The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  His troops rode out in companies, looking for survivors and establishing their control of the site. He was just about to send scouts north along the highway in case the Icemark had another surprise for them and a second army was on the march when he suddenly noticed a group of five or six figures running from a line of hills toward the part of the battlefield where the bodies lay thickest. At first he thought they were human, but then he wasn’t so sure. They were running on two legs certainly, but even from this distance they looked huge, and either they were wearing furs of some sort or they were furry! A company of cavalry spotted them, and as Cassius Brontus watched, they wheeled around with superb discipline and galloped toward the figures. The five running shapes then stopped and turned to face the charge. A volley of pistol shots rang out, and then a strange howling roar rose up into the air. Horses reared and screamed and cavalry sabers flashed in the brilliant sunshine as a fierce skirmish followed. But it didn’t last long. Before anyone else could react, ten horses were bolting riderless across the rocky plain.

  With lightning speed the figures then ran to where the fallen battle standards lay and, tearing them from their staffs, they rolled them into balls and stuffed them into a crude sack they had with them. Cassius Brontus sat quietly watching. He was the sort of commander who was quite prepared to “blow with the winds of chance,” as the saying went, and having lost ten troopers already, he wasn’t prepared to risk the lives of any more. The hairy figures picked up two of the dead from among the hideous tangle and ran off at an amazing speed toward the hills they’d first come from. Several of the cavalry companies scattered around the field gave chase, but their commander waved up one of the buglers and ordered him to sound the recall. The strict discipline of the Polypontian forces immediately asserted itself, and all of the companies turned around and galloped back toward him.

  “Commander, those things have taken our invading army’s standard!” called the officer in charge of one of the companies as he rode up.

  “Indeed. And what use would we have for the disgraced flag of a defeated army? Perhaps you thought we could clean our boots on it before tomorrow morning’s parade?”

  “Well, no, but …”

  “But?” his commander inquired mildly. “It’s a standard of the Polypontus.”

  “It’s a desecrated rag. Call in your troopers and wait for orders!”

  By this time the strange figures had reached the line of distant hills and disappeared from view. Cassius Brontus was more than happy to see them go. He’d heard strange tales about the monsters that plagued the land of the Icemark, and he was beginning to think he’d just had firsthand experience of some of them. Judging by what they’d done to some of his cavalry, he was relieved they were unlikely to have either the brains or the discipline to make an effective fighting force. And what exactly they planned to do with the bodies they’d taken from the field he shuddered to think.

  10

  This was the fourth night the refugees had spent in the forest. They were camped on the main road with baggage wagons drawn up as a wall to the south and to the north of the site, and watch fires had been set at regular intervals under the trees. At first the people had adapted quite well to the conditions, and after the ceremony Oskan had carried out in which the soldiers of the Oak King had appeared, the terror of the forest had been replaced by a simple fear. But now, after living through the deep blackness of the forest’s night, a growing dread was once more threatening to get out of hand at any time.

  Thirrin had hoped to boost morale by making a great display of deploying the few soldiers she had in full battle gear along the makeshift defensive walls of the wagons and around the watch fires. But the two hundred troops only looked stretched beyond their capacity once they’d been stationed along the nearly half-mile length of the encampment.

  “What can I do, Maggie?” she asked Maggiore Totus as they sat around their fire close to the southern wagon wall. Primplepuss was sitting comfortably on Thirrin’s knee, basking in the warm glow and daintily accepting small morsels of chicken that the Princess held out to her. “The people are happier than they were, but at the first wolf howl they could become a screaming mob of terrified berserkers.”

  “There’s nothing you can do, really. Just get us through this forest as quickly as possible,” the neat little man replied. “Sometimes even the greatest leader has to accept the limitations of a situation and just hope for the best.”

  “That’s not what I want to hear,” she snapped unreasonably. “Can’t you suggest some magical solution?”

  “Not my field, I’m afraid. Perhaps you should ask Oskan.”

  They both turned to look at the witch’s son, who was sitting and staring silently into the impenetrable black of the forest beyond the encampment.

  Thirrin nudged him with her toe. “Well? What do you suggest?”

  Oskan turned large unseeing eyes on her, then he blinked, and vision seemed to rekindle in his dilated pupils. “Sorry. Did you speak?”

  “Yes!” Thirrin answered irritably. “What can we do to improve the people’s morale? They’re still afraid of the forest, and there’s at least two more days of traveling before we reach its northern border. Maggie thought you might be able to use magic in some way.”

  “I said no such thing!” Maggiore protested, but Oskan only shrugged.

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t know what you mean by magic. My mother had some Knowledge, but I’m not her. Besides, the people have nothing to fear from the forest. It’s the cavalry they should be afraid of.”

  “Cavalry? What cavalry?” Thirrin barked, causing Primplepuss to look at her questioningly.

  “Coming from the south. There’s no danger yet. They’re at least a day’s ride away.”

  “How do you know? What cavalry? Polypontian?”

  “Yes, Polypontian. How do I know?” He shrugged again. “I do, that’s all.”

  “Then my father’s dead and the army wiped out?”

  “I can only see the approaching cavalry. I don’t know about anything else. I’m sorry.”

  Thirrin sat in silence for a few seconds, allowing herself to be the worried daughter of a soldier who was away fighting a war. Then she sat up and squared her shoulders as she took up the responsibility of her kingdom again. “Maggie, do you believe this? Could Oskan be right?”

  “My Lady, since being in this strange northern land, I’ve learned that the truly rational individual keeps an open mind at all times. After all, I’ve seen legends walk in daylight and heard a wolfman bring news of invasion, so a simple case of clairvoyance warning of pursuing cavalry is easily believed. At the very least we should prepare for all possibilities and take what precautions we can. Dispatch a fast rider to the Hypolitan and ask them to send help as soon as they can, and position the few soldiers we have as a rear guard while the people move on as quickly as they can.”

  “Oskan, should we move tonight?” Thirrin asked, leaning forward and staring earnestly into his face as though she were trying to communicate with someone barely conscious.

  “No,” he answered in surprisingly relaxed tones. “The cavalry commander is driven by a huge ambition, but he knows the value of resting his troops, and the trail he’s following is so obvious he knows he can’t lose us. Basically he thinks we’re fools, and expects to capture the ‘Little Princess’ in a day or so.”

  Thirrin was livid. “‘Little Princess’! He’s hunting the Wildcat of the North, and her teeth and claws are ready for his throat! “ She leaped to her feet, depositing Primplepuss in an untidy heap on the ground, and strode around for a minute before sitting down again and muttering to herself. “How can you hide the trail of a city’s entire population? It’s impossible! I’d like to see him do better.”

  “The opinion of a moron has no value, Madam,” said Maggiore. “In the meantime I suggest we keep this … possibility of a pursuit from the people. As you pointed out earlier, it would take very little to cause a panic.”


  Cassius Brontus led his cavalry through the main gate of Frostmarris. He’d ridden ahead to the city with his regiment of horses and an extra five hundred that had arrived in the Icemark soon after they’d received news of their invading army’s destruction. He’d then stormed along the main highway, meeting no opposition, and had reached the capital city within two days.

  At first they’d approached the towering walls with caution, but it had soon become obvious that his scout’s reports were correct and the city had been abandoned. Even so, he entered the main gates with great care, all the troopers riding with pistols in hand and sabers drawn, expecting some trickery. But the city was deserted. The bitterly cold wind muttered eerily through the empty streets and here and there a door banged, the sound echoing over the intense stillness of the settlement. To the young officer’s heightened imagination, every window watched them as they rode along the resonant streets and every alleyway hid an army of shadow-people. It was almost as though the ghosts of Frostmarris had come to resist their invasion. The wind carried a tangled whispering and, once, he was almost certain he heard a thin evil snickering. But whenever he looked toward the sounds, they stopped and there was nothing to be seen.

  Soon the horses began to shy and blow nervously, and when one of them reared, almost throwing its rider, he was nearly convinced he saw a ragged shadow scuttling back down an alleyway. But Cassius Brontus was the product of the best education available in the colleges and training camps of the Polypontus. He was steeped in science and the belief in a rational universe. If a thing couldn’t be counted, studied under a microscope, or dissected on a marble slab, he knew it didn’t exist. Remembering this, he relegated all of his fears to mere imagination and they swiftly ebbed away. He suddenly laughed as the road ahead straightened out and he could see it climbing steadily toward the open gate of the citadel. The city was his! He raised the pace to a swift trot.

  But behind the cavalry the shadows thickened like living smoke. The soldiers’ fears might not get them today, but somewhere not too far ahead they lay waiting.

  The troopers were soon striding across the Great Hall of the palace and having given the order to tear down the white bear insignia of the Icemark, Cassius Brontus himself climbed to the huge oaken crossbeam and replaced it with the Imperial Eagle of the Polypontus.

  Leaving fifty men as a skeleton garrison in the citadel, he then set off in pursuit of the Princess. He was supremely confident. He had more than fifteen hundred well-trained cavalry troopers under his command and a trail as wide as a river to follow. They set out at a fast trot, clattering through the empty streets and sounding the battle call of the Empire on their bugles as they rode along. The city echoed with the arrogant noise of their presence, but as the last horse disappeared through the long exit tunnel and out onto the brightly sunlit plain beyond the walls, a deep haunted silence settled over Frostmarris again. The regimental color sergeant who’d been left in command of the occupying garrison somehow knew that the winter would be long and that it would take all of his considerable experience to maintain discipline.

  Cassius Brontus, however, was almost excited. He felt like a young boy on a day trip to a favorite resort. He believed that his destiny lay ahead, and he couldn’t help thinking it would be glorious. The great General Scipio Bellorum himself had shown the same flair and daring at the beginning of his career, and perhaps … just perhaps, the name of Cassius Brontus would one day be spoken with the same reverence as that of the army’s commander in chief. He admitted to himself that he still had some way to go to equal the general who had added three countries and five provinces to the Empire of the Polypontus. But he, Cassius Brontus, was still a very young man, and if he managed to capture the Icemark’s Princess, then he’d have made a greater beginning to his military career than even Scipio Bellorum had done.

  These happy thoughts kept even the freezing wind of the Icemark at bay, and he stared eagerly ahead to the huge forest that was beginning to loom threateningly on the horizon. But the wild wood held no fears for him. To his military eye the massive living organism that was the Great Forest represented nothing more than a good source of material for ships, siege towers, and other equipment the triumphant armies of the Polypontus might need. The Empire consumed massive amounts of raw materials to keep its war machines working, and the largest, most ancient tree was nothing more to it than one more piece of fuel.

  Cassius Brontus could clearly see from his position at the head of his troops that the road entered the forest, and that the trail of the Princess and her people went with it. His scouts, a hunting people from the far south of the Empire, confidently assured him that the tracks were much less than a week old and, given the slow pace at which such a huge convoy would be moving, he expected to catch up with them within two days.

  They reached the eaves of the forest and rode into it without the slightest pause. The brilliance of the winter day was suddenly reduced to a green twilight, and the rattle of hooves on the flagstones of the road echoed eerily through the templelike stillness of the trees. But any awe the troopers might have felt was ignored. In woodlands there were echoes simply because sound waves rebounded from the boles of the trees; the atmosphere seemed breathless because wind and air movement was generally hampered by the dense foliage and undergrowth. Like Cassius Brontus, they were soldiers of science and rationality, intent on their mission to bring logic and order to a world crippled by superstition. The Polypontus Empire had so far brought enlightenment to more than fifty countries and provinces, crushing the irrational beliefs of their populations whether they liked it or not.

  But for the time being, all such philosophical ideals took a poor second place to their ambitions. They were as determined as their young officer to gain as much ground on their quarry as they could before dark. In the forest, night would fall early, and the winter days were short enough already, so standing in his stirrups Cassius Brontus gave the signal for greater speed, and the pace was increased to a canter. Both horse and trooper could keep this up for hours, eating up the ground before them and bearing down on the refugee column as if they had an appointment with the Goddesses of Fate that their superstitious prey probably believed in.

  They’d made good time over the last couple of days. Maggiore Totus had managed to instill a sense of urgency into the column without causing panic, by claiming that the winter snows were finally on their way and would hit them before they reached the province of the Hypolitan if they didn’t hurry. But they’d never be able to outrun the approaching cavalry. Oskan, in a dark and brooding mood, continued to give warnings of the enemy troopers’ progress, and such was his quiet authority that even Maggiore accepted his clairvoyance without question.

  “How long now, Oskan?” Thirrin asked for the fourth time that hour.

  “A day or so.”

  “Can’t you be more accurate than that?” she snapped. “I need to know exactly.”

  They were riding at the back of the column with the two hundred soldiers they had as a rear guard. The forest was particularly silent that day, as though holding its breath, and Oskan reflected its sense of foreboding exactly. There was an atmosphere about him, like midnight in the deserted hall of a great fortress. When he spoke, he was quiet and withdrawn, so much so that Thirrin had to strain to hear what he was saying.

  But at last he seemed to rouse himself from his strange mood and, looking at her with suddenly bright eyes, said, “They will catch us in exactly one day from now. You and the housecarls will defend a narrow place in the road where they won’t be able to use their numbers against you. But how it will end I don’t know. I can see no more. The Sight comes and goes. I can’t command it.”

  She stared at him, not realizing she was holding her breath until she suddenly let it go in an explosive sigh. “Tell Maggie,” she ordered. “I’ll speak to the captain of the guard.”

  Oskan nodded and then, amazingly, smiled. Now that he’d given the last of his clairvoyant warnings, it was as though a dark
ness had been lifted from his mind and the boy she knew returned to help her. “Do you think he’ll believe me?”

  “Of course he will. Our tame master of the rational secretly puts more faith in your powers than anyone … apart from me. Now go.”

  As the boy galloped off on his ungainly mule, Thirrin rode on alone, deep in thought. Oskan was certainly right about the type of place she’d choose to make a stand against the Polypontian cavalry. A narrow place in the road, with dense undergrowth beneath the trees to protect the flanks of her housecarls, would be an obvious choice of position. The enemy wouldn’t be able to use their numbers efficiently, however great they were, and her soldiers might be able to stand up to ten deep, depending on exactly how narrow the road was. All she had to do now was keep a sharp lookout for this obvious place and speak to her soldiers.

  They reached it an hour later. For some reason known only to the ancient engineers who’d made the highway, it abruptly narrowed as it climbed a low hill, and the trees crowded up to the verge in a particularly dense stand that was thick with low bushes and brambles. No horse could force its way through such an entanglement to take them in the flank, and the crest of the hill would give Thirrin and her housecarls a slight advantage over the enemy.

  She tried to shake off the sense of desperation that had been creeping up on her all day. The cavalry of the Polypontian Empire had the reputation of being the finest in the known world, and she had only two hundred foot soldiers to set against it. What hope did they have? They were outnumbered with very little chance of any help or reinforcements arriving before they were wiped out, so there seemed little point in resisting. Why not simply surrender? Allow herself to be captured and beg for mercy for her people?

  For a moment she almost convinced herself of this argument. But then she remembered the terrible stories of the massacres and atrocities carried out by the soldiers of the Empire. Of course, she had no way of knowing whether they were true or not. Stories like that always grew in the telling, and they were always told by the losers in the many wars the Empire had fought. And that in itself was natural enough, because the Polypontians had never lost a war yet. People hated the Empire. Of course they did: It took away their freedom and it crushed their individuality, so it was quite natural that negative stories about the way it treated defeated people should be common. Perhaps they really were exaggerated and the population would be well treated. And even if all the stories were true, what could she do? Did she really care if the populations of entire towns were enslaved and moved out to work in the Empire’s mines or factories? Did she really care if those too old to be of use to the Imperial slave masters were slaughtered in a murderous act of efficiency? As long as she was safe and allowed to keep at least the trappings of royalty, why should she continue to struggle against overwhelming odds? With a secret, deeply shocking sense of relief, she imagined handing responsibility for the Icemark over to the Empire. She could become a puppet queen, doing exactly as she was told and being allowed to live in peace and comfort in Frostmarris. And perhaps the people would simply have exchanged one system of government for another.