Last Battle of the Icemark (9 page)

“It is indeed,” Thirrin agreed. “And I believe it's the news from the east that's the most . . . disturbing.”

“Very,” Grishmak said.

“Is it still as bad?”

“The last reports from the relay suggested that it's getting worse. Unless we act soon, we could all be in danger.”

“I suppose it all depends on how we react to the information we have.”

“Well, if you shared it with us all, there might be a chance that something could be done!” Maggie said exasperatedly. “I'm too old for dark hints and riddles – I might be dead before they're answered!”

“Nonsense, Maggie,” said Krisafitsa warmly. “You'll outlive us all.”

“Hah, only if you all die tomorrow! Now, will somebody please explain what's happening?”

“Yes. I will, Maggie,” said Oskan, sitting forward in his chair. “There's a movement of people in the east of the old Imperial Lands. Now that the Legions have been defeated, there's a greater freedom in the world than has been seen for many generations, and entire populations seem to be migrating.”

The Witchfather stood, and paced backwards and forwards as he tried to order his thoughts. “But something else has happened. Something . . . odd. We're being forced to realise that
perhaps not all freedom is good after all.”

Maggie's spectoculums almost fell off his face. “What on earth can you possibly mean? How can a fundamentally beautiful principle such as freedom ever be anything other than good?”

“When one group of people have the freedom to make war on their neighbours simply because they happen to want their land. When blood feuds, long ago suppressed by the laws of the Polypontian Empire, now have the freedom to blossom again, and children are left as orphans and entire towns and villages are laid waste; and when warlords can rise to power and divide once-prosperous lands into private domains that fight continually between themselves.” Oskan laughed bitterly. “Ironic, don't you think, that we should have fought long and hard to see the end of Bellorum's Imperial strength, and then live long enough to see chaos and death rise in its place? The fact is that the Polypontian Empire may well have been an oppressive, despotic and basically cruel power bloc that suppressed the rights and individuality of the people it ruled. But it also crushed local vendettas, smashed warlords and made people accept that what they had was enough for their needs.”

Maggie stared at him in silence for a while. “I see,” he finally said. “And all this is happening now?”

“At this very moment, apparently. But there's something more we need to consider. Something that brings the danger very close to home.” He suddenly turned and looked sharply at the Basilea and Olememnon. “And it directly concerns the Hypolitan.”

The Basilea raised her head and held his gaze in the iron grip of her icy blue eyes. “Exactly how?”

“I'll tell you, if you'll just allow me a moment to set the scene for those who have only a working knowledge of ancient history,” said Oskan, and sat down again while he composed himself. “First of all, I ought to explain that our information comes from several sources, and isn't just reliant on the gossip of migratory beasts. Human beings have crossed our borders too, and some of them have trekked over many countries and land boundaries before they arrived here. All of them tell the same tale: people are moving and fighting on a huge scale as the Polypontian Empire dies.”

“Then we should look to our borders and secure them now, before we're swamped!” said Tharaman-Thar.

“I agree,” said Cressida, coming out of her sulk at last. “We can't just sit back and watch as Hordes swarm through the mountain passes.”

“The
Hordes
, as you put it, haven't reached this far north yet, and probably never will. The few that have crossed our borders have fled before the rumour rather than the fact of invasion. And I think we have to accept that the Icemark isn't a very attractive prospect to most people.”

“What do you mean?” asked Grishmak, offended for his adopted land.

“It's quite simple really,” said Oskan gently. “Most of the refugees, invaders – whatever you want to call them – come from southern lands where the weather is warmer and dryer. The idea of coming to a land that's covered in snow for almost six months of the year, and seems to be lashed by heavy rain for the rest of the time, would probably seem like madness to them. Let's face it, we're the wild and woolly north: a place of mists and mystery, witchcraft and monsters. It was here that even Scipio Bellorum and his mad sons were defeated. In
fact, we're famous throughout the known world as the bane of the empire; almost everyone knows our names, and they tell tales about us that make us living legends. In short, the biggest and fiercest of Hordes would probably be too afraid to set foot in the Icemark.”

“Then we're safe,” said Tharaman happily.

“Not quite,” Oskan replied. “There are always exceptions to any rule.”

“And the exceptions are?” Cressida asked.

“The Hypolitan.”

“What?!!” came the collective shout, and then the voices broke up into a storm of questions that filled the room with an indecipherable babble. The arrival of the food and drink then added further to the pandemonium, and Oskan waited quietly for order to return.

Even the puzzlement and outrage caused by the Witch-father wasn't enough to distract Grishmak and Tharaman from the foodstuff, and they postponed their inquisition until they'd filled their plates. In the relative quiet that followed, the Basilea was at last able to make herself heard.

“Please explain yourself, Witchfather. How are the Hypolitan a threat to the Icemark?”

“I think it would be best if Thirrin explained from this point on. Her mother was a member of the Hypolitan aristocracy and so she's better qualified in this matter.” He turned to his wife with a smile and then sat down.

Thirrin suddenly felt very light-headed. The room was getting warm and the smell of roast beef, pork and mutton was overpowering. For a moment she thought she was going to black out, but she shook her head; obviously the importance
and danger of the news from the disintegrating empire was getting to her. She realised that even a warrior queen with years of battle experience could get stage fright. The only way forward is to advance, she thought to herself, and ploughed on.

“We've been told that the middle lands of the empire are mountainous. They're difficult to control and even the best Imperial generals – even Bellorum – found it impossible to impose undisputed rule. As a result they were left more or less autonomous – self-ruling – as long as they acknowledged the Emperor and paid some tribute occasionally.

“Well, now even that restriction has gone, and the fierce tribes who live in the clouds began a fight for supremacy amongst themselves. It didn't last long – just a couple of months, according to our sources, and now they're united under one leadership, banner and Basilea.”

Olympia's fierce eagle face became fiercer as realisation set in. “What is the name of this mountainous region?”

“We're told it's called Artemesion.”

“The original homeland of the Hypolitan, from which we migrated as a people over twenty lifetimes ago.”

“Precisely so,” Thirrin agreed. “The werewolf relay has gathered huge amounts of information from migrating beasts, but it was only when a Polypontian refugee was taken and questioned that the fullest details began to emerge. And the fact that this refugee was General Berengetia of the Imperial Eastern Army might give you some idea of the depth of detail he gave.”

“A general of the empire, you say?” said Olympia in shocked amazement. “Has his army been completely defeated, then?”

“No,” Thirrin replied simply. “Let's just say that he
thought it wise to make good his escape before the enemy were ‘inevitably victorious' as he put it.” She paused and looked at the faces of her allies and friends, who were all looking at her so trustingly. With a sudden sense of guilt she drew breath to speak. “Forgive me, Grishmak, and you, Tharaman, my fellow monarchs, for not revealing the full import of what we found. But I must ask your forgiveness especially, Olympia. My only excuse is that we didn't want to cause unnecessary panic unless we could confirm that our sources were correct.”

“And obviously you've now done that,” said Olympia quietly.

“Yes. Last month a squadron of vampires flew south to find out what they could. They returned three days ago. They made contact with the people of Artemesion and found them to be fierce, independent and powerful. They're ruled by Basilea Erinor and they call themselves the Hypolitan.”

“Fascinating! Quite fascinating!” said Maggiore, taking a large gulp of beer. “And are they definitely of the same ethnic stock as our own northern allies?”

“If you mean, are they related to Olympia and Olememnon's people, then yes, they are. In fact the fame of the Icemark's war against Bellorum brought our Hypolitan to their attention over twenty years ago, but it wasn't until the Polypontians were defeated for a second time that they were able to break out of their mountain stronghold and begin their crusade.”

“Crusade? What crusade?” asked Olememnon calmly.

“To seize control of the old Imperial capital, to re-establish the empire under their rule, and ultimately to wipe out the northern Hypolitan, whom they consider traitors.”

A silence followed as the importance of the information sank in. But then Olememnon spoke up. “And could they do this?”

Thirrin shrugged. “They head an alliance of mountain people. They're fierce, warlike and ruthless. On top of that, I strongly suspect that Basilea Erinor is more than competent as a war leader. The remnants of the Polypontian army have clashed with her in five major battles and countless skirmishes. They lost every time. She now threatens the southern borders of the Polypontian heartland. It'll take her several months to prepare for invasion, but nonetheless she certainly will invade.”

“Then what do we do?” asked Olememnon.

“Couldn't we send an envoy or embassy of some sort?” asked Krisafitsa. “Unpleasantness can often be avoided by the use of simple diplomacy and good faith.”

“In effect, that's exactly what the vampire party was. Her Vampiric Majesty chose the most intelligent and personable of her subjects; they were under strict instructions not to reveal their true natures and to transform to their flying forms only when there were no witnesses about. Even so, Basilea Erinor arrested them, and five of the ten were destroyed before they escaped.”

“Then there's no hope of a peaceful solution?” asked Krisafitsa, her voice tinged with despair.

“I think it remote. Before she started murdering the envoys, Erinor let it be known that not only does she consider our Hypolitan to be traitors for deserting the homeland so long ago, but that the Icemark itself is a target because, as the daughter of a Hypolitan woman, I too am a traitor, and my lands forfeit.”

“Complicated sort, by the sound of things,” said Grishmak as he crunched a rack of beef ribs. “It's amazing how some of the most violent types have to find an excuse for their actions. Bit annoying, though. I don't know about you, but I could do with a bit of a rest from fighting.”

A general rumble of agreement greeted this, and then a silence followed that was broken only by the sound of chewing and the cracking of marrowbones.

“What tactics do they employ?” Cressida asked, her obsessive military brain hungry for details.

“Much the same as our Hypolitan, I'd have thought,” said Tharaman, chewing a huge beef knucklebone.

“Similar, it has to be said,” Thirrin agreed. “But there are factors that make them . . . dangerous.”

“Well, whatever it is, it can't be worse than the Sky Navy,” said Grishmak. “And if it's just the usual problem of us being outnumbered by something stupid to one, then we've all been there before. In fact, to be honest, after taking on the worst that Bellorum could throw at us, I find Erinor and her Hordes less than worrying. After all, don't let's forget that the empire did keep them trapped in their mountains for centuries, and if they couldn't defeat the people that we have beaten twice in a row, I'd say there's little to worry about.”

“Ordinarily I'd agree with you,” said Thirrin, sipping her beer. “But there are factors that need to be considered. First, the empire built a wall around the entire region of Artemesion; it was over twelve metres high at its lowest point, and had lookout towers more than twenty metres high at one-mile intervals. On top of that, there were fortresses with half a legion every two miles,
and
a full-sized castle garrisoned by two full legions every six miles. Breaking out of that particular
stranglehold would have taken something that was the equal of the Imperial army at the very least.”

“By the Goddess, just what were they afraid of?” asked the Basilea in an awed voice.

“Good question,” said Thirrin, looking out over the room. “Let's just say that you don't build a cage of stone and steel to house a pussycat.”

“What are the other factors?” asked Cressida.

“Our sources have recently given us more information about Erinor's battle-tactics,” Thirrin continued. “Apparently Artemesion is a land not only of high mountains, but also of wide and flat plateaus that stretch for miles between the towering peaks. Most of these lie thousands of metres above the level of the sea, and it was here that the feuding tribes fought their wars. The land was ideal for chariots, swift and strong ones, with razor-sharp scythes on their wheels, drawn by powerful armoured horses and crewed by two warriors: the driver and the fighter. The fighter is equipped with a bow. Not the usual compound bow of our own Hypolitan's mounted archers – Erinor's army has those too, in abundance – but a longbow, huge and powerful and with a range that is at least the equal of our own archers' weapons. These chariots are devastating, and as soon as the wall around Artemesion was abandoned by the Imperial Legions, Erinor made her people dismantle their chariots and carry them through the mountains, and out into the lands of the disintegrating Polypontian Empire. Here they smashed aside all opposition. They shoot murderous waves of arrows that rain down on the enemy long before they come into range themselves, and then the armoured horses smash through what remains, the scythed wheels carving a bloody path through anyone who dares stand against them.”