Prince of the Icemark (17 page)

For a moment she lay deadly still, pouring out an avalanche of foul language that got more and more foul until it slowly translated itself into deep wrenching sobs that racked her frame.

After several minutes the sobs gradually subsided and she
lay in silence. She could see Redrought and Athena in the distance; they were too far off now for her to catch up unless she risked being seen and stood up and ran. But instead she rolled onto her back and stared up into the sky.

The accident with the bramble had stung, and the small pain had been enough to distract her obsessive mind for a moment, and make her stop and think. At last she was able to view the situation with something like detachment. Just what was she thinking of? What was she doing? How could she have allowed herself to lose all personal dignity and pride in this way? If Athena wanted this boy then there was nothing she could do to change that fact. It’d be far better for all concerned if she just stepped away and let it happen. One day Athena would remember her friend and perhaps they could take up where they’d left off. Maybe it wouldn’t be as it had been before – she had no doubt Redrought would still be in her friend’s life – but at least they’d have something.

The couple were just small specks in the distance by this time, and Saphia sat up, dabbed at the cut on her arm with the cleanest bit of her torn tunic, and then climbed to her feet. Sometimes you just had to accept there were things that couldn’t be controlled. She turned to face the city and set off for the main gate without looking back.

T
heir Vampiric Majesties sat in the solar, a small private room to which they could retreat from the court. Even the Undead ego occasionally needed privacy and the Vampire King and Queen had things to discuss. They lounged on twin day-divans, sipping cordial from cut crystal goblets, and both wore exquisite, loosely fitting silk robes that whispered like someone revealing forbidden secrets every time they moved.

They were almost content, and completely relaxed as General Romana Romanoff had decided that she needed what she mysteriously called “intelligence” and had personally set off for the Icemark to get it. Eventually the Vampire King and Queen had realised that she’d gone to spy on the enemy
and that the search for intelligence had nothing to do with trying to improve her brain power.

“My dear, did you see her when she left?” His Vampiric Majesty asked. “It was just
too
precious. She was dressed in the most odd assemblage of clothing and told me it was one of her best disguises. Apparently she thought she looked like a noblewoman of the Icemark.”

“And did she?” The Vampire Queen asked.

“Of course not!” the King replied with happy derision. “Romanoff’s over six foot tall, as pale as ice and has all the living warmth of a dead cod. No matter what else we think of mortals, they’re not idiots; they’ll take one look at our tame tactician and either think she’s a freak of nature or guess she’s a Vampire.”

“Oh dear, she won’t be in danger, will she?” Her Vampiric Majesty enquired, her eyes dancing happily.

“I can’t really be too sure. As I say, the mortals of the Icemark are nobody’s fools, so unless Romanoff finds some plausible explanation for her
singular
physiognomy, then there’s certainly a possibility that she could . . . reach her final demise.”

The Vampire Queen sipped her cordial and smiled. “Oh woe, woe and thrice woe. How on earth would we manage without our twitching general?”

His Vampiric Majesty sniffed disdainfully. “Perfectly well, I would imagine. We ourselves may have made one or two strategic errors, but Romanoff’s modus operandi has hardly been better. If we’d attacked the Hypolitan city as we’d originally planned, my dear, using Vampire and Snowy Owl squadrons day and night, it would have fallen weeks before that bumpkin Redrought could have reorganised his army. But
Romanoff insisted her tactics were better, and we allowed ourselves to be persuaded.”

“Oh, please don’t condemn yourself,” said the Queen. “What’s done is done, as the Icemark peasantry say, and now we have a foolproof plan to draw this so-called King into a trap that will destroy both him and his army.”

“No plan is foolproof,” His Vampiric Majesty replied, fussily rearranging his silk robes. “As I think is proven by the unlooked-for fate that has befallen the Ukpik reinforcements. I suppose we couldn’t possibly have guessed that the new Thar of the Hub-of-the-World would be such a military genius as to destroy the werewolf army, but
really
, how many more misfortunes must hinder our strategies before we finally defeat Redrought?”

The Queen leant across from her divan and stroked the King’s cheek. “Now don’t exaggerate, my vol-au-vent of vileness. You know full well that at least a third of the Ukpik army escaped intact, which considering their size and strength should be more than enough to hold this mortal King.”

“Hold him, perhaps, but can we really hope to defeat him?”

“Only the battle will tell us that. Until then I prefer to be hopeful, and prepare for victory.”

“You may have a point. Besides, Romanoff left me with a parting thought before she set out for the Icemark.” The King paused to sip and savour his drink, then went on: “Apparently, one of the reasons for spying out the enemy’s lands is to ascertain if it would be possible to send an assassination squad.”

“An assassination squad? Oh, how deliciously exciting,” the Queen replied, sitting up and fixing her gaze on the King.
“Who exactly are we to kill and when?”

“Redrought, of course. With their charismatic new battle-leader dead his army will fall apart. There may yet be no need to draw our enemy into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. Without Redrought to lead them, they’ll turn tail and run.”

Romana Romanoff was far more intelligent than Their Vampiric Majesties gave her credit for, and she’d abandoned her noblewoman disguise as soon as she’d realised she needed to change her strategy. She sat instead in the shadows of a tavern wearing simple black clothes. Leggings, tunic and cloak were the normal combination worn by both men and women of the lower orders in the province of the Hypolitan, and only the lack of bright colours made her in any way unusual. Even being over six foot tall wasn’t particularly uncommon amongst the male citizens of Bendis, and the fact that she was no longer a human woman could easily be concealed.

She was sitting in the tavern near the main gate of the city, a place where traders and the general citizenry would gather to hear the news and enjoy whatever gossip there was to be heard. It wasn’t exactly a place with a bad reputation, but neither was it as pristine and clean as most of the other establishments in the Hypolitan city.

None of the other customers thought Romanoff’s presence odd. Being close to the main gate, the tavern attracted many travellers on the way south into the Icemark proper, or even north into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. The landlady and her staff of potboys and serving girls had learned long ago not to ask questions too obviously, and they often gathered useful information that could be passed on, simply by working quietly and unobtrusively.

Outside, the autumn was just beginning to make its presence felt in a chilly blaze of turning leaves and lowering temperatures. There had been the first frost of the season the night before, and the temperatures were reluctant to rise much above freezing. This far north, winter left late and returned early, and as a result a huge fire burned in the inglenook hearth near where Romanoff sat.

The Vampire was indifferent to both the cold and the warm, but the cheerful flames attracted many of the mortals, who gathered around its glow like moths, and she sat in silence in the shadows as the conversation flowed around her.

“There are good prices to be had at market now the city can feed itself again after the siege.”

“Aye, for those whose crops weren’t trampled by marching armies,” a voice replied bitterly. “Who’s going to pay for my lost yields, that’s what I want to know?”

“No one. You’ll have to plant again and hope for next year.”

“Hope won’t feed my family.”

“No, but if you can survive the winter there’s even more hope for a celebration, and the increase in sales that’ll bring.”

“You mean the Princess and that new King of the Icemark, I suppose.”

“That I do. He’s a big strapping lad and fights like a were-wolf, so I’ve heard and many more have witnessed. He may not be overly blessed in the good looks department, but I’d sooner have ugly who does handsome, than handsome who does ugly,” a voice said wisely. “Not only that, but the Princess seems pleased enough with him; they go out riding every day down the road towards the Great Forest.”

“Well, I can’t see him marrying our Princess now that the
Basilea’s refused to join him in the next stage of the war. They say he’s going to invade The-Land-of-the-Ghosts with just his New Model Army, while we sit back and let him. Don’t seem right to me.”

“Nor me, but you know what old Artemis is like – once she’s made up her mind there’s no shifting her.”

“Well, I say it’s wrong and I don’t care who hears it. Redrought’s the best King this land’s had in years, and it looks like he’ll be coming back from the war in a coffin if we don’t lend him a hand.”

“You could be right, in which case we’ll be fighting for the city again. But you know what it’s like; ordinary folk can see what’s going to happen, but somehow those with the power can’t open their eyes.”

The grumbling continued around the fire for some time, but Romanoff soon took her leave as she went in search of other venues that would confirm what the moaning citizens of Bendis had revealed. Her head brimmed with the enormity of the news. Not only was Redrought in the habit of riding out along a predictable route with the Princess of the Hypolitan, making them easy targets for an assassination squad, but it seemed there was a rift between the allies, and the Icemark would invade The-Land-of-the-Ghosts alone. If this truly was the case, then even the reduced numbers of the Ukpik army could easily defeat the invasion. But with the added power of the Vampires, the enemy could be completely destroyed and the route to the south would stand wide open!

“I will not wear that thing!” Redrought said, his powerful voice rising almost to battle pitch and making the central lamp in his campaign tent sway and vibrate. “It makes me look like
a . . . a . . .” He floundered for the precise word.

“Statesman?” Kahin suggested.

“No! It makes me look like an old woman. In fact it makes me look like a Royal Adviser who’s got nothing better to do other than make her King look exactly like her!”

Kahin sniffed to show how deeply offended she was. “I wasn’t aware that I looked like a man.”

“You don’t – which is exactly my point!” Redrought bellowed, and grabbing the robe from his adviser he held it up for inspection. “I mean, how many men do you know that wear a floor-length . . .
thing
that’s trimmed with lace and is bright pink to boot?!”

“I think you’ll find the colour is termed ‘antique rose’.”

“It’s sodding pink, and I’m not wearing it!” He dropped heavily into a chair, which creaked dangerously.

“Well, you don’t have to destroy the furniture,” Kahin shouted. “I’ll see if I can find something else.”

“There’s no need, that’s Grimswald’s job.” Redrought took a deep breath and looked at his adviser. “Look, I know you mean well, and that you want to make me look my best when I see the Princess, but I’m trying to . . .” He paused; just what was he trying to do? He knew that both Kahin and the Basilea wanted him to marry Princess Athena, but he had enough to worry about with the war. All he had in mind was spending some time with a very pretty girl of his own age who, for some unknown reason, didn’t seem to find him too repulsive.

“I’m just trying to be me,” he went on. “And ‘antique rose’ most definitely isn’t me.”

Kahin sighed. “All right. I only wanted you to make a good impression. Young girls are flighty, they don’t always see the real value in a man. All they’re interested in is a handsome
face and big muscles. And, yes, I know you have the muscles, but . . .”

“. . . I don’t exactly have a handsome face,” Redrought finished for her.

Kahin sat down in the chair that stood opposite his. “You have a strong face. A
powerful
face, but it’s not exactly what you might call subtle.”

He laughed. “As subtle as a troll’s war club, I’d say!”

Kahin smiled. “You’re a good boy, Redrought. In fact you’re a
lovely
boy, I’m just afraid that young miss with her pretty face and lovely curves might not realise it.”

“Whatever I am, good
and
bad, I think Athena already knows it. She’s as bright and sharp as a stiletto, Kahin. Brighter than I’ll ever be, and already a match for that mother of hers.”

“You’re nobody’s fool either, Redrought Athelstan Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield,” his adviser said, leaning across and patting his hand. “There are precious few sixteen-year-olds who could rule a land and fight a war against its enemies, especially when those enemies are as old as time itself and have ruled their lands for millennia.”

The young King shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve been lucky,” he said. “And it’s a given fact that I’ve had the best advice a boy could ever have . . . apart from when it comes to what clothes to wear, that is.”

Kahin drew breath to say something sharp, but was interrupted by the sound of the sentries outside the tent stamping to attention. “That’ll be the Princess,” she said. “Now, have you got a handkerchief? There’s nothing more off-putting than a man who sniffs, and have you got—”

“Yes, Kahin,” Redrought butted in. “And if I haven’t, I’ll
just have to make do.”

“Good. Well, meet her at the entrance, don’t let her think you don’t know how to behave with a Lady.” The Royal Adviser smiled encouragingly and then slipped out the back way, leaving Redrought to face Athena alone. He turned as Grimswald appeared.

“Princess Athena is here to see you, My Lord,” said the Chamberlain of the Royal Paraphernalia, his face a careful mask.

“Thank you, Grimmy. Show her in.”

When she appeared Redrought was relieved to see she was in her war-gear, rather than in anything intimidating like a dress. He’d now spent four hours, forty-three minutes and approximately thirty seconds alone with the Princess, but he still found the opening moments of any new meeting traumatic.

“Erm . . .” he began unpromisingly. “Erm . . .”

“Hello,” Athena interrupted, against all rules of Royal precedence and etiquette, and smiled. “Sorry about the gear; I’ve been training.”

She knew that she had to take control of any social situation with the bashful young King, and abandoning even the pretence of formality, she threw herself down into a chair. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” she said. “It’s thirsty work riding with the Sacred Regiment.”