Last Battle of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  All eyes turned to her as she blinked in the bright sunshine that streamed from the windows. But then she caught sight of Maggie snoozing happily in his chair, and felt a little better. She wasn’t the only one unprepared for the importance of life.

  The guards on the door announced her arrival as she entered, and everyone in the room stood, apart from Maggie who slept on regardless. Grishmak, Tharaman and Krisafitsa greeted her happily, and Oskan smiled as she took her place next to him.

  “Wake up,” he muttered, so that only she could hear. “Everyone expects you to be a Queen.”

  She looked at her husband darkly. As usual he could read her perfectly, and was always ready to be mischievous at her expense if it would distract her from thinking about Medea. “Thank you, oh my beloved one,” she answered ironically. “I wasn’t aware my regality had slipped.”

  “No matter. Only those who know you well would be aware of anything amiss.”

  “What a relief,” she said, and looked around the table. The Hypolitan contingent had arrived early that morning, having celebrated Samhein in the ancient manner beneath the trees of the Great Forest. Thirrin noted that Olememnon’s hair was now almost white, but he looked as hale and hearty as an old oak tree. Beside him sat the Basilea Olympia, her bright eyes and stern warrior’s face making her look like an eagle as she stared about the room as though looking for prey.

  Much of the discussion would be important to the Hypolitan, so Thirrin was glad she looked alert. Their input would be valuable.

  “Right, I call the meeting to order as we all seem to be here,” said Cressida in her usual bossy manner, and she started shuffling an alarmingly thick pile of papers.

  “Actually, we’re not,” said Krisafitsa. “All here, I mean. Kirimin’s missing, and so are the boys.”

  “Missing?” asked Thirrin, suddenly alarmed. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that, I’m afraid,” Krisafitsa replied. “Kirimin’s quarters and the boys’ room show no signs of being slept in last night. But I’m sure it’s nothing to be alarmed about. They probably went off to the Great Forest for a last Samhein experience and just forgot the time. I expect they’ll be back sometime today, all contrite and hoping to get away with any punishment they’re certainly due.”

  “But when did you find out they were missing, and why wasn’t I told?” asked Thirrin agitatedly.

  “Only a few minutes ago,” said the Tharina calmly. “Kirimin usually calls on her father and me before attending any official functions, and when she didn’t arrive I sent a werewolf guard to find her. He came back and reported her room empty and unslept-in. I immediately thought of the boys, and when their room was checked, my suspicions were confirmed.”

  Thirrin turned to Oskan and raised her eyebrows questioningly. He shrugged in reply. “If anything had happened to them I’d have known. Perhaps Krisafitsa’s right and they just went off to the forest for a laugh. I’m sure they’ll be back when they’re ready.”

  “But they all knew there was an important meeting this morning. Surely they wouldn’t miss that?”

  “They’re teenagers; call something ‘important’ and they’ll immediately ignore it. It’s what they do; they’re strange beasts,” Oskan said reassuringly. “Come on, we’ve a lot to discuss. We can give them a potted account of proceedings when they finally get back.”

  Cressida nodded, cleared her throat and prepared to take control again. Nobody had actually appointed her as chair of the meeting, but she’d assumed the role anyway. Somebody had to do it, she reasoned, and she was probably the best qualified, being confident, competent and efficient.

  “Right, now that everyone seems ready to begin, I’ll start by calling this meeting to order.” She raised a small wooden hammer and smacked it smartly on the table.

  Maggiore awoke with a snort. “Yes, Grishmak. Good idea, I’ll have a pint of ale,” he said loudly and blinked at everyone in confusion.

  “I agree with you, mate,” said Grishmak happily. “But unfortunately we’ve got the very dry business of a meeting to get through first.”

  Cressida coughed meaningfully and silence fell. “All right, it’s Woden’s Day. The First of November, the Year of the Boar, and present are Queen Thirrin, Oskan Witchfather, King Grishmak, Tharaman-Thar, Krisafitsa-Tharina, Basilea Olympia of the Hypolitan and her Consort Olememnon Stagapoulou, Maggiore Totus and myself, Crown Princess Cressida. Absent are Prince Charlemagne, Crown Prince Mekhmet of the Desert Kingdom and Princess Kirimin of the Icesheets. We’ve gathered to discuss the growing crisis in the lands of the disintegrating Polypontian Empire, and will attempt to agree a united response to it.” She fell silent, and turned to the grey-haired clerk who was busily scribbling notes. “Have you got all of that?” she asked, and when the clerk nodded she drew breath to continue.

  “Aren’t there going to be any refreshments?” Tharaman interrupted. “I always think better with a little snack to keep me going.”

  “I’m with you there,” said Grishmak. “Bring on the nibbles!”

  “There aren’t any!” Cressida snapped. “This is all far too important, and besides, once you lot start eating it’ll only turn into a party.”

  “Can’t say I have a problem with that myself,” said Tharaman. “What about you, Grishy?”

  “None at all. Bit of food and fun helps the boring bits along, in my opinion. Let’s call a chamberlain and order some grub.”

  “No!” Cressida insisted. “We all need to concentrate, and I for one find it difficult to think once you and Tharaman start cracking bones and spitting out gristle.”

  “I never spit out gristle!” said Tharaman in miffed tones. “A terrible waste of protein. It just needs a little extra chewing, that’s all.”

  Thirrin had watched the exchange in silence, but now she sat forward in her chair. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a sandwich myself.”

  Cressida looked at her thunderously. How dare her own mother not support her stance? The chaos that was the Icemark’s government needed to be controlled and subjected to a little discipline, and her decision to ban food from important meetings was the first of many reforms she had planned. “Madame, I really feel that eating and drinking—”

  “Ah, drinking, good idea!” said Tharaman. “Beer would go down nicely at the moment. There’s a particularly good brew just in from the South Riding. I sampled a few bowls last night and—”

  “We can’t have alcohol in a meeting!” Cressida almost wailed.

  Thirrin sighed. Her daughter was an excellent Crown Princess, but she dreaded to think what sort of puritanical state she’d introduce once she ascended the throne. She really had to learn that you cannot suppress people’s natural exuberance. Even trying could be disastrous; she’d probably make herself the most unpopular monarch since Theobold the Thin, who had tried to introduce a tax on food, and was finally sent into exile when he decided to ban all alcoholic drinks.

  “Cressida, every meeting I’ve ever attended in the Icemark has been liberally supplied with food and drink,” she said gently. “And, do you know, for all the debauchery and lack of etiquette, we really didn’t do too badly, did we? Every coastal raid pushed back into the sea, every invasion defeated, and the dreaded House of Bellorum wiped out. All of that planned in meetings and forged in alliances that were steeped in alcohol and buried under an avalanche of food. If you think we’re bad, you should have experienced your grandfather’s gatherings. King Redrought firmly believed that he’d failed as a host if most of the delegates to his meetings weren’t carried out at the end of the day.”

  “But . . . but that was in the olden days!” Cressida spluttered. “It’s the modern world now. The empire’s dying, and a new order is emerging, where efficiency and discipline will reign supreme—”

  “And where people will still be people, no matter how many times you tell them they’re simply cogs in a beautiful machine,” Thirrin interrupted. She really would have to have a quiet talk with Cressida once the me
eting was finished. Crown Princess or not, she really had to accept that populations only ever really consented to be ruled. Any monarchs that made themselves unpopular could expect to lose their throne in double-quick time.

  “Grishmak, see if you can find a chamberlain. I’d like a beer myself, and a cheese sandwich,” Thirrin said firmly as Cressida subsided into an affronted silence.

  “And don’t forget the pickle,” Oskan suddenly added.

  “Absolutely,” she agreed. “Now, where had we got to?”

  “‘And don’t forget the pickle’,” the clerk, who been busily scribbling notes, informed her helpfully as he read back through his papers.

  “Fine. Grishmak, you have some news for us, I believe.”

  The Werewolf King finished muttering to the chamberlain who’d answered his call, and sent him on his way before turning back to the room. “Ah, yes! You mean the information we’ve gathered about the south?”

  “Information from the south? Very exciting! But how exactly did you come by this intelligence?” Maggie asked, his interest revived by the promise of food.

  “From the werewolf relay. The southernmost links have been talking to the migrating birds and animals that have been coming north over the last few months, and we’ve built up a fascinating picture.”

  “About the empire, you mean?”

  “Yes, and basically everything points to it being finished. The Desert Kingdom in its southernmost regions has been completely victorious, the Venettians and Hellenes have taken control of the Central Ocean and all coastal areas; in the north the Imperial Legions got a good kicking from us, and in the east and west . . . well, that’s what we’re here to discuss, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed,” Thirrin agreed. “And I believe it’s the news from the east that’s the most . . . disturbing.”

  “Very,” Grishmak said.

  “Is it still as bad?”

  “The last reports from the relay suggested that it’s getting worse. Unless we act soon, we could all be in danger.”

  “I suppose it all depends on how we react to the information we have.”

  “Well, if you shared it with us all, there might be a chance that something could be done!” Maggie said exasperatedly. “I’m too old for dark hints and riddles – I might be dead before they’re answered!”

  “Nonsense, Maggie,” said Krisafitsa warmly. “You’ll outlive us all.”

  “Hah, only if you all die tomorrow! Now, will somebody please explain what’s happening?”

  “Yes. I will, Maggie,” said Oskan, sitting forward in his chair. “There’s a movement of people in the east of the old Imperial Lands. Now that the Legions have been defeated, there’s a greater freedom in the world than has been seen for many generations, and entire populations seem to be migrating.”

  The Witchfather stood, and paced backwards and forwards as he tried to order his thoughts. “But something else has happened. Something . . . odd. We’re being forced to realise that perhaps not all freedom is good after all.”

  Maggie’s spectoculums almost fell off his face. “What on earth can you possibly mean? How can a fundamentally beautiful principle such as freedom ever be anything other than good?”

  “When one group of people have the freedom to make war on their neighbours simply because they happen to want their land. When blood feuds, long ago suppressed by the laws of the Polypontian Empire, now have the freedom to blossom again, and children are left as orphans and entire towns and villages are laid waste; and when warlords can rise to power and divide once-prosperous lands into private domains that fight continually between themselves.” Oskan laughed bitterly. “Ironic, don’t you think, that we should have fought long and hard to see the end of Bellorum’s Imperial strength, and then live long enough to see chaos and death rise in its place? The fact is that the Polypontian Empire may well have been an oppressive, despotic and basically cruel power bloc that suppressed the rights and individuality of the people it ruled. But it also crushed local vendettas, smashed warlords and made people accept that what they had was enough for their needs.”

  Maggie stared at him in silence for a while. “I see,” he finally said. “And all this is happening now?”

  “At this very moment, apparently. But there’s something more we need to consider. Something that brings the danger very close to home.” He suddenly turned and looked sharply at the Basilea and Olememnon. “And it directly concerns the Hypolitan.”

  The Basilea raised her head and held his gaze in the iron grip of her icy blue eyes. “Exactly how?”

  “I’ll tell you, if you’ll just allow me a moment to set the scene for those who have only a working knowledge of ancient history,” said Oskan, and sat down again while he composed himself. “First of all, I ought to explain that our information comes from several sources, and isn’t just reliant on the gossip of migratory beasts. Human beings have crossed our borders too, and some of them have trekked over many countries and land boundaries before they arrived here. All of them tell the same tale: people are moving and fighting on a huge scale as the Polypontian Empire dies.”

  “Then we should look to our borders and secure them now, before we’re swamped!” said Tharaman-Thar.

  “I agree,” said Cressida, coming out of her sulk at last. “We can’t just sit back and watch as Hordes swarm through the mountain passes.”

  “The Hordes, as you put it, haven’t reached this far north yet, and probably never will. The few that have crossed our borders have fled before the rumour rather than the fact of invasion. And I think we have to accept that the Icemark isn’t a very attractive prospect to most people.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Grishmak, offended for his adopted land.

  “It’s quite simple really,” said Oskan gently. “Most of the refugees, invaders – whatever you want to call them – come from southern lands where the weather is warmer and dryer. The idea of coming to a land that’s covered in snow for almost six months of the year, and seems to be lashed by heavy rain for the rest of the time, would probably seem like madness to them. Let’s face it, we’re the wild and woolly north: a place of mists and mystery, witchcraft and monsters. It was here that even Scipio Bellorum and his mad sons were defeated. In fact, we’re famous throughout the known world as the bane of the empire; almost everyone knows our names, and they tell tales about us that make us living legends. In short, the biggest and fiercest of Hordes would probably be too afraid to set foot in the Icemark.”

  “Then we’re safe,” said Tharaman happily.

  “Not quite,” Oskan replied. “There are always exceptions to any rule.”

  “And the exceptions are?” Cressida asked.

  “The Hypolitan.”

  “What?!!” came the collective shout, and then the voices broke up into a storm of questions that filled the room with an indecipherable babble. The arrival of the food and drink then added further to the pandemonium, and Oskan waited quietly for order to return.

  Even the puzzlement and outrage caused by the Witch-father wasn’t enough to distract Grishmak and Tharaman from the foodstuff, and they postponed their inquisition until they’d filled their plates. In the relative quiet that followed, the Basilea was at last able to make herself heard.

  “Please explain yourself, Witchfather. How are the Hypolitan a threat to the Icemark?”

  “I think it would be best if Thirrin explained from this point on. Her mother was a member of the Hypolitan aristocracy and so she’s better qualified in this matter.” He turned to his wife with a smile and then sat down.

  Thirrin suddenly felt very light-headed. The room was getting warm and the smell of roast beef, pork and mutton was overpowering. For a moment she thought she was going to black out, but she shook her head; obviously the importance and danger of the news from the disintegrating empire was getting to her. She realised that even a warrior queen with years of battle experience could get stage fright. The only way forward is to advance, she thought to herself
, and ploughed on.

  “We’ve been told that the middle lands of the empire are mountainous. They’re difficult to control and even the best Imperial generals – even Bellorum – found it impossible to impose undisputed rule. As a result they were left more or less autonomous – self-ruling – as long as they acknowledged the Emperor and paid some tribute occasionally.

  “Well, now even that restriction has gone, and the fierce tribes who live in the clouds began a fight for supremacy amongst themselves. It didn’t last long – just a couple of months, according to our sources, and now they’re united under one leadership, banner and Basilea.”

  Olympia’s fierce eagle face became fiercer as realisation set in. “What is the name of this mountainous region?”

  “We’re told it’s called Artemesion.”

  “The original homeland of the Hypolitan, from which we migrated as a people over twenty lifetimes ago.”

  “Precisely so,” Thirrin agreed. “The werewolf relay has gathered huge amounts of information from migrating beasts, but it was only when a Polypontian refugee was taken and questioned that the fullest details began to emerge. And the fact that this refugee was General Berengetia of the Imperial Eastern Army might give you some idea of the depth of detail he gave.”

  “A general of the empire, you say?” said Olympia in shocked amazement. “Has his army been completely defeated, then?”

  “No,” Thirrin replied simply. “Let’s just say that he thought it wise to make good his escape before the enemy were ‘inevitably victorious’ as he put it.” She paused and looked at the faces of her allies and friends, who were all looking at her so trustingly. With a sudden sense of guilt she drew breath to speak. “Forgive me, Grishmak, and you, Tharaman, my fellow monarchs, for not revealing the full import of what we found. But I must ask your forgiveness especially, Olympia. My only excuse is that we didn’t want to cause unnecessary panic unless we could confirm that our sources were correct.”

  “And obviously you’ve now done that,” said Olympia quietly.