The Cry of the Icemark

11



The first of the winter storms died out during the night, and at daybreak the sun was reflected brilliantly by an unbroken blanket of snow. The people of Frostmarris looked even more ragged and dirty than usual set against the freezing, fresh white of the new day, but now that the storm was over, their mood had lightened. The snows had arrived at last, and they could begin to hope that the bad omen of their late appearance would begin to lift.

As usual, Oskan and Maggiore led the way, and soon they noticed that the trees were slowly beginning to thin out. They were coming to the end of the forest, and by midday they reached its eaves. Before them lay a wide snow-covered plain, brilliant and glittering under the winter sun. The road was only just discernible as a slight hollow in the softly undulating surface, and when the next storm hit the old highway, it would be completely lost until the spring thaw.

After a brief pause to view the sight before them, the people plodded on. Maggiore turned in his saddle to look back over the refugees and then said casually, “You don’t feel a need to ride back to see how the Princess is faring, at all?”

Oskan looked at him and smiled. “No. I know she is safe. She’s won her first battle, Maggie. She’s proved herself the warrior we all knew she was. And besides, I don’t fancy being flayed alive by her tongue for leaving the people to the mercy of the weather. The fact that we’ve got at least two days before the next storm won’t make any difference to her.”

“No. I suppose not,” the neat little man answered automatically. But his mind and attention had suddenly wandered elsewhere. Thirrin had won her battle and they had at least two days before the next storm! After a quick calculation he realized that they would reach the main Hypolitan city before bad weather hit again. With a whoop of joy he urged his mare to a plunging gallop through the snow, throwing his hat into the air and laughing aloud while the people watched and cheered.

Then he reined to a halt and considered how he’d changed over the last few weeks: The rational man of science was now quite ready to accept without question the word of a dubiously educated peasant boy! And he really didn’t mind at all! So far Oskan had always been proved right, and what sort of rationality rejects proof just because it seems a little … colorful?

Maggiore sang bright, lilting songs of the Southern Continent for the rest of the day. His voice fell completely flat in the dense silence of the snow-covered land, but he didn’t seem to care, and the people added their own voices in a tangle of different songs and tunes that burst from the column of refugees like a flock of noisy birds.

It was Oskan who first spotted the splash of bright color moving steadily toward them across the white of the land. His keen eyes soon showed them to be cavalry of some sort coming from the north along the main highway.

He called Maggiore over and pointed ahead. “The Hypolitan have found us,” he said simply.

Thirrin led the march through the forest at an unfaltering pace, one they could keep up for hours. She wanted to put the trees behind them as quickly as possible. They had sufficient rations to last them for three days, but if a really bad snowstorm hit, they could be forced to stop for a week or more. In truth, she hadn’t expected any of them to survive the fight with the Empire cavalry, so she’d only given sketchy thought to the idea of rations to see them safely to the Hypolitan. But it was Oskan who’d insisted that she check and recheck their supplies before he’d left for the column the night before the battle. She was glad she’d listened to him now, but despite the shock of her first taste of open warfare, enough of the Princess still survived in her personality to be annoyed with him for not telling her to pack more. But, she eventually conceded, they were both novices when it came to provisions and rations; it was an easy enough mistake. Come to think of it, they were both novices at everything!

She’d actually recovered from the trauma of combat sooner than she could have ever imagined and now knew that she could lead her soldiers in battle with confidence and skill. As the housecarls themselves put it, she had “blood-proof,” and the veterans of her first fight would proudly boast of it for the rest of their lives.

Within half an hour of the last Polypontian soldier falling, she’d regained enough of her composure to remember to thank the soldiers of the Oak King, and had even presented them with the spoils of war in the form of the weapons and armor of the fallen soldiers. They had bowed low in reply, then melted back into the fabric of the forest once more, their bodies absorbed by tree and earth, leaving Thirrin and her housecarls standing alone on the road.

That was more than a day ago, and since then the first snows had fallen, prompting Thirrin to order a forced march through the night in an attempt to catch up with the column of refugees. But if more snow fell before she reached them, her first victory could be her last.

Just after midday they came to a cairn of rocks piled in the center of the road. Thirrin gave orders for it to be dismantled, and inside they found sacks of nuts, berries, and other dried fruits of the forest. The Oak King had sent them supplies. The housecarls cheered and beat their swords and axes on their shields in salute, while Thirrin simply called, “Thank you — this won’t be forgotten!” into the surrounding woodland.

The following night was even colder than usual for an Icemark winter. Even when they’d built huge blazing fires, the freezing winds reached icy fingers into the small domes of warmth and light that hugged the flames. Ten of the older soldiers died overnight, their gray housecarl beards white with frost and their hands frozen to the hilts of their swords. With a sense of quiet despair Thirrin realized that it wouldn’t be long before the younger soldiers started to die, too, but there was nothing she could do about it. She guessed that unless they reached shelter within two days she could lose up to a quarter of the soldiers who’d survived the battle. With this thought in mind she set a punishing pace along the road, driving the housecarls along by reminding them it was not only ferocity in battle that marked a good soldier but also stamina and endurance.

They marched through the night again, their pace slowing to a crawl in the darkest hours. The forest distantly echoed with strange calls and bellows as though giant beasts were hunting them. Once, Thirrin thought she heard howling, but it was very faint and she had no way of knowing if it was the sound of ordinary wolves driven down from the hills by hunger or if they were the cries of the Wolffolk, her allies. Then just before dawn, all fell silent as they trudged along, the only sound being the faint crunch as their feet broke through the crisp shell of frozen snow to the loose powder beneath. Thirrin was exhausted, and so were her housecarls. They would have to stop, if only for an hour or so, to eat rations and warm their frozen hands and feet at a fire.

She’d just given the order to halt when she caught the sound of hoofbeats approaching steadily. Without a word the shield-wall was raised and she took up her place at its very center. All her soldiers were staring ahead to a point in the road where it bent out of sight under the trees. Thirrin found herself wondering if they could put up much of a fight in their present condition. But she forgot all such thoughts as the horses came into view. They were about five hundred yards away, and in the cold clarity of the morning air Thirrin could see there were two columns, one made up of small sinewy animals and the other of larger horses. Both were carrying soldiers in brightly colored clothing.

One of the smaller horses was leading the columns, and its rider was wearing a scarlet cap with cheek flaps that looked somehow familiar to Thirrin. Seeing the shield-wall before them, the leader gave orders to halt before riding forward with another soldier who was on one of the larger horses. As they got nearer, Thirrin could see that the commander of the cavalry was a woman and she was holding up her hand in a gesture of peace.

“Who are you that rides armed in the forest in these times of war?” Thirrin called.

The woman didn’t reply but dismounted and walked forward to within a few feet of the housecarls’ shield-wall. Her face was stern and coldly beautiful, and Thirrin guessed she would be about Redrought’s age. Suddenly the woman dropped to one knee.

“Hail, Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield. I am your vassal Elemnestra Celeste, Basilea of the Hypolitan, and this,” she said, indicating the huge man who stood respectfully some feet behind her, “is my consort Olememnon.”

The housecarls began to cheer, but Thirrin curtly waved for silence. Something about the woman warned her not to hold herself with anything other than supreme dignity in this first meeting.

“Greetings, Elemnestra Celeste, Basilea of the Hypolitan. I would inform you that you have not given my due titles fully, as you missed the fighting epithet ‘Wildcat of the North,’ given to me by my father, Redrought, King of this land,” she said proudly.

The woman returned her gaze steadily for a moment and then bowed her head. “Forgive me, My Lady. We had not been informed of this addition to your titles, but I will say that it is a fitting epithet for one who has just achieved her first victory with such glory.” The woman then looked up and smiled, her whole face transformed into a warm and radiant beauty.

She stood up before adding, “And while we are talking of titles, you have missed one of mine, My Lady. That of ‘Aunt’; your mother was my youngest sister.”

Of course Thirrin knew that the Basilea, or governor, of the Hypolitan was her aunt. But she had never met her mother’s relatives before, and after the trauma of the last few days she thought she could be forgiven if it had temporarily slipped her mind.

“Greetings, then, Aunt Elemnestra. And this must be my uncle Olememnon,” Thirrin answered, nodding at the huge man who stood quietly waiting.

“Well, yes … I suppose so,” Elemnestra answered, as though it had never occurred to her that a man could hold such a position. “Olememnon. Come forward and greet your … niece.”

The governor’s consort stepped forward and smiled as he dropped to one knee. He was massively built, with wide shoulders and a deep barrel chest, but oddly, he had no beard. Thirrin wondered if he’d had some dreadful accident, but then noticed that none of the other soldiers on the larger horses, all men, had beards, either. The common-sense answer occurred to her at last. Of course, they shaved. She was almost shocked. It was strange to look on men of the Icemark with no beards. It was almost like looking at older versions of Oskan, except that all of these soldiers had the stature of full-grown men.

The other soldiers on the smaller horses were women, and were as tall and slender as their Basilea. They carried short compound bows, spears, and crescent-shaped shields made of strengthened wicker, while the men carried round shields and axes like her own housecarls. But they all dressed the same, in brightly embroidered pants, coats, and scarlet caps with cheek flaps.

Thirrin turned her attention back to Olememnon, who was still kneeling before her, and stepping out of the shield-wall she took his hand and helped him to his feet.

“Greetings, Uncle,” she said formally, and kissed his shaven cheek.

“Greetings, My Lady,” he answered in a deep yet quiet voice, and smiled back at her.

Thirrin then turned to her aunt and, stepping forward, embraced her. A huge cheer rang out from the housecarls and this time Thirrin didn’t try to stop it.

Maggiore looked around him. The rooms were light and spacious, and the white-plastered walls with their murals of hills and trees reminded him of his childhood home. Except these hills were bigger, of course. And they were in the north, not far from the lands of permanent ice where the days and the nights were six months long. So how did the artists of this cold land know about the low hills and different species of trees found far to the south? How could they know of the countries where the sun is kind and the rains are well mannered enough to come at set times of the year so the people can prepare for them? It was a puzzle, though he supposed that they had simply copied works they had seen while traveling. Even so, the murals were to be found everywhere in the Basilea’s palace, and they were so vivid and of such high quality that Maggiore was almost convinced that they proved some sort of link between the Hypolitan and the regions of the south.

But he was happy to let the mystery of the decor remain unsolved for a while. He was still enjoying the unusual luxury of being warm. A huge fire blazed in the log basket that sat in the center of the room, and the windows were tightly shuttered against the howling blizzard that was raging around the city of Bendis, the chief settlement of the Hypolitan. Warmth and good-sized food rations were just what he needed after that hellish journey, though he had to admit, things could have been far worse. “Thank whatever gods an agnostic like myself can believe in that the Basilea got our messages and brought help,” Maggiore murmured to himself.

When the soldiers had found them on the road, they’d immediately fed the people and, hearing of Thirrin’s rear guard action, the Basilea herself had ridden on to the forest with supplies. By the time Thirrin and her escort had reached the walls of the city, the refugees had been settled in for more than a day, so most of them had joined the crowds that had lined the main highway leading to the citadel.

Thirrin’s reception had been truly amazing: The Hypolitan saw the Princess as one of their own, which was hardly surprising, Maggiore conceded to himself, considering that her mother had been a member of their governing aristocracy. They’d cheered and waved and, oddly, laid furs at the feet of the horse she’d been given by the Basilea, so that Thirrin was obliged to ride over them.

Maggiore found himself fascinated by the traditions of the Hypolitan, and though he’d only been in the city for two days he’d already found out a lot. As a foreigner who’d spent most of his time in Frostmarris, he was surprised to hear words he didn’t recognize sprinkled through the speech of the people. A dialect he’d expected, but these words sounded like the remnants of a language that was now almost lost. The religion, too, was different. As far as he could tell in his brief scan around, the local gods were mainly female with a dominant Mother Goddess, and this seemed to be reflected in mortal society, with few men in positions of power at any level. For a while Maggiore’s male pride had been affronted, but then his brilliant scholar’s mind had become fascinated, and finally he’d had to accept that the system was settled and ordered and all the people seemed happy enough.

Sitting before his fire in the comfort of his room, he’d reached the inescapable conclusion that the Hypolitan were immigrants, perhaps refugees themselves, who’d settled in the land at some point in the past. Even their names were different, with an exotic wealth of Cassandras and Iphigenias, which glowed like jewels among the background grays of Aethels and Cerdics. Maggiore’s scholarly curiosity had been thoroughly aroused, and he’d ferreted out as much information as he could.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up just as Oskan and Thirrin walked in. They’d obviously been debating matters as they’d been walking along, and continued to talk after both raised their hands to acknowledge his presence.

“There’s no way we can afford to sit around during the winter months and hope the Polypontians will just go away!” Thirrin snapped in her usual way, proving she’d completely recovered from the march and the battle.

“I never suggested that,” Oskan answered just as forcefully. “If you’d actually listen instead of assuming I’m going to say something to annoy you, you’d have heard that I thought it was a good thing the people now have a chance to recover before the campaigning season begins again in the spring. I don’t expect you will do anything even remotely like having a rest.”

“No! There’s the fyrd of the north to be called out, and equipped, trained, and housed. There are supplies to be secured and delivered, there are weapons to be made, repaired, and prepared! Rest is a luxury I can’t afford and don’t want!”

“But perhaps My Lady and her young adviser could at least sit down for now,” said Maggiore quietly, and pointed to some chairs that stood against the walls.

Thirrin and Oskan fetched them and placed them next to the hearth. “I’m calling a meeting tonight with the Basilea and her council, so Oskan and I are just getting ready by airing our views. What do you have to say, Maggie?”

“About what particular aspect of the situation?”

“Any of it! All of it!”

“You seem to have the military preparations well in hand. But what of diplomacy and alliance?”

“Ah yes. I’ve decided —”

Oskan suddenly stood up, strode to the window, and threw open the shutters. The howling storm outside burst into the room, driving snow in a great billow toward the hearth, where it hissed and sizzled in the flames. Thirrin and Maggiore coughed and spluttered in the smoky steam and started to shout at Oskan above the roar of the wind.

“Listen! “ Oskan snapped with such authority the other two fell silent. “Can’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?” Thirrin demanded.

“The howling!”

All three sat quietly in the midst of the snow and raging wind and listened as slowly the thin edge of a howl separated itself from the noise of the storm.

“Wolves. So what? They’re hungry and have come down from the hills!”

“No! Not wolves. The Wolffolk. They’re calling for you,” he said forcefully.

Thirrin leaped to her feet. “What are they saying?”

Oskan stood listening for almost a minute, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated. Thirrin could barely contain her frustration, but she didn’t dare say anything until he was ready. At last he blinked and said, “They want safe conduct into the city. They want you to meet them outside the gates.”

“Right!” Thirrin hurried to the door. “Oskan, issue orders for all gate guards to let them through. No one is to harm them in any way, on pain of death! Maggie, tell the Basilea what’s happening and meet us in the main hall.”

As Thirrin and Oskan rode down from the citadel, the wind continued to howl and drive the snow in a stinging hail, like ice arrows that made it almost impossible to see. Oskan found himself wondering how anyone, or anything, could survive such conditions, and yet the Wolffolk had traveled through the storm and were waiting now beyond the gates.

The guards had already received their orders and so were ready to let Thirrin and Oskan out into the blizzard. But as they opened the gates, four snow-encrusted figures stumbled in, carrying what looked like a large stretcher between them. The guards drew their swords, but Thirrin snapped out an order and they sheathed them. The tallest of the strange figures stepped forward and dropped to one knee. It raised its hideous mask of a face, and the Princess could clearly see the mingling of human and wolf in its features.

“My Lady, we must go up to the citadel of the Hypolitan Basilea. We have come to return something to you.” The creature’s voice boomed easily above the screaming wind.

“What is it?”

“Not here, My Lady. It would not be … fitting.” Thirrin glanced at the stretcher and nodded quickly. “This way.”

By the time they reached the main hall, Elemnestra the Basilea and her consort, Olememnon, were waiting. They were sitting in their Thrones of State, wearing their official robes as though expecting foreign dignitaries. Beside them the ten members of the High Council of the Hypolitan stood waiting quietly, as did an anxious-looking Maggiore.

As Thirrin strode into the hall, she couldn’t help noticing that Maggiore and Olememnon were the only men present, but she was so busy trying to appear calm that she had little time to think of anything else.

As Thirrin reached the dais, Elemnestra stood to offer her the throne, but she waved her to sit. The werewolves now stepped forward and placed their burden on a trestle table that stood nearby. The council members murmured at the appearance of the Wolffolk, and the guards around the hall quietly loosened their swords in their sheaths.

Thirrin looked around her, aware of the mistrust in the hall, and felt her temper rising. “These people are my allies and have already shown me great loyalty and trust. If anyone here present mistreats them in word or deed, I will call upon my powers as heir to the throne of the Icemark and I will order their hanging out of hand!” She looked around her fiercely; none would meet her eye. “Good. Then I call on the Wolffolk to speak now. What have you brought us?”

Once again the tallest of the werewolves stepped forward. “My Lady, our burden is heavy and we have carried it far from the battlefield of the south.” A murmur ran through the hall as people realized for the first time that the creatures could speak. “But the weight has been no physical hardship. The Wolffolk could carry ten times the weight for twice the distance and feel no effort. No, the burden has been one of sorrow, knowing what pain we must bring our ally.”

Thirrin gazed at him steadily, her face pale in the light of the hall’s torches. “What have you brought us?”

The wolfman bowed his head and, turning to the stretcher, he pulled aside the cover, revealing the bodies of Redrought and the Lady Theowin, packed in snow that had perfectly preserved them.

A gasp ran around the hall, and then a perfect silence returned as Thirrin stepped up to the stretcher. Redrought was still wearing his armor, though his helmet had been placed on his chest, and the Wolffolk had also taken time to clean the bodies of any blood so that they appeared to be in a deep and dignified sleep.

Thirrin gazed at her father and remembered the huge man who’d loved cats and fluffy slippers, who’d played with her as a little girl and had told her stories when she went to bed. Her eyes filled with tears as she took the icy-cold hand in hers.

“Dad,” she whispered. “I love you, Dad.” She stooped and kissed his cheek. Then, standing upright, she turned to the wolfman. “What news of the battle?”

“The King defeated his enemies and took their banner. It lies now at his feet. But his army was destroyed in the act of destroying. The enemy numbers were too great, but we believe he knew what he was doing and sacrificed his army to give you time to raise a second host and call on the help of your allies. We Wolffolk were not ready; it takes many cycles of the blessed moon to gather our people; but a few of us went to watch so that we might bring news to you, My Lady. When we saw Baroness Theowin fall and King Redrought killed just as he seized the enemy’s battle standard, we ran to collect their bodies from the field before the soldiers who came on horses after the fighting could take them.

“We have brought them now to you, our ally, and also bring greetings from our king, Grishmak Blood-drinker. He says that the muster is under way and will be ready in the spring, when he will expect your call to battle.”

Thirrin stood silently gazing at the body of Redrought, her face pale and her eyes bright. But then she seemed to collect herself and, looking up, said, “We return greetings and friendship to His Majesty Grishmak Blood-drinker and assure him that the call for battle will be sent with the new campaigning season.” Then she looked at her father again, and added in a voice that began quietly but climbed with a rising power, “But before that, there are pyres to be built, and a hatred to be stoked up to a blazing height that will scorch the Empire of the Polypontus. It will rage and roar through its very streets until the Emperor’s palace itself is an explosion of flames. Let our drive be revenge! Let our weapons be hatred! Let our anger be the power that smashes the Empire!”

At once a huge clamor broke out as the guards beat their swords on their shields, the Wolffolk howled, and everyone cheered. Maggiore was interested to find himself shouting with the rest, and noted wryly that the power of emotion could overthrow even the most objective of minds.