Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  A glance around showed that each of the columns was in place and ready, and as the sun crested the horizon fully, Darren led his men over the lip and into the dell. Half a league they covered on their way to the Mountain Lords, but boldly they rode, trusting in courage and speed to keep them safe. And it did, for they thundered into the ranks of the sleeping creatures before they could rise.

  A pistol in one hand and the reins in the other, Darren aimed down the barrel at the nearest of the Forgotten Folk, who stood stunned and motionless, holding a large metal basket with what was presumably breakfast tucked inside. The shot was a little off, and rather than a clean kill, the heavy slug tore apart the poor creature's shoulder, shredding bone and flesh in a way that would bleed out, painfully and slowly. When he fell to the ground, he still held the iron basket.

  Behind Darren, the ripple of firing blended shot into shot, as all around him he could see the ground puffing dust as slugs tore at it, and here and there the spray of blood from a shot that struck true. He had time for a second shot with another pistol, this one doing little more than scything dirt and sending a creature scampering away, and then he was through the camp and away.

  Until a splintered end of timber slammed upon the ground but yards in front of him. Darren bent low over his horse's neck, guiding its pace so that it could find the timing to jump cleaning. Vaulting the log, he glanced back, only to see the soldier behind him fare worse, his mount mistiming the leap and clipping its hooves on the bark. A tumble followed, the dragoon being caught under the horse and then dragged off as the charger climbed to its hooves and galloped away.

  Those further back had enough time to veer to either side of the thrown obstacle, splitting their ranks smoothly and reforming once they had passed the obstruction. That was all Darren had time to see, for then he bent forward over the neck of his mount and urged it to gallop away. Behind him, the Mountain Lords were fully awake and trundling forward, weapons clasped in their meaty, overlarge hands. Much as he would like to count casualties, both his and theirs, he felt it was better of him to let the scouts engage in such a task.

  The lip of the dell felt all too far away, and even as it approached, Darren kept wanting to glance back to see just how close those pursuing his forces were. But he refrained from doing so, and when at last his horse passed from the uphill onto the flat, he had the strength of mind to slow the horse and let it breathe. Now moving at an easy trot away from the carnage, he began a great wide circle out to the left, a journey that would eventually bring him and his men far enough around the enemy encampment that they could make for the meeting point with the Queen's Lifeguards.

  The trip back was uneventful, with a rough survey of his men settling around twenty five creatures killed or wounded, one of those being a Mountain Lord. It had woken just as a dragoon passed by, and had received a blunderbuss discharge for its troubles. Whether it was seriously wounded or not, it had not been able to engage the passing unit of cavalry. In return for such damage inflicted, there were three losses, being comprised of the soldier whose horse had stumbled over the thrown log, and two who had been caught by a sentry more alert than appearances indicated. Darren was unsure whether to be irritated by his bad luck or pleased by the light casualties.

  Upon his arrival at the camp, he arranged for another patrol to be sent out, this one comprised of fifty dragoons led by one of his company commanders. Orders were to engage as possible, but retain a third of the force as a rearguard to keep the escape route clear for the dragoons as they galloped away. Otherwise, they were to act as discretion advised. Likewise, he designated a third unit to engage in the same operation come nightfall and supper time.

  That complete, he decided to take a stroll through the various fortifications and disguises that had been built. Stepping around the pits that had been roofed over with a dusting of soil laid atop reeds and thick stemmed grass mats, he concentrated more on the two alleyways that lay in the gaps between the trenches and embrasures. Both were narrower than he would have liked, and the thought of charging down them into the face of the enemy was worrying. With luck, he would be able to circle around and strike the enemy forces from behind, pushing them onto the cannon and the muskets, rather than have to relieve his own forces by a strike down the centre.

  Noticing a crew of soldiers and Umkhovu hard at work shovelling out an extension to one of the trenches, he paused and spoke to the common men. The diggers stopped at his arrival and saluted, but he quickly waved them back to work, although not before pulling Inceku aside, as well as Joyce, who was there also.

  Both looked somewhat nervous to be singled out in such a fashion, although Inceku less so, having served Darren many repasts already. They waited for their superior to open the remarks, as any good underling should do, especially when they were unsure of the nature of the conversation to come.

  “I see you have come quite some way in the digging, even since this morning. When will the works be completed?”

  “Most likely in two days, if we are to have the full defence in depth. The artillery is ready now, as is the first few ranks for the Umkhovu. The firing platforms for the Lifeguards are taking somewhat longer. Getting them built up to the proper height is taking more material than originally thought necessary.” It was Joyce who replied to the dragoon officer.

  “Are the trenches staffed yet, or are we merely hoping that no attack comes before we are able to fill them?”

  “Sir Perlew appears to be resting his tactics on the belief that the 1st Royal Dragoon scouts will warn him should anything go astray.”

  “Not always the best assumption, but I assume it allows him to double the number of men working on the trenches?”

  “That it does. Although the field artillery is kept at a nominal staffing level at all times.”

  “It appears I shall have to talk to him about the matter. But carry on, that is a matter for him and I.”

  The soldiers went back to their digging, glad that no harm had come to them from the brush with a superior officer, while Darren made his way towards the rear of the fortifications, where the housing had been placed for all three regiments. The way the trap was currently laid out had two low hillocks on either side crowned with artillery platforms surrounded by posts for soldiers, although those hills lay somewhat behind the line chosen for the first of the trenches, which was cut in a zig-zag pattern. As that pattern was designed to stop cannonballs ricocheting and enemy soldiers being able to fire the length of the trench, it was less useful here. The rules of war were entirely different when engaged with barbarians than with civilized foes, and it sometimes took direct experience to remember to change them. Or to determine if things actually needed changing.

  Jacob's tent dominated the area laid aside for the Queen's Lifeguards, as always, and when Darren requested entrance, he found the officer in question peering at a list of supply reports. Whatever they were indicating, it was most certainly not to Jacob's pleasure, his expression as he peered at the paper vaguely offended.

  “We're going to have to make a quicker return to the fortress than I had hoped for. The quartermaster cracked open the next several barrels worth of biscuits only to find them filled with dust and weevils. Likewise, some of the fruit has gone off before it was supposed to. Even the salted pork has been damaged, which is rather hard to imagine.”

  “How much quicker will we need to be?”

  “We've lost a week off of our margin, perhaps more. The damage is unknown, but given the nature of what is being reported, I also don't think it was entirely accidental either.”

  “You're saying one of our men sabotaged their own food supply? Or did the Umkhovu do it?”

  “Neither, I would think. The weevils are a type the quartermaster has not seen before, and as he pointed out, he has rather a lot of experience with vermin. So presumably it is a native species, meaning that the Umkhovu are the only ones inside the camp who would have the knowledge to procure them. But I can hardly see them doing such a thing
when they have served us so well while fighting against the rest of the native population. It would seem a rather pointless betrayal.”

  “Perhaps it's only a few of them, and they're rebelling against the rest of their people as well?”

  “Quite possibly. It's something I'll have to ask Umholi and Inceku about, but I would have my doubts. More likely it's the Forgotten Folk, and something they did days ago. We thought we were able to withdraw scot free from that first engagement, when it is entirely likely they scouted us as we did them. It gave them enough time for their pestilent magic to work on our food stores, or at least I am told so by those with a vague notion of what might have happened.”

  Darren held up a hand, as his thoughts took a road less travelled and full of unfortunate images. “If they know where we are, then they have almost certainly seen us building the defences the last several days. So rather than this being a surprise trap that they will walk into, it's something they will easily avoid.”

  “The thought had occurred to me as well. However, there is one saving grace, or at least the possibility of one. No one on this continent has firearms, so they may not understand what they are looking at. It is not a great hope, but it is what I keep telling myself when I think of all the effort that has been engaged in this exercise.”

  “And what happens to us if they circle around and come at us from a poorly defended angle?”

  “We break and run, embarrassing the Queen, most likely. There is always the possibility of volley fire being enough to disable the Mountain Lords, but so far that has not appeared to be the case. Which means that unless we can slew the cannons to face them, we are in a rather unpleasant situation.”

  “But you think they will still come down the neck of the defences?”

  “They are all but immune to normal fire, or at least appear to be, and have the ability to become difficult to see, with the help of their small allies. Either one could be considered a devastating advantage. Both together means they likely have not lost a war in all the long years of their lives.”

  “I thought the Umkhovu mentioned something about them having a lifelong enemy, the... Ngaphansi? And about that enemy being able to force the Mountain Lords away from their homes.”

  “Well, that our servants did mention, but whomever they may be, they have yet to put in an appearance on the battlefield, in even the remotest sense. For which I am most grateful, given that every other populace on this damned continent appears to be arrayed against us. Anyway, on the Mountain Lords, I do not believe there is a great deal more that we can do. We have laid our trap, instructed our forces, and now hope that our plan to draw them towards us with raids works. Speaking of which, what did you plan on that front for the rest of the day?”

  “I've sent a second one out immediately upon returning, and scheduled another to arrive just around supper. I do not believe my forces can keep such a pace over the long term, but the next day or so should be enough to both distract the enemy and eventually force him to engage us.”

  “I concur. However, I am going to have the Lifeguards and the Umkhovu sleep in the trenches tonight. Much as they will grouse about that, we are exceedingly vulnerable to a night attack otherwise. And we certainly know the barbarians, whatever their other faults, understand the concept of an ambush.”

  “Indeed, it seems to be almost the only form of attack they are willing to engage in. Sieges and open field battles are completely beyond them.”

  “We are talking about creatures that have barely managed to place a foot onto the lowest rung of civilization. So I am hardly surprised that they would have such a limited grasp of warfare. True warfare is one of the benefits of civilization, for it requires a level of intelligence, sophistication, and forethought that is entirely lacking in those of a tribal disposition.”

  “Perhaps... but do we not have histories that show barbarians, especially cavalry troops, being able to defeat much more highly trained soldiers? It happened to the Lifeguards themselves, at the Battle of the Tannenberg Forest. Did not the northern highlanders overwhelm your unit and two others in a valley full of trees?”

  Jacob looked suitably displeased at having his argument brushed aside so easily. “Yes, we did. The regimental history states that they rose up from pits, brush, and other concealment on either side of the trail, and charged before the lines were able to get off more than one shot. And in the turbulent melee, our men were no match for theirs. It was a rather unpleasant defeat, one the Queen's Lifeguards avenged some years later when the last of those highland clans was brought to heel.”

  “By diplomacy, but not by skill at arms. I believe they were judged too expensive to continue the war against, given how expertly they were able to strike and then melt away into the forests of their homeland.”

  “Bribery succeeds where force of arms does not. And despite all the advantages of civilization, they have hardly changed from their nomadic existence, roaming the woods with their herds. Except, of course, for those who have taken the royal coin and joined the army. Of whom there are a great many.”

  “I think there are four highland regiments, these days. The Black Watch is the oldest and the most well-known, and still draws only from its home valleys. The Highland Light Infantry is a skirmishing unit, the 1st Cymru are standard line infantry, and then the Barmouth Scouts are, of all things, a marine regiment. I have no idea why a group of northern highlanders would want to go to sea, or be skilled at it, but there you have it. A rather impressive set of histories, despite the unskilled origins.”

  “This discussion has gone down a rather unfortunate path. You are now attempting to convince me that the opposing force has a good historical precedent for winning this conflict. Especially give this particular barbarian force is blessed with advantages that are unheard of even to the very best civilized troops.”

  A discrete cough from the sentry outside interrupted Jacob, thankfully at a moment when he was unconcerned if the conversation ended.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “A dragoon officer, looking for Sir Darren. Says he was in charge of the patrol sent out immediately on returning.”

  “What the bloody hell is he doing here? He should have barely reached the Mountain Lord camp by now.” He turned to Jacob. “With your permission?”

  “Of course.”

  “Send him in!”

  The officer entered, looking quite drenched. Clearly, whatever had prompted him to return so quickly had required a great deal of effort, leaving the man in an unfortunate state, hardly becoming of the kind of example an officer should present to his men.

  “You have returned because?”

  “The barbarians have disappeared. According to the scout who met us, they shimmered out of existence shortly after your assault this morning, and no sign has been seen of either the greater or the smaller varieties of primitives since then.” He paused. Whatever news came next, it was not to his taste. “Lamentably, there has been no indication as to whether the other three scouts had survived. Certainly, they did not rendezvous with us as the first did.”

  “But you believe otherwise?”

  “The surrounding countryside had the air of land after a successful hunt.”

  “And that's what you're basing this on? That's hardly more than a thin guess.”

  “Perhaps, sir, but none of my men spotted even a hint of another scout riding towards us. The furthest one we would not have seen, but the closer two we should have. And given the time that has passed, one of them should have returned to camp before we did. Either they are taking extremely circumspect routes to avoid being caught, or they have already been caught, and will not be arriving.”

  “And do you have any knowledge of where our foes might be heading?”

  “None whatsoever. According to the one scout with whom I spoke, they had turned invisible before leaving the dell. So any path out of the bowl was an option for them.”

  Jacob broke in. “Find Alastair, Upton, Bricthon, and Theodore. Te
ll them we need half the Lifeguards in their firing positions, and the other half at the ready. Same order applies to the Umkhovu. All servile duties are suspended until further notice, unless they have no combatant training.”

  “Same orders for the 1st Royal Dragoons. And if you don't mind Jacob, I should have my horse saddled and ready to go.”

  “I shall be out shortly.”

  Making his departures, Darren chivvied the officer out of the tent, and went towards the pens where the chargers were kept. Jacob, meanwhile, pulled on his regulation formal jack, complete with the tassel and epaulettes that indicated his exalted rank to those around him. Completing the ensemble was a hat, marked on one side by the Lifeguards' colours and the other by the Royal Sigil, and his sabre, possessed of a gilt handle, but otherwise entirely functional. A brace of pistols followed, although if it came down to a situation where he was forced to use them, he doubted his ability to survive for more than a few minutes.

  As he strode forth from his tent, he glanced upwards, first to one hill and then to the other, checking to see if the artillerists had taken their posts. They had, and the muzzles of their weapons were slewed into the proper firing positions, although aiming tools had been left wedged into the rears of the carriages. Sensible gentlemen, those cannoneers. He expected no less from the very best the Royal Army had to offer.

  Likewise, his soldiers were assembling on the firing steps carved into the low mounds of earth that had been built from the trench refuse. It gave them excellent angles to fire over the trenches and into the teeth of whatever fool was willing to charge the front of the defences. If the foe took an alternate angle of attack, those firing steps would be little more than barricades the Lifeguards would have to run around in order to achieve a line of sight.