Valour and Victory

by Candy Rae

  : Yes. Go. I will talk to your Father. I will tell him how Hilla and Zak died. He needs to hear about it so that he can accept what has happened :

  As Rilla slipped past Talan he asked, “have you seen Zilla?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. She sends her love and says she hopes to be coming home soon.”

  Talan smiled.

  “That at least is good to hear. The place seems empty without her merry chatter around the place. Be sure to tell Zanda.”

  “I will,” Rilla called back over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs up to her mother’s bedroom.

  * * * * *

  The Ammokko

  She had become a vast hulk of crumpled, tangled metal. Her journey was over at last.

  Brion and the other vadeln of the Fifty-first Ryzck were picking over the wreckage but they were finding little they recognised. Everything flammable had vaporised in the explosion. Much of what remained disintegrated as they touched it so intense had been the blast when the power-core had exploded. There was nothing here. Even what he assumed were the vast engines, which had powered the space ship, were falling apart.

  Wind and weather would eradicate all traces of the ship and that was as it should be. He poked at a small pile of metal shards with a stick.

  Something was glinting in the sunlight. With the stick he manoeuvred the shiny object towards him. It was a round metal plate and there were letters on it, letters Brion did recognise.

  “WCCS Melbourne,” he read aloud from the badly scarred plate.

  Brion had solved the mystery of what had happened to at least one of the other spaceships that had set out from Planet Earth with the WCCS Argyll and the WCPS Electra over six hundred years ago.

  The WCCS Melbourne had met the Dglai. She had not survived the encounter.

  * * * * *

  Robain and Zilla

  “So when are you coming home?” asked Liam of Robain then adding shrewdly, “or are you not?”

  “I haven’t resigned my commission,” answered Robain. “My detachment never had a time limit. When Major Bellahouston arranged it I don’t suppose he thought it would last longer than a few months. I was only supposed to help guard Elliot for the time it took him to complete his tour of Argyll. He didn’t envision the war.”

  “Nobody did. Have you reported to General de Groot?”

  “I have. I spoke to her at length. She agreed with me that I should remain in Murdoch for the time being. She calls it military liaison. Not all the Dglai have been located, they’re holed up among the mountains in the south. I think she wants someone at Fort who she can trust. She’s asked that I send her reports at regular intervals.” He looked over to where the hospital tents were flapping in the breeze. “Anyway, there’s nothing to hold me to the north any more now that Hilla is gone and General de Groot is not the only person who needs someone trustable at Fort. Elliot does too.”

  “The King?”

  “You’ve no idea what it can be like there. Even after everything they’ve been through the nobility are still bitching at each other. The war made a massive dent in their ranks and they’re all worrying about inheritances, titles and what estate goes to whom. He’s got some good ideas about how to handle the situation and I’ve got hopes that it will work out in the end.”

  “So you might never be coming back? Don’t worry, your secret is safe … but why are you taking my best nurse with you when you return? You’re not thinking of marrying instead of her sister surely.”

  “I assure you that nothing is further from my thoughts.”

  “So why is she going?”

  “Can you keep another secret?”

  * * * * *

  The horse Robain had managed to find for Zilla watched her approach from wary brown eyes.

  “Her name is Destry. Her last master didn’t make it. She was found wandering around the battlefield when it was all over and I persuaded the Duchesne Horsemaster to hand her over to me.”

  “She’s very big,” said Zilla, “but I expect I’ll manage.”

  “I’m sure Elliot will get you something more suitable when we get to the palace. This one is a battle mare so be careful how you handle her.”

  “I wonder what happened to my pony Lightfoot,” said Zilla, placing her foot in the stirrup and jumping around as she tried to gain enough momentum to scramble up on to the saddle.

  “Want a leg up?” offered Robain.

  “I can do it,” a determined Zilla answered and managed it. Destry stood like a rock as she adjusted the stirrup leathers.

  “Where is your pony?” asked Robain.

  “I rode her to Settlement when I ran away to join the army. Blunder is there too, Maura rode him. Garda took them over. Said they would keep them until I got back. Only, I’m not going back, am I?”

  Robain thought for a bit, “They’ll return them to your Father. The Garda are very meticulous. If you want though, I’ll see what I can do about getting Lightfoot here.”

  “And Blunder. Would you Robain?” Zilla’s face broke out into one of its dimpled smiles. “That would be marvellous!” Her face fell. “But would it cost a lot of coin? I don’t have much.”

  Robain laughed. “Coin? Oh Zilla, you’ll be the end of me! Coin she says when she’s about to become a Queen. If you wanted Lightfoot, Blunder and all the ponies of Argyll brought here, Elliot would probably empty his coffers to get them here for you!”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Now, I see out escort approaching. Wait here while I have a last word with Liam and then we’ll be off. I’ll ask him to set enquiries in motion as to Lightfoot’s whereabouts.”

  “Blunder too.”

  “Blunder too. Now wrap that cloak round your shoulders and put on the hat. I’m to try to get you to the palace without too many people seeing you and that blonde mop of yours is very noticeable.”

  Zilla put on the hat and stuffed her hair inside it as Robain went to say his farewells.

  Destry stood like a rock, like the well-schooled battle mare she was.

  * * * * *

  Robain, Zilla and their escort (it numbered six) rode in a south-westerly direction, through the forests of Duchesne and into the Duchy of Gardiner, past farms, villages and the occasional town.

  “It’s very like home,” Zilla said to Robain, “and no sign of the war.”

  “The Larg didn’t get this far,” he answered, “and yes, it is very like the part of Argyll you come from. It changes as we get further south. You’ll see.”

  “In what way?” she asked, kneeing Destry in an attempt to keep her up with the pace Robain’s horse was setting.

  Although well-trained, Destry was becoming lazy. Her late master had been a large, heavyset man of a determined disposition and the mare hadn’t dared try and disobey him. Her new owner was very small and gentle and the mare wasn’t sure she wanted to obey her commands of rein and heel. She was as different from the eager little Lightfoot as chalk was from cheese. What didn’t help was that Zilla had refused Robain’s offer of his spare set of spurs.

  Luckily the pace didn’t require Zilla to ask Destry for a canter too often so she was managing well enough.

  “In what way is the countryside further south different?”

  Robain began on a long explanation, a task that took over two days, so many were Zilla’s questions. She was determined to learn as much as possible about her new country before she reached the palace.

  To his surprise, Robain even found that he could answer most of her often detailed enquiries.

  I must have picked up more than I though. This country, with all its problems, complexities and contradictions is growing on me. I don’t think I ever want to leave. I’m glad I accepted Elliot’s offer.

  “So what is to become of these slaves Elliot freed? Are they to be given land?”

  “They’re not farmers,” he answered, “they are miners mostly. It is their choice, but he has offered them employment back at the mines they came from, or another if th
ey feel they want a change. Some of them have left Fort already. They were getting ready when I left.”

  “What’s to stop the owners of these mines, the ones that don’t belong to the crown that is, from going back to the old ways?”

  “That’s a moot point. He’ll put someone in charge of the Duchy with instructions to keep them in line.”

  “A sort of town watch force?”

  “Now that’s a good idea,” he replied, nodding.

  “Who do you think he’ll put in charge?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” lied Robain.

  “You must have some idea.”

  “Perhaps Baron Merriman, he’s Derek’s father and very loyal. The man’s certainly slated for some sort of honour or position.”

  “Derek?”

  “You never met him. He’s the reason I joined Philip, Elliot and James on their tour. Derek was hurt when Prince-Duke Xavier’s assassins tried to kill Elliot.”

  Zilla gasped. “You never told me that part.”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “So about Derek?”

  “He was killed in the desert. Baron Merriman has three other children. The youngest is called Walter and it is his name Elliot appropriated while he was in the north. I don’t think he’ll get a Conclave seat though. He’s only a Baron. Only Dukes, the Archbishop and the Lord Marshall sit on Conclave.”

  “But Philip is a Baron and you told me he had a seat.”

  “He’s the Lord Marshall, that gives him automatic parity with a Duke. Philip has become a very important person.”

  “It’s all so confusing,” complained Zilla. “How will I manage?”

  “As well as me if not better,” Robain comforted her. “Remember, you’ll be Elliot’s Queen. You’ll outrank them all.”

  “I think all this rank business is going to get very cloying,” sighed Zilla.

  * * * * *

  Robain and Zilla arrived at Fort tired and very dusty. Robain had kept them at a steady pace, anxious that they should get to the palace in time for the Fealtatis Ceremony.

  It seemed that everyone of any standing in the Kingdom and those who thought they should be of standing was heading for the Citadel.

  Every Inn was full to bursting.

  For Robain, brought up on the ultra-religious Island of Hallam the words ‘no room at the inn’ took on a whole new meaning. Often their escort had to make do with beds in the stable lofts and the price of a room had more than doubled.

  Robain and Zilla made do with dingy little rooms in the attics, the innkeepers having called the rooms inhabited by their inn-servants into service.

  Zilla’s disguise was holding. Dressed in plain tunic and trews and with her hair bundled inside the hat, those who saw her took her for a friend of Robain, perhaps even a relative.

  As they clattered over the drawbridge that led into the palace complex and the Citadel the guards waved a cheery greeting, Elliot having warned them that Robain and friend would be arriving. The stablehands ran forward to take their horses and Zilla dismounted with relief. She wanted a bath and some rest.

  “Where do we go now?” she whispered to Robain. “Your room?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied with an inner laugh. He had spied one Kellen Martin Taviston approaching, the only person apart from Robain that Elliot had taken into his confidence about the true identity of the companion Robain was bringing to the palace.

  “Captain Hallam. Welcome home.” His eyes flicked towards Zilla but he made no outward move to acknowledge her presence.

  “Indeed it was,” Robain answered with a sly grin. Martin Taviston winked.

  “Your rooms are ready,” Martin continued, “in the New Palace. King Elliot had it be known that he wanted you close by.”

  “Where is the King?”

  “In conference with the Archbishop and the Lord Marshall. I believe they are discussing tomorrow’s ceremony. He said that he would come to your rooms once you had had time to freshen up. Clothes have been provided.”

  Robain’s eyebrows rose and Martin drew closer to whisper in his ear. “The Dowager Crown-Princess Susan. On my advice, Elliot confided in her last night. She arranged the clothes. She is also most anxious to meet her future daughter-in-law.” He flicked another glance at Zilla who pretended not to notice. “If you’ll both come this way?”

  Robain and Zilla followed him as he led the way through the palace gardens and towards the private apartments of the royal family.

  * * * * *

  Zilla and Elliot

  Zilla was amazed at the beautiful clothes Elliot’s mother had provided and not a little dismayed. They were of the finest quality and quite different to what she was used to. To her surprise they also fitted. She found out later that they belonged to Elliot’s sister Susan. Elliot’s mother had questioned her son very thoroughly.

  What was more, the maidservant who was assisting her clearly expected her to choose one of these ornate velvet dresses and actually wear it.

  I don’t think so.

  Ignoring the maid’s entreaties Zilla walked over to the hanging closet and looked inside.

  That’s better, she thought as she spied the alternatives hanging there. She pulled at one of the hangers on which hung a long embroidered silk, short-sleeved tunic. Further investigation proved that there were silk trousers to match and on the shelf, slippers. The costume was blue, Zilla’s favourite colour.

  “I’ll wear this,” she announced to the astonished maid who didn’t quite like to tell her that the items were, in fact, a set of bed-garments.

  She did try to persuade this strange young woman to wear something else, thinking that the tales she had heard in the servants’ hall about ‘these mad northerners’ were most definitely true. “Please Madam, I don’t think …”

  “This one,” insisted Zilla, shaking the offending hanger at her.

  I may be about to become Murdoch’s Queen but I’m going to be myself and being myself does not include wearing one of these tight-bodiced monstrosities.

  “I would advise,” the maid tried again.

  “This one,” Zilla’s voice was insistent and the maid bowed to the inevitable and took the hanger.

  Then for the first time since she and her sisters had been little girls, Zilla was helped into her clothes.

  As the girl brushed her hair, unknotting the journey-tangles then fixing it back with jewelled clips, Zilla began to relax. It was a soothing feeling, the brush sweeping through the tangled tresses.

  Once she had finished, the maid curtsied. “Will that be all My Lady? If so I’ll go and tell Lord Robain that you are ready.”

  “Thank you, yes, that will be all,” Zilla answered.

  * * * * *

  The expected knock on the door was not long in coming.

  Zilla stood up.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened slowly, as if her visitor was unsure and nervous about his reception.

  Zilla held her breath.

  The young man entered and closed the door behind him.

  Their eyes met.

  “Why my love, ready for bed already,” Elliot teased as he recognised the purpose of the clothes she was wearing.

  Zilla’s answer was a rosy blush.

  * * * * *

  Elliot

  Four ladies were seated in a semicircle round the fire in one of the smaller chambers in the palace. All were dressed from head to toe in black, mourning black. The four had all become widows during the recent war and more than that, they had lost fathers, uncles, nephews, nieces, sister and brothers. One of them had lost her eldest son.

  They had something else in common. They were all four the mothers of the underage dukes. The oldest of the boy dukes was nine years old and the youngest six.

  It was usual in Murdoch that when a duke was a child that an adult male of his ducal house was appointed regent. Problem was, only two of the four boys had such a living relative. The House of Cocteau had been virtually extinguishe
d and South Baker was not in much better case.

  “I wonder why my cousin the King, has summoned us here,” mused the eldest present, the twenty-eight year old Dowager Duchess-Heir Bethany of Duchesne and the widow of the younger William Duchesne who had died with his father on the ridge.

  “It must be about tomorrow’s ceremony,” said the Dowager Duchess of Cocteau, one Tamsin, four years younger than Bethany and survivor of the massacre at the Cocteau manor. Her face still bore traces of the ravages caused by the days she had spent entombed underground.

  “And have you rehearsed the oath with your little Charles?” asked Bethany. Charles was only six and it was doubtful if he even understood half of the words that were part of the ritual of the oath.

  “I have and he’s word perfect,” Tamsin assured her with some pride.

  “Never mind all that,” said the Dowager Duchess Harriet of South Baker with some impatience. “I want to know why we are here.” Since the disappearance of her husband, the unlamented Prince-Duke Xavier, she had blossomed beyond all recognition.

  “It might be to make sure our respective sons are ready,” opined the Dowager Duchess Petra of Smith, their fourth member.

  Bethany shook her head. “No, there’s more to it than that. He sounded excited and yes, secretive too.”

  “You don’t suppose he wants us to stand with our boys when they make their oaths?” asked Tamsin with a giggle, “I mean they’re all so young.”

  “Never happened before,” said Petra with a negative shake of her black-coiffed head. “I’m sure it’s to tell us who is to be appointed regents of the duchies. So many died during the war he must have been hard pressed to find one, far less four.”