by Stuart Hill
The Vampire Queen took her Consort’s hand and held it briefly to her lips. “Then, my love, we will be defending the skies over a city of mortals once again.”
“So it would seem, my most precious of riches,” the King answered, and smiled gently.
Thirrin was amazed to hear a note of genuine weariness in his tone, and scrutinised her reluctant allies. If she hadn’t known better she might have believed that only a determination to save Frostmarris kept the Vampires fighting on. But she dismissed the thought as absurd. The Vampires loved none but themselves, and their loyalty was exacted only by threats and menaces. Even so, they had fought long and hard for Learton and had then covered the retreat of the housecarle and werewolf garrison. And when the pursuit by Polypontian cavalry became desperate, they’d finally swooped down on their allies and bodily carried them to safety. Could Oskan be wrong when he insisted that the Vampires hated them? Could there perhaps be the faintest spark of friendship somewhere in their dead hearts?
“Let us hope they attack soon,” Her Vampiric Majesty snapped. “Our people grow hungry, and human blood is nourishing no matter what the source. Jugular of the Icemark or jugular of the Polypontus is all one and the same to the piercing fang.”
Thirrin shuddered; her answer was given. “Any attack on my people or allies will meet with swift and terrible revenge, Your Majesty,” she said with quiet venom. “You can rest assured that for every human death you inflict on my people, ten Vampires will be sent into the Dark.”
“Well now, isn’t this pleasant?” said Oskan. “Just a group of old friends passing time in idle chit-chat. How fortunate that we have so much in common.”
“How fortunate for you that we have a binding treaty in common, as well as a mutual enemy intent on destroying us both,” said His Vampiric Majesty.
“Quite,” agreed Oskan. “And with that in mind, perhaps we should discuss tactics.” He beckoned to a werewolf soldier who stepped forward with a low table that she positioned between the two sets of thrones, after which a housecarle unrolled a large map showing Frostmarris and the surrounding area.
“Shall we?” Thirrin said, stepping down from the dais.
Their Vampiric Majesties and Oskan joined her at the table, and together they pored over the plan. “As we know, the squadrons of Snowy Owls are billeted in the Great Forest. From there they’ll be able to send out patrols to cover and hinder Bellorum’s advance, as well as attacking the Sky Navy as and when it arrives. But I suggest your Vampires concentrate solely on protecting the skies directly above Frostmarris. Are we in agreement?”
“The Snowy Owls know of this plan?” His Vampiric Majesty asked.
“Yes. They understand the language of the Wolf-folk and have been in communication with myself and Oskan for a day or so now. They are in complete agreement.”
“Would it perhaps have been rather more courteous if you had informed their Overlord, namely myself, that you were instructing his vassals in tactics for the coming battle?”
Thirrin glanced at the Vampire King and inclined her head. “It would,” she answered simply. “Please accept my apologies.”
His Vampiric Majesty raised an eyebrow in surprise. “It is of no consequence. War sometimes makes speed more necessary than etiquette.”
Oskan watched this small exchange with interest. Normally, such a slight to his Royal dignity would have given the Vampire King an excuse to argue and wrangle for hours. So why, Oskan wondered, had he ignored such a golden opportunity to cause trouble this time? Thirrin might believe that the Vampires were warming in their attitude towards their human allies, but Oskan would have none of it. Their Vampiric Majesties did nothing that didn’t have their own interests at heart, and the Witchfather determined to find out what it was.
“The tactics remain simple and basic, I suppose. When the Sky Navy appears, attack it; destroy what you can and hinder what you can’t,” said Thirrin, continuing with the briefing. “The land forces will then appear and take up a position on the high ground to the south of the plain, and the battle for Frostmarris will have begun in earnest.” She sighed wearily and sat on the edge of the dais. “It’s just like the last time, I suppose. Only now Bellorum has his new Sky Navy to bomb us into submission, and we have no additional allies to call on. We can’t fail to be the first ones to crack under the pressure.”
Her Vampiric Majesty sat down next to her. “None of us will crack, Thirrin. You’ll see. Bellorum and his legions will batter themselves to pieces on our ramparts, and when the remnants of his filthy army are forced to withdraw, we’ll still be standing.”
Oskan was astonished. He’d never heard the Vampires use anything other than their formal titles when addressing either himself or the Queen. What could it all mean? But before he had time to analyse anything, the sound of hurrying feet interrupted his thoughts.
A housecarle officer burst into the cave and bowed hurriedly. “Your Majesties. The werewolf relay has just reported Bellorum is fast approaching and the Sky Navy is flying ahead. They expect the first of the wasp-fighters to be over the city in less than an hour.”
“Then the time has come, my love,” said his Vampiric Majesty, taking his Queen’s hand with a peculiarly gentle smile. Let us prepare for battle.”
CHAPTER 25
The camels roared a rich concert of bubbling groans and growls across the silent dunes. The mules and one or two of the horses joined in, and Sharley stared nervously about the empty landscape. What had the animals sensed? He knew these creatures never wasted energy unnecessarily in the harsh desert conditions. This discordant chorus must be a warning of some sort.
Mekhmet was worried too, and reining to a halt he beckoned over the Commander of the Guard and the chief drover, hoping their greater experience would provide an explanation.
“Perhaps they scent water, My Lord,” the Commander suggested. “Sometimes there are hidden springs beneath the sands.”
The camel drover glanced at the soldier contemptuously. “No, no. This is not the song for water. My camels issue a warning of weather, My Lord.”
“Weather?” said Sharley in amazement. “Then perhaps we’d better prepare for sunshine and heat tomorrow,” he added ironically.
“Forgive me, but His Majesty, the Prince of the North, has little knowledge of the desert’s ways,” the drover said courteously. “My camels have scented a shift in the strength of the winds, and soon we may expect a sandstorm.”
Mekhmet and the Commander both looked alarmed. “When? Exactly how long do we have?” the Commander asked.
The drover raised his head and sniffed at the hot air. “An hour, perhaps. Enough time to prepare.”
Mekhmet nodded. “Then do it. I want losses kept to the barest minimum.”
“What’s so bad about a storm? A bit of rain might cool things down for a while,” said Sharley, puzzled.
“Rain? There’s no rain in a sandstorm,” Mekhmet answered. “There are only howling, burning winds, and hot sands whipped up to such a force that they can scour the flesh from the bones of anyone stupid enough to get caught out in it. We can only trust that the Blessed Women will help us.”
“Really?” said Sharley. “But can’t we outrun it and find shelter somewhere?”
“And where would you suggest?” asked Mekhmet, waving his hand at the wide unbroken landscape of undulating sand dunes.
Both boys fell silent, and watched as the chief drover and his men goaded and cajoled the camels into a wide circle almost nose to tail. The horses and mules were then tethered within the ring of huge hump-backed beasts, and were forced to lie down with their back legs hobbled so that they couldn’t bolt in panic.
“Come on, Sharley, we’d better get ready,” said Mekhmet, and hurried to a position downwind of two particularly large camels that were roaring and bubbling as the drovers draped tent hides on the ground and staked them down next to their beasts.
“Dismount, and lead Suleiman close to the camels. He won’t like it, but he’l
l go with you,” Mekhmet directed, and he waited while Sharley did as he was told before leading his own horse in. Then both horses were hobbled and given the command to lie down.
Without waiting for one of his many servants, Mekhmet started to unload the hide of one of the smaller tents. “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open, give me a hand!” he shouted to Sharley.
The Crown Prince showed him how to peg down the leading edge of the tent and drape it over the nervously whickering horses, leaving a long trailing length downwind. “Come on,” he said. “Follow me.” Lifting the deflated tent, he found the entrance and crawled inside.
The horses continued to snort and whicker nervously, but the boys murmured to them and Sharley whispered Suleiman’s name into his ear. Eventually, the horses quieted, but the heat inside the unerected tent was stifling .“Look, I’m still not sure what all the fuss is about,” said Sharley. “I mean, I know it’s going to get windy, and you lot seem to think that’s dangerous, but how bad can it be?”
“Perhaps you have to experience a sandstorm to truly understand,” said Mekhmet quietly. “We still have a few minutes yet; maybe you should go outside and see if you can make anything out.”
“Fine!” said Sharley, beginning to get irritated. “I will. But what am I looking for?”
“You’ll know when you see it,” said his friend mysteriously. “But don’t wander off. You could get lost.”
Sharley fought his way out from under the heavy hide and stood up. Everything was quiet. All the soldiers, drovers and servants were hidden inside their unerected tents, which were huddled against the sheltered side of the camel circle like the flayed skins of so many dead giants. Only the huge lumps at the leading edges of the hides showed where the horses and mules lay, and here and there the lumps writhed wildly as the animals panicked.
After the relative dark of the tent, the brilliant sun dazzled Sharley, but as his eyes adjusted he stared out over the shimmering dunes that wavered and boiled in the heat haze. Then he saw it. On the horizon a tower of something that looked like thick black and ochre smoke rose into the air. It was stupendously high, reaching from the desert floor far into the sky. Sharley gasped, and the hairs on his arms and neck stood up.
Almost imperceptibly, a gentle gasp of wind stroked his face, and with it came an acrid scent of hot dust and a whisper of a distant howling and raging that made him gasp again. For the first time in weeks, his gammy leg gave way and he sat down hard on the sands.
“Can you see anything?” a muffled voice called from under the tent.
“Yes,” he whispered. Then, clearing his throat, he repeated, “Yes. A wall of sand higher than the sky, wider than a city, and heading this way!”
“That’d be the sandstorm, then,” said Mekhmet, stating the obvious. “You’d better come back in. Now!”
“I think you should take a look,” Sharley answered. “It’s truly enormous. Surely an ordinary storm can’t be this big?”
A scrambling in the tent indicated that Mekhmet was hurrying to join him. He emerged red-faced and sweating from the hides. “You’ve no experience of sandstorms. It’s probably not too bad.”
Sharley pointed silently, and his friend fell to his knees. “May the One protect us,” he whispered.
“I told you it was bad,” Sharley said quietly.
“Bad! It’s more than bad. It’s massive!” Mekhmet croaked. “We’d better pray that the Blessed Women are with us. Without their protection we’re dead!”
Sharley’s heart gave a huge thump and then seemed to fall silent. He stared in horrified fascination as the thin dusty outriders of the storm started to steal over the camp. Slowly, the sun was dimmed and the light turned a tawny colour. The eerie non-dark made Sharley’s flesh creep; it was like twilight in a tomb.
The shriek of the raging wind was slowly climbing higher and higher, filling his head with its fury. Sharley began to pray. He wasn’t exactly sure who or what he was praying to, but remembering the beautiful mirage of the Blessed Women he made a desperate plea for help.
The day then seemed to draw breath, and a huge blast of hot, sand-laden air roared across the camp. Sharley was almost blinded, but coughing and wheezing he grabbed Mekhmet, and together they just managed to struggle back to their tent. The wind screeched and howled like an attack of the Vampire army. It was almost impossible to see anything as the light level dipped to near dark. The boys fell to their knees and crawled into the hot airless refuge.
They lay still under the fabric. Eventually, Mekhmet’s hand found Sharley’s, and he grasped it gladly as the full terror of the storm hit them.
All around the camp the wind screamed.
“We’re lost! We’re lost, there’s nothing we can do!” Mekhmet yelled against the noise of the storm.
Was this it? Sharley thought. Was this where his mission ended? Dying like this was almost laughable: caught in a dust storm and smothered to death!
He huddled closer to Mekhmet, glad to have some human contact at the end. But then Sharley noticed a strange blue light that began to filter through the tent. Beautiful female voices began to fill his head. He could have cried out with joy; his prayers had been answered!
The gentle singing slowly swelled, filling the air with sweetness, and the roaring and raging of the winds abated slightly.
Now Mekhmet lifted a corner of the tent, and after a few moments scrambled to his feet, laughing.
“The Blessed Women! We’re saved! Look!”
What looked like a bank of blue mist was slowly evolving across the dunes and gradually surrounding the camp. Soon, a barrier of light and song stood against the storm, and no matter how the winds raged, they were unable to break through the wall of ethereal blue.
Sharley crawled out from under the canvas and stood with Mekhmet, gazing at the light. Gradually they began to make out the forms of beautiful young women, who stood holding hands in a long unbroken line around the camp, their long robes flowing and waving gently as though undulating on a current of water.
Their song strengthened and rose in powerful harmonies that slowly drowned out the raging of the winds. All around the camp the sandstorm rampaged, but within the barrier of blue light an all-pervading sense of calm settled over everything and everyone.
After what seemed an age, the howling of the storm began to abate and the singing of the Blessed Women also began to change, slowly descending the scales and levels of volume until only a gentle melody whispered through the air, and the last of the wind died away.
The barrier of blue light started to flow and ripple as the Blessed Women, too, slowly moved away. And as Sharley and Mekhmet watched, one of the fabulous, transparent figures broke away from the others and drifted over the sands towards them. Sharley fell to his knees and looked up at the woman’s outline, which glowed in the dimness like a gentle lamp. Sharley could see that she was smiling at him, and he was pierced by an acute sense of love and compassion that brought tears to his eyes. Here was the love of mothers and of fathers; here was the love of sisters and of brothers. But more than that, Sharley felt that this single Blessed Woman was one tiny spark of compassion from a source infinitely greater than he or anyone else could ever imagine.
The Blessed Woman began to speak. “Charlemagne of the North, Blessed of the One, I come to sanctify your travels. Know this, we are here for you always and hold you safe in the palm of our hand. Do not be frightened on our desert road.”
She held out her hands to the two Princes in a gesture of blessing, salaamed deeply and silently withdrew.
The boys watched her go, and were suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of exhaustion that seemed to seep out of the very air around them. Completely unable to resist, they sank to the ground and fell asleep. The next thing Sharley knew, Mekhmet was shaking him.
“Well, you’re a cool one, I must say. There are not many who could sleep through their first sandstorm. I’m sorry if the worst my desert can throw at you is so boring,” the Crown Pri
nce said with reluctant amusement.
Sharley instinctively knew that the Blessed Women were ensuring his friend had forgotten almost all of what had just happened, but that for some reason they were allowing him to remember it. He decided he could only accept their wisdom, so he said nothing and grinned apologetically.
The world was silent now. The strange veil of dirty light had been drawn from the sky as if it had never been there, and the sun’s glare was as strong as ever. But the land had changed completely, or rather the landmarks had. All the dunes, all the sand-valleys and hills had been swept away and a new topography of sandbanks, hummocks and hills rippled away to the horizon. If Sharley had known where he was before the storm, he certainly had no idea now. He just hoped the others knew the way.
He needn’t have worried. The chief drover took an instrument from his saddlebag and, lining it up with the sun, he took a reading. Sharley knew this would tell him their exact position, but how it did so he had no idea. He was quite content to let the ‘clever ones’ lead the way.
Within an hour the caravan was en route to Lusuland again, and apart from finding sand in the unlikeliest of places, there was nothing to suggest they’d just been through a howling desert storm, and seen the mysterious Blessed Women.
CHAPTER 26
Their Vampiric Majesties waited above the city with their squadrons, wheeling slowly on the thermals spiralling up from the stonework that was gently warming in the summer sunshine. In their bat forms they could see and hear with amazing clarity, and they eagerly drank in the opening moves of the battle for Frostmarris.
Below them on the city defences, the human, leopard and werewolf soldiers were taking up their positions, while the crews of the crossbow-like ballistas and rock-throwing trebuchets swarmed over their giant weapons as they prepared them for the coming struggle. In the far distance the barely discernible flash and glitter of Bellorum’s advancing army could just be seen through the haze of the warm day, and the shrill of fife and rattle of drum whispered over the miles. But much, much closer was the Sky Navy, the shadows of its ships sweeping over the land as they advanced in battle formation. Their task was to weaken the city and, perhaps, if they were very lucky, to destroy it completely in the first attack.
