“That hardly represents a choice,” the Witchfather said quietly. “Use the weapon against Cronus and destroy yourself in the process, or don’t use it and risk seeing the world and all you’ve ever loved falling into ruin.”
The Messenger smiled gently. “Even obvious decisions are sometimes difficult to make.”
“Why is it so obvious?” Oskan asked with sudden steel. “The only real certainty is that I will definitely die if I use this weapon – but if I don’t, there’s still hope that Cronus will ultimately be defeated, and all of the destruction and chaos he inflicts on the world can be somehow . . . cleared away and repaired.”
The Messenger shook her head sadly. “There is no physical or psychic power that can stand against him. He is the channel and conduit of all the corrupt energy that exists in the entire realm of the Darkness. What chance would any have against him?”
“None,” Oskan agreed. “Unless they too used the Power of the Darkness.”
The next day Olememnon and Basilea Olympia reviewed the army. Drawn up in their regiments and squadrons across the Plain of Frostmarris, the warriors looked truly formidable. Werewolves, Snow Leopards and human beings stretched into the distance, and the variously coloured banners fluttered and snapped bravely in the freezing breeze.
The dual heads of Hypolitan society stood on a specially constructed podium, and with an imperious nod from the Basilea the army began to march past. This was in fact only a dress rehearsal for the parade that would take place in a few days’ time, when the army would march off to the invasion of the Polypontus. Haste was needed if they were going to be ready before the heavy snows of the winter fell and blocked the passes into the lands of the empire. Once south of the Dancing Maidens they should be safe from the more extreme weather, and even though there’d undoubtedly be snow, it wouldn’t fall in the blinding, blood-freezing blizzards of the Icemark. It would even be possible to fight and march in the depths of the Polypontian winter, and the further south they got, the snows would probably change to rain. This in itself would bring its own problems with mud and impassable roads, but at least there’d be no danger of freezing to death.
As a result, training and preparations for the war had been accelerated to a greater level than was normal, but Thirrin had demanded that no corners be cut, and she’d even insisted that the traditional parade of the army should take place so that the citizens of the Icemark could have a sense of participation in the coming offensive. So it was that the dress rehearsal for the parade had also been scheduled, even if the Queen did show a reluctance to take part in it herself. In fact, both the Basilea and her Consort were only ‘taking the salute’ as stand-ins for Thirrin and Cressida, who were the real Commanders-in-Chief of the Allied force.
Olympia couldn’t help but marvel at the ironic turn events had taken. If anyone had told her only a year ago that an army of humans, werewolves and Snow Leopards would be preparing to march into Imperial lands in an attempt to defend what remained of the empire from marauding Hordes, she’d have laughed. And yet, here she was nodding at the salutes of generals and commanders as section after section of the army marched by. And strangest of all was the fact that Polypontian units were included in that relieving force. In the last few weeks, the Imperial sections of the Allied army had swelled significantly, as more and more of the Polypontian armed forces had fled into exile to regroup and prepare to strike back at Erinor.
General Andronicus had become something of an icon to the ‘Free Imperial Army’ as they called themselves, and he rode by now at the head of over twenty thousand cavalry, thirty thousand pike and fifteen thousand shield bearers. There were also ten thousand musketeers, but as they only had enough powder and ammunition amongst them to fire three rounds each, their weapons had become largely symbolic. Nonetheless, the Polypontian soldiers fiercely defended their right to carry their muskets, and had only reluctantly agreed to train as swordsmen to back up their meagre firepower.
Olympia watched the fat general fondly as he rode by on his big-boned horse and smiled broadly at her. In the few weeks she had known him, he’d become a dear friend. He was witty, charming and just plain good fun; Ollie said he had an appetite that almost equalled a Snow Leopard’s, and what greater compliment could there be than that? And Grishmak and the general had become almost inseparable as they explored the deepest cellars in search of rare wines and beers. Oskan, it had to be said, rarely spoke to the Polypontian soldier, but then they had so little in common, and they were more than polite to each other.
Yes, thought Olympia to herself, there have been very few problems with either the general or his soldiers. Every one of them has settled in nicely, and after a few initial skirmishes even the housecarles and werewolves seem to have accepted them . . . in a qualified sort of way.
But the Basilea knew full well that Thirrin still had a problem with both the Imperial soldiers and their general. Despite her best efforts and intentions, the idea of forgiving the people who’d killed her father and son, and who’d destroyed the lives of so many of the citizens of the Icemark, was alien to her. As a tactician and strategist, she was fully aware of the value of the Polypontian sections of the army, and she had no doubt they’d fight well. Few others had such first-hand knowledge of their martial abilities, but she couldn’t bring herself to happily accept their presence in a force that she commanded.
Olympia had watched the Queen struggle with her understandable prejudices and searched fruitlessly for ways of helping. In the end she had just had to accept that this was a battle that Thirrin would have to fight alone.
“They look very handy, don’t you think?” said Ollie, interrupting her thoughts.
“Umm?”
“The army, handy.”
“Oh, yes, very,” Olympia answered distractedly. She continued to mull things over for a while, then asked, “Where did you say Thirrin and Cressida were?”
Ollie turned from avidly watching the march-past and regarded his wife. “Going over the arrangements for supply and general logistics; you know what a stickler Cressida is for detail. Why?”
“Oh, nothing really; I was just wondering if she was . . . well, if she was trying to avoid watching the Polypontian sections marching past.”
“Why on earth should she?” asked Ollie in surprise.
“Simple really. Painful memories.”
“Oh, I see. Well, we all have those, don’t we? Everyone in the High Command’s a veteran of at least one war against the empire, and most of us have fought two!”
“Yes, very true. But none of us have lost a father and a son in the fighting.”
“No,” Ollie conceded. “But . . . but times have changed, and everyone knows that yesterday’s enemy is often tomorrow’s ally. If we’re going to stop that Erinor and the Artemesion Hypolitan, by all accounts we’re going to need everyone we can get, and Andronicus is a good general with actual experience of fighting her.”
“Yes, I know. But emotions are funny things, and especially female emotions.”
Ollie was about to say he knew that only too well, but wisely thought better of it. No one in his experience could hold a grudge like a female, of any species, but somehow, if she was human and Hypolitan there was an unrivalled artistry in her wrath.
The War Room of the High Command was situated deep in the caves beneath the citadel of Frostmarris. It had been moved there during the last war against Bellorum, when the Polypontian general had sent the Sky Navy and its bombs against the city. Here the gunpowder and blazing pitch that had poured out of the bomber-galleons had had no effect, and Thirrin and her allies had planned their counter-attacks in safety. But now the Queen and her daughter were preparing for a very different war; they were no longer fighting a defensive strategy, but preparing to invade what remained of the Polypontian Empire.
Cressida glanced through the lists of supplies almost sightlessly. The walls of the cave were lined with cressets where torches blazed and brightly illuminated the planning tables. S
he and her mother had been going over figures all morning, and she was deeply and profoundly bored. But what made it particularly excruciating was the fact that she knew full well the Queen was simply using the checking of supplies as an excuse to avoid the dress rehearsal of the parade.
“Can the supply route through the pass be easily defended?” Thirrin asked.
Cressida sat back in her chair and stretched. “Well, as the pass isn’t in enemy hands and we hold all three forts that defend both entrances, I’d say it was pretty safe.”
Thirrin heard the note of quiet sarcasm and decided to ignore it. “Good. Even so, I think I’ll leave a regiment of werewolves as extra defence.”
“And deny the army their strength? Besides, which regiment do you have in mind? Every one of them is designated a frontline role.”
“Perhaps Eodred and Howler’s . . .”
Cressida laughed aloud. “You’d have to tie them up first, and even then you wouldn’t stop them following as soon as we’d marched over the horizon.”
“They’re all soldiers of the Icemark. They’ll follow their orders to the letter.”
This was too much; Cressida wasn’t going to sit by and watch the army being denied the power and experience of the Regiment of the Red Eye. Besides, her brother and his werewolf friend would never forgive her if she let such a thing happen. “Mother! There’d just be no point in leaving them to defend the pass. It’s safe! The supply route’s safe! And we’ll need them when the campaign really gets going.”
Thirrin looked at her daughter sharply. Cressida never called her ‘Mother’ unless she was really angry or determined about something. For a few moments she held her eye in a contest of power, but at last she sighed and sat down heavily. “All right,” she conceded. “I suppose they’ll be useful against the Hordes.”
Cressida snorted. “Invaluable, more like.”
“Fine. I thought we’d just check through fodder supplies for the cavalry, after which there’s the ration packs for the human infantry . . .”
“You’re about to go to war, Mother, and part of your army’s made up of Polypontian soldiers. In fact, one of your most experienced generals was second only to Scipio Bellorum in the Imperial military hierarchy . . . you’re just going to have to get used to it, and stop putting off the moment when you have to acknowledge these facts,” Cressida pointed out in a reasonable, if forceful, voice.
“I’m not sure I—”
“Understand what I mean?” the Crown Princess interrupted.
“I was about to say, ‘I’m not sure I like your tone’, young lady. You are talking to the Queen, you know!”
“Then, for goodness sake, act like it! I’d expect such obvious and immature diversionary tactics from a junior officer who’d messed up a duty roster, not from the greatest monarch the Icemark’s had in more than a thousand years of history.” Cressida thumped the table with her mailed fist for emphasis. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m thoroughly sick of supply routes, quartermaster’s reports, and the problems of logistical support. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to see how the cavalry’s shaping up in the dress rehearsal.”
“Well, yes, I do mind, actually,” snapped Thirrin, deeply resenting being put in her place by her daughter . . . yet again. “I happen to believe that supplies and logistical support are important to an army.”
“And so do I,” Cressida snapped back. “Which is exactly why I’ve already checked, double checked and triple checked every item and all procedures on every single one of these bloody lists!”
“Oh! Oh . . . have you? Fine. That’s . . . all right, then, isn’t it. Well, in which case I suppose you’d better run along, then.”
“And you?”
“No . . . no. I’ll just check over these—”
“MOTHER! IT’S ALL DONE! For the love of all that’s sane, leave it alone!”
A long silence stretched out between them, and then at last Thirrin drew breath and said quietly: “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. If I stop doing this, I’ll have to review the army, and then I’ll finally have to admit to myself that I’ve . . . I’ve made an alliance with the very people who killed your brother and your granddad.”
Cressida looked at her mother, both appalled and embarrassed to see her in such a vulnerable state. Calling on all her reserves as a great warrior, she forced herself to look up and say, “I know, but things have changed. We need them, and they need us.”
Thirrin shrugged helplessly. “But that’s just the point, things haven’t changed; your brother and granddad are still dead, and some of those soldiers marching in the parade might have been there when they died. They might even have been responsible!”
Cressida sat down heavily. “Well, as to that, King Redrought died nearly twenty years ago, and it’s historical fact that he wiped out the entire Polypontian army that was sent against him. And according to eye-witness reports, Cerdic was shot by Octavius Bellorum, and then Sharley killed him in the final battle of the last war. So who’s left of the guilty ones?”
Thirrin gazed at the table, unable to accept the logic of what she heard. “But . . . but they’re all the same! Every Polypontian soldier is a fanatical killing machine who could invade us again if we save their empire now. They’re evil, Cressida, as a race they’re evil.”
“There’s no such thing as an evil race, just evil circumstances that make people do evil things. You know that as well as I do. I shouldn’t imagine there’s one nation in this entire death-riddled, war-torn, disease-riven world that hasn’t carried out one atrocity or another at some point in its history. So let’s have no more of this crap about evil races! The Polypontians are just people who have done some truly terrible things, and who’s to say that we wouldn’t have done exactly the same if we’d been in their position?”
“Never! Never in an age and an age of warfare would I have done what Bellorum did to us!”
Cressida looked at her mother, admiring her certainty. “Never? Not if by invading his lands and wiping out his cities you could have prevented Cerdic’s death? Not if by some sort of pre-emptive strike you could have stopped the wars with Bellorum before they’d begun? Even if it meant killing thousands of non-combatants to do so? Just imagine if you’d known exactly what his plans were, and you’d been in a position to stop him. How many civilian lives would you have snuffed out to kill him? How many children would you have been prepared to see wiped out to save your own child?”
Thirrin shook with rage, incensed that her own daughter was forcing her to confront her vulnerabilities. “That’s not fair. I was never in a position to invade the empire.”
“But you know as well as I that you would have done if you could,” Cressida answered quietly.
“I am not Bellorum!”
“No. But you are human, and just like the rest of us you have the potential to be both a devil and an angel. There’s no such thing as an evil race; just a human race.”
“Trite!” Thirrin spat.
“But true,” Cressida replied.
“This is ridiculous! No amount of playing with words is going to make me feel any different about the Polypontians. I can’t bring myself to even talk to them, let alone lead them in battle.”
“And yet you must if we’re to successfully confront Erinor and her Hordes.”
“I can’t. I just can’t!”
Cressida began to feel desperate. In a day or so she’d be crossing into the Darkness with Oskan to confront Medea, and she was determined to have this particular problem solved before she left. The country must have the strongest of leaders, without any distractions.
“What need does a country have for a leader who will not lead? You are without purpose or point,” she said with quiet ice. “Give up your throne.”
It took Thirrin a few seconds to realise what had been said, and then she gasped aloud. “To even think such a thing is treasonable; to say it is a matter for the executioner!”
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“Or for the Wittanagast,” said Cressida, naming the Council of Wise Ones who, in an emergency, could remove a reigning monarch from power and select a replacement.
“You threaten me with an outmoded tradition that hasn’t been used in fifty years?”
“Forty-three years, actually,” Cressida said calmly. “And you know full well the Wittanagast still exist.”
“And on what grounds would you call them?”
“As I’ve already said, dereliction of duty. If you refuse to lead the army because there are Polypontian troops in the ranks, then you’ll be failing in your role as Monarch.”
Thirrin breathed deeply to calm her raging nerves. To be threatened by her own daughter was so unbearable she could have screamed aloud in fury and frustration. “Many of the Wittanagast will be veterans of the wars against Bellorum. They’ll understand me; they’ll support me. Don’t forget I’m a tried and trusted war leader with more than twenty years of successful rule to my credit. Do you really think they’ll depose me in favour of you?”
“No, not a chance,” said Cressida easily. “Even though I too am a tried and tested war leader, my experience is negligible compared to yours. But the very act of being called to explain your actions and attitudes before a council of elders and the people of the Icemark will sully your . . . mystique. You’ll no longer be Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, irreproachable leader of the nation, but an ordinary woman who’s facing enough opposition to force her to defend her actions. In short, Mother, you’ll be exposed in all your ordinary lack of glory.”
“And do you really think that will bother me?”
“Yes. Your pride is equalled by mine alone in all of the Icemark.”
Thirrin looked at her daughter appraisingly. How had she produced such a ruthless, calculating monster? But then the answer came to her in shocking clarity. Cressida was her mother’s daughter; she was a flawless reflection of herself.
“Why are you doing this?” she finally asked.