Queen of Mars - Book III in the Masters of Mars Trilogy (17 page)

The wind was into our faces, which kept the
crispness in the air as the sun rose to our right. Before us was a
wall of blue-white ice as far as the eye could see from west to
east. As we drew closer it resolved into a series of steppes and
bluffs and switchbacks. We had been placed well, and though the
climb would be a good one it would not be hard.

The late afternoon found us halfway up and
stopped on a vast level plain invisible from below. We saw our
first Baldies, two lone scouts, above us and looking nearly
insensate. One was dispatched with an arrow and the other with one
of our precious rifles, and when their bodies were recovered they
appeared nearly emaciated, their teeth bared in permanent fiendish
howls of madness and hunger.

“Frane wasn’t starving them at Valles
Marrineris,” I remarked.

“But she is now,” Miklos replied. He, along
with general Misst, examined one of the scouts where he lay on a
table. We had been joined by our surgeon, who concurred.

“Look at the area around the eyes,” he said.
“See how the eyeball is protruding? That’s a sign of advanced mocra
poisoning. It’s not so much that they are being starved as that
they lose all interest in eating. This fellow has been living on
nothing but mocra for weeks. He would have been dead in another
month, if we hadn’t killed him. In many ways, you did him a
favor.”

“What kind of opposition will we face if
they’re all like this?” general Misst inquired.

“None,” the surgeon said flatly. “This Baldy
couldn’t fight if he had to. The only thing on his mind was
mocra.”

The general’s chest swelled, and he gave me
an “I told you so” look.

I frowned.

“This will make our work easy,” Miklos said,
though I detected a note of doubt in his voice. I made a note to
speak with him alone later.

“If there’s any doubt,” the surgeon
continued, “look at this poor fellow’s claws.”

The doctor held up one limp paw, and pressed
the pad so that the claws would appear.

They were brittle and blood-caked, two of
them broken off completely.

“That’s like no Baldy claw I’ve ever seen,”
general Misst proclaimed. “What can they possibly fight with?
Ladies and gentlemen, though I hesitate to proclaim victory now, I
do think we will very soon be in that camp.”

There was silence, but my grandfather broke
it by laughing harshly and slapping the dead Baldy on the
chest.

“Thank you, young fellow, for giving me
the battle!”

“I
noted your
hesitancy to celebrate so early,” I said to Miklos later in my
tent.

He smiled wryly. “I fear the general is too
sure of something that is not sure enough. Frane has the blood of
my two brothers on her hands, and they were both very smart
fellows. We gypsies just do not believe that anything in this life
is easy. There is a saying, ‘the hard path is the true one’.” His
smile widened a fraction. “I believe that applies here, your
majesty.”

“So do I, Miklos.”

“And yet,” he continued, “I can see nothing
but an easy victory here. If Frane is truly in the throes of this
drug, and our work has been done for us. And with no useful army to
assist her...”

We both sat, brooding, and not knowing
why.

“Like you, Frane took two of my family. And
they were anything but stupid. I do not intend to be reckless.”

“That is good to hear.”

“So I will have your support on
this...caution?”

His smile widened yet another fraction.
“Gypsies are always cautious. Especially with their own hides.”

T
wo more of Frane’s
forward scouts were encountered that night, one killed, the other
captured. The captive Baldy proved quite mad, and, at the first
opportunity, threw himself from the nearest ice ledge. His mad
cries echoed in the cold night.

My grandfather’s self satisfaction only
grew.

And yet...

A
t dawn, a secret
one, hidden behind hills of ice and snow to the east, we continued
our climb.

General Misst was in an ebullient mood. His
horse snorted contemptuously at the morning chill, huffing and
straining against the reins.

“He wants to be running,” the general
explained, and then turned to pat the horse. “There, Champion, be
patient. You’ll run soon enough through a battlefield.”

As if the horse understood him, it huffed,
showing its teeth.

My grandfather laughed, and patted the horse
again.

“He’s ready for the slaughter!”

“What do you have in mind for a battle plan?”
I asked, trying to sound innocent. I looked round at Darwin, who
rode just behind me, and he had a scowl on his face and shook his
head.

The general snorted, a sound not unlike that
of his horse. “We won’t need one, your majesty. We’ll charge
through ‘em like a hot blade through new butter.”

“A nice analogy, but I think we should hold
some troops in reserve.”

“For what?” he cried. “The more the merrier
says I!”

“I’d like to hold the gypsies and Pelltier’s
men in reserve.”

He looked at me and waved a hand in
dismissal. “Do what you like. If they don’t have the stomach for a
fight let ‘em stay behind.”

“That’s hardly the case—”

Again he snorted, as did his mount. “I’ll
have plenty of men without them.”

“Thank you.”

His contemptuous look all but said,
“Bah.”

W
e topped the last
rise in mid afternoon. The sun was lowering toward the west,
throwing lengthening shadows from the ice hills in that direction.
But ahead of us it was flat as a board, a white expanse flat as any
soiled plain.

And there, three hundred yards in front of
us, was our prize: the army of Frane waiting patiently, her own
banner, blood red with a yellow stripe, waving lazily in the slight
breeze. I thought I could spy Frane herself, a far figure gazing at
us unmoving across the field of ice.

There was a commotion to our left, and I saw
a band of wild Baldies charge at our flank. There were only fifty
or so of them, and they were easily dispatched. My grandfather,
sitting high in his saddle, watched the ruckus and grinned.

“Fools,” he said.

Another mad band hit at our right flank, and
similarly, and easily, was taken care of.

“Can you think of any reason to hesitate?”
general Misst asked me, triumphantly.

As he gave the order to advance, I reined my
horse around and fell back to Miklos and Pelltier. Darwin followed
me, and a few Quiff. I passed many expectant faces, and many
confident words:

“We’ll give Frane hell today, majesty!”

“This will be for you and your poor father,
my Queen!”

“A bloody cake walk, that’s what it’ll
be!”

But when I reached Miklos he was not smiling,
and neither was the pirate.

“I smell some-ting bad, girlie-girl,”
Pelltier nearly hissed as I reached him. His old senses were all
awake, and he sat forward in his saddle sniffing the air. “I don’
know what it ‘tis, girlie-girl, but...”

I told him to keep his men back with me, and
he did so. Miklos and his hundred joined us also, and we watched, a
tiny army watching more than three thousand ride confidently
forward.

Miklos studied the line and shook his head.
“At least he should form a claw,” he said, making a U with his paw.
“He isn’t even flanking, now!”

“He doesn’t think he has to,” Darwin nearly
spat.

A ragtag band of five Baldies, screaming
madly, ran at us from the direction of the setting sun. I drew my
sword but they were cut down before they got within two horses of
me.

“This is madness,” Pelltier said, sheathing
his own sword after making use of it. “I tell you, some-ting is no’
right.”

Far back in my brain, something began to
tickle, a faraway noise like distant thunder.

“Do you hear it?” I asked, but my two
companions were all alert now, sitting stiff and straight in their
saddles.

The lowest, faintest of rumbles, which
incrementally grew.

A horrid realization grew in me.

Ahead of us, my grandfather gave a loud order
of “Charge!” and the line of men and horses, roaring as one,
charged ahead as the great mass of Frane’s Baldy army rushed
forward to meet them. I noted that Frane, with perhaps five hundred
non-Baldy troops, stayed behind.

The low rumble grew, overcame the shouts of
the army.

All at once there rose a sheath of ice in
front of the army, and another behind the oncoming Baldies, and the
entire plain they inhabited began to collapse, as if in slow
motion, into the ground. There was a roar that filled my ears, and
a geyser of snow and ice flew impossibly high into the sky as the
ground opened completely beneath them, and swallowed the army
whole.

Miklos was shouting, and Pelltier was
gesturing madly, but I could hear nothing above the howling ungodly
roar as the ground shook beneath us. There was a cloud of
blue-white powder where our army had been, but already it was
settling to the ground, and into the huge chasm that had been
formed.

One of the Quiff drew up beside me. “That
devillll hollowed out the plainnnn beneath the icccce!”

I heard another sound above these – a keening
wail. The hairs on the back of my neck stood out, for at first I
thought it was the sound of the dying in the massive pit. But that
was not it. As the cloud in front of us dissipated we saw a mass of
charging bodies moving around it, coming straight for us.

“Frane!” Miklos shouted. He quickly gave
orders and we formed into a chevron. There were little more than
one hundred of us against five times that many.

“D’ queen mus’ get away,” Pelltier said.

Before I could speak Darwin nodded. “Stay
close to me,” he whispered to me fiercely.

“It is important for you to go,” Miklos
said.

“I won’t leave any of you.”

“Fight, ‘den,” Pelltier said, and then looked
at Darwin. “But if d’ opportunity to flee come, take it.”

Darwin nodded.

Through the settling cloud of snow, I saw
Frane, her one arm held high with an impossibly long blade, her
mouth open in a scream as she charged toward us, her horse leading
an army that looked focused and keen.

“Look at her,” I said. “These will be her
true diehards. All of the rest was a ruse. All of it!”

“She is the devil his self,” Pelltier
said.

Frane drew closer, closer, and her eyes were
locked on mine with a fierce hatred that made me go cold inside. I
was suddenly very frightened, but determined not to show it.

As if to drive this fear away, I suddenly
kicked at my horse, drew my sword and, shouting, charged straight
for the fiend.

Behind me, with shouts, the others
followed.

Frane, unblinking, galloped straight at me,
her mouth open in a cry of rage. Her face was ravaged by time and
hate and the drug mocra, a death mask with patches of fur. Her eyes
were huge red slits, her teeth bared like fangs.

“Die today!” she shouted, bringing the sword
down toward me.

Our horses passed, and the blow missed. We
quickly turned and went at one another again. Around me were the
full sounds of battle, and I saw Miklos take down two of Frane’s
minions with a mighty full blow. Darwin was nearby, trying to fight
his way toward me, hacking and pushing madly.

I faced Frane once more, and our horses drew
toward one another like magnets.

“Die!” Frane screamed, and I saw her sword
fill the sky above me and then it drove down at me, filling my
vision – and then suddenly the day went black, and I heard and saw
nothing.

T
he smell of
cold.

Yes, cold did have an odor – a bracing,
clean, empty fragrance.

Cold.

I shivered and opened my eyes. Someone or
something moved against me as I did so, adjusting weight.

I sat up in white glare, and almost
immediately swooned.

“Don’t move,” Darwin’s soothing voice
said.

I closed my eyes and moaned, then opened them
again. As long as I didn’t move I was fine, it seemed.

“Where are we?”

“Underground.” He was adjusting blankets and
furs around me. The movement itself sent a cold chill through me,
and made me shiver.

My teeth chattered when I spoke again.

“Wh-where are the o-o-others?”

“Nearby. That was quite a nasty bump you got
on your head. For a while I was afraid...”

“W-what?”

“That you wouldn’t wake up.”

Ever so slowly, I reached up to feel at my
forehead with my paw. Something knotted and painful sent a bolt of
pain through me when I touched it.

“It will go nicely with my face scar. What
h-happened to me?”

“Frane’s blow glanced you with the hilt of
her sword.”

The chattering had stopped, but I lay still,
trying to draw warmth from the coverings, and from my husband’s
adjacent body.

“It’s very cold in here.”

“Yes. We thought it best not to start a fire.
Many of Frane’s soldiers are still in the area, and I’m afraid
we’re not up for another battle at the moment.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Well...” I could feel the reluctance in his
body, hear it in his voice.

“We were beaten badly?”

“Frane made only one charge, which cut us up
pretty well, but then she and her troops rode through and away. It
was quite smart, because we were in no shape to follow, especially
with you down.”

“Why didn’t she kill me?”

“Miklos and I fought her off after you fell
from your horse. If her men hadn’t pulled her away I believe she
would have jumped from her own mount and tried to fight through us.
She was screeching like a madwoman.”

“How many did we lose?” Very slowly, I turned
my head to regard my husband, who looked at the ground before
meeting my eyes.