Last Battle of the Icemark (18 page)

Andronicus faced a similar ratio on the top table, but he didn't seem to mind at all, and spent most of his time telling Tharaman, Ollie and Grishmak dirty jokes while they waited for the food to be brought in. Occasionally he would remember the presence of what he termed ‘the ladies' in the form of Thirrin, Krisafitsa and Olympia, and then he'd chat charmingly and interestingly about the Polypontus while he tried to ignore the cavernous roars and thundering rumbles of his huge belly.

At last the procession of the food began, with chamberlains and servants being escorted through the hall by a marching party of musicians. But the usual uproarious greeting for the roast boar, sides of beef and shield-sized pies was missing, and on one of the further tables a housecarle, an Imperial trooper and a werewolf began a furtive fight that was quickly quashed by Grinelda Blood-Tooth and her fellow Royal Bodyguards of Ukpik Wolf-folk. She was kept busy throughout the entire time of the feast, and the silent and swiftly descending phalanx of white-pelted Ukpiks became a common sight as they broke up fight after fight throughout the hall.

Thirrin sighed tiredly. She'd known the first so-called peaceful contact between Polypontian and Allied troops would be difficult, but she'd hoped it would be easier than this. Andronicus caught her mood and immediately leaned across to talk to her. “I wouldn't let it worry you too much. See it as the dynamic resolution of old scores. I'd be far more worried if nothing had happened. If a soldier goes quiet when in the
presence of a former enemy, then there's cold murder in his heart. Here there's just hot anger. They'll settle down.”

“If we're ever to stop Erinor they'll need to,” she answered. “An alliance of enemies will never work.” Her own words seemed to surprise her, and she fell silent as she thought things through. “That's right, Andronicus. An alliance of enemies will never work. We've got to use the hatred or we're lost.”

The general nodded. “Undoubtedly. The Hordes I believe can be defeated, but their power and ferocity is such that it would take a completely united front to do it. Erinor's strength stems entirely from her ability to unite the different tribal factions of her mountain people, something that had never been done and which, before her, had seemed impossible. To fight her effectively, we too have got to achieve the impossible.”

Thirrin nodded, and then, with a sigh, she suddenly stood up. Down in the main body of the hall Grinelda Blood-Tooth immediately noticed her mistress and commander waiting quietly, and she raised her mighty voice over the murmur and hissing of the discontented soldiery. “Give silence for Queen Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North. Shut your bloody noise and listen!”

Thirrin waited until the last mumble had dwindled to silence, and then she drew breath. “I have decided to be honest with you all. I have decided to cast aside the usual restrictions of diplomacy and high politics, and talk to you in the language of the everyday and say exactly what I mean. Some of what I say will probably make you angry, but I think in your hearts you'll agree with me, and so together we'll be able to confront our true feelings and use them to make something . . . new. Possibly something great.”

She paused and took a sip of wine before looking up and continuing. “We hate each other. We hate each other for good reason. Thousands have died on both sides in the wars between our peoples. You Imperial soldiers probably hate me more than anything else you've ever encountered, and I can assure all here present that I cordially hate you with every fibre of this body that has killed countless numbers of your comrades.” Her voice dropped into the cavernous well of silence that yawned over the Great Hall. “So what do we do about that? Anything? Nothing? Do we continue to loathe each other, and every now and then draw blood again to satisfy the detestation that fills us to the very brim? Perhaps. I must admit it doesn't seem a bad proposition to me; I'd quite enjoy killing a few more Polypontian soldiers every couple of years or so.” A laugh rose up from the housecarles and werewolves, but she raised her hand and the charged silence returned.

“What a glorious feud that would be; it would keep our respective armies occupied for years. I suspect we'd both secretly enjoy it. But I'm afraid we can't allow ourselves that luxury. As much as it horrifies both of us, we're just going to have to give all that up and at least try to reach an agreement. The Polypontus is on its knees; it's dying, and Basilea Erinor and her Hordes are the ones who are doing the killing, not the Icemark and her allies.” She folded her arms and gazed out at the faces that were all turned to watch her.

“So, why should I care about that? Why should I give a mouldy fig if what remains of the empire collapsed tomorrow? Well, I'll tell you: I
don't
care; I
don't
give a mouldy fig. I'd happily sit back and watch you all drown in your own blood if I could. But the fact remains that Erinor wouldn't stop at
your borders; she'd cross into mine, and she's let it be known that she believes the Hypolitan, who have been part of our country for hundreds of years, are what she calls traitors. She's determined to destroy them, and along with them the Royal House of Lindenshield and anyone else who has even the tiniest drop of Hypolitan blood in their veins. Well, I can tell you that over the years there are precious few in our land who can't count the Hypolitan somewhere in their ancestry. So what choice do we have? What choice do
you
have?”

She paused and listened to the beat of her own pulse booming into the silence of her ears. “Well, the answer's obvious, isn't it? We don't have any choice at all. As much as we hate to admit it, we need each other. I and my soldiers know from personal experience, and you Polypontians know it too, that alliances with even those who've been the bitterest enemies can stand against the most overwhelming odds, and win. Scipio Bellorum and his appalling sons found this to be true, and countless thousands of your comrades. No one can stand alone against Erinor, but neither can anyone forget the sort of hatred that we have for each other. So don't let's even
try
to forget it. Let's use it as a power and energy against the Hordes, let's convert it to a rivalry where we both try to outdo each other in the fighting against Erinor, let's agree to wait for a more . . . convenient time when we'll be able to smash the hell out of each other again and be happy to do it.

“Soldiers of the Alliance and the Polypontus, all of us have a fine and proud tradition of glorious warfare; let us bring these two traditions together and make one unstoppable power that will sweep Erinor and her Hordes back to their mountain hovels! From detestation let positive rivalry evolve; from hatred let there come energy; from loathing let there grow
strength! And – who knows – perhaps somewhere in this coming war, we may find an ability to respect one another. We may even find that there's something to like!”

Her voice rang out into the silent hall long after she'd finished speaking, like the resonance of a struck bell. No one said a word, not one voice was raised in agreement or disagreement, nobody even moved. Then the thunderous sound of a drinking flagon being dragged across a table as a werewolf soldier raised his beer to his lips echoed around the hall, and a babble of voices broke out as Thirrin's words, and all they implied, were discussed.

Andronicus leaned forward and said quietly, “I've never heard a braver speech, not even in the Senate. You've made them all think, and at least it's stopped them fighting . . . for now.”

Thirrin nodded unsmilingly. She was completely aware of the bravery of her words; she just wished she could believe them. In all reality, how could she possibly make an alliance with an empire that'd killed her father, her son and countless thousands of her people?

Erinor sat in her yurt waiting quietly. She'd already arranged herself on the largest chair she possessed so that she looked formidable, and she drew her sword and laid it across her knees. After a few moments the sound of approaching footsteps was followed by the challenge of the guard. The entrance flap to the yurt was then respectfully drawn aside and Alexandros, her Consort, was escorted into The Presence. He sank to his knees and waited, head bowed.

“Leave us,” Erinor said, and the guards withdrew. She then allowed the silence to extend into deep discomfort before she
finally said: “Your Shock Troops were broken in the battle.”

Alexandros bowed until his forehead touched the carpet before his wife's feet. “Your Highness, I can offer no excuse save the brilliance of Andronicus's tactics.”

“His soldiers are better than yours?”

“His luck on the day was better.”

Erinor nodded slowly. “Two in every ten of your men will be executed as an example.”

Alexandros sat back on his heels and looked at her. “Madam, as you are fully aware, we reformed despite great pressure from the enemy and charged the Polypontian pike regiments that were doing so much damage to your phalanx of Tri-Horns. Without us all could have been lost.”

Erinor's pupils contracted to pinpricks of rage. “Do you dare to suggest that mere men turned the tide of battle?”

“The fortune of battle lies purely with the Goddess, and it was Her hand that guided us to outflank the enemy and break their formation. We were as pawns in Her divine game of chance. But had we not been to hand your—”

“Blasphemy!” his wife exploded. “How dare you claim to know the mind of the Goddess?”

“Madam, no blasphemy is intended and none can be seen in the undeniable fact that the Shock Troops broke the enemy line when the struggle hung in the balance. To reward such bravery and fighting prowess with death seems harsh,” Alexandros answered quietly.

Erinor glowered over him for fully five minutes before she seemed to relax, focusing on the middle distance while she thought. “Because of their bravery only one in ten of the Shock Troops will be executed,” she finally said. “And the rest will receive double rations of wine and beer.”

Alexandros recognised that he could hope for nothing better, and bowing to the floor he said: “Your Majesty is both just and generous.”

Erinor nodded in agreement. “I'm ready to eat. You will join me.”

Kirimin looked up at the castle that rose above the streets of the town on a low hill. Its walls and most of the houses that surrounded it were ruined, with gaping roofs and black windows like the empty eye sockets of staring skulls.

“Well, I suppose it might be worth searching it for a tunnel,” she said to the boys, nodding towards the castle. “But it really is like looking for a shadow in a dark room.”

Sharley nodded. “Even so, we have to try somewhere, as hopeless as it seems. We can't just rely on Dad finding us again.”

“We could split up and search different areas of the town,” said Mekhmet. “That way we'll cover three times as much ground.”

A zombie suddenly appeared from a dark alleyway and lurched by, leaving behind it a trail of oozing flesh. Kirimin flattened her ears in disgust. “I for one refuse to search anywhere on my own. If one of those things came anywhere near me, I'd have to wash for a week. At least the ghosts are clean.”

“Kiri's right,” Sharley agreed. “If we go off separately we're bound to get into trouble. It's best to stay together.”

They found the path that wound up to the main gate, and climbed it; it was quite steep and obviously not designed with horses in mind, but both Suleiman and Jaspat managed it after a bit of a scramble. The gates, when they reached them, were hanging at crazy angles on their rusted hinges, and it was
simplicity itself to squeeze through and into the courtyard. The moon, as usual, was full, and the cobbles stretched before them drenched with silver light, like the bed of a wide pool awash with crystal water.

“Everything looks so beautiful in moonlight,” said Kirimin in a wistful voice.

“That's the time to be wary,” said Pious, flapping around her head. “Landscapes that have been created by Adepts are never beautiful, not unless they're trying to lure you in and trap you!”

“Oh, shut up, you pessimistic little windbag!” Kirimin snapped. “Let me enjoy something in this awful place for once!”

“All right; be my guest, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

Almost on cue, an icy wind whipped across the courtyard, bringing with it a tumble of mad and menacing laughter.

“Now what?” said Mekhmet wearily. “Do you think we'll ever have a day when nothing out of the ordinary happens?”

By this time the wind had whipped up a whirling maelstrom of debris from the courtyard, and strange wispy white shadows, like ragged banks of mist, began to form.

“Ghosts, then,” said Sharley in matter-of-fact tones. “That's a pity; scimitars and claws don't really have an effect on spirits.”

“Well, hopefully they won't be able to have any physical effect on us,” said Mekhmet. “Their only weapon is fear, after all.”

“That's enough, isn't it?” said Kiri, shuddering as she watched the wraiths slowly gathering form from the air around them.

“Who informed you that spectres are solely reliant upon
fear as a means of inflicting harm?” asked Pious incredulously, settling to hang like a large leathery jewel from one of Kirimin's ears. “If they make their bodies from the debris around them when they materialise, they can do a lot of damage. I once watched a ghost manifest in a room full of broken glass, and nobody got out of there without losing a few pints of blood, at the very least.”

“You're such an enormous comfort in times of stress,” said Kirimin as she shook her head and sent the Imp flying through the air. “Have you ever considered counselling the distressed and suicidal? You'd soon reduce their numbers.”

“Stop moaning, you overgrown moggy,” said Pious. “Without me you'd have been dead long ago!”