The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  But then the blood of the Strong-in-the-Arm clan awoke, roaring in her brain, and the fighting spirit of the Hypolitan, her mother’s people, straightened her sagging spine and sent a tingling excitement coursing through her veins. She was heir to the throne of the Icemark and she could never be certain that stories of Polypontian cruelty were untrue. She must defend her land and her people! This was her role and meaning in life. To betray their trust, even in the face of impossible odds, would be the most terrible of treacheries. Above all she was her father’s daughter, and she must stand with her housecarls and give the column of refugees at least some chance of escaping. Or she must die trying. Even so, she trembled with the terrible responsibility of it all. For the first time in her proud young life she found herself envying other girls of her own age: young peasants, or the daughters of rich merchants and artisans. All they had to worry about was themselves and their immediate families. Would their young shoulders be strong enough to carry the weight of an entire country?

  By this time her horse had climbed the small hill the road followed, and she drew rein. The captain of her housecarls had been stumping along stolidly behind her, but seeing her stop he held up his hand, and his command of foot soldiers stamped to a halt.

  “We make our stand here, Captain Eodred,” Thirrin said.

  He nodded silently and, turning to the men, ordered them to fall out. Then he turned back to Thirrin. “When do we fight, Ma’am?”

  “A little less than a day from now. We’ll be facing cavalry, and we’ll be outnumbered.”

  He nodded, accepting the information without question. “A good position,” he said, looking around. “We could hold ten times our number here.”

  “Yes, but for how long, Captain?”

  He shrugged. “That’s with the gods.”

  Later that night, Oskan, Maggiore, and Grimswald galloped back to consult with Thirrin. The refugee column was now several miles ahead and would continue to travel through the night as they tried to outrun the bad weather Maggiore had convinced them was on the way. All three of them were wearing borrowed armor, and it was all Thirrin could do not to fall into fits of giggles when she saw Grimswald. His helmet was so large the nasal plate reached to his chin, and if he turned his head suddenly, the helmet stayed staring forward, and then would slowly revolve to catch up with the face it supposedly protected. Even Maggie and Oskan looked vaguely ridiculous, like large children dressed up in their fathers’ clothes. After a long struggle Thirrin managed to gain control of her features, and then asked:

  “And why, exactly, are you three wearing armor?”

  “Because we want at least a chance of surviving the first charge tomorrow,” Oskan answered brusquely.

  “Well, you don’t have to worry. I can guarantee that you will. You’ll all be with the wagons.” Thirrin waited quietly while the protests and arguments washed over her, and then she said, “None of you are trained. None of you are natural fighters. All of you would die. Quickly.

  “Maggie, you can barely use a fruit knife without cutting yourself; Grimswald, I admire your bravery, but you’re far more useful to me ensuring that I have everything I need, when I need it, and Oskan …” She sighed, exasperated that she needed to point out the obvious. “Oskan, you’re a healer among other things. You’re supposed to repair the damage fighting inflicts on people, not cause it yourself.”

  “But me and Maggie are your advisers; the King himself appointed us. We can’t just abandon you at the first sign of a fight! Redrought would expect us to be with you,” Oskan said, his voice taking on a note of desperation as he realized that Thirrin was determined, too.

  “The King would expect advisers to advise, not fight. You and Maggie would both serve me best by leading my people safely to the Hypolitan,” Thirrin answered quietly. She was well aware that she was dealing with male pride here as much as loyalty and a sense of duty. Oskan was a boy who was standing on the threshold of manhood, and to leave a fourteen-year-old girl to fight while he rode away would be hard for him to bear. “Oskan, you must help Maggie lead the wagons to safety. You’ve become a symbol of hope and magical power for the people. When you’re with them, they feel less afraid, and that, combined with Maggie’s authority, is just what they need right now. If you abandon them in the forest, they’ll panic and run amok. Your duty lies with them.”

  Oskan looked at his feet but eventually nodded. He knew she was right, but his self-respect had demanded he at least try to help in the coming fight. Maggiore nodded, too, though for him the gesture was more an acknowledgment that Thirrin had grown to fit the role that the war had forced her to take. She was already every inch a Queen with an air of command and a fighting spirit, but now she’d also developed a diplomacy that handled the tender pride of a growing boy to perfection. He suddenly felt enormously proud of her and, stooping, he kissed her hand. “Don’t worry about your people, Ma’am. We’ll look after them.”

  “Thanks, Maggie,” she answered simply, and smiled. Then she went on, “One more thing. My closest kin is the Basilea of the Hypolitan; she’s my aunt. I name her now as my heir. If I fall tomorrow, you will serve her as loyally as you served me.”

  No one replied, but both Oskan and Maggiore bowed deeply, and Grimswald wiped his nose on a handkerchief he found after much rummaging under his armor.

  The next day dawned bright and cold again. Good fighting weather, as Captain Eodred had said. During supper the previous night, Thirrin had asked Oskan if he could tell her exactly when the enemy cavalry would arrive, but the Sight would give no answers, and he’d shaken his head regretfully. Not long after that, he, Maggiore, and Grimswald had ridden forward to rejoin the column of refugees, leaving Thirrin feeling isolated, despite being surrounded by two hundred housecarls. She’d been almost sick with fear, but now that day had dawned she was too busy to feel lonely or even nervous. There was equipment to check, running repairs to carry out, orders to give, and scouts to send out to give her warning of the Polypontians’ approach. When all of this was done, she arranged the battle order, putting the strongest and fittest soldiers in the front ranks and packing them ten files deep on the narrow section of road.

  Now all they could do was wait. Thirrin took up her position at the very center of the shield-wall’s front rank, while Captain Eodred controlled the left wing and his second in command the right. The soldiers cheered as Thirrin locked her shield into the wall, and the bearer of the regiment’s fighting colors rolled up the flag and laid it at his feet, saying that the Princess was now their battle standard and they would all fall before she was taken. This was greeted by another cheer, then the soldiers beat their axes and swords on their shields, making a rolling rhythm of sound that slowly grew to a crashing crescendo that swelled through the surrounding trees, echoing and reechoing through the forest.

  Thirrin raised her ax in acknowledgment of the salute, desperately hoping that none of the housecarls could see how afraid she was of failing them. Mastering weapons technique on the training ground was one thing, but how would she perform in battle? All these soldiers were looking to her to provide leadership and an example of ferocity and courage. What if she couldn’t fulfill their expectations? For a moment a searing flame of panic flared up in the pit of her stomach and thrilled through her body.

  But then a tiny ribbon of sound rippled through the trees. A horn was sounding the battle note of the Icemark! One of the scouts had spotted the enemy! Immediately the ranks of soldiers around her tightened, and the shields locked closer together.

  “Housecarls of the Icemark. Here we stand or die! “ Thirrin’s clear voice rang out in the cold air, and as she spoke all fear left her. The die was cast; their fate lay now with the gods.

  But for the next few minutes nothing happened. Thirrin stared along the road to the point where a slight bend hid it from view, but all was still. Brilliant sunshine cascaded through the naked branches of the winter trees, dappling the forest floor and the flagstones of the road in a dazzlin
g display of light and shadow. Nearby a bird sang, the sweet tumble of notes amplified in the surrounding silence so that it filled the senses to brimming.

  Nothing else stirred. The wind had dropped to a mere whisper that barely moved the slenderest twigs, and in the stillness the cold winter sun warmed up the thick carpet of leaf litter on the ground, and a rich earthy scent enveloped the waiting soldiers.

  Then, like the shatter of breaking glass, the enemy burst into view. Rank upon rank of cavalry cantered along the road, all the troopers riding with pistols and sabers drawn. A murmur ran through the waiting housecarls, and then they fell deathly silent. Thirrin gazed hungrily at the cavalry; these were the first Polypontian soldiers she’d ever seen, and their appearance was both exotic and strangely beautiful.

  They all wore brightly polished breastplates and helmets with cagelike face guards, but strangest of all to Thirrin were the brilliant plumes and silk sashes that blazed in the dappled sunshine. Even their thick winter coats were richly embroidered, and the officers had lace collars and cuffs. She might have laughed if she hadn’t known that these were the ferocious warriors who had made the largest empire history had ever seen.

  At the head of his command, Cassius Brontus saw the shield-wall of housecarls that blocked the way, and he calmly called a halt. He wasn’t surprised; the warning calls of Thirrin’s scouts had prepared him for such an eventuality, and his troopers had been riding in a state of high alert for more than two miles. For almost five minutes the opposing forces stared at each other, then Cassius Brontus waved up his officers.

  He was painfully aware that the Icemark’s commander had chosen his position well. The dense undergrowth ensured that they couldn’t be outflanked, and the narrowness of the road at this point meant that he could use his meager numbers of housecarls to great effect. On top of this, the horses would have to charge uphill. The commander was obviously a wily old bird that would take some killing. Still, killed he would be — then he, Cassius Brontus, would overtake the refugees, kill the old, and enslave the rest. He should get a good price for such tough individuals. But most important of all he’d capture the Princess. She was the key to his entire future, and she was just waiting to be seized.

  The conference with his officers was short. They had only one choice: Charge and sweep the Icemark’s little band of foot soldiers aside. Quickly they deployed to their commands and Cassius Brontus withdrew to the side of the road.

  A silence fell of such intensity that Thirrin could hear the blood whispering in her ears. She expected a herald to ride out from the Polypontian cavalry at any moment to make ritual demands that she would ritually reject — and then when that was done, they could begin the fight. But no such thing happened. A high brassy note blasted out from the ranks of the Polypontians, and they charged.

  Thirrin was shocked, especially since their commander, the one with more plumes and sashes than anyone else, seemed to be watching proceedings from the roadside! But she quickly recovered and braced herself as the cavalry began to climb the hill at full gallop.

  Before her was a wall of horseflesh rushing down on their thin line of shields like a tidal wave. Surely they must be swept aside. But then roaring and racing into her veins swept the combined battle fury of the Icemark and the Hypolitan. Her high-pitched voice climbed in astonishing power over the noise of the charge, and the shield-wall rose and slammed forward as one to meet the onslaught.

  The screaming shock of onset made Thirrin’s head reel, but after a second she recovered and swiftly looked to her right and left. The line had held. Before them horses struggled to regain their feet, and riders fell in a tangle of human and horse that writhed like a storm at sea. Those still mounted hacked with their long sabers at the housecarls before them, and a ragged volley of shots from the long cavalry pistols rang out. Thirrin swung her ax furiously as the Polypontian troopers desperately tried to surge forward over the fallen bodies and the shield-wall, and slowly the explosive shouts and curses of the housecarls consolidated into the familiar war chant.

  “OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!”

  But then, with a suddenness that shook her, the troopers before them melted away, and Thirrin watched as they galloped back down the hill.

  Cassius Brontus observed the withdrawal calmly. The enemy was densely packed into the narrow defensive position, and it would take several charges to finally dislodge them. But they were heavily outnumbered, and he’d use fresh troopers for each charge. The end was inevitable; it would just take a little longer than he’d hoped. He waved up the next squadron of cavalry and watched impassively as they exploded into a charge up the hill toward the housecarls. Once again the shield-wall surged forward to meet the attack, and the thunderous roar of onset filled the surrounding forest. The ring of saber on shield and ax against the heavy plate armor of the horses was punctuated by volley after volley of gunshot, but still the line held and again the cavalry withdrew.

  Thirrin watched as the second wave cantered away, and swiftly checked the shield-wall. Already they’d had to pass many dead and injured housecarls back overhead to clear the line. At close range the long-barreled cavalry pistols were having a devastating effect. Even while she was calling out encouragement and praise to her houscarls, her quick mind was calculating that it would take only another three such charges to break their wall. She was bitterly angry. Just another five hundred soldiers and they could have held the road indefinitely and ground down the enemy. As it was, her first battle was about to end in defeat. For a moment the reality of the situation caused her to despair, and she had to struggle to hold back tears of anger and frustration. Immediately the soldiers around her sensed this and looked at their leader in alarm.

  Her response was quick. Tightening her grip on shield and ax she laughed aloud, the sound creating its own power, and soon the terrible joy of battle surged through her again.

  “Housecarls of the Icemark! We’ve made the Empire pay dearly for their attacks, but now I think we’ve warmed up enough to really make them suffer! After the next charge we’ll send back only the horses. The riders we’ll lay on the earth in tribute to our King, Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North!”

  A huge cheer greeted her words, and again the rattling rhythm of axes beating on shields rolled and swelled through the trees in tribute. Many of the veteran housecarls could hear the voice of Redrought himself echoing in the light tones of this young girl, and her fighting ferocity had given them heart in the face of overwhelming odds. But down the hill, Cassius Brontus was staring at the shield-wall in excited amazement. Judging by the clear and high voice he’d just heard, the commander of the enemy was a mere girl. But more important, he realized that only one girl in the whole of the Icemark could possibly command an infantry unit. The heir to the throne herself was standing only yards away! She was almost in his grasp! Spurring his horse forward, he called up his officers for a conference.

  Up on the hill, Thirrin watched as Cassius Brontus spoke to his unit commanders. She knew that something different was about to happen and guessed it would take the form of a full-scale charge using all available troopers. She looked along her thin line of soldiers and doubted they could withstand it. If only she’d had a few more housecarls! And then, unbidden, the image of Oskan summoning the soldiers of the Oak King just before they had entered the forest came into her mind. Of course! Allies needed to be summoned. It was considered the height of diplomatic bad manners if the forces of a friendly power intervened in your war before being invited. She almost laughed aloud, and then just as quickly sobered up. She mustn’t get too excited. She might not have the power or the right to call the Oak King’s soldiers.

  She ordered a nearby housecarl carrying a hunting horn to give the call of summons. All of her soldiers watched her step forward from the shield-wall and raise her arms. “Greetings to His Majesty the Oak King, Lord of the Forest and all wild places, from Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat
of the North, heir to the throne of the Icemark. Hear now my call for assistance. Soldiers of the Polypontian Empire have crossed your borders without permission and now threaten my people and my own royal person. We courteously ask your help in defending ourselves from our enemy and thank His Majesty for his friendship and alliance!”

  Standing alone before the battered ranks of her soldiers she seemed incredibly fragile and vulnerable, but the housecarls now knew how strong she was in battle and they trusted her judgment and leadership implicitly. Many were already looking around for the arrival of the oak soldiers, but nothing happened. For several minutes Thirrin stood in silence. A sudden braying of bugles from the enemy ranks sounded suspiciously mocking, especially when it was followed by laughter. But then a wind sprang up, blowing and growing in strength as it howled and raged through the branches of the trees. Just as suddenly it dropped and a deathly hush followed.