Prince of the Icemark (19 page)

A sudden uproar distracted them all for a moment and Athena rushed forward, untied her cloak and held it against Saphia’s neck in an attempt to stop the haemorrhage.

The unmistakable sound of battle rose into the clearing and the Vampire ranks began to sway as someone or something began to drive through the rear of their phalanx. All was confusion and distraction when suddenly Cadwalader crouched and leapt with a yowl, to land on Romanoff’s face.

The Vampire general reeled and tried to wrench the cat away, but he snarled and drove his claws deep into her flesh. Screeching in pain and rage, Romanoff scrabbled at her belt, drew her dagger and in panic stabbed at Cadwalader. At the last moment the cat dropped to the ground and watched calmly as the Vampire stabbed herself in the eye.

The general screamed, her face pouring blood. For a moment she almost fell to her knees, clutching at her ruined eye, but sensing Cadwalader’s advance she turned and staggered
away. Some of her soldiers loyally covered her retreat as the huge cat stalked his prey. Even so, they too slowly backed away from him.

But now Romanoff’s iron self-discipline and strength reasserted themselves and, shaking off the supporting hands of her comrades, she barked out an order and then leapt into the air. She transformed into a bat and flew screeching through the trees, and eventually up into the sky. The rest of the Vampires immediately followed, leaving the three humans and Cadwalader alone in the clearing, which seemed suddenly empty and deathly silent.

For a moment, Redrought thought he saw some strange creatures that looked like soldiers dressed in armour designed like polished leaves, and he remembered the vision he’d had during the battle when he’d killed the werewolf King. But as he stared the strange soldiers melted into the surrounding undergrowth and disappeared. He puzzled about this for a moment; perhaps it was they who’d attacked the Vampires and caused the distraction. But before he could speculate any longer about who or what they were, a quiet sob sounded and he turned to see Athena cradling the crumpled form of Saphia.

He hurried over and knelt beside the Princess and her fallen friend. Saphia’s body was covered in an intricate pattern of wounds and blood. Even without the severed jugular, it was doubtful she could have survived; in fact it was something of a miracle she still lived at all. But Redrought could see her chest rising and falling in quick shallow breaths. It could only be the power of the possessing Spirits of Battle that was keeping her alive.

Suddenly her eyes flickered and she reached out, seeking contact. Athena was still cradling her friend, so Redrought
took Saphia’s hand. The fallen warrior forced vision back into her eyes and looked at the young King.

“You . . . !” she said in a forceful whisper. “You win this war and break the power of the Vampires.”

“I will,” he answered with quiet determination.

“Good,” she said firmly, accepting the promise, one warrior to another. “And keep her safe.”

Redrought knew she meant Athena and he nodded, squeezing her hand. Then, turning her eyes to look at Athena, Saphia smiled.

Slowly her eyes closed, and as she breathed out, a blue mist rose from her mouth. The Spirits of Battle left her body, and took with them the fighting soul of their mighty comrade.

T
heir Vampiric Majesties were walking in the gardens of the Blood Palace, enjoying the fine display of black roses and lawns that flowed over the contours of the land like sable pelts, a perfect setting for the contorted topiary of tortured trees and shrubs. The area was laid out in geometrical designs with precise paths and walkways that bordered beds of funereal flowers and beautiful fountains and ponds carved from black marble.

The Vampire Queen paused to enjoy the scent of a particularly fine bloom that breathed the delicate aroma of rotting flesh into the cold night air. “I trust Romanoff is recovering well?”

“Of course,” the King replied. “Undead flesh doesn’t scar
. . . though her eye is for ever lost.”

“Ah,” Her Vampiric Majesty replied meaningfully. “To carry such an impediment throughout an immortal existence will be irksome.”

“Quite. Though it could be argued that the payment was just, considering the cost of yet another failure, and the fact that she took my personal squadron without asking permission.”

The Vampire Queen patted his arm consolingly. “Were many lost?”

“Over half of their number,” came the petulant reply. “I mean, what did Romanoff expect, attacking Redrought
and
that firebrand Princess? And then when their mannish warrior friend turned up and went Bare-Sark, it’s a wonder any of them escaped.”

“Don’t forget that hideous psychopomp cat and the warriors of the Oak King,” the Queen reminded him.

“No indeed! I mean,
really!”
His Vampiric Majesty allowed the sentence to stand as a fitting testament of his incredulity at his general’s lack of tactical common sense.

They walked on in silence for a while, calming their anger in the cool shadows of night. “Do you think that perhaps the time has come to relieve Romanoff of her command?” the Queen enquired gently.

“Do you know, I think it has!” the King replied. “The only good thing to come out of this entire episode is the death of that appalling Saphia woman, and quite frankly it’s not enough!”

“No, indeed it is not, my darling cadaver,” the Queen agreed. “Shall we return to the Throne Room and call General Twitch-a-lot to an audience?”

“Why not, my cutest of all corpses, why not?”

The monstrous monarchs processed through the garden, smiles slowly growing upon their faces at the thought of demoting Romanoff. By the time they reached the great double doors of the Blood Palace their good humour was completely restored and they had descended into gentle giggling, which developed into laughter as they walked slowly to their thrones. Oh, the joy of Royal command; oh, the perfect freedom of the Infernal Right of Monarchs!

They ascended the dais on which stood their twin thrones, and with an elegant sweep, they turned to face the crowd of simpering courtiers that surrounded them. They condescended to incline their heads by the slightest degree, and the entire Throne Room of Vampires executed an elegant bow or curtsy in return.

“Summon Romana Romanoff,” Her Vampiric Majesty ordered quietly, and immediately her words were taken up and echoed along the winding labyrinth of corridors that writhed throughout the Blood Palace like veins. All of the courtiers looked at one another in anticipation. They could sense that scandal and drama were about to be played out before them, and it was lost on none of them that the summons did not include Romanoff’s military rank and title.

Their Vampiric Majesties basked in the simpering glow of their courtiers. They believed their power to be absolute, and the grovelling obsequiousness of their subjects simply proved that fact.

Finally, after long minutes of waiting, the great double doors that led into the audience chamber slowly opened and there, framed in the mighty Gothic arch of the doorway, stood the general herself.

All eyes turned to observe her tall ice-white figure. She’d dressed with care in the high-collared military cloak, thigh-length leather boots and short tunic of her rank, and her pale blonde hair had been severely cut so that it hugged the contours of her skull like a helmet. Over her ruined eye Romanoff wore a black patch, simple in its elegance and designed to show all who looked what sacrifices she had made for her monarchs and for the land that she served. A buzz of excitement ran through the courtiers as they realised that the general was determined to fight for her power and position.

Romanoff waited until the effect of her presence had reached its highest pitch, then she stepped out and swept across the black-and-white tiles of the audience chamber like a powerful bird of prey. Her cloak billowed behind her, and her highly polished boots beat out an arrogant tattoo. The courtiers parted like mist before an icy wind until a pathway lay across the floor directly to the foot of the dais where Their Vampiric Majesties were sitting.

She reached the dais and stomped to a halt, her cloak swirling around her as she clicked her heels and bowed. His Vampiric Majesty stifled a yawn behind an elegant hand and the Queen seemed concerned with the state of her manicure.

“What precisely do you want, Romanoff?” asked Her Vampiric Majesty with studied indifference.

“I answer your summons, Your Majesty.”

“Really? Did we summon . . . anyone, oh darling dead one?”

The King selected a grape from the silver bowl that sat on the small table between the thrones. “I’m not sure . . . I may recall some small matter of business we wanted to discuss, but I’m not certain.”

“No, me neither. Perhaps you have some idea why you were summoned, Romanoff?”

“None, Ma’am.”

“Not even the vaguest inkling? Perhaps something to do with the war . . . ?”

“All tactics and strategies have been discussed and settled for several weeks,” the general replied, making the cautious opening moves in her game plan.

“Ah, yes, the tactics and strategies,” Her Vampiric Majesty replied, as though reminded of the business in hand. “Are they achieving the required results?”

“Ma’am?”

“The defeat of Redrought and his allies.”

“I would say that they are on course,” Romanoff replied, her face carefully expressionless.

“So we’re winning?” asked the Queen brightly.

“The previous King of the mortals has been killed and his army smashed,” the general replied. “And a wedge has been driven between the Icemark and their long-term allies, the Hypolitan, as is evidenced by the Basilea’s refusal to join with Redrought in his proposed invasion of The-Land-of-the-Ghosts.”

“So the rebuilding of the Icemark’s army, the defeat and destruction of the werewolves, not to mention the death of King Ashmok, have been successes, have they?”

“And let us not forget the raising of the siege of Bendis, and the defeat of the Rock Trolls,” His Vampiric Majesty pointed out with tired venom.

“With all due respect, Your Most Awful Majesties,” Romanoff replied, “the werewolf army was defeated as a result of
your
joint decision to send them against Frostmarris without
support, and against
my
specific advice. In all probability, King Ashmok would still be alive, Bendis would have fallen and Frostmarris would be under siege at this point in the war, if we had followed my original strategy.”

The King snorted. “I’m afraid we no longer believe in your projections and ‘could-have-beens’, Romanoff.”

“I can only express my deepest distress at your lack of confidence in me,” the general replied, bowing stiffly at the waist. “But I take comfort in the fact that the High Command of the Vampire Army and King Guthmok of the werewolves have no such doubts.”

A small ripple passed through the watching courtiers; already they could detect the far-distant whisper of possible rebellion. Carefully they averted their gazes in case they should be thought to be choosing sides.

His Vampiric Majesty narrowed his eyes; he and his Consort had ruled for more than a millennium, and they recognised a veiled threat when it was uttered. “We shall, of course, speak with our loyal commanders ourselves.”

“Of course,” Romanoff agreed.

“And if . . . we should find that the consensus is one of support for your position,
General
, then I can assure you that neither myself nor Her Vampiric Majesty are so unbending in our attitudes that we would find it impossible to reconsider our position.”

The Queen nodded with a smile, then added, “But be assured also, Romanoff, that if we should find you are mistaken in your beliefs, then we shall be displeased . . .”

The general bowed again, but deeper this time. “Your Awful Majesty makes her position abundantly clear.” Without waiting to be dismissed, she turned on her heel and swept
from the audience chamber, her usual twitch made remarkable by its absence.

His Vampiric Majesty watched Romanoff go, reached for his Consort’s hand and sighed gently. “Do you remember when it was perfectly acceptable to rip out the throat of an annoying courtier?”

“I do indeed.”

“Simpler times,” the King said sadly. “And somehow purer.”

“Quite,” the Queen replied.

S
aphia was sealed in her tomb, the ceremonies had been performed, libations had been poured and offerings duly made, but Redrought was less than comfortable with events. Athena had been quiet in her grief, horribly quiet. It was as though she was somehow absent, even though she took part in meetings, trained with the Sacred Regiment and attended the funeral banquet. The regular trysts between the young King and the Princess had stopped, and Redrought felt that he was being held somehow responsible for Saphia’s death.

He sat in his campaign tent stroking Cadwalader, who sprawled across his lap like a large furry rug.

“Well, at least you’re not blaming me for everything,
Flumfy,” Redrought said, using the cat’s secret name, and the animal purred like a distant peal of thunder. “How was I to know that General Romanoff would mount an assassination attempt?”

Cadwalader hissed at the Vampire’s name without opening an eye.

“They’re odd creatures, Caddy . . . girls, I mean, not Vampires. Actually,
they’re
easy to understand; all they want to do is rip out your throat and drink your blood . . . Vampires, I mean, not girls.”

Cadwalader rolled onto his back with his legs in the air so that he looked like a particularly messy set of bagpipes, just like the ones the fierce warriors from the land of Caledonia played.

“Mind you, I’d rather face a squadron of Vampires than a group of giggling girls! The blood-suckers just hate you and want to kill you, but girls . . . ! Girls think you’re pathetic and want you to know it. One lot destroys your life, the other lot your sense of worth.”

“But you wouldn’t be without them, would you?” a voice said, making Redrought jump.

“Kahin! Can’t you knock?”

“On a tent?”

“Well, get the guard to announce you, then!”

The Royal Adviser sat down with a smile. “I suppose all this moping has something to do with Princess Athena.”

“Maybe.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about her absence. She’s grieving, and probably feels guilty like everyone always does when someone they love dies.”

Redrought nodded, remembering how he’d felt after his
brother had been killed. “Will she . . . ?”

“Forgive herself for surviving? In time. But Saphia was an important friend. That’s something people forget when it comes to grief. We’re given little choice with family; they’re imposed. They’re part of our life and we love them, sometimes because our sense of duty demands it of us. But friends are different. We
choose
our friends in much the same way we choose our husbands and wives, and we love them because they’re chosen. In a way it’s a different sort of love, and for some people it’s stronger than the love we feel for family. Nothing demands it of us – no blood ties, no social conventions, no sense of duty. We love them because we want to. And when they’re taken from us, we feel that we’ve been robbed of something we own.”

“I’ve chosen Athena,” Redrought said quietly.

“I know, and she knows it too.”

“Do you think she’s chosen me, Kahin?”

The Royal Adviser shrugged. “It’s harder to tell with the female of the species. Men are open, simpler, easier to read. But women – well, even other women can’t always tell. But perhaps she
will
choose you . . . given time.”

Redrought slammed his hands down hard on the arms of his chair. “I wish I’d been born good-looking, and . . . and knew what to say to girls to make them like me!”

Kahin shook her head and smiled. “If you were handsome and had a silver tongue, you’d just be another one of those pathetic sorts who make a career out of chasing women. But you, as you are . . . you’re strange; you’re intriguing. Girls want to know what you’re about, what makes you what you are.”

She decided not to mention that being a King, having
power and commanding an army probably helped enormously. After all, what chance would some ordinary lad who looked like Redrought, and who worked in an ordinary job, have with a beauty like Athena? Probably none at all. Not that girls like Athena were shallow; there just wasn’t the incentive to look below the surface of some less-than-handsome youth, unless there were other factors to make them do so. A ragged cover may hide a beautiful book, Kahin thought, but we’re all attracted to the glossy and the colourful and the beautifully bound – it’s human nature.

“Should I go and see her, Kahin?” Redrought suddenly asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“I don’t know. People react differently to grief; some want company, others want to be left alone. You’ll just have to trust your instincts.”

“Great,” he said tiredly. “A complete recipe for disaster.”

“Not necessarily; you’re a King, you can write your own rules to some extent.”

“So it doesn’t matter if I guess wrong and she doesn’t want company?”

“Perhaps not . . . but there again . . .”

“You’re a great help,” Redrought said exasperatedly.

“So I’m often told,” Kahin replied with a grin.

Later that night Redrought made his way on foot through the streets of Bendis, heading for the citadel. He wasn’t exactly in disguise, but neither was he advertising his status as King of the Icemark. He was wearing his oldest and plainest clothing, and at a quick glance he looked like the son of a moderately prosperous merchant.

Nobody bothered the tall flame-haired youth, even when
he took a short cut through one of the rougher districts of the city. Any thief or footpad would have to be pretty desperate to even consider taking on someone who looked as though his shoulders belonged to a champion bull with a taste for weight-lifting, and whose face gave the impression it could hack a hole in solid oak without even bruising.

He reached the citadel safely, but instead of approaching the main gates, he skirted round the walls until he came to a small postern gate that Athena had shown him several weeks earlier. The Princess and Saphia had used it regularly when they’d wanted to come and go without attracting too much attention. There was a guard, but he was an elderly ex-soldier who’d seen it all before and asked no questions. He was happy to let anyone through, just as long as they knew the special knock.

Redrought used it now, and when a small grille opened in the gate, he moved closer so that his face wouldn’t be hidden in shadows.

“Been expecting you,” the guard said without ceremony. “You’ll find her in her room. There should be no one with her at this hour.”

Redrought nodded and set off for the low doorway across the courtyard. Once inside the palace he followed the corridor to a flight of back stairs that he knew would eventually lead to the main landing where the Princess’s bedroom lay. For a Royal palace, the security in the citadel seemed very relaxed, and he reached Athena’s door without being challenged once. A state of affairs he’d have found worrying, were he not already fully preoccupied with what he was going to say if he actually got to see Athena.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked on
the door. Nothing happened. He knocked again. No response. Almost relieved, he was just turning to go when the door opened.

“Hello,” Athena said.

Redrought hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he was a little shocked to be greeted in such a normal way.

“Hello,” he replied. “Are you . . . are you all right?”

She shrugged. “Come in.”

Looking quickly to left and right along the corridor, Redrought stepped into the room. He looked around curiously. He’d been to the door several times but never actually inside. To a teenage boy, the interior of a girl’s room had the fabled mystery of fairyland, but with added sex. It smelt of perfume and other substances that Redrought could only guess at, and there was more colour and upholstery than in his own “stinking pit”, as Kahin had called his room when she’d visited him after his battle against the werewolf army. In fact, his own quarters were remarkably similar to the way Saphia’s had been: sparse and furnished with the barest necessities. But here there were more chairs and cushions than Athena could possibly have needed, and there were even carpets.

“Is there anything I can do?” he finally asked lamely.

She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

He desperately searched for something more constructive to say. “Look, I never said it earlier, but I’m sorry Saphia was killed. She was a great soldier. To go Bare-Sark you have to be; the Spirits of Battle don’t possess just anyone. In fact I didn’t even know that the Hypolitan could go Bare-Sark . . .” his voice trailed away as he realised he was beginning to babble.

“I didn’t know it either, and nor did Saphia. It was one of
her greatest wishes to be chosen as a Bare-Sarker.”

“Then I’m glad she got what she wanted.”

“Even if it killed her?”

Redrought paused as he searched for the right words: “Every warrior has their time, and I truly believe this was hers. She died defending you, she died at the height of her powers and strength. She died as many warriors would wish to die.”

“Well, I wish she hadn’t,” Athena answered quietly. “I wish she was still here with me.”

“Of course you do,” Redrought said, his face screwed into a mask of regret and pity. “I feel exactly the same about my brother, but he’s gone and Saphia’s gone, and we who are left must carry on.”

“But how?”

He shrugged. “Just by carrying on. I’m sorry, there’s no magic formula; I wish there was. All we can do is get on with living, no matter how painful that may be. The only alternative is to give up, and what good would that do?”

“But I feel so guilty; I betrayed her.”

“Betrayed her? How?”

Athena fell silent for a moment, but then literally shook herself as she decided to tell him everything. “I left her . . . or at least I neglected her for you.”

He nodded, understanding what she meant completely, then he shrugged. “Life changes,
we
change. The friend of today may be the stranger of tomorrow, or next year. You can never tell. But I know this much, you did nothing wrong. You just lived your life the way we all live our lives.”

Athena quietly observed the odd-looking youth who’d somehow managed to become a good King and brilliant
military leader, and tried to decide whether to be annoyed or inspired by his blunt common sense. “But what’s the point of carrying on?” she finally asked.

“Because if you don’t you’ve been beaten by life; you’ve given up and proved to the entire world you’re too weak to deal with one of the realities of living. Everyone dies, and unless you’re very lucky or just plain odd, at least one person you know and love is going to die before you do. You’re not unique. Ask almost anyone older than you and they’ll have lived through the loss of someone they’ve loved.”

This was the first time anyone had spoken to Athena about the death of Saphia with such total open honesty, and suddenly she seized Redrought’s hand and led him deeper into the private sanctum that was her room.

Redrought felt a little awkward sitting on a pink chair in front of a dressing table that was smothered in all sorts of odd little pots and potions, but he was more than prepared to put up with it when Athena drew up an identical chair and took his hand again.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“What for?” he asked, desperately dragging his eyes away from what he suspected was a mysterious piece of female underwear that was hanging on the back of Athena’s chair.

“For being honest and for being you.”

“Who else would I be?”

The Princess smiled for the first time since her friend had died. “Yes, just who else would you be? And for that matter, who else would I want you to be?”

“I don’t know. Can you think of anybody?”

“No, nobody. You’re perfect just as you are.”

Redrought blushed the colour of springtime poppies, and
caught his reflection in the dressing table mirror. If Athena thought
that
was perfect then grieving must have badly affected her brain.