The Forever Man: Clan War Read online

  And now, Ammon had called for a meeting of the council of twelve. He had decided that it was time to open a new chapter in the history of humanity. And this chapter would be titled, “The Reign of the Fair-Folk.”

  It was Ammon’s plan to send many large battle groups of Orcs and goblins north to recon the area and begin to establish some sort of control in readiness for full occupation in the next few years.

  He anticipated twenty groups of five thousand each. A total of one hundred thousand troops. The meeting of the council was a mere rubber stamp as he knew that they would agree. It was time that the humans were brought to heel.

  Chapter 3

  Axel had prepared himself for this moment since he had first heard the rumors about the Fair-Folk and their minions – the Orcs and the goblins. But the sight of the gray-skinned monstrosity, with its floppy nostril-flaps, bulbous head, savage mouth slit and massive claws, was more of a shock than he could have imagined. As were the two beings on either side of the Orc. Shorter, with large gummy eyes and grotesquely long, muscular arms, they were the goblin archers.

  They had met on a field of clover a few hundred yards outside the walled abbey that housed many of the new town’s three thousand strong population. Axel’s mounted scouts had picked up the battle group a week prior to their arrival and the young captain had prepared for them.

  Fresh stakes had been cut and laid in banks around the town. Rolls of barbed wire encircled the entire 6000 acres of the settlement and every guard tower was manned by two men with crossbows and spears. The walls of the abbey were lined with catapults and giant scorpion crossbows, both the catapults and the bows loaded with bundles of loosely tied together arrows. When fired, the bundles would spread out and the enemy would be subjected to a hail of arrows. They had already been used twice in recent battles against large gangs of lowlifes and had proved to be deadly.

  Behind Axel stood the entire 500 strong cavalry, every one of them equipped with a lance, a shotgun with extra ammunition, and a sword or axe. Many were lightly armored with either military or police issue Kevlar body armor that had been picked up from surrounding towns and villages. They were a formidable force.

  But they looked puny when compared with the 5000 plus troops arrayed before them. 3000 battle Orcs, 2000 goblin archers and even a small detachment of human cavalry, perhaps 50 mounted men. There also appeared to be some sort of large Bear-like creatures at the back of the detachment. Shaggy fur and standing around ten feet tall.

  Axel climbed down from his mount, adjusted his eye-patch and stepped forward to greet the Orc commander.

  ‘Hail, stranger,’ said Axel as he saluted, right hand to forehead.

  The Orc returned the salute ‘Hail, I am sergeant Neb,’ he raised his right hand out in front of him slightly above head height, fist clenched. ‘We come in peace,’ he continued.

  ‘Good,’ responded Axel. ‘Because we take short shrift with those who don’t.’

  ‘We seek information and trading rights with yourselves,’ said the Orc. ‘May we sit somewhere more private and parley?’

  Axel nodded and turned to one of the men behind him. ‘Johnson, get the men to set up a tent here. Fetch father O’Hara and the Prof. Also, water, some mugs and something to eat. Fruit maybe. Bread. A couple of legs of lamb from the kitchen. Not sure what these buggers eat so bring lots.’

  Johnson nodded and trotted off.

  Axel stood at ease and waited. Neither he nor the Orc spoke. It took a little over half an hour before the tent was raised and tables and chairs had been laid. During the whole time both commanders said nothing. They merely looked at each other. Appraising.

  The Orc sergeant saw a young thin skin. A livid scar ran down the right side of his face, slashing through his eye-socket and down to his neck. The socket was covered by a black leather patch.

  His neck was thick with muscle, his shoulders were broad and his waist slim. He carried himself with the air of someone used to command. But there was something else. Something that perturbed the Orc. As a rule, Orcs did not feel fear, as such. They were bred to assess a situation in terms of strengths and weaknesses apropos a military viewpoint. And sergeant Neb could detect no weakness. Behind the young man’s eye lay a wall of steel. This was not a man that one would cross lightly.

  Axel was having a little more trouble assessing the Orc. The very alien character of the creature defied normal human appraisal. The captain saw a large thick-skinned animal bred for battle. A human pit bull or bull terrier. Massively built and obviously capable of fighting unarmed as well as armed. It was a formidable opponent. On the surface, sergeant Neb seemed to be more of an order follower than a decision maker. However, Axel did not fall into the trap of relying on first impressions and assumptions. He knew of old that to assume would only make an ass out of U and Me.

  He walked to the table and sat down, gesturing for the Orc to follow. Axel poured water and offered. The Orc accepted and then helped himself to a leg of lamb, ripping huge chunks off with his large canine-like teeth. Axel took an apple.

  ‘What do I call you?’ Asked sergeant Neb.

  ‘Axel is fine. Or captain.’

  The Orc nodded. ‘Captain.’

  Before Neb could continue there was a disturbance outside as two horses arrived. The two newcomers walked into the tent.

  Axel stood up. ‘Sergeant, let me introduce Father O’Hara, our priest and the Professor. Our leader.’

  The Orc stood up and saluted with clenched fist. The Professor nodded. Father O’Hara crossed himself.

  ‘Oh, faith and bejesus,’ he exclaimed. ‘Tis the divil himself come to visit.’ He glanced outside the tent to take in the horde arrayed there. ‘And with him his minions. 6000 at least be there, for he is legion and they are many.’ The priest turned to Axel. ‘My son,’ he said. ‘I must beg forgiveness but I cannot partake in a meeting with this heathen being. But mark my words, he is of the divil and no good will come of him. We must array ourselves against him at all costs.’

  The father made the sign of the cross, strode from the tent, mounted up and left.

  Axel raised an eyebrow.

  The professor shrugged.

  Sergeant Neb did not react at all.

  ‘Alright, mister Neb,’ said the prof. ‘Talk to us. Tell us all. Where you hail from. Where you are going and what your plans are?’

  Neb talked for an hour solid, his voice a droning monotone but his story was simple and to the point, told in military fashion with no embellishments. He went from the final days of the Fair-Folk’s last world through their arrival, their expansion and right up to their current reconnaissance towards the north. He finished with a repeat of his assurance that they came in peace and they were simply on a fact-finding mission and wished to set up trade between themselves and any likely settlements.

  ‘Look, Neb,’ said Axel. ‘I see no reason to get complicated over this whole thing. Obviously I have heard much of your leaders and I have already given this much thought. Neither of us wants a fight. If you are looking to trade then we are more than happy, but I see no need to tie up anything official. And, finally, I would appreciate it if you chaps would stay off our land. Easy to tell, ours is surrounded by barbed wire. If that’s acceptable to you then I’m more than happy.’

  The Orc sergeant stared at Axel for a while. ‘We would like to leave a small presence here with you,’ he said. ‘To provide assistance if needed in case of attack by outlaws.’

  Axel shook his head. ‘No need, dear boy. We can take care of ourselves.’

  ‘I have been instructed to insist,’ replied the Orc.’

  The captain stood up. ‘Well then I shall be compelled to reject your insistence.’

  The Orc rose to his feet. ‘I have been instructed to insist even if the use of force becomes necessary.’

  The professor banged on the table to attract attention. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’

  The two warriors complied.

  ‘Now, mister
Neb. Is it necessary to leave your, small presence, within our designated boundaries or will you be happy to place them outside?’

  Neb thought for a while. ‘Outside would be fine. But not too far away as then we would be unable to render assistance when and if necessary.’

  ‘Right,’ answered the prof. ‘And how large would this small presence be?’

  ‘One thousand troops.’

  Axel jumped to his feet again but the prof waved him back down.

  ‘One thousand seems a little excessive,’ said the prof.’ I am sure that a token amount, say one hundred, would suffice.’

  The Orc shook his head. ‘Six hundred would be the bare minimum.’

  ‘Two hundred?’ Countered the prof.

  ‘Two hundred archers, one hundred battle Orcs, ten cavalry riders and two trolls.’

  ‘Trolls?’ Asked the prof.

  ‘The big bear-type things,’ answered Axel. ‘Huge.’

  The professor nodded. ‘Acceptable, mister Neb. Now, we are all busy people, Orcs, whatever. Let us be on our way. I ask only that you do not set up your encampment too close to the main gate and that you do not attempt to create a fortress. It would give the wrong impression. After all, we want peace, not war. Agreed?’

  Sergeant Neb agreed, stood up, saluted once again and left the tent.

  ‘Sorry to butt in there, young Axel,’ said the prof. ‘But I could see that things were getting a little steamy. That…thing…is under orders and seems like there was no way that it could back down. We had to give it an out. What do you think would have happened if we refused?’

  Axel shrugged. ‘They would probably have attacked. We would have won. Probably.’

  The prof nodded. ‘I am sure that we would have. It would have cost us many lives but, ultimately, we would have carried the day. However, then what? What would we do when the next battle group came? Or maybe two, or five battle groups. Or a million of them. What then? We need to box smart, young fella. All is not as it seems. They bandy words like peace around but it is obvious that they have decided on domination, and, quite frankly, as long as they do us no harm, I see no serious downside.’

  Axel snorted. ‘As long as they do us no harm,’ he repeated. ‘The only problem is,’ he continued. ‘They will be the conquerors. We shall be the conquered. That, in itself, is harm.’

  The young, scar-faced captain strode from the tent and watched the legion of aliens march away. One hundred ranks of ten, swords riding high on their backs and bows shining in the sun.

  And despite the warmth of the day, he shivered.

  Chapter 4

  Nathaniel peered through the foliage where they were hiding and stared in wonderment at the scene before him.

  ‘Ugly,’ he said

  ‘Really ugly,’ agreed Tad.

  ‘Big and ugly,’ continued Gruff.

  ‘Oh, look who’s talking,’ quipped Tad. ‘Mister big and ugly himself.’

  ‘Bite me, dwarf.’

  ‘And bite you very much right back,’ responded Tad.

  But there was no heat behind the exchange. It was merely two good friends insulting each other in the way that enemies would never be allowed to. Macho male bonding.

  Nathaniel chuckled quietly to himself. The bantering was comforting. It made the marine feel like he was back in the corps. As opposed to being in the middle of nowhere, somewhere north of Hadrian’s Wall in a world that was reliving the darkest period of its history. And, of course, now there were Orcs. And goblins. And some other big hairy monsters. Probably trolls or some crap like that, guessed the marine. And there were lots of them. At least 6000 in this group alone, and it was the second such group that the three of them had seen in as many days.

  This was reconnaissance in force, thought the marine. However, until he had actually spoken to someone in charge they would not be able to glean what their mission was. Maybe they were peaceful. Maybe.

  Nathaniel took another look at the legion. Took in their weapons, their demeanor, the way that they moved.

  No, he thought to himself. No matter what these things might claim, they were hostiles. Maybe not yet, but…soon.

  ‘Right,’ he said as he stood up. ‘No time like the present. I’m going in to talk to these ugly dudes. See what’s up.’ He unclipped the battle-axe from his belt and handed it to Tad. ‘Keep hold of this. Stay here. If it all goes bad…well…I don’t know. Come rescue me.’

  Tad nodded. ‘Will do.’

  Gruff patted Nathaniel on the shoulder. ‘Go get ‘em, Nate. We’ll watch.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Nathaniel. ‘I feel safer already.’ He grinned and strode out towards the encampment. Holding his hands above his shoulders to show that he had no weapons.

  ***

  Everyone from the clachan was crowded into the inn. Packed almost shoulder to shoulder, looking at Nathaniel who was standing on the bar. There was a general hubbub of noise until the marine waved them to quiet.

  ‘As you all know, Tad, Gruff and I went to visit the pig people, or Orcs as they call themselves, and their buddies this morning. I actually had a chat with their chief pig-thing and, I will say this up front – they are full of it! Now, first things first, they claim to have come from another time, place, planet, whatever. This, I am sure is true. They also claim that they come in peace and have no desire to either rule or to conquer humanity. I asked them why were they building a line of forts and barracks along the Wall of Hadrian? And why they were sending out recons in such force? Basically, whatever question I asked I got the same rote answer. We come in peace, we mean no harm and we simply want to trade. Our fortifications are here to protect you and blah and blah and so on. Now, I am a sergeant and I know officer speak when I hear it. Whatever they told me was simply what they had been instructed to tell me. However, I shall speak no more. I would like to introduce you to a newcomer who arrived with us last week. He has had previous dealings with these pig-folk and I want you to give him a listen. His name is Jarvis Baker and the Fair-Folk and their Pig-People killed his father.’

  A young man stood up on the bar. He looked nervous and held his head low, hands clasped in front of him.

  ‘Speak, Jarvis,’ said Nathaniel. ‘No need to be afraid.’

  ‘My name is Jarvis Baker,’ he said, in a quiet voice. ‘Almost a year ago now, the Fair-Folk ordered my father killed, and my uncle. My uncle was hung for sedition, he refused to bow down to the Fair-Folk, and my father went to his rescue but was cut down in the process. Before this happened, I myself rode with the Fair-Folk for a short while until we were issued with weapons. These were never weapons issued to be used on the Fair-Folk minions. They were not issued to subjugate Orcs and goblins. No. These were weapons to strike down other humans or, thin-skins, as they call us. After the murder of my father I left with my sister, Doris, my friend, Gerry and his brother and parents. Following my father’s institutions we came north. And here we are.’

  The young man raised his face and looked directly at everyone in the room.

  ‘They have taken my father. They have taken my father’s brother. And I have sworn revenge. There will be blood for blood!’

  Tad leapt onto the bar, raised his hands and shouted. ‘Blood for Blood.’

  The rest of the room joined in, the chant an atavistic war cry. A tribal thing. It was the sound of the Highlanders seeking war. Looking for retribution.

  ‘Blood for blood. Blood for blood. BLOOD FOR BLOOD!’

  Chapter 5

  Nathaniel literally ground his teeth together in frustration. He took a rough-rolled homegrown cigar out of his pocket, lit it, inhaled and then exhaled slowly.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m not saying that we all gather together and simply attack the pig-people in some sort of demented rush. All that I’m saying is, we agree that we shouldn’t let them past Hadrian’s Wall, so we put together a border patrol, some fast reaction units. We know that they don’t use cavalry and I am sure that all we need to do is show a spirited resistance
to keep them out. After all, the buggers control the rest of England so I honestly believe that a few bloody noses will discourage them enough to keep them out.’

  A man with a long red beard and cropped red hair stood up. ‘Aye, marine,’ he said. ‘My name is Glen Cameron from Lochiel. Chief of the Cameron’s. I live in Achnacarry castle. I agree. But what I want to know is, when my men are patrolling the wall then who is protecting my stock and fields from the bloody Frasers?’

  ‘Another man stood up. Clean-shaven with dark hair that hung down his back. ‘Screw you very much Cameron. Like we would bother to steal your mangy cattle. Us Frasers have got some pride you know. It’s those Kinlochs that you should be worried about. They don’t even have a chief. The clan is run by a woman.’

  Yet another Highlander stood up and, without a word, walked over to Chief Angus Fraser and punched him in the mouth.

  ‘Bite me, Angus bloody Fraser. I’ll no have ye talking aboot me ma like dat.’

  Nathaniel sprang in between the two men and forced them apart. ‘Stop it,’ he yelled. ‘What is wrong with you people? We have a common enemy and still you won’t pull together. Why?’

  There was a silence in the room for a while and then Angus Fraser spoke. ‘Look, mate. Not to be disrespectful; but who the hell made you chief of chiefs?’

  ‘No one,’ admitted the marine.

  ‘Good,’ said Angus. ‘Well bugger off then and leave the thinking to us chiefs.’

  Nathaniel contemplated simply punching the crap out of all of them until they agreed with him but he knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t work. He was fighting against hundreds of years of inbred suspicion, hatred and tradition. It was true that the Scots loved to fight. In fact, he had heard said that if you locked a Highlander in a room by himself then, within minutes his one hand would start to fight his other hand. And, while this was true, it did mean that they had a huge amount of internal disputes going on that seemed to be more important to them than the single overall strategy that Nathaniel was trying to sell them.