The Last Pilgrims (35 page)

English had not been in actual combat in
almost 20 years. The last two decades for him had been spent in
administration. He didn’t know how he’d react to being back in
battle, and frankly, he didn’t look forward to it.
That part of
my life is over.
The overwhelming desire for peace and order in
his life smothered any residual attraction to the smells and sights
of battle. He felt no need to prove his manhood. He had no loyalty
to either side in this particular battle—though his disdain for
Aztlan grew by the day. He had not quite codified the idea in his
thinking, but deep down in the recesses of his heart, he desired to
be a better help to Phillip, the Ghost militia, and to the
Vallensian cause. The true longing of his heart was for peace.

Still, if the Aztlani army was marching
towards Central Texas, then he wanted to be a part of stopping that
army. He wasn’t sure if taking La Chimenea would accomplish that
task, but stranding Aztlan in the badlands with no means of
support, no resupply, and no home base to which they might return,
sounded like a good enough place to start. If he survived, and if
the seizure of La Chimenea was successful, then he’d have to talk
to General Rodrigo Loya about what the King of Mexico’s next step
might be.

As they approached the mouth of the tunnel
and the entrance into the castle, there was some whispering and
trepidation, mainly because it was still unclear if the Duke
actually knew of the existence of the tunnel; and, if he did know
about the tunnel, it was not known whether he might be expecting an
attack from there. If he was expecting an attack, the tunnel force
would be in a very precarious position, having to ascend through
the bottleneck of the tunnel entrance and into tight quarters once
they arrived in the old emergency center within the bowels of the
castle.

By the command of General Loya, he was to
lead the force, with his sidekick Pano beside him. One of the
causes for his trepidation was that the attacking Mexican forces
did not have guns, while everyone knew that the Aztlani guards
absolutely would be armed with rifles and pistols.

English watched from below as Pano ascended
the newly replaced ladder, trying to work as quietly as possible as
he removed the boards that covered the hole.

What English absolutely did not expect was
what the invasion team actually found—an almost empty castle, and
the Duke Carlos Emmanuel with the entire leadership of the Duchy of
El Paso kneeling in surrender on the hardwood floors of the Duke’s
lavish office.

The sounds of occasional gunshots could be
heard outside of the castle, but resistance was light and didn’t
last very long. Many of the domestic workers in the castle had fled
with some of the guards when the Mexican army first appeared
outside the city walls. The gates to the city were left
open—obviously by the people fleeing the city—and the foreign army
had marched in virtually unopposed. There were skirmishes and some
light resistance from a few loyal Aztlani guards when Loya’s army
first reached the walls of La Chimenea, but eventually, as cowards
and domestics fled from the castle, the citadel was breached as
well. What he had thought would be a tough nut to crack was opened
to the invading army with very few casualties.

The Duke of El Paso had indeed overplayed
his hand when he chose to send almost his entire army in an attack
on Central Texas; and, on a personal note, the Charles Emmanuel’s
stupidity had made it more than obvious that the his success in
sniffing English out and manipulating him over the last few years
was not the work of the Duke, but of some other offender. Someone,
either in the castle or maybe among the Ghost militia, had betrayed
him to the Duke, and it was likely that that someone was still in
play. Perhaps the Duke could be…
convinced
… to give up that
information.

Nobody in El Paso seemed to have expected
the surprising attack by the new King of Mexico. After the
dissolution of the first Kingdom and the rise of the King of Aztlan
in California, Mexico had once again become an afterthought in
North American affairs. It had been the official position of the
King of Aztlan—based on information and ‘intelligence’ received
from the Duke of El Paso—that Mexico was no longer a threat.
English himself had not considered that there might be an element
of Mexican nationalists still operating south of the old border,
and though the Mexican force was tiny and poorly armed, they had
very effectively concealed their intentions and masked their
movements. When the inhabitants of the Duchy of El Paso woke up
that morning, not one of them would have conceived of the idea that
on that very day the city and the castle would be in the hands of
the King of Mexico.

The clean-up operations were still
continuing when General Loya and a few of his officers arrived in
the Duke’s office. The Duke and his closest henchmen were
exercising their right to remain silent, as Mexican officers rifled
through the desks and cabinets gathering intelligence and whatever
else might be of value.

“Sir English,” Loya said, with a slight bow
of his head, “we are thankful for your assistance today. We will
require your attendance—if you do not object—in our meetings for
the rest of the day. There is a lot to do to prepare this place to
be defended, and our intelligence officers will want you to be here
to help us in our planning.”

“Whatever I can do to serve you, sir.”
English looked over towards Charles Emmanuel, who was scowling at
him with unmasked derision. “What do you intend to do with the
Duke, here?” he asked, with an equal amount of derision. “There is
some information I would like to extract from him, if it pleases
you, sir.”

“The Duke and his men will be removed to the
basement where we are preparing a bank of cells for their pleasure.
We’ll be… debriefing… them there. What is it you would like to know
from the Duke?”

“I’d like to know the name and current
location of the traitor who blew my cover. I’d like to know the
name and the current location of every spy the Duke has among the
Vallenses and the Ghost militia, and I’d like to get an estimate
from the Duke as to how many innocent pacifists he has had murdered
so that he could curry favor with the King of Aztlan. Then… I’d
like to see him lined up against a wall in the courtyard and
shot.”

“Well,” Loya said, removing his gloves,
“then it seems that for the time being we have the same agenda.
Charles will be questioned… intently… before his trial. Then,” the
General glared at the Duke with a slight smile on his face,
“provided he is found guilty by a court-martial made up of my
officers, he will be shot by a firing squad.”

Charles Emmanuel gasped noticeably. “Zhooo…
Zhooo… Zhooo will not shoot me! I am a prisoner of war!”

“You,” the General exclaimed, “are a
murderous tyrant, and an enemy to your own people!” Loya slammed
his gloves to the ground to emphasize his point, and his eyes
flared in flames of fire. “You will now shut your miserable mouth,
or I will make sure your
interrogation
is more intensive
than you can possibly imagine! I will extract from you the name of
every family member, every distant relative, every friend, and even
every bastard child that you have ever fathered, and then I will
systematically root the memory of your execrable name from the
history of this world!”

The Duke’s chin dropped to his chest, and he
remained silent. Loya turned to English and closed his eyes for a
moment, calming himself. “I apologize for my outburst, Sir English.
I have a particular distaste for the likes of Charles Emmanuel and
anyone of his ilk. Forgive me for losing my composure.”

“I understand completely, sir.”

Loya nodded to his men, and they quickly led
the Duke and his entourage out of the office. After he had watched
them depart, the General turned back to English.

“We will need to formulate a workable
strategy for the defense of this castle and the city. Pano informs
me that, despite the fact that you were treacherously exposed to
the Duke as a spy, you have long been an able strategist and that
you have a very capable mind. We have long desired that you might
join us in our quest to protect ourselves from the carnivorous
expansion plans of the King of Aztlan.”

English nodded in thanks. “I appreciate your
kind words, and your confidence General. I must tell you, though,
that my allegiance has, for these 20 years, been with Phillip and
the Ghost Militia.” He walked over to the window, and looked down
into the courtyard. Mexican soldiers were moving Aztlani soldiers,
what few of them were left, into the yard of the Keep. “I suspect
that your goals and those of the militia here in Texas are aligned,
but you should know that I serve at the behest of Phillip, and
Phillip alone.”

“I understand,” Loya nodded.

“From what I’ve gathered,” English
continued, “the Aztlani army of El Paso, ignorant of what has
transpired here, is marching eastward with the intention of wiping
out the militia… and all of the innocent and peaceful Vallensian
people. What, may I ask, are your intentions in this regard?”

Loya sighed deeply. “I understand your
concerns, and I share them. But we are a tiny army—only 2,000 men.
These men were all that our king could spare, considering the
concerns he has over his own southern border. We have no real
cavalry, few guns, and very little experience. It seems that our
best plan would be to stay here and defend this castle. We can
recruit from among the locals—particularly among the Mexicans who
have always disliked the King of Aztlan. We can seize any weapons
left here in the castle, and we can train for the defense of El
Paso. I do not see how we would be able to assist the militia at
all.” The General walked around to the back of the desk, as if he
would sit, but he did not. He placed his hands on the desk and
looked again at English. “Our mission… the order of our king… is to
prevent the incursion and expansion of the King of Aztlan into
Mexico. It seems to me that the best way to do that is to keep and
defend this city.”

English grimaced, and his eyes met those of
the General. “If your honor will allow me… perhaps I can just offer
a few more things to consider.” Seeing Loya nod again, English put
his arm behind his back and began to pace back and forth in front
of the Duke’s large desk. “An army of 6,000 Aztlani soldiers left
here days ago to engage in an operation in Central Texas against a
handful of freemen militia fighters and thousands of unarmed
pacifists. If that operation is successful, and it seems certain
that it will be, that army will be coming back here.”

“Our army would be nothing against such a
force in the open field, English,” Loya said, “but here in this
castle—in the midst of a walled city—2,000 men ought to be plenty.
Defending a walled city is far easier than trying to assault a
superior army in the open field.”

“That is true sir,
if
your 2,000 men
are defending against an attacking army of 6,000. But let me say
that it is very unlikely that the attacking army will be only 6,000
men. You see, sir, most of the castle defenders escaped; and you
can bet that many of them are, at this moment, galloping on
horseback towards New Rome. It is very likely, General, in fact, I
would say it is absolutely certain, that the King of Aztlan is not
going to sit idly on his hands while his entire southern army is
left homeless and while his largest southern city—which also
happens to be his only defense against Mexico and any other armies
attacking from the south—is taken from him without a fight.
Surrendering El Paso would leave the whole of Aztlan, including New
Rome herself, open to attack from the south! That isn’t going to
happen, General. No, sir. I can assure you that you will not be
facing an attacking force of 6,000 returning veterans who consider
El Paso their home. No. You will probably be facing another
army—one coming directly south from New Rome—and that army will be
upwards of 20,000 strong if I were to hazard a guess.

“If, however, we were to go on the
offensive,” English said, lifting his hand into a fist, “if we were
to rush eastward right now and strike the Aztlani force from the
rear while they are engaged with the militia,” English raised his
fist and eyes towards the ceiling, “if we would strike a stunning
and unexpected blow on Aztlan while they believe that they are
strong and virtually unopposed, then… then, I believe that we can
destroy that army before New Rome can respond to what has happened
here.”

The General looked down, leaning over the
desk for a while before standing back up and breathing deeply. “So
it is your considered opinion that New Rome will gamble everything
to attack us here?”

“I don’t perceive it as much of a risk for
them, General. The King of Aztlan is safe and cozy up in his
mountains. Twenty-thousand men is only a small portion of his
available forces. He risks little to gain back his southern borders
by destroying you here.”

“It seems, Sir English, with all due
respect, that you have been purposely kept out of the loop for some
time. There is a hole in your logic—not in your intellect, which, I
grant, is remarkable—but a hole in your logic caused by the lack of
some very important facts.”

English looked at the General quizzically
and raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps, sir, you can enlighten me? I
would definitely benefit by having any logic holes closed as soon
as possible.”

“I take it that you are wholly ignorant of
what is happening in the north?” Loya asked.

“In New Rome, sir? I am probably
ill-informed, but I wouldn’t call it ‘wholly ignorant’. I spent a
lot of years in New Rome, and with the King of Aztlan.”

“No, Sir Knight. Not in New Rome—farther
north
, in the former northern United States!”