by Stuart Hill
“They’re here, Thirrin! They’re here!”
“Who’s here?” the Thar asked.
Still the bell boomed out into the night, filling every defending soldier with a hope they didn’t understand. A stillness fell that was broken only by the bell’s sonorous note.
But then, in the distance, a single howling voice rose into the air, thin and mournful, and tattered to sound-ribbons by the wind.
A great joy swelled in Thirrin’s frame and she screamed, “They’re here! The allies are here!”
Then into the sky erupted the howling of countless voices, and all eyes turned to the hills that rose to the west of the plain. They shone clearly in the moonlight and as the exhausted defenders watched, a vast shadow flowed over them. The strange darkness had thousands of glowing red eyes, and was made up of a huge gathering of werewolves, specters, and zombies from The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. At its head strode the gold-collared figure of King Grishmak of the Wolffolk.
Beside him were dozens of silver-collared barons and baronesses, and behind them came the hordes of the werewolf army. King Grishmak threw back his head and howled again, and out crashed the reply from his warriors.
“They’re here, the allies are here!” Thirrin wept as the bell rang on and on. And now, a new note was added as deep-toned horns sounded through the air, and the defenders turned to watch as from the eaves of the forest a great host emerged. At its head were the Holly King and the Oak King riding tall antlered stags. Thirrin gazed in wonder on these monarchs of the Great Forest. They seemed as old and yet as strong and formidable as ancient trees; their heads were crowned with circlets of acorns and holly berries, their armor gleamed like newly opened leaves, and in their hands they carried huge maces. Behind them came their soldiers, carrying long spears and swords made of what looked like massive thorns, wicked and slightly curved like the thorns of gigantic brambles.
With them came the wild figures of Green Men and Women, naked and ferocious, tusks of polished wood bursting from their mouths. And among them came the fighting creatures of the wild wood: boars and stags, bears and wolves, all answering the summons of their kings.
Tharaman-Thar rose up on his hind legs and roared a warrior’s welcome, and Thirrin wiped her eyes and laughed aloud for joy. “They’re here! The allies are here! Fight now, my people, and clear this land of the enemy!”
But there were still more wonders: Now the bright face of the moon seemed to dim and grow dusky, and all watched in silence as a cloud slowly writhed and coalesced until gradually new shapes evolved. Rank upon rank of flying forms could be seen, their huge wings black and leathery against the beautiful remote brilliance of the moon. The Vampires had come, too, and with them flew the giant Snowy Owls of the northern snowfields.
“Forward, my people!” Thirrin shouted into the air, which was still reverberating with the sound of the bell. “Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”
The commanders of the Empire’s army watched the arrival of the Icemark’s allies in horror. How could they fight such atrocities, such abominations of nature? The undead were marching against them, and even the creatures of the woodland were forming themselves into ranks and fighting! It was painfully obvious that the tide of battle had turned, but even now they were determined to snatch victory from the barbarians. Orders were shouted, the superb Polypontian discipline asserted itself, and the soldiers fought on.
On the left flank the Wolffolk fell on the Imperial soldiers with a mighty howl, tearing the opposition limb from limb as they smashed into their ranks. Monsters, scaled and fanged and armed with razor claws, howled and roared, literally ripping the Polypontian troops to pieces as they raged through their ranks. And zombies charged on, no matter how many sword thrusts or musket balls ripped into their bodies. Only complete dismemberment could stop them. Even decapitation wasn’t enough; they’d simply tuck their head under one arm and fight on, crushing the Imperial soldiers with clubs that broke arms through upraised shields.
On the right wing, the Holly King and the Oak King advanced toward the Imperial troops. Huge and menacing, they rode forward on their antlered stags, their woodland soldiers close behind, and hammered at the enemy with heavy maces as the Polypontian troops closed ranks against them.
Then, falling from the sky with hideous shrieks, came the Vampires ripping out enemy throats and drinking their blood, and with them the giant Snowy Owls, stooping on the Empire’s soldiers and tearing at them with talons.
Thirrin climbed onto Tharaman-Thar’s back and, raising her sword, she gave the note for the paean and led a charge of her cavalry, human troopers mounted on their leopard comrades. Forward they drove into the enemy ranks, hacking and tearing a wedge deep into the army that still fought doggedly on, every one of the Polypontian soldiers horribly aware that if they broke ranks, turned their back, and fled, then death was certain. But behind Thirrin’s charge came the Hypolitan and housecarls, and they hit the ranks of the enemy with a fury that drove them steadily back.
Many of the Vampires now assumed their human shape and appeared as soldiers dressed in black armor carrying long black swords that flowed and writhed through the air in a complex pattern of attack. Their faces were dead-white and their lips bloodred, and as they killed they bit deep into the throats of their victims. Fear began to consume the Empire’s horrified soldiers; they were fighting legends and nightmares, not mere humans. All around them were monsters, and the air was filled with the wails of ghosts and other terrifying creatures of the underworld.
Slowly they began to give ground, yet their discipline was holding even in the face of the hideous mincing Vampires that swirled and danced before them, and the giant werewolves that tore them to pieces. And then the barbarian Queen herself burst upon them, leading her cavalry, who were all mounted on giant leopards, and with her came more of the terrible white Wolffolk.
At last the Polypontian discipline failed, and a great despairing cry rose into the sky as the Empire’s army suddenly broke and fled. On drove the terrible alliance of nightmare creatures, hacking and biting at them as they ran, pulling them down and ripping out their throats, drinking their blood, and tearing their bodies apart. Countless thousands died in the first few minutes of the rout, and as the night wore on, more than half the invading army was killed as they tried to reach the Great Road and the safety of the south.
From his position on the hills overlooking the plain, Scipio Bellorum watched the arrival of the terrible allies in amazement and growing rage. This could not be! Such creatures had no place in his rational universe. Nevertheless, his army was giving ground before them, and now the queenling herself was leading an attack that drove all before it. Slowly he bowed his head; this was a new experience for the great general of the Polypontian Empire. He may have lost battles before, and none so many as in this terrible struggle, but he’d never lost a war. The experience was bitter and terrible, but already his general’s resourcefulness was reasserting itself. He knew he had no choice but to cut his losses. Pulling sharply on his reins, he turned his horse and trotted away.
His staff officers watched in puzzlement. “But, My Lord, what are you doing?” one of them called.
“I believe the term is ‘making good my escape,'” Scipio Bellorum answered without looking back. “I suggest you do the same.” Then, drawing a whip, he sent his horse at a wild gallop down toward the Great Road before it could be blocked by his fleeing army.
34
Oskan watched as Thirrin and her allies drove the army of the Polypontian Empire from the field. He continued ringing the huge Solstice Bell, its deep note sweeping over the night and adding a melodious counterpoint to the awful sounds of battle. But then, gradually, he allowed the ringing to stop as he looked out over the plain, feeling small and unwanted. Even the soldiers who’d been left on garrison duty had run down to join the battle, and his sense of loneliness was increased by the melancholy sighing of a gentle wind that stirred his newly grown hair and brought with it a s
cent of the forest.
But then he noticed a distant and dark flying figure that had detached itself from the black of the night. It circled slowly as though looking for something, then it dived toward the city. Soon it was flying overhead and screeching a hideous call. One of the Vampires had decided to pay him a visit for some reason, and Oskan shuddered in the warm night. He watched as the creature folded its leathery wings and landed a few feet from where he stood.
The giant bat was awkward on the ground; its small, clawed feet minced over the stonework of the parapet and its wings rattled and billowed as it tried to keep its balance. Its face was pointed, with a wide mouth that bristled needle-sharp teeth and two huge fangs, which glittered in the moonlight.
“Oskan the Warlock,” a feminine voice said mockingly.
“Do I know you?”
“Oh yes. Just a moment and I’ll make things clearer,” the bat answered, and as Oskan watched, the vicious foxlike face trickled and ran like wax before a flame. The ears and fur retracted and new features gradually began to form. Soon a tall and loathsomely beautiful woman stood before him, dressed in elegant black armor. “Do you recognize me now, Oskan the Warlock?”
“Your Majesty,” he said in greeting, bowing his head to the Vampire Queen.
“My, haven’t you grown?” she said, running her eyes appreciatively over him and licking her fangs. “Still, I’m much stronger than I look. I’ll easily be able to carry you.”
“Carry me?”
“To your beloved. She’s reached the enemy camp and is having a conference with her allies. Surely you want to be there?”
“Well … yes.”
“Good.” Her Vampiric Majesty then turned her back on him and, peering over her shoulder, said, “Then climb aboard.”
As Oskan watched, she resumed her bat form, the black armor flowing into the leathery wings and her long hair somehow metamorphosing into pointed ears. After a moment’s hesitation, Oskan stepped forward and placed his arms around her neck.
“Oh, what a strong grip for such a young man. What delightful promise the years must hold,” came the mocking voice as she leaped into the air and her wings beat down powerfully. They surged skyward, and wheeled out over the plain. The battlements of Frostmarris fell dizzyingly away, and the ground ran and flowed below them as they sped toward the enemy camp.
Oskan hardly dared open his eyes after the takeoff, but eventually he peered out at the sky, its dense field of glittering stars subdued by the power of the full moon that drenched the night with the glory of its subtle light. Then he looked over Her Vampiric Majesty’s shoulder and stared down at the ground. The sight was grim. Everywhere he looked, bodies lay in heaps where the army of the Empire had been broken and the rout had begun. Under the light of the moon, the armor and weapons gleamed and flashed as Oskan flew overhead, and the dead soldiers lying in their tangled and broken heaps looked like the abstract patterns that marked the pages of illuminated books. It was almost as though the night were mocking his horror with an unlooked-for beauty, and he closed his eyes on the sight.
They’d soon crossed the plain and were circling in long spirals down to the ground. The Vampire Queen landed softly outside Bellorum’s campaign tent. She resumed her human form, took Oskan’s hand, then stepped elegantly through the entrance and into the wide space where the general had discussed tactics. Inside, Thirrin sat at a large table with Tharaman-Thar, Basilea Iphigenia, King Grishmak of the Wolffolk, and His Vampiric Majesty. Behind them stood Olememnon, Thirrin’s bodyguard of white werewolves, and other high-ranking officers.
Waiting until she had the attention of all present, the Vampire Queen stepped forward and smiled.
Immediately Thirrin jumped to her feet.
“Oskan!” she whispered. The drama of the battle had forced her to put aside all memory of the fact that it was the warlock who’d told of the allies’ arrival, and now she gazed in amazement at his uninjured form. She strode across the tent and hugged him.
“Well, how perfectly sweet. If I could remember how, I’m sure I might weep,” said the Vampire Queen.
Thirrin released him, and holding him at arm’s length she looked him up and down. “How …?”
“The blessing of the Goddess,” Oskan answered and smiled.
“You’re perfect!” she said.
“Yes, isn’t he!” said Her Vampiric Majesty, running her eyes appreciatively over his body.
Only then did Thirrin realize that her friend was naked. He’d run from the cave with neither thought nor time for clothes. Quickly Thirrin unpinned her cloak and draped it over his shoulders. “Cover yourself up. Remember who you are,” she said, and turned to scowl at the Vampire.
“Oh, don’t worry, my dear. He’s a little young for my taste,” she answered and smiled, revealing her fangs.
“Ah, the warlock!” Grishmak bellowed from the table. “Join us! Join us!”
Thirrin led him over to the others, where Tharaman-Thar nuzzled him and purred deeply. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Oskan. All of our lives would have been emptier without you.”
Oskan hugged him, burying his face in his thick fur. “The Goddess obviously didn’t want me yet.”
Thirrin became suddenly brisk, and filled in missing details of the battle. “The enemy is in full retreat. The Holly King and the Oak King are still in pursuit, as are all our other allies under the command of field officers. But Scipio Bellorum seems to have escaped.”
“Our Vampires are flying over the road, but so far there’ve been no sightings,” His Vampiric Majesty said in a voice of tired silk. “And, to be honest, we intend withdrawing our forces soon. We’re all perfectly glutted, aren’t we, dearest?” he said, turning to his coruler and burping discreetly behind gloved fingers.
“Oh, I’m sure I could manage another regiment or two,” she answered. “Some of those southern soldiers have such exotic blood. So spicy.”
Thirrin did her best not to show her revulsion and almost succeeded. “How long will your forces be available to us, Your Majesties?”
“Only for another hour or so, despite the culinary temptations, wouldn’t you say, dear heart?” Her Vampiric Majesty said, turning to the Vampire King for confirmation. “Then we simply must be flying home. These summer nights are so short, and I really couldn’t bear being caught in the sun.”
“And you, Grishmak. How long will your werewolves be staying?” Thirrin asked.
“As long as you need us. It may take months to muster a Wolffolk army, but once it’s gathered, it’s as steady and loyal as any fyrd.”
Thirrin smiled in relief. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that, Grishmak. It could take almost a year to get the country back to anything like a defensible position again.”
“All we ask is board and lodgings,” the wolfman growled happily. “Speaking of which, is there any food available? The Vampires may have gorged themselves, but I could eat a horse! I don’t suppose there’s a spare one hereabouts?”
While orderlies were sent off to find food, the commanders and rulers discussed what would follow in the next few days. Throughout the meeting, Thirrin directed operations and sent out orders with all the skill of a veteran, while she discreetly held Oskan’s beautifully regenerated hand under the table.
For the next two days the enemy was pursued toward the south, until they were finally brought to battle at the very mouth of the pass that led to the Polypontian Empire. The werewolf army had taken a route through the hills and woodlands and managed to get ahead of the Empire’s fleeing soldiers, a force that was still dangerously large, and had blocked their final escape route through the mountains so they were forced to stand and fight. Realizing that the soldiers and allies of a country they had ravaged would show no mercy, the Imperial troops asked for none, and had fought with discipline and bravery to the last before finally being overwhelmed by Thirrin and her allies.
Of the entire invasion army only a few thousand soldiers escaped to re
turn home, and they were mainly garrisons left in the southern cities who had immediately fled when they heard of Bellorum’s defeat. The general himself was never captured.
Maggiore Totus put down his pen and removed his spectoculums. He had dotted the final i and crossed the last t of his history. He’d worked with a speed that had surprised even himself, and he was very pleased with the results. Of course, it would be months before it would be read by anyone; after all, the manuscript had to be sent to the Holy Brothers in the Southern Continent, who would copy and illuminate it with decorative letters and pictures. Also, Thirrin wanted at least one History of the War for every city in the land, and one each for all the rulers of the allies, and so the process would take even longer.
Still, his work was done, and he poured himself a large glass of sherry. Then he got up from his desk and moved closer to the fire. The winter was particularly cold that year, and the snows so deep that Thirrin had been forced to permanently assign an entire regiment of housecarls to the job of clearing the city streets. Maggie reached his favorite chair, picked up Primplepuss, who was asleep there, and placed her on his knees as he sat down. She mewed sleepily and settled again as he stroked her.
Outside his door he could hear chamberlains and other servants rushing to and fro as they hurried to prepare for the coming celebrations. “Yule again, Primplepuss. Where does the time go?”
The little cat mewed without opening her eyes.
“And so many great people coming to share it with us. The Basilea and Olememnon, and Tharaman-Thar and Taradan. And we mustn’t forget King Grishmak, even though he’s become something of a permanent fixture recently.”
The delicious scent of baking solstice pie crept into the room, and the old scholar sniffed appreciatively. “Now, I wonder if they’re looking for tasters for the latest batch in the kitchens. Yes … yes. I might just go and volunteer my services.”
He drained his glass of sherry, placed Primplepuss on the chair as he stood up, and went in search of some early Yule treats. Out in the corridor he was immediately caught up in a tidal rush of people carrying baskets and barrels, boxes and bushels of differing foodstuffs. Rightly assuming they must be heading for the kitchens, Maggiore was content to allow himself to be bundled along.
