The Lightning Finish

By David Schipp

Prince Tusajan is in real trouble. The invasion is over but the key that they have sought for so long has slipped through their fingers. Now his father has left the city, casing the fugitive king and his allies, leaving the prince in charge of an ever increasing hostile country.
He’s having dreams as well – dreams of an impossible past and an uncertain future through the eyes of a young woman he helped torture. Two kings will meet upon a hill under an angry sky to decide the result of a desperate battle.
More frightening than seeing the end of his father, he’s beginning to admit that he’s falling for her...

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Schipp
• Release date: Jun 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987224934

David Schipp

David J Schipp lives on the south coast of New South Wales, Australia. He is an emergency nurse, musician and software designer. Currently he is completing his fourth work of fiction, is writing a non-fictional work relating to music recording and completing an application that allows for the remote controlling of music software.

Book preview

Part 3: Flight

Chapter One

Rough hands took him, shook him from unnatural slumber. There were faces too: cruel and distorted in the red and angry light. They looked down on him, regarding him with hot eyes. He struggled to sit, to talk, to object, but the strength was not in him. All he could manage was to cough and croak.

They were speaking but the words were beyond his understanding and as he listened to them converse his vision began to fade. Within his head his pulse thumped rhythmically in an ever slowing pace.

He was dying, he knew it, and those that stood above him knew it too. One of them grabbed his arm. His vision had gone but the other senses remained – at least for now. There was a sharp pain in the crook of his elbow and a cold feeling swept into his veins. He fought them, tried to regain control, tried to shake himself out of the nightmare, but they held him fast.

One of them spoke quickly, harshly, directly. He imagined they fought each other even as they fought him.

Already his heart, which had been slowing, began to reverse its trend. As he lay there he became aware that the organ in his chest was starting to beat with abandon, almost like it would leap out of his chest. With this development his anxiety rose and he fought wildly against his captors.

They held him still and the realisation dawned on him that they would not let him go, that he would not be able to free himself. Gradually he relaxed under their grip despite the thumping in his chest and waited.

His eyes closed and lost all awareness again. When he came to his senses they were no longer holding him. He was on his back on a narrow bed of sorts and it was dark. Outside of his narrow field of vision the ones he had seen earlier were talking amongst themselves in strange words and guttural voices.

Out of the corner of his eye a red flickering light grew stronger, illuminating the faces again. They seemed less nefarious, more human this time. Perhaps his condition had improved enough for him to see things as they really were and not as a part of some nightmare. Nonetheless they were strangers to him and he still viewed their participation in his current predicament with fear. The light emanated from a flame, a fire from a torch in one of their hands, flickering gently.

They grabbed him again, pulling him up and his head swam with the sudden change in posture. They dragged him (he was still too weak to stand, let alone walk) away from his bed.

His view remained limited as his head now hung slackly down between them. He could see their feet, booted and shuffling awkwardly over the dull and even ground. They struggled - he was no lightweight - and one of them was still holding the burning torch in a free hand. They did not have to strive for long, for in a matter of moments they had him on a bed again – a different bed, harder.

He was flat on his back staring at the ceiling. It was dark up there and he had no way of knowing just how far it went. Now he was moving. One of them was at the foot of the bed and pushing, the other at the front steering. The flame that guided them was out front too, spluttering in the breeze that their movements made. He had no idea how fast they went, there was nothing to see above him that gave him a reference and he had not the strength to turn his head.

They travelled for a time, going straight ahead. They paused briefly whilst they pushed through barriers. Light streamed around them. He could see the ceiling clearly now. His vision was hazy like he had just woken from a deep sleep and his eyes are struggling to adjust to focus. There were lights above him now, small and not bright, moving quickly over him and down past his feet. He followed a set, and his gaze fell upon the man who was pushing his bed.

He was middle aged, rough, unshaven and dirty. His hair was long, just below the shoulders, and unkempt. He was wearing rough woven and soiled clothing. The man did not seem to notice that he was being scrutinised, perhaps he did not care. Regardless, he kept pushing the bed along at speed up to another set of doors.

These did not need pushing apart, they opened by themselves, sliding out of the way to allow the bed and its occupant to pass unhindered. They were glass, hard and impregnable but worn with years. Another set of doors spread apart for them and they were out in the open.

They stopped for a moment to confer amongst themselves and so that the light that one of them had been carrying could be extinguished. They were all similar in appearance and spoke in the same strange language he had heard before. Over by the glass doors he had just came through, stood another, not like the other three. This one was clean and his uniform was new. It was military in style, dark blue and full of pockets. He was holding a rifle.

One of them called to the solider and he moved to the side of the doorway, waving his right arm against it. There was a mechanical noise like the clicking of a lock, and then they were moving again.

They stopped at silver metal doors. Not shiny and clean, old and tarnished. He had seen these kind of doors before. They parted after a time and behind them was what he had expected. He was pushed into a lift and the doors slid together again, grinding as they did.

He watched numbers decrease slowly from twenty-three to five and no one spoke for the ride. It took many minutes to arrive at the desired floor. And then the doors opened once again and they were on the move.

There was light here was well, but not bright. High above there were huge lamps, glowing dimly. After only a minute or two the bed stopped again and he was hauled off and dropped on another - a stationary one this time - and left. Exhaustion was beckoning again and so he closed his eyes and slept.

Someone was grabbing at his right wrist and he awoke startled, fighting. They cursed him as they held him down. Now someone was looking intently at his right arm, reading out syllables slowly.

Once that task had been completed, one of them, the closest, clicked fingers and spoke. A plastic bottle appeared and was laid down beside the bed. The man spoke again, words that could not be understood, and then departed.

He was alone again and used the opportunity to survey his situation. He was still too weak to sit up but at least now he was able to move his head. All around were beds identical to the one he was laying. Some of them occupied. He was aware of people moving about in the gloom.

Over to his side, only a few steps away, were another bed and a sleeping man. He was older, there was grey stubble on his beard and his face was wrinkled with age. There was not a hair to be seen upon his head. He was wearing a loose fitting white shirt and pants and he was barefoot.

Looking down at his chest he found himself dressed the same way. A hand that he ran over the top of his head found smooth skin and a layer of sweat. He was too disorientated and exhausted to ask himself the obvious questions, too confused to put his thoughts into some coherence.

He managed to loosen the lid to the container of water he had been given and take some of it, the bitter but cool liquid soothing his parched throat. After taking more – which resulted in a small amount of coughing - he closed his eyes again.

He must have slept. He had no idea for how long, because when he opened his eyes the mood of the chamber had changed. The room was quiet, full of poor sleeping souls much like himself.

She moved among them quietly, stepping lightly between the cots that were spread out around him. She spoke to each one of them, helped them sit up, offered them more to drink and then moved on. He had turned his head and watched her for a time.

She was young but older than he, tall and pretty. He waited patiently for his turn.

Perhaps, he mused, this girl will have answers.

He hoped her voice would be as beautiful as her face. He suspected it would be.

She stood over him briefly and smiled a soft reassuring smile and then lowered herself down onto her knees next to him. He opened his mouth to speak but she forestalled him, putting a finger to her lips.

Shh, she said in barely a whisper. Don’t speak. Not here.

He had questions and she was denying him the right to ask them. Regardless, he was sure his voice would only come in a ragged whisper. His throat and mouth was as dry as a desert.

I know you’re confused, she told him quietly. I know you’ve got questions. They’ll have to wait. You’re in no state to be even thinking about it. You’re safe for now and that’s all you need to know. Now... She took up his half drunk bottle of water and passed it to him. …you’ve got to drink, and regularly. You’ll get better quicker and on your feet. I’ll bring you some food soon, so rest and drink. And don’t talk. Not until I tell you it’s okay.

Her hand was on his arm and she smiled again, the action imparting yet again a feeling of safety. Then she was gone, up and to the next person in a cot beside him. He took her advice: unscrewing the top to the worn plastic bottle and swallowing more of the liquid within. It was neither clear nor fresh and the colour of it was definitely brown. He took another swallow, restored the cap and settled down to rest again.

When he opened his eyes he saw that she had made good her promise. It mattered little to him that she gave her word to all of her charges, what mattered to him most was that there was something around him that he could rely on, something that he could trust. It did help that she was not unpleasant to look at as well.

Here, she said to him, passing over hard and crumbly bread. It’s not much and it’s stale, but it with fill an empty stomach.

Please... he croaked. It was all he could get out.

Not yet, she warned him, looking over her shoulder to the guards that stood near the elevator doors. You can’t let them hear you.

I don’t understand any of this.

I’m not surprised, but you have to trust me, she advised. The answers will come.

What’s your name? he asked suddenly. It helped to have a connection, any connection.

She spoke it: three syllables that he would have no hope in repeating, let alone remembering and then she was gone again, looking back to him as she went. There was something between them - he felt it - and that could help him. He needed to hold onto something.

He did not sleep after that. Not that he did not want to. He did. It was just that there were things occurring around him that he needed to at least try and understand. The beautiful young woman was not telling him anything – yet – and she was the only one speaking to him. Her warning was still ringing in his ears.

Don’t talk... don’t let them hear you...

He was sitting up now, chewing on the bread which proved every bit as stale as she had promised. It did offer some solace to his stomach and for that he was glad. Many of the others were up from their cots as well, the remainder still on their backs. He assumed that the process that brought him here was a long and difficult one. Some fared better than others, some no doubt were on their feet already. He was young and fit and he didn’t think it would be long before he was off his bed entirely.

The room was still dim. The lights that shone weakly from above gave the area a gloomy atmosphere, but he was getting used to it. He found that now he was sitting and had recovered to some degree and that his eyesight had greatly improved. Now he could see the room and its occupants clearly and as he watched, he began to understand.

Over by the doorway, those large, shiny, metal doors, stood three serious men. They were dressed as guards, as soldiers, and they were armed. He had seen one of them before, when he was flat on his back and too weak to move. That one looked different to the other men there. They were shabby, unkempt. That soldier’s uniform was new and smart and these ones here looked the same. They were observing all that was transpiring in the room, watching everything. Where they there for the protection of the infirm, or were they there to keep those in a state of recovery under control? The way they scrutinised all around them suggested the latter.

She had told him not to speak, not to let them hear him. It was obvious now who they were.

Now he considered another question: Why were those gathered here needed to be controlled? Why was he part of this group? He was certainly not dangerous. He had never been dangerous.

Rebellious? - Perhaps.

Troublesome? – Maybe.

But not dangerous.

Something had happened to them all. Something that had left them incapacitated and disorientated. Some calamity had befallen them all. He could not, no matter how hard he tried, remember anything. He could not recall any incident. More importantly, he could not recall any of these people. He was in a room of strangers.

He remembered waking that morning... Was it this morning? He remembered breakfast with his family. He sat at the table eating his cereal, watching the clock so that he would not miss his bus. It was a good five kilometres to his school and he had no intention of walking. His father was there, his mother, his brother, they were laughing – some new joke his brother was telling. There was a knock at the door and his dad got up to answer it. Then... He gasped.

...Nothing.

What did his father tell him? If you find yourself in a situation you don’t understand, first determine if you’re in danger. If you’re not, keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. The answers will come in time if you wait, if you are patient, if you are in control. Whatever you do, don’t lose control. Keep your focus.

That was what he resolved to do. His eyes were open and his mouth was closed. He would wait, regain his strength and he would get to the bottom of it all.

Someone behind him, at the other side of the room, did not receive the wisdom that he had. That someone had not listened to the pretty girl with the strange name. Someone had lost control. Someone had started yelling. He was a tall, thin, nervy looking guy. It made sense, he supposed.

This is crazy! the guy was yelling, saying what all of them wanted to say. I haven’t done anything! You can’t keep me here like this. I want my family. I want to see who ever is in charge here! Do you hear me?

They did hear and they responded with ruthlessness. The three guards moved with deadly purpose, advancing on the man from all sides. They struck hard, beating him down with batons until he was silenced. Then they dragged him over to the lift and dumped him in when the doors slid open. He was gone a moment later and all was quiet again. No one said a word.

Yes, definitely: the latter.

A short time later they brought the beaten man back. He was awake and he wore the signs of his beating on his face like a swollen and bruised mask. They dumped him onto the bed where he had started and left him. He remained there for the longest time, staring up to the roof. There had been a lesson, there had been a demonstration. They had all got the message.

Hey! There was no reply, so crouching as he went, he scuttled over to the beaten man. Hey, he repeated in a forced whisper, you alright?

The man seemed not to hear, but continued to stare blankly upwards. Why did they do that to you? he pressed. "Did they say?

There was a reply from behind, an angry hiss. He turned. She was standing over him. What are you doing? She kept her voice low but there was no mistaking the anger.

Just seeing if he’s alright, he replied.

Do want some of the same? she asked him, demanded of him. Get back to your bed and keep your voice down.

He crawled back, managing to keep out of sight of the guards. She walked carefully over, following him. She, it seemed, remained above suspicion. At his bed she knelt down and started to speak, but it was he this time, that interrupted.

There’s been a mistake, he told her. I don’t belong here. I didn’t do anything. I don’t think any of us have done anything to deserve this.

Of course you haven’t! she snapped.

He knew it was true, but now hearing it, it shocked him. Then what’s going on?

You’re not to know until the right time – until you’re all strong enough to take it.

His voice rose an octave. Strong enough? What happened to us? Where are we?

Settle down, please. She put a hand on his shoulder. They’ll do the same thing to you that they did to him. Look... She perused the area, observing the location of the guards. …you’re underground, and you have been for a long time. They brought you out – and now they own you – understand? They own all of us. You don’t have a name anymore. You can never speak it again. You can never speak English again. It’s all erased – over.

She stood up then and stalked off, angry at what had transpired, perhaps angry that she had been forced to talk of things before their time. Now he knew something was wrong – terribly wrong. He heard their approach from the doorway. The soldiers had heard something and were investigating. He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, the poor light hiding his transgressions. In the end they returned to their posts and he opened his eyes again, staring at the high and dark ceiling. He was a prisoner, or worse, and at the present he lacked the strength to do anything about it. He would wait. He would wait until he knew everything about his situation and until he was strong enough to do something about it.

For a long time no one moved or spoke, the only exception being those that watched over them with diligence. Perhaps they could all overwhelm the guards, even armed as they were, but none of the captives were up to such a task, and no one dared suggest it – let alone speak at all. They all remember what happened to the thin, nervous guy.

Somewhere a clock told them it was time and the guards entered the room, calling angrily to the prisoners. Their calls were rough, barked out like dogs. Those on the beds were pulled unceremoniously up onto the feet and herded out. Over at the end of the room was a ramp leading upwards. It was lit better than the room and the way upwards was clear. They were pushed up the incline single-file, with bare feet and shaven heads bobbing as they shambled. Some were pushed.

The rest was over. Now they were being taken toward the life that those who held them had prepared. None of them had any inkling what it would be, but it was obvious to all that it would not be good.

There was no sign of the beautiful girl. He looked. She was nowhere to be seen. She was the only one he could understand.

The upper floor was unexpectedly busy. There were larger numbers of soldiers here, as well as vehicles and equipment. The line of dejected individuals was pushed through, the activity parted to allow them passage, but they were largely ignored as they passed. It seemed to him that the residents of this prison had seen many people just like him and his fellows, that they were part of something bigger. How big he did not know – but he felt also that the realisation would be coming to him very soon.

They travelled around a wide circle, skirting the activity as they followed the cold, concrete wall around. Many passed them on some task or other, some of them were like the first that he had seen. They were dressed simply, roughly, seemingly out of place here. The inconsistency continued to confuse him. Why were some like this, and other – the guards notably – different in dress and manner? They were shorter also, a good head lower by average that the soldiers. Why were some clearly civilian – even provincial – and the guards: military? The soldiers looked in place here, but the others...

They rounded the corner again, and there was another ramp leading upwards, and they were marched onwards again. There was not as much activity now, most of those on this floor were standing in groups and talking amongst themselves quietly. They ignored the line of struggling souls as those below had done, and the group continued around again. Here there were shelves and boxes stretched out through the entire floor. The huge storehouse also contained further vehicles – larger than those below. Trucks, jeeps, vans, they all remained immobile and silent. Waiting.

Another ramp up, and many in the line were beginning to struggle. He was too, despite being young and fit, but many in the line were neither. They continued to climb, level after level, until the path became a long corridor, stretching off into the distance. There was nothing to see here, only walls on both sides for several minutes as they travelled to the end of the passage. There was a door at the end – large and metal. The line ground to a halt while the soldier that had escorted them made a quick and decisive movement with his arm and the barrier slid slowly upwards and out of their path.

They did not proceed all at once then. They were pushed one by one to a table to the right of the entrance. They were grabbed by their right arm. There were grey metal bands on their arms, heavy and cold and the guards were interested in them. They were examined and information was recorded. He was roughly in the middle of the line and it took several minutes for him to move through.

Then they were climbing again, but this time there was a breeze coming from above and a hint of fresh air. The light became less unnatural, and there came a sense of urgency in them. They picked up their steps with the promise of daylight and freedom, forgetting the possibility of worse treatment in store.

The climb ceased and they were presented with an open doorway. They could see the blue sky beyond and feel the wind. It was a hot, dry wind, but welcome regardless. The guards pushed them on, through the doorway and out into the day.

Directly outside they were taken off to the side, to the left where there was a gentle decline and kept in a group, twenty of them. He stood on the outside, blinking, gazing out at the land before him.

Directly in front was a slope downwards that was covered in shrubs. At the bottom, where the land flattened out to bare dirt, were black tents that dotted the ground like freckles on skin. Beyond them the land stretched out as far as the eye could see, flat, dry and dusty, off into a heat haze that obscured the horizon.

Chapter Two

General Ducat closed his eyes against the rhythmic pounding that reverberated through the throne room. It formed an odd syncopation with the clanging bells that had been rung, announcing invasion. Around him, the injured and dying cried in pain, scatted amongst the cut and mangled dead. The floor was slick with blood - the blood of his men and that of his enemies.

One such enemy stood recently on top of the throne that was now unoccupied, high up on the dais. He was what this conflict was about, or rather what was around his wrist. This king and his golden band was the prize that everybody sought. The presence of the judges told him that there had been more than one deal in place.

The general would have seized him had there not been a dramatic turn in events. There had been a huge detonation of sound, one that made their ears ring, one that startled them all into stasis. When he had recovered his senses the king was gone, running quickly to the door behind the throne, running after the treacherous guardsmen. There were three further detonations (but by now all were accustomed to the sound) and the men that went in pursuit of him went down, dead or injured. He was through the doorway a moment later and a heavy wooden door was slammed behind him. By the noise passing through the barrier it was clear it was being barricaded. Down on the floor of the audience chamber, his men were quickly subduing the judiciary’s mercenary troops (who, after the demise of their captain and employer, thought it prudent to surrender).

There was a deafening boom as wood was splintered and spit. The first of his men were through with a roar of victory and he struggled through their enthusiastic mass to reach the hallway beyond. There was no defence and indeed no sign of the guardsmen save for the trail of blood and footprints that travelled down the corridor towards the stairs that led to the lower floors. His lieutenant, Mezen, was behind him and waiting for instructions.

Have the men spread out, the general commanded. I want every room in this place searched.

Yes, sir, Mezen replied, then asked: What about the trail?

We’ll deal with that ourselves. Get a squad to follow.

Mezen saluted crisply and turned on his heal, passing his head through the remains of the door, barking commands to the soldiers beyond.

Some moments later they marched down the ornate passage, following the conveniently laid trail. For a moment he considered that he may be walking into a trap but on reflection he thought it unlikely. Many of the Guard were wounded and all of them had been walking through blood. There had not been time to contrive a deception, they had only enough for flight – and this was the evidence of it.

The steps were slippery and sticky in places and the soldiers trod carefully on their decent. At the bottom of the flight the trail continued on, not wavering until it stopped dead in the centre of the hallway. Turning abruptly it ran headlong against the wall and vanished.

There was no sign of an entrance but there was clearly a hidden passage beyond. Ducat sucked in his breath angrily at the sight.

Break it down, he growled, and find out where it leads.

His men did not reply or salute. There was little time for such formalities. They had been trained to obey without question and a moment later and this is what they did. Ducat and Mezen started back toward the stairway even as the soldiers had begun to set upon the hidden door. The general was silently swearing to himself.

They’re heading for the north gate, he said angrily, and we provided the corridor!

They might find it a little hard to get through, Mezen suggested. When we hit the trouble out front, I sent a man up to the north gate to let them know there could be a change of plan. Hopefully they’re holding anybody that tries to get through. When we get back to the throne room, I’ll send a detachment to reinforce the gate. They won’t get out, I promise you, sir.

They stepped through the splintered wood of the throne room’s rear door, returning to the scene of carnage. His men had rounded up the last of the mercenaries, and they stood beaten and dejected in the corner of the room. Already the bodies were being removed, long streaks of red was the only evidence of where they had lain and where they had been dragged to. Mezen was true to his word, having departed immediately through the two large double doors at the front of the hall to organise an extra squad for the northern gate.

Even as events unfolded there in the place, the Villers were landing their longboats and marching on the city. He was expecting them within the hour and had hoped to provide his previous liege and the band of gold he wore, but he could offer neither. He had no idea what repercussions would be made when they found him wanting. Regardless, the city – and indeed the entire kingdom – was theirs. They were coming. The incessant bells told him that.

In the name of the Great Oblivion… Ducat bellowed over the melodic din, …will someone stop those bells! adding a long string of curses at the end to punctuate his demand.

***

The two women were some distance from the activity of the throne room but they could still hear the commotion. They were secreted in a small room to the back of the complex, an unadorned room, simple and easily overlooked.

Kara had told Jim that Emily would be too sick to travel. They had thought that she was too unwell to hear or understand, but she could still do both. She knew that the healer was right – she could feel it in every part of her body. She knew that whichever group she travelled with would be slowed – definitely caught and most likely killed. She could not risk either mission with her presence and the she could not shoulder the burden of their lives. Emily convinced the two doctors of this fact and offered them only one solution.

They resisted at first but in the end it was the only option. Amelia informed Beverad, the stiff and officious captain, that the young woman would be taken with the second diversionary party. Kara told Vincent that she would be taken to the docks and travel downstream with the king and his family. Thus, both parties believed she was with the other. Both parties left without her. Kara elected to stay despite her sister’s protest - Emily still required her skills – and the two of them struggled down the deserted hallways to the back of the palace when the warning bells began to chime.

There was a sharp, echoing bang and then moments later another three, then silence. They held their breath, waiting. Then there was a relentless thudding that reminded them of drums – slow, the pace of marching feet, feet of invaders.

I think it’s started, Kara told Emily, her voice as tight with fearful expectation.

Emily’s voice was a croaky whisper. Will they find us? she asked.

Kara nodded grimly. Probably. I don’t know what they’ll do to us when they do find us. We know too much.

I won’t tell them anything.

You’re not strong enough to resist anybody, Kara reminded her. "Let’s

at least try and stay out of sight. There has to be somewhere we can hide."

There is, a male voice told them unexpectedly.

His sudden appearance startled them both. Kara did not know him, but Emily did. Emily knew him well. The fact that he was still alive was more startling than anything. She had not seen his body but she had been tried – and found guilty – for his murder. Now, here he was, alive and well, and standing in the doorway. She was speechless.

Your friends took the only proper secret way out of here, Thom explained, and that is soon to be discovered. But there is always more than one way out. Come… He waved them out.

Who are you? Kara demanded, not moving.

We don’t really have time for introductions, do we? Right now, I’m the only one here that can help you. You can stay if you like but…

Where is this way? Kara asked him, interrupting him but not sounding convinced.

It’s very close, he promised. There’s a servant’s staircase that leads down to the storehouse and that connects to the stables. It’s not hidden, but it’s not really noticeable. If we’re lucky, they’ll still be horses in the stable. Is Emily fit to ride?

You know her? Kara asked, surprised.

Yes, Thom admitted. When I realised that she was too sick to travel and that you’d tricked the others so you could stay behind, then I thought you might need some help. The poison was potent and the cure takes some time to work.

What do you know about this poison?

Jim didn’t tell you? he mused. Interesting.

Who are you?

As they were speaking the hammering sound ceased and through the corridors there came an exalted roar.

They’re through, he told them quickly. The army controls the palace now and the Villers aren’t too far behind them. We’re running out of time. Either you trust me or stay here – it’s up to you.

Emily still could not speak and her eyes were wide with shock. All of the presence of mind that she had shown in her decision to stay had dissolved. Finally Kara spoke for both of them:

Very well, where is this staircase?

At the end of the passage and through the kitchens… Not far.

Help me get her up.

Thom grabbed under one arm and Kara the other, hoisting her to her feet. The three of them lurched to the doorway and out into the hallway. It was deserted now, normally used by the servants of the palace and they had been sent out. If the soldiers came through here, it would be obvious they were out of place.

The three of them stumbled into the kitchens left in disarray after the hasty exodus by the cooks. There were voices behind them now. The army was moving through the citadel looking for Guardsmen and they would soon be upon the struggling three.

Almost there, Thom grunted with exertion. It’s through here.

They stumbled, and one of them kicked a metal pot. It bounced noisily, rolling across the room with a cacophony of noise. They stopped, waiting for it to come to rest – and when it did, they listened. The voices were getting louder. The soldiers were getting closer.

Hurry! Thom’s voice was an urgent whisper.

There, at the end of the room was a doorway. It was narrow and unadorned but it promised to lead them to safety. He half dragged them there and they stopped at the entrance, looking in at the narrow, circular, descending stairs. They lacked the sophistication of the other staircases in this complex. These were for the servants, and the lowliest of them. They were worn by countless feet, rough and simple, and steep and dark. He took an oil lamp and put his foot on the first of the steps.

Thom started down, pulling Emily after him. He had let go of her arm and grasped an empty hand. Kara was forced to follow, being dragged after the two of them. Emily found the task difficult, having lost the support of both of them under her arms she was forced to stumble along using what strength remained in her. She was still weak and her legs threatened to fail her several times.

Thom spoke the truth. At the base of the stairs there was a storehouse, where the goods of the palace were delivered and stored. He was uninterested in the room and its contents. What was priceless to him was the exit, and that was further on. He left her to the healer and quietly pushed his way through two wooden doors to look beyond them. Satisfied it was safe, he beckoned them through – into the stables.

It was here that his plan became unstuck. There were no mounts for them to ride to safety. Every stall was dark and empty. The huge stable doors that led out into the city were wide open but there was no hope in exiting on foot as the way out was blocked – guarded by some twenty or so men holding flaming torches aloft. He pulled them back and out of sight.

Now what do we do? Kara asked, desperate and demanding. Do we go back up?

Behind them there were the noises of pursuit. The staircase had been discovered and soldiers were descending them. In a matter of moments they would be caught between the soldiers at the gate and those coming down from the kitchen. Thom pulled them over and into one of the stalls, pulling straw over them to disguise their presence.

A minute or two later, five armed men emerged from the storehouse having come from the kitchen above. They saw their fellows at the gate and called out to them.

Thom looked back at her. She could see him standing alone at the stalls entrance. There was no fear in his eyes. Perhaps she could see regret. Whatever it was that looked back at her, it held no connection to what he said at that moment. In the time that she had known him on the farm, he’d hardly spoke to her at all. Now he spoke, and the words were personal – and unexpected.

Emily. He said her name quietly, almost tenderly. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Then he drew a knife from his belt - a long, thin knife – and left them.

***

By the time Kutusa arrived at the throne room, most of the dead had been removed. Now the hall resembled a battlefield hospital with the wounded being tended covering most of the floor. The red carpet, now stained with the blood of the fallen, had been cleared and left a path for him to travel, and he looked upon the results of his plans with his customary aloofness. Around him, his personal guard – highly trained professionals - fanned out, leaving all around them with the knowledge that there would be no further trouble.

He was wearing his armour, not ceremonial and ornate like that which he wore back in his homeland, in his throne room. This was functional, black and polished to sheen. At his side was his sword, forged when he began his reign one hundred and forty years ago. Those years had aged his face but had not weakened his step - or his resolve.

Walking some steps behind, came his sons. His eldest and crown prince, Vaikutu was first. Then his fourth, Tusajan, who was to be the governor of this newly, acquired land.

At the base of the stairs that led up to the throne stood Ducat, the general of this land’s military, a man that had sold out his king for a taste of greater power. The man was a professional, it was clear by his bearing, but there was something on the man’s face that suggested that things had not gone to plan. There was the lack of triumph that he expected. And there was no sign of the captive king.

The general bowed low when Kutusa stood before him.

Most High Majesty, he fawned. I welcome you as king.

We will get to all that shortly, Ducat, Kutusa replied blandly. I came here for a reason, but I don’t see that reason here. He searched the faces of all present. Where is your king, Ducat?

The colour drained away from the officer and this told the Viller king all he need to know. Are you telling me that you don’t have him? Kutusa asked him arrogantly. You made promises, Ducat. You said that you would deliver the king to me personally.

The situation changed, Majesty, the general explained, his voice coming in stutters. The king slipped away in the process of the battle – but I know where he is going. Men are already on their way now to secure him.

The general stopped for a moment to think. As he did, his face hardened. You did a deal with the judges as well, Ducat accused, his voice rising in volume somewhat foolishly. That’s why things fell apart, not through my actions but because you involved them.

Tusajan was not always hot tempered, but of late he had taken to jumping in too early despite his father’s direction. It was good that his elder brother would take the throne – he was more level headed. Of late the king had noticed that after he had been told that he would be governor of this new territory he had become more ruthless. This too was needed in a leader, but the king prized the former quality greater. The young man stepped around the monarch leaping to his defence.

I think you forget to whom you are addressing! the prince roared at Ducat. This is your new liege, the mighty Kutusa, Overlord of Viller and its conquered territories! You should get on your knees before him and beg his forgiveness, you lowly dog! The last word was spat with utter disdain.

Now, Tusajan, Kutusa said, placing a calming hand on his son’s shoulder, ...the man is probably right. We did make two deals and he is trying to rectify the situation. I’m sure he understands what’s at stake here as well as you do. He turned to the now nervous general. If you can’t honour your part then I certainly won’t be honouring mine. Regardless, you are now under my command from this moment on.

Ducat bowed in submission but the act was made under sufferance – his expression gave away his true feelings. Katusa let it go. It did not matter that the man was reluctant. He had more than enough soldiers that would give their lives for him. As long as the general did as he was told, that was sufficient.

Have we sealed the city? the king demanded of one of his captains.

We’ve secured the east and west docks, my king, was the report. Also, there are three detachments on the way to the gates. We’ll have the city locked down within the next hour.

Excellent.

Strangely, he was not angry at the turn of events. He should have been. There had been many years of planning that had culminated in this night and now it had all been pulled down. He watched calmly as his men went about their business, the work of invasion. He waited for news.

The news he received was not as he had hoped.

A party slipped through the gate before it was closed, reported Ducat’s underling, a detachment of royal guards.

The party from the throne room? the general asked.

I suspect so, sir. The passage we uncovered led down to a drainage tunnel. There was a locked gate half way through and we were unable to go any further, but it’s clear the tunnel drains out into the river. From that point there is easy access to the west docks and the north gate.

Was the king with them? Kutusa asked.

Mezen nodded grimly but held none of the arrogance of his superior. There was a tall man dressed as a guardsman with them, he said. There is another problem, though.

Ducat raised his eyebrows. Oh?

We’ve had similar sightings at the docks, Mezen told them all. The fire at the west side was the product of a hasty departure. The guardsmen had a boat ready to go. They loaded up several tall ones before they left upstream after first ensuring no one could follow. And there was a slighting of another tall guardsmen loaded onto a ship that sailed north to Khobah before all the conflict.

I think we dealt with that, Vaikutu told them. There were two ships heading north that our southbound fleet intercepted. Both ships were sunk. I am yet to receive a report of any survivors but then there will be no chance to search until daylight – five hours away. There will be no report for another day at least.

Who are these people? Kutusa asked, incredulous. They’ve thrown everything right out the window. They’ve got decoys going in all directions.

Whatever the guardsmen have planned, it will fall apart, Ducat growled. They’re not cleaver enough to pull this off.

They seem smarter than you, Ducat, Kutusa commented dryly. They saw right through all our plans, and walked right around you and the judiciary.

Ducat frowned with annoyance. Your Majesty, I will catch them and I will kill every one of them, he promised.

Not all of them, Ducat. Very well, I will set you lose after them, but I wouldn’t fail me again. Ah... There was a noise behind them, the opening of the large doors at the front of the hall. The ambassador’s assistant was striding to the base of the stairs. Zizza... Kutusa greeted him by name.

The man was dressed for battle, resplendent in the armour of his people. Kutusa doubted that he would be any use in any situation that would require it. Also, he bore no sword.

Majesty, Zizza said once he had reached the top of the dais. He bowed low but his eyes were everywhere, seeing everything. I see Ducat was the winner, he observed. General where is the... He did not see the one person he had hoped would be there.

He got away from us, Ducat told him, his face hard and unreadable. There was little love between the two of them. But he will he captured.

Zizza turned about dramatically, looking at all of them quickly. Someone please tell me that I did not have the ambassador murdered for nothing!

Kutusa had the officer Mezen repeat his report for Zizza’s benefit and as it unfolded the colour drained from his face. The man was initially shocked that his plan had fallen down and then his anger returned.

So now we have three paths to follow, Mezen summated. …and we don’t know which one holds the true king.

How were there so many tall people here? Kutusa asked. I know His Majesty is, and I’ve heard reports his son is likewise...

The criminals... Mezen grunted.

Excuse me?

Yes, answered Zizza. There were four of them, weren’t there? Three men and a woman, tall people, all of them.

His expression quickly changed as something came to him – some revelation. I understand now, he said. They’re obviously part of the ruse. I had been told that the guards had killed one of them, but now I see that was probably a lie. The three men could have taken the king’s place in the decoys.

One of them looks nothing like the king, Ducat pointed out. He’s dark skinned and quite large.

The king’s son then, Zizza replied, it matters little.

He was thinking again, and when his thought process had reached his conclusion, his eyes were wide with surprise.

I should have seen it! he exclaimed. When I saw the gold band on His Majesty’s wrist, I wrote you immediately. What I did not mention – I thought it was not as important in light of our current activities – was that one of them had a grey band. I saw it myself. One of them was a ‘Grey’!

A ‘Grey’? Mezen asked, confused.

His majesty wears a gold band – this one has a grey one.

It’s not the same kind of band, is it? Ducat asked.

"It is. There’s history to this, which I’m not going to get into now. What’s important now is where the grey bands come from, because that’s undoubtedly where they’re going.

How do you know? Tusajan asked.

The grey man saw the king’s gold band and has obviously connected the two of them together, Zizza explained. He’s taking the king back to where he came from because he knows what the band does.

Now wait, Ducat demanded, the gold band is a symbol, a reminder of the past.

Zizza smiled and shook his head slowly. Oh, no, it’s more than that.

Did you think I would come all this way for a piece of jewellery? Kutusa asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Ducat still looked confused, and so Zizza explained: It’s a key. The assistant took a deep breath and continued. Now, the real question is: where is Jasham? He knows where they came from - he knows where they are going?

There came a shout from the back of the hall, one of his men had been managing the cleanup at the top of the dais, in the space around the throne. He was descending the stairs quickly, holding aloft something between his fingers. Something important. He stood and bowed, offering the item to his king. In the man’s hand was a small metallic object, bronze in colour.

Well, well, well, Kutusa said, gazing down at the shiny object.

Ducat moved closer to see. What is it? he asked.

Kutusa took the metal object between his fingers from the offered hand. He held it out for them to see. The lights from the burning torches were caught in its reflective surface, making it glow bronze-gold.

This, my friends, Kutusa told them, is a nine millimetre bullet casing.

***

It was only a matter of moments after Thom had disappeared back into the stables before the soldiers came looking for them. From the yelling she assumed that Thom had been killed and she believed that her fate would be identical to the man she once believed already dead. They came through the stables quickly, searching. They seemed to know they were there. Suddenly the straw that had been hiding them was pushed away and strong hands pulled them to their feet. She was still weak and needed to be supported by two of them as they dragged her out of the stall.

Thom was still alive and they held him fast. They had quickly overwhelmed him, relieving him of his weapons. He had told them that they were hiding in the stall, he had turned them in.

The throne room had changed dramatically from when she had seen it last. There was evidence of blood and death on the floor and a few of the wounded still remained. This was where Jim and the guards had effected their deception and hopefully their escape. She saw nothing of their presence there and assumed it had worked.

There, standing up the bottom of the steps was a group of men, fighting men. They were standing in a circle staring at one of the hands of an armoured man.

They dragged her toward the group with Thom and Kara ahead, pulling to a stop a respectful distance, waiting for the attention of the circle. She knew two of them. One was the general she had seen a few times in the palace and the other was a Viller, the ambassador’s assistant. This was the group she was hoping to avoid, but it seemed she had no choice but to face them after all.

The general noticed them first, turning his head in their direction. The others followed his eyes towards her. There was one in shiny, black armour. When he turned, the soldiers around her bowed. She knew in a moment who it was. This was the invader. This was the King of Viller.

Majesty, one of the soldiers that had brought her reported, we searched the palace and the grounds. These were the only three we found. The man says he works for Tobias the Judge and he says that he works for you.

The ambassador’s assistant was staring right at her, and he pushed his way through the group to stand before her, extending a finger, steady and accusing.

Majesty, Zizza said, this is one of them!

Chapter Three

Mitchell found it hard not to get distracted by the voices in his ear. His captors had not seen the thin wire that ran from within his black jacket and up to his right ear. They would not be aware what it was used for, but once in the light they would no doubt remove it and all contact with his fellows would be severed.

He kept his attention, watching all around him keenly. He had no desire to escape presently, he was carefully gauging his enemy’s strengths and weakness and when the time came he would act.

The darkness hid his men, already falling back and regrouping. Victoria had told Rhiannon about the entry hole in the hedge and she in turn had told Carl. Now that particular thoroughfare had been blocked. Initially he had feared for the two with him, but Simpson had seen the advancing guard and he warned those around the house. There was no hope for Craig or Lang to help him so they headed quickly and quietly back to the boundary and squeezed through, disappearing into the darkness before Delvore’s men arrived. If there was any trouble, the truck would be dispatched to extract them. There was, so it was already on its way. He had heard the order.

He was roughly escorted along with Laydon and Victoria up to the house. Those that marched them up the hill looked about nervously. They knew he was not alone and they knew he was far more capable than any of them. Walking briskly through the night, with torches held aloft to keep back the blackness and the fear, the group made it to the house.

At the veranda Carl stopped abruptly to give instructions. Get them into the house quickly and lock the doors, he ordered. No one gets in or out.

Simpson’s voice was crackling in his ear, telling him they had reached the flat-lands. There was a lone guard keeping watch and he had been neutralised. Out on the edge of the plain they were regrouping.

The door was swung open and they were pushed in. Mitchell was first. Once in he turned, catching Victoria as she stumbled after him. Laydon fell onto his knees and he was gathered up and thrown onto a chair. This was Carl’s study, his office, but at present it was their prison. It was well lit and his men went to extinguish the lamps about the room, only to be instructed against it.

No, Carl said. I want plenty of light. I want them to see us.

Rhiannon followed, holding Mitchell’s rifle under her arm like she knew how to use it. The doors were closed behind her.

Now, Carl, you know there’s no point to all of this, Mitchell said calmly, evenly. I only came for these two and that’s all. I don’t want any trouble. He was standing in the centre of the room with Victoria. Carl was looking out of the windows, looking for any sign of Mitchell’s men.

Is that right?

Let me take Laydon and Victoria and that’ll be the end of it. Mitchell suggested reasonably. I promise that you’ll never see any of us ever again.

I don’t think it’s that easy, Carl told him. He was right. Too much had happened. Too much had been said.

Rhiannon stepped in, her face red and contorted. Shut your mouth! she demanded, Shut it, now! She pointed his weapon at his chest and threatened to end his life. Mitchell calmly stared her down. There was something that she didn’t know and he wasn’t about to tell her.

Carl reached out and pushed the barrel away from Mitchell. He seemed to want to calm the situation, but nevertheless his eyes still burned with hatred. I’d listen to her, if I were you, he suggested tensely. There’ll be no letting anyone go. If you don’t behave then someone’s going to get hurt.

I think you should know that if you hurt any of us then my men won’t take it well, Mitchell countered. They’ll come back harder than you could even imagine. I’m not telling you this as a threat – you should know that this is the way it is. As things stand, you haven’t gone too far, but I’d watch your step from here.

All the talk of Mitchell’s men made the guards nervous. Carl was still in charge, but it was clear his underlings had little respect for his discissions. In many ways, Rhiannon was better suited for command. She seemed to have the slight edge in her voice that told him she aware of the stakes. Carl was all bravado. His attitude was doing nothing to allay the fears of his men.

There’re all around us! one of them declared. We can’t defend the house like this. There are too many windows!

He’s right! Rhiannon agreed. Why did we come here?

Carl was sweating. Shut up, all of you! he roared, turning on his men. I’m in charge here. You’ll all do what I say, you hear.

My men aren’t coming for you all yet, Mitchell said quietly. You all should relax before somebody does something stupid.

Rhiannon looked at him quizzically. How do you know what’s going on out there?

She gazed out into the night, trying to see a trace of the spectres that were stalking them. Carl’s choice to keep the room lit was hampering any view she may have had of the grounds. She gave up and turned to face him again, and it was then that she noticed the wire that ran from his ear down into his jacket.

Mitchell had a chance to say one word and he had chosen it carefully the moment they had started up the hill to the house: Compromised.

She reached out and snatched the wire, pulling it so that his earpiece came free. His connection to the others was lost.

Later, Carl and Rhiannon left them. There, bound together in the corner of the office they remained, guarded by two of Carl’s men. Laydon said nothing. Months in Carl’s captivity and made him silent. Victoria, still shaken by the night’s activities was saying nothing as well. Mitchell waited.

Finally the pressure of the silence was too much for her. Victoria leant into Mitchell and spoke in a whisper so that the guards could not hear.

She would have killed you, you know? she told him. You can’t talk to them, they’re beyond talk.

The gun won’t work, Mitchell replied, also in hushed tones. "If she’s planning to shoot