had spread even that far, and he could already feel the warmth of the rising sun in the air.
He turned away from the cliff and marched towards where the entrance had once been, passing through and out onto the dockside. He leaned forward onto the harbour wall, resting his weight on his hands, looking out over the docks and across to the city as it continued to awaken.
Cromwell caught up with Winterburne and stood beside him. 'You can't believe that Courtenay managed to escape that blaze? I could even see the flames from the Palace!'
'Find me his body, and then I'll be convinced.' Winterburne stared at the ships in the harbour, down below. 'But,' he said, 'until that moment arrives, I have to trust my instincts.'
'Your instincts?'
'You learn to trust them over the years,' Winterburne stood upright and turned to look at his Lieutenant.
'And what are they telling you, Sir?'
'That this isn't over.'
Epilogue
A stony path, no more than a foot wide at its deepest, worked its way down the side of the cliff face. There were places where it dropped vertically for a few feet and anyone climbing up or down would have to take extra care at those points or risk falling the thirty or forty feet to the rocky ledge below. At high tide, the ledge would be just a few feet above the waves and it would most definitely not have been a wise place to stand during a storm. There were tales of more than one foolish teenager being washed away over the years whilst showing off to their friends and people no longer came here, its reputation exaggerated to a level which was well out of proportion with the true level of danger it presented.
Courtenay sat on the outcropping and gazed along the coastline in the direction that he knew Highport to be. The city was not visible from here, the headland hid it for the most part, but he knew it was there, sitting in the next bay. The sky was cloudless; it was going to be another perfect day and he found the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks below soothing. He relaxed as he was warmed by the bright morning sunshine.
The effort required to swim this distance in the cold water had been great and he still felt the strain of the exertion but those feelings were coupled with the exhilaration caused by the events of the previous evening. It had taken him several hours, and despite the cramp he had struggled with part of the way through, it had been worth it to look back and see the night sky turned blood red by the blaze from the warehouse.
He wondered what Winterburne had made of his escape. He imaged that the Watch would be scurrying around looking for signs that he had died in the inferno, but he also knew that Winterburne would not be fooled.
Courtenay had always considered it vital to prepare a backup plan, and it was never truly his intention to leave the city by the ship. He hoped that the master and his crew would not be too harshly treated, they were on the whole good, honest men, and deserved better. He had to admit, though, that finding the axe had been especially fortunate and he was grateful to providence for providing him with the perfect means to break through the timbers at the rear of the warehouse.
Courtenay looked behind him at the path that weaved its way up the cliff. It was time to go, he thought. He leaned forward and pushed himself off the rocks, his silver medallion falling through the gap in his shirt, swinging back and forth as he rose. In truth, there was no longer any need for him to wear it, but he liked it, and drew a sense of security from having the object next to his skin. They had been through much together, and it was silver, after all. Who knew, perhaps its intrinsic monetary value might be useful one day.
His hands and feet still felt the cold. It would have been good to have enjoyed the warmth from a fire to keep him company during the long night, but he could not have risked giving himself away. Despite that, he considered that a little planning and local knowledge had served him well, and the bag of clothing he had deposited several days earlier had turned out to be a godsend. He shuddered to think what state he might be in if he had needed to sit in wet robes and endure the cold of a spring night.
He reached across for the short-sword, left with his clothing, and strapped it to his belt. Beside him sat the leather bag that held his wet clothing, and beyond that were the three granite rocks that he had collected earlier, each the size of a small loaf of bread. He picked one up and placed it inside the bag. Its two companions joined it and he pulled the drawstring tight. Courtenay carried it over to the water's edge, and swung his arm in an arc, releasing the bag at its highest point. It flew over the water for a short distance before dropping with a splosh, sinking quickly away into the deep without a trace, all except for the rapidly expanding ring of salty foam.
Courtenay turned and stepped across the rocks towards his backpack, picking it up. It was much lighter now that it contained just his rations and he carried on walking until he reached the base of the cliff, commencing the climb of the path that led upwards.
He blew as he neared the top, the climb was steep, and he followed the track around until he reached a stand of buckthorn bushes that had made their home inland a little. The wind had caused them to bend at their command, and he remembered the lessons from his youth teaching him that he could identify north from the direction that the bushes pointed. These bushes pointed directly inland, towards the east, and home. The faint sound of waves crashing on the rocks far below reached his ears, and he considered that, perhaps after all, this was indeed a beautiful part of the world.
Standing in the lea provided by a break in the bushes waited his brown mare. She was pulling on the grass, none the worse for the few days that she had spent out here until he came. He had already saddled her, earlier that morning, in readiness for the long journey ahead, and she raised her head as she heard Courtenay approaching.
'Good girl,' Courtenay said to her, as he patted her neck. The mare tossed her head, and it seemed to him that she must surely understand his words. 'Yes,' he said, 'it always pays to plan a few options, doesn't it girl? You were always my first choice, though.'
Courtenay forced his hand into his backpack and pulled out a carrot. He broke it in two, holding one half in the palm of his hand. The mare bent her neck and sniffed it, before taking it in her mouth and crunching. Courtenay took a bite from the second piece and chewed. He hadn't realised until now how hungry he had become, but considering he hadn't eaten since the previous evening, it could only be expected. The waybread that he had packed never really filled his belly, but at least it would keep him going in the coming weeks, so he had better get used to it.
As soon as the mare had finished, he offered her the rest of the second piece and she took it eagerly. It had been several days since he had found the time to spoil her in this way and she seemed to be enjoying it.
'Let's be off,' he said, as he slipped his foot into the stirrup, raising himself up into the saddle. 'We have a long way to go, and the sooner we start the sooner we'll get there.'
It had been a long time since he had been back home, but he looked forward to seeing how it had changed. He had, of course, received regular reports from his contacts back in the Commonwealth, but there was nothing quite like going back, even if there was no longer any family for him to return to.
In any event, at least he had the plan. It would most certainly keep him busy for some time, and anyway he was tired of playing the role of someone he was never born to be. Even if his time in Highport hadn't quite worked out as he would have wanted, there was still the alternative. It would require more skill, more nerve, and more cunning than anything he had needed to display so far, but if it succeeded then he would have earned his place in history and his name would never be forgotten.
Courtenay sat up straight in the saddle and shrugged his shoulders. He twisted his head from side to side in an attempt to encourage his clothing to sit more comfortably, and when he was satisfied, he kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse.
'Walk on,' he said, pulling the reins to steer her towards the east.
The mare tossed her head, blowing a snort of
air through her nose, and Courtenay leaned close to pat her neck; she had always enjoyed getting out into the open spaces and riding across the plains. As he guided her forward she seemed to sense that she would be doing just that and beneath him she took her first steps along the long road that would lead them home.
###
Follow more of Winterburne's adventures in REDEMPTION.
Coming in 2014.
About the author
Phil has loved books for as long as he can remember and from an early age enjoyed reading science fiction, fantasy, horror as well as popular science. His favourite authors are Terry Pratchett, Stephen King and Douglas Adams, although to be honest, he will read anything that claims to be fiction, and also much that wouldn't.
He is an avid football supporter (of both types, from either side of the Atlantic), but for the sake of not alienating any readers won't mention in this bio which teams he supports (but rumour has it that they are Bristol Rovers and the New England Patriots).
Phil lives in Bristol, U.K., with his wife Yvonne, two dogs and two cats. He has two grown-up children, Holly and Alex, and he agrees with the old saying that they never really leave home, it's just that the phone bill gets less.
Angels is Phil's first novel.
Connect with me online
Read my blog at https://www.philbatt.blogspot.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/b477m4n
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/phil.batt.37
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all those authors over the years that have inspired me, entertained me, and taught me that if you follow a daydream it can lead you to the most wonderful places, perhaps even to that one place where your own inner vision can grow strong enough to work its way up into the light.
A project the size of writing a novel takes a lot of support, patience and hard work, not to mention the understanding of those around you. I'd therefore like to thank my wife, Yvonne, for putting up with me throughout what seems like endless evenings of writing, editing, and writing again. I'd like to thank my kids, Holly and Alex, for putting up with me as I read out snippets of scenes and conversations, totally out of context, and which would have meant nothing to them other than proving my sheer lunacy.
Lastly, I'd like to thank anyone who has got this far and read this final page. I never set out to write this book for other people, it was just one of those ''things'' that everyone says they'd love to do one day. Well, I did do it, and in the process discovered a passion that makes time slip by without me noticing. If you have enjoyed reading this far, perhaps you might like to drop me line to let me know. I would love to hear from you.
Best Wishes
Philip E. Batt
28 September 2013
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