Last Battle of the Icemark (7 page)

Kirimin purred happily. “Of course, Maggie!”

“That's Senor Totus, to you,” said Krisafitsa. “I think it's
important to establish discipline from the very beginning.”

“Yes, Mama,” said Kirimin diffidently, but discreetly looking at Sharley and Mekhmet she raised her lips over her enormous teeth in her best imitation of a human grin.

“That's settled, then!” said Tharaman with a sense of relief. “Grishmak! Did you say beef and gravy for the duel?”

The noise and bustle of the celebrations enveloped the top table and Kirimin sighed happily. She was going on the trip to the Great Forest, thanks to Maggie, and there was still a whole evening of partying ahead. The Samhein celebrations would go on until well past midnight and would only really finish when the last guest had sunk drunkenly to sleep.

A slow, soulful moaning reached Kirimin's sensitive ears as a rising wind blew around the walls of the citadel, and she shivered with delicious dread. The atmosphere almost crackled with excitement, and also that slight undercurrent of fear enjoyed in safety that made Halloween so special. Happily she looked out over the hall and picked out the housecarles who'd dressed up as ghosts and zombies. There was even a Snow Leopard in a white sheet and a huge skull mask, but he only managed to look silly rather than frightening.

Kirimin purred and turned to the boys, who were chatting quietly together. “Come on, it's Halloween! Tell us a ghost story from the Desert Kingdom, Mekhmet.”

“Ghosts are rare in my country,” he answered. “Apart from the Blessed Women, of course, but they're not quite the same thing, and djins have never really had a physical life.”

“Look, if you're going to get technical and quibble about everything I'll go and talk to the housecarles on the lower tables. They seem to be having a great time, and I bet they've
got lots of stories to tell.”

“All right, all right, don't go all moody on us,” he finally said. “I do know one, about a young boy who lived alone in an old house in an isolated desert town.” He then told a story that was so hideous Kirimin found herself looking over her shoulder, half expecting a cold and clammy hand to settle on her back at any moment.

As Mekhmet finished the tale, the noise and activity of the Great Hall began to percolate back into the listeners' minds, and Kirimin shook her head. “That was horrible,” she said. “Sad and nasty at the same time.”

Mekhmet shrugged. “It's a traditional tale of the desert; fearsome places make fearsome stories. Would you have preferred it if I'd changed the ending to make it happier?”

“Well, no,” she answered. “But don't you know any
nicer
ones?”

“The dead who stay on the earth to make ghosts of their souls are often not happy to be here. Remember that if you see something tonight.”

Kirimin shuddered, but didn't comment.

“Cheer up, Kiri,” said Sharley. “Here's some more puddings. That'll keep you occupied for a while.”

“I don't know what you mean. Anyone would think I ate like a pig or something!”

“Not at all,” said Sharley. “You just eat like a Tharaman.”

As the evening wore on the celebrations, unlike all other parties and gatherings in the Great Hall, became quieter. The tables were drawn aside, and revellers gathered together in small knots to tell each other stories or read fortunes on the night when the veil between the natural and supernatural
worlds was at its thinnest. The musicians in their gallery seemed to be affected by the atmosphere too, and they began to play tunes in the minor keys that had a strangely brittle and disjointed quality.

“They sound just like I imagine skeletons walking in moonlight would look,” said Sharley, confusing nobody with his odd sentence.

“Yes, exactly,” said Kirimin, raising her muzzle from another bowl of suet pudding. “Especially if it was frosty.”

Most of the torches around the hall had been allowed to burn out, and the huge space was lit by the central fire and by a few candles that burned in holders on some of the tables. Shadows leaped and danced up the walls, or were deformed by perspective into hideously twisted shapes, so that the hall seemed to be populated by a convocation of monsters.

Even the guests on the top table were touched by the creepy atmosphere, and the conversation had dropped to a low buzz on the edge of hearing. Thirrin and Oskan sat quietly, holding each other's hands under the table, while Cressida glared about as if daring anything even vaguely supernatural to show itself, but eventually even the Crown Princess's vigilance began to wane and her eyes slowly closed. Krisafitsa shuddered gently as the wind moaned around the citadel and Maggiore snored, his hand still firmly grasping his half-full goblet of wine as he dreamed of spirits that stood over his bed, their mouths wide and silently screaming while the cold air of the grave billowed out of their jaws and pooled over his face.

Only Tharaman-Thar and Grishmak seemed active, and they were reaching that stage of their eating duel when the very smell of food was nauseating.

“Would you be prepared to negotiate a draw?” asked the
werewolf King, as the mouthful of meat he'd been chewing slipped greasily down his throat.

“Not at all!” Tharaman replied, resolutely seizing a rack of ribs in his jaws. But then the gravy oozed over his tongue and he dropped the meat with a gentle shudder. “Oh, very well. I declare honours even.”

“Agreed,” said Grishmak, and both contestants leaned forward slowly until their heads rested on the table and they slipped into a deep, ghost-haunted sleep.

The night was at last coming to a close; even Sharley and Mekhmet were blinking owlishly at each other, and after a few moments they too had closed their eyes. In the main body of the hall the whisper and mutter of ghost stories still flowed over the shadows, but eventually these too ebbed away into near silence.

Kirimin looked out over the dark space, unwilling to let the celebrations end. She watched with her excellent night vision as the shades and thick textured blacks of the dimly lit hall seemed to weave themselves into distinct shapes, then slowly dance around the walls like dirty cloth undulating and billowing in underwater currents. The ghosts of the citadel had at last come out to celebrate Halloween, but only those who cared to look closely would see them. Kirimin blinked and shook her mighty head; she must be getting tired, she thought. But she wasn't ready to surrender to sleep yet; she still wanted to savour the delicious fear of the haunted darkness. And where better to find it than in the Great Forest? If she crept out now, she could be walking under the dark trees within a few minutes.

On her silent Snow Leopard paws she padded down from the dais, across the hall and out into the night. Only two
figures in the dark cavernous space saw her go, and nudging each other they climbed to their feet and hurried to the stables. They knew exactly where she was going, and if they were going to keep up they'd need horses.

Down in the city, in the small houses made cosy against the dark with candles and lamps and warm log fires, people were telling each other tales of hauntings and spectral visitors who knock on doors late at night, but few were prepared to seek out the real ghosts of Frostmarris, who watched the living from cellars and attics and lost secret rooms. Their tales were too true, and often too terrible, to be comfortable on Samhein night.

Kirimin's whispered tread passed their doors unnoticed as she made her way down to the gates, and soon she was flowing like a silent bank of mist through the entrance tunnel, and out into the night of stars and the breathless beauty of a new moon.

C
HAPTER
7

T
he horses clipped and clopped through the silent streets, the sound echoing and clattering from the densely packed houses, seeming to make a cavalry of the two animals. Both riders wore black hooded cloaks, skeleton masks and a full panoply of strangely exotic armour, making them look like long-dead warriors who'd returned to earth in search of revenge. Anyone who dared to peep out of their windows on this Samhein night and saw them riding by would have hurriedly closed their shutters and called on the Goddess for protection.

They reached the long entrance tunnel of the main gate and trotted briskly to the outside world. A freezing wind, with the clean scent of winter on its breath, eddied about them as they looked out over the Plain of Frostmarris.

“There she goes!” said Mekhmet as he caught a slight movement in the darkness.

“Where?” asked Sharley, scanning the dense tumble of shadows and blackness, but as he spoke, Kirimin's huge form crossed a cart track that glowed dimly in the starlight, and she stood out in solid black relief. “Ah, yes. I see her.”

They urged their mounts forward and were soon trotting across the plain, relying mainly on instinct to take them in the same direction as the Snow Leopard Princess.

As far as possible they avoided riding along the road, not only because it reflected what little light there was and would make them stand out to any watching eye, but also because Suleiman's and Jaspat's hoofbeats rattled over the hard surface like hammer strokes in a busy forge. If they were going to get their revenge for the fright Kirimin gave them earlier, they needed to catch her unawares.

After half an hour the eaves of the Great Forest loomed before them, and Sharley raised the pace slightly. Several jack-o'-lanterns still hung in the branches, their glowing eyes gazing eerily over the night as the two boys approached.

“Surely any candles would have burned out hours ago?” said Mekhmet, voicing the worry that Sharley had been trying to ignore. “It's been ages since anyone came from Frostmarris.”

“Perhaps someone came along later,” said Sharley nervously. “Or perhaps people who live nearby lit them.”

Mekhmet scanned the land around in search of any cottages or farmhouses, but the wind moaned over nothing but empty farmland and heath. He shivered, and nestled down inside his cloak. He wasn't so sure that trying to scare Kirimin was a good idea any more.

After a few more minutes of steady riding, the boys dismounted and inspected the ground to look for paw prints, but it was a futile search. Although huge, Snow Leopards were amazingly light on their feet, and the already frozen land revealed nothing.

“She must have come this way,” said Sharley, with more
conviction than he felt. “Come on, we're bound to catch up with her soon.”

Mekhmet drew breath, and his friend braced himself for what he knew was coming. “Have you noticed that the jack-o'-lanterns have moved?”

“I think it just looks that way,” Sharley answered quickly. “Remember, we're closer to the forest now. I'm sure Maggie would explain it as
perspective
or something like that.”

Mekhmet, looking at the weirdly glowing eyes and teeth that seemed to laugh at him from the nearby trees, was unconvinced by the explanation. “Well, if we're going to catch up with Kirimin we'd better go now.” He didn't like to add that unless they moved soon he might not dare go on.

Both boys climbed back into their saddles and headed off again. Suleiman shook his head and snorted nervously, the chink and rattle of his harness echoing on the cold night air like tiny discordant bells. After a few minutes Mekhmet pointed to the trees. “There! There's something big moving in the shadows.”

Sharley peered ahead. “Well, I commend your eyesight – all I can see is darkness. But I'll take your word for it. Come on.”

They urged their horses forward and headed for the forest at a brisk trot.

Kirimin had been moving through the trees for almost half an hour, her superb night vision revealing nothing but a tangle of shadows and blackness that constantly shifted as the night breeze blew through the branches. Her other senses were as sharp as a boxful of knives, her ears flicking and turning to hear every creak, every whisper, every tiny smothered snigger. Her nerves too sent constant ripples of movement cascading
over her pelt like waves on the surface of a restless sea, every individual hair of her gloriously thick coat vibrating with the air currents as she moved through the night, and her nostrils twitched and snuffled at each new scent and drew it in to be almost unconsciously analysed. Even her sense of taste examined the world around her as she drew the night air over the roof of her mouth and onto that special feline organ that made each smell a flavour.

Kirimin knew exactly what lay around and about her, but it was her cat's intuition rather than any of her super-refined physical senses that told her she wasn't alone. She shuddered with a mixture of fear and delight. This was precisely what she wanted of Samhein: mystery and laughter, darkness and that shivery feeling that something was secretly watching you from the shadows.

She didn't actually know what to do next. Should she just continue walking through the shadows, or should she sit down and simply watch in the hope of . . . well,
what
, exactly? She had no answers to give herself, so she continued on her way, sliding through the trees like a gentle movement of air that had somehow acquired a physical body.

Above her in the branches, a jack-o'-lantern glowed weirdly, appearing as though from nowhere, and seeming to follow her route as she passed beneath it. A sound like whispering laughter echoed in her head. She decided she'd imagined it; after all, the grinning mouths of the lanterns suggested that they were cackling wickedly, and she supposed her mind had just provided the sound. There were more of the faces appearing now; obviously the people of Frostmarris had come this way earlier. They seemed to have taken the trouble to place their pumpkin lamps on some quite high branches.
Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the fiery, grinning faces were left behind and she walked on through the shadows.

After a few minutes a soft greeny-blue glow started to bloom in the blackness. It was faint at first, but then it began to etch the outlines of twigs and branches, and eventually the trunks of entire trees. It wasn't very bright, but in the deeply shadowed forest it seemed to fill her eyes, and paint the dips and hollows of the woodland with even deeper shadows as the contrast between light and dark became gradually stronger. What could it be?

She moved towards its source, her brilliant amber eyes narrowing as she drew closer to what looked like a faintly pulsating ball of light. After a few minutes the area of light grew larger and Kirimin realised she was approaching what looked like the mouth of a cave, sitting at the base of an outcrop of rocks. She'd never seen it before, but quickly decided that that wasn't unusual, she hardly knew the forest at all really. A few days earlier Sharley had taken her and Mekhmet to the cavern where Sharley's father had grown up, but that had been in an entirely different direction, and anyway, these rocks looked completely unlike those. These were oddly smooth, almost as though they had been polished, and in the pale light she could clearly see that they had lines of various colours meandering through them, like veins and arteries through flesh.

There were more jack-o'-lanterns around the mouth of the cave. These had somehow been attached to the rock so that they swung and nodded in the breeze almost as though they were laughing and talking to each other as they watched her approach. She paused, and the lanterns grew still, their fiery eyes watching her closely. What should she do? She was fascinated and at the same time scared. Deciding that this was
exactly how she should feel on Samhein, she walked on. Just at that moment a breeze caught the lanterns and they nodded and bobbed, filling the air with imagined sniggering and whispering.

Sharley and Mekhmet picked their way cautiously through the dark forest. Both Suleiman and Jaspat had excellent eyesight, but even they found the deep shadows and darkness difficult, and eventually the boys reined to a halt, dismounted and led the horses on into the night.

“You know, we're probably being completely stupid here,” Sharley whispered. “Finding something even as big as a Snow Leopard in a pitch-black forest without the help of a torch or tinder-box is nigh on impossible.”

“You're probably right,” Mekhmet agreed. “Perhaps we should . . .” He stopped suddenly and grabbed Sharley's arm. “There – something white, moving off through the trees!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. I could even see the spots on her coat.”

“In this light?”

Mekhmet nodded emphatically, and Sharley shrugged. It seemed unlikely, but his friend never lied. “All right, let's see if we can creep up on her.”

But even moving with as much stealth as they could, their horses' hooves still thudded and thumped on the thick forest litter, and neither boy was surprised when they didn't see anything else.

“She's gone,” said Sharley finally.

“Yes, but we know what direction she's going in now. Come on.”

Sharley followed his friend with a growing sense of futility.
They'd lost Kirimin and she'd be forever one up in their game of scaring each other witless. They might get a chance of revenge the next day, but it wouldn't be the same as doing it on Halloween. Somehow, frightening someone to a gibbering wreck didn't have quite the same sense of satisfaction as it did on the day of the great celebration of ghosts and monsters.

After several minutes of stumbling along in pitch darkness, the grinning faces of more pumpkin lamps relieved the gloom and their flickering eyes watched the boys as they continued on their way. Mekhmet was convinced they were closing on Kirimin and urged Sharley on.

Soon he had evidence to support his confidence: they found a tuft of white fur caught on a thorn bush. It seemed to glow in the darkness of the forest almost as though it was trying to draw attention to itself, but neither boy said anything about that, even though both thought it a little odd. Perhaps a break in the thick canopy of the trees had somehow funnelled starlight to shine on the fur.

They continued on through the shadows until a strange blue-green light started to percolate through the densely interwoven undergrowth. Both boys drew their scimitars; there was an unhealthy quality to the light that neither of them liked, and there was something comforting about carrying a razor-sharp sword, even if you did suspect that you were dealing with the supernatural.

They emerged into a clearing that Sharley didn't recognise at all. The odd light pooled and pulsated before them, illuminating a cave that he knew for a fact shouldn't be there. But before he could say a word, he saw Kirimin disappearing into the mouth of the cave under an archway of jack-o'-lanterns.

“What
is
she doing? That cave's obviously not natural!
Who knows where it'll lead?”

“What do you mean, not natural?” asked Mekhmet nervously. “It looks real enough to me.”

“Well, of course it's
real!
I never said it wasn't
real!
It's just not natural. Look we haven't got time to discuss it. Come on!” He charged across the clearing.

Kirimin stepped into the cave and immediately felt herself enfolded in an atmosphere that was cold and clammy. The walls glowed unhealthily with some odd fungal phosphorescence, and ferns grew in every nook and cranny, dripping with moisture that condensed on them from the misty, moisty air.

She sniffed experimentally and sneezed. The atmosphere was rank with a thick scent of decaying wood, leaves, and even flesh. She didn't like it; she didn't like it at all. But something stopped her from turning round and walking out. The cave might be creepy and smell like the worst sort of rubbish tip, but it was also beautiful. Stalactites hung from the roof far, far above her head glowing luminous greens and brilliant blues, and at her feet stalagmites grew from the floor, each one strangely twisted and contorted as it reached towards the roof. The crystalline structures seemed to pulsate as the phosphorescent colours washed over them, and sometimes she could have sworn they'd actually moved as they loomed up at her from the shadows.

A strange wispy mist, like wet silk, began to writhe around the shadows, folding and weaving itself into fantastic shapes that were sometimes beautiful and delicate, like elegant dancers draped in the sheerest gauze, and sometimes grotesque and twisted like the most hideous hump-backed beasts. And once again the phosphorescent light tinted the mist with blues
and greens, sometimes refracting through the tiny droplets of water to create a flowing bank of rainbow colour.

“It's like a fairy grotto,” she said to herself, and almost leaped out of her skin as an echo threw her words back, twisted and transformed into a hideous threatening whisper: “. . . 
fairy grotto . . . otto . . . otto . . .”