Prince of the Icemark (22 page)

T
hey were miles beyond Bendis or any other sort of settlement, but still Redrought insisted that the soldiers continued to sing rousing marching songs as noisily as possible. Earlier a flight of four Vampire spies had been spotted, and when they had carelessly flown too low Redrought would only allow the archers to shoot one of them. The other three had to take news of the army’s approach to Their Vampiric Majesties. Of course, that might mean that the enemy would defend the pass and stop the army advancing into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, but Redrought thought this unlikely. The Vampire King and Queen wanted him to march directly into their trap, and he was perfectly happy to oblige.

The road had been climbing steadily for over an hour and
the surrounding landscape had become gradually rockier. Ahead, the Wolfrock Mountains stood in grim relief against a pristine blue sky. It was icy cold, and frost rimed every blade of grass and every other kind of vegetation that was hardy enough to grow in the region. There had been no snow yet, but Redrought expected to see banks and drifts as they climbed higher and higher towards the pass.

As usual when “in the theatre of war” Commanders Brereton and Ireton rode on either side of the young King, avidly discussing logistics, supply lines and communications in droning monotonal voices.

“Yes, but are there actually any problems with supplies?” Redrought finally asked when they fell silent for a moment.

“Problems?” said Brereton thoughtfully. “No . . . no . . . not as such, but . . .”

“Fine, so I don’t have to hear about every nut, bolt and cog essential to a ballista’s firing capacity, then, do I?”

“Well, it’s not
essential
, no,” said Ireton in puzzled tones. “But we thought you’d want to.”

Redrought looked at his commanders and marvelled at their capacity for deeply tedious detail. He’d once had to sit through a meeting in which they’d discussed exactly how much bread should be allowed for each soldier when training, compared to the needs of active service when they’d be marching and fighting. He knew that such details were essential for the efficient functioning of an army, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy hearing about them. Perhaps he should want to discuss the minutiae of army supply and lines of communication, as Ireton had said, but he didn’t. Sometimes he worried that this reluctance made the difference between a good general and a truly great one, but in the end he decided
he’d rather settle for being good than have to spend an entire day discussing fodder for cavalry mounts.

“You thought I’d
want
to hear about logistical problems, you say, Ireton?” Redrought finally asked.

“Yes.”

“Well I don’t. I’d sooner watch a dog turd dry than have to hear one more word about supplies!”

“A truly great military leader knows everything there is to know about every aspect of his army,” Brereton said into the shocked silence that followed, directly echoing the young King’s thoughts.

“Really?” Redrought snapped. “Then it’s a bloody good job I lead
people
, isn’t it?
Armies
are just mobs that have been beaten into submission with mindless drill and fear; I’d sooner lead
people
who can think for themselves and know why they’re fighting in the first place.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have to inspect my
people
.”

He turned Hengist about and galloped back along the line of marching soldiers. Every section commander raised their hand in greeting, as did many of the ordinary fighting men and women, and Redrought kept his hand raised as he rode by so that he acknowledged everyone. He knew his snapping and snarling at Ireton and Brereton was only a symptom of the terrible pressure he was under, and he also knew the deeply experienced commanders would realise this.

If Athena had been with him, or Kahin, he could have discussed his worries and fears with them, but as it was, he had to keep them to himself and maintain an outward mask of supreme confidence. This was one of the many tasks of a leader of people. Why couldn’t Kahin have been a warrior?
Then she would have been with him and he could have let off steam by moaning and bickering with her as he usually did. She’d have been invaluable in the battle; he was sure she could kill a Vampire at fifty paces with her nagging alone, and her disapproving stare would freeze the blood of a Rock Troll.

He was just allowing himself a smile at these thoughts when a black shadow suddenly erupted from the wagons of the baggage train he was riding by and landed on his shoulder.

“Hiya, Caddy!” Redrought bellowed when he’d got over the shock. “I thought you’d be somewhere among the ranks! I knew you wouldn’t want to miss this battle!”

The huge cat purred thunderously and meowed.

“What was that? You want to kill General Romanoff?” said Redrought as though he could understand him. “Don’t we all! I tell you what, you rip her throat out and I’ll make a trophy of her fangs to hang on your collar. What do you say?”

Cadwalader yowled fiercely.

“I thought you’d like that idea, and do you know why, hmm, Flumfy my little feline? Well, I’ll tell you, it’s because you’re a naughty wittle puthy cat; did you hear me? I said you’re a naughty wittle puthy cat!”

The huge animal meowed as demurely as a dainty lap cat, and somehow managed to roll over onto his back while still maintaining his balance on the King’s shoulder. Redrought laughed and risked having his hand and arm lacerated by the creature’s formidable claws as he tickled the exposed tummy.

“You’re nothing but a thilly wittle puthy cat! What are you? Yes, that’s right, you’re a thilly wittle puthy cat!”

The soldiers marching along nearby looked at their mighty warrior King and grinned. He might be the scourge of Rock Trolls and werewolves, he might have driven back the war-host
of Their Vampiric Majesties and foiled their plans of invasion and conquest, but that didn’t stop him being a boy at times, and a pretty soppy one at that.

Redrought rode back to the head of the line with Cadwalader still on his shoulder, his good mood completely restored. Or at least as restored as it could be, considering he was about to invade the lands of his deadliest enemy with a ludicrously small army, and no guarantees that the Hypolitan would arrive in time to save them all from annihilation.

Later that same day Redrought and his army were setting up camp and preparing for their second night en route to The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. It was cold, and a few wisps of snow were falling, but nothing that was likely to cause problems. The real issue was fear. Many of the soldiers were very young, and found camping in the entrance of the pass that led directly into the lands of the enemy truly terrifying. A constant calling and howling echoed amongst the rocks as though the army was surrounded by an entire regiment of ghosts – which they probably were. The youngsters of the fyrd huddled up to the watchfires and tried to look unconcerned when the older soldiers spoke to them. For many this would be their first battle and they all seemed to have the same expression on their faces: an odd mix of pride and deep terror. Redrought was actually the same age as most of them, but he felt older. He’d seen so much death and dying that he felt like the most venerable of veterans.

He gave orders for as many fires as possible to be lit, not only to give warmth and comfort, but also to let the enemy know exactly where they were. Their Vampiric Majesties still had to believe in the arrogance of the young King of the
mortals, but he didn’t want to go too far and make them suspicious that all the noise and bluster was some sort of diversion. Getting the balance right was tricky. He’d left enough of the Hypolitan army in Bendis so that they could make a good show of patrolling the walls and protecting the borders, and he made a point of shooting down just as many of the Vampire spies as necessary to give the impression that he was worried about his security and keeping his numbers secret.

But his immediate concern was the morale of his youngest soldiers, and after he’d set the night guards and inspected the outposts with Ireton and Brereton, he went to join the groups that were huddled around the fires. It was good to speak to people of his own age again, even though it took them a while to relax in his company and talk openly, and soon he found that he was as comforted by them as they were by him.

When dawn finally tinged the soaring peaks of the Wolfrocks a delicate rose pink he felt a deep sense of relief, not only because now the shadows would draw back, taking many of the ghosts with them, but also because he’d reached the day of reckoning. One way or another, a conclusion would at last be reached and he’d either fail or win. It was a strangely liberating sensation and he had a noisy breakfast with one unit of the fyrd who were all about his age. Despite the cold and the terror, they all ended up giggling uncontrollably, any sense of propriety and etiquette forgotten as the young King’s cat chased shadows around the fire and added his deep voice to their loud conversation. But then the time to move out arrived, Ireton and Brereton came to collect Redrought and the day of the battle lay before them again.

The cold air carried the clean scent of snow and pine forests, and as the army marched along the pass they could see
squadrons of Vampires quartering the skies above them. Some of the archers sent arrows arching skywards, but they were out of range. If calculations were correct, they’d be in the great central valley of the land’s upper plateau before midday, and by the time the sun set on the short autumnal day, thousands would be dead and the Icemark would either be a human kingdom or a domain ruled by monsters.

“What do we know of the enemy’s positions?” Redrought asked his commanders as they rode along at the head of the army.

“My Lord, the last spy to get back safely reported that the Vampires and werewolves were holding an area of high ground in the north of the valley,” said Commander Ireton, “while the remnants of the Rock Troll army, along with large contingents of zombies, occupy the left and right flanks.”

“So they’ll expect me to order a frontal attack, allowing the Rock Trolls and zombies to attack our rear and flanks.”

“Precisely.”

“You’re sure the hill in the centre of the valley’s big enough to take us all?”

“Well, it’s hardly a hill, My Lord, more an area of rising ground, but according to reports it’s big enough to accommodate our entire army, but not so large that a shieldwall couldn’t perfectly surround it,” Brereton joined in.

“Great,” said Redrought. “Then it’s simple. All we have to do is take up our position on the hill, hold it, and wait for the Hypolitan to arrive, taking the enemy by complete surprise and hitting them in the rear.”

“Simplicity itself in theory, My Lord,” said Ireton darkly. “But one suspects the reality will be an entirely different matter.”

“Commander Ireton, do I have to remind a man of your huge military experience to keep such gloomy opinions to himself? The morale of the soldiers can’t be dragged down!”

The old soldier bowed in his saddle. “Quite right, My Lord, and your rebuke is duly acknowledged and noted.”

“Good. The tactics may be . . . uncomplicated, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not sound, or that they won’t work.”

Both commanders bowed this time, graphically revealing that neither had any faith in the battle-plan. Redrought controlled his temper and went on. “The opening phase of the battle will be work for the housecarles and fyrd; all they’ll need to do is hold their position and absorb everything the enemy send against us. The archers will keep the Vampire squadrons at bay and the dismounted cavalry will offer support. Only when the Hypolitan arrive and hit the enemy in the rear and flank will the cavalry come into its own; then they’ll mount up and drive out against the enemy.” He smiled at his commanders. “Like I say, simple. There’s less to go wrong when things are uncomplicated.”

Neither Ireton nor Brereton said a word, but Redrought didn’t care. They hadn’t put forward an alternative plan, and so in his opinion they had no right to complain. Without another word, he spurred Hengist to a gallop and went to join the advance party of scouts who were riding ahead through the pass. He heard the spluttered protests of his commanders as he set off, but he’d had enough of their doom-laden company for one day and ignored them. So what if it was dangerous? He was about to fight in a battle, and he could think of nothing more dangerous than that.

He joined the advance party just as the pass broadened out, and the way down into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts came into
view. The scouts saluted and Redrought raised his hand in acknowledgement, never once taking his eyes from the panorama that was opening up before him. This was the first time he’d seen the land of the enemy and he was amazed by its beauty. An unbroken sweep of pine forest billowed over the contours of the slopes and foothills, and the surrounding arc of the Wolfrock Mountains set snow-etched peaks against an icy blue sky, as precise and defined as jewellery. He’d expected a country as ugly and evil as the hearts of Their Vampiric Majesties and instead he’d found grandeur and magnificence. How could corruption and malevolence rule such purity? He was outraged and quickly decided that it must end, and it must end immediately!