The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (25 page)

They kept up a good pace throughout the day, frequently stopping for short breaks and food as they marshaled their strength against the bitter cold and the steepening gradients. At one point a herd of shaggy-coated bison ambled across their route, stopping to dig through the snow to reach lichen and grass, and watching the soldiers with a vacant curiosity as they chewed. But there was no other sign of life in the frozen lands.

The short day wore on to evening, and as the sun dipped below the horizon the temperatures once again plummeted.
But for Thirrin the extreme discomfort of the cold was almost compensated for by the beauty of the moonrise over the snowfields. Silver light seemed to fall from the sky in a polished drizzle that transformed even the most everyday objects into subtle works of art that amazed the eye. But she wouldn’t allow herself time to look at the splendor all around, and after a brief glance at the reflecting snows that seemed to breathe the light back into the sky, she directed the setting-up of the camp.

That night, clouds started to advance across the sky from the south. Thirrin and Oskan watched from the entrance of the tent as the massive bank of vapor slowly ate up the shimmering field of stars. The leading edge of the cloud bank seemed to tower for miles into the sky, its billowing hills and valleys delicately washed in moonlight.

“I’m sure we won’t think them so beautiful tomorrow when the blizzards hit us,” Thirrin said.

“No. But we should be in sight of the border by the time the first snow falls,” Oskan answered, turning to look at the Wolfrock Mountains, whose jagged peaks rose against the sky like the broken battlements of a gigantic fortress.

“But what then? Do you know exactly how far it is from the border to the Blood Palace? We could freeze to death before we even have the pleasure of setting eyes on Their Vampiric Majesties.”

“That won’t happen.” Oskan’s eyes had become strangely empty-looking, his voice had become deeper, and his words had taken on the timbre of a chant or song as he spoke. “We’ll meet them and, later, something more fantastic, more frightening than even they. An ally, Thirrin, the greatest ally we’ll ever have….”

Thirrin recognized the signs of the Sight on her adviser, and
held her breath as she waited for him to say more. But instead his eyes cleared and he smiled.

“No more, I’m afraid. Just a small glimpse….”

“What did you see? Who is this ally?” she asked eagerly.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone powerful and ferocious, but a loyal friend. Though not a man or a woman….” He shook his head. “I can’t say any more than that. Perhaps the Sight will come back and tell us more.”

But it didn’t happen that night, and by morning the low and heavy cloud cover occupied all of Thirrin’s attention. They plodded along under the iron-gray skies as though they were carrying a huge weight. They were now climbing the foothills of the mountain range that formed the border, and snow-covered boulders like giant sheep were beginning to heave themselves out of the surrounding geography.

But even these signs that they were getting closer to their destination couldn’t distract Thirrin from the lowering sky. The light had an odd, almost brown, tinge to it, and there was a sense of anticipation as though the land were holding its breath. They expected the first wisps of snow at any moment, but none fell, and this added to the rising tension. Suddenly Jenny, Oskan’s mule, let out a huge bray that sounded almost muffled under the deeply gray sky. But she continued the strange, wheezy screech for almost a minute before finally falling silent.

“And what was all that about?” Thirrin asked disapprovingly from the height of her stallion.

“The wind’s coming,” Oskan answered simply.

“Is that all?”

Her counselor looked at her but said nothing. Then, reining in his mule, he dismounted and rummaged in his saddlebags
until he found an extra coat with a deep hood and put it on. After this he unfolded a thick blanket and draped it over Jenny’s back, securing it with ties at the front and back.

Thirrin took the hint and ordered the escort of soldiers to put on any extra clothing they had, and then with Oskan’s help she draped a blanket over her stallion. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The winter winds of the Icemark were legendary, and she’d heard tales since childhood of them freezing birds to branches and beasts to the ground. But despite riding and hunting in the wilds since she could barely walk, she’d never before been this far north, or in the open when they’d struck.

After half an hour or so she was just beginning to wonder if Oskan and his mule could have been wrong when a gentle breath stirred her stallion’s mane and she heard a sound like a distant stormy sea crashing to the shore. She turned in her saddle but could see nothing. The snow was frozen, so no loose powder was being blown around, and in this area of the Icemark there were no trees to wave their branches as the storm rushed by.

But the sound grew closer and closer, rising to a high-pitched howl until, with the suddenness of a slamming door, the wind hit them. If Thirrin had had the breath, she would have gasped in shock. The temperature dropped like a lead weight, and no amount of clothing could keep the wind at bay. She pulled up her hood and hunched down in the saddle. She could almost see the leather of the reins becoming brittle as they continued to ride, and no amount of coaxing could have made her take off her gloves and touch the steel of her armor or sword. She knew that if she did, she would leave fingerprints as thick as her flesh was deep.

The terrible wind continued blowing for the rest of the day. One of the packhorses fell and refused to get up again, so they distributed its load among the others and left it to die. In such extreme conditions there was no room for compassion. It would take only one small addition of hardship and they could all freeze to death. Thirrin dreaded the night. If they failed to reach the border, or lost their way, they would have to set up camp again, and the thought of trying to pitch their tents in that howling storm was the stuff of nightmares.

By this time they were laboring up a fairly well-defined path that wound its way through the steep rocky slopes of the foothills. Ahead of them the Wolfrocks loomed out of the sky like broken teeth, and Thirrin could only pray that they didn’t miss the route to the pass. Here, the snow had been scoured from the rocks, which lay strewn around the terrain in a black and broken tumble that could give no foothold for life of any kind. The entire landscape looked as dead and barren as a desert. It all seemed horribly ominous to Thirrin, and exactly appropriate for a border with a land that was ruled by the undead. But had she seen the area in summer, she would have seen that deep in crevices where the winds couldn’t reach, lizards, mice, and many other creatures slept, awaiting the return of the sun.

Then, as suddenly as a fall of rocks in the mountains, the snows swept down on them, whipped to a biting frenzy by the wind. They were instantly trapped in a white and claustrophobic world where no points of reference applied. There was no north or south, no east or west, and only the pull of gravity let them know which way was up. Thirrin had tried to prepare for this, and they were already roped together so that none would get lost, or at least no more lost than the group as a
whole. But now no precautions or plans were of any use. They were completely blind, each individual wrapped in a swirling cocoon of snow that reduced visibility to virtually nothing. Thirrin couldn’t even see Oskan, who she knew was riding right next to her, and she could hear nothing but the screaming of the wind.

She stopped, and knew by the pull on the rope that everyone else did, too. But now she had no plan to offer: No one could do anything. If they moved forward, they could lose the path; if they stopped still, they would freeze to death, and the blizzard was so wild no one would be able to even find the tents, let alone set them up.

For several minutes they sat and waited, hoping that the snow would stop, but it continued to swirl and lash about them like vicious white silk, its deadly cold drawing away what little warmth their bodies still retained. Thirrin knew that in a very few minutes they could all be dying, and despair engulfed her. She thought of the Icemark ruled by her aunt Elemnestra. She’d named her as heir as a means of healing the rift that had opened up when she, Thirrin, had broken Hypolitan tradition by insisting that men attend the war councils. But she didn’t doubt that if Elemnestra became Queen, she would try to impose the Hypolitan system on the entire land of the Icemark. Thirrin had visions of civil war as the barons and baronesses took up arms against the imposition of such a foreign culture. How Scipio Bellorum would laugh as his armies crushed the little land that was stupid enough to be fighting itself when he invaded.

Thirrin cried aloud in despair, her voice mingling with the howling of the wind that answered and echoed in mockery. This was the sound that a cold and dead throat would produce, she found herself thinking with sudden and remarkable
calm. She listened, almost hearing words and a cruel melody in its noise. But then she thought it took on a different note, somehow …
earthier,
with more living warmth, and she turned her head toward this new sound. It came again, ululating now against the rise and fall of the wind and bursting out to right and left.

Then into her vision burst a huge and hairy face. “This way!” a powerful voice bellowed, and her horse lurched forward. They stumbled on in confusion for several minutes, then the snow seemed to stop and they almost fell into a space that was wide and smoky and filled with light and fire and blessed warmth. Thirrin brushed the snow from her frozen eyelids and looked around. They were in a cave filled with massive hairy creatures who, on seeing her, threw back their heads and howled.

The Wolffolk had found them.

T
he werewolves ate a lot of meat. And they were not fussy about whether it was cooked or raw. But they quickly guessed Thirrin and her party preferred it when it wasn’t actually bleeding, and they soon had huge piles of sizzling hot steaks heaped before them on rough platters made of flat pieces of stone.

They all ate ravenously, the warmth of the cave flowing over them and slowly thawing out frozen fingers and limbs. As soon as she felt the blood pulsing strongly through her veins again, Thirrin climbed to her feet and checked over her escort. Amazingly, none had any permanent damage apart from a few very mild cases of frostbite.

There was an inevitable nervousness among the soldiers; the werewolves may have been allies, but the friendship was very recent, and there was a history of literally centuries of conflict between the two races. But apart from a few wary glances and weapons kept close at hand, the escort conducted itself properly.

Even the horses were in good shape, standing patiently in a corral the Wolffolk had made with branches at the back of the
cave. They were eating a rough fodder made up of dried grasses, nuts, and the same sort of lichen Thirrin had noticed the bison eating earlier in their journey. At first the horses had been very nervous about the werewolves, shying and snorting whenever they came near, but when the Wolffolk spread the fodder on the floor of the corral and then ignored them, they settled down.

Thirrin now allowed herself to look around the cave. It was huge — almost as big as the Great Hall in Frostmarris, except here there were at least eight fires, not just the one that had occupied the very center of the hall. Each of the fires burned on permanent-looking hearths, and they all had troupes of the Wolffolk gathered around them in what Thirrin assumed were extended family groups. But the central hearth was the biggest, and here a particularly large werewolf wearing a silver collar sat surrounded by dozens of others who seemed to be receiving orders or bringing over choice cuts of meat.

This was obviously the center of power in the cave, and taking a deep steadying breath, Thirrin immediately headed for it, collecting Oskan en route. As soon as the huge werewolf noticed her approach, it stood and, incredibly, curtsied.

“Greetings, My Lady Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, Queen of the Icemark. I am Baroness Lishnok Grin-Skull of the Wolfrock Grin-Skulls. Perhaps you have heard of my family?”

Thirrin was still recovering from the sight of seeing this huge creature curtsy, and for one dangerous moment she almost giggled, but she quickly regained control and answered with extreme politeness. “Greetings, Baroness Grin-Skull. My entire party and I owe you our lives, and the House of Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield will forever remember this. The fact that I do not have a deep knowledge of your family is
a fault that is entirely my own, and I can only plead that the hostilities that once existed between our races are to blame. But from this day forth, the House of Grin-Skull shall be known throughout the Icemark.”

The Baroness simpered at this courtly reply and, extending a hugely clawed paw, she invited Thirrin to sit beside her. Thirrin gladly accepted another helping of cooked meat from the werewolf’s own plate and, making room for Oskan beside her, they began to practice their skills of diplomacy.