by Candy Rae
The assault at the river barricades was brief and bloody. The defenders were overrun and the battle in the settlement degenerated into a mess of individual fights as the convict army, victory in their sights, swarmed over the makeshift barriers and into the middle quarters. They began to clear the streets of the colonial fighters, street by street, cabin by cabin, step by bloody step.
Kath and Matvei were in the middle of it all. Mounted on her life-mate, she defended herself with all her might.
: We go : decided Matvei.
Kath privately agreed with him but couldn’t bring herself to abandon the settlers. She and Matvei were part of Stuart MacIntosh’s group, presently stationed at the crossroads in the very centre of the settlement.
“Just a little longer,” she pleaded.
She and Matvei moved into a small porch area to allow her to tend a small wound on his flank. From there, she watched as another large group of southerners came round the corner, marching straight into Stuart’s squad. At Matvei’s urgent mental shout, she dropped her first aid kit, mounted up in a hurry and began to refasten the fighting straps with trembling fingers.
The two groups met with a clash. Clipping the hip restraints into place, Kath watched. The two groups were fairly evenly matched number-wise but the southerners were more heavily armed and as the fight continued towards its bloody conclusion she realised that they were far better fighters than the colonists. She did not know it then but this was Murdoch’s personal bodyguard. Murdoch only chose the best. In the midst of the furore, Stuart must have, at some point, realised the identity of the man in the middle of the enemy group. This man stood, sword in hand, but was not getting involved in the fight. Every time one of the settlers tried to force through to him, at least two bodyguards leapt to intercept.
“General Murdoch I presume,” yelled Stuart, shouldering the guards aside with one giant heave.
Murdoch grinned. He continued to grin as other bodyguards turned on Stuart and began to hack at him with their swords. Stuart, mortally wounded, fell to the ground.
With a howl of rage, Matvei leapt towards them. Kath thanked the stars that she had availed herself of the cavalry harness offered by Francis. She herself dealt with at least two of the bodyguard and Matvei went for the throats and heads of two more as he strove with all his might to reach the hated enemy leader. The settlers took heart at this show of courage and pressed on with their own attack with renewed vigour leaving Matvei free to make his next move. Before Murdoch had time to raise his weapon, the Lind was looming over him, murder in his heart. Matvei’s large jaws opened wide. Murdoch stood mesmerised.
The General about-turned and fled the scene, making for the open doorway of a half-finished cabin. Matvei raced after him but was hindered by the battle around him and so lost momentum. Once clear, Matvei, Kath urging him on, tried to grab their enemy before he reached the doorway. They almost made it but Matvei snapping at his heels, Murdoch squeezed inside and tried to close the door behind him. He wasn’t strong enough to force it shut against the mass of angry Lind as the large male placed his forepaws on the central bar and pushed at it with all his might. The wood began to splinter.
Murdoch looked round the room with frantic haste, let go the door and sprinted towards the ladder leading to the upper storey. Heart hammering nineteen to the dozen, he climbed the rungs two at a time and let out an explosive breath of relief as he clambered through the hatch. He heard sounds of movement below and peeked his head over the edge only to come face to face with Matvei, who was standing on his hind legs peering upwards into the gloomy loft space.
This cannot be happening to me, thought Murdoch in panic as Matvei’s face came closer. He could clearly see saliva forming down Matvei’s jaw line.
Matvei’s face disappeared from view.
Murdoch breathed a sigh of relief.
Matvei and Kath looked at each other.
: What do we do now? :
: Can’t climb that thing :
: The ladder? :
: Is that what it’s called? No matter. I can’t get up there :
: I’ll have to do it alone : Kath gripped her sword. : We can’t go and get help, we don’t know who is in control of the area and if we leave, Murdoch will escape :
Matvei nodded, looking around the bare room for inspiration. His gaze turned to the chimney. : I can see light. What is that? :
: The chimney? It’s constructed to burn a fire in, but this one’s never been used : She walked over to it and squinted up, Matvei padding behind her. : I think I could squeeze up. It’s only half built. I can see the sky and I think the bricks stop at the attic level. Can you keep him busy at the ladder? I can creep up unnoticed behind him if you make enough noise :
Matvei looked and felt worried. : Very dangerous : he warned. : I cannot help you if you go up there :
: Do you have a better idea? :
Matvei shook his head and gave her face an affectionate lick. He padded back towards the ladder. Murdoch’s white face stared down at him. He had forgotten all about the existence of Kath. His attention was riveted on the blue-striped Lind who began to growl and snarl. Matvei placed his left paw on the first rung.
As quietly as she could, Kath began to climb, thankful that the chimney was made of rough-hewn stone and brick and thus had plenty of hand and footholds. When her head reached the attic floor she risked a glimpse over. Murdoch had his back to her. His attention was focused on Matvei to the exclusion of all else. She threw a mental shout to Matvei and he redoubled his efforts, snarling even louder and rattling the ladder. She pulled herself on to the floor and began to inch her way towards the enemy general.
Unaware of the danger, Murdoch was beginning to relax. He had realised that the Lind could not climb up to him.
Cracov, or Smith or Baker will send some troops to find me. I’ve only to stay right here and my men will burst in and kill this beast. I don’t need to do a thing.
Keeping in constant telepathic touch with Matvei, Kath began to raise herself to her feet, in preparation to bringing her sword down on Murdoch’s unprotected back. Something must have warned him. Perhaps the floorboards creaked. The man tensed and turned round.
“Whore,” he shouted. “I’m going to kill you and there is nothing that beast downstairs can do about it.”
He lunged towards her. Kath screamed as his sword slashed at her legs and dropped her own as she squirmed out of reach. She did manage to retain her knife. She started to kick at him. Caught off balance, Murdoch flinched back as her right foot narrowly missed his groin. Encouraged, she kicked again and again. Murdoch flinched with each one, then started to grin as he realised she had lost her sword. He crouched forward, poised to lunge at her again.
She had nothing to lose.
With all her might, she threw the knife straight at his face.
Murdoch screamed as the knife made contact, imbedding itself in his left eye. He dropped both sword and knife as he clasped the wound with both hands.
Kath could hardly believe her luck. Crying out in anguish, Murdoch scrambled away from her. He dropped to his knees then fell flat on his face at the edge of the ladder hatch.
Kath picked up her sword. It was time to finish it but before she could act, Murdoch’s body started to move, very slowly. With supreme effort, Matvei had managed to clamber up the ladder. He stretched his head up and into the loft. Murdoch’s head quite literally disappeared from Kath’s view as Matvei’s jaws clamped shut around it.
The General had time for one conscious thought. No.
Matvei shook the man violently, breaking his neck, then pulled the body towards him. It slithered through the hatch, dropped past Matvei and landed on the floor with an audible thump.
: Bad taste :
“Must be terrible!” Kath agreed, taking a deep breath. She began to laugh.
“I’ll come down the ladder slowly, my legs are shaking.”
Out on the street, the fight between the bodyguard and the settlers was over. The handf
ul of southerners who had survived the frenzied attack had fled. The colonists looked at each other, then at Stuart MacIntosh’s body.
“What do we do now?” asked one.
“More convicts coming this way,” said another. “I can hear shouts.”
“Where are the women and children?” asked the first.
“Mostly at the northern wall area. Hidden in houses. That won’t save them though. It’s only a matter of time before they manage to get us all.”
They looked a picture of misery and dejection as Kath and Matvei re-appeared.
“The field army are holding their own,” encouraged Kath as she and Matvei got close enough so that they could hear her words. “Hold on a little bit more. I’ll let them know what is happening down here. Help will come.”
“But will it come soon enough?” asked the first man, wiping his bloody sword on one of the deceased bodyguard’s cloak. “Murdoch?”
“Dead.”
Despite the death of the convict leader the settlers continued to be forced back, building by smoking building, but as the word spread about their General’s untimely end, the southern attack began to falter. Murdoch had appeared to the majority of the convicts as an almost god-like and immortal figure. He had led them from their first small victory in the south to this gigantic one in the north. It seemed impossible to think that he was dead. And if the immortal Murdoch could die, then so could they. Instead of driving forward with abandon, the non-regular troops began to have doubts. Instead of obeying their orders they began looking around for items to loot.
They started to roam the streets, smashing open cabin doors and ransacking all they found within. The men grew angry as they realised there was little of any worth to steal. The situation was getting out of hand. The regular troops continued to fight, but without the irregulars’ support, found the going tough.
The northern quarter of the settlement continued to remain in colonial hands.
Baker and Smith were forced to call a temporary halt to the street clearing operation and begin to rein in their more troublesome troops.
The news of their leader’s death did not trouble this duo. It opened up windows of opportunity for both. All the regular colonels bar Duchesne began to wonder if they might be the one who might take Elliot Murdoch’s place as overall leader. The jockeying for power had begun.
Once the men got tired of looting and were brought under control, they would complete the takeover of the settlement. The colonists were going nowhere after all.
Murdoch, egotistical to the last, had seen no need to appoint a second in command. He had enjoyed watching the manoeuvring for position. Unfortunately, except for Duchesne, none were aware of their deceased leader’s doubts about the ability of the Larg to win their part of the battle. The colonels saw no need to rush the men forward and Duchesne kept his knowledge to himself.
The newly appointed Colonel Cracov was nowhere to be seen. He was eventually found in a deserted cabin, bemoaning the death of his mentor, convinced that if he had remained in charge of the bodyguard his General would still have been alive.
The colonels sent a detachment of regular troops to oversee the looting, to make sure it went no further. To their immense chagrin, although they looked long and hard for the majority of women and children, they found only two more strays, both with babes in arms and with sundry young children in their care. After due consideration, the two mothers were left alone. The two women did not realise until much later just how incredibly lucky they had been.
Sporadic fighting continued in the areas where the two sides rubbed against each other. The southern troops were convinced that as soon as the colonels got themselves sorted out the final assault would begin. This time they would fight on until all the colonial men were dead.
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