Last Battle of the Icemark (5 page)

She watched as the mist of ice crystals swirled as though driven by internal winds, and then were torn aside to reveal Cronus himself. He was ugly, horribly ugly, though outwardly he looked almost normal. His tall figure glided over the floor. His skin was as creamy-white and as dry as parchment; his face seemed little more than a skull, though the bone structure was fine and beautiful. His eyes were as wide and as black as moonless midnights, and had no pupils or irises. They reflected neither light nor emotion and were blank and flat.

He looked neither young nor old, he seemed neither living nor dead, and as he walked there was only a small distant echo of footsteps receding away like ripples in a pond.

“Granddaughter,” he said in greeting, drawing his white lips away from his sharply pointed teeth. His voice held the senses in a grip of iron and ice; it was deep and toneless, as though spoken into a wide lightless cave where blind creatures scuttled in the shadows.

The smile of greeting was then carefully packed away and he looked at Medea with expressionless eyes. “You have destroyed my allies. Exactly why did you do this?”

Near to panic, Medea couldn't think of anything to say. Her legs began to shake, and she sank into her great chair, where she tried to look as though she was so at ease in Cronus's presence that she could sit without his permission.

The dead black eyes held her gaze in a grip of ice, and she
felt her control slipping. She mustn't show fear, even though he knew full well she was terrified. “I killed them because I wanted to!” she blurted, like a child caught with its hand in the sweet jar. Then suddenly defiance swelled up within her, and with a growing anger she went on: “They were my enemies. If I'd been defeated
they
would've killed
me
!”

“Undoubtedly,” the deep toneless voice agreed.

“So, then, my actions were justified!”

“No. The battle had been won and you were victorious. There was no need for you to destroy them. Your actions were premeditated and murderous.”

“Yes, I won, but could you guarantee that they wouldn't have been a threat to me in the future?”

“No.”

“Then surely you must agree that destroying them was the only thing I could do.”

“They deserved better. We fought together against the Goddess herself, and even in defeat we were glorious.”

She found herself snorting. She'd no idea where this courage came from; perhaps there was more of the Lindenshield in her than she cared to admit. “Should I have let them live just because they were once great enough to make war on the Goddess?”

Cronus answered with a silence that stretched into long endless seconds and seemed to echo on the frozen air. She looked up and met the empty black gaze for as long as she dared, before dropping her eyes.

“Truly you are now a citizen of the Darkness,” he said at last. “Your attitude reminds me of the admirable Bellorums.”

“No. They failed!” she spat in reply.

“They did. A disappointment, after so many years of
manipulation. But now that the Polypontian Empire's destroying itself in a welter of vicious wars, I've a huge cast of characters to choose from. Warlords and generals and homicidal maniacs.”

“But you've chosen already, haven't you?” she asked with certainty.

Once again the black endless pits of the Arc-Adept's eyes held her for a few agonising seconds. “Yes,” he said at last. “Erinor of Artemesion is a fitting successor to the Bellorums. I've already manipulated events so that she could break out of her mountain kingdom, and now no one can stop her.”

“And the point of all this is what, exactly?” she asked.

“That will stay a secret, for now. But I'm prepared to say that all of your family will be heavily involved.”

“Really?” she asked with excited glee. “Then my hateful little brother could die, at last! How delightful!”

The mist of ice crystals swirled about Cronus like clouds around a mountain peak as he ordered his thoughts. Medea, as a powerful Adept, would be a useful addition to his arsenal of weapons; all he needed to do was to shape her to his needs. The simplest of tasks.

“You have an endless capacity to kill those who should hold your loyalty, Medea, whether the greatest Adepts of the Darkness or your own blood kin. This hatred of rivals, and even of your family, shows a preoccupation with revenge that reveals a dangerous flaw in your character. As an Adept, you should be above such petty concerns.”

“You hate,” she dared to snap. “You kill for pleasure. Why is it different for me?”

“I hate in the abstract, not the particular. I hate all things with equal malevolence, and so rise above dangerous private
obsessions. But you hate with a personal passion that can distract an Adept from the purity of magic. It's a flaw and a weakness that could be exploited by a clever enemy, and one that could yet see you destroyed.” His black, empty eyes held her for a brief agonising moment.

He truly believed that his evil was pure and unsullied by the taint of emotion, but in fact his every act was a considered manipulation of the world and all around him as he searched for the means of attacking the Spirit Realms once again. Cronus had spent aeons scheming and planning revenge on the Goddess for defeating him and driving him into exile. Medea was just one more piece in the giant and complex plan that he hoped would one day see him defeat the hated Mother of All and secure him the throne of the Cosmos. But he believed that all of his strategies were formulated in cold, emotionless calculation, and so he felt nothing but contempt for his granddaughter's intense feelings of jealousy and rejection.

He regarded her for a moment longer, and then, without another word, he turned and walked away across the wide floor of the palace. Medea watched him go, sinking back into her chair and breathing a long sigh of relief. She'd done it! Cronus had forgiven her for murdering the six Adepts, and had accepted her right to stay in the Darkness. But even now there were still dangers: the hatred and rage against her family that she believed to be her true strength, Cronus saw as a weakness. Obviously she'd need to be careful as she plotted against the Lindenshields, and Sharley in particular.

Whatever happened, the Arc-Adept mustn't know what she was doing. And in truth he didn't. But neither did Medea know that her grandfather had begun to mould her thoughts and actions in ways that would make her useful to his plans.

*   *   *

It had been more than a day since Oskan had told Thirrin that Medea was still alive, and he could see she was still trying to come to terms with the devastating and unexpected news. Her eyes filled with tears; she shifted in the chair that stood opposite Oskan's in their private rooms, and waited for him to look up.

“Did I fail her?” she suddenly asked, unable to wait for his attention any longer.

“No,” he answered, understanding her question immediately. “Medea is her own creation; nobody else is responsible.”

“But if I'd given her more of my time . . .”

“It would have made no difference. Don't forget that I spent endless hours teaching her; showing her how to use her Gifts. If anyone failed her, it was me.”

“But I'm her
mother
. A girl needs female guidance; perhaps I should have spent less time running the country and more time with my family.”

“In which case we'd all be dead,” Oskan answered sharply, recognising her words as a cry for help and reassurance. “The threat of Bellorum and the Imperial armies took every moment you had to spare. We all know that; Cressida and the boys know it, the entire country knows it. Of all our children only Medea has become . . . has turned to the Darkness.”

“But only she could. She's the only Adept amongst them!”

“The only
Adept
, yes. But Cressida . . .”

“I should have spent more time with her, and less training with Cressida and the boys in the lists. Perhaps . . . perhaps she felt left out somehow; I should have let her know that it didn't matter she wasn't a warrior . . .”

Oskan slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair in frustration. “Thirrin! You're not responsible for Medea becoming evil! You didn't neglect her! It has nothing to do with the fact she wasn't a warrior; neither was Sharley at first, and he never once thought of turning to evil!” His voice rang out into the room, shocking her to silence. He drew a steadying breath, and then went on more quietly. “If anything's responsible for our youngest daughter becoming the foul creature she now undoubtedly is, it's her heritage. Her grandfather's blood . . . my blood.”

He stood up and walked slowly over to the window, where he stared out at the moonlit night. “Like all children and descendants of Cronus and his allies, she was given a choice, and quite simply, she chose to be evil.”

A small whisper of doubt nagged at the edge of his consciousness. He'd once believed that the choice only had to be made once in an Adept's life, but now he was slowly becoming aware of a . . . temptation within himself, of a need to explore other possibilities. He was beginning to allow himself to think the unthinkable. He was, after all, the son of the second most powerful being in the entire Cosmos; what would happen if he allowed himself to accept his heritage, and opened his mind at least partially to the Darkness? Perhaps he'd be able to control it, and use the massive increase there'd be in his powers to serve good!

Thirrin joined him at the window, interrupting his thoughts and bringing him back to the immediate problem of Medea. The Queen leaned her head on his shoulder. “Then was her . . . fall inevitable?”

“No!” he said sharply. “
I'm
a child of Cronus and I was strong enough to reject the Darkness, and all the power it
could have given me. Nothing's inevitable . . . it's just that for some it's more likely.”

Thirrin nodded. “You've never really told me about your father. Can there never be any hope for him or his followers? Is he completely evil?”

“Oh yes! Completely and utterly! I once searched the Darkness itself for more information about his mind; about the way he thinks. And I found his history imprinted on the very atoms of the atmosphere.”

“Tell me!” said Thirrin eagerly. “Tell me everything. I need to know this creature that's corrupted my daughter.”

“There's too much to tell in one short lifetime. But perhaps everything can be summed up by the beginning of his evil. You know he fought a war against the Goddess, of course, and that one of his many titles is ‘He who refused the mercy of the Goddess'. Even in defeat his hatred and iniquity raged on. Cronus and six others proudly rejected forgiveness . . .” Oskan fell silent and shuddered as the memory surfaced. “His voice had once been as beautiful as deep-toned bells, but as he faced the Goddess, pride and hatred cracked its beauty and it rasped and rattled as he defied his enemies.

“She knew then that he would never change, and he and his six allies were cast down into the void between the Physical Worlds and the Spirit Realms that was known as the Darkness. But even in this desolate place their pride wasn't quenched, and over time they created a world that was to become a corrupt mirror of the purity they'd lost.”

The wind moaned around the walls of the citadel, filling the silence as Oskan fell quiet.

“And our daughter willingly chose to follow this creature,” Thirrin said, her voice rendered completely flat and emotionless
by the sheer weight of her feelings.

“I'm not sure that ‘follow' is quite the term to use. Essentially evil is selfish, and even the greatest allies it gathers are there purely for their own ends.” He sighed. “I'm afraid, my dear, that we have to accept that Medea chose to be evil for her own reasons. Nothing actually corrupted her. She's a creature of her own making.”

Thirrin nodded, accepting his words. Then, remembering her role as Queen of the Icemark, she forced herself to consider practicalities. “And you think she could be a danger to us?”

“Yes. But I'm not entirely sure how or in what way. It could be that she'll be content just to cause mischief, but if she does move against us, I somehow think it'll be on a larger scale than mere troublemaking.”

“Will . . . will you kill her?” Thirrin asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Oskan was deeply shocked. “Kill her? No, no, I can't kill her, not without truly terrible consequences.” This was the knowledge the Goddess herself had given him to use as a weapon against Cronus in the struggle he knew was coming.

But once again the voice of doubt nagged at the edge of his mind. Surely there had to be another way; perhaps even Dark Power could be used for good, if wielded by a good man? He struggled to clear his mind of doubt and concentrate. “All I can do is try to destroy Medea's power . . . render her impotent in some way.”

“And in the meantime, we have the possibility of a war to consider,” said Thirrin wearily. “Our lives are never less than complicated, are they?”

“No, my love,” Oskan replied with a grim smile that
masked his relief at the change of subject. “What do the latest reports say about the Polypontus?”

“That the empire's crumbling and Erinor marches on, sweeping all before her.”

“She's a problem that definitely needs addressing,” said Oskan thoughtfully.

“As she will be, just as soon as the allies are gathered and we can discuss our response,” said Thirrin with vigour.

The Witchfather nodded, happy to see his wife distracted.

The sound of marching feet and growled orders then percolated into the room as the Queen's Ukpik bodyguard arrived at the door, ready to escort her to the feast of Samhein in the Great Hall.

Thirrin stood, smoothed her gown and straightened her shoulders as she donned her public persona as the warrior Queen of the Icemark. But just before the bodyguard entered the room, she quickly turned to her husband and took his hand. “Promise me . . . promise me that I didn't fail her, Oskan. Tell me that I didn't condemn her to evil.”