by Stuart Hill
The image of Oskan rose unbidden in her mind. He was back working in the infirmary, tending the injured soldiers who’d been brought in after the first attack. Medea watched him, trying to understand why he bothered. A warlock of such immense Gift could have had enormous power in the Spirit Realms. Medea was certain his abilities were such that he could have escaped the restrictions of a physical life and existed forever as a sorcerer, influencing all worlds and wielding almost limitless power. And yet he chose to live within the restrictions of the physical plane. Why?
As she watched, one of the patients in the infirmary started to cough, sending out great gouts of blood that splashed thickly on to the clean bedding. Irritated, Medea withdrew and plied her Eye elsewhere as she sought answers, leaving the feeble twitchings of humanity for other, more rarefied, planes.
Oskan rushed to help the witches fighting to save the man’s life, and held him while they struggled to clear the clots of blood from his windpipe. But there was little any of them could do.
He helped carry the body to the mortuary, then stripped the bed of its soiled linen. There’d soon be more patients to take the dead man’s place. Any day now the next assault would begin, and according to the werewolf relay the Sky Navy had been rebuilt. Only the Vampires could stop them, and it wouldn’t be long before Bellorum sent in the ground troops too.
Oskan went to check over the supplies of herbs, drugs and medicines. He’d been fighting a sense of despair for several days now. They were well and truly on their own with no other allies to call on. The entire complement of defenders was already here, waiting to repulse the massive Imperial army whenever it chose to attack. But he kept his fears carefully masked from everyone, even Thirrin. There was nothing to be gained from pointing out that they had no tactical answer to the overwhelming power of the Empire. But anyone with even a smattering of military knowledge must have reached the same conclusion. What exactly could they do? Just sit stubbornly in Frostmarris absorbing everything that Bellorum and his mad sons could throw at them, and just hope they’d get tired and go away?
He sighed wearily, and sat down next to a bed occupied by a drummer girl who’d lost an eye. She’d been given a strong draught of poppy, so didn’t move as he carefully changed the dressings.
Though he thought there was nothing that could be done against the might of the Empire, he had his own personal tactics worked out: when the Imperial army was ready to deliver its death blow he intended to be standing with Thirrin in the shield wall. And when it was absolutely certain that there was no hope, he’d call down lightning and kill them both. With a bit of luck he and the last Queen of the Icemark would be incinerated, so Bellorum wouldn’t have a body to display and despoil. His last act of love would be to kill his wife. Thirrin the beautiful; Thirrin the downright bloody annoying; Thirrin the loving. How could the world still exist when she was gone?
He smiled sadly to himself, rolled up the remains of the bandage he’d used on the drummer girl, and then stooped to kiss her brow. How many other young people would be maimed and killed before the Empire had finished with them? The answer was starkly simple: too many, and perhaps all of them.
Just then, the mournful sound of howling spread itself over the night. Dozens of other voices joined in and Oskan frowned in concentration as he translated the message.
Sky-ships!
The attack had begun.
CHAPTER 31
The steady rhythm of Suleiman’s pace lulled Sharley’s mind until he was relaxed enough to think back over the extraordinary events of recent days. What madness and meetings there had been! What happenings, and what unexpected actions had been taken since Sharley and Mekhmet had set out for Lusuland! When they had arrived back in Haifolex, capital of the Desert Kingdom, they’d been greeted by crowds of rapturous people and overwhelming adulation. Ketshaka and her soldiers were cheered and fêted as though they were saviours, and this was reflected in their audience with the Sultan. They proclaimed an undying alliance between the two nations, and the huge Lusu Queen had engulfed the little Monarch of the Desert Kingdom in an avalance of an embrace. Despite being somewhat dazed, the Sultan had shocked them all by announcing that he had mobilised what remained of the Desert Kingdom’s armies, which he would personally command to open a new fighting front on the southern borders of the Polypontian Empire. Meanwhile, Mekhmet and his personal cavalry regiment of ten thousand elite troopers would ride north to the Icemark, along with the thirty thousand Lusu warriors.
This had caused uproar. Mekhmet had never expected his father to fight in the conflict, but the fat little monarch told them he’d been training ever since his son had left on his embassy to the Lusu Queen Ketshaka, and felt more alive than he had done in years. And if he fell in battle he knew his son was a worthy successor for the throne.
It was all too much to digest, but there was more. The Venezzians, and their allies the Hellenes, had already started a naval war against the Empire, and had captured several important supply routes and ports. Doge Machiavelli had apparently decided that the mere absence of war hadn’t been a real peace. He knew the Polypontians were bound to find out about his involvement with Sharley and the Icemark, so it was only a matter of time before the wrath of Bellorum would fall upon him. He had nothing to lose in declaring open war.
Suleiman threw up his head and neighed as a gust of hot wind sent a dust-devil skipping across his path. Expertly, Sharley drew in the reins and settled his mount as his mind continued to run over events. He felt almost dazed by the speed with which everything was now falling into place. For weeks things had plodded along stolidly, and now it was all happening in a wonderful rush. New fronts were opening up that would distract the Empire from its conflict in the north, and he, Sharley, had succeeded in gathering an army of new allies, which he was now leading to relieve the Icemark. He could only pray they’d get there in time.
Of course, they had yet to travel over miles of desert and cross the oceans, and no doubt things would again slow to a frustrating crawl, but they were on their way at last. The walls of Haifolex were already receding into the distance and Sharley felt very alone. Something of a feat, he had to admit, at the head of an army that was forty thousand strong – but nonetheless, he felt alone.
His weak leg was aching, and he absently rubbed it as he rode along, still thinking about all that had happened. Suleiman sensed his unease and whickered quietly, then snorted as Sharley stroked his neck. This simple act seemed to clarify his thoughts, and he squared his shoulders. There was nothing he could do about any of it now. The die was cast and all of their fates lay with the gods and goddesses. Even if he could go back to the beginning of his journey, he knew he’d have done nothing differently. The Icemark and his family needed him. He would even have ridden into the Polypontus to have it out with the Emperor himself if he thought it would have made any difference.
The rest of the journey to the seaport was uneventful, apart from one incident when they were a few days out from their destination. As usual, the army had been ‘oasis hopping’, and as they drew into the latest palm-fringed haven from the desert heat, Sharley recognised an elegant house built close to the water – it was Al-Khatib’s house, where they’d left Maggiore Totus to recover from his heat exhaustion.
Overwhelmed with excitement, Sharley thought of all the tales he had to tell Maggie. In all the time he’d been in Haifolex, Lusuland and the desert, he guiltily realised, he’d hardly thought of the old scholar – but now he couldn’t wait to see him. Urging Suleiman forward he trotted eagerly towards the house.
A regal figure emerged from the main gate of the courtyard, dressed in fine silks of sky blue and shimmering silvergrey. On his head he wore a wide turban adorned with a blue jewel that flashed and glittered in the sunlight. On each arm was an exquisitely adorned and beautiful young woman. Sharley stared; he’d seen so few women in the Desert Kingdom that it was like seeing a rare species displayed by a rich patron.
Gazing open-mouthed, Sharley was shocked ba
ck to his senses when the figure salaamed deeply and said, “Welcome, Prince Charlemagne Athelstan Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Regent to the Exiles, Shadow of the Storm. Would you care to step inside and take some refreshment?”
“Maggie?” said Sharley, staring at the figure before him. “Maggie! It is you!”
“Indeed it is,” he agreed, bowing in the northern style and grinning. “I must say, I hardly recognised you dressed in that armour and riding such a beautiful horse.”
“You didn’t recognise me!” Sharley exploded. “You look like one of the Sultan’s courtiers!”
“Ah, yes,” said Maggie, looking down at his robes. “Well, native clothing is so much more comfortable for the extremes of the desert, and silk is wonderfully smooth and cool.”
“And how exactly do your . . . companions help?”
“Jumelia and Haroozala, you mean? They’re skilled nurses who have brought me back to health, and now help me to pass the time in perfect peace and comfort.”
“‘Perfect peace and comfort’, eh?” said Sharley suspiciously.
Just then, they were joined by Mekhmet and Ketshaka. Maggie’s eyes widened as he looked on the Lusu Queen, and he salaamed deeply.
“Hah, I see now you’re not a freak of nature, Charlemagne!” she boomed. “There are other colourless people in the world. The Great Spirits will have their little jokes; sometimes my sides just ache with laughter. How will I cope when I see an entire nation of people as pale and faded as cloth left too long in the sun?”
“We can only hope you’ll get used to it,” said Sharley coolly.
“You know, I just can’t see that happening,” the Queen replied, and her gales of laughter boomed through the oasis.
Maggie led them into the house, where Sharley, Mekhmet and Ketshaka took sherbet in the cool of a courtyard that was shaded by trees. “Tell me, Maggie,” said Sharley, taking a long draught of the deliciously cold drink and settling back into his cushions, “how did you know the name given to me by the Desert People? No one called me ‘Shadow of the Storm’ until I reached their capital.”
“Simple, really,” Maggie answered. “Al-Khatib has been good enough to send me regular reports during the weeks I’ve been forced to rest in this oasis. Little has escaped my attention, and I must admit that although the Sultan’s attack on the southern borders and the Venetti’s naval actions against the ports of the Empire are small escalations of the war, they’ll certainly distract some of Bellorum’s attention away from our own army and its northward march.”
“True,” Sharley agreed. “But speed and surprise are of the essence, so if you’re coming with us, Maggie, you’ll need to say goodbye to your companions and be ready to ride tomorrow morning.”
When Maggie appeared the next morning, the army had already formed into its travelling columns and was about to march. He’d put aside his courtier’s silks and turban, and once again wore the simple black robes of a scholar. From the main gate of the house, the two young women waved shyly, and Maggie blew them kisses as he mounted a spare zebra loaned to him by the Lusu. But any sadness he felt was banished as he gazed in amazement at the beast he was riding.
“By the Holy Brothers of Latinum and all their unexpected children, a striped horse!” he exploded. Quickly he spat on his sleeve and rubbed it vigorously on the animal’s coat, then he inspected the cloth for signs of any paint. “No. It seems real. A striped horse! Has the desert heat got to me already?”
Sharley grinned and pointed back to the column of Lusu cavalry behind them.
“Ye Goddesses and little fieldmice, more of them! An entire cavalry of striped horses. Hah! Bellorum will finally admit to himself he’s gone mad! Great Creating Nature, what a world we do live in!”
And with that he galloped back down the line to inspect the zebras, and to try and communicate with their riders.
For the next two days Maggie was so engrossed in his study of the Lusu that he hardly seemed to notice the heat. Obviously the two young women had done a splendid job in nursing him back to health.
Having satisfied himself for the time being with the information he’d gathered about the new allies, Maggie interviewed Mekhmet and Sharley in depth, managing to take copious notes even while riding. He happily told them it was all being included in the second volume of his history on the Icemark’s war with the Empire. “With a bit of luck, I’ll then retire and buy a nice comfortable house in the South Riding.”
“But what about the Southern Continent?” asked Sharley in amazement. “I thought you intended to retire there.”
“Ah, yes, well . . . I’ve been forced to change my plans there,” the old scholar replied.
“But why?”
“Because . . . well, because over the last few weeks I’ve found myself feeling homesick for the Icemark,” he admitted. “One of the ancient sages – Archilocus, I believe I’m right in saying – states that a person has both a physical and a spiritual place of birth, the latter being by far the most important, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the Icemark is the birthplace of my spirit.”
“What, with all that snow and ice and cold rain?” asked Sharley mischievously.
“Yes, every last bit of it. And also the greenery, the gentle rivers and woodlands. The loud, rumbustious housecarles and their rude songs, the werewolves and their filthy jokes, even the Vampires and their fey elegance. But most of all I realise now that I’ve come to love your mother and father and every one of their children. I’d even kiss Medea if I was there now!”
“Steady on, Maggie. I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Well no, maybe not. Perhaps I’d give her a friendly wave.”
“Even that’s pushing it a bit,” said Sharley with a shudder, but he felt a warm glow for the old scholar, and leaning over from his saddle he hugged him and kissed the top of his bald head.
“What was that for?” he asked in surprise.
“For being who you are.”
“Now, there’s a fine philosophical point to be discussed in that comment. How can you know who I am? How exactly does one define the very amness of an individual, or indeed even oursel—?”
“Shut up, Maggie,” said Sharley happily.
* * *
Two days later they were looking down on the port from the hills above. The entire harbour, and a huge sweep of the sea beyond, was filled with more ships and vessels of every size and design than Sharley had ever seen: the long, knife-like shapes of fighting galleys, massively broad horse-transporters, troop ships, fighting galleons and a teeming, tumbling tangle of supply ships, merchantmen and flat-bottomed barges.
A sea-cooled blast of wind washed over them, bringing with it the scent of salt and tar and the shouts of the sailors and stevedores who were working on the ships. The metallic blare of bugles and horns, the rattle of chains and the creaking groan of ropes and timber wove themselves into the rich tapestry of sounds rising up from the harbour.
“By the Goddess, there must be over four hundred vessels down there!” said Sharley in awe.
“More like five hundred,” said Mekhmet. “And look at the insignia they’re flying: everything from the Desert Kingdom and the Venetti to the Hellenes and privateers. And there are many others I’ve never even seen before. The entire Southern Continent seems to be under sail.”
Ketshaka sat in uncharacteristic silence as she gazed down on the harbour. But then she said, “My eyes have never before seen such a wide body of water. Neither have they beheld such gigantic boats all congregated together like the flocks of migrating flamingos that fly from the storms of winter. You say this ‘sea’ is like a lake, but larger, and that the entirety of Lusuland itself could be swallowed up by its waters. But how can I contain the enormity of such an idea?” Her huge face gazed fiercely at the frantic activities below as supply boats scurried around the larger ships, and tiny, ant-like figures swarmed over the rigging and sails. “What human being, who has never before seen such a mighty gathering of waters,
could possibly comprehend such a vastness? Our minds can only understand new experiences by comparing them with what we already know. So, my beloved allies: tell me, make me understand, how much larger this sea is than a lake.”
“Well, Madam,” said Maggie, clearing his throat, “that rather depends on the comparative sizes of the sea and lake in question. But as an example, it takes over two days to sail across Lake Tintavani, the largest body of fresh water in the Southern Continent. However, the journey we’re about to embark upon will take us several weeks.”
Ketshaka bowed her head and gazed at the mane of her zebra for several seconds before she turned her stony features to regard the little scholar. “Old man, your words bring no comfort. It seems to me that even your undoubted wisdom could learn that there are times when knowledge is an unwelcome thing.”
“But, Your Majesty, you asked me!” said Maggie, outraged at this Royal injustice. “Would you prefer I lied to you?”
“No. I would prefer you to unleash the danger of naked facts with care and over a suitable period of time. No one will tell my warriors how long we will be sailing on this water. Let them arrive at that knowledge with the passing of time and distance.”
This was greeted with silent agreement, and after a few more minutes of gazing at the huge spectacle of the fleet, they turned their mounts and headed down into the port.
The plan was that the army should embark immediately and sail on the next favourable tide, but it would take many hours of manoeuvring ships to the quayside, loading them, and then moving them out to sea again, while other ships were brought in to be loaded with their passengers. Depending on how the horses and zebras reacted to the huge transport ships, it could be as long as three days before they were ready to set sail.
The army reached the quayside to be greeted by Venezzian and Desert Kingdom harbour masters who marshalled them into different holding areas while the ships were made ready. Progress was excruciatingly slow, and Sharley found himself riding around the quaysides getting in everyone’s way and generally being unhelpful. He could have wept with impatience; every moment of delay brought the possibility of the Icemark’s defeat closer.
