The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (18 page)

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.”