Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  Darren looked up and saw that the Lifeguards were already more than a quarter mile distant, fleeing in lines but at a full sprint. A grand gesture with his cavalry sabre sent his men following after, the horses stretching their necks as the men bent low over them. Behind him, the illusions flickered, wavered, and then fell, as the Mountain Lords began to chase. Some hurled their clubs, spinning into the toss like an athlete might hurl a discus. All but one of those missed.

  The one that didn't crashed down upon his men, a tree falling from a great height and weighted by stone. Another ten men were lost, ten men whom Darren could not even see properly, such was the carnage. Only by taking roll call in some period of the future would he know who had been killed. Angrily, he pushed onwards, in pursuit of the infantry. Tonight, he would have words with Jacob about leaving his men to die.

  ***

  Jacob honoured Darren's request for a private dinner, knowing it was best for any harsh words to be said in private.

  A discrete cough sounded from the sentry outside, followed shortly by a soldier entering the tent. Rather than glance upwards at the man before him, the regimental commander waited until he had finished his writing on the report before him. It would no doubt be considered rude, but he had a rather intriguing caravan of thoughts, and felt it would be inadvisable to risk losing them.

  So when Jacob did rise to greet his guest, he was rather surprised to find that it was not Darren, but rather Fredericks. Why the common soldier should be in his domicile was a matter of some discontent, one that hopefully would be solved in short order. A firm gesture indicated that this was so commanded.

  The expression that trickled across Fredericks' face at the order was that of an unhappy spaniel, knowing it has bad news and waiting to be caught. “Sir, some of the men have put together a petition on certain matters, and asked me to deliver it to you. Mostly, it concerns the treatment of the Umkhovu. They are accepting of the use of them as servants, given that there are no humans to be used as alternatives, but strongly protest their use as soldiers, and wish to see the time, specie, and supplies diverted into their training applied instead to the betterment of the Queen's Lifeguards. They also question the ability of the Umkhovu to stand firm in a line of battle, should such a need occur, thus leaving their own flank open to be turned, and the cream of the Royal Army to be defeated because of the actions of sub-human cowards.”

  Jacob's mind had begun grinding through its gears in a most unpleasant fashion as this recitation tumbled from the mouth of Fredericks. Rather than speak upon its conclusion, he waited, letting his thoughts reduce themselves in the simmering heat of his mind, until such time as they were properly formed and ready for quenching. “You mean to tell me that these low-born imbeciles have decided to buck the chain of command and write complaints to their rich little fathers in the hopes that inherited wealth can save them from the discipline of the Royal Army. Only after they have attempted to protect themselves in this manner have they decided to bring the matter to my attention at the prompting of whomever is the leader of this miserable little cabal. No doubt he will be the one individual whose name is not on this particular document you will present me with.”

  Fredericks handed over the formally written declaration, and then stepped back, giving Jacob ample time to peruse the instrument.

  “Was Upton present during any of this?”

  “Not that I am aware of, sir, but I was not engaged with the parties responsible. Rather, they asked me to deliver it as a neutral party, and so they would not be forced to come in a group. I believe they feared for their safety should one of them come alone. So, while Upton may or may not have been present during this, I do not have any actual knowledge thereof.”

  “Well, this has all the particular hallmarks of the complaints that Upton himself has raised ever since the Umkhovu first appeared, which inclines me to believe that he was deeply involved in the creation of said document. Indeed, my read of the situation is that he is the one responsible for most of this troublemaking. Unfortunately, I do not have the appropriate ability for imprisonment of these ingrates, solely because we are on campaign. Otherwise, they would find themselves locked in an airless stockade and fed mouldy bread and little else. A pity. Still, it will give me something to look forward to at the end of the engagement.”

  The sentry called from the outside, this time announcing the arrival of his dinner guest.

  “Ah, Darren, do come in. Fredericks, you may go. And please let what was said in these quarters remained unsaid outside of them.”

  Fredericks bowed in acknowledgement and departed.

  Darren glanced at the departing Lifeguard, then turned to Jacob with an eyebrow quirked into a question.

  “There are recalcitrant soldiers amongst my ranks who feel that our use of the Umkhovu as soldiers is polluting the purity of humanity and the Royal Army, and that Alastair's training of them has reduced the ability of the rest of the Lifeguards to fight to such a level that it threatens the safety of the regiment. They are led, almost certainly, by my esteemed officer Upton, and his entirely reactionary views on anything that could be possibly be described by the words 'social' or 'order'. Unfortunately, there appears to be little enough I can do, as the malcontents are not in a single unit, and so I find myself unable to order them to face the Mountain Lords alone. Which I find quite a pity, because for once I agree entirely with what those barbaric inbreds do to their captives.”

  Darren poured himself a drink from the sideboard. “You do realize that these men whom you are discussing having killed are the sons of some of the more respected members of the nobility?”

  “Oh, yes. But given their actions, I'm beginning to think that the blood of the aristocracy could do with a fresh infusion. Or at least a removal of stale elements. Unfortunately a matter that is realistically far beyond my pay grade. It does make one wonder, however. To be an executive in an incorporated company, or an officer in the Royal Army, at least some modicum of skill is implied and required. Yet it is possible to be born an abject idiot and secure a place amongst those who run the country. Strange, that.”

  “Careful where those thoughts lead you, because down that path lies sedition and revolution.”

  “Yes, well, they are merely thoughts. Something to stand for in my dotage, when being old and wealthy lets one commit as many social faux paus as desired. Indeed, it starts to become a measure of strength of character at that point in life.” Jacob smiled ruefully. “At our age, of course, it is merely a sign of atrocious breeding. Anyway, enough of my meanderings. Those problems, in the end, are ultimately no concern of yours and a matter internal to the Queen's Lifeguards, frustrating though they may be. So what led you to request a private audience?”

  Darren's prepared thoughts had been somewhat unsettled by the situation that he had walked into, but now he recalled them to mind and settled himself. “You left my men to die out there today. Without the cannon, we had no hope of doing anything against those primitives other than delaying them by feeding their maws with our carcasses. And because I had no supporting fire, I was forced to leave men wounded on the field of battle, helpless in front of foes who we know to eat their defeated enemies.”

  Jacob rounded on Darren, eyes ablaze. “And what would you have me do? Sacrifice my entire force instead? They came at us unawares, on the flank, and then disappeared entirely! I did not realize that one of my talents involved being able to order my men to shoot at enemies they could not see, and could not strike. And yes, one of the three regiments would be required to act as a rearguard for our force, and given the relative positioning and speed of our forces, yours was clearly the better choice. The Uhlobo clan was out of position, given our direction of retreat, and would have been too slow to escape in any event. The Lifeguards could have perhaps engaged in such a manner, but even all our skill afoot does not make us the equal in pace to your cavalry chargers. Indeed, you are generally considered to have some of the finest horses in the entire kingdom. So y
ou wonder why you were asked to serve as a rearguard? Well there you have it.”

  The cavalry officer opened his mouth to reply, but Jacob bowled right over him.

  “And before you reply, consider how many men were lost. We faced a foe with unknown capabilities, which apparently include invisibility, and considers a tree-trunk an appropriate close combat weapon, and yet we escaped with casualties that would be described as minimal. Perhaps thirty, minus what few your soldiers were able to rescue. Hardly a devastating defeat after we sauntered into an ambush. So tell me, how many men did I or Alastair have to lose to make it acceptable? Would twenty satisfy you? Perhaps thirty? Or would a higher number be more appropriate to your sense of dignity and moral justification?

  “This is war! Men fight. Men die. Your job and mine is not to keep them alive, it's to make those deaths meaningful. And that means spending a few lives to save a great many. Soldiers die so that civilians can live, civilization can spread, and our homeland can begin each year greater than it did its last. If that bargain sits ill in your gut, then you are in entirely the wrong institution, because in this one, we buy land and coin with the souls of men. So yes, I will spend such currency as I see fit, because that is my charge and my duty, and until I fall over dead in this uniform, I will carry it out to the best my abilities and the betterment of my country.”

  Darren had stepped back several paces as the furious retort struck his ears, and when at last silence fell after the maelstrom, he found his mind deafened.

  “I accept that men die in war. I have known that since the first day I took commission, and it has been reinforced every day since. But what I will not accept is that my men die because they are considered a cheaper currency to spend than some other. My dragoons may not have noble parentage, but they are courageous enough to stand and fight for their country, their homeland, and I will not have you disparage their worth by spending them freely. They are no copper coin to be flipped to a passing drunk on a whim. They contain every bit of gold that your Lifeguards do, and I would have you treat them as such.”

  Jacob exhaled, and rather than reply immediately went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself an overly generous helping of whisky, and then a second for Darren. Offering the second glass, the regimental commander took a seat at the dinner table.

  “I do not spend them freely, or casually. Nor do I forget where and when I have spent them. Perhaps you remember the battle of Badenford Hill? A minor skirmish, by most accounts. Those resisting the Queen's tax barely accounted for five hundred men on the field. Paltry, when compared to the strength of a Royal Army regiment. I still lost forty-five men that day. Later, I received a report detailing those losses as appropriate to the conditions. For the General Staff, men are an equation. So many souls equals some achievement, while being outside the bounds of that equation earns officers either awards and promotion, or official disfavour. I try not to think of my soldiers that same way, but many days it is hard. After all, dispassionate calculating machines is what we were trained to be. Nothing must interfere with an officer’s thoughts during a battle, not even concern for his men. Perhaps it comes through too strongly at times, but I still maintain that what I did today was the best solution for all the forces involved.”

  A glance down showed that he had already finished his whisky, and he rose to fetch another. As he did so, an Umkhovu head peaked around the curtain separating the servants' area.

  “Begging your pardon, sirs, but Cook is starting to approach apoplexy over the state of the food.”

  Despite himself and his mood, Jacob smiled, as did Darren a moment later.

  “Bring the meal in, Inceku. We will forgive Cook if anything is amiss.”

  “I am not so sure he will forgive you, sir.”

  With that last pointed remark, Inceku disappeared.

  The meal arrived, and despite Cook's complaints, the quality was excellent, although perhaps not his best work.

  After some time spent in consuming the repast placed before them, the two commanding officers turned their attention once more to the problems plaguing their expedition.

  Gesturing with his fork, Jacob pontificated. “The biggest obstacle that we face is the Forgotten Folk. Given the speed at which the Mountain Lords pursued today, I believe we can safely manoeuvre around them when the need arises. But our ability to flank them rests on knowing where their flank lies. That is hardly something we can do if the Forgotten Folk are creating more of those blasted illusions. Which means we need some way to disable the chimeras.”

  “The most obvious choice is to raid their camp, wherever we might find it, and kill the smaller of the primitive races.”

  “And given what we saw today, it does not take very long for the incantations to take effect, meaning that there would be a punishingly small window in which the raid would have to strike.”

  “What about a much smaller series of raids, rather than one large strike? If we come at them from different angles, and random intervals, we can most likely wear down their Forgotten Folk, as well as pick one or two off each time. The effects should compound one another, as a smaller number of enchanters are asked to do more and more of the work. With luck, they will eventually become so exhausted as to be unable to maintain any more phantasms.”

  “Unfortunately, that leaves us with the larger of the two problems to deal with, because what we are proposing does not truthfully affect the capabilities of the Mountain Lords to engage our soldiers. Also, if said creatures choose simply to maintain their servants in, perhaps, a rough pit in the middle of their force, how could we engage at anything resembling an appropriate rate of losses? And don't mention the Nightwatch Fusiliers. I know how they would do it – send in a pack of men covered in grenades and have them suicide in the pit with the Forgotten Folk. I have neither the grenades nor men inclined to such acts of rampant brutality.”

  Darren paused before replying. By now, they had moved on to sherry, and his copita was amply filled.

  “Perhaps if we focus more on exhausting the creatures rather than killing them, after the first few raids. Have patrols constantly visible, needling the Mountain Lords with occasional pinprick shots. They do not seem the brightest of tacticians, nor do they appear to care much for their small servants, and so they will likely exhaust them in attempting to deal with said raids.”

  “And once we have enraged them to a frenzy that they follow after our soldiers, regardless of where it might lead?”

  “Why, into a trap of course! Where else does one lead charging enemies?”

  “Said trap being comprised of?”

  “Trenches, pitfalls, and enfilading fire from the field artillery. Standard material straight from the War College classroom. The difficulty will be in getting the enemy to march themselves into it on the axis we most desire.”

  “Between your Royal Dragoons and my Lifeguards, I do believe we can achieve something of the sort. One must only hope that the large barbarians fall more easily than they appeared to in that brief skirmish. If not, the breastworks will simply make it more difficult for our men to flee.”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Which means that careful planning is required. Careful planning that is most likely conducted by minds fresh from a night's sleep, rather than clouded by exhaustion and a fine sherry.”

  “On that, I wholeheartedly agree.”

  After bidding Darren farewell, Jacob made his way into the private quarters of his tent. He was glad it was conducted with none around to see it, for it was most undignified, full of stumbling, tripping, and other ungainly actions. And when he finally arrived at his bed, he discovered that the copious quantities of whisky and sherry had deprived his fingers of their usual dexterity, rendering him unable to remove his boots and waistcoat. Giving up on the matter, he lay down and turned over to sleep.

  Much later, when he rose from his sleep, he found his various and sundry items neatly folded and stacked on the side of his dresser. One of his valets had seen fit to take care of the mat
ter. It was superb to have such capable men in his employ.

  Breakfast was a more subdued affair, as it involved not only Darren and his company commanders, but also Upton, Alastair, and the other two from the Queen's Lifeguards. Thus the mood that hung over the table was rather unpleasant. Gossip and rumour, having obeyed their own special rules, had already communicated the general wording of the complaint across the entire camp, along with various sundry creations that had become so distorted in the telling as to be unbelievable. In one, Jacob had challenged Upton to a duel and shot him dead. In another, Upton had shot Alastair. In a third, Upton was strangled in his sleep by his Umkhovu butler. The variances were endless, and seemed to number as many as the people in the camp. It was a sordid little situation, and one which Jacob would have to deal with at the appropriate moment.

  The only ones who seemed entirely unbothered by rumour and incident were the Umkhovu themselves. They were engaged in their morning serving duties across the camp as though there was no dispute regarding them at all, despite the uncomfortable looks they were receiving from humans on both sides of the debate. For that was what had happened, amongst the humans – a riving that split the camp in twain, on one side those who supported Jacob and Darren and the Umkhovu, and on the other, Upton and his ilk. No doubt, if one were to look at the Lifeguards, the sons were voting in the same manner as their fathers would have back home, which made the regiment an interesting bellwether for politics. If so, the Umkhovu were safe, given that the current split was approximately three to one in favour of their retaining arms and duties.