Chapter 7 : Parents Return

“Your Majesty, your secret assssin in the Dwarf Army, the one called Montoule, is here to see you,” the ancient Chamberlain Drax bowed and declared at the doorway to King Goadrik’s Royal Chambers.

“Very well, show him in, Drax, would you?”

Montoule looked a sorry character as he entered the room. His clothing was dirty, with mud splashed from the bottom of his trews up, the exposed skin of his face and hands caked in filth. His hair was wet from sweat and hung bedraggled and in clumps around his ears to his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved in at least a week, the grey of the hair at his temples reflected in his beard flecked with a kaleidoscope of grey hairs ranging from black to white. Wrapped around one of his arms he had what may have originally been a white bandage but was now as mud and rain stained as the rest of him, with dried blood that had seeped through and formed a black scab on the outside of the rough field dressing. His face looked drawn and haggard, only to be expected from a month of fighting Orcs over the mountains and a pitched battle with Korwyn’s force at the end of Sudway Gorge.

“Drax, send for my Chief Physician, to tend Montoule’s wounds, and fetch wine and bread for the poor fellow, plus towels and a bowl of not water to wash in, he looks all in.”

“Aye, Your Majesty,” the Chamberlain answered his king from where he had backed up and hovered momentarily around the doorway, “your commands will be expedited immediately, Sire.”

“Tell me, Man,” the King demanded of the bedraggled Montoule, “What news of the capture or slaying of my bothersome nephew?”

“Nothing at all to tell of that desired deed, Your Majesty, he leads a charmed life and remains alive and at liberty. Your nephew is not the country bumpkin you made him out to be, Sire. He’s an experienced and powerful fighter, the like of which I’ve never seen. With my own eyes I’ve witnessed him take on a dozen Orcs at a time and scorns them unworthy of battle before he slaughters them half a dozen at a time with mighty sweeping blows of his battle-axe. In close quarters he fights with a Dwarf sword, a blade no bigger than a dinner knife, disembowelling Orcs as swiftly and deftly as any fisherman with a full catch to gut in readiness for the wharfside market. As a general, making the most of the short-arsed army he has, he is tactically brilliant and well as inspired, and his soldiers absolutely worship him ... they would follow him to the moon, nay, the night stars and back again.”

“Mmm, there’s much true Montoule, in what you say, he has a charmed life. He’s managed his forces well against somewhat limited opposition so far, and he has escaped many assassination attempts, evading or despatching all my many assassins almost at will for years. I thought that you would trap him on the road at this end of Sudway Gorge with my regiment of heavy dragoons.”

“No, Your Majesty, I fear your Captain of Dragoons, Xykhon, made a grave error of judgement.”

“In what way, Montoule?”

“Well, Your Majesty, if it we up to me, I would have taken them out one at a time as they exited the narrows of the Gorge. I would have seriously considered posting archers along the heights about the Gorge and harried the Dwarf Army with arrows, and have the infantry roll boulders down upon them, sufficient to deny reinforcements but no, Captain Xykhon wanted to give them time to form up as he desired the glory of a cavalry charge against them.”

“Cavalry always beats infantry, Montoule, any military man knows that. In fact I was taught that the very first week of military officer training.”

“That may be considered thinking in the classroom of Military School, but Captain Xykhon allowed Korwyn to march out with a handful of inf—”

“Korwyn was there at the head of the Dwarf force?” Interjected the King, “He was there at your mercy?”

“Aye, Your Majesty, he was, mounted on his charger, standing tall against the Goblins and Dwarf companies on foot and with one mounted company of Goblin light lancers that he lead out of the Gorge. If we had even the one archer in our troop, your nephew would be dead now and the campaign over.”

“So what happened?”

“We moved forward, slowly and slightly out of formation, looking unorganised, as alike a ragtag of Merks, smugglers and outlaws, as you required of us, Your Majesty. So that we could blame the death of Korwyn on nameless brigands rather than your finest Dragoons. Then, when we was only fifty paces from them, we charged, officers’ swords and troopers’ heavy lances out ready to create carnage among those creatures what is but child size. But Korwyn wasn’t drawn into charging us with his first company of Goblin light lancers as we thought he would.”

“No?”

“No, he dismounted and moved behind a line up of the first three infantry companies. We outnumbered them three to one and only one outcome was likely, as your Captain insisted, cavalry always beats infantry. The Goblin lancers also handed their lances to the infantry who planted them in the ground in front of them like thorns of a rose bush, before sheltering behind them on a very narrow front. Captain Xykhon ordered that we split our force in two so that we could outflank the infantry on either side. ‘Around the back,’ he cried to his men, ‘they will be at our mercy.’ But that order was fatally flawed too.”

“In what way, Man?” the King was becoming more and more agitated at the litany of failures for each element of his planned defeat on the invading army.

“As we moved sideways, our outer riders still continued on a straight line, which meant we closed up and jostled each other and many of us took our eyes off our target to keep ourselves in line and reduced speed a little as we made adjustments, taking some leeway out of the cavalry charge. Then our closed up ranks was suddenly devastated by boulders falling out of the sky...”

“The sky? But you were out on the open grassy Plain, rising up towards the Gorge.”

“We were attacked by Giant Eagles, Your Majesty. They be allied with our enemies and they dived down on us at speed from the north, flying low, so when they released the boulders, they bounced and bounced again, knocking men and horses aside like they were part of a giant skittles game. Captain Xykhon was crushed flat right next to me. There he was one minute, bold as bronze, then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone and the boulder that snuffed out his life bounced over me and took out other riders on the other side of me.”

“My Heavy Dragoons?” The King asked. “How fare my Heavy Dragoons?”

“Gone, Your Majesty, completely blown away like chaff from the barleycorn, and utterly vanquished. Those few what managed to outflank to the south was faced by a company of Goblin light lancers, on slight-built but light and very nippy ponies, who outnumbered the surviving Dragoons by five to one, they cut the Dragoons to pieces. Those who flanked on the north side were met with the Dwarf cavalry that had crossed the border on the Lyndyre Road.”

“The Lyndyre Road?”

“A road built by your father with military support from your middle brother, the father of Korwyn, who was accompanied by his then newly commissioned cadet son.”

“When did you find this out, man, We could’ve sent infantry and archers—”

“I only found out a couple of nights later as I tried to get here after the battle. I don’t think anyone else got away. I stayed at an inn two day’s ride from here, where the news had just reached of the battle. They thought it was a joke that Korwyn had duped his traitors into thinking he was travelling the old road, while he sent the most part of his Army around the longer but safer way around. And he timed his arrival to coincide with the arrival of his cavalry holding the high ground hidden from the plain by a ridge, while the Giant Eagles readied themselves with their destructive boulders, guided by the flying Elf who be Korwyn’s lover.”

“Oh my, Montoule, it has now occurred to me that the company of Dragoons, ones from my personal guard, that I sent to the Isthmus, to seize Korwyn’s Mother, have not reported back with news of their success. There must be a reason for their silence, which does not bode well at all.”

“You sent a company to harry Korwyn’s Mother, Your Majesty? You must know that Korwyn sent a Militia Conpany of Dwarves to help his mother soon after he vanquished the White Dragon.”

“Why did you not tell me this, Montoule?”

“I did, it was in one of my early dispatches.”

“Aye, I do recall some small detail, but you spoke only of gardeners being sent? I assumed they were to helping with planting and husbandry.”

“Aye, they be gardeners, but they were the Queen’s gardeners, part of her defences at the palace in the city of Dharib in Dharibia. They are nominally Militia, but most are pensioned regulars who train as hard and as often as the regular Imperial Guard, as well as carrying out their gardening duties.”

“It is a good thing then, both for your neck and my kingdom, that I didn’t just rely on only you and my Heavy Dragoons.”

“What have you planned, Your Majesty?”

“A battle that will turn Hawkshart Plain into a readily forgettable skirmish. I will make and stand at the city of Pylanatehk, I assume you know it?”

“Aye, I passed through it on the way here, two days’ hard ride away.”

“Did you notice anything which made you suspicious as you approached the city?”

“No, Your Majesty, nothing ... except...”

“Go on, Montoule, I need to know what you noticed.”

“I didn’t go through the walled city, although the road ran through the middle. I took small tracks around the outside of the walls.”

“And why did you do that?”

“There was a tiny hamlet a half hour ride from the city, where I stopped at noon to water my horse and grab a drink from the small tavern there. The tavern was empty except for the landlord, who looked at me and my state of dress and wounded arm suspiciously. Although it was in the middle of the day, I was the only customer, there was no cheery barmaids, no smell of cooking. I suspected that since Korwyn had known or suspected me to be a spy, he had kept a company of men away from me at the outset and sent them forward to secure this hamlet, and maybe had already infiltrated the nearby city.”

“No barmaids or cooking? How the little things betray us,” the King murmured, almost to himself. “What else raised your suspicions, man?”

“There were no workers in the fields, no women hanging out washing on what was a good blowy, sunny day, no children playing in the street while the sun shone, and the landlord asked me no questions, nor he started no chatter nor entreated me to rent a room or order food from his kitchen. Yet universally, landlords are always chatterboxes who talk about nothing, seemingly just to hear their own voices, and yet ask every question of travellers out of curiosity. Striking up conversations whets a customer’s interest after a lonely trek on a road, encourages them to have another pot before hitting the road. This landlord just wanted me to drink up my one drink smartly and be gone.”

“Mmm, we need to learn from this,” the King mused, “but when the Dwarf Army comes through, there will be more men coming out from cover in that hamlet. And we want the Dwarf Army to move on so we can close the road behind them. Then they will be trapped between a rock and a hard place, with nowhere to retreat to.”

“Trapped?”

“They will suspect that you were a spy, and that I know they are coming. They will question Captain Xykhon’s lieutenants and men who will say all they know, that they were the only military unit in the area, because that really is all they know.”

“But you have more men there?”

“Two thirds of my Army, Montoule. The Dwarf and Goblin regiments have a hundred fighters in each regiment. My Regiments are made up of three companies of a hundred men in each, led by Captains, plus a fifty-strong headquarters company under command of a Colonel to organise the Regiment. That’s three hundred and fifty men per Regiment. At Pylanatehk I have the Red and Blue Divisions, with only the White Division here at home to protect me. There are ten Regiments to a Division, consisting of cavalry, infantry and archers so that is twenty Regiments, and that is an Army of seven thousand full growed men against the shrimps of Goblins and Dwarves, consisting of about thirteen regiments and a Skirmishing Company, a maximum of 1400 miniature toy soldiers. They will be swept aside like the trespassing street urchins they are.” The king chuckled Evile as he rubbed his hands together.

“So. My dear Montoule. After refreshing yourself you will ride back to Pylanatehk City, observe events for me and return with news. I will not be far behind you with my three regiments of Cavalry, to provide reserves to finish the battle when the Dwarves take flight, if need be. I will ride to the battle in celebration of an utter victory, then be seen victorious on the battlefield, the like of which has never been seen by Man before. Then, after a rest and feast to celebrate my victory, I will march with the Army of Man to take first the land of the Goblins and then take that of All the kingdoms of the Dwarves. I will earn the title of ‘Goadrik The Conqueror’ and take my rightful place in the history of my people!”

“Grandmother, what else can we do for Korwyn and Zyndyr,” Queen Myr asked of Urmagh, the once Queen Mother and Witch, “we owe them so much, not only because they have come to my successful rescue twice, but because I have developed a deep affection for them to the extent that I cannot stand idly by while they seem to have so many devils stacked against them.”

“Sweetheart, you have given them an Army, the very best of our Army. You weakened your own guard to send your favourite company of soldier gardeners to protect his mother. You have done all that you could possibly do for them. I just hope it will be enough.”

“I know, Grandmother, but ever since Bydon came back home he has been sad and kept to his room even for his meals and through a letter he had his Private Secretary write on his behalf, begging me if I know of anything else that we can do to protect them and further their cause.”

“Everything we could possibly give to Korwyn, would never be enough for our sweet Prince Bydon, my dear,” the Witch cackles, “he worships the man as his hero, and who can blame him? He loves Zyndyr too, but he would die for Korwyn. You ask if there was any other help we can offer Korwyn, and I would say, let’s speak to the Spirits. Summon up the strength we have between us to see if they can give all the help they can to aid the Man Korwyn and the Elf Zyndyr, both of whom in their own way have tried to atone on behalf of both their races for what befell at Hawkshart Plain. I will come with you to the Vaults of our Ancestors and there plead the case for their haunting. Your ancestors on your father’s side were kings and queens, long used to giving good counsel and giving orders for the good of their people, My ancestors, our shared ones, were Sorcerers and Witches, who, while they are not used to taking orders, I am sure that if we appeal to them together, maybe they will help us and Korwyn’s cause in some small way.”

Zyndyr was puzzled. There was no one left on this world that had lived as long or had the experience she had of two worlds. Just the thought of being born on another world, growing to maturity on this one and then being banned from the birth-world while every Elf she knew returned to their rejuvenated paradise, was a curse to her. But her enforced banishment also made her life more interesting because her lover, the Lord Korwyn, was similarly afflicted, rorn as he appeared to be, between two different worlds.

Although her lover differed in that he lived his whole life in this real universe but in his imagination he inhabited another wonderful world where ‘magic’ was called ‘science’ and magical things like flying metal ships and magical energy and cool potable water came out of walls under Man’s complete control was not only possible, but was considered everyday commonplace.

He had admitted his dreams to her one night early in their relationship and made light of them at the time. They be the fanciful thoughts of a Man weighed down by the enormity of his past experiences and the path of the task ahead of him, he had said to her, his dreams were but an escape from reality. At rest, his mind’s exploration of a world so different from his own meant that he was for a while released from those heavy responsibilities, to awaken full of vigour once more.

Zyndyr had made light of his thoughts and dreams and laughed about them with him, telling her lover that his dreams were nothing more than a fabrication of his senses and naught at all to worry on.

Yet she was also torn. She was of two physical worlds herself, and her thoughts also strayed from time to time back to visions that were once familiar but were now fading, knowing that she would never experience them in reality again. Was it possible that her Man was of two realms too, inhabiting one while awake and another asleep?

She shook her head.

Too many of her thoughts always led her back to thinking about Korwyn. No, not too many, no degree of ‘many’, would be too many, as he occupied her thoughts continually and she had no regrets at all about loving him as deeply as she did.

In fact, seeing him cope with the pressures, the decisions, his continual inspiring of all that he meets in this hastily-formed new Army that she suspected that now the traitors were winnowed out, there was not a single creature in their midst that would not follow him wherever he would lead them.

Of course he was frustratingly stubborn in his refusal to be seduced one more time by the woman who loved him most in the world, but then she had so many other things on her mind that she knew that Korwyn would come around to her way of thinking once the weight of the world was removed from his broad and capable shoulders and allowed her her wish to be as mortal as her lover.

Carole looked out the front window as she saw car a car pull up outside. She slipped on her heels, grabbed her house keys, handbag and coat just as the doorbell rang.

“Just coming, George,” she yelled at the closed door as she hurried, “the first of many tonight, I hope,” she added, half to herself.

When she opened the door, she was confronted by a taxi driver, an Indian or a Sikh, wearing a blur turban.

“Lawson residence?” the taxi driver enquired with a smile.

“Yes? Er, yes, this is the Lawsons. But I haven’t ordered a taxi. I’m being picked by my ... er, friend.”

“Says here on my docket...” he consulted a tablet in his hand, scrolling with a thumb while sucking his teeth, “Ah, here we are, Lawson, one pick up to Stable Mews, High Street ... Ah, looks like I’m 10 minutes early, madam. It’s on an account, so I’ll just go sit in the car and wait.”

“On an account, what does that mean?”

“Means even if it’s a mix up, I still get paid, because the account gets charged.” He turned, “I love a mix up, anything under fifteen minutes is chargeable, I’ll have one of my karhai chicken sandwiches.”

“I’ll ring my friend. Wait, is the account in the name of George Winston, or Winston’s Convenience Stores?”

“Couldn’t tell you, my love. The docket just gives me the account number, er... 07522. Must be a new account, we only hit 7500 a week ago.”

“I’ll have to ring George, maybe he’s broken down.”

“Result. I’ll leave you to it to check if your friend booked it, madam.” The driver went back to his taxi.

Just then a car pulled up behind the taxi cab. She recognised first, the car, her own car, second, that Clive was driving and third, that the kids were jumping about and excited in the back. All thoughts of ringing George vanished as she dived into giving her husband a well-deserved piece of her mind.

“You’re in deep trouble, Mister,” Carole spat, storming down the path as soon as the three children ran from Carole’s car, that Clive had collected from the airport car park.

The children tried to embrace her, full of the news of their fantastic holiday. All talked at her at once.

“Children, children, I need to talk seriously to your father. Go inside, I’ll be in—”