Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  “Given you've had this information for some days more than I have, I take it you have worked up an estimate of how long our supplies last?”

  “Food is three months, perhaps more, if we reduce rations somewhat. The men will grow sick of salted beef and other items like that, but they'll hardly starve. As for gunpowder... if we have to do a lot of fighting, we're in trouble, but we should be in decent shape for the foreseeable future.”

  “I take it anything that isn't an actual fight doesn't deserve gunpowder, though.”

  “I've cancelled marksmanship training for my men, but for us it's a bit less problematic. We're heavy cavalry, and can always fall back on more traditional tactics.”

  “Until we run dry of gunpowder, we'll be fine. Which gives us plenty of time to plan ahead. I hardly doubt that these barbaric natives have the capability or the stamina for anything resembling a siege.”

  Darren nodded his agreement. “At best, they could likely muster a battering ram or two, and I think your fellows would easily pick off the carriers of any such tool before it arrived at the gates. I'm not unduly worried, especially as I know Thomason and the Colonel will figure out how to break through. Even if it's in much bigger, more irregular convoys with half a regiment guarding them, they'll find a way.”

  “And until then, we need to keep communications open with Richard and Matthias, and make sure there's no unexpected military force sneaking out of the woods at us.”

  “I feel rather certain I have nothing to fear on that score. Anyway, I do believe Cook has a pleasant repast for us tonight. It's a local river fish, but he thinks it has a very refined palette and will become quite a hit once it's introduced at the stately homes.”

  “Your surprise assault has overcome my defences entirely. Do lead on.”

  Jacob and Darren chatted about less meaningful matters as they departed.

  ***

  Jacob awoke to a rather unpleasant vibrating feeling in his left arm, and when he looked down at the hand, he understood why. “Isingane, you had damned well better be sure what you are doing, waking me in the middle of the night.”

  “The Hungry Ones, they come, they come.”

  He eyed her for a moment. Normally, her command of the Queen's Tongue was as good as Umholi's, or nearly so, but whatever had caused her to wake him in the middle of the night had frightened her enough to scare most of the learning from her mind. Which meant that whatever it was, it was something he needed to deal with. Then he thought a moment, and noticed the capital letters applied to the words “Hungry Ones”.

  “Isingane, who, or perhaps more properly what, are the Hungry Ones? And where is Umholi and Inceku?”

  “They went to ready the Umkhovu. We will all need to fight if we have angered the Hungry Ones.”

  “Vengeful spirits, are they? I'm sure they'll dislike a shot of iron in their gut just the same as any other blasted barbarians.”

  Still, the news was hardly good, and so Jacob called for a messenger while he fitted himself with his traditional officer's dress.

  “What is going on out there?”

  “We appear to be entirely surrounded.”

  “Do explain.”

  “A large contingent of natives have arrived and surrounded the fortress, and they appear to be from a branch that we have not seen before sir.”

  “Describe.”

  “Seven feet tall on average, overly muscular, pale white skin, and wearing what appear to be animal totems.”

  “Right. I take it the men are already on the walls?”

  “Or going there right now, sir.”

  “Good. Now go find me Umholi, and tell him to meet me at the highest concentration. Which would be?”

  “Probably the north gate, sir.”

  “Very well, north gate it is.”

  Jacob departed, strolling through a camp alive in the embers of the fires. Soldiers scrambled hither and yon, most of them fully uniformed and heading towards their duty posts, both Lifeguards and Dragoons. Support personnel were cracking open supply barrels and filling buckets with sand and dirt, although Jacob thought it unlikely there would be much danger of fire on this night.

  Ascending the northern wall gave him his first proper view of the enemy lines. They were as the soldier had described: tall, muscular, and with a brutish appearance made worse by skin the colour of pale starlight. Covering their bodies were heavy piles of animal hide and leather, which most of them paired with a headdress. Whereas the arboreals had only possessed wooden weapons, here and there he could see the glint of metal, most often on what appeared to be battle hammers and morningstars. He had no doubt that a single strike from such a large creature would be lethal, no matter the weapon it held.

  Still, they appeared to have very little in the way of ranged armament, aside from a few javelins and the like. Hardly enough to allow them to breach the walls. Then he peered into the darkness, eyes drawn by frantic movement. What in the blue blazes was that?

  That, it turned out, was the hectic gyrations of some overly ornamented member of the barbarian tribe. And now that he had spotted it, Jacob could see others up and down the lines doing the same. No doubt they were invoking some form of blessing over their tribesmen before the attack began. For all the good that blessing would do when a musketball struck them square on.

  And there was Umholi, followed closely by Joyce. Hardly surprising.

  “Umholi, explain these creatures.”

  The short chieftain pulled himself up over the parapets using his forearms, and peered down at the enemy surrounding the camp. Then he dropped back, with an expression that could only be described as displeased. And frightened.

  “They are Hungry Ones, meat eaters from the deep plains. We avoid them whenever we can. Otherwise they take a tithe in flesh. And they are exceedingly hard to kill. The few times we've fought them, they have walked through spear thrusts that would have felled an animal of equal size. We lost, every time.”

  “I doubt they'll do the same to musketballs.”

  Umholi glanced up, face entirely serious. “They might. I believe their armour is spiritual, not physical. Although I doubt they would shrug off the artillery, or other, stronger, weapons.”

  Jacob nodded. Issuing volley guns and blunderbusses had become standard practice after the arboreals' use of large animals as battering rams. But that armour comment...

  “You mean to tell me that their belief in a god protects them from being killed?”

  “Not a god, no. In nature itself.”

  The regimental commander could not hold himself from shaking his head in negation. “These creatures are somehow blessed by the land they walk upon? What sort of rot is this?”

  “I believe the blessing is channelled through those whirling figures you see. Those are their shamans. And as for being 'rot', well, we'll see when their first assault arrives.”

  “Umholi, why would these creatures have come here? We've never seen them, never harmed them in any way, and suddenly one night they swim out of the mists to assault our fortress.”

  “If our legends about them are correct, your very presence on these plains harms them.”

  “You will need to explain that more fully.”

  “They draw their life energy, their spirit, from the equality, the harmony, of nature. And just as nature feeds and protects them, they protect it. In brutal, uncouth, fashion. And you have been deemed a threat by their shamans, no doubt because of the continuing conflict with the arboreals, and the slash and burn techniques of your farmers.”

  “We are under attack by nature herself? Umholi, most of the time you are a very civilized creature, but right now you are speaking some awful drivel.”

  “You may choose to believe that, sir, but all I ask is that you wait until the assault has commenced before making a final judgement.”

  A voice called up from below, one of the soldiers manning the courtyard behind the north gate. “Sir, we have a problem here!”

  Jacob peered d
own. Everything in the courtyard appeared entirely in order. “What is it?”

  “The planking sir, it's rotting.”

  “Come now, don't give me that rubbish.”

  “Sir, I swear I am not lying!”

  Shaking his head at what battle nerves could do to a young man, even an aristocrat, Jacob trotted down the stairs, Umholi in tow, to examine the gate. And when he did, he found the soldier hadn’t been lying. Spots of rot appeared in the wood and grew outwards even as he watched, in planking barely a year old. A gate this weak would barely stop a charge...

  “Joyce! Find Darren, tell him we need a company of dragoons mounted and in this courtyard within five minutes. And tell him to check the other gates.”

  “Yes sir!”

  Joyce disappeared into the sprawl of the camp.

  “Are you beginning to believe me, sir?”

  “Umholi, I do not doubt you are being honest as you see it, but an isolated incident such as this is hardly proof these creatures have some mystical force on their side. Until I see them walk through the leaden hail of the Lifeguards unharmed, I shall continue to believe we are the far superior force.”

  “On a more practical matter, what about the Umkhovu? We have been engaged in as many hunting parties as we could be, but that has not been such a great length of time.”

  “For the moment, help the other non-combatants prepare the fortress. However, I would also suggest that you keep an ear out near the quartermaster's tent. There's enough of these creatures outside the walls to be worrisome, especially if our north gate is going to prove as vulnerable as it looks.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Very well. Do carry on.”

  Umholi nodded and departed, clearly not entirely happy with the decision. But they were not soldiers, despite their desires. Better that they be kept out of the line of battle until matters became desperate. Which they hardly should. Those were barbarians outside the camp, nothing more.

  Looking about him to check upon the deployment of his soldiers, Jacob once more climbed the ladder to the walls, and glanced down over the parapets at the creatures below. And there he found a most unpleasant surprise.

  Waving the nearest of his Lifeguards over, he spoke. “Those are arboreals down there mixing in with the other creatures, are they not?”

  “I believe so, sir. And rather a lot of them by the looks of it.”

  “Well, no matter. We've faced them down and given them a sound thrashing before. We'll just have to do it again.”

  That brought a smile to the private's face. “Right you are, sir.”

  Shortly thereafter, Darren popped up the ladder, his face moody.

  “Shouldn't you be over on the other side of the fort, where the Dragoons are stationed?”

  “Oh, perhaps, but most of the barbarians are concentrated here and I wanted to have a good look at them, especially after that message about the wood rotting. I looked at it myself on the way over. Damn suspicious of it to go all of a sudden. East and west gates are fine, as is the south. Anyway, your company of the 1st Royal Dragoons is on their way, chargers mounted and ready to go. Tell them where to go and they'll bowl over any native foolish enough to get in the way.”

  “But?”

  “But I don't like these little surprises that keep happening. And I especially don't like the thought of creatures that size getting in amongst the lines. They'll be the devil to hunt down, if they're even half as strong as they look.”

  Jacob nodded. “As a by the by, I've left the field artillery unloaded. I figure that unless we truly need it, we should probably save the gunpowder for the muskets.”

  “Oh, we're hardly in as bad a shape as all that, not yet anyway.”

  “I know, but I'd rather keep it that way for as long as possible. I'm sure Colonel Sherman has made his feelings on keeping the road open perfectly clear to Thomason, but if they arrive after a rough travel and walk into this mess, I want to be able to sally forth to support them if need be. Although, I suppose that's a job better suited to your cavalry.”

  “No doubt, no doubt. Anyway, unless my eyes deceive me, it looks like they're about to call the off, so I should get back to the Dragoons. Best of luck with that gate.”

  “Hopefully I don't need it, but thank you all the same.”

  Darren answered with a wave of his hand, already halfway down the steps.

  Outside the fortress, the gyrations of the shamans were slowing down, the barbarians beginning to work themselves into some kind of frenzy, chanting and slamming weapons against their bodies. Some ran with blood from the treatment, and were licking it from their wounds. If there was ever proof that savages needed the benefits of civilization, it lay right in front of him. He wished he could bottle this moment and show it to every weak-willed noble back home. It would convince one and all of the benefits of bringing civilization to this new land.

  Unfortunately, he had to survive the moment to bring it back, and that looked somewhat less likely than it had before. Berserkers, as these creatures no doubt were, became notoriously difficult to slay once they had reached their full battle fury, and they had chosen to enter it far enough away from the parapets that the accuracy of muskets would be quite diminished, especially in these night-time conditions. But they would close soon enough, and then...

  His smile in that moment was little more than the baring of teeth.

  ***

  It had taken the barbarians rather longer than expected to work themselves into a full fury, but now, it seemed, they had finally decided the moment was here. Unsurprisingly, many of them went straight at the north gate, weapons raised to batter it down. Whatever the cause of the weakness of those wooden planks, they had certainly been able to ferret it out and head straight towards it. Of course, such obvious singlemindedness had given Jacob the ability to focus his Lifeguards' firepower, and as the first of the barbarians crossed the line of stakes driven into the ground to mark distance, the guns of the first rank rippled, spraying lead down onto the fool natives.

  All too many of the attackers staggered, howled, and continued to charge. And behind them, the arboreals sent up the first flights of their wooden arrows. The next wave of shot rippled forth, and more barbarians fell, but again, not as many as should have.

  By now, Jacob had seen enough combat to know the effectiveness of a line of muskets firing in volley. The charging Hungry Ones were taking those odds and tossing them aside. It was most disquieting, especially given Umholi's earlier warning.

  Nearby, an arrow struck home, causing a soldier to drop his gun with curses and shouts, bleeding from a pierced arm. In the same moment, the barbarians assaulted the gate, their hammers and morningstars crashing down upon it with mighty thuds, each impact followed by the sounds of timber shattering. Unless his ears deceived him, he had only a few minutes before the gate was breached.

  The third volley rang out, and this time almost none of the attackers fell. None! How were they doing this? A single musket shot, well placed, could kill a man outright. Some of these creatures had taken two, if not all three, and were still staggering forward, looking the worse for wear but clearly in fighting condition.

  His men kept up their relentless fire, one volley every ten seconds. Small piles of corpses began to appear near the walls. But they were only on their seventh volley when shouts rose from the courtyard below. From his angle, he could not tell the origins of such unpleasant noises, but Jacob could only assume it meant the barbarians were almost through the gates.

  He had planned a bit of a surprise for them when they broke in

  By the ninth volley, the gate had splintered, and the first of the barbarians were worming their way through the shattered timbers. Under two minutes. That was how long it had taken for a force of frenzied natives to break down a wall that would have held a modern, civilized force for hours. Shuddering slightly, Jacob turned to watch the carnage.

  And carnage it was.

  The creatures clustered together as t
hey charged through the remains of the gate, the narrow opening limiting their spread at first.

  The tight clump they formed reared backwards, howling in pain, as it was struck from all sides by every single volley gun and blunderbuss the Lifeguards had. The front ranks disintegrated, whatever defence they had had against the muskets completely overwhelmed by the weight and volume of shot. Casualties were almost as bad amongst the second and third ranks, and the dead and the nearly dead falling in clumps, making walls of the corpses.

  And behind those walls, the Lifeguards reloaded and waited for the next charge.

  On the ramparts, life was harder. Jacob could see Upton and Theodore shouting at their men, exhorting them to better effort, but the arrows from the arboreals were proving worryingly effective, while the muskets suffered from the same flaws against the arboreals as they did against their melee cousins. A rate of attrition that should have been entirely one-sided was not.

  And matters were only getting worse. Jacob glanced down below, expecting to see the foul creatures pushed back through the gates. Instead, the pale natives crouched behind the corpses of their own dead, using them as shields to stop the shot that flew their way. Only when a volley had been fired did they charge forward.

  A foul curse split Jacob's lips, something he should never have uttered in front of the men. The barbarians were throwing their weapons at the infantry and charging in behind them, an all too effective tactic. The flung weapons did not usually kill a soldier, but they would often knock them to the ground. That fouled the man in the second rank, and all along the line the volume of fire became ragged and uncertain.

  The barbarians swarmed forward and would have likely overwhelmed the scattered infantry if not for the Dragoons, who charged from where they had been stationed at the far end of the courtyard. Big though the creatures might be, they were still tiny compared to the heavy chargers that the Dragoons rode, and those gallant men bowled over their opponents, driving them into the dust with the flashing hooves of their steeds and the curved edges of their heavy sabres. As an infantryman, Jacob often found cavalry officers all too sure of their own glories, but at this precise moment, he was entirely willing to forgive them their little foibles.