by Candy Rae
“So you’ll have your army.”
“Indeed. I’ve thought about afterwards too. I’m going to offer the slaves the option to return to Sahara but as free men, earning a living wage for a days work. Most will accept, they don’t know anything else and the mines will still make a profit. I saw it in Argyll. Remember that mine we visited?”
“You spoke to the owners,” recollected Robain.
“I spoke to the miners too. That’s what gave me the idea. Miners don’t have to be slaves. I think production will actually increase. Running a Kingdom is like running any business Robain. It’s only bigger. It costs the crown a small fortune to pay for the Regiments and the Government and there is no reliable tax system here like there is in Argyll. That’s why there has never been a Duke of Sahara. The crown needs the revenue the Duchy generates. If a king needs more coin, he asks that each duke provide it.”
“And as Conclave is made up of the said dukes he finds it difficult to persuade them to part with the finance requested?”
“Impossible most of the time,” agreed Elliot. “Each duke is greedy and ambitious. I want the crown to be independent of the ducal houses. When I’m king I have no desire to have to go cap in hand to the Conclave for hand-outs. Don’t get me wrong, I would like to see the slaves emancipated but I need to look after the Kingdom as a whole as well.”
“It might just work,” said Robain.
“I think it will. Once I’ve freed the King and my Father, the rebel dukes will realise Xavier has failed and will return to their pervious allegiance murmuring one excuse after another. The King will accept these excuses, temporarily at least. Once the borders are secured it may well be another matter.”
They could see the walls and Robain squinted through the haze, reined in his horse and listened.
“There’s something not quite right here,” he called out to Elliot. “This is a working mine. Yes? So why is it so silent?”
“I don’t know,” answered an equally perplexed Elliot, raising his hand over his eyes to cut out the sun’s glare and looking over to the mine himself. “There are men on top of the palisades, more than I would have thought usual.”
The wooden gates creaked open to let Elliot and Robain in and closed behind them. The mine was eerily silent, the only people in the yard three men. They were armed. Robain glanced up at the parapets. The men they had noticed from outside weren’t looking at them but outwards. He looked at Elliot who was talking to the men. They looked very serious.
“Robain,” Elliot called him over. “This is Brent.”
Robain and Brent greeted each other with a nod.
“Brent says that the Larg have invaded Cocteau! The mine manager has fled.”
“When?” asked Robain.
“We got word the day before yesterday,” Brent answered. “the slaves are in their quarters, I, I didn’t know what to do. A good number of the guards are gone. I’ve only got those on the walls and us three.”
“Are the Larg heading in this direction?” asked Elliot.
“And how many?” asked Robain.
“About twenty thousand. Last we heard they were moving up the western bank of the River Murdoch towards Fort.”
Robain nodded, “you’ve done just as you should.”
Brent looked relieved.
“Have you heard anything about what’s happening at Fort itself?” asked Elliot.
Brent evaded Elliot’s eye and turned to Robain. He looked uncomfortable.
“Rumours only.”
“They are?”
“That the King and the Crown-Prince are dead.”
Elliot’s faced blanched.
“How?” Robain asked.
“Executed by order of Prince-Duke Xavier. It’s a rumour, might not be true.”
Elliot was incapable of speech. Robain realised that the next move was up to him.
“Leave the men up on the parapets for now,” he ordered, dismounting. “Prince Elliot has a plan.”
“He has My Lord?” Brent glanced up at the stricken young man sitting immobile on his horse.
“Indeed he has,” said Robain beckoning him over, “give him time. He’s young and has had a shock.”
“Right My Lord,” agreed Brent with a conspiratorial wink as he edged away.
“Captain, Captain Hallam,” Robain introduced himself, “of the Argyll Garda. I am no Lord. Now, let’s get out of this hot sun and decide what we are going to do.”
“I am a loyal vassal of the King,” said Brent with pride, “what is the plan?”
* * * * *
“We all go,” Dwk insisted. He was a slave and had been elected as leader of the workers after a loud and raucous meeting. “We leave none behind.”
“There will be fighting,” Elliot protested, “people will be killed.”
Dwk shrugged, “killed in battle, dying in the mines. Makes no difference. We all go or none of us do. It’s your choice and Prince Elliot, you’ve promised us freedom. For that every last one of us will fight every last Larg on the continent.”
Elliot remained unconvinced but Robain thought he understood. Even if half of them died they would think it worth it.
“Agreed,” he said and stuck out his hand to shake on the bargain.
The man took Robain’s hand. He felt he could trust this tall young northerner.
“Can you and your people be ready tomorrow morning?” asked Robain.
“Aye we can,” answered Dwk with a grin. “I could get used to this freedom thing. First time in my life I’ve been asked about something important.”
The untidy column of men, women and children marched out of the mine mid-morning, carrying their meagre worldly possessions. Every single person except the very smallest carried a weapon of some description, pickaxes, sharpened shovels and knives. They waved a cheery greeting to Robain and Elliot as they marched past. Elliot noted that despite it being he who had freed them, Robain was cheered just as long and vigorously. He made a mental note .. It might come in useful.
The guards and overseers, including Brent, went with them. As Brent explained; this was one of the better run mines and the relationship between the free and unfree was good, considering.
“Some mine owners treat the slaves worse than animals,” he told Robain and Robain thought dark thoughts about what he would do to any owner who had mistreated his mother and sister.
One of the guards was carrying one of the littlest ones. It was common knowledge in this mine that Crown-Prince Paul was no lover of slavery and the mine employees had taken their cue from him.
* * * * *
The Lord Marshall
Lord Marshall Peter Duchesne and his Regiments arrived at the rendezvous point in Brentwood as dusk fell. He immediately called for a conference.
The resolute Prince-Duke Robert of Brentwood was waiting in his pavilion when Peter Duchesne lifted the tent flap and stepped inside, his generals and colonels at his heels. He looked up as they entered.
“At last!”
Peter Duchesne didn’t waste any time. “The Larg? My information is sketchy.”
“They’ve crossed the River Edgeking,” Prince-Duke Robert answered, tracing his finger down the map on the table. “That was yesterday when one of my men managed to get through. God knows how far they have reached now.”
“Casualties?”
“Too many. We knew the kohorts were massing. I sent a detachment of mounted men west five days ago. The survivors returned yesterday, six out of eighty! The rest are dead as is everyone else between here and the border, man woman and child. I sent a small detachment out under the command of my cousin, he held his land close to the border but we don’t think they reached the manor, we have to assume they are dead. Prince-Duke Robert had tears in his eyes as he spoke of his great-nephew and niece. He pointed to a pencilled line on the map. Every living creature, man or beast is dead west of that line unless they’ve managed to get to shelter.”
“Numbers?”
“We es
timate thirty-five kohorts, possibly a few more.”
“I expected more than that,” said the Lord Marshall, frowning at the news. “You sure about this?”
“As sure as I can be,” Robert Brentwood answered.
“Then as I feared and as the Susa of the Vada warned, this is not their secondary attack. As we know, the number of kohorts presently running up our eastern borders is over four times that.” He frowned. There must be more kohorts. Where are they? “We know the Largan must have at least two hundred and twenty kohorts. I think gentlemen, that we have been outmanoeuvred. This is merely a diversion to draw the Regiments here, into Brentwood so that they can be destroyed. I am very much afraid that a third Larg army, at least as big as the one we currently face will attack, is attacking in the south.”
“Where?” asked General Ross.
“Cocteau or van Buren by choice,” Peter Duchesne answered. He thumped his fist down on the map table in frustration. “Hell and Damnation.”
“Lord Marshall?” prompted the elderly General Karovitz, who commanded the cavalry.
“No point heading south, we must face the Larg here. We can’t stop them, we don’t have enough troops. A series of delaying skirmishes to force them to stop and fight. This is no job for the infantry.”
He turned to General Ross, “Alan, take the infantry and march to the River Murdoch. Cross and help the Duke of Gardiner defend the eastern bank. He’ll be digging in. The cavalry will delay the Larg. I believe that the Kohortangan is under strict orders to invade Brentwood and destroy the Regiments before making his way east into Gardiner. The Larg don’t think as we do. They’ll believe that the Regiments will stand and fight, a great battle, because that is what they would do. That we will retreat to behind a river and wait is to them cowardice of the highest order. When you cross the river pay close attention to the parts that are fordable, destroy the causeways if you can and demolish the bridges, no point giving the Larg a present of dry-pawed passage. Prince-Duke Robert’s foot levies will go with you.”
“But Lord Marshall,” protested Alan Ross, “how will you and the cavalry get over to Gardiner if we destroy the causeways?”
“We don’t,” answered Peter Duchesne in a flat voice.
Alan Ross took an understanding breath.
“General Karovitz, Prince-Duke Robert and I will lead the cavalry and endeavour to hold back the kohorts for as long as we can. Hit and run tactics.”
“What about my people who are in the path of the kohorts?” asked the Prince-Duke.
“They’ll be safe as long as they stay behind stone walls,” Peter Duchesne answered. “The Larg will not stop to take out individual resistance pockets. Farms and villages are another matter.”
“I gave orders to the garrisons to gather in all the people and livestock they could,” said the Prince-Duke, “those who would not be able to reach the coast. Some will not have made it but I hope most of them will.”
“General Ross and his infantry will march out within the candle-mark. Can you reach the river in say, eight days?” asked Peter Duchesne with a sympathetic glance at the Prince-Duke. He was a man who cared for his people.
General Ross looked at the map, mentally calculating the distances involved. “Forced marches, yes, we should make it in eight days.”
“We’ll try to give you the eight days,” said Peter Duchesne. “If we don’t get as many men as you can over the river. You know what to do.”
General Ross saluted. He sped out of the pavilion, clicking his fingers at the Infantry Colonels to follow. There was a mass exodus from the tent.
Lord Marshall Peter Duchesne looked at the four regimental officers who remained and at the small group of nobles standing round their Duke.
“We gentlemen,” he began, “have the next candle-mark or two to work out just how we are to accomplish what I have promised General Ross. Any ideas?”
“Small groups of two hundred or so,” suggested Charles Karovitz in his gruff voice. “Any smaller and the kohorts won’t stop to fight, any bigger and we’ll be embroiled in that battle you want to avoid. Each echelon must be big enough to persuade the Larg to stop their advance and fight yet small enough to manoeuvre. I reckon that gives us about ten echelons if we include the mounted troops that Duke Robert can provide.”
“I agree,” said the Prince-Duke. “Thank the Gods the Larg are not like the Lind, they can only run fast in short spurts. Weight and ferocity is their strength and we must use that to our advantage. Each echelon will attack in turn on both flanks and one at a time to keep them unbalanced and wondering where the next attack will come. Hit them hard and then gallop away as fast as we can as if the very devil is after us.”
“If they follow our retreats in force?” inquired Charles Karovitz.
“Make for one of the keeps,” Robert Brentwood replied, “everyone has maps.”
“Once the Larg have passed it by, come out and attack them from the rear,” continued Peter Duchesne. “That’ll make them even more uneasy, I hope. Some of the kohorts may even be told to surround the said keeps which will reduce the size of the army that Gardiner will have to face but we want to keep such occurrences to an absolute minimum. Cavalry is far more effective out in the open. No suicide charges gentlemen please. Alive we can delay the Larg, dead we can do nothing but provide them with their next meal.”
The men shivered.
“If you get to the river, cross and join Gardiner. If that is impossible, make for the coast.”
“There are also a number of keeps strung along the east bank of the river,” offered Duke Robert.
“True,” assented Peter Duchesne. “Once the Larg are within sight of the river there will be little more we can do anyway. It will be up to Gardiner and Alan Ross.” His green eyes fixed for a moment on them in turn. “This is a desperate undertaking. Our casualties will be heavy. Perhaps none of us will survive but I’m sure every man will do his duty.”
“And women,” interrupted the Duke, surprising the Lord Marshall. “There are a few amongst my levies. They’ve heard about the Armies of the North that come to Duchesne’s aid and that there are women soldiers numbered among them.”
“A good third I believe,” said Charles Karovitz.
“Fifty-fifty in the Lindars and the Vada,” added Peter Duchesne.
“I saw no reason to refuse them,” said Duke Robert, “though it goes against all tradition and protocol.”
“When all this is over we might find that more than just tradition and protocol have been overturned and for the better,” said Peter Duchesne, wondering whether he would live to see the day when women arrived at the regimental recruiting stations to enlist. He doubted it.
Mile by bloody mile, the kohorts advanced east through Brentwood, slowed but not stopped by the brave efforts of the cavalry.
After three days the two thousand had been cut by a half but still the echelons attacked, retreated, attacked and retreated again, leaving their dead and wounded behind.
Prince-Duke Robert fell on the second day, his echelon overrun when he misjudged the speed of one of the Larg counter-attacks.
The Lord Marshall survived until the sixth.
On the eighth, within sight of the river, General Charles Karovitz gathered together the few who remained and led them northwards towards the coast. The survivors numbered one hundred and sixty-eight.
They had given General Ross the time he needed to march the infantry to the aid of the Duke of Gardiner. There they joined the duke’s levies and dug in.
The frustrated Larg milled around the western bank of the river for a full day while their Kohortangan decided what to do.
The sacrifice of the mounted troops had not been in vain. When the kohorts eventually swarmed over the river they did not manage to dislodge the Ross-Gardiner infantry. The Largan’s plan to cut of the people of Murdoch from the coast had failed and great was the Largan’s anger when the Kohortangan reported this failure.
This anger was to play
a large part in the events that were about to unfold to the south where he and the third part of the army were approaching the Citadel and its surrounding town at Fort. He began to distrust the advice of his Kohortangans.
* * * * *
Danal and Tala
“It’s hotter than being in a furnace,” gasped Derek as he led the way inside the canvas awning and kneeling down, began to prepare a simple meal of trail bread and dried karku (the southern name for kurka). Once Danal, Tala and Philip had crowded in beside him and the four Lind had taken up their accustomed positions round the edges the eight ate their portions with hunger but no relish.
Once they had travelled further west into the desert the Lind would be able to hunt for the small burrowing rudtka but they were too close to the Murdoch border, at the outskirts of the path the Larg kohorts would take on their run north to Duchesne and the Island Chain. It was imperative that they get as far east as they could as fast as they could, hence no hunting stops.
They were travelling by night and resting under the canvas awning by day, following their route using the stars as a guide and also what had become almost their most precious possession, a crude compass made by Tala’s fellow journeyman Jhonas during his apprentice days, not a hundred percent accurate but good enough.
“I wonder how Master Annert, Jhonas and the other two are getting on,” Philip thought aloud as he placed the said compass back in his belt pouch.
“They’ll do it,” said Tala, wiping her sandy hand over her hot brow.
“You seem very sure.”
“I am. Master Annert is a brilliant man and Professor Angus, why he is reputed to be a genius! He taught me for a term during my apprentice training. They’ll do it.”