The Icemark Chronicles: The Cry of the Icemark (37 page)

T
hirrin and the Snow Leopards had been in the Icemark for half a day. After a brief rest with King Grishmak and a less than courteous courtesy call on Their Vampiric Majesties in the Blood Palace, they’d left before dawn, and by midday had traveled through the pass in the Wolfrock Mountains and down into the Icemark. Thirrin still had her white werewolf guard and her sleigh, and King Grishmak had agreed that they should continue to serve her for as long as she needed them.

She soon found that rumor of her return had traveled ahead, and after two messengers had met them on the road, she knew that the news of the Snow Leopards would be all over the streets of the city. But already people were beginning to line the road. How they could possibly have heard of her return, and where they’d come from in the frozen wastes of the northernmost areas of the Icemark, she could only guess. But there they were, either gazing in amazement at the army of giant white leopards or running in panic from the sight.

And the closer they got to the regional capital, the larger were the numbers that lined the road. Soon the Hypolitan were
joined by natives of Frostmarris who’d traveled out from their refugee towns that surrounded the city proper, and after gazing in wonder on the leopards, they then cheered themselves hoarse as their young Queen came home.

Tharaman-Thar trotted along beside Thirrin’s sleigh and gazed at the crowds that lined the route. Turning to look at her he said, “I now begin to understand and believe what you said about the population of human people. Already I’ve seen numbers equal to the entire nation of Snow Leopards, and we’ve yet to reach the city.”

“Yes, and we are one small country, My Lord Thar. Imagine, then, the population of the Polypontian Empire, whose lands stretch beyond our knowledge to all points of the horizon.”

The giant leopard remained silent for a moment, then raising his head he roared with such power and ferocity that the crowds lining the route quailed. And when his three thousand soldiers answered, many people ran or threw themselves to the ground, convinced they were about to be attacked. “Thirrin-Thar, at last I fully appreciate the dangers you face. Our war will be long.”

“Or very short, if we can’t hold them back,” Oskan said grimly.

“Oh, we’ll hold them,” Tharaman answered. “But I wonder if the end will be to our liking.”

At last the walls of the Hypolitan capital came into view. The sunlight glinted brilliantly on the snow, throwing much of the scene into silhouette, but as they drew closer they began to make out a huge crowd spreading like a dark stain over the pristine white. Before the main gate the Basilea waited with an honor guard of cavalry and housecarls and, spilling out onto
the surrounding plain, almost the entire population stood waving and cheering.

As Thirrin and her party approached, some of the horses shied nervously as they caught the unfamiliar scent of the leopards. But their riders kept control, and the cavalry stood firm as the sleigh was drawn across the wide sweep of land that led to the walls of the city. Then, when the werewolf team was within a bowshot of the waiting honor guard, they slowed to a halt, and a silence descended. All eyes were on the army of Snow Leopards, who stood silently in disciplined ranks. Thirrin stepped down from her sleigh and Tharaman-Thar joined her. Together they both walked gravely forward toward the Basilea.

Elemnestra dismounted and dropped to one knee as her niece approached. “Greetings, Queen Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North. Your safe return brings joy to my heart and to the hearts of your subjects.”

“Greetings, Basilea Elemnestra. What news of the war?”

“All is quiet at present. But your army is prepared to strike back when the change of season opens the roads.”

“Good. We will review the troops later today,” Thirrin answered formally. Then, visibly relaxing, she said, “Aunt, could you send for a loaf of bread and a bowl of apples?”

The Basilea looked at her in surprise, then, realizing she wasn’t joking, she beckoned a soldier and sent her riding back into the city. In the silence that followed, Elemnestra’s eyes strayed to the huge figure of Tharaman-Thar. At such close quarters, the sense of awesome power that seemed to beat from the animal in a rhythmic pulse became almost overwhelming, and despite the cold a faint dew broke out on the Basilea’s upper lip.

Sensing her scrutiny, the Snow Leopard Thar turned his brilliant eyes upon Elemnestra and the warrior needed all of her fighting spirit to hold his gaze. Thirrin was secretly aware of her aunt’s struggle and allowed her to suffer for a few seconds more before she spoke.

“Elemnestra, Basilea of the Hypolitan, I present to you Lord Tharaman, One Hundredth Thar of the Snow Leopards, Ruler of the Icesheets, Scourge of the Ice Trolls, and now our friend and ally in the war against the Polypontian Empire.”

With her usual keen sense of etiquette and precedence, Elemnestra immediately assessed the Thar as her superior in the hierarchy of leadership, and dropped to one knee. “Hail and greetings to you, Tharaman-Thar of the Snow Leopards, you are welcome indeed to my small province and we are honored to provide shelter to you and to your army.”

Tharaman continued to regard her in silence for a few seconds, the great amber eyes seeming to search for her very soul as they bored into her face. Then, at last, the beautiful, refined voice boomed into the cold air. “Greetings, Elemnestra of the Hypolitan, your offer of hospitality is accepted with gratitude and friendship.”

A buzz of excitement ran through the part of the watching crowd that was near enough to hear. The rumors were proven true; Queen Thirrin had made an alliance with talking leopards!

For a moment the Basilea seemed almost shocked, but she quickly recovered and smiled in reply. Thirrin now greeted her uncle Olememnon, the formality of the royal presence soon forgotten as they embraced and chatted excitedly about the journey and the military preparations. But they were interrupted by a slight figure that stood by politely and coughed gently.

Thirrin turned toward the newcomer, and her queenly
demeanor slipped even further when she recognized who it was. “Maggie!” she squealed in delight, hugging the royal adviser closely. “Have I got some tales for you. We’ve always thought the lands to the north were dead and empty, but they’re teeming with life and wonders. Oh, if only you could have come with us, you’d have been struck dumb with amazement.”

Maggiore Totus smiled fondly at his former pupil. “I’m quite sure I would have been. But it seems you’ve brought some of the wonders with you. May I be presented to the King of the Snow Leopards?”

Thirrin squeezed his hand and turned toward the Thar, who’d quietly watched the reunions. “Lord Tharaman, meet Maggiore Totus, a great scholar from the Southern Continent and a valued royal adviser.”

The Snow Leopard slowly blinked his huge eyes in polite cat-greetings, and Maggie bowed as low as his cold-stiffened joints would allow him. “Hail, Tharaman, One Hundredth Thar of the Snow Leopards, Lord of the Icesheets, and Scourge of the Ice Trolls,” the old scholar declaimed, proving that he’d been listening very closely to all the proceedings. “May I express the gratitude of all the people of the Icemark for your help in this time of our greatest need.”

“Your gratitude is noted, Maggiore Totus, and I say that the nobility of the people of the Icemark would always attract friends and allies to their cause no matter how desperate their need.”

Thirrin wondered if scholar and King could ever get beyond the formality of courtly behavior, then Maggie said, “Do you know there’s a species of Snow Leopard in the high mountains in the south of my country, but they’re vastly inferior to your own mighty people.”

“Really?” asked the Thar, deeply interested. “In what way?”

“Well, they’re much smaller, for a start. Probably standing about waist height to me. And most strikingly, they cannot talk.”

“Then presumably they resemble us in some other way.”

“Oh yes, their coats and markings are exactly the same as your own, and apart from size, their anatomical detailing is identical. But there are other differences, too. For example, they seem to be solitary beasts, whereas your own people obviously live together in large groups.”

A deep rumbling sound of pure pleasure emerged from Tharaman’s chest as he warmed to the conversation.

“And that’s another thing,” continued Maggie. “They can’t purr, either.”

“Then are you quite sure they’re Snow Leopards?” the Thar asked with a laugh.

“Oh yes. But perhaps they’re only as similar to you as the ape creatures of the hot lands are to us.”

“But are these ape creatures considered human people?”

“Well, no,” Maggiore admitted. “But some scholars in the Southern Continent are beginning to put forward theories that they may be
relatives
of some sort that are not as advanced.”

“Then if the ape creatures are not human, by the same token neither can your mountain cats be Snow Leopards. Perhaps they should be seen as a sort of first attempt on the part of the gods to make a new species, which later models have superseded.”

“Precisely, precisely!” Maggie agreed enthusiastically. “If I may add —”

But at this point he was interrupted by the return of the soldier that Elemnestra had sent off to the city for bread and apples. The Basilea handed two large loaves and a bag of apples to Thirrin, who immediately turned and beckoned to Oskan, who’d been watching proceedings from the sleigh.

He hurried over the snow and, after a hasty bow and greeting to all the dignitaries, he seized one of the loaves and started to tear great chunks out of it with his teeth. Everybody watched in amazement, and Elemnestra seemed about to say something, when Thirrin also began to wolf down her bread. After they’d both demolished half a loaf, they each grabbed an apple, quickly ate it, then finished off the bread.

Thirrin looked at the amazed expressions around her and explained, “We’ve eaten nothing but meat for weeks.”

“More like months,” Oskan added. “I don’t think I could even look at another steak or cutlet, let alone eat one!”

Thirrin nodded in agreement, and Elemnestra discreetly signaled to Olememnon, who understood perfectly what she meant and sent a rider back to the palace with orders to change the menu for that night’s banquet.

The party then waited politely while the Queen and Oskan ate another apple, after which the Basilea took control of proceedings.

Slightly to the left of the welcoming party stood a large group of women, with one or two men among them. They were of all ages and their dress ranged from the rich and splendid to a pungent gathering of rags. But all seemed to be treated with respect by the soldiers and crowds that stood around them. At their head stood a tiny wizened figure, bent almost double with age. She leaned on a staff that was as thin and twisted as she was, and her fine white hair blew and streamed out in the light breeze, as though she were standing in a hurricane. Her name was Wenlock Witchmother, and she was the oldest and most respected of the White Witches of the Icemark.

The Basilea beckoned to them, and the entire group moved forward to surround Thirrin and her party.

“Greetings, Queen Thirrin,” the Witchmother said in a surprisingly strong voice. “We give thanks to the Great Goddess for your safe return from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts and pledge our loyalty for the coming struggle.”

Thirrin gazed at them with a mixture of wonder and respect. These were the White Witches her father had told her about. After Redrought had defeated the Vampire King and Queen at the Battle of the Wolfrocks and expelled all magical creatures from the Icemark, he’d allowed the White Witches to stay, and they’d repaid him with unswerving loyalty and service. She nodded her head in greeting to the Witchmother and thanked her for her continuing support.

“To that you’re welcome, Queen,” the old woman answered shortly. “But our main purpose here is to greet one of our own. Oskan the Warlock.”

Oskan stepped forward and bowed to the old woman, then waited silently for her to speak.

“I remember your mother, White Annis. Had she lived, she would have taken my staff as Witchmother when I am called to the Summer Lands. But the Goddess had other plans for her, and she went home before me. The Mother knows her own mind, and we must accept it. But I have this to say to you, Oskan the Warlock: Your path won’t be easy. Much of it is hidden, as was the fate of your mother, but I have been shown that as a saver of lives you may never kill, except perhaps once. And if that happens, you’ll pay a heavy price. I’ve been told to tell you that death will come from the skies and healing from the earth.”

Oskan frowned. “But what does that mean?”

The old woman laughed. “The Goddess will tell you when she’s ready, and not one moment before. Be content to know this, Oskan the Warlock, you’re favored by the Mother. Your
powers are stronger than any I’ve ever known. I can
feel
the presence of them like storms in the summer air.” She paused here, and her eyes turned disdainfully to the Basilea and her soldiers. “Some people think the Goddess is for women alone and that she has no time for men; well, they forget she has her husband and loves him well. And they also forget that she’s the mother of us all, and a mother’s love for her sons is special and strong.

“Not many men carry the burden of her powers; that’s her blessing on them. Her gifts are heavy, and her sons she’s happy to see carefree. But sometimes she chooses a man whose spirit is strong. You can see them among us,” she said, nodding her head at the few men who stood in the group behind her. “And when she does, their Power is something to behold. But none, none at all equal you, Oskan the Warlock. And I say this now to all with ears to hear: I name you as my successor! You will carry the staff of the Witchmother when I am called at last to the Summer Lands. You will be Oskan Witchfather, only the second of your kind to carry the staff.”

A gasp rose up from the group behind her and she laughed. “We do live in times of history, do we not? But I’m not dead yet, and won’t be for a few years to come. The Goddess has other tasks yet for you, Oskan, son of White Annis, beloved of the Mother.”