Valour and Victory (7 page)

“But you
can’t
fight; you know how hopeless you are with anything
remotely resembling a weapon!”

“I’m not here
to fight. Weaponsmaster Jilmis, I spoke to him, he said I’ll be
welcome as part of one of the medical teams the Garda is forming,
as a nurse-volunteer.”

“You’re not
trained.”

“I can help,”
insisted a stubborn Zilla. “I’m strong. I can fetch and carry,
clean up.”

Rilla sighed,
“did you come on your own?” She was completely taken aback by the
determination she detected in her triplet. “I suppose you came on
Lightfoot?”

Zilla nodded.
“Maura, you remember her? She’s here too. We travelled
together.”

An exasperated
Rilla looked at her.
Someone else to worry about
.

“I’m not going
back,” insisted Zilla.

“No, I can see
that, but do you really know what you’re letting yourself in for? A
battlefield is not a pretty place.” Rilla was filled with the urge
to protect her gentle sister and how was she going to tell Hilla
and Zak?

“Please,”
begged Zilla, “please try to understand. I
have
to be here.
Maura feels the same. Mother and Father know, I left a note.”

Rilla laughed,
“and you think that’s going to placate them?”

“I expect
Father will be angry,” said Zilla in a demure voice, “but that
can’t be helped.”

An exasperated
Rilla could only say, “okay, okay. You’re here and it’s good to see
you.”

“I knew you’d
understand,” smiled Zilla as she hugged Rilla. “Have you seen Hilla
and Zak? And where
is
Tala? She
is
here with the army
isn’t she?”

“Zak will be in
the militia camp, Zala’s Matt will be there too. I’m hoping to see
them. I’ve just returned from a visit to Hilla. She’s embarking
tonight.”

Zilla looked
ready to burst into tears at the news that she had arrived too late
to see Hilla but managed to control herself. This was, as Rilla
realised, another sign that Zilla was growing up. The old Zilla
would have succumbed.

“I’ve missed
her? Tala?”

“She’s not
here. I don’t know exactly where she is or what she’s doing.”

Zilla homed in
on Rilla’s earlier sentence. “What do you mean that Hilla’s
embarking tonight? Embarking for where?”

“The whole army
is going to the southern continent,” said Rilla impressively, not
noticing Zilla’s blush. “We’re going to stop the Larg in Murdoch
and not wait for them here.”

“In Murdoch,”
breathed Zilla. “Will the medical teams be going too?”

“They’d
better,” said Rilla in a too bright voice. “Still sure you’re up to
it?”

Zilla squared
her chin. “I’m not afraid, well; maybe I am, a bit.”

“A bit?”

“A bit more
than a bit.”

“I’m quite
frankly terrified,” Rilla admitted.

“We can be
terrified together,” said Zilla, “share things like we used to. So
what do you mean about Tala? If she’s not here where is she?”

“It’ll be
something important. She’s probably inventing a wonder weapon to
help us defeat the Larg and the Dglai. Don’t worry about Tala,
she’ll be someplace safe.”

Half of Rilla’s
answer was nearer the truth than she knew. Tala was indeed, if not
inventing, then hunting out a wonder weapon but in the other half
of her answer, Rilla couldn’t have been more wrong. Tala was soon
to be embroiled in a great deal of danger. Zilla’s thoughts had
moved on from wondering about the location of Tala.

“Rilla,” she
asked, “what are the Dglai?”

* * * * *

Hilla

The transport
that was to carry the Garda Officer Trainees to Duchesne was not a
large one; in fact the
Mayflower
was one of the smallest
merchantmen commandeered by Major Bellahouston when he had closed
off any egress from the harbour at Settlement.

She bobbed
playfully beside the quay and Hilla was not the only one to look at
the bobbing little ship with horror.

“Are we
expected to travel on
that
?” exclaimed Jen Durand, Hilla’s
especial friend.

Dolvin Annson
was no whit behind her. He stepped back with a gesture and said in
a theatrical voice, “doomed, we are doomed.”

“Shut up
Dolvin,” said Hilla with a quick look round, “Leftenant Villiers
might hear you.” He grinned but subsided. “It might not be as bad
as it looks.” She was trying to make herself believe that the
Mayflower
was more seaworthy than she looked. She was an old
ship as Paul Farquer, the final member of their quartet pointed
out. He came from a seafaring family, his mother’s maiden name was
Trent, (one of the oldest seagoing families in the country, the
Trent Reef was called after one of her ancestors) and so was
expected to know about such things.

“Her afterdeck
is fashioned in the old style,” he said, “but she looks sound
enough and her sails and rigging look in good nick. An old lady but
well looked after. It might even be better travelling on her than
on one of the larger, newer transports, at least we’ll not be
packed in like pillies in her holds.”

“Does she have
a hold?” asked a doubtful Hilla.

“Bound to have,
from the smell of her I’d say she’s one of the coastal grain
merchantmen. Think how awful it would be if we had been assigned to
a merchantman whose usual cargo was fish or something equally
unpleasant.”

Hilla and Jen
laughed.

“Point taken,”
said the latter. Their chatter ceased. Leftenant Villiers,
accompanied by Warrant Officer Wilf Taplin was approaching.

The Warrant
Officer spoke a few words to the Leftenant then approached the
waiting Officer Trainees.

“Get yourselves
aboard,” he ordered, “make your way to the aft hold and get settled
in. The Captain has requested that we stay below for now. His men
will be busy getting the remaining grain for the horses stowed in
to the fore hold and doesn’t want you all getting under their feet.
Once we get under way you’ll be able to come on deck. In fact, I
would advise that you do. Senis Durand, you are in charge until I
join you.”

“Yes sir,”
answered Jen as she lifted her pack and led the way up the
gangplank.

Hilla, Paul and
Dolvin followed her as she clambered aboard.

A grinning
matalot pointed aft. Hilla turned right and followed Jen to the
hatchway. She peered down into the dark interior.

“Down the
ladder,” the sailor called over and Jen grimaced at Hilla as she
turned round and felt around with her foot for the first rung. She
began to make her slow way down the ladder, not an easy task,
encumbered as she was with weaponry and pack.

Hilla sniffed,
the hold smelt of hay, a pleasant smell. Perhaps the journey
wouldn’t be as bad as she had thought.

Jen’s head
disappeared from view and Hilla turned and placed her own booted
foot on the topmost rung. Jen’s voice shouted from underneath her,
“come on Hilla, I’ve counted the rungs, twenty-four of them. Just
take your time.”

Rung by rung,
Hilla descended into the dim cavern that was the aft hold. When her
count reached nineteen, she got a fright and it took her a moment
to realise that it was Jen’s hand gripping her ankle.

“Jump down the
rest,” advised Jen, “the lower rungs are a mite wobbly.” Hilla did
with a clatter of equipment, landing on the hay covered deck.

“I’ve put my
packs down over there,” said Jen, “put yours beside them and come
help with the others.”

The Trainees
spent the next two bells in the hold, chattering amongst themselves
and listening to the sounds from above as the sailors stowed the
rest of the cargo and readied the
Mayflower
for sailing.

The ship rocked
and wallowed with the tide and one or two trainees began to feel a
mite unwell. Luckily buckets had been provided for such an
eventuality and after emptying their stomachs (wishing that they
hadn’t been so greedy at breakfast-time) the unfortunates began to
feel a little better.

Hilla, Jen and
Paul remained fine but Dolvin complained of feeling nauseous.

“You’ll be okay
once we get on deck,” Paul comforted, “it’s this rocking that’s
doing it.”

“I don’t see
why we couldn’t have boarded after the cargo had been loaded,”
Dolvin complained. Even in the dim light his friends could see that
his face had turned an interesting shade of green.

“The fodder
probably arrived on the dock late,” said Hilla, “it must be almost
impossible to get everything here on the bell all the time.”

“Wonder what’s
for lunch?” said Paul.

“Bread and
dried rations,” said Hilla, whose stomach was rumbling, “I don’t
think ships light their cook-stoves until they are underway.”

Dolvin groaned
and ran towards the nearest bucket.

When he
returned Jen decided to try and take his mind off his troubles.

“Do you
remember?” she asked in a teasing voice, “that time during our
first tenday as trainees when Sergeant Jillson ordered us all to
turn left and Dolvin here turned right?”

“I was so
nervous I didn’t know if I was standing on my head or my heels,
never mind wondering about which way to turn,” Dolvin admitted with
a faint laugh.

“Any better
now?” was Hilla’s shot.

“Much better,”
he answered, rising to the bait with equamity, “least I never
dropped a pike down on anyone’s head not like some people I could
mention, someone sitting close to me too.”

Hilla had the
grace to blush. “Don’t let’s discuss past follies,” she pleaded, “I
still run when anyone mentions the word pike!”

“What will you
do if you’re gazetted to one of the pike battalions?” asked Dolvin
with interest and some malice.

“Major
Bellahouston isn’t
that
stupid,” put in Jen with a
sympathetic glance in Hilla’s direction. “It’s probably written
down in gigantic capital letters in her training records that such
a posting would be an enormous recipe for disaster and one likely,
no sure to, bring discredit on the entire Garda.”

Hilla, who had
been looking alarmed managed to force out a laugh with a rueful
shake of her head, remembering all too well all the extra
pike-drills the said Sergeant had put her through to help her to
scrape through that section of her training. “Anyway,” she said,
believing in taking the war into the enemy’s camp if at all
possible, “who was it who promised us all a brace of plump rabbits
at the beginning of that ‘living off the land’ exercise last year
and how many did he and his partner bring in?”

“Two,” answered
Paul, “but they were big ones.”

The four of
them giggled at the memory. Hilla snuck a private look at Jen,
remembering their own activities during that eventful three
days.

“At least you
two girls managed to ‘bring home the bacon’,” said Paul in a
generous voice. “These fish fed us all with some to spare. How you
managed to catch so many I’ll never know.”

Hilla snuck
another look at Jen, one that asked ‘shall we tell them what really
happened’?

Jen nodded, her
eyes dancing.

“Perhaps it’s
time we told you the truth,” she said with a burble of
laughter.

“Truth? What
truth?” asked Dolvin who had forgotten all about his
sea-sickness.

“We all ate
them,” said Paul, “do you mean that you didn’t catch them, that
they were just lying there in a row waiting to be picked up? Pull
the other one, do.”

“You’re close,”
said Jen with an arch look. “Leftenant Hallam said not to tell
anyone but I don’t think it matters now.”

“Just promise
not to tell anyone else,” added Hilla.

“We promise. We
promise,” said both young men, eager to hear about how the two
girls had done it.

Jen began to
tell them the story in a low voice. Dolvin and Paul listened,
erupting into gales of laughter as Jen told them about the great
plan that had gone awry when Robain Hallam had caught the two of
them taking the basket of fish out of the river.

Hilla listened
with perhaps half an ear. That had been the day that had marked the
beginning of her and Robain’s relationship.

She wondered
where Robain was. It was almost a year since she had seen him and
his letters had been few and far between. She didn’t even know if
he still thought of her the way he had used to, didn’t know if they
still
had
a future together.

Hilla closed
her eyes and tried to shut her ears. She didn’t want to listen to
stories about these happy times.

She was no
longer sure if she still wanted to marry Robain. Perhaps when they
reached Duchesne, he would be there; he had hinted that he was
going to the southern continent in his last letter. He might be
waiting for the army at the staging area Wilf Taplin had been
talking about.

In a strange
way, Hilla half-hoped he wouldn’t be there. She had enough to worry
about concerning the campaign without
that
complication.

Hilla forced a
smile on to her face and joined in the conversation again, much to
the relief of her three friends who had been wondering about her
lack of responsiveness to their quips. The two boys were being
profuse in their admiration about her and Jen’s audacity in trying
to circumvent the Garda’s true purpose behind the ‘living off the
land’ exercise which had been to train them how to cope with
hunger, want and lack of sleep while carrying out their duties.

“It was a
memorable day,” Hilla managed to get out with a rueful laugh.

* * * * *

The Largan

Kalavdr, Largan
of Larg stood facing the three Kohortangan, the commanders of the
great Larg army which was gathering in the staging area some one
hundred miles south of the Kingdom of Murdoch.