The Cry of the Icemark

10



This was the fourth night the refugees had spent in the forest. They were camped on the main road with baggage wagons drawn up as a wall to the south and to the north of the site, and watch fires had been set at regular intervals under the trees. At first the people had adapted quite well to the conditions, and after the ceremony Oskan had carried out in which the soldiers of the Oak King had appeared, the terror of the forest had been replaced by a simple fear. But now, after living through the deep blackness of the forest’s night, a growing dread was once more threatening to get out of hand at any time.

Thirrin had hoped to boost morale by making a great display of deploying the few soldiers she had in full battle gear along the makeshift defensive walls of the wagons and around the watch fires. But the two hundred troops only looked stretched beyond their capacity once they’d been stationed along the nearly half-mile length of the encampment.

“What can I do, Maggie?” she asked Maggiore Totus as they sat around their fire close to the southern wagon wall. Primplepuss was sitting comfortably on Thirrin’s knee, basking in the warm glow and daintily accepting small morsels of chicken that the Princess held out to her. “The people are happier than they were, but at the first wolf howl they could become a screaming mob of terrified berserkers.”

“There’s nothing you can do, really. Just get us through this forest as quickly as possible,” the neat little man replied. “Sometimes even the greatest leader has to accept the limitations of a situation and just hope for the best.”

“That’s not what I want to hear,” she snapped unreasonably. “Can’t you suggest some magical solution?”

“Not my field, I’m afraid. Perhaps you should ask Oskan.”

They both turned to look at the witch’s son, who was sitting and staring silently into the impenetrable black of the forest beyond the encampment.

Thirrin nudged him with her toe. “Well? What do you suggest?”

Oskan turned large unseeing eyes on her, then he blinked, and vision seemed to rekindle in his dilated pupils. “Sorry. Did you speak?”

“Yes!” Thirrin answered irritably. “What can we do to improve the people’s morale? They’re still afraid of the forest, and there’s at least two more days of traveling before we reach its northern border. Maggie thought you might be able to use magic in some way.”

“I said no such thing!” Maggiore protested, but Oskan only shrugged.

“I’ve told you before, I don’t know what you mean by magic. My mother had some Knowledge, but I’m not her. Besides, the people have nothing to fear from the forest. It’s the cavalry they should be afraid of.”

“Cavalry? What cavalry?” Thirrin barked, causing Primplepuss to look at her questioningly.

“Coming from the south. There’s no danger yet. They’re at least a day’s ride away.”

“How do you know? What cavalry? Polypontian?”

“Yes, Polypontian. How do I know?” He shrugged again. “I do, that’s all.”

“Then my father’s dead and the army wiped out?”

“I can only see the approaching cavalry. I don’t know about anything else. I’m sorry.”

Thirrin sat in silence for a few seconds, allowing herself to be the worried daughter of a soldier who was away fighting a war. Then she sat up and squared her shoulders as she took up the responsibility of her kingdom again. “Maggie, do you believe this? Could Oskan be right?”

“My Lady, since being in this strange northern land, I’ve learned that the truly rational individual keeps an open mind at all times. After all, I’ve seen legends walk in daylight and heard a wolfman bring news of invasion, so a simple case of clairvoyance warning of pursuing cavalry is easily believed. At the very least we should prepare for all possibilities and take what precautions we can. Dispatch a fast rider to the Hypolitan and ask them to send help as soon as they can, and position the few soldiers we have as a rear guard while the people move on as quickly as they can.”

“Oskan, should we move tonight?” Thirrin asked, leaning forward and staring earnestly into his face as though she were trying to communicate with someone barely conscious.

“No,” he answered in surprisingly relaxed tones. “The cavalry commander is driven by a huge ambition, but he knows the value of resting his troops, and the trail he’s following is so obvious he knows he can’t lose us. Basically he thinks we’re fools, and expects to capture the ‘Little Princess’ in a day or so.”

Thirrin was livid. “‘Little Princess’! He’s hunting the Wildcat of the North, and her teeth and claws are ready for his throat! “ She leaped to her feet, depositing Primplepuss in an untidy heap on the ground, and strode around for a minute before sitting down again and muttering to herself. “How can you hide the trail of a city’s entire population? It’s impossible! I’d like to see him do better.”

“The opinion of a moron has no value, Madam,” said Maggiore. “In the meantime I suggest we keep this … possibility of a pursuit from the people. As you pointed out earlier, it would take very little to cause a panic.”

Cassius Brontus led his cavalry through the main gate of Frostmarris. He’d ridden ahead to the city with his regiment of horses and an extra five hundred that had arrived in the Icemark soon after they’d received news of their invading army’s destruction. He’d then stormed along the main highway, meeting no opposition, and had reached the capital city within two days.

At first they’d approached the towering walls with caution, but it had soon become obvious that his scout’s reports were correct and the city had been abandoned. Even so, he entered the main gates with great care, all the troopers riding with pistols in hand and sabers drawn, expecting some trickery. But the city was deserted. The bitterly cold wind muttered eerily through the empty streets and here and there a door banged, the sound echoing over the intense stillness of the settlement. To the young officer’s heightened imagination, every window watched them as they rode along the resonant streets and every alleyway hid an army of shadow-people. It was almost as though the ghosts of Frostmarris had come to resist their invasion. The wind carried a tangled whispering and, once, he was almost certain he heard a thin evil snickering. But whenever he looked toward the sounds, they stopped and there was nothing to be seen.

Soon the horses began to shy and blow nervously, and when one of them reared, almost throwing its rider, he was nearly convinced he saw a ragged shadow scuttling back down an alleyway. But Cassius Brontus was the product of the best education available in the colleges and training camps of the Polypontus. He was steeped in science and the belief in a rational universe. If a thing couldn’t be counted, studied under a microscope, or dissected on a marble slab, he knew it didn’t exist. Remembering this, he relegated all of his fears to mere imagination and they swiftly ebbed away. He suddenly laughed as the road ahead straightened out and he could see it climbing steadily toward the open gate of the citadel. The city was his! He raised the pace to a swift trot.

But behind the cavalry the shadows thickened like living smoke. The soldiers’ fears might not get them today, but somewhere not too far ahead they lay waiting.

The troopers were soon striding across the Great Hall of the palace and having given the order to tear down the white bear insignia of the Icemark, Cassius Brontus himself climbed to the huge oaken crossbeam and replaced it with the Imperial Eagle of the Polypontus.

Leaving fifty men as a skeleton garrison in the citadel, he then set off in pursuit of the Princess. He was supremely confident. He had more than fifteen hundred well-trained cavalry troopers under his command and a trail as wide as a river to follow. They set out at a fast trot, clattering through the empty streets and sounding the battle call of the Empire on their bugles as they rode along. The city echoed with the arrogant noise of their presence, but as the last horse disappeared through the long exit tunnel and out onto the brightly sunlit plain beyond the walls, a deep haunted silence settled over Frostmarris again. The regimental color sergeant who’d been left in command of the occupying garrison somehow knew that the winter would be long and that it would take all of his considerable experience to maintain discipline.

Cassius Brontus, however, was almost excited. He felt like a young boy on a day trip to a favorite resort. He believed that his destiny lay ahead, and he couldn’t help thinking it would be glorious. The great General Scipio Bellorum himself had shown the same flair and daring at the beginning of his career, and perhaps … just perhaps, the name of Cassius Brontus would one day be spoken with the same reverence as that of the army’s commander in chief. He admitted to himself that he still had some way to go to equal the general who had added three countries and five provinces to the Empire of the Polypontus. But he, Cassius Brontus, was still a very young man, and if he managed to capture the Icemark’s Princess, then he’d have made a greater beginning to his military career than even Scipio Bellorum had done.

These happy thoughts kept even the freezing wind of the Icemark at bay, and he stared eagerly ahead to the huge forest that was beginning to loom threateningly on the horizon. But the wild wood held no fears for him. To his military eye the massive living organism that was the Great Forest represented nothing more than a good source of material for ships, siege towers, and other equipment the triumphant armies of the Polypontus might need. The Empire consumed massive amounts of raw materials to keep its war machines working, and the largest, most ancient tree was nothing more to it than one more piece of fuel.

Cassius Brontus could clearly see from his position at the head of his troops that the road entered the forest, and that the trail of the Princess and her people went with it. His scouts, a hunting people from the far south of the Empire, confidently assured him that the tracks were much less than a week old and, given the slow pace at which such a huge convoy would be moving, he expected to catch up with them within two days.

They reached the eaves of the forest and rode into it without the slightest pause. The brilliance of the winter day was suddenly reduced to a green twilight, and the rattle of hooves on the flagstones of the road echoed eerily through the templelike stillness of the trees. But any awe the troopers might have felt was ignored. In woodlands there were echoes simply because sound waves rebounded from the boles of the trees; the atmosphere seemed breathless because wind and air movement was generally hampered by the dense foliage and undergrowth. Like Cassius Brontus, they were soldiers of science and rationality, intent on their mission to bring logic and order to a world crippled by superstition. The Polypontus Empire had so far brought enlightenment to more than fifty countries and provinces, crushing the irrational beliefs of their populations whether they liked it or not.

But for the time being, all such philosophical ideals took a poor second place to their ambitions. They were as determined as their young officer to gain as much ground on their quarry as they could before dark. In the forest, night would fall early, and the winter days were short enough already, so standing in his stirrups Cassius Brontus gave the signal for greater speed, and the pace was increased to a canter. Both horse and trooper could keep this up for hours, eating up the ground before them and bearing down on the refugee column as if they had an appointment with the Goddesses of Fate that their superstitious prey probably believed in.

They’d made good time over the last couple of days. Maggiore Totus had managed to instill a sense of urgency into the column without causing panic, by claiming that the winter snows were finally on their way and would hit them before they reached the province of the Hypolitan if they didn’t hurry. But they’d never be able to outrun the approaching cavalry. Oskan, in a dark and brooding mood, continued to give warnings of the enemy troopers’ progress, and such was his quiet authority that even Maggiore accepted his clairvoyance without question.

“How long now, Oskan?” Thirrin asked for the fourth time that hour.

“A day or so.”

“Can’t you be more accurate than that?” she snapped. “I need to know exactly.”

They were riding at the back of the column with the two hundred soldiers they had as a rear guard. The forest was particularly silent that day, as though holding its breath, and Oskan reflected its sense of foreboding exactly. There was an atmosphere about him, like midnight in the deserted hall of a great fortress. When he spoke, he was quiet and withdrawn, so much so that Thirrin had to strain to hear what he was saying.

But at last he seemed to rouse himself from his strange mood and, looking at her with suddenly bright eyes, said, “They will catch us in exactly one day from now. You and the housecarls will defend a narrow place in the road where they won’t be able to use their numbers against you. But how it will end I don’t know. I can see no more. The Sight comes and goes. I can’t command it.”

She stared at him, not realizing she was holding her breath until she suddenly let it go in an explosive sigh. “Tell Maggie,” she ordered. “I’ll speak to the captain of the guard.”

Oskan nodded and then, amazingly, smiled. Now that he’d given the last of his clairvoyant warnings, it was as though a darkness had been lifted from his mind and the boy she knew returned to help her. “Do you think he’ll believe me?”

“Of course he will. Our tame master of the rational secretly puts more faith in your powers than anyone … apart from me. Now go.”

As the boy galloped off on his ungainly mule, Thirrin rode on alone, deep in thought. Oskan was certainly right about the type of place she’d choose to make a stand against the Polypontian cavalry. A narrow place in the road, with dense undergrowth beneath the trees to protect the flanks of her housecarls, would be an obvious choice of position. The enemy wouldn’t be able to use their numbers efficiently, however great they were, and her soldiers might be able to stand up to ten deep, depending on exactly how narrow the road was. All she had to do now was keep a sharp lookout for this obvious place and speak to her soldiers.

They reached it an hour later. For some reason known only to the ancient engineers who’d made the highway, it abruptly narrowed as it climbed a low hill, and the trees crowded up to the verge in a particularly dense stand that was thick with low bushes and brambles. No horse could force its way through such an entanglement to take them in the flank, and the crest of the hill would give Thirrin and her housecarls a slight advantage over the enemy.

She tried to shake off the sense of desperation that had been creeping up on her all day. The cavalry of the Polypontian Empire had the reputation of being the finest in the known world, and she had only two hundred foot soldiers to set against it. What hope did they have? They were outnumbered with very little chance of any help or reinforcements arriving before they were wiped out, so there seemed little point in resisting. Why not simply surrender? Allow herself to be captured and beg for mercy for her people?

For a moment she almost convinced herself of this argument. But then she remembered the terrible stories of the massacres and atrocities carried out by the soldiers of the Empire. Of course, she had no way of knowing whether they were true or not. Stories like that always grew in the telling, and they were always told by the losers in the many wars the Empire had fought. And that in itself was natural enough, because the Polypontians had never lost a war yet. People hated the Empire. Of course they did: It took away their freedom and it crushed their individuality, so it was quite natural that negative stories about the way it treated defeated people should be common. Perhaps they really were exaggerated and the population would be well treated. And even if all the stories were true, what could she do? Did she really care if the populations of entire towns were enslaved and moved out to work in the Empire’s mines or factories? Did she really care if those too old to be of use to the Imperial slave masters were slaughtered in a murderous act of efficiency? As long as she was safe and allowed to keep at least the trappings of royalty, why should she continue to struggle against overwhelming odds? With a secret, deeply shocking sense of relief, she imagined handing responsibility for the Icemark over to the Empire. She could become a puppet queen, doing exactly as she was told and being allowed to live in peace and comfort in Frostmarris. And perhaps the people would simply have exchanged one system of government for another.

But then the blood of the Strong-in-the-Arm clan awoke, roaring in her brain, and the fighting spirit of the Hypolitan, her mother’s people, straightened her sagging spine and sent a tingling excitement coursing through her veins. She was heir to the throne of the Icemark and she could never be certain that stories of Polypontian cruelty were untrue. She must defend her land and her people! This was her role and meaning in life. To betray their trust, even in the face of impossible odds, would be the most terrible of treacheries. Above all she was her father’s daughter, and she must stand with her housecarls and give the column of refugees at least some chance of escaping. Or she must die trying. Even so, she trembled with the terrible responsibility of it all. For the first time in her proud young life she found herself envying other girls of her own age: young peasants, or the daughters of rich merchants and artisans. All they had to worry about was themselves and their immediate families. Would their young shoulders be strong enough to carry the weight of an entire country?

By this time her horse had climbed the small hill the road followed, and she drew rein. The captain of her housecarls had been stumping along stolidly behind her, but seeing her stop he held up his hand, and his command of foot soldiers stamped to a halt.

“We make our stand here, Captain Eodred,” Thirrin said.

He nodded silently and, turning to the men, ordered them to fall out. Then he turned back to Thirrin. “When do we fight, Ma’am?”

“A little less than a day from now. We’ll be facing cavalry, and we’ll be outnumbered.”

He nodded, accepting the information without question. “A good position,” he said, looking around. “We could hold ten times our number here.”

“Yes, but for how long, Captain?”

He shrugged. “That’s with the gods.”

Later that night, Oskan, Maggiore, and Grimswald galloped back to consult with Thirrin. The refugee column was now several miles ahead and would continue to travel through the night as they tried to outrun the bad weather Maggiore had convinced them was on the way. All three of them were wearing borrowed armor, and it was all Thirrin could do not to fall into fits of giggles when she saw Grimswald. His helmet was so large the nasal plate reached to his chin, and if he turned his head suddenly, the helmet stayed staring forward, and then would slowly revolve to catch up with the face it supposedly protected. Even Maggie and Oskan looked vaguely ridiculous, like large children dressed up in their fathers’ clothes. After a long struggle Thirrin managed to gain control of her features, and then asked:

“And why, exactly, are you three wearing armor?”

“Because we want at least a chance of surviving the first charge tomorrow,” Oskan answered brusquely.

“Well, you don’t have to worry. I can guarantee that you will. You’ll all be with the wagons.” Thirrin waited quietly while the protests and arguments washed over her, and then she said, “None of you are trained. None of you are natural fighters. All of you would die. Quickly.

“Maggie, you can barely use a fruit knife without cutting yourself; Grimswald, I admire your bravery, but you’re far more useful to me ensuring that I have everything I need, when I need it, and Oskan …” She sighed, exasperated that she needed to point out the obvious. “Oskan, you’re a healer among other things. You’re supposed to repair the damage fighting inflicts on people, not cause it yourself.”

“But me and Maggie are your advisers; the King himself appointed us. We can’t just abandon you at the first sign of a fight! Redrought would expect us to be with you,” Oskan said, his voice taking on a note of desperation as he realized that Thirrin was determined, too.

“The King would expect advisers to advise, not fight. You and Maggie would both serve me best by leading my people safely to the Hypolitan,” Thirrin answered quietly. She was well aware that she was dealing with male pride here as much as loyalty and a sense of duty. Oskan was a boy who was standing on the threshold of manhood, and to leave a fourteen-year-old girl to fight while he rode away would be hard for him to bear. “Oskan, you must help Maggie lead the wagons to safety. You’ve become a symbol of hope and magical power for the people. When you’re with them, they feel less afraid, and that, combined with Maggie’s authority, is just what they need right now. If you abandon them in the forest, they’ll panic and run amok. Your duty lies with them.”

Oskan looked at his feet but eventually nodded. He knew she was right, but his self-respect had demanded he at least try to help in the coming fight. Maggiore nodded, too, though for him the gesture was more an acknowledgment that Thirrin had grown to fit the role that the war had forced her to take. She was already every inch a Queen with an air of command and a fighting spirit, but now she’d also developed a diplomacy that handled the tender pride of a growing boy to perfection. He suddenly felt enormously proud of her and, stooping, he kissed her hand. “Don’t worry about your people, Ma’am. We’ll look after them.”

“Thanks, Maggie,” she answered simply, and smiled. Then she went on, “One more thing. My closest kin is the Basilea of the Hypolitan; she’s my aunt. I name her now as my heir. If I fall tomorrow, you will serve her as loyally as you served me.”

No one replied, but both Oskan and Maggiore bowed deeply, and Grimswald wiped his nose on a handkerchief he found after much rummaging under his armor.

The next day dawned bright and cold again. Good fighting weather, as Captain Eodred had said. During supper the previous night, Thirrin had asked Oskan if he could tell her exactly when the enemy cavalry would arrive, but the Sight would give no answers, and he’d shaken his head regretfully. Not long after that, he, Maggiore, and Grimswald had ridden forward to rejoin the column of refugees, leaving Thirrin feeling isolated, despite being surrounded by two hundred housecarls. She’d been almost sick with fear, but now that day had dawned she was too busy to feel lonely or even nervous. There was equipment to check, running repairs to carry out, orders to give, and scouts to send out to give her warning of the Polypontians’ approach. When all of this was done, she arranged the battle order, putting the strongest and fittest soldiers in the front ranks and packing them ten files deep on the narrow section of road.

Now all they could do was wait. Thirrin took up her position at the very center of the shield-wall’s front rank, while Captain Eodred controlled the left wing and his second in command the right. The soldiers cheered as Thirrin locked her shield into the wall, and the bearer of the regiment’s fighting colors rolled up the flag and laid it at his feet, saying that the Princess was now their battle standard and they would all fall before she was taken. This was greeted by another cheer, then the soldiers beat their axes and swords on their shields, making a rolling rhythm of sound that slowly grew to a crashing crescendo that swelled through the surrounding trees, echoing and reechoing through the forest.

Thirrin raised her ax in acknowledgment of the salute, desperately hoping that none of the housecarls could see how afraid she was of failing them. Mastering weapons technique on the training ground was one thing, but how would she perform in battle? All these soldiers were looking to her to provide leadership and an example of ferocity and courage. What if she couldn’t fulfill their expectations? For a moment a searing flame of panic flared up in the pit of her stomach and thrilled through her body.

But then a tiny ribbon of sound rippled through the trees. A horn was sounding the battle note of the Icemark! One of the scouts had spotted the enemy! Immediately the ranks of soldiers around her tightened, and the shields locked closer together.

“Housecarls of the Icemark. Here we stand or die! “ Thirrin’s clear voice rang out in the cold air, and as she spoke all fear left her. The die was cast; their fate lay now with the gods.

But for the next few minutes nothing happened. Thirrin stared along the road to the point where a slight bend hid it from view, but all was still. Brilliant sunshine cascaded through the naked branches of the winter trees, dappling the forest floor and the flagstones of the road in a dazzling display of light and shadow. Nearby a bird sang, the sweet tumble of notes amplified in the surrounding silence so that it filled the senses to brimming.

Nothing else stirred. The wind had dropped to a mere whisper that barely moved the slenderest twigs, and in the stillness the cold winter sun warmed up the thick carpet of leaf litter on the ground, and a rich earthy scent enveloped the waiting soldiers.

Then, like the shatter of breaking glass, the enemy burst into view. Rank upon rank of cavalry cantered along the road, all the troopers riding with pistols and sabers drawn. A murmur ran through the waiting housecarls, and then they fell deathly silent. Thirrin gazed hungrily at the cavalry; these were the first Polypontian soldiers she’d ever seen, and their appearance was both exotic and strangely beautiful.

They all wore brightly polished breastplates and helmets with cagelike face guards, but strangest of all to Thirrin were the brilliant plumes and silk sashes that blazed in the dappled sunshine. Even their thick winter coats were richly embroidered, and the officers had lace collars and cuffs. She might have laughed if she hadn’t known that these were the ferocious warriors who had made the largest empire history had ever seen.

At the head of his command, Cassius Brontus saw the shield-wall of housecarls that blocked the way, and he calmly called a halt. He wasn’t surprised; the warning calls of Thirrin’s scouts had prepared him for such an eventuality, and his troopers had been riding in a state of high alert for more than two miles. For almost five minutes the opposing forces stared at each other, then Cassius Brontus waved up his officers.

He was painfully aware that the Icemark’s commander had chosen his position well. The dense undergrowth ensured that they couldn’t be outflanked, and the narrowness of the road at this point meant that he could use his meager numbers of housecarls to great effect. On top of this, the horses would have to charge uphill. The commander was obviously a wily old bird that would take some killing. Still, killed he would be — then he, Cassius Brontus, would overtake the refugees, kill the old, and enslave the rest. He should get a good price for such tough individuals. But most important of all he’d capture the Princess. She was the key to his entire future, and she was just waiting to be seized.

The conference with his officers was short. They had only one choice: Charge and sweep the Icemark’s little band of foot soldiers aside. Quickly they deployed to their commands and Cassius Brontus withdrew to the side of the road.

A silence fell of such intensity that Thirrin could hear the blood whispering in her ears. She expected a herald to ride out from the Polypontian cavalry at any moment to make ritual demands that she would ritually reject — and then when that was done, they could begin the fight. But no such thing happened. A high brassy note blasted out from the ranks of the Polypontians, and they charged.

Thirrin was shocked, especially since their commander, the one with more plumes and sashes than anyone else, seemed to be watching proceedings from the roadside! But she quickly recovered and braced herself as the cavalry began to climb the hill at full gallop.

Before her was a wall of horseflesh rushing down on their thin line of shields like a tidal wave. Surely they must be swept aside. But then roaring and racing into her veins swept the combined battle fury of the Icemark and the Hypolitan. Her high-pitched voice climbed in astonishing power over the noise of the charge, and the shield-wall rose and slammed forward as one to meet the onslaught.

The screaming shock of onset made Thirrin’s head reel, but after a second she recovered and swiftly looked to her right and left. The line had held. Before them horses struggled to regain their feet, and riders fell in a tangle of human and horse that writhed like a storm at sea. Those still mounted hacked with their long sabers at the housecarls before them, and a ragged volley of shots from the long cavalry pistols rang out. Thirrin swung her ax furiously as the Polypontian troopers desperately tried to surge forward over the fallen bodies and the shield-wall, and slowly the explosive shouts and curses of the housecarls consolidated into the familiar war chant.

“OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!”

But then, with a suddenness that shook her, the troopers before them melted away, and Thirrin watched as they galloped back down the hill.

Cassius Brontus observed the withdrawal calmly. The enemy was densely packed into the narrow defensive position, and it would take several charges to finally dislodge them. But they were heavily outnumbered, and he’d use fresh troopers for each charge. The end was inevitable; it would just take a little longer than he’d hoped. He waved up the next squadron of cavalry and watched impassively as they exploded into a charge up the hill toward the housecarls. Once again the shield-wall surged forward to meet the attack, and the thunderous roar of onset filled the surrounding forest. The ring of saber on shield and ax against the heavy plate armor of the horses was punctuated by volley after volley of gunshot, but still the line held and again the cavalry withdrew.

Thirrin watched as the second wave cantered away, and swiftly checked the shield-wall. Already they’d had to pass many dead and injured housecarls back overhead to clear the line. At close range the long-barreled cavalry pistols were having a devastating effect. Even while she was calling out encouragement and praise to her houscarls, her quick mind was calculating that it would take only another three such charges to break their wall. She was bitterly angry. Just another five hundred soldiers and they could have held the road indefinitely and ground down the enemy. As it was, her first battle was about to end in defeat. For a moment the reality of the situation caused her to despair, and she had to struggle to hold back tears of anger and frustration. Immediately the soldiers around her sensed this and looked at their leader in alarm.

Her response was quick. Tightening her grip on shield and ax she laughed aloud, the sound creating its own power, and soon the terrible joy of battle surged through her again.

“Housecarls of the Icemark! We’ve made the Empire pay dearly for their attacks, but now I think we’ve warmed up enough to really make them suffer! After the next charge we’ll send back only the horses. The riders we’ll lay on the earth in tribute to our King, Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North!”

A huge cheer greeted her words, and again the rattling rhythm of axes beating on shields rolled and swelled through the trees in tribute. Many of the veteran housecarls could hear the voice of Redrought himself echoing in the light tones of this young girl, and her fighting ferocity had given them heart in the face of overwhelming odds. But down the hill, Cassius Brontus was staring at the shield-wall in excited amazement. Judging by the clear and high voice he’d just heard, the commander of the enemy was a mere girl. But more important, he realized that only one girl in the whole of the Icemark could possibly command an infantry unit. The heir to the throne herself was standing only yards away! She was almost in his grasp! Spurring his horse forward, he called up his officers for a conference.

Up on the hill, Thirrin watched as Cassius Brontus spoke to his unit commanders. She knew that something different was about to happen and guessed it would take the form of a full-scale charge using all available troopers. She looked along her thin line of soldiers and doubted they could withstand it. If only she’d had a few more housecarls! And then, unbidden, the image of Oskan summoning the soldiers of the Oak King just before they had entered the forest came into her mind. Of course! Allies needed to be summoned. It was considered the height of diplomatic bad manners if the forces of a friendly power intervened in your war before being invited. She almost laughed aloud, and then just as quickly sobered up. She mustn’t get too excited. She might not have the power or the right to call the Oak King’s soldiers.

She ordered a nearby housecarl carrying a hunting horn to give the call of summons. All of her soldiers watched her step forward from the shield-wall and raise her arms. “Greetings to His Majesty the Oak King, Lord of the Forest and all wild places, from Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, heir to the throne of the Icemark. Hear now my call for assistance. Soldiers of the Polypontian Empire have crossed your borders without permission and now threaten my people and my own royal person. We courteously ask your help in defending ourselves from our enemy and thank His Majesty for his friendship and alliance!”

Standing alone before the battered ranks of her soldiers she seemed incredibly fragile and vulnerable, but the housecarls now knew how strong she was in battle and they trusted her judgment and leadership implicitly. Many were already looking around for the arrival of the oak soldiers, but nothing happened. For several minutes Thirrin stood in silence. A sudden braying of bugles from the enemy ranks sounded suspiciously mocking, especially when it was followed by laughter. But then a wind sprang up, blowing and growing in strength as it howled and raged through the branches of the trees. Just as suddenly it dropped and a deathly hush followed.

Cassius Brontus had placed himself at the head of his cavalry. He intended to lead the charge and capture the Princess himself. This was his greatest political and military opportunity yet, and he didn’t intend to allow a little superstitious ceremony to rob him of it. He signaled to the bugler, and the note of the charge rang out.

The entire force of cavalry leaped to the attack, storming up the hill toward the line of housecarls who stood waiting steadily. Thirrin’s voice rose in power above the din of the galloping horses, shouting out the war cry of the Lindenshields: “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire! Hold the line, warriors of the Icemark!” and her soldiers answered with their war chant:

“OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!”

Then, with a tremendous roar, they leaped forward to meet the charge. The crashing ring of shield meeting cavalry echoed through the forest, and a volley of pistol shots rang out. The shield-wall bowed dangerously, and Thirrin screamed out the order to stand. Then into the huge calamitous roaring a new sound exploded. It was a noise like an avalanche in the mountains, and the cacophony grew as horses screamed in terror and men shouted. Thirrin stared in amazement as the very trees of the forest seemed to roll forward and smash into both flanks of the cavalry. The oak soldiers had arrived and were driving into their enemy. With a great shout of triumph the housecarls pushed forward and straightened their line, hacking at the troopers before them and dragging them from their saddles.

Cassius Brontus stared about him wildly. This could not be happening! Trees did not fight! Pieces of wood shaped like soldiers could not charge and attack his cavalry! It was madness, yet it was happening and his troopers were being outflanked. Realizing his danger, he gave orders to retreat; his words were translated into bugle calls that rang out above the din of battle. But as the horses were turned around, they found their route of escape blocked by more of the impossible wooden soldiers.

Thirrin seized her moment, and shouting out the battle cry of the Icemark, she led her housecarls in a smashing charge that drove against the trapped cavalry. The Polypontian soldiers fought with a controlled fury that showed their superb discipline. For more than half an hour the cavalry continued to fight a now defensive battle against the allied forces of the Icemark and the Oak King.

The political ambitions of Cassius Brontus were no longer of any importance to him. He simply wanted to save his command from annihilation. In very different circumstances he would have found the situation almost amusing: from arrogant certainty of success to a desperate struggle to survive in less than two hours. But he had no time to consider such ironies. As he barked out his last desperate orders, his cavalry began firing a continual rolling volley of pistol shots, and he led his troopers in a final charge against the part of the trap that had been most weakened by the earlier fighting. But Thirrin had read his thoughts perfectly, and her housecarls stood ready to receive them.

Spurred on by desperation, the Polypontian charge was a maelstrom of disciplined fury. They smashed into the shield-wall, bearing the soldiers of the Icemark back until their line was bent like a drawn bow. But at the center stood the burning figure of Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, and she held her housecarls with a will that grew in strength the more she demanded of it. Her high-pitched voice rose like the cry of a hawk above the din of battle, and her soldiers rallied again and again as she called on them to stand and hold the line. Her battle-ax was notched and her shield was hacked and scored by the cavalry sabers of her enemies, but still she stood her ground and her soldiers stood with her.

Then a strange gasp arose from the ranks of the cavalry, and a cry of despair went up. Cassius Brontus had fallen. His exhausted horse had stumbled and immediately soldiers of the Icemark had leaped on him, hacking him to pieces where he lay. An answering cheer burst forth from the housecarls and they drove forward with renewed determination. The cavalry fell back at last, their final hope gone.

For another hour the cavalry fought on against Thirrin and her allies. Toward the end they dismounted and formed a defensive square. The ammunition for their pistols was spent, but they continued with their sabers, standing shoulder to shoulder and defending their standard to the last.

Three times Thirrin offered them terms, but each time they refused. Soldiers of the Empire had never surrendered. And so, as the last rays of the winter sunset bathed the naked trees in a glorious light of red and gold, they were all cut down where they stood around their banner.

The housecarls and soldiers of the Oak King drew back and stood in silence, staring at the fallen troopers before them. Thirrin finally removed her helmet, leaned her shield against her legs, and for a moment allowed herself to be a fourteen-year-old girl once more. She wept for the deaths all around her, she wept for her people forced from their homes into the harsh winter of the Icemark, and she wept for the young Polypontian trooper who lay at her feet, the blood seeping from the wound in his neck where her ax had bitten deep.

And as the tears streamed from her eyes, a line of steel-gray clouds drew down upon the land and released the first snows of the winter in a swirling tangle of white that would shroud the fallen and preserve their bodies for months.