The Cry of the Icemark

9



Thirrin watched as the last wagon lumbered through the gates of the city, then gently urged her horse forward. Frostmarris was uncannily silent, and even the usual wintertime scent of wood smoke had gone, leaving the streets smelling unnaturally neutral, apart from the occasional sharp tang of dung where one of the many horses had deposited a pile.

The capital city had been evacuated only once before in its thousand years of history, but with the late snows leaving the roads open, there was no real option. Thirrin had to admit that if the Polypontians were victorious, then Frostmarris would be at their mercy, and withstanding a siege here in winter would be impossible.

Her horse was approaching the archway that led to the long entrance tunnel from the main gate, and reining to a halt she looked back at the royal fortress on its dominating hill. The battle banner of the Icemark still flew from the keep, the rearing white bear standing out clearly in the icy wind against the pristine blue sky.

“I’ll be back in the springtime,” she whispered. “And I’ll have an army that’ll drive back any invader, even Scipio Bellorum!”

She turned her horse into the tunnel, closing her eyes against the freezing cold wind that was funneling through from the outside world, but at last she reached the main gate and passed through into the brilliant sunshine of a crisp winter’s day. Oskan was waiting for her along with an escort of ten cavalry, but she waved the troopers ahead and, catching the Witch’s Son’s eye, she pointed imperiously to her side.

He was riding a quiet mule with ears as long as swords and a face like a slightly amused camel, and though she could see that the animal was both strong and willing, she’d have preferred it if one of her most important advisers had chosen to ride a warhorse.

Thirrin looked out over the plain to where the long winding snake of wagons, horses, and cattle was slowly making its way along the North Road. “We’ll need to go faster than that if we’re to reach the Hypolitan before the snows come.”

“Maggiore Totus is seeing to that now,” Oskan answered. “He’s told the commander of the cavalry to increase the pace and position back markers to drive on the stragglers.”

She nodded in approval, then added, “Exactly where did you find that animal?”

Oskan stroked the mule’s neck. “The head groom gave her to me. Jenny’s kind and gentle and as strong as two horses.”

Thirrin looked down on him from the great height of her stallion. “Jenny?”

“Yes. Suits her, don’t you think? She knows I’m not a very good rider and she makes allowances.”

“Does she?” said Thirrin in a voice that was as cold as the wind. “And can Jenny keep up with a full gallop?” And with that, Princess and stallion plunged forward and charged down the approach road to the city and out onto the plain. Oskan followed behind, desperately clinging on as the mule suddenly produced a surprising turn of speed. At one point it even seemed that they were gaining on the tall horse that was thundering ahead, but Thirrin reined to a halt and only just managed to hide her astonishment when the mule quickly drew up next to her with a breathless Oskan hanging on to her neck.

“She’ll do, I suppose,” Thirrin admitted.

For the rest of the morning the wagon train wound its way along the road, its pace now a little faster as the cavalry escort rode up and down its length, urging on the drivers. At the head of the column rode Thirrin, with her two advisers and the commanders of the skeleton detachments of cavalry and housecarls. The noise of screaming babies, barking dogs, and complaining citizens swelled and rolled over the plain as they slowly plodded forward, but at heart everyone was in good enough spirits. Redrought had always said that the people of Frostmarris were at their best in a crisis, and it seemed he was right. There were no fights, few arguments, and though there was plenty of moaning no one refused to help where they were needed.

All seemed to be going as well as the circumstances could allow. But even so, Thirrin was desperately worried. How could she hope to get her people safely to the Hypolitan in the depths of winter? She was lucky it hadn’t snowed yet, but she knew that was only a matter of time, and then what would she do? Her advisers were an old man who knew more about books than the reality of war and a boy who was hardly older than she was. She had no one to rely on, and at fourteen she just didn’t feel ready to lead anyone anywhere, let alone the entire population of a city.

Nevertheless, because she appeared to be a strong leader, the people seemed amazingly confident in her and happy to follow her plans. One of the most important lessons she’d recently learned was that looking strong and confident was sometimes all the people required of you.

Even so, as time wore on and the eaves of the Great Forest drew closer, uneasiness began to grow among the refugees. The route to safety with the Hypolitan in the north passed through the huge expanse of trees, and many of the people stared mournfully at the forest in superstitious dread. Generations of misbehaving children had been threatened with ghouls and monsters from the massive forest, and even adults found their dreams invaded by its terrible image, reduced to children again by their fears. And now those fears were coming to dreadful reality as the stark and naked branches of the winter trees loomed on the skyline like a billowing storm cloud. Only a few hunters dared to walk the forest’s strange pathways, and although the army sent fairly regular patrols along the North Road, to most of the people it remained a place of fearful mystery. And now as they approached the forest, it was busily living up to its reputation as the icy wind found a voice, blowing through the miles of wooded hills and valleys, moaning and howling mournfully like the ghosts of wolves. Soon even the noisiest baby fell silent, and the cattle stopped their constant bawling as the shadow loomed ever closer.

“If they’re worried by the very sight of the forest, just wait until they realize we’re going to be camping in it for the next week or so,” said Thirrin.

“Quite,” Maggiore Totus said, inexpertly adjusting his grip on the reins of his gentle mare. “I think a reminder of that situation should be passed on to the citizens so that it comes as less of a shock.”

Thirrin nodded in agreement and beckoned to the cavalry commander. “Tell the people to ensure that they have everything they need for several nights’ camping in the forest.”

The commander saluted and cantered off, passing the message on to his troopers.

“Perhaps I should have a word with the people,” Oskan said. “Most of them know who I am and that I live in the forest, and they can all see that I’ve never been harmed by it.”

“But my dear Oskan,” Maggiore pointed out gently, “you are the son of a witch. A White Witch admittedly, but a witch nonetheless, one of the very … creatures the people fear live in the forest. I think it would be best if you didn’t remind them of your parentage.”

“But my mother was a good woman, a healer. Many citizens of Frostmarris were helped by her.”

“True, but I don’t think you are taking into account the collective mind of a large group of frightened people. If they remember that a White Witch who helped them once lived in the forest, they’ll also be reminded of the possibility of Black Witches who could do exactly the opposite.”

Thirrin had listened to the debate, quietly aware that she must seize any opportunity that would help her to keep the people together. After a moment of thought she said, “I think the citizens have already thought enough about the bad things that can live under the trees. It’s time to remind them that good can also live there. Go and speak to them, Oskan.” All those close enough to hear were struck by how like her father the Princess sounded, and took comfort from it.

Oskan smiled at her and cantered off along the line of wagons, stopping every now and then to talk to a driver or someone plodding along on foot.

“I know you’ll probably think it superstitious nonsense, Maggie, but I’m going to ask Oskan to perform …” Thirrin shrugged her shoulders as she struggled to find the right word. “Something … a ceremony of some sort before we go into the trees. Something that’ll help the people believe they’re protected in some way.”

“On the contrary, Madam, I agree with the idea,” Maggiore answered, and smiled. “It’s wise to use everything you can to keep the citizens calm. I’ll be there chanting whatever you want and waving around as much incense as you think necessary.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Maggie. I hoped you’d say something like that.”

The long train of refugees moved so slowly that it was early afternoon before they finally reached the eaves of the forest, and though the sun still stood above the western horizon, night had already gathered under the canopy of the Great Forest. The huge crowd of people stood in silence before the two massive trees — one oak, the other beech — that overreached the road and created a natural archway into a very different world.

Thirrin beckoned to Oskan, who’d just returned from his mission to reassure the people about the forest. “I think it’d be a good idea to conduct some sort of ceremony of protection before we go into the trees,” she said.

“Fine, who do you suggest does it?”

“You, of course. You’ve got White Witch connections and you have the added official status of Royal Adviser. It’ll have weight coming from you.”

“Me!” Oskan exploded. “I’m no priest; I have no special powers. And what am I supposed to do exactly, rub two sticks together and mutter some sort of mumbo jumbo?”

“If need be,” said Thirrin, far more firmly than she felt. “I don’t care what you do, as long as it looks good and makes the people feel better about traveling through the forest.”

“So, ‘Just get your cap and bells on and perform for us,’ is that it?” he protested, feeling as though Thirrin was just using him to further her aims.

“Look, I don’t really care what you do, just as long as you do something to help these people feel that it’s safe to sleep among the trees at night,” Thirrin answered, suddenly feeling horribly weary.

“Well, I can’t and won’t do it,” he hissed angrily as the nearest ranks of the refugee column started to look at them curiously. “I’d … I’d feel like a fool!”

Maggiore Totus eased his quiet mare over to join them. “Oskan, my dear boy, this war is making us all act in ways we wouldn’t normally dream of doing.” He smiled gently, and immediately a calming influence settled over them all. “Look at me, I’ve seen more winters than Jack Frost, and I’m riding horses and leading people as though I were born to it! We need your help, Oskan.”

The boy gazed sullenly at the ground for a few minutes. Everyone was making demands of him and yet before he’d met Thirrin, he’d been as free as the beasts of the Great Forest. Was this the price of friendship? Was it worth it? He wasn’t sure; this was something he’d need to think about when he had more time.

Eventually he lifted his chin and said firmly, “I can’t carry out any sort of rite for protection, but I think we should call on the Oak King and his soldiers for permission to enter his realm in such huge numbers. That call could take the form of a ceremony and might also ensure our protection.”

Thirrin sighed with relief, but then, a little confused and remembering he’d dared to argue against her idea, she snapped, “What happened to the Holly King?”

“You’ve obviously forgotten your nursery rhymes and lore,” Oskan answered. “The two kings struggle for rule throughout the year. The Holly King reigns from the summer solstice, when the power of the sun begins to wane, and the Oak King takes the throne of the seasons from the winter solstice, when the sun’s power begins its slow return. So if we want to be diplomatic and keep good relations with the present ruler of the forest, we should ask for the right to pass through his realm, especially since you’ve only sent your royal greetings to the Holly King so far.”

Thirrin sat in silence for a moment. She still didn’t like the idea of another monarch ruling in the Icemark, but she was aware of their desperate need for allies.

And slowly another idea was forming. “Can you ask the Oak King’s soldiers to watch over us while traveling through his lands?”

Oskan looked at her sharply. “Well … yes … if I choose to.”

“Good. Do it. What do you need?”

“Nothing … well, perhaps a few barrels of beer and mead, if we have any,” Oskan answered, still feeling that he was being manipulated somehow.

“Beer shouldn’t be a problem. I’m not sure about the mead, though. I’ll order a search through the wagons.”

Within a very short time five large barrels of beer and two smaller ones of mead had been found and placed in the center of the road beneath the oak-and-beech-tree archway. The people gathered in the road in a huge expectant crowd. They knew something was happening, and rumors said Oskan Witch’s Son was going to perform magic of some sort.

If he’d known he was meant to fulfill the citizens’ expectations of him as a wizard, Oskan would have refused to go any further. But fortunately he didn’t, and soon his tall, thin figure could be seen standing beneath the arch of trees with his hands raised above his head. Thirrin nodded to a cavalry bugler and a fanfare rang out, echoing through the strangely silent forest. Oskan’s voice boomed with surprising power, and Thirrin found herself wondering if this was another trick he’d learned from his mother. But she reined in her thoughts and concentrated on what he was saying.

“Greetings from Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, heir to the throne of the Icemark, and Regent of the land as her father, King Redrought, gives battle to invaders from the Polypontus. Salutations to His Majesty the Oak King, Monarch of the Wild Wood and all untamed places. The Princess extends the hand of friendship to His Majesty and asks permission to lead her people through his domain as they seek refuge from the Polypontian invaders and their soldiers.

“These small tokens of her friendship the Princess offers to His Majesty.” Here Oskan paused, and with widely sweeping gestures he pointed to the barrels. “And asks that their meagerness be forgiven and requests your understanding in this time of crisis. She also craves the boon of His Majesty that his soldiers watch over her people as they travel through his lands, and herewith promises perpetual friendship and alliance with the Oak King and his subjects.”

Thirrin was surprised by the formality of the language Oskan used, and guessed that he’d found time to talk with Maggiore Totus while she’d been searching the wagon train for mead and beer. But more surprising was the impressive presence that the skinny young boy managed to convey as he stood under the forest canopy. His long midnight blue cloak and rich red tunic, both Yuletide presents from Thirrin, seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun, and his thin frame cast a tall shadow deep into the trees. But more extraordinary than all of this was the indefinable aura of power that seemed to flow around him as he waited in the silence that followed his speech. Oskan might deny that he’d inherited any gifts from his mother, but there were times when Thirrin was almost certain there was more about him than even he knew.

After a few minutes the people began to get restless, and a low murmur ebbed and flowed among them like the sound of the sea. But suddenly a blast of wind sprang up, howling through the forest canopy and then dropping completely as though someone had opened and quickly closed a gigantic door on a stormy day. Then into the following silence stepped twenty or so strange figures.

Thirrin leaned forward in her saddle and looked at them closely. They all stood as tall as the tallest housecarl she’d ever seen. Their armor reminded her of the soldiers of the Holly King she’d met just before Yule: Like theirs, it seemed to be made of polished leaves of different sizes and covered their bodies from head to foot. The small amount of skin that could be seen was the color of bark, and their eyes were as brilliantly green as newly opened oak leaves. Hearing movement behind her and instinctively knowing that a cavalry trooper was reaching for his sword, she signaled him to be still.

Oskan stepped forward and raised his hand in greeting. An oak soldier replied by raising his spear, then planting it firmly at his feet. A moment of stillness followed as a slow murmur of hushed awe rose from the crowds of people who filled the road and surrounding land. Then Thirrin spurred forward and saluted the soldiers.

“I am Princess Thirrin. Take my personal greetings to your Royal Master and thank him for his patience and understanding as I lead my people to the land of the Hypolitan beyond the northern borders of the Great Forest. Assure him of my gratitude and convey to him the friendship of the Royal House of Lindenshield.”

Once again the oak soldier saluted, and turning to his companions he signaled for them to collect the gift of beer and mead. Then, as the now horizontal shafts of sunlight illuminated the trunks and canopy of the forest in a softly golden glow, the soldiers stepped back into the undergrowth and simply disappeared. Once again a sudden gust of wind rushed through the branches of the trees, stirring up a blizzard of fallen leaves and drenching the watching people in the rich scents of damp earth and leaf litter. Then, as swiftly as it came, the wind dropped and silence returned.

“Well, well, how fascinating,” said Maggiore Totus from where he sat on his mare just behind Thirrin. “Unless we are all suffering the effects of mass hysteria, I think I am going to have to reassess my own personal view of natural history. It seems the Oak King and his people and, by a natural projection, the Holly King and his subjects, really do exist. Madam, watching you has been an important addition to my education.”

“Don’t forget the werewolf, Maggie,” Thirrin answered.

“No, indeed. How could I?”

“Just name any other animals you think belong in the world of mythology, and I have a feeling that in the next few months we’re likely to meet them face-to-face.”

Redrought lay back as comfortably as he could. Most of the pain had abated and now he merely felt deathly tired. The view around him was grim. As far as he could see, dead and badly injured soldiers lay where they had fallen, though over the last few hours most of the moaning had faded away and only the flap and flutter of carrion crows disturbed the quiet.

He was beginning to feel light-headed, probably from the loss of blood, he managed to reason. And his eyesight was definitely ebbing away. He could no longer be sure if it really was beginning to get cloudy or not. If General Snow was really on his way, then he could go happily. He’d smashed the first Polypontian army and Thirrin would have time to prepare for a spring offensive. He smiled fondly. She was a formidable young woman and would make a fearsome queen, the mixing of the royal blood of the Icemark with that of the fighting women of the Hypolitan had produced a wildcat! Young Oskan would need all his warlock’s power to keep up with her. He laughed aloud, and then suddenly stopped. On the very edge of his fading sight, three figures appeared. They were tall and armored like rich housecarls, but as they came closer he could see they were extraordinarily beautiful young women.

“Hail, Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North!” one of them said in a voice that was both fierce and melodic. “You must leave all of this behind and come with us!”

“Where to?” Redrought asked, overawed by the young women’s presence.

“To Asgard! Your place at the table awaits you in the hall of Valhalla. Come, the Lord Odin will not be kept waiting.”

Redrought was surprised to find that he could stand and was free of pain. The stern young women smiled and, taking his hands, they led him toward a beautiful bridge of rainbow light.

The pass through the mountain range called the Dancing Maidens was still open, and the regiment of Polypontian cavalry trotted through unopposed. They’d been sent by their command as reinforcements for the invading army that had set out three days earlier, and they fully expected to find a comfortable encampment waiting for them, or even billets in one of the captured cities. No messengers had been sent back proclaiming the expected victories, but this wasn’t unusual. A small country such as the Icemark wouldn’t present any difficulties to a Polypontian force, and to proclaim such a victory would be to state the obvious.

The officer of the cavalry was young and had been bitterly disappointed not to have been included in the first wave of the invasion, but discipline was all and he’d accepted his orders without question. Now he was leading his troop of one thousand horses to join a campaign that wouldn’t get properly under way until the following spring, and he happily expected to bring honor to his family name of Cassius Brontus.

The idea to begin the invasion in the winter and secure a staging post for the following year had been proposed by the great General Scipio Bellorum and had undoubtedly taken the armies of the small country completely by surprise. Tucked in his saddlebag, Cassius Brontus had a map of the South Farthing of the Icemark that had been drawn by Polypontian spy cartographers earlier that year. Nothing would have changed, but even if it had, he expected to find the victorious invading army simply by following the path of destruction and death they’d have left in their wake.

The mouth of the pass came into view and he called a halt. The cavalry training manual dictated that troopers ride with sabers drawn and shields enarmed in all unsecured territory, and though he believed the land to be in Polypontian hands, he’d received no confirmation of this and gave orders accordingly. As they rode forward, the broad sweep of the country came into view. Before them lay a wild and fierce land of broken rocks and scree slopes, and under the brilliant blue sky and dazzling sunshine it had an untamed beauty that made the young officer shudder. If the people were anything like the country they inhabited, then the Polypontus would have a worthy opponent.

They rode into the land in battle order and followed the road that swept down from the pass. Soon they came across evidence of resistance to the invading army’s advance, with dead horses and broken equipment lying where they’d fallen or been dropped. Cassius Brontus was puzzled. Normal procedure was to clear away debris after a skirmish, unless, of course, the army was under heavy pressure. His troops rode by with hardly a second glance at the flotsam of battle. Their forces had been hard pressed before and always they’d been victorious.

But soon they passed more broken equipment, then the burned-out remains of four supply wagons and even six cannons, their carriages charred and blackened and their barrels broken by what must have been amazingly ferocious hammering. Cassius Brontus called a halt and ordered his command to load their long-barreled cavalry pistols. Each trooper carried two in holsters on either side of their saddles. Once this was done they set off again, but this time the young officer sent out scouts and outriders to check the way ahead.

Within five minutes the outriders were racing back along the road calling out that the battlefield lay ahead. Cassius Brontus was relieved. Obviously the Polypontian army had brought the enemy to bay early, and at least he and his troops wouldn’t have far to ride before they were assigned their quarters. But at this point the scouts appeared on the road, riding with great urgency and looking back over their shoulders as they came on. The officer immediately put his troops on alert.

“All dead, sir! They’re all dead!” the scouts called as they thundered back to the regiment. They halted wild-eyed before him in a flurry of loose stones and rearing horses.

“Report clearly!” Cassius Brontus ordered sharply. “Who are dead? How many and where?”

“The entire invasion force, sir. Half a mile farther on.”

The shock of their words left him numb. An entire Polypontian army wiped out? Impossible! “You’re wrong! There may be some soldiers of the Polypontus mixed with the fallen, but you must have seen the remains of the Icemark’s army.”

“Yes, sir. They’re there, too. We saw their battle standard fallen with ours.”

“Our battle standard fallen!”

“Yes, sir. It’s held by the corpse of a giant red-bearded man in fine armor. Our standard-bearer lies dead beneath him.”

In the silence of his shock the young officer reached the obvious conclusion. The two armies had wiped each other out, and the description of the giant red-bearded warrior fit that of Redrought, King of the Icemark.

Recovering quickly, he sent two messengers with news of the disaster back through the pass and then ordered his troops to advance in battle formation. His agile mind was working quickly. The Icemark had probably risked all on wiping out the invading army and most likely would have nothing left to defend the land. It was wide open for the taking, and if he acted quickly enough, the name of Cassius Brontus would live forever in the Empire of the Polypontus. For one thing, he knew the heir to the throne of this little land was a mere girl of thirteen or fourteen. Who was protecting her now? A few of their barbaric housecarls? An assorted ragbag of half-trained soldiers of the fyrd? He had an entire regiment of battle-hardened and disciplined cavalry troopers with him. If he seized the moment now, he could ride for the palace and capture the girl. A puppet monarch set on the throne of a client kingdom by a mere cohort of the invading army. He’d be made for life! Promotion, perhaps his own army. And in later years maybe even a seat on the Senate.

He ordered the pace up to a canter, the rattle of the horses’ hooves echoing in the narrow canyon through which the road now wound. Then the rocky walls fell away, and the highway burst onto a wide plateau, stark under the brilliant winter sunshine. Spontaneously the troopers reined to a halt. Before them lay a sight none of them had ever seen before: a defeated and destroyed army of the Polypontus scattered over the land like the fallen trees of a blasted forest. Even though they’d been warned by the scouts’ reports, it was still a terrible shock. No armed force of their country had been defeated for more than three hundred years, and yet here lay an entire invasion force completely smashed.

Cassius Brontus recovered first. He had a plan to fulfill and his driving ambition gave him the impetus he needed. He gave orders to secure the area and sent back more messengers for supplies and the sturdiest tents the quartermasters had. Obviously no cities had been taken yet, and if the Polypontus were to maintain the small toehold they had in this land, they’d need to be prepared to ride out the coldest and longest winter any of them had ever experienced.

His troops rode out in companies, looking for survivors and establishing their control of the site. He was just about to send scouts north along the highway in case the Icemark had another surprise for them and a second army was on the march when he suddenly noticed a group of five or six figures running from a line of hills toward the part of the battlefield where the bodies lay thickest. At first he thought they were human, but then he wasn’t so sure. They were running on two legs certainly, but even from this distance they looked huge, and either they were wearing furs of some sort or they were furry! A company of cavalry spotted them, and as Cassius Brontus watched, they wheeled around with superb discipline and galloped toward the figures. The five running shapes then stopped and turned to face the charge. A volley of pistol shots rang out, and then a strange howling roar rose up into the air. Horses reared and screamed and cavalry sabers flashed in the brilliant sunshine as a fierce skirmish followed. But it didn’t last long. Before anyone else could react, ten horses were bolting riderless across the rocky plain.

With lightning speed the figures then ran to where the fallen battle standards lay and, tearing them from their staffs, they rolled them into balls and stuffed them into a crude sack they had with them. Cassius Brontus sat quietly watching. He was the sort of commander who was quite prepared to “blow with the winds of chance,” as the saying went, and having lost ten troopers already, he wasn’t prepared to risk the lives of any more. The hairy figures picked up two of the dead from among the hideous tangle and ran off at an amazing speed toward the hills they’d first come from. Several of the cavalry companies scattered around the field gave chase, but their commander waved up one of the buglers and ordered him to sound the recall. The strict discipline of the Polypontian forces immediately asserted itself, and all of the companies turned around and galloped back toward him.

“Commander, those things have taken our invading army’s standard!” called the officer in charge of one of the companies as he rode up.

“Indeed. And what use would we have for the disgraced flag of a defeated army? Perhaps you thought we could clean our boots on it before tomorrow morning’s parade?”

“Well, no, but …”

“But?” his commander inquired mildly. “It’s a standard of the Polypontus.”

“It’s a desecrated rag. Call in your troopers and wait for orders!”

By this time the strange figures had reached the line of distant hills and disappeared from view. Cassius Brontus was more than happy to see them go. He’d heard strange tales about the monsters that plagued the land of the Icemark, and he was beginning to think he’d just had firsthand experience of some of them. Judging by what they’d done to some of his cavalry, he was relieved they were unlikely to have either the brains or the discipline to make an effective fighting force. And what exactly they planned to do with the bodies they’d taken from the field he shuddered to think.