monkey and engulfed him—there was a flurry of fists and stones, then a painful, howling scream as the bonnet fell and the langurs swarmed over him, biting off his fingers, tearing out his eyeballs.
The horror jolted Soames into action. Deep down, buried under years of an easy life, he had a military training, and faced with these brutal killers, the old disciplines clawed their way to the surface.
“SIEGE!!!” he roared.
The word boomed across the lawns. “SIEGE! Siege! Siege…”
It echoed off the walls and drilled into the bonnets’ minds—as one they turned and bolted for the summer house.
Immediately a roar went up from the langurs and they surged forward, determined to catch their prey before they reached cover.
Some of the bonnets stumbled in the panic and were quickly set upon and consumed in a frenzy; others were just too slow and made pitifully easy targets for the elites, who leaped onto their backs and dragged them to the ground, sinking teeth into their necks.
Soames reached the summer house and spun round, desperately looking for Morton, only to see his old comrade encircled by a group of screeching langurs.
“MORTON!” He wanted to run back and help his friend, but so many langurs were now streaming across the lawns it would have been suicidal. All Soames could do was watch in horror as they started beating Morton with their clubs, spearing his flesh with fighting sticks.
Morton roared his defiance, spun this way and that, flailing with his fists…but it was no use. The flurry of blows rained down on him mercilessly, until he crumpled to the ground.
Soames felt physically sick.
“Get up! Get up!” he urged, waiting for the moment when Morton would rise onto his legs, flinging his assailants aside…but the moment didn’t come.
His oldest friend would never get up again.
That was when the fear gripped Soames like a claw in the back of his throat.
“IN! IN! IN!” he started thundering at his troop as they reached the porch of the summer house. “Shutters down! Siege positions!”
It was all starting to come back to him now—the bonnets had a plan for this sort of thing; he’d show those upstart langurs that they were still a force to be reckoned with.
As the last bonnet tumbled into the summer house Soames ran inside, heaved the door shut and slid a large beam of wood across the hooks, sealing it. He stormed down the length of the halls helping the others release the catches on the shutters, which slammed down to block the open windows. As Soames glanced out across the lawns he saw groups of langurs gathered round the bodies of fallen bonnets, beating the last signs of life from them.
What made the savagery more terrifying was the langur discipline—after each kill, soldiers would rejoin the line which was now starting to encircle the summer house. They were preparing for a mass attack and Soames knew it would come soon.
Slamming the last shutter down, he turned to face the throng of frightened bonnet eyes that stared at him expectantly.
Concentrate
. He had to push his own grief to one side; he could deal with that later—when this was all over.
“These barbarians will never steal our lands!” Soames boomed. “Look around! Look at the walls that protect us, the tower that commands the landscape. This is our fortress now! If we have the will to defend this, no one can take it from us!”
A wave of relief swept through the bonnets as they realized their leader knew what he was doing.
“They wanted a lightning strike and a quick victory. We’ll give them a long and bloody siege!”
A chorus of defiant roars erupted from the bonnet macaques. Shock was behind them now, thoughts of defeat driven from every mind. They were ready for war.
Soames pulled up the trapdoor in the floor, revealing secret supplies that had lain undisturbed for generations. Many seasons ago, as a young officer, he had been taught about the emergency plans for surviving a siege and now his training
The horror jolted Soames into action. Deep down, buried under years of an easy life, he had a military training, and faced with these brutal killers, the old disciplines clawed their way to the surface.
“SIEGE!!!” he roared.
The word boomed across the lawns. “SIEGE! Siege! Siege…”
It echoed off the walls and drilled into the bonnets’ minds—as one they turned and bolted for the summer house.
Immediately a roar went up from the langurs and they surged forward, determined to catch their prey before they reached cover.
Some of the bonnets stumbled in the panic and were quickly set upon and consumed in a frenzy; others were just too slow and made pitifully easy targets for the elites, who leaped onto their backs and dragged them to the ground, sinking teeth into their necks.
Soames reached the summer house and spun round, desperately looking for Morton, only to see his old comrade encircled by a group of screeching langurs.
“MORTON!” He wanted to run back and help his friend, but so many langurs were now streaming across the lawns it would have been suicidal. All Soames could do was watch in horror as they started beating Morton with their clubs, spearing his flesh with fighting sticks.
Morton roared his defiance, spun this way and that, flailing with his fists…but it was no use. The flurry of blows rained down on him mercilessly, until he crumpled to the ground.
Soames felt physically sick.
“Get up! Get up!” he urged, waiting for the moment when Morton would rise onto his legs, flinging his assailants aside…but the moment didn’t come.
His oldest friend would never get up again.
That was when the fear gripped Soames like a claw in the back of his throat.
“IN! IN! IN!” he started thundering at his troop as they reached the porch of the summer house. “Shutters down! Siege positions!”
It was all starting to come back to him now—the bonnets had a plan for this sort of thing; he’d show those upstart langurs that they were still a force to be reckoned with.
As the last bonnet tumbled into the summer house Soames ran inside, heaved the door shut and slid a large beam of wood across the hooks, sealing it. He stormed down the length of the halls helping the others release the catches on the shutters, which slammed down to block the open windows. As Soames glanced out across the lawns he saw groups of langurs gathered round the bodies of fallen bonnets, beating the last signs of life from them.
What made the savagery more terrifying was the langur discipline—after each kill, soldiers would rejoin the line which was now starting to encircle the summer house. They were preparing for a mass attack and Soames knew it would come soon.
Slamming the last shutter down, he turned to face the throng of frightened bonnet eyes that stared at him expectantly.
Concentrate
. He had to push his own grief to one side; he could deal with that later—when this was all over.
“These barbarians will never steal our lands!” Soames boomed. “Look around! Look at the walls that protect us, the tower that commands the landscape. This is our fortress now! If we have the will to defend this, no one can take it from us!”
A wave of relief swept through the bonnets as they realized their leader knew what he was doing.
“They wanted a lightning strike and a quick victory. We’ll give them a long and bloody siege!”
A chorus of defiant roars erupted from the bonnet macaques. Shock was behind them now, thoughts of defeat driven from every mind. They were ready for war.
Soames pulled up the trapdoor in the floor, revealing secret supplies that had lain undisturbed for generations. Many seasons ago, as a young officer, he had been taught about the emergency plans for surviving a siege and now his training
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