by Candy Rae
“Relieve the Citadel,” said Robain. “The children, the old and the sick can take shelter there once we’ve retaken it. Then we must assess the situation and decide what our next action should be and you never know, the kohorts might still be there. The Larg don’t like to admit defeat.”
“You think they won’t be able to resist staying, hoping that the Citadel will run out of food and water?”
“Absolutely. We know the Largan is there. He’ll want to take the seat of government and he knows that the Dglai will come to his aid at some point, with their Quorko. From what we heard at Vada, these Quorko are capable of bringing down even the strongest walls. We can’t do much about them but we can do something about the Larg. They are not used to combat within built up areas and I am sure we can retake the town if we are determined and resolute.”
“With half of our army made up of women and children armed with picks, shovels and wooden clubs?”
“We also have the levies of the vassals who are coming in,” Robain reminded him, “and I think that those picks and shovels you so deride will be just as effective against the Larg in streets and alleys as are swords and lances. The slaves are fighting for their freedom. It will make them very determined. Also, remember your history lessons.”
“What history lessons?”
“Have you forgotten the great slave revolt of AL 358? Even I know about that. They nearly destroyed your Kingdom. What were they armed with? I’ll tell you … picks and shovels.”
Elliot assimilated Robain’s prognosis, short history lesson and advice.
“That’s what we’ll do then” he said.
* * * * *
The Crown-Princess
“Princess.”
Dowager Crown-Princess Susan turned.
“Archbishop,” she greeted Tom Brentwood. She had just returned from her tour of the crowded palace complex where she had spent over two candle-marks visiting the people who were sheltering. “What’s got you looking so excited?”
“The lookouts on the high tower are reporting that there’s an army approaching from the west.”
“The Regiments?”
“Not the Regiments.”
Elliot’s mother’s heart sank. Another Larg army, she thought in despair.
“It’s not the Larg,” said the Archbishop, elation bubbling from within. “It’s people, a huge amount of people, they reckon there might be as many as forty thousand! They’re marching under the banner of Sahara.”
“We have no army in Sahara,” protested Susan.
Tom Brentwood shrugged. “I don’t know who they are or where they’ve come from but they’re on their way.”
“Do they know the Larg occupy the town below?” She was pushing past him, intending to climb the stairs to the lookout post to see for herself.
Tom Brentwood let her go, the stairs were steep and he was not a young man. He sat down on a nearby bench to catch his breath.
Now, he thought, where did I put my arms and armour? I have a feeling I might have need of them.
* * * * *
The Larg knew Elliot was coming. They were waiting for him inside the town, the Largan having refused to listen to his warriors’ entreaties to meet the army in the open outside the gates where the Larg have the advantage.
* * * * *
The Guildmaster
“I am going and that’s the last I want to hear about it!”
“But it will be dangerous,” protested Jhonas, who had been most distressed to learn that the elderly Master Annert intended to be one of the volunteers going with the Lai to the southern continent to drop the bombas.
Jhonas was going, as was Jeannie.
Guildmaster Annert had insisted that only those without a family to support should be numbered amongst the volunteers and also that they be over twenty years old. He had a gut feeling that for most it would be a one way trip. With so many young people gone to the war already however, it had been difficult for him to recruit enough to make up the numbers from the Technicians Guild.
As well as this most of the inhabitants of Stewarton still didn’t know the true nature of the war nor about the Dglai. The official Council line was that the Garda and the Militia were stationed along the coastlines, that their families were not to worry and that they would be home, safe and sound, once the crisis on the southern continent was over.
The news would percolate to Stewarton eventually and when it did Annert most definitely would not want to be in Head Councillor Ander’s shoes, feeding false information to the populace as he was.
He’ll have to resign, thought Annert with satisfaction. He did not like Horatio Anders, thinking him insincere and he suspected, corrupt.
The volunteers who would fly with the Lai all came from the Technicians Guild apart from two, Jeannie and a friend of hers who was also studying under the crusty mathematician, Professor Angus although Anders had had to accept some of the older apprentices.
“I’m going,” he repeated. “I am perfectly fit and quite able to light two bombas and drop them on to the Quorkos. The journey is not beyond my capabilities Jhonas. It is not me who will be doing the flying! I’ll just sit on top and enjoy the experience. Imagine it! Flying! What a wonderful thing! I won’t be denied the chance.”
“Prenda can go. She is willing.”
“Prenda will most definitely not. She’s only sixteen. She’s got her whole life ahead of her and I think that you have forgotten that they are my bombas. I designed them. I’m going to be one of the people who is going to drop them and no one, not even you, is going to stop me.”
Jhonas shook his head. “Very well Master,” he said at last, reluctantly accepting the old man’s right to be part of the expedition.
“Are the carts loaded?” asked Annert.
“They are,” Jhonas confirmed. “The bombas are in place, five to a cart and nestled into as much straw as we could find.”
“Fire starters? Slow matches?”
“Them too, enough to go round and one over per person. Couldn’t find any horses to pull them. They’ve all gone with the army so it’ll have to be jezdic.”
“The teamsters?”
“Ready and waiting. They’ve no idea what this is all about by the way, only that they’ve to take us up to the reservoir and that they’ll be away overnight.”
“They’ll get a surprise when the Lai fly in,” chortled Annert, eager to be off.
He and Jhonas were dressed from top to toe in leather with stout wool underneath. It was going to be cold up in the clouds and Annert had ordered that all volunteers have adequate clothing. Woollen scarves, mittens, gloves, hats and socks completed the outfits.
“Where’s my pack?” asked Annert.
“There on the table Master, just where you put it after Miggi gave you the sandwiches she prepared. I had to talk rather fast to explain away the reason why you needed so much for only one night.”
Guildmaster Annert wasn’t listening. One big thrill of excitement, he picked up his pack and followed Jhonas out of the room.
* * * * *
Julia
Susyc Julia did not sleep well the nights before the battle. Alyei slept restlessly too and this restlessness communicated to his human partner.
They were not the only ones who tossed and turned or whose paws twitched or whose thoughts were about the days ahead.
The horses were edgy. They sensed the tension in the air. The felt the feeling of impending doom.
* * * * *
The Guildmaster and the Lai
“Right,” said Jhonas as he and Master Annert entered the common room where the volunteers were waiting, “time to go.”
The volunteers stood up, each with a sturdy leather backpack filled with essentials and enough food for five days. Everyone wore a belt pouch strapped round their middles containing tinderbox, slow matches, fire starter and a knife. These impedimenta they would use to light the fuses on the bombas.
“Are you sure the hay nets are in the wago
ns?” asked a concerned Annert.
The guild apprentices had spent the previous afternoon scrounging the nets from the various and largely empty stables in Stewarton under the eyes of the mystified stable hands and owners.
“One for each bomba and some to spare,” promised Jhonas.
“I hope they will work,” fretted Annert, “but I can’t think of any other way the Lai will be able to carry them. I wish there had been time to make something sturdier.”
The nets had been Professor Angus’s idea, the crusty old academic demonstrating that he had a hitherto unknown practical streak in his make up when they had all been wondering what to do. The idea was that the volunteers would light the fuse and cut the rope tying the hay net to the harnesses.
“May I say a few words?” asked Professor Angus from the corner.
“Of course,” said Guildmaster Annert but it was clear to all but the professor that he wanted to be off.
Jeannie raised her eyes to the ceiling, she knew the old man of old and his farewell was likely to be on the long side.
* * * * *
Annert rode in the lead wagon. The driver was a young man, little more than a boy who chattered during the journey up the hill to the reservoir.
He controlled the reluctant jezdic with ease. The cavalcade of wagons was making good time so Annert was ready to forgive him the chatter although he would much rather have journeyed in silence.
He learned that the boy’s grandfather was driving the wagon to their rear and that his mother, sister and cousins were in charge of the others.
The delivery house from where Jhonas had hired the wagons was a family concern. The boy’s father, his two uncles and his adult male cousins had gone east with one of the Stewarton Militia battalions. He and his grandfather were running the business while they were away.
“Grandfer wasn’t keen to come tonight,” the boy confided. “He likes to settle down of an evenin’ with a pint of ale but I said you was payin’ good coin and I insisted we take the job.”
“Very wise,” said Annert.
“Thought so meself. It’s not we need the coin you understand Guildmaster. This last two months we’ve been very busy. Not so many draft and delivery teams stayed, most are takin’ supplies for the army but father said we should stay. Said we’d reap the benefits, city still needs feedin’ right enough, produce brought in.”
“Your father is undoubtedly right, a wise man.”
“Oh he is sir, he is.”
The boy snuck a look at Annert.
“So why we goin’ to the reservoir sir? Seems an odd journey to be makin’ this time o’ night. I means sir, there ain’t nothing there but water.”
“You’ll see soon enough son,” Annert absently replied, jiggling up and down on his seat. “It’s something you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren about one day. A great event is about to unfold, a very great event.”
“If you say so sir,” said the boy, privately thinking the Guildmaster more than a little mad, clicking his teeth at the reluctant jezdic and swinging his whip to remind them who was boss.
They reached the top of the hill at last and Annert got down from the wagon.
The boy remained on the seat and watched as Annert walked away, stopped and began scanning the sky.
Crazy, the whole bleedin’ lot o’ them, that’s what they are.
“They must be here soon,” shouted Annert to Jhonas. “Can you see anything?”
“Nothing yet Master.”
By now, everyone, even the teamsters were staring up at the sky.
Jeannie pointed with her finger.
“I can see them, I can see them,” she squealed. “They’re coming! Oh my gosh and goodness!”
“What are they?” asked the teamster boy, who by squinting his eyes had managed to identify what he thought were a mass of flying ‘blotches’ in the clouds. “Are they dangerous?”
Annert looked at him, his face alive with excitement. “They are the Lai my boy. Come to take us to the south. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“You sure they ain’t dangerous sir?”
“Not in the least. They are our friends.”
“But what are they sir, these Lai? Why, they’ve got wings, they’re flying! Are you really going with them to the south?”
The dark blotchy shapes got larger and larger.
One by one, the large golden creatures plunged, with their pinions wide, wings thumping in the air, down and towards them.
Above them more floated and drifted in the air, perhaps fifty all told, their huge integumentous wings shining in the moonlight.
Velku led those chosen to carry the humans and the bombas to the bank of the reservoir. He spread his wings, spiralling, helixing and twisting in descending circles. He could have gathered in his wings and plummeted down but he chose to take the lazy approach so as not to scare those waiting with bated breath below.
Annert let out a sigh of delight.
Dragons, dragons in the air above him!
I’m so glad I have lived long enough to see this day!
* * * * *
Elliot and Robain
The battle for Fort took three days.
The slave army surged through the gates and over the walls, intending to and succeeding in accomplishing their first objective, that of securing the buildings in the outer districts. From there, Elliot and Robain intended to move inwards house by house, forcing the Larg into a smaller and smaller area in the centre of the town.
The battle was vicious and bloody. Neither side asked for not gave quarter. Almost all the humans fought, even the very young children and the oldest men and women, all intent on destroying the Larg and winning their freedom.
The Largan realised his mistake not to meet them in battle outside the walls during the very first morning but by then it was too late. The humans held each building they won with implacable determination. Each foray the Larg attempted to oust them was repulsed.
Once Elliot’s army had gained control of the district below the Citadel, its gates opened and out spilled everyone who was able to wield a weapon. Elliot’s mother, the Dowager Crown-Princess Susan led them, wearing her dead husband’s armour.
* * * * *
The Largan
When Kalavdr the Largan refused to allow Avdr, the Kohortangan of the kohorts to meet the human army outside the gates of Fort Avdr tried to argue the point. Kalavdr turned on him with a snarl.
“How dare you,” he thundered, “how dare you question me? I am the Largan. We do not need to leave this Fort of theirs to kill these puny humans. It is not the Regiments we fight but humans untrained. Place your warriors around what the humans call the walls. That will be enough. When they see us waiting for them they will stop. Fort is ours.”
But the novice army led by Elliot and Robain hadn’t stopped. Despite heavy casualties it had kept going, up and over the walls.
The Larg fought like demons possessed, hardly believing that these pitiful two-legs had managed to force their way into and through the ranks of the kohorts.
Kalavdr had always thought of humankind with barely concealed contempt, weak creatures he had called them, with a modicum of intelligence, but lacking strength and determination. He respected the Regiments, the trained soldiers of Murdoch but he had never imagined that ordinary humans would be able, or would have the moral fibre, to actually take on the might of his kohorts.
But it was happening, this was the proof, not that he was prepared to admit that this was so, not even to Avdr who approached him to demand that he lead the kohorts in an attempt to break out of the encirclement.
“Larg do not retreat,” he snarled at the hapless Avdr. “Larg fight and win. Go kill.”
“You are asking us to die,” thundered Avdr.
“Not asking, ordering.”
“To die as a part of a glorious victory is one thing,” growled Avdr, “but this is rout, slaughter. You are mad.”
“I am Largan,” drooled Kalavdr with angry, gli
ttering eyes.
Kalavdr had become more than a little deranged. He should have allowed Avdr to try and force a break out - it was irrational not to permit him.
Unfortunately, obedience to the Largan was so firmly ingrained in the psyche of every Larg that Avdr did not disobey. He died shortly after he had left Kalavdr, hacked to death by a group of burly ex-slaves armed with pick-axes.
Elliot and Robain’s novice soldiers were no longer novices. Robain had worked out a system of how to bring down the Larg and the system was working. They did not try to fight in ones or twos, they hunted in groups of at least four, more if they could manage it, hiding behind doors and walls and jumping out at the Larg who were passing. Some brave souls were jumping down on to Larg backs from the upper stories while their team-mates attacked.
The narrow alleys and close-pressed houses were becoming a slaughter ground where the Larg advantage of muscle and size meant little.
Even inside the cramped houses and tenements where some Larg found shelter it was not safe. This was an alien environment, the chairs, tables, cook-ranges in the corners; they unsettled the Larg and provided little room to manoeuvre.
One by one, the Larg died.
Kalavdr managed to extricate himself from the bloody mêlée in one of the narrower alleys and entered one of the houses. A huge loom, silent and unmoving, sat in one corner beside a shuttered window, on it a part finished rug that flapped as he pushed himself inside the door. The door swung shut. The room was dark.