by Stuart Hill
“What is this scientific? What does it mean?” the Vampire Queen asked.
“It means believing only what logic tells you is true. In some cases, it means believing only what you can see and what you can weigh or measure. It means denying that something exists unless it’s already recognized by science, and in most cases that means only if it can be weighed, measured, or seen,” said Oskan, impressing Thirrin enormously with his cool and calm approach.
“Stupid!” the Queen spat. “Doesn’t it occur to them that some things can’t be measured or weighed?”
“Yes, I suppose. But in that case they’d probably believe their science has not yet developed the means of measuring or weighing the thing in question.”
“Then by that argument, young mortal, their science will have to accept us, because we most patently can be weighed and measured. Ergo, they will have to accept our reality and our right to exist,” said the Vampire King with a triumphant smile that revealed all of his sharply pointed and glittering teeth.
“You would think so, wouldn’t you,” Oskan answered conversationally. “But you’re forgetting the woefully mortal ability to be unfair. You see, they don’t like you. They don’t even like the idea of you. And when some rational people of science don’t like something and believe it shouldn’t exist, they either ignore it or try to destroy it. In your case, they’ll try to destroy you, and not only because they don’t like you but quite simply because you occupy a rich and plump country that they want.” Oskan shrugged. “In my fifteen years of life and experience, I’m afraid I’ve had to come to the conclusion that sometimes people just aren’t fair.”
Their Vampiric Majesties gazed at them for a moment, then both began to giggle. Quietly at first, but then with more and more force until their cold laughter was echoing around the vastly high ceiling of the hall. “Oh, my dear, how precious! How perfectly glorious they are,” said the Queen. “I’m so glad we allowed them to come. Do make them do it again, I could listen all night!”
“Now, now, sweetness,” said the King in mock annoyance. “You’re being most unfair. Please remember their ambassadorial dignity. They have every right to our respect and good manners!”
Their Vampiric Majesties looked gravely at each other, then spluttered into uncontrollable laughter again. The undead courtiers now joined in, until the hall was filled with the hideous sound of mocking laughter and the King and Queen were leaning weakly against each other wiping their eyes.
Thirrin and Oskan felt like foolish children who’d attempted to impress some sophisticated adults and had only succeeded in making complete idiots of themselves. The longer the laughter went on, the worse they felt, until eventually they could only think of running away from the humiliation. Thirrin’s face blazed crimson, and Oskan stood hunched as though a weight of shame were bearing him to the ground.
“Enough!” a deep and guttural voice suddenly bellowed, rising powerfully over the laughter and snuffing it out like a candle flame. “Queen Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, is my ally and my friend, and I will not have her mocked!”
Thirrin turned toward the source of the voice and watched as a huge wolfman marched down the length of the hall. Immediately the Wolffolk guard threw back their heads and howled in greeting and salute as their King approached.
Grishmak Blood-drinker the First raised a paw in acknowledgment as he walked by the escort of werewolves, and then stopped in front of Thirrin. As she craned back her neck to meet his eye, she realized she’d forgotten just how tall he was, and she almost flinched as the huge paw took her hand and raised it to his lips in courtly greeting.
“Your Majesty, may I be the first to welcome you correctly to the palace of Their Vampiric Majesties. They themselves seem to have forgotten the rules of etiquette and decorum that should be displayed between rulers. But some are stupid enough to believe that mere physical immortality somehow excuses them for their ill manners and boorishness.” He turned to face the twin thrones where the Vampire King and Queen sat glaring at him. “Some kings and queens have made the mistake of believing that the long number of years they have sat on a throne will never end, and that nothing could topple their power. I would remind such rulers that wars have been fought for much less reason than an insult to a valued friend, and I would also remind such rulers that they lost that war and were very nearly destroyed in it, immortal or not!”
Grishmak’s anger stemmed from a genuine affection for Thirrin that had grown since he’d first formed an alliance with her. Of course, at the time, accepting her offer of friendship had simply been the most sensible thing to do, especially as refusal would have meant being hanged, drawn, and quartered by Redrought’s housecarls. But alongside all of the political and military good sense of having a strong alliance against the Polypontian Empire, Grishmak found that he quite simply liked Thirrin.
Grishmak glowered at the Vampire King and Queen, challenging them to say anything else insulting to the young human girl.
Thirrin, for her part, found herself warming to the Werewolf King enormously, and she was very happy to see Their Vampiric Majesties turn aside their eyes as if observing something down at the other end of the hall.
“I think it should be remembered,” Grishmak Blood-drinker went on, “that the dignity of a true monarch is born, and can sometimes be found in the youngest Queen, whereas others who have ruled for centuries have yet to acquire it, and perhaps never will.”
Thirrin smiled at the Werewolf King, her poise and confidence now completely restored. “I am so glad to see you, King Grishmak Blood-drinker. Baroness Grin-Skull told me you would be here, and I am most happy that she was right.”
“Ah, the Baroness! How is she? I really must visit her caves when next I make Royal Progress.”
“She is well, and was most courteous in giving us shelter after my party got lost in the fiercest blizzard. Her werewolves rescued us from certain death and led us to the caves of the Baroness. Her hospitality was both warm and deeply polite,” Thirrin answered, not deigning to glance at the Vampire King and Queen. “She also told me the interesting origin of her family name. I only wish I could have witnessed the young Baroness Padfoot ripping the face off the standard-bearer after the defeat of the Vampire Army.”
“Before my time, too,” King Grishmak answered. “But it must have been a glorious sight!”
“Now that you two have exchanged pleasantries, perhaps we can get on with the business at hand,” the icy-cold voice of the Vampire Queen interrupted.
The huge wolfman winked at Thirrin secretly, and then turned to face the twin thrones. “Business? Isn’t it already settled? Surely none of us has any choice. In alliance we have a chance against the Empire. Alone we have no hope whatsoever.”
“There are things to discuss, details to finalize,” the Vampire King insisted.
“Work for clerks,” Grishmak snarled. “Draw up a treaty and we’ll all sign it. Now,” he said, turning to Thirrin, “I’ve got a comfortable and warm set of caves away from this morbid labyrinth. There’s plenty of space for all your party, and lots of good red meat. Oh yes, I know you people like it burn — cooked, but I can arrange that, too.”
“You’re so right, of course,” the Vampire Queen simpered knowingly. “Alliance between us is an obvious solution. Especially when the Queen of the Icemark has such a high-ranking adviser, who is more akin to our people than to hers.”
“What do you mean?” Thirrin snapped.
Their Vampiric Majesties smiled to see they’d scored a point, and the Queen continued. “The boy, Oskan Witch’s Son, I believe you call him. We have many witches in our land, so he’s almost a citizen.”
“His mother was a White Witch. They fought against you, and still protect our lands from your evil!”
“Oh, I admit there are a few rebels who resist us. But magic power is still magic power. It comes from the same source as ours. And he is strongly connected to that source; anyone can sense it.�
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“I’m no wizard of the Black Arts!” Oskan exploded, his face red and eyes blazing.
“Wizard? Who said anything about being a wizard?” the Queen asked, her voice heavy with contempt. “I’m not talking about all that male mathematics and mumbo jumbo. Your source of Power comes through your mother, through the female line. And as for your father — well, he was hardly what you’d call mortal, now, was he? But besides all of that, my dear Oskan Witch’s Son … you have a Power from a very female source; you are a warlock. You are a male witch.”
Now it was Thirrin’s turn to rescue her adviser as he floundered in a sea of mixed emotions. “Do you really think this news is some sort of shocking revelation?” Thirrin asked, her voice as deeply contemptuous as the Vampire Queen’s had been. “Any who have seen my chief adviser helping in our struggle over the last few weeks will have plainly seen his power at work. But I do have Your Vampiric Majesties to thank for giving it a name,” she said, her voice steady and strong. “If Oskan Witch’s Son is indeed a warlock, then we know that his abilities work for good against evil, and we all have reason to be grateful for his powers.”
A silence fell, and as the atmosphere crackled with hatred and resentment, King Grishmak faced the thrones squarely. “Have we all finished scoring points now? Because I’m getting hungry and quite frankly I find your taste in palace decor cold and morbid. The sooner I get back to my cave, the better. Let’s all just admit that we need one another and tell the clerks to get weaving on the treaty so that we can have it signed and be out of one another’s company as soon as we can. Agreed?”
After a smoldering moment, Their Vampiric Majesties nodded, and Grishmak let out a weary sigh. “Good. Now, Thirrin … I mean, Your Gracious Majesty, my invitation still stands. Would you care to join me at supper?”
Thirrin smiled. “I’d love to.”
The huge wolfman took her arm and, gently turning her away from the twin thrones, he led her down the hall toward the doors. “What I said earlier, by the way, about getting out of one another’s company, doesn’t apply to you. I was referring to Their Royal Face-aches back there.”
“I know,” she answered. “And I entirely agree with you about the decor. It’s about as cheerful as an iceberg.”
Werewolf and young Queen swept through the press of Vampire courtiers, who quickly made way for the formidable pair. The escort of soldiers and Wolffolk followed in their wake, with Oskan at the rear. He was deep in thought, at last fitting answers to the questions he’d been asking himself for years. The Vampire Queen’s statement that he was a warlock explained so much, but it would take a while to adjust to the idea. Now he knew why he could sometimes see the future, speak to wild animals, even heal without medicines and read the weather with such accuracy. He had many other skills, too, which he now realized might have their roots in magic. It would all take some thinking about.
Thirrin and King Grishmak reached the entranceway and swept out of the Blood Palace, followed by their escorts and Oskan. The massive double doors slammed shut after them with a deep boom. Oskan woke from his reverie with a shock — the slamming doors had only just missed him. Swinging around furiously, he glared at the studded and hinged woodwork with such fierce intensity that they suddenly burst open again, crashing back against the walls inside the palace and splintering deeply.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to be rude,” he bellowed over the heads of the courtiers cowering just inside the entrance. “Your doors seem to have slammed shut in a draft. I’d get that fixed, if I were you.”
Grishmak’s grin revealed his huge teeth. “Useful sort to have around, that warlock,” he said. Then he led the way down the steps of the palace and toward the surrounding forest.
17
Thirrin and Oskan gladly accepted a selection of meats. It was torn, rather than cut, into huge chunks, and smoked from the rough toasting it had been given over the nearby fire. King Grishmak ate with surprising delicacy, picking up slabs of raw flesh between his thumb and forefinger and biting off a modest mouthful before returning the rest to the flat piece of stone that served as his plate.
The caves were warm and dry and, as the Werewolf King had promised, were more than big enough to accommodate them all. In fact, they were so big that a decision was made to fetch the horses from the palace stables and house them in another of the connecting caverns rather than leave them to the uncertain care of the Vampires.
The caves lay in a rocky outcrop about a mile from the Blood Palace, and as Thirrin sat eating her meal, she could see at least six fires burning in the vast space. King Grishmak had obviously brought a large household with him on his visit to Their Vampiric Majesties. And though neither Thirrin nor Oskan could quite work out exactly what the duties of the dozens of werewolves were, they all seemed amazingly busy, bustling around from fireside to fireside and constantly arriving at Grishmak’s side to whisper in his ear.
“The treaty should be ready for signing tomorrow,” the King said as he politely licked the last of the blood from his plate.
“So soon?” asked Oskan. “I’d have thought there’d have been all sorts of legal wranglings and niceties to deal with first.”
“No. You can bet Their Royal Face-aches have had their clerks working on it for weeks already. Tomorrow morning their people will arrive here and it’ll all be ready for signing. One thing, though,” and he looked at them closely. “Let my clerks read it through first. It’s almost certain they’ll try to pull a fast one in the wording somewhere, and you’ll end up ceding a province here or a town there, if you’re not careful.”
Thirrin nodded. “We’ll be glad to let your people read it first. I’m most grateful for your help.”
“Happy to be of service,” the King answered gruffly. “You’ve both done very well for such youngsters. Their Vampiric Majesties are as tricky to handle as fish in a barrel of grease, even for one as gray-pelted as I am. But come the day when the Blessed Moon has completed her cycle a few dozen times, you’ll both be more than a match for them, whether they’ve lived for a thousand years or not.”
“Have they really lived as long as that?” asked Thirrin in an awed whisper.
“Well, I suppose we should technically say existed,” Grishmak answered. “But actually it’s longer. More like twelve hundred years, but they’ve ruled for a thousand.”
“They claim their kingdom extends to the top of the world, where the ice never melts,” said Oskan. “Is that true?”
“No. They’d like it to, but there are some to the north of here far more powerful than they ever could be, even though they’re mortal and live no longer than any other creature that walks beneath the sky.”
“Who are they?” asked Thirrin, puzzled that Maggiore had never mentioned them in their geography lessons. “Are they people?”
“People? Well, of course they’re people,” Grishmak answered in surprise. “But if you mean are they human people, then no, they’re not.”
“Then what are they?”
Grishmak seemed reluctant to answer, but after a while he said, “They’re secretive and quiet. They make no contact with others unless the outsiders make it first. Then if they don’t like you, you’re dead.”
“Yes, but what are they?” asked Oskan, frustrated by the king’s hints and riddles.
The huge werewolf stared into the nearby fire, and when he answered, his voice was quiet as though he were still thinking things through. “They’re the strongest creatures I know and they’d make a formidable ally in the coming war. Perhaps … just perhaps, Thirrin could make a friend of them and bring them into the struggle. If anyone can do it, she can. She could make peace between night and day, between dark and light, if she wanted.” He blinked and turned to face the young Queen of the Icemark. “Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North, I give you a task. Your challenge is to make an alliance with Lord Tharaman-Thar of the Icesheets. He who is as white as the snows, as strong as rock, as tall at the sh
oulder as a man, as wise as a scholar, as gentle as a feather, and as fierce as the wildest winter storms. Bring him into our covenant and even Scipio Bellorum will be in awe of us. With Lord Tharaman on our side we will have a chance of stopping even the Empire … at least for a while.”
“Gladly. I’ll do whatever I can to try to win him over to our side. But where does he live, and how do I get there, and exactly what sort of … creature is he?”
“He is winter, given animal form,” answered Grishmak. “He and his people are Snow Leopards. They stand as tall and as large as your horses, their teeth are like shattered stars, and their claws like cavalry sabers. With them as allies, we could hold back the Empire and live free!”
“Snow Leopards!” Oskan said, amazed. “But how can we talk to them?”
“Exactly as you talk to me: They use the language of humans.”
“They talk?!”
“Oskan Witch’s Son, have you walked deaf through your woods and caves?” King Grishmak asked darkly. “Do you truly believe that only human people use language and talk to one another?”
“Of course not,” Oskan answered sharply. “I know the language of birds and of the four-legged ones. If I concentrate, I can even understand some of the meanings of insects and fish. But you’re not saying that they use the language of animals; you’re telling us that these leopards use the words of human speech. How can that be?”
The King shrugged. “You’ve spoken to the Wolffolk on many occasions and have never seemed surprised. What’s so different here?”
“Your people are at least partly human. Their language comes from the humanity in their blood. Are these leopards also part human?”