The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  “But they’ll need me to guide them to the right spot. Nobody else knows the way.”

  “Apart from your soldier escort,” the King said, a hint of triumph in his tone.

  “Apart from my soldier escort,” Thirrin was forced to agree reluctantly.

  “Good! Grimswald, call in the captain of the guard. You can give him details, Thirrin, and then run along to your tutor. Geography today, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Grimswald piped at the door for the guard, who arrived in a clatter of armor.

  “Captain Edwald. The Princess reports a werewolf close to the city. Take details and send out a patrol!” the King boomed, stroking Primplepuss gently. The kitten screwed her eyes shut against the huge blast of Redrought’s voice, then as Thirrin and the captain withdrew to confer, she rubbed her tabby face against the King’s enormous finger as it tickled her cheek.

  Thirrin was furious. She should have led the patrol to find the werewolf, not that dolt of a soldier! And not only that, but the patrol would probably kill the werewolf as soon as they found it, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about this. She couldn’t help remembering that it could easily have killed her if it had wanted to, and neither could she forget the way it had bowed so ridiculously and had seemed to laugh before it ran off. She stormed angrily along the deeply shadowed corridor to her tutor’s room, striding like an avenging war goddess through the sudden bursts of sunlight beneath each window.

  Arriving at her tutor’s door, she hit it once with her mailed fist, and burst through. Maggiore Totus was just drinking a cooling beaker of water, most of which he spilled down his black gown as he spluttered his surprise. But one look at Thirrin’s blazing eyes stopped him from saying anything about good manners being necessary even for a princess. Instead he smiled in welcome and waved her to a seat next to the window. “Perhaps Her Majesty would be more comfortable in a dress rather than chain mail?” he asked, using the stiff formality of his speech as a shield against Thirrin’s bad temper.

  “No!” she snapped. But relenting slightly, she removed her sword belt and hung it on the back of her chair. It was Maggiore Totus’s job to make sure she was as well educated as the heir to the Icemark throne should be. But only the lessons of the horse and weapons masters really held her attention. Everything else slowed time to a sluggish crawl for her, and she’d perfected the art of staring at her books while her mind galloped over the plains or sailed out on the gray Icemark seas.

  Now, as Maggiore Totus sorted through his notes, she let her mind drift away once again, imagining herself riding on the back of one of the huge Snowy Owls that lived on the winter ice fields. From her vantage point on the owl’s broad white back she could see the Wolfrock Mountains rising steeply from the northern plain, setting their jagged peaks like teeth against the cold blue of the sky, while to the south, the peaks known as the Dancing Maidens rose and undulated gently across the horizon, then slowly descended as low green hills into the lands of the Polypontian Empire. Maggiore had told her that this strange name actually meant “many bridges” and reflected the huge number of rivers that flowed through the rich green country.

  From the height on the back of her imagined Snowy Owl she could see the multitude of rivers flowing across the Imperial land like fine silver threads stitched into a fabulous green cloth, embroidered with the regular field patterns of farmland and the dark splotches of forest, marsh, and pasture.

  Then she flew over the cities of this wealthy southern realm, their streets sprawling and gray below her. The settlements had grown so large they’d burst beyond their walls and threatened the green land around them with dark factories that sent smoke thousands of feet up into the air as they filled the country’s treasury with gold. With this wealth the Polypontus had built a massive army, which over the years had conquered a huge Empire that stretched beyond Thirrin’s knowledge to all points of the compass. The army was led by the fearsome General Scipio Bellorum, who had never lost one of his wars of conquest and had won every battle he commanded personally.

  Thirrin’s owl now flew lower over the streets of the Empire’s cities. There she saw the people. Some were richly dressed and walked with a confidence that cleared a path through the crowds thronging the pavements. Many were dressed as soldiers, ready to fight and die in the Empire’s wars. But most wore rags, and a large number of these were slaves assigned to the factories that made the weapons the army needed for its wars in distant lands.

  This was the reality of the Empire. People were just one more thing to be used by those few who ruled the massive territories. And if Thirrin had wondered if anything was truly different for the peasants of her own society, she might have argued that in the Icemark no one was called a slave and no one was forced to work in factories that poisoned the air and corrupted the land. The fact that the life of a “serf” living on her father’s land was little different from that of a slave would not have troubled her. At least their people lived in their own homes and ate some of the food they labored to grow.

  Then in the eye of her imagination her owl wheeled north until they flew over the Icemark once again, and below her the forests and pastures flowed like a green sea around the walled islands of its towns. It was only in the winter that the kingdom lived up to its name and truly became the Icemark, white and frozen from the Wolfrocks to the Dancing Maidens for seven months of the year.

  Maggiore Totus watched Thirrin as her eyes gazed unseeingly into the middle distance, and he sighed. She was the most difficult pupil he’d ever had to teach, but she was also one of the cleverest. And it was this knowledge that kept him in the palace as royal tutor. Deep down in the recesses of his brilliant mind he harbored the hope that he’d awaken a love of learning in this warrior princess, so that one day the Icemark would be ruled by a scholar as well as a fighter.

  But any hope of that seemed a very long way off, and in the meantime he settled to the task of trying to regain her attention. “I think we’ll postpone our lesson on the primary income source of the Southern Continent and concentrate instead on the topography of famous battle sites.”

  Thirrin grunted and nodded her head, her mood slightly improved, and surprised herself by actually enjoying the lesson.

  2

  That evening, Redrought held one of his State banquets. All of the barons and baronesses could expect to be called to the capital of Frostmarris to eat with the King at least three times a year. Eating and drinking were actually less important than the real business of keeping a close watch on any of the aristocrats who might become overambitious. But despite this cautious approach to his noblemen and -women, Redrought was a very popular king. He wasn’t too overbearing, and more important he was a proven general. Not only had he defeated the Vampire King and Queen of The-Land-of-the-Ghosts but he’d also beaten off many pirate raids along the shores of the Icemark.

  In fact, that night’s feast was officially a celebration of the victory he’d won over one of the greatest threats the country had faced in more than a decade. Exactly one year ago to the day, Redrought had led his army to the field of Sea Haven, where a battle had been fought against the combined forces of the Southern Corsairs and the Island Buccaneers. Their fleet had been more than two hundred ships strong, and they’d landed an army of twenty thousand troops. But after a bloody struggle that had lasted an entire day, the enemy had eventually been driven into the sea and their ships set alight by Redrought’s victorious housecarls.

  And now the King’s Great Hall was loud with celebration as those same soldiers ate and drank at the lower tables and told one another how brilliant they’d been on the field of Sea Haven. The minstrels’ gallery that occupied the entire southern wall was packed with the city’s best musicians, who played an unending medley of drinking songs and marching tunes. And between the long rows of tables, acrobats tumbled and threw one another around in an odd mixture of clowning and skill.

  As Thirrin watched from her place at the High Table, the Great Hall heaved and swirled l
ike a stormy sea. But her view of fine details was limited by the thick haze of smoke that rose from the fire blazing on the central hearth. Even the huge banners of the housecarl regiments that were suspended from each of the roof beams glowed only dimly through the drifting tendrils of smoke that would eventually meander out of vents high in the ceiling. A dancing bear loomed through the haze halfway down the rows of tables so that, to Thirrin, it looked like a miniature mountain with a clumsy sense of rhythm. And every now and then, one of the acrobats would dive skyward, like a dolphin leaping out of a black smoky sea.

  She eventually turned her attention back to the High Table and listened as her father chatted, or rather shouted, good-naturedly with one of his barons. She always sat next to the King at the State banquets. It was good for the lords and ladies of the Icemark to get to know the heir apparent, and because she knew how important this was, Thirrin tried her best to rise to the occasion. She made every effort to crush her natural shyness beneath an exterior that was charming and at the same time intelligent. She tried to laugh in all the right places and to speak only when she was totally sure what she was talking about, but she wasn’t at all sure whether she succeeded.

  Baroness Aethelflaeda, an old woman with long braids and small twinkling eyes, leaned across the table toward her. “I hear the Princess met a wolfman recently,” she said, kindly giving Thirrin a chance to join the conversation.

  “Yes, only this morning. I wounded it in the shoulder and eventually it ran off.”

  The Baroness turned to the King. “I think The-Land-of-the-Ghosts may need to be watched, Redrought.”

  The King shrugged and nodded to show he agreed but thought the problem wasn’t too great. “Yes, yes, I suppose. But none of the watchers on the border have reported anything wrong.”

  He absentmindedly twirled one of his special feast-day braids around his finger as he considered the situation. “I’ll strengthen the border garrisons and send out more spies,” he said after a moment. “That should be enough for the time being.”

  “As long as you don’t weaken the southern defenses to do it,” the old Baroness said. “I trust the Polypontus and its Empire about as much as I do the Vampire King and Queen. I suspect General Scipio Bellorum has an ambition to add the Icemark to his conquests.”

  Redrought laughed. “You worry too much, Aethelflaeda! Bellorum has an ambition to add everybody to his conquests, and at the moment he’s busy in the south. So stop fretting and have a drink.”

  “I think the Baroness is right,” Thirrin said quietly, her mind occupied with a problem she’d been mulling over for some time. “If we watch one border too closely, we put the others at risk. We need more allies.”

  The King nodded. “Very true. But we’re isolated up here in our northern lands. To the south is the Empire of the Polypontus and to the north of us we have The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. We’re not exactly spoiled for choice, are we?”

  “No, but sometimes friends can be found in the unlikeliest of places,” said Thirrin, her mind inexplicably drawn back to the wolfman and how it had looked at her before it finally let her go.

  The King winked at his daughter and smiled. “You’re right. Perhaps we should start looking as soon as we can.” Then he sat back in his seat, stretched luxuriously, and rested his feet on the table. Thirrin watched in amusement as he maneuvered his large fluffy slippers among the plates and cups of the banquet until he found enough space to cross them comfortably. Earlier, when the King’s chamberlain had objected to his footwear, he’d argued that his fluffy yellow slippers were far more comfortable on his corns than the polished boots of the state regalia. And the set of his jaw had warned the chamberlain to say no more.

  After the King had settled himself, he reached inside the stiffly embroidered collar of his robes and gently drew out Primplepuss, the royal kitten, and placed her on his heroically curving stomach.

  “Grimswald!” he bellowed. “Grimswald, where are you?!”

  The Chamberlain-of-the-Royal-Paraphernalia appeared at the King’s elbow, and Thirrin found herself wondering if he’d been hiding under the table. “Yes, Sire?” said the wrinkly little man.

  “Fetch some milk for Primplepuss. She’s thirsty, aren’t you, my sweeting?” he said, gently rubbing her cheek and telling everyone around him that she was purring even though a saber-toothed tiger couldn’t have been heard over the noise of the banquet.

  When the kitten started to play with Redrought’s braided beard, Thirrin knew there’d be no chance of getting any sense out of her father for the rest of the evening, so she decided to join the housecarls down in the lower hall.

  She leaped off the royal dais and made her way toward the sound of throwing axes being hurled at a target, arriving just as one of them split the apple that had been placed in the center of the bull’s-eye. The massive blast of cheering almost knocked her off her feet, but she waded through the press of huge sweating men and women and demanded a turn. Shy she may have been in polite company and when facing the demands of well-mannered conversation, but Thirrin had no such fears among fellow warriors. Here she didn’t have to be polite or careful of her language; in fact, the housecarls usually spent the first few minutes apologizing for their own lack of manners. But once they got into the swing of things, all of that was forgotten and she was treated almost like the other young warriors, although her status was always carefully acknowledged.

  A great shout went up: “The Princess is going to throw!” One of the warriors respectfully placed one of the smaller throwing axes in her hand.

  “Give me something of a proper size,” she demanded indignantly, and nodded as a full-sized battle-ax was passed to her.

  By this time the apple had been replaced on the target, and with a huge effort she hefted the ax, took aim, drew back, and hurled with such force she fell to her knees. When she dared to look at the target, she saw the apple neatly split in two at the foot of the thick throwing board. Laughing in relief, she accepted the cheers of the housecarls and allowed herself to be chaired around the tables.

  From high up on their shoulders, Thirrin could see through the swirling tendrils of smoke down the length of the Great Hall. Some instinct drew her eyes to the huge doors just as they burst open and a blast of cooler air flooded in, cutting through the thick bank of smoke like a hot coal through snow. The hall fell silent, and Thirrin breathed deep as the blast of clean air reached her. The smoke had now been almost completely blown away, and she had a clear view of soldiers marching through the doorway, dragging a huge shaggy figure between them.

  The troopers were wearing the uniform of the palace guard, and their business was obviously important, so some of the housecarls hurried to drag the trestle tables aside. Soon a wide aisle leading directly to the royal dais had been cleared, and the strange group began to march forward.

  “Put me down,” Thirrin ordered. The men who’d been carrying the Princess on their shoulders placed her on the floor, and she cut through the crowds to reach the upper table as the soldiers arrived. It was then that she saw exactly what they were dragging between them. It was the werewolf. Its wrists were tied with thick ropes to a pole that lay across its shoulders, and it was surrounded by a ring of sharp steel as each guard leveled his spear and stood ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

  The guards saluted the King. “My Lord, we bring the intruder from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts for sentence.”

  After a fraught few seconds trying to disentangle a terrified Primplepuss from his beard, Redrought’s reply was curt and gruff. “You should have killed it in the field! Waste of effort bringing it here.” He stroked Primplepuss gently in an attempt to calm her. “And you’ll get blood all over the floor!”

  Thirrin approached her father. “I claim the right of sentence!” she shouted, her voice echoing around the hall.

  The werewolf turned to look at her, its huge face beginning to lose its ferocious frown as if scenting some distant hope but not daring to believe it.


  The silence that followed was finally broken by the King. “You! Why?” he demanded, still grumpy after Primplepuss’s fright.

  “Because I first drew its blood. Its life by ancient law is mine.”

  Redrought considered for a moment, then said, “You’re right. How do you want it killed?”

  Thirrin smiled in gratitude at her father and, as usual, he relented and smiled back. “I don’t want it killed. I want to escort it to the border and set it free,” she said carefully, still smiling through the uproar of protest.

  “What?” the King roared in his best outraged-monarch voice. “It’s a monster, a freak from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. The world will be a better place without it. Just string it up and slice it open and then let’s get on with the party.”

  Thirrin waited for the cheer that followed this to die down before kneeling in supplication. “My Lord Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, Guardian of the People, grant your daughter, your only child and heir to the Icemark throne, this boon and favor. I would lead the escort to the border and there release the creature to live and tell of this night’s doings.”

  Her father’s eyes had narrowed warily as soon as Thirrin had adopted the ceremonial language of the court. She was sometimes too much like her mother, who’d been as clever as a sack of monkeys. But still, he’d loved his wife and she’d never used her intelligence to bad purpose.

  “If I’m to grant you this favor, I must first know why you want the werewolf to live,” he said at last, in a voice that was quiet for him.

  “Because of what we were speaking about earlier. You know that not even the shield-walls of all your housecarls nor the thundering hooves of all your cavalry will be enough to keep out our enemies if they all decide to attack at once. Even if Scipio Bellorum and the Polypontian Empire attacked alone with none of our other enemies in support, we could never hold them. You yourself have said that the Imperial armies are unstoppable. Put simply, we need allies.”