Last Battle of the Icemark (33 page)

She gasped for breath, exhausted by the effort to kill and kill again. Her charger's legs were red to the shoulder as he struck out with his hooves at the enemy before him and every one of her warriors of all species was barely recognisable beneath a brilliant crimson coating. This was the Hordes' greatest strength: they absorbed their enemies' power and then drained them of strength until they were ready to be overwhelmed.

But then, over the clamour of battle, a strange sound came from the city; a great bellowing and roaring, as though all the beasts that had ever lived had been packed within its walls, and were now fighting to break free.

Quickly Thirrin looked towards the shattered southern gates, and watched in amazement as a huge stampede of Tri-Horns suddenly burst into view. The massive beasts trampled all before them, cutting a huge bloody swathe through the unfought ranks of the enemy, and a shudder passed through the Hordes, as though through the pelt of a giant animal.

The Tri-Horns raged on, unchecked, unstoppable. And as they came closer, Thirrin could see that some carried the remains of smashed howdahs that were populated by corpses, all rolling and lolling with the rocking gait of the animals.

Then slowly the cohesion of the Hordes began to falter. At first the units in the path of the stampeding Tri-Horns started to move away, rolling apart like a bank of fog before a blowing wind as the soldiers tried to escape the massive feet of the panicking and enraged creatures. Others then caught the
movement, as section collided with section, and soon there was a general movement away from the gates of the city. At first there was no panic and no sense that a rout was beginning, but then a ragged tangle of fleeing soldiers burst from the city, Shock Troops and elite female regiments following the Tri-Horns as close as they dared. The Hordes were in retreat! Such a thing was unknown! Such a thing hadn't happened since the coming of Basilea Erinor! And so shocking was the sight that the regiments still waiting to enter Romula fell back before their running comrades.

Field marshals tried to regain control of the massive beast that was the Hordes, but still they rolled away from the gates, and then when the strange army of giant leopards and hairy monsters that was attacking their flank suddenly drew back and charged them again, a great howl rose up and the plain surrounding the city was suddenly filled with fleeing soldiers as the Hordes laid down their invincibility and ran in defeat.

In the streets of Romula the Tri-Horns pushed forward, bellowing and roaring as they came in to attack the barricade, but the
feel
of the battle was changing. Cressida could sense the change; it tingled along her limbs and filled her belly with a fire that drove her on over the heaving backs of the giant beasts. And always beside her strode Leonidas, his whip-thin, elegant figure fighting with the speed and finesse of a dancer, his sword flashing and flickering as they attacked the soldiers in the howdahs, his face calm and peaceful as if he was strolling in a pleasant garden. To her right, Cressida could see Sharley and Mekhmet fighting beside Kirimin as they drove forward over the sea of backs, and to her left, Eodred and Howler led
the Regiment of the Red Eye in a murderous advance.

But then she and Leonidas leaped onto the back of one of the largest of the Tri-Horns, and suddenly they were both aware that something was different. The howdah was the biggest they'd encountered, and around it stood a unit of enemy soldiers dressed in uniforms that were edged with purple. Immediately they realised they'd reached the Tri-Horn of the commander. Erinor herself may be absent from the battle, but whoever rode this beast must, by definition, be high-ranking and vitally important to the war of the Hordes.

With cold calculation, Cressida and Leonidas waited until their following unit had caught up with them, and then with a roar they leaped to the attack. The action was sharp and bloody, sword and spear, shield and axe trading blow for blow as Cressida led them to sweep aside the enemy soldiers.

Now they were in the howdah itself, and suddenly before them stood the Commander of the Hordes, tall and powerful and wielding a double-headed axe that felled all before her like wheat before a scythe. Cressida waited until the swing of the giant axe was at its widest reach, and then she leaped in, her sword striking forward and slicing open the Commander's throat.

Ariadne fell in silence, relieved that she wouldn't have to face Erinor, and the remains of her bodyguard fled, wailing that the Commander was dead.

Down on the barricades Andronicus was still directing the pike regiments' struggle with the Tri-Horns, the men holding their position unflinchingly and driving the razor-sharp steel of the giant spears through the beasts' armour and into their flesh. To the massive animals the stings of the pikes were like
those of giant hornets: maddening, enraging, fearful. They bellowed and pushed forward, breaking hundreds of the spears, but more swung down into the engage position and continued to cut and sting.

Andronicus roared out orders as the stifling stench of the beasts billowed around him. Nearby, a pike man fell with an arrow in his throat, but the general seized his giant spear and raised it to fill the gap in the hedge of steel while he continued to direct the defence.

“Hold them! Hold them, lads! They're weakening; they're giving ground!” He'd been shouting similar phrases for over an hour as he encouraged his men, but suddenly he realised it was true. The Tri-Horns were falling back!

As one the phalanx of pike surged forward, biting deep into the flesh of the giant animals that still stood before them. Then, with a sudden bellow of rage, a solitary beast turned, crippling its neighbour as its vicious horns scored deep wounds along its flank, and blundered away, crushing dozens of Shock Troops that were advancing in support.

Andronicus maintained an iron hold on the phalanx, not allowing them to break the line as they continued to push forward at the solid wall of Tri-Horns. But then, at last, more and more of the beasts began to turn away, dislodging the fighting howdahs as they smashed into each other in their haste to get away from the biting blades of the pikes.

“We have them! They're running! They're running!” Andronicus screamed in elation. Suddenly the entire line took up the call, and cheering spilled out over the battlefield.

The Tri-Horns were in full stampede, crushing the Hordes that had been marching in support of their attack. For a moment the Shock Troops and elite female regiments stood in
awe as the monstrous animals rolled towards them, pounding and maiming thousands of their comrades. But then, with a roar of despair, they forgot their invincibility, they forgot that they were an army that was rendered invulnerable by the favour of the Goddess, and they turned and ran.

The Snow Leopards, werewolves and human soldiers that had been fighting the enemy in the howdahs now leaped to safety, falling from the giant creatures' backs like droplets of cascading water. Overhead, the Vampires harried the retreat, diving down on the fleeing soldiers and screeching in triumph as they tore off their heads.

It was over, the battle was won and Romula was saved. Now would begin the long chase, as the enemy was pursued and cut down in their thousands. The Eppian Way was suddenly almost shockingly silent as both defeated and victor ran from the city. Only Andronicus and his pike men still held their position on the barricade, but after a few moments he quietly gave the order to ground pikes. The phalanx stood to attention for almost five minutes, and then, when he was finally certain the enemy had been routed, the Polypontian General told his men to stand down.

Wearily he removed his helmet, and, finding an old stool in the rubbish and flotsam that had been used to make the barricade, he sat down and waited for Thirrin to re-enter the city.

C
HAPTER
24

O
skan and the witches had been working for almost ten hours without a break. Many warriors of all species had been brought into the complex of tents he'd set up as an infirmary, and he and his healers had begun the long battle to save as many lives as they could.

His clothes were stiff with blood and other bodily fluids, and his boots were soaked as he paddled through the puddles of gore and slime that washed across the floor. He had calculated that they were losing five patients for every one they saved, and of those who survived almost half would be crippled in some way by their injuries. But he was enough of a realist to know that he could expect little better in the way of results, and at least some lives were saved from the horrors of the battle.

He suddenly noticed, with an almost detached interest, that the canvas of the tent he was working in was drenched with great sweeping swathes of blood which made quite pleasing patterns against the brightness of the sunset outside. But then his patient groaned, and he returned to the task of trying to remove the arrowhead that was buried deep in his side.

Eventually, after long minutes of cutting, he managed to free the barbs and slide the thick piece of iron free of the wound. Now all he had to do was close the arteries before they emptied themselves of their precious contents. The young man had slipped into unconsciousness by this time, making Oskan's job of stitching and closing much easier.

He put in the last suture, and stood back while the orderlies removed the patient and brought in another. This was a young woman with a badly broken leg. The thick thigh bone was sticking through the flesh, and Oskan knew that forcing the jagged and glistening break back through the wound, and then lining it up with the other half so that it could mend, would be so hideously painful that the patient could quite easily die of shock.

Quickly he made a decision. Taking a key, he opened a small chest that stood against the canvas wall of his operating theatre. This was where he kept his precious supplies of poppy. The rough morphine would take away the pain and shock, making survival more likely for the patient. But supplies were scarce, and getting scarcer by the day, it seemed. As he decanted a measure of the liquid from a flask, he calculated how much they had left. Much less than was needed, that was sure – but as the main supply route came from the south, and probably began in Artemesion, the homeland of the Hordes themselves, they were very unlikely to get any more.

He helped the patient to drink, and watched in unfading wonder as her face relaxed and the screaming stopped. Just how did it work? If only he knew, then perhaps he could find some other source for its miraculous painkilling properties.

But he must move quickly before its effects wore off. With incredible speed, he and his assisting witch straightened the
badly mangled leg, removed all bone splinters from the wound and pushed the shattered ends of the break back through the chaos of torn muscles, tendons and skin, until it met with the corresponding break deep inside the leg. They then twisted and rotated the limb until it looked as straight as they could judge it, after which they washed everything in old wine and garlic juice and proceeded to stitch the ragged wound, bandage it, and then set everything in a rigid splint. Perhaps the patient would never run again, Oskan thought to himself, but at least she'd walk, and as a cavalry trooper, she may even go to war again, and create more work for the healers to repair. Such was the role of the medic in a militaristic society.

Another wounded soldier was then brought in, and Oskan was so busy concentrating on the job in hand that at first he didn't notice the pricking sensation in the back of his neck that often warned him of some sort of psychic event. But eventually he was able to leave the patient to one of his witches, and he looked up and applied his Eye, trying to track down the source of the magical disturbance.

For almost five minutes he searched the ether, until gradually it dawned on him that perhaps he'd experienced a premonition, or a warning. But whatever it had been, or was going to be, the sense of foreboding had now gone, and though it left him feeling deeply uneasy, he didn't really have the time to search any longer. There were just too many wounded soldiers to treat, and maybe the feeling was just an anomaly of some sort; nothing important, just a small glitch in the ether.

The Vampires fell screaming and raging through the sky over Frostmarris. Below them the Ice Demons milled about in near panic as the attack began, but then suddenly they steadied and
began to raise spears and shields to ward off the aerial assault. The Vampire Queen had been watching for this; the commander of the first attempt to defend the city had warned her of the enemy's use of mind-control, and now she knew that Cronus and Medea were manipulating the simple but vicious creatures of their army.

She raised her head and screeched as the battlements of the citadel rushed up to meet them, and then, instantly transforming into her human form, she stepped out of flight onto the cold stone and drew her sword.

Leading the attack, she smashed into the ranks of the enemy before her, driving the lumbering beasts back by the pure ferocity of her charge, while all around her, the Vampire army struck and parried with deadly elegance, killing dozens of the demons.

The Queen waited in cynical patience, and smiled when the expected attempt to control the minds of her Vampires began. With a swaggering contempt, she raised the powerful psychic shields that protected herself and her army. Obviously the enemy must be completely naïve if they believed it was possible to exist for more than twelve hundred years without learning a thing or two about protecting oneself against psychic power.

At the height of their combined abilities, the Vampire King and Queen had been the match of any witch or warlock; only Oskan Witchfather had been stronger, but then again,
he
was the exception to almost every magical rule. Even now that she was alone, Her Vampiric Majesty found that as long as she kept up the highest levels of concentration, her methods of magical protection were more than a match for Medea and the horrendous
thing
she'd brought with her.

But the Vampire Queen had to admit that though she wasn't shocked that the Witchfather's daughter had returned from exile in the Darkness, she
was
deeply disturbed by the depths of depravity to which Medea had managed to sink. It was all well and good being evil, as long as one remained within the limits and parameters of the Goddess-given universe, but Medea and the creature she'd brought with her obviously wanted to change
everything
. Truly, to some people nothing was sacred.

Now more and more Ice Demons began to swarm up onto the battlements, bellowing and roaring as they attacked, forcing Her Vampiric Majesty to concentrate on the immediate task in hand. It soon became clear that the position was indefensible, and as the Queen screeched out an order, her army leaped into flight and powered away to attack the weak point of the outer walls, namely the main gatehouse of the city.

Within minutes they'd landed, driven out or killed the demons and established the foothold the Vampires needed. Sitting at ease in the main chamber of the barbican, Her Vampiric Majesty directed operations as her Undead warriors attacked the rest of the city. Half of the squadrons dug in to protect their position, whilst the rest flew off to drop pots of flaming pitch into anything flammable they could find. Soon huge areas of Frostmarris were a raging inferno.

Once the fires were well established, the Queen regrouped her warriors and led them on a devastating rampage through the city. Soon they were fighting from street to street, driving against the lumbering Ice Demons and scything through their defensive lines.

But then massive reinforcements arrived, bellowing and roaring as they ran up to help their comrades. The army of
the Darkness now began to gain the upper hand, and once again the Queen disengaged, leading her squadrons back into flight as she sought a new area of weakness to attack and destroy.

Medea and Cronus sat in the Great Hall of the citadel, their eyes closed and minds conjoined as they directed the defence of the city. The assault had been completely unexpected, but their powers were such that they'd soon recovered, and mounted a counter-attack that they were sure would ultimately destroy the Vampires.

The fact that Her Vampiric Majesty could resist their mind control had been something of a shock, it had to be admitted, but it was really only an inconvenience that would eventually be overcome. Once they'd destroyed the nuisance the Vampires represented, they could resume their programme for the total domination of the Physical Realms.

But then the conjoined minds of the two Adepts registered puzzlement. Her Vampiric Majesty and her forces had disappeared. One moment the Ice Demons were gaining the upper hand in the barbican district of the city, and the next they'd withdrawn and vanished.

Suddenly the ceiling of the Great Hall exploded in a cascade of falling tiles, roof beams and plaster as the Vampires smashed through the roof. The air was filled with shrieking and the clatter of giant leathery wings as the Undead warriors rained chaos into the hall. Cronus and Medea leaped to their feet and ran to shelter among a tangle of huge oak tables that had been blasted aside by the Queen's arrival.

“Are there no limits to this woman's impudence?” Cronus raged.

“Just blast her!” Medea replied, and sent out a bolt of plasma that punched a hole through the wall of the Great Hall, but left the Vampires unscathed.

“Waste of time and effort,” Cronus shouted. “She's shielded. So are her soldiers.”

“What do we do, then?”

“Oh, there are many ways and means of dealing with those that have lesser Abilities. But first of all we call in the demons, of course!”

Quickly they sent out a mental summons, and within seconds hundreds of the gigantic soldiers of the Darkness powered into the hall, filling it with their size, noise and choking stench. Now the battle for the citadel began in earnest; the ring of metal on metal filled the hall as sword traded blow with axe, and the hideous screeching of the Vampires mingled with the roaring and bellowing of the demons.

Soon the floors were awash with the black blood of the monsters of the Darkness and the decapitated bodies of the Vampiric warriors as the battle swung first one way and then the other.

Neither side could gain the upper hand, but then, during a natural lull in the fighting, a light and refined voice called into the relative quiet.

“Might I suggest a temporary truce?”

“You might,” Cronus replied from his position behind the broken and blasted tables. “But to what purpose, other than to delay your inevitable destruction?”

“Oh, no particular reason,” the Vampire Queen replied. “I just wanted to be certain I really am fighting the Arc-Adept of the Darkness.”

“You are,” Cronus said with pride. “And as a creature of
evil and death, you owe your allegiance to me! Lay down your arms and swear fealty to your lord and master!”

“I don't think so!” her Vampiric Majesty replied with contempt. “I show subservience only to those who are stronger than me, and I see no evidence of that as yet.”

“Then your blindness is equalled only by your stupidity! Prepare to die, bat thing!”

“If I could just beg your indulgence for a moment longer,” the Undead Queen's refined voice requested. “Could you please explain to me exactly what the staff is that you carry?”

Cronus proudly held the symbol of his power and authority aloft. “It is the sceptre that denotes my control of the Physical Realms. All who defy me should look on it and tremble.”

“Oh, I see! Do you know, I thought it was a giant toothpick, or perhaps something you shoved into other parts of your anatomy. I never realised it represented your supposed right to rule,” said Her Vampiric Majesty lightly. “Do you really believe you'll ever be able to carry it with any degree of justification?”

Cronus screamed in rage, but once again the Queen raised her elegantly armoured hand.

“Just one moment. I know I'm being an awful bother, but I just wondered if it would be possible to talk to Medea.”

“What do you want, you glorified leech?” the Adept asked, standing up from her position behind a fallen trestle.

“Oh, I want nothing from you. I feel only contempt for stroppy teenage girls who are stupid enough to allow their tantrums to lead them into treachery. I was just curious to see you again.” There was a pause as the Vampire Queen scrutinised her. “Yes. You've acquired a brand new body and yet
you still manage to look exactly what you are: a sullen, moody brat.”

Medea sent out a blast of plasma that set fire to all the woodwork in the building. “I'm the second most powerful Adept in the known universe. Take care I don't incinerate you where you stand!”

“But you can't, my dear. My defences are far too strong. Oh, and incidentally, what on earth gave you the idea that you're the second most powerful Adept in the universe?” The Queen paused as though expecting an answer, but then went on: “Assuming you're misguided enough to think that
thing
with you is the most powerful, then that means you believe yourself more Gifted than your father. Well, let me leave you with this little thought: whenever His Vampiric Majesty and myself conjoined and tried to raise defences against Oskan, he tore them aside as though they were as insubstantial as wet tissue paper. Now, considering your little performance against my psychic shields today, what does that tell us about your powers when compared to your father's?”