by Craig Zerf
Without talking the three men collected all of the parts that they could and wrapped them in a sheet. Then they dug a grave, choosing a spot near to the smoldering charcoal heaps because the ground had been thawed out from the heat and made digging possible.
Afterwards they checked the stables and the paddocks but found no sign of horses or livestock, dead or alive. The animals had obviously escaped into the surrounding forest during the attack.
‘Come on, guys,’ urged Tad. ‘We need to get moving. Nathaniel needs to know about these Annihilator dudes, looks like it’s going to be a problem that we need to address. If we push through we could make the wall by nightfall.’
They mounted up and proceeded on their way. They rode in silence, still stunned at the level of violence that they had seen, eyes and ears straining to catch any false moves in the shadows or the undergrowth. Hand close to weapons as they rode.
Slowly the track became a road that broadened to become a major artery. The remains of one of the pre-pulse highways that led to the north.
Tad heard them first, his hearing being the sharpest of the three.
‘Something’s coming,’ he said. ‘Lots of something’s. Move.’
The three of them dismounted and led their horses off the road and deep onto the forest. Gareth cut a branch off a tree and went back to the road to brush over any sign of their tracks.
The warriors tethered their horses in a copse of trees, well protected from line of sight of the road and then they dropped and crawled forward to see what was coming.
The three did not have to wait for long.
The Orcs marched into view, ten abreast across the road, the earth shuddering in time to their marching feet.
The horde drew level with the humans and marched past in a never-ending column. All three watched in disbelief as the minutes crept by.
Hundreds marched past, then thousands. And slowly, as the hours passed, the count went into the tens of thousands. Orcs, goblins, trolls, mounted human worthies and even a few Fair-Folk being carried in their customary litters.
The sun was low on the horizon when the last of the Orcs tramped past, leaving the road a morass of mud and ice and splintered pieces of old tarmacadam.
‘Well that’s not something that you see every day,’ said Tad. ‘How many do you reckon?’ He asked Peter.
‘Not sure. Umm…all of them?’
Gareth laughed. ‘We wish. I think around eighty thousand.’
Tad nodded. ‘Yep. I figured a hundred thousand. Let’s get to the horses. We cut through the woods and circle ahead of them. Nathaniel needs to know about this as soon as.’
They ran to the horses, mounted and set off at a fast trot.
Tad shook his head in disbelief as they rode. ‘I tell you something, boys,’ he addressed his two friends. ‘We’re gonna need a set of stepladders soon. What with Vandals and Orc armies and psychotic Annihilators, it won’t be long until the level of crap that’s raining down on us gets above head level and we drown in the stuff.’
Peter and Gareth laughed. But it was a sound without humor. Rough and forced. A mere agnowledgement of their predicament as opposed to a voicing of hilarity.
***
Nathaniel scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands in an attempt to grind some moisture into them. Tad and his two friends had arrived late that evening, just before the marine was about to retire for the night, and they had delivered their news.
Nathaniel had then sent someone to fetch Roo and general Carson and he had made Tad repeat the whole thing.
Now the group of six men sat in contemplative silence, waiting for Nathaniel to say something.
‘There have been reports of more Orc armies,’ he said to Tad. Over the last three days another five columns of over one hundred thousand each have approached the vicinity of the wall. A total of six hundred thousand warriors stretching from Carlisle to Tynemouth.’ He leaned forward and poured himself some water from a jug on the table. ‘The Vandals,’ he said to Tad. ‘Friend or foe?’
‘Definite friends,’ affirmed Tad. ‘Not sure what good they can do militarily wise, not even sure how many of them that there are, but friends, nevertheless.’
Nathaniel nodded. ‘Good. Friends are good. We appear to have gone long on enemies so we’ll take whatever allies we can find. Now, these Annihilators. What gives?’
Tads shrugged. ‘Bad. Again, not sure how many of them there are but I can assure you, even a few will be a problem. The Vandals are well scared of them. Not much else that I can say.’
‘Right,’ said the marine. ‘For the moment we can leave them out of the equation. I think that it’s pretty obvious that the Fair-Folk are making a move. You don’t simply move six hundred thousand troops into an area without some sort of plan. I reckon that an attack is imminent. General, your thoughts.’
Carson nodded in agreement. ‘I think that we need to stand to. Call up everyone and man the wall with all that we have. Reserves, militia. Everyone.’
‘I concur,’ said Nathaniel. ‘Roo, what’s the food and supply situation? How many people do we need to leave free for food production, crop maintenance etcetera?’
‘We can use the women and children for that. Call up every able bodied man over fourteen. Also, I suggest that we speak to Gogo as soon as possible and get some teams of her young magicians out along the wall to provide shields. Also,’ continued Roo. ‘I sent one of those converted water cannons to your Irish mates. You remember? The ones that I turned into a flame thrower.’
‘Good,’ said Nathaniel.’ How did it work?’
‘Awesome,’ grinned Roo. ‘In fact I’ve got the lads making another ten to distribute along the wall. They’re weapons of note and I reckon that they will come in real handy pretty soon.’
The six of them talked way into the night, organizing the details of the army’s full mobilization. Distribution of spare weapons, arrows, horses and hay, bandages, food, water, and more. The minutia of details that wars are won or lost by. Latrines, cookhouses and sleeping quarters. Dull, without glory but ultimately almost as important as the actual battle plan itself.
Finally, as the gray of false dawn crept into the open window, Nathaniel called it a night and all went their separate ways to catch a few hours of exhausted sleep.
Chapter 22
A circular, or lenticular, cloud appeared in the sky above the Castlerigg Stone circle in Cumbria, rising high into the atmosphere like a gigantic UFO. Its edges flickered with the bright colors of irisation, turning the normal pale white of the cloud into an extravagance of iridescent mother-of-pearl. A swirling mass of purple and scarlet and red.
Blue white light arced from stone to stone and the air was filled with the smell of ozone and steel, as immeasurable powers were unleashed. Powers that were so large as to be impossible to create without the massive amounts of gamma-radiation that had drenched the earth’s atmosphere after the pulse.
Power in quantities so large as to enable a rift in time and space to be torn between the here and the now. Slowly the arcing lights centered on each other, cackling and fizzing as they joined into a circle about the stones. And, in the center of that circle – a black hole.
A single creature stepped through, strode into the heather and stood, head swiveling back and forth as it surveyed the land. The mist swirled about, coating it's armor with a delicately jeweled sheen that brought out the vibrant colors that seemed to have been lacquered onto its surface. Predominantly green and yellow with vivid stripes of red and blue interspersed with black borders.
The creature stood eight feet tall, a foreshortened torso and long legs that bent backwards at the knee. Its feet were like bundles of sticks tied together with short sharp claws on the end. Two sets of arms sprouted from its torso. The lower set ended in claw-like hands. Three fingers and a long thumb complete with long claws. The upper set ended in what appeared to be a two-foot long blade made from the same material as its armor and lacquered in the same gaudy col
ors.
On its head was a full-face helmet, once again of the same material and colors. It had a hinged jaw and some sort of reinforced glass or Plexiglas eye coverings that stood out, bug-like from the front.
It stood alone for almost ten minutes, sniffing the air and quietly observing.
Then it threw back its head and shrieked.
Instantly hundreds of other like creatures poured forth from the black hole in the circle of arced lights. They ran in a jerky, stop-motion manner, their armor clicking noisily as they did so. Like massive, deadly wind-up toys.
With robotic precision they formed into ranks and then stood still, only their heads swiveling from side to side as they surveyed the surrounds.
The circle of arc-light stuttered and flared and then another batch of creatures swarmed out. These were ostensibly the same as the foot soldiers, but they were smaller and had wings.
They buzzed back and forth across the sky, looking. Searching. Then they split up into five different groups and fly off in different directions.
Half an hour later they all returned, conferred, formed up into an arrow formation and flew off together. The foot soldiers followed them at pace, clicking and bouncing along as they did so.
They were heading directly towards the village of Keswick some three miles away.
Before the pulse Keswick had been a large town but now it was a small farming village of some nine hundred unsuspecting souls, confident of the fact that they were ensconced safely, deep inside the Free State. Protected by The Forever Man and his army. Safe.
Chapter 23
Milly took a bite of her apple as she walked, chewing slowly and deliberately. Counting as she did so. Thirty times. It was something that her mother had once told her. Chew each mouthful thirty times.
It was the only thing that she remembered about her mother. She couldn’t remember the color of her hair, or her eyes. Not her smell or even the timbre of her voice. She couldn’t remember her dying in front of her.
All that she did remember from that day was Nathaniel. Appearing like a god and killing the bad men and taking her away. Protecting her. Caring for her.
Chew each mouthful thirty times a day.
The sum total of her childhood memories before she met The Forever Man.
Nathaniel had returned from chasing the raiders, or whatever excuse he had dreamed up, and was, even now, resting at his abode. So she had decided that she would use this time to create a tussy-mussy. It was an old fashioned idea that she had seen Gogo and her walking-folk practice. Basically, a bunch of flowers. However, the end product was much more than that. It was created and tied together in a specific way and contained particular herbs and flowers that were combined together in a precise order to achieve a desired effect.
In this case, she wanted to open Nathaniel’s mind to the idea of loving her. She had discussed things with Gogo and the old lady had told her that you simply could not make someone love you. And Milly had whole heartedly agreed. Gogo had looked pleased, as if the two of them were agreeing on something. But Milly knew that Nathaniel already loved her. Just as she loved him. It was merely the fact that he was too noble. Too self-sacrificing to admit it, and the tussy-mussy was her way of helping to prize open the oyster to reveal the pearl inside.
She needed Myrtle for love, Honeysuckle for devotion, Ivy to represent marriage or wedded love, rose petals for acceptance, lavender for devotion and finally basil, for sexual love.
Ivy, Myrtle and basil wouldn’t be a problem, roses and lavender were a maybe. But honeysuckle was going to prove difficult to find.
She had wandered quite far from the village by the wall, heading for an area that she knew lavender flowered in during the hotter months, when she heard a noise in the trees. A scuttling sound, like a large animal. A deer or perhaps a badger.
She stopped and listened, but all was quiet once again so she continued walking, her mind on the flowers that she was searching for.
The first inkling that she had of danger was when she was actually grabbed from behind. Two strong arms were thrown roughly around her and a weight bore her to the ground.
‘Got you, my lovely,’ rasped a voice in her ear. ‘Now, don’t scream or struggle and we won’t hurt you. Right?’
Milly said nothing and the man stood up and pulled her to her feet. There were two of them. Clad in dark, rough woven clothing, carrying short swords and leather knapsacks that obviously contained food and water. Both were unwashed and unshaven and Milly could smell the stink of their bodies and their breath as they stood close to her.
One pulled out a length of rope from his pocket. ‘Now, girley,’ he said. ‘We’re going to tie your arms behind your back but leaving your legs free so that you can walk. If you make a noise or drag your heels then we will hurt you. Do you understand?’
Milly nodded, her face expressionless.
He stepped forward, holding the rope out in front of him. ‘Turn around,’ he commended.
Milly started to turn but, as she did so, she pulled a short concealed dagger from inside her blouse and, turning, she whipped her arm around and plunged the blade into the man’s right eye. He howled in pain and dropped the rope.
Milly pulled the knife free and swung again, slicing it through his throat, severing his windpipe and carotid arteries. He sank to the ground, grasping at his ruined throat in a vain attempt to stop his life’s blood pumping out of the deep slash in his neck.
The other man drew his short sword but Milly was too quick for him. She lept forward and jabbed at him, the blade of her razor sharp knife hitting him in the cheek and slicing his face open to the bone. Then she spun again and slammed the blade deep into the side of his neck, working it back and forth as she did so.
Without waiting to see what effect her last blow had achieved, she turned and ran as fast as she could, her breath burning in her lungs and her limbs shaking from reaction.
She blundered through bushes and low hanging branches, heedless of the cuts to her face and legs as she ran. Her desperate need to escape driving her beyond normal limits of speed sand exhaustion.
Finally she came across a well-used hunter's trail and she slowed down to get her bearings. She held her breath and willed her heart to stop slamming against her chest as she listened carefully for any noise of pursuit.
There was none.
Sitting down on a fallen tree bough she put her head between her knees for a while, drawing deep breaths and waiting for the blood to stop thundering in her head. Eventually she felt almost normal again.
Then she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, stood up and walked straight into the waiting arms of Orc sergeant Kob. Before she could scream he cuffed her with an open hand on her temple, rendering her unconscious.
Then he took a letter from his pack, forced it into a cleft at the top of a three foot high stick, pegged the stick into the ground in the middle of the track, picked Milly up and started to run, his mission accomplished.
Chapter 24
The horses swept down from the west. Fully two hundred and fifty five thousand of them galloping at full tilt. An army the size of which had never been seen before in recorded human history.
The Xai army facing the horsemen had left the cover of the city walls and were arrayed, two hundred thousand strong, in block ranks of ten thousand. They stretched in an unbroken wall of shields ten miles wide and ten men deep.
The horde of Mongol horsemen charging down on them covered an area of ten miles wide by ten miles deep.
As each individual mounted warrior got within bow range, they released their arrows and wheeled away in order to give the next wave of mounted archers room to do the same. Their timing and discipline was impeccable. Storms of arrows fell from the sky in a continual avalanche of wood and steel.
By the time the first of the arrows struck the massed troops there were another three waves already in the air. At any one stage there were over one hundred and fifty thousand iron-tipped messengers of death plung
ing towards the ranks of the Xai army, with a combined weight of over half of a ton.
The arrow storm simply decimated the Xai’s, driving them to their knees, punching through their armor and killing them in their thousands.
Then the horde split and wheeled left and right, opening the way for the fifty thousand heavy cavalry with their lancers and curved sabers.
The plains ran red with blood and Genghis Khan raised his sword above his head in victory and shouted to all, ‘I am a god.’.
You were/will be there…
The Hittite king, Mutawalli and his allies, had arrayed their troops along the foothills of the mountain range of Kadesh on the border of the Hittite empire. Fully twenty thousand men, heavily armored with great shields of bronze. The king was confident that he would best the Egyptian Ramsess II and his tiny force of a mere six thousand.
And then the earth trembled as a noise arose from the desert. A noise akin to thunder. And with it the snorting and champing of thousands upon thousands of horses.
When Mutawalli stared out across the desert he could see naught but a massive cloud of dust coming towards him and he shivered in superstitious awe. Because he knew that the gods of the Egyptians were many and powerful.
But, as the dust storm got closer, he saw that it was, in fact, being produced by an army of chariots. Clad in sliver and bronze and gold they were. Each carrying a rider and an archer. Drawn by two or three or even four horses. Razor sharp blades protruded from the boss of their wheels, fluting as they sliced the air, spinning in sliver blurs of death.
And then they struck the Hittite shield wall and tore through it as if it were mere papyrus sheeting. Rending and grinding and killing.
And Ramasess II raised his hands above his head and gave thanks to his gods.
You were/will be there…
