by Craig Zerf
The marine growled. ‘Sod it.’
They hitched their horses to the rail outside the inn and went in. Tad brought a box of cigars to barter.
Nathaniel sat down at a table and Tad chatted to the barman for a while and then traded a handful of cigars for a small bottle of some type of white spirit flavored with plums.
He sat down opposite the marine, put two mugs down on the table, filled them and placed the bottle in the middle, easy for both to reach.
Nate took a slug of the liquor. It tasted like paint thinners with slight overtones of rotten fruit. He poured another, lit a cigar and sat back in his chair.
‘Barman says that the lucky person getting his neck stretched is some old dude. Says that he’s a mental case.’
‘What’s he getting hung for?’ Asked Nate.
‘Equivocation,’ said Tad.
‘What?’
‘Equivocation. You know…deception, misrepresentation.’
‘Talking crap?’
Tad nodded. ‘Basically. Yep, equivocation is basically talking crap.’
The marine shook his head. ‘There is no way that someone is going to be hung to death for bullshitting. Not on my watch. Anyway, what did he talk crap about?’
Tad shook his head. ‘The barman’s not too sure about that. Seems to think that he’s a harmless old nutter that simply overstepped the mark.’
The marine looked around at the other people in the barroom. A group of young men. Two sets of middle-aged couples. A trio of old farming types and a couple of lone drinkers.
‘Look at them,’ he said to Tad, a look of utter disdain on his face. ‘An old man is going to be hung for less than no reason and they do nothing.’
Tad shrugged. ‘Not all people are hardwired the way that you are, Nate. They see a windmill and assume that it’s a device for grinding corn or whatever. You see one and it’s all, grab your lance and charge the bugger. If these people rebel, the Orcs will chop them into little itty-bitty human kebobs. So, they look the other way, they convince themselves that it’s the right thing to do. They live lives of constant low-level fear, of quiet desperation. After all, they’re only human.’
The marine spat on the floor. ‘They are beneath contempt,’ he growled.
The barman looked up and was about to say something when he saw the look on Nathaniel’s face. He hurriedly looked down and busied himself polishing his counter top.
The marine stood up. ‘Hey, barkeep. Where is this old dude being kept?’
‘We don’t have a jail, sir,’ answered the barman. ‘He’s in the shop opposite. In the basement. Worthy human Johnson and Orc sergeant Dob are guarding him.’
‘Where is the rest of the battle group?’ Asked Nathaniel.
The barman hesitated. It was obvious that he wanted to enquire as to why Nathaniel was so interested in the Orc battle groups whereabouts, but a stern look from the marine put a halt to his curiosity.
‘At the end of the main street, sir,’ he continued. ‘Small camp. Another eight Orcs and five goblins.’
The marine tossed back the last of his drink and beckoned to Tad.
‘Let’s go, grab a bottle of uisge and another box of cigars.’
Tad followed Nate across the street, pausing to fetch the merchandise that the marine had asked for.
They opened the door to the general store and walked in.
The shop was piled high with goods, most of them dusty and obviously worth little. Rusted shovels, badly cobbled boots, a selection of leathery old root vegetables. A cracked oil lamp.
A shop keeper sat on a bar stool behind the counter and another male sat in the corner, reading an ancient, yellowed old copy of Harry Potter. Its cover was torn and faded and it was showing every one of its eighty years of wear and tear.
Nathaniel assumed that the second male was the worthy human Johnson and walked over to him.
‘Hi, we’d like to talk to the prisoner.’
The worthy human didn’t even bother to look up from his tale of teenage wizardry, he simply shook his head. ‘No.’
Nate flicked his fingers at Tad who handed over the uisge and the cigars. The marine thrust them under the worthy’s face, pushing his book aside.
‘Here is a bribe,’ he said, his voice dripping with contempt.
The worthy opened the box of cigars and smelled it. Then he did the same with the uisge. He nodded.
‘Downstairs. Tell the Orc I said that you could see the prisoner. Tell him that you’re a priest or something.’
The two of them, tramped down the stairs into the cellar. There was a small storage area at the foot of the staircase. An Orc sat on a stool in the middle of the area, behind him a door with a barred cut-out in the middle.
‘We’re here to see the prisoner,’ said Nathaniel. ‘We’re priests. The worthy said that we could.’
The Orc stared at the two men. Nathaniel couldn’t gauge what it was thinking. Its, deep-set eyes and lack of nose made it impossible to impart human expression. For all the marine knew, it was as pissed off as all hell, or maybe ecstatically happy. However, knowing the military bent of mind, Nathaniel assumed, quite rightly as it was, that the Orc was simply bored. He took out a set of keys and unlocked the door.
‘Go in,’ he commanded.
The two of them went into the small cellar room and the Orc locked the door behind them.
The old man looked up at the two of them with unveiled curiosity, he looked to be in his early seventies, a salt and pepper beard, slightly balding but well built and a good posture. He stood up and took a step towards them, grimacing slightly as he did so. Then he stuck his hand out in greeting.
‘G’day, strangers,’ he said. ‘Name’s Mahoney. Brian Mahoney, but my mates call me Roo, as in kangaroo. So, priests you say? Well, forgive me for not believing but I’ll be a monkey’s bum before I see either of you wearing the cloth, if you don’t mind.’
Nathaniel smiled. ‘Australian?’ He asked.
‘Born and bred, me old mukka,’ confirmed the old man as he rubbed his knee with his hands. ‘Bloody arthritis,’ he mumbled. ‘Curse of ageing, I suppose. Anyhow, I was a mechanical engineer back in the day. Came out to limey-land some twenty-five years ago on holiday, pulse struck and I was stranded here. No bloody sun, no good rum and the Sheilas all have funny accents. Now I’m in jail, only a day away from being executed for bugger-knows-what. I’ll tell you something for nothing, maties, this is the last time I come to bloody England for my hols.’
‘So what are you in for?’ Asked Tad.
‘Well, official charge is Equivocation. Can you believe it? But that’s all bullshine it is. They banged me up because they were scared that I was telling the truth.’
‘About what?’
The old man leant in close and dropped his voice to a whisper.
‘You know the Fair-Folk?’
Tad nodded. ‘Seen a few of them. Tall, blonde. Bunch of male models.’
‘Bullshine,’ whispered Roo. ‘Bull and shine. They’re not a bunch of tall blonde woofters at all. They’re actually a bunch of short little gray buggers with big heads and skin like a dolphin. Ugly little beggars to say the least.’
‘You can see that?’ Asked Nathaniel.
‘Well, yes,’ confirmed Roo. ‘And no.’
‘What do you mean,’ insisted Nathaniel. ‘Is it yes or no?’
‘Both,’ continued the old man. ‘If I look directly at them they look like a bunch competing for Britain’s top model. But if you see them reflected in a mirror or a window…hey presto, little gray men.’
‘Really?’ Questioned Tad. ‘How come everybody else doesn’t see that?’
Roo shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Maybe some do. Maybe no one else has seen them in front of a reflective surface. Whatever, they don’t want me spreading the news so it’s the drop for poor old Brian Mahoney. Don’t actually know why – it’s not as if anyone believes me.’
‘We believe you,’ said Nathaniel. ‘I know, because I
can see them as they are. Even without the reflection thing. Little aliens with gray skin and big eyes.’
Roo’s face lit up with a huge smile. ‘Well that’s great,’ he said. ‘At least I can die knowing that I’m not actually a complete nutter.’ He stared at Nate for a while. ‘Unless, of course, you’re also a nut-job.’
The marine shook his head. ‘Might be, but not when it comes to the aliens. Look, Roo, I’m not going to let them hang you. We’re busting you out of here. You game?’
‘Bloody right, I’m game,’ assured Roo. ‘When?’
‘Now,’ replied the marine.
‘How are you going to incapacitate the Orc?’ Asked Tad.
‘Permanently,’ answered Nathaniel.
‘Bit harsh, he’s only doing his job.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed the marine. ‘So were all the dudes that worked for Hitler. You ready?’
Tad and Roo nodded.
‘Hey, Orc,’ yelled Nathaniel. ‘We’ve done our priest stuff. Let us out.’
The Orc shuffled over to the door, unlocked it and swung it open. Instead of drawing his axe, Nathaniel took note of what Tad had said about being over-harsh and so he swung a huge roundhouse punch at the Orc instead. The massive blow struck the creature a perfect shot on its temple.
The Orc flinched slightly and looked at the marine with a puzzled expression on its flat face.
‘What that in aid of?’ It asked.
Nathaniel struck again. This time putting the full weight of his body behind the blow. He aimed at the Orc’s chest and the punch landed with a sound like an axe chopping into an Oak tree.
He managed to knock the creature back a whole step.
Then the Orc punched him back.
The blow lifted the marine off his feet and slammed him against the wall. The sound of his ribs breaking could be heard clearly above the meaty smack of the Orc’s fist landing.
Nathaniel slid down the wall to the floor, his vision a mess of dark and light. Then he shook his head and stood back up. Tad kicked the Orc behind his right knee causing the creature to turn and face him.
‘Hey, Nate,’ he shouted. ‘You’d better do something quick, before this monster pops my head like a pimple.’
Nathaniel breathed in deeply. Ignoring the pain from his broken ribs, he cast out an orb of light and then drew the power back in. Then he struck the Orc again, his fist thundering into the side of the thing’s face.
Its eyes rolled back into its head, leaving only the whites showing, and it sank slowly to the floor.
‘Mother of God,’ grunted Nathaniel. ‘Those buggers are tough. Next time, no more mister nice guy. Any more of them get some axe-time. End of story. Come on, guys.’
The marine led the way up the stairs and into the shop.
The worthy human jumped up from his seat. ‘You can’t take the prisoner,’ he shouted. ‘It’s forbidden.’
Nathaniel backhanded him without even slowing his pace. The casual blow smashed the worthy’s nose flat and snapped off his two front teeth. ‘Forbid that, dick head.’
The shopkeeper held both his hands up. ‘No arguments here,’ he said.
Tad picked up the box of cigars and the bottle of uisge as he walked past the downed worthy.
The three men jogged to the horses, Roo lagging slightly behind as he favored the limp in his right leg. They mounted up, Roo riding the packhorse, and then cantered out of the village, heading in the opposite direction to the Orc battle group.
Chapter 27
‘Theater,’ said Roo.
‘What?’ Asked the marine.
‘You’ve got to give the punters a bit of theater, mate,’ answered Roo. ‘Back in 2018 I ran for mayor of Woomalong, southeast Australia, learned a thing or tow about politics. And I’m telling you, mate – theater. Give the blokes a show. You can’t just go bashing into a fellow’s house and tell him that you’re the new leader of the clans and you’re going to create a new free state for humans and he’s got to join you. That simply won’t work.’
‘Well, obviously,’ agreed Nathaniel.
‘So then, what’s your plan?’ Asked Roo.
‘I figured that we’d start with Tad’s friends. He’s got nine that are fully committed to the idea. They’re a good bunch, tough, hard, good in a fight. Then we’d go from village to village and drum up support. I’ve done it before.’
‘Yep, I know,’ said Roo. ‘But before, you told me that you challenged the ruling chiefs to mortal combat every time.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Nate.
‘That’s not gonna make you any friends in this day and age, mate. You gotta convince them to follow you because they want to. Okay, I’m not saying that a bit of mortal combat won’t be needed, after all, these are violent times. I simply figured that there must be an easier way to go about it.’
‘What do you suggest then, Roo?’ Asked the marine.
‘I’ve got the beginnings of an idea,’ said the Australian. ‘Firstly I need to meet with these nine mates of Tad’s. Spend a little time with them. Then I need about two weeks to carry out my plan.’
‘Seems reasonable,’ said Nate. ‘What is the plan?’
Roo shook his head. ‘Surprise. Have some trust in the old man, I’ve been around the block a few times and I know what I’m talking about. Remember, I owe you my life, chief, I won’t let you down.’
The marine smiled his agreement.
***
The two weeks had turned into just over three and Nathaniel was champing at the bit with impatience. But Tad had convinced him to wait for Roo to complete his task.
The marine spent the bulk of his time concentrating on his magiks and by the end of the third week, he could conjure up and control fireballs about the size of a bowling ball. As well as bring them into existence, he could now actually fire them and hit a man-sized target at over two hundred yards. Conjuring up balls of ice was proving to be a little more difficult and, as for wind, he simply couldn’t even get the tiniest of zephyrs blowing. But, all in all, he was happy with his progress and, as Tad had said, the fireballs were super-darn impressive.
Now was the morning of Roo’s big reveal and the old Australian engineer was seriously excited.
He called Nathaniel into the sitting room. There was a bulky object standing on the table in the middle of the room, covered with a blanket so that Nate couldn’t see what it was.
Roo was rubbing his hands.
‘Where’s Tad?’ Asked the marine
‘Outside, around the back,’ answered Roo. That’s not important right now. So, chief, without further ado.’
The Aussie ripped the blanket off the table.
Lying on the wooden top was a suit of lightweight armor. A breast and back plate, shoulder guards, vambraces for the arms, greaves for the legs and a leather kilt reinforced with thin steel plates. Next to the suit was a pair of cunningly crafted gauntlets, as well as a pair of steel covered combat boots.
The armor itself was a deep blue-black, except for a motif on the front of the breastplate that was picked out in polished silver.
‘Come on,’ said Roo. ‘Try it on, I’ll help you.’
The engineer handed Nathaniel a long linen tunic and the marine disrobed and put the tunic on. Then came the armor.
It fitted perfectly.
‘Roo, this is amazing,’ said Nathaniel as he clipped his axe onto the belt ‘How did you do it?’
‘Car parts, doors, sheet metal. Reinforced by lamination. I worked in a tractor factory back in the day. Made prototypes, so I was well used to working with this type of stuff. It’s light but it’ll stop any sword. Maybe even an axe. I had help, everyone pitched in, and that’s not all. Come on.’
Roo led the marine through to the back door and ushered him outside. Standing in the yard, in two lines of five, were Tad and his nine friends. All were dressed in similar armor except for the fact that theirs was a deep blood-red. They also had the infinity symbol etched in silver across the front of th
eir chest plates.
As Nathaniel stepped out of the small cottage, the ten men drew their swords as one and thrust them into the air.
‘Forever Man. Oorah!’ They shouted in unison. And behind them a black banner with a silver eternity symbol embroidered on it, unfurled in the Scottish wind, cracking and snapping at the top of the lance that it was tied to.
Roo smiled hugely.
‘Theater,’ he said.
Chapter 28
For two months they trained. The Forever Man and The Ten. On horseback with sword and lance. Throwing the javelin from horseback. Attacking on foot. They ran, they pushed weights and then they ran some more. They also spent a lot of time mastering a weapon that Roo had copied from the Australian Aborigines, the woomera. This was basically a three foot long piece of wood with a groove cut into it and a small cup at the one end. The woomera was used to launch a heavy arrow-like missile. The added length and leverage allowing the thrower to propel a four-foot long missile over one hundred yards with great accuracy. Nathaniel agreed with Roo that this would negate the need for archers.
The marine pushed them like they were raw recruits back at Parris Island marine basics camp.
‘It’s not enough to look good,’ he told them. ‘We also have to be good. You have to be the best because, from hereon out, you will be known across the land as The Ten.’
At the end of the two months The Ten were a lean, mean fighting machine.
Nathaniel was ready to go canvassing.
They started at the nearby village of Drumcroy. There was no campaigning plan as such, they simply mounted up and rode into the village early in the morning, halting in front of the main inn or on the village square. Then they would simply stand there. It wouldn’t be long and one of the village seniors would pitch up and ask what they were doing.
Nathaniel would give them a short version of their mission to create a free human state and then he would request a town meeting for that evening.
After that, marine would retire, taking a room at the inn or wherever available, so as to retain his mystique and The Ten would circulate amongst the townsfolk. His men would tell the marine’s story. They would encourage people to consult the old books to look for paintings or images of King Arthur, they would swear to the honesty of the tale. And, by that evening, the villagers would at very least be keen to see what this was all about and, at most, they would already be true believers.