Last Battle of the Icemark (38 page)

“My dear child, I do believe you're injured,” said Her Vampiric Majesty with mocking concern. “Does it hurt?”

The evil Adept now sloughed away her eagle form to stand before the Vampires in her usual body. “I am beyond pain, you stinking corpse!” she spat.

“I'm so glad. I'd hate to think we'd caused you any discomfort.” The Vampire Queen smiled, revealing glittering fangs that seemed to glow against the deep blood red of her lips. “Oh, but I do believe we're too late in that respect. We seem to have destroyed your city. Such a shame; where will you direct your invasion from now?”

Medea involuntarily glanced at the fires that were sweeping unchecked throughout Frostmarris, but she quickly rallied and sneered, “Do you really think that mere physical damage can stop myself and Cronus? We'll have restored all of this
within moments.” Then, in a display of her towering talents, she stopped time itself. All around them warriors stood frozen in the acts of fighting, killing and dying, and the flames of the blazing city arced against the sky in solid bursts of static brilliance, as though a sculptor had taken his chisels and carved light itself into abstract forms.

“Yes, but it's such a distraction having to redirect your powers, don't you think?” Her Vampiric Majesty said dismissively. “Especially when you're trying to establish control over a country that just won't give up fighting.”

Medea laughed with such confidence she almost believed in her own invincibility. “Oh, I can assure you that my powers will hardly notice the tiny effort any restoration will need.”

Her Vampiric Majesty smiled condescendingly. “Has no one ever told you that over-estimation of Abilities is the mark of the inexperienced and deluded?”

Medea raised her hand, releasing time from her psychic grip, and immediately flames flickered and writhed against the smoke-filled sky, and warriors continued their fighting with a frenzy. Then a sudden bellowing and roaring sounded on the air and they all turned to watch as another huge army of Ice Demons materialised in the sky above them.

“I over-estimate nothing, corpse-breath,” Medea snapped in triumph. “Cronus himself has arrived. I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

The Vampire Queen nodded to her squadron, and they immediately began to transform themselves into their bat forms. “Yes, the time has come to go. But I'll leave you with this small thought: if you and Cronus really are so infallible, why was it so easy for us to trick him into trying to attack us
in the Great Forest while we destroyed Frostmarris? Intriguing, isn't it?”

The Vampires wheeled away, sending out screeches that gathered the rest of the Undead army, and they streamed across the sky back to their stronghold amongst the trees.

Medea watched them go, a small frown creasing her brow.

C
HAPTER
26

T
hirrin closed the door to her room with a weary sigh. At last she could lock out the world and have a bit of peace and quiet.

“You can lock out
most
of the world, Thirrin Lindenshield, but I'm afraid I'll always find my way through,” said a voice from the shadows.

She spun around, drawing her sword with lightning speed to level it between Oskan's eyes. “Oh, it's you!”

“Who else were you expecting in your bedchamber? Is there something I should know?”

“Judging by the way you keep reading my mind, you know everything about me anyway.”

“True,” Oskan agreed with a grin.

Thirrin sheathed her sword and walked into the room. “Where were you today, anyway? I could have done with your input; those Senators drone on for hours about nothing in particular; the Gods alone know how they managed to create the biggest empire the world's ever known.”

“I suspect that had a lot to do with Bellorum, and the fact that he never consulted the Senate about anything unless
forced to.”

“You're probably right,” Thirrin agreed. “And so was Bellorum. Well, I won't make the same mistake again. From now on all discussions will be restricted to the high command and the best Polypontian officers.”

“What did you finally decide?” Oskan asked, handing her a mug of wine.

“You mean you can't read what happened directly from my head?”

“Not always; in fact, rarely.”

Thirrin nodded, relieved, but the fact she'd had to ask at all was proof that her husband's powers had continued to change and grow throughout their married life. “Well, basically we've decided to go in pursuit of Erinor,” she finally said, answering Oskan's earlier question. “There's no point sitting here in Romula and waiting for her to rebuild her forces. We have the advantage now, and we've got to keep it. It'll be something of a novelty for the Polypontian forces to go on the offensive again; they've been fighting a defensive war ever since Erinor first broke out of Artemesion.”

“When do we march?”

“Tomorrow, if Cressida had her way!”

“Of course,” said Oskan with a smile.

“And in three weeks if the Senators had theirs.”

“And in actuality?”

“In four days' time. Preparations began a while ago anyway. It's just a matter of completing the process.”

“Fine. Medical supplies are almost replenished. Romula has some superb pharmacies, and some remarkably good doctors.”

Thirrin paused in the act of peeling off layers of chain mail and unbuckling sword belts and daggers. “Doctors? That's the
first time I've heard you say anything good about doctors!”

“Yes, well, the Imperial medics are different to the charlatans and quacks that plague the Icemark. I've taken the opportunity to study some of the medical treatises in the university libraries and they're astonishingly good. But, interestingly, most of them aren't Polypontian; they're Hellenic, and incredibly ancient.”

Thirrin shrugged. “Unfortunately there's no time for studying now, my fine scholar. I've got a war to fight, and you've got to repair the damage inflicted on my warriors. You'll have to wait 'til after the fighting.”

“And, talking of which, will we win?” Oskan asked quietly as he began to extinguish some of the candles and torches around the room.

Thirrin fell back onto the bed with a relieved sigh as the last of her armour fell with a clatter to the marble floor. “I don't know,” she answered in matter-of-fact tones. “It was a hard-fought struggle last time, and Erinor wasn't even in command then. Who knows what the outcome will be when she's directing operations?”

“I see. And where is she now?”

“Four days' march south of here, and according to the Vampire scouts she's sending out messengers to Artemesion.”

“For reinforcements?”

“Yes. The Vampires captured one of them and brought the papers back. It didn't take Grishmak long to get a prisoner to translate them.”

“Can there be any warriors left in Artemesion? I thought the Hordes were an entire nation on the march!”

“So did I,” Thirrin replied from the depths of her nightgown as she wrestled her way into it. “But it seems Erinor's
expecting thousands to answer her call. That's why we must hit her as soon as possible, before they arrive.” She climbed into the huge bed that occupied the centre of the room, and snuggled down under the sumptuous covers of silk and fur from where she smiled at her husband. “Hurry up and get in. My feet are freezing!”

“I'm nothing but a glorified hot-water bottle to you, am I?” Oskan answered, as he extinguished the rest of the candles.

“Well, that's your main function, I suppose. But you do have other uses too.”

“So glad to hear it.”

Thirrin became serious again as she thought through the difficulties facing her and the army. “At least we have no problems about leaving a garrison in Romula, or organising administration. The palace guard already carry out garrison duties and the Senate's been the government for literally hundreds of years.”

“But you're still not completely happy,” said Oskan, climbing into bed.

“No. Things are too quiet.”

“Quiet? Excuse me, but did the battle for Romula pass you by?”

“No, it didn't. But I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps other things have.”

“Other things?”

Thirrin remained quiet for so long, Oskan began to wonder if she'd fallen asleep. But then she said, “Oskan, what's Medea doing?”

He'd been expecting a question like this for so long that he'd rehearsed the lie to perfection. “Nothing, at the moment. She's cooking up something, that's for sure, but she's
obviously not ready to set things in motion yet.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“As sure as anyone can be when talking of one of the most powerful Adepts in the Spiritual Realms.” He kept his voice as even and as steady as he could. He was determined not to distract his wife any more than was necessary from her upcoming battle with Erinor. Cronus's insane ambition to attack the Goddess was something that could be worried about if and when he ever decided to actually do it.

“Fine,” Thirrin said, her voice tinged with relief as they left a topic she hated, but felt she couldn't ignore. “But other things are bothering me.”

“What now?” Oskan almost wailed. Would the woman never sleep?

“I'm worried about Titus. He's all right being looked after by Silvanus while he's still a little boy, but the Senate are acting as a sort of collective Regent for him at the moment, and I'm afraid there are some very ambitious men in that particular body.”

“You think they'll exploit him?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Oskan lay back with his hands behind his head. “Well, the solution's simple enough. Appoint a Regent, or Regents, you trust.”

Thirrin turned over on her side and looked at the dark shadow of his profile. “Fine, but who?”

“Andronicus and Leonidas, because they're Polypontian, and Cressida, because she has the most developed sense of justice I know. Not only that, but it'll allow her a few years of stability while she and Leonidas get used to the idea of being married.”

Thirrin sat up as though on springs. “What? Married? What do you know? What have you been shown?”

“Calm down, woman. Nothing's definite. I've seen shadows and possibilities, that's all. And none of it'll come about unless we defeat Erinor.” He fell silent as he considered his words. “There's something else too . . . I'm not sure what. Some indefinable danger I can't pin down . . .”

But Thirrin was too excited about the possibility of Cressida's marriage to even notice his last sentence. “Cressida and Leonidas married!” She leaped out of bed and began to pace the room. “Perfect! Just perfect! An alliance with one of the most politically and militarily important houses of the Polypontus, and . . . and not only that but she loves him!”

“There's still the small matter of winning the war,” Oskan said, distracted from his worries by his wife's excitement. “Unless you defeat the Hordes, none of it can come about.”

“Then we'll just have to win the war, won't we? With Andronicus, Leonidas and Cressida as Regents, Titus will have a mother, father and granddad in one fell swoop; what could be better? I've been worrying about that little boy ever since I first met him, but now I know exactly what to do!”

Oskan looked at her appreciatively. “The most powerful Monarch in the northern hemisphere you may be; mighty warrior and brilliant tactician you undoubtedly are, but under it all, you're still a mother, aren't you? I knew as soon as I saw you with Titus that he'd brought out all of your maternal instincts. I fully expected to find that we'd adopted him at some point.”

“We may still do yet,” said Thirrin, suddenly feeling the cold and climbing back into bed. “Wouldn't you like a child
around the place again?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Oh, yes, you would! You're not fooling me, Mr All-powerful Warlock! I saw you playing horses with Titus yesterday. Have you any idea how cute you both looked as you galloped up and down the Senate Chamber?”

“I was simply keeping the child entertained,” Oskan replied with lofty dignity. “Ye Gods, woman, you're freezing!”

Thirrin laughed and ignored his protests as she snuggled up to him. He was right; he did make a very good hot-water bottle.

The purges were complete, and the sacrifices made for the terrible blasphemy of defeat. Erinor had cleansed the Hordes of most of its high command, and also of great swathes of deeply experienced field commanders, but the worth of a sacrifice was directly proportional to the pain and damage it caused to the giver. The structure of the army, already weakened by its unexpected defeat, was now severely handicapped, but even so, Erinor was preparing to attack, happy in the knowledge that the Goddess had been placated and final victory was assured.

Cronus, distracted by his own concerns after invading the Icemark, no longer manipulated the thoughts and tactics of the Basilea, and as a result many of her actions were damaging and dangerous for her own people. She was no longer important to his plans, having fulfilled her role as a decoy to draw away Oskan and his witches. But Erinor, blissfully unaware of the withdrawal of her powerful patron, continued with plans she believed infallible. She could easily have waited for the reinforcements to arrive from Artemesion, and then have
commanded an army even greater than the one that had invaded the Polypontian Empire a year and half ago. But that would have taken weeks, and the enemy would have had time to prepare an attack that would force the Hordes to fight a defensive war, something of which they had no experience.

No; now was the time to attack, not least because the hated Alliance of monsters and the dregs of broken empires wouldn't believe it possible, but also because the Hordes themselves would expect nothing less of their undefeated Basilea.

Erinor listened as the camp beyond the hide walls of her yurt seethed and hummed with purposeful activity. This is what her warriors had needed: the strength of certainty, the belief in destiny! No matter how depleted their numbers, the Hordes still heavily outnumbered the enemy, and the shock of seeing Erinor herself leading an attack within days of her warriors being repulsed from the streets of Romula would probably crush all morale and cohesion within the ranks of the Alliance. Indeed, if she moved quickly enough, she may even arrive at the city before the enemy had time to counter-attack, and then the second siege of Romula would begin – and this time the capital would fall and the new empire would be established.

The bellowing of Tri-Horns echoed around the yurt-city as the huge creatures were brought up the line, and Erinor stood as she prepared to don her armour. Not even the Hordes themselves were expecting to advance just yet; the most optimistic expected the new campaign to begin tomorrow or even the day after. How surprised they would be; how shocked the world would be to see the Basilea marching on her enemies when any other tactician would have taken time to consolidate and reinforce their depleted armies. Not so Erinor! Not so the
living representative of the Goddess on earth! She would strike now! She would fly like an arrow from the bow and bury herself deep in the enemy's heart!

Summoning buglers, she gave the order to stand to, and soon the brassy call to arms was echoing over the camp. She smiled quietly while her soldier-servants dressed her in the steel of war, and when her sword was placed in her hand, she strode from her yurt and into the light of day. The cold streets of the camp were thronged with soldiers of the Hordes, and when they saw her, a great collective roar rose up as they clamoured to be led to war, as they begged to die in the service of the Goddess, as they beseeched to be made again the unstoppable machine of death that would crush all who dared to stand against it.