Tharaman and Krisafitsa had been unconscious for more than three days, but Kirimin had at last agreed to leave their tent in the infirmary block and take a rest, now that her parents’ condition was showing no sign of worsening. Leaving strict instructions to be called the moment anything happened, good or bad, she gently nuzzled Tharaman’s and Krisafitsa’s cheeks, then walked quietly back to her quarters and the promise of a few hours’ sleep. After she’d gone, the witch healers quietly checked their patients’ progress before extinguishing most of the candles and finally leaving to complete the rest of their rounds.
After they had gone the darkness and silence pooled in the large tent, and then, in the gloom of the deepest shadows, a pair of red, bloodshot eyes slowly opened and narrowed as they assessed the situation. Both Snow Leopards were obviously still unconscious, and there was no sign of guards or attendants of any sort. The coast was well and truly clear.
With the stealth of an assassin, a huge shape then detached itself from the darkness and made its way silently to where the Snow Leopards lay. Having satisfied itself that it had found the Thar, it uncorked a large flask, poured a blood-red liquid into a wide bowl and placed it before Tharaman’s muzzle. For a moment nothing happened, and then the shadowy figure dipped a huge, wickedly sharp claw into the liquid and trickled it across the Snow Leopard’s nose. Again, nothing. But then Tharaman’s muzzle began to twitch and the lips to curl, and eventually a large, red tongue snaked out and licked up the liquid that was slowly running towards his nostrils.
The huge dark shape hissed in excited satisfaction, quickly trickled more droplets of the red substance across the Thar’s nose and waited impatiently, all the time looking cautiously over its shoulder for any signs of the witches coming back. This time, the tongue slurped out immediately, and the dark figure moved the bowl closer, until eventually the tongue fell into the red liquid and began to lap. The dark shape capered about, silently raising its fists in glee and shaking them wildly. But then it froze and turned to look at the Thar, as the unmistakeable sound of a clearing throat boomed into the room.
“Oh I say! Yes! Do you know, if I’m not very much mistaken, that has the distinctive palette of a very fine Gallian vintage. Yes . . . yes, chalky soil; south-facing vineyard; plenty of sunshine to aid the production of natural sugars.” The tongue quested forth again. “Oh, yes! I’m getting strawberries, vanilla and just a soupçon of liquorice; and . . . and . . . yes, at the end, citrus, lemons; a very fine, refreshingly piquant finish!”
The huge head of the Snow Leopard now swung up from its pillow, and the glowing amber eyes opened to illuminate the room. “Hello, Grishmak,” he said warmly. “Did you bring the wine? It’s very good.”
“Just a little something I keep for emergencies, like bringing Snow Leopards out of comas,” said the werewolf. “Finish the bowl off – I’ve got plenty more.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but . . . erm, just see if Krisafitsa would like some too,” said Tharaman in worried tones.
Grishmak produced a second bowl, and repeated his technique of trickling the liquid over the Tharina’s muzzle. Soon her tongue was lapping at the wine too, and she opened her eyes.
“Well, my dear, you’re certainly in need of a thorough wash,” she said as she scrutinised her mate. “It looks like no one’s been near your fur for days.”
“I suspect you may be right, my love,” said Tharaman with a deep purr of pure pleasure. “Exactly how long has it been, Grishmak?”
“You’ve both been unconscious for three days,” he said. “Everyone’s been pooing themselves thinking you were going to die.”
“Oh yes. I remember now,” said Krisafitsa slowly. Then suddenly she leaped to her feet. “There was an explosion . . . Thirrin!”
“Calm down, there’s nothing to worry about. She’s alive and well,” said Grishmak. “She didn’t even get a scratch. In fact she was well enough to fight Erinor and kill her.”
“So, the Basilea survived me killing her Tri-Horn, then?” asked Tharaman as the memory of his struggle with the huge beast came back.
“Not for long,” said Grishmak. “She’s dead and the war’s over.”
“And Kirimin and the boys?”
“Also safe and well. In fact Kiri left only a few minutes ago; she’s been here ever since you were brought into the infirmary. She’ll be spitting mad she missed you waking up.”
The Snow Leopards began to purr enormously, the booming sound of their pleasure filling the space of their hospital tent so that it vibrated like a struck bell.
“I’ve brought something else with me too,” said Grishmak conspiratorially, and after fishing around his pelt for a few moments he produced an enormous frying pan, and a massive steak that flapped over the sides. “This came from Erinor’s Tri-Horn. I thought it’d make a light convalescent supper. Now has anyone got any firewood?”
“I don’t think it’d be very safe lighting a fire in a tent, Grishy,” said Krisafitsa. “What we need is one of those charcoal griddles the cooks use in the mess tent.”
“Of course! I never thought of that. Hang on a minute, I’ll go and see what I can find.” The werewolf King headed for the entrance, then stopped to hiss conspiratorially over his shoulder: “We won’t tell anyone what we’re doing. You know how these healers fuss; they’ll only moan on about steak being too rich for someone who’s just come out of a coma, and all that malarkey. See you in a bit!”
In the following silence the Snow Leopards contented themselves with giving each other a thorough wash, and in an amazingly short time most of the discolouration and blackening caused by the explosion had been cleaned away.
“That’s better! I feel almost human now.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear?” Tharaman asked in puzzled tones.
“Oh, sorry. It’s an expression I’ve picked up from Thirrin. It just means I feel better and much more in control.”
“Well, in that case, I feel almost human too!”
Suddenly a small, horned head peeped round the flap of the tent. “Hallelujah! You’re awake! You’re alive! Wait till I tell Kiri!”
“No, wait, Pious dear,” said Krisafitsa urgently. “Let her rest. I hear she’s been with us ever since they brought us in from the battlefield, so she must be exhausted. We can have a happy reunion when she wakes up.”
The Imp shrugged his agreement and flew into the tent. “Fine. But look at you two! You must be as tough as a Tri-Horn’s fundament to have survived that explosion!”
“It takes more than a few fireworks to extinguish a Snow Leopard’s light,” said Tharaman proudly. “Though if I remember correctly, it looked as if Grinelda and the Ukpik bodyguard took the full force of the blast.”
“Yes, all dead. An enormous shame,” said Imp-Pious as he fluttered down to sit on the Thar’s bed. “Still, they’ll get full military honours at their funeral, and a new Ukpik guard’s already being formed, so the tradition won’t die.”
“I see,” said Krisafitsa quietly. “And will there need to be any other funerals with full military honours?”
Pious looked at her, an expression of pure panic slowly gathering on his face. “Oh, dear me! You’ve been unconscious, haven’t you, so you won’t know! And now I’m going to have to tell you, and I have absolutely no experience of this sort of thing because no one dies in the Spirit Realms!”
“Never mind about comforting phrases and all that sort of thing, Pious dear. Just tell us the worst.”
“All right. Well, you asked for it; so here goes . . . for a start, thousands! Erinor’s Hordes were tough nuts, and they weren’t easy to crack. But I suppose the biggest names, so to speak, are Olememnon and Olympia. They were both killed, along with all the Sacred Regiment. In fact the Hypolitan suffered truly appalling losses; the Hordes seemed to specifically target them. But worse than all of that was the fact that everyone thought you two were amongst the fatalities! And in fact a lot of Snow Leopards were killed in the explosion, inc
luding Taradan.” The Imp went quiet, and then, in an attempt to fill the lengthening silence, he added, “As I said, tough nuts . . . and they were perilously hard to crack.”
“Yes,” Krisafitsa agreed quietly. “Do you know any figures at all? Exactly how many Snow Leopards fell?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know for certain, but I know the casualties were heavy.”
“In all reality, my dear, I don’t think it will be of any use to know such details, just yet,” said Tharaman. “I think our first duty is to ensure we both make a rapid and complete recovery, so that we may continue in our duties as Thar and Tharina.”
“Yes, of course,” said Krisafitsa, but her ears remained flat. “I’m just a little tired at the moment. Do you mind awfully if I have a little sleep?”
“Not at all, dear heart. In fact, I may join you. Imp-Pious, be a good chap and see if you can find Grishmak, will you? And tell him that we’re very grateful for his trouble, but we’d prefer to rest right now.”
“Certainly. Just leave it to me. Do you think you’ll feel a little perkier tomorrow?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I suppose it’s a possibility. A good old-fashioned drinking competition may have helped to set me up, but somehow, without Olememnon to compete against, the idea’s lost something of its savour.”
“Yes,” Pious agreed sadly. “His capacity was truly formidable.”
“Yes, it was. I hope someone remembers to mention that in his funeral address. A gentleman quaffer of the ale, and true appreciator of the viniculturalist’s art. Not to mention a thoroughly decent sort of chap and all-round good type.”
“Yes,” Pious agreed again, then quietly flitted out of the tent as Tharaman slowly laid down his huge head and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 30
Thirrin paced the floor like a caged beast. The Icemark had been invaded again, and she daren’t say a word to anyone until Oskan had returned from his reconnaissance. Without hard facts and figures to lay before the high command, she’d only cause chaos and panic. All she could do was wait, and the suspense was almost unbearable.
She crossed to the entrance of her campaign tent and watched the doings of the camp with sightless eyes for a few moments, then turned back to begin her pacing again, and bumped into the Witchfather.
“Oskan, at last! What’s happening? Is everything destroyed? Is there any resistance? Are the Vampires wiped out? Can we fight them effectively? How long before we can counter-attack?”
Oskan crossed quietly to a chair and sat down. “Which question should I answer first?”
“The most important!”
“Then we can counter-attack. And as for the rest of your enquiries: yes, there’s a very vigorous resistance, thanks to the Vampire Queen and her squadrons of warriors, who incidentally haven’t been wiped out. But having said that, the enemy has control of every major city and large town, and they’re almost ready to march on the Polypontus.”
He calmly poured himself a flagon of beer and took a long drink before going on: “Unless we hit them immediately, our beloved daughter and her . . . grandfather will begin a process that can only end in world domination.”
“Then we’ll hit them now!” said Thirrin decisively, ignoring the pangs of regret and longing she felt at the mention of Medea.
“Well, yes. But there are problems.”
“Which are?”
“To be effective we must attack within hours rather than days, and that will require transporting the entire army through the Plain of Desolation.”
Thirrin sat down heavily. “Can it be done?”
“In theory, yes. I must admit I didn’t know that it could, but Cronus proved it as a means of transporting entire armies when he took his host of Ice Demons into the Icemark. But that required only half the energy and effort that will be demanded of us. After all, he only took them from the Darkness to the Icemark, whereas we’ll need to transport our fighters to the Plain of Desolation, and then from there back to the Physical Realms again. The effort would be enormous.”
“But it can be done?” Thirrin repeated sharply.
Oskan slumped back in his chair as though exhausted. “I think so, yes. If I work in concert with every one of the witches, we should be able to generate enough psychic energy to pull it off. To understand the process properly, you have to see the Plain of Desolation as a sort of conduit, a pipeline through which we can travel.”
The Queen leaped to her feet, her face alight with the promise of battle.
“But the problems don’t end there, I’m afraid,” Oskan went on. “When we arrive in the Icemark we then have the small question of fighting the Ice Demons, and believe me, they’re truly formidable. Even with talismanic weapons like silver arrowheads, and swords and spears of pure iron, they’re still going to be a terrible opposition. There are literally thousands and thousands of them, and I’m afraid the advantages are all theirs. Not only will we be the invaders of our own land, trying to oust well dug-in defenders, but they’re enormously strong, and afraid of nothing.”
A small cough suddenly sounded. “Not quite nothing, Witchfather, and I do apologise for the double negative.” Imp-Pious flew into the tent and hovered before Oskan. “Sorry to interrupt what appears to be a private, not to say confidential conversation, but I was just passing by on my way to taking supper to Sharley, Mekhmet and Kirimin and I couldn’t help overhearing your chat. You see, I might be able to give you a valuable insight into a failing in the formidable armour of the Ice Demons.”
“You can?” asked Oskan sceptically.
“Yes. I think people too easily forget that Imps and Ice Demons are distantly related, and that we smaller cousins are privy to many of their foibles. For example, the Ice Demon is mortally afraid of fire. You see, flames are diametrically opposed to their element of ice, which after all, is simply frozen water.”
“Of course!” said Oskan, becoming truly animated for the first time since he had begun his conversation with Thirrin. “Now we have a chance! With this information, you and the army can keep the enemy’s fighting forces busy while I deal with . . . Medea and Cronus, the driving force behind the invasion.”
“What will you have to do?” his wife asked quietly, as though she already knew the answer.
“Quite simple, really. I’ll have to destroy them.”
The entire Allied army stood on the wide plain beyond the camp and waited in a deep unbroken silence. Human, Snow Leopard and werewolf were drawn up in their respective regiments, and watched as Oskan and the full complement of White Witches stood before them, arms raised and eyes turned up to the whites.
“They look dreadfully spooky when they do that,” Tharaman whispered to Krisafitsa.
“Hush, dear, they might hear you.”
“No chance of that!” Grishmak boomed. “Once they go into that sort of trance, you could probably tear their legs off and they wouldn’t notice.”
“Well, that’s not an experiment I’d care to carry out,” the Tharina replied. “I just hope they can generate enough . . . whatever it is to transport us all to the Icemark.”
“What I want to know is, why didn’t they try this before? It’d have saved a hell of a lot of marching when we first invaded the Polypontus if they had,” said Grishmak.
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Tharaman. “It wasn’t until Oskan had been back and had a quick chat with Her Vampiric Majesty that he even realised it could be done. It was only because she’d witnessed the arrival of the Ice Demon army that Oskan was able to guess what had happened – and, more importantly, how it had been done!”
“Well, I’m still worried they won’t be able to call up enough power to take us all through the void thingy. I mean look at the size of those Tri-Horns that Cressida and Leonidas are commanding, and there are over five hundred of them!”
“I don’t think actual weight is a consideration, my dear,” said Tharaman knowledgeably.
“What is, then?”
“Well . . .
well, I’m not really sure. Something . . . magical, I expect.”
Krisafitsa shot him an annoyed look. “Thank you for that in-depth and informative insight.”
“Now, now, no bickering before battle,” said Grishmak. “Eh up! I think something’s happening.”
They all looked up and watched the witches as the fabric of light and reality itself seemed to slowly tear apart, revealing a black void that grew wider and wider, until a huge yawning chasm had opened up before the army.
A great icy blast spewed out into the day, and many of the horses reared and danced nervously as their riders tried to calm them.
Over in the ranks of cavalry, Sharley whispered in his mount’s ear and stroked his neck. “Steady, steady, Suleiman. Remember who we are. You’ll see the enemy soon.”
Mekhmet smiled at him nervously. “I wish I could be calmed as easily. I can’t say I like the idea of going into that at all.”
“Me neither,” agreed Kiri, flattening her ears. “Why can’t we just get on with it?”
“Any minute now,” said Sharley, his confidence in his father’s Gifts helping to steady his nerves. “Don’t forget Dad’s in charge. He’ll get us through.”
Then suddenly, a strange blackness seemed to bleed across the day, consuming the army and filling every eye and every ear with a deep and endless nothing. Each individual warrior was alone in the eternal emptiness that was the space between the Physical Realms, the Darkness and the Spiritual Realms. They could hear and see no one and nothing; it was almost as if everything had ceased to exist apart from their own individual fear. Mekhmet tried to draw breath to cry out in terror, but nothing entered his lungs, and the unending silence and blackness filled his head to the brim. Was this it? Would this be where they ended their lives, suspended forever in an endless nothingness while they soundlessly screamed in unending fear?
But then, abruptly, light, sound, scent and every other sensation returned in screaming clarity as the army emerged onto the Plain of Desolation. But they were only there for a matter of seconds, as Oskan and the Witches once again opened a portal, and then they were all plunged once more into the nothingness between realms.