The Forever Man: Betrayal Page 3

  ‘That is true,’ agreed the chief Yari. Their Orcs and goblins are adequate warriors and they are very numerous, but they are definitely holding back. Perhaps they are waiting to launch a major offensive.’

  ‘Keep a close eye on them,’ commanded Hijiti. ‘And in the meanwhile we must redouble our efforts against the humans. Step up the number of patrols and we shall put together another attack on the wall. We shall also look for other areas of combat. It is time to bring these humans to heel.’

  The Bushos and the chief Yari bowed deeply and left, walking backwards for the first twenty yards to show their respect.

  And Hatomoto, Akimiri Hijiti, supreme warrior of the Annihilators, stood alone and thought about fighting the Lightning Warrior.

  Chapter 6

  The Unicorn had visited The Forever Man in his dreams the night before. He had given both advice and instruction. Neither had made much sense.

  But Nathaniel had already accepted the fact that the Unicorn was a being that had access to otherworldly information that he was not akin to and, as such, his advice did not necessarily have to make sense – it merely had to be believed.

  So he had called Papa Dante in order to give him a task.

  Nathaniel had not seen Papa for a while and he greeted the leader of the Walking Folk with a welcoming smile.

  Papa Dante tried to smile back but the expression came out as a grimace instead.

  ‘You’re in pain,’ noted Nathaniel as he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  ‘It is nothing,’ said Papa Dante. ‘A mug of Gogo’s brandy and it will recede.’

  ‘What is it?’ Asked Nathaniel with a grin. ‘Your old body can’t take the pace anymore?’

  ‘I wish,’ said Papa. ‘According to Gogo it is the cancer. Liver. Always thought that the drink would get me. Or smoking. Not some ugly little tumor, sneaking up like a thief in the night and stealing me away.’

  Nathaniel went pale as the import of what Papa Dante was saying hit him. ‘I had no idea. When did you find out? Can Gogo do something about it?’

  Papa shook his head. ‘Known for a couple of days. Thought that it was just bad backache. Went to see Gogo. There’s naught that she can do. Brandy and herbs for the pain. Different herbs if I want to take a quicker way out at a later stage.’

  ‘My God,’ whispered Nathaniel. ‘How long?’

  Papa shrugged. ‘Enough time left to plant a vegetable garden and reap the rewards, but not enough time to plant a tree and ever sit in its shade.’

  ‘Months?’

  ‘Yes. But not years.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Nathaniel.

  ‘Not your fault,’ quipped Papa Dante. ‘God’s will.’

  Nathaniel sat silent for a while. Papa had always been one of his dearest friends and some part of Nathaniel thought that he would always be there. Not immortal but, somehow, everlasting. He was also one of the marine’s most trusted advisors but there was no way that he could task Papa with a job now. Not when he only had months left to live.

  ‘Well then,’ said Papa. ‘What did you call me here for? Out with it.’

  Nathaniel shook his head. ‘It was nothing,’ he said. ‘It can wait. No rush.’

  Papa leaned forward. ‘Listen, my friend,’ he said. His voice low. Earnest. ‘Talk to me. Do not make me spend the last months of my life feeling useless. Fading away like an old photo. A mere facsimile of what I once was. I’m not dead yet.’

  The marine nodded. ‘Okay, Papa,’ he said. ‘I get it.’

  ‘Good. Now, let’s try again. What did you call me here for?’

  Nathaniel nodded. ‘Okay, if you say so. We need to rebuild the Antonine Wall.’

  ‘The Antonine Wall,’ repeated Papa Dante. ‘So, what is the Antonine Wall when it’s at home?’

  ‘The Romans built it,’ answered Nathaniel. ‘Around 122 AD. Runs from the Firth of Forth to the Firth of Clyde. Originally an earth rampart and a ditch nine feet high and fifteen feet wide. I need it rebuilt in stone and brick if possible. Tear down any and all building in the area to furnish materials, this is important. Ten foot high with watch towers, the whole deal. That’s about thirty nine miles long. And I need it done fast.’

  ‘If I am to see its end then I also need it to be done with haste,’ agreed Papa Dante. ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Because it needs to be done,’ answered Nathaniel.

  ‘If it needs to be turned around with some haste then I shall need a lot of men. Maybe as many as ten thousand. Maybe more. And this at a time when we need all of the able bodied men that we can to man the existing wall. People will want to know why?’

  ‘Why?’ Asked Nathaniel. ‘Because I am their king. Because I am The Forever Man. Because I say so.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ said Papa.

  ‘And it shall be good enough for the people,’ retorted The Forever Man. ‘I want Roo to go with you. Start as soon as possible. Take all of the men that you need. Check with Tad. Also, try to use as many women as you can. They are just as capable and many of them are as strong.’

  Papa nodded and stood up, wincing slightly as he did so. ‘Thank you, Nathaniel,’ he said. ‘I will not let you down. You have given my last moments a purpose. I am in your debt.’

  Nathaniel smiled. ‘You shall never be in my debt, friend,’ he said. ‘Never.’

  Papa left and The Forever Man sat alone with his thoughts.

  Chapter 7

  Tad arched his back in an attempt to stretch the kinks out. He and twenty of his men had been in the saddle for over a week now on an extended patrol into Annihilator territory. Unlike the mixed crew of humans, Orcs and goblins that he was used to working with, this patrol consisted only of heavily armed humans. They were all on horseback.

  Usually horses were out of the question because, try as they might, they had been unable to train any horse to accept an Orc on its back. The animals simply went wild when an Orc approached them. Goblins were fine. Accepted by the horses but not loved. The goblins feelings were mutual.

  Tad was much happier with a solely human contingent. He still didn’t trust the Fair-Folk minions even though they were, technically, allies. He felt that they did not give their all in battle. Particularly the goblins that seemed only to do the bare minimum to stay out of trouble. And both they and the Orcs never took advantage of a tactical situation. They would fight until the enemy was on the back foot and then they would often simply stop, letting the humans finish the encounter.

  None of the actual Fair-Folk, or ‘rubber heads’ as the humans were now calling them, ever deigned to be on the actual field of battle. Fair-Folk’s new derisory nickname had come about ever since their true forms had been revealed in the last battle before the Annihilators came. And the closest that any rubber head would come to being involved, was to sit on the very peripheries of a set battle and then only in an advisory capacity.

  Tad had spoken to Nathaniel about it on numerous occasions but the marine had simply nodded and told Tad to do his best. The Little Big Man was frustrated but, aside from being his friend, the marine was also his king, so he did not argue. He simply did as he was told. He did his best.

  He was pulled out of his reverie by a smell. The smell of smoke on the wind. Strong and acrid. He had smelled it before. It was more than mere wood fire smoke. This was the smell of a household burning. The smell of thatch, wood, cotton, mattresses and livestock going up in flames. It was the smell of war.

  Tad turned in his saddle and spoke to the man riding next to him. ‘Jackson, ride ahead, see where that smoke is coming from and get back as soon as.’

  Jackson saluted and spurred his horse into a gallop, moving towards the column of smoke that was now clearly visible rising above the surrounding tree tops.

  Two minutes later Jackson came galloping back.

  ‘Roaches,’ he shouted. ‘Attacking a homestead. Women and children. Follow me.’

  ‘Let’s ride,’ yelled Tad and they thundered after Ja
ckson, weaving through the trees at top speed.

  As one, they burst into an open area. A grazing paddock set next to a burning farm house. Three bodies lay in front of the house. All male. All dead, slashed and broken.

  A young woman stood in the clearing, broadsword in her hand. Behind her, two young girls, perhaps seven and ten years old.

  And, in front of the woman were nine Annihilators, walking slowly towards her.

  Without pause Tad drew his axe and charged into the Roaches, hacking and cutting as he did so. He fought like a man possessed, his axe flying from side to side as he wheeled his mount, striking both left and right with mighty overhand blows. The Roach warriors tried to fight back but Tad was simply moving too fast and too aggressively.

  Before his men could help, the Little Big Man had laid out all nine Annihilators. He reined his horse in, jumped off and moved quickly from body to body, hacking off their heads with his axe. Ensuring their deaths.

  Finally he stopped and drew breath. Panting fast and deep like a caged animal. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he spun and raised his axe.

  ‘It’s only me,’ said the woman.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Tad. ‘I meant no harm.’

  The woman lent forward and kissed Tad on the cheek, her long blond hair brushed against his face as she did. It smelled of apples and felt like spun silk. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘Apples,’ said Tad.

  She raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry. What?’

  ‘Your hair,’ answered Tad. ‘It smells of apples. And silk. Well, it doesn’t smell of silk. I don’t know what silk smells like. I...’ Tad paused. ‘I’m sorry. I’m normally less idiotic than this. I apologize. My name is Tad.’ He held out his hand.

  She took it and squeezed. ‘I am Maryanne. I have heard of you,’ she continued. ‘The Little Big Man. Leader of the Free State army and advisor to the king.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tad. ‘That would be me.’

  The two little girls ran over and put their arms around Maryanne.

  ‘This is Stephanie and this is Clare,’ introduced Maryanne. ‘My daughters.’

  Tad struggled to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. ‘Oh. Daughters. Pleased to meet you,’ he said to the girls as he bowed. ‘I am sorry that we did not arrive sooner…your father?’ Tad gestured towards the bodies.

  ‘He died some years ago,’ said Maryanne.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Tad and then he blushed bright red. ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t mean that. I cannot apologize enough. I simply mean that I am glad that he did not die now. It appears that your beauty has rendered me into an idiot,’ he continued. ‘Please allow my men and me to help you, my lady. We are at your service.’

  It didn’t take long to ascertain that it would no longer be possible for Maryanne and her daughters to stay at the farm. The house had been burned to the ground and the farmhands and livestock killed. As well as that, the area was remote, in Annihilator controlled territory, and would surely come up against Roach attacks again as it seemed that the Roaches had decided to step up their campaign of late.

  The family had lost all of their possessions in the fire so Tad repacked four of the packhorses, redistributing the soldier’s loads to free up two of the horses. Then he threw a saddle blanket over the horses and the two girls rode one and Maryanne the other.

  They were all well practiced horse riders and rode with grace and ease so, after Tad had seen this, he pushed them hard, hoping to make home before nightfall or at least shortly afterwards.

  Chapter 8

  Commander Ammon Set-Bat of the Fair-Folk shook his head in disgust and he turned to Seth Hil-Nu, his chief mage.

  ‘Have you read this?’ He asked.

  Seth shook his head. ‘It has only just arrived via horse courier. It came straight to you.’

  ‘It is a missive from the human King. The so-called Forever Man. It is a formal complaint regarding the state of our troops and their deportment in battle. He claims that they are holding back.’

  Seth paused for a while before he spoke. ‘Well, they are.’

  ‘I know that,’ agreed Ammon. ‘But it insults us to say that they are.’

  ‘The thing is, commander,’ replied Seth. ‘We have told them to do the bare minimum. Avoid confrontation if possible. Allow the humans to take the lead in any charges, put survival above winning. Basically ensure that the humans are drained at a rate that exceeds ours. And we knew that, after a time, it would start to become obvious.’

  ‘I know all of that, Seth,’ grunted Ammon. ‘They were my orders and I am not grotesquely stupid.’

  Seth bowed deeply. ‘Forgive me, commander. I was stating the obvious. I beg forgiveness.’

  ‘I wonder,’ continued Ammon. ‘If, perhaps we could take this whole idea a little further.’

  ‘In what way, commander?’

  ‘I’m not sure. What do you think would happen if we simply pulled out of the alliance? Fortify a line across the country, through London. A series of fortified emplacements from Severn Beach to Gravesend.’

  ‘Initial thoughts,’ said Seth. ‘The Annihilators will most probably mass up and attack us. Without a formal arrangement they would simply assume that we are were retreating or consolidating for an assault of some sort. Might bring on more aggressive attention than we want.’

  ‘I shall think about it,’ said commander Ammon. ‘I am sure that there is something that we can do. The mere thought of being allied to the humans makes me feel ill.’

  ‘Likewise, commander,’ agreed Seth. ‘Likewise.’

  Chapter 9

  Captain Axel Judge, leader of the abbey and formerly of the Queen’s Royal Surrey Regiment, handed the rider a sealed letter. ‘Donavan, take this and ride as fast as you can to the Fair-Folk encampment in the Hope Valley. Give this to the rubber head in command and tell him that we need reinforcements ASAP. A large force of Roaches are approaching from the north. We will hold as long as possible. Ride hard and bring them back. We are relying on you, Donavan. Now go.’

  The rider spurred his horse and galloped off through the abbey gates. The gates closed behind him with a rattle of chain and a grinding of pulleys.

  One of the long range scouts had reported in that morning with news that a massive contingent of Annihilators were marching on the abbey. Axel had immediately rung the alarm bells and, with well rehearsed speed and efficiency, the surrounding farmers and traders had converged on the abbey, bringing supplies, weapons and family to both shelter behind and protect the abbey walls.

  Then he had split the combat able men and women into three equal groups. Each group would spend eight hours on the walls so that they would not be taken by surprise. There were large stocks of arrows, throwing spears and pots of oil placed along the wall, ready to bombard the Roaches as soon as they came in range.

  Axel had also placed his entire cavalry; some two hundred well armored and heavily armed men, outside the abbey. They were well hidden in the woods to the south west of the abbey and were there to bolster the Fair-Folk when they arrived, providing cavalry to an army that had none due to the fact that the horses could not abide Orcs.

  Now, with Donavan on his way to fetch reinforcements from the Fair-Folk, there was nothing to do except wait.

  Axel walked back to his study, popping into to the small chapel before he did to invite father O’Hara for a drink and a chat, an invitation that the old Irish priest accepted with alacrity.

  ‘So,’ said the father as they walked to Axel’s study. ‘You have sent for de rubber heads for reinforcements. Do you tink dat dey will come?’

  Axel nodded. ‘They’ll come, father. I just hope that they get here in time. We can hold for a day at most but the scouts tell of nigh on ten thousand Roaches coming our way. We’ve beaten off small attacks before, as you know, two or three thousand. But this is a very different kettle of fish. It’s obvious that they mean to exterminate us this time.’

  They entered the study and Axel
went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of brandy and two balloon snifters.

  An unopened bottle of genuine pre-pulse, Remy Martin VSOP.

  Father O’Hara raised an eyebrow. ‘Axel, you does know, boyo, dat is most likely de only bottle of Remy Martin left in de entire world?’

  Axel nodded as he cracked the seal and poured two very generous measures of the dark golden spirit. The honey and leather smell saturated the room, bringing back memories of a time before. Memories of electric lighting and central heating. Music systems, 24 hour television and instant coffee.

  A time when boys of sixteen were scholars, as opposed to axe wielding warriors on the wall. Where danger meant forgetting to put on enough sunscreen, or jaywalking. Not charging an enemy formation or standing under an arrow storm.

  Axel raised his glass. ‘To the past,’ he toasted.

  But father O’Hara shook his head. ‘No, my friend. To the present, for that is all that we have left.’

  They clinked crystal and drank.

  ‘I’m only glad that the Prof is no longer here to see all of this. He hated war and violence. Especially near the end.’ Said Axel, talking about the professor who used to be the leader of the abbey when it was still a school and before Axel took over. Before the pulse. Before the madness.

  The door opened and Janice, Axel’s wife, walked in. She took one look at the open bottle of Remy Martin and her eyes teared up. She walked over to Axel and put her arms around him. They didn’t speak, merely held each other. Eventually Axel gently pulled away.

  ‘I must see to the defenses,’ he said.

  Janice nodded. Kissed him once, gently.

  ‘I tink dat I might sample a little more of dis fine spirit,’ said father O’Hara. ‘Den I shall take myself to da chapel and put in a bit of prayer time. Ask da almighty for a hand.’

  Axel nodded. ‘Do so, father. We need all the help that we can get.’ Then he faced Janice. ‘The Fair-Folk will come,’ he said. ‘All we have to do is hold the Roaches until then.’