Blade Of Fire (Book 2)

by Stuart Hill

  “Only that it is too deliciously ironic that we are now the Icemark’s most useful ally. Even the mighty Snow Leopards can do nothing against the Imperial flying machines, thus proving that there are times when delicacy and elegance are of far greater worth than mere brute strength.”

  “Oh, how right you are, my sweet breath of carrion,” said the Queen. “Without us, the hateful Bellorum and his insane sons would be sitting in Frostmarris tonight, a thought that I find oddly disturbing.”

  “Do you know, oh deepest shadow of my darkness, I know exactly what you mean,” said the King, a small fretful frown creasing his brow. “There was a time when I would have found the idea of the Icemark’s defeat a positive delight, and yet now I feel a mild sense of outrage at the very idea.”

  Neither of Their Vampiric Majesties heard the polite cough, or the meaningful clearing of the throat that followed a few seconds later, so engrossed were they in dissecting their newly found feelings for the Icemark. But then a huge booming voice shouted, “Oi, Fang-face! Thirrin wants a word!”

  They both turned, with pained expressions on their pale features, to see that Thirrin and King Grishmak had entered the chamber.

  “Really, Grishmak! Have you never sampled the delights of subtlety?”

  “No, can’t say as I have. Anyway, now we’ve got your attention, listen up.”

  Thirrin smiled her thanks to the Wolf-folk King, and said, “I only really came to thank you for your actions during the battle today. We’d have been lost without you.”

  “What exactly do you mean?” Her Vampiric Majesty asked suspiciously.

  “What do I mean? Well, erm, nothing – just thank you. I dread to think what would have happened if you hadn’t blown up the gunpowder.” Thirrin shuddered. “I really can’t imagine what we’d have done without you.” She looked up and held their cold gazes unflinchingly. “We’d all have died, I suppose, so I thought it my duty to come and personally thank you on behalf of all of the allies.”

  She turned to leave, but then stopped. “No, that’s not actually right. It’s more than that. It’s not only because I thought it was my duty to express our gratitude; I wanted to come and personally say how grateful I am for your help.”

  An astonished silence followed, until the Vampire King gracefully inclined his head. “My dear, I know what it must have cost you to come here and speak to us tonight. And I can only say that of all the members of the House of Lindenshield we have known down the long, long years of our death, you are the only one who truly deserves the title ‘Queen of the Icemark’.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Queen Ketshaka had set her country’s affairs in order. A council of ministers had been appointed to rule the land in her absence, and the palace had seethed with dignitaries and messengers from all over Lusuland as preparations for her long absence were made. And then, when all was ready, she’d sent out orders for the mustering of the entire Lusu army of sixty thousand warriors.

  Now, as they assembled on the savannah in front of Swahati, Sharley was almost breathless with excitement. Regiment after regiment of magnificent Lusu warriors, male and female, with plumed headdresses and striped mounts, stretched away into the distance. The mighty force was thirty impis strong – thirty thousand cavalry in Icemark terms!

  Queen Ketshaka arrived to review the parade, sitting astride her own war-zebra, and armed to the teeth with assegai, cavalry sabre, mace and battleaxe. Her face was a fierce mask that seemed to be carved from the threat of storms, and about her brow was tied a huge uncut diamond that glittered almost as terribly as her eyes.

  “We go now, my mighty impis, to fight in a land far to the north where the cold of the mountains is found everywhere and every day; where the people look like Death Himself, and where the mighty Queen Lindenshield holds her Court. Honoured are we who are called to help in her war. The time has come for the ‘washing of the spears’, and those of us who must die will do so with bravery and honour!”

  In the silence that followed, the army stared rigidly ahead, but then a single voice called out: “Mighty is the Great She-Lion! Mighty is the Mother of the Nation!”

  And out crashed the single word of the Royal salute from sixty thousand throats:

  “Keshay!”

  Three times the salute was given, the single voice of the mighty host rolling round the savannah that surrounded the capital city. Then a slow whisper of sound began as sixty thousand assegai spears were beaten gently on sixty thousand shields. The sound grew to a rattling, crashing crescendo and gradually faded away to silence. Then out roared the Royal salute again.

  “Keshay!”

  What a fighting force! What an awesome responsibility, Sharley thought. What if, after all he’d been through, he couldn’t actually get this huge army to the Icemark? And if he could, what if they arrived too late? There was such a long way to go, and so many barriers and difficulties in their way!

  Just getting such a formidable host across the desert was going to be an enormous task.

  After several days of preparation for the difficult journey to come, the allies were ready. Sharley, Mekhmet and Ketshaka led their soldiers out of Lusuland and deep into the desert, and the huge striped army moved as one over the burning sands.

  Each of the Lusu mounts carried not only its rider and all of his or her equipment, but also an enormous bundle of fodder and two barrels of water! A supply train, made up of hundreds of ox carts, piled high with supplies, brought up the rear. On Mekhmet’s advice they had decided to ‘hop’ from oasis to oasis; even though this was slower, it meant that they could refill their water barrels from the wells and water holes, and allow the zebras, horses and oxen to recover their strength.

  Before night fell on the first searingly hot day, Mekhmet sent word ahead to the Sultan to warn of their approach, reassuring the army of the Desert Kingdom that they weren’t about to be invaded by the Lusu, and ensuring they were met halfway by another supply train that would replenish their stocks. Then they began to bed down for the night.

  All around him Sharley could hear the low buzz of the camp. It was so large it was like being in a mobile city, and there was a continuous hum and rumour of small, incidental noises. Nearby, the strange hiccupping bray of a zebra echoed across the night, and soon after he heard the mighty snores of Queen Ketshaka. When he had first heard the Queen’s snoring, back in the Lusu palace, Sharley had thought in his halfsleep that he was being attacked by a swarm of giant hornets, but now he’d grown used to it, and when it stopped the breathless silence of the desert night was almost painful.

  Sharley lay in the tent he shared with Mekhmet and stared into the darkness. It was impossible to sleep; so much had happened and there was so much to think about. Eventually he gave up, climbed out of bed and walked silently to the entrance of the tent. As he emerged a guard drew his scimitar, and a flash of steel glinted in the brilliant moonlight. Then, seeing who it was, the man saluted and stood to attention.

  “It’s a beautiful night, Omar,” said Sharley as he gazed out over the tents and picket lines, campfires and guard posts.

  “Truly, Lord, I have never seen the moon so bright. Surely it is a powerful omen that the One should send us a light to make even our hours of darkness as bright as day.”

  “Surely,” he agreed. “And truly, the mighty Queen of the Lusu provides her own nightingale for the splendour of the night.”

  Ketshaka’s snores resounded from her nearby tent, and the guard smiled. “Her Majesty is such a prodigious monarch that even her sleeping voice must shout across the land.”

  “Prodigious indeed. I’m so glad she’s on our side.”

  Sharley walked a little way into the night and stared into the full glory of the desert sky. His leg was aching, but he soon forgot all about the dull throbbing as the beauty of the night overwhelmed him. Eventually he drew a deep, shuddering breath, and allowed his eyes to wander back to the camp.

  This was what it was all about: bringing an army to help
save the Icemark. He just hoped and prayed he could get them there, and in time. Sharley fell to his knees and touched his head to the sands three times, just as he’d seen Mekhmet and all the other Desert People do. Please, please let us get back to the Icemark in time to make a difference, he prayed.

  He climbed to his feet, and remembering his northern beliefs he bowed deeply to the moon in honour of the Mother Goddess and asked for her help too.

  Slowly he became aware of a distant, gentle singing and a faint blue light in the skies to the south. He smiled. Obviously the Blessed Women were back and keeping a close eye on them as they crossed the desert. He was enormously grateful for the protection they seemed to give him. He bowed slowly in the direction of the blue glow and thanked them.

  Shivering in the bitter cold of the desert night, he went back to his tent. He felt somehow calmer, as though the weight of responsibility he felt was now shared with the gods. After all, he reasoned, he was only a fourteen-year-old boy. There were limits to what anyone could expect him to do. He got back into bed and immediately fell asleep.

  The next day the camp awoke to the cacophony of roaring camels, neighing horses, braying zebras and shouting people. Mekhmet prodded Sharley. “Come on! How can you sleep through all this noise?”

  Sharley grunted, and peered at his friend through slitted eyes. He was still tired after lying awake for most of the night, but he soon caught the usual morning excitement of the camp and sat up. “Where’s breakfast?”

  “Adil hasn’t brought it in yet.”

  “Any messages from your father?”

  “Yes. There’s been a huge purging of Polypontian spies. As far as anyone can tell, the kingdom’s now clean. Which means General Bellorum will know something’s going on – because all information will have dried up – but he won’t know what.”

  “Let’s hope we can keep it that way,” said Sharley, getting dressed. “Who knows, perhaps we’ll be able to take him completely by surprise and arrive in the Icemark before he even knows there’s an army on its way.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mekhmet. “But that’s highly unlikely. Even if he has no spies left in the Desert Kingdom, you can bet they’re still at work in Venezzia, and the sort of fleet that’ll be needed for the transport of over thirty thousand cavalry is certainly going to draw attention.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but let’s live in hope until we know otherwise.”

  Mekhmet nodded in agreement. “Oh, there’s one other thing. Your old friend Captain Al-Khatib has been promoted, he’s now the Grand Vizier.”

  Sharley grinned. “Al-Khatib, Grand Vizier! But how? Why?”

  “He was the obvious choice. He’s worked for the Nasrid dynasty all his life. It was he and his network of counter-spies who kept the Polypontian espionage system under some control. And once my father had decided to declare war openly on the Empire, it was he who arrested all the traitors and cleansed the land of their poison.”

  Sharley nodded. It had always been obvious that Al-Khatib was more than just a merchant and sea captain. But even so, it was still a surprise to hear that after the Sultan and Mekhmet, Al-Khatib was now the most powerful man in the Desert Kingdom.

  Just then, the boys’ servant, Adil, arrived with their breakfast and they took their places at the low table to eat.

  It was surprising how quickly the camp could be packed up and the army made ready to march, but the superb command system of the Lusu cavalry ensured that everything was under way within half an hour of the order to move out being given. Sharley looked back over the seemingly endless triple column of zebras and found himself praying again that they’d actually reach the Icemark and have a chance to strike at the hated Polypontian Empire.

  “Ah, I see my son Charlemagne has the shadows of doubt clouding his sight,” said Queen Ketshaka, who rode alongside the boys at the head of the column. “You must learn to trust in the will of the Great Spirits. I cannot believe that they would have decreed that you should reach Lusuland if you were not destined to have your new allies fight alongside you in the North.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Sharley answered in the Lusu tongue. “Even as we speak, my mother and her army could be fighting a losing war against the overwhelming numbers of the Empire.”

  The Queen turned her enormous head to look long and hard at Sharley. “A Prince must learn to have faith in the motives of the gods. The Wise Woman of my Kraal read the signs and omens before we marched and she said that in the realms of the spirits we are even now known as the Army of Death, led by Death Himself. Apparently it is our appointed task to ‘change the established world order’.”

  “And you believe that?” Sharley asked.

  Ketshaka laughed. “But of course. The Wise Woman is never wrong. However, the gods and spirits speak in riddles, so how do we know how our ‘appointed task’ will be accomplished? Perhaps it will be as we hope, and we will destroy the mighty host of the Polypontian Empire. Maybe we will also kill the hated Bellorum and wipe his foul dynasty from the face of the bountiful earth.” She fell silent for a moment and her radiant smile faded. “But we must also accept that our destiny could be fulfilled when we are destroyed, and the world order may change with the death of Queen Ketshaka III, and the fall of the House of Nasrid, and of Lindenshield. Such may be the will of the Great Spirits.”

  Mekhmet caught his friend’s eye, and shrugged. “Whatever happens is the will of the One.”

  Sharley found no comfort whatsoever in either of their beliefs and after a while he urged Suleiman ahead, taking consolation from the emptiness of the desert that stretched before him. Here at least were no fears, no hopes and no crippling sense of duty. The desert was a leveller of all ambitions and desires, and he rested his mind in its calm.

  As he trotted ahead he noticed a growing smudge of distorted colour on the horizon. He reined Suleiman in and waited for Mekhmet and Queen Ketshaka to catch up.

  “Something’s approaching,” he said when they were within earshot.

  “I see it,” said Mekhmet. “With a bit of luck it’s the escort and supply train from my father. I’m looking forward to eating something other than antelope, aren’t you?”

  And then, as they gazed hopefully ahead, a forest of banners and lances began to emerge from the shimmering distortions of the heat haze.

  CHAPTER 30

  General Scipio Bellorum sat in his campaign tent, reviewing the war so far. He was hardly surprised that the Icemark was proving to be an extremely tough nut to crack, but he remained confident that eventually his relentless attack would break the resistance of the defenders and he could finally add this tiny, insignificant little country to the Imperial possessions – an ambition that had been with him for twenty years, and one that, with every fibre of his military being, he was determined to see fulfilled.

  Some of his critics had dared to whisper that his determination to defeat Thirrin Lindenshield and her allies had become an obsession that was perilously close to lunacy. But such rumours of mental instability did little to tarnish the General’s reputation. Some of his more extreme actions, in a long and illustrious career, could only have been carried out by someone who had an insane disregard for human life and suffering. For Bellorum, Imperial ambition outweighed all other considerations.

  “There’s talk of insanity in the family again,” said Sulla, almost as though he’d been reading his father’s mind. “Funny how such ideas are forgotten as soon as we’ve won another victory for the Empire.”

  “I presume the source of such rumours is the Senate,” said Scipio quietly. Sulla nodded in silence. “Then take this as a lesson, my dear boy: civil government has little nerve for costly military actions, and they’ll attack the strategists and tacticians with gusto until victory is secured, after which they’ll become your greatest ally and supporter.”

  Bellorum knew he was a grand master in the art of war, and he also knew full well that a lesser Commander would have cut losses and withdrawn by now. This was
the essential difference between a military genius and a general who was merely superb. He would allow himself until the winter to finally subjugate the Icemark and wipe out all resistance. If he was not master of the land by then, he would simply rest his troops in the territories he’d already secured and employ a ‘scorched earth’ policy that would strip the land of all food supplies. He’d then blockade the ports, and sit back in comfort to watch the enemy starve to death. By the following spring, the Icemark would be his. Victory was almost guaranteed. True, there were rumours of unrest in the Imperial territories far to the south, and reports were coming in that the Desert Kingdom was at last waking from its decades-long torpor, and might well be preparing for war. But the Imperial armies of the south and east should be able to contain any threat. Here in the north, they would be little bothered by rumours of unrest in a kingdom that had long since ceased to be a problem to the Empire.

  He strode over to the side of his huge campaigning tent, where he nodded curtly to a guard. The wall of canvas was immediately rolled up to give him a clear, unhindered view of the plain of Frostmarris and the hated capital itself. The abortive attempt to crush the city on the first day of his attack had proved enormously costly, but fortunately he was still humble enough to accept lessons from the younger Bellorums, and had followed Sulla’s advice to keep an army in reserve. This had undoubtedly saved the day, and he was able to make a strategic withdrawal and gather his resources before advancing again.

  “You may join me,” he said quietly to his sons without turning, and they walked across the tent to stand respectfully beside him. “You are both fully aware of my plan to starve the defenders into submission if need be; however, I would prefer to inflict a final military defeat on Thirrin Lindenshield and her fighters. It must become common knowledge throughout the Empire that resistance, no matter how vigorous, is ultimately futile.” He sipped at his wine before continuing. “The Icemark’s resistance has unfortunately become almost legendary throughout the known world; I am therefore determined that the House of Bellorum will be known as the power that finally defeats it.”