The Last Pilgrims (41 page)

Gareth looked at English and shook his head.
“How did you get put in charge of a Mexican army?”

“It’s a long story, young Gareth, and it
involves tunics, and torches, and tunnels, and ghastly castles, and
a perfect gentleman soldier named General Rodrigo Loya.”

“Not to mention a trusty sidekick who is
both loyal, and clever,” Pano added, brusquely.

“Oh, yeah,” English added, jerking his thumb
in the direction of Pano, “there was him, too.”

“You’ll have to tell us the story after this
is over,” Gareth said, smiling.

“It will be my pleasure, my esteemed
Prince.”

In short order, the battle was joined, and
the tide again turned in favor of the militia. The attacking enemy
armies, from every side, thought that they were gaining the upper
hand, and they all had orders to breach and enter the Harmony
compound to destroy all of those who were harbored there. The
militia forces allowed them to proceed, while circling back to form
up again behind them. Before long, the bulk of both enemy armies
had gained access to the canyon, while facing only token
resistance. The only enemy forces that were not willfully and
gladly entering the pit, were those that English and the Mexican
army forced into it.

The militia troops who were defending the
Harmony entrance gave light battle, then fled out of the canyon
before they too were boxed in. The enemy, delighted by the evident
rout, and finally seeing plunder and rape on their horizon after
days and weeks of endless marching across Texas, forced access into
the entrance of Harmony, and wave after wave of the soldiers allied
to New Rome fought one another to make their way into the
underground complex.

When fully half of the invading armies had
made entrance into the facility and the other half were now down
into the canyon, the leaders of the enemy forces gathered to
determine what to do with the material that they fully planned to
seize.

From the mesa to the south, Phillip and
Gareth watched as the militia army—now on the rim of the canyon,
and in a superior fighting position—began to pour fire into the
caliche pit. The noise and the results were awesome.

As the confusion and death mounted in the
pit, a rumble began to grow from the bowels of the earth, growing
and rolling forth over all of the soldiers from both sides who were
engaged in the fight. The battle seemed to halt when what felt like
an earthquake began to shake the ground so severely that even
Phillip and Gareth, mounted and on the mesa, could feel the
shaking. The implosion as the ground above the Harmony facility
collapsed on the Aztlani invaders was so impressive, that a tower
of dust and dirt was caught up into the sky and created a pillar
that could be seen from miles in any direction.

As they steadied themselves, and as the
realization of what had happened slowly occurred to him, he turned
to Phillip with his eyes opened as wide as he could manage.

“You blew it up!”

“I did.”

“You had it planned all along!”

“I did.”

“The Vallensian refugees were never coming
here!”

“They were not.”

Just then, gunfire, as hellacious as any he
had ever heard, erupted from the direction of the canyon as militia
forces firing through the dust and debris began to finish the work
that was before them. The forces of the Duke of Louisiana, and
those of the Duke of El Paso—all those that were not killed when
Harmony was collapsed with them in it—were wiped out in short order
by militia gunfire. No surrender was accepted.

Phillip lowered his binoculars and looked at
Gareth. “Brother… We sent the Vallenses north, with a defensive
unit to protect them. I don’t know rightly where they will go, or
what will become of them. But they could not be here. I believe
that they do go with God. I truly believe that. But they could not
be here. In order to save them, I had to send them north.”

A remarkable silence fell upon the multitude
of militia soldiers and officers when the fighting was over. It
almost sounded like rain as debris from the implosion of Harmony
began to fall down over the whole area.

Heads were bowed throughout the militia
ranks as Vallensian and Ghost militia veterans stopped for a moment
to consider that they had survived. The pause did not last
long.

Through the prayerful silence, the sound of
hoofbeats could be heard approaching from the northwest. Before
long, a lone militia outrider rode up to Phillip and nodded by way
of salute.

“Sir,” he said to Phillip. “Your Honor,” he
said, nodding to Gareth.

“What is it?” Phillip asked.

“It’s Aztlan.
All
of Aztlan. At least
25,000 men!”

“Where are they?” Phillip queried as he
rushed to his horse.

“They’re almost
here
, sir!”

Escaping from the militia posse had been
easy enough.
Piggy must have been a fool to think that he could
hold me with such whimpy knots! But… then again, Piggy is no
fool.
What then? He wondered if maybe Piggy had played him. By
breaking out and escaping he had proven his guilt. He had shed the
posse of their need to watch him. Maybe he should have delayed them
a few more days… protested his innocence to make them question
Piggy. He probably should have sown confusion among them. Maybe
then the whole lot would have been captured by the army coming from
New Rome while they delayed and pondered his innocence or
guilt.

So, did Piggy let me escape?
If he
did, maybe he is a fool
, Rollo thought to himself. He knew he
could do more harm to the cause of the Vallenses and the militia as
a free man. And was he to conclude that Piggy had sacrificed that
Marbus Claim boy? How would Piggy have known that he wouldn’t kill
the boy?
Or maybe Piggy did know.
It was all so frustrating.
While he should be celebrating his freedom and his future barony,
instead he was still trying to figure out what Piggy knew and when
he knew it.
How did he know?

He was still pondering the mysteries of
Piggy, when he rode headlong into the advancing Aztlani army.
Twenty-five thousand men strong, the army was being led by Sir
Jarius Whiteside, the King’s own Chancellor. Whiteside was the
Chief Minister of State to the Kingdom of Aztlan. Sir Chancellor
Whiteside was known by everyone—except to his face—as The Falcon.
His nickname was influenced by both his predatory character, and
his hawkish face and long hooked nose. The Falcon was no mercenary,
like Rollo. In fact he was different than almost every other high
official or confidant to the king. The Falcon was a true-believer,
both in the deity and perfections of his Monarch, the King of
Aztlan, but also in the religion of New Rome. He was the favorite
of the Bishops and Archbishops and Cardinals, because he would
spare no effort, show no mercy, and shed whatever blood was
necessary to spread the monolithic and monarchial religion of New
Rome. It was said that he even had himself in mind for Pope
someday. Just the thought of it made his eyes glaze over and made
his face flush full red.

Rollo was well acquainted with the Knight
Chancellor, and, like most people, he feared the man. He came upon
the army on his second day riding as they rested just south of Big
Spring, Texas. The army was spread out in camp just southwest of
Scenic Mountain (which was actually just a high mesa) on the
remnants of the highway that used to be called Highway 87. He
immediately rode to the command camp and asked the adjutant for the
pleasure of meeting with, and reporting to, the Knight Chancellor
himself.

The Falcon kept him waiting for several
hours, which was to be expected, but eventually, towards the end of
the day as the sun began its descent beyond Scenic Mountain, he was
escorted into the lavish command tent of Sir Jarius Whiteside.

“Our friend and fellow warrior, Rollo
Billings—the man called The Mountain—greetings and welcome to the
army of your King. What word have you on your mission?”

“Your Honor,” Rollo said with a bow, “it is
my utmost pleasure to report to the King’s Chancellor the success
of my mission on behalf of the King.”

“So the leaders of the rebellion are
dead?”

“Your Honor,” Rollo replied assertively,
“while there is no way for me to know definitively the final
dispensation of all of the leadership, I can report that the rebels
have been struck hard. I personally shot David Wall, the son of
Jonathan Wall. David had joined the militia and was acting in a
leadership role. That was my first shot, and I can assure the
King’s Chancellor that David Wall cannot have survived his wound. I
also personally shot Phillip of the Ghost militia. I cannot say
whether Phillip died of his wound, but I can say that it is most
likely that he did. I also personally poisoned Crown Prince Gareth
of Aztlan. I watched him drink hemlock, Your Honor. I feel
confident that the King’s bastard is dead.”

“And what of Jonathan of the Vallenses? Does
he live?”

“He does sir,” Rollo replied, with his head
bowed a bit. He looked back up and continued, “Jonathan was saved
from my blow at the last moment by one of his bodyguards. But he is
separated from his people, and on the run somewhere between here
and San Angelo. He will be dead soon enough, Your Honor.”

“It is hardly true,” Sir Jarius replied,
“that you have been wholly successful in your mission, would you
agree?”

“No, Your Honor, with all due respect, I do
not agree. I know that with Your Honor’s deep understanding of
warfare, and his personal experience in such things, that he
understands the difficulty in operating alone, as a spy, behind
enemy lines and without backup or support. I believe that striking
all of the militia leadership right before a decisive battle can
only be deemed a success by Your Honor. I am certain that the
rebellion is crippled and leaderless. I am certain that the threat
to the throne posed by the Crown Prince has been removed. I am also
certain that no man—save Your Honor, of course—could have done
better in the situation… as it presented itself.”

“I am confident, Rollo, that you have done
all that you could, and that the King will be pleased with your
service. I thank you as well.”

Rollo bowed down respectfully. “If I may,
Your Honor,” he continued, “may I ask the King’s Chancellor when I
might receive the Barony promised to me by the King for my service?
I know that the King has given all such powers into the hand of his
royal Chancellor. Will I be honored to receive my Barony
immediately, as promised?”

The Chancellor smiled beneath his long
crooked nose, and his eyes squinted in amusement. “My honorable
friend. You can be assured that you will receive all that has been
promised to you by the King. I will personally bestow the Barony
upon you when the time is right, and when the results of the coming
engagement are known.”

“Surely you don’t expect defeat, Your Honor?
You now face a decapitated force, likely of only a few hundred men.
The Vallenses will not fight, and the leader of the Vallenses is
absent and on the run. Phillip the Ghost is dead or disabled.
Frankly, I don’t even see the need for this great army, lead as it
is by such an able and revered General, to be here at all.”

The Chancellor’s eyes, only moments ago
shining forth in mirth, turned dark and cloudy. “Rollo, let me
speak bluntly. The armies of Aztlan are weak and cowardly. We
prevail and rule by means of numbers and not ability, bravery, or
superior training. We all honor the King and respect him as is his
due. To me, he is a god. But… his advisors are buffoons, and his
generals fight for money and not loyalty. If this army were half
its size, I would not dare fight even a hundred loyal militia
troops. That, sir, is the sad but honest truth. We need brave and
loyal men, and we breed cowards and cutthroats. What this Kingdom
needs is more religion and more severity. That is what I expect
from you, and what I expect you to impose when you become Baron of
Texas.”

“We are of the same mind, Your Honor.”

“Good, then I will have you ride with me.”
The Chancellor pulled off his white gloves and stepped from around
his desk. “Tomorrow we will ride hard, and we will reach this
‘Harmony’ fortress you have told us so much about. Our riders have
said that some militia forces are preparing defenses around the
place. Perhaps we will have our battle tomorrow evening.”

“Please excuse my forwardness, Your Honor…
but… Phillip would never do battle with an army of this size in the
open field! He knows he is outmanned, outgunned, and over-matched!
If there are defensive battlements being placed, it must be a
ruse!”

“Well, sir, according to
you
, Phillip
is dead or incapacitated. Others are now in charge. And even if
Phillip is leading his forces, I am certain that he has no
intention of fighting
our
25,000 men in the open field. In
fact, it is our opinion that whoever is in charge of the militia
has no idea that we are even coming.” The Falcon squared himself
and faced Rollo, looking into his eyes. “Their preparations are
being made to meet the 6,000 men approaching their positions from
the direction of El Paso. Also, the Duke of Louisiana, at our
request, has sent a sizable army of several thousand men that is
approaching from the east. Those forces will converge on this
‘Harmony’ fortress. It is our plan to wait until that battle is
over and then attack.”

“But, sir…,” Rollo sputtered, “if two large
armies are surrounding the militia as we speak, what need have you
of attacking at all? Don’t you believe that the militia will be
destroyed? A handful of militia men will be standing against
between eight and ten thousand trained soldiers.”