Last Battle of the Icemark (25 page)

“Witchfather, as a demon, I hardly know what I feel,” Pious answered uncomfortably. “As you can no doubt appreciate, affinity and empathy have never been high on my list of priorities.”

“Indeed,” Oskan replied, and smiled. “Welcome to the
world of humanity, my dear little Imp, and be prepared for a ride of the most extreme emotional turmoil.”

For a moment Pious gazed at the Witchfather, but then he was seized by a terrible panic attack as the full implication of what he'd been told hit him. With a squeak of pure terror he shot away, and the crash of breaking glass filled the room as the Imp flew off through the window, allowing the cold, snow-scented wind to howl around the room.

“Do we have a glazier in the citadel?” Thirrin asked resignedly.

Medea woke slowly, her mind gradually expanding to fill the physical limitations of her body, but then extending beyond mere flesh and blood to explore the world around her. She'd been dormant for several days, allowing her body and powers to regenerate fully as she lay as still and quiet as the dead on the table of ice she'd conjured.

But if her body had been quiet while it repaired itself, her mind had been working feverishly as she sought a means of gaining revenge and destroying Oskan. Her grandfather had said that she was “missing the obvious” and that she only worked within the “small and petty”. This had scarred her deeply. She was desperate to impress Cronus with her abilities, both psychic and intellectual. Her father had already rejected her when he'd exiled her to the Darkness, and the thought that Cronus thought her less than brilliant was more than she could bear. She'd spent hours thinking things through with meticulous care before she'd entered her healing sleep. But she'd reached no obvious conclusion.

She scanned the Darkness around her, observing and absorbing the terrifying beauty of its icy wastes. A full moon
like a deformed skull glowered over the tundra of frozen souls, and a low howling moaned monotonously, almost as though a wind was blowing over the frigid wilderness. But the desolate sound had nothing to do with the movement of air; it was the ‘spirit of ghosts', a phenomenon quite unique to the Darkness, where the very
essence
of the many millions who'd died trying to enter the evil realm escaped from their captivity and wandered in torment over the wastes.

“So many lost souls,” said Medea to herself. Shuddering at the thought of such desolate helplessness, she began to examine her body as it lay quietly on the ice table. The healing process was now complete, and her powers were completely restored. But she knew at last that the time had almost come to escape the limitations of puny physicality. If her form had been expressed in pure spirit, then her father would have been unable to destroy her magical Gifts. If a brain did not physically exist, it could hardly be damaged. Such freedom from the physical would be so liberating.

Her grandfather was the perfect example of ‘body-less existence'; his form was conjured from the ectoplasm of light and shadow, and he built a body from whatever materials were to hand. This gave him a physical form that he could use whenever it suited him.

Medea knew that once she'd shed her body, her powers would manifest purely in spirit and so could never be damaged again. By the time her plan was put into action, she would need to have made this transition from physical being to spiritual, but somehow she wasn't yet quite ready to take this step. Her subconscious mind felt a need to hang on to the past that her real body represented. As much as she hated the memory of her old life in the Icemark, it was also there that
she'd spent time with her father as he'd taught her how to use her fledgling talents as an Adept. It was there, and then, that Oskan had loved her.

But all of this was hidden deep in the shadows of her mind, and as she hung in the ether she cleared her thoughts and finally descended through the Bone Fortress and entered her body. Its limitations were stifling and more than a little disgusting; it was rather like forcing her arms and legs into a tight rubber suit that'd been lubricated with someone else's cold and sticky mucus. Shuddering, she positioned her consciousness behind her eyes and between her ears, and then forced her eyelids up. She opened her mouth and drew the breath that was needed to keep the thing living, and she coughed to clear tubes and passages.

At last she stood up and stretched. The sense of disgust was beginning to fade as she grew used to her body again, and her thoughts quickly returned to her plans for inflicting death and mayhem on her family.

The Vampire Queen sat alone in her throne room. She often found the incessant chatter of the courtiers wearing; despite their immortality they seemed endlessly fascinated by the petty and ephemeral, and would talk for hours about the weather, fashion and the latest scandals. Better to suffer the loneliness of the cold throne room than endure the isolation to be found within the crowds of facile courtiers.

Time passed without acknowledgement from Her Vampiric Majesty; untouched by the needs of a living body, she could sit for days in the shadows of the palace. Only Lugosi, her loyal chamberlain, ensured that she remembered to feed the few needs of the corpse that contained her personality, and she
would step out into the long night of a northern winter and fly in search of a victim. But when she came back to the Blood Palace, she would spend a few brief moments with her courtiers, before dismissing them and returning to the shadows and grief of her throne room.

Then on one particular night of silence, as she reached across and laid her hand upon the arm of the King's empty throne, she became aware of a distant disturbance in the unending quiet of the room.

“Who's there?” she called into the shadows. Only a faint echo replied, and she stood gazing into the dark. “Show yourself, before my soldiers rip you apart and drink your blood!”

“I'm afraid they couldn't actually do that, Your Majesty,” a voice replied. And then a slight figure emerged from the dark. It walked with the poise and elegance of a swordsman, which contrasted sharply with a pronounced limp.

“Prince Charlemagne!” she gasped in surprise. “But when did you arrive? I wasn't warned . . .”

“I didn't arrive. I'm not actually here,” he said with a charming smile. “My dad . . . I mean the Witchfather is projecting my image and words using his powers.”

“I see,” she said quietly. “Then what is the purpose of your . . . visitation?”

Sharley smiled at her less than polite directness. “I have a message for you, Your Majesty; a very
personal
message.”

For the first time in years her curiosity was aroused. “Personal?”

“Yes. You see, until recently I was trapped with two friends of mine in the Magical Realms. Fortunately Dad was able to rescue us, but before he could do so we faced quite a few dangers. And when we were in the Circle of Ghosts we
were almost killed. In fact I'm certain we would have been, had it not been for the intervention of a friendly spirit.”

“
And?
” the Queen snapped irritably. The adventures of young mortals interested her not at all.

“And . . . and the spirit was His Vampiric Majesty,” Sharley replied quietly.

The Queen sat in silence, her white skin seeming to glow in the dimness, like snow washed in moonlight. Then at last her voice whispered on the cold air: “But . . . but how can this be? His Vampiric Majesty was lost to oblivion when Bellorum destroyed him in the last war. Vampires have no ghosts! Vampires have no afterlife!”

Sharley shrugged. “The Vampire King has been granted a soul, and he exists still in the Spirit Realms.”

“But how?”

“Because he learned compassion, and how to love, when he lived and worked with humans.”

The Queen's eyes glittered with rage. “And what human did he learn to love? Tell me her name, that I may tear out her heart!”

“He loved no human, Your Majesty. He loved only you.”

Her Vampiric Majesty slowly bowed her head and felt a deep and overwhelming longing fill her to the utmost capacity. “He told you this?”

“Yes. He asked me to visit you and tell of his feelings for you. He also asked that you too should open your heart to emotion and compassion, so that you also could develop a soul and so join him when you finally lay down the burden of your physical existence.”

Suddenly the Queen's head snapped up, and she glared at Sharley. “Tell me, Prince Charlemagne, if my Consort has
developed a spirit and still exists, then why hasn't he ever appeared to me in this Land-of-the-Ghosts? Surely such a domain would be particularly conducive to spiritual manifestations!”

“To that I have no answers, Your Majesty,” Sharley answered honestly. “I can only guess that some law or directive in the Spirit Realms prevents him from doing so. And, that being the case, I suspect that it may have something to do with you developing a spirit of your own. You must make your own choices and not be influenced by the sight and presence of your dead Consort.”

The Queen fell silent again as she considered this. After a while she looked at Sharley again. “That could be so, I suppose. The Spirit Realms have their own arcane laws and rules that we can only guess at.” With a sudden softening of her icy features, she asked, “How did he look? Is his spirit whole, or is it damaged by the hated Bellorum's weapons?”

“He looked strong and powerful, ma'am. He looked confident and proud. He looked every inch a King.”

Her Vampiric Majesty nodded in pleased satisfaction. “
Now
I believe you have seen my Consort!” She raised her head and straightened her shoulders, glaring arrogantly over the empty throne room. “We were powerful indeed when we ruled this land together!” But then, slowly, her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her head to gaze at the floor. “But now I rule alone, denied the presence of my Consort and with no certainty of ever meeting him again. How can I know that I will ever have a soul? How can I bear the thought of oblivion alone in the endless dark, alone in non-existence?”

Sharley stepped forward. “Your Majesty, if the Vampire King developed his spirit as a result of his capacity to feel love,
then I'd say you are already a treasury of souls! What else is grief but the emotion of love denied the presence of the loved one? Your feelings for His Vampiric Majesty have made you a spirit-bearer!”

“Do you truly believe so?”

“I do.”

The Vampire Queen gazed at the young Prince, and tears trickled slowly down her cheeks.

“And remember,” Sharley went on. “No matter how long the separation, reunited spirits will have eternity together.”

“And you really believe this?”

“I do, Your Majesty, with all of my heart.”

“Then I too must find a function for that long-defunct organ. His Vampiric Majesty waits for me in eternity, and I must prepare myself for everlasting life in spirit!”

C
HAPTER
18

T
he army of Allies continued to wind its way through the frozen countryside of the autumnal Icemark. No significant amounts of snow had fallen yet, but there'd been enough light flurries to give the land an interesting piebald look as patches of powder coated the rich black soil of the surrounding fields. The Great Forest was now out of sight, but it still made its presence felt in the low endless moaning of the wind through its now almost leafless branches. It was the familiar voice of autumn and winter, and would follow the army for a few more miles before distance finally silenced the voice of the massive stand of trees.

By this point the marching army had begun to warm up nicely, and many of the larger housecarles and all of the horses, Snow Leopards and werewolves had begun to literally steam as the warm, moist air rising from their bodies condensed on the cold atmosphere.

“How lovely,” said Thirrin ironically as she turned in her saddle and looked back over the lines of marching warriors. “We seem to have become a mobile sauna. It's a good job no one's trying to track us, I should think even a noseless dog
could follow our scent!”

“I'm sure we emit the wholesome aroma of resolution and martial fervour,” said Oskan with a smirk. “Unless you're Grishmak, in which case you probably just smell like cheesy feet.”

“I do not smell of cheesy feet! More like cheesy
paws
, actually.”

“Same smell, different anatomy.”

“Acknowledged,” said the werewolf King, and grinned.

“Well, I'm sure neither myself nor Tharaman smell particularly. And you and Oskan have the usual human fragrance,” said Krisafitsa.

“I'm not sure I like the sound of that,” Thirrin replied.

“Oh, I wasn't being offensive. It's just that all species have a distinctive odour. Humans smell of whatever they wash in, if they bother, werewolves smell of fur and . . . and . . .”

“Cheese?” suggested Oskan.

“Quite. And Vampires . . . well, I'm afraid they often smell of blood and death. Apart, that is, from His Vampiric Majesty, who seemed to regain his human perfume just before he was killed.”

“That's because he developed a soul,” said Oskan.

“Talking of Vampires, whether they smell or not, we could do with them here,” said Grishmak.

“Agreed,” said Thirrin. “But I just couldn't bring myself to disturb the Queen's grief. Our relationship with The-Land-of-the-Ghosts has changed so much that the earlier tactics of threats and bullying just can't be used. You don't threaten friends, so I can't make the Vampires participate in this war any more than I can force the Holly and Oak Kings to join us. We can only hope they'll decide to help later.”

Oskan nodded in agreement. “There's a good chance that some of the Vampire warriors will take part in a private capacity. There was talk of it, I believe, and the Queen hasn't forbidden it.”

“Well, they'd sodding well better hurry up about it, then!” snarled Grishmak. “At this rate we'll be fighting Erinor herself before they turn up.”

“At least we don't have to worry about a Sky Navy this time,” said Thirrin with relief. “If we had Wasp Fighters and bombers to deal with, we'd have no chance without the Vampires.”

“That's true,” said Oskan thoughtfully. “In fact, I think Erinor's reaction to the Sky Navy gives us an interesting insight as to the workings of her mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we all heard the reports that the Hordes overran the bases of the Imperial flying fighters and destroyed them without even bothering to try and use them in their war. Obviously they just didn't recognise their potential; it's almost as though something didn't want them to understand the Sky Navy's value, especially if they knew the Vampires were no longer an integral part of our force and so we'd be easily wiped out by an aerial attack . . .” His voice trailed away, but then he dismissed the idea as absurd. What possible reason could there be for prolonging a war? “This failure to recognise a weapon's worth,” he went on, “is easier to understand if you realise that Erinor and her Hordes are simply tribal levies without either the sophistication or experience of a truly professional army.”

“Well, these amateurs are doing pretty well against the Imperial Legions, and let's face it,
they're
the second best army
the world's ever seen!” barked Grishmak.

“Who's the first?” asked Tharaman curiously.

“We are, of course!” said the werewolf King with a huge grin. “Not even Bellorum himself could crush us, and he had two goes!”

“True, very true,” said Thirrin warmly. “A fact that our soldiers should be reminded of.”

“And just how do you intend to do that without alienating the Free Polypontian units?” Oskan asked.

“Ah, yes. I see what you mean.”

“Besides, that has nothing to do with my point about the Hordes. They're not even a proper army. They're a nation of tribes on the march!”

“What difference does that make?” said Grishmak. “The only real and important point is that they're winning battles. In fact, they're sweeping aside all opposition, and seem unstoppable. Nicely debated points about their status and origins mean sod all when you've got an arrow in your guts, or when your army's been routed.”

“I'm afraid he has a point,” said Krisafitsa quietly. “I personally don't care if I understand Erinor's motives or not; all I want to do is stop her.”

This seemed to end the discussion, and the comrades marched along in silence as the autumnal countryside of the Icemark slowly unfolded around them.

The Vampire Queen was surrounded by the usual throng of courtiers, sipping gently at crystal goblets of sherry, greeting each other with simpering bows and chatting with great volume at huge speed about nothing. Her Vampiric Majesty allowed her undead eyes to pass languidly over the slowly
circulating crowd of sycophants, unconsciously searching for something to distract her from the unending, crushing tedium of her undead existence.

Beside her stood the empty throne of the Vampire King, and each time she saw the shadows and the dust and the unending void that were its only occupants, she remembered anew the death of her Consort. Prince Charlemagne and his message from the spirit of the Vampire King may have given her more hope than she'd known in years, but the fact remained that she ruled alone, sat on her throne alone, and expected to continue alone down the centuries until a violent end finally released her from her undead existence. And even then she couldn't be sure that her personality in the form of a soul would survive her physical destruction.

To her undying mind, time still had no relevance, and its passing brought no reduction of the pain and horror she'd felt when His Vampiric Majesty had died at the treacherous hands of Scipio Bellorum and his Imperial soldiers. Her grief would remain as searingly fresh as the moment she had heard her love's death cry high above the battlefields of Frostmarris. She bowed her head, and watched as an icy teardrop fell to glisten like crystal on the black silk of her gown.

But then a sudden blast of freezing wind moved through the Great Hall of the Blood Palace, and she raised her head to look out over the marble floors, elegant statues and monochrome furniture to where the hall's huge double doors were slowly opening. A great shout rose up into the air, and the simpering courtiers scuttled aside like black leaves to watch as a force of Vampire soldiers marched in. Their elegant black armour was dusted with snow, as a blizzard was raging in the living world beyond the walls of the palace, but the cold had
no effect on the Undead warriors, and they marched with unwavering resolution towards Her Vampiric Majesty's throne. She watched their approach, a tiny spark of interest lighting her eye.

The column of soldiers reached the foot of the dais, and their commander Bramorius Stokecescu saluted and then bowed. “The Vulture Squadron reports for Her Vampiric Majesty's inspection.”

The Vampire Queen observed the warriors appreciatively for a moment or two; this squadron had been the personal guard of His Vampiric Majesty, and as such it commanded her interest and patronage. Then at last she said: “I believe, Commander Stokecescu, that it had been agreed your squadron would use no official name or number.”

The officer bowed again. “Yes, Ma'am, and beyond the walls of the Blood Palace it will indeed be nameless.”

Her Vampiric Majesty nodded in satisfaction. Rising from her throne, she descended to the floor of the Great Hall and glided amongst the armoured soldiers. “They appear to be suitably martial, Commander,” she finally said. “Do you leave immediately?”

“With Your Majesty's permission.”

“And that you have. But remember, you and your warriors are private citizens who are simply volunteering to fight in a foreign war. I will sanction no official Vampiric force to take part in any campaign that's designed to save the hateful Polypontian Empire, that nation of regicides who murdered our King!”

The officer saluted, but said nothing.

“Friend Thirrin may fight who and as she wishes, and I'm sure her reasoning is politically and militarily sound. But I can
only rejoice that the Imperial Legions have been smashed, and that the empire itself teeters on the edge of oblivion . . .” Her voice rose to a screech of hatred, but with some effort she regained control, and added, “But I have neither the right nor the inclination to stop any Vampiric Citizen whose conscience compels them to help the Icemark and its Queen.”

Stokecescu took the Queen's hand and kissed it, clicking his heels smartly as he did so. Then, straightening, he barked an order and the squadron turned about and marched for the double doors. Her Vampiric Majesty followed, her hand lightly resting on the officer's arm.

Beyond the doors a blizzard blasted the darkness of the Arctic night, but the Queen's Undead eyes could easily make out the rank upon rank of waiting soldiers filling the wide terrace that surrounded the palace and spilling out into the wild darkness beyond.

“I see your numbers have increased somewhat of late,” said Her Vampiric Majesty, her quiet voice perfectly audible above the screech of the raging wind.

“Many have volunteered to join the most famous squadron of the Royal Vampire Army,” Stokecescu explained.

“So it would seem,” said the Queen. “I would say that over half our warriors will be flying south, and all without a single threat from the Witchfather. Friend Thirrin will be very happy.”

“Please don't think that any of us hold the memory of His Vampiric Majesty in anything other than the highest esteem,” Stokecescu suddenly said. “We fight to defeat a new threat to our lands, not to help the empire.”

The Queen patted his arm. “I know it, and doubt the motives of my people not at all. But understand, I cannot lead
an army whose success will mean the saving of the Polypontian Empire. Such a Royal sanction would dishonour the King who died as a result of Imperial treachery.”

The officer dropped to one knee. “Then at least give the Vampire Warriors your blessing, that we may return home safely to The-Land-of-the-Ghosts and our Queen.”

Throughout the darkness the soldiers sank to their knees and bowed their heads, moving Her Vampiric Majesty to tears. “Gladly I would give you my blessing,” she answered, and smiling her fangs glittered like ivory daggers. “But blessings are made of life and spirit, and so not for the Undead to give, even if they have hopes of developing an immortal soul. I can merely confer upon you my best and most fervent wishes, and hope that even a Godless people can be favoured by the Gods.”

“Ma'am, your words will be as a shield to your soldiers in their coming war,” said Stokecescu, climbing to his feet. “And now, we must assume our wings and fly to the aid of our allies.”

The Queen nodded, and stood quietly while the army of Vampires beat black sword on black shield in salute to their monarch. Then, as the rhythmic beating rolled to a crescendo and died slowly away, they leaped as one into the air, transformed into giant bats and wheeled away, screeching.

Her Vampiric Majesty watched and waved as their flying ranks were absorbed by the swirling snows of the storm. But then she stopped, and held her head on one side as though listening. Her Undead senses had detected a shift, the tiniest change of intention in the order of the Worlds, and the implications were enormous.

Slowly her lips drew back over her fangs and she hissed
threateningly. “It would seem, Commander Stokecescu, that yours will not be the only Vampire army seeing action in the coming weeks.”

Then, turning, she strode back into the Blood Palace, calling for Lugosi, her faithful chamberlain, as she went.