Excerpt from THE CRY OF THE ICEMARK
by Stuart Hill
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This was the fourth night the refugees had spent in the forest. They were camped on the main road with baggage wagons drawn up as a wall to the south and to the north of the site and watch fires had been set a regular intervals under the trees. At first, the people had adapted quite well to the conditions, and after the ceremony Oskan had carried out in which the soldiers of the Oak King had appeared, the terror of the forest had been replaced by a simple fear. But now, after living through the deep blackness of the forest’s night, a growing dread was once more threatening to get out of hand at any time. Thirrin had hoped to boost morale by making a great display of deploying the few soldiers she had in full battle gear along the makeshift defensive walls of the wagons and around the watch fires. But the two hundred troops only looked stretched beyond their capacity once they’d been stationed along the nearly half mile length of the encampment.
“What can I do, Maggie?” she asked Maggiore Totus as they sat around their fire close to the southern wagon wall. Primplepuss was sitting comfortably on her knees basking in the warm glow and daintily accepting small morsals of chicken that Thirrin held out to her. “The people are happier than they were, but at the first wolf howl, they could become a screaming mob of terrified berserkers.”
“There’s nothing you can do really. Just get us through this forest as quickly as possible,” the neat little man answered. “Sometimes, even the greatest leader has to accept the limitations of a situation and just hope for the best.”
“That’s not what I want to hear,” she snapped unreasonably. “Can’t you suggest some magical solution?”
“Not my field I’m afraid. Perhaps you should ask Oskan.” They both turned to look at the witch’s son who was sitting and staring silently into the impenetrable black of the forest beyond the encampment.
Thirrin nudged him with her toe. “Well?” What do you suggest?” Oskan turned large unseeing eyes on her, then he blinked and vision seemed to rekindle in his dilated pupils. “Sorry. Did you speak?”
“Yes!” Thirrin answered irritably. “What can we do to improve the people’s morale? They’re still afraid of the forest and there’s at least two more days of traveling before we reach it’s northern border. Maggie thought you might be able to use magic in some way.” “I said no such thing!” Maggiore protested, but Oskan only shrugged.
“I’ve told you before, I don’t know what you mean by magic. My mother had some Knowledge, but I’m not her. Besides, the people have nothing to fear from the forest. It’s the cavalry they should be afraid of.”
“Cavalry? What cavalry?” Thirrin barked, causing Primplepuss to look at her questioningly.
“Coming from the south. There’s no danger yet. They’re at least a day’s ride away.”
“How do you know? What cavalry? Polypontian?”
“Yes, Polypontian. How do I know?” he shrugged again. “I do, that’s all.”
“Then my father’s dead and the army wiped out?”
“I can only see the approaching cavalry. I don’t know about anything else. I’m sorry.”
Thirrin sat in silence for a few seconds. Allowing herself to be the worried daughter of a soldier who was away fighting a war. Then she sat up and squared her shoulders as she took up the responsibility of her kingdom again. “Maggie, do you believe this? Could Oskan be right?”
“My Lady, since being in this strange northern land I’ve learned that the truly rational individual keeps an open mind at all times. After all, I’ve seen legends walk in daylight and heard a wolfman bring news of invasion, so a simple case of clairvoyance warning of pursuing cavalry is easily believed. At the very least we should prepare for all possibilities and take what precautions we can. Dispatch a fast rider to the Hypolitan and ask them to send help as soon as may be, and position the few soldiers we have a rearguard while the people move on as quickly as they can.”
“Oskan, should we move tonight?” Thirrin asked, leaning forward and staring earnestly into his face as though she was trying to communicate with someone barely conscious.
“No,” he answered in surprisingly relaxed tones. “The cavalry commander is driven by a huge ambition, but he knows the value of resting his troops and the trail he’s following is so obvious he knows he can’t lose us. Basically, he thinks we’re fools, and expects to capture the ‘Little Princess’ in a day or so.”
Thirrin was livid. “'Little Princess!' He’s hunting the Wild Cat of the North and her teeth and claws are ready for his throat!” She leapt to her feet depositing Primplepuss in an untidy heap on the ground and strode about for a minute before sitting down again and muttering to herself. “How can you hide the trail of a city’s entire population? It’s impossible! I’d like to see him do better.”
“The opinion of a Moron has no value, Madam,” said Maggiore. “In the meantime I suggest we keep this . . . possibility of a pursuit from the people. As you pointed out earlier, it would take very little to cause a panic."
From The Cry of the Icemark. Copyright © 2005 by Stuart Hill.
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