by Stuart Hill
Sharley nodded again. “How long will it take to reach the border?”
“At least a week, as long as we have no trouble with sandstorms.”
For the next few hours the column walked on, conserving the energy of beast and rider alike by maintaining a slow but steady pace that gradually ate up the miles. Then at last the sun dipped below the horizon, the raging afterglow of its fire staining the sky a deep blood-red that cooled over the arc of the sky so that in the east, the dark of night and its field of stars were already claiming mastery of the heavens. Sharley still found the swift transition from daylight to full dark in the desert lands a thing of wonder. The dark arrived almost like the snuffing of a candle, and the biting cold that came with it always took him by surprise and had him rummaging through his baggage for warm clothing.
They continued on through the night for several hours, using the easier conditions to increase their pace. But as the whisper-thin crescent of a new moon rose into the sky, horse and camel were reined to a halt, and the rich, bubbling roars of the baggage beasts echoed over the empty land, as a prelude to sinking to their knees.
With amazing speed, tents were pitched, animals tethered and fed, and fires were lit. Soon, the rich scents of cooking were added to the acrid smell of cooling sand and dust, and Sharley became impatient for his supper. Riding all day was hungry work, but as he and Mekhmet had no designated tasks in the well-practised art of pitching camp, all they could do was sit in the Royal tent and wait for food to be brought to them.
At last, a chamberlain appeared, leading a party of lesser servants who set up low tables and arranged the evening meal in a splendour of scents and colours.
“Ah, that’s better,” said Sharley to no one in particular as he helped himself.
“When we’ve finished eating I thought we’d look at a map of the route again,” said Mekhmet. “The Royal Kraal of the Lusu people is only a couple of days’ ride, so we needn’t be too heavily burdened with food and fuel. We’ll just have to pray we don’t lose our way.”
“What’s a ‘kraal’?” Sharley asked.
“A settlement. Anything from a village to a large town, really,” Mekhmet replied. “But the Royal Kraal, Swahati, is huge. A city, I suppose, but it’s built entirely of wood, reeds and mud-brick.”
“You make it sound like a temporary camp.”
“No. It’s definitely not that. Swahati has stood for more than a thousand years, even though none of its buildings are more than fifty years old. In a way, the Royal Kraal, and all the Lusu settlements, are more like animals . . . they’re more alive than the cities we know. They’re constantly changing and being renewed. They even move.”
“Move?” Sharley said incredulously.
“Yes, gradually, and over many years admittedly, but the city definitely moves. Swahati lies in a valley, and when you stand on the hills that overlook it, you can see where the boundary ditches and walls have moved to protect a new outcrop of buildings, or where they’ve been abandoned when an area falls into disuse.”
“And the King lives there?”
“Queen,” Mekhmet corrected. “The Lusu people are ruled by Ketshaka the Third.”
When they’d finished their meal the boys sat over a map while Mekhmet pointed out the route they’d be taking over the coming days. “It’s mainly desert – the Polypontians have destroyed most of the cities and towns – but there are several oases where we’ll be able to rest.”
“Fine,” Sharley answered.
Finally, Mekhmet rolled up the map and led them into the inner chamber of their large tent, where divans had been set up and smothered in cushions and silks. Sharley couldn’t help thinking their journey might be somewhat quicker if the camels didn’t have to carry so much luxurious equipment. But then the noises of the camp preparing for sleep reminded him to appreciate the wonderfully civilised country he was in.
Maggiore Totus had been right, the Desert People had a sophisticated civilisation that was far more advanced than that of the north. But why hadn’t they developed the science and technology that would have enabled them to fight off the Empire? ‘Necessity is the mother of invention’, as Maggie often said, and such a clever people should surely have been able to make weapons to send Scipio Bellorum running back to his borders.
As Sharley began to settle in his bed he asked, “Mekhmet, why didn’t your engineers and scientists use their expertise against the Polypontians? Can’t they translate their skills to the field of war?”
The Prince smiled. “Oh yes, with great flair and inventiveness, which is why the Empire kidnapped all of our great thinkers and forced them to work for the Imperial war machine. Not only that, but they destroyed all our factories and centres of learning to make sure we couldn’t cast any more cannon, or make any more muskets.”
Sharley was stupefied. “You mean the Empire’s firearms are an invention of the Desert People?”
“Absolutely,” Mekhmet answered with pride. “But now we can’t even make the simplest pistol. Every engineer, every technician, has been either taken or killed, and if anyone else shows even the slightest ability in these fields, they too disappear.”
“But . . . but can’t you seal the borders, keep your clever ones in secure compounds or hide them away?”
Mekhmet shrugged. “It’s been tried, but there are just too many spies and Polypontian agents to hunt our people down.”
Sharley felt overwhelmingly depressed and his eyes followed a huge moth that rattled and battered itself around one of the filigreed oil lamps that burned on the low ivory-inlaid tables. Sometimes even attempting to fight Scipio Bellorum and his murderous armies seemed like an act of total stupidity. It was almost like trying to put out a forest fire with a cup of water, or standing on the roof of your house and trying to blow away the storm clouds that were threatening to flatten your home. But then he thought of his mother and her network of allies, who’d stood against the Imperial forces and had defeated them. He remembered too that the longbow and compound bow could still outshoot the musket in both range and accuracy, and that both the trebuchet and ballista had won every duel with the Empire’s cannons.
He smiled, and slapped Mekhmet’s knee. “Never mind. We’ll just have to make do with sword and shield. The Icemark and her allies didn’t do too badly against the Imperial war machine last time, and I don’t see why it should be any different now. All we need are enough allies, and that’s already in hand.”
Mekhmet returned his friend’s smile. He admired such optimism, and if he didn’t allow himself to think about all of the problems they still faced, he could almost be infected by it. Of course they had a chance, a fighting chance . . . it just didn’t seem a particularly good one, that was all.
CHAPTER 24
Archimedo Archimedes, Chief Engine-eer, appointed by Cressida after the attack on Learton, surveyed the additions he’d made to the defences around Frostmarris. Each of the triple rings of earth embankment and palisade now had extra batteries of truly gigantic ballistas on platforms that could turn, dip and rise in exactly the same way that gimbal brackets on board a ship kept lamps and other delicate pieces of equipment steady during a storm. Each of the huge crossbows – and they were four times larger than the biggest that had previously been used – could now be turned to shoot in any direction, and they could be raised to an almost vertical position to target objects flying overhead.
Archimedo Archimedes was a citizen of the Hypolitan province and had offered his expertise to the defenders of Frostmarris on the insistence of the newly elected Basilea. He was an engine-eer who would probably have been more at home working with the scientists and technicians of the Polypontian Empire but, in truth, there he would have been just another clever slave amongst many others. Here in the Icemark he had a high status that made him almost equal to the most powerful witch. Many of the citizens saw his feats of engine-eering as virtually magical anyway, and this almost satisfied his truly enormous ego.
He jumped dow
n off the ballistas’ firing platform and scuttled over to where a steel column rose into the sky. His small, grubby hand patted the column and he squinted up at the lantern and highly polished concave mirror at the top, which could be tilted in any direction. This was another one of his inventions: a search lamp that could cast a brilliant shaft of light high into the sky to illuminate any flying machines that might try to attack the city in the dark. Each of the firing platforms was supplied with two such search-lamps, and Archimedo Archimedes considered his success in convincing the formidable Queen Thirrin that they were necessary for the defence of the city to be one of his greatest achievements.
He stepped down into the deep ditch between the second and third of the defensive rings so that he could survey as many of the batteries of giant ballistas as possible. He was quite happy with the preparations as far as they went. Not only had he set up the defensive firing platforms, he’d also had deep shelters dug to protect the occupants of Frostmarris from the Sky Navy’s raids and he’d laid out a series of underground aqueducts that supplied almost every street with a supply of water, to make firefighting easier.
“Archimedes, my dear fellow, how go your preparations?” Tharaman-Thar boomed as he and the Tharina appeared on the embankment above him.
“Slowly, and with a lack of appreciation at every turn,” he answered sullenly.
“Well, I can assure you that both Krisafitsa and I fully appreciate everything you’re doing for us. Don’t we, sweeting?” said the giant Snow Leopard, jumping lightly down into the ditch.
“Without a doubt, my love,” his Consort replied, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the acrid smell that arose from the little man. He was probably one of the smelliest human beings she’d ever encountered; even King Grishmak’s cheesy feet seemed fragrant in comparison. “Do you have much more to do?”
“Hah! ‘Much more to do?’ I haven’t even begun the real work yet!” he snapped rudely. “None of you have even the slightest idea of what I’m trying to do here, do you? Or, for that matter, what new threat you’re actually facing?”
“Ignorance may be our middle name, Mr Archimedes, but we have listened to the reports of the destructive power of the Sky Navy, and spoken to the few survivors from the cities already attacked, so I suppose we’re as well informed as it’s possible to be without actually experiencing an air raid ourselves.”
“You’ve got no idea. None!”
“And your own experience of this new weapon – exactly how great is that?” Tharaman spoke quietly, a dangerous sign to those who knew him.
“I know enough, I can assure you. And if anyone in Frostmarris survives at all, it’ll be entirely due to me.”
“Our gratitude knows no bounds, Mr Archimedes,” said Krisafitsa calmly.
“Aye, well. Even that probably isn’t enough. Anyway, I’ve no time to stand jawing with the ruling elite. Some of us actually have to keep things working around here. I’ve jobs to do – important jobs!” And he stumped away along the ditch, barking out orders to people working on the embankments as he went.
“What a delightful little man,” said Tharaman with quiet irony.
“Oh, he’s probably just under a lot of strain,” said Krisafitsa, in an attempt to be understanding.
“And nobody else is?”
“Well, yes. But some people do have awfully important things to do, and that must be a terrible pressure.”
Tharaman looked at her. “There are times, my love, when it’s possible to be too understanding! That little man is simply rude, and if he wasn’t so important to us I might try and commission Oskan to turn him into one of those toad thingies that live under stones.”
Krisafitsa purred in amusement. “Now, you know you don’t mean that, Tharaman sweetest. You’re just a little tetchy, that’s all.”
“That’s true, I am tetchy. Is it really surprising, when you consider everything that’s been happening?”
“No, of course not. Come on, let’s go back into the city and see if we can find Olememnon. I think you and he could probably put the entire world to rights over a few bowls of wine, and I wouldn’t mind a chat with the new Basilea if she’s not too busy,” Krisafitsa said brightly. “Have you noticed how she’s always to be found with Olememnon?”
“Krisafitsa!” Tharaman rumbled.
“What?” she asked in innocent tones.
“Human people have their own ways of securing mates, and I’m sure the interference of a Snow Leopard would only complicate things.”
“Interference? I don’t know what you mean, Tharaman. I never interfere.”
The two giant cats made their way back through the defences towards the city gates. All about them, soldiers of all species were digging, building and carrying as Archimedo Archimedes’ plans were put into action.
News had arrived only that morning that Learton had finally fallen. The Imperial Command had been forced to abandon their initial attack for two weeks while they carried out repairs to the Sky Navy. They had then mounted a combined land and air assault against the city that had stretched the defenders to the limit. It had taken a further ten days for the settlement to fall, and though the Vampire army had inflicted heavy losses on the fleets of flying ships and wasp-fighters again, the end was inevitable. The city that had once been the largest of the Five Boroughs was now a ruin.
Medea sat in her high tower contemplating the news. She’d known the city had fallen long before the werewolf relay reported it, and had watched as the survivors had been evacuated by the soldiers of Their Vampiric Majesties. But she was troubled. Bellorum and the Imperial armies were about to turn their attention on Frostmarris, the centre of the entire country, and if the capital fell, the war was as good as over. Her own safety and comfort could be compromised. By meddling in the war and helping the Empire, she could be endangering herself. But if she remained aloof and neither helped nor hindered either side, the very society she hated might continue to exist. In fact her decision could mean the difference between her survival and destruction. Her continued existence depended on her Magical skills. She pondered what particular weaponry she should add to her already formidable armoury, and arrived at an obvious conclusion. Mind control, and the spiritual possession of a host body, would give her enormous advantage. Her father was adept at this particular skill, and this made her even more determined to master it too. But how should she begin?
Her Eye searched the dark and dusty corners of her tower until she found what she was looking for. At first, the mouse resisted, but it soon succumbed and she folded her mind to fit the restrictions of its tiny form. For the rest of the day she practised moving the mouse to her will: sending it scuttling up and down stairs, making it roll into a ball and somersault across the floor, and finally sending it on a suicide mission to attack a palace cat.
She even waited to experience the terror of feeling the cat’s fangs tearing into its flesh before she finally withdrew, smiling in satisfaction. It was really quite easy. Tomorrow, when she’d rested, she’d possess one of the hunting dogs, after which she’d try a horse, then slowly progress until she was ready to possess one of the more intelligent species.
She was so happy with her new skill that she almost forgot the war. Almost, but not quite. A true sorceress always kept her Eye on danger.
Frostmarris waited breathlessly for the next phase of the conflict to begin. Lookouts watched from the ramparts for the first signs of the Polypontian army, and werewolf scouts scoured the roads and byways for any evidence of the Imperial military. But for the time being, Scipio Bellorum and his sons seemed content to consolidate their hold over the southern regions of the country and allow the capital city to stew in a juice of its own fear. Besides, weather conditions seemed to be changing again, and at altitude the moisture in the air would condense on all parts of the galleons and wasp-fighters and quickly freeze, weighing them down, and even causing ships to crash in the more extreme conditions. The Sky Navy was apparently happy to wait until the danger of
icing was past; after all, the weather would eventually improve, and for the time being the ground crews could carry out repairs and refurbish the fleet ready for the next phase of the war.
The General may have learned that his new weapon was not invincible, but even so, he’d managed to destroy Learton in less than half the time that conventional siege techniques would have taken. But the defenders of the Icemark took heart from knowing that with the Vampires on their side, at least the invaders couldn’t destroy a city in less than a day as they had done when they first used their Sky Navy.
As usual, Thirrin and her allies were adapting themselves to everything Bellorum could throw at them. But the question remained, could they adapt fast enough? This time, none of the defenders were expecting any new allies to arrive in the nick of time to save them. This time they had only themselves to rely on, and some were beginning to wonder if it would be enough.
As Tharaman and his Tharina reached the gates of the heavily barred citadel, Tharaman searched for some good news to comment on. “At least Eodred’s back in the land of the living.”
“Yes. We have Cressida to thank for that, I think. She’s certainly a . . . forceful young woman when she needs to be,” said Krisafitsa.
“So like her mother,” said Tharaman. “She’ll make a great queen someday.”
Slowly, the gates swung open and the Thar and Tharina walked through, deep in conversation.
“Olememnon will be in the lists, I should think,” said Krisafitsa. “Why don’t you go and see if he’s thirsty and would like to join us for a few bowls of wine?”
Tharaman gazed lovingly at his mate. “My dear, your every word is steeped in wisdom. I’ll do just that and meet you in the Great Hall in a few minutes.”
Krisafitsa purred affectionately as she watched him pad across the courtyard in the direction of the lists.
As she entered the Great Hall, the huge cat’s enormous pupils dilated instantly to adjust to the dim light, and she spied King Grishmak approaching through another of the many doors. The young werewolf with him looked about as happy as a wet winter’s afternoon, and the Tharina guessed he’d been receiving some forceful advice from the Wolf-folk King.