The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  The witches arrived in the city to be greeted by streets lined with soldiers, who watched in silence as they passed. In many ways the arrival of the witches was the real final closing of the defense against the advancing enemy. Usually they were the Wise Women and Cunning Men who worked quietly in their communities, healing the sick and helping with blighted crops and barren animals. They performed the important ceremonies of the turning year and acted as go-betweens who connected the physical and spiritual worlds. But the very fact that they’d been summoned all together somehow confirmed the terrible emergency they all faced.

  One or two of the soldiers plucked up enough courage to step forward and present the prettiest and youngest witches with some hastily picked spring flowers, and in return they received brilliant smiles and kisses. But the overwhelming mood was somber. The witches had been called to help the wounded and dying that the coming war would bring, and many of the soldiers couldn’t help wondering if they themselves would soon be among their patients.

  When they reached the citadel, Oskan was waiting to greet them with Thirrin and Tharaman-Thar. But Wenlock Witchmother seemed interested only in the presence of the warlock, and he soon led the party to their new quarters, a large stable block that had been scrubbed out and converted to an infirmary.

  “I feel completely unneeded,” said Thirrin in irritable tones after they’d gone. “How many other Queens can expect to be ignored by their own people?”

  “They are a little … self-contained, these witches, aren’t they?” Tharaman answered. “I got the impression that the Witchmother thought I was nothing more than an overgrown palace cat being allowed time off from mousing in the kitchens.”

  “Thank the Goddess they’re better healers than diplomats. Come on, Tharaman, let’s go where we’re appreciated. I think the unit needs a good shakedown. A gallop over the plain will clear a few cobwebs, and the better we know the ground we’ll be fighting on, the greater our chances of success.”

  Within half an hour the cavalry were making their way through the city streets, troopers and leopards all singing the battle paean while Tharaman, Thirrin, and Taradan discussed tactics.

  On reaching the plain and passing through the defenses, the Thar gave the order to charge and they thundered over the land, the leopards giving the strange coughing bark that was their battle cry. After more than two hours of charging, redressing their lines, wheeling, and breaking and reforming ranks, Thirrin and Tharaman felt their moods lighten. The witches might not consider them to be of any particular importance in the grand scheme of the Goddess’s plans, but their leopards and troopers adored them, and even the housecarls and Hypolitan army considered them their greatest military asset.

  “Field Marshal Taradan!” the Thar called to his second in command, who in the quiet after the maneuvers was rolling luxuriantly in the color and fragrance of the spring flowers. “Is that really an example of proper military bearing to display before our warriors?”

  Taradan immediately leaped to his feet. “No, My Lord! I’m sorry, My Lord!”

  The Thar drew himself up to his full height and walked slowly along the line of leopards and mounted troopers, his amber eyes blazing. “Cavalry of the Icemark and the Icesheets. You will at all times follow the orders of your superior officers, human and leopard; you will unquestioningly act on their commands and do so willingly! Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Lord Tharaman!” six thousand voices answered.

  “Good! Then follow this order: Cavalry! Cavalry, play!” And with that he thundered away over the field of wildflowers, closely chased by Taradan. The rest of the leopards then tumbled and rolled together while their Thar and field marshal wrestled and the human troopers laughed aloud at the sight.

  Thirrin watched from her warhorse, completely unable to lower her guard enough to join in. The royal dignity of humans was less easily set aside, and she watched enviously as the Thar jumped around Taradan like a playful kitten. But then something drew her attention away from the leopards. A faint sound, mournful and ghostly, reached her ears. She sat upright. A werewolf message, and sent in daylight when the sound traveled less well. It must be incredibly urgent! Not only that, but all the other Wolffolk were out on patrol, so only Oskan could interpret it.

  Drawing her sword, she stood in her stirrups and gave a shrill war cry that echoed over the field. Immediately silence fell, and the thin keening sound could be heard a little more clearly. “You!” she said, pointing to a leopard that stood nearby. “Go quickly back to the city and tell the Lord Oskan a message is coming in.”

  The leopard shot away across the plain, while the cavalry reformed ranks and trotted swiftly after. By the time Thirrin and Tharaman had hurried into the Great Hall of the citadel, Oskan and Maggiore were deep in conversation.

  “Well?” Thirrin demanded as soon as she saw them.

  “Bellorum’s on the march. He’ll be here in two days,” Oskan answered calmly.

  “How many in his army?” the Thar asked.

  Oskan shook his head and shrugged. “Huge, massive, uncountable. Take your pick. The werewolves say at least five times bigger than the original invading force King Redrought faced, and there’s more coming through the pass all the time.”

  Thirrin quietly sat down on the throne and placed her hands on the huge carved paws of its arms. “At least five hundred thousand, then. How can we fight such a number? That’s not an army; it’s an entire country on the march! We need our allies now, we need them desperately!”

  “We do,” Maggie agreed. “But there’s no sign of them anywhere. We’re going to have to hold Bellorum’s army on our own until they get here.”

  “But will they ever get here, Maggie?”

  “Yes,” he answered simply. “They will.”

  25

  The city was put on an immediate war footing. Oskan didn’t think it was possible for Frostmarris to become any more prepared than it was already, but he was wrong. Regiments trotted through the streets on their way to long-designated points on the ditches and ramparts of the defensive rings. And he constantly had to dodge teams of mules hauling gigantic wheel-mounted crossbows called ballistas as they were maneuvered to different points on the walls, or taken through the gates and down onto the plain as part of the outer batteries. Rockapults, with throwing arms higher than the nearby houses, were also being hauled through the streets, ready to take up their positions in the defense of the city. Armorers’ shops rang with the sound of hammers and roared with the din of bellows as production was stepped up, and everywhere messengers bustled backward and forward from plain to walls and from walls to citadel.

  The warlock went across to the infirmary and helped the witches to prepare for the coming offensive. The long wards had already been scrubbed spotlessly clean, and in smaller side rooms large tables waited with a grim selection of knives and saws lined up on smaller tables beside them. He wound what seemed like miles of clean bandages and fetched enough buckets of water to float a fleet of war galleys. But then everything went quiet. All was finally ready, and they had only to wait for the arrival of Scipio Bellorum.

  After more than two hours of walking around the wards and talking to the witches, Oskan eventually took himself off to the citadel, where a completely unexpected and eerie silence hung over everything. The guards on the gate challenged him for the first time ever, and wouldn’t let him in until an officer had verified his identity. At the double doors to the Great Hall another set of guards challenged him but let him through when they saw the mood he was in. No point in antagonizing a warlock when you don’t have to.

  The massive space beyond the doors was completely empty. Only the day before, Snow Leopards and the royal hunting pack of boar hounds, wolfhounds, and deerhounds had all slept together in a glorious tangle around the central hearth. But now the floor was swept clean of its usual covering of rushes, and the fire had sunk to a glowing bank of embers. Feeling suddenly superstitious, Oskan threw several logs onto the ashes and w
aited until they’d burst into flames. Then he shouted loud and long until a scullery drudge came along and he gave him clear instructions that the fire was never to be allowed to go out.

  After that he strode across the flagstones, reached the dais, and dodged around the throne to the small door that led to the royal apartments. As he walked in, the clatter of weapons echoed across the Great Hall as Thirrin, Tharaman, Elemnestra, and Olememnon, having agreed upon final plans, prepared to take up their positions on the walls and defenses. Maggiore stood in the background furiously taking notes, and servants bustled around bringing last items of equipment and taking messages.

  “Ah, Oskan!” Thirrin shouted. “Come with me, we’re going up to the walls!” She led the way with Tharaman, while Elemnestra and Olememnon hurried off in a different direction to join their divisions. Oskan fell into step with Maggie, who scurried along in the monarchs’ wake like an elderly mouse, and grinned at him. “Still preparing your history?”

  The scholar turned eyes that blazed with excitement through his magnifying spectoculums. “Yes! Just imagine, Oskan, my work will be the source material for possibly thousands of learned works down the centuries. If I thought too closely about what I’m recording, I don’t think I’d have the nerve to carry on.”

  “Well, don’t think too much, then. Just write.”

  By this time they’d reached the long flight of stone steps that led to the battlements, and they all ran up to the top. Before them, the open plain lay bathed in brilliant sunshine, its millions of wildflowers a blaze of color beneath the clear blue sky. The long sweep of the defenses could be clearly seen curving from the forest that guarded the northern and western approaches and away out of sight, as it made its long triple circuit of ditch and embankment around the city. And all along its ramparts thousands of soldiers scurried, as tiny as moving grains of sand.

  To the east rose the high rocky ground that formed the boundary of the farmland surrounding Frostmarris, and at a distance of two miles the southern limit of the plain was marked by hills that reached up into the sky. It was here that Scipio Bellorum would take his position when he arrived, marching his massive army along the road that led to Frostmarris and its defending forces. To take the rest of the Icemark, the general of the Polypontian Empire must first defeat Thirrin, her soldiers, and the allies that she had managed to muster so far.

  As Oskan looked out across the plain he felt an odd mixing of elation and fear. How long would they need to hang on before their other allies arrived? He’d questioned the werewolf scouts several times, but all they could or would say was that the mustering of the Wolffolk took a long time. And as for the Vampires … well, they were a law unto themselves.

  Then, as his eyes traveled along the ribbon of road to the south, he caught a faint glitter on the horizon. He drew breath sharply. At the same time a great clamor of howling broke out as the werewolf scouts, who’d all now returned to Frostmarris, announced the first sighting of the enemy.

  An odd baying and jeering arose from the soldiers as they watched the faint metallic glitter on the horizon grow into the recognizable form of a massive army. Soon it was possible to make out ranks of the pike phalanx, made up of soldiers who carried sixteen-foot-long spears. Behind them marched countless numbers of musketeers; the ordinary foot soldiers of the infantry, armed with shield and sword, came next; and farther back still, on the very edge of sight, came the cavalry.

  After a while the sound of shrill pipes and drums playing marching tunes grew and wavered on the wind, until eventually the air pulsated and rattled with the rhythm of the military band. The music was intended to intimidate the enemy, but Thirrin had an answer for this. Turning to a soldier behind her she gave a quick command, and the sound of a bugle rang out.

  Oskan looked out over the walls to see what would happen. At first he was disappointed; all he could see were the defending soldiers staring at the arriving Polypontian troops. But then he caught sight of Elemnestra and her regiment of mounted archers trotting swiftly along the path that wound its way through the barriers of the defenses and out on to the plain. As the last of the female archers trotted through the narrow offset gap that was covered by an overlapping embankment, a party of soldiers repositioned the barrier of sharpened stakes that blocked it.

  At a signal from Elemnestra, her regiment leaped to the gallop, and Oskan watched as in one fluid motion each of the troopers drew an arrow and fitted it to the string of her compound bow. A great shout rose up from the watching defenders as they thundered away toward the advancing army, and soon the brilliant colors of their embroidered jackets and caps made it look as though a field of flowers had taken up arms in the fight against the Empire.

  As they approached the vanguard of the enemy, they swiftly altered course and, riding parallel to the pike phalanx, they loosed a rain of arrows. Immediately gaps appeared in the ranks as Polypontian soldiers crumpled to the ground, but before they could react, another flight of arrows cut into them and more men fell.

  Elemnestra then signaled her archers to alter course and the regiment thundered down on the military band, silencing drum and fife with just one devastating pass. The musketeers fired in reply, rank after rank of guns sending a volley of lead shot at the regiment of mounted archers, but they’d already galloped out of range. Rapidly turning again, the Hypolitan charged down on the musketeers, who were still struggling to reload their weapons, and sent another savage hail of arrows into them, killing almost three hundred soldiers.

  Again and again, Elemnestra and her archers swept down on the steadily advancing army, killing and killing, but still the Polypontians advanced, as unstoppable as the sea. The soldiers on the defenses around the city cheered and called encouragement, but gradually they fell silent as they began to realize that even a weapon as effective as the Hypolitan archers couldn’t stop the Empire’s advance. There were just too many of them, and this, combined with their superb discipline and unwavering courage in the face of such deadly marksmanship, made them truly formidable.

  Music was once again rattling and shrilling over the plain as a band was sent up the ranks to replace those who’d been killed. But when Elemnestra swept down to wipe them out once more, she suddenly signaled to abort the attack and swerved by to loose her arrows into the ranks of the following infantry. Her close pass had shown her that most of the drummers were only boys, their faces set and determined, ready to die in their Empire’s wars.

  For almost an hour the archers attacked the vanguard of the Polypontian army, but then Elemnestra turned and led her regiment from the field; their arrows had run out and their horses were snorting and foaming with exhaustion. First blood had been drawn by the defenders, but Scipio Bellorum was always content to allow the enemy a little killing just as long as he struck the final blow. The soldiers watching from the defenses cheered the women as they trotted back to the city, but the cries rang hollow. What should have been a success for the defenders and a devastating strike against the Empire had been neither of these things. The Polypontians had effectively proved their overwhelming power, and at the same time the Icemark had been shown how futile their attempts to defend their small land really were.

  Up on the battlements, Thirrin brooded: This was the reality of war with the Empire. They could afford to lose literally thousands of soldiers, because there were always more to call to the front. In the first hour Elemnestra and her archers had killed almost the same number as a quarter of Thirrin’s entire defending army, and that represented only a tiny fraction of the enemy’s vanguard. She watched now as the Polypontian standard was raised on the southern hills. Already their engineers were digging trenches to protect their front line, and wooden planking was being laid down to create firing platforms for their cannons.

  “Tomorrow will be the test,” she said quietly.

  “Tomorrow will probably be the biggest test,” said Tharaman-Thar. “If they fight like the Ice Trolls, they’ll throw everything into the attack in the hope of endin
g us quickly. If we can survive that, they’ll settle down into a more regular, sustainable fight, and we can hope to hang on until our allies arrive.”

  Thirrin felt the first whisperings of doubt about the Wolffolk and Vampire armies ever arriving, but in the interest of morale she said nothing. Turning, she beckoned to a staff officer. “Send orders to dismount the cavalry. They’ll fight on the ramparts under my and the Thar’s joint command.” The officer saluted and hurried away.

  “I suggest we all get some rest,” Tharaman said. “Who knows when we’ll be able to sleep peacefully again?”

  “One of the few advantages of age is the need for less sleep,” said Maggie, who stood nearby. “I think I’ll go down to the stables and see if I can get one of Elemnestra’s stern young warrior women to talk to me. There’s nothing like a firsthand account for clarity in historical narrative.”

  “As you wish,” said Thirrin and, beckoning to Oskan, she and Tharaman made their way down to the royal apartments.

  26

  Scipio Bellorum arrived the next morning. By this time the Polypontian camp had been established, with streets of tents laid out in their usual grid pattern and every regiment in its allotted place. Wherever the general campaigned, the encampment was always set out in the same way. The routine was also always identical, with half of the army arriving first to establish its position and beat off any resistance. Some units would then man defensive outposts in case the enemy was suicidal enough to attempt an attack, and the rest would parade in their finest to welcome the general, who arrived once everything was ready.