The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (3 page)

But any hope of that seemed a very long way off, and in the meantime he settled to the task of trying to regain her attention. “I think we’ll postpone our lesson on the primary income source of the Southern Continent and concentrate instead on the topography of famous battle sites.”

Thirrin grunted and nodded her head, her mood slightly improved, and surprised herself by actually enjoying the lesson.

T
hat evening, Redrought held one of his State banquets. All of the barons and baronesses could expect to be called to the capital of Frostmarris to eat with the King at least three times a year. Eating and drinking were actually less important than the real business of keeping a close watch on any of the aristocrats who might become overambitious. But despite this cautious approach to his noblemen and -women, Redrought was a very popular king. He wasn’t too overbearing, and more important he was a proven general. Not only had he defeated the Vampire King and Queen of The-Land-of-the-Ghosts but he’d also beaten off many pirate raids along the shores of the Icemark.

In fact, that night’s feast was officially a celebration of the victory he’d won over one of the greatest threats the country had faced in more than a decade. Exactly one year ago to the day, Redrought had led his army to the field of Sea Haven, where a battle had been fought against the combined forces of the Southern Corsairs and the Island Buccaneers. Their fleet had been more than two hundred ships strong, and they’d landed an army of twenty thousand troops. But after a bloody
struggle that had lasted an entire day, the enemy had eventually been driven into the sea and their ships set alight by Redrought’s victorious housecarls.

And now the King’s Great Hall was loud with celebration as those same soldiers ate and drank at the lower tables and told one another how brilliant they’d been on the field of Sea Haven. The minstrels’ gallery that occupied the entire southern wall was packed with the city’s best musicians, who played an unending medley of drinking songs and marching tunes. And between the long rows of tables, acrobats tumbled and threw one another around in an odd mixture of clowning and skill.

As Thirrin watched from her place at the High Table, the Great Hall heaved and swirled like a stormy sea. But her view of fine details was limited by the thick haze of smoke that rose from the fire blazing on the central hearth. Even the huge banners of the housecarl regiments that were suspended from each of the roof beams glowed only dimly through the drifting tendrils of smoke that would eventually meander out of vents high in the ceiling. A dancing bear loomed through the haze halfway down the rows of tables so that, to Thirrin, it looked like a miniature mountain with a clumsy sense of rhythm. And every now and then, one of the acrobats would dive skyward, like a dolphin leaping out of a black smoky sea.

She eventually turned her attention back to the High Table and listened as her father chatted, or rather shouted, good-naturedly with one of his barons. She always sat next to the King at the State banquets. It was good for the lords and ladies of the Icemark to get to know the heir apparent, and because she knew how important this was, Thirrin tried her best to rise to the occasion. She made every effort to crush her natural shyness beneath an exterior that was charming and at the same
time intelligent. She tried to laugh in all the right places and to speak only when she was totally sure what she was talking about, but she wasn’t at all sure whether she succeeded.

Baroness Aethelflaeda, an old woman with long braids and small twinkling eyes, leaned across the table toward her. “I hear the Princess met a wolfman recently,” she said, kindly giving Thirrin a chance to join the conversation.

“Yes, only this morning. I wounded it in the shoulder and eventually it ran off.”

The Baroness turned to the King. “I think The-Land-of-the-Ghosts may need to be watched, Redrought.”

The King shrugged and nodded to show he agreed but thought the problem wasn’t too great. “Yes, yes, I suppose. But none of the watchers on the border have reported anything wrong.”

He absentmindedly twirled one of his special feast-day braids around his finger as he considered the situation. “I’ll strengthen the border garrisons and send out more spies,” he said after a moment. “That should be enough for the time being.”

“As long as you don’t weaken the southern defenses to do it,” the old Baroness said. “I trust the Polypontus and its Empire about as much as I do the Vampire King and Queen. I suspect General Scipio Bellorum has an ambition to add the Icemark to his conquests.”

Redrought laughed. “You worry too much, Aethelflaeda! Bellorum has an ambition to add everybody to his conquests, and at the moment he’s busy in the south. So stop fretting and have a drink.”

“I think the Baroness is right,” Thirrin said quietly, her mind occupied with a problem she’d been mulling over for some
time. “If we watch one border too closely, we put the others at risk. We need more allies.”

The King nodded. “Very true. But we’re isolated up here in our northern lands. To the south is the Empire of the Polypontus and to the north of us we have The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. We’re not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?”

“No, but sometimes friends can be found in the unlikeliest of places,” said Thirrin, her mind inexplicably drawn back to the wolfman and how it had looked at her before it finally let her go.

The King winked at his daughter and smiled. “You’re right. Perhaps we should start looking as soon as we can.” Then he sat back in his seat, stretched luxuriously, and rested his feet on the table. Thirrin watched in amusement as he maneuvered his large fluffy slippers among the plates and cups of the banquet until he found enough space to cross them comfortably. Earlier, when the King’s chamberlain had objected to his footwear, he’d argued that his fluffy yellow slippers were far more comfortable on his corns than the polished boots of the state regalia. And the set of his jaw had warned the chamberlain to say no more.

After the King had settled himself, he reached inside the stiffly embroidered collar of his robes and gently drew out Primplepuss, the royal kitten, and placed her on his heroically curving stomach.

“Grimswald!” he bellowed. “Grimswald, where are you?!”

The Chamberlain-of-the-Royal-Paraphernalia appeared at the King’s elbow, and Thirrin found herself wondering if he’d been hiding under the table. “Yes, Sire?” said the wrinkly little man.

“Fetch some milk for Primplepuss. She’s thirsty, aren’t you, my sweeting?” he said, gently rubbing her cheek and telling
everyone around him that she was purring even though a saber-toothed tiger couldn’t have been heard over the noise of the banquet.

When the kitten started to play with Redrought’s braided beard, Thirrin knew there’d be no chance of getting any sense out of her father for the rest of the evening, so she decided to join the housecarls down in the lower hall.

She leaped off the royal dais and made her way toward the sound of throwing axes being hurled at a target, arriving just as one of them split the apple that had been placed in the center of the bull’s-eye. The massive blast of cheering almost knocked her off her feet, but she waded through the press of huge sweating men and women and demanded a turn. Shy she may have been in polite company and when facing the demands of well-mannered conversation, but Thirrin had no such fears among fellow warriors. Here she didn’t have to be polite or careful of her language; in fact, the housecarls usually spent the first few minutes apologizing for their own lack of manners. But once they got into the swing of things, all of that was forgotten and she was treated almost like the other young warriors, although her status was always carefully acknowledged.

A great shout went up: “The Princess is going to throw!” One of the warriors respectfully placed one of the smaller throwing axes in her hand.

“Give me something of a proper size,” she demanded indignantly, and nodded as a full-sized battle-ax was passed to her.

By this time the apple had been replaced on the target, and with a huge effort she hefted the ax, took aim, drew back, and hurled with such force she fell to her knees. When she dared to look at the target, she saw the apple neatly split in two
at the foot of the thick throwing board. Laughing in relief, she accepted the cheers of the housecarls and allowed herself to be chaired around the tables.

From high up on their shoulders, Thirrin could see through the swirling tendrils of smoke down the length of the Great Hall. Some instinct drew her eyes to the huge doors just as they burst open and a blast of cooler air flooded in, cutting through the thick bank of smoke like a hot coal through snow. The hall fell silent, and Thirrin breathed deep as the blast of clean air reached her. The smoke had now been almost completely blown away, and she had a clear view of soldiers marching through the doorway, dragging a huge shaggy figure between them.

The troopers were wearing the uniform of the palace guard, and their business was obviously important, so some of the housecarls hurried to drag the trestle tables aside. Soon a wide aisle leading directly to the royal dais had been cleared, and the strange group began to march forward.

“Put me down,” Thirrin ordered. The men who’d been carrying the Princess on their shoulders placed her on the floor, and she cut through the crowds to reach the upper table as the soldiers arrived. It was then that she saw exactly what they were dragging between them. It was the werewolf. Its wrists were tied with thick ropes to a pole that lay across its shoulders, and it was surrounded by a ring of sharp steel as each guard leveled his spear and stood ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

The guards saluted the King. “My Lord, we bring the intruder from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts for sentence.”

After a fraught few seconds trying to disentangle a terrified Primplepuss from his beard, Redrought’s reply was curt and gruff. “You should have killed it in the field! Waste of effort
bringing it here.” He stroked Primplepuss gently in an attempt to calm her. “And you’ll get blood all over the floor!”

Thirrin approached her father. “I claim the right of sentence!” she shouted, her voice echoing around the hall.

The werewolf turned to look at her, its huge face beginning to lose its ferocious frown as if scenting some distant hope but not daring to believe it.

The silence that followed was finally broken by the King. “You! Why?” he demanded, still grumpy after Primplepuss’s fright.

“Because I first drew its blood. Its life by ancient law is mine.”

Redrought considered for a moment, then said, “You’re right. How do you want it killed?”

Thirrin smiled in gratitude at her father and, as usual, he relented and smiled back. “I don’t want it killed. I want to escort it to the border and set it free,” she said carefully, still smiling through the uproar of protest.

“What?” the King roared in his best outraged-monarch voice. “It’s a monster, a freak from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. The world will be a better place without it. Just string it up and slice it open and then let’s get on with the party.”

Thirrin waited for the cheer that followed this to die down before kneeling in supplication. “My Lord Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Guardian of the People, grant your daughter, your only child and heir to the Icemark throne, this boon and favor. I would lead the escort to the border and there release the creature to live and tell of this night’s doings.”

Her father’s eyes had narrowed warily as soon as Thirrin had adopted the ceremonial language of the court. She was sometimes too much like her mother, who’d been as clever as a
sack of monkeys. But still, he’d loved his wife and she’d never used her intelligence to bad purpose.

“If I’m to grant you this favor, I must first know why you want the werewolf to live,” he said at last, in a voice that was quiet for him.

“Because of what we were speaking about earlier. You know that not even the shield-walls of all your housecarls nor the thundering hooves of all your cavalry will be enough to keep out our enemies if they all decide to attack at once. Even if Scipio Bellorum and the Polypontian Empire attacked alone with none of our other enemies in support, we could never hold them. You yourself have said that the Imperial armies are unstoppable. Put simply,
we need allies.”

“Ha, and you think the Wolffolk would make good friends?”

“Yes.”

“And one mangy werewolf will bring about an alliance?”

“Look at his neck, Father. He wears the brass collar of a wolfman chief; he’s no ordinary werewolf.”

Suddenly a deep growling voice cut in: “I wear the gold collar of the Wolffolk
King.
Don’t underestimate your prisoner!”

A shocked silence followed. Few people knew the wolf-people could speak, let alone use words with intelligence and pride.

Redrought looked at the prisoner. “Then you’re an ideal hostage for peace.”

“No, Father! The wolfman is mine!”

“My daughter wants to set you free. Would you promise to be an ally of the Icemark if she gets her way?”