The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  “This is it, then, Theowin,” he said to the fierce old baroness who sat on her horse beside him.

  “Yes,” she answered calmly. Then she continued in a different tone. “But before we go, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

  Redrought was shocked to hear what sounded almost like a note of panic in her voice. “Ask away. If I can give it, it’s yours.”

  She hesitated as though trying to find the right words, worrying Redrought even more. Then at last she said, “After the Baron died, no man came near me in twenty years. I seem to scare them, for some reason. So … I’d like you to kiss me, My Lord. Let me feel a man’s beard tickling my face again before I die.”

  In the silence that followed, the war chant of the housecarls could clearly be heard echoing across the battlefield. “OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!” The fierce determination in the explosive sound gave the King just the level of brute courage he needed, and he suddenly leaned from his saddle and kissed the grim warrior’s mouth of the Baroness. Their helmets clashed and rang like bells as the kiss was firmly planted, drawing the attention of the regiment of cavalry waiting in reserve behind the hill, and a huge cheer rose up from the troopers.

  Redrought laughed thunderously, then standing in his stirrups he drew his sword and gave the signal to advance. The cavalry fanned out and set off at a slow walk down from the hill. Before him, Redrought could clearly see how over the last two days of fighting his tactics had ground down the Polypontians and forced them on to the defensive. They stood at bay now, surrounded by the army of the Icemark even though they still outnumbered Redrought’s force by at least three to one. Perhaps their general hoped that they’d smash themselves to pieces on his superior numbers and that he could ultimately win the war of attrition by sitting and waiting. But he had no chance of that happening: Redrought was ready to end the battle right now.

  The archers were still pouring flights of arrows into the enemy ranks, concentrating much of their shooting on the center, knowing exactly where Redrought’s hammer blow would fall. The Polypontians had positioned their remaining cannons at the corners of a defensive square, and at the beginning of the day they had devastated the ranks of the Icemark. But Redrought had reacted quickly to the threat and ordered the ballistas to aim their long steel bolts at the batteries. For two hours the duel had been fought, and as a result the guns had fallen as silent as their dead crews. Meanwhile the housecarls kept up a dogged attack on the enemy’s left wing, enduring volley after volley of musket fire, then rushing forward with locked shields to hack at the line and force the Polypontians back. And all around, the fyrd seethed like a sea flowing back and forth and leaving a debris of dead like flotsam behind them.

  Redrought judged his moment to the last possible second and then, after leaning across to kiss the Lady Theowin again, he stood in his stirrups and roared out the war cry of the Icemark: “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

  The troopers of the cavalry took it up in a great roar, and as one they leaped forward in a charge that shook the ground beneath them. The archers stepped up their shooting rate and were soon loosing their arrows over the heads of the cavalry, then they laid aside their bows and, drawing swords, they charged forward to support them.

  Redrought could hear the chant of the housecarls as his cavalry bore down on the ranks of the Polypontian army, the wind of his speed making his hair stream and tumble like flames of fire around his helmet. Even now the enemy’s discipline held, and they attempted to redress their shattered ranks as the cavalry of the Icemark roared down on them. A salvo of musket fire erupted on to the cold winter air, smashing into the advanced ranks of the cavalry, but it was as effective as throwing stones at an oncoming tidal wave and the charge thundered on. Redrought bellowed his rage, and his stallion echoed him with a squeal as they smashed into the line of soldiers before them. The enemy ranks broke apart, and the cavalry cut deep into the Polypontian position, the Lady Theowin laying about her with a huge battle-ax and the horses striking out at the Polypontian soldiers before them. The housecarls, too, breached the line and steadily carved their way through, chanting as they came. At the center of the Polypontian host, their general watched calmly beneath his battle standard of a running white horse as Redrought’s army smashed through his lines. Then, drawing his sword, he roared out an order, and the remains of his once mighty cavalry force leaped forward to meet the soldiers of the Icemark.

  Many of the musketeers used their guns as clubs, having no time to reload in the close press of the hand-to-hand fighting, and even some of the pikemen, the most effective of the enemy troops, threw aside their twenty-foot spears and drew their cutlasses. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the Polypontian soldiers hacked and slashed at all before them, but the steadily locked shields of the housecarls bore them back and the wild rush of the fyrd swarmed forward, screaming insanely as they came.

  Redrought and his cavalry still pressed on, driving the enemy before them. Then, catching sight of the Polypontian standard, he turned his warhorse to meet it, the animal rearing and screaming a challenge before leaping forward. King and general met in a ringing clash of sword on sword, Redrought forcing back his enemy in a savage display of fighting rage that ended as the Bear of the North broke the general’s arm through his shield and then hacked his head from his shoulders. The Polypontians fell back in dismay, but even now their discipline held as they rallied around the battle standard and prepared a defiant last stand around a small hill in the center of the field.

  For a moment all fighting ceased. This was the final phase of the battle, and Redrought prepared his cavalry for their last charge. The Imperial lines bristled like a steel hedgehog as the pikemen leveled their spears, and those enemy musketeers who had reloaded their weapons waited in grim silence. The Lady Theowin sat on her horse beside the King, smiling through a mask of blood that ran down her face from a scalp wound while gently wiping the blade of her battle-ax on a delicate lace handkerchief she’d produced from somewhere.

  “They’ll die hard, Theowin,” said Redrought calmly.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Good, aren’t they?”

  “Very. But we’ve almost destroyed them, and by the time any reinforcements arrive from the Polypontus, the best general in all the Icemark will be waiting for them and not even Scipio Bellorum will be able to beat him.”

  “The best general in the Icemark?” the Lady Theowin asked. “Who?”

  “Oh, you know him well. We all do: General Snow and his ally, Marshal Ice. No army can march through one of their blizzards or pass any road they’ve blocked.”

  Theowin laughed. “No army at all,” she agreed. Then, pointing with her ax at the Polypontian lines, she said, “Shall we?”

  Redrought nodded, and standing in his stirrups he stabbed his sword into the air and roared out the order to advance. With a great shout, the soldiers of the Icemark swept down on the enemy lines. A volley of musket fire rang out at pointblank range, cutting a ragged swath through the fyrd, but still they came on, the entire army shouting the housecarl war chant: “OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!”

  Redrought and his cavalry smashed into the line of enemy pikemen, sweeping them aside with a huge roar, the air rent by screaming as soldiers on both sides fell. Many saddles were emptied by the long spears, but into the breach rushed the housecarls and fyrd, cutting at the Imperial troops until a small knot struggled about the battle standard, which swung one way and then the other as desperate hands reached to take it and Polypontian soldiers furiously defended it. Redrought and Theowin had both been unhorsed and now led the struggle to take the battle standard on foot, raining blows at the stubborn fighters before them.

  Soldiers on both sides fell in huge numbers as the King led charge after charge against the enemy defenders, their superb discipline holding out as they continually redressed their line and denied the Icemark their standard. But at last Redrought breached their defense, just as the Lady Theowin
fell under a hail of sword blows.

  Roaring his rage and grief, Redrought drove forward, sweeping aside all before him with the swinging arc of the battle-ax he’d taken from Theowin’s lifeless hand. The last Polypontian soldiers fought with ferocity but fell to the King’s ax, until at last he was fighting hand to hand with the standard-bearer, the last man standing of the entire invading army.

  The standard-bearer was wearing the plumed helmet and elegantly gilded armor of his office, but his sword was bloody with use and razor-sharp and he fought for the honor of his fallen comrades. Redrought and the standard-bearer traded cut and parry, whirling around the pivot of the flagpole, whose shaft the Polypontian soldier had driven deep into the ground. Every thrust of his sword was powered by desperation and a driving thirst to kill the barbarian king who’d destroyed his army, but he was also a veteran of more than twenty campaigns and he fought with the skill of long experience. Cut and thrust, parry and feint — the economy and measure of his tactics were superb. But Redrought had neither the time nor inclination to admire his fighting finesse and, spotting a sudden gap in his defense, he chopped deep into the junction where neck meets shoulder, and the last Polypontian fell.

  Triumphant, Redrought seized the battle flag and held it aloft with a huge cry of exaltation. But at his feet the standard-bearer felt a surge of hatred that drove him through his pain, and with his dying breath he reached up and drove his sword deep into Redrought’s belly.

  A strange silence slowly descended on the field. Only the groans of the dying and the moaning of the icy wind could be heard.

  9

  Thirrin watched as the last wagon lumbered through the gates of the city, then gently urged her horse forward. Frostmarris was uncannily silent, and even the usual wintertime scent of wood smoke had gone, leaving the streets smelling unnaturally neutral, apart from the occasional sharp tang of dung where one of the many horses had deposited a pile.

  The capital city had been evacuated only once before in its thousand years of history, but with the late snows leaving the roads open, there was no real option. Thirrin had to admit that if the Polypontians were victorious, then Frostmarris would be at their mercy, and withstanding a siege here in winter would be impossible.

  Her horse was approaching the archway that led to the long entrance tunnel from the main gate, and reining to a halt she looked back at the royal fortress on its dominating hill. The battle banner of the Icemark still flew from the keep, the rearing white bear standing out clearly in the icy wind against the pristine blue sky.

  “I’ll be back in the springtime,” she whispered. “And I’ll have an army that’ll drive back any invader, even Scipio Bellorum!”

  She turned her horse into the tunnel, closing her eyes against the freezing cold wind that was funneling through from the outside world, but at last she reached the main gate and passed through into the brilliant sunshine of a crisp winter’s day. Oskan was waiting for her along with an escort of ten cavalry, but she waved the troopers ahead and, catching the Witch’s Son’s eye, she pointed imperiously to her side.

  He was riding a quiet mule with ears as long as swords and a face like a slightly amused camel, and though she could see that the animal was both strong and willing, she’d have preferred it if one of her most important advisers had chosen to ride a warhorse.

  Thirrin looked out over the plain to where the long winding snake of wagons, horses, and cattle was slowly making its way along the North Road. “We’ll need to go faster than that if we’re to reach the Hypolitan before the snows come.”

  “Maggiore Totus is seeing to that now,” Oskan answered. “He’s told the commander of the cavalry to increase the pace and position back markers to drive on the stragglers.”

  She nodded in approval, then added, “Exactly where did you find that animal?”

  Oskan stroked the mule’s neck. “The head groom gave her to me. Jenny’s kind and gentle and as strong as two horses.”

  Thirrin looked down on him from the great height of her stallion. “Jenny?”

  “Yes. Suits her, don’t you think? She knows I’m not a very good rider and she makes allowances.”

  “Does she?” said Thirrin in a voice that was as cold as the wind. “And can Jenny keep up with a full gallop?” And with that, Princess and stallion plunged forward and charged down the approach road to the city and out onto the plain. Oskan followed behind, desperately clinging on as the mule suddenly produced a surprising turn of speed. At one point it even seemed that they were gaining on the tall horse that was thundering ahead, but Thirrin reined to a halt and only just managed to hide her astonishment when the mule quickly drew up next to her with a breathless Oskan hanging on to her neck.

  “She’ll do, I suppose,” Thirrin admitted.

  For the rest of the morning the wagon train wound its way along the road, its pace now a little faster as the cavalry escort rode up and down its length, urging on the drivers. At the head of the column rode Thirrin, with her two advisers and the commanders of the skeleton detachments of cavalry and housecarls. The noise of screaming babies, barking dogs, and complaining citizens swelled and rolled over the plain as they slowly plodded forward, but at heart everyone was in good enough spirits. Redrought had always said that the people of Frostmarris were at their best in a crisis, and it seemed he was right. There were no fights, few arguments, and though there was plenty of moaning no one refused to help where they were needed.

  All seemed to be going as well as the circumstances could allow. But even so, Thirrin was desperately worried. How could she hope to get her people safely to the Hypolitan in the depths of winter? She was lucky it hadn’t snowed yet, but she knew that was only a matter of time, and then what would she do? Her advisers were an old man who knew more about books than the reality of war and a boy who was hardly older than she was. She had no one to rely on, and at fourteen she just didn’t feel ready to lead anyone anywhere, let alone the entire population of a city.

  Nevertheless, because she appeared to be a strong leader, the people seemed amazingly confident in her and happy to follow her plans. One of the most important lessons she’d recently learned was that looking strong and confident was sometimes all the people required of you.

  Even so, as time wore on and the eaves of the Great Forest drew closer, uneasiness began to grow among the refugees. The route to safety with the Hypolitan in the north passed through the huge expanse of trees, and many of the people stared mournfully at the forest in superstitious dread. Generations of misbehaving children had been threatened with ghouls and monsters from the massive forest, and even adults found their dreams invaded by its terrible image, reduced to children again by their fears. And now those fears were coming to dreadful reality as the stark and naked branches of the winter trees loomed on the skyline like a billowing storm cloud. Only a few hunters dared to walk the forest’s strange pathways, and although the army sent fairly regular patrols along the North Road, to most of the people it remained a place of fearful mystery. And now as they approached the forest, it was busily living up to its reputation as the icy wind found a voice, blowing through the miles of wooded hills and valleys, moaning and howling mournfully like the ghosts of wolves. Soon even the noisiest baby fell silent, and the cattle stopped their constant bawling as the shadow loomed ever closer.

  “If they’re worried by the very sight of the forest, just wait until they realize we’re going to be camping in it for the next week or so,” said Thirrin.

  “Quite,” Maggiore Totus said, inexpertly adjusting his grip on the reins of his gentle mare. “I think a reminder of that situation should be passed on to the citizens so that it comes as less of a shock.”

  Thirrin nodded in agreement and beckoned to the cavalry commander. “Tell the people to ensure that they have everything they need for several nights’ camping in the forest.”

  The commander saluted and cantered off, passing the message on to his troopers.

  “Perhaps I should have a
word with the people,” Oskan said. “Most of them know who I am and that I live in the forest, and they can all see that I’ve never been harmed by it.”

  “But my dear Oskan,” Maggiore pointed out gently, “you are the son of a witch. A White Witch admittedly, but a witch nonetheless, one of the very … creatures the people fear live in the forest. I think it would be best if you didn’t remind them of your parentage.”

  “But my mother was a good woman, a healer. Many citizens of Frostmarris were helped by her.”

  “True, but I don’t think you are taking into account the collective mind of a large group of frightened people. If they remember that a White Witch who helped them once lived in the forest, they’ll also be reminded of the possibility of Black Witches who could do exactly the opposite.”

  Thirrin had listened to the debate, quietly aware that she must seize any opportunity that would help her to keep the people together. After a moment of thought she said, “I think the citizens have already thought enough about the bad things that can live under the trees. It’s time to remind them that good can also live there. Go and speak to them, Oskan.” All those close enough to hear were struck by how like her father the Princess sounded, and took comfort from it.

  Oskan smiled at her and cantered off along the line of wagons, stopping every now and then to talk to a driver or someone plodding along on foot.

  “I know you’ll probably think it superstitious nonsense, Maggie, but I’m going to ask Oskan to perform …” Thirrin shrugged her shoulders as she struggled to find the right word. “Something … a ceremony of some sort before we go into the trees. Something that’ll help the people believe they’re protected in some way.”