As usual, the Spirit Plain had the atmosphere of a foggy day just before the sun bursts through and burns away the mists. Nothing was clear, and yet neither did anything cast any shadows.
Oskan knew this world well, and if the evil witch he sought was hiding herself here, she was in danger of terrible revenge from the warlock. His mind searched far and wide over the realm and settled on a tall ice-covered tower. Oskan’s mind scoured the building, and he soon felt the unmistakable presence of another – a very powerful being whose true identity was cleverly hidden. Carefully concealing his own identity, he began the hunt.
He reached the foot of the tower’s spiral staircase and began to climb. It was cold and dark, with only a mean trickle of light coming through the arrow slits that pierced the walls at regular intervals. But he was getting closer. He could almost hear the witch breathing. She was sitting in the room at the very top of the tower, gloating over the havoc she’d caused. She seemed particularly pleased by the death of Cerdic, and Oskan felt a rising wave of fury swelling through his spirit form. He crept up the stairway with extreme care.
All of a sudden, faint laughter echoed through the tower. He stopped. The voice was oddly familiar, but so evil and twisted that it had barely a trace of humanity. The laughing ended abruptly, and instantly a huge beating of wings sounded. Oskan raced up the remaining steps and reached the room – too late. From the room’s wide window he could see a shadowy form flying swiftly away.
The warlock transformed himself into a peregrine falcon, the swiftest of all birds of prey, and gave chase. Below him, the world swept by in a blur of speed as he slowly gained on the shadowy form of a vulture that flew ahead. Suddenly, its ugly naked head turned to look at him and, opening its beak, it spat out a white-hot bolt of lightning. Oskan folded his wings and dived. The bolt flew by harmlessly.
Swooping skywards again, he returned fire. The vulture screeched, and tumbled from the sky in a desperate attempt to avoid the bolt. But the white-hot ball of energy caught its wing a glancing blow and the creature fell in a tangle of feathers until, with a clap of thunder, it disappeared.
Oskan hovered, then slowly spiralled down to the ground. The evil witch was unmistakeably female, but apart from that her masking was too strong to penetrate. There was nothing more he could do now. Once a witch had left the Spirit Plain she could emerge anywhere in the physical world. He resumed his human form and grimly re-entered his body.
Back in the cave he took a deep shuddering breath and slowly sat upright. His eyes rolled back to their normal position, and when he could focus them, he saw Thirrin watching him anxiously.
“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.
He nodded, and looked about him. Knowing exactly what he wanted, Thirrin took a flask from her battledress pocket and gave it to him. The raw spirit made him cough, but everything swung firmly back into its proper place and he smiled sadly. “That’s better. I’m completely back now.”
“Good. What did you find?”
“A witch, as I expected. Female. I wounded her but she got away.”
“And she was definitely the one who befuddled us all?”
“Definitely.”
Thirrin nodded. “Then she’s responsible for killing Cerdic and all the others.”
He took her hand. “Yes. And I shall avenge him.”
Thirrin fell silent as grief overwhelmed her. “Oskan, what’s going to fill the emptiness he’s left?”
“Nothing. And nothing ever should. All we can do is remember what he was: a son, a brother, a soldier who died as a soldier.”
“But he was more than that. He was laughter and fun, he was . . . kind when he thought fast enough. I can’t quite believe I’ll never see or hear him again. Oskan—?”
“No.”
“But you could do it.”
“Yes, I could. But I won’t. He’s moved on, and it would be wrong to ask him to come back even for the shortest of times. Be glad that you know he still exists and that at your appointed time, you’ll be with him again.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. “Will I?” she whispered, her tone so desperate that Oskan could hardly bear to hear it.
“Oh yes! Yes! You’ll be with him in Valhalla drinking your mead in Odin’s hall and swapping tales of your battles. He’s with Redrought now, laughing and giggling and waiting for you.”
She fell silent for a moment, and when she raised her eyes to him she looked like a lost and frightened little girl. “But . . . but what about you?”
“Me?” Oskan asked, desperate to bring back the warrior Queen he knew and loved.
“Yes, you. You’re not a warrior. You’ll have no seat in Valhalla. Will I ever see you in the life beyond?”
He smiled. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be in the Summerlands and I’ll visit every day. The Goddess and the Gods of Valhalla are good neighbours; there’ll be no problems there.”
She smiled sadly. “You make the afterlife sound like a suburb of Frostmarris.”
“Do I? Well, let me tell you it most certainly is not. This world’s a suburb of the afterlife, and we’re all just waiting to get on with the real point of existence once we’ve finished dithering about in this unimportant little backwater we call life!”
Thirrin laughed, quietly at first, then with a full-throated glory that echoed around the cave. “Oh, Oskan, only you could cheer me up at this most horrible of times.” She drew a deep breath, seeming to draw strength from the air around her. Then she stretched with a sense of relief as though waking up after a nightmare. “Well, come on. We’d better get on with ‘dithering about in this unimportant little backwater’. Scipio Bellorum and his horrid sons are dithering about too and I don’t want them doing it in the Icemark.”
Oskan smiled, relieved that the warrior Queen was back. “Yes dear, right away dear,” he said in his best henpecked husband voice.
Tharaman-Thar waited beneath the northern eaves of the Great Forest with Olememnon and a small escort of Snow Leopards, Wolf-folk and human soldiers. The werewolf relay had said that Krisafitsa and the reinforcements would reach the woodlands later that night, and Tharaman-Thar was gazing eagerly ahead through the gathering dusk.
He turned to the werewolf officer beside him. “What exactly did the relay say, Captain Skull-cruncher?”
“That the Tharina and the reinforcements would be here two hours after moonrise, My Lord.”
“Really? Well, what about trotting ahead a little, Ollie,” he said to the Hypolitan officer beside him, “and meeting them on the road?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me.”
The Thar purred, then raising his head he roared mightily and moved off with his escort.
The evening light slowly dwindled, draining colour from the sky and leaving the simple black and white beauty of the night. The escort of Snow Leopards, werewolves and human soldiers marched on and watched as the full moon rose majestically into the sky, its subtle yet powerful radiance slowly dimming the stars around it and casting a misty grey light over the land. Only the whispering tread of the Snow Leopards’ giant paws, the pad of the werewolves, and the quiet clip-clop of the cavalry mounts could be heard. Even the wind had fallen silent, so when the Thar suddenly asked for quiet, the gentle murmur of the approaching army of the Tharina could clearly be heard on the still night air. A mutter of excitement arose from the escort and they hurried on.
Eventually, Tharaman called a halt, and raising his head he sniffed the air. “I scent thirty thousand warriors – truly the greatest host my people have ever sent into the field!”
Olememnon smiled. “Old Bellorum’ll have his work cut out now! I don’t care how big his army is. When he finally gets them all through the mountain pass, we’ll carve holes through their ranks as wide as Imperial highways!”
At last they crested a hill, and there before them, stretching into the distance, was the column of the relieving army. Tharaman roared again, and back crashed the reply from the approaching force.
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Escort and army then increased their pace to a steady trot, and within a few minutes they stood facing each other on the moonlit road. Silence fell as the Thar and Tharina stepped forward and met between the two groups. Their noses touched and they rubbed cheeks as a thunderous purring swelled and rolled into the night air. Krisafitsa gave her mate’s face a thorough wash, as though he’d become particularly grubby in her absence.
“Welcome back, my love,” said Tharaman. “I hope your journey was without incident.”
Krisafitsa blinked slowly in cat greeting, then said, “Almost, dear heart. Their Vampiric Majesties saw fit to offer no hospitality, but as we didn’t want any, no harm was done.” She shuddered delicately. “I think if I’d been forced to stay in the Blood Palace, I’d have worn out my tongue trying to wash away the very scent of the place.”
Tharaman purred understandingly. “But otherwise, can I take it that you passed through The-Land-of-the-Ghosts without problems?”
“Apart from a . . . what is the collective noun for rock trolls? A boulder, perhaps? Apart from a boulder of fifty or so rock trolls who were stupid enough to try and block the pass through the Wolfrocks, everything went smoothly. They were soon reduced to rubble, as it were, and we reached the Icemark safely.”
The Thar growled fiercely. “The High Command will be interested to hear about that. It may be that Their Vampiric Majesties will need another ambassadorial visit to remind them of their obligations.”
“Perhaps, but the Vampire King and Queen have always claimed the trolls are beyond their control.”
“They’re only as beyond control as the circumstances suit their Vampiric Majesties. I think Thirrin and Oskan will take a very dim view of this.”
“The Pro-Thar Talaman and all the other cubs send their love and greetings, by the way,” Krisafitsa said, purring softly as the mention of Thirrin and Oskan brought back the memory of Prince Cerdic’s death.
“Ah, yes!” Tharaman replied, feeling a sudden upsurge of love for his cubs, especially his favourite. “And how is Kirimin?” he asked.
“Growing fast, but missing her papa,” said Krisafitsa sadly. “And Talaman wanted to join with the reinforcements and march south to the war with us. He was so determined.”
For a moment she daydreamed of her departure from the Hub of the World. Talaman had been so desperate:
“Please, Mama, everyone will think I’m a coward if I stay at home while so many others march off to fight. And you can’t say I’m too young – there are dozens of warriors younger than me, and you’re taking them with you.”
“I know, my dear,” she’d replied. “But you are Pro-Thar, and if anything should happen to your father and me, you will be needed to lead our people. Remember, the Ice Trolls may have been defeated, but they’re not destroyed; one day they’ll rise again and the Snow Leopards will need a strong Commander to direct the war. I’m afraid it’s your duty to stay at home.”
Talaman had bowed his head, understanding and accepting her argument, but the disappointment was almost more than he could bear.
“What’s going to happen to you and Papa?” Kirimin had then asked, looking up from where she’d been gnawing her brother’s paw. “You will be home before Nightfall, won’t you? I couldn’t bear it if Papa wasn’t here to tell us tales about the ice-monsters and giant walruses when the blizzards are blowing.”
Krisafitsa had licked her face lovingly. “Of course we’ll be home before then, Kirimin. Nightfall’s another five months away, and much can happen between now and then.”
“Oh yes, I know,” she’d said importantly, selecting another of her brother’s paws to attack. “I can hardly remember the last Nightfall, it was so long ago, and five months is almost a lifetime.”
“Indeed it is, my dearest one,” Krisafitsa had agreed. “But before you know it, your Papa will be home bursting with new stories to tell you, and purring like an avalanche.”
“Yes, he will,” Kirimin had said with certainty. “And you can give me a good wash when you get back. No one else can clean the backs of my ears quite like you do.”
Krisafitsa hung her head now, remembering the intense longing she’d felt to stay with her cubs and protect them from the world and all the evil it contained. But there was a war to be fought, and if they didn’t put every effort into preventing Bellorum from winning it, it wouldn’t be long before his hordes found their way to The Hub of the World. Little Kirimin’s baby-soft fur would be too much of a temptation for the men of the Empire, with their guns and their knives and their liking for the skins of other creatures.
“The cubs sent love and greetings to Thirrin and Oskan too,” said Krisafitsa, pulling herself together. “How are they coping?”
The Thar flattened his ears. “Cerdic’s grave-mound has been raised and sealed, but the emotional wounds will take far, far longer to close.”
“Yes, of course,” the Tharina said glumly.
“But now, we still have a fair way to go before we reach Frostmarris,” said Tharaman, attempting to lighten the mood. “Shall we journey to the Great Forest tonight and make camp there?”
“Yes, it’s a beautiful night and none of us are tired.”
Olememnon rode forward and Krisafitsa nuzzled him in greeting. “Hello, Ollie. If you’re here, then I assume you and Tharaman made sure there was plenty of wine for the trip.”
“And beer! There’s some left, surprisingly, if you’re thirsty.”
“Perhaps I’ll have a bowl later. In the meantime shall we continue our journey?”
Within an hour the army and its escort reached the Great Forest. Here they paused, and a fanfare was sounded as a herald stepped out of the ranks and asked the leave of the Holly King and the Oak King to travel across their realm. The answering silence was taken as permission and they continued on their way. Beneath the canopy of the trees the night con- densed to an almost tangible darkness, like grainy black silk. But the eyes of the Snow Leopards and Wolf-folk soon adjusted and they stepped out with confidence, the humans trusting their companions’ night vision and not bothering to light torches.
After a further two hours of marching they came to a wide clearing, and here they decided to settle down for what was left of the night. Only Tharaman-Thar and Krisafitsa-Tharina stayed awake, talking quietly, and purring in the pleasure of each other’s company far into the night.
“Tharaman, could we live after the death of one of our children?” asked Krisafitsa, becoming suddenly serious and thinking of her cubs again. “I’m not sure how Thirrin and Oskan can carry on without Cerdic.”
“They carry on because they have to, because their country needs them. In effect, they are the mother and father of the entire nation, not just of their own children,” he answered quietly. “You and I would do the same, though may the One never call our cubs home while we still live.”
Krisafitsa lowered her head on to her paws. “May you and I be long asleep in the Ice Mausoleum before any of our young ones are called by the One-Who-Made-All-Things. I offer now, at this very moment, every last second of my remaining life, rather than have that happen.”
“And I too, my love, though let us remember our cubs are safe at the Hub of the World and we are needed by our allies and friends in this continuing war. We live as yet, and who knows, we may do so for many years, watching the night and day of our homeland’s year and growing grey-pelted as our grandcubs play in the kindly snows. We could yet be grandpapa and grandmama to dynasties. What greater joy could there ever be? What higher good could we ever reach?”
Krisafitsa purred thunderously and gave her mate’s face another wash. “You soppy old pussycat! You’d make a wonderful granddad – all bluster and bark on the surface and all gooey and soft underneath. Kirimin knows this already; she can twist her daddy around her tiny paw, so I don’t doubt any grandcubs will do just the same.”
Tharaman humphed and tried to look stern for a few moments, but then he said: “You might . . . just might be rig
ht about Kirimin, but I’m sure the rest of the cubs think I’m strict and fearsome.”
The peace of the clearing was suddenly shattered as Krisafitsa’s laughter rang out clear and joyful into the night air.
“Don’t they, then?” asked Tharaman quietly.
The werewolf relay had reported that the Snow Leopard army would emerge from the Great Forest in half an hour or so, but Cressida had been waiting for almost twice that long already. Thirrin was determined that the Thar and Tharina would be accorded the respect they certainly deserved, and was taking no chances with slip-ups and late preparations. The entire Citadel Guard of housecarles was lined up on the plain of Frostmarris, as was the Royal Bodyguard of Ukpik werewolves and the surviving warriors of the Snow Leopard and human cavalry under the joint command of Taradan and Thirrin herself.
Cressida stood to one side with King Grishmak and Oskan. She was a little annoyed; obviously her first battle command, and saving the entire allied army, weren’t considered important enough to grant her even a small command of her own.
Grishmak leaned against Cressida’s horse comfortably and picked at his fearsome teeth. He’d just had a very satisfying little snack to tide him over until the official welcoming banquet, and was feeling particularly contented. Nonetheless, he was aware of Cressida’s mood, and scratched at his pelt as he wondered how to cheer her up. He knew Thirrin had a surprise planned for her, but he couldn’t let that particular cat out of the bag and spoil everything. He glanced at Oskan, but the warlock seemed to be in some sort of semi-trance, so he could expect no help from there. Eventually, he belched cavernously, startling Cressida’s horse, then stretched until the sinews in his strongly muscled arms and legs cracked.