Knightfall - Book 1 of The Chronicle of Benjamin Knight

  Chapter 8

  I

  It had been two days since the public execution. Peter hadn't really slept since. His rational mind was yelling at him to run, get away, the soldiers would be on him any minute, but he couldn't forget the promise that he had made to Matthew as they had left the farmhouse just two weeks before.

  Two weeks, that was all it had been. Two weeks to betray his countrymen. Two weeks to pick sides and help a group of relative strangers fight and kill people that he had known all of his life. Two weeks to kill soldiers like him, men just following orders, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two weeks to go back on everything that he had said in that damned farmhouse, everything except the promise.

  He hadn't seen her, of course. He thought that he had, more than once, but there were just so many people, packed together in poorly organised regiments. Sometimes it was someone similar, dark haired, the same height and build. Other times, it was just a sense at the edge of his vision, but there was no one like her when he looked more closely.

  There seemed to be more soldiers now, blended in with the regiments, driving the people harder. They ignored him, though, passed him by without a second glance.

  If only they would come for him. At least then it would be over, a release from the walking nightmare that his days had become. A chance to try and set it right, a chance to stop looking over his shoulder and accept his fate.

  He almost didn't notice when Donald started walking by his side.

  “Pete, Pete?” Donald said. “It's me, Donald. How are you doing?”

  Slowly, he came to his senses. “Don, it's you,” Peter replied. “I don't know what happened. She's gone. I tried to find her, but she's gone. I don't know where.”

  “Catrina?” Donald asked. “Last I saw, she was with you.”

  “I know, but she gave me the slip,” Peter informed him. “I tried, but there are just so many people. I'm sorry Don, I'm so sorry.”

  Donald cast a wary glance around, but no one seemed to be paying them much notice. “It's not your fault,” he said soothingly. “She hasn't been right since, you know, after.”

  “Nothing’s right anymore, Don, nothing,” Pete replied, his face sombre and his gaze distant. Donald rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “We'll find her,” Donald continued. “We have to. Simon's meeting us tonight, after dark by the red crates, you remember?”

  Peter nodded and Donald gave his shoulder a last comforting squeeze before drifting back into the anonymity of the crowd.

  II

  General Boshtok carefully reviewed the map before answering, wary of angering the Regent. “I would place our position here, my Liege,” he said. “We should be within sight of Maleton in another two weeks.”

  Alexander moved around the table to get a better look at where he was indicating.

  “Any news from our scouts?” he asked, meeting the General’s gaze.

  “Reports from this morning suggest nothing out of the ordinary,” Boshtok informed him. “The route is clear for at least the next three days’ travel. There hasn't been any contact with the advance forces as yet, but I wouldn't expect to hear from them for another week at the earliest.”

  Alexander nodded. “And the troops?” he asked.

  “Morale appears good,” Boshtok said, “thanks to you my Liege. The weather isn't helping, but the celebration two nights ago certainly made a big difference. There have been the usual losses. Accidents, illness and the like, but no more than I would expect for an operation of this size.”

  Alexander smiled. There hadn't been an operation of this size for over a hundred years, and then it had ended with the armies of the Southern Baronies marching north in retaliation. This time would be different, though. He would not stop. There would be no treaty, no resolution.

  He would have his victory.

  He would have his revenge.

  “There have been very few reports of desertion,” Boshtok continued, “and those that have been found have been executed per your instructions. The conscripts are coming along nicely too, it seems. They should make a serviceable fighting force by the time we reach Draxis.”

  “And now you see, General,” Alexander informed him. “That is all it takes.”

  “I . . . I don't follow, my Liege?” Boshtok asked.

  “People, Boshtok, people?” Alexander said, exasperated. “They don't want to lead; they want to be led! Tell a man where to go, what to do, and how to do it, and he is happy. I am making our people happy, General, like a Regent should.”

  “Yes, of course, my Liege,” Boshtok agreed.

  General Boshtok was increasingly confused. Part of his mind knew that Alexander was mad, but he couldn't not listen to him, follow his instructions. He was scared of him and, of course, he should be. He had seen the southern boy, up close, before he was executed, but it was more than that, somehow. He wanted Alexander to be happy, he wanted to please him, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

  General Boshtok nodded and rolled the maps back into their tube. All of a sudden, he felt like he needed some fresh air.

  “I wasn't aware that we had finished?” Alexander asked, pulling Boshtok from his trance.

  “My apologies, my Liege,” Boshtok said quickly. “What would you have me do?”

  “You have yet to tell me of your progress with the interrogations,” Alexander continued. “Have you learned anything useful?”

  “So far, my officers have questioned a total of twenty-seven individuals, a mixture of conscripts and regular troops, as I understand it,” Boshtok informed him. “The southerner who confessed to the attack still refuses to give up his accomplices, though I assure you that I have my best men on it.”

  “And I am sure they are most capable, but perhaps it is time I should speak to him myself?” Alexander suggested.

  “Of course, my Liege,” Boshtok said. “I shall have him brought to you directly.”

  “And now you may go,” Alexander concluded with a wave of his hand. General Boshtok saluted and made for the rear of the carriage.

  “Ah, General,” Alexander added as Boshtok opened the door, “give me an hour. Perhaps I should eat before I question him.”

  III

  Matthew called them to a halt an hour or so after dark. They had seen no shelter as yet, but the light was poor and to press on was becoming increasingly risky. He called Carl over to review the map whilst Joe and Ben went to gather firewood.

  “I don't know how good this map is,” Matthew began, scrutinising the parchment in the low light. “Victor places his settlement here, which means we have been heading too far to the west. He thinks Garstang is here.” He pointed to another section of the map, close to the Great Road. “But that means we are way behind schedule.”

  “It's not your fault, boss,” Carl reassured him. “When we came out of the tunnels and into the boats, we could've landed anywhere on the northern coast. You did your best and led us south, which, considering that Ben didn't have much of an idea where he came from, was all anyone could have done.”

  “I don't know,” Matthew interrupted.

  “You've gotten us this far, and you'll get us home,” Carl finished, taking the map from Matthew and returning it to a pocket in his coat.

  Matthew nodded, but his body language betrayed him. He already felt that it was too late, that he had made the wrong decision, that he should never have let Catrina go off without him. His father had always been the leader, not him. What would he think of him now?

  Carl left Matthew to his thoughts and wandered over to the edge of the clearing where Arian and Safran were speaking.

  “Safran, come help me with this, will you? As soon as the fire is ready, I want to set it cooking,” Arian said, cutting pieces of meat and vegetables before adding them to the pot of water.

  “That is not my place. My father . . .” she began before Carl interrupted.

  “Your father taught you better,” he said, his voice ster
n. Safran scowled at him, but removed the knife from her belt and knelt beside Arian.

  “Arian, a word if you please,” Carl continued, gesturing Arian to follow him. She gave him a puzzled look and handed the remainder of the food to Safran to finish preparing.

  Once they were out of earshot of the rest of the group, Carl began, “I'm worried about him, Arian.”

  “Me too,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at her husband-to-be. He hadn't moved since Carl had left him, staring off into the distance at the far away mountains.

  “The other morning,” she continued, “in Sanctuary, he woke in such good cheer. He was my Matthew again. But now, now he's so distant. He hardly sleeps, hardly eats. I'm scared, Carl.”

  Carl stopped and rested an arm on her shoulder. “We're all scared,” he said, “for our families, friends, but he's trying to take it all upon himself. I've tried to talk to him, but he won't open up to me. I was just hoping...”

  “He isn't talking to me either, not like he used to, but you're right, that's no reason not to try. You're a good man, Carl, I hope you realise,” she finished, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

  With the tinder that they had brought with them from Sanctuary, and the pieces of dry wood that had been gathered, they were able to start a small fire and warm through the stew that Arian and Safran had prepared. As he had on the two previous nights, Matthew sat a short way away from the rest of the group. Arian gathered two bowls and sat down next to him.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the food from her with barely a glance. He made no move to eat it.

  Arian said nothing, following his gaze towards the distant mountains as she ate. They sat that way for ten minutes or more until the silence became unbearable.

  “I'm sorry,” she began. “I've failed you.”

  Matthew turned to her, startled. It was the last thing he expected her to say. Her face was awash with tears as she continued.

  “We are to be married,” she continued, “yet you can't bring yourself to talk to me. These last few weeks, after everything that's happened, and you're like a stranger. If you can't let me be there for you during the worst times, there is no future for us, not as husband and wife.”

  She wasn't sure how much of it she really meant, but she had tried everything else to get him to talk to her. Matthew just stared at her, open mouthed.

  “No, I . . . it's me, I've failed you, all of you,” he stammered, casting his bowl aside and reaching for her. Arian pushed him away, not wanting to be held.

  “How . . . how did you fail us?” she demanded. “We agreed on the plan, all of us.”

  “No, it was my decision, my responsibility,” he informed her. “Now we're so late, so lost.”

  “Lost?” she asked, momentarily sidetracked.

  “Well, no, not really,” he clarified, “but we aren't where I wanted us to be, where we should be. It's all my fault Arian, you followed me and I failed you all.”

  Arian pulled him in close then, holding him tight as he cried with her. “We follow you because we believe in you, Matthew,” she told him. “We all believe in you; we always have.”

  She held him closer as he cried away his guilt, his anger, his fear.

  “I tried to save him, you know,” he said as the tears soaked into her clothes, “in the cell, Edward. He'd just lost so much blood, he was just . . . not even Catrina could help him.”

  “I know, Matthew,” she replied soothingly. “We were there, you did everything that you could. There was nothing that anyone could have done.”

  “And Adam, Daniel,” he continued. “They were so; they couldn't hurt anyone. Why? It's just so hard.” His sobs became louder, deeper, and she held him tighter as he allowed himself to grieve.

  “It wasn't you, Matthew,” she whispered. “You didn't hurt them, it's not your fault. I love you Matthew, I love you, and together we can get through this. Let me in, let me help you.”

  He said nothing more, yet she held him, comforted him, until he fell asleep in her arms.

  IV

  Conrad was strapped to a chair, bloodied and disorientated from the repeated beatings at the hands of General Boshtok's officers. Seven men had died in the explosion and subsequent blaze, several more injured, and the interrogators had made sure that Conrad had felt their pain. Most of his hair had been burned away and the left side of his chest was a mess of angry red flesh, but still, he wouldn't talk.

  Alexander entered the trailer attached to the first Road Train, Samuel Larson at his side. Neither of them were expecting the smell.

  “My, my, they have been busy haven't they? And you're still with us? Good,” Alexander said as he took a seat opposite Conrad. He realised that he was right to have swapped trailers. Though the remains of the last prisoner had been removed, there were still pieces of him on the walls and floor.

  Samuel hadn't been sure what to expect, but this wasn't it, not by a long way. He held back, near the door, struggling to keep his evening meal in his stomach.

  Conrad met his eyes as Alexander looked him up and down. “You are a tough one,” Alexander said. “I can tell. There aren't many who would survive this, let alone manage to keep silent. I'm impressed.”

  Conrad said nothing, steadying his breathing, focussing on controlling the pain.

  “I see that you gave your name as Conrad son-of-Thomas,” Alexander continued, “and you are a citizen of Draxis. I'd never met my father as a boy, didn't even know his name until I was a man.

  “And you claimed to be a survivor from the Road Trains,” he said after a moment’s pause, “escaped from the dungeons. Of course, my officers didn't believe you; they had seen all of the survivors executed, after all. But no need for secrets here.”

  Conrad cast his gaze at the young officer near the door.

  “Yes,” Alexander said, indicating Samuel. “Larson here, he has been of great service to me during these difficult times. I have high hopes for him, and you are to be another step in his training.”

  Samuel looked as surprised as Conrad did, shaking his head as Alexander continued to speak.

  “I can see that you are unlikely to talk,” he said. “You have already endured so much, but if you would just tell me the names of your conspirators, I can end it quickly for you. My men have already been on the lookout for your leader, Matthew, and the big one with the scar, but who else is here with you, hmm? Just give me a name and I can make all of the pain go away, here and now.”

  Conrad said nothing.

  “As I thought,” Alexander concluded. “No matter, there is still so much that you can teach us.”

  Alexander rose from his chair and gestured for Samuel to join him. After a moment’s hesitation, Samuel did as he was bid.

  “It is an art, Larson, the administration of pain, but one that can be taught,” Alexander began, pointing at the damage done to Conrad's body. “But pain is not always the most effective motivator, especially when delivered as crudely as this.”

  He pointed to the large burned area on Conrad's chest. “Burn too deeply,” he informed him, “and the prisoner may feel no pain at all, or beat them too severely and they fall unconscious, no longer suffering.”

  Samuel tried to look somewhere, anywhere away from the figure tied to the chair, but Alexander kept calling his gaze back.

  “So now we must decide,” Alexander told him, “do we try other methods? There are drugs that can encourage a man to speak, but they can just as easily kill him in the process. Deny a man sleep and eventually he will tell you anything, but it can take so long. Or do we continue as we are, assume that the pain has just not been sufficient enough, and redouble our efforts, hmm?”

  Samuel went green, losing his battle with his stomach, and staggered back towards the rear of the trailer. He was sick a few steps before the open door.

  Alexander smiled. Not everyone had the stomach for the work that needed doing, but he would learn. Alexander had come close to killing him, once he had leant of the plans, but
Samuel had embraced his orders with enthusiasm. This was only a slight backwards step, but Samuel had shown such promise, a promise that should be nurtured and not destroyed.

  “Perhaps another time, Larson,” Alexander said as Samuel vomited a second time.

  “My Liege,” he tried to say, but Alexander stopped him with a gesture.

  “Do not worry yourself any further,” Alexander told him. “Leave us. I have everything I need.”

  Samuel cast a last look towards Conrad before leaving the trailer, his face pale as he staggered out into the night. Alexander shook his head and returned to the matter at hand.

  “Now, where were we?” he asked. “Ah, yes, the pain. I do not believe that my predecessors were able to deliver pain in sufficient quantities to loosen your tongue. I would like to test that theory, yes?”

  V

  Donald and Simon were already crouched beside the wagon when Peter arrived, moving from shadow to shadow to avoid detection. The number of trained solders at the rear of the convoy had increased in the last three days, but the bulk of the forces were still to be found near the front. The conscripts, as the civilians were being called, stuck to the campfires after dark, away from the wagons and stores.

  “Glad you made it,” Donald said as he knelt down beside them, giving Peter a hearty tap on the shoulder.

  “Me too,” Peter replied, casting another look over his shoulder. “There seem to be soldiers everywhere. I moved through the scrubland before cutting through here. I don't think I was seen.”

  “No, me either,” Simon added.

  “Any news on Catrina?” Donald asked.

  Peter shook his head. He had spent his day searching, just like the day before, but there was no sign of her.

  “I don't think the soldiers are looking for her,” Simon said, leaning in closer. “I heard two of them talking. They've been told to look out for Matthew from the descriptions they were given, Carl, too, I think, but they don't seem to know anything about us.”

  “So he gave himself up for nothing,” Donald said, shaking his head.

  “I don't know why he did it,” Simon whispered, the anger clearly evident on his face. “I thought he was stronger than that.”

  Peter said nothing. Seeing the young man up on the stage, broken and helpless, he wanted to do anything to help him. He had sensed that Catrina did too, which was why she had struggled so much. He knew though, that Alexander wouldn't let the boy live, and he had been right, but it still didn't make him feel any better. If he could go back, he wasn't sure how he would react a second time.

  “He is strong,” Peter said at last, “or he would have told them about us.”

  Donald and Simon stared at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes.

  "I'm sorry, Pete," Simon replied, clearly taken aback. "I didn't mean anything by it."

  Peter said nothing more on the subject and brought them back to the problem at hand. "We need to find Catrina," he told them, the anguish evident in his voice. "I'm worried about what she might do. She seemed to close in on herself, after the execution, but then she was just gone."

  "We looked, Pete, today, both of us," Donald said, concern on his face, "but there was no sign of her. Do you think she was taken? The Regent said he knew who we were."

  "I don't believe him,” Peter told them. “I don't believe anything he said. You said it yourself; they're looking for Matthew and Carl, and they're miles away from here. I think they just know who escaped from the dungeon and it's only Matthew and Carl that they have a good description of. People knew them before all of this, so they should be easier to spot in the crowd."

  Donald and Simon took a moment to think over what Peter had said. If he was right, they were safe, for now.

  "We can't just run, though,” Simon said after some thought, “even if they did know who we are, not until we know what happened to Catrina."

  Peter and Donald nodded in unison.

  "Where do you think she'd go?" Donald asked.

  Peter had thought of nothing else for the last two days, but the only answer that made any sense to him was almost impossible to confirm. "She's not herself, not thinking straight. I don't think she would have run," he began and Donald nodded his head in agreement. "I think she wants revenge. It's the only thing that's making sense to her at the moment. I think she intends to go after the Regent."

  Neither Donald nor Simon was surprised. It made sense, they had all thought of it and knew that it was impossible, but Catrina wasn't necessarily thinking of getting away afterwards.

  "So how does that help us find her?" Donald asked, checking again that they were clear of soldiers who might discover them, or worse, overhear their discussion.

  "I'm not sure yet,” Peter replied. “The Regent has stayed near to the front of the army, as far as we know. I heard some of the soldiers saying that he had taken up in one of the Road Trains, his General and advisers too. I guess that would make sense, the sleeping conditions for the rest of us haven't been great, sleeping in the rain by fires or hastily hung sheets of canvas."

  "So she must be there somewhere, with the main bulk of the troops, you think?" Simon asked.

  "I guess so,” Peter agreed. “I don't know for sure, but it's a start, somewhere to start looking at least."

  Donald and Simon looked at each other, concern on their faces. "So, just to check we all agree," Simon said, his voice a whisper. "The plan is to go into the main body of the soldiers, hope that we are wrong and they don't have our descriptions, find Catrina amongst thousands of people who could well be looking for her and may have captured her already, and then, what? You think she's just going to leave with us?"

  "I don't have all the answers,” Peter said sternly, “and I didn't ask either of you to do this with me. You guys should go, leave and try and regroup with Matthew. It's my responsibility to find her, to try and keep her safe."

  "That's not what I meant, Pete,” Simon apologised. “I'm with you."

  "Me too," Donald cut in.

  "It's just that's not much of a plan, not really," Simon clarified.

  "It's all I got," Peter concluded. The other men could see how exhausted he was, the dark rings under his red eyes, the slumped shoulders.

  "Okay, Pete, we're with you, but we start tomorrow, after we've all had a chance to get some sleep," Donald said, rising to his feet. "We'll meet at the outskirts of the officers’ tents, let's say after breakfast, and help them pack up? Might give us some more info, and help explain our presence a bit."

  They agreed before going their separate ways, anxiously waiting for dawn.

  VI

  They were woken by Joe's shouts shortly after midnight, followed by a rapid burst of gunfire.

  Matthew woke first, reaching instinctively for his gun, with Mike and Carl close behind him. Matthew had been asleep in Arian's arms and the sudden movement startled her.

  "Get Safran," he whispered to her before running silently to where the shots had been fired from.

  Arian helped Safran to her feet before leading her away from the fire where they would make easy targets.

  Ben was disorientated as Carl pulled him along behind him, Mike a few steps ahead, searching for any sign of Joe. A second shout directed their attention.

  They arrived in time to see Joe wrestling with an animal, its teeth clamped tightly around his left arm as it pinned him to the ground. He was trying in vain to turn his gun around but his right arm was held fast beneath the creature’s bulk.

  Matthew was first to act, firing three shots into the creature’s head. Joe was finally able to release his arm and scramble to his feet.

  "More skeets to the right," he shouted, turning his rifle in that direction. Matthew, Carl, and Mike followed suit, choosing their targets before firing. Ben looked on, bewildered.

  The creatures that were now moving in a pack to his right were like nothing he had ever seen before. He remembered the brief blur that he had seen in Garstang and reasoned that it must have been the sam
e thing. They stood around five feet tall with large back legs and much smaller front legs ending in sharp claws. Their large heads were full of teeth, evident as they growled and snarled in his direction. Their hide looked reptilian in parts, but furry around their heads and necks, dirty and matted in clumps.

  "Damned skeets," Carl spat, killing another with a burst from his assault rifle.

  Safran and Arian could hear the shots, but were unsure of how to respond. Arian wanted to go to Matthew's aid, but knew that she had a duty to protect Safran, who stood anxiously at her side.

  The night was broken by the sound of a snarl from only a few steps behind them. Both women turned quickly to see three skeets bearing down on them, teeth bared. Arian made to raise her pistol as the foremost animal leapt, knocking her to the ground. The pistol slipped from her grasp as a sharp claw tore into her shoulder.

  Safran reacted as her tutors had instructed her. Leaping for the pistol, she rolled and came up firing, dropping the closest skeet with two well-placed shots to its head before checking her aim and killing the two remaining animals before they could get any closer.

  Running quickly to Arian’s side, she dropped to her knees and applied pressure to the bleeding wound, her other arm raised and ready to kill any more skeets that dared come near.

  "Thank you," Arian said through gritted teeth, the pain from the pressure on the wound almost overwhelming, but necessary. Matthew, Carl and the others were soon standing around them.

  "Are you okay?" Matthew asked as he knelt down beside Arian. He sent Mike to collect his pack before taking over the application of pressure. Arian nodded and tried to smile reassuringly.

  Joe was cradling his injured arm to his side as he surveyed the carnage. "You did this?" he asked Safran, surprise in his voice.

  "Yes," she said matter-of-factly before turning to face Carl. "My father may not have taught me to cook, but he taught me to lead, both in peace time and in war."

  Carl only smiled and shook his head.

  The wounds were dressed and the weapons reloaded. Carl and Mike offered to take watch together for the remainder of the night, but everyone agreed that they would be unlikely to sleep. Mike gathered more wood for the fire and they all gathered around it.

  "What were those things back there?" Ben asked as he warmed himself.

  "Skeets," Carl replied. "Wild ones, at least."

  "Wild ones? You mean people keep them as pets?" Ben said, surprised.

  "Not pets exactly, no,” Carl told him, “but they make great guards. You just need to remind them who's boss every so often and they'll do whatever you want."

  "So why did they attack us?" Ben continued.

  "I'm not sure,” Carl said. “They don't tend to go after people unless their den is disturbed or food is scarce. They didn't look like they were starving, but there were definitely females amongst them."

  "Is that unusual?" Ben asked, his fear giving way to interest.

  "It can be. The females tend to remain in the dens and tend to the young while the males gather food. We could have come across their den yesterday, disturbed it somehow."

  "I don't remember seeing anything, though," Joe cut it, examining the bandage on his arm.

  "No, me either," Matthew agreed.

  Matthew and Carl passed a knowing look between them. Maybe it wasn't them who had disturbed the den.

  Carl cut the edible sections from the skeets and wrapped the meat in cloth before distributing it between their packs. The meat could be tough, but there should be more than enough to last them to well past Garstang if they were careful. Less time hunting for meals would also mean more time travelling between rest.

  The following morning, they set out, heading for the mountains to the southeast. Joe had swapped his rifle for a pistol, his left arm still in a lot of pain. Arian was pale, but did her best to keep up, Matthew supporting her when needed.

  It was Carl who kept one eye behind them, but if there was someone following them, they were too good for him to spot.

  VII

  The officers gave orders as Peter, Donald, and Simon set to work, gathering up the blankets and the large sheet of canvas that had been suspended between three trees. They had confirmed that the Regent was indeed staying in the foremost Road Train; the General, other officers, and advisers taking up the remainder of the carriages. A warm drink after a cold night in the rain had loosened tongues more quickly than a barrel of ale could.

  They listened to the conversations as they stowed the blankets into the back of a wagon.

  "That skeever Boshtok,” one man said, “if you're not in his little circle, you sleep out here with the peasants. And Larson, when did he get so high and mighty with the Regent, eh? In on all the meetings? I remember him through training, cowardly little skeet he was too."

  "I hear he's the Regent's special assistant, if you get my meaning," another soldier commented. This brought a chuckle from the other officers.

  "I'll be glad to be done with this and get settled in Draxis,” the first man continued. “I hear those southern women don't care which uniform you wear. In a month, the Barony will be ours and they'll be lining up to gain a little extra favour."

  Donald and Simon struggled to control their tempers as the soldiers spoke, Peter casting them worried glances.

  Before long, the wagon was loaded and the army began marching again, its steady trudge south. The three men wandered in towards the main bulk of the army behind the officers. They weren't given a second glance by anyone around them.

  They split up and began their search, though soon had to abandon it as the real army stuck to much more organised regiments than the conscripts. Every time they tried to move from one line to another, they drew attention to themselves, angry looks and shouts from drill sergeants. In the end, they marched with the regiments, looking around as far as they could, but there was no sign of Catrina.

  A halt was called early afternoon to allow the army a brief respite and the chance of food and water. They took the chance to disappear as quickly as possible before they had to answer any awkward questions, meeting up again further back as the army started its march again.

  "This is crazy," Donald said. "We were lucky we weren't arrested or worse. There's no way we can do this during the day."

  The others agreed and continued their steady walk until nightfall.

  As the soldiers made camp, Donald, Simon, and Peter moved between the hastily constructed shelters, searching for any clue that might tell them where Catrina was. Wary of asking any direct questions about her, they instead drifted between groups, sharing in the discussions that became more open as the ale flowed.

  This continued for five days, each of the men becoming increasingly despondent, unsure how long they should proceed, unsure how long their luck would hold. It was on the sixth night that a piece of news came to Peter's attention.

  It wasn't about Catrina herself, but the discovery of a soldier found dead on the previous night, stabbed several times. This wasn't that unusual, there had been a fair number of fights between the soldiers and the conscripts, many of which had resulted in the death of one of the parties. What peaked Peter's interest was that the soldier had been stripped bare, his uniform taken.

  It was a long shot, he realised that, but his instincts told him that it was important. His instincts had kept him alive on the streets of Island City, helped him solve a variety of crimes during his twenty years as sergeant in the City Watch, and he wasn't going to start ignoring them now.

  Once the bulk of the army were sleeping, he met with Donald and Simon as he had done every night before. This was the first night that he had arrived before them, an eagerness to pass on his news.

  "What makes you think it was Catrina?" Donald asked

  "Honestly," Peter replied, shrugging his shoulders, "my gut. Something about how they described the injuries. He wasn't just stabbed once. 'Frenzied and brutal' was what one of them said. I don't know, just what happened with Catrina that firs
t night, it reminded me."

  "I suppose it makes sense," Simon added, "if she is after the Regent. We've had enough trouble trying to blend in on the outskirts of the troops. If she wanted to get anywhere near the siege weapons or the Road Trains, she would need to look the part."

  Donald nodded in agreement. "But how will this help us find her?" he said. "It was hard enough when we were looking for someone who looked out of place. Now she'll look like everyone else."

  "I know,” Peter agreed, “but now that she has a plan, I don't think she'll wait long to act on it. She may have already tried, but I think we would have heard something if she did. She'll go at night, when most of the troops are sleeping and there are only a small number of guards at the front. That's where we need to watch."

  Donald and Simon gave each other a confused look before responding. "Okay, Pete," Simon said, "you're the boss here, but I can't say I like it."

  "Me either," Peter replied before outlining the rest of his plan.

  VIII

  It had been four nights since she had taken the uniform and she had finally managed to get most of the blood out. After scrubbing at it in collections of rainwater every night before stowing it in her pack, the stains were now only visible up close, and once she had managed to get up close, it would already be too late.

  She had managed to shadow the armies from a safe distance in the Wastelands, two miles to the west of the Great Road. She was hungry, the small amount of food she had taken with her had lasted little more than a day, but after tonight, it wouldn't matter anymore.

  After tonight, she would no longer feel hungry or thirsty, and most importantly to her, after tonight she would no longer feel any pain. She knew that there would be no way out, not once he was dead, but he would be dead, and her boys avenged.

  She could finally be at peace.

  IX

  Matthew kissed Arian passionately before pulling her close to him, their bodies wrapping around each other beside the fire. Joe and Mike had taken up positions at opposite ends of the small camp, their turns to keep watch until he and Carl took over shortly after midnight.

  Carl, Ben, and Safran sat talking on the other side of the fire, trying not to notice the couple’s tender embrace.

  "We're nearly there," Carl said, removing the hanging pot from over the fire and pouring each of them a cup of warm berry tea. "We should be in sight of Garstang tomorrow or the day after, according to the map,"

  "And then up the mountain and into the lab," Ben replied, sipping the bitter beverage.

  The rain had eased off over the last two days but it was still very cold. Between the fire and the warm mug, he was just about able to feel his fingers.

  Safran sat staring at her mug, lost in her own thoughts. She seemed to have changed since they were attacked by the skeets, quiet and distant. Ben had taken to calling her “Wonder Woman,” the Amazonian princess. Suffice to say, she was not impressed.

  "And how long, then, will it take us to get to where we need to be?" Ben continued.

  "You tell me,” Carl said. “Once we have one of those, what did you call them, cars? If they go as fast as you say, it should only be..."

  "Carl," Safran interrupted, "there is something I would say."

  Carl stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at her, surprised by the look of embarrassment on her face.

  "I have decided that I should apologise," she began, still staring at her steaming drink. "You were right in what you said to me. You risked so much to save me, save us from the dungeons, and I never said thank you."

  "No need," Carl replied, but Safran cut him off.

  "Please, let me speak,” she continued. “I have added to the difficulties of this journey where I could have helped, thinking myself above the daily routines. You are right; my father did teach me better, and he would be disappointed by my behaviour thus far. I just want to get home. I just want to see him again."

  She tried to hold back the tears, but they came anyway. Carl reached to put an arm on her shoulder, but Ben beat him to it.

  Safran made no move to push him away so he edged closer to her, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay,” he said, “we'll get there, you'll see him again. It won't be long now, will it, Carl?"

  "No, not long," Carl agreed. "A few more days is all and we'll get you home."

  Safran nodded, wiping away the tears. "Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse. "That's what I really wanted to say, thank you."

  X

  It was Simon who spotted the lone figure first, moving stealthily from the edge of the camp towards the Road Trains. Peter took off at a low sprint, intending to intercept them before they were spotted by any of the guards. The moon was almost full and they were both clearly visible.

  As he got closer, he was unsure whether it really was Catrina. The build was right, the uniform hanging baggily at the shoulders, but he struggled to identify her face. It was only when he was nearly on top of her that he realised the difference.

  Catrina reached for her knife as he grabbed her, the tip at his throat before she took in who it was. "Wait, wait, Catrina, it's me, Pete," he said hurriedly, putting his arms up in surrender.

  She returned the knife to her belt and started walking away from him, back towards the Road Trains.

  "You can't do this, Catrina. It's suicide," he said, following her. Catrina said nothing until he grabbed her, pulling her round to face him.

  "Get your hands off me," she raged, breaking free, barely contained anger showing on her face. Peter took an involuntary step back.

  The noise had brought some of the attention from surrounding guards, who were already making their way towards the commotion. Peter saw the threat and reached for her again.

  "We can't stay here. We have to move," he said, starting for the nearest camp. Catrina cast a look at the approaching soldiers and reluctantly followed him. There were shouts for them to stop, but before long, they were lost amongst the crowds and then hidden in the underbrush away from the road.

  Simon and Donald had seen them move and soon joined them in their hiding place.

  “Oh no, Catrina, what happened to your hair?” Simon said, clearly startled by her change in appearance. It looked as though Catrina had cut her hair short herself, hacked at it with her knife until it stuck up in sharp tufts all over her scalp.

  “They have our descriptions,” she replied.

  Donald went to speak, but Peter cut him off with a look.

  “We need to get out of here,” Peter said hurriedly. “It won't be long before the guards who saw us call for reinforcements and then we'll have no chance.”

  “Not until it's done,” Catrina said, moving to stand.

  “Wait, wait, Catrina,” he pleaded. “It's suicide. There's no way we can get close to the Road Trains. There's just too many guards.”

  “I never asked you to come,” she said, her voice bland and empty.

  “But we're here now,” Peter told her.

  Catrina said nothing, ignoring the three men as she started back in the direction of the Road Trains.

  There was a moment’s uneasy silence before Donald spoke up. “Come on, Pete, her mind’s made up,” he said, with Simon nodding in agreement.

  “No, I won't leave her, I'm sorry,” Peter replied, rising to his feet and following her.

  Donald and Simon soon caught up with him.

  “Okay, I get it,” Donald began. “You made a promise to Matthew, but this is insane. How is getting yourself killed going to help?”

  “I have to try,” Peter replied, weaving between sleeping men and women.

  “She won't stop,” Donald continued. “Don't you get it yet? She doesn't care if she succeeds or not. She just wants to die.”

  That brought Peter to a halt, the other two men almost knocking him over.

  “I'm sorry Pete, but it's true,” Donald continued. “You saw her back there. She isn't thinking straight anymore.”

  Peter knew that he was right; he had known i
t for a while, but he hadn't been able to admit it to himself. His life had become one chaotic event after another, running and hiding or fighting to survive. So much had changed, so much was lost, not just for him, but for everyone. He was stood in the cold, so far away from home, trying to stop a woman he hardly knew from killing the man responsible for it all.

  He didn't know what was right anymore.

  He should never have come; he should never have helped Carl in the first place. So many thoughts and feelings, raced through him, confusing him. All he really knew was what his gut was telling him, trusting to it as he had done so many times before.

  “You're right, Don, it is true, but that doesn't mean we abandon her,” Peter said. “It means we help her. I'm going with her to see if we can't kill this new Regent and try and put a stop to this madness. You two, we'll need a diversion, something loud. Give me fifteen minutes to catch up with her, then set it off. Once it's done, run, both of you, and don't look back.”

  Donald and Simon were about to argue, but Peter was already gone.

  Peter caught up with Catrina as she was creeping behind an overloaded wagon. He tapped her on the shoulder and put a finger to his lips as she turned around. Leaning in close, her whispered, “Diversion in six or seven minutes. Wait for it, then we both run for the trailer whilst everyone is looking elsewhere.”

  Catrina nodded and crouched down, eyes on her goal.

  The diversion was everything that Peter had asked for. The explosion lit up the sky, the noise enough to wake several of the sleeping soldiers from the surrounding campfires. Peter listened to the guards, shouting for help and calling for each other to go and investigate. He set off at a sprint with Catrina at his heels.

  They arrived at the front Road Train without interruption. As they threw themselves to the ground near the trailer door, Peter took a minute to view the destruction behind them, flames and smoke billowing into the night sky. They had to act now.

  Peter stood and kept guard as Catrina moved to the front carriage and climbed to open the door. It was a little stiff, but not locked, and she was able to open it wide enough to creep through without making too much noise.

  She knew the trailer well, almost as well as her own. She had spent many days and nights in here, with Matthew, Edward and her boys, talking, eating, enjoying life. She could see it now, in her mind’s eye, Daniel on his father's knee, all smiles and laughter.

  It was the smell that brought her back to reality. She hadn't realised that she had closed her eyes as she entered the trailer, enjoying the memory. Once open, she was able to take in the full horror of what was before her.

  The trailer was almost bare; no sofa, no bed. There was a single table and a chair with someone sitting, tied in place.

  The light through the small windows at the top of the trailer was minimal and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. She was sure that it wasn't Alexander, they were too short, but it wasn't until she was directly in front of him that she was able to work out who it was.

  “Conrad,” she whispered, tears in her eyes, though the man before her was barely recognisable. His eyelids had been removed and long lines of skin had been stripped from his body and limbs. The chair and surrounding floor was covered in dried blood, still sticky in places as she stepped closer.

  She thought she had imagined it at first, but then it happened again, the slightest flit of movement in his eyes. Then his lips began to part, though no sound came from them. Impossibly, he was still alive.

  Tears were running down her face as she leant in close to him, struggling to make out anything that he would say to her. There was no sound, only the slightest movement of air against her cheek. She turned and as their eyes met, she knew what she had to do.

  Removing the knife from her belt, she rested the point against his chest and drove it deeply into his heart in one swift motion. His head slumped forward and he breathed no more. Sobbing, she made her way out of the Road Train and back to Peter's side.

  “Is it done?” he asked, already pulling her away and towards safety. Catrina said nothing, resting her head against his shoulder as they walked.

  “You there! Halt!” came the shout as three men ran from the second Road Train in their direction. Peter spun them around to see Samuel Larson and two other soldiers almost on top of them, weapons drawn and aimed in their direction.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Larson demanded, looking them up and down. Between Peter's ruined city guard uniform and Catrina's ill-fitting officer uniform, he knew at once that they were imposters.

  “Guards, arrest them, take them for questioning,” he ordered, grabbing Peter by the arm and pulling him forwards.

  “No, not like him,” Catrina cried, eyes wide with terror. Larson realised the direction that they had came from and knew what she must have seen. The moment’s hesitation was all Peter needed to act.

  “RUN!” he yelled, pushing Larson into the other soldiers, the three men going down in a tangle of arms and legs. Peter and Catrina turned and ran, racing towards the edge of the road.

  They hadn't gotten far before the sound of gunfire erupted from behind them with the shouts of their pursuers. They weaved left and right, hoping to avoid the onslaught, but a sudden pain in his left leg brought Peter to the ground.

  Catrina stopped and tried to pull him to his feet. “Don't stop, run,” he pleaded with her, blood pouring from a wound in his thigh. She stood there, hesitating.

  “Please,” he said, lying back against the road, eyes closing. Bullets continued to whistle past her as she made up her mind. After a further second of indecision, she turned and ran.

  A momentary sting in her left side dropped her to her knees, but she was quickly on her feet again, off the road and into the trees on the western edge of the Great Road. Her lungs burned and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest, but still she ran, weaving around trees as the sounds of gunfire and shouting grew ever quieter.

  Before long she could go no further; her legs just wouldn't make another step, and she dropped to the ground, panting. The trees were spinning around her, the sky getting darker, and the last thing she saw before she passed out was the bright red of blood on her hands from the gunshot wound that had torn though the left side of her abdomen.