Ontogeny

Chapter 19a

     Malone and the Brigadier had learned that they were at war soon after crossing the border back into Helberion. The first villages they passed through were wild with gossip, with everyone wondering whether Carrow soldiers were about to come pouring into town, massacring everyone and setting fire to their homes. The Brigadier had gone straight to the guard house to get the full story, and had heard that a royal herald had ridden through the town the day before, blowing a trumpet to get everyone's attention and then issuing the proclamation in his loud, penetrating voice. All reserve soldiers, except those with parent bonded animals, were to report for duty at their local mustering stations, he'd said, on penalty of being declared deserters, a crime that carried the penalty of death.

     There were seven reserve infantrymen in town, milling around outside the police station while loved ones kissed them and bade them farewell. The Brigadier took charge of them and told them to follow him to Miller's Crossing, the local garrison town, which was on the direct route to the capital. The reservists made the two hour journey seem achingly familiar to Malone. It was almost like having their old company back, if he ignored their faded, ill fitting uniforms and the fact that they were on foot. It was easy to imagine that all his old friends were with him again. Blane and Harper and Crane and Quill. Only the absence of light hearted banter spoiled the illusion, except for one man who kept making idiotic jokes to hide the fear that he might be marching to his death.

     Arriving at the garrison town, the Brigadier reported in to the garrison commander and received a more detailed account of how matters stood. No military action had yet taken place, he was told. He had no idea why the King had chosen to declare war, but he was hoping that it was just a bluff to achieve a concession of some kind from the Carrowmen. “The King knows we cannot win a war against Carrow without help from the Empire,” he told the Brigadier. “The King is threatening Nilon with the Empire, wielding it like a sword. I can't imagine that it's anything else. Give it a day or two and we'll get word from Marboll that a peaceful solution's been found. I'd bet my pension on it.”

     "I am inclined to doubt that, though," he said to Malone later that day. "I know the King better than almost anyone else in the kingdom. He's not the kind to use the threat of war that way. He would have had to be truly desperate to do such a thing and his daughter's malady won't be helping his frame of mind. We must make all speed back to the palace."

     Arriving at the gates of Marboll, they made straight for the palace where the guards, recognising the Brigadier and knowing what his mission had been, let him through into the courtyard. Men came to take care of their horses and they were shown to the main body of the palace and into the reception room. A runner was sent to fetch the King, and Malone and the Brigadier were left to admire the expensive ornamental pottery and the paintings mounted on the walls while feeling a little uncomfortable about walking on the plush carpet with their dusty boots. Malone, feeling achy and tired, went to sit on one of the expensively padded and decorated chairs that stood around the room, but stopped when the footman who'd been left with them couldn't prevent himself from reacting with anxiety to his dirty, grimy uniform.

     “Maybe we should have gone to the barracks first,” he said. “Get cleaned up. Get a change of uniform.”

     “You go if you want,” replied the Brigadier. “Doesn’t take two of us to give a report.”

     “No way, Sir! When am I going to get another chance to meet the King? I just thought we should both have gotten cleaned up first, that's all.”

     “The King will want our report immediately. He's not the type to faint at the sight of a dirty face.”

      Malone nodded, but wondered how long it would be before he could rest his aching spine, unable to sit in case he got the furniture dirty. Riding a horse was tiring no matter how many years practice you'd had, especially when your backbone wasn't quite fully adapted to an upright posture. Fortunately the King arrived before five minutes had passed and Malone was surprised, no shocked, to see that he'd come almost at a run and was panting with the unaccustomed exercise.