by Craig Zerf
‘Whatever?’ said Lonny. ‘I’m in.’
‘Me too,’ affirmed Donny.
Jack turned to face them. ‘No you are not,’ he snapped. ‘This isn’t a game, boys. You’ve been involved in one minor skirmish and you think that you’re the bee’s knees. Whoever gets involved in this resistance movement is in for a rough ride. Many will die and they will die badly. Torture, degradation and death. It will not be pretty.’ He turned to face Axel. ‘I’ll do it. But with one stipulation – the boys get taken to the Free State. I won’t have their blood on my hands.’
Lonny jumped to his feet. ‘All due respect, Jack,’ he shouted. ‘You do not have the authority to make bargains with us. Donny and I will do it. And we will do it with or without you. You are not our father. And do you know why? Because our father is dead. So is our mother. Dead because of the Fair-Folk and their pig faced soldiers. Do not deny us retribution, Jack. Please. Don’t do that.’
Jack stared at the boy for a while. Then he looked at Donny. ‘You agree with him?’
Donny nodded. ‘Of course.’
The ex SBS operative took a deep breath. ‘Okay, captain,’ he said. ‘God help me but we’re all in. So how do we start?’
‘First, I’d like you to meet some of the men that I have short listed for your platoon,’ said Axel. ‘The final choices will be left up to you. Come on,’ the captain walked towards the door. 'Let’s go.’
Chapter 10
The unicorn stood at the top of the mountain of Ben Hope and surveyed the land around it. Behind lay Loch Hope. To its left, Loch na Seilg. To the front, looking west, the Strathmore River and the great loch Meadie.
It sniffed the air, testing for any odor of the great enemy and then, finding none, it set its sense to revealing the ley-lines. The silver threads of magical power that crossed the countryside, linking all places of magical potential. It was through these lines that the unicorn could travel It was also via these lines of power that The Forever Man would eventually come to see his full potential. To realize his true name and rise to wield the power that the universe had gifted him.
But that would not be for a while. And, perhaps, mused the unicorn, it may never come to pass. Because the future was a constantly changing thing. Ephemeral and entropic, meaning that it was impossible to predict with any type of accuracy, because the mere act of divination changed ones perception and thereby changed the predicted future. But it was possible to guide. To shepherd the future in a general direction. This was, and always had been, the unicorn’s purpose. Its sole purpose. And, although it knew not the intimate details of the coming future, it did know one thing for certain…
It knew that, without The Forever Man, there were no futures at all.
Not a one.
Chapter 11
True to his word The Forever Man had left for Portavaddie that afternoon. He left with Tad and the rest of The Ten, an elite group of warriors who doubled as Nathaniel’s personal guard. Like him they all wore full armor and carried either broadsword or axe and a bundle of throwing javelins. But unlike the marine's pitch-black armor theirs was deep, blood red.
But they would not be the only warriors going to the Portavaddie area. Readying themselves for travel for the next morning were another two thousand of the elite cavalry. Nathaniel had taken the threat very seriously and he aimed to keep the people of the Free State safe, no matter what the cost.
He and The Ten set off at a fast trot and, when the sun dropped below the horizon, they stopped for a quick cold meal and then Nathaniel conjured up a vast ball of white fire. The ball danced in front of them when they rode, lighting the landscape in eerie blue-white light. Like a hundred moons.
‘Good trick,’ said Tad.
‘Thanks. You should see my juggling skills,’ quipped the marine.
They rode through the night, arriving at Glenan Burn, the closest village to the decimated Portavaddie, an hour after sunrise.
Bacause it was a fishing village, most everybody was already up. Food was being sold alongside the main street and grocers, cobblers and butchers were setting up stalls in the square preparing for market day.
However, there was also a group of around thirty men, armed with a variety of weapons ranging from spears and swords, to wood-axes and pitchforks. This was obviously the newly formed village militia, put together in case of a visit from the raiders. One look at them was enough to tell Nathaniel that they would be keen and brave and totally ineffectual.
When the king and The Ten rode into the village people stopped what they were doing and cheered loudly. Eventually the town alderman presented himself and showed Nathaniel to his home where they could talk.
‘We have another two thousand cavalry arriving with a day,’ Nathaniel told the alderman. ‘I haven’t worked out how we shall deploy them but, by the time they arrive I will have. Tell me, good alderman, is this the first time that this sort of raid has happened?’
‘As far as I know, my king,’ affirmed the alderman. ‘But there have been rumors of the golden shields being seen before, sailing along the coast but never actually landing.’
‘The golden shields?’ Enquired Tad.
‘Yes, sir,’ said the alderman. ‘They carry round gold shields, hence the name.’
‘If they attack again,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Where do you think that might be?’
‘Oh, I would say Port Stanraer. It’s one of the few places richer than Portavaddie was and it’s not far from here.’
Nathaniel pulled out a map and laid it on the table. It took him a few moments to orientate himself and then he put his finger on Port Stanraer.
‘Looks possible. What about here?’
The alderman nodded. ‘They could strike here, lord. Also Campbelltown, Portpatrick and Skelmorlie. There aren’t many other towns of note along this stretch of coast. Even before the pulse we were sparsely populated and since…well, there’s a lot of open space.’
The Forever Man thought for a while then he came to a decision.
‘Come on,’ he said to Tad. ‘We need to get to the top of the cliffs. I’m going to try something.’
He went outside, mounted up and rode out of the village towards the high cliff tops to the south. Tad and the rest of The Ten followed. It took twenty minutes to ride to the top of the cliffs and when they arrived, Nathaniel dismounted and walked to the very edge, peering out at the ocean and its ever-present misty cover.
‘Why’s it always misty?’ He asked Tad.
The little big man shrugged. ‘Not sure. Roo says that it has something to do with the warm air coming off the land and hitting the ice. Makes fog.’
‘The air isn’t that warm,’ argued Nathaniel. ‘Especially during winter.’
‘It’s warmer than ice,’ countered Tad.
‘True.’
Everyone stood in silence for a while. Their king was there for a reason and no one wanted to distract him. Eventually The Forever Man went down on one knee and held his right arm out towards the open sea, his palm facing upwards, fingers stretched out, his eyes closed. He breathed slowly and Tad could see that he was deep in concentration.
The marine stayed down on one knee, not moving a muscle for over half an hour. Then, abruptly, he stood up.
‘They’re coming,’ he said as he strode towards his horse. ‘The alderman was correct. They’re heading for Port Stanraer.’
‘How many?’ Asked Tad.
‘Not sure. Lots, maybe one hundred people. Maybe more. It’s the first time that I’ve tried this whole far-sensing thing. I don’t actually see what is happening, it’s more like a strong feeling. I can feel multiple minds, some in charge, others not. But most are thinking of Port Stanraer, so I guess that’s where they are heading.’
Everyone mounted and followed Nathaniel at the gallop as they thundered up the coastal track towards Port Stanraer and the raiders.
‘We’ll be outnumbered ten to one,’ said Tad.
‘You think?’ Answered the marine sarcasticall
y.
‘Only making a point,’ responded Tad. ‘No need to get all snippy at me.’
They galloped past the outskirts of the town and down towards the main beach and harbor. Groups of amazed township dwellers came running out of residences and workplaces to gawk at the warriors as they thundered past. They pulled up at the beach and the marine ran a soldier’s eye over the terrain. Being a marine also gave him insight into the minds of the men who would be sailing the strange craft and he immediately picked out their best landing area.
‘There,’ he pointed at a spot on the beach where it shelved gently upwards. It was also protected by a small spit and was close to the town. ‘That is where they will land.’ He continued to study the layout. ‘We will place our ranks there. On that small hill.’
‘Ranks,’ snorted Tad. ‘I wouldn’t actually consider ten soldiers as ranks of men.’
Nathaniel wheeled his horse to face Tad and the rest of the Ten.
‘Men,’ he shouted. ‘Today we will once again be tested. We face a band of raiders from across the sea. There are many of them. At least one hundred, perhaps more. But we are The Ten so we shall outnumber them one to ten. We are all privileged men – for today we get to protect the innocent with our blood. We get to sacrifice ourselves to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Today will be a day for heroes. OORAH!’
As one The Ten cheered back. ‘OORAH!’
They galloped together towards the low hill that Nathaniel had pointed out and, as they got there, the raiders’ skimmers appeared, like coalescing wraiths emerging from the mist. The boats ground onto the shore where Nathaniel had predicted. But there were many more than he had foreseen. As before, each craft held six men, but instead of twenty crafts as the marine had anticipated there were at least thirty. One hundred and eighty men all told.
‘Well,’ said Tad, sotto voce. ‘I suppose that now we outnumber them by one to eighteen. Hoo-bloody-rah.’
The marine gave him a wink. ‘No worries, my friend. You scared or something?’
‘Absolutely crapping myself,’ admitted the little big man.
The marine laughed out loud. ‘Wait for them, men’ he commanded. ‘As soon as they form up, ready your javelins and follow me.’
The Ten loosened their javelins in their quivers and waited for the king’s command.
Nathaniel judged the moment finely. The raiders had not noticed the small group of riders on the hill and they were taking their time to form up into solid ranks, their remarkable golden shields flashing in the sunlight.
‘Pretty,’ mumbled Tad to himself.
When the marine considered them to be at their most unorganized he drew a javelin from his quiver, held it above his head and charged, screaming out the marine battle cry as he did.
‘Oorah!’
The ten swept down on the raiders, rapidly coming within throwing distance of them. As one they unleashed their javelins and, in a movement brought from many hours of practice, turned smoothly away. Then they formed up and charged again, unleashing their payload and wheeling away in the same manner.
The raiders careful ranking collapsed into chaos. They had not expected any resistance at this point and already at least five lay dead and as many injured.
The Ten wheeled and threw again, and again, and again, until they had each released all ten of their javelins. Over one hundred steel tipped messengers of death had struck the ranks of the raiders. At least forty of them were either dead, dying or totally incapacitated and already the beach sand was stained a dark pink from the vast amounts of spilled blood.
But the raiders were well drilled and they rallied quickly, reforming into ranks, building a shield wall and presenting their long spears outwards.
The Ten milled about the beach as their horses bucked and whinnied, not keen to charge at a wall of sharpened steel.
‘Dismount,’ shouted Nathaniel. ‘We’ll take them on foot. Tad, with me, front and center. Arrow formation, people. Someone tries to poke you with a spear, just chop the thing into kindling. Let’s do it.’
The Free State warriors linked shields and churned forward through the beach sand, broadswords held above shields and axes raised high, ready to strike.
Just before they came crashing together Nathaniel brought down a bolt of lightning that smashed into the front ranks of the raiders, blowing six of them into smoking pieces of armor and body parts. However, the effort caused the marine to stumble as the power drained from him and Tad and another warrior had to slow down to support him before he fell.
But the thunderbolt had done its job, sundering the ranks of the raiders and allowing the Ten to breach their shield wall and get in amongst them. And this is where the Ten were at their most deadly, with broadswords swinging and axes singing they clove the enemy asunder.
Tad ducked and rolled and stabbed upwards, sliding his knives and short swords under enemy armor, the rest of the Ten parried spear and sword and counterattacked.
But The Forever Man fought in the only way that he knew how. In a style that he had developed in Pictish times when he first fought the Roman legions, and then he had honed it against the Orcs and goblins. He fought like a berserker with little or no thought for his own safety. His terrible axe never stopped moving. If it did happen to hang up in someone’s armor or ribs, he would simply kick the person off and swing again. Always attacking, never defending. All that came within reach of those dazzling steel blades fell as chaff before the storm.
And the raiders lost heart and retreated because they knew that Death walked amongst them.
Eventually the last surviving raiders could retreat no more. They had come to the sea and already stood knee deep in the surging surf.
‘Stop,’ bellowed Nathaniel. ‘Ten to me.’
His warriors rallied about him, forming up into a shield wall. Some were too badly cut or wounded to stand straight and they leant on their broadswords or axe handles. Two particularly wounded warriors leant against each other, each keeping the other upright, their armor slick with blood that was both others and their own.
But not one lay on the sand. Not one had fallen. And Nathaniel felt his heart swell with pride. For these were men of men. And their fathers were men before them.
‘Surrender,’ commanded Nathaniel. ‘Surrender and we shall give quarter.’
There were some twenty raiders left. All of them had been severely wounded. Their spears were spent, their golden shields had been sundered and their swords bent and notched.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ continued the king. ‘Why fight to the death when there is no need to. You cannot stand against us, to continue to do so is suicide.’
One by one the raiders dropped their weapons into the sea and stepped forward out of the surf. Then they came to stand before Nathaniel and, at the command of one who appeared to be in charge, they knelt.
‘We surrender,’ the one in charge said. ‘And, on behalf of my men, I, Carrig Faolan O’Niall, ask that you carry out your punishment on me alone. I am their leader and thus I am the one who should pay.’
‘Well,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘We shall see. But first things first, Carrig, we need to talk. You and your men come with us and I shall do my best to stop the townsfolk lynching you all. After what you lot did to Portavaddie, you aren’t very popular around here.’
‘If it makes any difference,’ said Carrig. ‘That wasn’t us. It was the marquees of Donegall and his men.’
‘Whatever,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Same old same old. You’re the enemy and they will want to string you up or worse.’
As if to prove Nathaniel’s point, a crowd of armed civilians came trotting over the small hill and onto the beach. They were being led by a short rotund man wearing a garish red gown of office and carrying a broadsword that looked about a foot too long for him and a few pounds too heavy.
‘Greetings,’ he puffed to the marine. ‘We, the people of Port Stanraer give our thanks for your timely intervention. We were, of course, prepared to def
end ourselves but you gentlemen did a sterling job indeed. We would like to invite you back to the town hall. Our doctors will see to your wounds and drink and food shall be provided. I may even manage to convince the town treasurer to forward you all a stipend of some sort to show the depth of our appreciation. Now, however, I think that you should hand over the prisoners to us so that we might take care of them.’
‘You mean, string them up,’ said Nathaniel.
‘That would seem to be the appropriate thing,’ answered the rotund man. ‘Now come along gentlemen,’ he continued. ‘Let us not allow things to lead to any unpleasantness, after all, you and your men are exhausted and many are wounded, you could hardly afford to get into another fight, could you?’ The man smiled, a false showing of teeth stretched across his chubby face.
Nathaniel stared at the official for a few seconds then he turned to the little big man.
‘Tad.’
‘Yes, sire?’
‘Sort this moron out, will you.’
‘Straight away, my king,’ said Tad as he stepped forward and kicked the official in the knee. The chubby man fell forward and, as he did so, he met Tad’s fist coming the other way. The sound of his jaw breaking was audible above to all as he fell, unconscious, onto the sand.
Tad puffed his chest out and took a deep breath. ‘Ladies and gentlemen of Port Stanraer,’ he shouted. ‘May I present to you, The Forever Man, Marine master-sergeant Nathaniel Arnthor Hogan, king of the Free State, leader of the Picts, wielder of the axe and savior of the town of Port Stanraer.’
‘Steady on, old man,’ whispered Nathaniel. ‘You’ll make me blush.’
Tad grinned.
