The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (30 page)

The huge wolfman took her arm and, gently turning her away from the twin thrones, he led her down the hall toward the doors. “What I said earlier, by the way, about getting out of one another’s company, doesn’t apply to you. I was referring to Their Royal Face-aches back there.”

“I know,” she answered. “And I entirely agree with you about the decor. It’s about as cheerful as an iceberg.”

Werewolf and young Queen swept through the press of Vampire courtiers, who quickly made way for the formidable pair. The escort of soldiers and Wolffolk followed in their wake, with Oskan at the rear. He was deep in thought, at last fitting answers to the questions he’d been asking himself for years. The Vampire Queen’s statement that he was a warlock explained so much, but it would take a while to adjust to the idea. Now he knew why he could sometimes see the future, speak to wild animals, even heal without medicines and read the weather with such accuracy. He had many other skills, too, which he now realized might have their roots in magic. It would all take some thinking about.

Thirrin and King Grishmak reached the entranceway and swept out of the Blood Palace, followed by their escorts and Oskan. The massive double doors slammed shut after
them with a deep boom. Oskan woke from his reverie with a shock — the slamming doors had only just missed him. Swinging around furiously, he glared at the studded and hinged woodwork with such fierce intensity that they suddenly burst open again, crashing back against the walls inside the palace and splintering deeply.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude,” he bellowed over the heads of the courtiers cowering just inside the entrance. “Your doors seem to have slammed shut in a draft. I’d get that fixed, if I were you.”

Grishmak’s grin revealed his huge teeth. “Useful sort to have around, that warlock,” he said. Then he led the way down the steps of the palace and toward the surrounding forest.

T
hirrin and Oskan gladly accepted a selection of meats. It was torn, rather than cut, into huge chunks, and smoked from the rough toasting it had been given over the nearby fire. King Grishmak ate with surprising delicacy, picking up slabs of raw flesh between his thumb and forefinger and biting off a modest mouthful before returning the rest to the flat piece of stone that served as his plate.

The caves were warm and dry and, as the Werewolf King had promised, were more than big enough to accommodate them all. In fact, they were so big that a decision was made to fetch the horses from the palace stables and house them in another of the connecting caverns rather than leave them to the uncertain care of the Vampires.

The caves lay in a rocky outcrop about a mile from the Blood Palace, and as Thirrin sat eating her meal, she could see at least six fires burning in the vast space. King Grishmak had obviously brought a large household with him on his visit to Their Vampiric Majesties. And though neither Thirrin nor Oskan could quite work out exactly what the duties of the dozens of werewolves were, they all seemed amazingly busy,
bustling around from fireside to fireside and constantly arriving at Grishmak’s side to whisper in his ear.

“The treaty should be ready for signing tomorrow,” the King said as he politely licked the last of the blood from his plate.

“So soon?” asked Oskan. “I’d have thought there’d have been all sorts of legal wranglings and niceties to deal with first.”

“No. You can bet Their Royal Face-aches have had their clerks working on it for weeks already. Tomorrow morning their people will arrive here and it’ll all be ready for signing. One thing, though,” and he looked at them closely. “Let
my
clerks read it through first. It’s almost certain they’ll try to pull a fast one in the wording somewhere, and you’ll end up ceding a province here or a town there, if you’re not careful.”

Thirrin nodded. “We’ll be glad to let your people read it first. I’m most grateful for your help.”

“Happy to be of service,” the King answered gruffly. “You’ve both done very well for such youngsters. Their Vampiric Majesties are as tricky to handle as fish in a barrel of grease, even for one as gray-pelted as I am. But come the day when the Blessed Moon has completed her cycle a few dozen times, you’ll both be more than a match for them, whether they’ve lived for a thousand years or not.”

“Have they really lived as long as that?” asked Thirrin in an awed whisper.

“Well, I suppose we should technically say
existed,”
Grishmak answered. “But actually it’s longer. More like twelve hundred years, but they’ve ruled for a thousand.”

“They claim their kingdom extends to the top of the world, where the ice never melts,” said Oskan. “Is that true?”

“No. They’d like it to, but there are some to the north of here far more powerful than they ever could be, even though
they’re mortal and live no longer than any other creature that walks beneath the sky.”

“Who are they?” asked Thirrin, puzzled that Maggiore had never mentioned them in their geography lessons. “Are they people?”

“People? Well, of course they’re
people,”
Grishmak answered in surprise. “But if you mean are they
human
people, then no, they’re not.”

“Then what are they?”

Grishmak seemed reluctant to answer, but after a while he said, “They’re secretive and quiet. They make no contact with others unless the outsiders make it first. Then if they don’t like you, you’re dead.”

“Yes, but what are they?” asked Oskan, frustrated by the king’s hints and riddles.

The huge werewolf stared into the nearby fire, and when he answered, his voice was quiet as though he were still thinking things through. “They’re the strongest creatures I know and they’d make a formidable ally in the coming war. Perhaps … just perhaps, Thirrin could make a friend of them and bring them into the struggle. If anyone can do it, she can. She could make peace between night and day, between dark and light, if she wanted.” He blinked and turned to face the young Queen of the Icemark. “Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, I give you a task. Your challenge is to make an alliance with Lord Tharaman-Thar of the Icesheets. He who is as white as the snows, as strong as rock, as tall at the shoulder as a man, as wise as a scholar, as gentle as a feather, and as fierce as the wildest winter storms. Bring him into our covenant and even Scipio Bellorum will be in awe of us. With Lord Tharaman on our side we will have a chance of stopping even the Empire … at least for a while.”

“Gladly. I’ll do whatever I can to try to win him over to our side. But where does he live, and how do I get there, and exactly what sort of … creature is he?”

“He is winter, given animal form,” answered Grishmak. “He and his people are Snow Leopards. They stand as tall and as large as your horses, their teeth are like shattered stars, and their claws like cavalry sabers. With them as allies, we could hold back the Empire and live free!”

“Snow Leopards!” Oskan said, amazed. “But how can we talk to them?”

“Exactly as you talk to me: They use the language of humans.”

“They talk?!”

“Oskan Witch’s Son, have you walked deaf through your woods and caves?” King Grishmak asked darkly. “Do you truly believe that only human people use language and talk to one another?”

“Of course not,” Oskan answered sharply. “I know the language of birds and of the four-legged ones. If I concentrate, I can even understand some of the meanings of insects and fish. But you’re not saying that they use the language of animals; you’re telling us that these leopards use the
words
of human speech. How can that be?”

The King shrugged. “You’ve spoken to the Wolffolk on many occasions and have never seemed surprised. What’s so different here?”

“Your people are at least partly human. Their language comes from the humanity in their blood. Are these leopards also part human?”

“No. They’re pure cat. But their legends say that when the One made the world, it loved their power and beauty as much as it loved the mind and adaptability of humanity, and so
blessed them with the gift of speech, so that its two favorite creations could one day speak each to the other. Don’t you see? — that time has now come. Thirrin, take this legend to the Snow Leopards and bring them into our alliance.”

“But will they obey us?”

“No! Never!” King Grishmak howled. “They are a free and thinking people who obey none but their own Lord Tharaman-Thar. But they may agree to help you.”

Thirrin gazed at the Werewolf King as the information about these new people settled into her brain. “Where exactly do they live, and how do I get there?”

“Their home is on the mountain at the Hub of the World. Tharaman-Thar’s palace is made of natural ice and rock, and his people live by hunting walruses and the great ice bears that roam their lands,” Grishmak answered. “As for getting there, you’ll need help. No horse could travel over the snows and Icesheets that shift and change day by day, and if a storm hits you, then you’ll die unless you have the knowledge only a few people possess. Are you sure you’re ready to take on such a trek?”

Thirrin answered quickly. “No. But I have no choice. Such an ally could shift the balance of the war and help us hold back the Empire. Who are the ones who can guide us?”

“There are tribes of the Wolffolk who live far to the north. They hunt on the Icesheets and travel sometimes for weeks before returning home. If I send out word now, they could be here in two or three days.”

Thirrin gazed silently into the fire, then said decisively, “Send for them, Grishmak. I have an alliance to make.”

The next night, a herald and escort of Vampires arrived at the caves carrying a huge document made of dressed vellum. At
first they demanded it should be signed immediately, but after Grishmak had laughed at them they agreed to leave it for examination and return the next night. A group of gray-pelted werewolves then took the document and went to the back of the caves, where they could be heard snarling and growling over it far into the night.

Later that day King Grishmak sent couriers to the north in search of the tribes of Wolffolk who lived on the Icesheets. Thirrin stood quietly thoughtful as she watched the messengers run off with the odd loping gait the werewolves used when they knew they had miles to go. And her mind ran in the same way over the events of the last few months.

In less than half a year her life had been shattered and shaken into a new form that she was still trying to come to terms with. The Icemark had been invaded, her father killed, and she’d become Queen of a land that was likely to fall to the Empire within a few short months. Only her soldiers and the network of alliances she was struggling to forge could save her people. And all of it had to be coordinated by her, essentially a young girl not yet fifteen, with little or no experience of anything but the classroom and the weapons training ground.

Most of the time the sheer momentum of the emergency was enough to keep her focused, but occasionally, when she was forced to wait quietly for events to unfold, the full impact of her near-impossible situation came crashing in on her. How could they possibly win? What chance would the army of a tiny northern kingdom, with a ragbag of allies, have against the massive might and power of the Polypontian Empire? Why not just cut their losses and flee into exile where she could at least live in the comfort and safety that the wealth of the Royal Treasury would bring her?

She fought against the rising tide of panic welling up inside
her and turned abruptly to walk back into the cave. Oskan followed.

“Now that you’ve finished scaring yourself half to death, I’d like to have a word,” he said softly.

“What do you mean? Scaring myself?”

“The Empire. How does it go?
We have no chance. By this time next year we could all have been destroyed.”

“How did you know I was …?” Her question trailed off as a now familiar sense of awe washed over her.

Oskan grinned. “Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t reading your mind. I just found myself in exactly the same situation as you; I’ve got nothing to do at the moment, and suddenly I had all the time in the world to start worrying and panicking. So I thought we’d both better keep ourselves occupied.”

Thirrin groped for her royal dignity. “And what does my adviser suggest?” she asked, in a voice made haughty by the relief she felt that he hadn’t been reading her thoughts.

“Well, first I think we’d better arrange to send most of the escort back to the Hypolitan. The horses certainly can’t come with us to the Icesheets, and I suppose we’ll have to carry all our own supplies with us, so the fewer in the party, the better.”

“Yes, you’re right. Give orders to the captain of the escort while I have a word with the King.” Thirrin strode away to find Grishmak, ignoring Oskan’s bow that was a little too playfully mocking for her liking.

She found the Werewolf King holding court around the cave’s huge central fire. About twenty of the Wolffolk stood before him, all snarling and howling in their strange language. But as soon as they saw her approach, they politely changed to human speech. The King stood to greet her and cleared a pile of bones that lay scattered on the rock next to him so that she could sit down.