Prince of the Icemark

by Stuart Hill

  Then as she thought back over the battle in detail, she remembered the power and brilliance of the new King. His so-called New Model Army had fought with discipline and determination, and as far as she could tell, young Redrought had led it all the way from the front. If he really was still only sixteen, he was a true prodigy. Even Athena and Saphia would have found it daunting to command an army of that size and at the same time fight like a cornered bear.

  The sound of running footsteps interrupted her thoughts and she looked up as Athena and Saphia burst into the room in an explosion of excitement and urgency.

  “The King! The new King! He’s approaching the city in full regalia!” Athena panted.

  “What!?” Artemis leapt to her feet. “A full embassy? How many in the party?”

  “Twenty or so,” Saphia answered. “Most of his High Command by the looks of things, and some old woman who must be important because she’s riding next to him.”

  “Right, get dressed in your best ceremonials, the pair of you. And Athena, find your father and tell him to put on his blue robes. He always looks well in blue,” she said almost dreamily, then, remembering her dignity and status, she cleared her throat and shook herself. “Anyway, look sharp. We must meet the King at the gates.”

  The girls ran off and Artemis allowed herself a moment to sit back in her chair. So, the new King wasn’t above seizing the initiative and forcing a meeting, whether everyone was ready and willing or not. Relations between the Hypolitan and the monarch of the Icemark had always been something of a game of move and counter-move. Even if the Basilea and the King or Queen were the best of friends, there was always the thrill of diplomatic manoeuvring to be enjoyed. Artemis smiled. After the trauma and stress of war, a little mental fencing could be refreshing.

  Princess Athena couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. The new King really was just a boy – a particularly tall and sturdy-looking boy, but just a boy nonetheless. Athena was sitting proudly on her horse, next to her mother and father and just ahead of Saphia, at the main southern gate of the city. They’d managed to intercept the Icemark embassy before it could actually set foot on the streets of Bendis, and the Basilea was now delivering an official address of welcome while Redrought tried not to look bored and the old woman next to him did nothing to disguise her expression of annoyance.

  While her mother continued her formal speech, Athena secretly scrutinised the King and dismissed him as ugly. Well, not exactly ugly, perhaps, but most of the sixteen-year-old boys she’d ever seen had quite delicate, almost girlish features, whereas Redrought looked as though a sculptor had started to carve the face of a statue and hadn’t quite got to the stage where the features were smoothed down and finished off. His brows jutted out over his eyes like a shelf, and his cheekbones and chin were huge blocks of . . . of shape that seemed to challenge the entire world to call them hideous.

  She had to admit that his face and head perfectly fitted his body, which was as big and muscular as a fully grown man’s. But there was no sense of grace or finesse about him. Surely a King, even if he was a warrior as Redrought had proved himself to be, should also be refined and have courtly manners? This one looked like a pig farmer who just happened to be dressed in good clothes, and she was certain his manners would precisely match his appearance.

  The Basilea finished her speech and all eyes turned to Redrought as they awaited the reply.

  “Thank you, Ma’am, for your address of welcome,” said the woman sitting next to the King. “What a pity that it couldn’t have been given yesterday, when your Liege Lord, King Redrought Athelstan Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, was tired after a three-day forced march through the Great Forest followed by a battle to relieve your city and people of Their Vampiric Majesties’ siege. I’m sure My Lord would have been most grateful for the meal and the offer of comfortable accommodation that would undoubtedly have followed your address.”

  In the silence that followed this reply, the Basilea turned her flintiest stare on the woman. It was a stare that’d been known to reduce the fiercest of warriors to quivering hulks, but the woman simply returned it without flinching.

  “And you are . . . ?” the Basilea finally asked from the great height of her superior status.

  “Kahin Darius of the Zoroastrians, head of the Merchants’ Guild of the Icemark and now Royal Adviser to King Redrought.”

  “And you are a warrior, Darius?” Artemis enquired coldly.

  “I’ve been victorious in many battles, Ma’am,” Kahin replied with equal ice. “But my chosen weapon is my tongue, and my arrows are words.”

  “Ah, then perhaps I can forgive your ignorance,” the Basilea said with dangerously quiet venom. “If you had experienced warfare you would know that the enemy must be finally and irrevocably defeated before the niceties of etiquette can even be considered.”

  “My Lord had defeated the enemy on the battlefield, and though I’m fully aware that you and your soldiers were bravely pursuing the Rock Trolls in their flight, was there really no one in the entire province of the Hypolitan who could have shown the King due courtesy and gratitude for the battle he had just fought? Could no one have been designated to give him food, shelter and a comfortable bed? Was the entire city of Bendis emptied of all personnel with the competence and good grace to attend to the needs of your Liege Lord and ally?”

  Artemis was incensed on many levels. Not only was this woman, a commoner, daring to criticise her – the Basilea of the mighty Hypolitan – but she was also ignoring all of the rules of etiquette in which attacks and rebukes are couched in florid, polite-sounding phrases. And on top of that she was ill-mannered enough to be completely right.

  Artemis had enough experience as a warrior to know when to withdraw in good order and she looked away from Kahin’s steady glare to Redrought. “My Lord, please forgive the oversight of your loyal vassal. I can only plead that the heat of battle drove everything else from my mind.”

  Redrought looked at the Basilea and suddenly his face broke into a bright smile. “Yeah, I get carried away too. Kahin here’s always telling me off.”

  “You have my sympathy, Sire,” Artemis said pointedly. “Please accept the hospitality of my people and capital city. And please also accept our deepest gratitude for raising the siege.”

  Princess Athena watched the scene with a growing sense of amazement. She’d never seen her mother apologise to anyone ever, and she found herself wondering if the entire fabric of life had somehow been changed while her back was turned. But more incredible even than this was the amazing transformation when Redrought had smiled. He’d never be anyone’s idea of handsome, but his face had been almost transfigured, so that all the defects had been diluted and the strengths emphasised.

  She looked closely at him again, but his features had settled back into their rock-like structure. It was almost as though someone had kindled a light and now it had been snuffed out again.

  “Total blockhead,” Saphia suddenly whispered behind her.

  “Eh?”

  She nodded at the King. “Redrought Athelstan Thick-in-the-Head Lindenshield.”

  “Oh,” Athena smiled. “Yes, complete moron by the look of things.”

  “Brave though,” Saphia admitted. “They say he fought the werewolf King in single combat . . . and won.”

  “Yes, yes he did, didn’t he?”

  “Perhaps it could be argued he’d have to have been stupid to take such a risk,” Saphia went on.

  “Yes,” Athena agreed. “But didn’t you fight the werewolf King yourself? And didn’t he break your arm?”

  Saphia didn’t answer.

  The journey up to the citadel met with Kahin’s approval. The streets with their strange stone-built houses, nothing like the half-timbered structures of Frostmarris, were crammed with citizens who all cheered, waved and pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the young King who’d helped to save their city and province. People were everywhere; they hung out of windows a
nd even clung to rooftops just to see Redrought. The only places that weren’t thronged with excited cheering citizens were the bombed-out buildings that had been destroyed during the siege; in fact, some of them were still smoking and had been cordoned off and surrounded by warning signs. But despite these reminders of the battle for Bendis, the cheering echoed and re-echoed along the streets.

  Kahin glanced at Redrought to see just how he was reacting to all this adulation, and she was surprised to see him frowning slightly and only occasionally raising his hand to acknowledge the crowds. He was obviously distracted by something, and she sighed quietly, knowing exactly what the problem was. The King was fretting for Cadwalader! Personally she thought the animal an unhygienic and antisocial creature with no saving graces whatsoever, but she knew that Redrought loved him. Why he did was completely beyond Kahin’s comprehension, but love him he did, and because of this she would do whatever she could to bring him back. What exactly that might be, she wasn’t sure. Could a cat survive alone on a battlefield? Could even a witch’s cat survive in such circumstances? Judging by the chaos of corpses they’d just ridden through, it had been a monumental clash of powers, and one small animal would have been hard pressed to escape with its life. Kahin made a mental note to ask the Basilea to send out a search party just as soon as she could.

  She turned to look at Artemis, who was leading the way towards the citadel, and was surprised to find that she was now beginning to approve of her. The Basilea may have kept Redrought waiting on the battlefield, but she was obviously doing her best to make up for that oversight now. Besides, Kahin admitted to herself, in the heat of battle perhaps it was understandable that she had got carried away with her wish to smash the army of the Rock Trolls before they escaped.

  Kahin also found herself approving of Princess Athena, who rode next to her mother. She was beautiful enough to make her attractive to future marriage partners, and obviously healthy enough to produce strong babies when the time was right. The Royal Adviser’s eyes narrowed as she suddenly had an idea, and she turned to look at Redrought. Being a King made him enormously eligible, but even so he’d have to clean himself up a bit and improve his manners if he was to get anywhere with the haughty young Princess. There was nothing that could be done about his face, though once you got used to its rough-cut features, it was possible to find something almost pleasing in its lines.

  But then Kahin sighed, accepting that it was possible she was applying the willing blindness to Redrought that she applied to her own children and grandchildren. What mother didn’t think her child was beautiful? What mother didn’t believe her son was the best catch that any young woman could hope for? Redrought may have been the most precious of diamonds, but it couldn’t be denied he was rough-cut and desperately in need of a polish.

  They arrived at the citadel at last and even though its walls and battlements were deeply scarred by the wounds of battle, it still rose over the city defiant and mighty in its power. Certainly the Vampire squadrons had found it impossible to crush its defences. Once through the main gate the crowds were left behind and the clopping of the horses’ hooves echoed hollowly against the stonework of the fortress.

  The Basilea now dismounted and led the way into the main chamber of the building, which was completely unlike the Great Hall of Frostmarris’s citadel. Here everything was light and lofty, with polished marble pillars rising up to a high ceiling elegantly painted in white and gold. There were few shadows, little smoke and, as far as Kahin could see, none of the grubbiness that gave the Great Hall its characteristic atmosphere. She was deeply impressed, though her face gave nothing away, even when the hundreds of waiting courtiers burst into spontaneous applause as they greeted the King of the Icemark.

  Redrought remembered his manners and even smiled as he raised his hand in acknowledgment of the cheering. The Basilea now led the way to the High Table and bowed the young King into a tall, high-backed chair that stood in the very centre. Artemis then sat on a slightly smaller chair next to him on his right, and her Consort Herakles took the chair on his left.

  With their customary discipline and precision, the Hypolitan had risen to the challenge of arranging a victory feast in a very short time. And though most of the food was made up of cold meat dishes and dried and preserved fruit, everyone would make allowances for a city that had just been under siege.

  Princess Athena sat beside her father on Redrought’s left and stared rigidly ahead, her face an unmoving mask. But next to her, Saphia’s eyes darted around the hall, and she continually nudged her friend as she pointed out one amusing thing or another.

  “Oh look, there’s Commander Thespina of the City Archers! I don’t think that robe suits her; I’ve seen more shape on a plank of wood. Not so much flat-chested as concave.”

  “Bitch,” murmured Athena out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Is what I’m saying untrue?” Saphia demanded. “I’ve seen bigger mosquito bites. If that wet husband of hers ever did manage to give her babies, the poor little sods would starve . . . Oh, and there’s the man himself. Talk about thin, there’s more meat on a bowstring. No wonder he’s never managed to do the deed.”

  Athena nudged her friend hard. “We’re supposed to be maintaining dignity here!” she hissed, still staring rigidly ahead. “What will the new King think?”

  Saphia leant forward so that she could peer around her friend and her father at Redrought. “I don’t know; I’m not entirely sure he can think. I can’t believe there’s much of a brain behind a face like that.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with it?” Athena asked, finally giving up all pretence of solemn dignity and turning to her friend.

  “Well, it’s hardly pretty, is it?!”

  Athena snorted. “No! But . . . but it’s not ugly either.”

  Saphia peered at Redrought again. “I suppose not,” she admitted. “But you wouldn’t want a painting of it.”

  Athena considered for a moment. “It’d make a great sculpture though. In granite or . . .”

  “Rusty iron, it’d go with his red hair,” her friend interrupted, and both girls spluttered into giggles.

  Redrought hid behind the dignity of his crown. He could hear some of what the Princess and Saphia were saying, and none of it was complimentary. In his limited experience, girls were always like this, giggling and whispering and giggling again. He didn’t know why anyone bothered with them. In fact, he was sure it was only because girls were so fascinating that anyone gave them the time of day. He wished he didn’t care what they thought or said, then none of it would have mattered.

  He sank into gloom again and moodily poked at the plate of food in front of him. Kahin, who was further down the table, caught his eye and he quickly forced a smile on to the face the girls so obviously thought ugly. It was as he was displaying his best toothy grin to the tables in the hall below that he noticed a commotion near the doors. Several of the guards were jumping about, and one or two of the guests let out small screams as something seemed to be moving amongst them. Redrought watched as the commotion advanced slowly up the hall.

  Guards were in hot pursuit, and one even made a spectacular dive and disappeared under a table, only to emerge empty-handed and dishevelled. Some of the guests were now standing on the tables amongst the crockery.

  By this point the Basilea had noticed the disturbance, and she nodded to her personal war band who lined the wall behind her. Immediately they hurried to form a barrier of shields and spears in front of the top table, and Redrought was forced to stand so that he could see what was happening.

  The entire hall was in uproar, and Saphia leapt onto the table armed with a fruit knife, the light of battle in her eyes . . . again. Redrought was beginning to enjoy himself; he’d thought the victory feast was going to be boringly formal, but things were getting encouragingly lively.

  Redrought watched as three of the guards converged on one spot and then dived in unison. Immediately shouting and yowling broke out, then all three
guards leapt to their feet again covered in marks like bloody hieroglyphics.

  A fresh batch of guards moved in with determination, but before anything could happen, a raging, spitting, black missile of fur and muscle erupted over the line of shields defending the table and landed on Redrought’s shoulder.

  The King fell back into his chair with a happy cry. “CADWALADER!”

  Kahin raised her eyes to heaven. So it was back! She looked along the table to where Redrought and Cadwalader were greeting each other in their own special language, and surprisingly found herself smiling. Oh well, perhaps he’d be a little less grumpy now.

  “Hiya, Caddy!” Redrought boomed in transportations of delight. “Welcome back! Did those nasty trolls nearly kill you?! Well, never mind, you’re back here safe with me now. You’re a naughty wittle puthy cat for scaring me like that! Do you hear me, you’re a naughty wittle puthy cat!”

  The young King suddenly realised that the entire hall had gone silent and everyone was watching him in amazement. He blushed so deeply there was little difference in colour between his hair and skin, but he was already a battle-hardened warrior-King of the Lindenshields, so he squared his shoulders and faced them all unflinchingly. Cadwalader crouched on his shoulder, fur bristling and a low growl in his throat as he felt Redrought’s blood rising.

  His voice cut into the silence like a blade: “Cadwalader is my companion and comrade. He sank his teeth into King Ashmok of the werewolves, and he drove General Romanoff of the Vampire army from the field of battle. It was because of him that we were able to rout the Rock Troll army. It was because of him that I managed to kill Ashmok of the Wolf-folk. Who of you will judge this King’s greeting of his companion and comrade? Who of you will say my delight at his safe return is unfitting or unmanly?”