Last Battle of the Icemark (37 page)

Quickly she began the long process of struggling out of the gown, but the sudden sound of approaching feet made her drop the hem and hurriedly smooth the cloth back into position.

A werewolf and housecarle guard burst through the entrance. “Commander Leonidas to see you . . .” the wolfman barked, then stopped in surprise as he saw the dress.

“‘Commander Leonidas to see you,
Your Majesty,'”
Cressida corrected haughtily.

“Yeah, that too,” the werewolf agreed. “Shall I . . . erm, shall I let him in, then?”

“
‘
Shall I let him in, then,
Ma'am?'”
she corrected again, finding it easier to hide behind her status as Crown Princess than acknowledge to anyone she was wearing a dress.

“Yeah, well, shall I . . . Ma'am?” the werewolf asked, surreptitiously nudging his housecarle comrade, who surreptitiously nudged him back.

Swallowing hard, Cressida almost panicked and considered telling the guard to send Leonidas away, but as usual she was almost desperate to see him and she nodded. “Send him in.”

“Right, we will, then . . . Ma'am,” the werewolf said, and the guards backed out, their eyes transfixed.

Leonidas appeared a few seconds later to find Cressida sitting in a high-backed chair she'd managed to position just in time. “Ah, Leonidas!” she squeaked, losing control of her voice completely. “Find a chair and sit down.”

The commander stood staring at her stupidly as he realised she'd abandoned the safety of her usual military gear and was
actually wearing a dress, of all things! “Oh . . . right, yes. A chair! Um, I don't think, you know, there is one.” He felt almost angry; it had taken them days to reach a point where they were comfortable enough with each other to meet alone, as long as the conversation was strictly military, and now Cressida had gone and compromised everything by wearing women's clothing!

“I'm sure there's more than one chair in here, Commander,” she said, her irritation at his incompetence allowing her to regain some composure.

Leonidas bumbled off on a quest for somewhere to sit, and Cressida rolled her eyes heavenwards.

“There's nothing in here but a . . . oh! I'm awfully sorry, I seem to have inadvertently walked into your, you know, into your
bedroom!”
He reappeared rapidly, his face crimson. “Please accept my, you know, my
apologies.”

“That's all right, Leonidas. I wasn't in it,” said Cressida briskly, but the scenario she conjured up with the unthinking reply made them both blush painfully. “Oh, for goodness' sake,” she went on, beginning to get angry with them both. “There's a stool over there in that alcove.”

She watched him hurry off and stagger as he tripped over his own feet, and found herself wondering if this could really be the same man who moved with such grace and competence on the battlefield. She sighed, realising, at last, that if their relationship was to go anywhere then she would have to take firm control and guide it.

She squared her shoulders, feeling suddenly better. She'd given herself a task and an objective, and felt immediately more able to cope. The trick would be to approach it as a military campaign, then she couldn't fail.

Leonidas made his way back carrying a heavy wooden stool, and managed to knock over a box of campaigning maps, a wine jug and the table it sat on, and finally a rack of spears that collapsed in such a spectacular crashing, thrashing and clanging that the werewolf and housecarle guards came running in, thinking a skirmish was being fought. The commander was attempting to stand the rack back up by this point, and the guards stopped to watch with growing appreciation as he became more and more entangled in spear-shafts and also sundry pieces of carpet he'd somehow managed to drag up from the floor. He looked like a man fighting a battle with a multi-coloured sheep, and the more entangled he got, the more obscene his language became. Fortunately it was all in Polypontian, so no one understood. But somehow the way it was said suggested he wasn't reciting moving and esoteric poetry.

“Well, don't stand there trying not to snigger, help him!” Cressida snapped at the guards, then immediately regretted it as the werewolf and housecarle dived into the melée with the sort of enthusiasm that made everything worse. In fact, if she hadn't known for a fact that all soldiers of every species treated her with the utmost respect and awe, Cressida might have believed that the guards were deliberately making matters worse. Soon more and more carpet became entangled in the spears, and at one point the werewolf seemed to be chewing the fringing off one particularly fine rug that was Cressida's favourite.

“Enough!” she suddenly bellowed at battle pitch, and the three figures in the middle of the chaos thunderously dropped the spears and carpet they were wrestling with. “Leave everything where it is; I'll find a chamberlain to clear it up later!”
she said in tired tones. Then, reviving, she turned to the guards. “And you two! Get back to your posts! If I'd wanted clowns I'd have sent for a circus!”

Leonidas tried to retrieve something of his dignity as he smoothed his tunic, but his mane of black curls now stood in tufts, and had pieces of carpet fluff in it. Cressida took one look and fetched her brush.

“Sit still,” she commanded, and began to put his hair to rights. At first the commander sat rigid and tense under her ministrations, but slowly he began to relax, and even closed his eyes as she brushed and smoothed his hair. Later, neither of them was entirely sure how it happened, but as Cressida began to smooth his curls from his forehead, Leonidas opened his eyes, and somehow her lips were hovering the merest whisper from his. It would take only the slightest movement for them to brush together, and the intensity of it all was almost overwhelming.

“What are you doing, woman; trying to bite his face off?” Grishmak boomed as he erupted into the tent. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

Leonidas leaped from his stool as though he'd sat on a thistle, and stumbled past the werewolf King and out of the tent. Cressida whirled around in fury. “Grishmak! Don't you believe in knocking?”

“What, on canvas?” he enquired innocently.

She threw her brush in rage into the tangle of carpets and spears that still littered the middle of the tent, and Grishmak observed the mess interestedly.

“My, my, you two have been energetic, haven't you?” he said, and gave her a huge wink. “That's the style, lass. Keep him busy and he won't stray far.”

Outside the tent, the werewolf and housecarle guards winced as Cressida screamed an explosion of obscenities in both human and Wolf-folk speech.

Medea was almost content. She and Cronus had secured the vast majority of the Icemark after a lightning campaign that had raged through the land in a matter of days. Every major settlement was now under their control, all the roads were patrolled and every fortress was garrisoned. Medea was now the virtual co-ruler of the land in which she was born. If only her family could see her now; if only Oskan knew of her incredible success and power! The Vampire Queen retained only a mere toe-hold in the Great Forest, and though the latest assaults against her positions had been repulsed with heavy losses, Medea was certain she'd soon be overcome. She was also certain that the ‘nuisance raids' which had slowed down preparations for the next stage of their campaign would also stop, just as soon as they could smoke out the Vampire nest hidden in the trees. In fact, her grandfather was trying to do just that as he led another assault against the Great Forest.

Medea rested her hands on the huge oaken arms of the throne that stood in the Great Hall of the citadel of Frostmarris and savoured the coming victory. The citadel had already been destroyed once before by Her Vampiric Majesty's squadrons, but it'd been a simple magical matter to rebuild it. A situation that summed up the Vampire army nicely; they were a nuisance, a mere hindrance, and once they'd been destroyed, she and Cronus could continue with their plan to invade the Polypontus. And of course, as they were a force under the command of Adepts, there'd be none of the tedious marching and drawn-out preparations that a mortal host
would need to undergo. Once they were ready, Cronus would simply transport them to their destination via the Magical Realms in the blink of an astonished eye.

She sighed happily. She already controlled the land of her hated family, and soon she'd rule the world. How many pathetic mortal tyrants had dreamed of such power, little knowing they were doomed to failure? Only those with magical Abilities had any hopes of achieving such a goal, and even amongst their august numbers, only Medea and Cronus could ever succeed.

Her happiness was such that she decided to celebrate her pending victories by feeding her magically created body with wine and sweetmeats that it didn't actually need. But before she could move, a hideous screeching sounded on the air, echoing from the courtyard and filling the Great Hall with its cacophony. Medea slapped her open palms down onto the arms of the throne in amazed rage. The Vampires were attacking again! They must have simply outflanked her grandfather's attack on their lair and flown on to launch their own assault on Frostmarris. The Vampire Queen was outrageous in her arrogance! Without further delay Medea hurried off to direct the defence of the city, collecting a contingent of Dark Witches as she went, their tattered and twisted forms gathering about her like the wind-torn rags of storm clouds.

As she made her way down from the citadel of Frostmarris she could clearly see the formations of Vampire squadrons as they swept across the skies. Their numbers were surprisingly large considering the losses they'd suffered in the many battles and skirmishes they'd fought, but Medea could only assume that this was the full complement of Her Vampiric Majesty's remaining strength, and that somehow she'd
managed to completely avoid Cronus's attack on her stronghold.

No matter, the Vampires could just as easily be destroyed over Frostmarris as they could be over the Great Forest, and when Cronus realised that the enemy had literally flown the nest, he'd guess what was happening and return to the city immediately.

Medea found the Ice Demon garrison ready and waiting for orders on the walls, their scaly bodies and scarlet-feathered wings incongruously encased in armour and their ferocious tusked heads somehow made even more hideous by the polished metal and plumes of their helmets. She rapped out orders as she strode up, and immediately the hideous creatures leaped into flight. She then watched as wave after wave of them poured into the sky, their huge wings sending up a clamour of rapid beats as they powered towards the enemy.

The Vampires now let out screeches of challenge, and section by section they folded their bat wings and dived to meet the Demons. The roar of onset echoed over the sky and through the streets of Frostmarris, and Medea watched as the giant bats smashed into the even bigger Ice Demons. It took two or even three Vampires to successfully challenge one of Medea's warriors, and she watched avidly as they tore at each other with fang and claw.

Soon the sky was dark with falling bodies, as fighters of both species fell in ruin to smash into the ground hundreds of metres below. Medea sent more and more of her demons into the battle so that soon they heavily outnumbered the enemy, but incredibly, they were losing! Her warriors were being torn limb from limb, and even those that safely reached the ground were then attacked by the Vampires as they transformed into
their human shapes and fought against the demons using weapons of silver and pure iron. The talismanic metals ripped open the Ice Demons' bodies, spilling their black blood in great gouts and fountains that melted the winter snows.

The Vampires were slowly gaining mastery over the sky, and as Medea watched, entire squadrons peeled away to drop small barrels of blazing pitch onto the streets and empty houses below. Soon entire areas of the city were in flames, yet again, and she raged in frustration as her defending army seemed unable to stop them.

The time had come for her to intervene. Throwing wide her arms, she drew on the Power of the Darkness and gathered all she needed from the materials that surrounded her. Atoms of stone and steel, ice and iron were drawn into her body, adding to its bulk and strengthening the framework of skeleton and sinew in her magically created form. Soon she'd gathered enough material to expand and grow, and her face acquired a viciously hooked beak, as her feet became ripping talons and her arms powerful wings that stretched wide across the sky. Medea had assumed the form of a gigantic eagle, and with a high-pitched call of pure hatred she soared into the sky, snatching Vampires from the air and ripping them to bloody shreds as she flew. Entire squadrons fell to her rending beak and talons, and soon the streets of Frostmarris were littered with the broken remains of the Undead.

High above the battle, observing all, Her Vampiric Majesty flew with her elite flight of bodyguards. She could clearly see that the tide of battle had turned in Medea's favour, as the evil Adept swept through the army of Undead warriors and sent thousands to oblivion. Without hesitation the Vampire Queen folded her wings and dived at the eagle that was Medea. Her
entire squadron followed in an avalanche of silent wing and fang, the wind of their speed roaring in their ears and cascading over their flesh like icy water as they dived, and as one they smashed into their enemy, driving her to the ground in a tangle of broken feathers.

The rending crash of impact broke Medea's wings and shattered her body, but she roared in defiance and struck at them with her razor beak. The Vampires wheeled away out of range, and then dived into the attack again, the Queen screeching a challenge as she powered towards her enemy.

Medea hit the ground with a force that drove her body deep into its own impact crater. Still defiant, she sent out a lightning blast against the Vampire Queen, but her squadron flew on, shielded by Her Vampiric Majesty's protective magic. They stepped now out of flight and into their human forms as they simpered and swaggered before Medea's broken body.