by Stuart Hill
“Then what will you do?” Redrought asked, beginning to wonder if the entire audience was a waste of time.
“We’ll try to defend the walls of the city with a protection spell,” Wenlock answered. “Though in all reality, defensive Magic works best when the enemy doesn’t know it’s in place, and the werewolves will definitely be looking out for our intervention.”
Redrought’s frustration overrode the awe he felt for the old witch, and he raised his hands and banged them down on the arms of his throne. “So you won’t kill werewolves or Vampires and your protection spells are next to useless. How fortunate we are to have you as an ally, Wenlock Witchmother!”
“I’m glad you think so, cub of the House of Lindenshield,” the witch snapped. “Remember there are many things that we can offer a war-torn land. It is the power of witchcraft that can, at times, divine the thoughts of the Goddess herself and tell of her future plans.”
“Then tell us what her plans are now, if you can, and let us know what Their Vampiric Majesties intend to do!” Redrought said bitterly.
“As My Lord knows full well, the Goddess reveals her thoughts to those with the Sight only as and when She wishes! We cannot demand that this knowledge be given.”
“Then we can only hope She wishes to show us her thoughts soon, otherwise I’m not exactly sure what you have to offer your country, Wenlock Witchmother!”
“Do you not, oh wise King Redrought?” the old woman hissed with quiet venom. “Then let me begin by offering advice: do not blaspheme against the Goddess who is your Mother and the Mother of the entire world! And then let me go on by reminding you of the healing Powers of witchcraft, because when you’re wounded and on the point of death, it’ll be my people and their skills that will bring you back!”
Redrought guiltily remembered how White Annis had helped him when he’d fled the battle, and after a long silence he nodded his acknowledgement. “Your help will be gratefully received, Witchmother,” he said as quietly as his nature allowed.
The old witch stared at him, but this time the King returned her gaze with an unwavering eye. “You’re growing, My Lord,” she said at last. “And for that reason the White Witches of the Icemark will help you.”
A silence fell and both Kahin and Redrought thought the audience was at an end. But then White Annis stepped from the ranks of those who stood behind the Witchmother.
“I’ve brought something for you, King,” she said abruptly after a brief smile of greeting, and held up a large sack that heaved and squirmed.
“Thank you,” said Redrought uncertainly. “What is it?”
“Open the bag and see,” White Annis answered, and laid the bag at his feet.
Redrought was a little concerned to see the witch almost scuttle away in retreat, and, had good manners allowed it, he might have poked the bag with his toe − or, better still, a stick.
But squaring his shoulders, he picked the sack up, and after taking a deep breath, he untied the stout rope that held it shut. He peered inside and then hurriedly closed it again.
“It’s a cat . . . I think,” he said. “One of the biggest cats I’ve ever seen.”
White Annis nodded from her safe distance. “His father was a wildcat and his mother one of the street moggies of Frostmarris. She only had this one kitten, which was just as well: he nearly killed her when she birthed him. He’s already bigger than his father and mother put together and he’s still growing. He’s fierce too, a real fighter. I’ve seen him face down a lone wolf and even some of the bears think twice about entering his territory. I thought he’d make a good companion for you . . . as you’re both so similar.”
Redrought looked up. “Thanks . . . I think.”
“He’ll be loyal to you. Just open your mind and his names will appear.”
“His names?”
The witch nodded. “His everyday and his secret names. Keep the second between yourself and him no matter what, but tell the world his first.”
Redrought frowned in puzzlement, picked up the sack and opened it again. Inside, the huge black cat stared back at him and slowly drew back its lips and spat. The young King blinked in surprise, but then suddenly a word formed in his head. “Cadwalader!” he blurted before he could stop himself. “Cadwalader Brindlepuss.”
A murmur ran through the ranks of witches. Redrought looked down into the sack again and watched as the cat’s eyes opened wide, as though in amazement. “Cadwalader Brindlepuss,” the King repeated, and with the speed of a lightning strike, the cat leapt out of the sack and onto his shoulder.
Redrought fell back into the throne with a shout of surprise. But it wasn’t the shock of having such a large cat jump on him, it was the fact that his secret name had just materialised in his mind . . .
“Flumfy! Flumfy!” He’d definitely need to keep that secret from the world!
Arrows erupted into the air, so densely packed they seemed to nudge each other aside as they powered to their targets. Screeches of agony echoed over the moonlit skies as dozens of Vampire warriors fell in ruin, their bat wings limp and useless as they smashed into the ground.
“Hold your positions!” a fierce-looking woman shouted as she scanned the skies, waiting for the precise moment to give the order to shoot. Several streets of the Hypolitan city were in flames, illuminating the night sky to a golden glow as the men and women of the garrison fought the invading Vampires. Other groups were tackling the fires in disciplined units that were managing to keep the flames under control.
Basilea Artemis raised her arm as the next wave of Vampires swept through the skies, ready to attack. She was beginning to recognise the screeches that were obviously battle orders, and as the cry rang out to begin the dive on the city, she chopped her hand down sharply.
Immediately a wave of arrows leapt through the air and tore into the Vampires, their wooden shafts destroying the Undead existence of the monsters. Dozens fell like crumpled rags to crash into the ground, where their bodies broke apart.
A bat that was bigger than the others wheeled across the sky, screeching out orders. The Basilea seized a bow and quickly shot an arrow. It struck home deep in the creature’s breast, and with a cry of agony it tumbled to the earth.
“That’s one less commander to lead the attack,” she said with fierce satisfaction.
A second wave of Vampire squadrons began to muster, circling above the city beyond range of the Hypolitan arrows. For several long minutes they quartered the skies, and then at last a great screech went up, rending the air with its power.
“Here they come,” Basilea Artemis shouted to her people. “Stand ready!” This would be the crisis of the battle; either the Undead would be driven off or the city would finally fall.
Rank after rank of the giant bats swooped down screaming on the city, their hideous voices raging over the night air.
“Hold steady,” the Basilea ordered. “Wait until you can see their beautiful smiles.”
A small ripple of nervous laughter answered as the Hypolitan warriors raised their bows and drew them ready to shoot.
On and on came the dark ranks of the Vampires, the wind rattling through the leather of their wings and their voices echoing and re-echoing back from the city walls. Still the Basilea waited. “Hold your fire . . . Hold your fire . . . SHOOT!!!”
Arrows erupted into the air in a deadly explosion and ripped into the giant bats. Hundreds fell screeching in pain, but still they came. The Hypolitan archers shot again and again, bringing down more and more, but there were just too many and soon the Vampire warriors had reached the walls.
Now the Undead fighters transformed into their human shapes, stepping out of flight into the form of black-armoured soldiers, each armed with a viciously serrated sword and moving with the loathsome elegance of fey dancers.
“The Hypolitan will repel invaders,” Artemis shouted, setting aside her bow and drawing a two-headed axe as she did so. All of her warriors followed her example, the women hefting similar axes to
her own, while the men drew thick-bladed broadswords.
The Basilea let out a huge war cry and led the charge that drove into the ranks of the Vampire soldiers. The struggle wavered backwards and forwards along the walls. The walk-ways were thick with blood as warriors on both sides were brought down in the deadly melee. Neither could gain the advantage until Basilea Artemis finally swung her axe around her head and struck at the lead Vampire. The blade drove deep into the body of the Undead officer, slicing through the junction of shoulder and neck and down through the chest, where it finally broke open the ribs to reveal the creature’s dead heart. Now Artemis leapt forward, a sharpened stake of wood in her hand, and she drove it deep into the putrid flesh of the Vampire’s heart.
A great shriek of agony and terror rose into the moonlit air and immediately the Undead warriors began to fall back. Their battle-leader had been killed and there were no others of a high enough rank left alive to give orders.
Soon the sky was black with the silhouettes of giant bats as the Vampires shape-shifted and began to fly away. Several were brought down by arrows as the Hypolitan made them pay as heavy a price as possible for attacking their city. But the attack was over and the city was safe . . . for now.
The Vampire King and Queen watched the fighting from their vantage point on a nearby hill. With them stood a third Vampire. She was tall and beautiful with short-cropped blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Her name was Romana Romanoff, General to Their Vampiric Majesties, and she watched the battle in a sullen silence. This was the third day of the attack and things weren’t going well. The army needed the power of the werewolf infantry to keep the enemy soldiers busy fighting a two-front battle from land and air, but Their Vampiric Majesties had made the mistake of underestimating the Hypolitan and had split the army – ignoring the advice of General Romanoff – and sent King Ashmok and his Wolf-folk to attack Frostmarris.
“We must withdraw,” said the Queen. “These mortals refuse to die quietly.”
“Yes,” the King agreed tiredly. “They really are too annoying. Don’t they realise they’ve lost the war?”
“Apparently not,” the Queen said. “Withdraw the army and we’ll starve them into submission.”
“Oh, but my dear unbeating heart, that will take an absolute age, and I did so want to wipe out the last remnants of resistance before the snows came.”
“With enormous respect,” General Romanoff interrupted, showing nothing of the sort, “the city would have fallen by now if you’d followed my strategies.”
“Now, now, General, don’t be sniffy,” said the King petulantly. “How were we to know these mortals would resist so strongly? After the Battle of the Northern Plain, it was all they could do to crawl back to their hovels, and yet now they fight like wolves with cubs to protect.”
“Which is exactly why they are doing it,” Romanoff snapped. “They know full well that if their army is defeated then the entire population will be slaughtered − men, women and children. A powerful incentive to resist.” The general’s shoulder and head twitched as she became irritated, and the more annoyed she got the worse the twitch became.
“Then what do you suggest?” His Vampiric Majesty demanded. “The werewolf army is too far off to be recalled; besides, they should be attacking Frostmarris any day now, and there we can expect victory.”
“Withdraw for now, regroup and then attack at moonrise on the morrow. But this time half of our force will advance on their walls as infantry while the rest attack from the air. We may not have the werewolves at our disposal, but we can at least emulate their tactics.”
“Agreed,” said Her Vampiric Majesty. “Tomorrow we’ll fight a two-front war.”
“Then let us away, my darling corpse,” said the King. “Soon the hateful sun will be rising and I do so detest the way it dries my skin. After the last daytime battle we fought, I had to bathe in perfumed oils.”
The monstrous monarchs then kissed and as one, they transformed into giant bats and leapt into flight, their winged forms silhouetted against the moon. General Romanoff watched them go, the involuntary twitch of her head and shoulder ticking like a metronome of anger as she turned back to survey the city, looking for weak points. She doubted that they’d finish the battle even using the new tactics, but at least it would keep the mortals busy until the victorious werewolf army returned to add their weight to the fighting.
The Basilea of the Hypolitan watched from the walls of the city as the squadrons of Vampires withdrew. She nodded in satisfaction; the enemy had made little progress in their attempt to destroy Bendis. The walls were unbreached, and though a few buildings had been burnt, there was no major damage. Similarly the casualty figures, though not light, were at least sustainable, and the Vampires had suffered far worse.
The Basilea knew that things would have been very different if the werewolves had been involved, but she could only assume that they’d been sent to attack Frostmarris. She hoped that if there had been any survivors from the Icemark’s army they’d got back safely and were able to defend the place successfully. A concerted werewolf attack was something truly awesome to behold, and it was also something that even the best-equipped and trained army would find difficult to beat off. Whoever had command of Frostmarris also had the Basilea’s deepest sympathy.
But for the time being, her thoughts were with her own city and the struggle for its survival. Thankfully, Their Vampiric Majesties weren’t the greatest tacticians that had ever taken to the field of combat, and they seemed to be ignoring the advice of their general, Romana Romanoff. It had undoubtedly been she who had devised the tactics that had defeated the human army at the Battle of the Northern Plain. There they’d also had the advantage of the surprise invasion on their side and had been lucky enough to face an inexperienced King with a small, hastily gathered army of equally inexperienced soldiers.
After the shieldwalls had been broken by the werewolves, it had been almost more than anyone could do to fight their way clear of that disaster, but she, Basilea Artemis of the Hypolitan, had got her people safely back to their province. As it was, they had lost almost a third of their number and been forced to conduct a bloody fighting retreat over two days and thirty miles of broken terrain. The Basilea shuddered as she remembered it, but then her mind returned to the situation in hand and she scanned the skies above her city again before quietly giving orders for the army to stand down. She then designated the regiments of the watch and prepared to return to the city’s central fortress, known as the acro-polis.
“Has anyone seen my daughter?” she demanded of the soldiers and officers who stood around her.
“She was commanding the defence of the southern gate,” one of the commanders reminded her.
“Ah, yes. Send word for her to meet me in the War Room.”
The Basilea strode off through the streets attended by her usual entourage of staff-officers and officials. And as usual she ignored them entirely while she assessed the battle damage to the buildings and demanded casualty reports whenever she came across a unit of fighters.
Overall, her earlier assessment had been sound. Things were nowhere near as bad as they could have been; damage was light; casualties were just about sustainable and supplies were adequate. Of course, all of that could change if Their Vampiric Majesties decided to alter tactics and put them under proper siege, cutting all supply lines and any chance of foraging for food. If that happened she’d have to lead her forces in a murderous attempt to break out and destroy the siege lines.
Once again she desperately wished that her elder daughters Elemnestra and Electra hadn’t been out of the country when the invasion began. But as a loving mother she’d insisted that they took the opportunity to travel while they were young enough to enjoy it, and before the responsibilities of government would fill their lives to the brim. And now they were trapped in the city of Venezzia, far to the south on the Southern Continent, with no hope of landing in any of the Icemark’s blockaded ports. But there was no point
in regretting what she couldn’t change. The Basilea had enough to worry about just getting her people through one day to the next without thinking up any other nightmares!
She arrived at the acro-polis to find the approach to the fortress well defended, with spears and challenges appearing out of the dark every few yards. No Vampire would take the Hypolitan by surprise, that was sure. She entered the Great Hall and, having shaken off her entourage of officers and lackeys, she headed for the War Room. There was no need for a conference or discussion of tactics. It was pretty obvious what they had to do. When it came to defending a city from an enemy, the procedures were obvious: survive, and kill as many of the opposition as possible.
There were only two people she wanted to see before allowing herself the few short hours of sleep she could afford, and both should be making their way to the same destination.
She arrived in the War Room to find a tall slender man waiting. He was standing by one of the main windows that looked out over the courtyard, and at the sound of her step he immediately turned and bowed. He looked as though he was made out of the toughest salt-cured leather, but he moved with the grace of a dancer.
“Ma’am,” he said in formal greeting.
“Herakles,” Basilea Artemis answered shortly. “Your report?”
“Fifty Vampires killed. Our forces suffered twelve fatalities and twenty injuries. Five serious. The main West Tower successfully defended.”
The Basilea nodded. “Your own condition?”
“Well enough. A little tired perhaps, but otherwise fine.”
She nodded again then opened her arms and waited. The tall man stepped forward, embraced and kissed her. “Have you any word of our daughter?” Artemis asked.
“She’s well,” Herakles answered, stepping back. “The attack on the southern gate was fierce; she requested a unit of reinforcements which I supplied and the enemy were beaten off with heavy losses. She should be here soon.”
