“Other things?”
Thirrin remained quiet for so long, Oskan began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. But then she said, “Oskan, what’s Medea doing?”
He’d been expecting a question like this for so long that he’d rehearsed the lie to perfection. “Nothing, at the moment. She’s cooking up something, that’s for sure, but she’s obviously not ready to set things in motion yet.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“As sure as anyone can be when talking of one of the most powerful Adepts in the Spiritual Realms.” He kept his voice as even and as steady as he could. He was determined not to distract his wife any more than was necessary from her upcoming battle with Erinor. Cronus’s insane ambition to attack the Goddess was something that could be worried about if and when he ever decided to actually do it.
“Fine,” Thirrin said, her voice tinged with relief as they left a topic she hated, but felt she couldn’t ignore. “But other things are bothering me.”
“What now?” Oskan almost wailed. Would the woman never sleep?
“I’m worried about Titus. He’s all right being looked after by Silvanus while he’s still a little boy, but the Senate are acting as a sort of collective Regent for him at the moment, and I’m afraid there are some very ambitious men in that particular body.”
“You think they’ll exploit him?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Oskan lay back with his hands behind his head. “Well, the solution’s simple enough. Appoint a Regent, or Regents, you trust.”
Thirrin turned over on her side and looked at the dark shadow of his profile. “Fine, but who?”
“Andronicus and Leonidas, because they’re Polypontian, and Cressida, because she has the most developed sense of justice I know. Not only that, but it’ll allow her a few years of stability while she and Leonidas get used to the idea of being married.”
Thirrin sat up as though on springs. “What? Married? What do you know? What have you been shown?”
“Calm down, woman. Nothing’s definite. I’ve seen shadows and possibilities, that’s all. And none of it’ll come about unless we defeat Erinor.” He fell silent as he considered his words. “There’s something else too . . . I’m not sure what. Some indefinable danger I can’t pin down . . .”
But Thirrin was too excited about the possibility of Cressida’s marriage to even notice his last sentence. “Cressida and Leonidas married!” She leaped out of bed and began to pace the room. “Perfect! Just perfect! An alliance with one of the most politically and militarily important houses of the Polypontus, and . . . and not only that but she loves him!”
“There’s still the small matter of winning the war,” Oskan said, distracted from his worries by his wife’s excitement. “Unless you defeat the Hordes, none of it can come about.”
“Then we’ll just have to win the war, won’t we? With Andronicus, Leonidas and Cressida as Regents, Titus will have a mother, father and granddad in one fell swoop; what could be better? I’ve been worrying about that little boy ever since I first met him, but now I know exactly what to do!”
Oskan looked at her appreciatively. “The most powerful Monarch in the northern hemisphere you may be; mighty warrior and brilliant tactician you undoubtedly are, but under it all, you’re still a mother, aren’t you? I knew as soon as I saw you with Titus that he’d brought out all of your maternal instincts. I fully expected to find that we’d adopted him at some point.”
“We may still do yet,” said Thirrin, suddenly feeling the cold and climbing back into bed. “Wouldn’t you like a child around the place again?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Oh, yes, you would! You’re not fooling me, Mr All-powerful Warlock! I saw you playing horses with Titus yesterday. Have you any idea how cute you both looked as you galloped up and down the Senate Chamber?”
“I was simply keeping the child entertained,” Oskan replied with lofty dignity. “Ye Gods, woman, you’re freezing!”
Thirrin laughed and ignored his protests as she snuggled up to him. He was right; he did make a very good hot-water bottle.
The purges were complete, and the sacrifices made for the terrible blasphemy of defeat. Erinor had cleansed the Hordes of most of its high command, and also of great swathes of deeply experienced field commanders, but the worth of a sacrifice was directly proportional to the pain and damage it caused to the giver. The structure of the army, already weakened by its unexpected defeat, was now severely handicapped, but even so, Erinor was preparing to attack, happy in the knowledge that the Goddess had been placated and final victory was assured.
Cronus, distracted by his own concerns after invading the Icemark, no longer manipulated the thoughts and tactics of the Basilea, and as a result many of her actions were damaging and dangerous for her own people. She was no longer important to his plans, having fulfilled her role as a decoy to draw away Oskan and his witches. But Erinor, blissfully unaware of the withdrawal of her powerful patron, continued with plans she believed infallible. She could easily have waited for the reinforcements to arrive from Artemesion, and then have commanded an army even greater than the one that had invaded the Polypontian Empire a year and half ago. But that would have taken weeks, and the enemy would have had time to prepare an attack that would force the Hordes to fight a defensive war, something of which they had no experience.
No; now was the time to attack, not least because the hated Alliance of monsters and the dregs of broken empires wouldn’t believe it possible, but also because the Hordes themselves would expect nothing less of their undefeated Basilea.
Erinor listened as the camp beyond the hide walls of her yurt seethed and hummed with purposeful activity. This is what her warriors had needed: the strength of certainty, the belief in destiny! No matter how depleted their numbers, the Hordes still heavily outnumbered the enemy, and the shock of seeing Erinor herself leading an attack within days of her warriors being repulsed from the streets of Romula would probably crush all morale and cohesion within the ranks of the Alliance. Indeed, if she moved quickly enough, she may even arrive at the city before the enemy had time to counter-attack, and then the second siege of Romula would begin – and this time the capital would fall and the new empire would be established.
The bellowing of Tri-Horns echoed around the yurt-city as the huge creatures were brought up the line, and Erinor stood as she prepared to don her armour. Not even the Hordes themselves were expecting to advance just yet; the most optimistic expected the new campaign to begin tomorrow or even the day after. How surprised they would be; how shocked the world would be to see the Basilea marching on her enemies when any other tactician would have taken time to consolidate and reinforce their depleted armies. Not so Erinor! Not so the living representative of the Goddess on earth! She would strike now! She would fly like an arrow from the bow and bury herself deep in the enemy’s heart!
Summoning buglers, she gave the order to stand to, and soon the brassy call to arms was echoing over the camp. She smiled quietly while her soldier-servants dressed her in the steel of war, and when her sword was placed in her hand, she strode from her yurt and into the light of day. The cold streets of the camp were thronged with soldiers of the Hordes, and when they saw her, a great collective roar rose up as they clamoured to be led to war, as they begged to die in the service of the Goddess, as they beseeched to be made again the unstoppable machine of death that would crush all who dared to stand against it.
Erinor mounted her waiting Tri-Horn. As she stood in the howdah that rose like a small fortress from its back, the Hordes fell silent waiting for the speech that would raise them to a frenzy of killing power. But their Basilea was silent. What need for words of passion and violence? What need for orations of frenzy and hate? Victory was already granted; they simply had to advance and take it.
With a huge bellow of power the Tri-Horn stepped forward, and the entire army fell in behind: regiment after endless regiment of Shock Troops, elite fighte
rs, chariots, cavalry and the mountainous squadrons of Tri-Horns. No power on earth could stop them, no alliance of human, beast or monster could hold them back from their destiny. The Goddess herself was their patron, and all would fall before them, all would die beneath their trampling feet.
CHAPTER 27
Medea and Cronus sat in the comfortable chamber that had once been Thirrin and Oskan’s private quarters in the citadel of Frostmarris. The city had been magically restored after the Vampires had destroyed much of it with fire, but in fact the citadel and Royal quarters had been largely untouched. It was almost as though the Vampires had deliberately avoided attacking it. Medea privately thought that a little ‘fiery cleansing’ might have improved the old fortress, but at least it’d meant that she and Cronus had still had a base to use as their centre of operations.
The weak winter sun was just beginning to set, filling the room with russet light and giving an illusion of warmth. But even though the huge fireplace was piled high with blazing logs, a deep rime of frost coated the stonework that was carved with the fighting bear of the House of Lindenshield.
Medea remembered the room well from her childhood, and she took a perverse pleasure in thinking that she’d taken possession of the place by force of arms.
“The Vampires are almost exhausted. Their resistance can’t continue for much longer. And even if it does, we control all of the major settlements of the Icemark, along with the entire road network and all fortresses and strongholds.” Cronus settled back into Oskan’s chair. “All of which basically means Her Vampiric Majesty and her valiant squadrons have been reduced to a mere inconvenience. They cannot stop us completing our plans.”
Medea couldn’t help remembering in graphic detail how the Vampire squadrons had so easily sidestepped Cronus’s attack on their forest stronghold only a few days earlier. And the subsequent destruction of Frostmarris was hardly the act of a force that could be considered “a mere inconvenience”. Not only that, but what difference would control of the roads, and even the fortresses, make to an enemy that flew everywhere, and was as mobile and flexible as the Vampires? Feeling suddenly disloyal to the Arc-Adept, she smiled optimistically and said, “So, now we can begin the next phase of the war?”
“Absolutely. We conquer what remains of the Polypontus, then we march south to the Venezzian and Hellenic territories, the Desert Kingdom and Arifica,” Cronus continued confidently. “The campaign shouldn’t take much more than a year at most, after which we must look to the east and west. In fact, I expect to be ruler of the entirety of the Physical Realms within three years.”
“We expect to be rulers of the Physical Realms within three years, surely,” Medea corrected sharply.
“But of course,” Cronus replied placatingly. “A trifling slip of the tongue, no more.”
“But of course,” she echoed, after a few moments’ silence, and then continued. “We’ll be ready then for the most important phase of our campaign.”
“Indeed, yes!” Cronus hissed, and tiny particles of ice gathered in a dense mist around him. “The assault on the Goddess Herself!”
Medea watched him with interest and marvelled that he seemed completely unaware of the very emotions he supposedly didn’t feel. Jealousy of the Goddess, rage at Her rejection of him, and a deep-seated need for revenge were all displayed for anyone who dared to look as his guard slipped in the excitement of his plans.
And once, much further down, in the shadows and murk of his deepest subconscious, Medea had detected something else; something she’d found so shocking and so frightening she’d never dared look again. Cronus the great, Cronus the defiant, Cronus the seat and fount of all evil, felt a need to be forgiven; to be accepted back into the realm of the Gods!
“What need have we of Oskan Witchfather?” he suddenly shouted, waking Medea from her thoughts and fears. “Together we can defy all opposition. Not even the Goddess Herself can stop us now!”
“Indeed not,” she agreed, and felt the familiar upwelling of emotions that she experienced whenever her father’s name was mentioned.
The sudden shattering of the windows was somehow almost expected. Whenever Medea began to feel confident in their campaign, the Vampires always contrived to spoil it.
“I’m beginning to make something of a habit of this, aren’t I?” said Her Vampiric Majesty as she stepped over the demolished window and wall. “I really must learn to announce my arrival with a little more subtlety.”
Both Adepts began to send out calls for the Ice Demon guards, but the Queen raised her hand so imperiously they stopped. “Oh, please! Can’t we simply have a little talk, without those awful lumbering creatures cluttering up the place? I promise a temporary truce, if we can just have a ‘frank exchange of views’, as the diplomats put it.”
“What do you want to say?” Cronus asked simply.
“Well, I thought I’d explain why you can’t win this silly war, and then I’ll listen while you state quite categorically why you can. It makes such a pleasant change from all the death and mayhem, don’t you think?”
“I have no time to take part in your pathetic charades, woman,” Cronus snapped.
“But you have all the time in the world to fight my squadrons, or at least I assume you do, because you certainly seem to expend most of your effort doing just that.” Her Vampiric Majesty crossed to a large chair that stood next to the fireplace, and sat with every appearance of comfort and ease.
“Soon the skies will be cleared of your menace,” Cronus growled, the nimbus of ice crystals that hung in the air around him eddying and swirling in the complex air currents that perfectly reflected his anger.
“When?”
“Today! I’ll lead the demons against you just as soon as they’re summoned.”
The Queen searched for a way of inflicting as much psychological damage as possible. Finding it, she smiled coldly. “You can no more destroy my army than you can control the emotions you supposedly do not have!”
“I feel nothing but contempt for you and your squadrons.”
“Granted,” she replied. “And alongside that contempt you also feel rage, hatred . . . and fear.”
An ear-splitting crack exploded through the room as lightning struck the stonework behind Her Vampiric Majesty’s head. “I have long forgotten the experience of fear. It’s the weakest of the emotions, and I’ve expunged it from my psyche!”
“Do you really think so?” the Queen asked conversationally, suddenly staring at Cronus intently as though she could see his very soul. “Hmm, perhaps you’re right. Then amend fear to ‘terror’, and add to it uncertainty, lack of ability, and in-com-pe-tence.” She sounded every syllable of the last word with mocking relish.
Medea found herself marvelling at Her Vampiric Majesty’s barefaced cheek, not to mention her incredible bravery. Here she was, sitting at her ease in the presence of the most powerful Adepts in all Creation, and throwing out insults as though they were nothing more than a pair of novice witches!
Cronus stood with slow menace, and his form seemed to fill the entire room as his shadow flowed across the floor like a black flood. “And exactly what do you believe is causing me to feel this supposed terror?”
The Queen inspected her blood-red nails and smiled gently. “Well, where shall I begin? Let me see, now . . . first yourself, and your own actions. You’re terrified that you’ve gone too far, taken on too much. Can you really get away with it? Haven’t you tried once before and been punished? There really are so many uncertainties to plague you, aren’t there? And then, of course, there’s the Witchfather. You’re very afraid of him, aren’t you? What will happen when he finds out what you’ve done?” She suddenly looked up from her nails, and her piercing eyes glinted. “Because he will find out; you can’t keep an invasion of this scale secret for long. And then . . . oh, and then you’ll die. Both of you will die a truly horrible death.”
Cronus began to laugh, gently at first, so that neither Medea nor the Queen could hear
it, but then the sound grew to slowly fill the entire room, with huge guffaws of mirth that echoed back from the high ceiling. “Oh, you stupid woman! Do you really think that I’ve spent aeons and millennia planning this war without being absolutely certain that I could win it? Do you imagine that I could have spent the long endless ages locked in the desolation of the Darkness and not have calculated and computed every possible setback and danger? Can you really believe that I haven’t applied my towering intellect to ensuring that nothing could possibly prevent my victory?”
Her Vampiric Majesty politely stifled a yawn behind an elegantly armoured hand, then she smiled, revealing her fangs. “Yes.”
Cronus roared, sending out a blast of deadly cold that cracked the stonework of the surrounding walls and froze the fire on the hearth to glinting fragments like carved crystal. “Then tell me, oh wise corpse, where is the flaw in my invasion? Where is the danger?”
The Queen stood and crossed to the window. “Here, looking at you. My undefeated squadrons still control the skies; my warriors continue to kill your Ice Demons and disrupt your preparations; my army still fights to defend the land of Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield. And until every one of my Vampires is destroyed, until you’ve obliterated me and all of my people, you will never be able to claim that you’ve conquered the Icemark!”
Cronus sent a blast of energy that demolished the window and the wall, but once the dust had settled, Her Vampiric Majesty had disappeared. Medea rushed to the gaping hole that had been torn into the wall and gazed up into the skies. The dying reds and bronzes of the sunset dimly illuminated the dense formations of Vampire squadrons that filled the skies.
“They’re here again, Grandfather,” she said quietly.
Alarms! Alarms! The streets of Romula rang with bells and brayed with bugles as the army was roused. Erinor was advancing! Erinor was striking back!
Thirrin and Cressida strode through the corridors of the palace as they hurried to the mustering point. They emerged into the once tranquil Imperial park, which now seethed with the cavalry of the Icesheets, then descended the huge sweep of steps that led from the palace’s imposing entrance.