There was nothing Bep-Wor could do to control his army.
As the men and women ran up the steps, pushing him aside, he could only watch as events unfolded with a tragic inevitability.
The forester, no doubt concerned to protect Dab, drew his long knife from its scabbard. Bep-Wor’s followers howled: they saw only a bearded stranger threatening the Doctor with a blade.
It was all over by the time Bep-Wor pushed through the crowd and reached the topmost stair. The forester was dead; Dab, his face showing only confusion, was being carried in triumph on the shoulders of his liberators.
The Doctor was kneeling by the forester’s body. He looked up as Bep-Wor approached.
‘Doctor,’ Bep-Wor began, ‘I tried
‘I know,’ the Doctor said. He shut his eyes for a moment and sighed. ‘There was nothing you could do. Let’s get on.’ He pointed towards the turrets of the distant capital. ‘Let’s get this finished.’
The men had been marching all through the night, and now they were resting: each one sitting with his back to the tall trunk of one of the evergreen needletrees that covered the slopes around Grake Castle. Some were dozing; some were cleaning their weapons. They wore no uniform, no badges of rank: they were dressed as farm workers. Each had a vial of deadly poison hanging from a chain around his neck: better to die than to be captured and interrogated, particularly as the King’s interrogators made free use of SS10. If the attack were to fail, the King would have no prisoners, and no proof of the identities of the attackers.
Hidden in a convoy of hay wains they had come into Gonfallon two days previously from the neighbouring domain of Harran. When dusk fell the convoy had stopped, but the soldiers had kept moving: on foot now, in the darkness, into the hills around the capital, following the phosphorescent trail that Madok had sprayed from the craft he’d flown from Jerrissar.
The men from Harran marched by night and concealed themselves during the days. Madok, meanwhile, made two more flights, dropping at the rendezvous point crates containing rations, a radio set, ammunition, and heavier weapons than those being carried by the men.
There was no landing strip in the needletree forest that surrounded Grake. On his final flight, just as dawn was breaking, Madok had jumped from his machine and parachuted on to the rendezvous site. He’d rigged the controls so that the craft continued to fly: over the castle, and into the rocky slope beyond it. As he pulled himself to his feet Madok saw the orange burst of flame as the machine struck the hillside, and then heard the dull noise of the explosion. A spiral of black smoke ascended into the lightening sky.
He had smiled with satisfaction. If the guards at Grake stir themselves to investigate anything today, he had thought, they’ll head towards that beacon of fire and smoke. And we’ll come from precisely the opposite direction.
Shortly afterwards six rough-looking countrymen had wandered into the clearing where Madok, rifle in hand, was guarding the crates of supplies. The men were the advance guard of the Harran detachment, and they had arrived a little earlier than expected. Madok was impressed. Everything, so far, had gone according to the plan. Madok didn’t believe in omens, good or bad, but the successful rendezvous was encouraging: he would be able to proceed with a full complement of fully-armed troops, against defenders who had had no warning of the attack. None of the contingencies would be required.
Soon Tevana Roslod would be free.
Now Madok was lying on his stomach among the trees, inspecting the walls of Grake through his telescope. As a castle, Madok reckoned, Grake was a passable hunting lodge.
Although it occupied the peak of a hill, it was overlooked by higher peaks, such as the one on which Madok’s force was encamped. Not for the first time Madok regretted that he had been unable to equip himself with artillery. Still, it would be easy enough to storm the defences. The curtain wall lay in ruins, and trees had been allowed to grow up to the central square of buildings. Madok had provided himself with explosive charges powerful enough to bring down entire walls; the trees would allow his men to place the charges undetected.
It would be almost too easy. Then Madok’s eye caught a movement on the far side of the castle. He focused the telescope, and saw a troop of the castle guards marching down the hill, away from the castle and towards the burning wreckage of his flying machine. Now, he thought, it will be even easier.
‘Sir!’ The Harran commander was crouching behind Madok, keeping out of sight of the castle’s watchtowers. ‘I thought you might be interested to listen in.’
Madok stood up. ‘Don’t worry too much about being spotted,’ he said. ‘The sentry points face inwards: they’re more concerned with keeping their prisoners in than keeping anyone out.’ He looked into the clearing, where a group of soldiers had gathered around the radio set. ‘You’re not transmitting?’ he said.
‘Of course not, sir,’ the commander replied. ‘But we’ve picked up incoming signals from Kedin Ashar.’
Madok ran towards the radio set. ‘Let me share a set of phones,’ he said, and pressed his ear against the other side of one of the thick discs.
‘I can only repeat my apologies,’ Kedin was saying, his voice thin and overlaid with crackles. ‘Tell commissioner Dallid that the consignment will be delayed by one-and-a-half days at most.’
A second voice, so distorted and obscured by hisses that Madok could not make out the words, replied to Kedin.
‘Really?’ Kedin said. ‘How unfortunate. Well, tell the new commissioner, then. Tell his Majesty himself. Our ships have to be serviced from time to time. The next consignment will be delayed by one and a half days.’
Madok lifted his head away from the earphone. He had heard enough. Kedin’s transmission purported to be from the space station. The one-and-a-half days’ delay was the coded signal to the Bridge: it meant that Kedin was not transmitting from the station, but from one of the fleet of ships that was now halfway to Mendeb Three.
The main assault force was on its way.
Bep-Wor knew for a fact that the largest town on his world -
or at least the northern half of it - was Norport. He had been there: he had sailed into its harbour, he had walked along its main avenue, he had haggled in its market, he had become lost in its back alleys.
Norport was a mere village compared to Gonfallon city, the capital of this new world’s King.
Even the Doctor, Bep-Wor thought, had been taken aback by the size of the city. Its streets and walls coated the floor and sides of a wide valley, around which were the forested hills that had become familiar during the previous days of marching. A wide river ran through the valley and bisected the city. Bep-Wor had counted the bridges that spanned the sluggish flow: there were eight, all of them built of stone. The river was alive with barges and other boats; the bridges swarmed with people and vehicles. On either side of the river the city was a maze of streets and alleys, mansions and hovels, fields and yards and towers and mills. Smoke rose from the tall stacks above workshops, from domestic chimneys, and from bonfires.
Near the centre of the city was the oldest quarter: a warren of small streets, zigzagging about the sides of a low hill, enclosed within an ancient rampart. The top of the hill consisted of just one agglomeration of buildings, covering an area larger than the rest of the old city. Its highest towers were so tall that they seemed to rise into the clouds; its monumental walls contained entire parks; the glass dome at its centre shimmered in the sunlight. This was the King’s palace.
All this Bep-Wor could see from the wooded hillside across which he and his army were making slow progress. They had stopped again, following his example, to gaze down at the city from behind the screen of trees.
The Doctor, who had gone ahead, came bustling through the forest. ‘What’s holding you up, Bep-Wor?’ he said. ‘You must get your people off the hillside. We know there are patrols of soldiers out on these hills.’
It was true. Bep-Wor had almost walked into a heavily-armed troop of the King’s soldiers
only that morning. His army’s march of liberation had become a scurrying between trees, a hiding from patrols. They were too near the city: too near the seat of the King’s power.
But Bep-Wor couldn’t bring himself to leave. He and the Doctor should have parted company by now: they could have done it last night, under cover of darkness, giving the army no opportunity to follow the Doctor down into the valley.
‘What’s wrong with you, Bep-Wor?’ the Doctor said. ‘We’ve spent the whole day dodging soldiers. I’m no nearer the capital, and your people are in constant danger of capture.
You must lead them away from here.’
‘I know, Doctor.’ Bep-Wor sighed. ‘But it will feel like a retreat - like an admission of defeat. Part of me wants to lead our little army down into those wide streets, just as an act of defiance. And I suppose,’ he added, feeling his face redden as he spoke, ‘that I don’t want to be parted from you. Our lives have been intertwined since you appeared outside the ruins of my house.’
Doctor
grimaced
embarrassment
and
exasperation. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Bep-Wor,’ he said, ‘for providing me with an escort on this journey. But I have to travel alone on the final part of the road, and you and your people must move to somewhere safer.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘It’s getting dark. I’ve scouted round this hill, and I think it’s clear of soldiers. Let’s make camp on the far side.’
‘Agreed,’ Bep-Wor said. He waved his arms in the air, indicating to his people that they should hurry around the hillside and then stop for the night. ‘And during the night?’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘I’ll slip away quietly. Tell your people the truth: that I’ve gone alone to seek an audience with the King.’
Bep-Wor thought that even now he might be able to dissuade the Doctor from such a foolhardy mission. ‘It will be dangerous, Doctor. You will certainly be captured.’
‘Don’t worry, Bep-Wor. They won’t know who I am. It’s only when I’m with your army that I can be identified as an escaped prisoner. Alone, I’ll simply be a visitor. Don’t worry about me. I’m used to doing this sort of thing. It’s almost a hobby of mine. The ruler of the planet Chloris, for instance, tried to have me killed by throwing me into a pit. It didn’t work, of course, and it didn’t do her much good, either. As you know, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.’
Bep-Wor studied the sleeves of the Doctor’s jacket. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He knew the Doctor was right. He became aware that the Doctor was no longer looking at him, but had instead turned his face towards the sky. Then he realised that the evening wasn’t silent: a noise like a continuous rumble of thunder was getting louder -
getting closer.
‘Look!’ the Doctor said. ‘Over there. Coming down beyond the next hill.’
Six dark shapes were descending on pillars of fire.
‘Friend or foe, I wonder?’ said the Doctor.
Throughout the day Madok had remained close to the radio set. There had been plenty to do: breaking out the supplies, distributing the ammunition and rations, going over the attack plan, drilling the men. Nonetheless it had felt like a day spent waiting.
The signal came at dusk.
‘Sir!’ the radio operator called. Madok was at his side in an instant. ‘Coded message, sir.’
Madok put the spare set of earphones to his head.
‘All ships are now berthed at the station,’ he heard. It was Kedin’s voice. ‘I repeat, all ships are now berthed at the station. The recovery operation can begin at once. Please acknowledge.’
This was it. Kedin’s message told Madok that the main assault force had landed. In the unlikely event that anyone else had picked up the signal, it would convey only misleading information.
Madok was impressed: he had been listening for the sound of the landing, and had been watching the skies for any sight of the ships. The capital was only five kilometres away. Kedin and the pilots had brought the ships down surreptitiously.
‘Acknowledge,’ he said. ‘And then pack up the kit. We’re going in.’
Madok took up his telescope and made a final scan of Grake Castle. Lights were burning in a few of the windows, but not in any that overlooked the wall where the first charges were to be placed. Only one of the watchtowers was occupied by a sentry. The party that had left that morning to investigate the crash of Madok’s flying machine had still not returned. The weather was clear, and as night fell his men would have the cover of darkness as well as of the forest.
Conditions for the attack could not have been better.
The men from Harran were gathering in the clearing, organising themselves into the three attack groups. In their rough clothing, and with their faces blackened, they looked more like bandits than soldiers. Their teeth gleamed in the darkness as they joked with each other and jostled into line.
Madok held up his hands to stop the whispered conversations, and then addressed the men.
‘We will proceed immediately,’ he said. ‘We have the advantage of surprise, we outnumber the defenders, and we have superior weaponry. And, of course, you are of Harran, and they are merely of Gonfallon.’
The soldiers cheered. Madok smiled: no problems with troop morale on this mission.
‘If the Castlain has any sense,’ Madok continued, ‘he’ll surrender quickly. However, his men are defending a prisoner whose importance to the King cannot be overestimated. We may find ourselves fighting through every doorway in the castle. We know that we are taking the first step to overthrow a tyrant. If we fail, however, we will be no more than traitors. Therefore we succeed or we die in the attempt.’
The men cheered again.
‘Group One will make and hold the breach. Group Two will guard the exits: it is vital that no messenger leaves the castle.
I will lead Group Three: we’ll go in and we’ll take and hold the prison tower. Then Groups One and Two will post sentries and will move into the castle. Commanders, use your loudhailers: we want the defenders to surrender rather than fight. Speed is essential. It is possible that the Castlain is under orders to harm Tevana Roslod if an attempt is made to free her. And our sole aim is to bring Tevana out, unharmed.
Are you ready?’
The men were oddly quiet. Then one of their Group commanders began to sing, and the entire troop joined in.
Their voices filled the clearing with words of defiance and glory. Slavery would be ended, injustice would be ended, and the men of Harran were going to do the work.
Still singing, more quietly now, and carrying explosive charges in their backpacks, the men of Group One jogged into the dark forest, making towards Grake Castle.
Night had fallen. Bep-Wor tripped over tree roots and pushed through undergrowth as he tried to keep up with the Doctor, who seemed uncannily able to see in the dark.
They left their army of followers on the side of the hill that faced away from the lights of the capital city. The Doctor was in a hurry, and was not prepared to wait for the entire column to stumble through the forest in his wake.
‘Tell them to set up camp here,’ he told Bep-Wor. ‘It’s too dark now to march through these woods. You can assure them that we’ll return soon. Now we must try to find the place where those ships landed.’ He paced back and forth, twiddling his thumbs, while Bep-Wor gave hurried instructions. And then he plunged into the black shadows under the trees, and Bep-Wor followed him.
Although he had to concentrate on keeping up with the Doctor and on avoiding the thorns and branches of the woodland, Bep-Wor had time to think about the massive machines he and the Doctor had seen descending from the sky. He was sure they were transport ships, similar to the one that had brought him and the Doctor to this world. That meant they were from the space station, the artificial world built in ancient times and set between his own world and this one. The Doctor said that he had to find out what the ships were doing here, but Bep-Wor suspected that the Doctor had another r
eason for his desperation to reach, the ships: the people from the space station might have information about his friend Ace.
The ships had landed further away than Bep-Wor had first thought. He followed the Doctor down from the hill on which they had left their followers, up the side of another hill, and down again towards a wide valley. He was scratched, footsore and exhausted. The capital city could no longer be seen.
There were no lights; the only sound was of the Doctor’s footsteps, leading him onwards.
He didn’t realise they had reached the ships’ landing site until he caught up with the Doctor. He bent double to relieve the ache in his side and to breathe deeply. It was only as he straightened that he saw that he and the Doctor were surrounded by uniformed soldiers. The soldiers’ guns were pointing at his chest.
‘It’s all right,’ the Doctor said, holding up his hands. ‘I’m not armed. Do you think you could take me to your leader?
That seems to be the appropriate phrase. He will want to see me.’
The soldiers’ uniforms were not exactly like Bep-Wor’s own.
He recognised them as the same as those worn by the guards on the cargo pod and the transport ship.
The soldiers studied the Doctor and Bep-Wor. The Doctor tapped his foot impatiently while the soldiers held a short debate about whether the two of them should be shot immediately as spies.
‘Take them to the Duke,’ one of them decided. ‘Keep them covered, and wing them if they try to run. Send back a couple of men to maintain the cordon.’
Followed by two of the soldiers, the Doctor and Bep-Wor continued to push through the forest. The trees soon thinned, and they found themselves descending into the valley, a flat-bottomed bowl of open land surrounded by hills.
The transport ships, sinister black shapes, squatted in a rough circle that spanned the valley. The ships were showing no lights, and the valley might have been deserted but for the muted sounds of men and machines issuing from within the circle.
Independence Day Page 20
