breeze stretched it flat and snapping in the air, as though it were leading a charge of King Redrought’s cavalry.
Thirrin spurred her horse on, already recovering from the shock of the battle and anxious to tell her father about the wolfman. They thundered across the plain, raising a cloud of dust on the summer-dry roads, and soon she and her soldier escort were riding through the gates of the city and up the main street. It was market day, and country people from the surrounding villages and farms lined the way with their stalls, selling everything from vegetables and cheeses to eggs and newly slaughtered meat. It was hot, and swarms of flies had been drawn to the blood and offal, making Thirrin’s horse skittish so that it snorted and sidled as they moved slowly through the crowds.
“Make way for the Princess!” her escort shouted, spurring ahead and using his horse to force people aside. Unused to seeing royalty, some of the country folk who rarely came to the city stared as Thirrin rode by. Some even pressed forward to touch the hem of her tunic or her riding boots, as if she were a holy relic of some sort. This embarrassed her deeply, and she immediately unslung her shield and rode along with it on her arm, hiding behind the mask of her status.
“It’s the Princess! It’s the Princess!” The whisper ran ahead of her through the crowd of country people. Thirrin found herself wishing she’d worn her helmet and not just the simple iron cap she usually wore for hunting. At least in her war gear she had a noseguard that hid part of her face. She could only hope the crowd of bumpkins thought her blushes were simply the high color of a warrior.
At last she reached the outer gates of the upper city, and the guards on duty barred the way, as required. “Who seeks entry to the King’s presence?” the soldiers demanded formally. Thirrin stared at them in silent pride and waited for her escort to answer for her.
“His daughter and heir, Princess Thirrin Freer Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield.”
The guards snapped to attention, and Thirrin rode through into the castle. As soon as she’d crossed the wide courtyard, she dismounted and left the reins of her horse trailing on the ground, knowing that a groom would run to collect the animal. Then she strode into the Great Hall of her father’s fortress.
Just inside the yawning archway of the doors, she paused for a moment to let her eyes grow accustomed to the dim light. Slowly the battered shields of long-dead housecarls — the army’s professional soldiers — and the banners of old wars emerged from the gloom, and she once again strode forward.
Before her, the flagstone floor seemed to stretch away forever into the shadows, but here and there small islands of light pooled onto the age-scarred stones as sunshine lanced down from smoke vents high in the roof. At the far end of the hall she could make out the raised dais, where a throne of black oak stood. Its arms had been carved to represent the forelegs of a bear, and its feet into those of a dragon. And above it hung the battle standard of the Icemark: a standing polar bear, lips drawn back in a vicious snarl and claws outstretched. This very standard had been carried by Thirrin’s father when the army of the Vampire King and Queen had finally been defeated at the Battle of the Wolfrocks.
Nobody was sitting on the throne, and when Thirrin reached the dais, she quickly walked behind it and ducked her head to enter a low doorway. Beyond it lay a small, cozy room where King Redrought Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Bear of the North, mighty warrior and wise monarch, was soaking his feet in a wide basin of water. He was leaning back in a chair stuffed with plump cushions and his eyes were closed. But Thirrin knew he was awake because he wasn’t snoring and a small, wizened man had just finished his move in a game of chess.
“You’re cheating again, Grimswald!” the King’s voice snapped.
“Oh, was I? I’m sure I didn’t mean to. I must have made a mistake. I’ll put the bishop back, shall I?” the little old man answered in a reedy voice.
Redrought opened a bloodshot eye and glared at Grimswald.
“Yes, I’ll put the bishop back,” the little old man concluded.
At this point the King noticed his daughter. “Ah, Thirrin! Come in, come in!