The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (14 page)

A sudden commotion outside the door signaled the arrival of a messenger to tell the King the muster was complete.

Thirrin hurried forward, hugged Redrought fiercely, and kissed him. She was achingly aware that this was probably the last time she’d see her father. “I love you, Dad,” she whispered in his ear. Then she stepped back, her face sternly set as the soldier marched in.

Redrought held up his hand and the trooper waited quietly. “Maggiore Totus and Oskan Witch’s Son, you both hold the sacred office of Royal Adviser. Are you up to the task?”

“No, My Lord,” Oskan blurted out.

“Good!” Redrought boomed, his voice getting back up to its normal level. “I’d have been worried if you thought you were. Just say what you feel honestly and ignore her snarling; it’ll make her think all the harder.”

“Don’t worry, My Lord,” said Maggiore in his gentle singsong voice. “We’ll look after her as best we can.”

The King smiled at him warmly and then picked up his shield. “Well, off we go!” he bellowed at the young soldier who had been waiting quietly. “We’ve a bit of a scrap waiting for us.”

After the door had slammed behind them, a huge vacuum of silence filled the room. Primplepuss, who’d been watching everything closely from her place on Redrought’s chair, stood and stared after them. But the door remained shut, and after a while she looked at Thirrin and opened her mouth in a tiny silent meow.

An icy wind kept the battlefield clear of the smoke from musket and cannon fire, so Redrought had a clear view of the fighting. He and the Lady Theowin were sitting on their horses on a hill overlooking the rocky ground locked between the mountain range called the Dancing Maidens and the frozen River Freme, where the two armies were struggling to
destroy each other. For a moment the King was struck by the incredible beauty of battle. The pipes and drums of the Polypontian army shrilled and rattled whenever the wind blew in their direction, and the different regiments moved with a precision and grace Redrought found almost moving. The enemy soldiers were brilliant with color, wearing highly polished breastplates over trousers and doublets of red, yellow, or blue, depending on which regiment they belonged to. These, along with the sashes and plumes that were also a part of their uniform, almost shone in contrast to the steel and leather of Redrought’s army.

On the left wing the housecarls of the South Farthing were advancing against a line of musketeers and pikemen, while in the center the infantry of the fyrd were holding their own surprisingly well against Polypontian swordsmen. Up on the hill, Redrought found it was almost possible to forget the pain and blood of war. But when the wind shifted, the screams of the wounded washed over them in a huge wave before it shifted again, and once more all became a silent ballet.

He waited for precisely the right moment before giving the signal for the cavalry of the South Farthing to move onto the field, the troopers drawing their sabers as one in a graceful arc that glittered in the sun. Then a clarion rang out, and the horses leaped to a full gallop, feinting a charge at the Polypontian center where their musketeers fired a volley and the pikemen closed ranks, ready to receive the shock of onset. But at the last moment the cavalry swung away in a controlled turn before finally smashing as a solid wall of horse and steel into the enemy’s right wing. Redrought could see clearly as the battle-trained horses lashed out with their hooves at the line before them and the cavalry troopers hacked at the Polypontian soldiers. For a moment the enemy line wavered, giving
ground before the ferocity of the attack, but then a reserve regiment of infantry swiftly moved up and the position was saved.

Redrought was deeply impressed by the discipline the invaders had shown throughout. At first he’d been disappointed that Scipio Bellorum himself wasn’t in command of the army, but whoever this general was, he was wily and determined, if a little lacking in imagination. “Battle tactics by the book,” Redrought had commented to the Lady Theowin as the Polypontian army reacted almost mechanically to each problem he sent them. “It’ll be an awful shock when they find they’ve lost.”

This was the second day of the battle, and it was almost time for the final throw. The Lady Theowin had fought a brilliant holding action until the King had arrived, using her small force to harry and slow down the Polypontians so that they’d hardly moved more than a mile from the mountain pass they’d managed to force. The terrain was obviously rocky so close to the mountains, and the steep scree slopes and canyons had made ideal ambush points from which Theowin had led almost suicidal hit-and-run raids.

Redrought looked at her surreptitiously now as she calmly watched the battle from her horse. She had the profile of a vicious old eagle, he thought, the nasal guard on her helmet barely managing to cover her hugely hooked nose, and her bright blue eyes showed nothing but cold calculation as the battle swung one way, then the other. She’d tied her long steel-gray hair into two braids and coiled them up over each ear so that it looked like she was wearing two smaller helmets just below the rim of her real one. She’d also painted a black line under her eyes and chewed something that dyed her usually strong white teeth bloodred. Redrought shuddered. How many
Polypontian soldiers had seen her fierce old face as their last view of this world before the final dark had taken them? He was only thankful she was on his side.

He turned back to the battle and began his closing moves. He gave the signal, and the battery of ballistas began their barrage, the huge wheel-mounted crossbows sending flight after flight of steel bolts scything into the enemy ranks. One of the few remaining cannons replied, but its range fell well short of Redrought’s position. The numbers of the big guns had been reduced by more than three quarters after the first day of the battle when the King had led his cavalry against their batteries. After Redrought had calculated how long it took to reposition each cannon and how long it took to reload, it was a simple matter of outflanking them and charging between salvos. Of course, if the enemy general had been a little more imaginative, he’d have positioned his cannons in defensive circles or squares and protected them with pikemen, but fortunately this general was no Scipio Bellorum. He already had enough of an advantage with his numbers; if he’d had tactical flair as well, the battle would have been lost on the first day.

Redrought now sent his orders to the regiments of longbows and they, too, began to send devastating flights of arrows into the enemy position. It was a huge pity he’d not had more archers to use against them. Their effective range was more than twice that of the muskets, and they could shoot six arrows a minute as opposed to one round fired by the cumbersome guns. On the first day of the battle the longbows had had a brief but bloody duel with the musketeers, during which the archers had devastated their opponents without even coming into their range.

It hadn’t all gone the Icemark’s way, though. The invading force was huge and superbly disciplined, moving with
confidence and bravery against Redrought’s soldiers. And even though their general was no genius, he was at least competent and obviously experienced. The fyrd had suffered badly in the opening stages of the battle, and it had taken all of Redrought’s cunning and the steadiness of his veteran housecarls to hold the line and prevent a rout. The Lady Theowin had also been an invaluable wild card, striking terror into the enemy wherever she appeared, leading her cavalry in ferocious charges that smashed through the strongest defense, then swept away before the Polypontian cavalry could strike back. Again and again her appearance in the nick of time had saved the day, and the Polypontians had been slowly ground down.

There was one other factor that drove the soldiers of the Icemark to greater heights of courage than they’d ever reached before: Redrought let it be known that he thought Scipio Bellorum had decided not to lead this invasion himself because he thought victory was assured. Their little country would be a pushover, and his army would sweep through the land destroying all opposition and taking what they wanted. They’d enslave the people — the loved ones of the very soldiers who were fighting now against the invaders — they’d steal livestock and property, and then when they’d bled the land dry, they’d destroy whatever they couldn’t use. Bellorum probably thought the Icemark would be added to the huge Empire of the Polypontus in less than one campaigning season.

As Redrought had hoped, his soldiers had been incensed: Personal and national pride was at stake, and the Polypontians would pay dearly for every piece of earth they took.

And now it was time for Redrought to play his trump card. The Polypontian general had no idea that he was prepared to sacrifice his entire army to stop their advance. Thirrin had to have enough time to escape to the province of the Hypolitan,
and there must be no enemy soldiers left to take advantage of the late snows.

“This is it, then, Theowin,” he said to the fierce old baroness who sat on her horse beside him.

“Yes,” she answered calmly. Then she continued in a different tone. “But before we go, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

Redrought was shocked to hear what sounded almost like a note of panic in her voice. “Ask away. If I can give it, it’s yours.”

She hesitated as though trying to find the right words, worrying Redrought even more. Then at last she said, “After the Baron died, no man came near me in twenty years. I seem to scare them, for some reason. So … I’d like you to kiss me, My Lord. Let me feel a man’s beard tickling my face again before I die.”

In the silence that followed, the war chant of the housecarls could clearly be heard echoing across the battlefield. “OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out! OUT! Out! Out!” The fierce determination in the explosive sound gave the King just the level of brute courage he needed, and he suddenly leaned from his saddle and kissed the grim warrior’s mouth of the Baroness. Their helmets clashed and rang like bells as the kiss was firmly planted, drawing the attention of the regiment of cavalry waiting in reserve behind the hill, and a huge cheer rose up from the troopers.

Redrought laughed thunderously, then standing in his stirrups he drew his sword and gave the signal to advance. The cavalry fanned out and set off at a slow walk down from the hill. Before him, Redrought could clearly see how over the last two days of fighting his tactics had ground down the Polypontians and forced them on to the defensive. They stood at bay now, surrounded by the army of the Icemark even though they still
outnumbered Redrought’s force by at least three to one. Perhaps their general hoped that they’d smash themselves to pieces on his superior numbers and that he could ultimately win the war of attrition by sitting and waiting. But he had no chance of that happening: Redrought was ready to end the battle right now.

The archers were still pouring flights of arrows into the enemy ranks, concentrating much of their shooting on the center, knowing exactly where Redrought’s hammer blow would fall. The Polypontians had positioned their remaining cannons at the corners of a defensive square, and at the beginning of the day they had devastated the ranks of the Icemark. But Redrought had reacted quickly to the threat and ordered the ballistas to aim their long steel bolts at the batteries. For two hours the duel had been fought, and as a result the guns had fallen as silent as their dead crews. Meanwhile the housecarls kept up a dogged attack on the enemy’s left wing, enduring volley after volley of musket fire, then rushing forward with locked shields to hack at the line and force the Polypontians back. And all around, the fyrd seethed like a sea flowing back and forth and leaving a debris of dead like flotsam behind them.

Redrought judged his moment to the last possible second and then, after leaning across to kiss the Lady Theowin again, he stood in his stirrups and roared out the war cry of the Icemark: “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”

The troopers of the cavalry took it up in a great roar, and as one they leaped forward in a charge that shook the ground beneath them. The archers stepped up their shooting rate and were soon loosing their arrows over the heads of the cavalry, then they laid aside their bows and, drawing swords, they charged forward to support them.

Redrought could hear the chant of the housecarls as his
cavalry bore down on the ranks of the Polypontian army, the wind of his speed making his hair stream and tumble like flames of fire around his helmet. Even now the enemy’s discipline held, and they attempted to redress their shattered ranks as the cavalry of the Icemark roared down on them. A salvo of musket fire erupted on to the cold winter air, smashing into the advanced ranks of the cavalry, but it was as effective as throwing stones at an oncoming tidal wave and the charge thundered on. Redrought bellowed his rage, and his stallion echoed him with a squeal as they smashed into the line of soldiers before them. The enemy ranks broke apart, and the cavalry cut deep into the Polypontian position, the Lady Theowin laying about her with a huge battle-ax and the horses striking out at the Polypontian soldiers before them. The housecarls, too, breached the line and steadily carved their way through, chanting as they came. At the center of the Polypontian host, their general watched calmly beneath his battle standard of a running white horse as Redrought’s army smashed through his lines. Then, drawing his sword, he roared out an order, and the remains of his once mighty cavalry force leaped forward to meet the soldiers of the Icemark.

Many of the musketeers used their guns as clubs, having no time to reload in the close press of the hand-to-hand fighting, and even some of the pikemen, the most effective of the enemy troops, threw aside their twenty-foot spears and drew their cutlasses. Standing shoulder to shoulder, the Polypontian soldiers hacked and slashed at all before them, but the steadily locked shields of the housecarls bore them back and the wild rush of the fyrd swarmed forward, screaming insanely as they came.

Redrought and his cavalry still pressed on, driving the enemy before them. Then, catching sight of the Polypontian
standard, he turned his warhorse to meet it, the animal rearing and screaming a challenge before leaping forward. King and general met in a ringing clash of sword on sword, Redrought forcing back his enemy in a savage display of fighting rage that ended as the Bear of the North broke the general’s arm through his shield and then hacked his head from his shoulders. The Polypontians fell back in dismay, but even now their discipline held as they rallied around the battle standard and prepared a defiant last stand around a small hill in the center of the field.