Prince of the Icemark (20 page)

“
I
don’t think it’s going to hold, Caddy,” Redrought said to the huge cat, who was sitting in his usual place on his shoulder. Cadwalader meowed throatily in agreement, and then purred in amusement when, with a dull rattle, the shieldwall suddenly collapsed into a tangle of wood, leather and young soldiers.

For a while the scene was ripe with bad words that flew through the air like angry bluebottles as the housecarle instructors dragged their charges to their feet and then set about reconstructing the fallen wall. Redrought stood with his arm hooked through Hengist’s reins, watching as the youngsters were put through their paces by the squad of shouting, swearing housecarles, whose job it was to knock them into
shape. He was about the same age as most of them, but they seemed almost to be a different species when compared to the young warrior King.

Preparations for the invasion had picked up a pace. The Icemark’s New Model Army had suffered remarkably few casualties in the battle for Bendis, which would help to give the march into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts some sort of credibility as far as numbers were concerned. After all, Redrought wanted Their Vampiric Majesties to think him arrogant in his actions, not insane. They had to believe that he was really certain he could defeat the Vampires and werewolves alone and without the help of his Hypolitan allies.

The situation had been further helped by the arrival of almost a thousand reinforcements from the south. Nobody had been expecting them, but the southern counties had called in an extra levy when they’d heard of Redrought’s victory in the north. Most of the soldiers were very young and had only the most basic fyrd training, but they were commanded by veterans, some of whom had come out of retirement to lead the force. Redrought had immediately set them to training, and re-armed and re-equipped them to bring them up to the new standards he demanded. They had barely half a month to prepare and improve, but they were willing and able. Besides, as every soldier knew, the best of all possible training happened on the field of battle.

He had to admire the youngsters’ determination as they gathered their equipment and tried again, and there was something about the stubborn set of their jaws and refusal to be intimidated that suddenly reminded him of Athena. Not that she’d been far from his thoughts since his visit to her room the night before.

“I wonder how she’s doing,” he said abruptly to Cadwalader, who seemed completely unsurprised by the sudden change of direction in Redrought’s thoughts. “She’s training today in the Great Forest.”

The Hypolitan were preparing for the coming battle in the huge stand of woodland because its broad canopy of leaves and branches would hide them from any flying Vampire spies. This was in complete contrast to the Icemark’s New Model Army, who trained and held manoeuvres every day with as much noise and bluster as possible on the plain around Bendis. The reason for the difference was simple; Redrought wanted any enemy spies to see his soldiers getting ready for invasion, but the involvement of the Hypolitan had to remain a secret.

“It’s her first training session since . . . since Saphia died,” the young King went on. Cadwalader rubbed his cheek against Redrought’s and purred companionably. “I hope she’s doing all right.”

The cat washed a paw as though considering his words, then he looked directly at his master and meowed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Redrought agreed. “She’ll be fine. She’s going to have to be; no Vampire’s going to be gentle just because her friend’s died.”

Basilea Artemis had genuinely been against the idea of invading The-Land-of-the-Ghosts from the very beginning, which had helped to make the rumours of a rift between the Hypolitan and their allies more believable. And the information that was being carefully gathered from the enemy lands seemed to indicate that they’d swallowed the bait and thought that Redrought would be attacking alone, with nothing but the
New Model Army to set against the Vampires, werewolves and other creatures of Their Vampiric Majesties’ forces. In fact, Artemis was still of the opinion that it would be better to leave the enemy safely behind their own borders and to defend the frontier with strength and vigour if they should ever try to attack again. But now that the decision to invade had been made, she accepted it and had thrown herself into the preparations with her customary energy.

She watched now as the Sacred Regiment went through its paces before her. It was especially during training and preparations that she missed her older daughters, Elemnestra and Electra. They’d have been invaluable additions to the army, as well as a source of good sense and experience. But all she could do was accept their absence and allow herself to be glad that they were safe on the Southern Continent.

“It’s such a relief to see Athena training again,” she said to Herakles, who sat on his horse next to her.

He nodded and smiled. “Yes, perhaps we can allow ourselves to believe she’s over the worst.”

“Perhaps,” Artemis said. “But she was very close to Saphia, and when you’re so young the death of a friend is a terrible thing to deal with.”

She was secretly glad that Redrought had sneaked into her daughter’s room the night before. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t entirely proper for the King of the Icemark to have spent time alone in the private quarters of a Princess of the Hypolitan, but whatever he’d said – or done – Athena had obviously benefited from it. Of course none of this could be said openly, not even to Herakles. He may have been her Consort and Athena’s father, but he
was
only a man.

“There might be a chance now for Athena and the King to
get to know each other better,” Herakles said, taking the Basilea by surprise. It was common knowledge that Redrought and Athena had been seeing each other before Saphia had been killed, but how much did her Consort know of her plans for a union between the House of Lindenshield and the ruling Hypolitan dynasty?

“I’m sure it would be good for her to spend time with someone of her own age,” Artemis said guardedly.

“Especially if it leads to something more permanent,” Herakles added. “The political advantages for the province could be enormous.”

Artemis sighed; she really must learn that not all men were simpletons. Herakles had summed up the entire political and dynastic situation in one pithy sentence. “He might also make her happy,” she finally said.

“Yes,” Herakles agreed. “I think there’s every possibility of that. I actually had a conversation with her at breakfast, the first since Saphia died. Redrought may look like a complete lout, but he obviously has enough about him to coax a grieving young woman back into the world.”

Artemis laughed and reached over to take her Consort’s hand. “I seem to remember there was once another young man who didn’t quite meet the standards of his chosen lady’s parents, but he proved them wrong too.”

Herakles smiled quietly. “If I recall correctly, it was the lady who did the choosing; the young man had little say in the matter. He was, after all, only a lowly male in a province ruled by women.”

“Has it been such a hard life?” Artemis asked.

Her Consort considered for a moment. “No, not at all,” he replied, and raised the Basilea’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Glad to hear it. By the way, I’ve ordered pork braised in cider for tonight’s dinner,” she said, knowing it was her Consort’s favourite. Then, raising her eyebrows archly, she added: “And who knows what there’ll be for afters.”

Their horses sidled closer together as they watched the army going through its manoeuvres. But then their concentration sharpened as their daughter took command of the Sacred Regiment, led them in a sweeping charge down onto a line of target posts, then swept away again leaving the posts bristling with arrows. The Basilea and her Consort could only conclude that whatever the size of the force Their Vampiric Majesties sent against them in the upcoming battle, their numbers would be vastly reduced before the fighting was over.

Grimswald stood in Redrought’s campaign tent, a handkerchief screwed up in his hand and a look of desperation on his face.

“Please, My Lord, I won’t get in anyone’s way during the march, and when we stop for the night I’ll be able to make you comfortable.
You
know more than anyone that a fighting King must be rested before battle.”

“That’s true, Grimmy, but taking a body-servant on campaign’s just not the done thing. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone else if I had a comfortable bed and hot water to wash in.”

“But you’re the King. You can do as you wish!”

“No Grimmy, I can’t. I need to be like all the other warriors. I need to be a part of my army, not
apart
from my army. We must be unified; how else can we stand against the fury of the Vampires and werewolves?”

“Am I so dangerous to your campaign?” Grimswald asked quietly.

Redrought sighed and tried to find a way to make his old body-servant accept that he couldn’t take part in the expedition without hurting his feelings. Then he gave up and decided on honesty. “All right then, Grimswald, if you insist on arguing I’ll give you the unvarnished truth. If you come to war with me you’ll die. It’s as simple as that. You’re not a trained soldier and you’re not fit enough to survive the conditions. Even if a Vampire doesn’t rip out your throat or a werewolf doesn’t tear you limb from limb, then the cold will kill you, or any one of the many diseases that you find in every military camp. Do you really want to die of dysentery, pouring out your life in a bloody flux in the camp latrines? Or coughing your lungs up as pneumonia rages through your system?”

Grimswald remained silent as he stared at his feet, and Redrought tried to soften his tone. “Look, Grimmy, I’ve got so much to think about and organise on campaign, I just wouldn’t have time to worry about you . . . and I
would
worry. You’re the closest I have to family now that my brother’s dead. How could I not be distracted from the war when the man who brought me up and looked after me as a little boy is marching into the most dangerous country in the world? I need to know you’re safe, at home, waiting for me to come back, waiting to look after me in the way only you know how.”

After a long silence Grimswald finally nodded. “As you wish, My Lord. But at least let me pack some little luxuries for you; some of your favourite foods . . . things of that sort . . .”

Redrought took his old servant’s hand. “Thank you, Grimmy. I’d like that.”

*   *   *

The final advance on the enemy, when it came, was very low-key. The first Hypolitan contingent, led by the Basilea Artemis, set out under the cover of darkness and went as quietly as was possible for an army; the surprise appearance of the Hypolitan fighters was imperative in the coming battle. This group headed for the eastern pass through the Wolfrock Mountains, and would take the longest of the three sections of the invasion force to reach their destination.

Before they left, the White Witches spread a “Glamour” over the entire contingent to hide them from the enemy. This wasn’t an invisibility cloak, such things being impossible, but it would absorb the colours and textures of the land the army marched through and throw these over them, making them almost undetectable. In fact, only someone with brilliant eyesight who knew exactly where and when to look would have any chance of seeing them.

The next to leave, nearly twenty-four hours later, was the second contingent of the Hypolitan army, together with the Sacred Regiment. They were to make for the western pass through the mountains. Leadership of this force had been awarded to Princess Athena, with her father Herakles as her second and close adviser. Redrought had argued long and hard for this, but it had taken the compromise of Herakles as second-in-command before the Basilea would finally agree.

Sitting at the edge of the great forest, Redrought observed this unit preparing to set out. The moon was full – something of a disadvantage for a force that wanted to hide from possible Vampire spies – but once again the White Witches were spreading a disguising Glamour over the ranks. Redrought watched, fascinated, as the group of ten women raised their arms and began to chant. Their eyes rolled back in their heads
so that only the whites showed, gleaming in the moonlight, and Hengist snorted and sidled nervously as the chanting began to rise to a wail.

The young King patted the horse’s proudly arching neck to reassure him, but in all reality he didn’t feel particularly comfortable himself. There was something decidedly spooky about the witches when they were summoning Power, and things weren’t helped by Cadwalader, who was standing on Redrought’s shoulder and growling softly to himself. It was almost as if the cat was taking an active part in the strange ceremony. When the chanting rose even higher, Cadwalader followed suit and added his yowling voice to the sound. Redrought reminded himself that the animal had originally been a witch’s cat and had power as a psychopomp. Then at last the chanting came to an end, and Cadwalader settled back on Redrought’s shoulder.

The King had seen the same ceremony carried out the day before, but he was still amazed to see an entire army virtually disappear. Where once there had been ranks of soldiers, horses and baggage wagons, there were now only trees and under-growth to be seen as the Glamour cloaked the fighting force in images of the surrounding forest. But the Magic also hid someone he was looking for: Athena was nowhere to be seen.