The Distant Kingdoms Volume Five: The Centre of the Storm

PROLOGUE

The skies were a crystal clear blue as a bright, inefficient sunlight fell upon the hilly countryside. A mild, chilly breeze blew across this very same land, lightly stirring a vast array of trees and bushes along with plains of knee-high grasses. The entire region was generally uninhabited with the notable exception of the occasional farmhouse or log shack, the abodes of those persons who far preferred their own company. Wildlife in the region consisted mainly of the small rodents known as felren, small birds of prey and the occasional deer or native goat. Obviously, there were precious few roads in this area with most of these thoroughfares little more than barely discernible trails, worn down through the ages by the sporadic use by farmers, shepherds or lone wanderers on their way to some distant outpost of civilisation.

One road though was of a substantial width, coming close to being referred to as a highway. It was on this road that a small hawk or kilit was dined on its latest kill, an aged felren unlucky enough to get caught out in the open and unawares of imminent danger lurking just overhead. The small bird of prey sat on the torn carcass, inspecting this potential meal with an appraising eye. It started ripping chunks of raw flesh from the dead rodent while always alert for any signs of danger in close proximity. A short while later, the bird’s head abruptly jerked up.

Something was amiss.

Nothing showed up across the wide, blue expanse of the morning sky and the road appeared to be clear of all other lifeforms.

A couple of the bushes scattered along the road began to shudder, slightly at first then with increasing vigour. The bird watched this display with a cautious curiosity, afraid some large predatory animal may well be moving in its direction. At this stage, the ground itself began to vibrate, almost inconsequentially at first then with far greater vigour.

As the kilit stood on the half-eaten rodent, the entire district came to life with pebbles and other such natural debris bouncing around as if under the influence of a sever quake. Now more terrified than hungry, the bird shot skywards, its small, powerful wings tearing through the cold morning air. In next to no time this predatory avian had fled the region, leaving the mangled felren in the middle of the highway.

The ground continued to shake violently, now accompanied by what could easily be mistaken for the ominous sounds of an approaching storm of unprecedented magnitude. Rising over the hill, the mounted military column was an impressive sight, being five abreast and spanning back almost as far as the eye could see. A great cloud of dust rose towards the sky, stirred up by a great multitude of hooves. Each of the five thousand burgundy uniformed soldiers carried a long lance on which fluttered the standard of the Azzil Territories.

This massive army continued ever on, despite the freezing conditions; their mission more important than the possibility of death under such appalling conditions.

CHAPTER ONE

THE NATION OF HAMAFORTH

THE CITY OF VALDERHEIN

His Majesty, Entell Thellon the Third, the current ruling monarch of the country of Hamaforth and indeed the entire Hamaforth Kingdoms stood on the balcony of his private bedchamber. From this lofty position he could clearly see a couple of groundskeeper wandering about the manicured gardens. He silently observed as these men and women of varying ages busied themselves with the continuous task of maintaining the lawns and other such vegetation to keep the grounds in the pristine condition to which virtually everybody had become accustomed. Often while watching these non-uniformed people performing their day-to-day duties, his Majesty wondered what his life would have been like at this time if he had been born a commoner. His existence, one of constant burden of Royal duties and important matters of state, were beginning to take its toll on his temper and nerves. In the space of some days he had dispatched military reinforcements to the troubled city of Xerous over in the nation of Porra, attended and spoken at the state funeral for the late Lord Inbet, as well as a great many of his Lordship’s immediate family members and earlier declared outright war on the Kingdoms’ traditional enemy of the Azzil Territories. This was in all open honesty a tremendous burden for just one man to figuratively carry on his shoulders. Also, he was forced by some unknown circumstances to deal with these mysterious ‘Beyonder’ people supposedly from distant worlds that had created their own unique brand of trouble wherever their travels took them throughout the lands. Reports always appeared to pour into the palace on a regular basis outlining their various activities, though by all accounts the vast majority of these visitors; for want of a better term, appeared to be friendly enough.

A large number of these strange people were already gathered inside his Majesty’s official residence, the Royal palace, as a direct result of a command he had given to try and minimise any effect they might have on his nations or their peoples. This Royal edict had already paid a handsome dividend as one of these Beyonders had single-handed saved his youngest son from the vile attentions of a hired killer who had posed as a member of the cleaning staff. This blatant assassination attempt on the life of his infant son had in fact helped the king steel his mind for the military intervention which he honestly believed was a necessity to save their way of life against those persons from the Territories who would corrupt everything decent and civil on this side of the border. Entell Thellon knew perfectly well many lives on both sides would be lost in the vile machinations of war, but he would not sit idly by as further desperate attempts were carried out against the lives of his family and any other members of the aristocracy living within the Kingdoms. He had already lost probably his single-most valued ally in the recently murdered Lord Inbet. His only prayer now was in the vain hope his only surviving heir, Irowan Inbet, the dead nobleman’s second son was half the leader his father had been. The strange truth in this business was that both his Majesty and Lord Inbet had rarely seen eye-to-eye on many matters of state. The King felt it best to hold the proclamation of Irowan Inbet as Lord Knight of San as soon as possible then allow him to finish his university studies. Hopefully, the fact a member of the Irowan family still resided on the San throne would lull the entire populace of the Kingdoms into a sense of relief and gratitude. This would help maintain a resemblance of unity that was very much needed, especially in the face of an upcoming conflict. This official crowning ceremony would take place in a couple of days, by which time the last remaining member of that noble family would have presented himself to the Royal court.

Glancing down from his perch, Entell Thellon noticed one of the newest members of the gardening staff standing in the middle of a garden, staring up at him, mouth agape in shock. On noticing the monarch noticing him, the gardener gave a deep bow. The King gave a courteous nod of his head then grinned as the youthful member of staff virtually sprinted from the area, lest he commit some horrendous social error. A wry chuckle escaped the smiling King’s mouth.

My dear! her Highness called, from inside their chambers. What is so amusing?

Nothing, Sinar Thellon, he called back. I was just terrorising one of the groundskeepers!

Queen Sinar Thellon, a shortish, slightly plump sort of woman with light brunette hair and of an age some seasons her husband’s junior, stepped onto the balcony. Presently, she wore a deep blue dress, but had not the thought of mind to put on a pair of slippers or shoes over her bare feet. She looked around at the garden, but could only see some staff on the far side of the quadrangle.

You should not tease the staff, Entell Thellon, she gently scolded, turning to smile at him. You will frighten off all of our groundskeepers and then who will look after our gardens?

Do not concern yourself, he advised, returning her affectionate smile. We have lots of staff in the palace.

We also have a lot of gardens. If there is no one around we will have to tend to them ourselves.

Why would we tend to the garden staff?

No, not them, the gardens. You are in a funny sort of mood this morning?

I feel I am entitled to be in a funny sort of mood, he informed her. He left the balcony, allowing his wife to step past before gently closing the double glass doors to keep out the cold air. He then moved across to stand before the fireplace as the Queen went to her dresser, picked up a brush and began setting her luxurious hair.

The King could clearly hear the static discharge from this interaction with his spouse’s hair from across the spacious room.

She turned to him. I trust you just took careful note of what you just said, Entell Thellon, her Highness commented.

I always take careful note of everything I say, he informed her. Next, his Majesty ventured across to their massive bed, sitting at one end. He wondered if their bed was actually large enough to count as an additional realm of the Hamaforth Kingdoms. Oh, and I have excused Lord Bourke from having to attend Irowan Inbet’s induction into the aristocracy.

She ceased playing about with her hair and gave this matter some serious thought.

Fair enough, she announced. Colin Bourke has far more important things to attend to than standing around that draughty, old hall watching some unfortunate young man tormented by this coronation so soon after his family’s tragic death.

I do so hate doing this to the poor lad, but I need the nation of San to be united with me and not tear itself to little pieces while the lesser houses fight amongst themselves for control of its resources. There is already more than enough trouble spread across the Kingdoms with the invasion of Porra and this strange affliction in Phornimiren with these flesh-eating creatures. A civil war in San would only assure us of having Jom Azzer seated on the throne in less than two seasons!

Must we speak of such things? the Queen remarked, giving a deep sigh.

Not if you do not wish too.

Then, I wish not too, she further added, finishing brushing her hair. How is Lord Bourke faring these days?

Everything is gradually falling into order in Xerous City, he announced. Unfortunately, his Lordship still has a nation full of enemy troops. They appeared to have scattered after their defeat and are probably still being rounded up even as we speak. Apparently, there are already hundreds of them imprisoned in the city detention centre and more are gathered each day. A number of these soldiers are giving themselves up at the castle after spending a couple of uncomfortable nights freezing half to death in the Porran forests!

His Majesty gave a little chuckle on this thought.

A wise move on their part, Sinar Thellon agreed. A thought came to mind. Why do they surrender at the castle and not the city itself?

According to Lord Bourke’s different communications, if the enemy troops are captured by the civilian population they are inevitably tortured then hung from the nearest available lamp post in the city.

Her Highness pulled a disgusted face on this news. You would think Colin Bourke would do something to put a halt to this practice?

He has in fact ordered them to discontinue these random executions, but you know how civilians are? They take an almost child-like delight in inventing new atrocities to commit on enemy soldiers. After their ordeal at the hands of these invaders, such things are easily understandable.

Entell Thellon! his wife chided him. That is a terrible, inhumane thing to say! These captured soldiers are officially prisoners-of-war, and as such they do have certain rights. Not many I grant you.

I believe her Highness is quite mistaken, he intoned, in an abrupt outburst of serious contemplation. This army suddenly appeared one day and laid an unofficial siege on both the city in Xerous and its castle. The only rights these villains have are the ones Lord Bourke chooses to allow them. They should give thanks to their gods he is a civil man and not some savage who is going to dispatch their heads back to their families over in the Azzil Territories!

We still do not know for certain if this army was indeed sent by Jom Azzer, the Queen countered, ignoring her husband’s emotional outburst.

I would be willing to make a sizable wager on it, his Majesty commented, standing upright. I seriously doubt if one of Jom Azzer’s armies just up and decided on their own accord to invade Porra just for the amusement value. No, this and the assassination attempts on our children’s lives were all a part of the same scheme to undermine the Kingdoms, which is why a strong punitive measure is necessary in this case.

I hardly think ‘punitive measure’ is an apt term to describe a full-scale military invasion, Sinar Thellon informed him. A great many people will die as a direct result of this conflict. The least you can do is treat this matter seriously.

I do, the King told her. As I have said before; this act on my part will ensure in the long run that our subjects will live their lives knowing they are safe from foreign powers.

Before the conversation could continue, a loud, though polite knock sounded at the bedroom door. This report drew the royal couple’s undivided attention.

Enter! the King called to the unknown person with the bruised knuckles.

The heavy set, gold embossed door swung wide open, revealing a number of light blue uniformed soldiers who kept a constant watch on the Royal quarters. Since the various assassination attempts both within and outside the palace, the King had greatly increased the size of the Royal family’s security detail. This also included a number of the tall, imposing Dearnian guards on every watch, day and night. The woman in the immaculate uniform marched three paces into the bedroom before making an announcement: Her Highness, the Princess Paura Thellon wishes an audience with his Majesty and the Queen!

Their eldest child and only daughter, Paura Thellon stepped into the room. She gave a dignified curtsey then waited for the Captain of the guard to leave.

Must we always go through that idiotic custom? the tall, dark-blonde girl demanded of her parents. Personally, the whole thing annoys me. It is embarrassing to have my name screamed out across the palace every time I wish to enter a room!

I doubt if I could change the procedure even if I wanted to, her father informed the adolescent girl. What did you want to speak to us about?

I was wondering father; is it really necessary for me to attend this pointless ceremony in a couple of days?

Which pointless ceremony is that, Paura Thellon? the King inquired, casually. There are so many of them about.

The coronation of this boy from San, of course. Anyone would think it was of some great importance!

Paura Thellon! her mother chided the girl.

I was only just through telling your mother on just how important this ceremony will be to the safety of the Kingdoms, his Majesty told his daughter, much to her dismay. Your timing could not have been better!

Oh, the girl murmured. "Then, I assume you wish for me to attend the function?’

You assume correctly, your Highness, he answered, flashing a smile- just for her sake. You should be eternally grateful you were not required to travel to Junee for the state funeral of the Inbet family. Now there was a cheerful event!

You should not speak ill of the dead, the Queen remarked. All those poor people dying in that manner!

I was doing no such thing, her husband defended his view. I was speaking ill of their funeral.

Paura Thellon snickered.

You are as bad as each other! the Queen declared.

Seriously, Entell Thellon continued, his mood much more sombre. It was a terrible function. A line of coffins clear across the Junee Cathedral. Even the Archbishop of San, a cold-hearted man if ever there was one, broke into tears while giving the official service. The monarch looked across to his only daughter. He gave a wane smile. Who knows! You might even grow to like Irowan Inbet! And he is certainly not a mere ‘boy’ as you just described. He is a good four seasons your elder.

The princess took an involuntary step backwards.

On hearing the term ‘grow to like’ come from the King’s mouth, her senses became alert. She sensed much greater plans lurking somewhere in the recesses of her Royal father’s manipulative mind. Her mother was of late was always carrying on about this boy and that boy and some other boy she felt might one day soon make an eligible partner for the princess. However, her father was of more of a threat as his Majesty appeared under the impression an early marriage to one of these pimply-faced adolescents was of some mysterious national importance.

We will see, the tall girl responded.

She decided the best way to deal with this conversation was to kill it outright with the vaguest response humanly possible and pray the matter died a swift death.

If you say so, your Highness, her father remarked, smiling benevolently in a way that made his loving daughter want to push him from the nearest window and put a final end to any further matchmaking attempts.

A thunderous report sounded from the closed door of the occupied bedroom. The blast of raucous sound caused the usually unruffled princess to start and turn towards the entrance. Once more, the door swung open as a male member of the guard unit entered. Behind this tall, thin soldier stood the Royal couple’s youngest child, his right hand clutched by an imposing-looking man with shock white hair and attired in a white robe. A huge broadsword dangled at his side, its razor sharp tip almost touching the floor.

The Prince Zarr wishes to …!

Enough! Zaragor roared at the startled sentry. The child is far too young to be ‘seeking an audience’ with anyone! Now, please leave and shut the door on your way out.

The bemused soldier snapped his mouth closed and marched from the crowded bedroom. He made certain to give a clear indication of his feelings on the whole matter by slamming shut the door after leaving the room.

Sometimes I am left to wonder exactly what they train these people over at the military academy! the exceedingly tall Royal Protectorate grumbled. He then left the bedroom after releasing the child’s hand. He rightfully felt these members of the Royal family needed time to themselves to discuss family business. This attitude did not go unnoticed by the ruling monarch who greatly appreciated these attempts to provide them with some small measure of greatly prized privacy.

The prince, second in line to the throne of the Hamaforth Kingdoms, attempted an awkward sort of bow which the other members of his family returned in kind, although both the Queen and his sister gave the customary courtesy. The princess hastily snatched the small child up in both arms, causing him to struggle in a wild display of kicking arms and feet. She regretfully dropped the child back to the rug- covered floor. He scrambled across to his mother, snuggling in her waiting arms. The only time he turned from his mother was to poke his tongue out at the princess.

She replied in kind to this rude, but joking gesture.

Their father put a hasty end to this display.

That will be enough! King Entell instructed. I will not have members of this family putting on such displays!

Zarr Thellon giggled a bit, but otherwise remained his usual, quiet self. His mother had always been relieved by this serene demeanour; her other two offspring were always such noisy, often petulant members of the family. At such a young age, both of the eldest children had always been charging about the palace, shouting at the top of their lungs and generally creating complete havoc wherever they ventured. They were now, naturally, much more sedate and respectful as dictated by official protocol.

Was there anything in particular that you wanted, your Highness? the monarch inquired.

The prince shook his head.

Fair enough, the King sighed. Obviously, this is just a social call.

We might as well all go to eat, Sinar Thellon suggested, still holding the child.

A worthy idea, his Majesty noted. I will send for Prince Entell and we will all dine.

I will get him, the princess stated, leaving the room.

The remaining members of the family Thellon likewise left the chamber, their journey trailed at close quarters by the mandatory collection of soldiers and Dearnian guards. On Zaragor’s insistence, the different Beyonders were no longer involved in the matter of security for the Royal family. He saw these strange people with their odd clothes and unusual speech patterns as very much an unknown factor- and despite the best assurances of the King, their loyalty to him could not be assured. The unusual procession made its way down to the official dining hall where the Thellon family patient waited to commence the morning meal.

***

Sergeant Major Walter Bradshaw was livid as he strode with great purpose about the stone and mortar walled quadrangle, both eyes blazing with venomous fury. Before him stood a line of much younger men, each similarly attired in red tunics with black uniform trousers. Each and every one of these soldiers was also armed with a Martini-Henri rifle, although none of these weapons were loaded at this time of the early morning. All of these men remained silent, directing their gaze straight ahead at a most uninteresting wall as if their lives depended on this function.

Also present in the high-walled courtyard were an assortment of officers, mainly junior grades, as well as a handful of Non-Commissioned Officers of varying ranks. No enlisted men or women were to be found in the vicinity as the ruddy faced Beyonder with the booming voice quite honestly terrified them to a person. Worse still, their respective officer’s and NCO’s appeared to have been taking note of this whiskered man’s terrorizing mode of behaviour.

Look at the lot of you! Bradshaw bellowed, turning to face his unit. In a few short weeks you have all turned from highly-disciplined, well-trained soldiers of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces into little more than a band of uniformed rabble! And do you know what is the cause of all this nonsense?

No one in the British squad was silly enough to provide an answer to this obviously rhetorical question.

Well then, please allow me to tell you! the NCO continued, in his usual blustery manner.

Those members of the palace barracks were impressed by this display. The sergeant major had the capacity to make the hairs on the back of their necks stand upright. And he was not even yelling at them!

There has been no marching! Bradshaw continued, his raucous voice reverberating about the courtyard. We have been sitting around on our over-fed backsides, getting fat, lazy and losing any resemblance of discipline! So, I am here to tell you that from this day on we will be taking a nice, long, lovely march through this rather picturesque city. Is this clearly understood?

This time he wanted an answer.

Yes, Sergeant Major Bradshaw! the red uniformed men chorused, in well-rehearsed unison.

He provided his men with a rewarding smile. It was as good as they were going to get this day. Very good, he retorted, his voice no longer clearly audible half-way across the large city of Valderhien. I am so glad I have your mutual approval. First up, I would like to compliment you all on your uniforms …

The redcoat troopers all winced. This was not going to be an enjoyable experience.

When we first arrived here in this charming world, whose name escapes me, some of your uniforms were in need of some moderate repairs and just a bit of tender, loving care. Now, look at them. He paused to draw breath. "They look positively disgusting!

The sentries at the front gates of the Royal palace caught part of this outburst. These men and women from the local barracks ceased whatever they were doing and gazed about, wondering where that odd noise was coming from on such a cold morning.

Private Jones! Bradshaw verbally erupted.

Yes, Sergeant Major! Scott Jones blurted, stepping forward a single pace.

Not you! Stand back in the ranks! It is Private Theodore Jones I am referring to on this occasion.

Sir! the hefty soldier exclaimed, taking a single step closer to the much taller man.

Even the palace soldiers watching this display gave a painful wince on this mistake.

The redcoat NCO walked directly up to his subordinate until their noses were close to touching.

What did you just call me, Private?

Sir?

Do not call me ‘sir’! Are you a complete and utter imbecile, Private Jones! I am not a ‘Sir’ this or ‘Sir’ that or any other bloody type of ‘Sir’! Anyone called ‘Sir’ wears a pretty uniform, rides around on a pretty horse and is paid a hell of a lot more than I am! Not that they deserve to be! Is this all crystal clear, Private Jones? Or would you like me to draw you a picture?

By this stage of these proceedings, most of the local officers had politely excused themselves as apparently their attention was greatly needed elsewhere.

The besieged soldier nodded. Yes, si …Sergeant Major, he stammered.

Very good, Private. Now, as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, your uniform in particular, once the very pride of the British Army now looks like it has been used as a soak-cloth on a bar top at a local brothel. Why is it in such a disgraceful condition?

Because …

Do not open your filthy mouth while I am speaking to you! the enraged NCO roared. He lowered his tone. Once I am done with you, I suggest you go to the nearest washroom and clean that uniform within an inch of its life. Is this understood, private?

Yes, Sergeant Major Bradshaw, the enlisted man croaked.

And while we are … Private Jones step back in formation, please. While we are on the subject of uniforms and brothels, it has come to my attention that a number of men from this squad have been seen carousing in houses of ill-repute in their uniforms. Bradshaw took a nice, deep breath for this next sentence. This practice will cease immediately!!!

The entire unit almost had their uniform hats blown clean off of their heads on this outburst from their enraged NCO.

Bradshaw continued with unreserved vigour: If any of you filthy, vile, disgusting putrid, oversexed little men wish to frequent such places in the public domain; it will be done in civilian clothing! I know the local lasses find the uniform of great fascination; it is only natural. But, and I cannot emphasis this point enough: Those uniforms were not provided to you to attract the attention of woman with lose morals and apparently questionable tastes in men. Does this get through to your tiny, wretched minds!

Yes, Sergeant Major! they instantly responded, without further coaxing.

Oh- I am so pleased to hear it, Bradshaw announced, his sarcasm easily recognisable. Now, for the next matter at hand; I have been holding discussions with his Majesty; who I assure you is an honourable gentleman, unlike some of the less than stellar people I see before me. And he has been good enough to provide us all with an allowance for our assistance in helping recently with security in the palace.

A general muttering of approval emitted from the enlisted men.

Shut up your mouths! the NCO screamed. Personally, I do not believe any of you are worth the air you breathe. However, we are in his country and will not insult the King by refusing his very generous offer. How you spend this money is really up to you; I do not care. I do though suggest your allowances should not end up in the purses of the local ladies of the night. He reached into a uniform pocket to collect a number of small bronze coins. These coins were, admittedly, not at all impressive to look at, but they were a great deal more than nothing much at all.

There are a number of other items I wish to talk to you greedy lot about, Bradshaw continued, after dealing out the recently acquired bounty to his squad. It has also been noticed that a great many of you have been languishing around the colonials and picking up some of their unsavoury habits. I personally have no qualms about this sort of thing, although I have heard that at times these people are selling off their personal belongings and equipment to local collectors for a sizable amount of money. God help any of you I find following suite! Your apparel and equipment, what little we have, is the property of her Majesty, Queen Victoria and these items are to be treated as if ‘She’ might turn up at any time to collect them from you! Also, from this day on, I do not want anyone leaving the palace in groups of anything less than three. In case any of you had missed the fact; this city is currently under martial law and as such is a dangerous place to move around in, especially at night! Now please remove yourselves from my sight! And for Lord’s sakes do something about the state of your uniforms!

There was a massed clatter of reasonably polished boots as soldiers burst from the line. Scott Jones turned to the nearest man, Private Marc Horsham as they filed out of the quadrangle.

Did my hearing deceive me or did Bradshaw just give us permission to go to the local knock-shops? he demanded, incredulously.

That’s ‘Sergeant Major Bradshaw’ to you! a familiar voice bellowed at them from the recently deserted yard.

Both men fled at a double-time march. If they were going to continue this discussion, it was best not to have their every word overheard by their NCO. The man appeared to have hearing which was nothing short of remarkable.

Bradshaw remained behind until all of the men in his charge had vanished from sight. Most of the palace troops likewise filed from the area since they too had important duties to perform during this sunny, though cold day. Dropping the few remaining coins he still held into a coat pocket, Walter Bradshaw also left the quadrangle to return to his quarters back in the east wing of the palace. He had recently noticed his boots required a good shining as he could barely see his own reflection in them.

CHAPTER TWO

The Baron Rodney Meredin, aka Corporal Roddy Meredin of the rebel Confederate army strode through the corridors eventually leading to the room that both he and those under his command currently occupied on request of his Majesty. He was surprisingly nervous about this upcoming assembly with the soldiers of his unit and absently wiped a light sheen of perspiration from the nape of his neck. Since single-handed saving the life of the King’s youngest son, Corporal Meredin’s life had become his idea of a personal Hades. He had been bestowed a title from his Majesty, given a vast amount of land apparently far to the north of this city near a place called "Halish’ as well as a substantial stipend to maintain the staff and grounds of his new estate. Unfortunately, this reward from the monarch had created great, seemingly insurmountable problems in the corporal’s life. Still dressed in his regulation Confederate uniform, he reached the door to the room where he knew full-well the men of his unit would be waiting.

They were always waiting for him.

Taking a deep, somehow regretful breath, Meredin shoved hard on the large heavy door and marched straight inside in the vain hope his sudden appearance would throw the other men off balance.

No such luck.

There were four men of varying ages inside the spacious room, each dressed in a uniform similar in appearance to the one the unhappy NCO presently wore. They were scattered about the chamber with its wide fireplace, low-hanging oil lamps and assortment of plain chairs and tables. A moment of silence passed through the highly decorative room before a voice broke the dreadful silence.

Well there he is! Private Harry Barren, an elderly man with a tremendous fondness for food, alcohol and women blurted.

On hearing this bold exclamation, both he and the three younger soldiers rushed to their feet and performed a deep, mocking bow. And yes, these displays were always embarrassing for the corporal.

We’re not worthy! Private Richard Maret cried out. You bless us with your presence! Oh, ‘King of the Swamp’!

It’s not a goddamn swamp! Meredin angrily protested, over this blatant misapprehension of the plain truth. My estate’s just near a swamp!

Meredin realised immediately he had just committed a huge error.

He impatiently waited for the next bout of highly offensive posturing on the part of his supposedly loyal unit.

Forgive us, oh great ‘Swamp Lord’! Bernard Talbot, the youngest member of the troupe cried out. We are not worthy to lick your boots!

Well, when you’re through licking my boots, you can all up and kiss my ass! the fed-up corporal told them. I have to tell you all, I’m just getting sick and tired of having to put up with the same shit every time I set eyes on you pack of worthless fools!

We are not worthy of your divine scorn! Barren called, bowing extravagantly in the process.

You should consider yourselves all fortunate you don’t have to put up with that limey Sergeant-Major! He’d soon sort you all out!

We would not obey him, oh Divine One! Walter Hill exclaimed. For he does not own great plots of swamp as you do!

I keep telling you it’s not a swamp! It’s farming land that just happens to be real close to a place that’s a swamp. And if you play your cards right I’ll let you come along and help me run it what do you think of that?

Strangely enough the other four men seemed to find the notion quite amusing and burst out laughing. The plain truth was they had every reason these days to be in such a jovial mood. Despite the fact they had indeed left their loved ones and friends behind, the rigors of war were also behind them. These men were provided with free room and board, a generous allowance and were treated by all around them with the utmost respect. These factors however, paled in comparison with the single greatest aspect of their stay as honoured guests in the Royal palace; they had finally managed to get rid of those accursed lice. Once the Confederate soldiers had regained their composure, they stood before the highly bemused corporal.

What do you want, Roddy? Richard Maret asked.

That’s ‘Corporal Meredin’ to you, the NCO responded. And first on the list of my wants and needs is a little respect! Also, no one is to sell of their equipment in the city.

The other soldiers remained remarkably silent after this announcement.

Whatever do you mean? Barren inquired, ever so casually.

I mean, Harry; where is your belt buckle? And your rifle for that matter? Meredin turned to the youngest member of the squad. And, I haven’t seen you wearing your hat for quite some time.

Ah, they’re around here some place, Talbot replied.

They had better be, Meredin retorted. There’s going to be a full inspection of all uniforms and equipment! And, I do mean every last piece of it. To show you all I’m no high-brow sort of fellow since my lofty inclusion into the ranks of the nobility around these parts, I won’t be conducting this inspection until noon tomorrow. Heaven help anyone missing their equipment. Does everyone understand that?

The other unit members gave a disjointed, though sombre nod of their heads.

Glad to hear it! the corporal chuckled. Now, does anyone know where Captain Buchanan is at? I need to speak to him about something.

Last I heard he was down in the city, Hill reported. Do you want us to go and get him?

Won’t be necessary, Will. It’s not really all that important.

Oh, we don’t mind. Hill turned to his fellow soldiers. Do we boys?

Hell, no! Barren answered, nodding his head.

We don’t mind at all! Maret added.

It’s an awful big city, Meredin stated. It might take you a while to find him.

The guards at the front gate should have an idea where he is, Hill pointed out, eagerly. Since they declared martial law here, everybody going outside has to tell them where they’re going. They should at least be able to point us in the right direction.

The corporal nodded. Okay, do it. Just ask Buchanan if he can check in with me when he gets back here. As I said; it’s nothing all that urgent.

The Confederate soldiers patiently waited until their NCO left the large room. Once he was well out of hearing range, they each let out a respective sigh of relief. The men were all grateful the complete truth had not come out about their missing equipment.

Quick thinking, Bernie! Barren told Talbot. But, as our stuff’s not really here, we’re going to have to go get it all back from that shop we sold it too.

What about the Major? Talbot inquired.

What about him? Look, if we just happen to run into him on our way, then by all means we can give him Roddy’s message. If not; well, these things happen from time to time.

After leaving the common room, these soldiers went back to their bedrooms to retrieve those weapons they still had in their possession. They had all been involved in some highly unfortunate incidents in the city and intended to take no chances on this latest expedition. As quickly as possible, the remainder of the squad made their way from the palace and into the bustling streets of the city of Valderhien.

***

Still adorned in the dark green uniform of the United States Sharpshooter regiment, Captain Carl Buchanan could not help but be the very centre of attention no matter where he went. The streets of this metropolis were always crowded with large numbers of well-dressed people, many of whom appeared intent on following him around, staring in avid fascination at everything he did this bright, cold morning. The captain did not really need anything in particular from the city, its people or commercial ventures. He had merely felt inclined to remove his presence from the confines of the Royal palace, having been shut inside the structure for many days. Granted, the structure itself certainly allowed a person to freely roam about and admire the architecture including the ornate gardens, huge ponds of colourful fish and the various aviaries and zoological displays.

The complete truth was all of these displays were still inside the walls of the palace.

Occasionally, a person just liked to get outside and aimlessly wander the streets under a clear, blue sky without being inhibited by high, stone walls. This is exactly what Buchanan was doing this day. Unfortunately, he had not counted on picking up an ever-increasing crowd of faithful followers who literally followed his every move about the city. Almost the instant he had fled the palace, a handful of curious, grinning children had started wandering along behind him. A couple of adults joined this group a short while later, followed by even more smiling children until at least thirty local citizens now dogged his every single move.

Don’t these people have anything better to do with their time? he grumbled, under his breath.

The street both he and his unofficial fan club currently wandered along was a wide, cobbled thoroughfare with quaint shops lining either side. These retail outlets sold a wide variety of merchandise from farming equipment to clothing to herbs and spices. Many of those persons moving about this street did so on foot, although a handful did ride around on either horseback or in horse-drawn carriages. Once a mounted military patrol rode past, their hard eyes quickly scanning this unusual gathering. On spying the unusually uniformed captain, they easily came to the conclusion that nothing was really amiss with this spectacle and rode on. One of the stores Buchanan strode past was one of the shops now specialising in what the local population referred to as ‘Beyonder relics’. These retail outlets were simply establishments operated by the more quick witted businessmen who saw a very comfortable profit to be made from selling numerous items brought in by different people who happened by chance to come across some item of unusual bric-a-brac. The prices these shopkeepers were asking for quite simple items originating from Earth were staggering and only the very wealthy could afford to purchase these trinkets on open display in the front windows.

The Sharpshooter officer halted before one of these stores to look at the objects on display. Some of these pieces even astonished him. He still found it impossible to read the local script and could not make out the price tags positioned before each individual article. To his amazement some of these supposedly rare objects included a Confederate hat and belt buckle, some old socks and most incredulously, a rifle and ammunition.

My lord! Buchanan gasped. Meredin’s going to kill them for this!

Deciding to further check on this matter, he ventured inside the small, cluttered store to find himself in the company of a middle-aged couple and an elderly, chubby sort of man, the last of whom stood behind a glass counter.

On spying Buchanan in his unusual uniform, the storekeeper’s eyes greedily lit up. Here was more business coming his way! Or so he honestly believed at this time. The two customers turned to stare at the captain, who politely removed his own uniform hat. He nodded silently in their direction then proceeded to inspect this retail store at his leisure. A handful of his fan club had also trailed behind him into the shop and they too began searching about the crowded interior.

On first spying these recent additions to his clientele, the fat shopkeeper immediately came to the obvious conclusion that these new arrivals were certainly not wealthy enough to afford all but the most basic of his wares. He moved with a surprising speed for one so large of girth and chased these interlopers from his place of business and back in the street- where they belonged. Once these peasants and urchins had been removed from the store, the elderly merchant, a beneficial smile across his face, stepped across to where the tall man in the green outfit now stood near a display case, inspecting a deck of playing cards lovingly displayed beneath the protection of a glass counter top.

Can I be of service to you, sir? the shopkeeping inquired.

He silently wondered if this gentleman would be willing to part with some of his personal possessions- for the right price.

No, thank you, Buchanan answered, turning briefly to glance at the other man. I was just looking around. Although, I am interested to know who sold you those things out in the front window?

Some of your fellow Beyonders brought these items to my attention, the shopkeeper cordially informed him. And I did, if I say so myself, give them a generous price for those articles. You are a Beyonder yourself, are you not?

Buchanan nodded, his light brown hair falling over his forehead. He really was going to have to have a haircut someday soon. That’s what they tell me.

I can promise you a much better price for any unwanted items you may own, sir, the elderly merchant promised.

I’ll keep that in mind, Buchanan assured him, off-handed, as he continued inspecting different objects scattered about the store. These Beyonders who sold you those things; did they happen to be wearing grey uniforms?

Why yes, indeed they were, the shorter man confirmed.

The captain gave a nod and a wry smile. I thought so.

Almost, but not quite on cue, a slight commotion sounded from just outside the shop. The people still standing about, waiting for their very own Beyonder to reappear, began chattering avidly amongst themselves. An instant later four uniformed men strode into the store, the last of who shut the front door, closing out the sound of the milling crowd. Another of these new arrivals reached up with one hand to silence the small, delicate bell which rang every time the door was opened or closed. Each and every one of these men halted as if they had reached the end of a long piece of rope somehow attached to their light grey uniforms. They stared across the store directly at Carl Buchanan whom they knew was in the area, but no one had honestly expected to bump into him in the very same shop where they had pawned away their belongings.

Good morning, Captain! Bernard Talbot blurted.

Good morning, Private, the captain murmured in reply.

We didn’t realise you’d be here! the youth added, rather unnecessarily.

Richard Maret elbowed him in the right side as a warning to remain silent.

They have a lot of interesting things in here, Buchanan commented, trying his level best not to smile at the startled expressions of the other soldiers’ faces. I thought I’d just look around.

Us too, William Hill announced, feigning a smile.

Were you about done, Captain? Harry Barren inquired, with as much tact as he could humanly muster- which was very little at the best of times.

The officer smiled at him. Why, Private Barren, I believe so. You gentlemen seem to have urgent business here.

During this conversation, the rotund shopkeeper kept eyeing the Confederate troops as though large bags of the local currency had just marched into his place of business. The merchant incorrectly figured these strangely spoken men were back to sell off even more of their unique personal belongings.

He was in for a serious shock.

Placing his hat back on his heads, Buchanan bid the other troops a brief farewell then left the store to continue his unofficial parade along the street.

Back inside the store, Maret stepped across to the cheerfully waiting businessman who was still smiling.

What can I do to assist you gentlemen? the storekeeper inquired, wondering just how much of a mark-up he could place on their exotic looking boots.

We need our stuff back, Maret told him.

All of it? the merchant squeaked, horrified at such an unprofitable suggestion.

No, just most of it. The rifles and ammo and that sort of stuff. You can keep some of the less important bits and pieces.

I am certain we can come to an agreeable price. But you must remember; this is a business and I have to make a suitable profit.

‘We were thinking more along the lines of a straight-up refund," Barren added.

Gentlemen! the fat man lamented. We must be reasonable. I have a duty to sell those items at a marked-up price!

Gentlemen! Barren chuckled, amused by this description. I’m afraid you’ve got us mixed up with a whole bunch of other people! Now, if you give us our stuff back, we won’t find it necessary to search for it ourselves. He grinned. And most probably mess up your nice store in the process.

The chubby merchant went pale in the face. He glanced about from one cheerless looking face to another.

I … I suppose that would be best, he muttered.

You suppose right, mister, Maret confirmed.

The store proprietor quickly conducted a thorough search through his establishment, collecting all of the Confederate troopers’ possessions. During this search, the soldiers stood in one corner of the small shop, gathering up all of the coins the fat, little man had paid them. On this occasion good luck was smiling down as the extravagant price the merchant was asking for these items meant most of the equipment and belongings were still in the shop. After the exchange, the Confederate men thanked the merchant for his time then left the store. Hill had just come up with an interesting plan as to how they could make a great deal of money and not upset their NCO in the process.

CHAPTER THREE

Once he had finished eating the morning meal in the Royal family’s private dining room, his Majesty, Entell Thellon bid his family a good morning then left with the Royal Protectorate in close proximity. The two men, who were quickly followed by a veritable swarm of soldiers, made their way through the bewildering maze of corridors and halls until they entered the Royal Assembly Hall where a sizable crowd had gathered for this morning’s proceedings. Amongst those dignitaries present to speak with his Majesty were General Arrish Marn, the thin, friendly-looking head of the Hamaforth Kingdom’s Armed Forces, Ambassador Linton Veck, the political representative from the northern nation of Halish and a large number of people whom the King recognised as minor bureaucrats and other such courtiers. Some people present at this gathering he did not recognise at all, but considering the number of people presently housed in the palace, these things were to be expected from time to time.

Zaragor positioned himself to one side of the podium. On this platform stood the throne where his Majesty would shortly be seated to hear various reports on numerous proceedings throughout the Kingdoms. On many occasions Entell Thellon would then be required to make often urgent decisions on matters of state.

The King stepped up onto the podium while every single person present before him fell into an absolute silence. They continued to remain this way until the monarch had finally been seated before them.

All hail his Majesty, King Entell Thellon the Third! Zaragor roared, his impressive tones echoing about the large, decorative chamber.

Most of those persons present in the hall give a customary bow of respect towards the seated monarch. The King responded to this gesture with a curt bow of his own towards the gathered crowd.

Who is first? he inquired.