Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  Still, he fluttered, perhaps hoping that Jacob would take pity on him and speak. Which, having seen all that he needed to see from the training soldiers, the regimental commander decided to do.

  “I see you have determined the Uhlobo are officer material now.”

  Alastair shuffled, slightly. It was a decision he had not informed Jacob about. “I felt using the sergeants and lieutenants was putting them under undo stress, and was costing my company of the Lifeguards some of their hard earned quality. Given that there was no possibility of officers being given to us, I decided it was best to see if I could turn some of the Umkhovu into junior officers. So far, they appear to have performed admirably for their level of training.”

  “That is a rather interesting way of phrasing it. Does that mean they are acceptable according to the standards of the Queen's Army?”

  “I should think so. Certainly not in the blueblood regiments, but in some of the locally sourced ones, they would be of some service.”

  “Given the short amount of time you've had, that's a remarkable achievement.”

  “We all know by now that the Umkhovu have a rather special ability to learn and to understand complex situations far faster than would normally be expected. It does make much of our teaching far easier.”

  Jacob pondered for a moment. “That thought has an interesting and possibly unfortunate corollary – what are they learning that we are trying not to teach them? I'm sure there is a great deal, and not all of it flattering to civilization or ourselves. Such as those women shrieking about the right to vote and influence the realm. I wonder if they achieved anything since we left. I most certainly hope not.”

  “They were using the argument that if the Queen is good enough to rule the entire kingdom, women should have ability to engage in some part of ruling it as well.”

  “Because they, too, were born to a continuous line of monarchs, trained from birth in the arcane art of politics and court manipulation. Ah, no, I misspoke. They were trained from birth in the arcane arts of sewing and tea room gossip. I fail to see how that they might have any useful thoughts to contribute to the service of the realm, especially when it is so difficult to find one who can even contribute to the conversation at the dinner table.”

  Alastair shook his head. “They witter on about the little doings of society. But that is why we men invented the withdrawing room, so that we might have intelligent discussions in peaceable company. One does strive to do women all the duty they deserve, but there are times when they are such trying creatures.”

  “Which makes the performance of the Umkhovu women all the more interesting. Unless I am much mistaken, they suffer almost no differential in performance to their male counterparts. You once mentioned that one of the top marksmen is a female.”

  “Ah yes, that would be Isijula, the rather lanky female on the end of the fourth row. She has bested all but three of the male Uhlobo in shooting competitions, and has expressed a desire to challenge some of the Lifeguards.”

  “That would be a rather preposterous arrangement. What gives her such nerve?”

  “The belief that she can learn no more from the current situation, and that she would be better served attempting to compete with the very best the Royal Army has to offer, so that she might emulate their capabilities.”

  “A desire to train with the best, that I can understand and accept. But she is not to engage in any shooting competitions with them, informal or otherwise.”

  “May I ask why, sir?”

  “Because, for the Lifeguards, it's a rather unfortunate situation, and one not of her making. If...”

  “Isijula.”

  “If Isijula wins the competition, the Lifeguards are shown to be incompetent, having lost to a barbarian female who had never seen gunpowder two years ago. If we win, then we've beaten a female who had never seen gunpowder two years ago. Unfortunately, she and the other Umkhovu women are going to cause trouble for us regardless of their final success or failure in a competition, because when the word gets home that we allowed women to fight on our behalf, the politicians and the radicals will explode into an almighty uproar.”

  Alastair followed his train of thought easily. “Because if a barbarian woman from a newly explored continent is good enough to fight in the defence of the realm, why not a far superior civilized lady? And if they are good enough to defend the realm, then they must have equal standing in other aspects of life.”

  “Well, that latter one is easier to deflect, given that many men are good enough to defend the realm, but not to have the vote or political office. But if we give them any inroads, they will most certainly take them.”

  “How do we deal with the matter, if that's the case? I can hardly see objecting to the Umkhovu use of females after we allowed it. That would besmirch our honour.”

  “We simply arrange for the Umkhovu regiment to remain out on the frontier, where few correspondents will come.”

  “Unfortunately, sir, I've been afflicted with a rather maleficent thought. Unlike the other regiments, every one of our men is learned enough to discourse comfortably with their peers, and likewise with their family. Given that the Umkhovu are a rather unique occurrence in the history of our kingdom, what do you think the chances are that at least one of them, if not more, has mentioned the use of the Umkhovu as sepoys? Or, more directly, the use of their women as well as their men?”

  “If such is the will of the higher powers, then such it is. Although I am glad Matthias has put his foot in the same bucket we have and armed his clan of Umkhovu. An action taken by two regimental commanders is much easier to defend than an action taken by one.”

  “Given the two clans were in some communication, and that it occurred after the Uhlobo were engaged in training, I am quite sure they at least suggested the matter to the other clan.”

  “A fair point, but one can only hope. And now, we really must begin to march. The day is being wasted.”

  Jacob spun on his heal and walked back towards the Lifeguards, fully prepared to chivvy along any laggards. Thankfully, there were almost none, and those few were all but complete in their tasks, meaning that his duty was merely to stand in the place of honour and look stern as the men assembled under the direction of their sergeants. On the flanks of his two regiments, he could see the 1st Royal Dragoons trotting up and down, their horses pawing at the ground as they waited for the order to begin the day's march. Darren, today, was with the left-hand column, mostly so that when the commands went out for the surprise flanking drill, the officers of his regiment would not be able to look to him for direction, but would be forced to suffice on their own.

  Much as Jacob would have liked to do the same thing, any position other than the one he should occupy at the centre of the column would give the game away. Unless, of course, he went to have a discussion with Darren just before approaching the hill. But then who would give the order to begin the flanking drill? No, Darren had landed him nicely with all the responsibility for this particular little operation, a rather astute move that the horseman would be made to regret in the coming weeks.

  As was to be expected, the morning's march was delayed slightly by the time it took the Umkhovu clan to get into position. To Jacob's mind, they were an odd entity. Officially, they were a clan, under the command of the elders, and a regiment, under the command of Alastair and his chosen subordinates, as well as being a collection of servants, under the command of their masters, which meant that for most of the Umkhovu, they each had three different people with a right to give them orders at any one time. As it usually transpired on the march, the elders took command of those members of the clan not actively engaged in the regimental activities, while those in the regiment operated as rearguard to the force under Jacob's control. To date, it had worked well, but he wondered what would happen if those overseeing the supply wagons decided to drop their current duties and take up arms alongside the rest of the regiment. However, that was a bridge he must cross only when he arriv
ed at it, and so far there had been no need to even contemplate the design thereof.

  Despite the delays, which the regimental commander was entirely sure had been presaged by the unfortunate incident with his breakfast, the corps managed to traverse the distance towards the low mound with admirable speed, the Umkhovu being able to maintain a full marching pace without in any way delaying the Lifeguards. With such wide open plains to travel across, the morning passed easily, if a little tediously, for hours of walking leaves one with little more than one's own thoughts for company, especially in the case of officers, and thus it was that Jacob was feeling rather disgruntled when the first elements of his corps began to cross the meridian line of the low rise.

  Signalling the drummers to attend him, he waited until the first third of the force had passed onto the mound, then ordered 'immediate flank defence right'. Both the Queen's Lifeguards and the 1st Royal Dragoons spun a quarter turn, the first three ranks of infantry stepping into firing position, as the artillery slewed round and the cannonneers unstoppered their bronze beasts. The Dragoons shot away after seeing no immediate threat, taking up new positions at what had once been the front and rear of the column, but was now the flanks. Rather than join them, Darren kept his half of the forces in the new rear, as a flying reserve should there be any breakthrough that needed responding to, or any opportunity that needed a swift and decisive stroke to fall.

  The Umkhovu under arms had swarmed forward, filling in the gap where the supply wagons had been in the centre of Jacob's force, and falling into firing lines almost shoulder to shoulder with the end of the Lifeguards, while those covering the wagons withdrew them to the old left, towards Darren's forces and away from where any presumed enemy force might be. They also began to frantically uncover the powder wagons, with lines of servants forming to rush powder and shot to the artillery, should firing need to commence. The cannons carried a decent load in their carriages, but should there be any type of sustained combat, they would need reloads, so it was good of the Umkhovu to remember and prepare for that immediately.

  A quick double thump on the drums signalled 'Return to Formation', and the soldiers were beginning to do so as Jacob turned his horse towards Darren, intent on talking about the performance of the men. It was only then, as his men began to leave their positions, that a roar thundered across the plains, one that came from no throat nor barrel that Jacob had ever heard. Spinning his horse in a circle, he pulled out his spyglass to examine the source of the rumble.

  There, on the hilltop, stood a large number of what could only be Mountain Lords. Giant, craggy creatures, with features that closely mirrored stone and rock, they each stood more than twenty feet tall, and carried trees with boulders strapped to the end for weapons. What little clothing they wore was nothing more than animal skins stitched together with leather strapping. They were exceedingly unpleasant creatures to both eye and ear, and clearly a race to whom even the faintest notion of civilization had never once occurred. They were, in a word, repugnant.

  “Flank defence right. Fire freely!”

  The drummers carried the orders with conviction, hammering away on their instruments as positions so recently vacated were occupied once more. The lull that then occurred before the opening shots of the battle allowed Jacob to more closely examine his foes, and notice for the first time that there were small creatures scrambling around their feet, looking for all the world as if they were afflicted by a great terror. Given the lectures from Umholi, he could only presume they were the Forgotten Folk, who in form seemed distant cousins of the Umkhovu, but only distant, for their arms were short, as were their legs, while their height was even more diminished. And yet as they scurried about like mice between the legs of dogs, they gestured and waved their hands, clearly seeking to use some talent they possessed. Unable to see what it was, Jacob left the matter for later as the first rippling boom of the cannons announced that battle was joined.

  Aimed uphill and at quite a distance, the first round of cannon shot did little aside from raising large clouds of dust. In response, the Mountain Lords began to trundle down the slope, their clubs cocked high, some in one hand, others in two, while the little creatures scurried about their feet. As Jacob watched, first one then another of the larger barbarians began to flicker, their edges shimmering like a heat mirage in the desert. Those images then slid sideways across the ground, a kind of movement no living creature except a particularly adept spider could have even attempted. Surely the barbarians could do no such thing either...

  Cannonfire rippled forth across the line once more, and this time the gunners had their eyes in. Sphere and sphere tore through the forms of the Mountain Lords, somewhat indistinct though they were, and yet not a one faltered, or slowed, or showed any sign of injury. Even at their size, the impact of a field artillery ball should cause a great deal of injury. These weapons could batter down stone castles; mere flesh and blood should be little difficulty, and yet there the enemy stood, untouched and unharmed.

  Which meant that the spiderlike movement had been mystical in nature, obscuring the true location of the Mountain Lords.

  It was, in all the years that he had commanded soldiers, the most difficult tactical problem presented to him. How was one supposed to engage soldiers who were not merely hidden, but invisible to the naked eye? The answer did not lie in killing the effect’s creators. Much as he would have liked to deal with the Forgotten Folk, they were either out of sight or so far up the hill that even a well-aimed cannon would have but a tiny chance of striking. Nor was Jacob sanguine about the thought of a single death amongst those smaller enemies actually disrupting the illusions enough to make an impact.

  However, those Mountain Lords who were bearing down upon his men must still be there, otherwise there was no purpose to this use of illusion and disguise. After all, the use of misdirection in a conflict was either to make sure the enemy was going to leave a strategic point unguarded, or, at the tactical level, to place him in a position such that one has the advantage. This being the latter case, it meant the creatures were still bearing down upon his men.

  And there it was. Jacob spun and grabbed those soldiers nearest to him. “Run and tell every officer you can find to aim where the creatures aren't. Those we can see are illusions disguising the true enemy. Now go!”

  Men scurried hither and yon carrying those orders, and they passed up and down the lines in great ripples of shouting and hollering, until the regimental commander could see their impact on the Umkhovu regiment on the right flank. After those orders appeared, the muskets began to ripple fire, two and three shots at a time, but followed only a second or two later by a second set, and then a third, and so on. The officers were using musket fire to probe for the true location of the enemy, a tactic of which he heartily approved.

  Unfortunately, it was difficult to tell whether the enemy had actually been struck, musketballs being somewhat like small bits of gravel to the opposing force. Given where they had started out, even at a slow rate of progress, which appeared to be enforced by the illusionary nature of their disguise, the Mountain Lords would shortly be amongst his men.

  Turning to the signallers beside him, Jacob ordered a flying retreat. It was a tactic that, realistically, only the Lifeguards and perhaps one or two other regiments in the Royal Army could even contemplate, because it required reloading muskets while at a full run, and having enough physical fitness to maintain discipline and fire while doing so. At a distance, he could see Alastair chivvying the Umkhovu into a full trot, while the artillery began to do likewise, the draught animals pulling at the harnesses, lugging the heavy cannon out of the divots they had dug themselves.

  Darren's 1st Royal Dragoons swept in across the front, a wonderfully coordinated manoeuvre of defence, firing all the while up the slope. The object was not to inflict real casualties, or at least, not against a foe of the current resilience, but rather was to delay them and force their attention elsewhere in the hopes that it would impede their abil
ity to chase down the soldiers fleeing on foot.

  Given his inability to see said foes, Jacob was unsure of the results, but, unfortunately, only for a single moment, as a gaping swathe opened in the side of the 1st Royal Dragoons. A Mountain Lord had appeared fifty yards further down the slope than his shimmering double, and his tree trunk club tore through the cavalry, knocking men and horses about with horrendous cries. Those dragoons outside the arc of the first strike were able to turn their mounts away in time to dodge the second, but it still left more than twenty men writhing on the ground, and their cries for assistance were so loud that even at the ever-expanding distance between them and Jacob, he could hear each howl and whimper. For Darren, who knew each man by name, the pain must be exquisite.

  Spinning his mount about and charging back down the line of his men, Darren fired his carbine from the hip, striking the giant a long gash upon one cheek. He followed with both pistols, heavy weapons called 'wrist snappers' by all of those unfortunate enough to be issued them. Whomever had thought of a pistol firing a shotgun slug had been a particularly deranged genius, but they did have the one advantage of striking with a force unheard of in a handgun. The flaw in the design was apparent in the name which they had acquired from those who had the misfortune of using the weapon. Yet some men took their ability to handle such a dangerous piece of equipment as a badge of competence and honour, and Darren was most certainly one such man.

  Both shots from the pistols followed the trajectory of the carbine's bullet, but as the target had moved slightly in the time elapsed, the impact was much more devastating. The heavy shells struck the left eye of the barbaric creature, and it exploded outwards in a gout of unseemly fluid and gelatinous flesh. The Mountain Lord shrieked and reeled backwards, dropping the club and raising its hands to protect its damaged face, stumbling away up the slope.

  Taking the few moments provided, Darren and a small handful of other dragoons rode into the carnage and slung men over their horses, although in the little time they had there was no chance of them recovering all of the wounded. Even with his bravery, there would be few survivors. Most had died from limbs being amputated by the sheer force of the blow, and many of those who hadn’t were breathing through foaming bubbles of blood. At the end of the matter, the five men he had been able to rescue were likely the only ones who would survive the night.