Last Battle of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  She moved towards its source, her brilliant amber eyes narrowing as she drew closer to what looked like a faintly pulsating ball of light. After a few minutes the area of light grew larger and Kirimin realised she was approaching what looked like the mouth of a cave, sitting at the base of an outcrop of rocks. She’d never seen it before, but quickly decided that that wasn’t unusual, she hardly knew the forest at all really. A few days earlier Sharley had taken her and Mekhmet to the cavern where Sharley’s father had grown up, but that had been in an entirely different direction, and anyway, these rocks looked completely unlike those. These were oddly smooth, almost as though they had been polished, and in the pale light she could clearly see that they had lines of various colours meandering through them, like veins and arteries through flesh.

  There were more jack-o’-lanterns around the mouth of the cave. These had somehow been attached to the rock so that they swung and nodded in the breeze almost as though they were laughing and talking to each other as they watched her approach. She paused, and the lanterns grew still, their fiery eyes watching her closely. What should she do? She was fascinated and at the same time scared. Deciding that this was exactly how she should feel on Samhein, she walked on. Just at that moment a breeze caught the lanterns and they nodded and bobbed, filling the air with imagined sniggering and whispering.

  Sharley and Mekhmet picked their way cautiously through the dark forest. Both Suleiman and Jaspat had excellent eyesight, but even they found the deep shadows and darkness difficult, and eventually the boys reined to a halt, dismounted and led the horses on into the night.

  “You know, we’re probably being completely stupid here,” Sharley whispered. “Finding something even as big as a Snow Leopard in a pitch-black forest without the help of a torch or tinder-box is nigh on impossible.”

  “You’re probably right,” Mekhmet agreed. “Perhaps we should . . .” He stopped suddenly and grabbed Sharley’s arm. “There – something white, moving off through the trees!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I could even see the spots on her coat.”

  “In this light?”

  Mekhmet nodded emphatically, and Sharley shrugged. It seemed unlikely, but his friend never lied. “All right, let’s see if we can creep up on her.”

  But even moving with as much stealth as they could, their horses’ hooves still thudded and thumped on the thick forest litter, and neither boy was surprised when they didn’t see anything else.

  “She’s gone,” said Sharley finally.

  “Yes, but we know what direction she’s going in now. Come on.”

  Sharley followed his friend with a growing sense of futility. They’d lost Kirimin and she’d be forever one up in their game of scaring each other witless. They might get a chance of revenge the next day, but it wouldn’t be the same as doing it on Halloween. Somehow, frightening someone to a gibbering wreck didn’t have quite the same sense of satisfaction as it did on the day of the great celebration of ghosts and monsters.

  After several minutes of stumbling along in pitch darkness, the grinning faces of more pumpkin lamps relieved the gloom and their flickering eyes watched the boys as they continued on their way. Mekhmet was convinced they were closing on Kirimin and urged Sharley on.

  Soon he had evidence to support his confidence: they found a tuft of white fur caught on a thorn bush. It seemed to glow in the darkness of the forest almost as though it was trying to draw attention to itself, but neither boy said anything about that, even though both thought it a little odd. Perhaps a break in the thick canopy of the trees had somehow funnelled starlight to shine on the fur.

  They continued on through the shadows until a strange blue-green light started to percolate through the densely interwoven undergrowth. Both boys drew their scimitars; there was an unhealthy quality to the light that neither of them liked, and there was something comforting about carrying a razor-sharp sword, even if you did suspect that you were dealing with the supernatural.

  They emerged into a clearing that Sharley didn’t recognise at all. The odd light pooled and pulsated before them, illuminating a cave that he knew for a fact shouldn’t be there. But before he could say a word, he saw Kirimin disappearing into the mouth of the cave under an archway of jack-o’-lanterns.

  “What is she doing? That cave’s obviously not natural! Who knows where it’ll lead?”

  “What do you mean, not natural?” asked Mekhmet nervously. “It looks real enough to me.”

  “Well, of course it’s real! I never said it wasn’t real! It’s just not natural. Look we haven’t got time to discuss it. Come on!” He charged across the clearing.

  Kirimin stepped into the cave and immediately felt herself enfolded in an atmosphere that was cold and clammy. The walls glowed unhealthily with some odd fungal phosphorescence, and ferns grew in every nook and cranny, dripping with moisture that condensed on them from the misty, moisty air.

  She sniffed experimentally and sneezed. The atmosphere was rank with a thick scent of decaying wood, leaves, and even flesh. She didn’t like it; she didn’t like it at all. But something stopped her from turning round and walking out. The cave might be creepy and smell like the worst sort of rubbish tip, but it was also beautiful. Stalactites hung from the roof far, far above her head glowing luminous greens and brilliant blues, and at her feet stalagmites grew from the floor, each one strangely twisted and contorted as it reached towards the roof. The crystalline structures seemed to pulsate as the phosphorescent colours washed over them, and sometimes she could have sworn they’d actually moved as they loomed up at her from the shadows.

  A strange wispy mist, like wet silk, began to writhe around the shadows, folding and weaving itself into fantastic shapes that were sometimes beautiful and delicate, like elegant dancers draped in the sheerest gauze, and sometimes grotesque and twisted like the most hideous hump-backed beasts. And once again the phosphorescent light tinted the mist with blues and greens, sometimes refracting through the tiny droplets of water to create a flowing bank of rainbow colour.

  “It’s like a fairy grotto,” she said to herself, and almost leaped out of her skin as an echo threw her words back, twisted and transformed into a hideous threatening whisper: “. . . fairy grotto . . . otto . . . otto . . .”

  “Oh stop it!” she snapped.

  And after a second the echo answered: “Stop it . . . op it . . . op it . . .”

  She considered roaring just to see what sort of effect it would have, but quickly changed her mind. She had a feeling it would be truly awful, and she wasn’t sure she’d be brave enough to stand her ground. After taking a few seconds to consider her next move, she stepped out again, heading towards what she supposed was the back of the cave. There actually seemed to be a path of some sort, and she was curious about how it might have got there. Perhaps she might meet a wood-sprite. Sharley had said they were very rare, but sometimes came out on Halloween. It would be great to be able to tell him she’d seen one. He’d be green with envy.

  With this happy thought she plunged deeper into the cave, not noticing that the roof was getting higher and higher, and soon it disappeared from view completely. The sound of dripping water gave way to a chuckling gurgle as a small stream began to rush across the floor, and when a breath of fresh night air washed over her fur Kirimin suddenly realised that there was a thin strip of starry sky slicing the shadows above her head like a razor cut through black velvet.

  She breathed the night air deeply, savouring the scents of the rich damp earth and forest greenery. Obviously the cave had actually been a tunnel, and she’d emerged on the other side. An evil chuckling issued forth from the shadows of the steep-sided chasm, reminding her that it was still Samhein, and her keen amber eyes raked the darkness around her. Thick textured shadows scuttled away to merge and blend with the darkness, and she silently raised her lips to reveal her massive teeth. If it was real enough to make a noise, it was real enough to bleed, she reasoned to herself, and
it might as well know exactly who and what it was laughing at. She was Princess Kirimin of the Icesheets, and she’d already killed enough Ice Trolls to make an entire regiment of the dead.

  “Look on me and tremble!” she suddenly called into the blackness.

  And the echo quickly answered: “tremble . . . emble . . . emble . . .”

  “Yes, ’emble indeed,” she said, too quietly for the echo to reply.

  Sharley and Mekhmet entered the cave leading Suleiman and Jaspat, who blew and whickered nervously as the atmosphere of pungent scents, oddly glowing light and sly, slithering movements enveloped them.

  “So, what you’re saying is that this cave is magical in some way?” Mekhmet asked, his voice taut with nerves.

  “In a nutshell,” agreed Sharley.

  “Then why are we going in?”

  “Because Kiri’s in here and unless someone catches up with her who understands the dangers, she’s bound to end up in trouble . . . serious trouble.”

  “Yes . . . yeah, of course,” Mekhmet agreed reluctantly. “The only problem is, this is Northern magic; this is ghosts and wood-sprites and goblins, not djins and Blessed Women and demons. I’ve no idea how it all works, so I’m just as helpless as Kirimin really. What use am I going to be?”

  Sharley didn’t like to admit that he was just as inexperienced as his friend about all things magical. After all, he was the son of the most powerful warlock in the known world, and somehow he felt this should have qualified him to sort out any magical or mystical problems in an instant. But the truth was that he was as baffled, confused, and – he had to admit it – as scared as everyone else. Samhein had always been a time of fun and excitement to him; ghosts and monsters, and dark forbidding places that people stupidly decided to investigate, had always been safely contained in stories told by candlelight. But now here he was walking into a cave that he just knew was haunted, and would lead to places and situations that were almost certain to be hideous.

  If he allowed himself to think too much about it, he was sure he’d just turn round and go home. But he couldn’t do that; Kirimin was in here somewhere, and the longer she stayed, the more likely she was to get into trouble . . . bad trouble. Thank goodness Mekhmet’s here, he thought to himself; just his friend’s presence made him feel better.

  They moved slowly forward into the luminous dimness of the cave, their ears and eyes constantly baffled by faint sights and sounds that flitted on the very edges of their senses. Voices seemed to whisper their names, but whenever they turned towards the source of a particular sound, another whispered voice would call from a different direction.

  “Someone, or something, is playing games with us,” Sharley said, his firm confident tones deserting him as his voice cracked. “In fact, I’m beginning to think all of this could be a trap and not just Samhein mischief.”

  At that moment something large and repulsive slithered by their feet and disappeared into the shadows. Both boys grabbed each other, their nerves finally at breaking point, and the horses squealed in terror. The echo immediately seized the sound and filled the cave with a hideous tangled explosion of screaming that was added to by Sharley and Mekhmet. All rational thought and common sense fled before the terror of the cave, and suddenly, without any time for thought or discussion, both boys leaped on to their horses and galloped away from the horrible, nerve-breaking sound. Unfortunately this took them deeper into the shadows, and soon Sharley and Mekhmet needed all their concentration just to stay in the saddle and avoid hitting the rocks and stalagmites that loomed without warning out of the darkness.

  After a frantic few minutes that seemed to last for ever, the horses burst out into a narrow ravine. On they galloped, splashing through the stream that ran along the rocky base of the chasm; their nostrils flared wide in panic and their flanks foamed with sweat. But eventually the insistent pulling on the reins and the familiar voices of command began to percolate through to their brains, and after a few more minutes of barely-controlled galloping they started to slow down and gradually succumbed to human control again.

  The boys allowed them to trot on for a few minutes, keen to put more of a distance between themselves and the horrible, haunted cave. In fact their own nerves were less than steady and they rode on in silence, taking deep calming breaths and trying to order their thoughts. Neither of them liked the thought that to get back home they’d probably have to retrace their steps and go back through that horrible glowing darkness. Perhaps they’d be able to ride round it in some way, but Sharley was well aware that this wasn’t the nature of magic and the Magical Realms. You either went on until you found some other route back to your own time and place, or you retraced your steps exactly.

  As they gradually regained control of both themselves and their horses, Sharley and Mekhmet began to take stock of their surroundings, and what they saw was less than comforting. The chasm had slowly opened up and the boys found themselves riding through a wild and desolate landscape that seemed to be composed entirely of the colour grey, with a few variations on a theme of charcoal and black. The air was filled with banks and billows of thick mist and steam, as geysers erupted huge plumes of vapour into the air, and hot springs bubbled around them.

  “I know this place,” said Sharley, rubbing his gammy leg, which was throbbing as painfully as it always did in times of stress. “Dad told me about it once. I think we’re on the Plain of Desolation.”

  “The where?” asked Mekhmet fearfully.

  “The Plain of Desolation. It’s a sort of halfway house between the peace and beauty of the Spiritual Realms and the evil of the Darkness. I think it’s supposed to be a mixture of the two . . . you know, both good and bad.”

  “Well, it looks like the bad bits are definitely in control at the moment,” said Mekhmet as a huge geyser suddenly erupted nearby with a sound like an exploding kettle.

  “Yeah,” Sharley agreed. “I must admit that the little Dad told me about it didn’t sound very . . . balanced between good and bad. There are supposed to be ghosts and lots of other nasties around the place, and he said there was some sort of close link between here and The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. You know, a sort of seepage that allows some pretty horrible spooks through to the Physical Realms.”

  “Oh, that’s just great!” said Mekhmet with feeling. “As if things weren’t bad enough, now we can look forward to meeting something horrible in the very near future!”

  “Well, about time too,” a voice suddenly boomed from the shadows. Both boys screamed in embarrassingly girlie voices and grabbed each other.

  Kirimin was so pleased. She’d managed to scare them again. She was two up on them now.

  CHAPTER 8

  There was something really satisfying about carefully laid traps going exactly to plan. Medea had baited her snare with deadly skill, and lured her brother and his friends to just where she wanted them to be. Of course, trapping Kirimin and Mekhmet was just a by-product of her real plan, but when she finally got her prey into proper position she’d be able to kill them in front of Sharley, and so increase the horror of what was an already horrendous situation.

  But she had to be careful; she couldn’t risk bringing them to the Darkness, where Cronus would immediately know who they were and what she was doing. He still believed that acts of revenge were a sign of weakness. Even if the emotions driving them were hate, jealousy and vengefulness.

  Medea sat back in her chair-that-was-almost-a-throne and thought things through. She’d need to lure her brother and his friends across the Plain of Desolation and wait until she was completely certain that Cronus had no idea what she was doing. Then, when the time was exactly right . . . she’d strike, and finally wipe Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Weak-in-the-Leg Lindenshield, Shadow of the Storm, from the face of the worlds.

  * * *

  Thirrin walked along the corridor trying to concentrate on the business in hand. She was on her way to a meeting of the Allied High Command which had been scheduled to discuss the colla
pse of the Polypontian Empire and the threat of Erinor and her Hordes. But the thought of Medea and her willing acceptance of the Darkness kept interrupting. It was almost as though Thirrin’s subconscious was trying to tell her something; trying to warn her that she’d somehow overlooked something important. But no matter how often she analysed the situation, nothing became apparent.

  There seemed little point in wasting any more mental energy on the problem, and she tried to discipline herself to concentrate fully on the definite physical threat of Erinor. In fact, if all of the reports coming in from the old Polypontian Empire were true, then the future could be grim, and everybody would be looking to her for answers. For a moment she felt almost angry with the way things had turned out in her life; here she was, the Queen of a land that had been invaded twice by one of the greatest military powers the world had ever seen; a mother of five children; wife to the most powerful warlock in existence, and still she felt like a young girl who was almost certain to mess it all up. Just when would she finally feel like an adult? When would she feel mature and responsible and, best of all, capable? Cressida looked and acted more grown-up than she did! Cressida frightened everyone. As Oskan said, she was the world’s headmistress and she was more than ready to put everyone in detention!

  She found herself grinning inanely as she walked along the corridor, and only realised she was doing it when a werewolf guard stamped to attention and she was forced to frown in her best martial manner as she returned the salute. Everyone would think she was going mad! She must concentrate. She cleared her throat and stomped along like a warrior queen should, arriving at the meeting chamber before she was ready.