by Stuart Hill
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 Wa
rlock: 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.”
Oskan dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Will I be strong enough?”
The old woman sniffed. “The Goddess chose you — she’s never wrong. Now I’m going in; it’s cold.” And with that she turned and walked off toward the city.
“I think we’ve been dismissed,” Thirrin said, bending to help Oskan to his feet. “Come on, I can hear some cheese and a hunk of bread calling.”
The warlock’s eyes lit up. “With pickled onions!”
“You’ll have to fight me for them first.” Thirrin raised her hand to Grinelda and her sleigh team, who trotted over the snow and waited while she and Oskan climbed aboard.
As the sleigh made its way toward the city gates with its escort of Snow Leopards, Thirrin waved to the cheering crowds while she and Oskan discussed the possibility of vegetable stew for supper that night and tried not to drool too noticeably.
The banquet was a “celebration of vegetables and winter-stored fruits,” as Maggiore put it. Some of the housecarl officers at the top table looked a little put out when meat failed to appear, but after the beer and wine servers had been around a few times they started to cheer up. Even so, one or two of them gazed enviously at the mounds of raw flesh that the Snow Leopard soldiers and the Wolffolk were eating down in the main body of the hall, and one much-scarred veteran of King Redrought’s wars found himself watching every mouthful that Tharaman-Thar delicately selected from the wide bowl set on the table before him.
Thirrin had wondered how the leopards would react to a feast with humans, but she needn’t have worried. After an initial wariness, the soldiers down in the hall soon realized the huge cats were warriors like themselves, and they were soon swapping boasts about their battle exploits and listening to tales about war with the Ice Trolls in the lands far to the north.
She’d also worried about the mix of brute strength and alcohol and had privately hoped that the leopards wouldn’t like beer or wine, but they’d literally lapped it up and had begun joining in with the housecarls’ more lusty songs, or simply sat purring loudly so that the hall rumbled like a benevolent thunderstorm.
Of course, not all of the soldiers, whether leopard or human, could sit in the Great Hall, but huge bonfires had been lit in the palace courtyard, and tables had been set around them so that many of the soldiers who were not on guard duty could join in the feasting.
Thirrin was quite aware that the banquet was not just a State occasion designed to welcome her as Queen back to her domain but also an ideal way of introducing the new allies to her army and its officers. She had to admit that talking leopards would be more than a bit beyond the experience of her people, but so far the initial introductions were going well. She’d noted that there were at least three phases in her people’s reaction to Tharaman-Thar and his soldiers: fear at first, closely followed by amazement and wonder, and then a sort of pride of ownership as the humans vied with one another to prove that they knew the leopards better than anyone else. She’d yet to see any examples of complete familiarity, but that was hardly surprising. Given time she was sure her resourceful subjects would begin to show it.
Basilea Elemnestra was discussing tactics with Tharaman-Thar while her consort Olememnon was trying some Hypolitan jokes on Taradan, who’d been invaluable as a bridge between the two peoples in the first hour or so of the meetings. A sudden shout of laughter proved that human and cat shared the same sense of humor. Taradan then told a joke that was so rude Thirrin felt herself blushing as he reached the punch line, but Olememnon’s huge booming laugh distracted attention from her, so no one noticed.
“My Lady, exactly how do you propose to integrate the Thar’s army into our tactics?” Elemnestra asked.
Relieved to be on familiar ground, Thirrin answered, “Tharaman and I have been discussing this on the journey from the Icesheets, and we’ve decided on some ideas we’ll be trying out over the next few days.”
“Would you assess them as cavalry or infantry?”
“Cavalry,” Thirrin answered firmly. But neither she nor Tharaman would be drawn out any further on the subject.
Over the next few days, Thirrin’s head spun as she attended meetings and training sessions and discussed logistics and troop movements. Hardly an hour passed when she wasn’t involved in one military problem or another, from overseeing the construction of new ballistas to the best method of transporting rockapults. But overall, the training was running with a precision that was almost faultless.
Then, one fine crisp morning, she and the Thar rode out of the city and onto the wide plain. Already waiting were the Snow Leopard army and a large contingent of the best cavalry selected from regiments of both the Icemark and the Hypolitan. The troopers had wisely led their horses to stand at a wide distance downwind of the leopards, but even so, many were shying and whickering nervously.
Thirrin, as usual, was being drawn in her sleigh by her werewolf guard, but when she and Tharaman had reached a point equidistant from the two blocs of warriors, she climbed out and sent it back to the city.
The young Queen gave a signal, and a squire led out her charger. She walked slowly to greet him, calling his name and reassuring him as he walked over the snow. When he reached her, she took the reins from the squire, and the huge stallion nuzzled her. After she’d fed him an apple, she led him over to Tharaman-Thar, who quietly watched their approach.
“So these are the creatures you call horses,” the King of the Leopards said. “They seem unsteady and easily frightened to me.”
Stroking the proudly arching neck of her horse, Thirrin said, “This is Osdred, my charger. The cavalry of the Icemark broke the massed ranks of the werewolves at the Battle of the Wolfrocks and has driven the Corsairs back into the sea. But, yes, horses can be easily frightened and sometimes easily driven off. A trained cavalry mount is a different thing, though. Wait, I’ll show you….” She climbed nimbly into the saddle and, standing in the stirrups, she drew her sword and gave the war shout of the House of Strong-in-the-Arm. Immediately the stallion screamed a fierce challenge and reared, lashing out with its forelegs.
The Thar nodded slowly, but said nothing.
“Growl at him, challenge him,” Thirrin called. “Pretend to atta
ck him.”
Tharaman roared deafeningly and reared up on his hind legs. The stallion leaped forward, snorting, and fearlessly followed Thirrin’s commands as she wheeled in close to the Snow Leopard, whirling around him and feinting thrusts and hacks with her saber.
She drew back and waited for the Thar’s reaction. He sat in thought for a moment, before saying, “A strange beast of contradictions. Gentle warriors: eaters of grass and yet the hearts of hunters. Let me see what else horses can do.”
Thirrin nodded, then cantered back to the regiment of cavalry, who had watched the first meeting of horse and Snow Leopard with interest. She gave a sudden great shout and the troopers swept forward in a charge, across the snows to where the leopards stood waiting. Holding their line, the giant cats roared as the cavalry approached, but then at the last moment the horses turned aside, following Thirrin’s pointing saber as she led them in a long, swerving arc back to where the Thar sat apart, quietly watching.
“Enough,” said the King of the Leopards. “Your horses are warriors indeed, and I and my army will be proud to call your cavalry comrades.”
Thirrin nodded and smiled, then she dismounted and began to discuss training methods with the Thar.
For the rest of the day each trooper’s mount was introduced to the leopards and, under instruction from Thirrin, the huge cats breathed into the nostrils of the horses in a display of friendship. Then, as the short winter day was drawing to a close, she began to put her plan into action, creating a line of cavalry that alternated between horse and cat across a wide line. Any enemy they charged would face a deadly combination of lance, saber, tooth, and claw.
As the sun stained the snow a vivid crimson, Thirrin and the Thar urged forward the first canter of the new cavalry. Gradually they raised the pace until they were thundering across the snows at full gallop, the Snow Leopards letting out a strange coughing bark of challenge and the horses neighing, while the troopers sang the paean, or battle song, of the Icemark.
