for hours. She wanted to put the trees behind them as quickly as possible. They had sufficient rations to last them for three days, but if a really bad snowstorm hit, they could be forced to stop for a week or more. In truth, she hadn’t expected any of them to survive the fight with the Empire cavalry, so she’d only given sketchy thought to the idea of rations to see them safely to the Hypolitan. But it was Oskan who’d insisted that she check and recheck their supplies before he’d left for the column the night before the battle. She was glad she’d listened to him now, but despite the shock of her first taste of open warfare, enough of the Princess still survived in her personality to be annoyed with him for not telling her to pack more. But, she eventually conceded, they were both novices when it came to provisions and rations; it was an easy enough mistake. Come to think of it, they were both novices at everything!
She’d actually recovered from the trauma of combat sooner than she could have ever imagined and now knew that she could lead her soldiers in battle with confidence and skill. As the housecarls themselves put it, she had “blood-proof,” and the veterans of her first fight would proudly boast of it for the rest of their lives.
Within half an hour of the last Polypontian soldier falling, she’d regained enough of her composure to remember to thank the soldiers of the Oak King, and had even presented them with the spoils of war in the form of the weapons and armor of the fallen soldiers. They had bowed low in reply, then melted back into the fabric of the forest once more, their bodies absorbed by tree and earth, leaving Thirrin and her housecarls standing alone on the road.
That was more than a day ago, and since then the first snows had fallen, prompting Thirrin to order a forced march through the night in an attempt to catch up with the column of refugees. But if more snow fell before she reached them, her first victory could be her last.
Just after midday they came to a cairn of rocks piled in the center of the road. Thirrin gave orders for it to be dismantled, and inside they found sacks of nuts, berries, and other dried fruits of the forest. The Oak King had sent them supplies. The housecarls cheered and beat their swords and axes on their shields in salute, while Thirrin simply called, “Thank you — this won’t be forgotten!” into the surrounding woodland.
The following night was even colder than usual for an Icemark winter. Even when they’d built huge blazing fires, the freezing winds reached icy fingers into the small domes of warmth and light that hugged the flames. Ten of the older soldiers died overnight, their gray housecarl beards white with frost and their hands frozen to the hilts of their swords. With a sense of quiet despair Thirrin realized that it wouldn’t be long before the younger soldiers started to die, too, but there was nothing she could do about it. She guessed that unless they reached shelter within two days she could lose up to a quarter of the soldiers who’d survived the battle. With this thought in mind she set a punishing pace along the road, driving the housecarls along by reminding them it was not only ferocity in battle that marked a good soldier but also stamina and endurance.
They marched through the night again, their pace slowing to a crawl in the darkest hours. The forest distantly echoed with strange calls and bellows as though giant beasts were hunting them. Once, Thirrin thought she heard howling, but it was very faint and she had no way of knowing if it was the sound of ordinary wolves driven down from the hills by hunger or if they were the cries of the Wolffolk, her allies. Then just before dawn, all fell silent as they trudged along, the only sound being the faint crunch as their feet broke through the crisp shell of frozen snow to the loose powder beneath. Thirrin was exhausted, and so were her housecarls. They would have to stop, if only for an hour or so, to eat rations and warm their frozen hands and feet at a fire.
She’d just given the order to halt when she caught the sound of hoofbeats approaching steadily. Without a word the shield-wall was raised