Last Battle of the Icemark (8 page)

“Oh stop it!” she snapped.

And after a second the echo answered:
“Stop it . . . op it . . . op it . . .”

She considered roaring just to see what sort of effect it would have, but quickly changed her mind. She had a feeling it would be truly awful, and she wasn't sure she'd be brave enough to stand her ground. After taking a few seconds to consider her next move, she stepped out again, heading towards what she supposed was the back of the cave. There actually seemed to be a path of some sort, and she was curious about how it might have got there. Perhaps she might meet a wood-sprite. Sharley had said they were very rare, but sometimes came out on Halloween. It would be great to be able to tell him she'd seen one. He'd be green with envy.

With this happy thought she plunged deeper into the cave, not noticing that the roof was getting higher and higher, and soon it disappeared from view completely. The sound of dripping water gave way to a chuckling gurgle as a small stream began to rush across the floor, and when a breath of fresh night air washed over her fur Kirimin suddenly realised that there was a thin strip of starry sky slicing the shadows above her head like a razor cut through black velvet.

She breathed the night air deeply, savouring the scents of the rich damp earth and forest greenery. Obviously the cave had actually been a tunnel, and she'd emerged on the other
side. An evil chuckling issued forth from the shadows of the steep-sided chasm, reminding her that it was still Samhein, and her keen amber eyes raked the darkness around her. Thick textured shadows scuttled away to merge and blend with the darkness, and she silently raised her lips to reveal her massive teeth. If it was real enough to make a noise, it was real enough to bleed, she reasoned to herself, and it might as well know exactly who and what it was laughing at. She was Princess Kirimin of the Icesheets, and she'd already killed enough Ice Trolls to make an entire regiment of the dead.

“Look on me and tremble!” she suddenly called into the blackness.

And the echo quickly answered: “
tremble . . . emble . . . emble . . .”

“Yes, '
emble
indeed,” she said, too quietly for the echo to reply.

Sharley and Mekhmet entered the cave leading Suleiman and Jaspat, who blew and whickered nervously as the atmosphere of pungent scents, oddly glowing light and sly, slithering movements enveloped them.

“So, what you're saying is that this cave is magical in some way?” Mekhmet asked, his voice taut with nerves.

“In a nutshell,” agreed Sharley.

“Then why are we going in?”

“Because Kiri's in here and unless someone catches up with her who understands the dangers, she's bound to end up in trouble . . . serious trouble.”

“Yes . . . yeah, of course,” Mekhmet agreed reluctantly. “The only problem is, this is
Northern
magic; this is ghosts and wood-sprites and goblins, not djins and Blessed Women
and demons. I've no idea how it all works, so I'm just as helpless as Kirimin really. What use am I going to be?”

Sharley didn't like to admit that he was just as inexperienced as his friend about all things magical. After all, he was the son of the most powerful warlock in the known world, and somehow he felt this should have qualified him to sort out any magical or mystical problems in an instant. But the truth was that he was as baffled, confused, and – he had to admit it – as scared as everyone else. Samhein had always been a time of fun and excitement to him; ghosts and monsters, and dark forbidding places that people stupidly decided to investigate, had always been safely contained in stories told by candlelight. But now here he was walking into a cave that he just knew was haunted, and would lead to places and situations that were almost certain to be hideous.

If he allowed himself to think too much about it, he was sure he'd just turn round and go home. But he couldn't do that; Kirimin was in here somewhere, and the longer she stayed, the more likely she was to get into trouble . . . bad trouble.
Thank goodness Mekhmet's here
, he thought to himself; just his friend's presence made him feel better.

They moved slowly forward into the luminous dimness of the cave, their ears and eyes constantly baffled by faint sights and sounds that flitted on the very edges of their senses. Voices seemed to whisper their names, but whenever they turned towards the source of a particular sound, another whispered voice would call from a different direction.

“Someone, or some
thing
, is playing games with us,” Sharley said, his firm confident tones deserting him as his voice cracked. “In fact, I'm beginning to think all of this could be a trap and not just Samhein mischief.”

At that moment something large and repulsive slithered by their feet and disappeared into the shadows. Both boys grabbed each other, their nerves finally at breaking point, and the horses squealed in terror. The echo immediately seized the sound and filled the cave with a hideous tangled explosion of screaming that was added to by Sharley and Mekhmet. All rational thought and common sense fled before the terror of the cave, and suddenly, without any time for thought or discussion, both boys leaped on to their horses and galloped away from the horrible, nerve-breaking sound. Unfortunately this took them deeper into the shadows, and soon Sharley and Mekhmet needed all their concentration just to stay in the saddle and avoid hitting the rocks and stalagmites that loomed without warning out of the darkness.

After a frantic few minutes that seemed to last for ever, the horses burst out into a narrow ravine. On they galloped, splashing through the stream that ran along the rocky base of the chasm; their nostrils flared wide in panic and their flanks foamed with sweat. But eventually the insistent pulling on the reins and the familiar voices of command began to percolate through to their brains, and after a few more minutes of barely-controlled galloping they started to slow down and gradually succumbed to human control again.

The boys allowed them to trot on for a few minutes, keen to put more of a distance between themselves and the horrible, haunted cave. In fact their own nerves were less than steady and they rode on in silence, taking deep calming breaths and trying to order their thoughts. Neither of them liked the thought that to get back home they'd probably have to retrace their steps and go back through that horrible glowing darkness. Perhaps they'd be able to ride round it in some
way, but Sharley was well aware that this wasn't the nature of magic and the Magical Realms. You either went on until you found some other route back to your own time and place, or you retraced your steps exactly.

As they gradually regained control of both themselves and their horses, Sharley and Mekhmet began to take stock of their surroundings, and what they saw was less than comforting. The chasm had slowly opened up and the boys found themselves riding through a wild and desolate landscape that seemed to be composed entirely of the colour grey, with a few variations on a theme of charcoal and black. The air was filled with banks and billows of thick mist and steam, as geysers erupted huge plumes of vapour into the air, and hot springs bubbled around them.

“I know this place,” said Sharley, rubbing his gammy leg, which was throbbing as painfully as it always did in times of stress. “Dad told me about it once. I think we're on the Plain of Desolation.”

“The where?” asked Mekhmet fearfully.

“The Plain of Desolation. It's a sort of halfway house between the peace and beauty of the Spiritual Realms and the evil of the Darkness. I think it's supposed to be a mixture of the two . . . you know, both good and bad.”

“Well, it looks like the bad bits are definitely in control at the moment,” said Mekhmet as a huge geyser suddenly erupted nearby with a sound like an exploding kettle.

“Yeah,” Sharley agreed. “I must admit that the little Dad told me about it didn't sound very . . . 
balanced
between good and bad. There are supposed to be ghosts and lots of other nasties around the place, and he said there was some sort of close link between here and The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. You
know, a sort of
seepage
that allows some pretty horrible spooks through to the Physical Realms.”

“Oh, that's just great!” said Mekhmet with feeling. “As if things weren't bad enough, now we can look forward to meeting something horrible in the very near future!”

“Well, about time too,” a voice suddenly boomed from the shadows. Both boys screamed in embarrassingly girlie voices and grabbed each other.

Kirimin was so pleased. She'd managed to scare them again. She was two up on them now.

C
HAPTER
8

T
here was something really satisfying about carefully laid traps going exactly to plan. Medea had baited her snare with deadly skill, and lured her brother and his friends to just where she wanted them to be. Of course, trapping Kirimin and Mekhmet was just a by-product of her real plan, but when she finally got her prey into proper position she'd be able to kill them in front of Sharley, and so increase the horror of what was an already horrendous situation.

But she had to be careful; she couldn't risk bringing them to the Darkness, where Cronus would immediately know who they were and what she was doing. He still believed that acts of revenge were a sign of weakness. Even if the emotions driving them were hate, jealousy and vengefulness.

Medea sat back in her chair-that-was-almost-a-throne and thought things through. She'd need to lure her brother and his friends across the Plain of Desolation and wait until she was completely certain that Cronus had no idea what she was doing. Then, when the time was exactly right . . . she'd strike, and finally wipe Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Weak-in-the-Leg Lindenshield, Shadow of the Storm, from the face of the worlds.

*   *   *

Thirrin walked along the corridor trying to concentrate on the business in hand. She was on her way to a meeting of the Allied High Command which had been scheduled to discuss the collapse of the Polypontian Empire and the threat of Erinor and her Hordes. But the thought of Medea and her willing acceptance of the Darkness kept interrupting. It was almost as though Thirrin's subconscious was trying to tell her something; trying to warn her that she'd somehow overlooked something important. But no matter how often she analysed the situation, nothing became apparent.

There seemed little point in wasting any more mental energy on the problem, and she tried to discipline herself to concentrate fully on the definite physical threat of Erinor. In fact, if all of the reports coming in from the old Polypontian Empire were true, then the future could be grim, and everybody would be looking to her for answers. For a moment she felt almost angry with the way things had turned out in her life; here she was, the Queen of a land that had been invaded twice by one of the greatest military powers the world had ever seen; a mother of five children; wife to the most powerful warlock in existence, and
still
she felt like a young girl who was almost certain to mess it all up. Just when would she finally feel like an adult? When would she feel mature and responsible and, best of all, capable? Cressida looked and acted more grown-up than she did! Cressida frightened everyone. As Oskan said, she was the world's headmistress and she was more than ready to put everyone in detention!

She found herself grinning inanely as she walked along the corridor, and only realised she was doing it when a werewolf
guard stamped to attention and she was forced to frown in her best martial manner as she returned the salute. Everyone would think she was going mad! She must concentrate. She cleared her throat and stomped along like a warrior queen should, arriving at the meeting chamber before she was ready.

All eyes turned to her as she blinked in the bright sunshine that streamed from the windows. But then she caught sight of Maggie snoozing happily in his chair, and felt a little better. She wasn't the only one unprepared for the importance of life.

The guards on the door announced her arrival as she entered, and everyone in the room stood, apart from Maggie who slept on regardless. Grishmak, Tharaman and Krisafitsa greeted her happily, and Oskan smiled as she took her place next to him.

“Wake up,” he muttered, so that only she could hear. “Everyone expects you to be a Queen.”

She looked at her husband darkly. As usual he could read her perfectly, and was always ready to be mischievous at her expense if it would distract her from thinking about Medea. “Thank you, oh my beloved one,” she answered ironically. “I wasn't aware my regality had slipped.”

“No matter. Only those who know you well would be aware of anything amiss.”

“What a relief,” she said, and looked around the table. The Hypolitan contingent had arrived early that morning, having celebrated Samhein in the ancient manner beneath the trees of the Great Forest. Thirrin noted that Olememnon's hair was now almost white, but he looked as hale and hearty as an old oak tree. Beside him sat the Basilea Olympia, her bright eyes and stern warrior's face making her look like an eagle as she stared about the room as though looking for prey.

Much of the discussion would be important to the Hypolitan, so Thirrin was glad she looked alert. Their input would be valuable.

“Right, I call the meeting to order as we all seem to be here,” said Cressida in her usual bossy manner, and she started shuffling an alarmingly thick pile of papers.

“Actually, we're not,” said Krisafitsa. “All here, I mean. Kirimin's missing, and so are the boys.”

“Missing?” asked Thirrin, suddenly alarmed. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that, I'm afraid,” Krisafitsa replied. “Kirimin's quarters and the boys' room show no signs of being slept in last night. But I'm sure it's nothing to be alarmed about. They probably went off to the Great Forest for a last Samhein experience and just forgot the time. I expect they'll be back sometime today, all contrite and hoping to get away with any punishment they're certainly due.”

“But when did you find out they were missing, and why wasn't I told?” asked Thirrin agitatedly.

“Only a few minutes ago,” said the Tharina calmly. “Kirimin usually calls on her father and me before attending any official functions, and when she didn't arrive I sent a werewolf guard to find her. He came back and reported her room empty and unslept-in. I immediately thought of the boys, and when their room was checked, my suspicions were confirmed.”

Thirrin turned to Oskan and raised her eyebrows questioningly. He shrugged in reply. “If anything had happened to them I'd have known. Perhaps Krisafitsa's right and they just went off to the forest for a laugh. I'm sure they'll be back
when they're ready.”

“But they all knew there was an important meeting this morning. Surely they wouldn't miss that?”

“They're teenagers; call something ‘important' and they'll immediately ignore it. It's what they do; they're strange beasts,” Oskan said reassuringly. “Come on, we've a lot to discuss. We can give them a potted account of proceedings when they finally get back.”

Cressida nodded, cleared her throat and prepared to take control again. Nobody had actually appointed her as chair of the meeting, but she'd assumed the role anyway. Somebody had to do it, she reasoned, and she was probably the best qualified, being confident, competent and efficient.

“Right, now that everyone seems ready to begin, I'll start by calling this meeting to order.” She raised a small wooden hammer and smacked it smartly on the table.

Maggiore awoke with a snort. “Yes, Grishmak. Good idea, I'll have a pint of ale,” he said loudly and blinked at everyone in confusion.

“I agree with you, mate,” said Grishmak happily. “But unfortunately we've got the very dry business of a meeting to get through first.”

Cressida coughed meaningfully and silence fell. “All right, it's Woden's Day. The First of November, the Year of the Boar, and present are Queen Thirrin, Oskan Witchfather, King Grishmak, Tharaman-Thar, Krisafitsa-Tharina, Basilea Olympia of the Hypolitan and her Consort Olememnon Stagapoulou, Maggiore Totus and myself, Crown Princess Cressida. Absent are Prince Charlemagne, Crown Prince Mekhmet of the Desert Kingdom and Princess Kirimin of the Icesheets. We've gathered to discuss the growing crisis in
the lands of the disintegrating Polypontian Empire, and will attempt to agree a united response to it.” She fell silent, and turned to the grey-haired clerk who was busily scribbling notes. “Have you got all of that?” she asked, and when the clerk nodded she drew breath to continue.

“Aren't there going to be any refreshments?” Tharaman interrupted. “I always think better with a little snack to keep me going.”

“I'm with you there,” said Grishmak. “Bring on the nibbles!”

“There aren't any!” Cressida snapped. “This is all far too important, and besides, once you lot start eating it'll only turn into a party.”

“Can't say I have a problem with that myself,” said Tharaman. “What about you, Grishy?”

“None at all. Bit of food and fun helps the boring bits along, in my opinion. Let's call a chamberlain and order some grub.”

“No!” Cressida insisted. “We all need to concentrate, and I for one find it difficult to think once you and Tharaman start cracking bones and spitting out gristle.”

“I never spit out gristle!” said Tharaman in miffed tones. “A terrible waste of protein. It just needs a little extra chewing, that's all.”

Thirrin had watched the exchange in silence, but now she sat forward in her chair. “Actually, I wouldn't mind a sandwich myself.”

Cressida looked at her thunderously. How dare her own mother not support her stance? The chaos that was the Icemark's government needed to be controlled and subjected to a little discipline, and her decision to ban food from
important meetings was the first of many reforms she had planned. “Madame, I really feel that eating and drinking—”

“Ah, drinking, good idea!” said Tharaman. “Beer would go down nicely at the moment. There's a particularly good brew just in from the South Riding. I sampled a few bowls last night and—”

“We can't have alcohol in a meeting!” Cressida almost wailed.

Thirrin sighed. Her daughter was an excellent Crown Princess, but she dreaded to think what sort of puritanical state she'd introduce once she ascended the throne. She really had to learn that you cannot suppress people's natural exuberance. Even trying could be disastrous; she'd probably make herself the most unpopular monarch since Theobold the Thin, who had tried to introduce a tax on food, and was finally sent into exile when he decided to ban all alcoholic drinks.

“Cressida, every meeting I've ever attended in the Icemark has been liberally supplied with food and drink,” she said gently. “And, do you know, for all the debauchery and lack of etiquette, we really didn't do too badly, did we? Every coastal raid pushed back into the sea, every invasion defeated, and the dreaded House of Bellorum wiped out. All of that planned in meetings and forged in alliances that were steeped in alcohol and buried under an avalanche of food. If you think
we're
bad, you should have experienced your grandfather's gatherings. King Redrought firmly believed that he'd failed as a host if most of the delegates to his meetings weren't carried out at the end of the day.”

“But . . . but that was in the olden days!” Cressida spluttered. “It's the modern world now. The empire's dying, and a new order is emerging, where efficiency and discipline will
reign supreme—”

“And where people will still be people, no matter how many times you tell them they're simply cogs in a beautiful machine,” Thirrin interrupted. She really would have to have a quiet talk with Cressida once the meeting was finished. Crown Princess or not, she really had to accept that populations only ever really
consented
to be ruled. Any monarchs that made themselves unpopular could expect to lose their throne in double-quick time.

“Grishmak, see if you can find a chamberlain. I'd like a beer myself, and a cheese sandwich,” Thirrin said firmly as Cressida subsided into an affronted silence.

“And don't forget the pickle,” Oskan suddenly added.

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “Now, where had we got to?”

“‘And don't forget the pickle',” the clerk, who been busily scribbling notes, informed her helpfully as he read back through his papers.

“Fine. Grishmak, you have some news for us, I believe.”

The Werewolf King finished muttering to the chamberlain who'd answered his call, and sent him on his way before turning back to the room. “Ah, yes! You mean the information we've gathered about the south?”

“Information from the south? Very exciting! But how exactly did you come by this intelligence?” Maggie asked, his interest revived by the promise of food.

“From the werewolf relay. The southernmost links have been talking to the migrating birds and animals that have been coming north over the last few months, and we've built up a fascinating picture.”

“About the empire, you mean?”

“Yes, and basically everything points to it being finished.
The Desert Kingdom in its southernmost regions has been completely victorious, the Venettians and Hellenes have taken control of the Central Ocean and all coastal areas; in the north the Imperial Legions got a good kicking from us, and in the east and west . . . well, that's what we're here to discuss, isn't it?”