by Stuart Hill
His mind rose through the torture of his body, and he tried to look around him. But his eyelids were sealed shut over the jelly-filled orbs that had been boiled to blindness. He screamed silently, then, as he gathered what strength remained to him, his muscles convulsed and he sat upright, the crisped flesh cracking and snapping as his mind screamed into the blackness of the cave:
“GODDESS!”
Oskan crashed back onto the ropes of his bed, and his mind fled into unconsciousness.
But rising through the dangling tendrils of serum and mucus, power flowed from the earth. Nutrients and minerals were being drawn into his body, like the flow of oxygen and the other essentials of life between mother and unborn child through an umbilical cord.
Slowly his body began the process of repair, and as the hours passed, the rate increased, as new skin cells were forged and the layers damaged beyond healing sloughed away to mix with the mud of the cave floor.
Up above him in the infirmary, Maggiore Totus stood at the head of the first flight of steps that led down to the cave.
Wenlock Witchmother had already refused to let him go down to see Oskan, so he stood as close as he could get to the boy he’d grown to love like a nephew, if not quite a son. The old scholar fully expected Oskan to die; his injuries were so severe that recovery was surely impossible. He was also convinced that leaving him alone in a cold and wet cave would probably accelerate the process. Maggie shook his head sadly; Oskan was so young and with such fabulous potential that would now never be realized. And, he thought to himself, what would Thirrin do without her friend, without the boy who would probably have become her consort one day?
Maggiore sighed loudly, and was startled to hear the sound echo around the empty cellar. Only then did he realize that he was completely alone. The witches and other healers were busy attending to their patients on the upper levels, so, seizing his opportunity, he scurried down the steps. He didn’t really know what he intended to do, other than say good-bye to the boy with the strange powers and beautiful winning smile.
The way was steep and the torch he carried burned badly, throwing an uncertain light on the steps before him. But at last he reached the bottom safely and stepped out into the mud of the cave. He was struck instantly by the cold and the earthy scent. It was so strong he coughed once or twice. It wasn’t a bad smell, exactly, just very strong, like a forest after a rainstorm, but richer and with a sharp underscoring of minerals.
Maggiore raised the torch and could just make out the low bed over by the cave wall. He walked tentatively toward it, and then with a sudden rush of disgust and pity he saw the tendrils of mucus that had dripped from Oskan’s ravaged skin. He stopped and peered through his spectoculums, unable to believe what he saw. Hastily he rubbed the small lenses of glass on his sleeve and looked again.
Oskan’s hands lay folded on his chest, the bones gleaming through a thin covering of flesh, and his lips shone moistly in the light of the torch. Maggiore dropped to his knees and started to weep. He was now certain. He knew he was witnessing a miracle. When the boy had been brought into the cave, his hands had been burned completely away and his face had been a mask of black skin without lips, nose, or any other feature.
The old scholar placed his hands on the mud and tried to find the words he wanted. It had been many years since he had prayed, but at last he found them.
“Thank you, Goddess,” he said simply, and bowed his forehead to the floor until he felt the cold, wet mud cooling his flesh.
31
Out on the plain, General Scipio Bellorum rode at the head of his cavalry. In Frostmarris the alarms were sounding as the vast hordes of more than one hundred thousand Polypontian horsemen walked slowly out over the grasslands. From the walls of the city they looked like a dark stain creeping across the once pristine green of a beautifully dyed but now battle-ragged cloth. Bugles sounded again and again through the streets, and any troops that were not already on the defenses were hurrying down to take up their positions. There wasn’t exactly a panic, but there was a tautness of atmosphere and a below-surface hysteria that affected everyone.
The general had taken to the field!
General Scipio Bellorum himself had come out to fight!
On the defenses, Thirrin stood with Tharaman-Thar and Taradan watching the slow advance of the enemy cavalry. “He wants me, Tharaman. He wants me to meet him on the battlefield.”
“I do believe you’re right, my dear. You must have made him very angry indeed!” the beautifully clipped tones of the Leopard King answered. “But you don’t have to take up the challenge. Let him wait as long as he likes, or better still, let him come within range of the ballistas and archers, and then let’s see then how long he’ll sit on his tall horse with his hand so elegantly on hip.”
“No, I must go out, Tharaman. I must accept his invitation to battle. He wants to end it now. We’ve stretched his famous army to the breaking point, and he wants us defeated and swept away. And what better way of doing that than killing me in combat?” Her voice remained even and calm, but a burning hatred blazed within her. “That man alone is responsible for this war. Every dead soldier, every dead civilian, every burned city is his responsibility, and I want to make him pay.”
Tharaman’s deep golden eyes regarded her for a few moments. He knew she was thinking of her father and Oskan. “But your people must have a reason to continue the struggle. If you die now, the war will be lost and the Icemark will become just another province in the Empire.”
“I could have died in any one of the battles I’ve fought, Tharaman. That is the fate of the House of Lindenshield, that is the fate of any warrior-monarch, as well you know. But if I don’t accept Bellorum’s challenge, then my authority and standing will be lost, as well he knows. I must go.”
Tharaman bowed his head, accepting her words. “Then the cavalry will ride! Taradan, send orders to the lines!”
But before the Thar’s second in command could move, Thirrin raised her hand. “Wait.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I can’t ask you to join me in this battle.You’ve done enough in this war and now I must accept that no other help is coming from either Vampire or Wolffolk. Whether I fall today or next week makes little difference.” She drew herself up, and with tears in her eyes she said, “I release you from the alliance, you’re free to go home to the Icesheets. Go with my thanks and friendship.”
Tharaman-Thar gazed at her for a moment before suddenly rearing up on his hind legs, becoming a tower of brilliance and ferocity. He roared a huge challenge into the sky that echoed over the plain, and immediately three thousand Snow Leopards answered him.
Dropping back to all fours he said, “Let me remind you, Queen Thirrin of the Icemark, that I am your equal as Thar of the Icesheets and you have neither the power nor the right to dismiss me from the alliance. In the law of the Snow Leopards, agreements are binding for life. Call your warriors, friend and ally, we go to war!”
Thirrin stepped forward and hugged the huge leopard, burying her face in the deep fur of his chest, and for a moment let his purring rumble through her. “Thank you, Tharaman,” she said simply. Then, turning to the Thar’s second in command, she said, “Taradan, call the cavalry.”
The leopard bowed his head, then stood to bark the call to arms. Behind the defenses, the human troopers and the leopards prepared for action.
Scipio Bellorum watched the defenses before him with confidence. The queenling would come out to do battle. She really had no choice. And he would annihilate her and her circus of a cavalry. He was certain the abominations of nature that took the form of talking leopards could never withstand a full volley from two hundred thousand cavalry pistols and carbines. Each of his troopers carried two long-barreled guns, and at his orders they would fire them into the enemy ranks. That alone should be enough to wipe out her combined force of six thousand, and any leopards that did survive would probably turn their spotted tails and flee.
No action that Scipio Bello
rum had personally led had ever been lost, and he was fully confident that the coming battle would last only a matter of a few minutes. Back behind their lines, the Polypontian army watched as their general prepared to destroy the enemy cavalry. Many of them had fought through this long campaign with a growing sense of admiration for the soldiers of the Icemark and their young Queen. Some of the officers had privately started to say that the Icemark should be embraced as an ally rather than fought against, and that it should be granted the status of a Client Kingdom under the protection of the Emperor and Senate. But their general was determined to defeat them in the field.
He could be clearly seen watching the defenses of Frostmarris through his monoculum, waiting for the enemy cavalry to emerge. Suddenly he pointed, and all eyes turned to the gate in the system of ditches and ramparts. Queen Thirrin and her combined cavalry of humans and leopards were walking slowly out onto the plain.
They came on in twin columns, and as the Imperial soldiers watched they fanned out to form a fighting front that alternated between horse and leopard. At their head rode the girl Queen and the largest of the leopards. A murmur rose up from the Polypontian soldiers, and Bellorum gave orders for his cavalry to advance. As the two sides trotted toward each other, a trooper in the Icemark cavalry unfurled a banner. The device on it showed a galloping horse and a running leopard, and over both rose the fighting white bear of the House of Lindenshield.
Scipio Bellorum rode hand on hip, a smile on his lips. Soon, the queenling would be dead and the war all but over. He raised his hand, and his troopers drew their long-barreled pistols from the holsters on their saddles. They rode on, guiding their mounts with their knees.
Thirrin stood up in her stirrups, drew her sword, and circled it over her head. Immediately the cavalry of the Icemark broke into a controlled gallop, the human troopers singing their fierce battle paean and the leopards letting out the coughing bark of their challenge. Bellorum maintained his trot and leveled his pistols. One hundred thousand troopers followed suit and awaited his order to fire.
Again Thirrin’s voice rose into the air, high and fierce, and the leopards lowered the thick domes of their skulls as the human troopers hunched down behind their shields. Bellorum stood his ground calmly as the smashing force of Thirrin’s cavalry bore down on him, then as the thunder of their hooves filled the air he fired his pistols. There was a crack of two hundred thousand other pieces, and their solid shot hit the charging cavalry. It hardly faltered as Thirrin screamed out the war cry of the Icemark: “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”
The leopards threw up their heads, and the Queen’s human troopers took up the war cry. The pistol shot had been turned by the thick fur and skulls of the leopards, and by the shields and surcoats of the troopers. They smashed as a solid wedge into the Polypontian cavalry and drove through them, slashing and hacking with their sabers and striking out with their claws.
The roar of onset echoed over the field, and the Polypontian army in their camp and the defenders around Frostmarris screamed and shouted as though they were watching a race. Up on the battlements, Maggiore Totus watched as Thirrin and the cavalry fought their way through the Empire’s troopers, before galloping on in a wide arc as they wheeled to charge again.
Scipio Bellorum bellowed orders, and his cavalry turned to meet the attack. They drew their sabers, settled their shields on their arms, and charged the enemy. Once again, the roar of onset rose into the air, and the Polypontian left and right flanks closed in at the rear to completely surround the Icemark cavalry.
Thirrin and her warriors fought with a dedicated ruthlessness that slowly cut a path through the enemy. She hacked and thrust at the Polypontian soldiers who swam into her view. Her horse struck out with its hooves, and Tharaman-Thar beat aside Polypontian horses and riders with smashing blows from his massive paws. Nearby, the banner of the Icemark and Icesheets fluttered in the wind, giving a focus and a rallying point for leopard and human trooper. Then, with a final heave, they were through the enclosing ranks of the enemy. Once again, they rode on in a wide arc as they slowly turned to charge once more.
A great cheer erupted from the defenses around Frostmarris as they saw their young Queen at the head of her cavalry break free along with Tharaman-Thar. But the ranks had been thinned: Both human and leopard troopers had taken casualties, and few of those who remained were without injuries.
Scipio Bellorum was furious; twice now his cavalry had failed to hold a force of vastly inferior numbers who, even as he watched, were preparing to charge again. He rallied his men and galloped to meet the enemy.
To Maggiore Totus from his vantage point on the walls, the cavalry of the Icemark and Icesheets looked like a deadly stiletto blade thrusting through a cumbersome many-headed creature that was slowly losing strength. The dead of the Empire’s cavalry lay all over the battlefield, the greater density of their bodies showing accurately where Thirrin’s route had cut through.
But something new was happening. Maggie saw that the Polypontian troopers were slowing to a trot, and bugles were braying over the land, their brassy notes thinned by distance to a lonely and wistful wail. The Icemark cavalry came on but it, too, began to slow, and soon both forces had stopped and were gazing at each other over the plain. Then Thirrin and Tharaman-Thar could be seen walking slowly forward, as two figures detached themselves from the enemy ranks and advanced to meet them.
Thirrin watched as the man approached on his tall horse. His hair was steel gray and his eyes a deadly cold blue, but he rode with an elegance that suggested refinement and civilization. With him was a young officer, who saluted her smartly when they all drew to a halt and faced one another. She returned the salute and waited quietly.
“I see you have brought one of your talking leopards with you,” Bellorum said with only the slightest trace of an Empire accent. These were the first words Thirrin had ever heard him utter and he’d obviously learned her language well.
“I have ‘brought’ nobody. However, Lord Tharaman, One Hundredth Thar of the Icesheets, has been good enough to accompany me to this meeting.”
“Oh, it has a title,” Bellorum said sarcastically. “Does it do tricks as well?”
“I perform only one trick, General, the killing of Polypontian soldiers, and I’m rather good at it, don’t you think?” Tharaman answered.
Thirrin was enormously gratified to see the general’s eyes widen slightly as the full truth of the rumors hit home. Yes, the leopards could talk, and Bellorum was shocked at the natural ease with which the words emerged from the great toothed mouth.
The young Imperial officer was visibly shaken, then, remembering the rules of etiquette, he saluted Tharaman as was due to even an enemy monarch. The huge leopard Thar inclined his head slightly in reply and said, “Is there some purpose to this meeting other than the exchange of insults? Otherwise, might I suggest we get on with the fighting? Our cavalry has some business to finish, and as there are so many of you it may take some time.”
Bellorum recovered himself sufficiently to answer. “Yes, there is a purpose. I propose single combat between myself and Queen Thirrin, here and now, on this field.”
“I accept,” she answered immediately.
“Wait, you don’t have to do this, Thirrin,” said Tharaman softly. “We’re slicing his carthorses and fancily dressed farm boys to ribbons. Why else do you think he’s offering single combat? His cavalry’s losing and he knows it. He’s hoping to turn the tide by beating you in a duel. Order the charge now and we’ll drive them from the field.”
“I said, I accept, Tharaman,” she answered, without taking her eyes off the general. Then, glancing at her ally, she said, “Don’t oppose me in this. I want the duel! I can kill him and avenge all those who’ve died!” She blazed with a barely controlled fury and an insatiable need to make the man who was responsible for all the death and destruction pay with his life.
Bellorum laughed. “Come now, my dear leopard, be a good little p
et and don’t question your owner’s decisions. Can’t you see she’s eager to die?”
Tharaman’s eyes burned into the general and held his chilling gaze. “If the Queen of the Icemark doesn’t kill you, I’ll make it my personal task to seek you out and kill you myself. A slow disembowelment should be entertaining and will make some small amends for your impertinence. Can you sing, General? Because I do so like to hear my victims give voice when I play with them.”
Bellorum’s gaze didn’t waver, but neither did he reply to the leopard. Instead he drew his saber and said, “I assume swords are acceptable? Normally the choice of weapon is the right of the one challenged, but that is the etiquette of civilized lands, so you will understand why I waive such niceties.”
“On what terms do we fight this duel?” Thirrin asked coldly.
“Terms? What other terms can there be? If you are killed, the Icemark’s resistance will end and a new province is added to the Empire. If I am killed, the army will withdraw in disarray … at least until the next campaigning season and the appointment of a new general.”
“So, at best we’ll get a breathing space.”
Bellorum shrugged. “But of course. Such is the role of the victim.”
“Let us fight, General.”
Both forces drew back to form an arena for the combatants, leaving Thirrin and Bellorum at the center. A breathless hush descended as they each sat watching the other. Then the general began to slowly circle, while Thirrin’s horse turned to keep him in sight. For several long moments Bellorum moved in a wide arc around her, then suddenly he struck, his horse crashing shoulder to shoulder with Thirrin’s mount, while his saber struck down like lightning made steel.
Her shield parried the blow and she stabbed at his throat, where his sword swept her blade aside. The horses kicked and slashed at each other with their teeth as their riders continued to trade cut for thrust. The ring of saber on shield resounded over the plain like discordant bells, as the combatants circled and struck. Both were deadly accurate in their attacks, and both were skilled in their defensive blocks.