The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (26 page)

“Tell me, Baroness, has this … dwelling been in your family for very long?”

The huge wolfwoman looked around the cave with pride. “Over ten generations of Grin-Skulls have been whelped in this hall. It was here that Baroness Padfoot White-pelt founded the Grin-Skull dynasty after fighting in the Blood Wars against the Vampire King and Queen more than three thousand moons ago. She took the new family name to commemorate personally flaying the skin from the face of the Vampire standard-bearer, and it’s been carried with pride ever since.”

“A very worthy genesis for an illustrious name,” said Oskan, helping himself to a slab of meat. “But now your people are allied to Their Vampiric Majesties, are they not?”

“King Grishmak Blood-drinker, Lord of the Wolffolk, has made alliance and equal partnership with the Vampire King and Queen, yes. And as long as the interests of our two peoples continue to follow the same paths, the agreement will no doubt survive.”

Thirrin searched for the right words as she gazed around the hall and tried not to be overwhelmed by the fact that the entire future of the Icemark was relying on her and on how she conducted herself over the next few days. But at last she managed
to thrust aside her fears and said, “I would imagine that your allies will know of the new alliance between the Wolffolk and the Icemark?”

“Oh yes. And King Grishmak has been smoothing the way for your mission to Their Vampiric Majesties. They expect you tomorrow night in the throne room of the Blood Palace.”

Diplomacy, Thirrin was coming to realize, meant that at times you showed delighted surprise at things you already knew, so she stood to thank the Baroness for her King’s efforts. “May the sacred moon forever shine on the pelt of His Majesty Grishmak Blood-drinker,” she said, using the correct werewolf blessing for such occasions. “If I do not have the pleasure of meeting His Royal Mightiness before I leave his lands, please convey my thanks to him for arranging the meeting between myself and the Vampire King and Queen. Truly it was the work of genius that could overcome the animosity of centuries and secure such agreement from Their Vampiric Majesties.”

“King Grishmak is mighty in all things,” the Baroness stated loyally. “But you will be able to convey your thanks in person, as His Majesty will be at the Blood Palace tomorrow night to help plead your case.”

Thirrin thought only criminals had to “plead a case,” but she smiled her gratitude and chewed her steak as she practiced the new skill of keeping her thoughts to herself.

Oskan, who’d been listening carefully, licked his fingers clean in the werewolf way and then asked, “Are there any … indications of how exactly the Vampires view our coming visit?”

“I’m told they’re intrigued and curious to meet the new Queen of the Icemark,” the Baroness answered. Then lowering her voice, she leaned forward and said, “You’d do well to
be as interesting and as lively as you can be. Being undead is a terrible burden, I’m told; the years drag on and on with nothing really new to interest you. Can you imagine living forever with no hope of a quiet death, no hope of a gentle release from the effort of life?”

“Unless someone puts a stake through your heart, beheads you, or burns you to a crisp,” Oskan pointed out.

“Well, yes, there are those options, I suppose,” the Baroness admitted. “But those are hardly quiet deaths, and the knowledge that only a violent end will release them from life must add to the burden of their immortality.”

“I suppose it must, “ Oskan agreed. “So, we should be lively and interesting to help relieve their boredom, is that it?”

“It would be to your advantage to do so. You’re more likely to get an agreement from them if they find you entertaining.”

“You make us sound like a traveling company of actors, or children who are expected to amuse their grandparents,” said Thirrin curtly. The trauma of the day with its cold and blizzards was beginning to catch up with her, and her diplomatic skills were starting to slip.

“Well, children you virtually are, even by the years of your own kind,” the Baroness snapped. And then, remembering herself, she added, “Though no child has ever achieved such skills in battle or such political maturity. But remember, even the oldest mortal being is a child beside the Vampire King and Queen. They are ancient. Man and woman they may once have been, but how long ago and of what race, even they have forgotten.”

“So, basically, you’re telling us to show respect and help them through another wearisome day,” said Oskan.

“Yes. Respect is always to be recommended when dealing with a foreign power, and especially so when you’re in need of
their help,” the Baroness answered pointedly. “I say all of this with the greatest respect to yourselves, of course. We all of us need help at times. The trick is to make that clear to the Vampire King and Queen.”

Thirrin and Oskan both nodded as they accepted this advice, and then by some unspoken mutual agreement they changed the subject to the safer areas of family lineage and the doings of ancestors.

Finally, after a further hour of polite conversation, the Baroness stood and, curtsying deeply, asked her guests’ permission to make up her bed for the night. Thirrin, in her persona of Queen of the Icemark, graciously assented, after which she and Oskan withdrew to their own allotted hearth.

All throughout the cave, the family groups were placing huge piles of furs around the hearths. Obviously the Baroness’s decision to sleep was a signal for her entire household to do the same. Roughly cured furs were distributed among the soldiers of the escort, but Thirrin and Oskan were each given beautifully soft and rich pelts that were pure white and deeply luxurious.

They were soon all asleep, exhausted as they were by the long march and the blizzard. All around the cave, torches were doused, and soon the only light came from the flickering of the fires. But as the night drew on, even this dimmed as the fires sank to glowing embers, each hearth studding the darkness of the surrounding cave like galaxies in the vastness of space.

Thirrin and her escort awoke with a start as the werewolves greeted the new day by howling in concert. The heavy hides that covered the cave entrance had been thrown back, and the brilliant, brittle light of a sunny winter day burst into the blackness. With it came the scent of new snow, and a keen
fresh air that sliced through the fog of wood smoke and many furry bodies like the sharpest razor through unwashed wool.

Breakfast almost inevitably consisted of meat, and lots of it. It never occurred to the Wolffolk that humans might eat anything else, so when one of the soldiers found a winter-stored apple in her bags and sat eating it along with a huge steak, some of the werewolves gathered around to stare.

“There are times when I think you humans are simply our hairless cousins. But at others, I can see the differences are deeper than that,” said an elderly and grizzled werewolf sadly.

The soldier offered him a slice of her apple. But after sniffing at it, he sneezed explosively and scuttled off, determined to find a particularly bloody piece of meat for his breakfast.

After eating, Thirrin and Oskan went to pay their respects to Baroness Grin-Skull and found her gnawing on a haunch that had a brand of the Hypolitan herd clearly stamped on it. Thirrin raised an eyebrow at Oskan, but they were both diplomatic enough not to mention the stolen meat as they stepped up to the hearth. The Baroness stood, curtsied, and invited them to sit. “Good morning, Your Majesty and Counselor Oskan. As you can see, the snows have blown farther to the north and my nose tells me they will not return for another week.”

“Six days,” Oskan corrected.

The huge wolfwoman bowed her head. “I see I am in the presence of one steeped in weather lore … and perhaps other abilities.” After gazing thoughtfully at Oskan for a few moments, she went on. “With Your Majesty’s permission, I will send a guide and a guard of twenty of my people to add to your party.”

“I thank the Baroness for her kindness,” Thirrin answered formally. “The addition of the Wolffolk will make my escort royal indeed.”

She and Oskan now accepted a second breakfast as preparations were made for their departure. As they ate, they watched the cave become as busy as an anthill.

“What news do you have of the werewolf muster?” Thirrin asked.

“Slow, as usual. But they should all be gathered in by the time we are needed,” the Baroness answered, making the army of the Wolffolk sound like a living harvest.

“Good. We’ll be facing Scipio Bellorum and his hordes before the walls of Frostmarris by then, and we’ll need all of our allies if we’re to survive.”

“You’re right to describe the army of the Polypontian Empire as ‘hordes.’ Their numbers are huge indeed. But, Madam …” The Baroness leaned toward the Queen, and her huge hairy face became deeply earnest. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Empire’s only military strength is size. Ever since the alliance between us was forged and the danger from Scipio Bellorum became obvious, our spies have been watching far beyond the borders, and we now know for sure that the Empire can call upon more soldiers than our two nations have people! But there’s more even than that to fear; more even than their cannon and muskets. At the center and heart of their huge strength is intelligence. Scipio Bellorum and his officers can direct their troops with a discipline and a tactical brilliance that none have yet withstood!”

“Then we must hope that the united front of our alliance will surprise them enough to make mistakes,” Thirrin answered, trying to sound brave and defiant.

“Scipio Bellorum is not just a bully who picks off small individual countries who have no friends to help them. Don’t think your alliances, as clever as they are, will be enough on their own to save any of us in this coming war,” the Baroness
warned. “Our spies have spoken to many sources, not just the limited eyes and ears of humanity stuck within the borders of their own little lands but to the far-seeing eagle and to other birds that live in many countries and to beasts that cross continents in their migrations. And they tell of a war between the Polypontian Empire and a power far, far to the west, whose armies equaled those of Bellorum’s in size and discipline. For three years they fought for the prize of a land rich in forests and slaves and iron, and the clash was like that of two giants fighting over hunting rights in the ice fields far to the north. But Bellorum and his officers were as cunning as a hungry wolf pack, and tricked and trapped their enemy so that they fell to his Imperial armies in battle after battle.”

“Then what hope do we have?” Thirrin asked, aware of how young and inexperienced she was, her voice almost weary with despair.

“We must make the price of the Icemark too high. The armies we destroy, the iron we make the Empire spend on us, must be worth more than the land they would buy.”

“Efficient marshaling of resources,” Oskan said. Then, when he noticed the others looking at him, he explained, “In other words, we must use what we have to the greatest possible effect. No arrow must be shot, no army moved, without it being exactly the right time to do so. Our troops must be more disciplined than his and better trained, and our tactics must be superior by far.”

“Otherwise we fall,” Thirrin added simply.

“Yes,” the Baroness agreed.

Thirrin and her party set out an hour later. The escort had spent some of the previous evening cleaning their armor and other equipment so that they gleamed in the early morning
sun. As they took up their positions in the column, Thirrin felt a thrill of pride. The ten Hypolitan cavalry glowed like cock pheasants in their brilliantly embroidered surcoats and hats, and the twenty housecarls looked like well-polished cogs in a powerful machine. When the twenty werewolves from the Baroness’s household added themselves to the escort, they looked like an army that could take on the entire world, or so thought their young Queen.

It had been agreed that the packhorses and tents would be left in the cave, since the Blood Palace was less than a day’s ride away. So, with pennants snapping bravely in the now light wind and the personal banner of the Royal House of Strong-in-the-Arm flying in the brittle morning light, the embassy of the Icemark set off on its mission.

The Wolfrock Mountains now towered before them, and as they followed a path scoured clean of snow by the previous day’s wind, Thirrin stared ahead into the far distance where the trail disappeared between two massive shoulders of the mountain range. This was the pass into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, and cold fear seemed to breathe from it, as though from the open mouth of some undead creature.

Only the werewolves seemed unaffected by the proximity of the country ruled by the undead. Thirrin’s soldiers were almost completely silent as they marched along, and even Oskan seemed nervous.

“There are witches in The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, aren’t there?” Thirrin asked him.

“Evil ones, yes,” he answered. “Your father expelled them after he won the Battle of the Wolfrocks. But he let the good witches, like my mother, stay.”

Thirrin nodded. “I remember him telling me that. He said they were useful and loyal.”

“And so they have been. They’ve watched the borders for years. Don’t forget, not all evil is ruled by Their Vampiric Majesties. There are spirits and sprites and twisted creatures that haunt the Icemark even now, and it’s the Power of the witches that keeps them in check.”

“I’ve heard the country folk talk of such things: goblins and creatures of the night. But if the witches are so effective against them, how come they still figure in stories of blighted cattle and stolen babies?”

Oskan looked at her in annoyance. “The army of the Icemark is arguably the strongest in the known world, apart from that of the Empire, and yet your father fought constant border wars to keep the country safe. If everybody took your attitude, we’d be asking why your army doesn’t stop every pirate raid on all fishing villages and every cross-border Vampire attack. There are limits to Power.”

Thirrin had to accept the logic of this argument, and she smiled in agreement. “Well, I hope the witches know we’re grateful.”