“Quaint. However, you are not only one of the elders of the Uhlobo, you are also the commanding officer of the first Umkhovu regiment in the Royal Army. And I am the person who dictates those appointments. So on that front, you are supreme.”
“Kind of you to remind me of that. However, you are no doubt interested in what was said to these people to get them to travel across the plains and throw themselves on your mercy. They were effectively offered was a chance at a better life, one in which they are no longer the downtrodden, and can instead make of it what they wish.”
That statement drew a less than thrilled expression onto Jacob's face, much as he tried to mask it. “I hope you are not painting roses in the air, dreams that will drift away within moments of their arrival.”
“I told them we fought in your army, and acted as your servants, but that we had found a place, one that welcomed us. I do not believe that could be considered a gross exaggeration of the facts as they currently stand.”
“Well, except for the place in army, as that is entirely a temporary matter until such time as the General Staff makes up its mind, or the politicians do it for them. In any event, we do not have the surplus of arms for a population such as the one below. Nor do we need so many new servants. Most of them would be idle on a daily basis, and idleness leads to villainy. The new arrivals will need to become farmers, hunters, and trappers rather than soldiers and servants. Not quite what you have promised them, especially not if the arboreals continue their raiding.”
“No, it is not, but all the same I think it is something they will accept. And we need farmers, do we not? Many were lost in the raids, and new colonists have been reticent to come from the homeland, given the dangers.”
Jacob noted the use of 'we' in passing, Umholi speaking as if he, too, had come across the sea on the ships. “The colonists continue to come, but most of them remain on the outskirts of New Town, where the arboreals do not raid. Which is rather foolish of them, given that the longer a foothold is established on this continent, the harder it will be to drive us away. However, I hardly believe the races that populate this land could be considered long term thinkers. Unless there are others who are more advanced.”
“The only ones that we have met are the Ngaphansi, but that hardly precludes the existence of others, for we did not travel off the edge of the plains.” Umholi made a gesture in the general direction of the new arrivals. “I believe that the elders wish to speak with you, now that their bathing has completed. No doubt to protest such uncouth treatment.”
“The odour that they were emitting was such that I was perfectly happy to be uncouth. Anyway, we shall meet them in my office. No doubt I need you to translate?”
“Most certainly. I shall guide them.”
The two set off in different directions, one to collect his flock, the other alone, and musing on the day thus far. It had been deplorable, especially his need for drink so early, but that was the way of things, a sudden change altering the character and the outcome. Of all the things this day was turning out to be, boring was far down the list. Career-ending, on the other hand, might be all too proximate.
Jacob was safely ensconced behind his desk in his best formal uniform when the visitors arrived, having cleared away his extraneous paperwork, leaving only just enough to create the impression of hard work and dedication. He had remembered too late that such creatures had never seen a desk, nor paper, and so the impression would be entirely wasted on them.
“Sir, may I present to you the elders of Clan Abantu, newly arrived.”
Jacob stood and gave a half bow, as one did when meeting an inferior but remaining polite. It was answered with gestures that bore some strange resemblance to a bow, but only as filtered through a rather deranged mind. The opening gestures were followed by a declamation that took some time, throughout which Umholi held his tongue.
When at last the conduct was completed, Jacob glanced at his valet and raised a single eyebrow.
“They thank you most humbly for agreeing to shelter their people, and wish to offer you their services in everything that is within their power.”
“Please do respond in kind, as an honourable lord should.”
Umholi did so, finding it possible to stretch out such a simple sentence into a length almost entirely comparable to that which the visitors had managed in their opening remarks. While this was being undertaken, Jacob was thinking privately that he was entirely glad he had been spared from the realm of politics, at least until such a time as his father chose to pass onwards, it being Jacob's most fervent hope that such a possibility was in no way imminent.
Having been rightfully welcomed, the Abantu elders launched into a second speech, this one of less formal declension. The effect it wrought on Umholi was dramatic, for what had started the speech as the stage smile of a politician was, by the end, little more than a horrified grimace, one that sought clarification of the matter from the messengers immediately, without approval or conversation with Jacob.
Only when the leader of Clan Uhlobo was satisfied with the detail in the responses that he had received did he return to Jacob, who was now mystified over what was transpiring before him. “They bring news, horrible news.” Umholi was visibly shuddering as he spoke, a reaction that spread to the other Umkhovu nearby. “The Ngaphansi have marched from their hallowed halls, and bring their entire army with them. And they march for you. This has not happened in living memory, not since they forced the Mountain Lords into distant hills.”
“How dangerous are they?”
A hurried consultation between Umholi and the elders.
“Every other battle will be a skirmish by comparison.”
The elders said one last word, and Umholi retched, pale and vibrating.
“They come. The Deep Walkers come.”
“Umholi, pull yourself together and explain. Who are these creatures of yours?”
The Umkhovu shuddered, and began to control his limbs, each one taking a visible effort. First it was his right leg, then his left, with his torso following, and then his arms, and finally his face.
“Creatures from the subterranean mines beneath the cities of the Ngaphansi, rumoured to be the spirits of the damned and the unburied. We have a single tale about them, and it is but one word long: flee.”
To the surprise of everyone in the room, Jacob laughed, and then rose from his desk. Perhaps there was a chance to save his career after all.
“We humans have faced down barbarian hordes, invasions, and armies outnumbering us ten times over. And each time, those foes broke, no, shattered before the might of the Royal Army. Every foe we have ever fought has looked up at us as we placed the boot of mankind upon their throats. Two and a half thousand years ago, my people were little more than a hill tribe, warrior savages with drive and ambition. We swept out of the hills, and captured what we wanted. Two thousand years ago, my family built our ancestral seat upon the ruins of a rival's keep. Every year since that day, we have pushed outwards, conquering and assimilating any nation or people fool enough to resist the advance of civilization. Now you say some tin pot little collection of cities will march against us?” Jacob snorted in derision. “This is our land, and we shall stay!”
This ends the first book of the
QUEEN’S OWN
.
About the Author
James Tallett is the author of a seven book series of fantasy novels set in The Four Part Land, the first of which was published in 2011 by Deepwood Publishing. In addition to his novel writing, he keeps up a steady stream of short stories and flash fiction, much of which can be found online. Aside from writing, he can be found on ski slopes across the world.
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Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1) Page 23
