by Stuart Hill
But now he was King. Redrought Athelstan Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, the first of that name, and probably the last human ruler of the Icemark by any name. He was sixteen years old, commander of a broken army, ruler of a broken land, and he expected to die and his country to fall.
The only reason that the Vampire King and Queen hadn’t immediately advanced further and taken the capital city, Frostmarris, itself was probably because they knew they could do so any time they liked. He could count on no help from the other provinces of the Icemark. When the tide of the battle had turned against them, the warriors of the Hypolitan in the north had retreated into their own country.
Alone in the Great Hall, Redrought tried to look like a strong King. The fact that he hadn’t managed to grow a man’s beard yet didn’t help his failing confidence, and added to that was the knowledge that the Wittanagast had only voted him into power because there was no other candidate. The council of old warriors had let it be known that as soon as an alternative presented itself he’d probably lose his throne, but so far not one of the experienced generals and leaders had straggled back from the battle. They must all have fallen when Their Vampiric Majesties and their ally, King Ashmok Blood-Drinker of the werewolves, had broken the human shieldwall and crushed the army.
So now the country had to make do with this beardless boy, Redrought, the last surviving scion of the House of Lindenshield. He was actually big and imposing for his age, or at least he would have been if he’d only managed to sit up straight in the throne and made the effort to look Royal. But like everyone else he was crushed.
It was probably a sign of their own apathy that the guards let Kahin Darius through without questioning her. She was one of the richest merchants in Frostmarris, and the leader of a small community of her people who lived near the main gate of the city.
The Zoroastrians had first arrived in the country two centuries earlier when they’d fled persecution in their homeland, and the King of the Icemark had offered them sanctuary. The fact that a woman led the people who were noted for their abilities as merchants was due entirely to the quiet and considered forcefulness of her nature, and her ability to argue her case with good reason and fairness.
After her husband had died of fever when still relatively young, Kahin had taken over the running of the family business and had tripled its output and size within ten years, and this fact, coupled with the almost tangible air of authority that surrounded her, had won her the abiding respect of her community.
She was well aware of the dire straits the country was in, and like all good merchants she was also well aware of exactly how this would affect the markets. It was imperative that the new King learned to rule quickly, and one of his first jobs would have to be the rebuilding of the army.
Kahin was almost surprised when she found herself striding unchallenged through the huge double doors that led into the Great Hall, but seizing her opportunity she headed for the throne. By the time she was halfway across the hall, the guards had gathered themselves enough to cross their spears in front of her and demand to know her business.
“I am Kahin Darius,” she said quietly. “And I have come to set a proposition before the King.”
“Why should he want to see you, merchant?” one of the soldiers spat, showing the jealous contempt that some felt for the people who’d established themselves as the most successful entrepreneurs in the land.
“Why should he not?”
Before this could be answered a tired young voice broke into the small confrontation. “Let her come forward.”
The merchant smiled quietly and approached the throne. “I . . . that is, we . . . I mean my people, are pleased to know you are safe, Your Majesty.”
“Your people?” Redrought asked listlessly as he gazed at the small, round, elderly woman before him.
“The Zoroastrians, servants of the Sacred Fire. We live in the quarter known as the Barbouta near the eastern gate.”
“Oh, yes, the merchants.”
Kahin was interested to hear no contempt in the young King’s tones. Usually her people were barely tolerated by the other citizens of Frostmarris, even though most of them owed their income and trade to the brilliant business minds and integrity of the Zoroastrian community.
“Your Majesty, our Trade Guilds have held convocation and it has been decided to offer a . . . donation to the Royal coffers.”
Redrought looked up for the first time. “A donation?”
“Yes. You’ll need money to rebuild the army and re-arm your soldiers.”
The boy-King stared at her and then began to laugh. “Army? What army? And for that matter . . . what soldiers? They’re all dead . . . ripped to pieces by the Vampires and werewolves. There’s nothing left. We’re defenceless.”
Redrought continued to laugh, but slowly the sound translated itself into sobs that became louder and louder as he again remembered the full horror of the battle.
The guards who still stood nearby, looked away, embarrassed by this appalling breakdown of Royal protocol. But Kahin only felt a sudden need to comfort the young boy who’d obviously seen more horrors than one his age ever should. Quickly she stepped up onto the dais and, taking the boy-King in her arms, she offered motherly comfort, gently whispering calming words in her own language and stroking his hair. Eventually Redrought regained control and sitting up, he nodded to the merchant, who immediately stepped away and resumed her position at the foot of the dais.
“This . . . this donation,” the boy went on, sniffing loudly. “How much is it?”
“Ten thousand gold pieces,” Kahin replied.
“Ten thou . . . !” Redrought’s mouth dropped open. “I could equip three armies with that.” Then he paused and his shoulders slumped. “But not even that amount of money can buy back the dead. What’s the point of ordering weapons and equipment if there are no soldiers to carry them?”
“Forgive me, but My Lord has been away from the city for many days, and he doesn’t know that survivors from the army have been making their way back here.”
Redrought looked up hopefully. “How many?”
Kahin shrugged. “I don’t know the details, you’ll have to order a roll call for that, but there must be several hundred.”
“Several hundred.” Redrought looked as though he was going to start laughing again, but he regained control. “What’s the use of that? We stood in our thousands against the Vampire King and Queen, and they smashed us. We haven’t a hope.”
“There’s always hope, Your Majesty, and besides, more and more survivors are coming in every day. Soon there’ll be enough to defend the walls, and if you send out a summons to all of the cities that remain free in the south they could send . . . say, half their garrisons to help build up the numbers.”
Redrought looked at the old merchant sharply. “You’ve thought this through carefully, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. We must defend ourselves. We cannot surrender to the Undead and the monsters. The Icemark is decreed as a human kingdom by Ahura Mazda, the Wise God himself. It is ruled by humans, populated by humans and it must be defended by humans. Send out riders now to the free cities and call in their garrisons. Their Vampiric Majesties are foolish enough to think we’re beaten, so now is the time to take them by surprise and strike back when they least expect it.”
Redrought remained silent for several long seconds, but then he nodded and stood up. “Come with me, there are maps and charts in the Campaign Room. We’ve a counter-attack to plan.”
Kahin sat quietly in the sunshine that blazed through the window and lay in broad bars of transparent gold over the floor of the Campaign Room. The place was sparse and spare with just a round table occupying the middle of the space, a selection of chairs and a large map of the Icemark pinned to the wall. There were a number of red pins stuck into the map, showing the disposition of the army, and many more black ones showing the overwhelming strength of the enemy. No one had bothered to change the positions s
ince the battle. Perhaps the truth was just too devastating.
The last few days had been chaotic. Several officers who’d survived the battle had made it back to Frostmarris, but none of them were particularly high-ranking, so Redrought was still firmly on his throne and slowly growing in authority every day. On his own initiative he’d set the officers drilling and re-training the other survivors of the army, and already they were looking like a proper fighting force again − at least, they did to Kahin’s old merchant’s eyes. But there were other reasons to hope: there had been replies from the free cities of the south that were still untouched by the war, as Their Vampiric Majesties and their allies still only held the north, and all of them were sending half their garrisons. Soon they’d be able to defend themselves and perhaps even strike back at the enemy.
Kahin was waiting for the young King to arrive. Exactly what advice she could give that would be any use, she didn’t know. She knew nothing about warfare apart from the tales in the Avesta – the Holy Book of her people – that told of battles fought against mighty enemies that were eventually levelled by the power of Ahura Mazda, the true God. But none of them had been Vampires, zombies and werewolves, and neither had those battles been fought in northern lands that were frozen solid for six months of the year.
Still, all of the earth was created by and belonged to Ahura Mazda and therefore His will would be done upon it. The fact that the people of the Icemark were heathens who worshipped a Mother Goddess, of all peculiarities, would make no difference to the True God, Kahin was almost sure. Besides, she was a mother and grandmother of ten children and more than thirty grandchildren, and if she could control them and their squabbles as well as run a thriving business, no doubt she could help a young King to run his country.
A noise at the door interrupted Kahin’s thoughts and she turned to see Redrought walking in. He still had the slightly haunted look of one who’d seen too many horrors, but this was now overlaid by a sense of purpose and an energy that seemed to literally fizz out of him. His red hair raged around his head so that it seemed to be on fire. In fact, Kahin thought, it almost made the King look like an angel with a red halo. Admittedly he made rather an earthy Being of Light, but right now in the country’s history, a divine intervention of any sort would be welcome.
“Kahin! Kahin, the smithies have already started to deliver the new weapons!” Redrought shouted happily as he strode into the room. “At this rate we’ll be re-armed within the month.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, My Lord. Let’s hope that Their Vampiric Majesties allow us the time to reach this landmark.”
“Yeah . . .” Redrought answered, visibly deflating. Then almost immediately he brightened up. “But there’s no sign of them yet, and in the meantime survivors of the battle are still coming in. We could be up to a quarter of our strength at this rate!”
Kahin watched Redrought’s mood dipping again as he realised the full import of what he’d just said. It was time to boost his faltering confidence. “Never mind, My Lord. Surely with armies, as in all things in life, it is quality rather than quantity that counts. Our soldiers are undoubtedly ‘blooded’ as the saying goes, plus they certainly have experience of fighting the enemy. Invaluable commodities, I would say.”
“Yes!” Redrought boomed as his spirits revived. “We know what to expect now. There’s nothing worse than facing an unknown enemy.”
Kahin privately thought that fighting an opponent that you knew to be stronger and better than you would actually be far worse, but she kept her opinions to herself. The young King’s morale was far too fragile to withstand any sort of cynicism.
“Have any more of the garrisons from the southern towns come in yet?” Kahin asked, smoothly turning the subject to an area where she knew there was good news.
Redrought grinned and dropped into a chair that protested loudly. “Yes. Contingents from Learton and Middleburgh have been spotted on the road. They should be here by noon tomorrow. That’s almost a thousand new fighters, and they’re bringing extra weapons with them!”
Kahin nodded. Good news indeed. If all of the reinforcements brought additional shields, swords and axes, they could be re-armed far quicker than they had dared hope.
Redrought looked at his new adviser. He knew full well that the old merchant was desperately putting a positive slant on every bit of news that came in as she tried to ensure that he remained as optimistic as possible. And in fact he was quite happy about this. He needed as much morale-boosting as he could get. He was sixteen years old and a newly appointed King to a country that was already half lost to a powerful enemy. What was the point of giving him the unvarnished truth? He already knew that. What he needed was to be told that anything was possible . . . even the impossible.
“Will My Lord be training with the army today?”
“Of course, for as long as possible. I’m only here now to find out if you’ve heard anything new.”
“Alas, Sire, you know as much as I.”
“Right, well, I’ll get down to the training grounds then . . .”
They were both interrupted by the arrival of Grimswald. “Your Majesty, the guards have sent word that a contingent of witches wish to see you.”
“Witches, eh? White of course?” asked Redrought.
“Of course, Your Majesty. They’re led by Wenlock Witchmother herself,” Grimswald said.
“Come on, then, Kahin. Let’s see what they want.”
The old body-servant watched them go, then began to tidy the room.
Redrought led the way through the winding corridors of the citadel while Kahin almost had to trot to keep up with him. The boy may have been only sixteen, but he already had the stature of a man, and his long, muscular legs took strides that ate up the distance with an ease that had the old merchant panting.
They burst into the Great Hall with a power that had all of the guards posted around the walls stamping to attention. “Where are they? Where are they?” Redrought boomed. Kahin had noticed that the young King often boomed, even when he thought he was talking quietly.
“Ah!” Redrought went on. “There they are.” Waiting quietly, and making as much impression with their silence as the King did with his noise and bluster, stood the witches.
Redrought bounded up the dais and crashed down into the throne while Kahin followed at a statelier pace and stood quietly on his left. But by this time Redrought’s exuberance had started to ebb as the presence of the silently waiting witches made itself felt.
“You, er . . . You, er, may come forward,” he said.
The silence continued while the oldest witch stared at him unblinkingly. She was dressed in ragged grey robes and she leant heavily on a long staff, but a deep sense of energy and pure vitality seemed to beat from her in waves. Redrought was almost squirming under the scrutiny of the old witch, but at last she nodded as though he’d learned his lesson.
“We’re not used to being kept waiting, Redrought Athelstan Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield. Your brother and father were far more polite.”
“His Majesty came to see you as soon as he was informed of your presence,” said Kahin, quietly defending Redrought. “No slight was intended.”
The witch turned her unwavering gaze on the merchant, but found her equal in Kahin’s unflinching stare. After a trial of strength she nodded and the ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Well, Kahin Darius, I see that you’ve gained promotion since the last time I bothered to observe you. The role of Royal Adviser suits you well.”
“And you, Wenlock Witchmother, remain as observant and as powerful as ever. Any help that you can offer in this time of grave crisis will be received gratefully.”
“You divine my intentions perfectly, Madam Royal Adviser. Do the Zoroastrians harbour a witch in their ranks?” Wenlock Witchmother asked with playful irony.
The old merchant smiled guardedly. “Let us just say that the intuition of a life long lived has afforded me an insight into your motives, Witchmother.”
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Wenlock grinned mischievously. “Whenever you feel the need to develop your Gifts, you know where to find us.”
Redrought had been watching this exchange in silence, but now he felt it was time the dignity of the Crown was acknowledged. This had nothing to do with any sense of personal pride; he still felt that he was just holding the position of King until such time as the Wittanagast should appoint someone more suitable to the post. Even so, until that happened it was his duty to make sure everyone treated the Crown with due respect.
He took a deep steadying breath and tried not to look at the formidable Witchmother. “Look, when you two have finished sparring with each other, perhaps . . . you know . . . perhaps it’d be a good idea to get down to business . . .whatever that is. I’ve got other things to do, you know . . . I mean . . . we are at war, and I’m a busy . . . man. Yes . . . man.”
The last bit came out uncertainly, but Redrought couldn’t have said anything quietly even if he tried, so the volume at least was impressive.
Wenlock Witchmother turned her eyes on the young King and decided to allow him his Kingly dignity. “Well, Your Majesty, as your adviser . . . intuited, I and my witches have come to proclaim our loyalty and offer any help that we can give.”
“Great!” Redrought boomed, happy that things seemed to be going the way a Royal audience should. “What can you do?”
“Perhaps it would be better if I explained what we will not do. And first and foremost is the fact we will not kill or use our Powers directly against the enemy, unless they use Black Magic. Remember, Redrought, werewolves in and of themselves are not evil. They’re fierce and vicious, of course, and they’re your enemy, but that isn’t a good enough reason for us to kill them. The Vampires are a different matter, but even they have something hidden deep within them, if they but knew it.”