The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (9 page)

“There’s always The-Land-of-the-Ghosts.”

Redrought’s huge callused hand slammed down on the table, making Primplepuss leap vertically skyward and land back on the King’s lap. “That again! The Vampire King and Queen want us all dead. Why should they agree to an alliance?”

Thirrin, not at all bothered by her father’s outburst, answered quietly. “For mutual benefit and safety. If we fall, The-Land-of-the-Ghosts would be next. Maggiore Totus tells me the rulers of the Polypontus believe in science and rationality. Vampires and ghosts, witches and zombies, would be an affront to their view of the world. They’d have to wipe them out, if only to rid the world of such unscientific creatures.”

“Perhaps they’d just ignore them,” Redrought answered more quietly, as the truth of her words began to percolate
through. “I hear some of their scientists don’t even believe in lodestones — you know, those pieces of metal that are drawn to iron — so they refuse to give any credence to them, even if they see their effects with their own eyes. That’s a powerful sort of denial, perhaps powerful enough for them to reject the existence of an entire country.”

“Scipio Bellorum ignore a possible conquest? I think not. Especially when there’s a chance of adding another land and all its wealth to the Empire. He’d be itching to invade The-Land-of-the-Ghosts almost as soon as he’d tidied away the problem of the Icemark.”

The King sat quietly considering her words. He was a shrewd ruler, and her argument stood close scrutiny. “You might … just might have a point.” He absentmindedly stroked Primplepuss, who settled again as he cogitated. Finally he reached a decision. “They’d never agree to an alliance with
me.
We loathe each other equally. But with you, Thirrin …” He reached for another fruit pie and demolished it with quiet efficiency. “Of course, you’ve already made a start by making a friend of that wolfman-king you released. Perhaps it’s something you should follow up after Yule.”

Thirrin sighed happily. She was enormously proud that she’d convinced her father of the good points of a plan she’d been mulling over for some time. Usually her father would listen with quiet patience to her ideas about the governing of the country, then reduce them to rubble. But this time he’d accepted her arguments. She stored away his instructions to seek allies and chose one of the game pies to eat.

A
brilliant full moon had risen when Thirrin finally set off with an escort of ten cavalry troopers to collect Oskan. Several degrees of frost had settled over the city, and as the horses made their way down from the castle and through the streets, the rattle of their iron-shod hooves sounded sharp and brittle in the freezing air. The spicy scent of wood smoke filled the narrow streets as people fed their fires with logs and branches, and ice sparkled everywhere over the roofline so that Frostmarris looked like a city of black crystal reflecting the cold, shining beauty of the moonlit night. But still the snows hadn’t come, and now the skies were clear of the clouds that had lowered over the city, allowing the temperatures to drop so far below freezing that the horses’ breath settled around their muzzles and reins in a fine gauze of ice crystals as delicate as lace.

Thirrin and the cavalry troopers all wore thick furs over their armor, and they trotted through the streets at a brisk pace, hoping to warm themselves and the horses as quickly as possible. The roads were almost deserted, as each household had shut its doors against the bitter cold and was preparing for
Yule. Even the taverns were relatively quiet in these last hours before the dawn. Then, with the first light of the morning, the traditional songs would be sung and the wild celebrations would begin. But now every tiny sound was magnified on the freezing air, so that Thirrin’s small escort sounded like an entire regiment of horses.

At last they reached the main gate and were quickly allowed through by the guard. They clattered through the long tunnel of the barbican, then drew rein as they looked out at the land beyond the city walls. Before them lay the plain of Frostmarris, silent and brooding under the cold silver of the moonlit night. Far off in the distance a wolf howled, giving a voice to the quiet, and Thirrin shivered. The packs were hungry and had come down from the mountains to raid the outlying farms. No human being had ever been taken, but people feared for their cattle, and the old legends of wolf attack always came to mind when the packs howled in the cold of winter. Thirrin urged her mount forward down the steep track that led to the flat plain, then, as she reached level ground, she shook the reins and her horse leaped forward. The bitter cold of the night was increased to biting steel by the wind of her speed, and she crouched down behind the stallion’s neck as they thundered across the plain. Behind her the cavalry troopers kept pace, spreading out in a wide fan, like a living cloak that flowed behind the head of the Princess. They could have followed the broad road that swept northward to the cities of Pendris and Wearford, which nestled on the farthest northern border of the Icemark. But instead Thirrin led them across the winter fields, leaping hedgerows and ditches in a wild gallop through the night.

In the distance lay the forest, like a dark bank of clouds
threatening a storm. It slowly loomed larger as the horses galloped across the fields, and after twenty minutes or so Thirrin reined back to a canter and finally to a brisk trot as they reached the first outlying trees. As they entered the true eaves of the forest, she stopped and waited while each of the troopers took out his tinderbox and prepared to light a pitch-soaked torch. She sat and stared ahead into the ancient gloom of the trees. The forest at night was very different from the woodland of the day. Not all of the supernatural creatures of the darkness had been banished to The-Land-of-the-Ghosts after the Battle of the Wolfrocks, quite simply because not all of them could be found. And of those that had stayed behind, many had set up home here in the deep shadows of the crowding trees.

After a few minutes Thirrin’s eyes grew accustomed to the deeper levels of dark, and the beautiful black-and-white mosaic of moonlight filtering through the trees became visible in all its subtle brilliance. But then the sudden flare of the torches bursting into flame drove back the sight, and darkness crowded around the circle of light they carried with them.

They found the path that would eventually meander to Oskan’s cave, and pushed on briskly. The troopers began to sing a cavalry song, but their voices echoed and reechoed eerily through the trees as though a squadron of ghosts were riding with them somewhere just out of sight, and they quickly fell silent. But the forest continued to make its own mysterious comments as they trotted by. Far off, a branch fell; nearby twigs snapped; and every now and then the lonely, mournful wail of a hunting wolf would sound, thin on distance and fat with fear.

Thirrin slung her shield on her arm and held her flaming torch higher, and the troopers did likewise. The familiar weight
restored their confidence and they trotted on, guiding the horses with their knees, battle fashion. After a while Thirrin thought she saw the gleam of red eyes away off in the trees. But when she looked directly at them, there was nothing to be seen. This continued for some time, and she’d just decided not to say anything to her escort when the sergeant at arms said, “I think there’s something following us, My Lady. I suggest we ride with sabers drawn.”

She nodded her agreement and, transferring the torch to her shield hand, she drew the long cavalry sword. “What do you think it is? Wolves don’t attack people.”

“No idea, Ma’am,” he answered briskly. “There are some dangerous things in the forest, but whatever they are, they won’t like cavalry steel.”

She smiled, cheered by his confidence. “We’ll soon be at Oskan Witch’s Son’s cave. Perhaps he’ll have some answers for us.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Perhaps.”

They rode on, their pace unconsciously increasing as the red eyes slowly drew closer. By the time they reached the clearing where Thirrin had first met Oskan in the autumn, they were cantering as fast as they dared on the treacherous path. But then they surged forward to the far side of the dell and, at a signal from Thirrin, they turned and faced whatever was following them.

Bright moonlight illuminated the clearing, and they clearly saw twenty or so figures emerge from the trees. They were almost human, but their bodies seemed to be covered by shiny holly leaves, almost like armor, and they all carried round shields and long spears made of a gray wood that seemed to glow in the moonlight. Thirrin was close enough to see that
their skin was the same strange gray color, and their eyes were the brilliant red of berries.

More fascinated than afraid, she urged her horse forward a few paces and, standing in the stirrups, she called out to them:

“I am Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, heir to the throne of the Icemark. Identify yourselves so that I may know if you are friend or foe.” Her voice sounded high and fierce in the silence, like the challenging call of a bird of prey, and her escort felt their confidence in their young leader grow even stronger.

Without warning, a dark figure emerged from the edge of the clearing, and a familiar voice said, “These are soldiers of the Holly King, who rules all wild places in the wintertime.”

“Oskan!” Thirrin shouted in surprise. “You know them. Soldiers, you say? What are they doing in the Icemark?”

“They’ve been here since before the land was named by your people, and the Holly King is as old as all tree life, as is his brother the Oak King, who rules in the summer.”

“Kings? Who are these rulers that I’ve never …” Her voice trailed away as memories of nursery rhymes and stories came back to her. “You mean the Kings of the Wild Wood are real?!”

“As real as the forest around you, and their twin royal lineage is far older than the House of Lindenshield.”

She sat in amazed silence, considering the legends that stood before her, until her acute sense of ceremony and occasion suddenly took over and, standing in her stirrups again, she raised her sword above her head. “I salute you and your royal master, soldiers of the Holly King. Go now and take to him the friendly greetings of Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield.”

From among the ranks of the strange holly soldiers a tall figure
stepped forward and raised its spear in salute. Then, stepping back into the trees behind them, they all simply melted away.

“That was well done,” said Oskan, walking over to stand at her stirrup. “The Holly King and Oak King are powerful friends to have, and even worse enemies.”

“I’m afraid we’ll soon need all the friends we can get,” Thirrin answered quietly, still amazed by the creatures of legend she’d just seen. Then, suddenly brisk, she said, “And where did you spring from, Oskan? I’d already had enough shocks without you leaping out of the shadows like a skinny ghost!”

Oskan drew his tall, slender frame to even greater heights and said with dignity, “I was waiting for you to arrive. I thought it best to … intervene before things got out of hand.”

Thirrin almost answered that she’d had the situation very well in hand, thank you very much, when she stopped herself. Oskan was right, who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t turned up when he did? “You arrived at just the right moment,” she finally said. But somehow the tone was all wrong. She sounded just like one of the elderly lady chamberlains of the palace graciously rewarding a lowly scullion by condescending to talk to him.

She filled the awkward silence that followed by slinging her shield on her back. “Well, have you got your gear with you or do we have to go up to your cave?”

“It won’t take me long to get it. Wait here.”

He’d gone before she had time to tell him that no one told the heir to the throne of the Icemark to wait anywhere, and he was back by the time she’d realized she was glad she hadn’t said it.

She waited while he scrambled clumsily onto the quiet horse they’d brought for him, and then she said, “So, why
haven’t I seen these holly soldiers before? I’ve ridden in the forest at night lots of times.”

Oskan looked at her and awkwardly urged his horse forward. “You’re asking the wrong question. It should be, ‘Why did the holly soldiers allow themselves to be seen?’
I
only usually see them a couple of times each winter, and the same can be said for the oak soldiers in the summer. But I’ve never known them to show themselves to city people before. Something must be bothering them.”

“Like what?”

“Who knows? Perhaps they’re worried by the late snows.”

Thirrin slapped her leg in exasperation. “Not you as well! You’ll be telling me next that there’s going to be a plague or a bad harvest.”

“No. It’ll probably be war this time.”

She reined to a halt so abruptly that her horse snorted in surprise. “War! What do you mean?”

Oskan shrugged. “These omens go in cycles. My mother told me the last time the snows were late there was famine, and before that, disease. This time it must mean war.”