The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (6 page)

For the rest of the day he was gentle with his pupil, allowing her a little time to relax before she was called away by the weapons master or horse mistress. Not that she seemed to find those particular lessons difficult. She always ran from his rooms with a most insulting air of happy relief whenever she was off to raise a shield-wall with the housecarls or put some fierce war stallion through its paces. Maggiore Totus sighed. He’d have left for home long ago if he hadn’t thought Thirrin had it in her to be a good scholar. But he knew that her sharp intelligence would never be used to sift through the complex facts and figures that might reveal some exciting new truth, some previously unthought-of theorem.

A sudden hammering on the door made him yelp with fright, and a huge bearded housecarl marched into the room. “I’ve orders to take the Princess to the parade ground!” he boomed.

Maggiore glared at him. Why did they always have to shout? And did they really have to carry a shield and spear with them at all times? “I’m not sure that the Princess Thirrin has finished all of her work yet,” he answered, deciding to stand upon his authority as Royal Tutor.

“Yes, I have … well, at least most of it. I can finish the rest as homework, can’t I?”

She seemed so desperate to get away that Maggiore sighed resignedly. “Oh, very well. But I expect it to be neater than last time.”

“It will be,” she answered, and as she rushed for the door she suddenly stopped and kissed him on the top of his bald head. “Thanks, Maggie!” she said, and ran off down the corridor.

The soldiers had been marching north for more than a month now, and the Polypontian Empire’s superb military roads meant that they’d covered more than seven hundred miles. Their regiment, the White Panthers of the Asterian Province, had been fighting in the south less than six weeks earlier, but after the victorious conclusion to that particular campaign, they’d been given a week’s rest and had then begun their march north.

None of the soldiers knew exactly where they were going, and neither did most of the officers, though rumors were rife. Some said they were finally going to attack the Icemark, the Empire’s immediate northern neighbor, and most thought it was about time. For some reason General Scipio Bellorum had left the Icemark in peace despite making war on all and sundry around its borders, and exactly why remained a deep mystery. But once again rumor provided some clues. The most popular was that the Icemark was a land of witchcraft, which even the formidable Bellorum found daunting. But others doubted that; the general was afraid of nothing; it was even said he’d live forever because death itself wouldn’t dare take him.

The troops were approaching the border area now, on their way to join the huge army that was being amassed. The wide, gently undulating plain that nestled beneath the foothills of the Dancing Maidens mountain range was covered with military camps, forges, armories, parade grounds, and cavalry training runs. To the soldiers of the White Panthers regiment, it was all very familiar. Every block of barrack tents and every
parade ground was pitched in exactly the same position, so no matter where they were, in the Empire or on campaign, they felt completely at home.

And now they could see their great leader, Scipio Bellorum himself: part man, part god, ruthless and aloof, riding the lines of troops as they presented arms. They awaited his command.

Thirrin spent the rest of her day happily taking weapons drill with her father’s elite corps of housecarls. Within a few minutes of hitting a bull’s-eye with her throwing ax, she was happy and relaxed and the dust of the schoolroom had been blown away. The huge soldiers, all of them especially picked for their height and strength, treated her fighting skills with enormous respect. She was not only their future Queen but also their mascot and lucky symbol. They cheered every time she hit the target with her javelin and politely ignored her misses, but over the three years she’d been training with the weapons master, there’d been far more reason to cheer than to remain politely silent.

By sundown when the training session ended, she was pleasantly tired and began to make her way back to her rooms with happy thoughts of supper. Then, changing her mind, she headed instead for her father’s apartments. There was no official banquet tonight, so the kitchens would be having an easier time before the next round of diplomatic dinners for one or another of Redrought’s barons. And the King would be eating as quietly as he ever could in his rooms. Thirrin had decided to join him, knowing he’d be pleased to spend the evening with his daughter. Besides, she had things on her mind and wanted to talk to him.

She crossed the shadowy Great Hall, listening to her booted footsteps echo from the smoke-blackened beams high above
her head in the gloom of the roof. As she passed by, some of the ancient battle standards waved lazily, as though some ghost of wind from a long-ago battlefield still stroked the faded regimental colors. Ahead she could see her father’s throne on its high dais rising out of the gathering shadows like a mountain made of carved oak. She reached it and quickly skirted around the back, where the door set in the wall behind stood slightly open.

“Grimswald! I said I wanted ale, not brown river water!” Redrought’s booming voice lashed the Chamberlain-of-the-Royal-Paraphernalia.

“Well, I’m sure that it came from the same barrel that His Majesty was happy to drink from yesterday,” a voice of old leather and dust answered.

“Well, it tastes like river water today! And fish do unspeakable things in rivers, so get me some more!”

“As His Majesty wishes.”

Thirrin walked in just as the old chamberlain waved forward one of the servers who stood in the shadows at the back of the cozy room. He handed the man a jug and, with a huge wink, told him to fetch beer from another barrel.

“Thirrin!” her father shouted when he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. “Come in, come in! Grimswald, set another place; my daughter’s come to eat with her old dad.”

The little chamberlain bustled around fetching cutlery and placing a chair at the plain wooden table where Redrought ate when there were no dignitaries to entertain.

“I hear you equaled my best housecarl with the throwing axes today,” he said, smiling proudly at her.

“Yes. And if the weapons master hadn’t called an end to the session, I’d have beaten him,” Thirrin replied.

Redrought roared with laughter. He often roared with
laughter when other people would have only smiled. “I bet you would have, too! Sigmund’s getting a bit long in the tooth. I’ll have to see about retiring him soon. His people come from the northern provinces. I’m sure he’ll be happy with a bit of land and a pension.”

“He’s still a better axman than men half his age,” Thirrin said in the old soldier’s defense. “It’d be a pity to lose his experience from the bodyguard.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s still good for another five years or so. I’m just thinking of the future,” Redrought bellowed good-humoredly.

The servant returned with the jug of beer, and Grimswald poured a measure into Redrought’s tankard. The King took a huge swallow. “That’s better! I can always tell when a barrel’s past its best!”

“Yes, sir,” the chamberlain said, and smiled to himself like a mischievous little boy.

“And don’t forget Primplepuss! Where’s her bowl of milk?”

“I have it, sir,” the wrinkled little man said, seeming to produce a dish from his sleeve.

Redrought grinned, and fishing around inside the chest of his tunic he extracted the little cat. “Ah, there you are, my sweeting!” he said more softly, and the little creature meowed in agreement. The King’s huge fingers wrapped themselves gently around the kitten and set her down on the table before her dish of milk. He smiled on her indulgently for a few moments as she lapped, then turned to his daughter. “Well, why have you decided to have supper with me?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“No, but there’s usually a favor to ask if you choose to. Otherwise you’re in the mess with the housecarls or in the stables with the hands.”

Thirrin felt suddenly guilty. Surely she ate with her father for reasons other than asking for favors? “I want nothing at all,” she eventually answered, defensively.

“Just the pleasure of my company, eh?”

At that point the food arrived, and she waited for the servants to place everything on plates and withdraw before she continued. “Yes, for the pleasure of your company … and to ask a few questions.”

“Ha! “ the King shouted, as though his suspicions were confirmed, but then he smiled. “What do you want to know?”

Thirrin chewed on her chicken drumstick for a while as she ordered her thoughts. Ever since she’d met Oskan in the forest, she’d been wondering about his mother and father. It then occurred to her that nobody ever mentioned his father. She made a mental note to ask the King if anyone knew who he’d been, once she’d satisfied her curiosity on several other points. Finally she asked, “Why weren’t witches banished after the war with The-Land-of-the-Ghosts?”

“The evil ones were,” the King answered. “But the good ones were —
are
— too useful.”

“How?” she asked.

“They’re healers and midwives, they can drive blight from the harvest, and they’re a brilliant line of defense against any evil that comes from the Vampire King and Queen. Not only that,” the King said, pausing to drain his tankard of beer, “but they’ve been staunchly loyal, always the first to offer help when it’s needed. You’d do well to remember that when you take the throne.”

She nodded as she digested the information. “What was White Annis like?”

“One of the best!” Redrought boomed. “Powerful. I saw her draw a child back from the brink of death when all else had been
tried and failed. And once, when out hunting, I watched her turn a charging boar with nothing but the threat of her eyes.”

Father and daughter chomped in silence as the image of the witch was absorbed. “And I’ll tell you another thing!” Redrought continued, pointing at his daughter with a turnip. “She was beautiful. Hair as black as polished jet and eyes like the sea under a stormy sky!”

Thirrin looked at her father in astonishment. She’d never heard anything even vaguely poetic cross his lips before, and yet here he was describing White Annis as though he were a praise singer.

He blushed and cleared his throat. “Of course, she got a little ragged toward the end of her life. Witches always do, but her Power never faded.”

“And yet this great healer couldn’t save herself,” Thirrin said.

Redrought shrugged. “It was her time. Witches always know and leave life with dignity.”

Thirrin beckoned to the servant, and he poured her a goblet of wine — three parts water, as was right for her age.

“Her son lives in her cave now.”

“Yes, Oskan, I know. He’s treating the injured stable hand.”

“Will he have inherited his mother’s Power?”

Redrought shrugged. “Who knows? Warlocks, male witches, are rare. Men are usually wizards, more mathematics than magic. But they’re not beyond drawing down lightning when they need it or making stones walk if it’ll serve their purpose.”

“He’s a healer,” Thirrin said, as though this confirmed his supernatural powers.

“Well, yes,” Redrought agreed. “So perhaps he has the rest of his mother’s gifts, but who can say? It’s not certain.”

“Has the surgeon brought the stable hand back to the city yet?” Thirrin asked.

Redrought shrugged. “I don’t know. Ask Grimswald. GRIMSWALD!”

“Yes, My Lord?” The little man stepped out of the shadows behind the King’s chair.

“Oh, there you are. Has the surgeon —”

“No, My Lord. He thought it best to leave him for a day or two to rest.”

“When will he go to collect him?” Thirrin asked, knowing that Grimswald would have every detail of the surgeon’s plans.

“Tomorrow, I believe, My Lady.”

“Good. I’ll go with him. My horse needs the exercise.”

Redrought looked at his daughter narrowly. Her horse was more likely to need a rest than exercise. But then he mentally shrugged; let her have her friend if she wanted. She was approaching the marrying age for a royal daughter, but she was already far too clever to let anything get in the way of any advantage to the House of Lindenshield that could be sealed by marriage.

“What about his father?” Thirrin asked, interrupting Redrought’s thoughts.

“Whose father? The surgeon’s?”

“No! Oskan’s. Who was he?”

The King shrugged. “No one knows for sure.” He almost added that not even White Annis was certain but decided such talk was unsuitable for his daughter’s ears. “There are plenty of rumors, of course: wood sprites, spirits, even vampires. But he was probably just a human traveler who … um, just … you know, happened to be passing.”

“She wasn’t married, then?” Thirrin asked.

“No. Witches choose who they want for as long as they want. There’s rarely anything formal about their arrangements.”

“So, Oskan’s father could have been anyone or
anything?”

“Yes. But a wood sprite is the gossips’ favorite at the moment,” Redrought answered, adding: “Mind you, he’s pale enough to have Vampire blood somewhere in his veins — so to speak! But who knows?”

Thirrin nodded. Her new friend was certainly an interesting mystery.

Thirrin’s horse was saddled and waiting in the courtyard, its breath pluming on the crisp sharp air of early morning. The weather was perfect for riding: A sharp frost had scattered a brilliant crystal sheen of white over the rooftops of the houses, as though in anticipation of the coming snows of winter, and the early morning sounds of awakening households echoed with the purity of chiming bells on the cold air.

She’d allowed the surgeon an hour’s head start so that she could gallop to catch up, and as she and her escort of two cavalry troopers trotted down through the winding roads of the city, their horses blew and fidgeted in anticipation of the run. Once through the gates, the riders kicked their mounts and took off across the rich agricultural plain that fed the capital. Within minutes they’d reached the eaves of the forest and the Great Road, which sliced through the trees on its journey to the northern provinces.