

“Yes, that's right. Oskan insists on it. There are tools for digging proper latrines too, complete with instruction manuals for the correct dimensions and depths.”

“What on earth for?” the Thar asked.

“Hygiene, apparently. He says more soldiers have died of diseases caused by bad sanitation than were ever killed by the enemy.”

“I suppose he's right,” observed Grishmak. “There's nothing worse then bum trouble when you're on the march.”

The army rumbled on under a cold and sparkling blue sky, and slowly, over the course of several hours, the landscape changed from the rocks, scree slopes and tough grasses of the mountains to the gentler slopes and vegetation of the lower altitudes. And then, as the sun started to slowly dip towards the horizon, a halt was called and the process of setting up camp began.

Even though they'd left the mountains behind, they were still quite high up in the foothills, and when night fell, so did the temperatures. Several degrees of frost coated every surface in a thick crystalline crust of ice, and the cloudless night sky glittered with stars. All through the camp, fires crackled and roared in the freezing winds, and Allied soldiers of all species gathered about their warmth, eating and drinking and sometimes singing or telling stories.

Thirrin's campaign tent felt very empty. Oskan was away in a different part of the camp with the witches and healers, and
even though Cressida and General Andronicus sat with her, both were silent as they gazed into the middle distance and thought their own thoughts.

“Of course, with the support of an Allied army behind them I'm sure the pike regiments will be more than a match for the Tri-Horns!” Andronicus suddenly said, as though they'd been discussing tactics.

“I'm sorry?” said Thirrin.

“Pike regiments, beat the Tri-Horns . . . you know, in battle.”

“Oh, yes. Perhaps . . . we'll have to see.”

“I think the general's right,” said Cressida, waking up from her own thoughts, and then making it clear to everyone exactly what she'd been thinking about by adding, “We should rendezvous with your son, Leonidas, tomorrow, shouldn't we?”

“All being well, yes. I've received no news from him, but that's not unexpected in a land at war. We don't have the advantage of the werewolf relay.”

“You've no reason to think there're any problems, have you?”

“Well, no more than the usual ones for a cavalry commander on active service. But I'm sure if anything . . . bad had happened, I'd have been told somehow.”

“Good,” said Cressida with feeling.

Thirrin waited for her to ask the usual questions about troop size and disposition, but after a few minutes of silence, she was surprised to find that she was the one who finally did the asking. “How many soldiers will he have with him, General?”

“That rather depends on depletion, I'm afraid. But hopefully at least three thousand cavalry, and perhaps a sizeable
number of infantry.”

“A sizeable number?”

“I'm sorry, I can't really be any more precise. If he's had to move fast through enemy territory, the foot soldiers will have been left behind.”

“Yes, of course.”

The general stretched and yawned. “Please forgive me, ma'am. But it's been a long day, and we've an early start tomorrow, so if you don't mind I'll say goodnight.”

“Of course,” said Thirrin and inclined her head as Andronicus saluted. She watched as he then saluted Cressida and left the tent. Thirrin marvelled at how quickly she'd accepted his presence in the Allied High Command. If anyone had told her six months ago that a Polypontian general would be one of her most trusted officers, privy to all the secrets of the Allied army, she'd have laughed. But here he was, an integral part of her planning, and an indispensable member of her inner circle, along with Tharaman, Grishmak and Krisafitsa. She still had problems with Polypontians in general, but the particular of Andronicus and his Free Polypontian Forces she'd accepted fully.