Last Battle of the Icemark (29 page)

Telling herself that she was cheered and comforted by this thought, Erinor continued to adjust the markers on her campaign map, and tried to ignore the mournful howling of the wind around the empty streets of the camp. As Basilea, she was above any superstitious nonsense that might have heard the voices of ghosts in the wind, but as a mortal woman she couldn't help turning to look over her shoulder when a powerful gust rose to a shriek and rattled the walls of her yurt. For a moment she shuddered. It felt almost as though some great
power that had been guiding her actions, and clearing her way of obstacles, was about to abandon her and leave her to her fate. But then she frowned and shook her head, as though to empty it of such superstitious nonsense.

C
HAPTER
22

T
he camp stretched along the road, creating a city of tents that was illuminated by thousands of cooking fires. Sentries patrolled the perimeter and guarded the horse lines and baggage train, but overall the huge settlement was amazingly quiet as most of the army of the Icemark and its allies rested after the long and arduous march.

Thirrin slept soundly in the narrow bed hidden in the shadows at the rear of her campaign tent, completely exhausted by the demands of the day. And Oskan sat nearby in a canvas-backed chair, his eyes closed and his mind open as he listened to the sounds of the night.

Strange psychic voices had been calling to the Witchfather since early that morning, echoing through the ether and falling directly into his mind, and it'd soon become clear that no one else could hear them, including his witches.

He stood and opened a portal into the Magical Realms. The voices continued to call, wordless mind-notes of summons and invitation that echoed through the sky and filled his psychic ear to the brim.

He knew the calls came from Cronus and Medea, and as a
result all of his psychic shields and defences were at their highest levels. He couldn't even begin to guess why they were calling him, and dangerously he'd allowed his curiosity to override his natural caution.

He rose up into the air and then zoomed in on the Darkness. In a matter of seconds he'd pinpointed the calling voices to Medea's Bone Fortress. Quickly he scanned all around for signs of traps and then hovered above the turreted roof of his daughter's home.

He could clearly see that all Ice Demons had been banished from the area; in fact, the livid white tundra of the Darkness seemed even more barren and lifeless than usual. All the signs were that Cronus and Medea genuinely wanted a summit, and considering that the Icemark was completely distracted by its upcoming war with Erinor, Oskan knew he couldn't afford to ignore their call.

He sent out a reply to announce his arrival, then slowly descended towards the fortress. As he sank through the many layers of the multi-tiered building, he became aware that Cronus and Medea were waiting for him in a completely new area of the structure, conjured from the ether just for their meeting.

He emerged in an enormously wide and long space with a hammer-beam roof, the supports and spars of which seemed to be made entirely of long, sweeping thigh bones. Oskan scanned the space, which was steeped in areas of light and deep shadow. He soon found Cronus and Medea waiting quietly in the middle of the wide floor, and was immediately aware that his daughter had discarded her mortal body of flesh, and had constructed a new shell for her spirit. But it was Cronus who held his attention.

He couldn't remember if he'd ever actually set eyes on his father before, apart from in an earlier vision sent by his Gift of the Sight. But if he had, it must have been when he was a very little boy, before the Arc-Adept had finally left his mother to bring him up alone.

Nevertheless, this . . . man undoubtedly
was
his father. He wasn't aware of ever having been in the same physical space as him before, even though he'd felt his towering presence many times in the ether. But to actually stand before him as he was now doing, and to look upon his face, was an overwhelming experience. Emotions chased each other around his mind as he stood in silence, but Oskan's expression betrayed nothing.

“Welcome, Oskan Witchfather,” Cronus said in quiet and refined tones. “Or should I say, perhaps, ‘welcome, my Son'?”

“Should you? I'm not sure. Biologically speaking, it can't be denied that you're my father,” he replied. “But in every other way, you are nothing to me but an enemy.”

“Oh, come now, can we not set aside our difficulties and talk to each other with at least a measure of civility?”

“Possibly,” Oskan replied. “But that very much depends on the subject matter.”

“Ah, I see you're a man of my own stamp. Not for you the niceties of formality; we're of that kind who need to get down to business immediately.”

“Yes. So tell me, why have you called me here?”

“Because Medea and myself have a proposition to put to you,” Cronus said, and for the first time since arriving, Oskan turned his full attention on his daughter.

“Ah, Medea. I see you've fully recovered from your injuries.”

She strengthened the shields that hid her mind and all its workings, and smiled. “Yes, Father. No one can physically hurt me now.”

“No,” Oskan agreed. “But your spirit remains vulnerable.”

She recoiled from the open threat, but ignored the emotional pain that lanced through her. “It's well defended,” she replied evenly.

“Perhaps a little less sparring, and more business?” Cronus said. “That was your expressed preference, was it not?”

“Yes. So what is this proposition?”

“That you join with us.”

“For what purpose?”

“For the joint purposes of eternal rule and limitless power,” said Cronus, interested that Oskan hadn't rejected the idea out of hand.

“Oh, really? But isn't that the exclusive right of the Goddess?”

Cronus was pleased that they'd already managed to sidestep the issue of the pending invasion of the Physical Realms. “Indeed, yes, for the present. But perhaps a new power, a new
alliance
, could challenge Her position.”

Oskan gazed in wonder on the . . . 
thing
that was his father. Even now, after aeons of exile, he still plotted and planned to attack the heavens again. “And you and Medea are that alliance?”

“Yes, but three is such a good number, don't you think?”

“And you, Medea, do you think this . . . venture possible?”

Her father's tone made it obvious what he thought of the plan, but she answered with enthusiasm. “Yes, completely. Easily! Between us, Grandfather and myself could sweep aside all Divine opposition and establish a new order of such—”

“Then why do you need me?”

“
Need you? NEED YOU?
” Cronus's harsh voice cut through the icy atmosphere. “My dear boy, please don't think that this offer of an alliance is anything other than an act of mercy on our part. When we come to power everything will be swept aside and destroyed; everything that weak-minded, small-scoped, petty being that dares to call Herself Goddess ever created will be expunged! We will begin again, and this time the basis of the universe will be the purity of evil, rather than the faint-hearted simpering of love!”

Cronus's voice echoed about the wide hall, and his white face was contorted into a rictus of pure rage. But then he seemed to relax, and his voice became soft and reasonable again. “But you, my dear Oskan, you are
family
, and as such I . . . 
we
have decided to offer you the chance to join with us in a towering triumvirate of eternal power.”

“Well, thank you very much, I'm sure,” the Witchfather answered lightly. “But to be honest, I think you've underestimated the opposition. Something that you were guilty of before.”

“I was guilty of nothing but a slight miscalculation!” Cronus snapped. Again Oskan watched him with undiluted fascination. How could such a supremely powerful entity be so blind? In any other circumstances that were much less dangerous and potentially catastrophic, such an inability to understand the true nature of Creation and its Creator might be almost endearing.

Then, incredibly, the Witchfather suddenly felt a spark of affection for the unspeakable abomination that stood before him, but he quickly reminded himself of all the pain and suffering that Cronus had inflicted on the world.

“A slight miscalculation, you say?” Oskan eventually went on. “Well, I'm afraid you're guilty of much the same again. Nothing would, or could, ever induce me to form an alliance with such depraved creatures as my beloved father and daughter! If you have nothing else to offer or add, we must consider this brief summit at an end!”

“Consider well before you reject me, Witchfather!” Cronus snarled, his black eyes sparking for a moment. “The offer will not be made again!”

“Good, then it will save me the effort of rejecting it again.”

The Arc-Adept drew a cloak of shadow and ice around him, and his voice fell to a low threatening growl. “Had we agreed truce terms before we finalised the details of this meeting?”

Oskan smiled coldly. “No. But please, if you feel you can pierce my defences, you're more than welcome to try.”

Suddenly the entire room was obliterated as a blinding, searing explosion of plasma engulfed the Bone Fortress. Cronus and his granddaughter stood within their jointly conjured shield of protection and waited for the smoke and falling debris to clear. The only sound was the wind gently moaning over the tundra, and Medea tried to look unconcerned as she scanned the slowly dissipating smoke for her father.

Then the last billows and wisps were blown away and Oskan emerged unscathed. “Well, how entertaining; you blew up your granddaughter's home, Cronus. I suppose one can expect little else from the psychic scum of the universe,” he said quietly.

And then, with a wave of his hand, he conjured the entire Bone Fortress back into existence.

“Father!” Medea suddenly called, but then fell silent as he
turned to her, and she regained control.

Oskan nodded decisively, as though she'd added something more.

Cronus said nothing, his face impassive as he gazed at his son, and after a few more moments of silence Oskan rose up through the charred floors of the Fortress. Anger burned within him, and he burst through the roof like a destroying comet.

He shouted loud and long, venting his frustration into the sky of the Darkness, his voice echoing over the wide frozen wastes of the tundra of souls. He had left much more behind him than a ludicrous offer of alliance in a doomed campaign against the Goddess – he'd finally left behind his daughter and the father he'd never had a chance to know. Somewhere in the deepest depths of his mind he'd somehow hoped to reach them, to reason with them, but now he was finally forced to accept they were beyond redemption.

Now would be the time to use the weapon of knowledge against them, but why should Cronus and his renegade daughter rob him of his life? There was still a chance of defeating them without the need to destroy himself, if only he could control the full Power of the Darkness without being corrupted by it. For the sake of his family, he was determined to find a way.

Ariadne gazed over the land to the towering walls and defences of Romula. Thousands of Polypontian cavalry units could be seen streaming back to the capital city, as their hopeless campaign to stop the Hordes' advance had finally collapsed. The Tri-Horn squadrons had crossed the Bright Water River two days before, pushing back the Polypontian
defenders and holding a foothold on the northern bank while the engineers had then built the dozens of pontoon bridges needed to allow the massive army to cross.

After that it was simplicity itself. The Imperial cavalry had continued to harass the advance, but they were about as effective as a mosquito against a charging bull, and within forty-eight hours the supreme prize of Romula itself had appeared on the horizon. Ariadne knew that this was the defining moment of her career. No longer would she be a footnote to the military brilliance of the Basilea herself. No longer would she be just one more name amongst the lists of the High Command, who had simply facilitated the tactics and strategies of Erinor. She would be counted as a great commander in her own right: Ariadne Minotaurus, the Conqueror of Romula!

Taking a deep breath, she looked ahead to the walls, and raising her hand, gave the order to advance. There was no need to set up siege lines, pitch camp or dig defences. The city was weak, and just waiting to fall. Her only interest lay in how long it would take it to finally die. To achieve true greatness and everlasting fame, she needed to be in control of the city within twenty-four hours.

With a rumbling roar her Tri-Horn stepped out across the plain, and the creature's strange rolling gait made her feel as though she was aboard a ship that was bearing down on a port city she intended to raid. “The prize is before us! Seize it! Destroy it! Wipe it from the land!” The huge deep-throated war-horns of the southern Hypolitan now boomed on the air, filling the world with their threat and their power.

But the city remained strangely quiet, with no sign of any defenders on the cliff-like walls, and Ariadne suddenly felt the
first pangs of doubt. Had she been a less experienced field commander she might have been fooled into thinking that Romula had been evacuated and abandoned to its fate, but she knew better than to trust to such illusions; after all, the Polypontian cavalry units that had been resisting the Hordes' advance had been clearly seen retreating through the many gates. The Military Governor of this prize of prizes obviously intended to fight the Hordes in the streets. Ariadne frowned; such urban warfare could be devastatingly costly and time-consuming. Every district, every road, every house would be contested, sapping the strength and draining the numbers of even the mighty Hordes.