Prince of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

“Either that or they’ll wipe us out.”

  “No chance. They’re strong and brave in an unthinking way, but they’re stupid.”

  “You’re forgetting the general. She’s far from stupid.”

  “Hmm. We’ll have to kill her quickly.”

  A sudden bellowing warned of a troll charge and the two friends ran to the barrier of corpses. The Sacred Regiment stood ready, arrows already strung and bows drawn.

  “On my order!” Saphia shouted.

  But something was different. The trolls were carrying huge slabs of stone like shields. The lead trolls swayed and rolled as they advanced, but they kept in step and the edges of their shield rocks overlapped, presenting an impenetrable wall. Other trolls held slabs above their heads protecting the horde from the rain of arcing arrows.

  “It’s a testudo!” shouted Athena incredulously. “Just like the housecarles of the Icemark use! Our arrows can’t touch them!”

  “Romanoff!” Saphia spat. “She’s become their brains.”

  “Aim for their feet!” Athena ordered, and immediately a hail of arrows skimmed low over the ground and sliced into the thick gnarled legs of the trolls. Dozens fell, opening up gaps in their shieldwall, and instantly a second wave of arrows crashed into the breach bringing down more trolls. But then Romanoff was there, steadying the line, reforming the shields and directing the younger, more agile trolls to carry their slabs low to protect the testudo’s legs.

  “Bring her down! Bring her down!” Saphia bellowed, and leaping onto the barrier she shot at the general.

  Romanoff smiled and saluted ironically, before stepping behind the rock wall. The troll testudo now rolled forward unstoppably. Even the vicious bodkin arrows with their solid steel heads bounced harmlessly off the rock shields.

  Athena could smell the choking stench of the creatures as they closed in on their position. The Sacred Regiment sent wave after wave of arrows against the advancing monsters but only a few fell, and their position in the wall was immediately filled by other trolls. With Romanoff acting as their brains the creatures were unstoppable. Soon they’d be near enough to use their massive war hammers and stone clubs. Unless the elite regiment of the Hypolitan could stop them, the gate would fall, and with it the city.

  Saphia leapt onto the barrier of corpses again and Athena joined her. Together they brought down almost a dozen trolls, but it was like throwing pebbles at a tidal wave. Giving the order, the two friends joined the other women as they fell back against the gates. From the battlements above a hail of rocks, arrows and spears rained down on the testudo, but still it advanced.

  At last, with a great bellow, the trolls cast aside their shields and charged, their war hammers smashing all before them. Saphia leapt into the attack, her sword hacking deep into the tough hide of the monsters. With her stood Athena and together they became an island of resistance to which the Hypolitan fighters rallied.

  Redrought peered ahead. The trees were definitely thinning. They’d come to the northern eaves of the Great Forest at last. Quickly he called a halt and Commander Brereton joined him.

  “Once we’re beyond the trees we’ll advance in battle order,” the young King ordered.

  The commander nodded. “I presume I will command the left wing and Commander Ireton the right, as already discussed?”

  “Yes, and I’ll lead the centre.”

  A subdued buzz washed through the army as they realised they’d almost reached the northern border of the forest, but they had been ordered to keep silence until they advanced into battle, and the murmur faded away. It was imperative that the enemy had no idea of their presence until they were ready to reveal it.

  The march continued until the trees began finally to give way to the wide grasslands of the province of the Hypolitan. Once again Redrought called a halt. He sat on his horse beneath the huge form of the last oak in the Great Forest. If he stood in his stirrups, he could just make out the distant walls of the city of Bendis. Above it storm clouds seemed to roil and roll, and he realised he was watching an attack by countless squadrons of Vampires. The Hypolitan were still resisting.

  He reached for his sword, but before he could draw it, something large and black dropped from the branches above him. It landed on his shoulder and with a cry he snatched at Hengist’s reins. But the horse stood solid and immovable as though there was no danger.

  Desperately Redrought scrabbled at his shoulder and felt fur. A deep throaty meow followed and he let out an explosive sigh of relief. “CADWALADER!!”

  The cat meowed again in agreement.

  “What are you doing here?! How did you find me?!”

  No answer was forthcoming apart from a thunderous purr, and Redrought laughed in delight. “You’ve come to join me in battle again, eh? Well, it’s going to be a tough one, I hope you’re ready for it.”

  Cadwalader let out a sudden yowl that echoed back through the brooding forest, and the army cheered in response. The warrior cat was well known to all of them; it was he who’d set his teeth to the werewolf King and turned the single combat with Ashmok in his master’s favour. He was the luck and the spirit of the New Model Army. His presence had to be a good omen.

  * * *

  The Hypolitan were holding their own against the Rock Trolls for the moment, but Athena could see how hopeless the position was. In desperation she shouted, “Where is the Icemark? Where is Redrought?

  And almost in answer a faint rumbling seemed to thrum through the air.

  DUM dum-dum! DUM dum-dum! DUM dum-dum!

  Drums! War-drums!

  For a moment there was a lull. Everyone held their breath and even the trolls paused, their small stupid eyes blinking as they tried to understand the new development.

  Then into the silence a single distant voice sounded. “The enemy are among us! They kill our children, they burn our houses! Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

  Immediately an answer crashed back. Unmistakably, wondrously, miraculously: “BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!!”

  The women of the Sacred Regiment let out a shout of delight, and the cheer rang around the walls of the entire city. King Redrought had come as promised! King Redrought and his new army were here!

  The huge drum horses Scur and Beorg moved forward like living mountains and their riders, Theodred and Theobold, continued to beat out the war-beat on the massive kettle drums that were slung either side of their saddles. DUM dum-dum! DUM dum-dum! DUM dum-dum!

  As one the army swung forward, and now lesser drums, carried by a corps of young boys and girls, began to rattle out a rhythm in counterpoint to the steady, heavy beat of Scur and Beorg.

  At first the army maintained a moderate pace, conserving energy for what lay ahead, but Redrought wanted to be sure the Hypolitan knew he had arrived. Again he gave the war cry and again the army replied. And now, on his signal, huge horns began to growl out a sustained note that echoed and boomed over the plain.

  For several long minutes there seemed to be no reaction to their advance, but then a great swirl of Vampire squadrons rose up from the battle over Bendis and a faint cheer from the defenders sounded into the air.

  “INCOMING!” Redrought bellowed, and immediately the infantry formed a gigantic testudo. The cavalry, too, closed ranks and the troopers raised their shields over their heads and thrust spears through the improvised roof, so that it bristled with deadly steel. But still the hideous raging of the approaching Vampires grew steadily louder.

  “Archers make ready!” Redrought ordered. The pressure and horror of the battle forced him to put aside every last vestige of his boyhood. The entire army was looking to him for leadership. He couldn’t afford to show any doubts or fears. Only Cadwalader knew what he was feeling, and the huge cat rubbed his face against his cheek, while his entire body vibrated with a comforting purr.

  “We can do it, Caddy,” the boy-King whispered, burying his face for a moment in the thick fur. “We can beat these bastards, we just need
to keep faith in ourselves.”

  The cat meowed in reply and then stood on his shoulder, his fierce yellow eyes glowing with the light of battle.

  The Vampire squadrons were now almost on them and their screeching filled the air. “Archers take aim!” Redrought ordered, and holes appeared all along the roof of shields as bows were drawn and targets selected.

  Suddenly the enemy was with them, and the entire world seemed to be filled with screams and the rattling of their leathery wings.

  “SHOOT!”

  Arrows erupted from the moving fortress of the army and scythed into the squadrons. Vampire warriors fell in ruin, their Undead existence cut from their corpse shells by the wooden shafts of the arrows.

  “Shoot at will! Bring them down! Bring them down!”

  Arrows continued to spit from the testudo, bringing down more and more of the enemy, until at last they were forced to withdraw. They flew off in formation, circled, swept low and then, as one, stepped out of flight and into their human forms. Rank after rank of Undead soldiers in black armour now advanced against the Icemark army, and the shields of the testudo once more became a wall as the infantry marched to meet the threat.

  Redrought raised his sword and sang out the first notes of the cavalry paean. As one, his troopers added their voices to the song, and the horses leapt forward. Hengist threw back his head and squealed out the challenge and Cadwalader yowled into the wind of their speed as they charged. The new battle-flag of the Icemark snapped bravely, its image of a white horse against a red background stretched flat against the sky.

  They crashed into the Vampires, smashing aside the first ranks so that they flew through the air in a tangle of black armour. Slowly the momentum was lost as more and more of the Undead warriors pushed forward and the horses were brought to a halt.

  Cadwalader leapt from Redrought’s shoulder and drove his claws into the throat of a Vampire. Desperately the Undead fighter tried to wrench the cat free, but the animal raised his head and snarled before sinking his long needle fangs into the Vampire’s flesh and tearing open his windpipe.

  Hengist now reared back and struck at the Vampires with his iron-shod hooves as Redrought hacked at them with his long cavalry sword. All along the line the horses of the cavalry followed suit, and the Undead warriors began to slowly fall back before the deadly hooves.

  The first engagement of the battle ended in a matter of minutes as, with a despairing shriek, the Undead commander ordered the withdrawal and the Vampire squadrons rose up into the air and flew away. A great cheer rose from the Icemark army. First blood was theirs, and the enemy was routed.

  Redrought paused long enough to redress the ranks and then they advanced again. This time the cavalry spread out in a long front with the infantry behind. The massive forms of Scur and Beorg held the centre just behind the King and the standard. The steady beat of their huge kettle drums set the rhythm for the march and the war-horns still growled out their challenge.

  Ahead the city of Bendis drew steadily nearer. The rolling clouds of flying Vampires were still attacking the walls, but now Redrought could see the enemy’s land forces in more detail. He drew breath sharply. Rock Trolls! Twice the height and width of the biggest human and five times stronger!

  “Infantry advance in close order!” he bellowed. “Axemen to the fore. Archers will use bodkin arrows.”

  Some of the horses scented the stench of the monsters and began to shy. This would be a tough test for the untried mounts . . . and their riders. Redrought patted Hengist’s neck. “Steady, boy, they’re just big bags of meat. They’ll break if we hit them hard enough and hold our line.”

  He was speaking as much to himself as the horse, and couldn’t help wishing once again that the Spirits of Battle would possess him and he could lead his army as an unstoppable Bare-Sarker, but before he had too long to think about it, he waved up a bugler. Immediately the call rang out for the cavalry to ready themselves. Redrought watched as the riders lowered their long spears and tucked them firmly beneath their arms. This would be lance-work.

  A bellowing began to rise into the air and Redrought looked up to see a solid wall of trolls advancing towards them. They marched with the ugly rolling gait of their kind, and as they advanced he could see they wore nothing but steel caps and towered over even the horses. For weapons they carried huge clubs and war hammers, and Redrought knew their hide was tougher than strengthened leather.

  Taking a steadying breath, the King stood in his stirrups and gave the war cry of the Icemark. The clarions now rang out in the charge, and with a roar the cavalry leapt forward, leaving the infantry to follow at double pace.

  The trolls bellowed in response, their voices punching into the air like a physical force. The cavalry hit them and the scream of onset echoed over the land. All along the front dozens of troopers and their mounts fell under the smashing blows of the giant clubs and hammers, but still the line held.

  Redrought stood in his stirrups bellowing out the war cry, encouraging his warriors. None of the horses had bolted, and all fought with their riders, striking with their hooves and swerving to avoid the trolls’ hammers.

  Then at last Scur and Beorg were with them, leading the infantry who hit the trolls as a solid wall of shield, axe and spear. The huge drum horses were bigger than the monsters, and they reared and lashed out at the enemy with hooves as round and broad as shields, while their riders, Theobold and Theodred, wielded double-headed axes that seemed as wide as the sky.

  “CLOSE ORDER! CLOSE ORDER!” Redrought bellowed, and the ranks of both infantry and cavalry tightened into a dense wall of warriors and steel. “PUSH THEM BACK! PUSH THE BASTARDS BACK!”

  Then at last, the line of monsters retreated a step, their small stupid eyes puzzled by the humans who stood against their strength.

  “WE HAVE THEM! PUSH THEM BACK! BREAK THEIR LINE!” Redrought bellowed.

  The archers now sent a volley of arrows into the trolls’ lines, the bodkin tips driving through their thick hides and deep into their flesh. Scur and Beorg surged forward like living mountains, leading the infantry to drive a wedge deep into the enemy hordes. The creatures began to draw away, still fighting as they went, but getting away as fast as they could.

  “WE HAVE THEM! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE! BLOOD! BLAST! AND FIRE!” Redrought’s joyous voice rose above the din of battle.

  But then a single Vampire bat appeared in the skies, and with a screech of rage, it spiralled down to the battle. With a great bellow, the trolls stopped their retreat and held their ground as the slender and elegant figure of General Romanoff stepped forward from their ranks. She’d been forced by the arrival of the New Model Army to end her assault on the gates of Bendis, and she was determined to smash this new threat before it could snatch victory from her grasp.

  Redrought seized a spear from the scabbard on his saddle, hefted it and threw it with all his strength, but the general merely smiled and stepped casually aside as the weapon buried itself in the ground beside her.

  Her presence in the battle was soon felt as the trolls’ line was readjusted and they began to push forward again, driving back the Icemark infantry and regaining the ground they’d lost. The two armies now stood head to head, neither able to gain any advantage.

  Cadwalader growled deeply, his fierce yellow eyes narrowing as he watched the Vampire general directing the trolls in the fighting. With a yowl he leapt off Redrought’s shoulder and walked with a slow tread through the mayhem and chaos of the battle.

  Soon he stood before the heaving line of the enemy, casually washing a paw. Romanoff was directing the tactics of the trolls, redressing their stand and sending them to weak points in the Icemark shieldwall. Cadwalader stood and hissed, the sound cutting through the raging din of battle like a hot blade through ice.

  Immediately the general turned to face him and drew back her red lips in a snarl. The cat slowly stalked forward, his eyes locked on hers, and suddenly Romanoff understood. He was a witch’s cat and
a psychopomp, a guide of the dead to their place in the Underworld, and as such he could wrench the animating force from her Undead body and end her existence.

  She stepped back in terror, her head and neck twitching, and Cadwalader hissed again. Drawing her sword, Romanoff leapt at the cat, the blade whistling through the air and striking nothing but earth. Again and again she struck, but each time Cadwalader quietly dodged the serrated razor edge.

  “Die, vermin! You’ll not end the life of General Romana Romanoff of the Mockba Romanoffs. I’ve walked this earth for five hundred years, and I’ll walk it still for millennia!”

  She thrust at the cat, and Cadwalader casually stepped aside again before fixing his eyes on her and opening his mouth in a slowly growing yowl that climbed through the octaves until an ear-splitting screech echoed over the battle.

  Romanoff’s head was suddenly filled with images of her own death, dragged down to oblivion by the living spirit of the huge cat. She looked into the red mouth of the animal and saw flames and a hideously grinning face beckoning to her. She was seeing the truth of her final ending, and terror consumed her.

  Desperately she tried to control her panic and continued in her attempts to skewer the hideous cat that growled and spat and nonchalantly sidestepped her every stroke. It was almost as though the creature could read her mind and knew exactly where she would strike.

  She tried to avoid looking at its eyes, which glowed an unnatural yellow-orange colour. But as she struggled to kill the animal she would inevitably glance at them, as though drawn by some force, and immediately her mind would be filled with terrifying images of death and what waited beyond.

  At last her nerve broke and with a screech she leapt into flight, transforming instantly into a bat. The cat leapt and drove his claws deep into her wing. She reeled through the sky trying to shake him off until finally Cadwalader lost his grip and fell to earth. The general flew off, abandoning the trolls to their fate, the leather of her wing shredded.

  Redrought saw his moment, and he led the army forward, driving into the trolls, breaking their lines and bringing the huge monsters down in a welter of blood.