Redemption

orders!'

  Winterburne was puzzled. Orders for what? he wondered.

  Conn's face beamed with excitement. 'Orders from the Hood!' he said.

  The men around him mumbled and muttered to one another, but Winterburne watched curiously. The Hood? That was not a name of which he had heard before.

  'We have a job to do!' Conn called. 'And I know how much you boys like travelling, so I'm going to show you a bit of the world.'

  The mumbling continued, and Conn beckoned for quiet once more.

  'You're gonna get a bit of culture!' he called. 'A little adventure!'

  The mumbling grew louder.

  'Experience a different way of life!' Conn looked over in Winterburne's direction, before looking back at the crowd. 'In White Haven City!'

  Winterburne frowned. This was now sounding ominous, and whatever this job was it must be big to uproot the whole of the group and transport it half way across the continent. The men must have felt that too for they were looking at each other with nervous faces.

  Conn looked around the crowd and spoke up again, and said, 'And then, of course, there's everyone's favourite! More Gold!'

  The men erupted, cheering, and a few in front of Winterburne punched the air, full of excitement. Then, a chant began, quietly at first, but growing louder, 'Conn!...Conn!...Conn!...Conn!'

  The chanting continued as Conn stepped down from the chair and bent to pick up a pile of the coins. As the chanting went on, each man lined up behind his comrade and Conn handed them a pile as they passed in front of him. Happy, each man went back to their tent, the broadest of smiles on their faces. The chanting ceased only when the last man had been paid.

  Conn looked over at Winterburne and then walked towards him. As he arrived he held out a pile of gold for him to take.

  'This is a token of my faith in you, Smyth.'

  'But I haven't earned this yet,' Winterburne replied, looking down at the pile of coins as he took them in his own hands.

  'Oh, believe me, you will,' Conn said. 'There aren't many rules, but here they are. Play fair with me, and I'll look after you. Cross me and I'll kill you. Are the rules clear?'

  'Perfectly.'

  'Good.'

  Conn clapped Winterburne on his back and then turned to walk slowly back to the other side of the camp, laughing and joking with some of the men, resting his arm around the shoulder of others as he passed them.

  'He's quite some man,' Verkade said, joining Winterburne's side.

  Winterburne started a little as the man spoke, not having seen him creep up on him. 'He certainly seems to be,' he replied.

  'I think he's curious about you.' Verkade paused. 'We all are.'

  Winterburne watched Conn head back to his tent, and disappear inside.

  'Why do you say that?' he asked.

  'Well, the last man we found wandering in the Hills, let's just say that he didn't take a shine to him.'

  'Oh? What happened to him?'

  'Conn slit his throat while he slept.'

  Winterburne suddenly felt very alone, and the friendly words directed towards him throughout the day felt distinctly hollow. Even so, he felt he would push his luck a little.

  'Can I ask one more question, and then I promise to keep my mouth shut?'

  'One more is alright, I guess,' Verkade replied. 'And then your quota is used up.'

  'Who is this Hood?'

  Verkade chuckled. 'He, Smythie, happens to be the paymaster who just tossed you your first pay-off.'

  30

  The Twenty-First Day of Hi-summer,

  Imperial Year 2332

  The long road through the Hills and down towards the plains was as difficult as Winterburne remembered the climb up to be. The horses picked their way along the narrow paths and tracks that led through the foothills, endless stone roads bereft of natural flora to soften the stark edges. Damp grey days had passed, mostly in sullen silence and the routine had become as stale and repetitive as the tracks that they had travelled. But, he supposed, each day that came and went meant they were a little closer to their target.

  Today, an early rise in the misty drizzle had given way to a brighter mid-morning and then finally to midday. After a promising start, the misty drizzle had returned too and it seeped deep into Winterburne's clothing making him uncomfortable, wet, and thoroughly depressed. Other than the odd order barked by Conn, the men had said very little to each other. If they all felt as he did then they must be sorely fed up with the barren and harsh landscape. To cap it all, he missed home, too.

  There were positives though, he supposed, trying to find any way he could to cheer himself up; he was getting his feet under the table, and whilst no one had mentioned any attacks on the Queens troops, he was now convinced that this had to be the group that had been behind them. He supposed that he could have confronted Conn there and then, if it weren't for the fact that it would have almost certainly cost him his life, but, there were two things he needed to find out that meant he had no option but to continue with this whole pretence. The first was confirmation that one of the jobs that he kept hearing about was an attack, and, the second was the identity of whoever it was that was bankrolling this whole organisation.

  He hoped that those things would become clearer in time but there were also signs that he was being trusted a little more each day. Today, for example, was the first day that he had been offered a blade of his own; a battered shortsword. The steel of the weapon was rough and the edge notched, and it was not as heavy as he would have liked, but it was a start, and it was better than nothing.

  At sometime during the early afternoon, Conn ordered a break from the trekking and Winterburne took the opportunity to divert his mount in order to speak with Verkade. He caught up with him just as the column was dismounting near a clear brook that babbled over the same grey granite stones that were now so familiar.

  'Does Conn normally split the men up like this?' Winterburne asked.

  'Usually,' Verkade replied. 'He often gives command of one half to Spen and takes the other half himself. It's easier to move and feed twenty men than forty, not to mention being able to hide them easier when the time comes to make camp.'

  Winterburne nodded in agreement. That was certainly a valid rationale behind the move.

  'He'll have given Spen instructions to meet up somewhere along the way,' Verkade added.

  'Do you know where?'

  'I'm just a cook, Smythie, I just get told what I need to know. With some of the jobs we've been involved with recently, I'm not sure I want to know what's in front of us either.'

  'What jobs?'

  Verkade frowned. 'You're asking too many questions again,' he said. 'Never ask or talk about the jobs. It sounds like a ridiculous thing and of little consequence but it's one of Conn's cardinal rules.'

  'I heard that, but it would really help me to settle in more if I actually knew what it was that was expected of me.'

  Verkade's face brightened again, the thunder now gone. 'You're a bright one, I know, and I already told Conn that.'

  'It would help me if I knew what I needed to do.'

  'You want to know what's expected of you? I can understand that.' Verkade stared back at him, all trace of humour gone.

  Winterburne nodded. 'It would help.'

  'Let me tell you what you need to do.' Verkade leaned in close to Winterburne, and lowering his voice said, 'Whatever Conn tells you to do.'

  oOo

  Once Verkade had left and all through most of the rest of the day, Winterburne kept himself to himself as the higher ground made way to dirt tracks and then to the first traces of the grassland ahead. Over his shoulder, the Hills receded farther and farther behind them. On more than one occasion Conn turned his horse and rode back along the line checking on the riders, sharing a word or a joke, but other than a nod he said nothing directly to Winterburne. Verkade had mostly been the same, too, other than a few choice words. He found himself missing the short conversations that he had been having with eithe
r of the men. Maybe it was all part of the game, he told himself, perhaps the contact was a reward, something for him to earn and crave for. He watched the pair of them farther up in front as they laughed and joked. Perhaps it was working, he thought to himself.

  In truth, he had given little thought as to the whereabouts of Rampton since he had woken in Conn's camp. There had been no time to think of anything but his immediate predicament and the only notion he had focussed on was surviving the day to day challenges of being in a new group of people, especially when you knew those same people were dangerous. The man would be alright though, he was a hardened soldier and Winterburne imagined that after he had gone over the cliff Rampton would have had little option but to make his way back to Highport to try to explain away the events. That stung, though, for it was entirely possible that it could mean that Alyssa would think him dead when she heard the news.

  There was one thing for sure, it had stopped raining and he felt thankful that particular companion had been left far behind in the Hills. As the day drew on he couldn't help but look back at the blue-grey mist hanging over the highlands. The occasional stand of trees broke the monotony along the way, but there were few features to be seen, other than the grasslands and the road and it had been the same hour after relentless hour.

  Then, in the afternoon, and far away on the horizon, he saw the thin dark shape of what he assumed to be the Avonfforest, misty and featureless from this distance but distinct nonetheless. From his brief study of the charts in Frederick's office he knew that this