The Forever Man: Clan War

by Craig Zerf

  But Seth had used his powers to assess her thought process and, although the human mind was still very much a mystery to him, it was obvious that the girl had mental problems. She had been violently abused at a young age, both her parents had died in front of her, she had come close to starving to death and she blamed both humanity as a whole and Hogan in particular for all of her ills.

  Nevertheless, her advice was the same as the other two humans. If order was to be kept then this threat in the north must be quelled. If not, they predicted that more humans would rally to the banner of the New Free State. And they had also agreed that the operation to put down the rebellion should be swift and overwhelming.

  Commander Ammon had agreed but for one point. He did not want to put too many troops into the field. To do so would provide validity to the power of the rebellion, he said. Better to hand pick the very best battle groups and attack with the minimum of necessary numbers.

  The only problem was, they had no real idea on the actual number of the rebels.

  So, he had commanded Seth Hil-Nu, premier mage of the Fair-Folk, to spirit-travel to the north and to obtain some reliable intelligence.

  And so it came to pass that, while his body lay on a cot in his London quarters, the spirit of Seth Hil-Nu was astral traveling, at vast speed, through the firmament.

  Heading for Hadrian’s Wall.

  Below him the landscape peeled away faster than a falcon could fly. Rivers, villages and forests. Finally the wall hove into view. But something strange was happening. Although his visibility all around him was one hundred percent, when he tried to see beyond the wall, all was a blur. As if he were trying to see through tears.

  Then his forward momentum started to slow. He pushed harder but to no avail. It was like running through quicksand. By the time he got to the wall he could move forward no more and he hovered in the air in front of the landmark. If he glanced behind himself, he could see to the horizon, but try as he might, when he looked to the north all was covered in a haze.

  And then a figure coalesced out of the mist. An old human woman floated in front of him. She wore a long black dress, edged in black lace. Her head was bare. Around her neck a silver chain holding a milky crystal orb. Her eyes were as white and unseeing as the orb on the necklace. Seth could sense the power in her. But he was not afraid, for it was not the power of a warrior; it was, instead, the power of a protector. A healer. Nevertheless it was powerful enough to be worthy of respect, if not fear.

  She held up her hand.

  ‘Leave,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ answered Seth. ‘I have been commanded here and I have a task to complete. It would be remiss of me to leave prior to completion.’

  ‘Regardless,’ continued the old woman. ‘You should leave for you will be unable to complete your mission.’

  ‘I think not, old one,’ said Seth as he gathered his strength, pulling in great gobs of it from the solar flares, inhaling it until he felt that his very soul would explode.

  And then he pushed at her barrier with all of his might.

  The old woman smiled.

  ‘Typical male,’ she said. Her voice a mixture of amusement and pity. ‘At the first sign of resistance, use force.’

  Seth Hil-Nu was surprised. Amongst the Fair-Folk he was the chief mage. And even if one looked far back into their history one had to go as far as Roth Han-Nu before one found record of a more powerful mage. But this old human hadn’t even flinched as he had turned the full weight of his power on her. To her he was less than a child. This, plus the fact that he had never come across a human with the power, was more than annoying.

  He felt anger rise within him. The feeling was so strange as to be almost unique. The Fair-Folk prided themselves in their ability to ignore emotions. In fact they had become so good at doing so that many had completely forgotten what emotions actually were, as well as the power that they were capable of invoking.

  Seth pulled in more power and, in a fit of pique, he cast a white hot fire-ball at the old lady. The ball of plasma pierced the slow-area that he could not pass through and struck the old lady in the chest. For a moment flames engulfed her and then, slowly, they flickered out. She looked unharmed but there were definite lines of pain etched across her face.

  ‘Your anger can pierce the veil,’ she said. ‘But neither you nor your sight may pass.’

  She disappeared.

  Seth howled in anguish and turned for home.

  Chapter 31

  ‘Gogo has ensured the veil of secrecy that she placed in the wall is intact,’ assured Papa Dante. ‘Apparently one of the gray men attempted to pierce it this afternoon but she held him back. He took a few pot shots at her but she’s a tough old buzzard, so I’m sure that she’ll be okay.’

  ‘I’ll go and visit her after this meeting,’ said Nathaniel.

  Papa nodded. ‘She would like that. Now, my king,’ continued Papa. ‘Discussion needs to be made about the use of my people. As you know, we have formed a semi-permanent encampment of three tabors a few miles down the river. Now my people are free to serve. I have got the women helping in the communal kitchens. The children collect wood and kindling and keep the fires going. But most importantly, I have two hundred fighting men. Now, my king, these are not men to be used on the wall, or charging across fields like some sort of blunt weapon. These men are stilettos. Finely honed from years of bushcraft and tough living. I suggest that we break them down into groups of ten. Each group will be known as a zece, our traditional name for a small fighting group. Use them for reconnaissance, guerilla tactics, sabotage, night attacks, that sort of thing. They will not let you down.’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ acknowledged the marine. ‘Please do it.’ He stood up. ‘Now I must see Gogo.’

  Papa went his way, to see Roo about weapons. Nathaniel mounted his horse and rode to Gogo’s vardo.

  It took the marine a few minutes and when he got there he dismounted, ground haltered his mount, knocked and let himself in.

  Gogo already had a drink waiting for him. She always seemed to know where he was.

  She gestured towards the seat opposite her.

  ‘Sit,’ she said.

  Nathaniel sat and took a sip of the drink. Brandy

  ‘I hear that you had a run in with one of the gray men,’ he said.

  Gogo nodded. ‘He was strong, but could not find his way through the veil. Their knowledge of magik is great but they are not at one with the earth. They are takers, not nurturers.’

  ‘So will their sorcerers be a problem?’ Asked the marine.

  Again the old lady nodded. ‘He pierced my veil with fire. And he did it with ease. My magiks are not created to withstand anger, only prying eyes.’

  ‘So what?’ argued Nathaniel. ‘Even if they shoot balls of fire at us they’ll be doing it blind. Shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘It will be a problem,’ said Gogo. ‘I don’t know how many adepts they have, but I am assuming hundreds. Imagine thousands of white hot, explosive balls of fire tumbling from the sky. It would be like world war two carpet-bombing. Not accurate but still deadly.’

  Nathaniel sighed. ‘What do you suggest that we do, Gogo?’

  ‘I have some people with talent,’ she said. ‘Mainly women, some young boys. I’d say twenty in all. I will train them, teach them to erect a hard shield. It may work, it may not. Ultimately, Forever Man, it will be up to you to fight magik with magik. So be prepared.’

  The marine toasted her with his glass of brandy.

  ‘I’m always prepared, Gogo,’ he said. ‘Always.’

  ***

  Milly rode hard, pushing her horse late into the night and stopping only for a brief sleep at whatever inn she was near. Then she would rise early and ride again.

  She had to warn Nathaniel. She had to tell him. He needed to run, to escape into the Scottish Highlands before the Fair-Folk arrived. Because there was no way that he and his rag-tag resistance could hope to stand against the might that was bein
g sent against them.

  And it was all her fault. She had regaled commander Ammon. She had argued and disagreed. It was no good, she had told him, to send just enough troops to quash the rebels. What if they lost? What if it was a pyrrhic victory, so close as to remain in dispute?

  And then she had told him of humankind and their inherent stubbornness. She had spoken to him of all the legends that she had been told, of Sparta and the 300 who stood against countless thousands. The battle of Agincourt where King Henry the fifth led a handful of English soldiers against over 50 000 French and won the battle. The Battle of Britain where the British air force was victorious against overwhelming odds.

  And she told him all that she knew of the American Marines and their Esprit de Corps. The world’s largest contingent of special force soldiers, unbowed and unbeaten in battle. Men who lived to fight. Men such as master sergeant Nathaniel Hogan. Beware, she had said. For you have not yet come up against a determined human host. Mankind has been bred for war. In its entire recorded history there has never been a moment of worldwide peace – we are always at war.

  She had convinced him.

  ‘What do you suggest?’ He has asked.

  And she had told him.

  ‘Use overwhelming force. Send your Orcs and your goblins and your trolls and your mages. Send them in their many thousands, for that is the only way that you will win.’

  And, in saying thus she had condemned Nathaniel to death. The man who had saved her when her parents had died, the man who had fed her and protected her. Her savior.

  The man who had left her to starve and to be raped.

  God how she hated him.

  And now she rode as hard as she could to warn him.

  Chapter 32

  Milly sat bolt upright in her chair, her head high and her eyes clear. But her hands betrayed her as she intertwined her fingers nervously, threading one over the other and then switching her grip over and over.

  Finally Gogo spoke.

  ‘She talks the truth,’ she said. ‘The Fair-Folk are coming. She is confused, but she is not a liar.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Tad. ‘Why warn us? From what you say, a lot of this is actually your fault.’

  ‘Leave her, Tad,’ said Gogo. ‘It is sufficient to know that, within days, we shall be attacked in force.’ The old blind lady stood up and held her hand out to Milly. ‘Now come with me, child,’ she said. ‘You and I need to have a long talk.’

  Milly rose without question and followed Gogo from the room. She avoided the marine’s eyes.

  Nathaniel spoke for the first time. ‘Roo, how goes construction on the wall?’

  ‘As well as can be expected, chief,’ answered the Aussie. ‘But we can’t man the whole thing. We simply don’t have enough men.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘We won’t need to. The Fair-Folk are looking to stamp us out. They aren’t looking to occupy the New Free State. What would be the point? It would just turn into an endless mêlée of guerilla warfare. No, wherever we stand, they will come to.’

  ‘Well then, chief,’ said Roo. ‘The wall right here is the best point. We have the fortress behind us, a twenty-foot wall in front, fairly level land without trees or mountains to conceal the approach. The only problem is, they could simply outflank us and attack from the back, as well as the front. Could cause problems.’

  Nathaniel opened a desk drawer and pulled out a map that he unfolded and laid on the desk.

  ‘Look here,’ he pointed. ‘This is where they will come; it’s the most direct route from London. They know where we are; their mages will be able to discern that much. Now, this is what I propose. Firstly, Roo, you take five thousand men and dig two trenches that run at right angles to the wall.’ The marine grabbed a pencil and drew on the map. ‘Here and here. A thousand yards apart and two thousand yards long. I want it at least twelve foot wide and ten foot deep. Line the side with the spoil so that it’s even deeper. Then erect wooden stakes at the bottom. Also litter them with caltrops.’

  Roo looked at the map. The two trenches ran parallel to each other, away from the wall like the two arms of a giant U with the wall at the bottom of it.

  Nathaniel continued. ‘Then I will place the cavalry in the hills here, and here.’ He pointed at areas outside of the arms of the U. ‘Also, Papa Dante and his boys will be roving the surrounding area. This will ensure that, once committed, the Fair-Folk attack will be centered on this section of the wall. There will be no way to outflank us. The battle will begin and end here,’ he stabbed the map with the pencil. ‘Right, gentlemen, we need to ready the troops. Tad, tell Paul Brighton where to place his cavalry. After that, organize arrows, rocks and spears to be stockpiled along the wall. Also, water butts and fire braziers. Tad, when you speak to Brighton tell him to send scouts out beyond the wall. We need as much warning as we can get. Move it, our survival depends on a certain amount of speed.’

  Nathaniel sat alone in the room. Outside were ten thousand souls. They were there because of him and him alone. And, in the next few days, they would be facing an alien race in hand-to-hand combat for their lives. Not only their lives but also for the future freedom of the human race.

  What gave him the right to decide on the fate of humanity?

  The marine scrubbed his eyes with the butt of his hands. They were dry and they stung as if lemon juice had been poured into them.

  Was the loss of freedom too high a price to pay for lawfulness and safety?

  What if they lost?

  What if they won?

  Nathaniel stood up.

  He was a marine. He was a king. He was a sergeant. He was a rifleman. He was a time traveler. He was an axeman. He was an immortal.

  He was…The Forever Man.

  Nathaniel pushed his axe into his belt and strode from the room heading to the wall. It was time to talk to his men.

  Time to lead.

  Chapter 33

  It had taken the host six days to arrive. The night before, they had camped out of bowshot, their campfires as numerous as stars in the sky.

  Then, that morning, while the mist still covered the ground with its gossamer breath, they formed up. Rank upon rank of Orcs in full battle gear. They stood shield to shield, one thousand bodies wide and fifteen deep. Behind them were the massed blocks of the goblin archers, ten thousand strong.

  Between the Orcs and the goblins stood a rank of massive hairy creatures, ten feet tall carrying huge shields and long broad spears – the trolls.

  To the right hand side of the archers, a pavilion had been erected and, standing on the wall and using a pair of old Zeiss binoculars, Nathaniel could see the Fair-Folk. At least six of them, seated around a table, sipping from goblets and eating dainties. A pair of goblin horn blowers also stood on the pavilion, waiting for orders.

  ‘I reckon slightly over twenty-five thousand of them,’ said Roo.

  The marine nodded. ‘At least.’

  ‘We’re screwed then, aren’t we?’ Questioned the Aussie.

  Nathaniel laughed. ‘Looking on the bright side, I see. That’s what I love about you, Roo. Your never ending optimism.’

  Roo grimaced. ‘Only being realistic, chief,’ he said. ‘We’re outnumbered over two to one, not great odds.’

  ‘Not great,’ agreed Nathaniel. ‘We’ve got Papa Dante and two thousand cavalry hidden in the hills on each side of them. I’ve sent two thousand of our men back to guard the closest villages in case it all goes badly for us, and we have six thousand on the wall. So actually, it’s closer to four to one odds.’

  Roo spat on the floor. ‘Told you. We’re screwed.’

  Nathaniel patted Roo on the shoulder. ‘Take heart, my friend, for none of them are men such as us. We can, and we will, win this.’

  The marine handed the binoculars back to Roo.

  ‘Time to talk to the boys. It won’t be long now.’

  And The Forever Man walked down the length of the wall. Stopping and chatting to individual so
ldiers. Laughing with some, cajoling others. Strengthening them with a word, a touch, a look.

  When he got to the end of the wall he walked back and stopped in the middle. He had split The Ten into three groups. Four stood with him and three on each end of the wall. They were the best of the best and he hoped that they would help to boost morale to all around them.

  As the sun burned away the last tendrils of mist, the Orc battle drums sounded. A solid rhythmic marching beat.

  And the host started forward.

  Nathaniel cast out his orb of light and drew in some power. Enough so that, when he spoke, his voice would carry to all on the wall.

  ‘Here they come, boys,’ he said, keeping his voice conversational, allowing the magik to amplify it. ‘No need for speeches, we all know why we’re here. Steady now, there are enough of them for all of us. Steady.’

  The host tramped closer, the massive horny feet of the Orcs smashing into the ground in unison, the trolls shambling amongst them and the goblins marching behind with lighter step. Nathaniel noticed that many of the Orcs were carrying scaling ladders for the wall.

  The ground throbbed in time to the march like a gigantic heartbeat.

  And then Nathaniel felt the hair on his arms and neck rise. Like a great wave of static electricity had washed over him. At the same time he heard a high-pitched shriek, right at the edge of his hearing.

  ‘Can you feel that?’ He asked Tad. ‘And that noise, can you hear it?’

  Tad shook his head. ‘Sorry, chief. All that I can hear is the stomping of those bloody great Orc feet.’

  Without warning a series of white-hot flaming balls of plasma launched from the Fair-Folk pavilion and streaked towards the wall, heading straight for Nathaniel.