by Craig Zerf
Milly stared out of the window at the frozen stretch of the Thames River. A healthy fire crackled in the large hearth and the walls were adorned with tapestries. Carpets, both old and new, covered the stone floor and her bed, in the far corner of the room, was covered in a mountain of goose-filled eiderdowns.
An eight-seater dining table was covered with the remnants of breakfast. Fish, bacon, sausage, eggs, cheese and breads. Fresh fruit juice and small beer. The food had been served that morning by Melanie, a plump and happy young human in her early teens. She had obviously been born after the pulse and knew little about the pre-pulse days. She did know that they had been lawless times and there was much war between human and human until the Fair-Folk came and put a stop to all of the violence by bringing law to the land. Milly wanted to talk to her more, ask her questions. Was she happy? What did she think of the Fair-Folk? Had she heard of the Free State? But Melanie had claimed to be to busy and bustled off before Milly could continue her questioning.
On the whole, though, Milly wanted for nothing. A prisoner in the Tower of London. A place once described by historians as, the most luxurious eleventh century palace in the world.
After Orc sergeant Kob had knocked her out during her kidnapping, she had regained consciousness on the other side of the wall. Kob had treated her firmly but respectfully. He had made it plain that he would not harm her in any way as long as she did not attempt to escape. She had nodded her agreement and then instantly sprung to her feet and sprinted into the forest. She had been staggered at the ease that the Orc had recaptured her. The Orcs that she had known before had been powerful, thickset creatures. Not clumsy, but stolid and given more to long distance running than bursts of speed. Kob, however, was probably the fastest living creature that she had ever seen. Apart from Nathaniel, of course.
But he had not beaten her. He had merely caught her and then bound her legs together with a piece of leather that allowed her to walk and take normal steps, but left her unable to take the longer strides necessary to run.
It had taken them five days to travel the three hundred miles to London. Every morning Kob would wake her with breakfast. Normally fruit or cooked game. Then he would pick her up and run for six hours at high speed. They would stop for a lunch of trail biscuit and then he would carry her again for another six hours. Each evening he would tie her to a tree, hunt some game, cook it and feed her. The next day would be the same. Three hundred miles in five days while carrying a human being. An effort that transcended superhuman. It was apparent to Milly that Orc sergeant Kob was a freak amongst Orcs. A super-Orc, superior in every way to his pod-mates.
She had asked him, a few times, how he had become different. To her knowledge, all Orcs were meant to be as close to identical as possible, sticking to an age old breeding process that had been honed over countless years in order to create the prefect fighting machine. Kob had somehow improved on perfection.
But he had simply shaken his head and said. ‘Kob stands alone.’
After a couple of days she stopped asking.
There was a knock on the door. Judging by the hour she knew that it would be commander Ammon.
This was her third day in the tower and the commander had visited her twice a day. Each day after breakfast and then again after dinner.
And truth be told, she enjoyed his visits. He was handsome, attentive and knowledgeable.
He entered the room and smiled. His teeth white against his lightly sun tanned face. Golden hair flowing to his shoulders, his deep blue eyes twinkled with humor. As he moved towards her his steps were as graceful as a ballet dancer’s, and he carried his six-foot frame with ease and confidence.
Nathaniel had told Milly, and the rest of the people in the Free State, that the Fair-Folk did not look as the humans perceived them. He claimed that they were actually five-foot high, gray skinned aliens with no ears, large almond shaped eyes and thin arms and legs.
Roo had backed up Nathaniel’s story although he had slipped in a disclaimer, saying that he could only see the Fair-Folk’s true appearance if he saw them in reflection. Milly had stared at Ammon as closely as she could, willing herself to see his ‘so called’ true appearance but all she saw was what was in front of her. A six foot, blond, blue eyed man.
It was obvious to her that Nathaniel’s hatred for the Fair-Folk had driven him to concoct a story about their true looks. A story built out of fear and ignorance and spite. This knowledge worried Milly as it showed her a side of The Forever Man that she had not contemplated before.
Ammon bowed deeply before Milly. ‘Greeting, my lady,’ he said. ‘I trust that all of your desires have been met?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, commander. I was wondering if I could leave the room today. A walk in the fresh air would be most welcome.’
‘Alas, my lady,’ answered Ammon. ‘Your security is of paramount importance and, at the moment, I would prefer it if you stayed in your room.’
‘A prisoner?’ Enquired Milly.
‘Nay, lady,’ denied Ammon. ‘A welcomed guest with, shall we say, a few minor restrictions. You see, Milly, the reason that you are here is so that we have some form of leverage over king Hogan. We desperately desire to talk to him but he has rejected all of our overtures. We want peace. Peace and prosperity for all, humans and Fair-Folk alike. Separately together we shall forge forward. But king Hogan will not see our side. He has an irrational hatred of the Fair-Folk and our peoples. We know not why as we have ever treated him only with respect and kindness.’
‘He merely wants the best for his people,’ said Milly.
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Ammon. ‘Or perhaps he simply wants war. He is, from what I have heard, a very powerful man.’
‘He is,’ affirmed Milly. ‘But he can also be gentle and caring and kind. If he has any fault it is that he is to duty bound. He puts his sense of duty before all. Responsibility and obligation are his watchwords and, at all times, he remains true to course regardless of his personal feelings or even the feelings of those close to him.’
‘A driven man,’ adjudged Ammon. ‘ Any way, we have informed him that you are here and have assured him that no harm shall come to you as long as he agrees to a personal meeting with me and my peers here, in London.’
Milly shook her head. ‘He won’t come,’ she said. ‘He will not put the cause before me. He is not that sort of man.’
‘On the contrary,’ denied Ammon. ‘The man that you have just described to me sounds like the exact sort of man that would give himself up to ensure that no harm came to you.’ The commander headed for the door. ‘Now, my dear, I have a kingdom to run, so, if all your needs have been fulfilled I shall take my leave.’
‘Thank you, commander,’ said Milly. ‘Oh,’ she added. ‘There is one thing. I wonder, could you ask someone to bring me a mirror? There are none in my room.’
Ammon stared at her for a while before he answered. ‘Why would you need one, my lady?’
Milly shrugged. ‘Female vanity, I suppose. I would like to check my hair. Ensure that I look alright.’
Ammon smiled. 'There is no need, lady,’ he assured. ‘If you need affirmation of your beauty then you can find it reflected in the eyes of any man who talks to you. I bid you farewell.’
And, with that, the commander bowed and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him as he did so.
Milly thought about his refusal for a while and then decided that she was simply being paranoid. She went and stared out of the window again and wondered if Nathaniel would actually deign to meet with the Fair-Folk. And, if he did, was it a trap or were they genuinely seeking some sort of amicable treaty?
Chapter 29
Akimiri Hijiti was the undisputed Hatomoto, or Supreme Warrior of the Annihilators. He stood on the ceremonial plinth and surveyed his fellow Warriors, his compound eyes flickering from side to side as he searched for his three Bushos, High Warriors.
He saw them approaching, walking through the ranks o
f the Chugan, Standard Warriors. Above them flew flights of Yari, Flying Warriors, swooping back and forth as they scouted the land for any human survivors.
The battle for the possession of the village of Keswick had been extremely unsatisfying. Akimiri had gauged the size of the village and correctly estimated it to house around one thousand humans.
As a result he had sent in only fifty unblooded Chugan. Novice Warriors. He figured that a twenty to one disadvantage would be large enough to confer honor on the Chugan if they won, but still not so large a disadvantage as to be impossible to overcome.
It had been an unmitigated disaster. Firstly, unlike the Annihilators, the human females and their hatchlings did not fight. Secondly, even the males were not all of the warrior class, some being as feeble and soft as the human women.
In fact, in the end, a mere three hundred human males and a scattering of females had put up any resistance at all. It had been a humiliating experience for his Chugan and both he and they had lost face.
As a result, the next battle that they faced, Akimiri, as Supreme Warrior, would have to ensure that they would face almost insane odds. Anything less than fifty to one would not allow the Chugan to save face and their standing in the hierarchy would suffer greatly.
As it was, the fifty Chugan that he had sent in had already assumed the ritual position of ignominy and they lay, prostrate in front of the ceremonial plinth, their swords unsheathed and plunged into the earth to show that they were no better than farmers, workers of mud and filth. They would remain in this position until given permission to move. And even then, they would be allowed only water to drink and uncooked lentils for sustenance. On top of this it was forbidden for them to communicate with their fellow warriors or even to have eye contact with them. Until the next battle they were considered to be Huzbeki Hitobo or, Shameful Ones. This status would continue until they could be cleansed in worthy battle.
‘It is just as well,’ said Supreme Warrior Akimiri Hijiti to himself. ‘That there will be many, many battles for them to redeem their honor.’
His three Bushos, High Warriors, approached and prostrated themselves in front of him.
‘Salutations and felicitations,’ they shouted as one. ‘May the soul of the warrior be ever yours.’
‘And also yours,’ returned Akimiri. ‘Now rise and come forward to hear my plans.’
The three Bushos stood and gathered around the Supreme Warrior, standing close in order to hear his further commands.
Chapter 30
Nathaniel left via a sally port in the main gate.
He rode a horse. A good animal, but not a great one. Solid, sturdy and ugly. Likewise his clothing was neither ragged nor rich. He wanted to blend in to the local populous. An average man. But still he stood out. For he could not hide his bearing. His pride and strength. His hair flowed in loose curls to his broad shoulders. His dark beard was cropped close to his chin. And his deep green eyes sparkled with excitement. Or perhaps with anticipation.
To those who did not know him, it would not be apparent that he was, The Forever Man. But what was clearly evident was that this was not a man to trifle with.
The marine heeled the horse into a canter and guided it towards the forest, snow flying from its hooves as it ran, the wind pulling his cloak out behind him like a flag in a stiff breeze.
As he entered the forest he marvelled at how it had grown. Once again the United Kingdom was clothed in Beech and Oak and Fir. He remembered that it had been so during the time of the Picts, before man's insatiable appetite had cleared the trees from the land to make space for wheat and potatoes, grass for dairy farms and land on which to build.
Now the new trees stood thirty to forty feet high and the boughs spread wide and deep. Packs of wolves roamed freely as did deer and even bears, both black and brown . The bears had escaped from various zoos and circuses and, being the apex predator in the land, their increase in numbers grew rapidly and was unchecked by man.
Using the sun as a guide, The Forever Man rode on in a southerly direction, keeping his eyes open for any sign of habitation, be it human, Orc or other.
He had ridden for about half a day before he came across the first thing of note. In a clearing amongst the trees were the remains of a large animal. Someone, or something, had torn the creature apart. Nathaniel dismounted and took a closer look at the remains. A bear. Its legs had been hacked off and lay some ten feet from the body. The rest of the carcass was half flayed and the skull had been split in twain with a single blow from what appeared to be a huge broadsword. All around were strange tracks and the marine recognized them as the Annihilator tracks that Tad had described to him. After carefully studying the spoor and the surrounds, the marine came to the conclusion that two beings had attacked the bear, or vice-versa.
He stood up and shuddered at the thought. Two against a fully-grown brown bear. A black bear would have been less frightening as it stood around six feet in height and weighed in at three hundred pounds. But a brown, or grizzly as some called them, stood over nine feet high and weighed in excess of one thousand five hundred pounds. The largest land based predator in the world.
And two Annihilators had reduced one to a pile of chopped meat with, apparently, no injury to themselves.
Nathaniel was under no false illusions. He knew that, if he had to, he could do the same thing to a grizzly himself. But he also knew that he was no ordinary man. The thought of possibly hundreds of these deadly creatures roaming the land filled him with dread.
Knowing that there was little that he could do about it at the moment he mounted up once again and continued on his way, even more vigilant than he had been before.
For the first time in ages the marine felt at ease. His senses were alert and his eyes roved constantly, but he was free from decisions and drama. Free from the shackles of drama. Free from the shackles of leadership and the bonds of kingship.
He patted his ugly horse on the neck and chuckled to himself. Alone. Not exactly happy but less stressed than usual.
The day drew to a close as the shadows grew full and the sun curtsied its way behind the tree line. Nathaniel pitched camp in his usual manner. Three low walls of snow, a tarpaulin over the top and a small fire at the entrance. He laid a few traps for small game, ate a meal of bread, cheese and salted ham and then went to sleep.
The next morning he beat the sun and was in the saddle as the first pink rays kissed the snowy treetops. In his saddlebags were two dressed rabbits and a squirrel, victims of his night laid traps.
The horse’s hooves crunched through the snow as the two of them continued heading south, stopping for a quick lunch and then carrying on their way.
Two hours before sunset Nathaniel sensed that someone was watching him. He grabbed his axe from its sheath on his saddle and sprung from the horse, rolled into the trees and low bushy cover on the side of the track. The horse simply stopped and stood still.
As he waited a group of six creatures exited the trees opposite him. It was immediately apparent from the descriptions that he had heard that they were Vandals. Males, small and scrawny with large leathern wings folded in their backs.
The marine stood up slowly and walked forward in a non threatening manner, clipping his axe to his belt as he did so. One of the Vandals came towards him, stopping six feet away and bowing. The others followed suit, bending at the waist and holding the position until Nathaniel acknowledged them.
‘Greetings, friends,’ he said.
The one Vandal stood upright. ‘Greet-ings. Mast-er.’ He beckoned to the others and they stepped forward and each laid a small bundle on the snow. Nathaniel could see that the bundles contained food. Fresh fruit, dried meat and bread.
‘For mast-er,’ said the Vandal. Then he pointed at the sky and all around them, turning in a slow circle. ‘We watch,’ he said. Then he described the arc of the sun, moving his hand back and forth across the sky two times. ‘For two suns we will watch. Keep mast-er safe. We warn of dan-ger.’
Then, before Nathaniel could question them, they simply disappeared as they bent the light around themselves and melted back into the cover of the forest.
He picked up the packages and transferred them to his saddlebags, taking out a stick of dried meat to gnaw on as he did so.
Then he saddled up and continued on, feeling slightly more secure knowing that he now had some aerial support. Not quite a Harvest Hawk Gunship or an AH3 Super Cobra. But at least it was something, and every marine loves air support. Even if he has no idea why it is there.
He made camp that night and feasted on fresh fruit and hard bread, building the fire higher than usual to combat the sudden snap drop in temperature.
The next morning was bedlam. A storm had built up during the night and now the wind howled through the trees, whipping the boughs back and forth and churning the snow up so that it came from all angles.
Nathaniel wasn’t sure what time it was as it was still dark with no gleam of sun or moon. Only the faint coruscation of the ever-present pulse-lights glowed faintly from above, washing all with a green graveyard glimmer.
Even in the forest Nathaniel felt exposed. He knew that he had to find a more sheltered place for both himself and his horse. Ignoring the wind and snow as much as possible, he knelt down and placed his hand on the ground, pulling in power and then releasing it, sending it sprawling over the land. Seeking. Finding.
Somewhere to his right. People? Something living. A fairly large group. He took the horses reins and led it in that direction.
The snow filled the air like down, getting in Nathaniel’s eyes, ears and mouth. And the wind battered at him with a primeval force, hammering him. Trying to drive him to his knees.
Eventually, rearing out of the darkness, he saw vague shapes. He trudged towards them, picking the largest one to head to first. As he got within feet of the shape it became apparent that it was a building. Square with thick walls, small shuttered windows and a thatched roof. In the front, a large double door.
