The Distant Kingdoms Volume Eight: Imperial Rising

PROLOGUE

A cold wind blew in off of the seemingly endless green-black blanket of the Great Northern Sea. Its brash touch reached the land, unsettling a fine cover of black dust, creating a light mist of grey which enveloped the surrounding area. Once the wind settled to a gentler pace, the mist-like cloud dissipated until the landmarks of this region were once again quite visible to the naked eye. Not that anyone lived here at this time. No one could have survived under such harsh and desolate conditions. This area had once been the shining example of civilisation throughout the lands. Its peoples had been highly gifted architects, craftsmen, tradesmen, and experienced seamen. These persons involved in such activities were usually to be found toiling in the local shipyards or working at a feverish pitch in the city itself. The defence of the entire northern seaboard had depended on the resolve and hard work of these dedicated souls.

Now they were all gone.

Gone to dust.

The once magnificent buildings of this glories city were little more than burnt-out, shattered husks. Many had crumbled and fallen in on themselves to produce a sad display of broken debris scattered across blackened ground. The resplendent manors that had once lined the glorious foreshores were broken, twisted remnants of their former selves. A great number of these formerly resplendent homes had been obliterated, torn down and incinerated as if by a vengeful deity. The waves now lapped across the broken supports of smashed piers which had only recently harboured an extensive array of warships and the occasional pleasure craft. These too had been destroyed and now lay as shattered hulks on the ocean floor. They remained alone in their watery graves as even the fish and other sea life had abandoned the region.

No birds flew through the air over this shattered port. They had either been exterminated or had fled in fright at the evil which had arrived in this land. Certainly no animals sought safe harbour in this part of the world. Their population had likewise been decimated to the point where even the rodents knew to keep well-clear of this place. Also, numerous trees for many leagues in all directions but that of the ocean had been annihilated. They too were currently no more than charred and blackened stumps protruding ever so rudely from out of the cold ground.

The cause of this unprecedented destruction presently slept.

It had swept across the vast lands of this nation in search of a suitable nesting site. On the odd occasion, it had partaken of a meal, any animal to be found in its proximity. Sometimes these beasts were the type with four legs and on other occasions they possessed only two legs. This latter type of prey provided the creature with an amusing sport as they never just curled up and died on first feeling its fire. They generally charged around, waving their limbs and producing an amusing array of sounds. The creature particularly enjoyed the unfamiliar noises the two-legged animals made moments before they perished. On first arriving at this site, the creature had found a great abundance of this form of food and had dined well for many days afterwards. Sometimes it had been forced to ignite the strange dens these animals dwelt in before incinerating them as they emerged, running and screaming and all dying in a blazing inferno. After the local population of the two-legged animals of this district had been completely obliterated, the creature had been forced by hunger pangs to abandon this site to go in search of more prey. Usually these hunting expeditions only resulted in one or two of the animals being located and devoured on the spot. Only recently it had been presented with a most fortunate situation where seemingly thousands of these things on the four legged animals had been scattered across a vast plain. The creature had swept across this herd, sweeping them with heavy blast of fire before commencing a magnificent feast. Much to its astonishment, some more of these animals had come to the aid of their fallen herd members. They too had perished in the fire that could not ever be quenched.

Admittedly, many of these two and four legged animals had escaped, fleeing in fear and horror in all directions across the countryside. Later on, when its hunger had returned, the creature had gone in search of further game. Hunting down these animals was, honestly, a favoured sport and soon it located and destroyed these oddly merged animals merely for the amusement factor. Instead of igniting them and devouring the cooked remains, it would simply sit nearby, closely observing these fire engulfed animals as they charged about in no well-designed format, almost as though such strange behaviour would permanently put out their flames and take away their agony.

However, these activities had taken place a couple of days ago and now the creature’s hunger was well-sated and the only need to enter its mind was the desire to rest.

The city of Innolin was no more

And there the dragon slept.

CHAPTER ONE

THE AZZIL TERRITORIES

THE CITY OF TERRIMORTER

Connie York sat at a large bench table in the main mess hall of the Imperial palace. She was currently staring down at a plateful of food; a mixture of roasted meats and cooked vegetables all covered in an abundance of a thick, rich sauce. The dark-haired, green eyed scientist and once team manager of the doomed Minerva Project silently wondered just how many such meals she would have to eat before becoming obese. The meat and accompanying vegetable were not really the issue in this case. The sauce appeared to be the main offender in the dreaded calorie count. She had absolutely no notion of how this mixture was concocted, but assumed most of the contents were the run-off from the fat and grease from numerous roasts that were cooked in the kitchens on a near endless cycle throughout the day and night. Her plate and its contents were pretty much swimming in the brown-grey liquid and she pondered on the possibility of sending the meal back to the kitchens with the strict instructions not to drown her food in so much of this putrid sauce.

Instinctively feeling a great many eyes on her, she abruptly glanced up to discover her feelings were indeed correct. There appeared to be a couple of hundred people of varying appearances seated throughout the massive chamber. Their clothing ranged from local to foreign military uniforms, to white robes, blue capes as well as a great mixture of civilian items of apparel. Most of those persons gawking at her looked away on first realising she was now staring right back at them. Some people continued their observations, almost as if their behaviour could not be considered indiscrete or even rude. Many of these people were in the process of either waiting for their meals to be delivered or had received such food and were in the process of dining.

Connie honestly believed they might have better luck placing their food in their open mouths if they ceased ogling at her and concentrated on eating their meals- and minding their own damn business. Most of those who were staring at her were from the local population, either military personnel or civilian staff and workers who lived and performed various necessary functions throughout the massive building. A number of the diners taking in the spectacle of Connie seated by herself did not attempt to conceal their hostility at her presence in their midst. They obviously knew full-well she was one of these so-called ‘Beyonders’ and as such was associated with the army that had only two days ago smashed its way through the front gates of Terrimorter and all the way up to the Imperial palace. There had already been numerous unfortunate and often fatal incidents between the members of both armies and the civilian population in the defeated city. Every so often, a badly mutilated body would be discovered in some discrete part of the complex or in a back alley in the city. Accusations of cruelty and torture would fly back and forth between the former combatants. Sometimes, the guilty party responsible for these atrocities would be discovered and due punishment handed out. On other occasions the deed would just be listed as yet another unsolved homicide for the local or military authorities to investigate at their leisure.

Every single person associated with the invading force was now under close guard by either the Hamaforth military or those tall, blonde, blue-eyed, fierce- looking men and women called the Dearnians. One such man, a uniquely dark-haired individual, had been assigned to keep a close and careful watch over the scientist during the course of her stay in the Imperial palace.

This man by the name of Boriculin presently stood to one side of the mess hall not far from her nearly unoccupied table. Right at this moment he was in deep discussion with a group of blue uniformed soldiers seated at the far end of her table. They appeared to be interacting peacefully enough although, Connie had heard from some sources that the Dearnians and the Hamaforth military often did not see eye-to-eye. The regular soldiers and officers often thought the Dearnian guards were aloof and above reproach while these white-robed people behaved as if the rank and file military were somehow their subordinates.

Deciding to finally eat some of her evening meal, she picked up the unusual cutlery from beside the plate. The knife was of no great concern, but the other item appeared to be little more than a glorified spoon. She silently pondered on the possibility of just how much of the rich gravy she would spill during the process of eating her meal. Gazing up once more, she was startled to see that most of the offending onlookers had returned to their meals to allow her to eat in peace and privacy. One middle-aged man in a burgundy uniform was still staring- no, glaring across at her from his heavily populated table near the centre of the mess hall. His dark eyes bore angrily across the chamber at her while one hand was clenched around a knife in a tight fist. He flashed the startled woman a broad grin right before dragging an index finger across his neck in an unmistakable throat-slitting gesture. Some of the similarly uniformed men seated around him at the long timber table snickered and chuckled at this motion. They stared up at a still bewildered woman before continuing to eat their food.

Boriculin politely excused himself to the small group of Hamaforth regular soldiers. Still smiling, he picked his way through the heavily crowded room and stepped across to where the throat-slitter remained seated amongst the other Territorian troops. He did not speak a single word before grabbing the offending man’s hair and ramming his face hard into his plate of food. The smiling Dearnian guard performed this feat no less than four times, sending spouts of badly mashed food and no small measure of fresh spilt blood splattering the other soldiers. Many of the unarmed soldiers motioned as if to perform more than a vocal objection over this assault on their fellow soldier. Boriculin continued smiling as he spoke to them in words Connie could not hear, but apparently put the fear of their gods into these soldiers. To a man they remained seated at the table with the notable exception of the throat-slitter who now tumbled unconscious to the floor at their feet, his face liberally covered in mashed food and his own blood from a badly shattered nose.

Connie remained seated at her place, both hands covering her mouth in a display of shock at this action. She watched as the dark-haired Dearnian wandered back to the Hamaforth soldiers, all of whom appeared to find this display quite amusing. Many of them were openly giggling and snickering as they continued dining.

She finally found the courage to demand an answer from her supposed protector. Was that really necessary?

Boriculin looked to her then glanced back at the spot where the unconscious Territorian trooper remained prone on the food splattered floor.

Yes, he replied, frowning slightly at such an odd question.

She shook her head in dismay. These were strange people in strange times in a very strange place and she was stuck in the middle of it all. To make matters worse her supposed employer and all round scientific guru, Colin Bourke, no … Lord Colin Bourke had fled the scene- possibly for quite some time; assuming he ever did return. Using the spoon-thing utensil, she absently placed a lump of what she prayed was mash potato into her mouth and chewed on this morsel of food. She really had to admit it tasted all right and even the fat-sauce accompanying the potato was too her liking. Her mind immediately ventured to the topic of something else that was quite to her liking …

***

Captain Carl Buchanan of the United States Sharpshooters, still in his green uniform walked into the mess hall. He was at this time accompanied by three men all wearing what appeared to be Confederate uniforms. They all gazed about the crowded hall as if scouring the area for a likely place to be seated for the meal.

She turned to stare at this new arrival, her eyes widening in surprise. One aspect that struck her as being rather unusual was that the rebel soldiers and the Union officer appeared to be particularly close. One might even suggested they behaved like old friends. In the short time she had known them, the Confederate troopers appeared well-mannered, but often referred any important decisions to the man who should, by all rights have been their mortal enemy. Still, if they had experienced half of the hair-raising events she had undergone during her stay on Perencore, Connie could well understand their highly unusual bonding. A person by themselves in these unfamiliar and often dangerous surroundings really had no chance of long-term survival.

The captain looked about the huge arena, spotted Connie seated by herself and smiled in her direction. The Confederate soldiers were also smiling, although quite possibly not about the same thing. Buchanan spoke to the three grey uniformed men; who were not armed at this time then left their company, moving with great purpose towards the still seated scientist. During this manoeuvre, the Confederate soldiers picked a likely place at a nearby table and seated themselves to wait to be attended by the hurried-looking serving staff.

Good evening, ma’am, Buchanan spoke up on reaching the dark-haired woman’s position. He hastily removed his uniform hat, holding this item in both hands. Mind if I join you?

Ma’am? she repeated the word in shock. She fell silent, staring up at the tall man with his light brown toned hair and hazel eyes.

Which was all right, because he had likewise fallen silent to stare back at her.

He really liked her green eyes.

As well as all her other characteristics.

She shook her head. No one’s called me that for a while, she remarked, smiling at him. It makes me feel positively decrepit.

Buchanan’s mouth dropped open in shock. I … I didn’t mean it like that! he blurted.

Standing some short distance away, his back to a wall, Boriculin shook his head and rolled his eyes. These two were just hopeless. He wondered in silence if he should step across to their table and give them some handy tips on how to get the relationship moving a touch more smoothly. The Dearnian wisely decided to just continue standing in his place and mind his own sweet business.

It’s okay! she chuckled, finding the captain’s momentary shock quite amusing. Please, take a seat.

Buchanan stepped around the long, sturdy table, placing himself on the bench seat directly opposite her. He placed his feather decorated hat onto the seat before turning to stare at her once more. They both continued their absence of sound for a full two minutes. The mood was finally broken when one of the serving staff appeared to take the officer’s order. He decided to order what Connie was eating for her meal.

What is that, Miss York? he inquired, politely

Miss York now! she retorted, laughingly. I’m getting even older! she glanced down at the plate. It’s some dead animal flesh and vegetables that I don’t recognise.

I’ll have what the lady’s having, Buchanan told the waitress- who wondered what was wrong with their speech patterns.

The middle-aged woman wrote a hasty note on a piece of paper before wandering away. She stopped off at other tables to take the orders of other dinners including the Confederate soldiers. Soon afterwards, the waitress disappeared into the vast kitchens to see about placing these orders.

Connie decided to take the initiative in the conversation. Events had been moving at a break-neck speed since the invasion and they had hardly spoken to one another over the past couple of days.

Look! she insisted, leaning across the table to a moderate degree. It’s not ‘ma’am’ or ‘Miss York’ or anything like it. Please call me ‘Connie’ because that’s the name my parents gave me. Okay?

Yes, ma’am! he immediately retorted, flashing her a professional salute.

Connie laughed at this gest. I can see we’re going to get on just fine, she told him, although she had a great deal more than ‘just fine’ on her mind.

If you say so- Connie, Buchanan replied, smiling across at her.

What do I call you? she inquired, spooning some more food into her mouth.

Carl will do.

Well, Carl, your friends appear to be enjoying the show.

Buchanan frowned at her. I do beg your pardon?

She pointed across to the three Confederate soldiers at the other table. They in turn smiled and waved across at her, each and every one of them grinning as if having just shared some hilarious joke.

She waved back at them. Maybe you should invite them to sit with us?

Buchanan was horrified by the mere mention of the idea. Absolutely out of the question!

She turned to regard intently him.

She did not have to ask her next question.

To be honest, I have come to regard those rebels as good friends, he readily admitted. And I was especially sad to have Meredin and Barren not live through all of this- but they really can be a handful if you don’t treat them just the right way.

And what way is that, Carl?

At arm’s length. Believe me, they’re just fine where they are. He fell silent. Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Connie?

Shoot!

Why are you dining alone? Where are your other friends?

Well, let’s see; Colin’s run away. Vic’s busy in the local hospital …

He’s that Oriental gentleman, isn’t he?

Yes … I’m not really sure about the term ‘Oriental’, so let’s not use it in front of him, okay! Lorraine’s also in the hospital …

How is she faring?

Really good! Connie quickly answered, smiling. There had really been little to smile about of late. Vic said she should be on her own two feet in no time. She frowned. I don’t know what’s happened to Dale? I think he and those two soldiers from the helicopter are hanging out together. She frowned even more. Personally, I think they’re confusing him …

Buchanan leant forward a touch. What about that strange, little man who’s usually hanging around you?

Sean?

Is that his name?

She nodded. Sean Corrigin. She frowned again. Why? Has he done something?

No, not really. He just keeps- staring at me. Buchanan now frowned. He doesn’t really look like he’s angry at me about anything. But, he just keeps staring at me.

Oh, Sean’s not angry at you, she laughed. If he was, you’d be dead already.

What!

I … I mean he takes a little getting used too is all, Carl.

He’s here!

What!

Buchanan pointed a gloved finger across to the main entrance of the mess hall.

Following this lead, she turned around to discover, much to her shock, a short figure in a heavy overcoat standing at the doorway. Oddly enough, this recent arrival was wearing dark sunglasses. A couple of people were leaving the chamber having finished their meal. They all hastily beat a retreat on first sighting the man who had only recently been the chief of the now defunct Internal Intelligence Service. Rumour had it the short man had also helped save the lives of King Entell Thellon the Third and his sons, as well as slaughter practically everyone present for the executions.

Sean looked around, spied Connie and that green-uniformed bastard seated at the very same table, having a very romantic-looking dinner. The thought of giving them both some privacy entered his mind and was quickly beaten to a pulp before being unceremoniously dismissed from his thoughts. He grinned at them, waved then wandered across to join the happy couple.

And just how are you faring this fine evening, Connie? he politely inquired, sitting beside her. He politely ignored the American soldier in the funny green costume.

I’m swell, Sean, she informed him, turning to offer him a rather mild glare straight in the eye.

I’m doing well myself, Connie! he informed her.

Ah … Look, Sean, she spoke up once more. I was just having a private conversation with the Captain here …

Captain! Sean blurted, finally turning to take some notice of the other man seated nearby. I didn’t know you owned a boat! Well, good for you, sport! I suppose when you’re out at sea and it’s a bit rough, your face probably turns the very same colour as your funny outfit?

Sean! she blurted in anger.

I’m not that sort of captain, Buchanan politely assured the shorter man. I’m a captain with the United States Sharpshooters …

Yeah, you said that before, Sean murmured, as if a touch irritated by this explanation, when you intruded in Lorraine’s sick room. He sadly shook his head. There she was, this poor injured, sick girl trying to get some shut-eye and you just kept rambling on about being some sort of captain who doesn’t even own a bloody boat!

Sean! This outburst, naturally enough came from Connie.

What’s a sharp-shooter? the Irishman inquired, completely ignoring the tall woman sitting beside him.

She was presently firing off all sorts of enraged expressions, but he just assumed this was an allergic reaction to something she had recently eaten.

It sounds like sort of cartoon or something? he added.

Buchanan leaned closer to him. It means I’m very good with a gun, he told the other man. And I’m willing to bet a damn sight better with a gun than you!

What the …! Sean spluttered.

I’m sure that’s your meal! Connie abruptly announced, pointing towards the middle-aged waitress who was moving towards them while expertly juggling a number of crowded plates. Carl, why don’t you go and help her!

Sean’s eyes widened in shock. Is that such a good idea?

I think it’s the polite thing to do, she informed the officer.

I agree, Buchanan cheerfully retorted. He flashed an angered glance across at the other man before leaving his place to retrieve his food.

Look! Sean spoke up.

She in turn reached over, took hold of him by his collar and pulled him closer so he would completely understand her ever last word to him: Now you listen to me, you stunted, little sonofabitch! I consider you one of my best friends and almost like a member of my own family! But if you don’t cut it out, I swear I’ll rip off your head and shove it up your ass! And I mean right here in front of everyone while they’re eating! Do you understand me, Sean?

She released her grip, allowing him to properly breathe once more.

Sure … I understand you, Connie, he stammered, having never really seen her quite so … ‘animated’ before this incident.

He pulled a hipflask from out of his coat. Would you care for a drink? he politely inquired, unscrewing the cap. A little something to calm your nerves?

No- thank you.

Do you mind if I take a swig or two to calm my nerves? They’re feeling a bit ordinary right at this moment.

Knock yourself out- sport.

Connie looked as if she wanted to lean across and knock him out. However, such crude behaviour would most probably have put the captain off of his meal. She remembered that Carl Buchanan had recently left to retrieve his meal and would be returning some time shortly. She glanced up to see the man in question wandering back to their table, both hands holding a plate of steaming food fresh from the kitchen where goodness-only-knows how long these items had been sitting around.

The Sharpshooter officer placed himself back in his original position, dropping the plate on the table before him. He picked up the unusual cutlery near the plate and commenced eating at a leisurely pace. It was honestly quite a luxury to be eating indoors instead of somewhere out in the wilderness- with all off the animals and insect life.

Sean remained at his place beside Connie, who was also now consuming her food. He looked firstly across at Buchanan’s meal then turned to admire the scientist’s fare, or what was left of it by this stage of the meal.

That looks nice, he commented.

She nodded.

I think I might get me some of that, he declared, his mouth watering. Since the invasion, meals had been available only on a semi-regular basis. I’ll place my order and be right back.

She immediately reached across, grabbing his arm with her hand. You know, Sean, she just happened to mention. See those soldiers over there in the grey uniforms?

He looked across to the other table and nodded in silence.

They’re rebels, just like you. Honest-to-goodness Confederate soldiers. I’m sure they’d like to meet your acquaintance.

He shrugged. I’ll go over there and introduce myself, he stated, not really knowing why the unusually outfitted men would be of any great interest to him. Without another word, he stepped away from the table and wandered across to where the Confederate troopers now sat.

Thank you, Buchanan murmured in between mouthfuls of his meal. For a minute there I thought there was going to be trouble. He frowned, staring over at her. Does that little man … you know … have any ‘designs’ on you, Connie? If you’ll pardon me for asking?

She ceased chewing her food to stare back at him. What makes you say that, Carl?

You mean other than his odd behaviour?

She gave a great sigh. You know, at first when we met, I think he may have had some ideas, she theorise. But, we had a bit of a talk and despite the occasional lapses in his sense of humour, I’m quite certain he holds no romantic intentions towards me. But, I will tell you this for free; if not for Sean, I simply wouldn’t be here right now. That strange, little man has saved my life more times than I care to remember!

Really? Buchanan exclaimed, confused. He turned to give the little Irishman another bout of scrutiny. Sean was speaking with William Hill and the other Confederate soldiers who all abruptly burst into raucous laughter. Much to the captain’s shock, Sean pulled out his hip flask and began to pass the shiny canister around.

He doesn’t look all that impressive, he murmured, turning back to face her.

She was now glaring at him. Believe me, I’ve seen Sean when he goes off big-time and he’s really impressive when the occasion calls for it. Also, he is still a good friend of mine.

I’m sorry, he added hastily, in a display of contrition. I didn’t mean any disrespect to him.

Don’t worry yourself about it, Carl.

He consumed a couple of mouthfuls of his food, his mind mulling over a couple of issues. Do you mind if I ask a personal question, Connie?

Try me, she responded, smiling. See if I object.

All right, here goes; what are you going to do now that this business has come to an end?

Return to the Minerva Project and see if we can fix this … Whatever happened to all of us.

Minerva Project, Buchanan repeated, frowning in concentration. Bourke told us about that while we were staying over at his castle. The one back in Xerous. I still don’t understand why you would all do such a thing. I mean the whole thing just defies logic.

It sure does now, she admitted. But back when we were first working on it, the idea was to take control of a natural force that affected everyone’s lives. She looked about the crowded mess hall with its swarming mass of humanity. This certainly wasn’t meant to happen, believe me! None of us had the slightest notion that this would go so badly wrong! She smiled across at him. What about you, Carl? What are your plans?

He sighed on first hearing her inquiry. I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself! He paused before speaking again: Back home, in the United States- on Earth! I was a reasonably efficient lawyer. Here I can’t even read or write the local dialect. I suppose I could learn, but it’s just so inconvenient. There was a thought we had on first arriving that we could start some sort of security business. You know, protect people from attack by those Anhil. But now some of us are no longer here. He fell silent once more. Which reminds me! Tomorrow I have a funeral to attend!

A funeral? she queried, frowning in mild confusion. I thought they’d finished with all of that.

The funerals are for the ones from Earth who didn’t make it through the other day, Buchanan informed her. We managed to convince the authorities here that our burial customs were different from theirs. So they’re going to let us lay them to rest in plots beside the river. We even have headstones to mark the graves; a local stonemason carved them for us.

Do you mind if I tag along? she inquired, politely. Those people are part of the reason I’m still alive by all accounts. I believe Jom Azzer had ordered all us ‘Beyonders’ put to death as soon as the army turned up.

Sure thing! he enthused- before halting. Enthusiasm over something as tragic as a funeral for friends was hardly a tasteful display. I’d like it if you attended, Connie, he responded with much more reserve. It will be at sun-up tomorrow.

I’ll see you there, she retorted. Glancing down at her near empty plate, she realised this part of the meal was over. She stood upright at the table. And now, I need my beauty sleep. Not uttering another word, Connie York turned and walked with no great urgency from the mess hall deep beneath the Imperial palace.

Carl Buchanan paused in eating his own meal. He watched the tall woman’s elegant departure all the while urging her to turn around to look at him just once. Much to his immense relief, the scientist did indeed pause for a fleeting instant to turn and offer him a cheerful smile. In an instant she was gone from sight as other people filled into the huge auditorium. The Sharpshooter Captain was smiling broadly as he continued devouring his meal. At one stage he looked about the crowded chamber at his fellow dinners. Much to his concern, one patron in particular did not appear to be at all thrilled about recent developments. Sean Corrigin was seated with the Confederate soldiers who were chatting amiably amongst themselves. He now glared across the room at the green uniformed man. He did not look happy, not happy at all.

CHAPTER TWO

Ernest Bonaparte was drunk. There was no other way of putting his condition. He currently sat alone in the room he had been assigned the other day; or rather on a chair on the balcony of his new quarters. This position gave him a rather panoramic view of the city of Terrimorter, or rather what was left of the place. The numerous fires that had started as a direct result of the invasion of the other day had all been extinguished by this time. The local populace, along with their troops and the invading soldiers had all conspired together so the entire place would not eventually burn to the ground, leaving behind nothing more than an impressive square-set wall. Ernest had to admit through his drunken haze that the walls of Terrimorter were indeed quite impressive.

Even more breathtaking was the massive gaping hole in the southern wall where the main gates had once stood. Now all that remained of these impossibly imposing gates were a few bits and pieces of charred wood and metal and stone strewn across the city and surrounding countryside. He had spoken to Gary Wyndham about this seemingly catastrophic events the day after the gates had been destroyed in the main assault. According to the Marines officer, the half-a-dozen rockets fired from the Iroquois helicopter could not have possibly produced such a devastating explosion. Both he and most of the members of his crew had correctly surmised that some careless troops in charge of a supply dump for their cannon and catapults had placed said explosive stores near the gates. The rockets had initially punched through the metre thick timber barriers and ignited the explosives set nearby. The supply dump had obviously ignited in one almighty detonation and this- not the rockets, had obliterated the closed gates and much of the wall around and behind them.

Wyndham had gone on to state that if not for this most fortunate happenstance, he most probably would have been forced to exhaust all of the rockets in the aircraft’s pods to make even a minor breach in the gates. Such an event would have been ‘unfortunate’ as then the entire army under Colin Bourke’s command would have been forced by design to circumvent the entire city to enter it via the entrance at the rear of the massive metropolis. There was no telling how many of them would have perished if this scenario had been the case on the day of the attack.

Ernest poured some more of the light brown beverage into his glass before consuming this drink in a couple of deliberate gulps. He clumsily placed the now empty glass back onto a small round table, watching as drops of the cool liquid ran down the outside of this crude, clear container. This runoff eventually found its way to the thin, timber table top, pooling around the glass.

A scream caught his attention, causing his head to jerk up, his slightly unfocused eyes scanning the darkened scape of Terrimorter. A couple of dull lights here and there throughout the city broke the darkness, but generally most citizens of the settlement still refrained from doing anything that might bring the unwelcome attention of their new overlords. A moment passed in complete silence causing Ernest to wonder if the abrupt outburst had not been at all real, but a complete figment of his imagination. His tormented mind still vividly remembered the screams and woeful moans of the injured and dying.

He could always hear her- that mere slip of a girl in her blood splattered uniform calling into the wind for her mother.

And he had to tell the dying girl with her missing legs that her mother was not here.

He bent forward, placing his head in his trembling hands while leaning on the not so stable table. No matter how hard he tried to erase the memory of this horrible sight, his mind refused point-blank to allow the image to flee his thoughts.

More than the girl’s legs were missing!

She had been literally eviscerated from the waist down.

The girl had wanted one last glimpse of her mother. One final word of assurance that all of these terrible sacrifices were not in vain. Not such an outrageous request when all said and done.

According to the report he had heard, over four hundred members of Lord Bourke’s army had perished in the charge on the gates alone. Nearly double that number had been injured to some degree while more had died during the fighting all through the city. Apparently, about three times these numbers of local troops, as well as civilians, had paid the ultimate price for defending their homes and livelihoods. He sadly shook his head on remembering these dreadful statistics. No wonder Colin had fled the region the day after the invasion had succeeded. Who needed to stick around to watch as thousands were put into their graves? The plains about Terrimorter were now liberally pitted with recently filled graves. The local people did not even bother to put a marker on any of these graves. Apparently, such an act was against local burial customs.

Ernest poured himself another drink.

And here he was stuck in a country he had never heard of until some short months ago. He was so far away from his family- and what he really wanted right at this moment was to see the smiling faces of his wife, Edith and sons, Joseph and Ernest junior. The thought that he had done the wrong thing by his family in leaving them to meet with Colin Bourke then joining ‘his Lordship’ on this quest to defeat the local tyrant and rescue members of a Royal family had never been from his mind for any waking moment. Ernest knew full-well he had erred in his judgement by deciding to leave the city of Valderhien. To add to his inner feelings of remorse and self-loathing, soon after his departure, some lunatic had taken over the place and directly threatened his defenceless family.

Defenceless?

Ernest emptied his glass down his throat.

Edith and his boys had apparently helped bring down this traitor who was now languishing in some dark, damp, rat-infested dungeon deep beneath the Royal palace. He shuddered at the very thought of suffering such an ill fate. Colin had once told him about the dungeons- and the massive rodents running around down there as if the flea-infested vermin owned the place! He shook his head on remembrance of Edith’s handwritten note to him not so long ago. His generally unassuming wife had been made a duchess or some such ridiculous sounding thing for her courage during the attempted mutiny!

Ernest silently wondered through the alcohol-induced haze in his mind if the boys had been likewise given titles?

In all honesty, both Joseph and Ernest junior were now officially Brigadier-Generals, although no one really recognised these important military ranks.

Somewhere out in the distance, a fire began to burn, catching Ernest’s attention from his own morbid thoughts. This unexpected blaze lit up a good portion of one of the outer districts, making a couple of nearby streets clearly visible in the wavering light. As he watched from his lofted position, he could just make out the images of a couple of figures running about the suddenly visibly thoroughfares. From time to time some of these figures would join together in an apparent act of great violence. More screams echoed across the darkened city of Terrimorter as Ernest Bonaparte silently observed these grim proceedings. And every cry of pain and every image of impending death struck a toll on his beleaguered mind.

***

Lieutenant Gary Wyndham opened the door to his room and stepped out into the adjoining corridor. He was dressed in his Marines uniform plus the heavy dark green jacket provided to him on reaching the city of Xerous not so long ago. He looked about the reasonably well-lit passageway and saw one of those tall, blonde people standing guard some metres away. Personally, he thought the notion of a Marines officer, an armed one at that, needing a bodyguard quite ridiculous. One hand absently dropped to his side to lightly touch his sidearm in its holster. The Colt .45 calibre automatic pistol was still in place- as it should have been while he was in a war zone. Despite assurances by numerous people that they were all quite safe inside the Imperial palace, Wyndham could not abide the thought of wandering around this monstrous complex without any form of self-defence. Hell! He was the person greatly responsible for this current mess! If not for his firing on the city gates and their subsequent destruction, the army once under Colin Bourke’s command would still be milling about outside, wondering just how to get into the place. If anybody in the building had a price on his head, Wyndham honestly believed he was the one. All it took to ruin someone’s day was to bump into a person with a grudge and a knife. This said; a knife was of little use to a possible assassin if this would-be killer was the proud new owner of a number of bullet holes.

The officer turned towards the Dearnian guard. Hi! How’s it going?

The white-robed man looked in is direction and nodded before resuming his former posture of staring straight ahead at the opposite wall.

That’s what I really can’t stand about the Dearnians, Wyndham grumbled, moving away. They’re all just so damn chatty all the time!

A door nearby sprung open as privates Clarence (Clary) Field and Richard (Ricky) Sorell poured out into the passageway. Both soldiers immediately spied their commanding officer and instantly halted all talk. They stood at full-attention, or at least a sloppy rendition of this posture as the lieutenant likewise remained motionless as he closely scrutinised the two African-American soldiers.

Good evening, Wyndham spoke up first, breaking the strained silence.

Hi, sir! Field responded, almost as though he had decided to take charge of the conversation; just in case Sorell happened to say the wrong thing.

And where are you two going in such a hurry? the officer politely inquired, having noticed both men in their best uniforms.

Admittedly, these clothes were not standard Marine dress uniforms, but they had not really been expecting to arrive at this place or any other location where they might be needing such outfits. Still, the lieutenant honestly believed it was a gracious display by these members of his squad.

The two soldiers turned to gaze at one another. They then turned their attention back to the officer.

We’re on our way down to the mess, sir, Field again provided an answer. He smiled as if pleased at himself for giving such an answer.

Wyndham smiled right back. Both troopers looked strangely guilty over something. He decided to press the matter. That’s nice, he murmured, considering his next question. I heard the food was quite good here. Are you meeting anyone down there?

They remained stone silent, staring across at him.

Surprisingly enough the Dearnian guard standing some metres along the corridor had managed to overhear the conversation. A broad smile appeared on his bearded face as though greatly amused by some recent thought that had entered his mind.

Wyndham looked to the white-haired man before returning his undivided attention back to the two near motionless soldiers. They looked for all the world like rabbits caught in the bright lights of an oncoming truck- a fairly large vehicle at that.

Um … Field sort of spoke up. We are indeed meeting up with some people, Lieutenant. He grinned again.

What sort of people?

Some … People from Bourke’s army. You know, the ones we helped get in here by taking out the front gate.

Yes, I know, Wyndham smiled right back. I was there too. Remember? I was the one flying the huey.

Well, Lieutenant. Sorell finally joined the conversation. Some of the troops asked us to join them for dinner.

And would these someone’s from Bourke’s army just happen to be girls?

Sir?

They just might be, Field added, cautiously.

You know! the lieutenant mentioned, his eyes glinting mischievously in the lamp light. I happen to notice the oddest thing while we were on our way over here to knock down the city gates. On occasion some nights, I decided to check in on my squad just to see how they were holding up. Wyndham’s smile faded. At no time on the trip over here were you two ever in your tent at night! Would you care to explain that to me?

Field stared at him in a mild state of shock, What can I say, sir! he retorted, grabbing the other enlisted man by one arm and dragging him from the passageway. The girls on this crazy-ass planet are just so fond of their dark meat!

What!

I mean they really can’t get enough, Lieutenant. Bye now!

The two soldiers flashed him a couple of rather amateurish salutes before charging from his sight before he could raise any objections. Wyndham watched in shock as Clary Field and Ricky Sorell scrambled from the passageway in a display of speed and dexterity which would have made their drill sergeants proud. He frowned, shook his head before looking back to the lone Dearnian guard still standing in the corridor. The tall, blonde man was at this time giving no outward displays of any emotion at all.

Wyndham continued on his way, wondering all this while if his NCO, Corporal Scott Stuart had also been spending a great deal of his spare time ‘entertaining’ the local girls. He gave a mild shrug; when all said and done it was really none of his business just what his squad members were doing with whom and where, so long as they were not in dereliction of their duties or doing anything to embarrass the Corp. Once more absently checking his loaded sidearm, Gary Wyndham went in search of his objective this night.

***

Moving through the main recovery ward of the Terrimorter hospital, Victor Chan’s eyes roamed across the row upon row of occupied bunks. He could usually tell at a glance if any of his patients- and there were just so many of them, were in trouble or in the process often described as ‘resting comfortably’. Since the invasion of the city, he had rarely slept and had only been afforded one bath. Most of his time during these past couple of days had been spent saving numerous lives of those persons on both sides of the terrible conflict whom had been injured during the rampant, wide-spread fighting. Much to his concern, many people, some mere children, had perished after having been transported into the building. After all, there was only the one of him and the other medical staff just did not have his expertise or experience in surgical procedures. He had to reluctantly admit that the staff in this rather basic medical facility had performed to the best of their ability and without them many more lives and limbs would have been lost through some truly shocking injuries sustained by their patients. Still, sometime in the foreseeable future he was going to have to give the other surgeons a couple of crash courses in surgical procedures as per twenty-first century medicine as it was practiced on Earth.

Victor had no way of knowing that by this stage of his life the twenty-first century back on Earth was over and done with by now.

He likewise had no idea of knowing that Simon Leveque had been dead and cold in his grave for so many years and even his grandchildren were aged.

Everyone Victor had ever known in his life back on Earth was long dead and forgotten.

One sight caught his attention in the large, dimly illuminated ward. He stepped across to a bed containing a young girl, probably in her late teens as measured on Earth. The girl had been a soldier in the invading army who had been brought in by Ernest Bonaparte and one of the Dearnians. Her left leg had been badly damaged during the initial bombardment of the advancing army and unfortunately it had been surgically removed just below the knee. Victor felt he may have been able to save the leg, but such a lengthy operation would have certainly meant allowing other more critical patients to succumb to their wounds. Over the past few days the injured girl had often spoke of the desire to have her life end to spare her the humiliation of returning home a cripple, someone to be a burden on her friends and family.

This sort of talk usually sent Victor into a screaming rage.

However, he fully contemplated that such behaviour on his part would only make her situation worse. In this instance, he honestly believed a calm bout of common sense was called for to quell his patient’s nonsensical suicidal urges. He had politely spoken to her a couple of times when his drastic schedule allowed such interaction. He had told her that there was no doubt in his mind that her parents, siblings (apparently she had three back in Valderhien) and friends would all welcome her return with open arms and good cheer.

Noticing this particular patient lying in her bed, silently sobbing, he cast aside all other thoughts and stepped across to see if he could ease her mind. The patients in the other beds beside hers were apparently sound asleep at this time in the early evening. Both were local soldiers, one had sustained rather nasty, second-degree burns to his legs, while the man to the right bed had been apparently stabbed in the abdomen with something sharp. Both were expected to fully recover from their respective ordeals.

He placed his exhausted form into a chair beside the girl soldier’s bed. He silently observed her as she valiantly attempted to stall her sobbing and wipe away the tears streaming down her face. He finally gave a great, overly dramatic sigh.

What am I going to do with you? he murmured beneath his breath, as not to disturb the other nearby patients in the large room which had served as the main operating room during the day of the invasion.

Sorry, she muttered in misery, covering her face with both hands. I do not wish to be a nuisance to you. I know you are very busy.

Yes, I am very busy, he retorted, voice still kept low. But, you can’t keep going on like this … He could not for the life of him remember her name. Now, I need you to promise me that you won’t try to hurt yourself once you leave here.

She removed her hands to gaze across at his unusual features. I cannot make such a promise.

Look! he sighed, exasperated by this patient’s denials. Let me tell you how this works; and I’ve seen this before- just not around here. You’re going to recover from your injuries, get out of here and have the rest of your life to lead. You’ll probably get married, have lots of children and lead a full, complete life.

Who would want a woman with only one leg? she hissed back at him, her venomous words echoing about the large ward.

One of the night duty nurses turned to give her an angered stare. Only Victor’s presence prevented the middle-aged woman from stepping over to scold the agitated patient. She was disturbing the other people and such a thing could not be tolerated. Also, the girl with the missing leg was one of the invaders and the nurse would have liked nothing more than to strangle her and quickly deposit the body out of the nearest window.

Believe me, the doctor told her. Most of the men you meet in your life won’t be all that interested in the fact half a leg is gone! They’ll be after something else!

Her eyes widened in shock. Then they will be in for a great disappointment! she snarled, remembering not to speak to loudly on this occasion. Only the man I marry will get that ‘something else’! Her eyes fogged with tears yet again. But there will be no husband! she wailed, plaintively. No self-respecting man would be wed to a freak!

Look! he finally spoke again, fed up with this conversation that seemed to be set on a permanent loop between them. Wait a couple of days. Once the worst of the pain is gone, you’ll find you change your mind. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. So just trust me.

The middle-aged nurse miraculously appeared at the bed. She was holding a small tray on which sat a metal tumbler of clear water and a much smaller vial of some sort of yellow liquid.

Take this, Victor instructed, removing the vial of liquid. It’ll make you sleep through the night. In the morning you’ll be better.

You mean my leg would have grown back? the patient demanded, glaring up at him.

No, it’s just a mild sedative. It won’t turn you into a lizard.

This comment brought out a tiny, fleeting smile from the girl. She took the vial from his hand and consumed the yellow liquid in an instant. Next, she drank from the tumbler, handing this container back to the sour-faced nurse.

Thank you, Victor commented to his patient. He turned to face the nurse who always regarded him with a contemptible expression. This said; any expression other than fear of his unusual features was an acceptable offering. And thank you, he told the nurse. He watched as she stormed away in a huff. He looked back to the now drowsy patient. Sleep well. I’ll check on you later. I’ve got other patients to visit.

Good night, she murmured, as the narcotic began to take a firm hold on her horrified mind.

Well, at least that last wish had been some kind of positive response Victor thought, moving away from her bed.

In the bed to the right of the sleeping girl, the injured Territorian soldier abruptly opened his eyes. He found himself staring straight up at the plain white ceiling. Every word spoken by the physician and the girl had been overheard by this man with the injured abdomen. These people had come to his city and smashed it as a noxious child would kick open an ant nest. Once his wound had healed to some greater extent, he fully intended to get free from this bed with the intention of exacting a great deal of revenge. One day soon, he would kill as many of these filthy invaders as humanly possible before they managed to kill him. This thought firmly in mind, he closed both eyes and pretended to sleep.