Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  Medea was entranced. Emerging from dense shadows was an elegant Great Hall with cold marble floors and cavernous fireplaces, dripping with icy chandeliers. The décor was exquisite, with fine alabaster statues standing gracefully in ornate niches, and beautiful furniture positioned for the most arresting effect.

  For Oskan, the whole effect was one of unwanted nostalgia. He hadn’t seen the Blood Palace since the first war against Scipio Bellorum, when he and Thirrin, young and inexperienced, had travelled together to The-Land-of-the-Ghosts. He strode forward, calling out the names of his party and their mission, but the hall remained dark and empty. “You,” he said to the nearest werewolf. “Light that fire, please.” And he pointed to a cave of a fireplace that was stuffed with logs. “The rest of you, light any torches and candles you find. Let’s see what we’re doing here.”

  The Wolf-folk were fairly new to the technology of tinder-boxes, but they’d taken to them readily, and the fire was soon lit. And as their hairy forms ran about the hall, distant points of light began to flare up, like new suns in the void of space. The place soon looked as close to cheerful as possible considering its sepulchral marbles and high-shadowed ceilings.

  At the far end of the hall was a raised dais on which stood two empty black thrones. Obviously, Their Vampiric Majesties had not yet deigned to appear, but showing neither awe nor fear, Oskan strode up to them and sat down on the nearest. He patted the seat of the other one invitingly, but Grinfang backed away.

  “I’ll have a go,” said Taradan. “I’ve often wondered what it felt like to sit on a chair.” After several attempts the Snow Leopard succeeded in perching his rump on the seat, with his back legs stuck out at a crazy angle and his front legs resting on the second step of the dais. “Personally, I think the floor’s more comfortable, but each species to its own, I suppose.”

  Medea ascended the dais without waiting to be invited. She felt perfectly relaxed – almost, but not quite, at home. Everything about the place appealed to her, and felt right. She looked about, searching in vain for signs of the inhabitants of the cavernous hall .

  The Wolf-folk gathered about the thrones and waited in an uncomfortable silence. After a few minutes, Oskan stirred himself and stood up.

  “Fetch the torches from the walls,” he said quietly. “And position yourself close to anything flammable.”

  The werewolves scuttled off to do his bidding, and when they were scattered about the massively wide hall, standing next to hanging tapestries, upholstered furniture, or long velvet curtains, he drew breath and called, “If you don’t put in an appearance this minute, I’ll burn down your palace and destroy any Vampires not quick enough to make their escape.”

  Slowly, the seconds ticked by, then Oskan nodded to the nearest werewolf, who stood next to a deeply upholstered divan. Immediately, she thrust her torch into the seat and stood back as the flames took hold.

  Suddenly, the air was full of hissing and screeching. Vampires with bat-like wings soared through the space below the high ceiling, while some descended on the divan and smothered it in heavy cloths.

  “Are you entirely without scruples or sanity?” the Vampire King fumed, as he stepped with enraged precision along the polished floor. His usually languid voice was icy with barely suppressed anger as he glared at Oskan, who still sat in his throne. “Would you expect such behaviour from me, were I to visit Frostmarris?”

  “Would you expect to find an empty palace and a host illmannered enough to leave guests to their own devices in a cold and dark Great Hall?” Oskan replied.

  “I think our social misdemeanours, if indeed they were such, pale into insignificance compared with attempted arson!”

  The Vampire Queen joined her Consort. “Hardly the act of a friend and ally, I would say. Nor that of someone who has come to beg for our help in their new war with the Polypontian Empire.”

  Oskan held their angry glares unwaveringly. The King was still as effetely elegant and his Consort as loathsomely beautiful as they’d been over twenty years before. Of course, Oskan knew perfectly well that Vampires were immortal, but to actually witness their unchanging state was a startling experience.

  Medea gazed at the Vampires hungrily. She found their elegance and intelligence deeply attractive. They exuded an atmosphere of evil that infected the very air around them.

  With an effort, Oskan dragged his attention back to the situation at hand. He drew breath to speak, but then held it, and let the silence stretch into discomfort before he finally spoke, “Beg for your help in the war, you say? The Icemark has no need to beg Their Vampiric Majesties for anything. I have merely come with my daughter and two other representatives of the species within the alliance to remind you of your obligations according to the terms of the treaty you signed before the last war with the Empire.”

  “A scrap of paper that has no validity in your present crisis,” said the Vampire King. “We fulfilled our commitment and are free of any further obligation!”

  The hideously pale courtiers surrounding the monarchs hissed in approval, but when Oskan turned his gaze on them, they immediately fell silent.

  “If you care to study your copy of the treaty, you will find that it calls for mutual assistance in the face of all and any violence. No time limitation was added, and so the agreement is still valid.”

  The Vampire Queen laughed, trying to seem completely at ease even though she was standing at the foot of her own dais, looking up at Oskan and the giant Snow Leopard that occupied her throne. “The treaty was signed to deal with the crisis of the time and in the spirit of the time. So although there are no limits written within the letter of its clauses, it doesn’t apply to the present war with the Empire.”

  Again the courtiers hissed their approval of this legal nicety, and both Their Vampiric Majesties smiled regally at their subjects.

  Taradan yawned cavernously, showing his enormous teeth and red throat. “I always get so bored when people start quibbling over the small print.” He then sat up and fastened his bright amber eyes on the Vampire Queen. “So just accept it, fang-face, you’re still part of the alliance whether you like it or not.”

  Grinfang sniggered nastily from where he now sat on the top step of the dais. “Yeah. Don’t forget we still have all these torches, and we werewolves can be really clumsy sometimes. Things might catch fire, and the so-called undead might get fried and find themselves just plain dead.”

  “Threats of violence and atrocity hardly carry the weight of legality, my dear wolf-person,” said the Vampire King.

  “Oh, you are so right, my dear,” the Queen said admiringly, stroking her Consort’s hair. “Threats of violence completely undermine an opponent’s moral position – as I’m sure you will agree, Oskan Witchfather. Besides, what can you do to make us join your little struggle with Bellorum? Send an army and begin a war? I don’t think so. You barely have enough soldiers to keep the Polypontians at bay, even with the support of your allies. And if you have to fight a war on two fronts, against two enemies, I don’t think you’ll survive more than a month, do you?”

  Oskan rose from his seat and stared down at Their Vampiric Majesties. The atmosphere around him shifted subtly and a faint shimmer glowed about him.

  Medea watched him. Could the Vampire King and Queen actually defy her father’s powers?

  “I have not come here to play legal games with a people who are bound by all known laws to an agreement of mutual assistance in the time of war,” said Oskan darkly, his voice slowly deepening and his eyes rolling back in his head. “The Vampire King and Queen and all of their subjects are bound by a dreadful oath to the treaty they signed twenty years ago, and if they refuse to fulfil their obligations, I, Oskan Witchfather, Consort of Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Wildcat of the North and Queen of the Icemark, will invoke the sanctions laid down in that treaty.”

  All the Vampires hissed and screeched in rage and fear. The awesome figure before them seemed to have grown. The air around O
skan shimmered as if it were surrounded by a heat haze.

  “Of course, if they truly believe they are not still bound by the original treaty then they will have no fear of the sanctions.” Oskan drew a rattling breath “May all the goddesses and gods of the earth and sky, all the spirits of blood and death, all the watchers and keepers of oaths, see this act and hold our written names as binding. And may any and all who break this trust fall from the face of the Mother Earth and live an unending life skinned under the endless gaze of the blazing sun, mortal and immortal, werewolf, Vampire and human being! By garlic, wood, and cleansing fire. So mote it be!”

  A great screeching and hissing arose from the Vampires. Many of them transformed themselves into their bat forms and flapped frantically around the hall’s high ceilings, while others simply collapsed to the floor where they sprawled looking about, fearfully waiting for the terrible penalty to be paid.

  The Vampire King’s voice cut through the hideous din, and silence fell. “Enough, enough. There is no need to invoke any sanctions or clauses. We accept that we are still bound by the original treaty and will fulfil our obligations as you interpret them.”

  Gradually, Oskan’s eyes rolled back to their natural position and the shimmering haze dissipated. “Well, that’s better,” he said lightly. “Now, what about a little wine to cement our rediscovered spirit of co-operation?”

  Medea could have wept with disappointment. Their Vampiric Majesties were without depth or substance. They were weak, useless allies, and she would be left all alone, an island of shadow in the sea of the Icemark. All she wanted now was to return to the safety of her tower. And with every darkening fibre of her being she wished she had never agreed to come.

  Cressida was sitting quietly in the private apartments behind the throne, the wolfhounds lying in a snoring heap around her. She was angry and hurt. The twins had turned against her without any warning, and worst of all, for someone who would one day lead the nation, she hadn’t seen it coming. She’d managed to make enemies within her own family, and if she could cause such deep resentment amongst those who were supposed to love her, then what might she do with those who had no blood ties to her at all?

  She was just thinking about how to make peace with her brothers, when her mother walked into the room.“A little quiet for you, isn’t it?” said Thirrin, searching through the papers on her worktable. “Now, where are those listings for the infantry?” she said to herself, and looked up. “Are you all right?”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes! Yes. Just a little tired,” Cressida answered and underlined her all-rightness by smiling brightly.

  Her mother found the papers she was looking for, then putting them back on the table, she drew up a chair and sat down. “So. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing! Nothing at all. Except . . . except the twins don’t like me.”

  “Ah,” said Thirrin. “And this surprises you?”

  “No, not any more. They’ve told me exactly why they find me the least likeable person in the entire Icemark, item by item.”

  “And they are?”

  Cressida took a deep breath. “I’m bossy, rude, cold, aloof, superior, proud, generally unpleasant and humourless.”

  “I see.”

  “We had words at dinner last week. And I’ve thought about what they said and come to the conclusion that perhaps, just perhaps, they may have one or two points.”

  “So?” Thirrin prompted.

  “So, I decided to change my attitude towards them. And today, when I met them in the lists I was friendly, I cracked jokes, and I never once told them to shut up or stop being so loud. I didn’t have to; they never said a word. They just finished what they were doing and left in complete silence.”

  “And now you’re angry and intend laying into them next time you see them, I suppose,” said Thirrin, leaning back in her chair and watching her daughter.

  “No. There’d be no point. They’d still hate me. I suppose I have to accept that it’s going to take longer than I thought for them to . . . well, forgive me.”

  “So, you accept you were harsh with them?”

  Cressida ruffled one of the dogs’ ears in silence, and reluctantly admitted it. “Yes. But whatever I said or did was always for their own good. They just don’t see it that way.”

  Thirrin drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly while she thought. “You’ll be Queen one day, and the final decisions will be yours to make on everything from what to have for dinner to enormous weighty matters of State. But you’ll also have advisers to help you, as well as ministers, Commanders of the army, barons and baronesses, and most importantly of all, a Consort who, if he’s worth his salt, will tell you exactly what he thinks whether you like it or not.”

  “Like Dad, you mean?”

  “Oh yes, exactly like your dad,” Thirrin agreed with a smirk. “But for the moment, you have none of these things. You have only your parents, and you never ask us for advice if you can help it. Cressida, you have to accept that no matter what you think, no matter what conclusions you reach, all of it is only your opinion. You may think the twins are noisy, boisterous and rowdy, and so they are, but they’re soldiers. I don’t really expect them to be otherwise.

  “I suppose what I’m saying is that you have every right to your opinions, and you also have every right to voice them,” Thirrin continued. “But equally, everyone else has every right to disagree with you. And if you simply ignore what other people think, eventually they’ll resent you. And if you continue to ignore them, they’ll begin to hate you, and from hatred springs rebellion.”

  A silence fell between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

  Thirrin stood and gathered her papers. “It’s best that you learn this lesson now with your family, rather than later when you’re Queen.”

  “But why didn’t I know this already? Surely a future ruler should have an instinct for such things!” Cressida almost wailed.

  “Instinct? Only bullies and tyrants think they have an instinct for dealing with people. Scipio Bellorum probably thinks he has an instinct for it. But he doesn’t; he merely has a talent for terrifying entire populations. Everyone else accepts they have to learn these things. You’re only just seventeen, Cressida. You can’t expect to become a fully fledged monarch overnight.”

  “You did. You’d been ruling for three years by the time you were my age. And you’d defeated the Polypontian Empire, got married, and given birth to me!”

  Thirrin raised her arms and let them fall in a hopeless gesture. “But I had to. My father was dead and Bellorum had invaded. I either learned quickly or died. At least you’ve had the luxury of a childhood and youth. Don’t wish for the sort of maturity that comes with war and death. The price isn’t worth it. Though the way things are going, too many people in this benighted little country will have to grow up very quickly indeed.”

  The Crown Princess stared into the fire, knowing that her mother was right. It would just take a little while longer to get used to it. “I’d better go to bed,” she said finally. “I’ll be reviewing the fyrd sections under my command tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 14

  It had taken just over a week to set up the first buildings. The ships’ carpenters, and the builders and other artisans from amongst the refugees, had soon been organised by an enthusiastic Maggiore Totus into specialised work parties with their own gangs of labourers. And once the second fleet had arrived from the Icemark the small shanty settlement quickly began to develop into a proper town.

  Sigurdson and his ships left not long after that, and Charlemagne felt his last link with home was being severed as he watched them head out over the lagoon. Still, the second fleet had brought letters from Frostmarris and he was soon locked away in his cabin reading sheets and sheets of paper from his parents, a longish and completely business-like letter from Cressida giving lots of advice, and even a note each from the twins. These both consisted of one small phrase:

  Dear Sharley,

  GET LOST!


  Lots of Love,

  US!

  He could almost hear the twins giggling as they wrote them, and he found himself giggling too as he pinned the notes to the wall above his bed. Not surprisingly, there was nothing from Medea. Sharley tried to imagine what a letter from his strange sister would look like, and decided it would probably be written on black vellum with grey ink made from the ground ash of incinerated bones. He shuddered, then settled down to read his mum and dad’s letter again.

  His dad had done the actual writing; his mum was too impatient to write. She would have been pacing the floor and shouting out phrases and information to be included, until even his dad’s slow-burning temper would reach breaking point and they’d have one of their shouting matches. After that his dad would write in sulky silence, until his mum could stand it no longer and would start offering advice again.

  Sharley laid down the paper as it suddenly occurred to him how like children his parents were. This was quite a revelation, and he quickly scanned his memory for further instances of their childishness. After a while he gave up; there were just too many! Perhaps most adults were like that. Kids spent their lives expecting to act differently when they grew up, but perhaps they were wasting their time. Nothing changed but the body; the mind stayed much the same.

  Somehow he found this a comfort. He’d expected to reach some stage in life when his childish self would be left behind, but now, if he was right, he didn’t have to worry; he’d go on being himself no matter how old he got.

  He tried to imagine what someone as old as the Doge of Venezzia would have been like when he was young. Charlemagne had met him two days before. He was tall, frighteningly thin, and had the face of an old hawk watching all about him with sharp, flinty eyes. He realised that he couldn’t do it; the Doge’s mind had probably always been old and calculating and manipulative, even when he’d been a toddler!