Far above the caves, fires raged and roared through the streets of the city. On the walls a party of archers had had some success against the wasp-fighters, but now they were in danger of being cut off by the flames. They ran down the steps to street level, and coughing and choking on the smoke, they hurried to an intersection they recognised, and found the spiral stairs that descended to the caverns many feet below. The Commander of the small party waved his people ahead of him, and just before running down to safety himself he looked back over the blazing skyline. The night sky was red with reflected fires. Fallen roofs and broken walls stood stark and black against the searing yellows and oranges, blues and reds of the inferno that was destroying the city. Overhead, the black shape of a galleon swept dangerously low, a scatter of gunpowder bombs tumbling from the open hatchway in its belly.
The Commander could clearly see a single tower rising pristine and untouched by either bomb or flame, an undamaged island amidst the hellish chaos of the burning city. As the barrels of gunpowder exploded all around, it remained impervious, rising proud and defiant against the sky. A bomb exploded nearby and the Commander fled below, still puzzling over the undamaged tower.
Medea’s Eye watched the man scuttle to safety, and she smiled. She had no need of the bombing shelters; she was perfectly safe in her tower, protected as it was by her Gift. All around its walls was a perfect microclimate that kept the stonework at a comfortable temperature, and a constant mizzle of fine, drenching rain prevented anything flammable from igniting. As for the bombs, well, air pressure was her forte. It was the engine of weather, and as a Weather Witch it was easy for her to counteract the percussion of explosions with an equally explosive rise in air pressure. It had required a certain amount of concentration, but over the past few nights she’d become adept at reacting quickly and almost automatically to dangers. So much so that her mind was now quite free to continue with her own thoughts and plans.
Sharley was riding towards Frostmarris. He would be here in a matter of days, and she was determined to stop him. How many years had she waited to destroy him? The final realisation would be so sweet. With a happy sigh, she watched the city burn and savoured her brother’s fast approaching death.
CHAPTER 35
The horses and zebras had been released into a series of paddocks and fields behind the harbour town. Some had barely been able to walk after their weeks of confinement, and much to Sharley and Mekhmet’s horror, several had died in transit.
Thankfully, Suleiman, and Mekhmet’s horse, Jaspat, had fared better than most, as they’d had stalls in the open air and had been walked about the deck whenever the weather allowed. But even so, both boys exercised their horses gently every day to slowly rebuild their strength and stamina. The human soldiers, too, needed fresh food and exercise before they’d be ready for the march inland, a delay that Sharley found almost unbearably frustrating.
But at least they were using the time to good effect. Maggie took charge of all intelligence-gathering, sending off the fittest townsfolk to investigate sources and find out what was going on. The little scholar had become a powerhouse of activity and efficiency; in fact, ever since setting foot on Icemark soil again, he seemed to grow younger by the day, zooming about the town like a youth of seventy and filling them all with his hope and energy.
For Mekhmet and all of the cavalry of the Desert Kingdom, everything was completely and utterly alien. Many of the soldiers found it impossible to believe there were no places of worship for the faithful. And the cold was a major problem; all the men had expected the chilling temperatures of the northern sea to give way to the proper warmth of the land once they’d docked, but here in this strange country it remained cold even when the sun shone. They’d acclimatise, given time, but until then most of the troopers rode about in their mountain gear.
It rained too, sometimes several times a day. Most of the troopers had never seen rain; they’d heard of it, and the vast majority of them had even believed in it, but now they’d had more than enough proof of its reality. Once there had even been a sprinkle of snow, even though the locals assured them it was summertime! Unfortunately, no one could predict how much time they would have to get used to the new conditions and prepare to march before Bellorum found out they were there. Maggie’s spies had reported that there were no Polypontian soldiers north of the Great Forest, even though it would have been relatively easy to have transported soldiers around the barrier of the trees and land them in the north by using the Corsair fleet. Perhaps the great General hadn’t wanted to split his force when he believed it wasn’t actually necessary. After all, as far as he was aware, he had all of the allies trapped in Frostmarris and no one expected any relieving army to come to their rescue, not even the allies themselves. By concentrating his forces around the capital city, he could ensure its capture, after which it would be simplicity itself to destroy the northern towns with their small garrisons one at a time.
“It seems we still have the element of surprise on our side,” said Maggie one night as the High Command of Sharley, Mekhmet and Ketshaka sat discussing tactics in the Guild Hall of the town. “But it’s imperative that we strike soon, before our presence is discovered.”
“I agree,” said Ketshaka. “Most of the animals and soldiers are now fit enough to make a start. They’ll build up strength and increase stamina as we go. After all, on the march they’ll certainly be exercising every day, and with fresh food and water their recovery rate should be rapid.”
“So all we have to do is agree a day to start,” said Sharley. “Maggie, are all supply lines established?”
“Such as they are, yes. But it’s high summer, we’ll be able to forage as we go along. The peasants may have a hungry winter as a result, but the sacrifice will have to be made.”
“All right. Then I suggest we begin the day after tomorrow. All agreed?”
The following day was taken up with briefing all officers and organising the line and order of march. When everything was finally ready, Sharley almost panicked again. If he and his army failed to relieve Frostmarris and push Bellorum back to the border, then everything would be finally and utterly lost. There’d be no second chance; everything depended on arriving unexpectedly and breaking the Imperial hold.
He’d ridden Suleiman to the top of a nearby hill that overlooked the town and the fields beyond where the army was mustering. As he looked at the ragged horses and zebras and the troopers who were getting them into some sort of marching order, he felt suddenly exhausted. How could they take on the finest army in the known world? They had only a thousand infantry of any worth, in the form of the Hellenic marines, and the rest of the foot units were made up of rowers from the galleys, armed only with short cutlasses and a belief in their own strength. They’d be smashed instantly by the Imperial shield-bearers or pike phalanxes. The cavalry needed a strong anchor of solid infantry to provide support and backup.
The sound of approaching hoofbeats made Sharley pause in his gloom, and he turned to watch as Mekhmet rode up.
“Now, how does it go? . . . ‘Look at the ridiculous ragged little force we’re sending against Bellorum. What chance do we have?’” said the Crown Prince, mimicking Sharley’s northern accent perfectly. “‘Oh woe, oh doom!’”
“It’s not funny. We won’t have a chance. Look at the housecarles we’ve got – not one is under fifty, and most are nearer seventy. How can we possibly expect them to fight Bellorum’s madmen?”
“But you’re forgetting something important . . . they want to fight them. One willing soldier, no matter how old, is worth at least five who’ve been forced to fight.”
“Maybe, and I might take comfort from that thought if I didn’t know that most Imperial soldiers actually enjoy what they do. They’re professionals; it’s their job to invade, kill and maim, and they’re good at it.”
Mekhmet took his friend’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re underestimating your soldiers. We can do it. We may be a little tired right now, but
give us a few days and we’ll be fine. And don’t forget the Great Forest. You keep talking about the Holly King and the Oak King – their forces will make us a truly formidable host.”
“If they’ll join us. I don’t even know if I can communicate with them yet. I’ve only ever seen my dad summon them, and he’s a warlock. I have about as much Magical power as a table leg.”
Mekhmet finally lost his temper. “LOOK! If you’re going to find miserable answers to every solution then you might as well give up. Let’s load everything back on the ships and we can sail home now. ‘Sorry we’re back so early, but we thought we didn’t have a chance so we gave up without trying.’ That would look really good, wouldn’t it?”
Sharley shrugged crossly. “I never said we’d give up; I’m just having a bit of a wallow.”
“Well, stop it! We’ve got an army to lead, and most of the troopers haven’t stopped being seasick yet, so we can all do without your miseries on top of everything else. All right?”
“All right,” Sharley agreed sheepishly.
“Good. Now let’s go back to town and get an early night. It might be the last chance we get to sleep in a bed for some time.”
Sharley grinned. “Yes, Dad.”
The army set out at sunrise. They made an impressive sight: twin columns of cavalry made up of Lusu and Desert Kingdom troopers, and a sizeable body of infantry led by the Hellenic marines and the town’s housecarles. The rowers from the fleet followed behind them and made a good attempt to march in step and keep ranks.
The citizens of the harbour town certainly seemed impressed, and their cheering was quite out of proportion to their small numbers.
Once beyond the town, the army made quite good time and Sharley began to relax a bit. He hoped to reach the Great Forest in two days, and following a further march through the trees, he then hoped to emerge on to the plain of Frostmarris two days after that. As to whether he’d manage to increase the size of the army by making contact with the Holly and Oak Kings, that remained to be seen. He’d decided there was just too much to worry about and too much that could go wrong, and that the only way to cope was to refuse to think about any of it. It was enough of a task just to get through the first day.
The weather was perfect for marching, with a coolish wind and bright sunshine. Ketshaka and her Lusu warriors seemed to have adapted well to the strange land, and they all sang as they marched along. But the Desert People, apart from Mekhmet, seemed to be in a state of collective culture shock. How was it possible for a land to absorb so much rain without actually being washed away, and how could the sun shine with so little heat? And everywhere was so green! It was almost as though a palace garden had decided to march on the surrounding land and conquer it with its plants and trees. It didn’t seem natural.
Sharley had been a little concerned about their unhappiness, but Mekhmet had assured him that they were simply indulging in every soldier’s inalienable right to have a good moan. They’d soon settle down.
By nightfall the army had covered half the distance to the Great Forest. Camp was set up quickly, with picket guards set at regular intervals around the perimeter and an armed guard on the horse lines. Sharley was taking no chances; he might be on home territory, and in a region where the Empire had yet to advance, but he wasn’t going to risk anything stopping him going to the rescue of Frostmarris.
They were camped on a wide, undulating area of grassland, and as darkness fell the cooking fires reflected the night sky perfectly in fiery constellations. Ketshaka was with her Lusus and Maggie was busily writing up his notes. Sharley and Mekhmet sat alone at the entrance of their tent. The Prince of the Desert Kingdom knew that this was the most testing and difficult time for his friend, but there was nothing he could do to help him. Every soldier and warrior in the camp that night was risking everything to fight the Empire, but for Sharley there was the added pressure that his family and homeland were in danger of being destroyed. What comfort could anyone offer in the face of such fears?
“You’ll like her, Mekhmet,” Sharley said as he stared into the flames of the campfire.
“Who?”
“My mother. You’ll like Dad too, but he’s a bit more . . . remote.”
“Oh,” his friend answered non-committally. He’d spent a few minutes saying goodbye to his own mother just before they’d set off from the Desert Kingdom, mainly because Sharley had been so shocked that he’d been prepared to leave without seeing her at all. It was a painful memory. He’d been more affected by her tears and kisses than he thought he’d be, and much more than he’d wanted to be. He’d promised himself then that if he survived the war and became Sultan, he’d change some of the Desert Kingdom’s laws on women.
“She’s funny.”
“Um, funny?” said Mekhmet, dragging his attention back to his friend.
“Yes, my mother. She used to make me laugh when I was little, and she always knew when I was in one of my moods and what to do to get me out of it.”
“Yes. You’ve told me that before. It must have been . . . nice to have your mother with you when you were growing up.”
Sharley suddenly moved closer to put his arm around Mekhmet’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, friend. I was forgetting you didn’t really see your mother when you were a kid.”
“Well, no. But that doesn’t matter. I didn’t know any different. Still, you make it sound like I missed something special.”
Sharley nodded silently. “Never mind. You can share mine when we get to Frostmarris. With five kids I’m sure she could squeeze another one in.”
Mekhmet suspected that this was a great honour, but didn’t quite know how to react to it. So he was relieved when Sharley stood up with a frown on his face and his head cocked to one side as though listening.
“Can you hear that?”
“Do you mean the jackal howling?”
“We don’t have jackals in the Icemark.”
“A wolf, then.”
“No! That’s not a—” and suddenly he let out a howl that rose into the air and echoed far and wide over the camp.
Mekhmet leaped to his feet, convinced Sharley had gone mad, or was possessed. Armed guards came running and pandemonium broke out all around.
“Be quiet! I can’t hear the reply!”
“Reply? Reply to what?”
“The message from the Wolf-folk, of course! Now, all of you be quiet!” He looked so fierce and so convincing that silence fell, and a thin, distant wailing sounded on the air. After a few seconds of silent frowning, Sharley howled again with amazing power and realism, his voice rising into the air and echoing on the stillness.
“Right, call a general stand-to. I want everyone on parade and ready to listen to me in less than ten minutes. Understood?”
The guards ran off, accepting his orders at face value. If the Northern Prince had gone mad, they’d find out soon enough; in the meantime it was their job to obey.
Maggie appeared, breathless and excited. Mekhmet almost wept with relief. At least Maggie would know how to deal with what he hoped was Sharley’s temporary madness.
“What did it say? What did it say?” the old scholar bellowed as he ran up, disappointing Mekhmet mightily. Now he had two madmen to deal with!
“She’s part of a group who didn’t manage to return to Frostmarris before it was besieged. They’ve been trying to get back for several weeks now, but the Polypontian lines are too strongly drawn, and the trails through the forest have been disrupted by . . . ‘bombs’. I didn’t quite understand that bit. Perhaps it’ll become clearer later.”
“Oh, this is wonderful. They’ll be able to give us all the information we need. How many of them are there?”
“That’s the best bit, Maggie. Including her own patrol and five others that were also marooned, as well as the northern and southern operatives of the werewolf relay and sundry survivors from the garrisons of fallen towns—”
“Yes? Yes?” Maggie asked breathlessly.
“Ther
e are five hundred Wolf-folk and three hundred housecarles!”
Mekhmet stepped back and watched in amazement as the old man pulled up his robes and danced around the campfire like a teenager. “We have a proper infantry now! We have a proper infantry now!”
“Yes, we have. But listen. We’ve got to get them safe conduct into the camp. I’ve told them to wait until I give the word. That’s why I’ve called a general stand-to. I’m going to have to explain things to the army.”
Ketshaka took the news of werewolves with ease. To a people who had experience of the Laughing Ones, the Wolf-folk seemed a very ordinary prospect. And as an experienced tactician, she was also well aware of their lack of infantry and of the new arrivals’ importance in that regard.
“The Great Spirits are smiling on you, Charlemagne my son,” she said as they rode to address the gathered ranks of the army. “Remember to give them due honour by using their Gift well.”
“I intend to,” he said with determination.
It was a matter of a few minutes to explain to the soldiers exactly who the Wolf-folk were and their circumstances, and without realising it, in doing so he also enhanced his own standing as a commander immeasurably. Not only could he gather and control an army of a multiplicity of peoples, but he also had the loyalty of beings who, if he was to be believed, were strange, powerful and intelligent to a high degree.
“To some of you the werewolves will appear strange and even terrible, but there is nothing to fear. The Wolf-folk are our most loyal allies. I will now call them and they will march into our camp. Remember that these people and their human comrades have been fighting a war for many months. They’ll be tired, and wary of treachery. They know that I am here, but it wouldn’t be impossible for me to be a captive and under the control of the Empire. Even though I’ve used certain words and codes in our communications that have reassured them to a certain extent, they’ll still be suspicious. Make no movement or noise as they approach. Leave it all to me.”
Sharley nodded in the following silence, and rode Suleiman a little apart from the ranks of his army. Then, drawing breath, he howled loud and long into the night sky. A low murmur ran through the assembled regiments, but they immediately fell silent as a reply sounded from surprisingly close by.