The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (21 page)

“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.