The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (54 page)

Meanwhile, all along the line, the fyrd soldiers fought as well as the housecarls, but they lacked the experience and stamina of the professional soldiers and gradually their shield-wall began to buckle under the enormous pressure of the enemy’s numbers. Thirrin sent as many housecarls as could be spared to shore up their line, but soon her own position was too hard pressed to send any more help, and the line buckled further.

Bellorum watched as much as he could through his monoculum, but the light provided by the torches was only fitful and everything was a seething mass of confusion. He lowered his spyglass in exasperation and turned to look at the horizon, where the full moon would rise. Sure enough, a faint glow was
strengthening, and as he watched, a sliver of brilliant light rose into the sky. He smiled faintly; now his troops would be able to see exactly who they were slaughtering.

Slowly the brilliant disc sailed into the field of stars. It was so bright that Bellorum could easily read the hands on his chronometer as he checked the time to mark the moment for posterity in his memory. He turned back to watch the plain and saw the shadows withdrawing before the power of the subtle light. Soon the battlefield was almost as light as day, and he raised his eyeglass to watch his army forcing its way over the defenses.

As he followed the action, he clearly saw the barbarian Queen raising the rag of a banner she’d unfurled at the head of her cavalry, and he heard her high-pitched voice rising fiercely over the noise of battle, encouraging her troops.

“Too late, dear child. I do believe your shield-wall is broken,” he said with quiet glee.

“To me! To me!”
Thirrin called to her troops, unfurling the battle banner of the cavalry, and watching helplessly as the Hypolitan and regiments of housecarls were cut off by a seething mass of the enemy as the fyrd line finally broke. Tharaman-Thar stood up on his hind legs, towering over the battle, and roared into the sky.

“Quickly, Thirrin, climb on my back. We must bring them in!” he shouted.

Without hesitating she leaped onto his shoulders and called out the war cry as the giant leopard crashed down into the enemy lines. With her charged her human troopers, who’d followed her example and leaped onto the backs of their leopard comrades. With her, too, came the white werewolves, fero
cious as they smashed into the Imperial soldiers. Thirrin and her cavalry sliced through the enemy, cutting them down with saber and claw, driving toward the Hypolitan and housecarls. Soon they reached the beleaguered soldiers and, fighting alongside them, they fought their way back to the highest point of the defenses, forming a shield-wall facing outward in all directions. The enemy surrounded them, and they were completely cut off from the city. The tiny garrison left holding the walls closed the gates and prepared to defend Frostmarris to the last.

Down on what was left of the defenses, the new Basilea and Olememnon barked orders at their soldiers and the housecarls, shoring up the shield-wall, while Thirrin and her troopers took up their position around their banner.

“Here we stand and die, Tharaman,” said Thirrin.

“Here we stand. But let’s see what the fates will send us. I won’t say we die yet.”

An eerie silence fell over the battlefield, and the defenders watched in amazement as the enemy drew back and stood watching them. The army of the Empire stretched as far as the eye could see under the silver-gray light of the moon, and for a moment they looked like ghosts, insubstantial and impotent, as though the merest breath of wind could blow them away. But then the illusion was shattered as they began to chant. The sound was raw and stirring, swelling and rolling over the plain as first one regiment and then another took up the refrain.

“What are they doing?” Thirrin asked, puzzled.

“I do believe they’re singing your praises,” Tharaman said. “Yes, if you listen carefully, you can occasionally hear your name among all the other foreign words.”

“Well, how nice,” she said sarcastically, but deep within herself she secretly found the salute oddly moving. “Does that mean they’ll go away now and leave us in peace?”

The Thar laughed bitterly. “Somehow I doubt it.”

The chanting stopped suddenly, and then a low drumming began as the massive army beat spear, sword, and ax on shield. Steadily the sound rose into a thunderous crescendo before dying away to silence. Orders then rang out from the officers of each of the many regiments, and the soldiers parted ranks, making a corridor down which a dark mass of soldiers could be seen moving. They carried no torches and their armor and uniforms were entirely black. As they marched, they unfurled banners of black cloth that had no insignia or marking of any sort on them. This was the elite Black Army of Bellorum’s invasion force. They carried the name of “The Undefeated and Invincible,” and none stood in their way.

“Here we go, then, Tharaman,” Thirrin said quietly. Then, raising her voice to battle pitch, she shouted, “Prepare to receive unwelcome guests!”

Deep, deep in the dark, a small suggestion of self began to form. A broken grain, a shard of personality that placed itself with certainty within his head. He rose toward it, toward the thing that was himself, and as he approached, it expanded, filling more of the space he’d left empty. Soon, he filled the entire dome of his skull and then spread down into the rest of his body and beyond, via his senses, into his surroundings.

The name
Oskan
occurred to him and it seemed to fit, so he quickly grasped it and made it his own. This was the key, he somehow knew, to memory. But before he could use it, something else plucked and worried at the edge of his newly found mind.
“They’re here!”
it said.

Who are here?
he wondered. Then, realizing he couldn’t know without his memory, he allowed it to return, and it flooded through him in a tumble and jar of childhood, adolescence, mother, Thirrin, war, and pain! Terrible pain!

He screamed and sat up, expecting charred flesh and finding instead smoothness and wholeness. Then with a shock he grasped his hands. He had hands! Quickly he explored; he had a face and legs and every other part he’d had before the pain had come! But he couldn’t see. He was blind!

No, he was in darkness. From a point over to his right, a faint glimmer of light framed itself within a doorway. He placed his feet on the ground and found wet mud, and as he stood, strange tubes of flesh fell from his body and landed with a splash on the ground. He walked forward; he had no weakness, but even so he fell to his knees and shouted aloud for joy. “Goddess! I am healed! I am cured!” He offered a silent prayer of thanks, rocking backward and forward on his knees.

Then, on the edge of his rejoicing mind, the words came back:
They’re here!

He gasped as the full memory of the war came crashing in on him. “They’re here!” he shouted aloud, and jumping to his feet he ran toward the door. Through it he found a stairwell, and climbed by degrees back to the light.

The going was slow because the steps were worn and broken, and he was often forced to crawl forward, groping his way over the stonework. At last, he emerged blinking in the dim light of a single torch.

The brilliance of it seemed to scorch his eyes, causing tears to stream down his cheeks, but gradually he was able to open his eyelids a fraction and look around him. He had no idea where he was. It was obviously a vaulted cellar, probably somewhere within the citadel, but exactly where remained a
mystery. Across the empty floor, more steps led to an upper level, and he made his way toward it. As he climbed, the low murmur of voices reached him and he paused. He couldn’t afford to be delayed by anyone, and as though to confirm this, the voice in his head came again.

They’re here! Tell Thirrin now!

Quickly he made up his mind, and as soon as the voices moved away he ran swiftly up the steps, his bare feet making no sound. He found himself in one of the infirmary’s healing rooms. Now he knew exactly where he was, and after getting his bearings he ran through the nearest door and along a corridor, then out into the cool moonlit night. The courtyard was empty; the few soldiers of the garrison were all on the wall, watching the struggle on the defenses far below.

On he ran into the streets, and down to the southern gate. Few saw him, and those who did thought his pale form in the moonlight was one of the city ghosts, disturbed by the disastrous turn the battle was taking.

He reached the portcullis, found the stairway that led up to the battlements, and ran up to the very top. Before him the plain opened out, beautiful and glowing under the full moon. But his attention was immediately drawn to where Thirrin, Tharaman, and the remaining defenders stood, surrounded by the huge Imperial army. The sound of the fighting rose to his ears, oddly faint and unreal as though he were experiencing a particularly vivid mirage.

Soldiers on the battlements were shouting and groaning, and some even threw their spears in a futile attempt to help the hopelessly outnumbered defenders. Oskan looked around, a strange sense of power settling over him. The sky began to seethe and writhe as ions gathered, just as they had when he’d called down lightning to save Thirrin. But this time the power
was benign, it would hurt no one. Its purpose was simply to magnify.

At last Oskan’s eyes settled on the huge Solstice Bell that hung in its scaffolding above the gate.
They’re here! Tell Thirrin now!

He ran forward and grabbed the rope that hung from its huge form, and with a massive effort he pulled. The bell swung slowly, but remained silent. He pulled harder and at last the clapper struck the rim and a deep, mellow tone boomed out into the night. He hauled on the rope again, and stared wildly out over the plain as the power that writhed and boiled in the night sky above him fell, crackling and snapping through the dark, and struck him. This time there was no pain, only a tremendous sense of strength that filled his thin frame to brimming. His throat seemed to expand, pushing at the flesh until he thought his neck would burst, and he opened his mouth and drew breath deep, deep into his lungs, and still the bell rang on, booming and booming deeply into the night.

“They’re here!” he bellowed, the words soaring out as though he had a hundred voices. “They’re here! Thirrin! They’re here!”

Down on the defenses, Thirrin heard his cry and turned to look up at the bell.
“Oskan?”
she whispered, unable to believe what she saw. “OSKAN!” she screamed. “Look, Tharaman, it’s Oskan!”

The Snow Leopard Thar looked to where she was pointing. “Yes … yes! But what’s he shouting?”

“They’re here, Thirrin! They’re here!”

“Who’s here?” the Thar asked.

Still the bell boomed out into the night, filling every defending soldier with a hope they didn’t understand. A stillness fell that was broken only by the bell’s sonorous note.

But then, in the distance, a single howling voice rose into the air, thin and mournful, and tattered to sound-ribbons by the wind.

A great joy swelled in Thirrin’s frame and she screamed, “They’re here! The
allies
are here!”

Then into the sky erupted the howling of countless voices, and all eyes turned to the hills that rose to the west of the plain. They shone clearly in the moonlight and as the exhausted defenders watched, a vast shadow flowed over them. The strange darkness had thousands of glowing red eyes, and was made up of a huge gathering of werewolves, specters, and zombies from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. At its head strode the gold-collared figure of King Grishmak of the Wolffolk.

Beside him were dozens of silver-collared barons and baronesses, and behind them came the hordes of the werewolf army. King Grishmak threw back his head and howled again, and out crashed the reply from his warriors.

“They’re here, the allies are here!” Thirrin wept as the bell rang on and on. And now, a new note was added as deep-toned horns sounded through the air, and the defenders turned to watch as from the eaves of the forest a great host emerged. At its head were the Holly King and the Oak King riding tall antlered stags. Thirrin gazed in wonder on these monarchs of the Great Forest. They seemed as old and yet as strong and formidable as ancient trees; their heads were crowned with circlets of acorns and holly berries, their armor gleamed like newly opened leaves, and in their hands they carried huge maces. Behind them came their soldiers, carrying long spears and swords made of what looked like massive thorns, wicked and slightly curved like the thorns of gigantic brambles.

With them came the wild figures of Green Men and Women, naked and ferocious, tusks of polished wood bursting from
their mouths. And among them came the fighting creatures of the wild wood: boars and stags, bears and wolves, all answering the summons of their kings.

Tharaman-Thar rose up on his hind legs and roared a warrior’s welcome, and Thirrin wiped her eyes and laughed aloud for joy. “They’re here! The allies are here! Fight now, my people, and clear this land of the enemy!”

But there were still more wonders: Now the bright face of the moon seemed to dim and grow dusky, and all watched in silence as a cloud slowly writhed and coalesced until gradually new shapes evolved. Rank upon rank of flying forms could be seen, their huge wings black and leathery against the beautiful remote brilliance of the moon. The Vampires had come, too, and with them flew the giant Snowy Owls of the northern snowfields.

“Forward, my people!” Thirrin shouted into the air, which was still reverberating with the sound of the bell. “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

The commanders of the Empire’s army watched the arrival of the Icemark’s allies in horror. How could they fight such atrocities, such abominations of nature? The undead were marching against them, and even the creatures of the woodland were forming themselves into ranks and fighting! It was painfully obvious that the tide of battle had turned, but even now they were determined to snatch victory from the barbarians. Orders were shouted, the superb Polypontian discipline asserted itself, and the soldiers fought on.