by Stuart Hill
Kahin, who’d been preparing to rescue Redrought from ridicule, sat down again and looked at him admiringly. He was learning the uses of dignity at last, and she almost broke into spontaneous applause as she watched him standing proud and defiant before the Hypolitan.
A low murmuring rumble began to sound in the hall, slowly growing and swelling as each and every guest began to tap their table with cutlery or tankard, and every guard beat spear on shield, so that a growing crescendo of sound rattled and boomed throughout the echoing space as they saluted the two heroes of the battle for Bendis.
Redrought blushed again, but this time in pleasure, and he raised his hand as he accepted the tribute. A chamberlain suddenly appeared at his side with a plate on which lay an enormous fish.
“For the delight of the most Royal of Cats,” the chamberlain explained and, laughing, Redrought set the plate on the table and placed Cadwalader next to it.
The interrupted feast began again and Saphia smiled as she took a drink of wine. “Well, that was illuminating.”
“Was it?” asked Athena, her eyes still on Redrought as he sat down.
What a weed! Did you see the tears in his eyes when that mangy cat first arrived? I’ve seen more spine in a jelly-pudding! How can that wet rag have led an army?”
The Princess smiled. “Yes, I did see the tears and I think . . . I think it’s rather sweet that a warrior King like Redrought can show his feelings in that way. And as for there being more spine in a jelly-pudding, well, all I can say is you must have had some pretty crunchy jelly-puddings in your time!”
“Oh!” said Saphia, surprised by her friend’s defence of the young King. “Yeah, but he’s just a boy.’
“He’s a boy that led his army with brilliance and bravery, no sign of a missing spine there.”
“Well, his cat looks like it smells,” Saphia said with sullen defiance.
“His cat looks like it’d rip your face off if it knew what you’d been saying about his master, and quite frankly I couldn’t blame it.”
Saphia glared at her friend. “Who made you the King of the Icemark’s champion? You’ll be telling me next you’re going to marry him!”
“Don’t be stupid! I just think you were being unfair to him, that’s all. If the truth be known, you don’t like the idea that there’s a warrior in the land who could outfight you and lead his army with greater skill!”
“Him? Don’t make me laugh!”
Athena smiled, knowing she’d scored a point. “Remind me, who was it who killed the werewolf King – you know, the one that broke your arm?”
Saphia gritted her teeth. “He could only kill Ashmok with the help of his cat! I heard some of his soldiers talking about it. He didn’t even go Bare-Sark like the warrior Kings of the Icemark are supposed to in time of need.”
“So, he managed to kill the werewolf King even without being possessed by the Spirits of Battle. And do you think you’d have done better against King Ashmok if you’d had only a pussy cat to help you?”
Saphia didn’t answer. She secretly harboured an ambition to be chosen by the Spirits of Battle to go Bare-Sark, even though it wasn’t part of the Hypolitan tradition to do so. But she had no intention of letting the Princess know that.
“Pass the bread, please,” she eventually said, quietly.
Redrought and Kahin spent the night in the citadel of Bendis, but despite the King’s earlier complaints about not being invited into the city after the battle, the next morning they withdrew to the military camp outside the walls. There was a sort of unspoken mutual agreement that two courts sharing the same limited space was a strain on everyone, so a little geographical distance would relieve the pressure.
Throughout the day, work parties of both the Hypolitan and Icemark armies were clearing the enemy dead from the battlefield and digging huge pits to act as mass graves. Their own dead had been removed already and the remains of several pyres still smoked gently on the wide plain that surrounded the city. Soon burial mounds would be raised and a fence of spears driven into the ground around them.
But now the allies had to decide what to do after their victories. The werewolf army had been smashed, the trolls destroyed and Their Vampiric Majesties defeated, even though they had managed to retreat in good order with their own army intact.
Faced with military issues, rather than social questions involving girls of his own age, Redrought became competent again and put aside his boyhood. He called together all of the highest-ranking officers from both the Hypolitan and the Icemark, dubbing it a Council of Leaders, and he scheduled their meeting to start two hours after sun-up on the following day.
Further supplies had arrived from Frostmarris through the Great Forest to help feed the Hypolitan after the siege, but also to provision Redrought’s increasingly sophisticated camp. Amongst all the carts, crates, packages and parcels had been a large marquee, which was now set up to act as the chamber for the Council of Leaders.
Redrought awoke early in the discomfort of his personal tent, and tried to decide whether to get his own breakfast and washing water or risk the incompetence of soldier servants. Kahin would insist that he maintained the dignity of his office and use servants, but he wasn’t sure. The thought of some battle-hardened veteran trying to serve his breakfast and set up a washstand without tripping over the furniture or dumping hot food in his lap was more than he could stand.
The young King kept his eyes firmly shut, but Cadwalader wanted to be fed, and purred noisily while rubbing his face across Redrought’s chin. “All right, all right, I’ll get you something . . .”
“There’s no need, My Lord, your breakfast and Cadwalader’s are almost ready.”
“Uh? What . . . ?” The King rubbed his eyes and peered at the figure that stood in the shadows. “Grimswald . . . ? Grimswald, how did you get here so quickly?!”
“I see it as part of my job to be with you at all times when possible, and as soon as possible after we’ve been parted, Sire,” the body-servant said, stepping forward into the light. “I’ve looked after you since you were a very little boy.”
Redrought swung his feet out of the bed and sat staring at the neat little man. “I know that, but I only sent for you the other day. You must have flown!”
“Well, I set off as soon as I got your summons; no King should have to look after his own needs, or have them looked after by oafish soldiers. And I got here by riding on one of the supply wagons . . .” He shuddered slightly. “Did My Lord really sleep in the Great Forest for three nights?”
“Yes, without a tent and only a blanket between me and the ground.”
“My Lord!” said Grimswald in shocked amazement. “Well, I’m here to look after you now. First have your breakfast and then I’ll see if any of these loutish soldiers can carry a bathtub into the tent without wrecking the place.”
Redrought allowed himself to be pampered. Even Cadwalader purred when Grimswald stroked him, the huge cat deciding not to notice when he then washed his hands with an intense thoroughness.
The flags of both the Icemark and the Hypolitan were flying from the roof of the marquee when Redrought arrived. He was the last to enter, on Kahin’s advice, and as he walked into the wide, canvas-walled chamber, he felt as neat and clean as a polished pin. Grimswald had done a thorough job, and the young King could almost believe his skin would squeak if someone were brave enough to break protocol and rub a finger down his flesh.
He was dressed in the finest clothes that Grimswald had brought with him, and the fact that the little man had somehow managed to press the clothes and even sprinkle them with perfume enhanced the King’s atmosphere of wholesome cleanliness. Only Cadwalader slightly spoiled the effect. He was perched on Redrought’s shoulder, and every now and then he would strike at the flies that flew around his head.
Kahin stood as soon as she saw the King at the entrance, and everyone followed her example. Redrought almost turned around to see which important person had just walked in, but then
realised they were standing for him and, raising his hand, he walked to the large round table that stood in the centre of the marquee, and took his seat.
“May we assume, Your Majesty, that the meeting is now in session?” Basilea Artemis asked.
“Erm . . . yeah . . . I suppose . . . erm. Yes, the meeting is now in session.”
Everyone looked at him expectantly, and with a quiet sigh he tried to put aside the boyhood that had slipped under his defences and taken charge again. He knew it was just a matter of time before he was forced to accept that he was the one that everyone looked to for leadership. No one seemed to remember that he was only sixteen and could easily get it all wrong. But after only a few weeks in his role as King, he was beginning to suspect that the feelings of inadequacy and the fear of making horrendous blunders would be with him all of his life, no matter how old he lived to be. So he might as well just get on with the job.
He already knew that the plans he’d been formulating didn’t have any support amongst the High Command of the allied armies. He’d been talking to Commanders Brereton and Ireton, who in their turn had been sounding out the opinions of their officers and those of the Hypolitan, and he knew he had a lot of convincing to do before he got his way.
On the opposite side of the table he could see Princess Athena sitting with her vicious friend, Commander Saphia, just waiting for him to fail. And for a moment he almost abandoned the strategies he’d been formulating. Why bother, he thought, let’s just be happy with what we’ve achieved and all go home. But at last he felt the now-familiar tingling as his blood rose and he remembered he was Redrought Athelstan Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, and with a nervous squaring of his shoulders, he tried to rise to the occasion. The job wasn’t finished, the war wasn’t won and the enemy could still strike back at any time. They couldn’t just walk away and hope everything would be fine.
“Right, we’ve defeated the werewolf army and driven Their Vampiric Majesties from the land. So what now?”
He gazed around the table at all the generals and war-leaders and not one offered an answer.
“Well, do we sit back and hope it’s all over? Do we pray that the Vampires and Rock Trolls and Wolf-folk never bother us again, or do we follow them to The-Land-of-the-Ghosts and smash them once and for all? Do we defeat them so completely and utterly that it’ll be generations before they’re able to threaten us again . . . if ever?”
Once more he looked at them expectantly and waited until the silence became almost palpable, then he suddenly slapped the table with the flat of his hand. He was pleased to see that even Kahin jumped.
“I’m sorry, did that frighten you? Well, we can’t have that, can we? We can’t have the most important people in the Icemark and the province of the Hypolitan being frightened. Let’s all have a quiet life and leave any future fighting to our children and grandchildren. After all, we’ve done our bit; let them deal with the Vampire King and Queen and their cronies. Let them watch their cities burn just like we have; let them see their families die, ripped apart by werewolves, drained of blood by Vampires or crushed to a pulp by Rock Trolls; let them watch the skies for the squadrons of Undead just like we have done for longer than the oldest among us has been alive.”
His rough-edged adolescent voice boomed into the waiting silence of the wide marquee, but before he could draw breath to continue his oratory Basilea Artemis interrupted his flow.
“Perhaps it’d be better if His Majesty laid out his plans in detail so that we may decide if we’re for or against them.” Her voice was edged with ice and though Redrought knew that she was against his idea of invading The-Land-of-the-Ghosts, he also knew that the game of diplomacy now demanded that she had the right to debate the plan.
“There are few details finalised as yet, that’s the point of this meeting,” he replied, forcefully, but his confidence beginning to ebb as he faced the formidable Basilea. “I’m just saying that we should invade Their Vampiric Majesties’ lands and destroy their army before they’ve had time to recover from their defeat.”
“My Lord, the Hypolitan have just endured a gruelling siege both preceded and followed by a ferocious battle, and frankly we’re exhausted. It’d be far better if we were left in peace to rebuild our battered city and tend our wounds – all of which, I might add, were acquired in the service of the Icemark.”
On the King’s left Kahin watched the situation closely, desperately hoping he’d make a good reply and getting ready to step in if he didn’t. But she needn’t have worried. Redrought remained quiet for a moment, then said, “And when you have rebuilt your city and tended your wounds, who will be left to do these things when the Vampires and their allies attack again? Will the dead bury the dead? Will corpses raise new walls, and lay new streets? Do you really believe you’ll be left in peace by Their Vampiric Majesties? They’ll regroup, re-arm and attack again within a year. The were-wolves at this very moment are choosing a new King, and when they have, they’ll be back seeking revenge for their defeat. There is no choice, we must finish the job we began when we drove them from our lands. I am ready and willing, this very day, to lead an army into The-Land-of-the-Ghosts.”
The Basilea looked at him steadily and said, “Undoubtedly, My Lord, but who will follow you?”
A silence fell like a smothering pall, and again Kahin prepared to step in, but before she could rise from her seat, she was amazed to see Princess Athena standing. “I will,” she said simply. “And so will Commander Saphia.”
Saphia looked at her in amazement. “I will?” she asked, then, clearing her throat, she stood and said, “Yes, I will.”
The Basilea stared at her daughter. She’d said nothing about supporting the King of the Icemark in his plans to prolong the war. She glanced at her Consort, who sat next to her, but he only shrugged and looked as surprised as she did.
Redrought couldn’t believe what he’d heard, and looked at the two girls, who still stood with their arms folded and a look of self-conscious defiance on their faces.
“Erm . . . !” he blurted at last and blushed a deep red. “Erm . . . well . . . erm.” He desperately tried to gather his thoughts. “That’s great . . .” he finally said lamely. “I mean really great . . . yeah . . . great.”
“What His Majesty means to say is that he is profoundly grateful for the support of Princess Athena and Commander Saphia,” said Kahin, stepping swiftly into the breach. “Any similar offers of loyalty and support will be gratefully received, and should be voiced now, so that the allied armies and their officers can know what policies and strategies are to be adopted.”
The Royal Adviser looked meaningfully around the table, but no one stirred. “Then perhaps a simple show of hands will suffice,” she went on. “All those in favour of King Redrought’s proposal raise their hands now.”
Kahin put up her own hand, and was quickly joined by Athena, Saphia, and Commanders Ireton and Brereton. An awkward pause followed, then all of the Icemark officers followed suit as a matter of loyalty.
The Princess and Saphia seemed to be isolated amongst the Hypolitan contingent, but at last a few of the younger commanders raised their hands, which set a precedent for defying the Basilea that encouraged others to join in. Soon Redrought had his majority, and the Basilea sat in a stony silence that was broken only by a few nervous coughs from her officers.
The style of rule that existed in the Icemark, in which the monarch put forward a proposal that was then voted on by council, wasn’t normally used amongst the Hypolitan. Centuries before, when the Hypolitan had first arrived in the Icemark after migrating from their homeland far to the south, a brief war had soon ended in mutual respect and the Icemark had granted the newcomers their own province in return for them accepting the rulers of the Icemark as their overlords. Now in their largely independent lands, the Basilea’s word was law, unless of course the King or Queen of the Icemark was present; then the practices of the Icemark ruled.
Basilea Artemis was
tasting the unique flavour of defeat, in which her beliefs and opinions were ignored and those of the opposition prevailed. And the fact that her own daughter had helped to bring about this defeat made it particularly bitter. With careful control, she rose to her feet and bowed to King Redrought.
“The forces and resources of the Hypolitan are of course at your disposal, My Lord. What strategies have you prepared?”
Their Vampiric Majesties sat at great ease in the Blood Palace. After several weeks of campaigning, the luxuries of their sumptuous home were especially welcome. The Vampire King was enjoying a particularly fine vintage of red wine while the Queen ate sweetmeats from an exquisite silver dish. Both occupied their thrones as they gave audience to their court, a practice they’d been denied while fighting in the Icemark. The Undead monarchs basked in the simpering adoration of their courtiers, and periodically they would turn to each other and smile toothsomely as the perfect rightness of things impressed itself upon them.
The only jarring element was the presence of General Romanoff who, as ever, would insist on discussing the war. She stood now next to the Royal thrones and informed the King and Queen that the Wolf-folk had at last completed the ceremony in which a new monarch was chosen.
“Then surely that is good news, General,” Her Vampiric Majesty said. “With the new werewolf King safely installed, we can expect their infantry to return almost immediately.”
“Not quite,” the general replied. “Their numbers were so depleted after the battle in the Great Forest, they’ll need to gather reinforcements, and that will mean travelling north to the Icesheets.”
“To the Icesheets?” the Vampire King questioned. “Surely not. Why can’t they recruit from their usual sources in the Wolfrock Mountains?”
“I really think that neither of Your Monstrous Majesties quite understand the scale of the defeat they suffered at the hands of the Icemark King,” Romanoff replied irritably, and with dangerous indifference to Royal protocol. “Almost an entire generation of Wolf-folk warriors were wiped out! Put simply, there are too few werewolves of fighting age left in the mountains. King Guthmok is forced to travel to the Icesheets and recruit from the Ukpik tribes that live there.”
