Last Battle of the Icemark (44 page)

C
HAPTER
30

T
hirrin paced the floor like a caged beast. The Icemark had been invaded again, and she daren't say a word to anyone until Oskan had returned from his reconnaissance. Without hard facts and figures to lay before the high command, she'd only cause chaos and panic. All she could do was wait, and the suspense was almost unbearable.

She crossed to the entrance of her campaign tent and watched the doings of the camp with sightless eyes for a few moments, then turned back to begin her pacing again, and bumped into the Witchfather.

“Oskan, at last! What's happening? Is everything destroyed? Is there any resistance? Are the Vampires wiped out? Can we fight them effectively? How long before we can counter-attack?”

Oskan crossed quietly to a chair and sat down. “Which question should I answer first?”

“The most important!”

“Then we can counter-attack. And as for the rest of your enquiries: yes, there's a very vigorous resistance, thanks to the Vampire Queen and her squadrons of warriors, who
incidentally haven't been wiped out. But having said that, the enemy has control of every major city and large town, and they're almost ready to march on the Polypontus.”

He calmly poured himself a flagon of beer and took a long drink before going on: “Unless we hit them immediately, our beloved daughter and her . . . grandfather will begin a process that can only end in world domination.”

“Then we'll hit them now!” said Thirrin decisively, ignoring the pangs of regret and longing she felt at the mention of Medea.

“Well, yes. But there are problems.”

“Which are?”

“To be effective we must attack within hours rather than days, and that will require transporting the entire army through the Plain of Desolation.”

Thirrin sat down heavily. “Can it be done?”

“In theory, yes. I must admit I didn't know that it could, but Cronus proved it as a means of transporting entire armies when he took his host of Ice Demons into the Icemark. But that required only half the energy and effort that will be demanded of us. After all, he only took them from the Darkness to the Icemark, whereas we'll need to transport our fighters to the Plain of Desolation, and then from there back to the Physical Realms again. The effort would be enormous.”

“But it can be done?” Thirrin repeated sharply.

Oskan slumped back in his chair as though exhausted. “I think so, yes. If I work in concert with every one of the witches, we should be able to generate enough psychic energy to pull it off. To understand the process properly, you have to see the Plain of Desolation as a sort of conduit, a pipeline through which we can travel.”

The Queen leaped to her feet, her face alight with the promise of battle.

“But the problems don't end there, I'm afraid,” Oskan went on. “When we arrive in the Icemark we then have the small question of fighting the Ice Demons, and believe me, they're truly formidable. Even with talismanic weapons like silver arrowheads, and swords and spears of pure iron, they're still going to be a terrible opposition. There are literally thousands and thousands of them, and I'm afraid the advantages are all theirs. Not only will we be the invaders of our own land, trying to oust well dug-in defenders, but they're enormously strong, and afraid of nothing.”

A small cough suddenly sounded. “Not quite
nothing
, Witchfather, and I do apologise for the double negative.” Imp-Pious flew into the tent and hovered before Oskan. “Sorry to interrupt what appears to be a private, not to say confidential conversation, but I was just passing by on my way to taking supper to Sharley, Mekhmet and Kirimin and I couldn't help overhearing your chat. You see, I might be able to give you a valuable insight into a failing in the formidable armour of the Ice Demons.”

“You can?” asked Oskan sceptically.

“Yes. I think people too easily forget that Imps and Ice Demons are distantly related, and that we smaller cousins are privy to many of their foibles. For example, the Ice Demon is mortally afraid of fire. You see, flames are diametrically opposed to their element of ice, which after all, is simply frozen water.”

“Of course!” said Oskan, becoming truly animated for the first time since he had begun his conversation with Thirrin. “Now we have a chance! With this information, you and the
army can keep the enemy's fighting forces busy while I deal with . . . Medea and Cronus, the driving force behind the invasion.”

“What will you have to do?” his wife asked quietly, as though she already knew the answer.

“Quite simple, really. I'll have to destroy them.”

The entire Allied army stood on the wide plain beyond the camp and waited in a deep unbroken silence. Human, Snow Leopard and werewolf were drawn up in their respective regiments, and watched as Oskan and the full complement of White Witches stood before them, arms raised and eyes turned up to the whites.

“They look dreadfully spooky when they do that,” Tharaman whispered to Krisafitsa.

“Hush, dear, they might hear you.”

“No chance of that!” Grishmak boomed. “Once they go into that sort of trance, you could probably tear their legs off and they wouldn't notice.”

“Well, that's not an experiment I'd care to carry out,” the Tharina replied. “I just hope they can generate enough . . . whatever it is to transport us all to the Icemark.”

“What I want to know is, why didn't they try this before? It'd have saved a hell of a lot of marching when we first invaded the Polypontus if they had,” said Grishmak.

“Oh, that's easy,” said Tharaman. “It wasn't until Oskan had been back and had a quick chat with Her Vampiric Majesty that he even realised it
could
be done. It was only because she'd witnessed the arrival of the Ice Demon army that Oskan was able to guess what had happened – and, more importantly, how it had been done!”

“Well, I'm still worried they won't be able to call up enough power to take us all through the void thingy. I mean look at the size of those Tri-Horns that Cressida and Leonidas are commanding, and there are over five hundred of them!”

“I don't think actual weight is a consideration, my dear,” said Tharaman knowledgeably.

“What is, then?”

“Well . . . well, I'm not really sure. Something . . . magical, I expect.”

Krisafitsa shot him an annoyed look. “Thank you for that in-depth and informative insight.”

“Now, now, no bickering before battle,” said Grishmak. “Eh up! I think something's happening.”

They all looked up and watched the witches as the fabric of light and reality itself seemed to slowly tear apart, revealing a black void that grew wider and wider, until a huge yawning chasm had opened up before the army.

A great icy blast spewed out into the day, and many of the horses reared and danced nervously as their riders tried to calm them.

Over in the ranks of cavalry, Sharley whispered in his mount's ear and stroked his neck. “Steady, steady, Suleiman. Remember who we are. You'll see the enemy soon.”

Mekhmet smiled at him nervously. “I wish I could be calmed as easily. I can't say I like the idea of going into that at all.”

“Me neither,” agreed Kiri, flattening her ears. “Why can't we just get on with it?”

“Any minute now,” said Sharley, his confidence in his father's Gifts helping to steady his nerves. “Don't forget Dad's in charge. He'll get us through.”

Then suddenly, a strange blackness seemed to bleed across the day, consuming the army and filling every eye and every ear with a deep and endless nothing. Each individual warrior was alone in the eternal emptiness that was the space between the Physical Realms, the Darkness and the Spiritual Realms. They could hear and see no one and nothing; it was almost as if everything had ceased to exist apart from their own individual fear. Mekhmet tried to draw breath to cry out in terror, but nothing entered his lungs, and the unending silence and blackness filled his head to the brim. Was this it? Would this be where they ended their lives, suspended forever in an endless nothingness while they soundlessly screamed in unending fear?

But then, abruptly, light, sound, scent and every other sensation returned in screaming clarity as the army emerged onto the Plain of Desolation. But they were only there for a matter of seconds, as Oskan and the Witches once again opened a portal, and then they were all plunged once more into the nothingness between realms.

Mekhmet felt he would die of fright in the emptiness, but then the Physical Realms erupted into his senses again, and he found himself on the Plain of Frostmarris. Bugles clamoured and orders were shouted as the Allied host regained its composure and realised that there before them was an army of Ice Demons waiting to be transported themselves through the Spirit Realms and far to the south. Above them squadrons of Vampires were harrying them with murderous attacks that carved great swathes through the ranks of the Ice Demon army.

They had them! They'd taken the enemy by surprise. Drawing her sword, Thirrin stood in her stirrups and gave the
war cry of the Icemark: “The enemy are among us! They've taken our houses, they've killed our children! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!”

From every throat the reply crashed out: “BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!” And as one the Allied army swept down on the demons, firing silver-tipped arrows and drawing weapons of pure iron.

Oskan stepped aside and watched the charge in silence, allowing himself one brief moment of peace before he began the hideous task that lay ahead. Confronting Medea and Cronus would be a mighty struggle, but whatever the cost, he must stop them, and he'd already come to the conclusion that there was only one way to do it. He hardly dared allow himself to think of the plan he'd been formulating ever since he'd learned of the invasion, and in fact, he now carefully packed his strategy away behind psychic shields of steel and adamant, so that his beloved father and daughter couldn't read his mind and take steps to thwart his plans.

The outcome of the confrontation remained completely unclear. There were so many variables to take into consideration – not least his uncertainty that he could actually bring himself to do what he knew he must. Could any father inflict such a thing on his daughter? He didn't know. All he could do was make a beginning, and leave the outcome to the Goddess.

Oskan now watched as Thirrin and her army smashed into the lines of the Ice Demons, and he raised his hand in a gesture that was part blessing and part farewell. Then, at last, assuming the form of an avenging eagle, he swept up into the sky and raged down on the citadel of Frostmarris, where he knew he'd find Medea and Cronus. Within seconds he'd
located them in the highest room of the highest tower, where they'd been watching the triumphal mustering of their army as they prepared to transport them to the invasion of the Polypontus.

He wasn't surprised to find them ready and waiting as he crashed through the roof and landed before them in his human form.

For a moment they stood immobile, but then they struck at him with a double blast of fire and psychic energy that demolished the room around them, so that they all stood exposed to the watching sky. Oskan struck back, sending Medea reeling away, but Cronus stood his ground and advanced, sending out great bolts of lightning and sheets of flame that engulfed his son.

With an almost contemptuous wave of his hand, Oskan drained the power away, and sent a flight of solid steel bolts that pinned Medea's body to the charred floorboards and pierced both of his father's eyes. With howls of rage, they wrenched themselves free and sent a rain of fire in return, setting Oskan's clothes ablaze, and burning his flesh so that it hung in great weeping ribbons that smouldered and spat like cooking meat. Shuddering with pain and concentration as he drew power from the atmosphere around, he quenched the flames and healed his ruined flesh, then hit back with a vicious rain of pure acid that hissed and smoked as it ate away the remaining stones of the wall.

“You cannot win,” Medea suddenly shouted, her mind a turmoil of conflicting emotions as she was forced to fight her father again. “Our bodies are mere shells for our undying spirits. How can you kill the lifeless?”

“But I've told you before, I don't want to kill you, Medea,”
he answered quietly. “I just want to destroy your powers.” And, raising his hand, he slowly balled his fingers into a fist. A psychic force seized Medea's very soul, and squeezed it in a vice-like pressure that dragged great howls and screeches of pure agony from her throat.

Her cries were unconsciously echoed by Oskan as he felt the true horror of inflicting such pain on his daughter. This was the child he'd raised and loved; this was the child whose psychic Gifts he'd helped to develop. And yet now he was forced to fight her.

“My most beloved son,” said Cronus lightly. “You will stop this, and you will stop it now!”