Prince of the Icemark
Read Prince of the Icemark Online
Authors: Stuart Hill
Praise for THE CRY OF THE ICEMARK
. . . will have readers shivering with delight . . . From the moment that its 13-year-old heroine, Princess Thirrin, punches a werewolf on the nose you know you’re in for a rollicking good read
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THE TIMES
. . . a supremely satisfying read which really deserves to be called a page-turner . . . [Hill’s] original and quirky approach could yet make him the proper heir to Joan Aiken’s crown
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PHILIP ARDAGH, GUARDIAN
. . . the writing is as crisp and clear as the snowy landscape Hill depicts so beautifully. The characters are so fresh, and the writing so vivid, that Hill should win many new recruits to fantasy fiction among 10- to 14-year-olds
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SUNDAY TELEGRAPH
. . . a first novel with a distinctive and seductive voice
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INDEPENDENT
A wonderful, swashbuckling read and an exceptional debut
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BOOKS FOR KEEPS
A most satisfying, absorbing and compelling read
.
CAROUSEL
. . . a remarkable first novel, a glorious fantasy, a long book full of powerful word-pictures, that enable readers to live for a while in the land of the Icemark
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CHILD EDUCATION
. . . a sensational new author who is going to take the children’s book world by storm . . . read it, read it, read it . .
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BOOKSELLER
WINNER OF THE WATERSTONES CHILDREN’S BOOK PRIZE 2005
To Clare, for all the love and support
.
Contents
FAR, FAR TO THE NORTH . . .
Far, far to the north lay a small land known as the Icemark. For six months of the year it was covered in snow and the ice that gave it its name, and even in the height of its short summer it could rarely be described as warm. Its skies were wide and cold, its forests dark and deep, and its people were fierce and proud warriors. But so too were their enemies, and many wars had been fought over the long years to keep the land free from the evil power of the Vampire King and Queen
.
These living corpses ruled in The-Land-of-the-Ghosts beyond the high peaks of the Wolfrock Mountains that formed the northern border of the Icemark. They commanded great armies of vampires and ghosts, werewolves and zombies with the one driving aim of defeating the living people of the Icemark and making them part of their Undead domain
.
The rulers of the human kingdom kept a close guard on their northern borders, with a network of defences and regiments of spies. But even the strongest gate can be broken and the highest wall breached. And if the vigilant eye blinks for even a moment, the dead will get in . . .
T
he shieldwall shattered. Werewolves poured through the breach, teeth and claws slashing and rending. Vampires dropped from the sky, landing inside the smashed ring of shields.
The cavalry was ripped apart by the werewolf phalanx, horse and rider brought down under a tangle of teeth and claws. The surviving horses ran in terror, trampling human and foe alike. All around was chaos and death. Soldiers scrambled away as best they could, throwing aside shield and armour and anything else that slowed them down.
Nearby the boy could see his brother, King Edward, standing with his war band of bodyguards. They were surrounded by werewolves and fighting like cornered animals. Dozens of
the enemy fell to the King’s axe as he whirled it round his head and struck again and again, but there were always more to take their place.
The boy tried to reach him, calling his name, tears of horror streaming down his face. But it was no good. There were just too many werewolves attacking him. The boy could see Vampires changing from their bat forms and becoming pale warriors in black armour, their fangs dripping blood as they tore out the throats of living soldiers.
He looked to the King again and watched as two huge werewolves leapt on him, ripping at his armour. The King fought on, stabbing and slashing at the creatures, but then one seized his head in a crushing grip and, with a twist, tore it from his shoulders.
For a moment the corpse stood, blood cascading from the torn arteries in its neck, the axe in its hand still raised, then the knees buckled and it dropped to the ground.
The boy screamed in terror and grief. His spirit broken at last, he turned to run, but his feet got tangled in the limbs of a corpse and he tripped. It saved his life; the Vampire sweeping down on him overshot and landed instead on another soldier, biting open his jugular and drinking the fountain of blood.
He scrambled to his feet. All around him housecarles and the fyrd were running, desperate to escape the huge were-wolves and the Vampire warriors. The cavalry was no more, the few remaining loose horses dragged down in a welter of blood. The stench of death filled his nostrils, and he could see the proud banners of the Icemark falling beneath the unstoppable tide of monsters. All was lost! All was lost!
He ran on, trampling the bodies of his fallen comrades, for
as long as his heart and lungs would allow. His breath rattled harshly in his throat and his mouth gaped as he tried to drag as much air as he could into his body. The hideous screeches of the Vampires echoed over the sky as they chased the broken army, and their allies the werewolves howled in reply. Ahead the boy could see the eaves of the Great Forest stretching across the skyline like a giant static wave crashing over the land. If he could reach the trees he might be able to hide.
A leathery rattle of wings sounded and he looked up to see a Vampire diving towards him. He stopped and crouched, his sword drawn ready. He steeled himself to wait until he could see the whites of the creature’s eyes, then he leapt skywards, his sword cutting a wide arc through the air. The blade bit deep and the Vampire’s head rolled away over the grass. He dived to the ground as the ruined body crashed to earth, then he climbed to his feet, spat on the corpse and ran on.
He ran for what felt like for ever, but soon his body could take no more and he collapsed and lay still. All around him he could hear the screams of agony as his comrades were slaughtered by the pursuing enemy, but he was beyond caring. His lungs burned and he thought he’d choke as he fought for breath.
Then all went black.
When he came round it was beginning to get dark, and everything was quiet apart from the gentle moaning of the wind and the distant calls of ravens and crows. The fighting was obviously over, and most of the army lay dead.
Cautiously he raised his head and looked around. He thought he could see the hulking figures of werewolves looting bodies in the distance, but the sun had set and shadows
were gathering, so he couldn’t be certain. The Great Forest lay just ahead, about a bowshot’s distance; he could hear the wind whispering and hissing through the leaves like the sound of a distant sea, and he could smell the scent of the rich earth that its deep and ancient roots burrowed down into.
He began to crawl slowly forward, inching his way to safety. It took him almost an hour to reach the edge of the forest, then when he was certain there were no Vampires or werewolves anywhere near, he slowly stood up and looked around him. It was now fully dark and he could see hardly anything in the blackness of the forest, but he continued to move forward, putting as much distance between himself and the battlefield as he could.
He walked for hours, but at last he could go no further. Exhausted, he curled up in a dense thicket of undergrowth and waited for morning.
How long he slept he didn’t know, but eventually he opened his eyes just as the eastern sky was beginning to pale. He looked out from his hiding place at a tangle of trees and undergrowth. Still terrified, he crept out into the open, expecting to be killed at any moment. But nothing happened.
He wandered on and soon realised he was lost. Days passed and he might have starved, but he didn’t. Only the fresh blood-stains on his tunic gave any clue of how he’d survived.
When she found him he was bedraggled and filthy. “So, another one,” she said. “There must be hundreds of you in the forest, though perhaps you’re younger than most.”
The boy didn’t understand what the tall dark-haired woman meant. Since escaping the battlefield, his brain seemed to have stopped working properly; all he could remember was
death and blood.
“Come with me,” she finally said and, after hesitating for a moment, he let her lead him through the trees until great outcrops of rock began to thrust up through the forest floor. Eventually they came to a cave that was warm and dry and smelt strongly of herbs. He hung back in the entrance at first, suspicious of what she wanted and who she was. He watched the woman’s every move as she prepared something at a table that stood against one of the rocky walls, and when she presented a bowl of stew to him, he snatched it and bolted it down like an animal.
She stood back and watched him, a frown on her face as she assessed him. “From what I can see of your clothes through all the filth, they’re fine and well made, so you’re obviously a boy from a wealthy family. But I can also see you’re in no fit state to answer any questions, so I’ll not find out who you are that way.” She continued to watch him as he ate a second bowl of stew. “I’d say your mind has closed itself against the horrors you’ve seen, so perhaps a long healing sleep will put you right.” She nodded to herself and walked to a bench at the rear of the cave.
Here the woman gathered together herbs and small glass phials of dark liquid, which she mixed together in a bowl. She came back to him and held out a beaker. At first he snatched it thirstily, but then a strange scent hit him and he frowned at her suspiciously. She sat next to him and guided the beaker back to his lips.
“Drink,” she said. “It’s medicine.”
He resisted for a moment, but remembering her kindness he decided to trust her and drank it down. The taste was bitter and he shuddered, but she immediately gave him a honey-cake
to take the taste away, just like a mother with her child. Within a few minutes he began to feel drowsy, and she led him to a bed in a dark corner of the cave where he immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He slept for more than a day, his mind empty and still, then he awoke to brilliant sunshine flooding through the cave mouth. He remembered the battle, but now he was able to think clearly about it. He felt horror and revulsion. and a desperate, desperate sadness for his dead brother Edward; but he no longer felt the terrible panic that had driven him to the brink.
A movement in the cave caught his eye and he watched as the woman approached. He knew now she was a White Witch and that she’d probably saved his mind, if not his life.
“I’m . . . I’m Prince Redrought,” he said, finding his own name strange at first, but knowing she’d recognise it.
She nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed. “And I’m Annis the healer. The people call me White Annis.” She smiled, and for the first time he noticed that her eyes were such a pale blue they seemed almost white.
“Well,” she went on. “I suppose I’d better send word to the city.”