The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  But it didn’t happen that night, and by morning the low and heavy cloud cover occupied all of Thirrin’s attention. They plodded along under the iron-gray skies as though they were carrying a huge weight. They were now climbing the foothills of the mountain range that formed the border, and snow-covered boulders like giant sheep were beginning to heave themselves out of the surrounding geography.

  But even these signs that they were getting closer to their destination couldn’t distract Thirrin from the lowering sky. The light had an odd, almost brown, tinge to it, and there was a sense of anticipation as though the land were holding its breath. They expected the first wisps of snow at any moment, but none fell, and this added to the rising tension. Suddenly Jenny, Oskan’s mule, let out a huge bray that sounded almost muffled under the deeply gray sky. But she continued the strange, wheezy screech for almost a minute before finally falling silent.

  “And what was all that about?” Thirrin asked disapprovingly from the height of her stallion.

  “The wind’s coming,” Oskan answered simply.

  “Is that all?”

  Her counselor looked at her but said nothing. Then, reining in his mule, he dismounted and rummaged in his saddlebags until he found an extra coat with a deep hood and put it on. After this he unfolded a thick blanket and draped it over Jenny’s back, securing it with ties at the front and back.

  Thirrin took the hint and ordered the escort of soldiers to put on any extra clothing they had, and then with Oskan’s help she draped a blanket over her stallion. She wasn’t sure what to expect. The winter winds of the Icemark were legendary, and she’d heard tales since childhood of them freezing birds to branches and beasts to the ground. But despite riding and hunting in the wilds since she could barely walk, she’d never before been this far north, or in the open when they’d struck.

  After half an hour or so she was just beginning to wonder if Oskan and his mule could have been wrong when a gentle breath stirred her stallion’s mane and she heard a sound like a distant stormy sea crashing to the shore. She turned in her saddle but could see nothing. The snow was frozen, so no loose powder was being blown around, and in this area of the Icemark there were no trees to wave their branches as the storm rushed by.

  But the sound grew closer and closer, rising to a high-pitched howl until, with the suddenness of a slamming door, the wind hit them. If Thirrin had had the breath, she would have gasped in shock. The temperature dropped like a lead weight, and no amount of clothing could keep the wind at bay. She pulled up her hood and hunched down in the saddle. She could almost see the leather of the reins becoming brittle as they continued to ride, and no amount of coaxing could have made her take off her gloves and touch the steel of her armor or sword. She knew that if she did, she would leave fingerprints as thick as her flesh was deep.

  The terrible wind continued blowing for the rest of the day. One of the packhorses fell and refused to get up again, so they distributed its load among the others and left it to die. In such extreme conditions there was no room for compassion. It would take only one small addition of hardship and they could all freeze to death. Thirrin dreaded the night. If they failed to reach the border, or lost their way, they would have to set up camp again, and the thought of trying to pitch their tents in that howling storm was the stuff of nightmares.

  By this time they were laboring up a fairly well-defined path that wound its way through the steep rocky slopes of the foothills. Ahead of them the Wolfrocks loomed out of the sky like broken teeth, and Thirrin could only pray that they didn’t miss the route to the pass. Here, the snow had been scoured from the rocks, which lay strewn around the terrain in a black and broken tumble that could give no foothold for life of any kind. The entire landscape looked as dead and barren as a desert. It all seemed horribly ominous to Thirrin, and exactly appropriate for a border with a land that was ruled by the undead. But had she seen the area in summer, she would have seen that deep in crevices where the winds couldn’t reach, lizards, mice, and many other creatures slept, awaiting the return of the sun.

  Then, as suddenly as a fall of rocks in the mountains, the snows swept down on them, whipped to a biting frenzy by the wind. They were instantly trapped in a white and claustrophobic world where no points of reference applied. There was no north or south, no east or west, and only the pull of gravity let them know which way was up. Thirrin had tried to prepare for this, and they were already roped together so that none would get lost, or at least no more lost than the group as a whole. But now no precautions or plans were of any use. They were completely blind, each individual wrapped in a swirling cocoon of snow that reduced visibility to virtually nothing. Thirrin couldn’t even see Oskan, who she knew was riding right next to her, and she could hear nothing but the screaming of the wind.

  She stopped, and knew by the pull on the rope that everyone else did, too. But now she had no plan to offer: No one could do anything. If they moved forward, they could lose the path; if they stopped still, they would freeze to death, and the blizzard was so wild no one would be able to even find the tents, let alone set them up.

  For several minutes they sat and waited, hoping that the snow would stop, but it continued to swirl and lash about them like vicious white silk, its deadly cold drawing away what little warmth their bodies still retained. Thirrin knew that in a very few minutes they could all be dying, and despair engulfed her. She thought of the Icemark ruled by her aunt Elemnestra. She’d named her as heir as a means of healing the rift that had opened up when she, Thirrin, had broken Hypolitan tradition by insisting that men attend the war councils. But she didn’t doubt that if Elemnestra became Queen, she would try to impose the Hypolitan system on the entire land of the Icemark. Thirrin had visions of civil war as the barons and baronesses took up arms against the imposition of such a foreign culture. How Scipio Bellorum would laugh as his armies crushed the little land that was stupid enough to be fighting itself when he invaded.

  Thirrin cried aloud in despair, her voice mingling with the howling of the wind that answered and echoed in mockery. This was the sound that a cold and dead throat would produce, she found herself thinking with sudden and remarkable calm. She listened, almost hearing words and a cruel melody in its noise. But then she thought it took on a different note, somehow … earthier, with more living warmth, and she turned her head toward this new sound. It came again, ululating now against the rise and fall of the wind and bursting out to right and left.

  Then into her vision burst a huge and hairy face. “This way!” a powerful voice bellowed, and her horse lurched forward. They stumbled on in confusion for several minutes, then the snow seemed to stop and they almost fell into a space that was wide and smoky and filled with light and fire and blessed warmth. Thirrin brushed the snow from her frozen eyelids and looked around. They were in a cave filled with massive hairy creatures who, on seeing her, threw back their heads and howled.

  The Wolffolk had found them.

  14

  The werewolves ate a lot of meat. And they were not fussy about whether it was cooked or raw. But they quickly guessed Thirrin and her party preferred it when it wasn’t actually bleeding, and they soon had huge piles of sizzling hot steaks heaped before them on rough platters made of flat pieces of stone.

  They all ate ravenously, the warmth of the cave flowing over them and slowly thawing out frozen fingers and limbs. As soon as she felt the blood pulsing strongly through her veins again, Thirrin climbed to her feet and checked over her escort. Amazingly, none had any permanent damage apart from a few very mild cases of frostbite.

  There was an inevitable nervousness among the soldiers; the werewolves may have been allies, but the friendship was very recent, and there was a history of literally centuries of conflict between the two races. But apart from a few wary glances and weapons kept close at hand, the escort conducted itself properly.

  Even the horses were in good shape, standing patiently in a corral the Wolffolk had made with branches at the back o
f the cave. They were eating a rough fodder made up of dried grasses, nuts, and the same sort of lichen Thirrin had noticed the bison eating earlier in their journey. At first the horses had been very nervous about the werewolves, shying and snorting whenever they came near, but when the Wolffolk spread the fodder on the floor of the corral and then ignored them, they settled down.

  Thirrin now allowed herself to look around the cave. It was huge — almost as big as the Great Hall in Frostmarris, except here there were at least eight fires, not just the one that had occupied the very center of the hall. Each of the fires burned on permanent-looking hearths, and they all had troupes of the Wolffolk gathered around them in what Thirrin assumed were extended family groups. But the central hearth was the biggest, and here a particularly large werewolf wearing a silver collar sat surrounded by dozens of others who seemed to be receiving orders or bringing over choice cuts of meat.

  This was obviously the center of power in the cave, and taking a deep steadying breath, Thirrin immediately headed for it, collecting Oskan en route. As soon as the huge werewolf noticed her approach, it stood and, incredibly, curtsied.

  “Greetings, My Lady Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, Queen of the Icemark. I am Baroness Lishnok Grin-Skull of the Wolfrock Grin-Skulls. Perhaps you have heard of my family?”

  Thirrin was still recovering from the sight of seeing this huge creature curtsy, and for one dangerous moment she almost giggled, but she quickly regained control and answered with extreme politeness. “Greetings, Baroness Grin-Skull. My entire party and I owe you our lives, and the House of Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield will forever remember this. The fact that I do not have a deep knowledge of your family is a fault that is entirely my own, and I can only plead that the hostilities that once existed between our races are to blame. But from this day forth, the House of Grin-Skull shall be known throughout the Icemark.”

  The Baroness simpered at this courtly reply and, extending a hugely clawed paw, she invited Thirrin to sit beside her. Thirrin gladly accepted another helping of cooked meat from the werewolf’s own plate and, making room for Oskan beside her, they began to practice their skills of diplomacy.

  “Tell me, Baroness, has this … dwelling been in your family for very long?”

  The huge wolfwoman looked around the cave with pride. “Over ten generations of Grin-Skulls have been whelped in this hall. It was here that Baroness Padfoot White-pelt founded the Grin-Skull dynasty after fighting in the Blood Wars against the Vampire King and Queen more than three thousand moons ago. She took the new family name to commemorate personally flaying the skin from the face of the Vampire standard-bearer, and it’s been carried with pride ever since.”

  “A very worthy genesis for an illustrious name,” said Oskan, helping himself to a slab of meat. “But now your people are allied to Their Vampiric Majesties, are they not?”

  “King Grishmak Blood-drinker, Lord of the Wolffolk, has made alliance and equal partnership with the Vampire King and Queen, yes. And as long as the interests of our two peoples continue to follow the same paths, the agreement will no doubt survive.”

  Thirrin searched for the right words as she gazed around the hall and tried not to be overwhelmed by the fact that the entire future of the Icemark was relying on her and on how she conducted herself over the next few days. But at last she managed to thrust aside her fears and said, “I would imagine that your allies will know of the new alliance between the Wolffolk and the Icemark?”

  “Oh yes. And King Grishmak has been smoothing the way for your mission to Their Vampiric Majesties. They expect you tomorrow night in the throne room of the Blood Palace.”

  Diplomacy, Thirrin was coming to realize, meant that at times you showed delighted surprise at things you already knew, so she stood to thank the Baroness for her King’s efforts. “May the sacred moon forever shine on the pelt of His Majesty Grishmak Blood-drinker,” she said, using the correct werewolf blessing for such occasions. “If I do not have the pleasure of meeting His Royal Mightiness before I leave his lands, please convey my thanks to him for arranging the meeting between myself and the Vampire King and Queen. Truly it was the work of genius that could overcome the animosity of centuries and secure such agreement from Their Vampiric Majesties.”

  “King Grishmak is mighty in all things,” the Baroness stated loyally. “But you will be able to convey your thanks in person, as His Majesty will be at the Blood Palace tomorrow night to help plead your case.”

  Thirrin thought only criminals had to “plead a case,” but she smiled her gratitude and chewed her steak as she practiced the new skill of keeping her thoughts to herself.

  Oskan, who’d been listening carefully, licked his fingers clean in the werewolf way and then asked, “Are there any … indications of how exactly the Vampires view our coming visit?”

  “I’m told they’re intrigued and curious to meet the new Queen of the Icemark,” the Baroness answered. Then lowering her voice, she leaned forward and said, “You’d do well to be as interesting and as lively as you can be. Being undead is a terrible burden, I’m told; the years drag on and on with nothing really new to interest you. Can you imagine living forever with no hope of a quiet death, no hope of a gentle release from the effort of life?”

  “Unless someone puts a stake through your heart, beheads you, or burns you to a crisp,” Oskan pointed out.

  “Well, yes, there are those options, I suppose,” the Baroness admitted. “But those are hardly quiet deaths, and the knowledge that only a violent end will release them from life must add to the burden of their immortality.”

  “I suppose it must, “ Oskan agreed. “So, we should be lively and interesting to help relieve their boredom, is that it?”

  “It would be to your advantage to do so. You’re more likely to get an agreement from them if they find you entertaining.”

  “You make us sound like a traveling company of actors, or children who are expected to amuse their grandparents,” said Thirrin curtly. The trauma of the day with its cold and blizzards was beginning to catch up with her, and her diplomatic skills were starting to slip.

  “Well, children you virtually are, even by the years of your own kind,” the Baroness snapped. And then, remembering herself, she added, “Though no child has ever achieved such skills in battle or such political maturity. But remember, even the oldest mortal being is a child beside the Vampire King and Queen. They are ancient. Man and woman they may once have been, but how long ago and of what race, even they have forgotten.”

  “So, basically, you’re telling us to show respect and help them through another wearisome day,” said Oskan.

  “Yes. Respect is always to be recommended when dealing with a foreign power, and especially so when you’re in need of their help,” the Baroness answered pointedly. “I say all of this with the greatest respect to yourselves, of course. We all of us need help at times. The trick is to make that clear to the Vampire King and Queen.”

  Thirrin and Oskan both nodded as they accepted this advice, and then by some unspoken mutual agreement they changed the subject to the safer areas of family lineage and the doings of ancestors.

  Finally, after a further hour of polite conversation, the Baroness stood and, curtsying deeply, asked her guests’ permission to make up her bed for the night. Thirrin, in her persona of Queen of the Icemark, graciously assented, after which she and Oskan withdrew to their own allotted hearth.

  All throughout the cave, the family groups were placing huge piles of furs around the hearths. Obviously the Baroness’s decision to sleep was a signal for her entire household to do the same. Roughly cured furs were distributed among the soldiers of the escort, but Thirrin and Oskan were each given beautifully soft and rich pelts that were pure white and deeply luxurious.

  They were soon all asleep, exhausted as they were by the long march and the blizzard. All around the cave, torches were doused, and soon the only light came from the flickering of the fires.
But as the night drew on, even this dimmed as the fires sank to glowing embers, each hearth studding the darkness of the surrounding cave like galaxies in the vastness of space.

  Thirrin and her escort awoke with a start as the werewolves greeted the new day by howling in concert. The heavy hides that covered the cave entrance had been thrown back, and the brilliant, brittle light of a sunny winter day burst into the blackness. With it came the scent of new snow, and a keen fresh air that sliced through the fog of wood smoke and many furry bodies like the sharpest razor through unwashed wool.

  Breakfast almost inevitably consisted of meat, and lots of it. It never occurred to the Wolffolk that humans might eat anything else, so when one of the soldiers found a winter-stored apple in her bags and sat eating it along with a huge steak, some of the werewolves gathered around to stare.

  “There are times when I think you humans are simply our hairless cousins. But at others, I can see the differences are deeper than that,” said an elderly and grizzled werewolf sadly.

  The soldier offered him a slice of her apple. But after sniffing at it, he sneezed explosively and scuttled off, determined to find a particularly bloody piece of meat for his breakfast.

  After eating, Thirrin and Oskan went to pay their respects to Baroness Grin-Skull and found her gnawing on a haunch that had a brand of the Hypolitan herd clearly stamped on it. Thirrin raised an eyebrow at Oskan, but they were both diplomatic enough not to mention the stolen meat as they stepped up to the hearth. The Baroness stood, curtsied, and invited them to sit. “Good morning, Your Majesty and Counselor Oskan. As you can see, the snows have blown farther to the north and my nose tells me they will not return for another week.”

  “Six days,” Oskan corrected.

  The huge wolfwoman bowed her head. “I see I am in the presence of one steeped in weather lore … and perhaps other abilities.” After gazing thoughtfully at Oskan for a few moments, she went on. “With Your Majesty’s permission, I will send a guide and a guard of twenty of my people to add to your party.”