by Stuart Hill
“Then presumably a large reserve force will shadow the army as a fail-safe to whatever Bellorum is planning?”
“There will be a reserve force, yes.”
“Of what size?”
“Of sufficient size.”
Further down the table Cressida could see the twins smirking and nudging each other. She almost gave up her desperate effort to halt what she considered to be an act of tactical and inexplicable madness there and then, but then she realised that both Cerdic and Eodred were military fools who hadn’t the intelligence to understand their danger. It was her duty to save them, and her mother, if she could.
“Ma’am, as acting Regent during your absence, I have the right to know details. How big will the reserve be?”
Thirrin narrowed her eyes as she observed her daughter. Despite her anger she admired her determination and had to admit she was a true scion of the House of Lindenshield. Cressida stood now, eyes blazing, red hair raging like a fire about her head, ready to face down even the Queen to receive her due rights. Eventually Thirrin nodded and said, “One thousand Wolf-folk and one thousand cavalry.”
“One thousand leopard and horse cavalry, or horse only?”
“Horse only.”
“Ma’am, it’s not enough! It’s not nearly enough! You will be riding to your deaths, and to the death of the Icemark!”
“Young Lady, you will not presume to question the decisions of your elders and, I might add, your betters when it comes to military planning. Both I and Tharaman-Thar believe we’re acting correctly in this. Reducing the main force any further by increasing the reserve could endanger the entire operation. You will accept our plan as final!”
“And this is the decision of the entire Council of Allies?” Cressida asked, desperately clutching at straws.
Thirrin drew breath before answering and cast a warning glance about the room. “It was the view of the majority, and has now been accepted by the entire Council, yes.”
Cressida saw a gleam of hope. “Then others agreed with my stance? This is madness, or bewitchment. Bellorum is waiting like a spider at the centre of his web, and you’re happily marching into it!”
“This has all been discussed in the minutest detail. The planners are all agreed. Accept the decision!”
“Madam, I accept only that I cannot stop you. I want it noted that I object in the strongest possible terms and agree with not one article or point of your plan!”
“Duly noted,” Thirrin answered quietly. “And duly marked.”
A gentle cough broke into the crackling atmosphere. “Now that we’ve all thoroughly aired our differences, might I suggest that we continue with the rest of the agenda?” said Krisafitsa. “I’m sure that there are points on which we can all agree.”
“I’m sure there are, Your Royal Highness,” said Cressida. “Tomorrow is Thor’s Day and not even a decision of the Council can alter such a certainty, so we must agree on that, I suppose.”
Krisafitsa sighed. Sometimes humans would make no effort to heal rifts. She really found it very vexing.
The army was ready to march that same day. Speed was now of the essence, and Thirrin and Tharaman-Thar stood at the head of their force, impatient to be off. There was little ceremony. Oskan embraced Thirrin in the square before the main gate, he whispered something in her ear, and she embraced him again, but he only frowned in return and stumped off, hiding his fears under a veneer of anger. Grishmak howled loud and long, but nobody replied, and the entire force looked unhappy and uncomfortable. Cressida stood on the battlements of the barbican and watched as the gates were thrown wide and the army began to file out. It was mainly cavalry, but the human infantry sat on the backs of their Snow Leopard comrades, who, along with the horses, kept up a rapid trot while the foot soldiers clung grimly on in the interests of speed. They were soon winding along the road that headed out to the Great Forest. There they would join the main highway, and their progress would become even more rapid as Thirrin upped Havoc’s pace to a canter.
Cressida had tried to say goodbye to Cerdic and Eodred properly, but they were too excited about going to war, and too pleased that they would be fighting Bellorum while Cressida had to stay at home. She’d had to more or less force them to hug her, and finally she’d left them to their preparations, feeling deeply sad and unwanted.
The main body of the army had disappeared from view before the small reserve force was assembled at the main gates. Cressida had waited to see them off too, and she watched as the werewolves and cavalry units took up their marching positions. Finally, the gates slammed open again and they set off, carefully grading their pace so they wouldn’t catch up with the main army. By the time they’d marched over the horizon the afternoon was almost half over, but neither of the hosts would stop for the night. Cressida found herself wondering just how many of the soldiers really believed they’d still be alive by the same time tomorrow.
She sighed and, turning to leave the battlements, bumped into King Grishmak, who’d walked up quietly to join her. He had a strange, distant expression on his face as though he was thinking something through. At last he said, “Your mother was dead set on this battle and for some reason none of us could stand against her, not even Tharaman. None of us really wanted it, we just couldn’t resist it. Odd, bloody odd.” His face screwed into a puzzled frown as he remembered the debates. “But still, the die’s cast, as they say. Now, if you want my advice, and I’m sure you don’t, you’ll keep yourself busy over the next few hours.”
“And what exactly do you suggest?” Cressida asked listlessly, her usual boundless energy drained by her struggle to stop the march.
“War games!” Grishmak answered immediately. “Take every soldier and warrior we have left and put them through their paces down on the plain. Olememnon’s in charge of the Hypolitan troops that have been left behind and Taradan’s commanding the Snow Leopards. Put some fire back into their blood. No soldier likes to think they’re expendable in any military operation, even if they’re secretly relieved to be left behind. I’ll join you myself and take command of the Wolf-folk!”
“War games?” said Cressida uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
“Never been more certain. I wouldn’t mention anything to Oskan, though. Just go out on to the plain and start manoeuvres. An army at war games can sometimes march for miles. Who knows how far south we may go and what battle we may find? After all, we could find ourselves working as a reserve for some army or other – a reserve of a proper size, that could react to whatever any old warhorse of a General may have planned, and stop him in his tracks.”
Cressida gazed at him, her jaw dropping, then she hugged him and laughed in pure, delighted relief. “You old stoat, I bet you’ve been planning this since the Queen first decided to march!”
“Could have been, I suppose. Those of us with our heads screwed on have to plan ahead, don’t you think? Me and you together, girl, could out-think a whole sack of Bellorums. Now let’s get this army marching!”
Once everything had been explained to Taradan and Olememnon they’d both jumped at the chance of marching in support of Thirrin and Tharaman’s army. Officially, the order was for all soldiers to report for war games down on the plain of Frostmarris, but rumour of the truth spread through the rank and file faster than ink through blotting paper. A general silence was ordered with strict instructions that no werewolf should relay messages ahead.
This time Cressida looked forward with hope, even though they were taking a terrible risk. If they failed and Bellorum was victorious, then the capital was open to enemy attack. But if the main army was destroyed then the war would be as good as lost anyway.
Within an hour everything was prepared and ready. The Support Army, as they called themselves, travelled very light, bringing nothing but the armour they wore and their weapons. The housecarle and Hypolitan infantry followed the example of their comrades and rode on the Snow Leopards, and the werewolves could run for hours. Speed was everything now,
and so was stealth.
They passed through the entrance tunnel of the main gate in silence, only the clop of hooves and the pad of paws echoing in the shadows as they emerged into the light of late afternoon and descended the winding walkway to the plain. The sun was sinking towards the western horizon in a blaze of crimson, throwing vastly elongated shadows back towards the city and burnishing the armour and weapons of the small army. Cressida turned in her saddle and looked back at her command. Everywhere spears and shields blazed, so that she seemed to be leading a host of fire spirits against the forces of the dark.
“We’re doing the right thing, aren’t we, Grishmak?” she said, suddenly seized by doubt. “We are right?”
“Ha! Never righter,” the wolfman King boomed. “We’re the secret weapon that no one expects, not even your mother, and if even our Commander-in-Chief doesn’t know we’re on the way, Bellorum has no chance of guessing!”
Cressida nodded decisively, her confidence completely restored by the bluff power of the werewolf. “We’ll hit him so hard he’ll be knocked out of his skin!” she said, with such ferocity even Grishmak was impressed.
“That’s it, young ’un. Tell it like it is!”
With the night came a new world for Cressida. Even after more than three years training with the cavalry and housecarles, and exploring the Great Forest, she’d never been beyond the walls of the city once the sun had set. It was the time of the Dark-of-the-Moon, when the Goddess was deeply wrapped in her Mystery – witches would call upon her at this time for help against evil, and Magic was most powerful. As Crown Princess, Cressida had always been more interested in the human activities of warfare and government, but now as she rode to her first real battle, her natural and understandable fears drew her to pray for help in the coming struggle. She looked at the wide sky, studded and littered with a cascade of stars as though some giant hand had scattered a handful of silver seeds over a black field, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
“If my eyes are to be closed forever on such beauty, I ask the Great Goddess to place my soul amongst the lanterns of the night so I may look on the home I have loved for ever.”
“You’d be the brightest of the stars if that were to happen, and I for one would use you as my guide through the darkest of nights,” said Grishmak’s voice beside her.
She gasped aloud, taken by surprise. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. It’s bad luck to pray in that way before a battle, I’m told.”
“Who by? None of us forgets the gods before a fight, and those who say they do are either lying or stupid – probably both,” the wolfman King said gruffly. “But you’ve no need to worry, my Princess – you’ve the blood of mighty warriors in your veins, and my knotted old guts tell me you’ll not be spilling any of it in tomorrow’s battle, though you’ll certainly cause it to pour from the veins of many another.”
As he spoke, a shooting star blazed a sudden scorching path across the sky, and Grishmak risked a short howl in greeting. “There, and on the right too! A star-dragon to greet you, My Lady – the luckiest of omens before your first fight! The Goddess is with you. Bellorum had better watch out!”
Cressida grinned in elation, the weight of her fears falling away. She was her mother’s daughter, a warrior and leader of hosts. She was as ready as she’d ever be for her first battle.
Later that night, her uncle Olememnon asked Taradan, the Snow Leopard he was riding, to draw closer to Cressida’s horse. “Hello, Your Highness,” he greeted her in his deep, quietly powerful voice, with a teasing reference to her position as Regent. “It’s all been a bit hectic today, hasn’t it? No sooner do the Hypolitan arrive, than we’re off on the road again with the promise of a punch-up at the end of it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Uncle Ollie, you must be exhausted.”
“No, not a bit of it. We took it easy on the way to Frostmarris, so we’re as fresh as daisies, and in my case even prettier.”
Cressida grinned. The veteran warrior was as creased and lined as an old leather armchair, and sometime during his many wars he’d picked up a broken nose that had set at a funny angle, making him look more like one of Grishmak’s werewolves than her mother’s much-loved uncle.
“Well, after hours of riding Taradan, you certainly don’t smell like a daisy.”
“He most certainly does not,” Taradan agreed. “More like the Royal stables, actually.”
Olememnon laughed. “Secret weapon of mine – no one can get near me when I smell like this. Better than any shield. And talking of which, what’s the strategy for tomorrow?”
Cressida looked worried. “I’ve no idea, Uncle Ollie. We’ll just have to remain flexible until we know what’s happening.”
“Fair enough, don’t you think, Taradan?”
“Certainly. Let’s just see how the land lies, so to speak, then hit them at their weakest point. Always the best way.”
“What’s that?” boomed Grishmak, as he made his way back to the head of the column after making an inspection.
“The tactics for tomorrow,” Olememnon explained. “Hit them hard.”
“Oh, absolutely. Hit them hard and keep hitting them hard until they bugger off!”
“Right,” said Cressida brightly. “That’s decided, then.”
By the time the sun came up in a glory of crimson and gold, Thirrin and the main army were marching in battle formation. Werewolf scouts were ranging ahead and sending reports back every few minutes, but so far there were no signs of either the refugee column or the Imperial army.
But then, as the sun climbed to its mid-morning position, a scout came running to deliver a message. Bellorum had been spotted, and they were too close now to risk sending a vocal warning for fear of giving away the presence of the rescue force before they were ready.
The werewolf scout forced her way through the press of the Queen’s Ukpik bodyguards and curtsied low. Thirrin had never got used to the sight of the huge creatures performing such graceful gestures, but she kept her face carefully neutral as she nodded her acknowledgement. “Warrior Flesh-tearer, give your report.”
“Your Majesty, the refugee column is two miles ahead. They’ve just entered the Asgaard Cut and Bellorum is pressing them close.”
“The rearguard?”
“All but destroyed. Twenty housecarles and ten werewolves are scrambling away as best they can, but in good order still.”
“The Asgaard Cut. If I remember the maps correctly, isn’t that the narrow valley the Great Road passes through before it reaches the Central Plain?” asked Tharaman-Thar, idly flexing his claws.
“That’s right, two miles long and half a mile wide at the base. It’s very steep-sided and the slopes are covered in trees and heavy scrub.”
“A risky battlefield, then. Whoever commands the wooded slopes is almost guaranteed victory,” said Krisafitsa quietly. “Anything could be hidden amongst the trees.”
“Yes, but fortunately Bellorum is as new to the ground as we are,” said Thirrin. “Now begins the race to take the better positions!” Standing in her stirrups she drew her sword and gave the order to advance, and the army leaped forward in a controlled gallop. It was imperative to reach the valley before Bellorum could survey the area in too much detail and seize the best ground.
Within minutes the entrance to the valley came into view, and Thirrin realised her force would have the advantage. They were at the top of a steep gradient with Bellorum at the bottom; the high ground was theirs!
On they swept like an unstoppable sea, galloping into the valley and on down the steeply sloping land. Far ahead at the southern entrance to the vale Thirrin could clearly see the refugee column coming towards them, and behind it was Bellorum’s army! The allies now fanned out into a fighting front with the cavalry of horse and Snow Leopard in the centre and werewolves dividing themselves between the left and right flanks. Quickly, the infantry climbed down from the backs of their leopard comrades and formed up into their phalanxes, ready to sweep round on the l
eft and right wings in a pincer movement with the werewolves.
Taking up a position close to his mother, Prince Eodred drew his sword and waited for orders. Scanning the infantry as they hurried by to their positions, he at last caught sight of his twin brother.
“Cerdic!” he called. “Cerdic, give them steel and fire!”
His brother grinned and raised his axe in greeting. “You too, steel and fire and a bit of horse and hoof!”
Thirrin, who’d been absorbed in assessing the oncoming army, suddenly remembered her sons as she heard their voices, and turned to watch them as they laughed and joked excitedly. She felt oddly detached from them, almost as if they were people she’d known long ago and in a different life. They were obviously feeling the same, because at that moment they seemed to remember her presence and turned to look at her. Both smiled shyly, even uncertainly. Thirrin nodded as a terrible fear for them suddenly threatened to overwhelm her with a rush that was almost violent in its power. She gasped aloud. Her boys could be killed!
A terrible screeching roar then crashed into the air, and she swung round to see Bellorum’s army driving into the refugee column. Immediately, Thirrin stood in her stirrups. “The enemy is upon us! They kill our children, they burn our houses! Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”
With a roar, the warriors of all three species took up the war cry.
“Blood! Blast! And Fire! Blood! Blast! And Fire!”
And as one body they swept forward in a smashing charge.
The refugees scattered, throwing themselves clear of the two armies, and scrambled up the steep sides of the valley, leaving behind a broken litter of dead.
At the head of his force Bellorum smiled. He held up his steel war-hand and his troops stamped to a halt. The General watched Thirrin and the cream of her allies thundering down towards him. “Well, how very kind of you, my dear,” he murmured. “You’ve really been most obliging.” Slowly, he drew his sword and held it aloft, then chopped it viciously downwards.
