The Cry of the Icemark

13



Thirrin pointedly ignored the long woolen warmers that Oskan had carefully rolled down over the ears of his mule, Jenny Even the fact that they were bright yellow with red pom-poms on the very tips didn’t drag any sort of comment out of her. She was determined not to notice them or the richly colored bridalry the mule was decked in, but she was swiftly coming to the conclusion that there were times when Oskan deliberately tried to annoy her. He still refused to ride a horse that she thought more fitting for one of her most important advisers, and now he’d taken to making a naturally ridiculous-looking animal look even more ludicrous by dressing it in brightly colored knitwear!

The escort of ten Hypolitan cavalry troopers and twenty housecarls had all grinned like complete idiots when Oskan had first appeared on his mule, and she expected anyone they met on the road to do the same. It was hardly in keeping with royal or ambassadorial dignity.

“Are you ready?” she asked, looking down on him from the huge height of her war stallion with what she hoped was disdainful dignity, and Oskan smiled brightly and nodded.

The main road out of the Hypolitan city was lined with the refugees from Frostmarris, who watched them ride by in almost total silence. They knew their young Queen was taking a terrible risk, and that if she failed they were almost certainly doomed to defeat at the hands of the Polypontian Empire. Even the sight of the mule in its ear-warmers did little to lighten their mood. A few raised their hands in farewell, and one or two called blessings and little spells for safe journeys, but otherwise they were as quiet as a frozen lake.

Thirrin was relieved when they’d finally ridden through the gates and the road lay empty before them. Oskan had said they could expect at least three days of calm weather, by which time they should be close to the border. And certainly the day was bright and clear — the best sort of conditions for traveling in the winter, if it really couldn’t be avoided. The frozen snow reflected the sunlight brilliantly, and the sky was the polished blue of washed enamel. Thirrin sniffed the air appreciatively. Beyond the immediate strong aromas of their horses and the leather of the soldiers’ equipment, the day smelled only of the clean cold scent of snow. She felt suddenly free, and had she been on her own she would have raced through the tingling air, urging her horse to greater and greater speeds. But she was now Queen of the Icemark, and an overriding sense of her responsibilities stopped her. The realization that responsibility would color her every decision and action from now on suddenly weighed heavily on her, and her mood darkened.

“I suppose you’re cold,” she said grumpily to Oskan.

“Of course. It’s winter,” he answered blandly.

“I might’ve expected you to feel it more than most.”

He looked at her, assessing this new mood, then he said, “Madam, I’ve lived all my life in a cave and walked naked in all weathers until I was seven. Yes, I’m cold, that’s an obvious fact — everyone who leaves their fireside in an Icemark winter is cold. But I’m not complaining. I’m as cold and as refreshed as someone who’s just plunged into a mountain lake.”

She grunted moodily in answer, but she had to admit to herself that he certainly looked comfortable enough, dressed as he was in the sort of brightly colored quilted jacket and leggings that were common among the Hypolitan. In fact, Oskan matched Jenny the mule perfectly. She was only surprised he wasn’t wearing ear-warmers under his scarlet cap.

His mood wasn’t exactly in keeping with circumstances, either. Most people had waved them off with a gloomy air, acknowledging the desperate situation that had driven the new Queen of the land to seek an alliance with their ancient enemy. But Oskan gave the impression he was off on some holiday jaunt.

“Why are you so happy?” Thirrin asked accusingly. “Everybody else is terrified by this war, but you look like a kitten with cream.”

“I am happy,” he said, grinning at her hugely, “because there’s no fighting at the moment. The sun’s sparkling on the snow and the sky’s as blue as a kingfisher’s wing.”

“And you think your attitude’s appropriate? People have died and many more will be killed before the fighting’s finished, and yet you smile as though your mouth’s got an ambition to reach your ears!”

“And exactly how does a miserable face help the war effort?” he asked sharply, his mood beginning to change. “Will a frown bring back the dead or fortify a town? If I allow myself to laugh in the face of misery, I rest my mind from the stress of it all, and then it’ll work the better for you and your war. And if I’m really to be one of your advisers, Your Majesty, accept this piece of advice: Take happiness where and when you find it, because there’s going to be precious little of it in the next few months!”

Thirrin reined to a halt angrily and glared at him. “I don’t like your tone, Mr. Royal Adviser! Perhaps my father was wrong and you’d be happier in some other role.”

“Perhaps! Perhaps! You really have no idea how people feel, do you?” Oskan said sharply, his anger oddly disproportionate to the situation. “I’ve never wanted the job of being the voice of reason to Her Majesty of the Royal Cloth Ears. Do you really imagine that ominous warnings about losing my position are some sort of threat? There’s nothing I’d like better than to go back to my cave and live as I want.”

“Ha! And how would you be able to live in your cave with troops of the Empire stomping all over the Great Forest?”

“I can assure you that in the woodlands I’m seen only when I want to be. Why does Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm-Make-Enough-Noise-to-Wake-the-Dead think she never saw me until this year, when I’ve watched her ever since she first ventured into the trees on a lead rein?”

Thirrin could have screamed, she was so angry, but she steadied her voice to an icy hiss. “Then perhaps Oskan Witch’s Son would be happier using his superior woodcraft by working as a scout for the fyrd! Once he’s completed his basic training, of course.”

“And exactly which of your regiments of iron-plated country bumpkins do you fondly imagine has the ability to hold me?” he asked, smiling viciously. Thirrin was suddenly aware of how catlike and fierce his features could be when he was angry. “Healers make the most dreadful enemies, Scion of the House of Strong-in-the-Arm. The Knowledge that saves lives can be used to do exactly the opposite. Especially when they have the blood of the Wise Ones in their veins.”

Thirrin looked at him for a moment and was amazed at the transformation. His eyes were wide and wild, his lips were drawn back from his vividly white and oddly sharp teeth, and she truly believed that if she touched him, his skin would crackle with rage. And there was something else. There was an aura of power about him that was almost tangible. It seemed to thicken the air around him, rippling it like a heat haze, but retreating when the eye tried to pin it down.

He really would make the most terrible enemy, and though she was livid and would have liked nothing better at that heated moment than to draw her sword and force him to beg her forgiveness, an insistent note of caution chimed in her brain: You need him, the country needs him. Don’t drive him along dark paths because of your pride. You are Queen now, you can’t allow personal anger to endanger the land.

Somehow she knew that this was a pivotal moment. Where it had come from and how, she couldn’t tell. But she knew if she lost Oskan now, something Dark would gain by it.

She breathed deeply, battling with her emotions, and slowly winning. When she looked at him again, his eyes were oddly unfocused, but they still blazed with an anger she’d unwittingly called forth. It was up to her to break the mood and win him back.

She leaned forward in her saddle and looked closely at him. “Oskan Witch’s Son. Don’t leave us. We need you. Would your mother, White Annis, have left us at such a time of need? Come back, Oskan.”

Slowly his eyes refocused, but still he looked at Thirrin as though she were a stranger.

Long ago, White Annis had told him about his father, and how his kind always had to make a choice between the Light and the Dark. Well, now his time to choose had come. The raging, boiling anger that had erupted seemingly from nowhere had presented him with a choice. Either he could use his powers for himself in glorious selfishness, or he could use them to help others, often for little return, perhaps not even for any thanks. It was as simple as that.

The decision, of course, was obvious, and his grin broadened into an almost wolfish snarl. But then recognition of the young girl who was looking so desperately at him returned and he shook his head. What had she said? “Come back”? Why should he? Why should he give his power and strength to help others? But he already knew the answer. Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield needed him, and so, too, did her tiny, foolish, brave little country. Slowly he turned away from the temptation of the Dark and looked around him.

“Come back, you say! Where in the world do you think I’ve been? And who’s leaving whom?”

“You were threatening to go back to your cave.”

“Was I? No … I seem to remember you were the one making the threats.”

“A royal prerogative. Consider them forgotten.”

He seemed a little confused, but after a while he smiled with his old warmth. “What on earth got into us?”

“Who knows? But it’s over. Let’s forget it.”

“No. Let’s remember it,” said Oskan mysteriously. But he smiled again, so brightly that Thirrin was reassured and deeply relieved.

During this time, the escort of soldiers had stopped and had been anxiously watching the pair battle over something they didn’t understand. But now, as the Queen and her counselor relaxed and started to talk in normal tones again, they resumed their march.

The very short day of the Icemark winter meant that to put a reasonable distance behind them they had to continue marching after sunset. But there was no need to light the torches they carried. The moon was a day away from full, and when it rose into a sky of brilliant stars, its soft silver-gray light was reflected and magnified by the snow so that the entire world seemed to glow like a pearl in the dark.

But the cold was vicious, and with the setting of the sun, the already low temperatures plunged to depths that made leather brittle and breathing painful. They endured marching in the cold for four more hours. Then, as soon as Thirrin gave orders to halt, the soldiers began the task of setting up shelters by unloading long flexible poles from the packhorses and forming them into rigid dome-shaped frames over which many layers of thick woven rugs and animal hides were tied. The floors inside were also covered with rush matting, braziers were lit at the entrances, and soon the tents had reached a temperature that was at least above freezing. Even the horses had their own shelter, constructed along the same lines but with a deep bedding of straw. Carrying enough equipment to make traveling possible in the depths of winter was one of the reasons why Thirrin had wanted to keep the numbers down, but everyone was well used to the conditions and carried out their tasks efficiently.

She was still worried about the possibility of snowstorms, but Oskan had said that blizzards blowing to the south of the forest wouldn’t move north until they were close to the Wolfrocks, by which time she hoped they wouldn’t be too far from the Blood Palace of the Vampire King and Queen.

She and Oskan ate their meal together in the royal tent, listening to the singing coming from the housecarls’ shelter pitched a little way off. The strange argument they’d had earlier in the day at first made them a little awkward, but after Oskan had dismissed it as “magic pollution” blowing on the wind from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, they became a little easier.

“After all, what else could it have been? It came out of nowhere, reached huge heights of stupidity, then disappeared as soon as we confronted it with common sense,” he said logically.

“As soon as I confronted it with common sense,” Thirrin pointed out. “You were ready to stomp off back to your cave, like a sulky toddler.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we shouldn’t revive the corpse of a conflict,” Oskan said. Then he added sweetly, “Maybe the royal skills of diplomacy need a little more polishing before we meet Their Vampiric Majesties in the Blood Palace. We don’t want a war with two enemies.”

Thirrin drew breath to answer this, then let it out slowly. He was right. She’d need to be the greatest diplomat the world had ever seen to make peace with The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, so she’d better start practicing right away. “Would you like some more stew?” she asked pleasantly, and called over the servant.

They began to discuss the mission in more detail, going over and over obstacles and difficulties until they’d exhausted every possibility they could think of.

“They have a reputation for being as tricky to pin down as eels in lard,” said Oskan. “Seal every agreement you make in the only way the Vampire King and Queen will honor.”

“Which is?”

“Blood, of course.”

“Ah yes. Of course.”

“Anything else they’ll just ignore, and you’ll be fighting a war thinking you can rely on them, but all you’ll have will be an alliance that’s as empty as a wineskin after a feast.”

“Whose blood will it need to be sealed with?” Thirrin asked.

“Theirs … and yours, of course. In effect you’ll be signing a contract, and in The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, blood has the same legal weight as the strongest oath.”

“How do you know all of this?” Thirrin asked. “It almost sounds as though you’ve had dealings with Their Vampiric Majesties before.”

Oskan shook his head. “Maggiore and I spent a very useful time in the archives of the Hypolitan while you were drawing up plans to reorganize the army. Maggie thought there might be something helpful there because the province lies so close to the border, and we struck gold.” He turned to call the servant and, after his and Thirrin’s mugs had been refilled, he went on.

“In the deepest vault of the archive we came across a chest labeled with the name of the Icemark’s King Theobad the Bold. It dealt with the time of the arrival of the Hypolitan in the Icemark more than four hundred years ago, when, as you know, there was a war. Maggie was fascinated and kept saying things like, ‘Ah, that explains so much,’ and ‘That’s why Hypolitan culture’s so different, they’re from the Southern Continent,’ which I didn’t know, did you?”

Thirrin shook her head, regretting that her mother had died when she was so young. Maybe she, Thirrin, would have been told such things if only her Hypolitan mother had lived longer. “No. I didn’t know that. But their names are different, and women rule their government, so I suppose they must have come from a very foreign place.”

“Exactly,” Oskan agreed. “All the old heroic tales tell of the war between King Theobad and the Hypolitan, and how they fought each other so long and so fiercely that eventually they began to admire and respect each other. But none of the tales ever mention the fact that Theobad had signed a treaty of nonaggression with The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, which gave him a free hand while he fought the Hypolitan. It makes sense if you think about it. Their Vampiric Majesties would certainly have invaded while he was fighting his war if he hadn’t sealed an agreement with them beforehand.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before? All this time I’ve been thinking we’re attempting the impossible, and now I find there have been treaties with The-Land-of-the-Ghosts before!” said Thirrin angrily.

“I was going to tell you tonight, anyway,” Oskan explained hastily. “And I meant to tell you earlier, but with all the planning and packing it slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind! One of the most important pieces of information I could use to persuade Their Vampiric Majesties into an agreement, and it slipped your mind!”

He shrugged. “Yes. It happens. I’m only human … mainly.”

Thirrin counted to ten and remembered her need for diplomacy. “Just go on with your story. And don’t leave out anything else!”

Oskan took a steadying drink from his mug and went on. “Well, as we know from the heroic tales, Theobad and the then Basilea of the Hypolitan finally made peace when she agreed to acknowledge the Icemark’s King as her overlord, in return for the land that became the province of Hypolita. And ever since that day, the Basilea has always answered the call of the monarch of the Icemark whenever there’s been a war. They’re our greatest allies. But the archives also give details about the treaty between Theobad and The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, stating that the treaty was drawn up and sealed with the mingled blood of the King and Their Vampiric Majesties.”

“And did it mention exactly how King Theobad persuaded them to sign?” Thirrin asked eagerly.

“Er … no.”

“No?!”

“No. It just said a pact of nonaggression was agreed upon and they signed it.” Oskan shrugged again uncomfortably.

“Well, marvelous!” Thirrin exploded. “So we know exactly which legal forms to use if we ever get an agreement with the Vampire King and Queen, but we have no idea how we can get it! So much for lessons from history!”

“Yes, but at least we can point out to them that there have been other treaties. We’re not breaking new ground or violating any taboos,” Oskan pointed out.

“True,” Thirrin agreed, as she began to see some use for his information after all. “But, more important, we’re letting them know that we’re aware of earlier treaties. No doubt they remember signing the nonaggression pact with Theobad, but they’ve allowed that fact to get lost over the centuries. The immortal memory is obviously long, Oskan, but it doesn’t have to reveal all its secrets to short-lived little nothings like me and you.”

They continued to discuss their plans far into the freezing winter night, but eventually Oskan went to his own tent and slept for a few hours. His brain was buzzing with problems and possibilities, but he was so tired he soon drifted off. And just as he began to descend into the deep realms of sleep, his mind turned to the strange argument he and Thirrin had had earlier. It was so odd, blowing up out of nowhere like a storm in the mountains, and it had left him feeling … different in some way he couldn’t quite pin down. But before he could analyze it further, he fell deeply asleep.

By the time the day dawned, they’d been marching for two hours. If anything, it had been colder as they packed up the shelters and set off, and Thirrin had begun to wonder if Oskan had any spare ear-warmers that she could use for her stallion. But she resisted asking him. Frostbite would have to be imminent before she’d give him that small victory.

When the sun finally rose in splendid fire, they stopped for breakfast. The homely scent of frying bacon and griddle cakes seemed completely out of place in the austere beauty of the breaking winter day. But Thirrin could remember no food being more delicious. She munched hungrily while staring out over the slowly undulating field of snow that here and there refracted the low rays of the rising sun into brilliant rainbows. The sky was a pristine polished blue from horizon to horizon, and she found it almost impossible to believe in Oskan’s prediction of blizzards by the end of the next day. But she ignored her own newfound skepticism, and soon had her escort marching again as she tried to reach the border before the weather deteriorated.

They kept up a good pace throughout the day, frequently stopping for short breaks and food as they marshaled their strength against the bitter cold and the steepening gradients. At one point a herd of shaggy-coated bison ambled across their route, stopping to dig through the snow to reach lichen and grass, and watching the soldiers with a vacant curiosity as they chewed. But there was no other sign of life in the frozen lands.

The short day wore on to evening, and as the sun dipped below the horizon the temperatures once again plummeted. But for Thirrin the extreme discomfort of the cold was almost compensated for by the beauty of the moonrise over the snowfields. Silver light seemed to fall from the sky in a polished drizzle that transformed even the most everyday objects into subtle works of art that amazed the eye. But she wouldn’t allow herself time to look at the splendor all around, and after a brief glance at the reflecting snows that seemed to breathe the light back into the sky, she directed the setting-up of the camp.

That night, clouds started to advance across the sky from the south. Thirrin and Oskan watched from the entrance of the tent as the massive bank of vapor slowly ate up the shimmering field of stars. The leading edge of the cloud bank seemed to tower for miles into the sky, its billowing hills and valleys delicately washed in moonlight.

“I’m sure we won’t think them so beautiful tomorrow when the blizzards hit us,” Thirrin said.

“No. But we should be in sight of the border by the time the first snow falls,” Oskan answered, turning to look at the Wolfrock Mountains, whose jagged peaks rose against the sky like the broken battlements of a gigantic fortress.

“But what then? Do you know exactly how far it is from the border to the Blood Palace? We could freeze to death before we even have the pleasure of setting eyes on Their Vampiric Majesties.”

“That won’t happen.” Oskan’s eyes had become strangely empty-looking, his voice had become deeper, and his words had taken on the timbre of a chant or song as he spoke. “We’ll meet them and, later, something more fantastic, more frightening than even they. An ally, Thirrin, the greatest ally we’ll ever have….”

Thirrin recognized the signs of the Sight on her adviser, and held her breath as she waited for him to say more. But instead his eyes cleared and he smiled.

“No more, I’m afraid. Just a small glimpse….”

“What did you see? Who is this ally?” she asked eagerly.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone powerful and ferocious, but a loyal friend. Though not a man or a woman….” He shook his head. “I can’t say any more than that. Perhaps the Sight will come back and tell us more.”

But it didn’t happen that night, and by morning the low and heavy cloud cover occupied all of Thirrin’s attention. They plodded along under the iron-gray skies as though they were carrying a huge weight. They were now climbing the foothills of the mountain range that formed the border, and snow-covered boulders like giant sheep were beginning to heave themselves out of the surrounding geography.

But even these signs that they were getting closer to their destination couldn’t distract Thirrin from the lowering sky. The light had an odd, almost brown, tinge to it, and there was a sense of anticipation as though the land were holding its breath. They expected the first wisps of snow at any moment, but none fell, and this added to the rising tension. Suddenly Jenny, Oskan’s mule, let out a huge bray that sounded almost muffled under the deeply gray sky. But she continued the strange, wheezy screech for almost a minute before finally falling silent.

“And what was all that about?” Thirrin asked disapprovingly from the height of her stallion.

“The wind’s coming,” Oskan answered simply.

“Is that all?”

Her counselor looked at her but said nothing. Then, reining in his mule, he dismounted and rummaged in his saddlebags until he found an extra coat with a deep hood and put it on. After this he unfolded a thick blanket and draped it over Jenny’s back, securing it with ties at the front and back.

Thirrin took the hint and ordered the escort of soldiers to put on any extra clothing they had, and then with Oskan’s help she draped a blanket over her stallion. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The winter winds of the Icemark were legendary, and she’d heard tales since childhood of them freezing birds to branches and beasts to the ground. But despite riding and hunting in the wilds since she could barely walk, she’d never before been this far north, or in the open when they’d struck.

After half an hour or so she was just beginning to wonder if Oskan and his mule could have been wrong when a gentle breath stirred her stallion’s mane and she heard a sound like a distant stormy sea crashing to the shore. She turned in her saddle but could see nothing. The snow was frozen, so no loose powder was being blown around, and in this area of the Icemark there were no trees to wave their branches as the storm rushed by.

But the sound grew closer and closer, rising to a high-pitched howl until, with the suddenness of a slamming door, the wind hit them. If Thirrin had had the breath, she would have gasped in shock. The temperature dropped like a lead weight, and no amount of clothing could keep the wind at bay. She pulled up her hood and hunched down in the saddle. She could almost see the leather of the reins becoming brittle as they continued to ride, and no amount of coaxing could have made her take off her gloves and touch the steel of her armor or sword. She knew that if she did, she would leave fingerprints as thick as her flesh was deep.

The terrible wind continued blowing for the rest of the day. One of the packhorses fell and refused to get up again, so they distributed its load among the others and left it to die. In such extreme conditions there was no room for compassion. It would take only one small addition of hardship and they could all freeze to death. Thirrin dreaded the night. If they failed to reach the border, or lost their way, they would have to set up camp again, and the thought of trying to pitch their tents in that howling storm was the stuff of nightmares.

By this time they were laboring up a fairly well-defined path that wound its way through the steep rocky slopes of the foothills. Ahead of them the Wolfrocks loomed out of the sky like broken teeth, and Thirrin could only pray that they didn’t miss the route to the pass. Here, the snow had been scoured from the rocks, which lay strewn around the terrain in a black and broken tumble that could give no foothold for life of any kind. The entire landscape looked as dead and barren as a desert. It all seemed horribly ominous to Thirrin, and exactly appropriate for a border with a land that was ruled by the undead. But had she seen the area in summer, she would have seen that deep in crevices where the winds couldn’t reach, lizards, mice, and many other creatures slept, awaiting the return of the sun.

Then, as suddenly as a fall of rocks in the mountains, the snows swept down on them, whipped to a biting frenzy by the wind. They were instantly trapped in a white and claustrophobic world where no points of reference applied. There was no north or south, no east or west, and only the pull of gravity let them know which way was up. Thirrin had tried to prepare for this, and they were already roped together so that none would get lost, or at least no more lost than the group as a whole. But now no precautions or plans were of any use. They were completely blind, each individual wrapped in a swirling cocoon of snow that reduced visibility to virtually nothing. Thirrin couldn’t even see Oskan, who she knew was riding right next to her, and she could hear nothing but the screaming of the wind.

She stopped, and knew by the pull on the rope that everyone else did, too. But now she had no plan to offer: No one could do anything. If they moved forward, they could lose the path; if they stopped still, they would freeze to death, and the blizzard was so wild no one would be able to even find the tents, let alone set them up.

For several minutes they sat and waited, hoping that the snow would stop, but it continued to swirl and lash about them like vicious white silk, its deadly cold drawing away what little warmth their bodies still retained. Thirrin knew that in a very few minutes they could all be dying, and despair engulfed her. She thought of the Icemark ruled by her aunt Elemnestra. She’d named her as heir as a means of healing the rift that had opened up when she, Thirrin, had broken Hypolitan tradition by insisting that men attend the war councils. But she didn’t doubt that if Elemnestra became Queen, she would try to impose the Hypolitan system on the entire land of the Icemark. Thirrin had visions of civil war as the barons and baronesses took up arms against the imposition of such a foreign culture. How Scipio Bellorum would laugh as his armies crushed the little land that was stupid enough to be fighting itself when he invaded.

Thirrin cried aloud in despair, her voice mingling with the howling of the wind that answered and echoed in mockery. This was the sound that a cold and dead throat would produce, she found herself thinking with sudden and remarkable calm. She listened, almost hearing words and a cruel melody in its noise. But then she thought it took on a different note, somehow … earthier, with more living warmth, and she turned her head toward this new sound. It came again, ululating now against the rise and fall of the wind and bursting out to right and left.

Then into her vision burst a huge and hairy face. “This way!” a powerful voice bellowed, and her horse lurched forward. They stumbled on in confusion for several minutes, then the snow seemed to stop and they almost fell into a space that was wide and smoky and filled with light and fire and blessed warmth. Thirrin brushed the snow from her frozen eyelids and looked around. They were in a cave filled with massive hairy creatures who, on seeing her, threw back their heads and howled.

The Wolffolk had found them.