Dragons and Destiny

by Candy Rae

  Annert looked at him.

  “That’s a valid point Jhonas,” he said, “we’ve been assuming that the power-core is the generator of the power and it might not be. We must keep that in mind as we continue to wade through this morass of information. Generator or distributor, I wonder.”

  “It had better be the former,” growled Angus as he laid the sheets pertaining to microgravity on a clear space on the table, “otherwise what’s the point of us being here?”

  “It might be both,” suggested Jeannie in a bright voice.

  “So it might be,” agreed Annert, “now may we please get on with this? There is little time and so much to do.”

  * * * * *

  Hilla

  Leftenant Villiers, who had taken over at the Academie from Robain Hallam, knocked on the classroom door and entered. The second year officer trainees were undergoing a lesson in tactical history. Most of the class raised their heads from their notes with a measure of relief.

  Captain Dahlson, whose class this was, was not noted for being interesting. His voice had little natural inflexion and his students always found it hard to stay awake as he droned on.

  They were glad of the distraction, anything to bring a little interest into the monotony about just why Captain Dahlson thought that battalion would have been better placed there than here during the Battle of the Alliance.

  “Captain Dahlson, Sir,” greeted the Leftenant. “May I have a word with your class?”

  Captain Dahlson frowned. He disliked interruptions. This was one of the reasons the trainees found his classes so tediously boring. He refused to accept any questions until the end of each lecture, by which time the class was either half asleep or desperate to escape.

  “If you must Leftenant, but I would much prefer …”

  “It is an urgent matter, from Major Bellahouston.”

  “I see.” The Captain indicated that the Leftenant should speak with a curt nod. Leftenant Villiers looked around the room. He took a deep breath and issued his orders.

  “Classes are cancelled for the remainder of the day. You will return to your quarters. There you will pack your battle kit.”

  The Second Staticum Officer Trainees of the Garda of Argyll looked at each other. Battle Kit. Another drill. It was not unusual for drills to be sprung on them without warning. Leftenant Villiers guessed this.

  “This is not a drill,” he said and a few of the trainees gasped, including Hilla’s friend Jen.

  Tall Senis Dolvin Annson stood up at attention. “Leftenant Villiers? This is not a drill?”

  “Not a drill,” he confirmed. “Return to your billets and think as you pack. Don’t try any wild experiments, pack exactly what is in your manuals. It will be inspected and non-regulation items thrown out. Do you all understand?”

  No one spoke. They were too shocked.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Once you have packed you will go to the armoury where you will collect your armour. Those of you with your own long-swords may sign them out. The armourer has a list of those who are proficient enough.”

  Hilla found herself hoping that she would be considered competent enough to be able to take her long-sword with her. Having been a trainee for over a year she was well trained in the use of the short infantry weapons, the short sword and the javelin but she did prefer the longer blade.

  She caught Jen’s eye. She looked worried.

  “Once you have your armour,” continued Leftenant Villiers, “go back to your billets, dress in full campaign uniform and parade at Noon Bell. Dismiss.”

  The Trainees began to pack up their class books.

  “Leave them,” ordered Leftenant Villiers and they went in silence, leaving the dumfounded Captain Dahlson behind. For first time in his life the Captain had found himself at a complete and utter loss for words.

  As first year trainees, they had been taught that an officer kept outwardly calm in all situations and did not run unless at dire need.

  Leftenant Villiers had not called the situation an emergency so all the trainees walked smartly towards their billets. Once there, although a passer-by would have heard the muted buzz of excited chatter, they began to pack their kit bags, ticking off each item as it was transferred from locker to bag.

  That done, they made their way to the armoury where they were issued with their battle armour. First year trainees wore practice armour only out of the common store. Second year trainees, although they still used practice armour in the salle possessed their own made-to-measure armour. It was this that was being issued, together with a regulation shield.

  Hilla took possession of her own long-sword as did Jen. Both girls noticed that the blades had been sharpened and that they had been fitted with a point-guard.

  “Did you notice?” asked Jen as the two laden girls marched back to their quarters to don their campaign uniforms.

  “Notice what?” asked Hilla.

  “The weapons in the back section of the armoury chunk-head.”

  “Not especially. Why?”

  “There weren’t any. Didn’t you see? The sword racks were empty and so were the shield ones.”

  “Now that you mention it, you’re right. What do you think it means?”

  “That when the Leftenant said that it wasn’t a drill he wasn’t kidding. There is war in the air. Remember Robain’s last letter? Didn’t he hint that something was up?”

  “He did warn me to be careful. Why, do you think he knew?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Jen replied, “Look, there are the Juvenis forming up.”

  “Do you think they’re going to war too?” asked a surprised Hilla and both girls quickened their steps. Noon bell was almost upon them and they still had to finish getting ready.

  Jen snorted. “Shouldn’t think so, they’ll be going on guard duties ‘cos most of the regulars will be marching out with us. You’ll see.”

  “Marching where?” asked Hilla. “Where is the war?”

  The armour of the Garda was designed around three basic ideas, for infantry, infantry tactics and for protection and ease of maintenance in the field. It was made of segmented iron plates. Some senior officers favoured the muscled breastplate but it offered less protection overall than the others since it might not always be used in conjunction with a shield and so it was less popular amongst those under the rank of Colonel.

  The helmet had open ears and face to allow each soldier to see and hear very well. This was especially important since Garda infantry tactics stressed ordered combat and if the soldiers couldn’t hear orders above all the screaming, the battalion could not work well in formation. The close order formation tactics of the Garda allowed the units to act as mobile walls, where defensive combat against superior numbers of lesser armoured opponents would allow the Garda unit to prevail by attrition, allowing enemy bodies to pile up in front of the formation to further hinder the approach of more enemy soldiers. Holding the line no matter what was a basic Garda tactic.

  The shield was the primary protection and the armour was secondary. The shield was designed as projectile defence against arrows, darts, javelins, and sling stones. The helmet had a neck guard primarily to cover the head from attacked by falling missiles and also to cover those critical vertebrae at the base of the neck from any other sources of damage.

  There were different Garda specialities to take advantage depending on position. Archers fired their arrows from an appropriate distance. Cavalry was fast and mobile - light infantry able to react to changes in the battle or to act offensively to drive the enemy into a poorer position. Most of the Garda cavalry was known as the ‘light’ variety, known as the ‘Light Horse’. There was also a battalion of ‘Heavy Horse’, the shock force of the Garda, slow but effective as it tanked through enemy lines.

  As Jen and Hilla helped each other into the armour they could hear loud noises from the parade ground. “That’s some of the Settlement Militia arriving,” said Jen to Hilla.

  “That means that an emerge
ncy has been declared,” answered Hilla buckling the buckles that held the shoulder-guards in place.

  “Not an emergency, a war,” Jen corrected her. “Come on of we’ll be late. I don’t want to start of the campaign with a demerit.”

  * * * * *

  Elliot

  Captain Rand’s ship, the Armageddon made good time as she sailed east along the Argyll coast. She turned to starboard when the lookout shouted and headed south.

  At the port rail, Elliot stood watching as the mountain known as Pointy Peak grew closer. He wondered if Zilla was also gazing at it, perhaps out for a ride on Lightfoot. He had been standing where he was most of the day; he might never again be as close to Zilla as he was now.

  Farewell my Zilla.

  This was the ending of the first chapter of his life, his boyhood. Whatever happened in the months ahead he would never return to the carefree days of his first seventeen years. He was Prince-Heir, one day he would be Crown-Prince. Elliot knew that his grandfather was not a well man.

  And Isobel, his betrothed, was waiting. She was his wife to be, not Zilla and he owed it to Isobel to enter into the marriage with honest commitment if not love.

  Of course there was the Larg and the Dglai to overcome first, but Elliot was optimistic by nature and was sure the Larg would be defeated and the way found to destroy the Dglai.

  The wind lifted at the Armageddon’s sails and she went faster. Elliot remained on deck, watching as first the coastline of Argyll disappeared then Pointy Peak became no more than a faint outline, then a smudge on the horizon.

  He sighed.

  “Quarter-bit for them?” asked James, coming up to stand beside him. “Thought you might could do with some company.”

  “I’ve been …”

  “Saying goodbye?” smiled James with some sympathy, “or wondering what it is going to be like when we get home?”

  “Bit of both.”

  “Thought so. Robain said to tell you that he wants us to have a planning meeting. He thinks we should discuss our first approach to Duke Duchesne. Philip agrees.”

  * * * * *

  Robain

  As Elliot and James were talking on the top deck, below, Robain, Philip and Derek were discussing what Robain was likely to find when they arrived in Murdoch.

  Derek was calling it ‘a crash course in the murky world of Murdochian politics’ and Philip had to agree that this summed it up pretty well.

  “All right,” said Robain, “I think I’ve got it. I can trust Crown-Prince Paul.”

  “Yes,” agreed Philip, “I’m also going to give you a couple of letters, one to Paul, the other to Peter Duchesne, the Lord Marshall.”

  “Younger brother of Duke William Duchesne,” said Robain and Philip gave him a nod of approval.

  “Correct, now, it is when you get to the palace at Fort when your real troubles will begin. Paul will accept you on my recommendation but no one else will. Just try to keep a low profile and protect Elliot.”

  “You think this Prince Xavier will try and kill Elliot again?”

  “I don’t think it, I know it, but be aware and careful.”

  “In fact,” said Derek, in his careful drawl, “I wouldn’t advertise the fact that Elliot is back home at all. Keep it quiet. Duke William will understand.”

  “Last of all, mind your own back. Don’t trust a soul and listen to Elliot. He was brought up at court and knows and understands more than you might give him credit for,” said Philip.

  “Once there I would advise that you should trust not even James,” Derek warned him sotto voice, “remember that he is a Cocteau.”

  “Where the deuce are the pair of them?” asked Philip.

  * * * * *

  Elliot and Robain

  “He’ll believe you all right when you tell him the Larg are coming, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows already, it’s the other part of the story you’re going to have the difficulties with, invaders from outer-space. You have no concrete proof.” Thus Philip gave his prognosis of the situation.

  “I’ll have to make him believe,” said Elliot with determination. “Captain Hallam, Robain, he has a letter from Susa Julia, that will help. She’s wanting to bring the Vada south.”

  “To bring the Vada into Murdoch,” marvelled James, “why, it’s unheard of.”

  “Duke William will need them if he’s going to hold off the Larg and the Dglai. He can’t do it on his own, even with Charles Graham’s help, in fact it might not just be the Vada, perhaps a Lindar or two as well, even the Garda,” said Robain.

  “But that would be treason,” protested James, “to invite Lind into our country.” The others ignored him and he subsided.

  “I’ve also to make the offer to Duke William that if he wants to send his wife, children and any other non-combatants north to safety he can. Susa Julia suggested that he make use of any empty ships. She invites them on her and Alyei’s honour. Everyone knows that for the Vada loyalty and honour are everything,” said Robain.

  “It is said that vadeln are incapable of telling a lie, they may hide the truth a little but,” said Philip, “now that I have met and come to know some of them I believe it.”

  “Precisely, Duke William is a realist, he’ll believe enough. If I had the Larg baying on my borders, I wouldn’t care where the help was coming from and he’ll be the same. Trust me.” Elliot say back and gazed at them in the benign fashion that made Philip want to throttle him. His father looked the same on occasion. Elliot was no longer a boy but a man.

  * * * * *

  Julia

  Susa Julia was in her office with her Lind Alyei and Susa Gsendei of the Avuzdel when the news came through.

  Mid-sentence, Gsendei stopped talking and she raised her head to look at him. His face had taken on the countenance she recognised, his face registering that unfocused gaze that told her he was in a telepathic conversation with somelind.

  Julia waited and watched his face, hoping the news was good. Perhaps the Dglai weren’t coming after all and she could countermand the orders she had issued as Susyc.

  She was doomed to disappointment.

  Gsendei blinked as his eyes came back into focus.

  “Well?” she asked, half-afraid of the answer.

  “Susa Zaoaldavdr has managed to get a message through,” Gsendei began. “It is as we feared, the Dglai scout ship is in the nadlians of the Larg.”

  Julia’s heart sank.

  Gsendei continued, “he tried to warn the Largan but those he sent were killed before they had a chance to speak. Zaoaldavdr thinks the killings were ordered by the Largan. This tells us that the Larg and the Dglai must have come to an accommodation of some sort. It is the only explanation the Susalai and the Lai can come up with for what has happened. There is more. The Largan has issued his call. The kohorts are on the march.”

  “Where to?” asked Alyei, “do we know that much?”

  “They are to muster at the usual place. At the river, where the mountains are.”

  “The same river that bisects Murdoch?”

  “The same. Zaoaldavdr has managed to get one of his own to a hidden place close by and will send us reports when he can. He does not know how long his operative can stay hidden, he fears he will be found and killed.”

  “So it starts,” said Julia, wondering why her voice sounded so calm.”

  “I fear so Susyc Julia.”

  Julia winced at the appellation. She was no longer merely the Susa of the Vada, she was now Commander of the Armies of the North.

  “I suppose it was to be expected,” she said, “what do the Susalai and our Lai friends think will happen now?”

  “The Largan will gather in his kohorts and we think is planning an attack up through the centre of Murdoch. They think the Largan will wait for the arrival of the Dglai ship but that is not certain. They may attack before.”

  “Then we cannot wait,” decided Julia. “The Lindars are moving east. The seas are starting to go down. The Island Chain wi
ll be passable soon.”

  “You mean to go south to meet them?”

  “Murdoch on its own will not be able to stop them. They need our help. We must go..” She turned to Alyei.

  “Broadcast the order,” she told him. “I don’t care how they get there but I want the entire Army of the North, Lindars, Garda, Militia and the Vada mustered in the Duchy of Duchesne before the end of next month. Those that can must cross using the Island Chain, the rest must go by boat. The merchantmen are commandeered?”

  “They are,” Alyei answered.

  “Then do it.” : Where will all this end? :

  : It will end where it must : answered Alyei as he sat down on his haunches and prepared to initiate contact with his Lind brothers and sisters.

  * * * * *

  The Lord Marshall

  Count Peter Duchesne, Lord Marshall of the Kingdom of Murdoch drummed his fingers on his desk as he waited for his visitor, a habit of his when he was worried.

  He had much to be worried about. Over the last days no less than four disquieting reports had arrived on his desk and the most recent was the most worrying of all.

  The Larg were on the move. It was the only explanation.

  The fourth report had come in from one of his agents whose job it had been to watch and to send back word about any unusual movements of a man who lived on a small farm in the south-eastern sector of the Duchy of van Buren. The subject of his agent’s surveillance was dead. The man, said the report, had gone mad. It was not been the first such report.