by Craig Zerf
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 1
Swiftly it ran, muscular haunches bunching and coiling under its glossy white coat as it did. Breath steamed from its mouth and lather saturated its heaving flanks. But so fleet was its progress that naught could overhaul it.
The chittering of the enemy hunters sounded behind it and above, the sound of the whirring of chitinous wings from the legions of the smaller flying scouts.
Undaunted it gathered its remaining strength and thundered on, heading towards the source, its four hooves churning up the sod as it ran. Striving to reach the intersection of ley-lines that crossed in the center of the stone circle. Because, for the first time in living memory, it could feel the beckon of the power-light and it could sense the open gateway between the now and the perpetuity of infinity.
With a last surge of beleaguered muscle it galloped into the center of the circle. Lightening struck. The sky folded in on itself.
The circle was empty.
And in another time and place, in another circle, it appeared. Its chest heaved with exhaustion and its mighty legs trembled in near collapse, but, once again, it had survived. It was the very last of its kind and had lived alone for years uncountable, but now its purpose had arrived.
Almost twice as large as a thoroughbred stallion. Its eyes were deepest green and behind them lurked an intelligence that could only be born of boundless life experience. And, as it flicked its mane from side to side, the single large horn on its head cut the air like a sword, reflecting the wan sunlight like a polished steel blade. Light glistened off its pure white hide that was marred only by a single black mark on its left flank. A mark the size of a man’s palm.
Lemniscate.
The mark of infinity.
8
The mark of the unicorn.
The mark of The Forever Man.
Chapter 2
Nathaniel beckoned to Tad, calling him over with a crook of his finger. The marine’s dwarven friend moved close, using the trees and bushes as cover, his movements stealthy. A craft built from years of clandestine operations and thousands of hours of outdoor hunting.
The marine pointed at the group of heavily armed alien warriors that stood encamped about a hundred yards from the tree line.
‘It’s not a full battle group,’ whispered Nathaniel. ‘Probably twenty Orcs and thirty goblin archers. No humans on horseback and no Fair-Folk, by the look of it.’
Tad studied the group before he nodded his agreement.
‘Still enough to cause us some serious problems,’ he said. ‘What do you reckon? Should we wait them out?’
Nathaniel glanced back into the forest. The thick trees and the vegetation hid a small train of four wagons and some twenty mixed beasts of burden. Horses, donkeys and oxen.
He shook his head. ‘They might be camped there for days. We have no water and it won’t be long before one of our party will make some sort of noise that will give us away. After all, they’re not pros. They’re just farmers and tailors and stuff. The only way is for me to create some sort of serious diversion. Lead them away. Then you and the refugees split for the wall. I’ll follow you after I’ve sorted something out.’
‘No way,’ disagreed the little big man. ‘I’ll create the diversion. We can’t have the king of the free state running around as live bait for an Orc battle group. That’s insane. You shouldn’t even be here. The only reason that you are, is because you’re so pig-headed and stubborn that we can’t seem to instill any sort of common sense into you. Some might even call you a moron.’
‘Hey,’ objected the marine. ‘Is that any way to address your king?’
‘Whatever,’ answered Tad. ‘You can’t go.’
‘I can, actually,’ said Nathaniel. ‘And I will. And before you blow a big end, let me explain. Firstly, you simply aren’t fast enough.’
‘I’ll take a horse.’
Nathaniel shook his head. ‘We both know that won’t work. They’ll never even bother to attempt to chase a man on horseback. They know full well that they’ll never catch him. No, the bait has to be on foot and it has to be fast enough to escape. That means me.’
Tad grasped the marine by the shoulder, and looked into his eye, his expression stern. Grim. ‘It’s not a game, my friend,’ he said. ‘Too many people depend on you. Be careful. I’m serious.’
Nathaniel grinned. ‘Lighten up, Tad. We only live once.’
Tad grinned. ‘No…I only live once. You live forever. But remember, we don’t necessarily want to test that theory beyond a point. Not sure how you’d recover if one of those Orcs actually separated your head from your shoulders.’
‘He’d have to catch me first,’ quipped Nathaniel as he started to strip off for running. He removed his armor and his greaves and his tunic, leaving on only his kilt and a pair of light leather boots. He pulled a leather strap over his shoulder and stuck his axe through it so that it hung against his back. Finally he tied a canvas water sack to his belt alongside a small leather pouch that contained his sling and a handful of lead slugs.
‘I’m going to circle them,’ he told Tad. ‘No good coming at them from here. Could give away our position. I’ll come at them from the East, slingshot a few of them, shout a few taunts and run like crazy. You know Orcs - no tactical nous at all, they’ll all simply try to kill me. As soon as they start following me, count to sixty and then you guys move on out. Okay?’
Tad bumped fists with the marine. ‘Okay, my lord. Let’s do this.’
Nathaniel grinned again and then slipped into the trees, disappearing almost immediately with his customary supernatural stealth.
The little big man did not have to wait long until Nathaniel appeared on the opposite side of the Orc encampment. The marine stood in plain sight for a few seconds, calmly drew his sling from his pouch, loaded it with a lead slug, spun it around his head and fired.
The two-ounce lead projectile whipped across the intervening space and struck a goblin archer on his temple, dropping him like a pallet of faulty merchandise. He was dead before his body hit the ground. The next slug took an Orc in the neck, not penetrating the inch thick skin but causing a squeal of porcine agony.
‘Hey, pig faces,’ shouted Nathaniel as he let fly with another shot that bounced off the same Orc's skull, causing him to drop to one knee. ‘Time to pay the piper.’
He turned and ran and the battle group thundered after him.
‘Time to pay the piper,’ snorted Tad to himself as he counted off a minute. ‘What the hell does that mean?’ He shook his head, covering his concern with irritation. He turned to his flock. ‘Come on people,’ he called. ‘The king has given us a bit of breathing space, let’s not dally. Follow me.’
Tad mounted up and led the wagon train out of the forest and north towards the Fre
e State.
***
Nathaniel slowed down and waited for the Orcs and goblins to catch up. He had inadvertently outpaced the bulk of the battle group and it would do no good to outrun them to such an extent that they simply gave up the chase. He slung another lead slug and let fly as the first Orc became visible through the trees. The projectile struck the creature in the eye and it dropped to the turf, yipping and squealing as it tore at the wound with its claws. The marine forced down any feeling of pity as he fired another slug at a goblin, shattering its shoulder and spinning it to its knees.
He turned and ran again.
Straight into one of the biggest Orcs that he had ever seen. Over six foot high and a solid 300 pounds plus.
As a rule all Orcs were very much the same size and build. About five foot ten inches and 250 pounds. Overlong arms, inch thick rubber-like skin, deep set eyes, no nose, no visible ears and a thin slit for a mouth. The reason for this being that they were specifically created for battle. Over countless years the Fair-Folk had distilled their warriors into the essential properties that made up the battle Orc. And it was not only their physical attributes that were controlled. Likewise their mental capacities were limited to following orders without question. They reacted to situations as opposed to pre-empting them. If they were threatened, they fought back. If the enemy ran, they chased. They would fight to the death without hesitation and they would kill without remorse.
But what they would not do was tactically outflank an enemy and then ambush him.
Except – this one had.
The Orc punched Nathaniel in the chest. The blow picked the marine up and threw him back for over ten feet. He winced as he struck the ground, breathing hard in an attempt to get his wind back.
As Nathaniel got to his feet the Orc was on him again, slamming lefts and rights into him with crushing strength. The marine felt a rib break as the Orc punched him once again. If he had been any normal human then he would, in all probability, be dead by now.
But Nathaniel was not any normal human. In fact, he was about as abnormal as a human could be and still be classed as a human. He ignored the pain of his broken rib, knowing that, in a few minutes, it would be all healed up, and instead he concentrated on moving. He sidestepped fast and slammed a combination of punches into the Orc’s abdomen. Then, without pause, he rolled on the ground, under the Orc’s defenses and kicked him in the knee. The unexpected move dropped the Orc to the ground and Nathaniel punched him twice in the head. Both of them good solid blows, putting his whole bodyweight behind them.
He waited for the Orc to keel over. Instead the creature stood up, shook his head and started forward again.
Nathaniel was amazed. And it suddenly struck him that the Orc had yet to draw his broadsword.
The marine held up his hand. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Why haven’t you drawn your weapon?’
The Orc shrugged. ‘Why haven’t you drawn yours?’ He countered.
Nathaniel said nothing.
‘Come on,’ urged the Orc. ‘Let’s finish this before the others arrive.’ He stepped forward and threw a massive roundhouse punch at the marine.
Nathaniel moved his head with the blow but did not deign to dodge. Then he bowled a right arm overhead blow back at the Orc, striking him flush on his forehead.
The Orc shook his head and punched back, smashing his massive paw into Nathaniel’s mouth and bringing a welter of blood to the surface.
And so the two of them stood, trading blows without thought or question of either tactics or reason. It was simply a test of brute strength. A test of courage. A physical test that had been broken down into its most primitive primeval form.
After six or seven blows each the Orc finally dropped to one knee. Nathaniel clubbed him on the temple with a huge right hook and the gray-skinned creature slid sideways to the floor.
The Orc made a final attempt to stand but found that he could not, so he simply lay on the floor and stared up at Nathaniel, his eyes a mixture of disbelief and respect.
The marine stared back and then he drew his battle-axe from his shoulder-belt, swung it high in the air and brought it down on the Orcs neck...stopping the blade as it touched the alien’s skin.
Then, with a flick of his wrists, he replaced the weapon, threw the Orc a salute and disappeared into the forest, this time running too fast to warrant any form of pursuit.
And Orc sergeant Kob breathed a sigh of relief.
***
Nathaniel loped along at a pace a little slower than a normal human’s full sprint. He was using up energy at a prodigious rate but didn’t mind, as he knew that he would catch up with Tad and the refugees a little after nightfall. Then he could replenish his fluids, eat his full and get a decent night’s sleep.
As he ran he marveled at the changing landscape that lay all around him. Although it was now over twenty years since the first pulse had struck the Earth, driving mankind back to the Dark Ages, Nathaniel had only spent some four of those years in the present time. For twenty of the current years he had been magically transported to ancient times, where he had become king of the Picts and rallied the Pictish tribes to fight against the Roman invaders.
When he had left, the land had already started to change. Plants had begun to invade the towns and cities, animals like deer and badgers and rabbits had begun to proliferate in abundance and the cessation of global warming had, paradoxically, caused the summers to shorten and the winters to become longer and harsher.
As well as this, around ninety percent of the population had died. Over sixty million people. This had left most of the country empty and unpopulated.
But now, over twenty years on, much more radical changes had taken place. The winters had reduced the vast stretches of tarmacadam highways to degraded rubble. Grass grew in the cracks and moss covered the rest. The rotting husks of millions of vehicles lay discarded along the old routes. Stripped for whatever people could use and then left to slowly corrode away into hollow rotting husks.
The roofs of uninhabited houses had all collapsed allowing trees to grow in their interiors. Home gardens no longer existed as tree growth was unchecked by man's pruning and cutting.
Massive packs of feral dogs roamed the inner cities, sometimes interbreeding with the packs of wolves that were now ever-present. There were no longer specific breeds of dogs in the wild, only a homogenous blend of wolf and canine.
Birds of prey now claimed the crumbling skyscrapers as their eyries from which to hunt rodents and small game.
The more exotic animals that had survived release from the zoos now thrived. Prides of lion. Tigers. Herds of llamas. Bears. Hyena.
Most of the grasslands that were unkempt by humanity had reverted to forest and it was now easily possible to travel both the length and breadth of the island without ever leaving the shelter of the trees.
Humanity had adapted. They had overcome. But they had been driven to the very edge of extinction. And then the Fair-Folk had come and conquered. And Nathaniel saw them in the same light as he viewed the pulse. They were a danger to humanity that must be overcome. A disease. A pack of feral dogs. An enemy.
With that thought foremost in his mind, he crested a hill and saw signs of Tad and his refugees in the distance. He increased his speed to catch them up.
Chapter 3
They were two brothers. Twins. But not identical. Their names were Donny and Lonny Bonnyman, and that ludicrousness was one of their many hardships that they could not blame directly on the Fair-Folk.
The brothers had just turned sixteen. They had been orphans for almost nine weeks now, having lost their father some six months before and then their mother just over two weeks ago.
The twins had been born after the pulse and had only known life under the yolk of the Fair-Folk and their minions. But their father, who had been a university lecturer in the Classics, had spent much of his time teaching them. Both were fluent in Latin and ancient Greek as well as being extremely well versed in the histo
ry, culture and thought of the civilizations of ancient Greece and Rome.
As well as having been a lecturer in the classics during pre-pulse times, professor Bonnyman had been a well-known activist, leading public revolt against the war in Iraq, the privatization of the national health system and the channeling of government spending into the new Star Wars program as opposed to education.
When the Fair-Folk had first appeared and started taking control, he had approved. He thought of them as benevolent dictators. However, it was not long before he started to disagree. He changed his description to draconian and accused them of being harsh and overbearing in their rule. But he was careful never to flagrantly break any of their stringent rules with their harsh punishments. Instead he skirted carefully along the border between actual dissent and barely tolerable disagreement.
So, instead of being punished in any outright fashion, the Fair-Folk decided instead to censure him. He was formally condemned and reduced to a new class that the aliens had created. That being the class of “Underman”.
The class of Underman was applied to the whole family of the person that was initially sanctioned. As an Underman, one was banned from ownership of land or any means of production, be that tools or premises. Undermen were not allowed to fish nor hunt nor gather food. They could work at only the most menial of jobs and when paid were not allowed to eat meat or bread. They were allowed no access to healers, doctors, midwives or apothecaries. And they were not allowed to own any weapons.
Being sanctioned and declared an Underman was, quite simply, a long and very slow death sentence.
The twins had poached game and fish in an effort to supply the family with enough protein to live but their father simply gave up and faded away. Slipping into unconsciousness and death in his sleep, his body a mere wasted vessel for his broken mind.
Their mother had lasted only a few more months, unable to live with both a broken heart and a broken spirit.
And now the twins seeked revenge.
They had collected over ten rats and had left their dead bodies tied up in a sack for over a week, allowing them to rot to a stage where liquid dripped from the sacking and maggots crawled over them like handfuls of living rice grains. Then, using skills brought from countless nights of illegal trapping and poaching, they had used the cover of darkness to sneak into the Orc’s garrison. Their plan was simple. Drop the sack into the well, in the hope that they would poison the water supply and then run away. It was a simple plan and was bound, in some way, to at least inconvenience the Orcs. And, as Donny had said when he thought of it, it was only the first in a long line of disruptive acts that they were to embark on.
