The Forever Man: Clan War Read online

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Marine sergeant Nathaniel Hogan looked down from the hills of Drumnadochit and took in the view of Loch Ness. Above him the afternoon sky shimmered with the oily rainbow of the ever-present Northern lights. Next to him, also on horseback, sat Tad, the dwarvish muscleman, knife thrower and astronomer.

  Nathaniel pulled his fur cloak tight to combat the icy winds that swept the hills. Then he pointed east.

  ‘Looks like a smoke. Chimney perhaps.’

  Tad stared for a while. ‘Maybe. Far away.’

  ‘Shall we go and take a look?’

  Tad nodded. ‘May as well. Don’t have any pressing appointments at the moment.’

  They nudged their horses forward and started to amble in an easterly direction.

  It had been almost eighteen months since the first solar pulse had struck the earth. One and a half years since the electromagnetic strikes, caused by a series of massive solar flares, had stilled the modern heart of mankind and sent all of humanity spinning back into the dark ages. During those terrible months, almost nine tenths of the earth’s population had died from disease, starvation and sickness. In the United Kingdom over sixty million people.

  But that is not all that had happened. The solar pulses had pumped out enough gamma radiation to effect much more than the simple electronic marvels of the modern world. The self same rays had caused a molecular level shift in marine sergeant Hogan’s DNA and caused him to become a being of accelerated strength and abilities, the primary example being the capacity to heal himself from even the direst of injuries, bar actual loss of limb or perhaps dread disease. To all intents and purposes, Nathaniel Hogan had become close to immortal. He had become, The Forever Man.

  As well as this, the gamma radiation had allowed a gateway between here and there to be opened and, through that gateway, a new civilization had come. Millions of them. Battle orcs, Goblins and trolls – all commanded by The Fair-Folk, a race of alien creatures that were intent on leaving their dying planet and conquering earth as their very own.

  By this stage, neither Nathaniel nor Tad had actually seen the Fair-Folk or their minions. However, they had been told of them as they had traveled north, something that the marine needed to do, due to a geas[*] that had been laid upon him.

  Before this, Nathaniel had magically traveled back in time to the era of the Celtic Picts and Romans and had been involved in a series of small battles against the Romans where he had led his tribe to victory.

  Finally, some few weeks ago, he had crossed Hadrian’s Wall and then continued north, into the Scottish Highlands, where he now was.

  As they got closer to the thin column of smoke it became apparent that it was indeed, the smoke from a chimney, rising straight into the frigid air. On approach, they saw that the cottage was part of a clachan or small hamlet of single story houses. The clachan was collected in a dip, nestled out of the direct winds and weather. A single main street and perhaps twenty houses. The road at each end of the clachan was barricaded by a stout wooden gate and a fence ran around the entire settlement. Nathaniel could see a couple of armed men standing at each gate.

  ‘Shotguns,’ said Tad.

  The marine nodded his agreement. ‘Take it easy. We’ll talk but not antagonize. Could do with a bit of warmth and a good meal.’

  ‘I don’t antagonize people,’ argued Tad. ‘You do.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Nathaniel. ‘All I’m saying is, if they make some crass comment about your height, just leave it. Turn the other cheek.’

  Tad nodded. ‘Will do.’

  They approached the gate on the west side of the clachan and, when they were fifty feet or so away, they dismounted and continued on foot, leading their horses.

  As they got closer the guards brought their shotguns up to port. Ready to fire at any time.

  ‘Halt and state your business,’ called out the one.

  ‘No business,’ replied Nathaniel. ‘Simply two travelers seeking some shelter and a hot meal for the night. We have some game to trade.’

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘London. Been on the road for over a year now.’

  The two guards had a brief confab.

  ‘Right,’ said the same guard. ‘Come forward and be welcomed.’

  Nathaniel and Tad approached the gate and the guard pulled it open and let them through.

  The four of them all shook hands.

  ‘Go down the street, hitch your horses up outside the inn. That’s the house with the smoke coming from the chimney.’

  Nathaniel nodded his thanks. The guards stared at the unlikely pair as they walked down the street.

  They tied the horses to the hitching rail and took their weapons, two shotguns, a crossbow, a selection of knives and Nathaniel’s war-axe, from the saddlebags, along with a sack of dressed hares. Then they entered the inn via the front door.

  The door led into the taproom. The room was middling sized and warm. A huge inglenook on the left of the tavern was making a bad job of removing the smoke from the room but at least the fire burned well. A thick fug of wood smoke, stale alcohol and pipe smokers herbs filled the room assailing all that entered. Forceful as a playground bully. A rough-hewn bar ran the length of the room. A selection of unmatched chairs and tables were scattered around, their lack of placement a true exercise in randomization. Perhaps a dozen men sat in groups. Talking softly. Drinking. Some smoked. Pipes or hand rolled cheroots.

  Everyone stopped talking and stared at the two newcomers. Nathaniel and Tad approached the bar. Tad stacked their weapons up against the bar and the marine placed his sack on the wooden top.

  ‘Greetings,’ said the marine. ‘We are looking for a place for the night and some hot food and drink. We grow weary of travel. We have this to trade.’

  Nathaniel pulled out seven good-sized hares. They had been fully dressed and skinned and weighed in at around twelve pounds each. Enough meat to feed twenty five to thirty people if combined with vegetables in a stew.

  The landlord, a short wide man, balding hair and thick eyeglasses prodded the game. Then he nodded.

  ‘Room for the night. Dinner with meat, porridge for breakfast and as much whisky as you want, within reason.’

  Nathaniel nodded. It was a good deal.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Could we start with a couple of large whiskies then?’

  The landlord took out two thick tumblers and half filled them with an amber liquid. Both Tad and Nathaniel raised their glasses to all in the room and took a sip.

  The whisky was rough enough to bring unbidden tears to the marine’s eyes. Obviously home distilled. Young, raw and fiery. But warm.

  The two men went over to the fire and stood in front of it, letting the warmth seep in from the outside as the whisky took care of the inside. Nathaniel felt good. Relaxed and at ease
for the first time in a few weeks.

  And then someone spoke.

  ‘Hey,’ they said in a stage whisper, pitched loud enough for all to hear. ‘Do you think that the lawn ornament has lost his pointy red hat?’

  There was a sound of collective laughter and Nathaniel let out a sigh.

  Tad shook his head. ‘There’s always got to be one,’ he said as he stood up. ‘That’s a gnome, you moron,’ the little man continued. ‘I’m a dwarf.’

  The joker sniggered. ‘Where’s your big red nose then?’

  ‘And that’s a clown. Really, are you the stupidest person on the planet or is your mother using the family brain cell tonight?’

  The room went silent as Tad did the unthinkable and insulted a Scottish Highlander’s mother.

  ‘Damn you, dwarf,’ said the joker. ‘There’s nae need to mention me mother. Time you were taught a lesson.’

  ‘That might be true,’ admitted Tad. ‘But I can guarantee that the lesson will not be taught by someone as unbelievably thick as you.’

  The joker pushed his chair back and stepped towards Tad. He was a large man, ample in girth but not running to fat. A body tempered hard by fieldwork and many hours outdoors.

  Tad rolled his head on his neck to ease some of the stiffness out.

  ‘Don’t hurt him,’ said Nathaniel.

  The joker smiled. ‘No worries, mon. I just want to teach the wee bugger a lesson or two.’

  The marine raised an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’

  The fight, if one could call it a fight, lasted all of four seconds. Tad dove to the ground, rolled, stood up alongside the joker and kicked him hard in the side of his knee, dropping him to the floor and then hooking him savagely on his temple, laying him out with one punch.

  There was a stunned silence for a few seconds and then someone spoke.

  ‘Hey,’ they said, in a voice that sounded like a roll of thunder. ‘You can’t do that.’

  Tad shrugged. ‘I just did.’

  ‘Yeah, well. You cheated.’

  ‘Oh, pee off,’ retaliated the small man. ‘Is everyone in this village inbred or something? Can’t a man just have a quiet drink?’

  ‘They can,’ rumbled the voice. ‘But only if they’re polite and don’t beat up the locals.’

  Tad rolled his head on his neck again. ‘Alright,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over with. Take your best shot.’

  The owner of the thunderous voice stood up. And up. And up some more. He must have stood over seven feet tall and was built to boot. Most of his face was covered in a thick bushy black beard and his wavy hair fell past his shoulders. He wore a simple short-sleeved shirt, a tartan kilt and steel tipped boots. He had muscles in places that normal people don’t even have places.

  Tad took one look, turned and went and sat down next to Nathaniel.

  ‘This one’s yours,’ he said. ‘Good luck.’

  The marine sighed and stood up.

  ‘Listen, my friend,’ he addressed the big man. ‘We don’t want any trouble. Relax. Sit down. No worries.’

  The big man walked over to the marine and loomed over him. ‘Too late for talk, wee man. Let’s go outside and sort this out.’

  Everyone in the tavern stood up and headed for the door, some stopped on the way and refilled their drinks from the bar. Nathaniel followed them all out and Tad brought up the rear.

  The crowd formed a loose circle around Nathaniel and the Scotsman and waited.

  The marine swung his arms around in an effort to limber up. The big man simply stood, his arms by his side. Waiting.

  Eventually he spoke. ‘You ready?’

  Nathaniel nodded and moved forward.

  The big man was fast. Faster than Nathaniel would ever have believed. His massive fist struck the marine in the center of his chest with a sound like an axe striking wood. The velocity of the blow lifted Nathaniel off his feet and threw him back, over the hitching rail and onto the snowy ground with a thump.

  He rolled onto all fours and raised himself slowly to his feet. The world swam around him like it was on a gimble and the light faded from dark to gray and back. Without even feeling for it he knew that the big man had broken a couple of his ribs and, each time he drew a breath, pain shot through his torso.

  He concentrated on pulling in energy from all around him, breathing deeply so that his ribs could knit and his crushed muscles heal themselves. But he was concentrating so hard on healing that he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the big man’s next punch. A ham sized fist cannoned into the side of the marine’s face, hammering him, once more, to the ground. Blood flowed freely from his split lip and, when he pushed his tongue against his teeth he could feel that many of them were loose.

  ‘Hey, Nathaniel,’ shouted Tad. ‘Hurry up now. It’s cold out here and my bollocks are closer to the snow than yours. Let’s finish this before they freeze off.’

  Tad’s comment got a lighthearted cheer from the crowd and the dwarf bowed extravagantly.

  Nathaniel shook his head, got to his feet and took a few quick steps backwards to get out of the big man’s range.

  The massive Scot took another swing at the marine, but this time Nathaniel was ready for it. He ducked inside the swing and tattooed the Scotsman’s torso with a rapid-fire series of punches, delivered with sight defying speed. It sounded like a machine gun firing into a sand bag.

  Nathaniel stepped back and waited for the big man to fall.

  Instead the Scot grinned. ‘Nice one,’ he said. ‘I think that I almost felt that. Next time put a bit more energy into it.’

  And another humungous right-handed blow smashed Nathaniel onto the snow.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Tad, to no one in particular. ‘Now that’s going to leave a mark.’

  There was another round of laughter and one of the watchers handed Tad a full glass of whisky that he accepted with thanks.

  Nathaniel dragged himself upright again and stood facing the big Scot. It was now or never, he thought, knowing that if he didn’t put the big man down in the next few seconds then, immortal or not, he was going to have the proverbial bejesus kicked out of him.

  The marine circled the big man, flicking out a left jab every now and then, looking for an opening. Then he jagged back, moving faster than the big man could, spotted an opening and went in for the kill. Three solid blows to the big man’s kidneys then he stepped back and circled again. This time he could see that he had done some damage. The big man took a few deep breaths but said nothing.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Asked Nathaniel. ‘No smart comments?’

  The Scot swung another huge roundhouse at the marine but, once again, Nathaniel stepped inside, slammed two more blows into the big man’s kidneys and sprung away. Circling. Circling.

  The Scot’s face had gone pale and his breath was wheezing in and out as the pain from his beaten kidneys worked at his resistance. He lunged forward, attempting to grab hold of the marine and get him into a bear hug. But Nathaniel dropped, rolled and sprung up behind the Scot where he unleashed another barrage of blows at his exposed kidneys.

  The big man grunted in pain and he shambled after the fast moving marine, throwing huge, slow punches that missed by feet.

  And then Nathaniel moved again, stepping up close to the big man. He hit him once, twice, three times in the solar plexus and, as the giant fell forward, his chin met Nathaniel’s fist coming the other way as the marine launched the mother of all uppercuts.

  There was a sound like a coconut being hit with a baseball. The big man’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

  There was a cheer from the crowd and someone pushed a full glass of whisky into Nathaniel’s hand. He downed it in one go and it was immediately replaced with another.

  Opposite him, the big man had risen up onto all fours as he struggled to stand. Nathaniel stepped forward and grabbed the Scot by his shoulder, helping him to his feet.

  The big man gave the marine a hug. />
  ‘Good fight,’ he said. ‘Never been beaten before. Can’t say I rate the experience that highly.’

  The marine stuck out his hand. ‘Nathaniel. Nathaniel Hogan, master sergeant, United States Marine Corps.’

  The big man grasped the marine’s hand.

  ‘My name’s Gruff. Gruff McGunn.’

  Tad walked over and handed the big man a glass of whisky.

  ‘Good fight, he said. ‘Most don’t last more than a second against the marine.’ He stuck his hand out. ‘Name’s Cornelius Montgomery Thaddeus Parkinson. People call me Tad, for short, as it were.’

  ‘Gruff.’

  ‘Hmm,’ exclaimed Tad. ‘Good name - for a bear. I like it.’

  ‘Let’s inside,’ grunted the big man. ‘Warmer.’

  Everyone trooped back inside and started to do some serious drinking and eating.

  Chapter 2

  Commander Ammon stared out of the window of Saint Thomas’s Tower that was situated above Traitors’ Gate in the Tower of London. He took in a view that had been his for the last six months since he had claimed the Tower of London as the Fair-Folk headquarters and Saint Thomas’ as his personal abode.

  The river Thames was frozen over and the white ice reflected back the multicolor Aurora Borealis as it coruscated across the sky.

  Almost opposite the Tower a huge steel warship was anchored next to the bank, hemmed solid by the ice. Ammon wondered at the immensity of the structures that the humans had built before their crash. Although he had not traveled back and forth in time as had his chief mage, Seth, the mage had told him stories of wondrous things. Buildings that flew in the sky like birds. Carriages that were self propelled through chemical reaction as opposed to magik. Weapons of such immense power that even the most dangerous of attack spells were as naught in comparison.

  Also, he had told of wars without end. Wars that the entire population of the planet had been involved in. Seemingly meaningless conflicts where countless millions had died and then, afterwards, the same people all lived alongside one another, and traded and intermarried as if no war had ever happened.

  Truly, the fall of mankind and the subsequent arrival of the Fair-Folk was the best thing to have ever happened to the humans, mused the commander. It was simply that they did not appreciate that fact yet.