Last Battle of the Icemark (43 page)

This time there were unmistakeably two loud guffaws from outside the tent, but Cressida ignored them. She felt her entire
body burn in a combination of acute embarrassment and pure pleasure. He thought she was perfect! Nobody had ever accused her of that before. She was considered by everyone to be overbearing, bossy, rude, unreasonable and pedantic, but never perfect! Not even her mother thought she was
perfect!

“Then you . . . you will?” she asked at last.

“Of course! With . . . erm, you know . . . 
immediate
effect. Abso . . . you know . . . absolutely!”

A great, glowing, rushing flood of happiness and relief swept through Cressida from top to toe, and she leaped to her feet and spontaneously clapped her hands for joy. Then she stopped. “But you still don't know what I was going to ask!” she said with suspicious pessimism. Perhaps he thought she wanted him to exercise her warhorse or something.

“Yes, I do!” Leonidas answered. “Or at least I
think
I . . . erm, you know, I think I do.”

“Well, say it then, what do you think I want you to do? Or more to the point, what do you think I want you to
be
?”

Leonidas now began to doubt his interpretation of events, and went crimson with the mortifying idea that he could have got everything horribly wrong. “I think . . . well . . . I
thought . . 
. you know . . . that you wanted me . . . to, you know . . . be your . . . well . . . I'm not sure how to say . . .”

“Oh, for God's sake! She wants you to be her mate,” a rough werewolf voice provided from beyond the canvas wall of the tent.

“Yeah!” a human voice agreed. “She wants you to be her ‘bit of stuff'!”

“That's right! She wants you for her partner in the Great Wrestling Match of Love!”

“Yeah! Her Bed Piece!”

“Not only that, she wants you to be her—”

“All right, thank you! We get the idea!” Cressida called out angrily. Then, turning to Leonidas, she said: “Well?”

“Oh! Erm . . . well, you know,
definitely . . . absolutely . . . certainly . . . yes . . . no question . . . without doubt . . . indubitably . . .”

“All right, thank you! We get the idea!” a rough werewolf voice called from outside the tent.

Thirrin watched her husband as he drank the wine she'd given him. “Well, what did you learn from the Vampire?”

“Not good,” he answered, sitting back wearily in the chair that stood in the middle of Thirrin's campaign tent. “We're invaded again.”

“What?!” She leaped to her feet, and was just about to call for a bugler when Oskan held up his hand.

“Hear me out first. There're things to explain, and a few more minutes'll make no difference one way or the other.”

She looked at him, then nodded, trusting his judgement. “Go on.”

“It's no ordinary invasion. Medea's come home, in the company of my father.”

The words fell as stark and hard as pebbles into the silence of the tent. But at last Thirrin swallowed and said, “What else did the Vampire tell you? Do . . . does the enemy control all of the Icemark?”

Oskan shook himself, as though breaking free from unwelcome thoughts. “Um? Oh, yes . . . virtually. But Her Vampiric Majesty has been fighting hard to slow them down. Successfully too, by the looks of things. If she hadn't been there to contest Cronus's control, he'd have broken out by
now and would probably have conquered most of the Northern Continent. We've a lot to thank the Vampires for.”

“So it would seem,” said Thirrin thoughtfully. “But what do you advise we do now?”

“For the moment, nothing. I need to make an in-depth reconnaissance, after which we can make plans.”

“Fine. When do you go?”

“Right now,” he answered. “Expect me back at nightfall.” And with that he took one step away and disappeared, leaving Thirrin to brood in the sudden silence.

C
HAPTER
29

T
haraman and Krisafitsa had been unconscious for more than three days, but Kirimin had at last agreed to leave their tent in the infirmary block and take a rest, now that her parents' condition was showing no sign of worsening. Leaving strict instructions to be called the moment anything happened, good or bad, she gently nuzzled Tharaman's and Krisafitsa's cheeks, then walked quietly back to her quarters and the promise of a few hours' sleep. After she'd gone, the witch healers quietly checked their patients' progress before extinguishing most of the candles and finally leaving to complete the rest of their rounds.

After they had gone the darkness and silence pooled in the large tent, and then, in the gloom of the deepest shadows, a pair of red, bloodshot eyes slowly opened and narrowed as they assessed the situation. Both Snow Leopards were obviously still unconscious, and there was no sign of guards or attendants of any sort. The coast was well and truly clear.

With the stealth of an assassin, a huge shape then detached itself from the darkness and made its way silently to where the Snow Leopards lay. Having satisfied itself that it had found
the Thar, it uncorked a large flask, poured a blood-red liquid into a wide bowl and placed it before Tharaman's muzzle. For a moment nothing happened, and then the shadowy figure dipped a huge, wickedly sharp claw into the liquid and trickled it across the Snow Leopard's nose. Again, nothing. But then Tharaman's muzzle began to twitch and the lips to curl, and eventually a large, red tongue snaked out and licked up the liquid that was slowly running towards his nostrils.

The huge dark shape hissed in excited satisfaction, quickly trickled more droplets of the red substance across the Thar's nose and waited impatiently, all the time looking cautiously over its shoulder for any signs of the witches coming back. This time, the tongue slurped out immediately, and the dark figure moved the bowl closer, until eventually the tongue fell into the red liquid and began to lap. The dark shape capered about, silently raising its fists in glee and shaking them wildly. But then it froze and turned to look at the Thar, as the unmistakeable sound of a clearing throat boomed into the room.

“Oh I say! Yes! Do you know, if I'm not very much mistaken, that has the distinctive palette of a very fine Gallian vintage. Yes . . . yes, chalky soil; south-facing vineyard; plenty of sunshine to aid the production of natural sugars.” The tongue quested forth again. “Oh, yes! I'm getting strawberries, vanilla and just a soupçon of liquorice; and . . . and . . . yes, at the end, citrus, lemons; a very fine, refreshingly piquant finish!”

The huge head of the Snow Leopard now swung up from its pillow, and the glowing amber eyes opened to illuminate the room. “Hello, Grishmak,” he said warmly. “Did you bring the wine? It's very good.”

“Just a little something I keep for emergencies, like
bringing Snow Leopards out of comas,” said the werewolf. “Finish the bowl off – I've got plenty more.”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but . . . erm, just see if Krisafitsa would like some too,” said Tharaman in worried tones.

Grishmak produced a second bowl, and repeated his technique of trickling the liquid over the Tharina's muzzle. Soon her tongue was lapping at the wine too, and she opened her eyes.

“Well, my dear, you're certainly in need of a thorough wash,” she said as she scrutinised her mate. “It looks like no one's been near your fur for days.”

“I suspect you may be right, my love,” said Tharaman with a deep purr of pure pleasure. “Exactly how long has it been, Grishmak?”

“You've both been unconscious for three days,” he said. “Everyone's been pooing themselves thinking you were going to die.”

“Oh yes. I remember now,” said Krisafitsa slowly. Then suddenly she leaped to her feet. “There was an explosion . . . Thirrin!”

“Calm down, there's nothing to worry about. She's alive and well,” said Grishmak. “She didn't even get a scratch. In fact she was well enough to fight Erinor and kill her.”

“So, the Basilea survived me killing her Tri-Horn, then?” asked Tharaman as the memory of his struggle with the huge beast came back.

“Not for long,” said Grishmak. “She's dead and the war's over.”

“And Kirimin and the boys?”

“Also safe and well. In fact Kiri left only a few minutes
ago; she's been here ever since you were brought into the infirmary. She'll be spitting mad she missed you waking up.”

The Snow Leopards began to purr enormously, the booming sound of their pleasure filling the space of their hospital tent so that it vibrated like a struck bell.

“I've brought something else with me too,” said Grishmak conspiratorially, and after fishing around his pelt for a few moments he produced an enormous frying pan, and a massive steak that flapped over the sides. “This came from Erinor's Tri-Horn. I thought it'd make a light convalescent supper. Now has anyone got any firewood?”

“I don't think it'd be very safe lighting a fire in a tent, Grishy,” said Krisafitsa. “What we need is one of those charcoal griddles the cooks use in the mess tent.”

“Of course! I never thought of that. Hang on a minute, I'll go and see what I can find.” The werewolf King headed for the entrance, then stopped to hiss conspiratorially over his shoulder: “We won't tell anyone what we're doing. You know how these healers fuss; they'll only moan on about steak being too rich for someone who's just come out of a coma, and all that malarkey. See you in a bit!”

In the following silence the Snow Leopards contented themselves with giving each other a thorough wash, and in an amazingly short time most of the discolouration and blackening caused by the explosion had been cleaned away.

“That's better! I feel almost human now.”

“I beg your pardon, my dear?” Tharaman asked in puzzled tones.

“Oh, sorry. It's an expression I've picked up from Thirrin. It just means I feel better and much more in control.”

“Well, in that case, I feel almost human too!”

Suddenly a small, horned head peeped round the flap of the tent. “Hallelujah! You're awake! You're alive! Wait till I tell Kiri!”

“No, wait, Pious dear,” said Krisafitsa urgently. “Let her rest. I hear she's been with us ever since they brought us in from the battlefield, so she must be exhausted. We can have a happy reunion when she wakes up.”

The Imp shrugged his agreement and flew into the tent. “Fine. But look at you two! You must be as tough as a Tri-Horn's fundament to have survived that explosion!”

“It takes more than a few fireworks to extinguish a Snow Leopard's light,” said Tharaman proudly. “Though if I remember correctly, it looked as if Grinelda and the Ukpik bodyguard took the full force of the blast.”

“Yes, all dead. An enormous shame,” said Imp-Pious as he fluttered down to sit on the Thar's bed. “Still, they'll get full military honours at their funeral, and a new Ukpik guard's already being formed, so the tradition won't die.”

“I see,” said Krisafitsa quietly. “And will there need to be any other funerals with full military honours?”

Pious looked at her, an expression of pure panic slowly gathering on his face. “Oh, dear me! You've been unconscious, haven't you, so you won't know! And now I'm going to have to tell you, and I have absolutely no experience of this sort of thing because no one dies in the Spirit Realms!”

“Never mind about comforting phrases and all that sort of thing, Pious dear. Just tell us the worst.”

“All right. Well, you asked for it; so here goes . . . for a start, thousands! Erinor's Hordes were tough nuts, and they weren't easy to crack. But I suppose the biggest names, so to speak, are Olememnon and Olympia. They were both killed,
along with all the Sacred Regiment. In fact the Hypolitan suffered truly appalling losses; the Hordes seemed to specifically target them. But worse than all of that was the fact that everyone thought you two were amongst the fatalities! And in fact a lot of Snow Leopards were killed in the explosion, including Taradan.” The Imp went quiet, and then, in an attempt to fill the lengthening silence, he added, “As I said, tough nuts . . . and they were perilously hard to crack.”

“Yes,” Krisafitsa agreed quietly. “Do you know any figures at all? Exactly how many Snow Leopards fell?”

“I'm sorry, I don't know for certain, but I know the casualties were heavy.”

“In all reality, my dear, I don't think it will be of any use to know such details, just yet,” said Tharaman. “I think our first duty is to ensure we both make a rapid and complete recovery, so that we may continue in our duties as Thar and Tharina.”

“Yes, of course,” said Krisafitsa, but her ears remained flat. “I'm just a little tired at the moment. Do you mind awfully if I have a little sleep?”

“Not at all, dear heart. In fact, I may join you. Imp-Pious, be a good chap and see if you can find Grishmak, will you? And tell him that we're very grateful for his trouble, but we'd prefer to rest right now.”

“Certainly. Just leave it to me. Do you think you'll feel a little perkier tomorrow?”

“I'm not entirely sure, but I suppose it's a possibility. A good old-fashioned drinking competition may have helped to set me up, but somehow, without Olememnon to compete against, the idea's lost something of its savour.”

“Yes,” Pious agreed sadly. “His capacity was truly
formidable.”

“Yes, it was. I hope someone remembers to mention that in his funeral address. A gentleman quaffer of the ale, and true appreciator of the viniculturalist's art. Not to mention a thoroughly decent sort of chap and all-round good type.”

“Yes,” Pious agreed again, then quietly flitted out of the tent as Tharaman slowly laid down his huge head and closed his eyes.