Last Battle of the Icemark (28 page)

“I'm a healer, Commander Leonidas. It's my principal concern on this expedition to ensure the health of the army,” the Witchfather said in irritable tones. It was almost as though he'd read his mind and found his confusion annoying.

“Of-of course, My Lord,” he stammered, still amazed that someone with supposedly huge magical powers should concern himself with such mundane matters.

“Tell me, Commander, are you more likely to achieve success with a healthy, well-fed army, or with a disease-ravished, malnourished rabble?”

The Warlock was still reading his mind! He immediately blushed and blurted, “Well-fed . . . and-and . . . healthy, of-of-of course.”

“I'm sure the Commander understands your point, my dear,” Thirrin said gently. “Allow him a little time to come to terms with his new allies. It's not every day that a Polypontian officer speaks with werewolves, Snow Leopards and Warlocks.”

“Ah, of course. You'll have received the much-vaunted
Polypontian education in rationality, science and all things quantifiable, will you not, Commander Leonidas? So how do you find conversing with physical impossibilities and abominations of nature?” Oskan asked in acid tones.

“Erm . . . very nice, thank you,” he answered lamely.

“‘Very nice'? Is that all? But you're consorting with the totally impossible, according to your scientific beliefs!”

“Yes . . . I mean no . . . I mean, it's
very, very
nice.”

“Did you hear that, Grishmak? It's very, very nice to talk to you,” Oskan called to the werewolf King, who'd been chatting with Krisafitsa a few paces back.

“Is that right? I'm glad to hear it; I'll allow you to buy me a pint tonight in celebration, boy.”

“Certainly, sir, it'll be my pleasure!”

“Will it? Good, in which case you can buy me two!”

“Stop it, both of you!” a voice suddenly snapped and Leonidas turned to see a beautiful young woman who was so like Queen Thirrin she couldn't fail to be Cressida the Crown Princess. “This commander has risked his life to join us and bring vital information, and I won't have him pilloried by two vicious old stoats that seem to think they're being funny!”

“Strange, I thought I was introducing him to the rough and tumble of the Icemark's courtly life,” said Oskan with a wicked grin.

“Were you? I thought I was just lining up a few pints of beer,” remarked Grishmak. “Could you see your way clear to a pork pie and some pickles as well, Commander?”

“Er . . . yes, certainly . . .”

“Enough!” Cressida cut in loudly. “Grishmak, I believe you were talking to the Tharina, so you can just go back and carry on with your conversation. And Dad, one of your supply
wagons has broken an axle. You'd better see to it if you don't want to be left behind; there's no room for stragglers, you know.”

Oskan bowed ironically and turned his mule about, happy in the knowledge that he'd given his daughter a comfortable means of introducing herself to a young man she obviously found fascinating. When it came to social niceties she was hopeless, but give her a bullied stranger to rescue and her sense of outraged justice would give her the confidence she needed.

“I'm sorry about that,” Cressida said to Leonidas. “They don't mean any real harm by it, they've just got a funny sense of humour.”

“Oh, that's-that's-that's fine . . .” the commander said, trying not to let his jaw drop as he remembered how she'd dismissed the huge werewolf King as though he was a naughty schoolboy.

“Dad normally has more of a sense of decorum, but what with the strain of the war, and having to look after the entire army, I suppose he just forgot his manners.”

Leonidas shot her an incredulous glance; was she really talking about the most powerful Warlock that had ever walked the earth? “Don't-don't-don't, you know, don't worry about it. It's-it's fine.”

They both looked at each other and suddenly realised that they'd just about used up all the good excuses for talking, and immediately blushed like twin sunsets. “Well, I suppose I'd better inspect the troops or something,” said Cressida, her toes curling in excruciating embarrassment. What a stupid thing to say! ‘Inspect the troops'? Of all the moronic excuses!

“Yes, fine . . .” Leonidas mumbled. And then as an
afterthought added: “. . . Your Royal Highness.”

“Oh, no, don't. I mean
you
don't have to. I'm only an ordinary woman like everyone else . . . I mean, like every other woman . . . not like everyone else because not everyone's a woman . . . obviously . . .” Oh, Goddess! This was getting worse!

“I know what you mean . . .”

Thirrin, who'd discreetly dropped back with Andronicus to allow the two to talk, could see that a crisis point had been reached, and she urged her horse forward again. “I believe the Commander saw action recently, isn't that right, Leonidas?”

“Yes, at Bright Water River,” he answered, confident now that he had a safe subject to talk about.

“How many of the Hordes were there?” Thirrin asked, determined to keep the conversation going until Cressida felt confident enough to rejoin it.

“Quite a sizeable party. They were advance engineers, trying to build pontoon bridges for the rest of their army.”

“How fascinating!” Krisafitsa trotted up, desperate to help the ‘poor young things' get to know each other. “Did they put up much of a fight?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he answered, bowing in his saddle, as this was the first time he'd spoken to the Tharina. “They'd dug defences, and we feinted a frontal attack while I sent out detachments to take them in both flanks.”

“Classic pincer manoeuvre,” said Cressida, her interest in the skirmish at last overwhelming her crippling shyness. “Did it work?”

“Yes, eventually. But they fought hard, and we lost a few troopers. Still, we killed more of them, drove off the survivors and destroyed the groundwork they'd laid for the bridges.”

Crown Princess and commander ground to a conversational halt again and Krisafitsa stepped resolutely into the breach. “How long have you been in the field, exactly?”

Leonidas opened his mouth to reply, then paused as though taken by surprise. “More than a year without a break, ma'am,” he finally said, and then began to brush at the buff coat and breastplate of his cavalry uniform. “I probably look a complete mess. I can't remember the last time I spent more than a few hours in a town of any size; we usually bivouac in the countryside somewhere.”

“You look wonderful,” said Cressida distractedly, and then realising she'd spoken aloud, she coughed and blushed such a deep and fiery red that Thirrin wondered if she could set light to paper just by touching it to her cheeks.

Krisafitsa rallied once more, and went on: “Well, we've brought along a few home comforts that I'm sure you'd enjoy; there are baths, for example. I know humans like to soak their bodies in hot water, oddly enough, and perhaps Cressida could keep you company.” The splutters and coughs which followed this warned the Tharina that perhaps this wasn't acceptable behaviour in human circles, at least not amongst young humans who'd only just met. “Ah, but there again, perhaps not. Maybe Cressida could meet you after your bath and you could . . . chat.”

The Snow Leopard retreated, bloodied but unbowed, and allowed Andronicus to step in. “Leonidas won several decorations in the opening stages of the war, didn't you, my boy? Of course, we still had hopes at that point of containing the Hordes, but then supplies dried up and we began the long defeat that we've suffered up until now. Still, if we'd had enough ammunition and reinforcements, I'm sure Leonidas
would have been at the forefront of a glorious victory!”

This succeeded in only making the Commander look even more uncomfortable, but Cressida couldn't hide her admiration. “What decorations were they?”

“Two Exemplary Conduct medals, and an Imperial Cross – which, as we all know, is the highest order for bravery that the empire can bestow,” said Andronicus.

The breathless silence that this fell into somehow signalled the end of the conversation, and they all rode on quietly, with Cressida and Leonidas staring resolutely ahead, but side by side.

Andronicus was more than happy with the unexpected turn of events. After all, if his son and the Crown Princess were to strike up a relationship, the political advantages would be enormous. Bless the young, he thought to himself, and bless the mighty hormone. But then a less cynical part of his brain took over, and he fell to reminiscing about his long-dead wife and the wonderful effect she'd had on a young, slightly overweight officer so long ago.

The cold forever night of the Darkness stretched as far as Medea's psychic eye could see. The light of the moon reflected from the white tundra of frozen souls and touched rank upon rank of twisted, gigantic and hideous monsters. The Ice Demons were a truly appalling sight, and under rigid mind-control they made a formidable fighting force.

“An army of armies, Granddaughter,” an unexpected voice suddenly said beside her.

Medea leaped sideways, but recovered quickly enough to answer Cronus with some semblance of control. “An army of
conquering
armies, Grandfather.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “More Ice Demon regiments are marching in from the outlying reaches of the Darkness, and within a week we will be ready for invasion.”

“If the Physical Realms knew of the danger they're in, the entire structure and fabric of human society would collapse in terror,” said Medea happily. “To think there are even cultures that believed the mighty Cronus was imprisoned in the Darkness, and that the Goddess could prevent him from entering the world of mortals! How stupidly naïve!”

“Yes indeed, Granddaughter,” said Cronus with quiet menace. “But soon the people of the Icemark will find out exactly how wrong they were, when they die in their countless thousands. And after that the population of the entire world will be forced into changing its views. Millions will perish, and those that survive will envy them!”

Medea shuddered with evil anticipation. Soon she would be joint ruler over a new world order, and then let her family see if they could escape her wrath.

“Sister's coming home,” she thought happily to herself.

Erinor watched as the messenger thundered through the camp towards her. Dust rose from the horse's hooves in choking clouds; the rains had finally stopped, and the bitingly cold winds had helped to dry the clinging mud. Even this far south, she'd had to break the ice in her washing bowl that morning. Such domestic details would normally have been dealt with by Alexandros, but since she'd sacrificed her Consort to the Goddess to secure final victory in the war, she'd had to cope with such inconveniences herself. Of course she could have replaced him with a body servant of some sort, but that would hardly have been in keeping with the spirit of the sacrifice.
The point was, his loss had to hurt, and the difficulties of dealing with domestic issues served to remind her of that loss.

The messenger's horse was now close enough for her to see the rider's features clearly. No one she knew, she thought dismissively, and waited quietly. The horse slid to a stop in a flurry of flying stones and dust, and then the young woman flung herself from the saddle, dropped to one knee and presented the small leather case that contained letters and battle plans from Ariadne, the commander of the Hordes in the field.

Erinor took the case without a word and returned to her yurt. This was another effect of the sacrifices she'd made to the Goddess in the hope of victory; she'd denied herself the glory of finally taking the city of Romula, and now she was reduced to waiting for the reports that Ariadne sent twice daily so that she could keep abreast of events! Sometimes it was almost more than she could bear, and twice she'd dressed herself in her armour and prepared to ride north and join her army. But at the last moment, common sense had prevailed, and she'd returned instead to the huge map that filled the floor of her yurt, and moved the markers that represented the opposing forces instead. She had made the offering to the Goddess, and even to attempt to take it back would be the most terrible blasphemy.

With a frustrated sigh, Erinor broke the seal on the document case and took out the papers. Quickly she scanned the contents, and immediately began to move the markers on the map again. Ariadne's advanced party of engineers had met resistance at the Bright Water River, and had been repelled. Obviously Erinor would need to send a covering force of Shock Troops and archers to secure a crossing and construct the requisite number of pontoon bridges.

Erinor shrugged. At this point in the war, the enemy's resistance was of little consequence; the best they could hope to do was to slow down the Hordes' advance, which, at best, meant her soldiers' arrival before the walls of Romula would be delayed by a day or two. Of course if the enemy had had enough numbers to truly contest the crossing of the Bright Water River, the results could have been very different, and the campaign could have ground to a halt and even foundered. It was only by the grace of the Goddess that the Polypontians were scattered, broken and badly supplied. The beneficial effects of the sacrifices Erinor had made could be seen in this alone.

The killing of the Basilea's Consort was enough to win any war, especially if that Consort was Alexandros, and especially if he'd been loved as deeply as Erinor had loved him. For a brief moment she allowed the grief and sense of loss to submerge her, but then she straightened her spine and refused to accept the presence of the tears that slowly coursed down her face. Alexandros had been expendable, like all males; in fact, by being offered in sacrifice to the Goddess, he'd reached the highest pinnacle of honour possible for any man, and in this way his name would be remembered forever.