The Cry of the Icemark

28



One hundred soldiers stood tied to stakes in the courtyard of the citadel. One in every hundred from the ten thousand members of the fyrd regiments who’d broken ranks and left their positions. They’d been chosen by drawing lots, and now were to be flogged.

One hundred housecarls had also been chosen to carry out the sentences of twenty lashes for each soldier, and stood waiting for Thirrin to give the order to begin. It was the first really warm day of the spring, and the sound of birdsong tumbled into the otherwise silent courtyard where almost two thousand of the fyrd regiment had been crammed to witness the punishment.

Thirrin was mounted on her warhorse and, urging him forward, she pitched her voice at a level everyone could hear. “Soldiers of the fyrd, you are here to witness the punishment of your comrades for disobeying orders.” She glared at the ranks before her, the rage she had felt during the battle rekindling as he spoke. “The guilt belongs to all of you! By breaking ranks, you not only endangered your comrades but also put in jeopardy the entire defense of Frostmarris and therefore the country and people of the Icemark!”

Her stallion began to sidestep and snort, ready for battle as he heard the anger in Thirrin’s voice. “But above even this, you are all guilty of bringing about the death of Basilea Elemnestra of the Hypolitan and her mounted archers! It was their brave sacrifice that saved you from certain destruction. A sacrifice that wouldn’t have been necessary if you had obeyed orders and the most basic rules of engagement! You do not break ranks! You do not pursue the enemy unless ordered to do so! Anyone, of whatever rank, who commits such crimes again will be hanged, and his body left to the crows.” She turned to nod at a lone drummer, who began to beat out a slow rhythm that would set the pace of the strokes. “May you all feel the pain of your comrades. May you all feel the disgrace of your crime.” She nodded again, and the housecarls drew back their whips and began the punishment.

The crack of the lashes cutting into flesh echoed across the courtyard, mingling with the screams of the soldiers. But the watching regiments remained deathly quiet. After less than two minutes the punishment was complete, and the soldiers were cut down and carried to the hospital block where the healers were ready to receive them. Then, with a silent nod from Thirrin, the fyrd was dismissed and they were marched back down to the defenses to resume their duties.

When the last rank had filed through the gates, Thirrin dismounted and, giving her horse to a waiting groom, she walked through the huge doors that led into the Great Hall. The cavernous space was empty, and for a moment she leaned against the cool stone of the walls and closed her eyes. But then a soft step approaching across the flagstones made her open them again and straighten up. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see Oskan walking slowly toward her.

“And what do you imagine was achieved by that horrendous display of cruelty?” he asked quietly.

“Discipline and a good lesson learned!” she snapped in reply.

“Don’t you think these soldiers are carrying enough of a burden without the added threat of a flogging if they make mistakes?” His tone remained even and level, but Thirrin could see him shaking with a suppressed rage that seemed to shimmer in the very air around him.

“Oskan, do you really believe that I don’t understand exactly what my soldiers are going through? Do you really think I’m a stranger to burdens?” She almost laughed at the bitter absurdity of it all, but she controlled herself, knowing that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

“They’re lucky, they only have to worry about a flogging if they break ranks and endanger their own lives again. But if I make a mistake, thousands could die, a country could be lost, and who knows what else could be inflicted on those unlucky enough to survive!” Her voice had slowly risen in strength as she spoke, and suddenly she let everything go in a glorious outpouring of emotion.

“Don’t talk to me about burdens, I drew up the plans for them! How many fourteen-year-olds do you know who rule a kingdom at war, who command an army, who keep together an alliance of more species than she can remember, who’s killed more people than she can count, who waits desperately day in, day out, every living blessed second, for the arrival of allies she’s terrified are going to let her down? Please tell me, Oskan, tell me her name. I’d like to have a cozy chat with her and compare notes! I’d like that, it might make me feel just a little less isolated, and just a little less afraid that at any minute the whole sorry, ludicrous, deadly, hellish mess is going to collapse around me, and everyone will finally find out that I don’t know what I’m doing and that I’m making it up as I go along!”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and fell silent, but her voice reverberated in the vast empty space of the Great Hall as though they were standing inside a huge bell that had just finished ringing.

Oskan blinked in amazement at the passionate outburst, almost smiled, thought better of it, and then finally gave her a hug that made her gasp. After a moment’s hesitation she returned his embrace, gently at first, then more and more fiercely as she reached out for his help and comfort. They stood there rocking from side to side while the war raged on and the world and all its woes continued without them. But after a while she disentangled herself. Oskan grinned when he saw her red cheeks, then he said, “I’m sorry, but I must go. I’ve got some soldiers to patch up.”

She nodded. “And I have to find a lost commander of infantry.” He frowned in puzzlement, but she shook her head. “I’ll explain later.”

They stood in silence for a few uncertain seconds, then finally walked away in opposite directions.

Her boots echoed in the silence as she strode across the flagstone floor and into the tangle of corridors that wound and writhed around the interior of the royal palace like veins and arteries. She took a few steadying breaths as she walked along and slowly regained her composure. By the time she reached the first junction of corridor and walkway, she’d become Queen Thirrin once again, and she concentrated her mind on the task at hand.

She knew exactly where she was going and who she’d find there. Earlier that morning she’d sent some of the quieter chamberlains to discreetly find out where he’d gone, and after they’d reported back she’d made up her mind to talk to him.

She came to a small, low door, and when she opened it, sunlight and the scent of flowers flowed around her in a warm rising wave. Before her lay the citadel garden. She walked out into the small space that was enclosed by the battlemented walls, and closed her eyes. The short Icemark spring was already evolving into summer, and the hum of bees filled the air as they shuttled like living sparks between the blooms that blazed their confusion of color into the air.

Thirrin breathed the heady mix of perfumes deep into her tired frame, and for the briefest of moments was almost able to forget the war. But then a warm gust of wind brought with it the sound of shouted orders and the tramp of marching feet, and she opened her eyes to reality and her task.

In the center of the garden tall rosebushes were already coming into flower, their deep reds, icy whites, and delicate pinks making a tangled tapestry of pigments and velvety textures on the warm air. Instinctively she walked toward them, and found Olememnon sitting on a bench surrounded by blooms and bees. He hadn’t heard her arrive and he sat, eyes closed, with petals in his hair and a butterfly sitting on his shoulder. He looked like one of the many minor Gods of Nature, tired out by the effort of spring and resting in his own creation before the tasks of summer began.

Thirrin almost walked away, leaving him to whatever peace he could find, but he stirred and opened his eyes. He smiled in greeting, the expression making the grief and sadness in his eyes all the more obvious.

“Hello, Uncle Ollie,” she said quietly. “Can I join you?”

In answer, he moved along the bench and patted the space next to him. She sat and, closing her eyes, she raised her face to the sun. “I don’t know what to say, Uncle Ollie. I’m only a girl, I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you’ve chosen to love rather than someone you’re born to love, like a father or mother.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “But when Dad died, I felt I’d been robbed of time … robbed of the times we would have had together.”

Olememnon took her hand and squeezed it gently.

“And there are others … particularly one other, whom I don’t think I could go on without,” she continued. “I mean, I suppose the world, my world, would go on, but if he were killed, I don’t quite know how it could.”

“It doesn’t seem possible,” Olememnon answered at last, his low voice quietly mingling with the drone of the bees. “Even the light seems darker.”

“I sometimes think it’s too much of a risk to rely on someone else so much for your happiness,” Thirrin went on. “But without sharing at least some of your life, everything else seems less worthwhile, less valuable somehow.”

“The risk is worth it, Thirrin. Even when fate calls your bluff and you lose them, the risk’s worth it.”

Thirrin nodded, as though he’d just confirmed what she suspected. Then she said, “I can’t say anything to help, of course. Nothing at all, but I need you, Uncle. I can’t do this on my own. Come back to us and lead the Hypolitan infantry, at least until the new Basilea gets used to her role.”

She almost gasped aloud at her own insensitivity and blushed a deep, mortified crimson, but Olememnon raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t worry, Thirrin, I’m perfectly well aware that the Convocation of Women has chosen a new leader. But any power that I had as an officer depended on Elemnestra. I was only the commander of the infantry because I was her consort. Without her, I’m just another soldier in the army of the Hypolitan.”

“We live in the oddest of times, Uncle. Therefore we may act oddly, and so I, as Queen of the Icemark, appoint you Commander of the Hypolitan Infantry. And you don’t have to worry, the new Basilea is a sensible woman and agrees with me. We can’t lose one of our best officers just when we need him most.”

“But what if he has nothing left to give? How can I lead troops in battle when I don’t even have the strength to think straight? I almost have to remember to breathe; blinking has become a matter for consideration: Do I do it now or wait until my eyes sting? This is what I’ve become now that I no longer have Elemnestra.”

Thirrin looked at him in wonder. Is this what grief could do, make almost a comedy of your life? Reduce grown people to the position of helpless babies? If it weren’t so serious, she could almost laugh. “But the living still need you, Uncle Ollie. Help us, please. If you don’t, then the entire population could suffer what you feel now, or at least those who survive.”

He smiled sadly. “They will anyway, at some point in their lives. Better to surrender to it now. The cause is lost, anyway. Where are the allies? At heart the Vampires and Wolffolk hate us; they won’t come. And without them how long can we hold out against the vast numbers the Empire sends against us? We’ve had some successes, yes. But with every victory our numbers are less, and with every defeat Scipio Bellorum’s army grows as he sends for more and more reinforcements. The struggle is no longer worth the effort.”

A rage suddenly burned in Thirrin’s body, and she stood up, almost incandescent with fury. “Olememnon Stagapoulos, Son of the Mother, one-time Consort of the Basilea of the Hypolitan, Commander of the Infantry of the Moon, your duty awaits you. It is not yours to understand the actions of the Goddess; you can only carry out your role to the best of your mortal ability, and if you must die, then you will do it safe in the knowledge that your small tragedy had some part in a divine plan beyond your knowing!” Her voice echoed around the garden, sending a flight of sparrows into the sky and driving away the sense of torpor that had settled over the huge man before her. He looked at her now, a small puzzled frown on his face as though he were trying to remember something.

“Olememnon Stagapoulos, you will come with me now and take up your role within the design of the Mother, or your name will forever be disgraced throughout the land!”

“Those who are left to remember it,” he answered defiantly, but his tone had changed and a new energy seemed to be returning to his huge frame.

“There will be many left to remember it, linked in glory to the name of Elemnestra Celeste, Basilea of the Hypolitan and Commander of the Sacred Regiment, who died defending her Queen. The Goddess has chosen that you should live, Commander Olememnon. Obviously you are still part of her design, and it remains your duty to fulfill your role.” Slowly the rage abated, and Thirrin looked at the soldier who now sat, head bowed, before her. She stooped and took his hand in hers. “Come on, Uncle Ollie, your people need you, and so do I.”

As she watched, the massive shoulders seemed almost to inflate as he drew a deep steadying breath and released it in an explosive sigh. After a few moments he climbed to his feet and smiled, uncertainly at first, then slowly broadening it into a brilliant grin that seemed to split his face. “Elemnestra wouldn’t let me rest, anyway. ‘There are things to be done and we’re the ones to do them,’ she’d say. Let’s go and see what needs doing.”

Thirrin hugged him fiercely, relief and happiness flooding through her, then taking his hand she led him back to the small doorway, each step seeming to add strength to the consort of the fallen Basilea.

The first two of the reinforcing armies had arrived, and Scipio Bellorum had personally overseen their settling into camp. Talk among the soldiers would have soon let them know just how difficult this stage of the war was proving to be, and he wanted to put the stamp of his authority and personality on them before morale could slip too far.

He’d already announced two rest days, which would allow the other two armies to arrive, and also let his men get well and truly drunk, with a day for recovery before they continued the campaign in earnest again. It also wouldn’t be lost on the soldiers that the Empire was sufficiently in control to dictate the pace of the war. There would be fighting when they chose, and not before. The barbarians would have to wait until the Empire was good and ready.

The army hadn’t been totally inactive, though. Bellorum had questioned some of the survivors from the earlier attacks on the Icemark’s defenses, and there seemed to be some evidence that the ditch-and-embankment system didn’t extend very far into the forest. There might even be a gap in the defenses. With this in mind he’d sent in several armed scouting parties, but so far none had returned. He sat now in his tent, its viewing wall raised, and watched through his monoculum as a much larger skirmishing party entered the eaves of the forest.

This time they had orders to send back messengers at regular intervals to give reports. As he watched, the last of the soldiers disappeared from view, and for the next hour he waited patiently, nibbling from a silver dish of exotic fruits that had been sent from all parts of the massive Polypontian Empire.

Bellorum then heard the unmistakable sound of a musket volley, followed by the scattered, sporadic firing of soldiers under pressure. Obviously whatever the defenses were in the forest, they were strong. For the next hour he continued to scan the trees. Once, he thought he caught sight of soldiers in oddly designed and colored armor, green and brown like the surrounding foliage, but not one member of the skirmishing party emerged.

“No weak point there, then,” he said to himself, and decisively snapping his eyeglass shut he sent an orderly to call his staff officers together so he could begin planning the next move.

For the rest of the day Bellorum discussed the tactics of the “endgame,” as he insisted on calling the stage of the war they were about to enter.

“I’ve decided to make these backward people use their own barbarity against themselves.” He smiled charmingly around the table where his officers sat watching him attentively. “The rational sciences are virtually unknown to them, so superstition rules their every moment. The night, therefore, probably holds an entire pantheon of terrors for the soldiers of the Icemark — and I intend to exploit that foolishness.”

Bellorum walked to an easel where a large chart of complicated equations and diagrams was drawn. “You’ve probably all noticed over the past few days that the moon is almost full, and that in these latitudes it’s remarkably large and bright.” A murmur of agreement drifted around the table. “Well, gentlemen,” he continued, pointing to the chart, “in two days’ time the moon will be at its largest and brightest; in the eyes of the barbaric and backward, it is a time of power and magic, a time of fear and dread, and a time, gentlemen, when we will attack!”

The murmur rose to a babble, which abruptly stopped as the general laughed. “Yes, we will attack by moonlight. Already the nights are almost as bright as day, and when the moon is full, it will be brighter still. Our greatest ally has always been fear, but as soldiers of the night, we will be truly dreadful. These uneducated savages will run before us like frightened children!”

The officers broke into spontaneous applause, and Bellorum smiled.

“Permission to speak, sir,” requested a young commander, taking everyone by surprise.

“Of course,” the general said, recovering quickly.

“I’d like to report a rumor I’ve heard among the men. It’s at least interesting, and could be important.”

“Well?” said Bellorum, his pleasant tones edged with the slightest ice.

“Several of the pikemen and shield-bearers have reported that … well, that the giant leopards use human speech, in fact, the same language as the enemy soldiers.”

A stunned silence fell, until Bellorum threw back his head and laughed. Immediately the other officers joined in, only stopping when the general did. “I suggest you charge those men with being drunk on duty.”

The young commander smiled nervously but continued. “Then I would need to charge over five hundred men.”

Bellorum stared at him for several seconds, but his gaze was returned with frank respect. “And do you believe these rumors?”

“I believe that the men who report them believe them to be true.”

“Young recruits, no doubt inexperienced and easily inflamed by the heat of battle.”

“No, sir. Veterans of the Red Army, some with more than twenty years’ service behind them.”

Bellorum sat down, his eyes staring into the middle distance as he remembered watching Thirrin and the largest leopard through his monoculum after the Basilea had been eliminated. He’d thought then that they seemed to be talking together but had dismissed the idea as ludicrous. The truth of it suddenly flared up in his mind, and with it grew a terrible sense of outrage. Man was the pinnacle of a rational universe! He alone used coherent language! He alone used coherent thought! Anything that challenged this order was an abomination!

“This cannot be allowed,” he said, his voice still and cold. “Talking beasts are an insult to the Cosmos. Gentlemen, we have a duty to destroy these freaks of nature in the name of all that’s rational. In two days we will be at full strength again, and we will sweep aside this petty queenling and her circus of fighting, talking beasts!”