The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (17 page)

“All dead, sir! They’re all dead!” the scouts called as they thundered back to the regiment. They halted wild-eyed before him in a flurry of loose stones and rearing horses.

“Report clearly!” Cassius Brontus ordered sharply. “Who are dead? How many and where?”

“The entire invasion force, sir. Half a mile farther on.”

The shock of their words left him numb. An entire Polypontian army wiped out? Impossible! “You’re wrong! There may be some soldiers of the Polypontus mixed with the fallen, but you must have seen the remains of the Icemark’s army.”

“Yes, sir. They’re there, too. We saw their battle standard fallen with ours.”

“Our battle standard fallen!”

“Yes, sir. It’s held by the corpse of a giant red-bearded man in fine armor. Our standard-bearer lies dead beneath him.”

In the silence of his shock the young officer reached the obvious conclusion. The two armies had wiped each other out, and the description of the giant red-bearded warrior fit that of Redrought, King of the Icemark.

Recovering quickly, he sent two messengers with news of the disaster back through the pass and then ordered his troops to advance in battle formation. His agile mind was working quickly. The Icemark had probably risked all on wiping out the invading army and most likely would have nothing left to defend the land. It was wide open for the taking, and if he acted quickly enough, the name of Cassius Brontus would live forever in the Empire of the Polypontus. For one thing, he knew the heir to the throne of this little land was a mere girl of thirteen or fourteen. Who was protecting her now? A few of
their barbaric
housecarls?
An assorted ragbag of half-trained soldiers of the
fyrd?
He had an entire regiment of battle-hardened and disciplined cavalry troopers with him. If he seized the moment now, he could ride for the palace and capture the girl. A puppet monarch set on the throne of a client kingdom by a mere cohort of the invading army. He’d be made for life! Promotion, perhaps his own army. And in later years maybe even a seat on the Senate.

He ordered the pace up to a canter, the rattle of the horses’ hooves echoing in the narrow canyon through which the road now wound. Then the rocky walls fell away, and the highway burst onto a wide plateau, stark under the brilliant winter sunshine. Spontaneously the troopers reined to a halt. Before them lay a sight none of them had ever seen before: a defeated and destroyed army of the Polypontus scattered over the land like the fallen trees of a blasted forest. Even though they’d been warned by the scouts’ reports, it was still a terrible shock. No armed force of their country had been defeated for more than three hundred years, and yet here lay an entire invasion force completely smashed.

Cassius Brontus recovered first. He had a plan to fulfill and his driving ambition gave him the impetus he needed. He gave orders to secure the area and sent back more messengers for supplies and the sturdiest tents the quartermasters had. Obviously no cities had been taken yet, and if the Polypontus were to maintain the small toehold they had in this land, they’d need to be prepared to ride out the coldest and longest winter any of them had ever experienced.

His troops rode out in companies, looking for survivors and establishing their control of the site. He was just about to send scouts north along the highway in case the Icemark had
another surprise for them and a second army was on the march when he suddenly noticed a group of five or six figures running from a line of hills toward the part of the battlefield where the bodies lay thickest. At first he thought they were human, but then he wasn’t so sure. They were running on two legs certainly, but even from this distance they looked huge, and either they were wearing furs of some sort or
they
were furry! A company of cavalry spotted them, and as Cassius Brontus watched, they wheeled around with superb discipline and galloped toward the figures. The five running shapes then stopped and turned to face the charge. A volley of pistol shots rang out, and then a strange howling roar rose up into the air. Horses reared and screamed and cavalry sabers flashed in the brilliant sunshine as a fierce skirmish followed. But it didn’t last long. Before anyone else could react, ten horses were bolting riderless across the rocky plain.

With lightning speed the figures then ran to where the fallen battle standards lay and, tearing them from their staffs, they rolled them into balls and stuffed them into a crude sack they had with them. Cassius Brontus sat quietly watching. He was the sort of commander who was quite prepared to “blow with the winds of chance,” as the saying went, and having lost ten troopers already, he wasn’t prepared to risk the lives of any more. The hairy figures picked up two of the dead from among the hideous tangle and ran off at an amazing speed toward the hills they’d first come from. Several of the cavalry companies scattered around the field gave chase, but their commander waved up one of the buglers and ordered him to sound the recall. The strict discipline of the Polypontian forces immediately asserted itself, and all of the companies turned around and galloped back toward him.

“Commander, those
things
have taken our invading army’s standard!” called the officer in charge of one of the companies as he rode up.

“Indeed. And what use would we have for the disgraced flag of a defeated army? Perhaps you thought we could clean our boots on it before tomorrow morning’s parade?”

“Well, no, but …”

“But?” his commander inquired mildly. “It’s a standard of the Polypontus.”

“It’s a desecrated rag. Call in your troopers and wait for orders!”

By this time the strange figures had reached the line of distant hills and disappeared from view. Cassius Brontus was more than happy to see them go. He’d heard strange tales about the monsters that plagued the land of the Icemark, and he was beginning to think he’d just had firsthand experience of some of them. Judging by what they’d done to some of his cavalry, he was relieved they were unlikely to have either the brains or the discipline to make an effective fighting force. And what exactly they planned to do with the bodies they’d taken from the field he shuddered to think.

T
his was the fourth night the refugees had spent in the forest. They were camped on the main road with baggage wagons drawn up as a wall to the south and to the north of the site, and watch fires had been set at regular intervals under the trees. At first the people had adapted quite well to the conditions, and after the ceremony Oskan had carried out in which the soldiers of the Oak King had appeared, the terror of the forest had been replaced by a simple fear. But now, after living through the deep blackness of the forest’s night, a growing dread was once more threatening to get out of hand at any time.

Thirrin had hoped to boost morale by making a great display of deploying the few soldiers she had in full battle gear along the makeshift defensive walls of the wagons and around the watch fires. But the two hundred troops only looked stretched beyond their capacity once they’d been stationed along the nearly half-mile length of the encampment.

“What can I do, Maggie?” she asked Maggiore Totus as they sat around their fire close to the southern wagon wall. Primplepuss was sitting comfortably on Thirrin’s knee,
basking in the warm glow and daintily accepting small morsels of chicken that the Princess held out to her. “The people are happier than they were, but at the first wolf howl they could become a screaming mob of terrified berserkers.”

“There’s nothing you can do, really. Just get us through this forest as quickly as possible,” the neat little man replied. “Sometimes even the greatest leader has to accept the limitations of a situation and just hope for the best.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” she snapped unreasonably. “Can’t you suggest some magical solution?”

“Not my field, I’m afraid. Perhaps you should ask Oskan.”

They both turned to look at the witch’s son, who was sitting and staring silently into the impenetrable black of the forest beyond the encampment.

Thirrin nudged him with her toe. “Well? What do you suggest?”

Oskan turned large unseeing eyes on her, then he blinked, and vision seemed to rekindle in his dilated pupils. “Sorry. Did you speak?”

“Yes!” Thirrin answered irritably. “What can we do to improve the people’s morale? They’re still afraid of the forest, and there’s at least two more days of traveling before we reach its northern border. Maggie thought you might be able to use magic in some way.”

“I said no such thing!” Maggiore protested, but Oskan only shrugged.

“I’ve told you before, I don’t know what you mean by magic. My mother had some Knowledge, but I’m not her. Besides, the people have nothing to fear from the forest. It’s the cavalry they should be afraid of.”

“Cavalry? What cavalry?” Thirrin barked, causing Primplepuss to look at her questioningly.

“Coming from the south. There’s no danger yet. They’re at least a day’s ride away.”

“How do you know? What cavalry? Polypontian?”

“Yes, Polypontian. How do I know?” He shrugged again. “I do, that’s all.”

“Then my father’s dead and the army wiped out?”

“I can only see the approaching cavalry. I don’t know about anything else. I’m sorry.”

Thirrin sat in silence for a few seconds, allowing herself to be the worried daughter of a soldier who was away fighting a war. Then she sat up and squared her shoulders as she took up the responsibility of her kingdom again. “Maggie, do you believe this? Could Oskan be right?”

“My Lady, since being in this strange northern land, I’ve learned that the truly rational individual keeps an open mind at all times. After all, I’ve seen legends walk in daylight and heard a wolfman bring news of invasion, so a simple case of clairvoyance warning of pursuing cavalry is easily believed. At the very least we should prepare for all possibilities and take what precautions we can. Dispatch a fast rider to the Hypolitan and ask them to send help as soon as they can, and position the few soldiers we have as a rear guard while the people move on as quickly as they can.”

“Oskan, should we move tonight?” Thirrin asked, leaning forward and staring earnestly into his face as though she were trying to communicate with someone barely conscious.

“No,” he answered in surprisingly relaxed tones. “The cavalry commander is driven by a huge ambition, but he knows the value of resting his troops, and the trail he’s following is so obvious he knows he can’t lose us. Basically he thinks we’re fools, and expects to capture the ‘Little Princess’ in a day or so.”

Thirrin was livid. “‘Little Princess’! He’s hunting the Wildcat
of the North, and her teeth and claws are ready for his throat! “ She leaped to her feet, depositing Primplepuss in an untidy heap on the ground, and strode around for a minute before sitting down again and muttering to herself. “How can you hide the trail of a city’s entire population? It’s impossible! I’d like to see him do better.”

“The opinion of a moron has no value, Madam,” said Maggiore. “In the meantime I suggest we keep this … possibility of a pursuit from the people. As you pointed out earlier, it would take very little to cause a panic.”

Cassius Brontus led his cavalry through the main gate of Frostmarris. He’d ridden ahead to the city with his regiment of horses and an extra five hundred that had arrived in the Icemark soon after they’d received news of their invading army’s destruction. He’d then stormed along the main highway, meeting no opposition, and had reached the capital city within two days.

At first they’d approached the towering walls with caution, but it had soon become obvious that his scout’s reports were correct and the city had been abandoned. Even so, he entered the main gates with great care, all the troopers riding with pistols in hand and sabers drawn, expecting some trickery. But the city was deserted. The bitterly cold wind muttered eerily through the empty streets and here and there a door banged, the sound echoing over the intense stillness of the settlement. To the young officer’s heightened imagination, every window watched them as they rode along the resonant streets and every alleyway hid an army of shadow-people. It was almost as though the ghosts of Frostmarris had come to resist their invasion. The wind carried a tangled whispering and, once, he was
almost certain he heard a thin evil snickering. But whenever he looked toward the sounds, they stopped and there was nothing to be seen.

Soon the horses began to shy and blow nervously, and when one of them reared, almost throwing its rider, he was nearly convinced he saw a ragged shadow scuttling back down an alleyway. But Cassius Brontus was the product of the best education available in the colleges and training camps of the Polypontus. He was steeped in science and the belief in a rational universe. If a thing couldn’t be counted, studied under a microscope, or dissected on a marble slab, he
knew
it didn’t exist. Remembering this, he relegated all of his fears to mere imagination and they swiftly ebbed away. He suddenly laughed as the road ahead straightened out and he could see it climbing steadily toward the open gate of the citadel. The city was his! He raised the pace to a swift trot.