Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  Unfortunately, if he didn't get that gate closed, the engagement range was going to remain all too much in favour of the barbarians. But how was he going to do so when all of his men were actively engaged in the fight and the gate itself had been smashed beyond repair? He marched along the wall, speaking encouragement to the men, cajoling them into doing their utmost, even as he hid his doubts inside. Perhaps he could...

  Grabbing the nearest soldier, Jacob spun him about. “Go to the quartermaster's tent and find Umholi. Tell him he needs to bring all of the Umkhovu ready to barricade the north gate.”

  “Yes sir!”

  The private ran off, probably more relieved at being ordered away from the battle ground than from the decisiveness of the command. Jacob resumed his parade along the parapet, only to see Upton take an arrow to the chest in front of him. Dropping any pretence of a casual stroll, the regimental commander sprinted to his downed officer.

  He arrived to find Upton pulling at the arrow with one hand, doing his best to sit up with the other, all the while cursing so foully the air around him turned blue.

  “Sorry for the language sir. But this blasted arrow stings.”

  “Are you sure pulling it out is the best thing to do?”

  “Damned straight I am. I've got a clean handkerchief to stuff the wound, and it's not that deep. Takes more than one lucky native to stop me from doing my duty.” Saying that, he yanked the arrow clear, causing a fresh stream of blood to dribble from the wound.

  “Somehow, I do not believe you should be on the wall bleeding like that.” Jacob glanced up. “You two men, take him to the surgeon. If he resists, you have my express authorization to ensure that he arrives, no matter the steps necessary. Do not argue with me, Upton.”

  The officer glared back, frustration boiling behind his eyes, but he did nothing more than stand, and offer his arm to one of the soldiers.

  The gate had continued to become a killing ground, both of the barbarians and of the Lifeguards. Arboreals had slipped in amongst the larger natives, and were using the mounds of corpses as barricades from which they could fire. At such a close range, even their primitive bows were deadly, and it was only the heaving masses of Hungry Ones that kept them from rising to shoot more frequently.

  “Half of you, turn and fire from above!”

  The second line of soldiers on the parapets near the gate spun about, firing into the backs of the creatures below. At this angle, the mounds of corpses provided little cover from the deadly hail. Struck brutally and unexpectedly, many of the attackers perished. Then they fled. As they retreated, the pale demons picked up more and more corpses, loading them over their shoulders as they ran into the night.

  Jacob took a quick count of the corpses that were left behind. If those bodies the Hungry Ones had picked up were still alive, then the killed in action count for the enemy forces was extremely low. And he could hardly think of another reason to pick up a carcass lying on the ground. Any benefits in protection would be outweighed by the impediments to movement, especially given their already remarkable resistance to being shot.

  Umholi trotted past on the ground below, his people carrying buckets of dirt and planks of timber, and they set to work with a will, making a small berm outside the gate itself, and then nailing planks and uncut logs together to form a sturdy but makeshift gate. Perhaps it would hold, perhaps not, but at least Jacob could say with some honesty that he had driven the enemy away.

  And now he had to see to his own casualties, casualties that looked far worse than they had when only the arboreals had been involved. Whatever these new pale demons were, they fought like caged animals.

  ***

  The next few days were peaceful, in as much as they could be in a fortress under siege. The arboreals and their pale allies had withdrawn well beyond the range of anything the Lifeguards possessed, and simply hovered there, waiting. Whatever they were waiting for was hardly going to be good news for those humans cloistered within the fortress, and it was certainly gnawing through Jacob's nerves.

  In public he comported himself with all of the dignity and grace required of a Queen's officer, but in those private moments with Darren and Umholi, he was able to share the burden that had fallen squarely on his shoulders. Indeed, it was a burden Darren had cheerfully acknowledged not wanting to have. The regimental commander of the Dragoons, in fact, was in the entirely enviable position that if the Royal Army succeeded in this current engagement, he would share in the glory, but if it failed, the blame would fall on Jacob.

  The two regimental commanders had taken to meeting in Jacob's tent, partly because he was the more senior of the two, but also because it allowed them to involve Umholi, who was the acknowledged leader of approximately a third of the living beings within the fortress walls, despite their status as servants. Plus, he was the only one of the three who had encountered the Hungry Ones before, and what little information he could provide was all they had to go on, outside of the direct experience from that first skirmish.

  As had become their habit, all three were ensconced in Jacob's dining quarters, Jacob and Darren finishing up another excellent meal from Cook. It had been light on the courses, the officers undergoing the same rationing that was affecting their troops, but still filled with the kind of quiet zest Cook was famous for. Umholi, of course, was engaged in cleaning and acting as their waiter. Knowledge he might have, but he was still paid to be a butler, and butler he was.

  “Umholi, who would they be waiting for?” It was Darren's turn to ask this question, one that had been chewed over every evening since the stalemate began.

  “More of their own, more arboreals. Possibly Umkhovu, but I would find that unlikely. And those who live in Ngaphansi will never come across the plains. Perhaps it is some other matter, something that their shamans wish to see. Again, I do not know.”

  “Those shamans of theirs... you seem fairly certain they are the ones who give these creatures their ability to resist musket fire. And that they rotted out our gate.” Jacob thought a moment. “If they can damage the gate, why couldn't they do it to us?”

  Umholi shrugged. “You are not from these lands. Perhaps what they do works only on things from this land, not the land across the sea.”

  “That would be as good an explanation as any. But do these shamans have the same kind of protection that the creatures around them do?”

  “Again, I do not know.”

  “We simply do not have enough intelligence to fight these creatures. Let me take some Dragoons out on a scouting raid! We'll cut through the enemy camp and be back inside the fortress before they can react. They're too far from the walls to threaten any of the gates if we open them for an attack.”

  “What happens if they send a mass charging straight at the gate when we open it? You'll be trapped out there, Darren.”

  “I am fairly certain they have left enough room for us to break off and circle in through one of the other gates. They seem to be ignoring the southern gate, certainly.”

  A thought occurred to Jacob, one that had taken far too long in coming. “Umholi, we've met the Umkhovu, the arboreals, and these Hungry Ones. You've also mentioned the Ngaphansi. What other races are there for us to encounter?”

  “This close to the coast? None, I would think. All the others are a great distance away, in the mountains and the swamps. They would not come to the Hungry One's call, of that I am certain. Never have they allied in all the old tales.”

  “Never just means the first time has not happened yet.”

  “You're being overly pessimistic, Jacob. Look, we know Thomason has to be on his way, and if he brings most of his regiment, we can sally forth and give them a great solid thwacking. We should probably do it now, you know. My Dragoons will be far more effective when we're mounted than we can be on the walls. Carbines and heavy sabres are not defensive in nature.”

  “You're right, and we should deal with what's waiting for us here before reinforcements arrive. Because I am certai
n that's what they're waiting for, and whatever it is won't be pleasant. So, we have two units to work with, one infantry, and one cavalry. That suggests fairly basic tactics. The infantry is going to be the centre, the anvil, upon which the enemy line smashes. The question is whether we mass the 1st Royal Dragoons on only one flank for a single blow, or split them. Splitting them is more flexible, but also more defensive. And in either case, we'll have no reserve.”

  “You do have a reserve, if you wish to use it.”

  Both of the Queen's officers turned to look at Umholi.

  “But you have never been trained for...”

  Darren drifted into silence as Jacob held up a hand. “They have been trained. Not to the level of a professional soldier, but better than mere rabble. But a more important question to me is why. You are from these lands, Umholi. We built a fortress atop your people's birthright, and claimed it as our own, and yet you want to help us hold it.”

  Umholi curled his misshapen form into a thoughtful posture, a pose he held for a long time, eyes blank as they stared into a different time. Finally, he straightened again.

  “Because once, we were not like this. Look at me. Do you see a creature born to run the plains? With short legs and long arms, and a torso like mine?”

  Both officers indicated they did not.

  “We Umkhovu are no plainsdwellers. There was a time that we lived underground, tribes upon tribes in one vast citadel. We had whole caverns devoted to growing food, to farming. Others to craftsmen, meeting halls, perhaps even theatres. But to an Umkhovu of today, these tales are meaningless. We no longer have a word that means theatre, or meeting hall. Who needs words such as those when all one does is scurry about the plains, hunting for scraps of food?”

  His eyes closed for a moment, and when they reopened, there was a remembered rage, a gift from elders long since deceased.

  “Our kingdom fell, broken across the knee of the Ngaphansi. Others had their say in the matter, but the Ngaphansi's hand clutched the executioner's axe. They shattered us, scattering our people to the winds. Now they trade with us, and they are always kind. I think it is their shame that causes them to be that way. Today, I do not think they would do such a thing, but they did, and we Umkhovu wander the plains in exile.

  “And now we have a second chance, for despite the crudity of your arrival, you have treated us well. There are those amongst you who despise us, it is true, but you have been fair, and kind, and listened when we spoke, rather than dismissing us out of hand. You sought to lift us up to your level, rather than tramp us into the dirt. Perhaps you will in the future, like you do with those who oppose you today. Or perhaps we Umkhovu can find a safe home, one that acknowledges our talents. I do not know which it will be, and I am sure I will be dead before a final decision comes to pass. But for the moment, you are the only ones who are kind to us, and so into your hands I commend my tribe, and my people, those few who follow me.”

  Both Jacob and Darren sat in stunned silence, digesting what had been said. Finally, Darren broke the stillness.

  “But what of the other tribes? Certainly, there's the one with Matthias, but there has to be more of you than that.”

  “There were seven. Now there are five. They will all listen. Why would they not? All that is waiting for them is the plains. Endless, barren, plains.”

  Jacob spoke. “I presume you know that we cannot offer you anything. No land to call your own, no guarantee that society will see you as anything more than an animal. We have little to give in return for that promise.”

  “Actually, Jacob, I think you might have a bit more to give than you realize. Not I, not by half, but you, certainly.”

  “Darren, I do not keep any kind of magical wand about my person.”

  “No, you most certainly do not. But you do keep an entire regiment staffed with nobility, and the sons of nobility. Collectively, there are more noble-born here than anywhere else in Queen Cyninge's realm. Not even the House of Lords could house so many at once. And all of them, with a few exceptions, have Uhlobo as servants. Oh, certainly, some of the enlisted men are sharing their servants, but all of them have daily interactions with the Umkhovu. While this war is fought, that will hardly matter. But when the Lifeguards are rotated home? Think, Jacob! Manorhouses across the country will suddenly encounter Umkhovu, Umkhovu who have spent years serving their aristocratic masters, and it will be far too widespread to be dismissed as the eccentricity of a single lord. They will certainly have to fight to hold that place in society, but I think the Umkhovu will do just fine across the seas.”

  Midway through Darren's speech, Jacob's face had split into a grin, and by the time it had finished, he was laughing. “And of course, I am the heir to one of the greatest estates in all the land. I suppose that could have some influence, especially if I am able to convince my father on the matter.” Another chuckle escaped. “Perhaps, Umholi, we have something to offer you after all. It may not be your old citadel, but it appears your place in human society is rather well assured.”

  “You always forget you're commanding a large part of the next generation of lords, don't you?”

  “They are soldiers first, and aristocrats second, and their discipline is no different from any other regiment in the Royal Army.”

  “Jacob, they very well might be soldiers now, but they were born aristocrats. It's in their marrow, and if you can convince them to continue supporting the Umkhovu rather than return to their human servants when they muster out, precedent will come crashing down before their stubborn obstinacy.”

  “I understand, Darren, I understand.”

  Umholi stood there, the beatific smile of a saint on his face. “May I tell my people, Jacob?”

  “I wouldn't, not yet. If the Lifeguards don't survive this encounter with our numbers intact, there's going to be all too little for you to talk about. And before you ask me again, Umholi, your people will get their guns. Now go, and get them training. No gunpowder, mind you, but foot drill and reloading. Tell Alastair he's in charge. He will dislike the extra assignment, but unfortunately, company commanders don't come with spares.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Jacob smiled, gesturing to let Umholi know he was dismissed for the night, and then settled into the much more serious business of whist.

  ***

  What the shamans had been waiting for was the arrival of the new moon, that one night during the month when there was no light at all in a darkened sky. They had shown signs of increased activity as the sun had set, enough that the sentries had noticed and informed Jacob. He had doubled the watch on the walls as a precautionary measure. It may have saved the regiment.

  The Hungry Ones came forward with their usual fervour, hammers and maces raised and at the ready, and once more the gate of the fortress rotted away to almost nothing. The first few blows that struck the gate splintered it apart, giving the creatures free reign to charge into the fortress. And once more, those hulking barbarians shrugged off musketballs like they were so much chaff in the wind.

  Some attackers did fall before the shots, most often when they were struck several times in quick succession, but the coordination required to do so was difficult, despite Jacob's insistence that squad leaders call out targets for each volley. Muskets simply were not accurate enough in the dark of night. Perhaps if his men had been issued with those newfangled rifled muskets, but those cut the firing rate in half because of how difficult they were to load. Hexagonal barrels, such an odd creation.

  What Jacob had been able to effect, and what was just now saving his force inside the courtyard from destruction, was turning the inner courtyard into a killing ground, full of pit traps and surrounded on all sides by barricades. As the Hungry Ones charged the barricades, they were met with the firepower of volley guns and blunderbusses.

  The carnage was terrible. But the damnable creatures did not halt their headlong charge, and some even gained the defences, only to be forced off at bayonet point. Until a few of the b
righter barbarians picked up their fellows' corpses, draping them over their shoulders. The thick armour this provided allowed the creatures to charge the barricades unhurt by incoming fire.

  Jacob watched with a growing sickness in his throat as the first of them gained the barricades, tossing the bullet riddled corpse onto the soldiers beneath. He died moments later, its chest torn apart as a volley gun struck it cleanly. That creature had been only the first of a wave, and as the following hordes crested the bulwarks the soldiers were forced to drop their guns for swords and bayonets. Hand to hand, they had no chance.

  The Lifeguards' line bent, and was moments away from snapping.

  A crooked finger brought Fredericks near.

  “Tell the reserve to double time into action.”

  The soldier looked dubious, but rather than question the orders, he went off at the trot.

  Jacob noted the sound of volley fire about him becoming erratic, untimed, as the chaos of battle slowly infected the Lifeguards. No doubt Theodore and Bricthon having to command two companies each was not helping matters, with Upton still laid up and Alastair detached for service with the reserves. He had complained long and hard about that, but the reserve needed his steadying hand far more than did well born aristocrats and career soldiers.

  Although he would never mention such a thing out loud, Jacob was quite certain that the Lifeguards could function without any officers whatsoever. Some of the sergeants had served with the Royal Army for twenty years or more, and had a sense of the ebb and flow of combat that bordered on the mystical.

  Turning his mind back to more important matters, Jacob worried as he watched the conflict in the courtyard. The reserve was entering the battle. The reserve being, of course, all of the Umkhovu. And he did mean all, for despite Jacob’s insistence on propriety, Umholi had somehow managed to ensure that the females of the Uhlobo tribe were trained just as frequently as the males, and now they advanced in lockstep with their husbands, sons, and fathers, raising muskets to their shoulder to aim, firing, and stepping aside to let the next rank through.