Retribution

By Daniel D. Longdon

Albion bleeds, its people suffer, its capital in ruins and still the war that put an end to the Skavite rebellion threatens the fabric of Albion civilisation. The army of the free democratic government march north against their king, determined to end the royal line forever.

Duke Benedict heads the king’s army in a desperate attempt to save the royalist cause and way of life. Who will prevail in this bloody civil conflict?

The second book of Devastation will settle once and for all the age-old argument of the rule of Albion, electoral representation or divine right.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: May 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463056561

Daniel D. Longdon

Daniel D. Longdon lives in Derbyshire, England with his partner, Emma, and two boys, Nathan and Kyle. He also has a son, Connah, who recently provided Daniel with his first grandson (Jace). Daniel is a prolific writer, he is currently working on his 11th book, the second book of war, which is all part of his greater universe, he has vowed to not stop until he completes his story planned for 27 books. Daniel is Pagan by religion. His beliefs greatly influence his writings and he loves how his story evolves as he is writing it, almost as if it writes itself at times.

Book preview

Chapter 1

King Edmund lounged at rest upon his throne and looked out at his advisors that crowded the space before him. He tired of the constant bickering and indecision that plagued his court. As his people suffered, he and his army wallowed in luxurious safety whilst others stole the glory he craved.

His relatives, dressed in their court attire, filled the room. They shouted over each other as they either argued their point of view or competed for the King’s attention. They looked splendid in their uniforms, reds and blues with gold braid and chrome coloured buttons all polished to perfection. As Edmund looked on he couldn’t help but compare the sight before him to a battlefield.

How many of them could actually do their uniforms justice, he wondered as he sat straight on his throne to receive a silver goblet from a waiting attendant. Sipping at the proffered wine, he watched as his court continued, all convinced they knew what was best for King and Kingdom.

He stood and drained his goblet as he looked down on the assembly. He cast the goblet and it clattered on the old stone castle floor. The courtiers stopped their squabbling and looked at King Edmund in stunned silence. His uncharacteristic show of anger surprised them all. Edmund glared at them, the fire in his eyes made some of them move backwards involuntarily as the goblet rolled and clinked on the cold granite till it finally came to a halt.

I have shamed us all, the King bellowed, his chest heaving as his anger grew.

No one spoke; they watched him like mice not daring to move as the kestrel circles overhead. Edmund’s smile was brief, glad he'd got their attention at last. For too long he had sat in his castle on the royal island of Boadicea while Albion was laid waste by rampaging armies and incompetent politicians.

I have shamed myself and my royal blood. Albion burns, its women ravaged and children skewered, he spat and paused, almost daring someone in his audience to speak.

What do I do? I sit here in this dusty old ruin, safely surrounded by the royal armies, visibly calming the young King’s breathing tempered.

Still none spoke as Edmund continued. His theatrics were worthy of any stage as he cast his eyes about him. I have betrayed the land and those who dwell upon it, the sacred oaths of Kingship are broken, he finished and his arms reached out before him, pleading for an answer to make sense of his rule.

An elderly man stepped forward, his red uniform displayed the emblem of the Five Moons, his chest insignia showed him to be the commander in chief and the general of the Five Moons division.

My King, don’t do yourself an injustice, the wiry old general stood proudly in front of his nephew, his long grey hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

King Edmund looked at his uncle’s black boots, saw his reflection momentarily then looked up into the man’s eyes once more.

Dear Uncle Benedict, Albion is at war, Capital City is nothing but a charred ruin of crumbling debris and still we sit in fear. Why did I ever listen to your advice? Why run from a cowardly foe? he stepped down and placed his hand on the shoulder of his uncle as he passed.

None knew the country would fall so far into darkness, an elderly lady spoke as the King stepped off his dais.

No, none knew, but didn’t we all secretly surmise the results of our actions? Edmund smiled at the well dressed lady as she bowed her head, shameful as her eyes sought the cracks between the slabs.

My lord, when we withdrew away from conflict we assured the survival of the royal line. If we had stayed, the ensuing war would have cost both ourselves and the government greatly, Benedict matched the King’s pace as he spoke.

Yes, yes uncle, and the Skavites would now rule Albion, Edmund waved his uncle away as the lights flickered, its power source struggling momentarily to remain constant.

Blaine Sinclair, the King's cousin and Benedict’s eldest son stepped up. He looked splendid in his military uniform; his blonde locks fell over his eyes as he bowed before Edmund.

Now is the time my lord, strike south for the heart of Albion, Blaine spoke loud so all could hear. His father gave him a nervous look.

Brave as always Blaine, will you lead your men forth into the jaws of the night? King Edmund was pleased that at least one member of his family had agreed with him openly in front of the entire court.

Yes my lord, Blaine said, his eyes flared wildly for a moment and his body tensed.

The mood in the room altered as the two men became excited with their exchange of words. They grinned simultaneously and those watching could see the family resemblance in their smiles as some unspoken accord seemed to take place.

Edmund turned from his cousin. He looked about him as those in the King's confidence began to realise that a decision had been made. His eyes finally settled on the old man who knew best the ways of war.

Uncle, what say you? Is the time for warfare finally upon us? King Edmund‘s voice rose above the murmuring that increased as the assembled began to whisper in excitement.

I will gladly lead your troops sire, whether now is the right time or not, we shall soon see. Benedict Sinclair answered, caught in the moment of excitement he smiled, knowing the time was indeed at hand.

Raising their fists, the assembly cheered and punched at the air above their heads. The military officers present appeared to be especially pleased with the outburst from their King.

King Edmund walked back to his dais and the cheers continued as Benedict and Blaine followed hot on his heels. Edmund turned to address his court; the lights flickered dramatically as he raised his arms for silence.

We march before the week is done. My government will rue the day they crossed me. King Edmund didn’t shout, but his voice carried, echoing around the room.

My lord; that is one thing I cannot permit! Benedict bellowed above the din of shouting voices.

The cheers stopped, replaced by a drone of whispering.

Did I hear my uncle correctly? Edmund asked, aghast at the statement that would ruin his moment.

Yes, Your Highness. You have no heir, and so, by royal decree, you may not ride into combat until you sire Albion’s future monarch. Benedict crossed his arms and smiled wryly, daring Edmund to insult the royal ancestry and the laws they had put into place generations before.

Edmund was trapped by ancient laws, he knew he must obey his uncle in this but still sought to find a loophole to allow him to travel south with the army.

Well, what do you suggest I do, sire bastards here, there and everywhere? King Edmund smiled at his own jest and his court laughed.

Benedict’s face flushed red and his lips narrowed. He seemed to be the only one in the room who took the royal line seriously.

Not at all my lord, I expect you to do your duty! Benedict managed to say.

Dear Uncle, if I were to fall in battle you and your line would gain the throne. You have much to gain and nothing to lose, Edmund dared to state the obvious, teasing the uncle who was the next in line to be King.

The humour in the throne room dissipated as the conversation became more serious.

Benedict turned on his heel and his boots rang on the stone floor as the crowd fell silent at his departure from the room.

Two men at arms stood to attention as the automatic doors opened at the end of the large chamber, closing again at the general’s passing. King Edmund sat on his throne as his court started talking at the same time. He turned to the crown resting on the pedestal to his left. He picked up the heavy gold crown and placed it on his head. He thought that gaining the same freedom Jason de Silva had, the freedom to rage across Albion wasn’t going to be as easy as he had imagined. He was consumed by the desire to slaughter those he considered the nation’s cancer.

I'm trapped, he thought as he looked around at his cousins. Benedict’s youngest daughter was indeed pleasing to the eye, but he had no desire to taint the royal blood with more in-breeding than was absolutely necessary.

Again King Edmund let his mind wander; he would fantasize often of the glory the commoners had stolen from him. He would marvel at the stories of the leader of the People’s Army, this warrior who slaughtered his enemies at will with nothing like the confines the King was ruled by, how he wished he could change places with Jason de Silva, even if it was for just one day.

Jason de Silva sat at the kitchen table; it had been three months since he had avenged his wife’s death. Louis sat there smiling at the cake in front of him and the people who stood around the table as they waited for him to blow the candles out.

All of his school friends were there, and many of his father’s friends. They sang happy birthday to him, then clapped their hands as the youngster extinguished the flames with a single breath.

Louis was celebrating his seventh birthday; he turned and smiled at Rebecca Carnell, the mayor of Ramby’s daughter. She looked back adoringly at the lad. Louis appeared to be happy but Jason knew his son was still in shock at the loss of his mother and very much in denial of her death.

Hector, on the other hand, seemed oblivious and often sought Rebecca's shoulder; the toddler had taken to Rebecca as a surrogate in his mother’s absence. It hurt Jason to think his youngest son would soon have no memories of his mother, if indeed he retained any at all.

Time passed quickly, the afternoon soon turned into evening. Louis said goodbye to his friends as one by one they were collected by their parents. Then as the sun neared the horizon Louis fell asleep in his father’s lap, Rebecca smiled at Jason as she lifted the sleeping child up, her eyes fluttered as she turned away. Their eyes met for a moment and the briefest of contact caused both of them to blush.

Jason stood from the armchair in the sitting room where he'd been alone with his son and returned to the kitchen. All of his generals were there and a few others that helped run the Midlands at the bequest of its inhabitants. For the most part, Jason de Silva was just a figure head, this suited him as he had no desire to involve himself in bureaucracy. He leaned against the door frame with his arms folded and watched as the men in the room discussed the day to day events of the part of Albion under their control.

Harold de Silva sat at the head of the table; Alfred Carnell sat next to him. Together the two old men ran everything and loved to delegate the various tasks to the army of aides that worked for them.

Jason, would you come join us please? Harold asked as he noticed his son in the doorway, he stood to offer Jason the head of the table.

No, please father, sit down, Jason moved closer to the table as those assembled turned to their leader.

All right gentlemen? Jason asked as he stood between Trevor and Dominic Robinson.

All right Jay, and, Okay boss, was chorused by the gathered commanders.

Harold sat back down. Leaning forward, he placed both elbows on the table, one hand resting atop the other.

Now to the serious matters at hand, he said and looked at those assembled. We received a courier earlier today; he carried a letter from our illustrious Prime Minister, Peter Dickinson. He asks that we hand control of the Midlands back over to the righteous electorate of Albion, that we dissolve our ridiculous puppet government and disband any and all armies attached to our command.

Harold paused as the room erupted into laughter; it took a few minutes for the men to calm enough to continue. They also request we hand over Jason de Silva to stand trial for war crimes and treason. The mood instantly became deadly serious and grimaces were the response to the insult.

I say we march south and let them force their demands upon us, Philip Robinson stepped up to the table.

Ethan Clifford, Jason's advisor in all things military, sat across from Teddy Williams at the table, he looked from Philip to Jason, I think we should sit here and see what develops. There are more than two pieces in play in this game of conquest. He scanned the faces before him, finally resting on the face of Teddy Williams, opting not to hide the disdain on his face.

I say we march south and give the government a black eye, Teddy Williams said. He was deadly serious and more than a little confident he could manage the task all by himself.

I'd have to agree with Ethan, we are not strong enough to take the fight to them, not on our own, Randell added his opinion, flying in the face of what his youngest brother had just said.

You're right of course, but I'm not going to petition the King. If the royals want to join in the fight they're welcome, but I ain’t begging for their help, Jason was extremely stubborn about King Edmund, he refused to ask for royal support even if they did send weapons and ammunition to aid their cause.

Well what then? We just sit here and continue to waste valuable resources? They won't last forever you know! Jimmy Fowler, the People’s Army logistics commander smiled, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

No, we build on what we have and horde our resources; it’s called biding our time. Every day our men drill, train and hone their skills, Ethan was a little snide, always right about the little details when the art of warfare was the topic to be discussed.

I'm with Ethan and Randell, we sit tight. To become impulsive now and lose when we've achieved so much would be a tragedy, Jason paused and waited for a response, none came, and besides, who knows what might happen?

Peter Dickinson paced up and down the large banqueting suite; its long table was being used for the government conference in the manor house they had commandeered. The large building and its estate lay at the edge of Eldersfield, its occupants relegated to the gatehouse which was a good deal smaller than the main property, but still as plush as any condominium penthouse.

Every chair was taken by a cabinet member, some of these only appointed recently as emergency measures were implemented at the end of the Skavite uprising. These cabinet openings had been purely military, and although they had no real substance, the appointed members of government still had a vote on all important issues.

Nearly half of the cabinet now wore uniforms, they sat proud and straight as they listened to the suits argue about legislation and endured the complaining fools who moaned about their presence.

This is a cabinet meeting, not a council of war, Michael Helmsmen, the Minister for education moaned, he was as round as he was tall. The chair creaked as he ran sausage-like fingers through the lank grey mop of his hair.

You don’t complain about our presence when the bullets are flying, Major Dawkins was on his feet, he was always quick to anger when the politicians started throwing their insults.

Will you not argue, I'm trying to think, the Prime Minister looked up as he ordered the two men to be quiet. He'd walked back to his chair at the head of the table. There is no option; we all need each other, especially since my Minister for war disappeared just before the start of the Skavite troubles.

Have you any news about him? Commissioner Lawrence Kingsley asked.

Only what we all know, that his guards had been found dead. We assume he met the same fate, the Prime Minister sat down and sipped water from the glass in front of him.

He wasn’t an asset to you anyway, look at his troop distribution; that was one of the deciding factors in the loss of Capital City. If we'd had our entire strength present, we'd have crushed Farrell's lot and the People’s Army in a single afternoon. Colonel John Blithe Dempsey looked around the table; there was no opposition to his statement. It had long been rumoured that the old Minister for war was on Farrell's payroll.

Shall we leave the past behind us, gentlemen and concentrate on the matters at hand? Prime Minister Dickinson asked calmly.

There was a pause as nobody spoke.

Good, the Prime Minister frowned and leaned back in his chair to test its structural integrity.

"Now then, we have more than enough troops massed in