The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (13 page)

“Cannons!” said Thirrin. “How many?”

“Two hundred.”

“One hundred thousand troops and two hundred cannons!” Redrought gasped. “The Lady Theowin and her housecarls will never hold them.” He suddenly stood up and called the names of his commanders, and figures began hurrying from all points of the hall. “Cerdic, Gunlath, Eobold, Aethelstan. Call in your cavalry and send out riders to the outlying towns. The muster is brought forward. We ride in two hours!”

“But, My Lord!” Commander Aethelstan protested. “How can we be certain this isn’t some trick of the Vampire King and Queen? How can we be sure they’re not drawing our best troops to the south so they can attack from the north?”

“Because King Grishmak is my ally!” Thirrin cried. “And because Oskan Witch’s Son heard and translated the messages of the Wolffolk last night. They couldn’t have known we would understand their howling.”

“So that’s how you knew,” said the werewolf. “Where is this human who knows our tongue?”

“The son of a witch could easily be an ally of The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. How do we know he’s not part of a conspiracy?” Aethelstan persisted.

Thirrin’s blue eyes blazed with a hating rage, but before she could speak, a huge shout from the rear of the hall drew all eyes to a travel-stained soldier being escorted to the dais by two Palace Guards. He stopped in front of the King, saluted, and laid an arrow on the table.

“My Lord, I’m from the Southern Riding, sent with the Arrow of Calling by the Lady Theowin. The Polypontus has invaded, and our housecarls are heavily outnumbered.”

Redrought gave a bark of laughter. “There, I think, is your answer, Aethelstan. All fears are brushed aside. Now waste no more time, and muster your troops!”

“But what of the numbers of this invading army, My Lord? One hundred thousand must be wrong. How can we expect creatures like this to count accurately?” Aethelstan asked stubbornly.

The King’s color deepened and his voice rumbled dangerously as he spoke. “I assume you’ll accept the report of this soldier?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the messenger. “Well?”

“My Lord, the army of the Polypontus is huge. They have fifty thousand pikemen, thirty thousand musketeers, and twenty thousand cavalry troopers. In addition, they have two hundred cannons. The fyrd and housecarls of the Southern Riding are outnumbered ten to one.”

Redrought turned a bloodshot eye on Aethelstan. “I think, Commander, that answers every single one of your doubts. Somehow I think the armies of the Polypontus are the least of your worries. You’ve earned the disapproval of the Princess Thirrin. You’d better make yourself scarce and muster your force!”

The King now drew his sword and clambered onto the table. “Foes are in the land of the Icemark!” he roared in his loudest war voice. “They kill our people and threaten our cities, they burn our farms and make slaves of our children. Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

The Palace Guard began to beat spear on shield, and a slow chant began in a relentless rhythm that swelled and grew to a
crashing noise that beat against the roof of the hall. “OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!”

Everyone in the Great Hall took it up, beating the tables with fist, plate, and knife and stamping the floor so that it sounded as though a great army of giants was marching out to crush the puny soldiers of the Polypontus. “OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!”

And in all that enormous excitement of fighting spirit, only Oskan noticed that the terrible warlike figure of Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Drinker of Blood, was still wearing his fluffy slippers and that Primplepuss the kitten was peeping out of his shirt collar to see what all the noise was about.

T
hirrin was bitterly disappointed. Her Yule present from Redrought, a new cavalry saddle, lay where she’d dumped it in the corner of her room, and she’d managed to put a dent in her shield-boss when she’d smashed it in a temper against the wall. The King was going to war without her! She was fuming. At first she’d thought it the worst possible humiliation, but after the first moments of rage and disappointment had passed, she’d had time to think, and slowly her attitude had changed. Redrought might not be taking her to fight the great army of the Polypontus, but before the entire assembly of the royal household he’d proclaimed her his Regent and given her the Great Ring of State. The Power of Rule was now hers in the King’s absence, and not only that but he’d given her a battle name. She was now officially to be known as Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North.

Wildcat of the North
— she liked it. She liked it very much. She looked at herself in the mirror that had been imported from the Southern Continent and smiled. But she didn’t have long to enjoy the moment. There were things to do. The King
would be riding with his cavalry in less than an hour and the city had to be evacuated.

A hasty council of war had decided that since the roads were clear of snow, any victorious enemy would be able to sweep north into Frostmarris and capture it and its citizens before any defense could be mustered by the small garrison that would be left behind. Far better for the people of Frostmarris to retreat to the north and seek refuge in the province held by the Hypolitan. This was a separate people of fierce warriors who also lived within the borders of the Icemark and owed fealty to the King. Thirrin’s mother had been a member of their aristocracy and her marriage to King Redrought had strengthened the already close bonds between the two races.

From their province a counterattack could be mounted in the spring. The snows might be late, but they would eventually come, and then not even the mighty armies of the Polypontus would be able to move. Plenty of time over the long months of the winter to make plans for war.

As Thirrin ran over this in her mind, she was arming herself in her best panoply: mail-shirt, helmet, shield, heavy cavalry saber, and short-hafted battle-ax. Its comforting weight and familiarity steadied her nerves and gave her an added sense of purpose, not that she needed much help. She’d already sent out her first commands to the chief burghers of the city to begin the evacuation of Frostmarris. All of the wagons and horses would be waiting at designated muster points, and the citizens would be gathering with the few possessions they’d be allowed to take with them. Redrought had long ago drawn up his war plans, and they’d been practiced time and again by army and citizen. The only difference this time was that it was for real. One of the few advantages of being a small country
with many enemies in a dangerous world was the people’s readiness to face trouble without much complaint.

Thirrin buckled her belt, fastened the last strap, and strode to the door. She was just turning the handle when an obvious and devastating thought struck her. All of the plans and evacuations assumed Redrought would be defeated and killed! She stood with her head resting against the woodwork of the door as the realization sank in. She was making plans for her dad’s death.

Redrought: the huge man with the voice like a storm in the mountains, with a laugh like a rockslide, and with an almost childish sense of fun. Whenever she thought of him as King, she remembered his victories in battle and his ability to run a country. But as Dad, he was the man who’d brought her up, who’d played mountain bears with her as a little girl, chasing her along the corridors of the palace, roaring hugely, and pretending to eat her when he scooped her off her feet. As Dad, he was the man who loved cats and complained of his corns and had a collection of ridiculous fluffy slippers. What would she do if he were killed in battle?

For a moment panic threatened to swallow her up, but then she squared her shoulders and threw back her head. What would she do? She’d be a worthy daughter by avenging his death and leading her people with bravery and style. She was Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, and if her father were killed in battle, he would have earned his rightful place in Valhalla and could rest happy in the knowledge of her strength.

She pushed open the door and strode into the corridor. The palace was seething like a kicked ants’ nest. Servants hurried backward and forward, soldiers rushed around on lastminute errands, while wolfhounds bayed and howled as they caught
the mood. Most of the Yule guests had left already, scattering to their homes to prepare for the emergency. Thirrin was looking for Maggiore and Oskan. Her first act as Regent had been to set the evacuation plan of the city in progress and her second had been to appoint her now ex-tutor and the witch’s son as her official advisers.

Oskan had seemed confused when the King had nodded his agreement to their appointment and when the housecarls of the palace guard had roared their approval, he’d flinched as though they were going to hit him. Despite the emergency of the moment, Thirrin grinned. She knew there was more to the Witch’s Son than met the eye: something unusual, probably
magical,
though exactly what form it might take she just wasn’t sure yet. But whatever it turned out to be, she was determined to make good use of it.

She arrived in her father’s quarters to find the King sitting comfortably in his chair while Grimswald scurried around opening chests and snapping at the servants. Oskan and Maggiore stood nearby, the older man sipping from a fine glass of cut crystal while the witch’s son chewed his nails. As she strode forward, Thirrin slapped Oskan’s hands down from his mouth, and he shamefacedly put them behind his back.

“Ah, Thirrin, good. The muster’s almost complete, so we’ve got ten minutes or so to finalize things,” Redrought boomed happily.

“Finalize things?”

“Yes. I’m leaving Primplepuss with you,” he said, stroking the little cat fondly. “Make sure she’s fed properly and fuss over her, otherwise she’ll fret.”

“Yes, Dad,” Thirrin replied, feeling that such a momentous time in the history of the country needed to be marked by
something more significant than feeding instructions for the royal kitten.

“Oh, and I’m also leaving Grimswald with you.”

A sudden clatter as the old chamberlain dropped a piece of the King’s armor clearly showed he hadn’t been told about this.

“But, My Lord, I’ve always accompanied you on campaign! Who else will attend to your needs? Who else knows exactly how you like your bedchamber set out?”

“No one, Grimmy,” the King said kindly. “But I’m moving fast and your old mule will never keep up.”

“Even so, the King has a dignity and a sense of estate to maintain,” the old chamberlain insisted. “I could follow at my own pace and rendezvous with you later, after the battle.”

Redrought fell unusually silent, then said carefully, “I probably won’t need your services after the battle, Grimmy.”

In the quiet that followed this, Thirrin’s eyes filled with tears and Grimswald began to weep, blowing his nose noisily and looking at the King like a small child watching a parent unexpectedly leaving forever.

“Besides,” Redrought boomed at something like his usual level, “you’re too old. If you were a horse, I’d have put you out to pasture years ago … or eaten you.”

The old chamberlain smiled at that, as the King had intended him to. “Now, make sure all of the maps and charts are packed. I think some were left in the council chamber.”

Grimswald bowed, then almost shyly he took the King’s hand and held it for a moment. Then, blushing at breaking the rules of etiquette, he scurried off on his errand. Redrought turned to his daughter. “Keep him by you, Thirrin. There’s no one better at organizing a palace, and State occasions are his speciality. You never know, there may be a time again when the Queen of the Icemark will need his knowledge of precedence
and procedure. Besides, thirty years of service shouldn’t end on a battlefield.”

“I’ll make sure he’s all right, Dad,” Thirrin answered quietly.

“Good,” Redrought said with a note of finality. Then he added, “The Icemark will be yours soon, Thirrin. You’ve been groomed and trained for this, so you know what you’re doing.”

“Yes, Dad,” Thirrin whispered, unable to trust her voice.

“With no snows blocking the roads I’m going to have to break this invasion force, if I can. Otherwise the whole of the country’s going to be wide open and no one will be ready enough to try to stop them. But if I do manage to destroy them, there’ll be nothing left of our army. And then you’ll need all the help you can get, because the Polypontus will send another force. Old Scipio Bellorum won’t give up that easily. Once the snows have come, you’ll be safe for the rest of the winter and you can get ready for the spring offensive. You’ve made allies of the Wolffolk; perhaps there are others who’ll help.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure. … To the north, beyond The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. There are rumors of a people of some sort. But I don’t know. Find out. There are friends to be had with the unlikeliest faces.”

“And the Vampire King and Queen?”

“Well, they have the unlikeliest faces of all. But if anyone can make allies of them, you can. You’re different. Perhaps it’s your mother in you; you get more and more like her every day. When you smile, I see her again, my brave young shield-maiden of the Hypolitan.” He smiled at her sadly.