“Who’s the Mumbo?” asked Mekhmet.
“My mother.”
“But she didn’t even want to let you go to the Great Forest a few weeks ago,” Mekhmet pointed out.
“Yes, but as I just said, Snow Leopards mature much more quickly than humans. A few weeks in our terms can be the equivalent of a few years in human terms. I’m quite grown-up now, and completely independent.”
“Great, that’s settled, then,” said Sharley decisively. “I thought we’d go via Venezzia and the Southern Continent, and then, once we’ve explored the desert for a while, we can go on to Lusuland. You’ll just love Queen Ketshaka.”
“Oh, wonderful!” said Kirimin excitedly. “I can’t wait to get going. When do we start?”
“Like I said, not for a few weeks yet. But if we travel south through the Polypontus, we can reduce the sea journey by several weeks.”
“That’ll suit the horses better,” said Mekhmet.
“That sounds marvellous!” said a familiar voice as Pious fluttered up from under the table. “Can I come too?”
“I’m not sure,” said Mekhmet cautiously. “The people of the Desert Kingdom are deeply devout; just one look at your wings and scales and they’ll know exactly what you are, and try to kill you as an act of piety to the One.”
“Well, couldn’t you explain I’m a reformed character, not to mention a war hero?”
“We could try, I suppose,” said Mekhmet, though he didn’t sound very confident.
“I’ve got an idea,” Sharley interrupted. “We could dress him in those little red jackets and pantaloons the monkeys wear whenever you see them around the fairs and bazaars in the Desert Kingdom. Then if anyone asks, we can say he’s our pet, and that he’s been ill and his fur’s fallen out.”
“What exactly are monkeys?” Pious enquired.
“Small hairy creatures that look a bit like tiny people wearing fur coats,” Sharley explained. “They’re not very bright, and they’re also extremely ugly, but lots of people keep them in the Desert Kingdom.”
“An absolutely superb disguise in any other circumstances, I’m sure. But not, I think, for me. I’m sure that somehow my natural brilliance will just shine out.”
“Oh, I think we’ll manage,” said Sharley airily. “Is everyone in agreement then; Pious comes with us?”
“Well, he can come along as far as I’m concerned,” said Kiri.
“Me too, I suppose,” Mekhmet agreed eventually, and the four friends began to make plans, to the exclusion of all others. The ever-present thought and memory of Oskan dimmed their excitement, but quite rightfully thinking the Witchfather wouldn’t have wanted them to be sad on this day of all days, they continued to discuss their journey.
Only Cressida and Leonidas seemed as self-contained, talking quietly and helping each other to titbits from their plates. “It’ll be a little awkward constantly travelling between the Icemark and Romula, but I’ll have a word with Mother and see if we can establish a household in one of the southern towns near the border,” said Cressida as she sipped from her goblet of wine. “That way everyone can come to see us whenever I come home.”
“That . . . er . . . that . . . er, seems a little unfair, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. I am the Crown Princess, you know.”
“Well, yes. But, er . . . you know, Grishmak’s a king, Tharaman and Krisafitsa are Thar and . . . er . . . Tharina respectively, and your mother’s the Queen of the Icemark. So if you’re talking social precedent here, we’re . . . er . . . you know, we’re the ones that should be doing the visiting.”
“Are you going to be as argumentative as this all of our married life?” Cressida asked sharply.
“Well . . . er . . . yes . . . probably.”
“Good,” she said. Leaning across, she kissed him on the nose. She couldn’t remember ever being so happy; she was just sorry that her father couldn’t have been with them all to share the day. It seemed so unfair that, after everything he’d been through, he couldn’t have been allowed a little time to enjoy the peace he’d been instrumental in creating.
For a moment tears threatened to well up, but, fearing a bad omen for her big day, she determinedly pushed aside the sadness and filled Leonidas’s goblet to the brim with wine.
“Come on, drink up. There’s lots more to come!”
Of all the huge gathering of wedding guests, only Thirrin seemed a little quiet, her hand resting gently on the arm of the empty throne that stood beside hers. It had been months now since Oskan had died, and, despite what everybody kept telling her, the pain hadn’t got any easier to bear. He’d been with her since before she’d become Queen of the Icemark, and had shared with her the terrible burdens of rule and warfare and general everyday life. He’d kept her sane, lent support, and, most importantly, made her laugh just when it was most needed. And now he was gone.
She still woke up every morning expecting to see his head on the pillow next to hers, and she still lay on the left side of the mattress, as though he’d climb in beside her at any moment and make some ridiculous remark about one of the visiting dignitaries who’d arrived that day. But that was never going to happen again, and she began every morning in the awful knowledge that he was gone.
With an effort she cleared her throat and sat up straight. She was determined not to brood; this was Cressida’s day, and she’d smile and look happy if it killed her! And anyway, she wouldn’t be allowed to remain pensive for too long; Emperor Titus was too busy bouncing up and down on the cushions that bolstered his chair and asking Thirrin to explain exactly what some of the ruder housecarle songs meant. Having a young child to look after again had helped to give her day a purpose and structure, and she smiled as he stared around at the Great Hall drinking it all in. He repeated his question about the songs.
“You’re a little too young to understand,” Thirrin answered, in a voice she hoped was firm enough to put off further questions.
“No, I’m not. Go on, I won’t be embarrassed. Just translate a bit of it, then!”
“Later.”
“That’s just adult-speech for ‘never ever’,” he said disappointedly. But then he suddenly brightened up. “Never mind, I’ll ask Eodred and Howler. They’ll tell me.”
“Not if I get to them first, they won’t.”
Titus sighed heavily. “All right, then, if I’m not allowed to know what the housecarles are singing about, can I ride your new warhorse tomorrow?”
Thirrin threw up her hands in despair. “Yes, all right, anything to stop you pestering! But I’ll hold the reins.”
“All right,” he answered, then began to bounce on his cushions again. “What does it mean when the men housecarles and male werewolves make that movement with their arms and then wink?”
Thirrin slumped on her throne. She’d forgotten just how demanding a child could be. “It means that if little Emperors don’t stop asking questions their tongues will wear out.”
“Does it? Funny, I was almost sure it had something to do with ladies.”
Suddenly the Queen of the Icemark giggled, quietly at first, but then slowly the sound grew and once started it could not be stopped but developed into full-blown laughter that echoed back from the rafters and filled the Great Hall with joy. As one, all of the guests turned to look at Thirrin in silence. This was the first time she’d laughed since the death of Oskan Witchfather, and, quite rightly taking it as the best of omens for Cressida’s marriage, the healing of the land and all its peoples, the guests stood and cheered.
Eating and drinking now began again with renewed vigour, but at the back of the hall several witches sat watching events unfold and chatting quietly to each other. Tomorrow they’d finally be selecting a new leader to take over from the much-missed Witchfather. But for now they were happy just to watch him behind his family at the High Table, his face alight with smiles and his head crowned with a silver light.
“Well, he’d have to come for this, wouldn’t he?” said Ol
d Meg. “I’m sure the Goddess wouldn’t have expected otherwise. Here, I think this calls for more beer than is strictly good for us. Come on, you lot, let’s raise a tankard to Oskan Witchfather. The Goddess bless him.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thanks are definitely long overdue to Julian, Jane and Peter for years of listening to me moan on the phone, and also for keeping my wonderfully co-operative computer in line and on line.
I’d also like to thank Immers and all the editorial team for their patience and for politely ignoring my barbed comments scribbled in reply on the typescripts.
Also to Nigel; in thanks for long years of support.
And finally to the G and the G, TM, TG and all the Ts.
From The Chicken House
First, Stuart sent me his battle scenes, and they felt even more exciting than the thrilling clashes he’d created in The Cry of the Icemark and Blade of Fire, then, gradually, he revealed the ‘extra dimension’ behind the family conflict.
This is a brilliant climax to this amazing trilogy – you’ll be blown away, it’s truly awesome (and a bit sad, in a good way).
Barry Cunningham
Publisher
To Clare
Published by Scholastic Australia
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SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Text © Stuart Hill 2008.
Cover design by Ian Butterworth.
Cover illustration © Mark Edwards and Carol Lawson.
Inside illustration © Carol Lawson 2008.
First published in Great Britain by The Chicken House in 2008.
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Limited in 2013.
E-PUB/MOBI eISBN 978 1 925063 04 2
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.
Stuart Hill, Last Battle of the Icemark
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