The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (12 page)

Oskan shook his hand gravely. “I am Oskan, known as the Witch’s Son … er, Thirrin’s friend, or should I say friend of Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the —”

“‘Thirrin’s friend’ will do nicely,” Maggiore interrupted gently. “Very nicely indeed. And may I say that I’m enormously pleased that she’s made the acquaintance of such an intelligent young man. Nobody else has ever rightly guessed the nature of my spectoculums before. I’m very impressed.”

Oskan felt himself growing warm with a mixture of pleasure
and embarrassment, but despite this he couldn’t help noticing the small man’s rich accent. “You’re not from the Icemark, are you? Your name makes that pretty obvious, but your voice, too … it sings.”

Maggiore smiled. “No, I’m from the northern shores of the Southern Continent, where the sun is enormously generous and ice is only ever found in cooling drinks. And soon I’ll be going home, now that the Princess is reaching the limit of her patience with schooling.” His voice had become wistful, and his spectoculummed eyes stared into a distance of imagined olive groves and small mountain villages honeyed with sun and quiet in their gentle dust. “At least I
hope
to be going home soon, but this rumor of war may mean the ports will be closed and the seas unsafe to travel. We shall have to see.”

Thirrin watched Oskan and Maggiore chatting together with approval. There was something very similar about their natures. Both seemed fascinated by the world around them, and both knew so much. She was sure they’d find plenty to talk about. And now, safe in the knowledge that her two favorite guests were entertaining each other, she could concentrate on the High Table and the talk of the coming war. But before she could say anything, a fanfare rang out and the sweet singing of Yule filled the hall.

The hubbub died down, and all eyes turned to watch as the great doors opened and a choir of boys and women paced slowly into the hall. Behind them walked dozens and dozens of servants carrying platters and other containers of every imaginable sort of food, and at the head of the procession walked Grimswald, the chief chamberlain, carrying a huge round loaf of bread. Thirrin couldn’t help noticing the lack of the housecarls’ bass notes that would usually have been part of the choir. Almost as though Redrought had read her thoughts, he
suddenly leaped to his feet and added his own hugely deep voice to the singing. Down the center of the hall walked the procession, skirting the massive central hearth where the Yule log would burn, and traveling slowly up to the dais where the King waited. For a moment or two longer the sweet ancient song threaded into the quiet, slowly wafting up to the rafters and echoing back from the roof, so that the singers seemed to be accompanying themselves in a tumbled choral round. Then at last it died away like a gentle sigh, the King drew his sword, and as Grimswald held up the round loaf of bread, Redrought cut it in two.

A roar rose up from the hall, and the servants scattered to all points of the room and started serving the food. More and more scullions poured through the doors carrying yet more delicious food, and the long minstrels’ gallery that jutted out above the great doors was suddenly full of musicians playing a tumbling dance tune.

Thirrin waited patiently for the noble guests at the head table to finish the first course of their Yuletide breakfast, then, as the scullions cleared away the debris, she asked, “What’s the news on the calling of the fyrd? Has all gone smoothly?”

“Not a hitch or problem anywhere,” Redrought answered, his powerful voice easily rising above the noise in the hall. “I’m more than pleased. Yule’s a bad time to call out the fyrd, people want to be with their families, but everything’s in order and working as it should.”

Thirrin sat back and listened intently as each of the lords and ladies at the table added detail to this, but overall the reports were the same. All was going well. She already knew the disposition and strengths of each regiment likely to engage
the enemy, so when Redrought started to fill in details for those with less knowledge, she sat back and let her eyes wander over the hall.

Already the tumblers and acrobats were leaping skillfully around the tables in a dazzle of sequins. One had even managed to leap from the shoulders of his partner and reach one of the dozen or so crossbeams that stretched across the width of the hall. He sat there now, calling down to the crowds below and deftly catching the small morsels of food they threw up to him.

Thirrin smiled. She loved this early part of Yule Day. Everyone was still boisterous and full of energy, but by mid-afternoon most would be sleeping in snoring heaps or holding deeply earnest conversations with people they’d probably just met. Her eyes wandered on, and came to rest on Oskan and Maggiore Totus. They already seemed to have reached that stage. They were bent over the table between them, their heads close together as they talked. She watched them, trying to make out what they were discussing, but it was impossible. Probably the life expectancy of the earthworm, she thought dismissively. But she continued to watch them for several minutes, trying to ignore a growing desire to leave the High Table and join them. She felt inexplicably annoyed with Oskan, and after trying to find a reason for her irritation, she decided it was because he hadn’t looked her way once in all the time she’d been watching him. Being far too dignified to throw a bread roll at him, she beckoned over a servant, then sent him off to Oskan’s table.

“Her Royal Highness requires that you remember her presence,” he announced as he reached the two conversationalists. Oskan looked up in surprise. They’d been discussing the
wildlife of the forest, and he’d become so absorbed he’d almost forgotten where he was.

“Um … tell the Princess we wouldn’t dare forget her.”

The servant was just bowing stiffly when Maggiore laid his hand gently on his arm. “No. Tell Her Royal Highness that she has never been out of our thoughts, and we remain deeply grateful that she should remember us.”

The servant withdrew and delivered his message, and Thirrin looked on them coldly. She was actually as happy and relaxed as she could be, considering the pending invasion, but she wasn’t going to let Oskan know that. And as for Maggiore Totus, she had no doubt that he was watching them both and laughing. The fact that the laughter was friendly and affectionate made little difference to her; she still found it annoying.

After that, both Oskan and Maggiore remembered to look up to the High Table and toast Thirrin on a regular basis, but her face remained an unsmiling mask.

By mid-morning the celebrations had reached their noisy height, and a great cheer arose when the double doors burst open and soldiers of the palace guard dragged the enormous Yule log into the hall. It took several minutes to pull it across the flagstones while the guests sang a noisy song of welcome and musicians escorted it to the waiting hearth. Lesser logs were already blazing there, and these would cradle the Yule log above the deep mound of glowing coals that lined the pit of the central hearth.

Ten strong men of the palace guard then heaved the log onto stout iron bars and slowly lowered it onto the waiting flames. For a moment silence descended on the hall, then a single voice sang praise to the Sun that would begin its long return journey after this, the shortest day of the year. As the last note
died away, tankards, goblets, and leather jacks were raised in salutation and drained in one movement, and a huge cheer rose to the rafters.

The Imperial army swaggered along the narrow road through the pass, the stamp and thump of each disciplined step telling the world that conquest was coming and nothing could stop it. In less than an hour the road began to widen, and the soldiers caught their first glimpse of the land they were about to add to the Empire.

Baroness Theowin of the Icemark’s Southern Riding watched as the Polypontian commander stepped over the border. She was surprised to see that he didn’t match any of the descriptions she’d had of Scipio Bellorum, but soon dismissed the puzzle as she prepared to take action. The Baroness had barely had time to call out the fyrd and send word to Frostmarris, but help would still be days away and she had an Empire to fight all alone. She watched the Imperial army swaggering along as though they’d already won their war and put all other thoughts aside.

Commander Lucius Tarquinus of the Polypontian Imperial forces raised his hand, and the army stamped to a halt. The fife-and-drum units that had been filling the freezing air with stirring martial music fell silent, and an expectant hush settled over the soldiers.

Tarquinus now urged his horse on a few steps and then, standing in his stirrups, he called,
“Veni, vidi, vici!”
—the traditional phrase declaimed at the start of each of the Empire’s many invasions.

Theowin smiled grimly. “ ‘I came, I saw, I conquered,’ eh?” she said, translating the words to herself. “Well, you’ve certainly come, and undoubtedly you’re seeing, but conquest is an
entirely different matter.” She raised her hand and chopped it down viciously.

Arrows rained down on the Polypontian army. Several staff officers who were riding with the commander fell to the ground and lay unmoving as their horses bolted. For a moment chaos reigned, but then the rigid discipline of the Imperial troops reasserted itself and they fell back in good order, their shields raised above their heads as they withdrew. Commander Tarquinus trotted his horse gently back to his army, almost as though he were out for a pleasant ride, and immediately took control.

He’d noted the approximate position of the enemy hidden behind an outcrop of rocks, and sent out a detachment of heavy infantry who formed a
testudo,
or tortoise — shields were locked to form a roof and walls all around the unit, protecting the soldiers inside.

Baroness Theowin immediately gave orders for the archers to withdraw, and they melted away into the hills. Then, with a nod at her cavalry, she led them in a smashing charge, screeching and howling the Icemark war cry as they roared down on the infantry.

Horse and rider smashed into the shields, and a rending clang like an unholy bell echoed over the land. For a vicious few moments cavalry saber and infantry sword hacked and stabbed at one another, but then, just as Tarquinus was sending out reinforcements, the Baroness and her troopers withdrew, streaming over the frozen ground to disappear among the gullies and canyons of the borderland.

After another two hours or so, the midday meal was brought in. This was only made obvious by the fact that there was even more food on the tables, and the guests turned to the task of
eating with huge sighs and shaking heads. But somehow they managed, after which some of the less able began to slip into quiet sleep amid the uproar of singing, shouting, and laughter.

Thirrin had been discussing the relevant advantages and disadvantages of the longbow over the matchlock musket with the Baron of the Middle Riding when she noticed that Oskan had stood up and was looking toward the back of the Great Hall. She followed his gaze and watched as the massive doors swung open and a warning shout rang out. Silence as complete and deadly as the midwinter chill fell on the hall, and all eyes watched as ten men of the Palace Guard marched forward dragging a werewolf between them.

Its arms had been tied to the shaft of a spear that ran across its shoulders, and a thick chain hobbled its legs, forcing it to shuffle along with ridiculous mincing steps. But the guards kept their distance, pressing their spears so hard into its flesh that Thirrin could see blood trickling over its thick black pelt. Enraged, she leaped to her feet, and before the strange party had reached the dais where she sat, her angry voice cut into the silence.

“Set him free!” The guards stopped and looked at her in amazement. “Set my ally free
now,
and let him approach the High Table.”

The Princess seemed almost to blaze as her red hair stood out about her head in a halo of wrath, and the guards hurried to release the werewolf. A sigh went up as the chains fell away and its hands were released from the spear shaft. It stood rubbing its wrists for a moment, then strode toward the dais. The guards immediately snatched up their spears and formed a shield-wall in front of the High Table.

“Put down your spears and stand aside!” Thirrin snapped. The commander of the guard looked at Redrought, who nodded
in silence, then as the soldiers parted slowly, the werewolf stepped up to the table and dropped to one knee. The intense silence that had descended on the hall again was broken only by a whimpering and snuffling sound as the creature contorted its face in an effort to use human speech. Then at last a sudden explosion of sound burst out of its mouth.

“Hail, Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, heir to the human kingdom of the Icemark. Greetings from My Lord, King Grishmak of the Wolffolk.” The great belch of gruff sound echoed from the stone walls of the hall, and Thirrin nodded in reply.

“Greetings to my ally King Grishmak. What news does his envoy have for us?”

“My Lady, your land is invaded! The Wolffolk are mustering, but we fear we’ll be too late.” The wolfman had gained some control over his voice and the volume was a little lower, but still it echoed over the otherwise silent hall. “Already the armies of the Polypontus have marched through the mountain pass in the south, and your people are fighting to stop them.”

“They’ve invaded already?” Redrought boomed. “When? What time? How many?”

“At dawn this morning, and their numbers are more than ten times the army of your people that stand against them.”

“Ten times!” Redrought bellowed. “I need precise numbers, details, types of weaponry. But I don’t suppose you people can count.”

The creature drew itself up to its full height and looked Redrought in the eye. “Nothing escapes my people if they want to see it. I know now my news is not entirely unexpected. You must have known war was coming even if you don’t know how many fighters they have. But my people
can
count, so I
can tell you the Polypontians have twenty thousand horse soldiers, thirty thousand that carry sticks that kill with noise, and fifty thousand soldiers with long spears. And they also have with them metal tubes on wheels, like the sticks that kill with noise but bigger.”