demanded as soon as she saw them.
“Bellorum’s on the march. He’ll be here in two days,” Oskan answered calmly.
“How many in his army?” the Thar asked.
Oskan shook his head and shrugged. “Huge, massive, uncountable. Take your pick. The werewolves say at least five times bigger than the original invading force King Redrought faced, and there’s more coming through the pass all the time.”
Thirrin quietly sat down on the throne and placed her hands on the huge carved paws of its arms. “At least five hundred thousand, then. How can we fight such a number? That’s not an army; it’s an entire country on the march! We need our allies now, we need them desperately!”
“We do,” Maggie agreed. “But there’s no sign of them anywhere. We’re going to have to hold Bellorum’s army on our own until they get here.”
“But will they ever get here, Maggie?”
“Yes,” he answered simply. “They will.”
25
The city was put on an immediate war footing. Oskan didn’t think it was possible for Frostmarris to become any more prepared than it was already, but he was wrong. Regiments trotted through the streets on their way to long-designated points on the ditches and ramparts of the defensive rings. And he constantly had to dodge teams of mules hauling gigantic wheel-mounted crossbows called ballistas as they were maneuvered to different points on the walls, or taken through the gates and down onto the plain as part of the outer batteries. Rockapults, with throwing arms higher than the nearby houses, were also being hauled through the streets, ready to take up their positions in the defense of the city. Armorers’ shops rang with the sound of hammers and roared with the din of bellows as production was stepped up, and everywhere messengers bustled backward and forward from plain to walls and from walls to citadel.
The warlock went across to the infirmary and helped the witches to prepare for the coming offensive. The long wards had already been scrubbed spotlessly clean, and in smaller side rooms large tables waited with a grim selection of knives and saws lined up on smaller tables beside them. He wound what seemed like miles of clean bandages and fetched enough buckets of water to float a fleet of war galleys. But then everything went quiet. All was finally ready, and they had only to wait for the arrival of Scipio Bellorum.
After more than two hours of walking around the wards and talking to the witches, Oskan eventually took himself off to the citadel, where a completely unexpected and eerie silence hung over everything. The guards on the gate challenged him for the first time ever, and wouldn’t let him in until an officer had verified his identity. At the double doors to the Great Hall another set of guards challenged him but let him through when they saw the mood he was in. No point in antagonizing a warlock when you don’t have to.
The massive space beyond the doors was completely empty. Only the day before, Snow Leopards and the royal hunting pack of boar hounds, wolfhounds, and deerhounds had all slept together in a glorious tangle around the central hearth. But now the floor was swept clean of its usual covering of rushes, and the fire had sunk to a glowing bank of embers. Feeling suddenly superstitious, Oskan threw several logs onto the ashes and waited until they’d burst into flames. Then he shouted loud and long until a scullery drudge came along and he gave him clear instructions that the fire was never to be allowed to go out.
After that he strode across the flagstones, reached the dais, and dodged around the throne to the small door that led to the royal apartments. As he walked in, the clatter of weapons echoed across the Great Hall as Thirrin, Tharaman, Elemnestra, and Olememnon, having agreed upon final plans, prepared to take up their positions on the walls and defenses. Maggiore stood in the background furiously taking notes, and servants bustled around bringing last items of equipment and taking messages.
“Ah, Oskan!” Thirrin shouted. “Come with me, we’re going up to the walls!” She led the way with Tharaman, while Elemnestra and Olememnon hurried off in a different direction to join their divisions. Oskan fell into step with Maggie, who scurried along in the monarchs’ wake like an elderly mouse, and grinned at him. “Still preparing your history?”
The scholar turned eyes that blazed with excitement through his magnifying spectoculums. “Yes! Just imagine, Oskan, my work will be