Prince of the Icemark by Stuart Hill Page B

appearance and wild unkempt hair, Kahin could only assume the newcomer was also a witch. The Royal Adviser hurriedly stepped forward to be noticed. Whatever was being said was probably important; the Witchmother never wasted her time on social visits.
    “Ah, Kahin, I’ve just sent someone to look for you,” said Redrought happily. “Wenny here has had a good idea.”
    “Wenny!!” the witch hissed in outrage. “Wenny!! My name is Wenlock and my title Witchmother, and I will have both treated with proper respect by all, be they peasant or Emperor!!”
    The room felt suddenly colder and Kahin shivered as she gathered her cloak around her. “Indeed, Wenlock Witchmother, I can assure you that His Majesty has nothing but the deepest respect for both yourself and your exalted station. But I’m sure that a woman of your undoubted intelligence will understand that the King’s youth and his naturally friendly and open nature may sometimes cause him to misjudge both people and circumstances. In time he will grow to understand that not all people are as unaffected by the trappings of power and position as himself, and that some need to have their undoubted importance constantly acknowledged in the forms of address and ceremony that are used in their presence.”
    The old witch’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Kahin Darius, head of the Merchants’ Guild and lately Royal Adviser, I will remember your words and always address you accordingly.”
    Redrought watched the two formidable women as they faced each other. Neither flinched and neither lowered their gaze, and he realised that there were times when a warriorKing also needed to be a peacemaker, even if he was the unwitting cause of the crisis in the first place.
    “Fair enough, Wenlock Witchmother, but should I also insist on my full titles every time you address me? King Redrought Athelstan Strong-in-the-Arm Lindenshield, Monarch of the Icemark, Commander of the New Model Army and Defender of the Realm? Don’t you think that if all of us are together in one room whatever business we’re discussing will take three times longer than it needs?” As usual his voice boomed into the silence, but his experiences in battle and command had begun to lend it a gravitas it had never had before. “Granted, perhaps ‘Wenny’ isn’t dignified enough for one of your Powers and standing, but a simple Wenlock when used by your friend and your King should be more than enough. As Redrought will be enough for me, and Kahin for my adviser.”
    Wenlock turned her unwavering gaze on the young King, and after a few moments said, “Your feet have grown to fill the boots you inherited, My Lord. And, I might add, your head to fit the crown. Not many have dared to stand up to me, but Redrought dares. Good! Just what the country needs. Their Vampiric Majesties had better look to their own crowns – there’s a powerful King that would have them! Now, Kahin, shall we get down to business?”
    “Yes, Wenlock, whenever you’re ready.” Kahin actually thought it rather inappropriate that three women, even if no longer in the first flush of youth, should be standing in Redrought’s bedchamber while he lay in bed. But war paid no heed to etiquette and convention, and so the old merchant decided to stay quiet on the subject.
    The Witchmother beckoned up her companion, whoduring the heated exchange had melted back into the shadows. She stepped forward now, and both Redrought and Kahin suddenly recognised her. She was Bramwen Beast-Talker, the witch who’d translated the speech of the forest creatures who came to warn of the werewolf army’s advance on Frostmarris.
    “Bramwen here has had news from the ravens who fly the skies over the Great Forest and the plains and mountains beyond,” said the Witchmother and paused dramatically before turning to her companion. “Well, tell them what the ravens have told you.”
    Bramwen was small and her skin was as brown as tanned leather, so that