by Candy Rae
When the ancestors of the people of Murdoch had arrived on the southern continent they had, during the first months, come into contact with the Larg and had formed an uneasy alliance with their four-legged, warlike neighbours. Lind and Larg might be diametric opposite in character but they did share certain abilities. Both were telepathic and were able to influence the minds of certain empathic humans. The Lind had very strict rules governing its use. The Larg had no such rules.
Although their telepathic abilities were neither as fine tuned nor as sophisticated as their northern cousins, they made full use of the facility. The Larg used these mind-bondings to find out what was happening in Murdoch and to send messages to dukes and kings. One of the Lord Marshall’s duties was to hunt out the unfortunate people bonded with Larg and to keep them under surveillance.
One of those who had died had left a note. It sat on Peter Duchesne’s desk.
It was a strange note, it looked as if the writer had been forcing his hand to write, possibly resisting a compulsion not to and using two hands to gouge out the letters.
‘Larg are coming.’
Peter Duchesne sat at his desk, gazing into space and waiting for his visitor. The visitor was his secret contact with the Susa of the Vada.
There had been a steady flow of information between the Susa of the Vada and the Lord Marshall of Murdoch since the middle of the second century when the then Lord Marshall had offered the Susa a secret mutual co-operation pact concerning the activities of the Larg. With a few breaks, this co-operation had continued to the present day.
Peter had been ready to send his recent information to Susa Julia but now there was no need. The Susa had sent one of her own to him, which Peter surmised, meant that she also knew that a serious threat might be looming on the horizon.
Four deaths. Does it mean that the Larg don’t need them any more? Sort of action they would take especially if they’re planning an attack. Peter Duchesne’s thoughts were disturbed as his aide popped his head round the door.
“Sir,” he said, “the visitor you are expecting had arrived. Shall I show him in?”
Peter sat up straighter.
“Yes Captain. Do that and see that we’re not disturbed.”
“Yes sir,” the head vanished and the door opened, wide enough to admit the tanned, fair haired man who entered, bowed and approached Peter’s desk, arm outstretched in greeting.
“Good to see you again Peter, it’s been a while,” said Ryzcka Brion of the Fifty-first Ryzck.
“Brion,” exclaimed Peter, grasping his visitor’s hand and giving it a hearty shake, “what’s happening that brings you of all people here? Where’s Qindya? Surely you haven’t brought her with you?”
Brion shook his head, “she’s back at Vada. She’s not happy about it as you can well imagine but Julia needed someone with experience here, someone she could trust, someone you could trust. What I’m about to tell you will test your credibility to its limits and she knows of our friendship.”
“I take it that its not good news then?”
“Not good news at all.”
“Rather thought so myself and you being here confirms it. I’ve been receiving information on my own account which leads me to believe that the Larg are planning something major. Does Susa Julia think the same? What intelligence does she have?”
“Murdoch and the north will be hit with everything the Largan can throw,” Brion answered.
“Both?”
“She believes so. She hasn’t been able to find out where the main attack is going to hit. It wouldn’t be the first time the Larg have tried to divide and conquer.”
“When?”
“You have about a hundred and twenty days, probably less. She doesn’t think the Largan will wait.”
“Wait? Wait for what?”
“I’ll tell you in a moment but you should know that the Largan is gathering his army at the usual place. We’ll know more when they start to move.”
“How many kohorts?”
“All of them.”
“All of them!”
“That’s why I am here. Susa Julia wants to send help. Sit down and take a deep breath. Here’s the rest of the story.”
Some candle-marks later, a stunned Peter asked his first question. “You’ve told me everything? Left nothing out?”
“Nothing,” Brion assured him, “the Lai exist. The Dglai also exist and they are coming. We are sure the Larg have come to an accommodation with them.”
“Their long awaited opportunity to destroy us.”
“They’ve always wanted that.”
“Conclave will never believe me,” fretted Peter, “it sounds too far-fetched. They’ll think it a northern plot.”
“None will believe?” asked Brion.
“Well, my cousin of Duchesne and the Duke of Graham, but even then how can I tell them about these Lai? An attack by the Larg though, that they’ll understand. This is not an united country Brion, the Dukes are a law unto themselves. They pay lip service to King and Conclave but they have their own interests at heart. I can hear them now, each and every one saying piously that each duchy is responsible for its own borders. The King is a sick man, he hasn’t the strength to even try to override them and the Crown-Prince doesn’t have the clout. Fealty is to the King, not to him.”
“The Regiments?”
“Are under my direct control but I’ll have to defy Conclave to use them.”
“Ducal forces?”
“Not a chance.”
“The Larg will overwhelm them one by one,” warned Brion.
“Susa Julia is sure that the north is where they’ll head for in the end, after they’ve destroyed my country duchy by duchy?”
Brion nodded, “their eventual goal is as ever the destruction and humiliation of the Lind. They know Murdoch is segmented. They plan to destroy Murdoch on their way to the north. With Dglai help they’ll do it too. We are talking about advanced weaponry here, weapons that can take out a house or a rampart with a single blast of light.”
“I must speak to Crown-Prince Paul,” said Peter, “there’s a good chance he’ll understand, he might not believe all of it but he will believe enough.”
Brion rose to his feet.
“Tell Susa Julia,” said Peter Duchesne, “that I will do what I can but even I and the Regiments cannot be in two places at once. The Duchies of Cocteau and van Buren are a long way away from Duchesne and Graham.”
“A war on two fronts has always been a commander’s nightmare,” agreed Brion.
“And if I split the regiments into two neither will be able to hold off the Larg for any appreciable time.”
“I must get back,” said Brion. “Qindya is waiting and I have a boat standing by at the wharf.”
Both men clasped each others hands in a farewell and looked at each other. There was trust there and mutual respect. Despite their differences in culture and values, they were more alike than they were not.
“We will meet again,” said Brion as he drew away, “after all this is over …”
“Give Qindya my regards,” added Peter as Brion reached the door.
“I will,” responded Brion with a half wave.
Peter Duchesne sighed. No one had ever said that the Lord Marshall’s job was an easy one. He got to his feet an walked over to the wall to which a map of Murdoch was pinned. He stood gazing at it for a long time.
A plan began to form in his mind.
* * * * *
Julia
Julia was talking to her Second-in-command, an experienced vadeln-pair called Davin and his Lind Razdya.
“We can wait behind the defences at Settlement until Murdoch is overrun or we can go to the south, meet them before Murdoch is destroyed. I cannot in all conscience stand by and watch them destroy Murdoch. There is another reason. We must draw attention away from the group hunting for the power-core, draw their attention to us. Create a big enough noise in north eastern Murdoch and the attention of every one of ou
r enemies will be drawn there. That cannot be done if we remain in the north. We have to give Danal and the others every chance.”
“You are going to get us all killed,” said Davin but he did not try to dissuade her.
“If that’s what it takes,” Julia said. “We don’t have a future if we don’t destroy the Dglai.”
“We go to Duchesne,” agreed Davin.
Once Davin had gone, Julia sat at her desk, her head in her hands.
: Am I doing the right thing Alyei? Am I leading everyone and everylind to their deaths? :
: You are doing what you can. It is a bad situation but we are together, that is what matters to me but for whatever my opinion is worth, yes you will lead some to death but many more will live because of what you do. Also, if by our deaths we can save them then we will do it. You and I … together :
* * * * *
The Militia
Zala buttoned up her husband’s black uniform militia jacket with shaking fingers.
“Must you go?” she asked, unconsciously echoing what women-folk had been asking for time immemorial as their men-folk went off to fight. Of course, here in Argyll not only men were in the Garda and Militia, but women were in the minority. Matt Urquhart’s Militia Company, some hundred and forty strong was made up entirely of men. When Matt had described the Officer’s Mess as being akin to a Gentleman’s Club he had been speaking truth. Women were not welcome in the 131st Militia Foot. Of the three militia companies in Stewarton, only one accepted women and there a woman could not become an officer, commissioned or non-commissioned.
“Zala, you shouldn’t need to ask that,” Matt answered, “if the Militia is called up we have to go. It would be desertion if we did not.”
“Emergency.” Zala’s voice was exasperated. “I’ve heard nothing else since the call up messages began arriving. What if the Larg are getting up to their old tricks again? They’re in the south Matt, nothing to do with us so I don’t know why you’ve got to go.”
“To man the defences at Settlement,” Matt answered with patience.
“That’s another thing,” complained Zala, “for years now Council has been boasting about how no one could possibly breach the Settlement defences and even you’ve been grumbling about how much of your taxes have been going for their upkeep. They’re impregnable Matt and there’s the Garda and the Vada, they’re the professionals, let them guard it.”
Zala was crying as she had done off and on since Matt’s orders had arrived. She had pleaded and begged but Matt had remained adamant. Go he must and would.
“But I’m pregnant again,” Zala wailed, “you can’t leave me now.”
Matt kissed her. Zala always was irritable and tearful in the early stages of pregnancy.
“Other men are leaving wives and families. I cannot do any less Zala, surely you can understand that? Think of your sisters.”
That was the wrong thing to say and Matt realised it as soon as the words left his mouth.
“And where exactly is Tala? Where’s she gone? Baron Philip and the boys too. What is going on? Nobody tells me anything.”
“That’s not true Zala, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? When my husband is going off, goodness knows where with a bunch of part-time soldiers who don’t know one end of a sword from the other?”
“We drill every ten-night.” Zala wasn’t listening.
“What if you don’t come back?”
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Matt answered. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep calm under Zala’s onslaught but he kept going.
“We are trained Zala, perhaps we’re only part-timers but we are trained. That’s why we Militia are going, not to see any action, last time the Militia were called they didn’t end up anywhere near Settlement. They were sent to various sleepy little Garda outposts to release the Garda for duty on the defensive walls.” Not for worlds was Matt going to tell her the truth.
“You positive about that?” asked a suspicious Zala.
“Heard it from the General myself,” Matt lied.
“I’ve been told they’re looking for more volunteers,” Zala accused him but who was nevertheless beginning to calm down.
“Just a precaution.”
“Against what?”
“Civil unrest,” Matt had that one ready.
Zala sniffed.
“It’s always a possibility. Councillor Anders is being careful, that’s all.”
“Mathieu wants to join. He’s heard that they’ve lowered the age limit to fourteen. Some of his friends told him.”
“Let him,” advised Matt, thinking that if the war went badly Mathieu would be as safe there as at home. “Emergency might even be over by the time he gets his kit issued. Let’s put our brave faces on and go to the children.” He felt her tremble and he lifted up her chin with one finger, bent his head and kissed her, a long and lingering kiss that he wished could last forever and a day.
Zala stood by the door and watched as the children crowded round their father. There was a lot of kissing, cuddling and giggling. Mathieu however shook his father’s hand in what he felt was a manly way and Zala felt her breath catch in her throat. He looked so grown up, almost a man, old enough to join one of the volunteer companies who would help keep the peace in Stewarton and the surrounding areas. Most of the police and the road-watch were members of the Militia and had exchanged lawman blue for militia black.
“Look after your mother and your brothers and sisters,” she heard Matt telling him.
“I will Father.”
“Now I must go,” said Matt who had spied the family coachman outside the front door holding his horse. As an officer Matt had his own although she was not a battle horse. Non-commissioned ranks usually marched on their own arched insteps, but not this time. Every man and woman was to ride. The horse fairs were empty of all but the oldest and unsound. The horses that had belonged to their recently departed southern guests were already waiting in the horse lines for their riders, even the pack-mares who had been most surprised when a saddle had been placed on their backs.
Matt rode down the hill with a heavy heart. He felt sure he hadn’t been saying goodbye to his wife and family but a final farewell.
He tethered his horse at the end of the horse lines, responding to the cheerful banter of the men as they prepared their mounts for the journey. He did his best to respond in kind and did very well considering.
Only a select few amongst the Militia knew they were heading for a real war. The march east was in the nature of a holiday for the men, a time away from their often humdrum lives. Even his Commanding Officer had only been told part of the truth as Matt soon realised when he reported for duty.
“Ah, Matt,” Major Danielson greeted him. “Welcome. Ready for the fray eh?”
“Yes sir,” Matt answered very properly. “Orders?”
“We’re to make our way with the other Companies to Settlement.”
“I see sir.”
“Don’t suppose we’ll be staying there. In fact, I’m positive we’ll receive further orders on route.”
That’s all you know.
“They’ll not need us there, mark my words, we’ll be kicking our heels in some god-forsaken outpost up the coast before the tenday is out. Now ready your men, we’re leaving at Fourth Bell.”
“Yes sir,” Matt answered, his face bland.
* * * * *
The Crown-Prince
Father is dying. The doctors hold out no hope. Crown-Prince Paul’s thoughts were sombre as he left his father’s bedchamber. I must recall Elliot.
Thus far had his thoughts gone when Peter Duchesne, wearing his fatigue uniform, accosted him in the corridor.
Peter bowed and Paul regarded his attire with astonishment.
“Didn’t think a field exercise was scheduled.”
“It’s not an exercise My Prince.”
Paul raised an eyebrow.
“The Largan is gathering his kohorts. I’m e
xpecting he’ll make a move soon.”
Paul was no longer thinking of his father. He took a deep breath. “Better go in there,” he said, indicating the door to a nearby antechamber and leading the way. Peter closed the door behind him.
Paul didn’t ask the reason why. If Peter Duchesne thought that war with the Larg was imminent that was good enough for him.
“Where?” he demanded.
“We’re not sure. Intelligence is scanty. I’ve sent out the usual alerts to the border garrisons.”
“The Regiments?”
“Cancelled all leave and they’re on instant notice to march. Can’t do more until I at least have some indication of possible targets.”
“Conclave?” the Crown-Prince frowned, “no, of course, Summer Court hasn’t been called yet, the Dukes?”
“I’ve sent messengers,” Peter advised him, “at least they’ll be warned.”
“Good enough. We’ll have to wait and see then?”
“The King?” enquired Peter.
“Sinking fast,” his son replied, “a few months at most. I’m calling Elliot home.”
“Wise move.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I’m on my way to HQ to advise Generals Ross and Karovitz. It won’t take long. I do need to speak to you, with the King so ill you understand.”
“I’ll do what needs doing,” Paul promised. “Don’t panic Peter, the Larg have attacked before and we’ve beaten them off. Duchesne and Graham are always ready.”
“I had a visitor from Vadath.”
“Vadath or the Vada?”
“Same thing. The whole country is like one giant regiment. The news he brought me was amazing, impossible even.”
“I should know about it,” declared Crown-Prince Paul. “Meet me in my office when you’ve finished with the Generals? Fifth Candle-mark?”
“Until Fifth Candle-mark, as long as you promise to suspend all scepticism and hear me out,” agreed Peter.
A troubled Crown-Prince watched him leave. He then went to his own quarters to instruct his servants to ready his own campaign uniform.