The Fall of Belvedere

by B Cameron Lee

  “Riders of Barsoom. We’re at war with Empress Martine again. It’s pointless to fight a war if we replace bad with bad. Man must come to realise peaceful coexistence is possible throughout the lands, even though we have our many, separate beliefs. Respect for one another is what is important.

  I know little of the people of the Broken Lands but they have never bothered anyone and were left alone until Martine took them into the Dominion. I believe they only accepted her rule to avoid conflict. Please be gentle with them and wherever you find them, try not to frighten them. If necessary, get down from your horses to pass by small groups, it will be less threatening.

  What you do with Dominion soldiers is up to you however. If they surrender, I suggest you take their weapons, boots and horses and send them home on foot with a few basic supplies. We cannot feed prisoners and if we kill indiscriminately, we are no better than the Dominion soldiers we have to fight.”

  He drew his sword in one smooth motion and held it aloft, the sunlight scintillating on the polished blade, contrasting the design engraved there.

  “BARSOOM.”

  The answering roar was deafening.

  Seven cohorts rode out, one from each Tribe of the Barsoom, and fanned across the countryside. Arwhon, his helm tied to his saddle and accompanied by Chalc, headed north of the northernmost. No one expected to meet any of the Broken Landers on the first day, as they were still within Barsoomi territory and there were only a few large boulders to see on the plain as yet. Smoke was in the air and soon they came to a large ditch and earth bank, bare of vegetation. Arwhon and the riders reined, surveying the scene before them.

  “This must be the border Chalc. A very sensible and permanent way to mark it.”

  Chalc nodded. “Useful for stopping fires also. Shall we see what’s on the other side Arwhon?”

  They rode up and over the top of the earth bank and discovered a whole new landscape arrayed before them, littered with boulders, some as big as houses. Travelling further north, walking the horses among the scattered rocks, they came to a narrow road running east-west which they followed eastward. It wound among the boulders, there being no way to travel in a straight line in this country. After an hour or so, without seeing a single soul, they approached a largish village. The houses were tiny; Arwhon could have reached a rooftop of the single story buildings from Duran’s back. The village was neatly laid out with an inn forming part of the central square. They could only tell it was an inn due to the hanging sign out front. In all respects the village was just like any other, apart from the size of the buildings. Not a soul was in sight. The place appeared deserted.

  Arwhon dismounted and signalled Chalc to do the same then led Duran to the watering trough in the centre of the square. While the horses drank, he sat on the wide stone lip of the trough waiting quietly.

  A flicker of brown, gone. Another, gone just as quickly. So, there were folk here. Patience. A fly buzzing was the only sound to be heard for a while. All was peaceful.

  Suddenly there were voices. Loud rough voices.

  “She’s mine. I found ‘er and you know how hard they is to catch.”

  “We could share.”

  “Nah, you’ll have to pay if you want some.”

  “What ya gonna do after, let her go?”

  “Nah, kill her. If you wants it alive, ya gotta pay me. This un’s mine.”

  Arwhon, smelling trouble, took his helm down from the saddle and donned it, fastening the strap comfortably. Looking like a true warrior in his mail and helm with his sword strapped to his back and a dagger at his waist, Arwhon made his way over to the source of the loud conversation. It seemed to be coming from behind the inn.

  Chalc followed, watching the way Arwhon moved, a glow of satisfaction inside as his training was made manifest. When they rounded the corner they saw two normal sized soldiers, dressed in mail and helm, with large broadswords strapped to their belts, standing arguing. One had a firm grip on a little woman, no more than four feet tall, who was still in her teens judging by her smooth face. The girl oozed fear. The other soldier suddenly noticed them and took an involuntary step back before indicating their presence to his fellow.

  “What the hell do . . .? Bloody hell’s, look’it his eyes.”

  The one holding the girl, laughed.

  “I suppose you want some too. Well, you’ll just have to wait yer turn. I found ‘er.”

  Arwhon never moved a muscle as he replied.

  “I would like you to let her go and yield.”

  “Fancy words, green eyes. You don’t frighten me with yer helm and such. We’ve killed bigger ‘an you before and I’ll be much annoyed if’n I have to let this un go. Do ye know how hard they is to catch?”

  “Last chance. Let her go and yield.”

  “Bugger you.”

  The soldier suddenly released the girl and drew his sword. She darted off quickly. The other soldier also drew his sword. They were big swords, heavy, with a long reach, best used with two hands.

  Arwhon had a grim smile on his face.

  “I think I’ll be able to manage this myself Chalc, just keep watch please.”

  Chalc’s reply was a grinning nod.

  The two soldiers advanced, splitting up to attack, one from each side. Arwhon had still not moved as they drew up within sword range.

  “Har, he ain’t even got a proper sword.” One announced, just as he swung a vicious blow at Arwhon’s waist.

  Arwhon shifted like water around a stone, stepping out of range and moving toward the other soldier as he drew his own sword in one fluid motion, spitting the soldier’s neck. He continued moving in that direction and twisted the body around as it was falling. He slid his sword out as the backswing from the other soldier hit his dead companion, the mail over the rib cage absorbing the blow. Before the soldier could recover from his swordstroke, he found out that chain mail was useless for stopping a sharp-pointed weapon made of good steel. He died looking at the strange blade he’d derided, piercing his heart.

  Wiping his blade on one of the dead soldier’s trousers, while Chalc searched the pockets, Arwhon remarked.

  “Nothing can match good training. Thank you Chalc.” He looked down on the bodies. “The townsfolk can take care of those.”

  Sheathing his sword he followed Chalc around to the front of the inn and regained his seat on the broad stone edge of the trough, out in the midday sun.

  After about ten minutes, the young girl they had rescued came out of the front door of the inn carrying two small tankards of foaming ale. She approached cautiously and placed them on the ground a few feet from Arwhon and Chalc.

  In a tiny but sweet voice, bearing a strange accent, she spoke.

  “I’m Quirril. Thank you for saving me but you has killed Dominion soldiers and it’ll bring trouble to our village. They’ll burn it down as an example to all.”

  Arwhon spoke softly to Quirril, not wanting to frighten her.

  “I’ve come with the Tribes of Barsoom to drive the Dominion out of the Broken Lands. Do you have a leader I can speak to?”

  “That would be Strotton. I’ll see if he’ll talk with you.”

  Quirril turned on her heel and in a flash was gone from sight.

  About fifteen minutes later, the short but pleasant ale long gone, an old man, no taller than four and a half feet, appeared around the corner of a building on the square. As he approached, they could see his nuggetty brown, walnut face half hidden behind a white beard. In some ways he resembled Captain Belmar of the Jalwynd. As the small man approached, Arwhon closely observed the diminutive fellow and with a start, recognised similarities to the Dwarf he had met at Callandor’s, back in Belvedere. Could the Broken Landers and the Dwarves be related? The little man stopped, standing beyond reach. He addressed them with the same accented speech as Quirril had.

  “I’m Strotton, leader of this village. You have done us much harm.”

  “Sorry Strotton.” Arwhon answered. “Where we come from w
e do not condone rape and murder. The soldiers would not yield when asked twice.”

  “You do not understand. Our King made a pact with the Dominion. An odd crime here and there is the sorry price we pay to be left alone. Nearly every large village has a few soldiers billeted to keep watch and sometimes they get a bit unruly.”

  Arwhon moved down to sit on the raised step around the trough so he was at eye level with Strotton. As soon as he moved, Strotton stepped back, ready to run.

  “Strotton. Far to the south of here, well over two weeks travel by horse, lies Southland and the City of Belvedere. Between there and the Broken Lands are the Plains of Barsoom. The Barsoomi are your neighbours. Empress Martine of the Dominion has started a war with both Southland and Barsoom. She has burnt the grasslands. Her interest is not focused on the Broken Lands at the moment and the Barsoomi have no grass for their horses until next spring when it grows again. We have come to drive the Dominion out of the Broken Lands and wish to buy food from you. The Barsoomi love their horses and have no interest in your small ponies. You would retain all that is your own and when springtime comes the Barsoom will leave the southern part your country. It will be yours again. No Dominion.”

  “What if she wins?” the small fellow queried.

  “Our lives will never be the same again and Man will die out from the lands. There are bigger players than Empress Martine involved in this.”

  “Can you protect us though?” asked Strotton.

  “The Barsoom have about two thousand Riders, both men and women, mounted on horses like mine. If the older Riders were called up, there would be another thousand or so who could still fight. We intend, with the permission of the King of the Broken Lands, to guard the border and rid the Broken Lands of Dominion soldiers. No Barsoomi will hurt a Broken Lander. They are your neighbours. Can you get word to your King?”

  “Never mind the King, what about right here and now in this very village? You have endangered us.”

  Arwhon sighed and turned to his Servant.

  “Chalc, please ride south and return with... five Riders should be enough. All they will need is weapons and bedrolls as Strotton will see to their food. I’ll wait here until you return.”

  Chalc nodded, mounted Darla and cantered south out of the village.

  “Five Barsoomi Riders are yours, to guard your village against Dominion soldiers. You must feed them while they are here. Now, are there any large forces of Dominion soldiers anywhere close to the village?”

  Strotton was struggling with the speed at which things were happening but managed to put two and two together.

  “What you say makes sense. There used to be more soldiers around here but about a month ago they started leaving. Only a few were left in the main villages. It must be the war you were talking about, down south, where she needs her soldiers.”

  For Arwhon, the waiting was interminable, broken only by a feed of tasty, small pasties and another ale. It was brought out in a jug this time and proved quite quaffable.

  “If you ever wanted to trade with your neighbours, I’m sure this ale would sell well.”

  Strotton appraised Arwhon, his small head tilted to one side.

  “We likes to keep to oursels. Some folks are wont to take advantage of our size. We’re wary of strangers but we’re honest. If your men turn up I’ll try to get a message to the King of the Broken Lands for you.”

  Arwhon thanked Strotton and secretly hoped the Riders would not be long as the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon. Shortly, the sound of hooves could be heard to the south and Duran pricked up his ears and whinnied. He was answered and before long Chalc and five Riders, armed with lances and bows, their quivers bristling with arrows, rode into the village. He noticed they all had bedrolls tied behind them and that his was strapped behind Chalc on Darla as well as Chalc’s own. He mentally thanked his Servant for his foresightedness.

  “There will be seven of us to feed tonight and five from then on. You will no longer have to send food to the Dominion. If you wish it, the Riders will pay for their food but remember, they are doing you a service.”

  “No need for them to pay Sir and I think I should personally take you to our King. We’ll leave in the morning if you find that acceptable. It’ll take a week to reach him.”

  “It’s acceptable but one of these Riders will have to report my leaving to the Barsoomi King and then return. Is that alright with you?”

  “It is.”

  “Excellent. Come and meet some hungry Barsoomi Riders and remember, they’re your neighbours.”

  The Barsoom Tribes did not cross the dyke which divided the Broken Lands from Barsoom, as the fire was still quite distant and looked to pose no immediate threat this far north. Small bands of Riders did cross the dyke however, and flushed a few Dominion soldiers out. None surrendered. Their bodies were dragged to the top of the dyke and left as a warning to others.

  The King of Barsoom was gladdened to hear Arwhon was off to see the King of the Broken Lands so soon. He sent a message by return Rider saying he would welcome the chance to talk Ruler to Ruler, suggesting Arwhon set up a meeting if possible. The return Rider arrived three hours after the break of day with the news, allowing Arwhon, Chalc and Strotton, riding a shaggy little pony, to set out shortly thereafter.

  It was strange riding through the Broken Lands; no road could run in a straight line and in the flatter parts of the countryside, vision was limited by the boulders strewn all over the land. Occasionally, during the first day, they would top a rise and Arwhon had a chance to see a little further ahead. There were many more small villages than he had imagined, scattered amongst the boulders, hidden from sight. Not a soul could be seen in any of the fields they passed.

  “Where is everyone Strotton? I see no one working the fields or tending to animals.”

  “They’re scared. They hid because you’re with me. A watcher sits on a big rock and if he sees a stranger, mostly Dominion, he warns the villagers an they hides.”

  “Are there Dominion soldiers in all the larger villages?”

  “Naw, there was but now they is just concentrated in the bigger ones. We hate them but we didn’t want our folk killed so we just did as they asked and they basically left us be.”

  “Didn’t you ever think of fighting back?”

  Strotton laughed derisively.

  “You seen me. I’m a big un compared to some, its why they voted me village leader.”

  Arwhon nodded, these little brown folk would be easy to kill if someone had a mind to.

  “Have your folk always been in these lands Strotton?”

  “I dunno, we was here before the rocks fell and that was a long time ago. A lot of us got killed when it ‘appened. Biggest thing ever to come about in us whole history.”

  They rode on in silence, taking in the quiet strange beauty of the rock strewn lands, occasionally crossing a stream, winding its way across the fields. All seemed peaceful. Here and there they saw small herds of shaggy brown ponies, sturdy little beasts which would have seemed big to a local but were only about twelve hands or so. Strotton seemed inordinately proud of them.

  “They may not be as big or as smart as you’rn but they never give up, them uns.” He chuckled. “Size ain’t everything ya know.”

  Their first day passed uneventfully as did the next. The second night they slept in a barn beside a farmhouse and the farmer and his wife were finally curious enough to come out of the farmhouse to meet them. The two small folk stood silently staring at Arwhon’s face before bowing deeply as they withdrew.

  “I guess M’Herindar are respected here as well,” Chalc commented.

  Breakfast was provided for them and the journey resumed. The countryside was changing, hills and uplands becoming more frequent. Off in the north, hazy in the far distance, huge mountains could be seen rearing up into the sky.

  Arwhon’s curiosity got the better of him.

  “What’s beyond those far mountains Strotton?”


  “Ice in winter, for six to eight months. They mountains break the cold wind from the north for us’ns. Only seals and bears lives over the other side and when the seas freeze, its rumoured you could walk to the other side of the Rift.”

  Arwhon filed this information away for future reference.

  The road they were on now was the widest they had travelled so far. Their ride was pleasant and the pace relaxed as the day was warm and sunny. It was peaceful, but not for long. As the road swung around one very large boulder, they were suddenly confronted by a group of Dominion soldiers, mounted on the shaggy brown ponies of the region. A cry went up from their leader and the Dominion soldiers halted, round leather shields were lifted from straps on the saddle pommels and placed on left arms then swords were drawn. They appeared well drilled and efficient. Arwhon rode forward alone, checking for bows or crossbows as he did but none were immediately evident.

  Their leader goggled at Arwhon as he saw the strange eyes regarding him and made the hand sign to ward off evil, eventually collecting himself enough to challenge the stranger in front of him.

  “You’re in Dominion lands. Who are you? Give me a reason not to arrest you immediately for trespassing.”

  Arwhon raked them with his steady gaze as he counted. Ten.

  “The Broken Lands are no longer part of the Dominion, by decree of the King of Barsoom. They are to be returned to their rightful owners. You have two choices. Surrender or suffer the consequences.”

  The platoon leader sneered.

  “You don’t frighten me with yer fancy eyes and mail shirt. There’s ten of us and only two of you. The little ones don’t fight an’ he’s gone.”

  Arwhon glanced around to see only Chalc behind him, donning his little conical helmet. Arwhon unstrapped his own helm from the saddle and put it on. He raised his voice.

  “Those who do not wish to fight; throw down your weapons and dismount. I promise you will not be killed.”

  There was a scattering of derisive laughter and at a signal from the leader, the platoon rode forward to engage. Chalc rode up from behind to halt beside Arwhon, sword drawn.