Valour and Victory (26 page)

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, glittering 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.

Kalavdr stood
panting and waiting. He listened to the fight outside as his
personal guard fought to prevent any humans following their Largan
through the door. After a while the sounds of the fighting ceased
and Kalavdr breathed a sigh of relief. He waited for one of his
guard to push open the door and tell him that it was safe to come
out but the door stayed still and unmoving.

He tensed, ears
forward and nose twitching.

He heard
voices, human voices and knew his guard were dead.

Kalavdr
waited.

Nothing came
through the door.

He heard a
sound from above and raised his head, muscles tensing.

The pick-axe
flew through the air, thrown from the top of the stairs by an
ex-slave called Dwk. Dwk’s aim was true.

The pick-axe
embedded itself in Kalavdr’s skull. His body crashed twitching to
the floor.

To Dwk this was
just another Larg he had managed to kill, older and bigger than
many of the others, but nothing special. He never knew just how
important the death of Kalavdr was.

Those Larg
still fighting sensed Kalavdr’s death and their heart to fight went
out of them.

Some decided to
try and fight their way out of the town.

A few made
it.

A few tried to
surrender but they were not many. To surrender meant disgrace and
dishonour.

* * * * *

Elliot and
Robain

It was
over.

The town, for
three days filled with the screaming and the shouting grew silent
as the exhausted victors began to realise that they were alive and
that against all the odds, they had succeeded in routing the
Larg.

Princess Susan
and what remained of her War Guard stood at the very edge of the
market place and watched as a lone figure extracted himself from
the crowds of jubilant people and made his unsteady way towards
her.

Some paces
away, the figure stopped and removed his helm.

“Hello Mother,”
Elliot greeted her and remained so, self-conscious and embarrassed
as everyone around him, including his mother, sank to their
knees.

LONG LIVE KING
ELLIOT!

The market
place and the entire town resounded with wave upon wave of
shouting.

“Sorry it took
so long,” Elliot added with a tired grin.

* * * * *

It was late
when the exhausted Elliot and Robain made their way up the steep,
Robain was positive sure that it was perpendicular in places, hill
to the Citadel. They passed through tired but cheering crowds who
all wanted to take a look at their new King and get close enough to
touch him.

The townsfolk
opened their doors (or what remained of them) to the victorious
ex-slaves. As Elliot said to Robain; it did not seem to matter
whose origins were what.

Of the
forty-thousand slaves who had entered Fort a full quarter were dead
or waiting to die. Over a thousand of them were children, some very
young. Robain himself had witnessed a group of six ragged
youngsters, the oldest could not have been more than eight, emerge
from a doorway and leap on top of a Larg armed with nothing more
than wooden clubs and pieces of rough rope. They had succeeded in
bringing the Larg to his knees and had beaten him senseless but not
before two of the children had been killed and a third badly
mauled.

Robain and
Elliot had spent the last candle-marks visiting the wounded and
thanking them for what they had done. The ex-slaves were surprised
and gratified. As Brent said - he had limped out of one of the
houses to greet them - it was the first time in most of their lives
that they were being treated as people and not chattels. Those
coming from the non-royal mines were the most surprised.

Robain had
still not found his sister Aline or found out anything concerning
either her or his mother’s fate. It was as if the two of them had
disappeared into thin air that day the slavers had swept down on
the Island of Hallam.

Elliot told him
not to give up hope. There were still plenty of mines elsewhere in
Sahara but Robain was despondent.

The townswomen
did what they could to mend the often horrific wounds of the
fighters, ripping up their best linens to make bandages and
donating the contents of their wardrobes to clothe the often ragged
individuals who were occupying their living spaces.

There was not
much food to go round but what there was, was shared.

Even up the
hill in the palace, food rationing was in place, Princess Susan
having decreed that no person, however high-born was to receive any
more to eat than the lowest street urchin.

“I can’t wait
to see my sisters,” said Elliot to Robain as they passed over the
moat-bridge and into the outer complex. “You’ll like them
Robain.”

“I’m sure I
shall,” Robain answered, “but are you certain I should be here with
you? I’m not one of the nobility. I can find a place to sleep.” At
this point sleep or even the chance to sleep was at the forefront
of Robain’s mind. Neither he nor Elliot had been wounded except for
some scratches but he was bruised all over. He couldn’t wait to get
his armour off.

“Certainly
not!” declared Elliot, shocked. “You’re staying right beside me. We
did this together you and I.”

As they passed
through the palace gardens the servants were clearing up the mess
the refugees had left behind.

The guards came
to attention at the doors to the royal apartments and they passed
into the cool interior. An oasis of calm enveloped them.

“They’ll be in
the solar,” said an eager Elliot, quickening his steps. Robain
stumbled as he tried to keep up. He watched from just inside the
solar door as three girls leapt at Elliot with squeals of delight.
He drew back, shy, but a silver-haired lady with sad eyes and
dressed in expensive brocaded black approached him.

“Captain
Hallam? I am Mary, Dowager Queen of Murdoch. I am Elliot’s
grandmother and I, we, owe you a very great debt.”

* * * * *

“Who’s that
man?” asked Elliot’s sister Susan when at last the excitement began
to die down.

“My friend,
Captain Robain Hallam of the Argyll Garda,” Elliot answered with a
smile.

“He’s very
handsome and nice too, look at the way he’s chatting to Mary and
Janet.”

“He is very
nice,” agreed her brother. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Will you
introduce us?” asked Susan.

“Can’t you
introduce yourself?” Elliot teased.

“I think it
should be done properly,” insisted Susan and whispered in Elliot’s
ear, “you see, he’s the man I’m going to marry!”

“He’s already
got a lady,” whispered back Elliot, half amused, half
exasperated.

“Not a wife. I
overheard him tell Janet. Keep him here for me will you Elliot?
Don’t let him go back to Argyll.”

“I
was
intending to do that already,” Elliot answered with a
conspiratorial wink. “Take my arm little sister and we’ll go and
join them if that is what you desire.”